Chapter Text
Ten hadn’t expected to greet Autumn with such an unflattering attitude. But against all odds, he still carries it like plague. It ate at him as he aimlessly wandered through the airport and past hordes of people, or as he sat in the back of the taxi, bag clutched in his hand until his knuckles went white, watching rain scatter against the window. He even feels it scorch the recesses of his mind as he stands in front of his new shared apartment, hungry and horny and at peak infectious levels. His teeth ache, his head hurts. He longs for the taste of healthy food, or at the very least a good pint or so of AB positive.
Half-day long plane rides get to people like that sometimes, though, he contemplates, twirling his key ring in his gloved hand and rolling his shoulders back. He shoves his phone into his coat pocket and unlocks the door.
Peeking in, he sees a dark living room, thick blankets and puffy throw pillows strewn across the couch near a TV stand already decorated in Halloween decorations, tiny potted plants, and glass-jar candles. The two parakeets his new flatmate had constantly talked about sit in their cage near the window, bathing in the light of the cloud-covered skies and sweetly chirping to each other. The boy had only gotten there a good three days ago, from what Ten knows; he's a little shocked by how well-lived the area looks already.
The overhead lights were on in the kitchen, shining in a bright amber beam from the entrance—he hears the faint clink of a glass being set down on a counter, then the splash of liquid being poured into it.
“Hello?” Ten calls out, trying to make his presence known.
“Ah!” The voice is sharp and mature and warmly familiar, yet very low for the surprise that tinges it. The boy bustles around the kitchen for a few seconds, slamming the refrigerator shut and turning on another light. Then, he bounds into the living room and pulls Ten into a hug with a big stupid smile on his face, scrunching up his nose like he was a grinning puppy. “Hi! Welcome to the city! W-welcome home!”
“It’s nice to finally see you, Yukhei,” Ten greets, deeming it too cold-hearted to not smile back.
“It’s nice to see you, too. I mean, it’s about time, huh?” Ten gives him an agreeing nod—after all, Yukhei and his friend Kunhang had been Ten’s Mandarin tutors while he was living in Shanghai, and the three formed a strong friendship through that. Now that he’s joined them in New York, maybe they could grow even closer. Maybe Ten could finally tell his secrets to someone who wasn’t his invisible reflection.
Maybe Ten is, in fact, a little lonely, like Kunhang once told him during a one-on-one call.
“Want a drink?”
Ten laughs at him. “At 4 in the afternoon? Agh, you fiend. Why not.”
☽☆☽
“Before now, I really wouldn’t’ve considered you to be a wine person,” Ten thinks out loud, trying his absolute best to small-talk as the two sit at the kitchen island, sipping on a sweet, high-quality wine while scarfing down prepackaged chocolate chip cookies. Something about the sugar or the alcohol—or possibly both—made the ache that had spread about his face die down well enough.
“What did you think I was?” Yukhei asks, genuine surprise showing in his wide eyes.
“I don’t know. Maybe more mixed drinks and beers. Or, the one who orders a Sprite at the bar because they chose to be the designated driver for all their friends.” Ten feels a little warmth bloom in his heart as the boy laughs, having to set his glass down for a second as he puts his head in his hand.
“It makes sense, but… one day I’ll chug a whole bottle of rosé to prove myself for you.” He takes a small sip from his glass, then licks a crimson tint off from his top lip. Ten nearly does a double-take.
Blood orange. He takes a sip from his own glass, wipes at the corner of his mouth, and glances down to see a purplish tone on the back of his hand, the same cool tone of the wine in both their glasses. He glues his eyes to the marble countertop, trying to clear the confusion from his mind, rationalize it as a trick of the light.
Light does that sometimes, right?
“Did you get a job ‘round here yet?”
“Oh—yeah.” Ten’s voice wavers just enough to raise his nerves even more. He watches as Yukhei nibbles on a cookie, still giving Ten an intent look. “It’s just the same old office job for the international analysis company that, you know, made me move to Shanghai in the first place. I've been having fun moving around like this, though. It hasn’t bothered me.”
“I'd be surprised if you don't get more money. You deserve it—I mean, it's like you're traveling the world at this point.”
“Don't worry, I'll get more. I've been their designated position-filler for the past few years; I get perfectly enough for that.” Yukhei gives him a contemplative nod. “How are you and Kunhang doing in your classes?”
Ten had barely remembered what classes the two were taking, but Yukhei reminds him without missing a beat: “Ah! I'm working on this... this collection with this dude, Jungwoo—he's wonderful. He wears stuff that he designs himself, and they all look fucking awesome. I'm really lucky I got him as my partner. And Kunhang’s composing a classical sort of piece with Sicheng—I’m pretty sure you’d remember him.”
“Ah-h, right. Yeah-h.” Ten knew Sicheng from the absolute panic the kid made run through his veins on a Skype call, where he decided to quiz Ten on as many words he hadn't learned yet that he could think of, then challenged him to a jazz piano competition for whenever they would ultimately meet. Ten is, rightfully, a little scared of him—but that isn’t surprising. Some humans are just a little too intense for his liking.
“The guy’s still as much of an overachiever as he always was?” Yukhei nods. “That's not surprising. Is our piano brawl still on?”
“Agh. Yes. Whenever we bring you up, he doesn't stop talking about it,” Yukhei laughs in reply. “I'm not sure if you'll be ready to take him on, though. He's pretty hardcore.”
“It’ll still be worth the try. Might as well start off my time in the city right, make a new close friend, you know?”
“Pfft. Don't worry about that. You’ll make friends in no time, knowing you.” He downs the rest of his wine and sets the glass down on the table, reaching over it for another cookie. The small remainder of plum-purple liquid pooling in the bottom of the glass is encircled by a thin rim of a deeper, richer red. Ten immediately looks away, trying not to think too hard about it.
“I think I’ll start unpacking, unless you need my help with anything,” he speaks into the lip of his glass, breathing in the heavy scent and hoping that it would cloud his thoughts better than the sweet, alcoholic taste lingering on his tongue.
“Oh!” Yukhei nearly chokes on the bite of cookie; he holds up a finger, waits until he stops coughing, and goes back to talking: “No, no, you don’t have to worry ‘bout anything until you’re all set up. We’ll make a cleaning schedule later on, figure out everything, get a good routine.”
“Wow. Like real flatmates.” Yukhei nods again with a little extra sparkle of excitement in his eyes.
“It’s pretty refreshing, huh.”
Ten gives him a curious look. “Refreshing? Haven't you been rooming with people for the past three years?”
“Well, yeah, but I’m finally gonna get the chance to room with someone I feel comfortable with this time around.” Ten nearly feels unworthy of the boy’s toothy grin. “Go get yourself settled in—and, y'know, let me know if you need any help.”
☽☆☽
Ten used to be pretty proficient in French. Used to be—that becomes more and more obvious as he impulsively scans over a yellowed parchment letter from his old friend, one now long-dead, resting as bones and rotten flesh at the bottom of a dingy old grave. The handwriting, flowery and tilted forwards in reckless abandon, echoes a strange form of wistfulness, the same hollow feeling as the one he had felt after reading the letter the day after her death. As for the words themselves, though, Ten can only base his translation off of faint memory.
…But the boy is young, around ten or eleven. We found him while on a boat traveling down the Seine, sitting in the back of the vessel and waiting patiently, barely acting anything like his age. His skin was rather sickly (and still is at this very moment), and cuts ravaged the back of his neck, staining his shirt with blood. He talks about falling into a river and being thrown back onto the shore, perfectly dry yet hungry beyond cure. If you are able to travel back to Paris, do so as soon as you can. I believe that he is in dire need of help…
He’s always been the most interested by that paragraph. Even more interesting, though, was what followed his arrival—when the boy disappeared three months later, still nameless, still helpless, and still starving.
What a kid, he thinks dryly as he folds the paper along the deep creases and lays it back into its resting place, then closes the box and sets it back onto the floor of his suitcase. He looks around at the room. Somehow, the giant windows facing the lavender sky makes the space seem infinitely bigger; dusk light cascades in from them, brushing against Ten’s face like the warmth of a fireplace against his skin and painting the cherrywood flooring a purplish hue. The silver buildings ahead, framed within a honey-gold filter, glimmer in the pale yellow light of the sun dipping under the skyline.
He can’t help but wonder why Yukhei gave him the room with such a beautiful view. Either it was out of sheer stupidity or absolute selflessness; or, most likely, it was a healthy mixture of both.
Almost half of his little box of trinkets and decorations have found their places on the shelves and the surfaces of his dresser, and the bed is nestled cozily under layers of blankets. The bare remainder of yet another glass of wine sits on the stool he had decided to use as his nightstand, alongside a tiny plant and an equally small vase filled with dried flowers. Above the dresser mirror, posters surrounded by art and polaroids of places near his old homes are taped onto the standard cream-colored walls. There’s something nostalgic about it all; for that reason, Ten loves it beyond words.
Yukhei taps on the ajar door, then swings it open without any real permission—perhaps, Ten immediately begins thinking, the sign of boundary issues that he’d eventually have to work his way around—and pokes his head inside.
“Everything okay?” the boy asks, letting his gaze drift across the room, his expression just as sweet and amicable as it was before.
“Of course it is,” Ten says back. The grin on Yukhei’s face reaches peak radiance. “Thank you for giving me the chance to stay here with you.”
“I couldn’t have done anything else.” He leans his shoulder back against the doorframe, his hands slack at his sides as he squints at the epicenter of the quickly-fading golden light. “Besides, me and Kunhang wouldn’t have been able to afford this place, probably. If you weren’t here, I probably would’ve ended up at whatever… absolute fucking mess he’s staying in now.”
“Ah, the place is really that bad?”
“Oh, nah, not at all, just… his flatmates are wack.”
"Wack?" Ten snorts.
"Ah, y-yeah, they’re insaneall together, it's scary." Ten can see a new thought pop into Yukhei's head. "I know it's not that late, but you should probably sleep soon. Like… I actually don't know how you haven't passed out already."
Ten gives him a laugh and falls back across the bed, feeling the fuzzy throw blanket tickle the back of his neck. "I don't know either. Maybe I’m just really excited. But, I guess I should."
"Absolutely," Yukhei insists—even though it wasn't the most demanding voice. It sounded more like a hopeful plea than a real reinforcement. "Sleep well, then?"
Ten grins back. "M-hm. You sleep well too, Xuxi."
Satisfied, Yuhei closes the door behind him and retreats into the short hallway, padding back into the kitchen with light footsteps. Ten turns away from the windows, looking at the pillows and headboard and the blank wall behind him. Maybe he could find something to fill that space up—he ponders the idea, then lets his mind wander as tiredness tugs at his limbs, slowing the steady tapping of his feet dangling off the bedside.
Maybe it was a hallucination, the color in that glass, Ten resolves after a few minutes of mindless thinking, finally settling the nerves circling about in his brain. Like cravings catching up... It’s all alright. There’s nothing to worry about.