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In the middle of Seoul stands a large tower, an intimidating thousand feet of glass and metal and harsh fluorescent lighting. And look, their city’s sky is filled with whirring drones and highly-charged transportation tubing — new variations of technology don’t really faze the people of Seoul anymore. No matter what you present them, they’re unimpressed and quick to move on.
But everyone stops and stares at the NeoTech headquarters, just for a moment. Children and adults alike dream about being able to walk in or fly in through one of the numerous entrances of the tower. Criminals attempt to sneak in through them, and many a time, die trying. NeoTech’s a prestigious company with top-notch security for its headquarters, and to be able to enter through its doors is a privilege.
The thing is, despite being offered this privilege numerous times by Kun — both before and after Taeyong had given his approval — Ten doesn’t like to use the doors. It should be infuriating. It kind of really is. But Kun is so charmed by him, every time, so what does that say about them?
The knock that comes on the infirmary’s window is blaring in the quiet of the night, but it’s welcome. It’s more than welcome. Kun tries not to let that show, tries to keep his movements slow and unhurried as he screws the cap onto a bottle of painkillers and sets it atop the metal counter, before turning around to raise a sharp eyebrow at the figure in the window.
The vigilante’s black hood has flipped off, so his hair is wind-ruffled in the worst ways — it’s past the point of fashionable and straight-up messy. And his mask has been popped off, revealing the many small cuts that litter his face. But as always, Ten is breathtaking.
Then the idiot has to go and smirk, flash him a peace sign, and proceed to lose his grip on the building and plummet eight-hundred feet.
If it were just a few months prior, Kun would have rushed to the window in panic. Now, he simply sighs and turns back to the counter, putting the rest of the bottles away before marking his stock-check as complete. There’s paperwork to be done, and he could start on it, but every fibre of his being is still tuned in to the window behind him, so he gives up easily and fiddles with his clipboard.
As he’d expected, it takes maybe thirty seconds before Kun hears the knocking again, far more impatient this time. This time, Ten skips his typical greeting and raises an eyebrow back at him, lifting the fabric of his jumpsuit where it’s been cut widely, to show a gaping, still-bleeding knife wound.
Kun feels his heart seize for a moment, before his instincts kick in as he rushes to pop open the window, pulling Ten in gently. “You could have led with that, you absolute idiot!”
“What can I say, officer,” Ten shrugs, seeming entirely unbothered by the wound, even as Kun presses him down against one of the numerous metal counters and cuts away part of his jumpsuit to examine it better. “I was… distracted. Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly distracting?”
Kun hums indulgently at his words, but doesn't flirt back like he usually does. No matter how much he enjoys this kind of treatment from the vigilante, injuries like this bring the reality of their situation crashing back down on him.
The blood has begun to clot already because of Ten’s enhanced healing, so it’s just a matter of cleaning the wound properly before it closes up to avoid any infection. It’s basic stuff, way below Kun’s pay grade, yet his hands shake as he handles the bottle of disinfectant. It feels like he’s some kind of rookie instead of the NeoTech’s head medical officer. It’s so disorienting, Ten makes him feel so disoriented.
Securing the bandage over the wound and around Ten’s narrow waist, Kun finally feels the anxiety seep out of him as he tucks in the edge of the cloth. He lets his hands still there, bowing his head just for a moment, to hide his face from Ten's searching eyes.
"Kun?" When the vigilante calls him by his given name, with so much warmth and concern packed into the single syllable, the walls that Kun has been so carefully trying to build can’t even put up a fight.
He slumps over, head coming to rest on Ten's shoulder as the vigilante sits up, pulling Kun closer by the waist. His thumb rubs circles over the material of Kun's scrubs. The chill of metal feels odd, but the action is still soothing. Even amidst his inner turmoil, Kun finds himself charmed. "Hey, talk to me. What's wrong?"
Kun isn't a crier, no matter what the rest of his demeanour seems to suggest. Yes, he's good at talking about his emotions, but it's not often that he cries to release them. He's not on the verge of crying now, either. It’s just that the exhaustion of caring so, so much for someone saps at him. The weight of his feelings pulls at the centre of his chest, and he-
For once, he finds himself wishing that every part of Ten was metal.
In this day and age, it's more common to have mods than to not. The left half of Kun's entire upper body is metal, as is his left thigh. Part of it is because of past injuries, and part of it is by choice. Mods are a functional and aesthetic indulgence, and it's rare to dislike them.
And honestly, Kun can't say he hates mods with a passion, but he has a strange relationship with them, and the essence of it is this — back when he was still working under SM, mods were a privilege, granted to top performers. The better you perform with the assets you naturally have, the more additional assets are granted to you.
The way Kun saw it, the more his fellow agents lost their sense of basic human decency, the more they were rewarded with mods. The question of whether they became inhuman before or after they received them became warped and distorted, and remains that way even long after he quit SM.
And it's stupid, because there are people like Taeyong and Mark who are ninety-percent mod, and can still be some of the best and most human people he knows. And there's Johnny, who's kind face is filled with various mods, or Donghyuck, whose helpful hands only became quicker with mods.
It's stupid, and Ten would think so, too.
He's covered head to toe in mods — Kun has felt this during their check-ups, pressing his right hand slightly above the area of an injury, wanting to feel the blood running under his skin as an assurance that he's still alive and well, feeling the telltale chill of a mod instead. (Another big reason to hate them.)
Sometimes, Kun lets himself wonder if all the mods Ten has are linked to his powers. He knows better than to ask.
Because if they start on the topic, the truth will come out that for the same irrational reason, he hates the mods as much as he loves Ten himself. And that's a conversation he can't handle yet, because of this awful hypocrisy that comes up whenever Ten gets hurt like this. Whenever Ten gets hurt like this, Kun just wishes he were a hundred-percent metal so that he'd be invulnerable.
Which, maybe doesn't make sense. Metal can be crushed, the same way human bones can. Metal can be reshaped, though. That's where the essence of this dilemma lies. Kun's own purpose in life, that he'd waited so long to find, is to heal people, and when mods are thrown into the mix, he feels so conflicted it numbs his mind. He hates feeling like this, he hates-
A pair of hands cover his own, fingers lacing together. With a start, Kun realises that Ten had forgone reaching for his left hand, which is closer, and had reached uncomfortable far to take his right hand, instead.
Somehow, Ten always knows.
"I know, sweetheart," Ten murmurs into his ear, "I know. It's okay."
He knows. He doesn't offer up a solution, and doesn't do anything to try and dissolve the tightness in Kun's chest, but he knows. That is already the most he could have done for Kun, and he probably knows that, too. He's like magic, Ten is magical.
Kun lets himself indulge in this comfort of being held just for a moment longer, before he pulls away from Ten's loose embrace and smiles tightly up at the vigilante. "If you're feeling well enough to sit up, then it's probably time for you to go."
This is the part that Kun hates the most, so naturally, Ten takes it upon himself to lighten the mood. "Getting rid of me so quickly, officer?" He pouts, like they're not in a committed relationship and haven't been for the past six months. Kun is in love with a fool.
A fool is who incredibly endearing and makes his heart go fond in the worst ways, so instead of playing along, Kun takes his hands again and interlaces their fingers, knowing how much Ten loves it when he does this. Sure enough, the vigilante's smirk softens into a pleased smile, as he squeezes back.
"As much as I'd love to keep you around," Kun sighs, "It's going to be sunrise, soon." He nods out to the city's skyline, already tinged with the faintest bit of orange. "You need to go, baby."
And fine, it's a dirty trick, but it works. Ten melts like butter into his arms, and begins to press slow, tempting kisses into his jaw. "Just a while longer," he says, amidst kisses. "Will you let me stay for just a while longer?"
I'd let you stay forever, Kun wants to tell him.
But what he ends up doing is gently pulling away and pressing a chaste kiss to Ten's lips. Ten immediately deepens it with a dangerously mind-numbing skill, but they go through this routine often enough for Kun not to lose his bearings entirely.
He responds by pressing the vigilante to the counter and kissing him thoroughly, until Ten is pliant and whining under his hands. Not sated, never sated. When he pulls away, Ten's lips are red and bruised, and his eyes are dark with want, he's so, so tempting, but-
As Ten leans in again for another kiss, Kun stops him with a finger to his lips. Undeterred, Ten's insistent hands tug at Kun's shirt to pull him closer yet. With the look Ten gives him, Kun is just about to cave, but just then his earpiece beeps, and Johnny’s voice comes through. “Kun, the boss says he doesn’t really care if you play with your boytoy while you’re at work, but we kind of have an emergency.”
Though he’s partly grateful to Johnny for making up for his temporary lapse in self-control, Kun can’t help but roll his eyes a little at the way he words it. This is NeoTech, they always have some kind of emergency. But if Taeyong had asked for his presence — undoubtedly in a much more considerate way than Johnny has worded it — then Kun wouldn’t refuse his friend, and technically can't refuse his boss.
When he turns back to Ten, the vigilante is already on his feet. Without warning, he vaults back over the counter to land near the window through which he came in. Catching Kun’s gaze, he grins devilishly. “You should get mad more often, babe. It makes you even hotter, which I frankly didn’t think would be possible.”
Ten runs his mouth even more when he’s feeling flustered, and sure enough, Kun can feel his gaze running over the line of his jaw — he hadn’t even realised he’d been clenching it, in irritation. He watches as Ten’s eyes darken once more, and lets himself recall how it feels to have that mouth pressed against him instead, teasing in completely different ways-
Maybe Ten sees the desire in his eyes, because when he smiles this time, it’s a touch more proud. Victorious. It suits him, and Kun can’t help but admire it.
“Thanks for the help, officer!" The vigilante calls out, staying unbelievable faithful to his tradition of re-enacting the first night Ten had come to him in the tower, ten months ago. "I’ll swing by the next time I need someone to feel me up!"
This is an unexpected change in his words though, and Kun flushes. “You-"
“Until next time!” The vigilante’s legs are already dangling over the ledge. With a roguish wink and that infuriating smile, he disappears into the night, true to his name.
His earpiece beeps again, and this time it’s Taeyong’s voice that comes through instead. “Did you forget to tell Shade that he’s allowed to use any of our actual doors, again?”
Kun sighs defeatedly. “I would have, but he’d just complain that it ruins his aesthetic.”
“Given how he doesn't even try to hide how much he's into you, I doubt he cares too much about his aesthetic,” Taeyong hums knowingly. “I think you just like that he pays special attention to you. He doesn’t break in through any other windows, you know.”
"Okay, one, of course he only breaks into infirmary. Where else would he go if he only comes here when he's injured? And two, I don't know what you mean, I fit into his aesthetic perfectly. Ex-assassin here, remember?"
“Whatever you say, head medic,” Taeyong sings. "Or should I say, officer?"
As Kun silently regrets his drunken choice to let that bit of information slip, Taeyong quickly switches back to boss mode, and says, “Anyway, I wasn’t kidding about needing you up here, though. The jet’s coming in two minutes, and the team are all injured in one way or another. You know how the kids get when I let Doyoung patch them up instead.”
“Yeah, I know.” Kun sighs, slowly making his way to the door and flicking off the harsh fluorescent lights, row by row, until the room is completely dark, its metal walls casting it in a faint bluish light. “I’ll be right up.”
With a last glance, he shuts the glass door behind him, and, just by a second, misses the shadow that flits across the window.