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The first thing on Ten’s agenda after turning the key, opening the door, and lugging his bags inside the dorm is to tease. He is sure that the first one to welcome him would be Yangyang, followed closely by Kun. Then, Louis and Leon would scramble either in between and/or sometime after. In any case, even if he gets this hypothetical order wrong, he is prepared to make fun of any of them. He hears the approaching footfalls and waits for his first welcomer to be on sight in 3… 2… 1…
Which turns out to be Yangyang. As expected. Yes.
“Oh baby, you’ve grown taller.” Ten immediately croons and ruffles his younger member’s hair. Makes sure to make a mess of it.
“Stop it, hyung!” Yangyang says and shoos Ten’s hands off. That is, before he grins his million-dollar grin. Ten reels from seeing it outside his phone screen. “But have I really?”
“No.”
Yangyang hugs him tight, anyway. The second thing on Ten’s agenda after teasing Yangyang, hugging Yangyang, and picking up any nearby cat in his arms—which so happens to be Louis—is to get hugged even tighter by Kun.
It seems to be, however, a logistical impossibility. Because soon after, Kun approaches, scolding and cradling the other cat for whatever reason. God, he is pretty, and Ten reels again at the 3D-ness of it all. Suddenly rendered in reality: Kun’s gray cardigan and, well, Kun’s gorgeousness. For the good part of a minute, Ten’s second agenda is on hold. Instead, he and Kun stare at each other, Louis and Leon in their arms, delaying the physical welcome that Ten expected. For some reason, neither of them lets either of the cats go.
After a while, thankfully, Louis flails and all is well. Kind of.
“Hi hi,” Ten says and opens his arms. Another second-long delay happens.
“Oh,” Kun says, finally dropping Leon on the floor. It takes him another moment to reach out. They fumble for another second, unsure of whose arms go around whose neck, and whose arms go around whose waist, until they somehow execute an embrace. An embrace punctuated by a pat on the back and an uncertainty of when to part. When they do part, Kun offers a smile, one that looks more like practice than the real thing. Ten wonders.
Meanwhile, Yangyang looks at him, then at Kun, then back at him with raised eyebrows. Ten awkwardly picks up Leon this time and walks to the living room.
Recap: Yangyang’s whining and tight hug definitely felt like home. First item on the agenda, check. Kun’s supposedly tighter one turned out a little… strange. So second item, question mark? Ten ignores the flip-flopping in his stomach, scraps the bullet points in his head, and lies down on the couch. Leon, almost immediately, jumps down.
There, the three of them talk about Ten’s last week in China, the flight, and the ride from Incheon airport to the dorm. As Ten proceeds to look around for their usual restaurant pamphlets, Kun is already on the phone to order takeout. Only when Kun suddenly code-switches to Korean does Ten realize that their little catchup had mostly been in Mandarin. He and Kun seem to think of the same thing as their eyes meet across the room. The phone call ends and Kun points this out to Ten.
“Yeah, hyung, wow.” Yangyang says with a grin. A compliment? His baby must have really missed him.
“Guess so many people there taught me so well.” Ten says shyly. An admission. He should be proud. He is proud. And also uneasy.
He glances at Kun. Kun should be happy, too. He looks happy. And similarly uneasy.
Yangyang shifts his gaze between the two of them again, then shakes his head.
---
The fucked up thing is, before Ten and Kun even get to the fucking, they are already fighting. At the cat dorm’s dinner table, nonetheless, with all their didis as unwilling witnesses.
Ten’s second evening back home starts pleasantly enough. Xiaojun and Hendery had schedules on his first day back, so they all decided to have a welcome home dinner on the second night. They, too, hug him tight. Proper, well-deserved, full bear hugs. Hugs that rightfully belong to Ten, or so he believes. Hugs that will satisfy whoever in the universe first invented hugs. Unlike a certain someone’s. Still, Kun is cooking a complete dinner set now, which Ten supposes makes up for it.
While Kun is in the kitchen, Ten does the show-and-tell of his gifts. First, packs of luosifen, varieties of hua mei in cute jars, some other sweets, and some spices that are locally unavailable in Seoul. Word has it that Xiaojun and Hendery have been trying their own hand at cooking lately, so while the last has been intended for Kun, it is now shared WayV property. And then, individual gifts for the birthdays he missed: for Hendery, a set of manhua that caught his eye at some bookstore; for Xiaojun, a choker that matches with a collar for Bella; and for Yangyang, fox and sheep plushies wearing hiphop sunglasses.
Yangyang complains that Ten should have gotten them designer shirts or stuff instead, but snuggles the plushies tight in his armpits and asks for nominations regarding their nicknames. If they notice that Kun receives nothing for himself, they do not speak of it.
All this is happening with Sicheng on Kun’s phone screen, propped up at the edge of the table. The scent of seafood soup, a mushroom and tofu dish, and grilled pork waft in the air, cueing their hungers. The video call ends only when Sicheng is called upon by the manager to eat as well.
After everyone goes for seconds, Ten makes a remark about how much Chinese food he’s had in the recent year, it’s almost unbelievable. And then adds, “I mean, this is Chinese too, but wow, I really did miss the food here at home.” That is, the food Kun makes for them.
At the head of the table, Kun is quiet for a second. He gathers his plate and utensils and stands up. From the kitchen, he says firmly, “We should’ve just ordered in again for something different. I asked you earlier.”
Xiaojun, Hendery, and Yangyang share a look. They, too, begin to keep away their plates and pile the crumbs together.
“And if I remember correctly, you also offered to cook—awesome meal, by the way—which I more than gladly accepted.” Ten says, leaning back on his seat and sliding his hands in his pockets.
“Don’t do that,” Kun says as he returns to the dining area but refuses to sit back down.
“Do what?”
“Sound sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t—” Ten sighs to stop the increasing volume of his voice. He barely succeeds, instead ending up on his feet. “So that sounded sarcastic to you? You don’t think I think your food is good? You don’t think I mi—”
“I said, don’t.” Kun says, voice threateningly low now. He inhales deeply, then exhales, then walks away to sit on the couch.
One by one, the younger boys bring the plates and glasses to the sink, tiptoeing like they would get scolded. Ten approaches with the other bowls they could not carry, remains standing by the sink. Xiaojun watches him.
Yangyang and Hendery are elbowing each other and mumbling. Then Yangyang calls out, way too cheerfully, “We’ll go feed Bella now! And then maybe play games after. Ciao!”
“Or maybe watch a murder documentary, one that does not happen in an idol dorm.” Hendery says nonchalantly then runs way too fast outside, his “see you later” a little squeak.
“You’ll be okay here, hyung?” Xiaojun points to the sink, turning to look back at Ten after the commotion. Ten gets the feeling the question is for something more beyond washing dishes. Still, he nods. Xiaojun also leaves for the other dorm after patting his shoulder.
The water falling from the faucet feels colder than it is supposed to be on Ten’s bare hands. Distracted, he forgot to wear rubber gloves. But something tells him that’s not the problem. Since his fingers have already gotten wet and then grown numb anyway, he finishes washing all the glasses. Feeling the ice cold gaze on the back of his neck—maybe that’s the problem—he shifts his weight from one foot to another, as if that could shake it off.
“You just got here, let me do that.” Suddenly, Kun’s voice, still low but less poised, still angry but near now. Suddenly, Kun’s warmth, too fucking near, his breaths approaching heat, highlighting the cold on Ten’s hands even more. Suddenly, Kun’s goosebumps-raising ability, as he leans over across Ten to turn off the faucet. Their arms brush in the process. Ten shivers.
“We take turns, remember? I already missed a lot of turns here.” Ten says, resisting the urge to look beside him, nervous at what he might find. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand, and turns on the faucet again. Never look away from the kitchen sink, he tells himself, or else.
“I don't think that’s how it works.” Kun says. “If it works like that, then you’ll be washing dishes for months.”
Suddenly, Ten’s resistance, failing. Suddenly, Ten’s eyes on Kun’s, both stripped of their anger. Suddenly, Ten’s pulse, quickening with wariness at whatever has been going wrong in the past two days. As if to reassure himself, he says, “It’s okay, Kun. I’ll take care of this.”
Kun sighs and moves away, only to lean back on the kitchen counter. Ten could feel his nape and his back freezing again for a minute. Then the clangs of ceramic resound, as well as the soft drone of boiling water. Ten dries his hands on the kitchen towel, the dishes all clean. As he turns around, two cups of freshly made tea pop up on the counter. Another practice smile graces Kun’s lips, though it has gotten a smidge better. That’s the thing about practice, Ten supposes.
“Shit, I forgot to tell the kids we have this.” Bending to retrieve something from the fridge, Kun clucks his tongue. He brings out a black matte box, with golden swirly prints surrounding a clear window, and places it on the kitchen counter. Ten’s eyes widen.
“Do they really have to know?” He says after gasping. Kun is already sliding a knife into the cake, and Ten’s mouth is already watering. “Besides, it’s none of their birthdays.”
“It’s not yours either,” Kun says. He laughs a tiny laugh. Fucking finally. “But they could have it tomorrow. For now, do you mind if it’s just us?”
In Ten’s mind: relief. Two cups of tea and two slices of the sinful concoction that is dark chocolate cheesecake with caramel and sea salt accompany them in the living room. Kun puts on the first Netflix movie they deem mildly interesting. They devour the dessert in comfortable silence.
The relief is short-lived, however. Just then, a phone vibrates on the couch—Ten’s. On the WeChat notification, a new message in his group chat with Santa and Fei. He does not open it and pockets his phone instead. When he turns to look at Kun, the light on the television screen seems to paint the other’s face with a frown.
Somehow, before the movie ends, Kun falls asleep on the other’s shoulder. At last, the frown on his face has disappeared. The urge to stroke his hair appears to Ten. He accepts it, does as he is told by his guts. Maybe this is good enough for now. Playing with Kun’s hair, somehow he, too, surrenders to rest.
The next morning, Ten wakes up alone. As he makes his first cup of coffee, he notices last night’s teacups and dessert plates are already washed and drying by the sink.
---
A week and a half later, and still no invitation to fuck. In its place, a continued unspoken promise to stay awkward. Ten is just about to tear his hair out. Not knowing what makes it so hard for them to return to their previous rhythm frustrates him more than the fact.
Once, on the way to the bathroom for a shower, Ten bumps to Kun who also has a towel slung on his shoulder. Both of them would not relent, insisting the other should go first. In a past life, Ten remembers, it would always be the reverse. He would insist he needs to go first, to which Kun would argue that he always takes too long, so it makes more sense for him to go ahead and finish quicker. One would give in, one way or another. Or both, which ends in showering together. Apparently, this time, fake politeness is harder to let go of.
And more than once, their invitations to hang out by themselves hang in the air. Ten asks Kun to go out and walk around and maybe have coffee on an afternoon that the latter has to meet with a producer friend. Kun attempts to claim his raincheck and invites Ten for steak and wine on a night that he already committed to Mark and Taeyong. Somehow, their schedules do not align. This, despite both of them having no work just yet prior to the WayV comeback, with Ten obviously having finished his projects in China and Kun having released his song under NCT LAB. They couldn’t seem to stop skirting around each other.
There are, however, a few moments of respite. When Ten showers Kun’s recent experiment with compliments, and teases him for his charisma in the video, Kun blushes. Then glares in that adorable, accusatory way of his. The way Ten is used to. Kun says in a light tone, “Have I not praised your work in China enough? Is that why you’re doing this?” And when Ten simply rolls his eyes, Kun’s voice really turns tender. “You seemed to really thrive there though.”
“Yes, and at what cost?” Ten jokes, breaking their respite, leaving Kun speechless. How easy would it have been, at that moment, to say I missed you so much? How easy would it have been to hear it back? Instead, they continue treading a self-imposed tightrope.
A rope so taut they tend to end up snapping at each other. A week and a half later, with still no invitation to fuck, the awkwardness can only be replaced in other days by mutual anger.
Once: “Ten, your box is still in the living room. When are you going to unpack it and clean up?” Kun shouts, a broom in hand.
“Oh, I didn’t know I had a deadline.” Ten yawns, scratching at the strip of skin above his shorts. This makes Kun storm off.
Again: “Kun, can you turn down your speakers’ volume? I’m trying to video call someone here.”
“How about you video call someone when I’m not mixing music? Or wear earphones, for fuck’s sake. Who’s that, anyway?”
“Why don’t you wear earphones? And none of your business. So you know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe I will wear earphones so you can stop being nosy. Thanks.”
And then again: “I can’t believe you forgot Louis and Leon’s vet appointment, Kun. What the hell?” Ten says, plucking the memo off the fridge.
“Why are you so easy to blame me? Yangyang could have been the one to fuck it up.” Kun hardens his tone. He stares Ten down from inches away, his expression about a second away from—perhaps—slapping the latter on the face. “As a matter of fact, he is.”
Finally, the person in question—designated catsitter, designated collateral damage of all these fights, their baby Yangyang—snaps. After explaining how he settled the schedule mishap with the cat clinic way before and just forgot to take the stupid note off the fridge, he shoos Kun away from the dorm to have a face-off with Ten. Yangyang rubs his hands together in preparation for the confrontation. But Ten beats him to it.
“Right. Okay. So apparently, I’m so easy to blame Kun, and Kun is so easy to blame you, and you’re so easy to blame me. Great.” Ten says, chugging his third cup of coffee for the day.
“Hyung.” Yangyang says, hands on his hips. Has he learned this pose from Kun or Ten? Ten is not so sure anymore. “This is not how it’s supposed to go.”
Ten goes to his room and pretends he has not heard anything. What is he supposed to tell Yangyang, anyway? That he does not know what’s going on either? Some part of him does know, or at least sense the issue, but is too preoccupied or uncaring or afraid to initiate the conversation with Kun. And what explanation does he owe to Yangyang? This is not about him. Besides, is there any way to make it sound any less cringy? That he thinks the problem may be that they are not fucking? At that, Yangyang would cringe even more than him. So what’s the point?
Ten lies on his bed, stomach down, and buries his head under the pillow. He hears the door slam open.
“Hyung.” Yangyang tries again, standing by the doorway. “I swear, I’ve had enough of Kun’s sulking and mood swings when you weren’t here. Now you’re here and it’s somehow worse. Wait, no—now I have to deal with double the sulking and mood swings, both yours and his. What the fuck’s happening?”
Ten plays dumb. It is not very difficult, given that he really is dumbfounded by the situation. A muffled “you tell me” comes from him. He refuses to raise his head.
Yangyang sits beside Ten on the bed. “Come on, I drove Kun-ge out in a mean way, so you have to make my future scolding worth it. Talk, bro.”
Voice still muffled, Ten says, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Oh please. I know what’s been going on with you two for a long time. I’d been disgusted by it for a long time. You can’t gross me out anymore.” Yangyang states, all too matter-of-factly. Then he lies down on Ten’s back, their spines against each other. “I’m not gonna leave here until you talk to me. And I’m heavier now.”
“Okay, baby.” Ten relents and rises from his position. Yangyang falls from Ten’s back, bumping his head on the wall. Ten cannot help it, he laughs. Heavier, my ass. “So we used to fuck. A lot. Then I went to China. And now we’re not doing that. I think that may have something to do with the… awkwardness.”
Rubbing his head and glaring, Yangyang accuses, “See, that was way too easy.”
And just then, Ten is about to burst of pent-up frustration. He groans, “No, it’s been way too hard actually.” Then he proceeds to rant to the younger man about how, before he left, everything seemed fine between them. Fine meaning Ten and Kun fuck around—no strings attached, it’s smooth, it’s accessible, it’s convenient—and that’s that. Sure, sometimes he has felt disappointed when Kun does not sleep in his bed and instead returns to his own room at midmorning. Sure, sometimes Kun has stared at him unnervingly, cradled his face too delicately, right before they get dressed. And sure, they have tried to lay down some ground rules for the situation, like not expecting to be each other’s only warm body or not cuddling needlessly, all doable. And sure, sometimes they have still cuddled without reason.
Surely, Ten thought, the same setup would apply when he comes home from China. Apparently not. Instead, this. Whatever this is.
After Yangyang listens attentively, he reclaims the mic and scolds Ten. “I don’t know if you realize it, Ten-hyung. But these things need some talking out. You can’t just assume shit, like it’s gonna be the same.” Wow, it is definitely a day of bravery for the young one. And he gets even braver, “You always preach about self-expression and all that, but you can’t even express yourself properly to Kun-ge. Fucking unbelievable.”
Ten sighs, pulls Yangyang to lie down beside him, and snuggles on the boy’s side. “Ya, not only did you get taller, but when exactly did you grow up like this?” A whine resounds when Ten pinches Yangyang in the arm. “And when exactly did you earn the right to scold your hyung?”
“All I’m saying is, talk it out, fuck it out—” The younger boy makes an ugly face at that. “I don’t care. Just let me live in peace. Please.”
“Mm-hm,” Ten murmurs.
“You know what, I will spend the weekend over at Renjun’s. I will not be here over the weekend. I will be gone. Do what you will. While I’m not here. Because I will be gone over the weekend.” Yangyang recites slowly, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah, baby, I think you’ve expressed yourself clearly enough.” Ten says with a laugh.
“Just making sure.”
---
The mood has to be perfect. They could not afford to have any cartoon clouds and lightning bolts hovering over the air of the dorm while they attempt to talk through their feelings, Ten thinks. That’s just a recipe for an even bigger disaster. And so he resolves: it is time to soldier on to the living room and finally move the big, dumb box.
It contains the rest of his things from China that did not quite fit his luggage. How Ten came home with much more than he left with should not be a surprise, given all the quarantines he lived through. But now that he actually has to deal with the excess, he is still surprised by how much of a burden it turns out to be.
His feet make screechy noises on the floor as he pushes the heavy object to his own bedroom. Ten unpacks—for the nth time—and sorts through his leftover things, coming across the paper bag that has been missing for a while. He hugs and kisses it in relief. Afterwards, to avoid any further scheduling mishaps, Ten calls their manager for Kun’s schedule over the weekend. He has none. Perfect. And nerve-wracking.
Soon, the rattling of keys lets Ten know Kun is home. It sounds different with Yangyang. That this knowledge comes automatic makes him smile.
He hears a knock on his open door. Ten looks up, sitting cross-legged on the floor, in the middle of clothing piles and sketchbooks and small household things like a French press and a steamer tray.
“I see you finally listened to me.” Kun says and enters. He makes a space for himself amidst the mess. Then, unprovoked, he begins to unfold and refold some clothes properly.
“I always listen to you, you just don’t know it.” Ten replies. Rummaging for the paper bag he just unearthed and then lost again in the thicket of his stuff, he ends up half-sitting, half-crawling on his side. An inexplicable position if you have not seen the way cats work.
“You look like Leon.” Kun says, forming a rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers, as if to capture Ten’s picture.
“Oh, that reminds me.” In a flash, Ten stands up and shuts the door. “I think they’re not used to me yet,” Ten pouts, “so they don’t follow me around everywhere at all times. But now that you’re here, and they might follow you, I don’t want them worsening this… situation.” He gestures around the room.
“Can they, really? What’s worse than this?” Kun teases. He puts his hair into a tiny ponytail and Ten knows. Ten just knows he is not looking for a fight. He is here to be cute. In any case, it is time to talk to the man apparently volunteering towards the charity case that is his bedroom.
“I know you’re trying to protect them, Kun, but our kids really need to learn accountability. You do know they were at fault when your wardrobe and your whole life collapsed that one time.” Ten says seriously. A second too late, his words echo. Our kids. He tries to keep his serious face on. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to discipline them then.”
The giggle he receives from Kun undermines his seriousness. If it wasn’t so pretty, Ten might have thrown a little fit. Instead, he hands over the paper bag to Kun. It is big and slightly crumpled and more than slightly deformed. Looking at it suspiciously, Kun says, “What’s this?”
“A paper bag.” Ten mutters before he could stop his mouth.
“Ha. I can see that.” Thankfully, Kun does not take offense. Wow, they are really sustaining this conversation without devolving into screams or clumsy exits.
“It’s your gift. I didn’t have time to buy a proper wrapper or anything.” Ten says nonchalantly, waving off the way Kun’s eyes sparkle despite the gift’s outer ugliness.
“I mean, it’s not my birthday or anything.” Kun teases. His hands dangle by the opening of the paper bag, as if he is not yet convinced it is really his. Ten wonders why he is so pleased even if he has not opened it yet. Wonders just how real of a smile he would get at last once Kun does.
“It’s not Xiaojun’s, Dery’s, and Yangie’s either. But I still got them stuff.”
“I know.” Kun says, looking down. “I’ve been wondering.”
“Wondering?” Ten leans a little and tries to catch Kun’s eyes from his downward gaze.
“If you forgot me.” Kun says. Ten’s mouth falls open. Before he could come up with a comeback for that, Kun continues. “But you didn’t, so hey, that’s great. So yeah.”
Alarm bells ring in Ten’s head. This is it. A conducive time for them to spiral into awkwardness. He could not let that happen. So what’s the proper response to an avoidant one? Right, he remembers Yangyang’s lecture. Self-expression. Communication. Talk it out. Fuck it out—suddenly, across him, Kun’s neck, his jaw, his collarbones are too loud. The room, too warm. He shakes his head.
“Okay, the truth is, first, I’ve been panicking for a week because I didn’t know where to find it. It was supposed to be in my luggage, of course, but I forgot it didn’t fit. Second, I didn’t want to give it to you during the welcome home dinner anyway, because they will accuse me of having favorites.” Ten says.
Kun’s eyes widen at that. First, he peeks into the paper bag. When that suffices no more, he removes the tape sealing it and opens wide. Looking at the contents, his eyebrows scrunch in concern. He looks inside, looks back up at Ten, looks back inside and then at Ten again. Gently, he brings everything out, placing them on top of the mess on the floor.
A bottle of perfume, the one he has on his bookmarks but somehow never got around to ordering for himself. A tiny teal box, which reveals a set of silver stud earrings. A can painted with deep greens and burgundies, flowers and leaves, pretty Chinese calligraphy—some tea, definitely fancy. A Jay Chou vinyl record. And then some washi tapes and stickers—a pair designed with cats and a pair with airplanes. The set with cats is actually a duplicate, because the other is for Yangyang, and Ten already has his own. Ten plucks one set out from Kun’s hands and explains just that.
Kun gasps belatedly. He turns to Ten and says, “You know, it won’t be a false accusation though.”
Ten is a little disappointed his gift has not yet elicited Kun’s smile. But then, Kun puts on one of the stud earrings, the tiniest crescent moon cradling a clear stone, and Ten forgets the disappointment. He fumbles until Ten has to reach over and help him put it on. Where Ten’s fingers meet Kun’s earlobe, something feels terribly, terribly wrong. Or right. Ten clears his throat and backs away. Kun fidgets with the earring and goes quiet for a minute. Then he, too, clears his throat and says, “Are you always this generous with your favorites? Even there?”
“Huh?”
“I’m sure you had… I’m sure you had people to dote on and people to dote on you when you went there. Or wherever you go, really.” Kun tries a smirk. Even Ten is pained by how forced it looks.
“No one I could remember the moment I stepped foot here.” Ten whispers. Truth. Self-expression. Communication. He tries to make his voice louder. “And I don’t think so, you know I tend to like receiving a bit more than giving.” Except with you. With you I am always on equal ground.
This last part, he regrets not voicing out. Because then, neither of them speak. Kun puts away his gifts back in the crumply paper bag one by one. Then he resumes his previous occupation of unfolding and refolding Ten’s clothes. When Kun talks again, it is torturously tender. “You’ll be here a while, right? We’ll make sure of that?”
Is he trying as hard as Ten at this truth thing? What are they doing this for? For a second, Ten balks at certain inevitabilities. Like second nature, his teasing tone slips, “So sexy of you to say.”
“I just mean—” Predictably, Kun is unsettled. “With your mini album coming up, the company better not fuck it up with their scheduling. I mean, you were thriving there, too. It’s just—your next activities seem to be planned for here, right? They have to stick to it.” Post-ramble, his face wears shame. The gifts put away, his fingers fidget with the intentional rip on his jeans.
The push and pull—especially the one with himself—tires Ten out. He knows he should have denied himself the opportunity to retreat into his teasing. Still, enough openness is established in the evening for it to be a complete waste. He stops Kun’s hand from scratching at his ripped jeans. Closes his palms around it. “Thanks, Kun. I am proud of what I achieved there.”
Kun offers the smallest of smiles. It does not look like practice anymore, but neither does it look like the ideal. Still. It is enough for Ten to go on. “And it’s also been… kind of lonely. You know that.”
“I know.” Kun says. His gaze pierces right through Ten. It is neither hurtful nor comforting, only real. “And I also know people offered you company.”
“Kun, you can’t fault me for that.”
“I know.”
Suddenly, Kun is on his feet, his gifts slung on one arm. He explains something about how they would never get to finish putting away all the stuff and cleaning up Ten’s room that evening anyway. And how, even if they could, they probably should take a break first. And how it’s not like Ten hasn’t delayed dealing with the box, so why bother rushing now.
Ten grows suspicious. It sounds like something he would have said, not Kun, not with his Capricorn sun. But then Kun throws out an invitation: “Do you wanna hear the new music I’ve been composing? We can have wine and hang out in my room instead.”
The thrumming inside Ten’s body begs attention. It envelops his center, then his limbs. If he is not careful, it would break through his pink SMTown shirt and his loose gray shorts. And what a waste that would be, considering these are his comfiest home garments. Soon, the thrumming is accompanied by a louder, deeper thumping in his chest. Kun offers to play his music, and here is Ten’s body, already making it.
---
Ten volunteers to head back out into the kitchen for two wine glasses while Kun sets up his laptop.
Soon, Ten thinks: Kun’s music, as always, is amazing. While Ten’s instrument is his body—by no means inferior to other instruments, if Ten could say so himself—the ones at Kun’s disposal are seemingly endless. He plays a modern jazz song that samples classical music. He plays one that could be the soundtrack of a film about forgotten gods, whimsical yet dark and so, so lonely. On their third serving of wine, the last of the bottle, he plays a remix of Miracle and offers, “How about we try remixing from your mini? One of the few raw tracks you have apart from Birthday?”
“I haven’t done my other recordings yet. I only have a few rough trials from when we first reworked the demo lyrics.”
“Great. So that gives us more space to play.”
Ten is shy but relents. He transfers a file from his phone onto Kun’s laptop. While Kun plays the rough track and tinkers around, Ten volunteers again to get a new wine bottle, if only so he does not have to see Kun’s face listening to his song.
Another round of liquor is Ten’s solution. He sips wordlessly on his glass, sitting on Kun’s bed. Kun seems to forget his. He is already busy.
So alive, his fingers are jamming on his MIDI keyboard, invoking layers of beats and strings. They paint the whole room. “Does this”—Kun plays one excerpt—“or this”—and then he plays another with different layers— “sound better?”
“Uh huh,” Ten says. Kun just chuckles. He is not always this dumb, Ten knows. But for some reason, he currently has difficulty breathing, and that sort of thing makes it hard to be coherent. He pours himself another glass—his fifth already—to distract himself. But the way Kun plays with Ten’s song is just beginning to be ruinous. Only half an hour of trying and it already sounds so, so good. There is only so much Ten could do to avoid ruin.
And there it is, the cacophony. Because the thrumming and thumping inside Ten’s own body just won’t shut up, he could barely focus on the music coming from Kun. Everything is too loud. Everything is too much. Everything is unbearable.
Ten stands up, a bit dizzy, and walks on over to Kun. The man at the core of the cacophony he has to get rid of. He does not know yet how he could, but he would—and soon enough his body finds a way. He leans from behind Kun, places his hand on his to stop him from playing music. Confused, Kun asks, “Ten?”
Ten turns the swivel chair around so that they are facing each other. He pulls on the arm rests to pull Kun closer, and then immediately closes the remaining distance. Bending down, Ten crashes his mouth on Kun’s. For a second, everything goes quiet.
Kun—so much like himself, thank fuck—does not miss a beat. He presses his lips just as forcefully onto Ten’s. His hand slides up on the side of Ten’s neck, holds onto his nape, keeping him in place. They stay like that for a moment, tongues catching each other’s rhythm—finally, finally, they are in sync. Ten bites down on Kun’s lip, traces on Kun’s lower teeth with his tongue, and moans. Kun moans in return. It echoes, replacing his music that has just left the room.
With that, they kiss harder. Their mouths aim for deeper. And they pull each other even closer—so impossibly close that Kun spreads his thighs to let Ten stand in between them, that Ten pushes Kun’s chair back until it hits the table, makes all the things there tremble. So impossibly close that Kun has no choice but to slip his other hand under Ten’s shirt, grab at his waist, and pull him onto his lap, that Ten has no choice but to sit on Kun’s thigh and wrap his arms around his neck.
From here, Kun’s access to Ten’s jaw is perfect. He leaves Ten’s mouth for a bit—which elicits a wordless whine from Ten, a sound unholy—and trails his own lips down Ten’s chin, lingering on his jaw. And then, Kun’s hand still on Ten’s nape, he slides it up a bit more until he clutches at the back of his head. He grasps at Ten’s hair—hard enough to be in control but careful enough not to hurt just yet—and tilts his head back and slightly to the side. This, so his open mouth could trail slow kisses down the side of Ten’s neck. This, so he could find the perfect spot for leaving bruises. Ten feels this with every inch of his skin. Whatever bruise is blooming feels like it taints his entire body.
Underneath his, Ten feels Kun’s thighs quiver. The sensation makes him feel dizzier. Pressing their mouths together again, Ten could still taste the remnants of wine on Kun’s lips. He is sure Kun tastes the same from him. Perhaps it is that, which makes his head spin, which gets him somehow more drunk from the kiss with each passing second. To tease, he pulls away—it is Kun’s turn to whine—and stands a little, then reaches behind the chair to retrieve Kun’s untouched wine glass. Back on Kun’s lap, Ten takes a sip. Because their bodies are still precariously tangled, drops of it spill from his mouth and onto his shirt.
“Put that down,” Kun whispers low, and Ten follows, reaching back behind the chair. When Kun hears the clink of the glass against the wood of the table, he grabs Ten’s wrist and holds it down on his own lap. Then he kisses on the side of Ten’s mouth, down his chin and jaw again, licking the wine. Because Kun’s mouth could go no further, his hand tugs on Ten’s shirt to reveal his collarbones, strong enough to hear the fabric tear a little. Perhaps a stitch or two, breaking.
This drives Ten to the edge. And perhaps beyond, when Kun prays to his collarbones, “God, you make a mess of everything.”
“And you make me a mess,” Ten says before putting his weight back down on his feet to stand up. He finally takes off the wine-stained shirt and drops it on the floor. Then he kisses Kun again, this time by pulling him back up from the chair.
Somehow, they end up on the bed, this time with their positions reversed. Facing each other, Ten sits with his legs spread out, Kun stands in between. When Kun, too, takes his shirt off, Ten trails kisses from his chest down to his stomach. His lips linger below Kun’s navel as his fingers fumble on the button of his ripped jeans. And as they fall on Kun’s feet, Ten’s mouth, too, is pulled down by gravity. He allows himself this, daring to kiss lower, to answer to his own wanting.
Naked and aching and never sated, Kun and Ten finally unravel each other. Lying on his back again in Kun’s bed, breathless and begging to be fucked harder, Ten’s body finally comes home. And moving so deep and so slow inside Ten, breathless and endlessly giving, Kun’s body finally welcomes him. Calling out each other’s names, breathless and undone, they let each other come.
Afterwards, still both naked in his bed, Kun mumbles on Ten’s hair, “I’m sure you missed sleeping in this room.” Perhaps he means: I know just how much you missed me. Perhaps he means: stay. Perhaps that’s the same thing.
“Why?” Ten says on the crook of Kun’s neck, eyes already closed, hanging on his consciousness by a thread.
“Because I missed sleeping in yours.” Kun says. Perhaps he means: I missed you just as bad. Perhaps he means: I could stay now, after nights like this. I would. Perhaps, again, the same thing.
Ten scoffs, slightly awakened. “No, Kun. When this happens in my room, you always try to leave after.”
“And the crucial word there is try.” Kun retorts. How he could remain clear-headed even after the drinking and the fucking is beyond Ten. But he is right. That, or Ten is just too sleepy to think otherwise.
Drifting off, however, Ten remembers what he has witnessed through the pet camera while he was away. Remembers all the times Kun went inside his room just to pet the cats, perched on their tower, or to sit on his bed. Or sometimes, even to lie down and hold Ten’s pillow for a while, but never to stay the night.
For the first time in a long time, Ten smiles in his sleep.
---
“Good morning,” Ten mumbles sleepily, already kissing the side of Kun’s face. It has only been a hot second since he woke up. He is still lying down on Kun’s arm, snuggled on his chest. Did they stay like that the whole night? Is Kun’s arm okay? The question wakes Ten a bit more. He rises a little and places his weight on one elbow, lying down on his side now to look at Kun.
“Hi hi,” Kun says then raises the arm Ten just left to cover his eyes. He looks… almost too shy. Ten wonders why. Well, at least his arm looks okay. “Your phone’s been buzzing for a while now. It’s on my table. Buzz then stop, then a few minutes later, buzz then stop again. I think you have to check your messages.”
“No, I don’t.” Ten says, surprised by the thought that Kun thinks to share with him, first thing in the day. “There’s something more important I have to check.” He grasps Kun’s hand and moves it away from his face.
In the daylight, and now without the cloud of alcohol making everything so loud, the want inside Ten’s body shifts. Instead of an unbearable thrumming, there is a calm rhythm inside him now, a rhythm that swells when he gazes at Kun’s face.
Kun turns away, but Ten catches his chin and kisses him before he could. At first, it is light and slow and pretty—a dessert kiss, perhaps, after last night’s intensity—and Ten takes his time. He notices, however, that his gentleness does not translate to Kun’s. Instead, Kun kisses him back with an inexplicable awkwardness.
Ten continues kissing him, anyway. Kun parts his mouth a little, then hesitates to move. Almost as if he forgot how to kiss, which Ten knows is insane, considering the mess Kun made of him just last night. But this Kun in the morning—or is it afternoon already—is clumsy and unsure. Ten wonders.
Finally breaking away, Ten gives the other man a long, concerned look. Kun bites his lip, and then says, “Ten, how did it, um, feel like… to be with other people?”
Oh.
For a moment, no response comes to Ten. Part of him freezes. The other part of him that does not is confused and agitated. He decides to tease, if only to mask his fear of answering too honestly. “Are you seriously revealing this right now? That I’m your first and only?”
“God, no,” Kun chuckles and cringes. For a brief second, it makes Ten think the conversation would go fine. But then Kun’s face turns somber again. “It’s just, like, it’s been a while for me. I guess, I haven’t—I mean, not since we started. And when we, of course, stopped because you left… Without you here, well, I—” I have not been sleeping with anyone else.
This is new information. Before Ten left for China, he and Kun trudged through a vague conversation about how it is only natural to want another body in bed when they get lonely. A body they could not be for each other from miles and miles away. It seems Kun has found a truth more natural than this.
“Ugh, this will sound so stupid, but I’m just not sure how good of a kisser I am now,” Kun continues, chewing on his lower lip. Ten hates himself for obsessing over how adorable it is, especially as Kun looks so torn about what he is saying. “I guess compared to the people you had there. Especially without practice.”
What the fuck did Ten just hear? He repeats Kun’s words in his head. Lets them sink in. Raising an eyebrow, he exclaims, “Exactly how much do you think I managed to whore myself out in China?”
“Um, yes?”
Ten should feel insulted. Instead, he kisses Kun gently again, waits for him to respond. When Kun begins to do so, albeit still hesitantly, Ten urges him by nibbling lightly on his lips. Soon, Ten finds himself too alive again, and with him, the thrumming.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he whispers on Kun’s cheek. “Do you want me to apologize?” He rasps, kissing the soft skin between jaw and ear. “Or do you want me to ask for permission next time?”
“You know there’s no need.” Kun shudders. Ten does know. They have never been explicitly exclusive, although Ten did stop fucking around in Seoul when he and Kun started fucking each other. It’s just more practical and safe that way. And Kun has just admitted to the same earlier. China, well, has been lonely. Without Kun, even more so. And Ten could not afford to lose himself in the loneliness, but he could afford to lose himself in another’s body every now and then. “I guess I’m just curious.”
“You mean jealous.” Ten tucks Kun’s hair behind his ear so he could kiss it, take his earlobe fully in his mouth. Kun shudders again. “Does me doing this to someone else piss you off?” Ten licks near the earring, his crescent gift. Then he sucks, a movement soft and devious. Kun, as expected, squirms. He arches his back, perhaps not of his own volition. “And this?” Ten lifts his own body up and straddles Kun’s hips now, both of them still bare. He trails kisses along the other’s shoulders. “And maybe something like this?” He pins Kun’s arms on the pillow, caging his face.
“Not in the way you think. Not like I own you or something.”
“Ah, shame about that. So in what way then, baby?”
“I just fucking missed you, Ten.” Kun confesses, half-angry, half-pained. It turns Ten inside out more than any other moan from last night. But he knows he has to stop kissing Kun for a moment. So Ten pulls back to look at his face and listen to his rough breathing, still pinning his arms down. Kun breathes out, “There. I don’t hate that you fucked other people, I swear. I just hate that we couldn’t fuck for a while.”
“That’s good enough.” Ten breathes back. It is, at least, good enough for Ten to continue working his mouth on Kun’s neck.
“You know this is different, right?” Ten whispers near his jugular. One of his hands gathers Kun’s wrists above his own head, pins it there, while the other traverses Kun’s side until it reaches his thigh. “You always feel…” Ten lets his hand reach somewhere unbearable. Kun gasps and gives in, tries to reclaim Ten’s mouth. “So different.” This time, they kiss with something to prove. Ten pauses and parts from Kun, only to breathe an inch away, “You are always so good.”
Kun breaks his wrists free from Ten’s grip, and props himself up on the bed using his hands. Now he is sitting while Ten still straddles him. Once he gains his balance, his hands begin to wander Ten’s back. Ten’s arms automatically wrap around Kun’s neck. They kiss as if they are pouring their entire bodies into it. Like this, nearly every curve, every crevice of their bodies fit right into each other.
Neither of them could mind the sweltering heat of the summer. Not when the sweat makes some of Kun’s hair stick on his forehead, and some of it sway, wet with droplets, in front his face. Not when Ten’s body flushes red everywhere. Not when the salt of their skin sing together like this. And eventually, not when the sweat pools between Ten’s stomach and the bedsheets, between his back and Kun’s chest. Not when the salt tastes so, so good in Ten’s mouth as Kun slips a finger inside, then another.
When it’s all over once again, they could not snuggle together without first turning up the airconditioning. A laugh escapes Ten, dangerous and contagious. Kun laughs, too.
Walking back to the bed, Kun admits, “So you were convincing a while ago. But now that my hand is no longer inside your mouth, talk. Really, how is this different?”
Ten pulls Kun back onto the bed. They sit beside each other now, backs to the headboard. Ten says, “I don’t do it like this,” and places a chaste kiss on Kun’s lips. “I can’t.”
Whatever he means, Kun seems to understand. He blushes and hides his face on Ten’s shoulder. His breath tickles, which elicits Ten’s giggle. Ten continues, “See, they can’t do it like that either. Like you do. They tried.”
Kun blushes even more furiously. But his self-esteem must be returning, because he prods Ten further, “How else am I different?”
“Getting competitive, I see.” Ten smirks. “Would it satisfy your kink if I said the details don’t matter anyway because you’re always my first place?”
“Maybe.” Kun makes an expression, unconvinced. “But details are always helpful.”
“Frankly, Kun, I don’t think any runner-up is even possible.” Now that the room is colder and their sweat has dried up, Ten could cuddle closer to Kun. Fuck it, he thinks, and holds the other’s hand, somehow more tender than anything they have done this morning. He allows his thumb to draw circles on Kun’s skin.
“Keep going.” Kun says with a gesture.
“I already said you’re first place, what more do you need to hear?” Ten rolls his eyes but keeps talking. “Okay, maybe, there don’t have to be places at all, only yours.”
The offer that slips out of his own mouth surprises Ten. His voice, then, turns delicate, wears an overdue tenderness. “If you want it—god knows I do. If you only say so.”
“Sshh, that’s enough.” Kun whispers. There is a tremble in his voice that tells Ten yes. And Ten knows it in his body, knows it in his bones. Yes, this is enough.
Rising from the headboard, Kun positions his face directly in front of Ten’s. He blinks once, twice. Finally, finally, there is a perfect smile gracing his lips. No longer practice, Ten thinks, but the real thing. Ten could not help leaning in for another kiss. And he could not help but feel some kind of peace. Some kind of calm. Some sensible rhythm.
But then Kun begins again and trails off, staring impatiently at Ten’s lips. “How about…” Of course, their proximity could so easily be weaponized by either of them. Who is weaponizing what right now is unclear. But right now, it is so easy to give in. “Make out now, talk more later?”
“Wow, you’re not sick of it yet?” Ten chirps, eyes sparkling. Kun just shakes his head.
“See, this is why you’re first place, and all the places.” Ten sighs, helpless. If only it is always this easy to spare a compliment and admit defeat between the two of them. No, not defeat. This time, Kun wins, and Ten neither loses nor surrenders. Perhaps this time, the consequence is neither loss nor surrender, but both of them being stupidly, irrevocably won over.