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His fingers move on their own on the violin’s fingerboard. Yangyang has known how to play that very song by heart for years. It’s the one he always comes back to, doesn’t even have to think about, as soon as he takes his violin out of its case. It’s a habit to always start with his index finger pressed to play a B, then moving the bow onto the next string, and the melody flows.
𝄾 B ♪ E F ♫
Not like he has actively tried to stop this habit. It’s an easy tune, one that sticks to your mind and won’t leave you alone, but not one that annoys you, you barely even remember it’s there, creeping in a corner of your brain.
It’s attached to old memories, happy memories, amazing memories of times long forgotten otherwise, of a period in his life he never wishes to revisit. Except for that melody.
A happy place.
Knee and elbow pads on, wrist guards and a helmet, his violin on his back, and Yangyang is ready to skate. Which is a great thing considering he is very late and Guanheng will have his head. He had promised him he would be on time, that they would even have time to practise, and it’s not like Guanheng can carry his drum around as easily as Yangyang does his violin. Well, too late now, he lost track of time, and they have practised before. It will be alright.
Except once Yangyang finally arrives, Guanheng is not mad at all. Instead, he is lost in a conversation with a pretty boy, maybe about Yangyang’s height, with a defined jawline, and eyebrows that show his every emotion. Yangyang smiles. Exactly Guanheng’s type. Perfect then, he is not in trouble, he just has to be discreet, go to their studio, and then he can reprimand Guanheng for being late.
Yangyang loves to play the violin. He is somewhat glad it isn’t his full-time job, that they are just doing gigs here and there with Guanheng because he is a bit afraid he would have grown weary of it otherwise. As it is, it works fine, they both have jobs they don’t despise but don’t overly adore either. But it’s his first actual adult job after university, so who is he to complain? And whenever the routine of life becomes too heavy and wears him down, he can escape to music, by plucking the strings he knows well, or he goes out and skates to take his head off.
It’s alright.
Maybe not ideal, maybe not exactly the life he would have pictured, but it’s alright. He has his best friend by his side, a few friends here and there, a safe space to live in, where he can be himself without worrying too much. It’s alright. And whenever it becomes too dull, he can just banter with Guanheng about his latest crush, or how he is the one late when he had been reprimanding Yangyang of the very same thing.
It’s not ideal, but it’s better than he thought it could be. It’s better than he ever imagined it could be when he was scared and terrified and alone. It was awful, back then. It was easier, once he was at university, away from his hometown, from the launderette, from everyone who knew him, who knew too much, who never called him Yangyang. Who despised him just for existing. He hated everything about this place, never understood how anyone could call it home. He hated it. Well, maybe not the launderette, that place was alright. More than alright.
♫ G F E G ♫
At no point during the night did Yangyang expect to see two very familiar faces in the crowd. Not that it’s an odd sight in itself, but those are people he hasn’t seen in… probably years. Ever since they finished university themselves, a few years prior to Yangyang’s graduation, and moved out to live their own lives. No, that’s not exactly true, Sicheng has been there, Ten was the only one absent throughout the years, moving abroad again, only to be heard of through text messages and god did it hurt. At first, they called, they face-timed even, they chatted, but Yangyang has never been great at keeping in touch, and Ten has always been a fleeting being, too far away for his grasp, only to be remembered and idolised from what he recollected.
Except Yangyang could recognise him even in a crowd, which is exactly what happens. His button nose, and long hair, and that huge smile of his, how he pesters Sicheng by his side who tries to get away from his grasp, and it almost brings him back to years before. When Yangyang was by their side, when Ten was still there, and they were just students, believing themselves to be on the top of the world, getting drunk every other night, and most nights Yangyang would end up annoying Guanheng about how ethereal Ten had looked that night, whether their hair was long, and they were wearing a skirt and heels or the most basic pair of jeans and sunglasses to hide their hungover.
He almost trips on his own feet, the moment he realises it’s not a fragment of his imagination, the moment their eyes meet and Ten’s smile grows wider, and he could almost hear his voice, even through the crowd, still able to read on his lips even after all those years.
It hasn’t been that long, he reckons, only three years. Two, because for the first one, Ten was still around, coming by every other week and asking how everything was going and annoying Yangyang by pinching his cheeks and asking about his latest crush or whatever was going on in his life. Acting as if he had to baby Yangyang, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to go through life on his own.
And in some ways, Ten has always understood him better than most of their friends, better than Guanheng even. Yangyang has always been able to go to Ten, whenever he was feeling blue, or hormones were messing him up again, and he was feeling awful because did he really need to go through the acne phase again? Did the second-puberty thingy need to be so thorough? Just a deeper voice and no breast and maybe not such a small nose would be enough, thank you. He wouldn’t have been against a more defined jawline either, but apparently, that had something to do with genetics or whatever.
Sure, they had met at their university’s queer alliance, but that didn’t mean they were many trans students around to share experiences with. So Yangyang had Ten. And Ten had Yangyang.
Until they didn’t.
Thankfully, he still knows how to play the violin, how to sway his bow, and press on the correct key, even if his mind is all over the place, even when he wonders why Ten is there and hasn’t bothered to inform them, or why Sicheng didn’t bother to warn them either. But again, why would he have to warn them that their common friend was around?
The gig goes by, a song, and another, and some claps from the audience, but Yangyang’s eyes never leave their friends, huddled close in a booth. He doesn’t miss the shine in Ten’s eyes nor the small smile - but proud nonetheless - that brightens Sicheng’s face when it’s time for Guanheng’s drum solo. He doesn’t miss the hushed words he cannot hear through the crowd nor his own violin, and he cannot read on their lips from that far away, especially when the stage light is blinding him. And god does he wish he could. What he would give to know, truly know, what Ten thought of him, all those years ago, and even now? It sounds ridiculous, absurd and preposterous to still be hung up on him, even after all this time. But there is just something about Ten that Yangyang has never managed to shake off. Maybe it’s the way he always felt safe and at home whenever he was nearby. Maybe it’s the way he babied him after all, even if Yangyang would never admit it. Maybe it’s just Ten and he’s doomed and even when he thought he was over it, he was over him, there will always be lingering feelings.
But they are just friends. He’s just Ten’s baby, from when they were at university together and Ten felt like he had to protect Yangyang, to take care of him. Nothing more. Never more.
He stops the pout from coming upon his face, smiles instead, because it’s what he is supposed to do as he bows to thank the audience, and then he is off.
♫ F E F ♩ D 𝅗𝅥
“Did you know? Did you know they would be there??” Yangyang almost screams at Guanheng as soon as they are safe backstage and away from wandering ears.
Judging from Guanheng’s smirk, he did. He did and he didn’t say a word to Yangyang on purpose.
“If you had been on time I could have told you Sicheng had messaged me. But someone was late. Ain’t my fault, honey.”
Yes, obviously Guanheng had to put the blame on Yangyang’s terrible time management. As if he was any better. As if Sicheng wasn’t one to let them know days in advance - if not weeks - so Guanheng had to know before today. And he purposefully chose to keep this piece of information hidden from Yangyang. What a best friend he is.
He wants to know more, he wants to ask more, he wants to know whether Ten is back for real, or if he’s just around for a few days, a week tops, and then he’ll be gone again. But a knock at the door stops him from even starting his interrogation. Yangyang decides to ignore it, focusing on putting his violin back in its case, while Guanheng goes to answer.
“Yes, they said they knew you? I can send them back if you prefer.”
The door creaks when Guanheng opens it wider. And dread settles in Yangyang’s stomach when he recognises the voice he knows by heart. To be fair, he doesn’t just hear Ten’s voice, Sicheng is definitely there as well, it’s not like he came alone, but it feels like he hasn’t heard Ten’s voice in so long, he hates how soothing it sounds, how familiar it is, when he hears:
“Hey, baby.”
And the next thing he knows, he has his arms full of Ten, hugging him close.
“I’ve missed you.” He can hear Ten’s suave voice in his ear, and all is forgotten.
It’s not like he holds any grudge against him, it’s not like Ten has done something wrong. If anything, Yangyang is the one who is terrible at keeping in touch. He hugs him back, relishes in how it feels like they’re back to when they could do that every other day, in how familiar it is, having Ten close, in how reassuring his simple presence still is. Even after all this time.
And it’s over all too soon, because the manager is back at the door, hurrying them out; they are not supposed to have guests around, they are barely supposed to stay around themselves. Yangyang barely even has time to say a quick hello to Sicheng before they are out before they get just a few minutes to gather their things and follow them.
But even with how pressing the manager is, he still keeps them around for another few minutes, to debrief their gig, Guanheng is the only one who truly pays attention, Yangyang’s mind is somewhere else entirely.
His heart does a weird flip when he notices two familiar silhouettes on the parking lot, not standing too close to one another, because Sicheng always hated the smell of cigarettes, and Ten is smoking, perched upon a low wall. As soon as they notice them, Ten and Sicheng wave at them, Ten being too enthusiastic as he always is, while Sicheng is a bit more laid-back.
♫ E D C E ♫
Well, Ten is drunk.
He hasn’t missed this, Yangyang tries to convince himself. Ten, drunk and clingy and clutching to him as if his life depended on it. He hasn’t missed handsy Ten who has no sense of privacy nor what is appropriate or not.
No. He hasn’t.
But he still doesn’t shove him aside as he would Guanheng. He supports him, puts his arm around him to make sure he doesn’t fall, to make sure he stands up and walks as they roam the streets back to Sicheng’s flat. He hasn’t missed Ten’s cheek on his shoulder, he hasn’t missed his breath against his neck, even if he reeks of alcohol and tobacco. He somehow managed to convince him that no, they could not skate back, because Yangyang still had his violin, and he only had one skateboard, and Ten could barely stand, never mind having both of them skate. It would have been an accident waiting to happen.
Guanheng and Sicheng are walking much more quickly than the both of them, already a few feet ahead, but not going too far as Yangyang would have no idea where to turn next otherwise. He tries to speed along, but it’s hard when Ten is holding him back, talking rubbish, not even articulating properly enough for Yangyang to catch an entire sentence of his nonsense.
And finally, they arrive, just in time for Yangyang to hear Sicheng ask if they’ll be alright going home or if they want to crash. Thankfully Guanheng denies, they don’t live too far away, and they are still sober enough. Yangyang hums his agreement. He is not sure he could survive one night squished against Ten because there is no room for them to sleep if not right against one another. He hands Ten to Sicheng, who obliges, even if he looks disgruntled, but not before Ten states:
“Baaaby, we should catch up.”
Yangyang is well aware that Guanheng is smirking now, while Sicheng probably doesn’t give a fuck. He feels himself blushing, and he wants to blame it on the alcohol, but it truly has to do with how Ten singles him out, staring straight at him as he says those words. Yangyang has no choice but to nod.
♫ D C B ♩.
“No, but he asked you to catch up, not me. I swear you were always his favourite.” Guanheng whines.
It’s the next morning. Yangyang’s headache is taking too much of his brain space to deal with Guanheng’s nonsense, and they have been having this conversation for at least half an hour by now, but still, he replies.
“He used to hang out at your dorm all the time.”
He blames his weariness for the fact that he doesn’t manage to hide the resentment from his voice. He knows he insisted on the ‘your’ with a bit more force than strictly necessary. And he knows why he did it. However, if his friend hears it, he doesn’t comment on it.
“Yes, but he never babied me.”
“Didn’t ask for it.” Yangyang replies, going back to sipping his tea.
“As if you didn’t enjoy it.”
He is glad his face is hidden by his cup because he can sense the blush going up to his cheek. Guanheng is wrong, he is obviously mistaken. Yangyang has always hated this nickname, how small it made him feel: like he never really was an adult in Ten’s eyes, and therefore neither in everyone else’s. He hates it, but at the same time, he doesn’t completely despise the way Ten’s voice sounds when he slurs the word out.
And Guanheng knows him too well.
“Anyway, Sicheng texted me, they’re free tonight. You up?”
Yangyang nods. He’ll squeeze as much Ten-time as he can, Guanheng didn’t even have to ask.
“Text me the address, I’ll meet you there as soon as I finish my class.”
Guanheng only hums as an answer.
♪ C A C ♫
They are back in a pub, Guanheng and Sicheng by their side, the next time they hang out. This time Ten is suspiciously sober, switching to non-alcoholic beverages after his first cocktail. Which means he isn’t as clingy nor touchy as he used to be during their nights out.
“Anygays.” Guanheng starts with.
He, for sure, isn’t sober.
“I think I should head home. I have a date tomorrow and I do not want to be hungover.” He continues.
Yangyang smirks. He puts his elbows on the table separating them, his head resting on his hand, as he asks:
“A date now? With whom?”
“... His name is Dejun.” Guanheng discloses reluctantly.
Dejun, Dejun, it sounds familiar. Yangyang searches in his mind, when did… Right. The guy from the gig, the one Yangyang thought Guanheng was too invested in to notice him being late.
“Enjoyyy.” Yangyang singsongs.
“You better not wake me up when you come home.” Guanheng threatens.
Yangyang only responds with a smirk, finally laying back on the booth behind him.
“Wait, I think I’ll go as well. Mind if we walk together for a bit?” Sicheng says, getting up.
Guanheng shakes his head. He looks positively delighted by this turn of events. Yangyang will make sure to remember pestering him about it later. It would be a missed opportunity otherwise.
“Ten, you still have your spare key?” Sicheng asks.
“Yes, don’t worry, I’ll be as quiet as a cat when I come home.” Ten slurs the words, a small smile playing on his lips, almost dangerously.
“As long as you don’t miaow in my ear, I don’t care.” Sicheng shrugs.
They wave their goodbye, and then it’s just the two of them, Yangyang sipping on his straw as Ten toys with his empty glass.
It’s silent for a minute or two, just the two of them not really looking at one another, the sound of the pub around them, people chatting and muted music, but it’s silent between the two of them.
“D’you…” Yangyang starts.
“Feel like getting out of here?” Ten finishes.
♫ C B A C ♫
It has to be fitting, for Yangyang to be back in a launderette, candies long forgotten on the small side table as Ten pushes him against one of the washing machines.
It’s not the same launderette - thankfully so - but it’s close enough. Open 24/7, and it’s night outside, they are alone, and are - or rather were - eating candies straight out of the supermarket’s bag as if they were still kids. Except now the sweets are forgotten, and Yangyang did not expect to have his back against a washer’s door. At least it’s not on at the moment. He can barely breathe as Ten pins him against it. He wonders if it’s all a game to him. The candies, the launderette, the violin and the skateboard. Even Ten’s cigarettes are just sitting there as if everything was a canvas, a scene painted rather than something truly happening.
The smell of detergent is strong, stronger than anything else, stronger than the tobacco even, stronger than the sugar Yangyang had just been ingesting.
And it does look like a game, when Ten takes out the lollipop he has been sucking, before putting it in Yangyang’s mouth. He gapes for a second, before closing it, his teeth hitting the plastic straw right before the candy falls from his mouth. And Ten stands back, smirking again, as he goes to sit on the table, perched up, his arms going around his knees but not before he stretches out.
And what did Yangyang think? That he would just go and kiss him senseless? In a lame launderette in the middle of the night? He sucks angrily on the lollipop. It tastes good. He is so very stupid.
♫ B A C B ♫
They are speeding on the streets, and Yangyang is still toying with the plastic straw of the long-finished lollipop. He should probably take it out of his mouth, lest he falls and ends up hurting himself with it. But he cannot resign himself to do it. And he still has his violin on his back, his skateboard under his arm, at least this time Ten didn’t ask to skate on the way back. Even if he would feel more balanced on his skate than by Ten’s side. Well, he probably would not if Ten was hugging his back while skating to be fair.
“So.” Ten says. “You don’t mind it now?”
Yangyang has no idea what he is referring to.
“That Guanheng includes you in ‘the gays’?” Ten adds when Yangyang doesn’t answer.
And Ten has stopped walking now, dead in his tracks, right in front of Yangyang, who almost trips on him from how abruptly he has halted.
“No? He’s not exactly wrong.” Yangyang replies.
Ten blinks at him. Quickly. Too quickly, and Yangyang wonders if maybe he drank more than he thought. But he seems stable on his feet, he doesn’t stink of alcohol, Yangyang can barely even smell the cigarettes on him. He smells sweet, of candies, and lollipops.
“Wait… What do you mean he… I thought you were straight?” Ten stutters.
“Well, so did I. Turns out I was wrong.”
“How did you figure it out? When was that?” Ten asks, still blinking in his face.
And Yangyang can’t answer that. He lowers his head, breaks the eye contact they were maintaining so far. He can’t answer that. He can’t tell Ten it’s because he used to have a big crush on him. Right. Used to. Past tense. The crush is definitely gone by now.
When Yangyang looks back up, Ten has stood back. He isn’t looking at him any longer. But he is offering his hand. Yangyang blinks, unsure of what to do. But then Ten is smiling sweetly, almost sheepishly, and Yangyang cannot leave him hanging. So he grabs it, almost stabbing himself in the mouth with how suddenly Ten pulls him along.
“Come on, let’s go home.”
They are speeding on the streets again, but they are not chatting any longer, and Yangyang can hear every sound around them, the low traffic, the car brakes, the wind that whistles in the trees surrounding them, and the muffled noise of his violin straps’ rings clapping against the case. They are not heading towards Sicheng’s, Yangyang realises quite late. Somehow, Ten has memorised the way to his flat, and he is bringing him there. He almost wants to argue, to insist on seeing him safely, because he doesn’t live in this city anymore, because it should be Yangyang’s responsibility now. But he knows him too well to know he’ll just baby him, he’ll just treat him as a kid. And it’s a much better feeling to be walked home, hand in hand, than being called “baby” and to feel humiliated by it.
And they are already there, Ten’s hand slipping from his, Yangyang is right against the door, already unlocking it, out of habit, even when he wishes time could stretch out.
“You sure you’ll be okay going home on your own?” Yangyang asks, chewing on his lower lips.
“Yes, baby. It’s not even that late.”
“You could always crash here if not…” Yangyang argues, purposefully ignoring the pet name.
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother. And Sicheng has a guest room. It’s alright, I’ll see you soon anyway?”
It sounds like a question. As if Yangyang will not jump on every chance he gets to see Ten before he leaves again. He nods nonetheless. And Ten’s face brightens. Or maybe it’s just the street lamp messing with his mind. He’s under the threshold, almost in the entry hall. At any time now, Ten will be gone, maybe he just wants to make sure he gets home safely, but he’s already there, refusing to even go upstairs and have a cup of tea or a glass of water.
Maybe he should say something, but his mind comes up blank as he pushes the door wide open with his back, not wanting to turn his back to Ten just yet.
But then Ten walks closer, crossing the distance between them, Yangyang doesn’t have any time to react before there is a peck left on his lips, and he stumbles backwards as Ten pushes him into his entry hall. The door closes as he watches Ten run out in the streets, not looking back.
♫ A C B A ♫
For the first time in years, music doesn’t help. The familiar feeling of the bow hair rubbing against the strings, the light weight of his bow, that can stand in perfect balance if only you know where to hold it… It doesn’t work. There is a ghost of lips on his own that he cannot scrub away, doesn’t want to scrub away, because it’s not some stranger in a pub, it’s not someone he has been flirting with and was expecting or hoping for, it’s Ten. It’s Ten and it’s terrifying and he hasn’t even told Guanheng, who’s chatting enthusiastically about Dejun and the last texts they exchanged.
Yangyang wishes he had a Dejun, someone simple, a fleeting crush that might become more if only they both wanted it and actively went for it. Instead, he’s left with a ghost of lips on his own. A kiss that can barely be defined as one from how transient it was.
He doesn’t even have a text from Ten. Just one telling him they got home safely, but nothing more, nothing else. For all Yangyang knows, they might not even be in the country anymore, because that would be a very Ten thing to do. Peck someone and leave. Without a word.
Yangyang wants to be angry. He wants to be mad. He wishes he was furious.
Instead, he is absolutely lost. And he cannot even focus on music. He might just grab his skate and go outside for a while. Maybe the wind will help him clean the clutter of his mind.
He spends hours at the skatepark, practising the same tricks, again and again, until it hurts and his body aches everywhere and his fingers are grazed from holding onto concrete, not protected by the wrist guards. He is thankful for his knee pads, otherwise said knees would have surely been skinned by now. Even his oversized shirt is clinging to his back.
But it doesn’t help.
Nothing helps.
The ghost of lips is still there.
Consuming him.
♫ C B A C ♫
He doesn’t expect to be facing Ten, perfect makeup on, skirt and their hair styled when he gets home. Even their army shoes are by the door. He should have recognised them, they’re not Guanheng’s style. Yangyang stops dead in his tracks, skateboard still in his hand, halfway to its place in a corner of their little flat, his mouth opened wide in a silent gasp.
Ten doesn’t even acknowledge him, still enthusiastically talking with Guanheng - the traitor, didn’t he have a date or something? Yangyang is half tempted to smash his board on the ground, to make them realise that he is right there, but he’s not that childish. It will only give Ten another reason to call him “baby”. And Yangyang loathes the nickname.
He wants to crawl away from the living room, to take a shower and get a change of clothes because he is sweaty and he stinks and he wasn’t expecting anyone to be home, much less Ten themself. So he puts his skate down, as silently as he can manage, he walks on his tiptoes, letting them chat away because Ten didn’t even bother texting him to say they would be around, so why should he acknowledge their presence anyway?
Maybe the water will wash away the ghost of lips.
♫ C A C ♩.
The flat is silent when he gets out of the shower, hair still wet, and he wonders if that’s it. If they left. Both of them. They must have seen his skateboard. They must have gathered he was there. They must have heard the water hitting the tiles.
He hates himself. He missed an opportunity to see Ten. And he doesn’t even know if another will arise any time soon, or if he’ll have to wait a year, or two, or ten. His hand goes up to touch his lips, barely grazing them, before he realises it and lowers it down, chewing on his lower lip instead.
As much as he wasn’t expecting to see Ten earlier, he is even more surprised when he walks into his living room to a curled up figure on his sofa. They have stolen one of their plaids and if Yangyang didn’t know any better, he might have thought they were napping.
“Baby?” Ten says, their voice soft and sleepy, blinking their eyes open, as if Yangyang hadn’t heard them chat just a few minutes prior.
And maybe they want him to think they were napping. They should know better. His shower didn’t take that long. There is no way they could have fallen asleep in the short amount of time it took Guanheng to leave to wherever.
Now, he’s bitter. Because it’s all game to Ten, isn’t it? It’s always been a game, to rile up their “baby”? This kid they decided to take under their wing because it would be fun, wouldn’t it? But it’s not fun for Yangyang anymore. He’s just hurt and it stings.
“Baby.” They repeat, grabbing Yangyang’s wrist because he has come closer, some part of him too relieved to see that Ten was still around.
And they pull on his wrist, tugging him towards them until Yangyang obliges and sits beside them.
They are close. Too close. No closer than they have been before, but Ten had never kissed Yangyang before, so it’s not the same. He doesn’t want to look at them. He doesn’t want to hear a semblance of an excuse or an apology, nor whatever Ten is here for. He doesn’t want them to leave again and come back crashing down in his life, without so much of a warning.
He feels like everything is crumbling down again. He knows it isn’t, it can’t be as worse as it has been, he will get over it, but now he is bitter. He doesn’t want to play whatever game Ten has in mind. He doesn’t…
Fingers brush his lips, slowly, carefully, and with a bit more force until his teeth aren’t stabbing them anymore.
“Careful there, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Ten’s voice is sweet, a bit higher than some days, the same old accent Yangyang is too familiar with, even if months go by before he hears it again. He still avoids their gaze, until he can’t anymore until Ten’s forehead is pressed against his own and he has nothing to look at except Ten’s eyes.
“Babe.” They whisper, and Yangyang hiccups.
Not baby, not that roll of tongue he has heard thousands of times before, but something shorter, something endearing, just as sweet, but less childish without the ‘y’ at the end of it. And the tip of their fingers is still grazing his lips, even without the excuse of stopping Yangyang from biting himself. They aren’t looking at his eyes anymore, their gaze falling down lower on his face.
“Babe.” They repeat.
And Yangyang crashes their lips together. Full force, not holding back, not letting them time to breathe and he sucks every moan and every groan and every ‘y’ that might still follow out of Ten’s mouth.
And Ten responds just as eagerly, hand latching onto his nape as the other goes to his back to bring him closer, closer, until Yangyang is almost on Ten’s lap.
He kisses them with all the force he can muster, scratching their lips and biting their tongue and nothing is sweet nor careful about this. But Ten doesn’t run away, doesn’t push him away and leave, doesn’t act as if it’s just a game to them. Or they have truly weird ways of playing games, and if that’s it, Yangyang might just as well end up abhorring them. It’s a contrast, from how they kiss, the unhurried pace at which Ten caresses Yangyang’s nape. It’s barely a brush of fingers, even when they are so close they surely don’t have any space left between them both. Even when Ten’s other hand clutches Yangyang’s shirt, surely creasing the fabric with the strength they put into it. But even between the groans and the moans and the teeth biting flesh, there is something sweet about all of it.
It takes Yangyang a minute to notice it.
To be fair, it’s hard to notice it with how Ten’s way of kissing doesn’t lack in biting either, with how they invaded his mouth as soon as they could. But even when they break away, even when they have to break away to breathe, Ten’s fingers never leave Yangyang’s nape.
It only lasts a second, Yangyang’s moment of realisation, before Ten latches onto his lips again, this time fully bringing him on their lap. The pressure on his nape increases, just until he is as close as he can get, and then it’s back to nothing more but a caress. Barely there, but somehow more noticeable than everything else going on. It makes hope bloom inside Yangyang’s chest, and he’s not sure he’s allowed to hope, he’s not sure he’s not about to hurt himself all over again. He never knows, with Ten. He can never be certain, with Ten.
But he can’t stop now. He can’t push them back. Not when he has been longing for this very kiss for years.
He grips Ten’s shirt, holding onto it, holding onto them, as much as he can. He tries to convey everything he feels, everything he has been feeling, through this kiss. Because he’s not sure he’ll ever be brave enough to voice it all.
Until, eventually, Ten pulls back. They put their forehead back on Yangyang’s, their eyes closed, fluttering lightly, their lips still open, shining and red and puffy, and Yangyang wants to kiss them again. But then Ten is not touching his nape any longer, moving his hand to put it against Yangyang’s chest, right on his heartbeat. He holds his breath, for a second, or two, because there is no way they cannot feel his heart racing right now, there is no way they don’t realise why his heart is racing right now.
This moment doesn’t last a second. Yangyang could count the beat, count every second from the clock ticking somewhere in the flat, every sound feels like they are reverberating around him. They stay like that for what feels like an eternity - even if it actually lasts for 1 minute and 27 seconds - until Ten kisses him again.
It’s sweet, just a peck of lips at first, it’s slow, much slower than they were kissing before, but there is a hunger underneath it all that Yangyang cannot ignore. And Ten’s hand doesn’t leave his chest.
Once they separate again, Ten opens their eyes this time, and they smirk at Yangyang, who feels dreadful. Is it all a game? Is it just a game? Ten can definitely feel his heartbeat racing again, but then they grab Yangyang’s hand, placing it on their chest. And Yangyang feels it. How fast their heart is beating, how they gasp, when his fingers graze their skin, right by their shirt’s collar. The dread is still present but he hopes again.
He wants to kiss them again, they must look ridiculous, sitting on one another, with their hands on the other’s chest, just looking at one another, and neither of them making a move. Not until:
“I…” Ten smiles.
They stutter on their words. Confident, bold, fearless Ten. They stammer on their words. And their heartbeat isn’t going down.
“I thought you were straight.” Ten states, seemingly shocked by their own words. “I thought you were straight and I had no shot, no chance.” They add.
Yangyang blinks at them. It takes him a moment to understand the words. For his brain to hear them, to comprehend them. And he cannot stop the laugh from bubbling out of his chest.
“What?” Ten whines, getting back, getting away, but Yangyang grabs their shirt, effectively stopping them from fleeing.
“You... You’re the reason I realised I wasn’t straight. I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time.” Yangyang explains.
It catches him off guard. How easily he said it. How easy it is to admit it.
He has spent years hiding it, terrified of being laughed at, terrifying of being told he was nothing but a baby, someone Ten cared about, yes, but a kid nonetheless, not someone they would ever be interested in. And he just disclosed this piece of information, his most guarded secret, the one only Guanheng knew about, without so much of a thought, without so much of a hesitation.
“You…” Ten squints at him. “What?”
They chew on their lower lips, tilt their head to the side, looking up at Yangyang, because they have made themself so tiny on the sofa they have to look up, if only just a little, to glance into his eyes.
“That’s why you never told me.” Ten mumbles. “And I thought you were straight… Why didn’t you tell me?”
It isn’t. Yangyang never even thought about the fact Ten might still believe he was straight, not before they had asked him the other night. It’s not like he actively tried to hide it from them. He just never thought he would tell them how he realised he wasn’t as straight as he presumed.
“You babied me so much, when was I supposed to think I ever had a shot.” Yangyang admits, nervously.
He breaks even the opportunity of eye contact, lowering his glance to look at his sofa, at the scrunched up plaid beside them. At anything but Ten.
“Babe…”
“See!” Yangyang cuts them, looking back up, and it catches him off guard, how Ten looks at him, so very sweetly.
“Babe.” Ten repeats. “I wasn’t. Babying you. I was flirting.”
“You…” Yangyang hiccups. “But you’re always flirting. And you were joking.”
“Because I thought you were straight.” Ten sighs. “Because this way I could get away with it. But I was flirting.” They repeat.
“Are you going to leave again?” Yangyang blurts out.
Ten’s mouth drops open. Surprise painted on their face. And Yangyang hadn’t even planned on asking, hadn’t planned anything of what was happening either, to be fair, and he chews on his lips, but he doesn’t apologise, doesn’t try to call the question off.
“I… That’s what you’re afraid of?” Ten asks.
Yangyang nods. Too late to back down anyway. He might as well be honest now.
“Oh, baby.”
Yangyang flinches visibly.
They’re back to the pet name now? They’re back to the baby and the jokes and the game, and Yangyang is just stupid and...
“Babe, no.” Ten says, voice strong on the first word. “I’m moving back. I thought I had told you. Plus, I have one more reason to stay now.”
Maybe he doesn’t need to be dreadful then. Maybe he...
“Me?” Yangyang asks, hopeful.
Ten nods, smiling sweetly.
♪ C E F ♫
His fingers move on their own on the violin’s fingerboard. He always goes back to that melody. His index finger pressed to play a B, and then he moves to the E string next to it, an open string, and then the index, and then the middle finger. He doesn’t have to think about how to move his fingers, he doesn’t have to think about what comes next in the melody, because it has been engraved in his brain for years. B, E, F, G, F, E...
It’s easy, it’s familiar, it’s soothing. There is a cat purring somewhere around, undisturbed by the sound of the violin, which Yangyang takes as a compliment. If it wasn’t for the overwhelming smell of coffee, the cat purring, and the absence of any other noise around - as well as laundry detergent smell -, Yangyang might just close his eyes and feel like he’s back in the launderette.
Until there is a pair of arms, coming around his waist, another body cuddling close to him, as he keeps on playing the same melody. He can feel hair on his nape, and a low humming, Ten mumbling the music they also know by heart now.
Yangyang finishes the song, the last one of his practice, but as he plans to move to put his violin back in its case, he is stopped by Ten’s embrace.
Yangyang chuckles.
“Do you want me to keep playing?” He inquires.
Ten’s left hand is resting on his chest, right against his ribcage. Even now, Yangyang’s heart doesn’t seem to slow down every time Ten does that. They stay silent for a second or two, nuzzling their nose against Yangyang’s neck.
“Mm, no, I wanna go skating.” Ten grumbles.
Yangyang smiles.
“Don’t forget your helmet this time.”