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“For the record, I do not condone this behaviour. In fact, if I’m being frank, I think you’ve lost your mind.”
Kun winces, his face scrunching into a guilty grimace. Chenle isn’t entirely wrong, but Kun is hardly going to allow him to experience the satisfaction of being even remotely right. After all, he has a reputation to uphold; tattered and falling apart at the seams, but a reputation all the same.
“I thought siblings were supposed to support one another in times of need?” Kun prods, thinking of all the times his brother has called him in the middle of the night, stranded in god knows where after doing god knows what.
“That may be true,” Chenle sighs, a sound that rattles deafeningly in Kun’s ear, “but I can not and will not support your sudden urge to blow through a year's wages just because some woman broke your heart.”
Ouch. It seems that Chenle is more than willing to hit where it hurts the most.
“Chenle, she did not break my heart,” Kun hisses irately, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening in as he backs himself into a corner. “The divorce was a mutual decision and we split on perfectly amicable terms.”
“Kun-ge, you were threatening to sue her over a toaster oven,” Chenle snorts. “I wouldn't call that amicable.”
Kun flushes, realising that perhaps he had reacted somewhat absurdly when faced with the threat of losing his one of a kind, tearjerkingly expensive kitchen appliance. Although, the more he thinks about, the more justified he feels in his decision to take legal action.
“Hey! That was my toaster oven and she had no right to take it,” he counters, a decibel louder than is perhaps appropriate for an airport at three in the morning. In his peripheral vision, Kun notices an elderly woman glancing at him worriedly - who it is she’s worried for, he has no idea.
There’s a pause, silence crackling through the phone like a lit match. Chenle’s judgement is palpable, and Kun’s shackles lower as his defence weakens.
“Some things could have gone better, I’ll admit,” Kun confesses after a moment’s consideration.
“Yeah,” Chenle scoffs, a sound of exasperation. “Maybe then you wouldn’t have bought a ticket to Thailand whilst blackout drunk.”
Kun groans embarrassedly, making sure to keep his voice down lest he scare the old woman into an early grave.
“I was not blackout drunk.” (He was.) “I just had a few cocktails to take the edge off after a long week.” (If eight Long Island iced teas could be considered few.)
“A long week of crying. Over a toaster oven.”
Kun rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore the blatantly obvious fact that Chenle isn’t actually around to see. “I was crying over the dog, not the oven you idiot,” he mutters weakly, very much aware that he isn’t helping his case. He doesn’t even really know what it is he’s trying to prove to his brother, other than that he is perfectly capable of looking after himself. Probably. Most likely. On occasion.
“She took the toaster and the dog? Man, that’s rough.”
That didn’t sound like Chenle. Frowning, Kun swivels his head, searching for the source of the voice, and finds himself faced with the unfamiliar figure of a stranger. The man looks to be a quite few years younger than Kun, dressed in fashionably baggy jeans and an even baggier sweater that swallows his small frame. The first thing that comes to mind is: pretty . The second is: what the fuck? The latter dictates Kun’s approach to the situation.
“Can I help you?” he asks weakly, embarrassed his conversation has been overheard. Really, it’s his own fault for answering Chenle’s call in the middle of a busy airport. He knows what his brother is like, and the ability to mind his own business is something Chenle has yet to master.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” the stranger apologises, grin sharp and eyes glittering. He’s lying, Kun realises. “Sounds like you’re not having the best time.”
It all feels very invasive; the teasing comments and the taunting smile, all from a grinning stranger Kun has never met before.
“Who’s that?” Chenle asks, his voice sounding like static through the phone. Kun ignores him.
“I don’t really see how that’s any of your business,” he sniffs, giving the stranger a disapproving glare. Seriously, who does this guy think he is, all short and smug? Kun has at least a few inches on him, and if he has to fight as a last resort then he reckons he could take this guy on.
“Oh, it’s not,” the stranger beams, pink lips stretching to reveal the most perfect set of teeth Kun has ever seen. “I’m just nosy.”
Kun stills, blinking at the bizarre character in front of him - because surely, that’s what this guy is. He can hardly be real. Perhaps, after a trying two months, Kun is growing delirious, his mind creating realities that don’t exist.
“Ge, is everything okay?” Chenle’s voice chimes, his words laced with concern.
“I’ll call you back.” Kun doesn’t wait for a response, ending the call without bothering to confirm the state of his well-being. Chenle will panic, and he’ll try calling at least another twenty times, but Kun has a slightly more pressing matter at hand.
“Well, you have my full attention now,” he says, sending the stranger a too-wide smile as he tucks his phone into his pocket. It’s already vibrating again, signalling another incoming call from Chenle.
“Hm?” The stranger tilts his head in confusion, his smile dulling slightly.
“I just thought that since you’re so curious about the inner workings of my personal life, you’d appreciate the time to ask some questions,” Kun explains, feigning a confusion of his own. “Fire away.”
The stranger’s grin slips off his face completely, the goading glee draining from the twinkle in his eyes, only to be replaced with an ashamed flush and a flash of guilt. In all honesty, Kun takes some sort of pleasure in his ability to gain a reaction after being faced with such an unapologetic busybody.
“Uh,” the aforementioned busybody stutters, a stark contrast to the brash confidence of only moments before. His mouth opens and closes in quick succession, an odd cycle that does nothing but make him look remarkably like a goldfish.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Kun tuts, hiking his bag higher onto his shoulder. The stranger eyes him like he’s witnessing a major historical event, but he doesn’t say a word, his mouth having finally pressed itself into a thin line.
“Have a nice day,” Kun adds, his tone lacking the usual cheerfulness and sincerity that often comes with such a greeting.
Happy to get the last word in, he brushes past the frozen stranger and leaves his gate to go in search of something to eat. He can’t say he’s particularly hungry, but he still has some time to spare before his flight departs. If he stays away long enough, then maybe he won’t have to see the nosy stranger again.
The airport bustles with life despite the early hour. Kun passes by several groups of businessmen dressed in starched shirts and perfectly pressed suits; a gaggle of teenage girls wearing hoodies plastered with the smouldering faces of some idol group he vaguely recognises; a family with two screaming toddlers and a disgruntled older brother, furiously punching the keys of his gaming device whilst he ignores them all.
Mercifully, the little convenience store he finds himself in is only half as busy, and Kun manages to pick up a bottle of water and some snacks without too much hassle. Munching on a packet of spicy rice crackers, he contemplates nipping into the bookshop next door for a quick browse of the latest crime releases (as far from romance as he can get), but thinks better of it when he takes note of the time.
With a deflated sigh, Kun crumples up his half eaten snack and shoves it forcefully into his carryon before making the short trip back to his gate. By the time he arrives, a good third of the passengers are already onboard, but Kun doesn't let himself panic. Assigned seating exists for a reason. The moment he steps on board, however, he wishes it didn’t. If there was ever a time to steal someone else’s seat, that would be now, because of course he’s been put beside the last person he’d ever want to spend five consecutive hours with (and that includes his coworker Dejun, who spends most of his office hours humming love ballads under his breath and regaling Kun with tales of all the times he’s been rejected).
This guy at least has the decency to look sheepish when his eyes catch Kun's, but there’s also nothing on his face that says his teasing won’t make a reappearance over the next few hours. God. Hours . Kun isn’t sure he’ll make it out alive. It would probably be a good idea to shoot Chenle a quick text before take off, just to ensure his assets are in order and that his will is respected in the event that he doesn’t. Not that it matters much - the only things Kun currently has going for him are his partial custody of a dog (he gets her weekends) and a horrendously large collection of caramel apple green tea, gifted to him by his mother under the mistaken assumption that he actually enjoys the stuff.
Still, the prospect of coming home to an armada of disgusting teabags doesn’t compare to the horror that awaits. Letting out a silent huff, Kun decides to be the bigger person and marches towards his seat with the intention of ignoring the nosy stranger for the entirety of their flight. If he manages to do so, it will be a testament to his seemingly endless patience, which is both his greatest strength and biggest weakness. Chenle always tells him that he’s patient to a fault, far too kind and tolerable even when the situation and those involved have nowhere near earned it. He isn’t sure if this counts as one such scenario, since he hasn’t been all that patient from the get go. His younger brother would be proud.
“Fancy seeing you here,” the stranger greets, something wary - hesitant, even - bruising the confident front he’s putting on. Kun has to bite back a pleased smile, a little delighted he managed to shake this guy’s nerve to the point of visibility.
“Yeah, imagine that,” Kun mutters, opening the overhead compartment and shoving his bag inside, sans water and half eaten bag of rice crackers. He’s a little put out to discover his seat is neither at the window nor the aisle, sandwiched in between the stranger he knows and another he doesn’t, the latter of whom is yet to board the plane it seems.
“Ooh, where did you get those?” the guy asks, hungry eyes fixed on Kun’s snack with an innocence the older man almost considers giving into. Almost.
“From a shop. Using money,” Kun deadpans, dropping into his seat with as much grace as he can in such a tight space, which is not very much at all. “You should try it sometime.”
This time, instead of staring at Kun all wide eyed and mouth agape, the stranger barks an amused laugh. Kun is horrified to find that it’s a pleasant sound, the kind that has an almost impervious charm with the ability of contagion. If Kun wasn’t so dead set on hating this stranger, then he’d probably have let out a small chuckle of his own.
“Why should I, when I can just bribe handsome strangers into giving away things for free?” the guy smirks, but again, it’s tinted with a hesitancy, like he’s anxious to see how Kun reacts.
“It’s not good to depend on others so much,” Kun ends up saying, silently wondering where on earth this bout of sage advice is coming from. “Not strangers, and especially not the handsome ones. They’re the worst kind of stranger.”
“Sounds like you know an awful lot about handsome strangers…” the guy trails off, raising an expectant eyebrow.
Ah, so this was all a way to pull personal information out of Kun.
“If you want my name, you’ll have to bribe me,” he snorts, cracking open the bottle of water. The corrugated plastic of the lid scratches at his skin, leaving it raw and stinging, but Kun chooses not to hiss in pain lest this incredibly entitled stranger bombard him with more personal questions about his pain tolerance or something equally weird.
“I thought you said I shouldn’t do that anymore? Depend on handsome strangers?” the guy pushes, leaning in Kun’s direction until the fresh sweetness of his cologne is all the older man can smell. It’s pleasant, but it also makes Kun’s nose itch in the same way it does during the height of the summer months.
“I hardly think knowing my name is vital to your survival,” Kun sighs tiredly. “You’ll manage just fine without it.”
Deep down, Kun knows what this guy is doing, why he’s asking so many questions and pushing for so many answers. Very, very deep down.
“Ten.”
Kun frowns. “Hm?”
“That’s my name,” the guy explains. “Ten. See how easy that was? Now you try.”
“I’d rather not,” Kun says dismissively. “Are you sure you aren’t trying to steal my identity? You seem to want to know an awful lot about me. Actually, now that I think about it, you already do.”
“Ah, I am sorry about that. I kind of forget that most people aren’t chronic oversharers,” Ten apologises, his tone unfamiliarly sincere. “Or, you know, partial to mildly invasive lines of questioning.”
Admittedly shocked by the apology, Kun doesn’t know how else to respond other than sarcastically. “Yeah, it’s strange, isn’t it?”
Ten doesn’t get the opportunity to reply to that, because then the pilot’s speaking, his muffled, disembodied voice floating through the overhead speaker like some sort of incredibly bossy ghost. Kun blocks the droning voice out, as well as the safety instructions demonstrated by the flight attendants, not tuning back in again until the exits are being pointed out to him with a quick flourish of hands.
“Surely they must be bored of that whole routine by now,” Ten wonders aloud, looking bored out of his mind.
Kun merely shrugs, unwilling to get into a conversation discussing the necessity of such a “routine”, partially because he doesn't have the energy, but mostly because he’d be a hypocrite if he did, having not listened to a single instruction himself (but that was more out of experience than ignorance).
It seems that their third seatmate won’t be joining them for the flight, the aisle seat remaining empty as the plane prepares for take off. Kun decides to bide his time until they’re in the air and can remove their seatbelts before he shifts into the free space. It’s not much, but any distance from Ten and the scent of his perfume is a small mercy if they have to be stuck together for the next five hours.
Surprisingly, Ten doesn’t make any efforts to extract Kun’s name from him as the plane begins to taxi along the runway. At first, Kun thinks he’s finally given up and resigned himself to a wordless flight, but of course, as with most things these days, Kun has severely overestimated the universe’s willingness to give him a break.
As it turns out, Ten has not chosen silence so much as he’s been scared into it, a fact Kun only realises when he feels clammy fingers wrap around his wrist. His head jerks up, preparing to actually yell at Ten this time, but the angry words die in his throat the moment he recognises the fear in the younger man’s eyes. Ten isn’t looking at him, seeming like he’s completely forgotten Kun is even there, but the line of his body is tight with nervous tension and his grip on Kun’s wrist is strong enough to threaten the functionality of his blood circulation.
Unsure of what to do, Kun remains frozen as the plane begins to gain speed, the speckles of yellow lights amidst the darkness of the night blurring to golden streaks. Ten’s breathing picks up slightly when the plane starts to ascend, and Kun makes the arguable mistake of twisting his wrist around and intertwining their fingers, Ten’s sweaty palm pressed up against the dryness of Kun’s own. A surprised gasp jumps from Ten’s parted lips and he turns to face Kun, eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and astonishment. An encouraging smile is all Kun can manage, his own nerves going haywire as the plane flies higher and higher, until his ears pop and his head buzzes.
When Kun finally disentangles his hand from Ten’s, red crescents indent the skin surrounding his knuckles and he’s pretty sure the muscles have atrophied so badly he can’t move his fingers properly.
“Sorry,” Ten apologises, his voice unusually small. He looks embarrassed, which Kun supposes is understandable, but he also thinks Ten looks better when he’s smiling.
“Kun.”
Ten’s head whips up so quickly there’s almost an audible crack. He’s frowning slightly, eyes a little narrowed as he studies Kun’s face, but it doesn’t take long for his brow to smoothen in understanding.
“Nice to meet you, Kun,” he says softly, the corners of his mouth curling with the beginnings of a smile. Not a teasing or amused one, but real and sincere.
“You too, Ten,” Kun smiles, surprising himself with just how seriously he means it. “You too.”
*
“You’re a total dilf!”
“Are you calling me old?” Kun huffs, offended but also very much aware of the furious blush creeping up his neck. Ten either doesn’t notice, or is already too busy trying to convince Kun he looks old enough to be someone’s father.
“No, I’m calling you hot ,” Ten corrects, bold and unashamed. Kun’s face burns. “Besides, if you were actually old, you’d have no idea what a dilf is.”
How he and Ten had even got onto the topic of Kun’s looks was a mystery, but he was fairly certain that it might have something to do with the vodka cokes Ten had bought them the moment the refreshment cart trundled past. Kun’s initial reaction had been an instant refusal, but apparently Ten had the power to be scarily convincing when he wanted to, and now here they were, approximately three drinks in and in the middle of perhaps the strangest conversation either of them had ever been a part of.
“I suppose you sort of have a point,” Kun nods after a moment’s consideration, “but I still reject the idea that you can be a dilf without first being a dad. Isn’t that the whole point of the concept?”
“Not necessarily.” Ten sounds like he’s participating in an academic debate rather than an argument over Kun’s dilf status. “I think of it as a state of being; sexy and responsible.”
That raises a laugh out of Kun, one that’s only slightly appalled.
“The last thing I’d call myself is responsible,” he snorts, remembering the series of events that led to him even being on this plane in the first place. He peers into his unfinished drink and wonders if maybe now would be a good time to ask for water instead.
“How so?” Ten asks, like he’s genuinely curious. He rests a hand on his chin, his elbow propped up on the armrest in between them as his eyes bore into Kun’s, who wishes he had taken the chance to move over a seat when he had it. “You certainly seem to have your life together better than I do.”
Kun fixes him with a glare that says really?
“Alright, maybe not entirely,” Ten acquiesces, seeming to recall the snippets he’d caught of Kun’s conversation with Chenle back at the airport. “You’re still hot though, if that’s any consolation.
Strangely it is, but Kun decides not to vocalise that thought in case Ten uses it as ammunition for his teasing.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he says instead, draining the last of his drink with a wince as the alcohol burns down his throat. Yeah, definitely time to pace himself. There’s still another three hours left in this godforsaken flying tin can, and he wants to be able to walk off, unsupervised, by the end of it.
“You should. I’m a highly reliable source,” Ten grins, finishing off his own drink with a graceful gulp. Kun finds his gaze fixing itself on the bob of Ten’s throat before he catches himself. That pesky blush of his refuses to budge.
“Is that your official job title?” Kun jokes, one of the first he’s made in Ten’s presence. The alcohol hasn’t only warmed his insides, but loosened his tongue too it seems.
“Nah, that’s just a thing I do on the side. Officially, I’m a dance instructor.”
“Wow,” Kun blinks in surprise. “That’s way more interesting than what I do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Marketing. It was the only job I could find that paid well enough to fund my extravagant lifestyle.”
“That makes sense. Too many toaster ovens can really leave a man bankrupt.”
Kun’s surprised to find that he’s amused by Ten’s joke rather than upset over the mention of his favourite purchase of the last decade.
“So can a lengthy divorce,” he tries, only this time it feels less like a joke and more like a confession.
“Fuck, you were married ?” Ten squeaks, his entire torso twisting around until he’s facing Kun head on. “I thought you were just upset about a bad breakup - not an actual divorce.”
“You’re making it sound as though married people don’t exist.”
“ Apparently they don’t. Looks like most of them end up divorced anyway.”
Kun gives Ten a knowing look. “Not a big believer in the whole ‘til death do us part’ thing, I take it?”
Ten shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not that I don’t believe in it at all - I just don’t believe in it for me , you know?”
“Yeah, I think so.” And Kun does. It makes sense now that he’s been there, done that. “I always thought that marriage was what I wanted but, well, look how that turned out.”
“I guess not all of us can be lucky in love,” Ten sighs, and he tries to play it off as a lighthearted comment, but it’s hard to ignore the underlying tone of hurt - a pain that only comes with experience. Kun wants to ask, but it’s neither appropriate nor the time. That, and he and Ten have only known each other a few hours. Still, it feels like they’ve known one another an awful lot longer.
So far, all Kun knows about Ten is that he’s 25 (a whole eight years younger than him, something Kun is strangely conflicted by), he travels between Beijing, Bangkok and Seoul to teach dance, and has two cats waiting for him at his parents’ house, both of whom he claims to love more than any human being. Kun thinks about Bella, his excitable puppy who he currently misses more than his own brother, and decides that he agrees.
“Do you want another?” Ten asks, shaking his empty cup.
“I’m good, thanks,” Kun declines, thinking now’s probably a good time to return to the water he bought back at the airport.
“Suit yourself,” Ten shrugs, pressing the little button above his head that signals for the nearest flight attendant.
Approximately five minutes later, Ten is happily sipping on his fourth(?) vodka coke, and Kun watches on in amazement as the younger man drinks half of it in one go.
“What?” he whines when he catches Kun eyeing him warily. “There’s still hours left. Might as well have fun.”
Kun supposes he can’t really argue with that, but he still chooses to diligently drink his water, worrying about what another drop of alcohol would mean for his bank account. The last time he got drunk, he’d awoken to find himself drained of most of his savings and the proud owner of a plane ticket to Thailand. God knows what would happen this time around.
Ten, on the other hand, does not seem to possess the same qualms in relation to his own money, happily buying another drink when his newest one runs dry. Kun considers trying to stop him, but he quickly reminds himself that Ten is his own person, an autonomous adult who is perfectly capable of making his own decisions. Whether they’re right or wrong in Kun’s eyes doesn’t matter.
“So, Kun,” Ten starts, his words beginning to slur slightly as he leans a little closer into the older man’s space. The scent of alcohol is almost as strong as his perfume. “Why’re you on your way to Bangkok of all places? You never did tell me.”
There’s a pause as Kun mulls over his answer, trying to work out just how much of the truth he’s willing to tell Ten. It’s not as though he thinks Ten will judge him for any of it; rather, he hasn’t actually told anyone the real truth. Not even Chenle.
Fuck it.
“Well, if you must know, my wife got bored of me and slept with another man. I got sad about it and filed for a divorce. She got bored of me being sad and signed the papers. I got sad about it again. She decided my sadness wasn’t good for the dog and took Bella when she moved out. I remained sad about it, got really drunk and accidentally bought a plane ticket with the last of my savings, and now I’m here.”
Briefly, Kun wonders if maybe he should’ve just kept on drinking, if only to save himself the embarrassment that followed oversharing.
“Shit.” Ten suddenly looks quite sober, something like pity, but not quite, treading the curves of his face. “Now I know why you were so pissed off about the toaster oven.”
And Kun can’t help it. He laughs. It’s far too loud for a flight filled with other people, half of them asleep, the other half trying desperately to get to that point. He laughs, and doesn’t stop laughing until his ribs ache and his stomach hurts, tears pooling in his eyes with the force of it. Ten’s laughing too, but it’s probably a side effect of the alcohol rather than from finding anything funny.
“I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard since I was at university,” Kun wheezes once his laughter has died down to sporadic giggles. He’s aware of the dirty looks he’s garnering from the other passengers, but he pays them no mind.
“Glad to be of service,” Ten chuckles, attempting - and failing - to curtsey whilst remaining seated.
Their eyes meet, glistening with tears of laughter, and for some inexplicable reason Kun feels like leaning across the arm rest and pressing his lips to Ten’s. It’s a short lived thought, but it flashes in his head for a moment too long to be completely dismissed.
“I think I need another drink,” he mutters, abandoning his self-made promise to stick to water. Like Ten said, they still had hours to go.
*
There’s a brief lull in the conversation when Ten says it, a moment in between two topics of conversation when neither of them really knows what to talk about.
“I think my heart’s broken,” he whispers, a hushed confession. “And I don’t really know how to fix it.”
No one else is listening in, or even paying attention to them anymore, but Kun feels like he has to match Ten’s volume for the sake of respect if anything else. Ten listened to him whinge about his disaster of a marriage, so it’s only fair if Kun does the same.
“You and me both,” he murmurs, and it’s an act of comfort rather than an attempt to brush off Ten’s feelings.
“Do you think it’ll get better?”
“I hope so,” Kun says, nodding firmly. “I think so,” he adds, reaching out to give Ten’s hand a consoling squeeze. The gesture isn’t dissimilar to their hand holding during take off, but it’s marginally less awkward and sweaty.
“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” Kun asks warily, not holding out for a straight answer. From what he’s gathered, Ten is actually a fairly private person. Not secretive as such, but definitely wary of who he shares his deepest secrets with. Kun thought that he was like that, but as it turns out, it’s easier to open up to a stranger than it is his own family. He hopes the same rings true for Ten.
“Not particularly,” the younger man admits, his eyes fixed on where Kun’s hand remains clutched in his own. “But it might be good for me if I do.”
“If anything, I can at least sympathise,” Kun suggests gently. That seems to be what does it, Ten’s gaze raising to match his.
He’s hesitant at first, taking a quick sip of his drink in an attempt to stall, but there are only so many distractions to choose from until Ten has to just go for it.
“I guess, I should maybe backtrack a little and explain what I used to be like, just so you have a better understanding of the kind of person I am when it comes to relationships,” he says, and Kun nods encouragingly, not wanting to interrupt but still trying to show his support.
Ten blows out a shaky breath before continuing. “I’m not proud of the way I used to act. I was a dick, really. I bounced between gu-people without much care for their feelings, sleeping with them when it suited me and leaving when it didn’t. I’m not- I’m not bragging when I say I left a lot of people broken hearted because, now, it kind of makes me sick. I don’t know if that’s because I understand the feeling, or if it’s because I’ve grown up, but I…” he trails off, letting go of Kun’s hand to grab his drink again.
Kun doesn’t think his hand has ever felt so cold.
“I have a lot of regrets,” Ten finally says, refusing to meet Kun’s gaze once more. “A lot of things I wish I hadn’t done, but he was the worst of them all.”
He pauses, like he’s waiting for Kun to react to his admission, but the older man only nods, a silent signal for him to continue. Ten still won’t look at him, but some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders, like a weight has been lifted.
“We were never serious. Actually, I’m not even sure we were ever official, but it felt… I don’t know - real ? I saw him almost every day, even when I was dead on my feet after hours of back-to-back classes, and I was so fucking blinded by my feelings that I never noticed he never did the same. It was always me going to him, never the other way around, and I feel so stupid looking back on it all.”
Kun wants to do something to comfort Ten, but he doesn’t know how. If birds of a feather flock together, then he and Ten are just two birds with broken wings, unable to mend themselves or each other without causing more pain first.
“He found someone else. A friend of a friend, or something. I had no idea, didn’t see it coming, but I really should have. All of the patterns were there, each and every one of them, and somehow I didn’t recognise them. It sounds horrible, but it almost felt like he was beating me at my own game, you know? Like, I was always the heartbreaker, never the heartbroken, but he turned the tables without me noticing and now… now I’m kind of running away from it all.”
Ten isn’t crying, but his eyes shimmer and he’s chewed his lower lip to a vivid shade of red. An ache lodges itself in Kun’s chest, familiar and strange all at once, and out of everything he could ever want in the world, what he wants now is a hug. He doesn’t do it, of course. As easy as it could be, Kun doesn’t reach out, doesn’t wrap his arms around Ten, doesn’t breathe in his scent. Kun doesn’t do it, because that would be selfish, and as much as he wants to be selfish, this isn’t about him.
“Some pair we make,” he decides to say, hoping it’ll lighten the mood, or best case scenario, it’ll make Ten laugh.
In the end, neither happens. The silence that follows is a tangible thing, fizzing between them like the bubbles in their drinks. This time, when Kun looks over, Ten is already watching him with a thoughtful frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. Kun can’t tell what it means; Ten’s frown. Maybe he’s upset with that last comment. Maybe he’s realising just how much he’s had to drink. Hell, maybe it’s the altitude getting to him.
What Kun doesn't expect is for Ten to lean across the armrest and clumsily press their mouths together. It’s the shortest kiss of Kun’s life, if it can even be called that, just two sets of lips knocking together before Ten is pulling away, regret dulling the glow of his rosy skin.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, and before Kun can even think of a response, Ten is pushing past him, stalking down the aisle towards the bathroom at the front of the plane.
Mouth tingling and heart pounding an irregular beat in his chest, Kun lets his entire body slump back in his seat. Exhaustion tugs at his muscles after a sleepless night, but something else buzzes through his veins, keeping him very much awake.
He doesn’t know why it takes so long for the realisation to set in, but when it does, Kun thinks he might have an aneurism.
At thirty-three years old, he kissed a man for the first time, and he liked it.
*
In the time it takes for Ten to return from the bathroom, Kun finishes his drink, tries to repress any line of thought that may lead to another life-altering crisis, and begins drifting off to sleep for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.
When the sound of Ten’s footsteps grows near, he keeps his eyes shut and pretends to be asleep, if only to prevent what is sure to be a rather awkward hour or so from playing out as they wait for the plane to arrive in Bangkok. Kun feels Ten’s eyes on him, smells the faint scent of his cologne, hears the nervous shudder of his breath, but he refuses to open his eyes. After a few moments of silent deliberation, Ten’s warm body brushes against his own as he settles back into his seat with a tired sigh. The familiar heat is an unexpected comfort, and Kun has to physically stop himself from inching closer, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.
Eventually, Kun must have actually fallen asleep, because then he’s waking up with a crick in his neck and a heavy weight resting on his left shoulder. Bleary eyed and a little disoriented, Kun glances down only to be faced with a mouthful of Ten’s dark hair, breathing deeply as he sleeps. Really, Kun should be uncomfortable with this entire situation, waking up to find a near stranger sleeping on top of him, but instead something warm curls within him, protective and calm.
Something about the change in Kun’s position must alert Ten, who lets out a quiet groan before sliding his head from Kun’s shoulder.
“Sleep well?” the older man can’t help but ask. Ten freezes for a split second, and then he turns ever so slowly to face Kun, that guilty look from their first meeting making a reappearance.
“Alright,” he nods stiffly. “You?”
So it’s going to be like this, is it? Gone is the ease with which conversation flowed mere hours ago, replaced by a coolness, just cold enough to have Kun backing away.
“Same,” he lies. Despite the shooting pain in his neck, that was the best sleep Kun has had since he and his wife stopped sharing a bed, maybe even before then. Not that he’s going to tell Ten that.
“Good,” Ten says with an awkward, toothless smile.
“Good,” Kun echoes, mirroring Ten’s smile with one of his own.
They don’t talk after that. Ten pulls out his phone and sticks in a pair of wireless earphones, whilst Kun reads through the brochures provided in the seat pockets, internally gasping at the overpriced toiletries and cosmetics he knows can’t be worth the cost. The pilot’s crackly voice comes through the speaker to inform them that they’ll be landing soon, an announcement that leaves both men with sweaty palms and bouncing knees, veins thrumming with nervous energy. Kun doubts Ten will want him to hold his hand this time.
The descent is a little bumpy, but it’s not the worst Kun has experienced. At the very least, there hasn’t been any turbulence, and that alone is enough to rate this flight pretty high up on his list. Ten acts both as a bonus point and a deduction. The only thing giving away the younger man’s fear this time around is his white-knuckled grip on the armrest and the anxious bouncing of his right foot, leaving Kun to repress a proud smile. For once, his own fear is a tiny creature resting in the darkest recesses of his mind, only making an appearance once the plane is already on the ground.
What happens now? Will he and Ten part ways, living out the rest of their lives like none of this ever happened? It’s a thought more terrifying than most, and Kun hates to think what that means for him.
Once they’re given permission to disembark, Kun practically jumps out of his seat. He opens the overhead compartment and pulls out his own bag before reaching for Ten’s as well. His heart drops a little when he realises that Ten doesn’t just have a backpack with him - he has a case. That most likely suggests Ten won’t need to wait for his luggage to pop out on the conveyor belt like Kun will.
Ten takes his case from Kun with a wordless smile, and then they’re leaving their row of seats behind for good. Neither of them talk as they walk towards passport control, nor even as they wait in a lengthy queue to have their passports checked. Kun goes first, allowed through almost immediately, and he spends so long thinking about waiting on Ten that the younger man appears beside him before he’s even made a decision.
Once they’re through, there isn’t much reason for Ten to stay. He has everything he needs, knows exactly where he’s going - knows exactly what’s waiting for him. Kun has none of those, and in a second he’ll have even less because Ten will be gone too.
There’s something about Ten that both intrigues and satisfies every one of Kun’s curiosities. He’s not a sheltered idiot - he knows what this means. He knows that from the moment they met something had started to brew between them, something new to both Kun and Ten. For Kun, it’s the thought of not just being with a man, but being with someone who understands him. For Ten, it’s the thought of not just loving someone, but having someone love him back.
It’s all so new and scary and uncertain, but Kun doesn’t want it to end. What Ten wants… well, that’s for Ten to know, and for Ten alone to decide if he wants anyone else to know too.
“I hope you enjoy your stay,” Ten says, stilted and strained. Something pained rests in his eyes, and for a split second it’s like Kun can read his mind, but only a split second. Ten’s face closes off just as quickly as it tears itself open.
“Thanks.” The word comes out a little choked, like it’s had to work its way around a lump in Kun’s throat before it could fall off his tongue.
“I hope your cats will be happy to see you,” he adds, but it's such an oddly placed comment it feels like he’s playing that game where the objective is pinning the tail onto a donkey.
“Thanks.”
The silence stretches between them like gum stuck between the sole of a shoe and the ground. Ten stares at his feet and Kun stares at Ten.
“Well, I should probably go and find my luggage before someone accidentally steals it,” he announces, breaking the silence with all the subtlety of a hammer slamming against glass, shattering it to pieces.
When Ten looks at him, it feels like one of those broken shards of glass is pressed against his lungs, the breath leaving him in a punched whoosh .
“Probably,” Ten agrees, not looking even remotely like he believes himself.
“Okay, well I’ll…”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
A pause. And then:
“Goodbye,” Ten whispers with a strained smile.
“Goodbye,” Kun whispers back. He doesn't even attempt to smile, knowing it’ll only look like a grimace.
He doesn’t look back as he leaves to find his suitcase, because if he does, then he’s afraid he’ll never leave the fucking airport. A voice inside of him suggests that maybe, that wouldn’t be so bad. Not if Ten’s around.
Baggage claim is nearly empty when Kun finally arrives, but it still feels like an entire age has passed by the time he’s wheeling his case towards the exit. Each step is like wading through water while fully clothes, his feet dragging against the ground. His phone has already started vibrating again with an incoming call from Chenle - Kun doesn’t have to check to know - but nothing seems quite real, like he’s living in some sort of dream world, waiting to wake up. His body is slow to move, but his mind is quick, a million questions rushing through his frontal lobe like cars on a racetrack.
Should he have gone after Ten? Definitely , says one voice, the metaphorical devil on his shoulder. Definitely not , says another, a voice of reason amidst a torrent of emotion-fuelled catastrophes. He listens to that one for a moment, thinking. Even if he did decide to follow Ten, then what? Kun can’t pinpoint exactly what he wants, wouldn’t be able to ask Ten for anything besides what it is that he wants, and even after all of that, then what? Would he follow Ten home, meet his parents, meet his cats? Or would Ten follow Kun back to his hotel room, where no one but the staff awaited his arrival? Either way, one of them would follow the other, and then what?
Ten is young and Kun has long left his youth behind. It wouldn’t work. It shouldn’t work. It couldn’t work. Could it?
Putting the voice of reason on the back burner, Kun turns to the first one. Why must you know everything? it asks. Why can’t you just enjoy the present without worrying about the future? You’ve done it once and it got you this far, so who's to say things will only get worse? What if they get better?
That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it - what if things get better? Kun doesn’t know the answer, and he isn’t sure he wants it, but he knows someone who does.
“Do you think it’ll get better?” Ten had asked him, hours ago when they were emotional and tipsy.
“I hope so.”
“I think so.”
Two answers; one meaning.
Fuck, he’s been such an idiot. The dream breaks, slipping away like grains of sand in an hourglass, and Kun is running, his suitcase clattering along behind him as he sprints towards the exit. Towards Ten, if he hasn’t disappeared already. The chances of him still being around are so incredibly low, but Kun clings onto hope, the very same hope he promised Ten back on that aeroplane. More than one strange look is sent his way as he bombards his way through hordes of travellers, but Kun can’t find it in himself to care. Not now. Not when he’s on the verge of losing something he’s never even had the chance to have.
Somehow, even the early morning sunshine is already stifling, smothering Kun with its scorching rays. If he wasn’t sweating already, he certainly is now, the thin material of his blue shirt clinging unattractively to his torso, splotched with ugly sweat stains he knows only aid in making him look ridiculously dishevelled. It’s crowded, countless people milling around as they wait to be picked up. Countless people, yet none of them are Ten.
Kun doesn’t give up. He pushes through the clutter of luggage and people, eyes scouring every inch of ground he can see. Car horns blare and someone’s yelling loudly, the sound cutting through everything else until it rings in Kun’s ears, clearer than any crystal.
“Hey, Kun! Kun, you moron, I’m over here!”
Ten . His head pokes out the window of a nearby car, a little rusted around the doors and dusty, but otherwise intact. There’s a smile on his face, exasperated and endeared all at once, and Kun’s heart jumps to his throat. A sigh of relief leaves his lungs, followed immediately by a shaky inhale, a loop that doesn’t end even once he’s reached the side of Ten’s car.
“I thought you’d left,” Kun breathes, staring down at Ten in awe. He really is quite beautiful, even more so beneath the radiant rays of the sun. Everything about Ten gleams, like this is him in his truest form, and Kun thinks that things are getting better already.
“I thought that maybe you’d want a tour guide while you're here,” Ten explains, grinning up at Kun with a softer spin-off of his teasing smirk. “Don’t want you getting lost, do we?”
“Oh, great idea,” Kun nods, deciding to get in a little teasing of his own when he can. “Where can I find one?”
Ten’s smile doesn’t fall in the slightest, but he does rest his head against the steering wheel with a dramatic groan.
“Just… get in you idiot.”
Kun doesn’t hesitate to do as he’s told, stuffing his case in the boot of the car before stuffing himself in the passenger seat. The seat is soft, the material worn after so many years of use, and an air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror, infusing everything with the scent of something clean and fresh. Silly as it sounds, everything about the car’s interior reminds him of Ten; of his soft hair, his baggy clothes, his cologne.
Ten turns to face him once the passenger door slams shut, eyes twinkling in the sun, lips pulled into a pretty smile - a kinder version of the Ten Kun first met.
“So, where do you want to go?” Ten asks, gripping the steering wheel in preparation for the journey ahead.
Kun smiles, real and honest and bright. “Wherever you want to take me."