Work Text:
“But I, if I had—” Kun said, eyes widening. “I’m pretty sure if I actually went to Shanghai at that time, I would be stuck there too, quarantining with you guys.”
“That’d be fun. Kun! Your lucky day,” Ten laughed.
“No! I don’t want to! I had enough of being in quarantine when I went back,” said Kun.
They looked at each other through their phone screens and knew they were thinking the same thing: Disaster averted! Imagine, the two of them stuck together in the same rooms, day in day out, for weeks on end? Perish the thought.
But after the livestream ended, they both thought about it.
The following never happened:
With the pandemic restrictions in China loosening by the week, Kun spent a few nourishing days at home in Fujian before packing up a small suitcase and hopping on an early flight to Shanghai. He took a cab to the sort of hotel-dorm situation that the duo team of Ten and his manager had going on, and met their manager at the front lobby door. They hugged and patted each other on the shoulders, as if checking for growth spurts. None to be found, although manager ge did say Kun felt a little firmer around the chest and biceps.
“I've been doing that super hard cardio routine," Kun said, pleased his efforts were noticed. "Where’s Ten?"
“Still asleep,” manager ge said. “Come on up.”
The room was big for two people, but all right for three. There was a large partition across the centre of the room that separated the two beds and their respective desks; the washroom and kitchenette were against opposing walls, with a large window and sitting area on the far side of the room. Ten’s side of the room. Sunlight soaked through the drawn curtains, painting the room in half-tones. Kun tried not to make too much noise as he wheeled in his luggage and assessed the place. He crept over to the second bed and saw a curled lump under the blanket, a single hand peeking out, that well-loved bracelet around the wrist, cell phone within reach. He gave himself five seconds to absorb the sight before stepping away.
He whisper-chatted with manager ge as he unzipped his bag and brought out the plastic containers of ingredients his mother had packed for him to share. Most of it he put in the fridge, but the chicken feet were thawing so it would be best to cook them now. He had just started to stir fry when he heard Ten’s voice behind him.
“Oh! Kun! When did you get in?”
Kun turned to say hi. Ten was in the same sleep shirt and pants he always wore back at the dorm. His hair was mussed, eyes bleary. It was very good to see him. Kun could not help his smile. “Half an hour ago or something? You slept through me coming in and unpacking and stuff.”
“I feel like all I do is sleep these days,” yawned Ten, even though that was patently untrue. Kun checked the WayV calendar religiously. Lately Ten had twelve-hour filming days, dance practise, and Chinese lessons, back to back time slots filled up, while Kun’s own schedule was, to put it delicately, much more sparse. This week Kun’s timetable was completely blank. But manager ge cleared up some of Ten’s schedule too, to coincide with Kun’s visit. No wonder Ten took the chance to catch up on sleep.
“What are you making?” Ten asked, stepping to Kun’s side. They had not seen each other in many months, and breaking through the aroma of soy sauce and oil, the familiar smell of him in sleepwear hit Kun like a plank in the face.
“Chicken feet,” said Kun, busying himself with the spatula. “My mom’s recipe. It’s really good. Will you have some?”
“I’ll try one,” said Ten. “I’m gonna shower. You’ll be here when I’m done?”
“Are you kidding? Where else would I go?” Kun laughed.
Ten shrugged. “It’s a big city.”
“It’s not like I haven’t been here before,” said Kun.
When he had first lobbed the idea to Ten a few weeks ago, that he could come by Shanghai for a few days during his vacation, Ten adamantly refused. You should spend time with your family, Ten said. You haven’t seen them in years. Be the good son they raised you to be.
Kun had rolled his eyes. He was always a good son. And he was allowed his own life. If he wasn’t visiting Ten, he would have probably found some other friends to spend time with out of the city. And, true, though he hadn’t seen anyone from his hometown in a very long time, it wasn’t like he hadn’t kept up with their lives. The internet made distance and time so much shorter. It had been more important to Kun to come see Ten. Ten had been working so hard in Shanghai, just him and his manager, so far from home––or whatever level of home Ten attributed to their dorm in Seoul. Kun was still, despite the lack of group activities, WayV’s leader; he wanted to be there for his members. He was more than happy to make the trip up.
“Fine,” Ten had said, scrunching his nose, like he was doing Kun a favour. “Then come. But don’t blame me if you regret it later.”
No chance of that. Seeing Ten wander away, t-shirt collar stretched lopsidedly over his shoulders, telling Kun that he’d try to make it fast and finish showering in less than twenty minutes––if things had ended here, Kun would have still been satisfied.
But it was only day one of three. Kun served lunch right in time to meet Ten emerging from the washroom, fresh and dressed, and was vindicated when Ten’s face lit up at the first taste. Lunch went long because they let it; the three of them had a lot to catch up on with each other’s lives. All the big things Kun already knew about, but there were little things, like silly stories from the GDC set, Ten’s newfound obsession in learning how to draw manga art, their manager ge’s worsening toothache, this petty drama between two same-floor neighbours who would hurl early morning insults to each other over their balconies in Hakka dialect––little spurts of colours in their day-to-day which never made it to texts or over their video calls. Long after Kun finished eating, he continued to gorge himself on details of the provisional life Ten had built for himself in this bustling city.
In the afternoon, the two of them went on a walk around the neighbourhood, masks and caps on, and Ten pointed out places he had gotten to know: the stray cat hideout, the jianbing vendor, the comic book store, the path to the local park, the corner where Ten had seen a motorbike accident. Kun nodded along, letting Ten’s voice sweep through him, letting his daydreams of Ten in Shanghai get pruned of their assumptions and refilled with reality. No surprise that Ten was doing well, but Kun was reassured to see that Ten was taking advantage of the city, rather than playing hermit in the hotel room, curled over his Nintendo Switch or a language workbook. Kun himself hadn’t been to Shanghai since 2019, when WayV had been on tour, and that felt like two lifetimes ago. It hurt a lot now to think of that time, and he wondered if Ten had felt unbalanced too during his first few weeks here, when Sicheng was also still around. Now Sicheng was city-hopping, filming back to back dramas, and everyone else was in Korea, in limbo. WayV, scattered.
“Kun, didn’t you say before that you have a list of favourite restaurants in Shanghai?” Ten asked, prodding his back. “So you’re going to treat us tonight for letting you crash with us, right?”
Ten. Kun let Ten work his usual magic on him, crowding out most of the thoughts in Kun’s head until Kun was fully, helplessly, focused on him only.
“Ah, I haven’t updated that list in a while,” said Kun. “I’ll have to check which ones are still good to recommend.”
“Okay, you do that,” said Ten. “And let’s go buy some flowers in the meantime.”
Kun followed Ten to the flower shop and while Ten ran fingers over roses, lilies, forget-me-nots, Kun made reservations for three at a Western style steak place he remembered, which was thankfully still open. Ten picked out a few sprigs of flowers he liked and while he was getting them wrapped up, Kun slid his credit card over to the cashier and quietly paid the bill.
“On the house,” the cashier chirped at Ten, when Ten, bouquet in hand, took out his own wallet. She winked at Kun. “We appreciate loyal customers. We hope to see you again soon.”
Kun nodded his thanks, and opened the front door for Ten to pass through.
They went back to the dorm to chill and get ready for dinner. Kun sent a few photos to the Secret Base chat, called his parents, confirmed with manager ge the plan for tomorrow, then dutifully passed Ten his phone so Ten could scroll through Kun’s Louis Leon photo reel and forward himself all the pictures he liked.
“Ooh, this one is good, Kun, why didn’t you send it to me right away?”
Kun peeked at the Louis photo Ten was brandishing. “You can see my dirty laundry in the background.”
“So? Do you think I miraculously forgot what it was like to live with you, just because I’ve been away for a few months? Am I that lucky?”
“No, but––”
“Oh! Hendery is calling,” Ten announced, tapping on the new notification on Kun’s phone. He took the call.
“Ay, Kun ge––oh! Ten hyung!” said Hendery’s chipper voice. A few seconds later, his face showed up on the screen, chin angled obnoxiously close to the camera. “Are you guys having fun over there? Where was that manga store you visited? It looked good. Do they have any autographed stuff?”
It was good to chat with him, to hear what he was actually up to back at home, since the only vacation news he shared with them were pic after pic of things he was going to eat, or was in the process of eating, or had just finished eating. Kun didn’t complain, even though back in Korea, the photos made his mouth water and stomach growl. Guanheng had been slowly losing weight over the past few months, regardless of how much food he put down, and they had no idea why. Stress, Kun thought, but didn’t know what they could do about it. But small mercy, it looked like being back in Macau was helping loads.
“Next vacation, let’s all come to my place,” said Guanheng, the camera now raised to its usual view of his forehead.
“I thought you wanted to visit Thailand,” said Ten.
“We can do both! We can just forgo sleep. Sleep when we’re dead.”
Later, at the steak restaurant, Kun took photos of each of the dishes and passed them along to the group chat, at Guanheng’s request. Dejun replied, looks goooood in English, and added, by the way u guys dont drink too much, bad for throat. Kun ignored him. Technically, he was on vacation. Why shouldn’t he drink?
He remembered why halfway through dinner. They had just cracked open their fourth bottle of wine. Ten had ordered two desserts and Kun, cognizant of his training efforts, had ordered none. But once they arrived, Ten slid the plate of strawberry cheesecake towards Kun, keeping the fudge truffle for himself.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want it,” Ten grinned, smug in a way that jammed something in Kun’s chest. Kun took another gulp of wine, and realized then that he had probably crossed the threshold of too much. The alcohol was warping his perspective like a reverse side mirror illusion, objects may appear closer than they are, because there was no way that Ten was leaning this close to him. Kun could see with excruciating detail the glow of the candlelight reflected in Ten’s eyes, the sheen of lip gloss Ten had just applied, the glint of his earrings and necklace, starlight against skin. Ten’s smile was so near, so within reach. The wine made Kun’s head heavy, eager to sway forward. Kun pinched himself on the thigh to rupture the moment, accepted the cake with a thanks that hopefully didn’t sound too stiff, and turned to talk to their manager. He could feel the pressure of Ten staring at him, the seconds passing by painfully in slow motion, until Ten’s gaze shifted away, and the world sped up again to real time.
He made it through the rest of the dinner with his dignity intact, or at least intact in all the ways he cared about. Back at the dorm, Kun was so, so glad he’d had the forethought to set up the sofa bed before they went out to eat, because it was incredible to just chuck off his jacket and flop face first into the pillows. The world was spinning and his stomach was not in its happiest state. Being horizontal was great. Amazing orientation to be in. He’d probably have trouble sleeping but at least he was no longer at risk of vomiting.
The cushions dipped with another person’s weight. Hands patted at Kun’s calves. “Kun, you have to change,” said Ten. “You’re going to sleep in these dress pants and belt?”
“Yes,” Kun said, muffled.
“Your life,” said Ten. He lowered himself gingerly on Kun’s other side. Kun’s heart leapt and his stomach churned in response. He kept his face in the pillow and refused to verify just how close to him Ten was lying.
“I’m a little tipsy,” announced Ten.
Obviously. “Mmph,” said Kun, which meant, Me too.
Ten understood. “If me having a hangover tomorrow gets me fired, I’ll make you pay.”
“Mmmrhh,” groaned Kun, which meant, I’ll order us hangover soup in the morning. You’ll be fine.
“As long as you know,” said Ten.
Kun could not stand it any longer and lifted his head. To his dismay, Ten was perilously within range. His face, with his nose and those eyes and these lips, right there. Like, Kun wouldn’t even have to move his body, he could just shift his torso over, and they’d––they could—
“Get off my bed,” said Kun.
“Cranky wino,” Ten chided, but slowly levered himself to a sitting position. “You’re really not going to wash up?”
“You go first,” said Kun, sighing.
“Okay.”
But manager ge was in the washroom, so for a few minutes, Ten continued to sit beside Kun, not even half an arm’s length away, while Kun remained prone and tried to keep his breathing steady. The air felt potentiated, thick with something that Ten was about to say. But nothing came. They listened to their ge gargling mouthwash and humming offkey to Good Time, and once the washroom was free, Ten got up and took his turn. Kun’s limbs were buzzing but not floating, his thoughts a muted chorus. His body pounded with the echo of his own inebriated heartbeat, which was only half due to drink. He let his eyes drift shut and reminded himself there was nothing to regret.
Because none of that happened, this never happened either:
Ten woke to the smell of thick steam. In their small kitchen, Kun was stirring a pot of congee with one hand and tossing in jujubes with another. He flicked his attention towards Ten as Ten trudged over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Hangover soup is in that container there,” Kun said, pointing to three plastic soup bowls on the counter. Only one still had its lid on, the other two already most of the way empty. Ten hummed and picked up the lukewarm bowl, took in tiny slurps as he mindlessly watched Kun finish cooking the congee, letting his body wake up in tiny increments. Kun spooned out a bit of the rice, blew on it, tasted, then offered it to Ten. Ten leaned over and ate the rest.
“Good?” asked Kun.
“Not bad,” said Ten, because he wasn’t contractually obligated to compliment Qian Kun, but nor was he a liar.
Manager hyung went over Ten’s schedule with him as Kun took a shower, leaving each of them with a steaming bowl of congee on the table. It was a six-hour filming day, pared down from the original eight-hours due to some clever string-pulling on hyung’s part, which was already a lighter load compared to the twelve-hour days they’d had the previous week. Kun had good timing. Next week filming would ramp up again, so it was really only within these few days that Ten could have afforded his visit. It could have very easily not worked out. Prior to Kun arriving, Ten’s emotions oscillated between annoyance, acceptance, and anticipation, because it just took so much energy to host someone, you know? Ten could have spent more time relaxing, recuperating, mind fully on himself. Why did Kun have to insinuate himself in Ten’s life when Ten had finally got a rhythm going? Not that Ten had to expend any effort for the visit, but it was enough of a bother that Kun took up cognitive load in Ten’s brain.
Except, in the lonely quiet of his current home, after a long day of work, the clock ticking past 3 am and Ten still awake, Ten would think, No, it would be nice to see Kun. Ten didn’t miss him, exactly, not in the same way he missed the cats or how he missed Yangyang, but he didn’t not miss Kun either. He’d enjoy seeing Kun in person again. Truthfully, Ten had been thinking of Kun of late. He had a lot of time to think, so he thought about a lot of things, not just Kun, but, like––he wondered a lot about how Kun was doing taking care of the dongsaengs, bearing the ever-growing pressure of WayV’s future without Ten there to distract him from himself. Maybe seeing Kun would help resolve that worry, even though it wasn’t a worry exactly, since a person like Kun didn’t need worrying after. More like a niggling itch that popped up at odd times of the day, triggered by innocuous nothings: oh yeah, about Kun.
Anyway. It was only three days. One was already over. And yesterday had been good. Really good, actually. He had been right about the sense of fulfillment, but even more so, Ten, disturbingly, had forgotten how chill it was to be around Kun when Kun wasn’t preoccupied with leader-ing or monitoring or, like, being the way he was, sometimes. Ten liked him well enough in his duizhang role and his member role, but removing some layers of responsibility from Kun’s shoulders made Kun loosen up, and Ten liked that Kun so much more.
Or maybe it was really distance that made the heart grow fonder. Even now, when Kun, putting on his shoes, asked Ten if he had everything he needed before they left the dorm (as if Ten hadn’t been fending for himself all this time?), Ten didn’t bite back as he might have done in Korea. (Turns out he had left his sunglasses on his desk, so it was good Kun made him check.) Ten actually felt––dare he say it? Sentimental? Like, to the point that he wished he didn’t have to go to work today so he could instead spend another afternoon with Kun meandering around the neighbourhood, sharing peanut M&Ms, listening to Kun explain things about Shanghai that Ten could care less about.
But Kun did not come to Shanghai to slink around back alleys with Ten. Kun came to Shanghai, Ten reminded himself, to support Ten at Great Dance Crew, and also, as a bonus, reconnect with an old industry acquaintance, Alec Su.
During filming, Ten could see the two-person clump of them gabbing it up, keeping a distance from the camera crew so their excited voices weren’t picked up by the mics. Unsurprisingly, news of Kun’s visit had leaked to the Chinese celebrity gossip circuit, so some reporter popped up halfway into the day to interview Kun and Alec about their history, about WayV, about Kun being in China again after so many years. Ten turned his attention away and did not let himself get distracted. Good that Kun could keep himself entertained while Ten was busy.
But during the moments when Ten had to go up and dance, there was Kun’s thin, delicate voice, rising over the applause, cheering Ten’s name.
Kun stuck around for a few hours, watching Ten work, chatting with Alec, some producers, lots of the contestants (god, Ten could tell he loved that they all called him ge), and even the other hosts when everyone breaked for lunch. It’d been so long since Ten had seen Kun in his element like this: people knew about him here and respected him in a way that just couldn’t happen in the Korean market. The knowledge lodged in Ten like a pebble in his shoe.
He wasn’t particularly enjoying how aware he was of Kun’s presence through the course of the day, but neither did Ten really enjoy how he felt when Kun finally said his goodbyes. Kun was going to get coffee with some other friend in town and meet back up with Ten and manager hyung for dinner. His parting words to Ten had been, “Message me if you’re craving anything specific,” to which Ten had said, “Fine, byebye, go away now.” After Kun left, Alec smiled at Ten, saying, “He’s good, isn’t he? And lucky you to have a member who cares about you so much!” Like they were sharing some secret joke.
Ten wished sometimes Kun would be a little less caring. He was giving the wrong impression to people. Or perhaps the right one. But Ten couldn’t say that, so to Alec, he answered casually, “Well, he’s our leader. He’s paid to do that kind of thing.” Which was mostly true. Almost three-quarters of the way true.
At dinner––a seafood place, because Ten had craved fish––Kun went on and on about his old schoolmate, and how he was a pilot now but still had aspirations to become a singer, which was funny because it was the opposite of Kun, who was a singer with aspirations to become a pilot. What a shame it was that they couldn’t spend more time together. Kun felt like they could have talked for another full day.
“Then why didn’t you?” asked Ten. “You could have gotten dinner with him instead, right?”
Kun blinked at him, startled. “No, no,” he said. “I’m having dinner with you. You guys.” His gaze was painfully earnest.
Ten looked back to his own plate.
There it was again, that weight. Dorming with Kun for so long, Ten had grown used to the way Kun was and how he acted around Ten. But now, months removed from that living situation, adjusted to solo idol life, being confronted with old habits rubbed up against Ten in ways that he would have never noticed before––or, if he had noticed back then, had brushed off like lint. He’d been a frog in a pot of water slowly being raised to boiling, then taken out into the cold air, then suddenly dropped back in. Yes, it was easy to see now. How much Kun cared.
But could Ten walk that assumption all the way to the end? Kun had never, ever, ever said anything. Never even hinted. All he did was show, repeatedly, that Ten was somewhat of a priority to him. But of course that would be the case. Ten was a WayV member, Kun was a good leader; Kun made caring into a job, not a romantic gesture. His actions… he was always like that. So––
Manager hyung’s cell phone buzzed and he cringed in apology before leaving the table to take the call. That left Kun and Ten alone in this orange-hued, candlelit corner booth, the chatter and clinking noises of the other restaurant patrons distant, as if in a separate cocoon of space. Ten’s neck suddenly pricked with sweat. A phantom force pressed his chest thin. When he and hyung had returned to the dorm after filming wrapped up for the day, Kun had still been out. Ten had expected it, but all the same, something inside him had sunk, like a floating lure tossed in water. It went down, then immediately bobbed back up. What the hell, he’d thought to himself. It’d barely been over a day.
“Ten,” Kun asked. “You’re all right?”
Last night, Ten had fallen asleep to the familiar rhythm of Kun’s snoring, had later broken out of a gauzy unconsciousness for a few minutes, coaxed by the muttering of Kun’s sleeptalk. Ten kept his eyes closed and imagined he was back at the dorm, his real dorm, and he was walking past Kun’s bedroom in the dead of the night to use the toilet; inside he saw Kun, dreaming, and Leon curled in his arms. Kun had left his door half-open so that Leon could leave when he wanted, but Leon wouldn’t, because Leon loved sleeping in Kun’s bed. Was the ajar door an exit or an invitation? Ten stood there, debating.
Then he opened his eyes and he was back in Shanghai, catless, Kun halfway across the room and unreachable.
Being returned to the boiling pot after cooling down––that sudden shocking temperature change to your body––it could lead to a faster death than remaining inside the pot the entire time.
“Huh? Yeah,” said Ten. Fine.
“Have you decided what you want to do tomorrow?” Kun asked.
“Oh. I assumed you’d already made some kind of plans.”
“Uuhh, kinda,” Kun said, “but. If you feel like doing anything, I’m happy to do that too.”
Ten didn’t let himself second guess. “Let’s watch the sunrise, from somewhere with a great view.”
Kun titled his head. He nodded, his smile unwrapping like a gift. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
So then, this also couldn’t happen:
A bougie tea house, the alleys of Tianzifang––one walk-through just to take in the architecture and atmosphere, then doubling back to browse the stalls––followed by a visit to Qi Let Cat Cafe, where Kun took enough photos that he felt jealous on Louis' and Leon's behalf. Hours later, the night closing in at 2 am, they wandered down The Bund and ended up at the W Shanghai again, almost two and half years after their last visit. It was just him and Ten. Manager ge, sleepy with all the pasta carbs and wine, had opted to return to the dorm for an early night. Suspicious, Ten had asked why they were being allowed to wander around the city by themselves when Ten had never been given the privilege before. Was it just because there were two of them?
“Yes, and also because it’s Kun with you,” ge had said. “I know he won’t get lost. If it were you and Sicheng alone, no way.”
Kun had blushed. Ten had scoffed, but didn’t argue.
So now here they were at the wet bar, high up but not that high, sitting side by side on fancy deck chairs with the sky around them pitch black, but bluer where it edged towards the blazing electric ribbon of The Bund. People milled around, some hotel guests waded in and out of the pool, but nobody recognized them. The lights of the downtown skyline blazed in front of them in duplicate, and Kun spent a long time staring at the inverted cityscape floating in the Huangpu River, an alternate world with wobbly lines that broke up and reformed again as boats glided over top. What would the Kun in that opposite world be doing? Had he made the most of his night, this miraculous opportunity that had landed in his lap? Would he be selfish? Had he overstepped?
This Kun didn’t want to overstep.
He and Ten’s shoulders brushed sometimes, since their chairs were close. They were tired now, and their words were few and far between. Earlier they had called Yangyang, who was ordering dinner in London, seven hours behind. Ten had lit up at the sight of him, eagerly showing off their view from the bar and chatting about their evening, but eventually Yangyang’s food arrived and Ten passed the phone to Kun so he could spout some polite platitudes to Yangyang’s mom before everyone waved goodbye. Now it was quiet again. Kun sipped his drink, and didn’t pull away nor push closer to Ten. It was enough that he was here, that they’d had this night. Ten didn’t have to agree to Kun’s visit, but he did, and he had still not gotten sick of Kun yet. It wasn’t even like Kun had been subtle. Kun was not ungrateful. All evening his mind kept whirring backwards without permission, infusing him with echoes of the past, bittersweet and achy, but Kun was not ungrateful. That there was the sting of loss now showed how good he’d had it before. And that, of course, was better than never having it at all. At least that was how Kun thought about it.
Which is why he let himself be satisfied with what he had. Ten at his side, eyelids dipped with exhaustion, but his eyes bright still, his expression replete with a night well spent. He laughed readily even at Kun’s worst jokes, and his shoulder brushed Kun’s again, again, each touch received like a punch to Kun’s stomach.
There were another three hours until sunrise. It had seemed no big deal at the time. They were used to all-nighters––or used to be, anyway. But now Ten was yawning more and more, jaw popping with the strain, and Kun kicked himself mentally. Ten had had a full day of work. Of course he’d want to rest.
“If you want to sleep for a few hours, we can get a room in the hotel,” he said, then immediately regretted how it sounded. “Uhh. Wait, I mean––”
But Ten didn’t laugh. “We?” he asked. “So would you sleep too? In the room?”
“No, sorry, I meant we as in I can book it for you,” said Kun hastily. “I’ll stay out here and come get you when the sun starts to rise.”
“You can set your alarm for the sunrise,” Ten said. “You don’t need to stand on guard for it. I hear they’re usually on time.”
Kun shrugged. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep if he tried. He was that worn-out kind of tired, residual energy sputtering through his limbs like a winding down motor, too deep for him to access but too present for him to ignore. His heart pounded at imagining being alone with Ten in a fancy hotel room, the two of them completely anonymous, no responsibilities, no one expecting them for hours. He was not in the proper mindset to do it properly––as in, without overstepping. Their date, which hadn’t been a date, was perfect. Kun had taken probably upwards of two hundred photos. It was too much of a good thing. Kun had strong self-control, but this would break him. Already he felt his willpower weakening as Ten continued to stare at Kun as if in expectation.
“Hey,” Ten said. “Why did you come to Shanghai?”
Kun was caught off guard. Why ask this? “To visit you guys,” he said. He forced a laugh. “Is your memory going? I’ve made it pretty clear, haven’t I?”
“Yeah, but. You could have visited Sicheng. You haven’t seen him in a year. He’s your best friend. But you came here instead.”
“I would have, if I’d had the time. But I called him. And… I mean, you already know. He’s happy over there filming. He doesn’t need to see me.”
“Oh, and I did?” Ten asked. “You thought I was so miserable that I needed duizhang intervention?”
“No!” Kun yelped. “I just thought… um, how––how can I say it. I have my own preferences too, right? I. I wanted to come here.”
He’d said too much. Kun cringed, but couldn’t take it back. Ten observed him, blinking slowly, as if seeing Kun through a dream. This conversation was careening off the rails towards a place Kun was not prepared to meet. Ten was getting too close, physically and metaphorically. Kun should pull away.
Kun tried to, but as if linked to him, Ten followed his movement, leaning in. His gaze flitted down to Kun’s mouth.
Kun thought, Shit.
Ten put his hand over top of Kun’s, on Kun’s vibrating knee.
“Let’s get a room,” he said.
Nor this:
Ten was scaring Kun, he could tell. The way that Kun spoke to the employee at the front desk like Ten was holding a gun to his back, his eyes jittering towards Ten every few seconds, his lips pursed in displeasure. It would have been funny, if Ten had the fortitude to be amused. He was scared too.
Something had happened tonight. Ten had had more fun that he remembered having in ages. Shanghai was so much better with Kun, who obviously loved the city, who glowed beautifully under the rainbow city lights, who listened to Ten’s whims and made them reality with a few swipes on his phone. Around midnight Ten had suggested going to a cat cafe, Was there one open this late? Kun said, Yes, I’ve heard of one, let me see how we can get there; he pulled open his map app and a few clicks later, he looked back up at Ten, grinning. Let’s go, he’d said. In that moment, Ten’s heart lurched as if hooked out––he wanted so much for Kun to offer his hand, to follow where Kun led, their fingers intertwined. He had fully expected it to happen, but it hadn’t. Of course not. That’s when the aching had started, and it didn’t stop.
Then at the bar of the hotel, Kun said, straight-faced, completely genuinely, that they should get a room.
So if Kun was scared, it was his own fault. Ten was just acting on his suggestion, like Kun had acted on Ten’s suggestions all night. Even if Kun said he hadn’t meant it like that on the surface, deep down, Ten knew. Freudian slip.
The ride up the escalator was so tense Ten could barely breathe. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, and in fact, was leaning towards it being a bad one solely based on Kun’s reactions so far. But Kun had not said no. And Ten’s teeth were gritted with how badly he wanted this. When the doors pinged open, Ten ripped the keycard out of Kun’s hand, marched to their room, and strode inside. He didn’t check if Kun was following, only heard the snick of the door as Kun closed it behind him. Kun flipped on the light.
“Ten, we should––”
Ten backed him against the door and kissed him.
For the infinite duration of one inhale-exhale, Kun stood frozen, planked against the door, hands half raised at his sides, as if to push Ten away but caught in a forcefield, unable to touch. Ten loosened his own posture, easing his weight slowly onto Kun, like melting putty. He lifted off Kun’s (soft, very soft) lips, blinked at Kun’s astonished face, then raised one hand to cup Kun’s cheek.
Kun caught his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip.
“Do you know what you’re doing right now?” he whispered. He sounded like he was holding back anger. But Ten knew it wasn’t anger. The fingers around his wrist were trembling.
“I have some idea,” said Ten.
“Think a little more on it,” Kun said, and fuck, that was kind of hot. That his eyes looked like wanted to devour Ten from the inside out, and yet his mouth said to wait.
“Kun,” said Ten. “Why did you come to Shanghai, if not for this?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Kun went ashen, his grip limp. He shoved Ten away and stalked to the far side of the room. Ten watched him, rooted still to the door, regret souring his insides. He had to apologize. But wasn’t it true, to some extent? Kun liked him, Ten was sure of it now, so why would Kun not want this if Ten did too? Was it so wrong to be open about it? Ten wasn’t mad at all. He was flattered, really.
“I came to Shanghai to support you,” said Kun, his voice flat. He was facing the wall-length window, and in the reflection of the glass, Ten could see that he looked well and truly upset. “I wanted to visit you, and I did, and I’m satisfied with that. It wasn’t because I had some ulterior motives, or because I wanted some repayment, or––”
“What the fuck? I kissed you because I wanted to,” said Ten.
“You’re drunk,” Kun snapped back, whirling around. “Later you’ll regret it. You have to think before you act sometimes, Ten!”
“I am thinking about it! We’re alone in Shanghai, in a hotel room, what better opportunity is there? You’ve been thinking about it too, don’t lie to me. We were having fun before; this can be fun too! I’m not that drunk, by the way, and I won't regret doing something I know I’ll enjoy.”
Kun groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Well, good for you, but I’m WayV’s leader. I can’t just––”
“Stop being WayV’s leader for a fucking night, then!” Ten yelled. “I’m not one of the didis! We’re here, and you’re leaving tomorrow, and you don’t have to make my fucking choices for––”
Three steps and Kun was across the room, yanking Ten in, mouth hot and demanding. His hand fisted in Ten’s hair as he directed the angle of Ten’s head. Ten moaned, wrapping his arms around Kun’s shoulders. Yes, yes. The heat of his tongue in Ten’s mouth was delicious, addictive––Ten pushed himself closer, kissing Kun more deeply, and felt his brain fritz. The way Kun was gripping his neck, thumb firm but not tight against the base of Ten’s jaw, Kun’s other arm sliding around Ten’s torso, his left hand flat and possessive against the small of Ten’s back––it was fucking good. His tongue voracious, biting and sucking at Ten like he was owed this. Ten felt branded, lit hot from within. He was sweating again. He tried to separate himself from Kun far enough to unbutton his dress shirt, but Kun wasn’t having it. And Ten couldn’t even do it; even pulling back enough to suck in some air just propelled his body to dive back in for more, like a magnetic snap. He could taste the wine in Kun’s mouth, felt the hunger in Kun’s kissing trill through him––it had been so long since Ten let himself have someone like this. And even then, even on those very, very discrete, permissible one-offs that idols could indulge in once in a blue moon to let off steam, he hadn’t been wanted like this. Wanted by someone who knew him, cared for him, gave up his vacation time when he hadn’t seen his family for over two years so he could take Ten on a tour of a city that Ten was staying in. God, Kun. How long had he wanted Ten like this? Ten was going to combust.
Somehow they managed to stumble to the bed; Ten’s shirt was removed with no clear method, and the heat of Kun’s fingers to Ten’s skin made Ten gasp, and Kun groan. When Kun tripped backwards, landing on his ass, Ten knelt over him, and they mutually paused to pant at each other, eyes wide, both in disbelief. Something shifted in Kun's expression and the fight seemed to jolt out of him. His lips were fiercely red; Ten’s own were swollen and throbbing. He could feel the pulse of his heartbeat everywhere.
Kun swallowed hard. “I…”
“Do you want this?” Ten asked. His voice was shredded.
“Yes,” breathed Kun.
Ten leaned down.
“But––” said Kun.
Ten stopped, a centimetre away. “What?”
“I just. I know you said to not think about it. But I can’t not. Ten, WayV can’t afford any more bad decisions. I’m leader. I can’t be selfish about this. Do you understand what I mean?”
His words shook. He looked so helpless lying there, looking up at Ten with equal parts of hope and fear tilting his eyebrows. The roaring in Ten’s ears faded slightly. His next inhale was cooler, more steady. He touched his fingertips to Kun’s lips and Kun closed his eyes as if in pain. How long? Ten thought fiercely. How long have you kept all this inside you, you stupid idiot?
“It’s not just you being selfish,” Ten said. “You’re giving me something, too. Kun… I guess I have been a little lonely.”
Kun sighed, eyes still closed. He cupped the back of Ten’s hand, moving it so he could bestow a kiss in the centre of Ten’s palm. Ten reeled.
“That’s actually more reason to not do this,” said Kun.
“Huh? No. Why? It’s just this one night. We’ll keep it a secret.”
“I know,” said Kun, sitting up and pushing Ten off. He offered a smile, but it was weak, and sad, and resigned, and it jabbed a glass shard down Ten’s throat. “That’s what I mean. If it’s just the once, it’ll be bad for me in the long run. You can probably guess why.”
Ten wordlessly sat back on his knees.
“If I can be selfish tonight, then here’s my choice,” Kun continued. “We can keep kissing, if you like it. But that’s it. Okay? Don’t make it too hard for me.”
Ten shook his head. “Then, what if––what if it’s not just this once? What if we kept going? I mean, you’ll be going back to Korea, but I won’t be here forever, and once we’re in the same dorm again, Kun––we can––”
Kun kissed him again, just a quick peck. “I’m not blind,” he said, tone light, but purposely so. “You don’t like me like that. It’s okay. I told you. I came here to support you because I wanted to. I don’t need anything else.” Ten felt himself pouting, and that made Kun laugh, just once. He kissed Ten again, slower, then retreated when Ten tried to deepen it. “How about you think on it? Once you come back to Korea, after you’re finished your show, if you’re still interested… we can try then.”
“What’s there to think about?” Ten asked, even though he sort of knew the answer. “I do like you, you know.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it. You said it yourself––that you’re lonely. You’re in a foreign city, away from all your friends and family, and I know it’s hard. I wouldn’t blame you if you were reaching out for comfort. But once you’re back in Seoul, you won’t need that comfort anymore. I’m just––” Again, that helpless furrow of his eyebrows. “It’s easier for me to be realistic. I don’t want to make a mistake with this. I’d––I couldn't take it. Ten, tell me you understand.”
Ten said, “Yes, Kun, fine. I get it.”
They sat side by side in the silent hotel room, which Ten only just started noticing in detail. Two double beds. Kun, ever the gentleman. Even after being propositioned, he arranged it so Ten could have an out.
The clock hanging over the wall-mounted TV read 4:37. They were making out for much longer than Ten realized. The sun was due to rise around 6:30. Two hours left. They should rest. Ten’s limbs felt wobbly with exhaustion now that he opened his awareness to it. He really could use some water. Thank god there was no filming tomorrow. Well––if there had been, Kun wouldn’t have let them get this far. This was something that Ten had missed. In Seoul, Ten really could float through his days, empty-headed. Whatever their managers did not take care of, Kun did. Kun thought on behalf of the team; of course he wouldn’t be able to turn off that habit so easily. It was unfair for Ten to ask him to let go of that, to dangle himself as a prize right in Kun’s grasp, and leave it to Kun to make the tough decision.
Kun was a good person. Ten didn’t think it impossible that one day he’d fall in love with him.
But no matter the lust and affection that had exploded within him tonight, this was not that day. Kun was right, again. Ten needed time to think about it. He had only just made peace with how much Kun wanted him, and that it was easy, astonishingly easy, to kiss Kun, to want more of Kun too. But Ten was being greedy. He didn’t want to hurt Kun any more than he’d already done.
He reached over and took Kun’s hand, like he’d been wanting to for the entire night.
Kun looked at him warily.
“I had a good time today,” said Ten, honestly.
That made Kun grin. “Really? I’m glad. What do you feel like doing tomorrow? We have the whole day.”
“Let’s go see that famous garden––what’s it called again?”
“Yu Yuan?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Okay, good idea.”
“In the afternoon, though. Once we get back to the dorm, I’m gonna pass out.”
“You should sleep a bit now, then,” offered Kun.
“No, the sun will be up soon, I might as well stay awake with you.”
“Ten, seriously, it’s––”
Ten kissed him again, and this time, Kun let himself be kissed. They went on like that, cycling between periods of gentleness and ferocity, learning a side of each other that had been inaccessible to them for the past six-plus years. Even when gentle, all of Kun’s kisses were tinged with a flavour of desperation, like each next kiss would be their last kiss. Ten tried to kiss back reassurances. He imagined his return to Seoul, seeing Yangyang and the cats and the other WayV members again, sleeping in his own bed, sneaking into Kun’s room later when everything was quiet, and finding Kun awake, waiting for him. This wasn’t going to be their last kiss. Well––Ten didn’t know for certain. But he had a pretty good feeling.
They forgot about the sunrise, focused instead on each other, on discovering one another in a new, fresh light. When Ten finally emerged from the haze of kissing, petting, and the devastation of one soundless confession mouthed into Ten's quivering wrist, the room was lit up, glowing everywhere: the walls, their bodies, Kun's smile.
In another world, this happened:
The news of the citywide lockdown slammed down fast and merciless. By the time Ten woke up well into the afternoon, the other two people in the dorm were already scrolling the news on their respective phones, faces drawn tight with worry. Kun explained the situation to Ten and Ten asked how long it’d last. Kun didn’t know. No one knew.
For the next month, they stayed inside. It was a hard adjustment. Kun hadn’t packed enough stuff to last him over five days (and he would have had even less if he was less of a packhound) so he had to borrow Ten’s clothes. This was a trial for both of them, for separate reasons. Kun also hadn’t packed enough stuff to do; he complained about being bored and wishing he had his keyboard; he downloaded a bunch of music software on their manager’s laptop but it wasn’t the same as working with his own library. Ten tried to distract him with manga art, with Japanese, and while Kun had no interest in drawing himself, he did enjoy watching Ten draw. But then his fingers would itch for piano keys, eager to translate inspiration into song, and he had nothing but his own voice. It was tiring to do nothing, to wait on top of waiting. But what choice did they have? Slowly, they adjusted. They sang together; Kun helped Ten with Chinese homework, Ten helped Kun with English; Kun gave Ten cooking tips; they called the rest of the members who by now, had returned to Korea, and reassured them that they were doing fine. At night, Ten would take Kun’s hands in his and they would sit on Ten’s bed, watching the sunset, and Ten would say nothing as Kun sighed over and over, the only way he let himself voice his anxiety. Ten could understand his sighs, knew that each day they were stuck in Shanghai was another day that WayV remained stagnant. It gnawed at them. Some days they woke up prickly, frustrated at the world, and they took it out on each other by grinding their sharp edges until they wore themselves smooth, which they knew they could do because there was nowhere else to go. Some days they ignored each other as much as was physically possible. But eventually they'd spring back, like old friends who'd only ever known each other’s company.
Maybe they never kissed again. It was hard with their manager always there. With the state of the pandemic and the stress of the lockdown and being in cramped quarters 24/7, it seemed awkward to start something, and then, over time, there was less and less chance of anything to start, until one day Ten woke up and the urge was only a lingering taste on his tongue, as if from a fading dream.
Or maybe they did kiss, tiptoeing to the washroom at night and making out against the sink while their manager snored on the other side of the door, uncaring of how long they stayed awake because it wasn’t like they had places to be. Maybe the helplessness of their situation bled into a sense of hopelessness, of disregard for consequences, so that one night after a round of grinding against the toilet, Ten ripped his own sweatpants off Kun’s legs and went to his knees. After, Kun pulled him into the shower, and they steamed up the place to near suffocation.
Either way, the days somehow passed. They were not happy, but they were not exactly unhappy either, because they were healthy, and regardless of how difficult it was to be in quarantine, despite how fed up their manager got about their petty arguments, Ten was thankful that he had another friend with whom to weather this storm. And Kun, well––he was the luckiest unlucky bastard ever, but following weeks of purgatory, after the news finally announced that restrictions were slowly easing back, Ten turned to him to ask, “Do you regret coming here?” and Kun, who held the philosophy that a person could only do his best with the circumstances that the world handed to him, once again felt his fingers twitch for an instrument as he held Ten’s eyes and answered, “No.”
Alternatively, it could have been this:
Their third day, Kun and Ten went to the Yu Garden in the Old City. The sun was crazy and Kun was pink an hour in, cringing away whenever Ten reached over to poke his cheeks. They sampled street food and got fresh juice, and bought some souvenir trinkets that would make good toys for the cats. They got take-out for three then ate back at the dorm, watching the new Spider-man movie that the WayV kids couldn’t shut up about. Ten saw Kun absently scratching his sunburnt nose and felt his heart wriggle loose, flop forward. He scooched closer to Kun and laid his head on Kun’s shoulder. Kun tensed horribly. They both waited, then, slowly, Kun relaxed, like a mud dam giving way.
When the movie was over and Kun was finished packing, Ten cornered Kun in the washroom and kissed him, continued kissing him for long enough that by the time he pulled back, Kun was even brighter red and noticeably swaying on his feet.
“I’m thinking about it,” Ten told him, and Kun nodded carefully, mouth opening, then closing, his words swallowed back. Ten kissed him again, chastely, closed-lipped. “Don’t forget our deal, okay? And call me more often, will you.”
“Why don’t you call me!” Kun sputtered.
“I don’t have your number,” Ten teased, and dashed out of the washroom, giggling.
At the front door, they parted with a hug and a heavy look. Their manager pulled Kun’s suitcase towards the elevator, but Kun hung on for one more moment.
“Work hard, do your best. We’ll be waiting,” he said.
“Okay,” nodded Ten, feeling surety bloom inside him where it hadn’t been before. “Good.”
None of this ever happened, but it didn’t mean that Ten, months away from home and the constant undercurrent of Kun’s care, couldn’t still undergo a slow revelation of what he had been blind to while being too close to the source. It didn’t mean that Kun never paused by Ten’s empty bedroom, trying to remember the shape of Ten’s body underneath the blankets, telling himself that he had to be strong for the team. It didn’t mean that they weren’t both counting down the days.
What actually ended up happening was this:
Not long after their Weibo live concluded, Kun got a message from Ten in, surprisingly, Wechat.
Tenten [1:48 am]
There. Now u won’t be so hard to find next time
Kun smiled, replying quickly: i’m actually fine just using kkt
Tenten [1:50 am]
Yeah that’s why u complained so much and called me out on not having ur wechat
it’s because you keep on saying these random things and giving fans the impression that we’re not close!
Tenten [1:54 am]
We’re close? I thought we were going on awsaz
YOU SAID IT WAS A JOKE
There was no reply. Kun tried not to be too put out about it, but then again, it was pretty late. He should be going to bed too; he had a busy day tomorrow. But after washing up and tucking himself under his blankets, he checked his phone one last time and couldn’t push back the slight, soft swoop of disappointment of no new messages.
And because he was truly, truly pathetic and knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise, he tapped in, carefully:
not that you need a reminder, but we miss you a lot
and pressed send before he got too embarrassed and chickened out.
His phone buzzed.
Tenten [2:34 am]
“We”??
Kun’s heart thudded.
He wrote, me, i mean. Sent it.
The seconds ticked by silently with no response from Ten. Kun stared at the chat and debated everything in his life that had brought him to this point. But then again, it wasn’t like he’d been trying to hide it. Sooner or later, it would have to be dealt with. At least through texts he couldn’t see Ten’s reaction to it, wouldn’t have to suffer the dilation of time as he mentally deciphered whatever microexpressions would flit across Ten’s face as he took in Kun’s words. The phone gave Kun nothing, which was actually easier to confront. All he could see was the tilted reflection of his own face on the black sleep-screen, the oily traces of his own fingerprints.
A notification popped up. Kun, with only a bit of trepidation, opened it.
Tenten [2:40 am]
Quickly, quickly
I’ll be home soon
Until then
Wait for me
Tenten [2:43 am]
Kun
Okay?
Tenten [2:46 am]
R u still there
Kun breathed out slowly. His lungs were loose fabric, flapping in the wind.
still here
and
okay
He went to sleep without trouble for once and woke up early, with his alarm, feeling oddly excited about the oncoming day. Soon. New things were on the horizon, and Kun was ready as he'd ever be. More than ready.
Outside, dawn had begun to break.