Archive of Our Own ^beta

One moment, Ten’s dancing, working on the new choreography Taeyong had been so excited to show the team. He’s melting into the formation, slipping into his spot between Shotaro and Sicheng, moving fluidly along to the beat of the song. One moment he’s stepping out to perform the footwork he and Taeyong had been working so hard on, and the next, he’s falling.

The culprit is Jaehyun’s beanie, discarded without a thought when it had gotten too hot to keep on. It ends up right under Ten’s foot and he slips. But Ten would never blame him, not in a hundred years, not if it happened a thousand times over. Because it’s purely an accident. Accidents happen; nobody’s at fault. It’s the type of thing that could happen to anyone.

He isn’t mad, but it hurts like hell.

One moment he’s dancing, and the next he’s tumbling backward, struggling to catch himself. They’d been taught safe falling techniques; it shouldn’t have been a problem. But the thing about techniques like those is that they’re muscle memory. You need to practice them over and over until they’re ingrained into every fiber of your being. So as he’s falling, Ten doesn’t think of those techniques, he flails.

He tries to get a hand under him but doesn’t in time. Instead, he lands right on the back of his wrist. There’s a sickening crack, and he just lays there, stunned. Then the pain hits, fiery waves of it traveling from his arm and into his entire body. Ten rolls over, pulling his wrist into his body and curling around it protectively. His eyes water, his breathing is erratic, and he knows he needs to calm down, take deep breaths, relax. But it hurts so much all he can think about is the pain. 

He vaguely registers Taeyong kneeling beside him, asking if he’s okay, but he can’t answer.

“Ten, breathe, you’re going to be okay,” Taeyong murmurs to him. His voice is so soft, soothing, level. Like he knows what he’s talking about. Ten’s hurt and panicking, but he’ll be okay. He will, Taeyong assures him. “Sicheng-ah, can you call an ambulance, please? I think he may have broken his wrist.” He’s still so calm. It’s grounding.

Ten’s been injured before, every dancer has. But he’s never broken anything; the worst he’s had is a pulled muscle or sprained ankle. He thought those hurt, but God. Nothing has ever hurt this bad. It feels like his wrist has been cut open, covered in salt, and stuck in a furnace. But at least he isn’t dying. 

Slowly, his breathing begins to level out, Taeyong stroking his back and encouraging him to take deep breaths. It doesn’t hurt any less, but he’s able to handle it better, sitting up and letting Taeyong support him. He keeps his wrist tucked close, his eyes still wet and vision blurry, but he’s more aware. 

The rest of the team are standing shocked, staring. It’s not a good feeling, being vulnerable and having everyone just watch. Taeyong must notice, because he gently urges them out of the room, giving them tasks. He sends Yuta to get water, Jisung to get ice, Renjun and Donghyuck to wait for the ambulance. 

Jaehyun hovers, fiddling with himself and looking guilty. Taeyong sends him off, too.

Ten finally relaxes. Or, relaxes as well as he can with a potentially broken wrist. Taeyong does his best to distract Ten as they wait. 

↞↠

Ten’s wrist is, in fact, broken. As well as his two smallest fingers. And he’d fallen on his right hand, too. It only serves to make him feel more miserable.

Ten looks down at his arm, newly wrapped in a hideous neon pink plaster. He’d picked the color as a joke and now he regrets it. It’s ugly and it’ll be on his body for almost two months. Ten sighs, flexing his three good fingers. The other two are held still in metal and foam braces and taped together for good measure. This, Ten thinks, is not ideal.

He can’t dance properly, and he’s sure Taeyong will stop him from trying for fear of making it worse. He didn’t even break his leg, but now he’s deprived of his passion, at least for the foreseeable future. He can go to class, but he can’t take notes or study properly, not until he figures out how to write. Why couldn’t he have fallen on his non-dominant hand instead?

It looks like he’ll have some time to himself for a while. It might be nice—he’s busy as hell—some time off could be good for him. Ten tries to look at it that way.

Ten has gone through all the procedures, getting his wrist x-rayed and examined, getting the cast put on. Now he’s just waiting for the doctor to come back with the paperwork and send him off. 

A knock comes at the door, soft, tentative. “Come in,” he calls.

Jaehyun steps inside, that horrible guilty expression still on his face. Ten automatically knows what’s coming.

“Ten-hyung,” Jaehyun starts weakly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Stop,” Ten interrupts. He’s tired; he doesn’t have the patience for this bullshit. “Did you put your beanie under my foot on purpose? I don’t think so. It isn’t your fault and I’m not mad so stop blaming yourself.” It comes out rather harshly. Ten can’t bring himself to care.

“But I still—”

“Shut up; you didn’t do anything wrong,” Ten says, exasperated.

“Okay, okay. I’m still sorry, but okay,” Jaehyun surrenders, raising his hands in the air.

“I accept your apology, now come here and give me a hug.” He makes grabby motions with his one hand.

Jaehyun does, sighing into Ten’s shoulder and clinging to him like he’s afraid to let go.

“Go home and stop worrying about me, I’m fine,” Ten says when he pulls away. “And tell the rest of the guys too, if they’re still here. I saw Sicheng and Mark in the waiting room earlier. It’s late and you guys have class tomorrow.”

“I’ll let them know, Hyung,” Jaehyun murmurs, still holding Ten by the shoulders. It’s kind of weird; he and Ten aren’t particularly close, just good acquaintances. But Jaehyun probably feels awful still, so Ten lets him off. Jaehyun slips out of the room.

A few minutes later, Sicheng comes in. “You really thought I’d just leave without checking in on you?” He sits on the chair next to Ten. “Mark left though; he has a curfew.”

Ten hums. 

“How’s the wrist?” Sicheng asks, snickering at the hideous pink cast.

“Broken,” Ten deadpans.

“Alright, fair. But how’re you?”

“I’m fine.” 

“You sure about that?”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m miserable because it still hurts like hell and I feel useless because I can’t do anything anymore?” Ten asks, frowning.  

“That’s a start. You bottle stuff up, Ten-ge. Sometimes it’s good to let it out,” Sicheng says, slipping into his native Mandarin. Ten speaks it too, just not quite as well.

“I don’t bottle stuff up.”

Sicheng doesn’t respond to that, just raises his eyebrows incredulously. “You should call Kun-ge.”

It’s true, Ten should. His roommate is probably wondering why Ten isn’t home yet. Practice would have ended an hour ago. And it’s in Ten’s best interest anyway; Kun has a car. 

“Yeah okay,” he says. 

Sicheng pulls Ten into a hug, a rare show of affection coming from him. Ten melts into it, letting himself slump a little. Sicheng pats his back lightly and draws away all too quickly for Ten’s liking. He leaves soon after. 

Ten slips his phone out of his pocket, struggling a bit to unlock it with his left hand. When he does, he pulls up Kun’s contact and calls him. 

“Hi, Tennie,” Kun greets him. “I was just about to make dinner, are you going to be home in time? Or did you go out with the team after practice?”

And Ten gets hit straight in the face with a wave of emotion. Sicheng was right, he had been bottling it up. He feels awful; his wrist hasn’t stopped throbbing, he can’t do things with his right hand, and he can’t do things with his left hand either because it isn’t his dominant one. But then there’s Kun, warm, bright, perfect as always. Ten wishes he was here.

“Ah, no. I… I’m at the hospital,” he says, managing to keep his voice level.

“What? Did you get hurt?” 

“Relax, gege,” Ten attempts to tease, using the Chinese honorific purely because he knows Kun likes it. “I just broke my wrist, I’m okay.”

“Oh, Ten, ” Kun says, full of sorrow. “Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Ten chokes up. He struggles to keep the tears in.

“Of course I wouldn’t. What hospital are you at? I’ll be there before you know it.”

Ten tells him, unable to keep his tone from wavering. Kun doesn’t mention it. When they hang up, Ten takes a deep, shuddering breath and straightens himself out. 

The doctor comes in, a clipboard full of paperwork in her hands. She gives him a prescription for some painkillers and has him sign some things. Ten doesn’t manage to make it legible with his left hand, but he figures it doesn’t matter; signatures are usually chicken scratch anyway. The doctor ushers him out and over toward the pharmacy, where he picks up the pills.

When he finally winds up back in the waiting room, Kun’s already there. He’s tense, and while his face is hidden behind blonde hair, Ten knows he’s frowning. He doesn’t see Ten until he steps directly in front of him, offering a weak smile.

Kun looks up, gaze immediately landing on his cast. He stands and tugs Ten into a hug, careful not to bump his right arm. “ Ten ,” he breathes, sounding so relieved. 

“I’m not dying; I’m okay,” Ten says into Kun’s shoulder, wrapping his good arm around the other.

Kun ignores him, pulling away but keeping him close. “Does it hurt?” he asks softly, gently taking Ten’s arm for inspection.

“Not as much as it did at first. They gave me painkillers so it’s just aching a bit.” Ten smiles, wiggles the three working fingers on his right hand. 

Kun frowns but releases Ten’s wrist. “Okay. Let’s get you home. I’ll cook you dinner.”

↞↠

On the drive home, Kun can tell Ten isn’t okay. He’s doing that thing where he gets extra snarky and tries too hard to seem happy. Kun almost wishes he would just cry and scream instead of hiding it away like this. But he doesn't say anything. Ten just broke his wrist; of course, he’s not okay. Who would be? Kun just hopes he comes back to himself with time.

Kun flicks the blinker on, taking a turn. He briefly glances over at Ten, finds him staring out the window. He’s straight-faced, finally having taken down his facade. Kun reaches over and settles a hand on Ten’s knee. 

“I know you’re probably tired of people asking,” Kun says. “But one more time, and then I’ll let you be. Are you okay?”

Ten looks at him, brows drawn. Then he sighs, slumping in his seat. He sets his hand on top of Kun’s. “Not really,” he admits. 

Kun hums. “And no one’s expecting you to be. You just broke your wrist! You have a right to be upset; don’t bottle it up just to make everyone else feel better.”

“Sicheng said I do that too much.”

“He’s right. You’re allowed to feel things. Go ahead and let it out; think about yourself sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Kun-ma,” Ten says.

“Yah. Don’t call me ‘ma.’ I’m not your mother,” he scolds, slapping Ten’s thigh.

“You practically are,” Ten teases. “Always making sure I’m taking care of myself. You even cook for me!” Kun glances from the road to Ten for a split second and finds a genuine smile growing on the other’s face. And he knows Ten isn’t going to be okay just like that, but it’s a start.

“Not with that attitude. See if I ever cook for you again,” he says without heat.

“Noooo! I take it back, I’m sorry,” Ten whines pathetically. 

Kun shakes his head, but he feels warm, pleased.

↞↠

Having his wrist in a cast is shitty for a lot of reasons. But this tops them all. Ten can’t figure out how to use his chopsticks. 

When they got home, Kun had cooked a stir fry for the two of them. Ingredients were limited since they haven’t gone shopping in a while, but he made it work. It smelled really good; Ten’s mouth had been watering the entire time as he watched Kun make it. He hasn’t had anything since lunch, a couple of hours before practice. It’s now a couple of hours after practice. He’s starving, stomach growling every thirty seconds.

So when Kun places a plate in front of him, heaping with all of Ten’s favorite veggies and rice, Ten’s ecstatic. But one problem. He can’t figure out how the hell to eat it. 

He adjusts the chopsticks in his hand, mimicking how he holds them in his right. He gets them in the proper position, but when he tries to pick up his food, it falls straight out of his grasp. He tries again with the same results.

“Fuck this,” he wails miserably. Then he looks at Kun with his best puppy eyes. “Kunkun, feed me.”

Kun rolls his eyes. “Stop acting cute,” he scolds. But he replaces Ten’s chopsticks with a fork. “Try that.”

And why didn’t Ten think of that? He’s still clumsy, but as long as he’s careful he can eat. He stares in awe at the utensil, shoveling up some food and bringing it to his mouth with shaky fingers. 

When they’re done eating, Kun takes up the pamphlet of care information the nurse had given Ten. “It says you’re supposed to keep your wrist elevated.” He frowns at Ten. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a sling?”

“It’s uncomfortable,” Ten grumbles. The sling chafes against his neck; he doesn’t like it.

“You need to take good care of it if you want it to heal properly. Ice it and put it in the sling after. The pamphlet says it might swell up too much if you don’t.” Kun takes an icepack from the freezer, pressing it to Ten’s wrist and setting Ten’s good hand on top to hold it there. His eyebrows pinch like he’s deeply disappointed.

“It’s been broken for less than twenty-four hours; be nice to me.” Ten pouts but follows Kun’s instructions anyway. 

↞↠

Having a broken wrist—to Ten’s dismay—only gets more and more inconvenient. First, it’s struggling to write, then struggling to eat, now struggling to shower. He finally manages to strip himself and wrangle the plastic covering over his cast, then gets the water on without issues. But showering is a different story. 

He’d been too tired to wash up the night before, hadn’t even thought of it. But that means he hasn’t had a chance to mentally prepare himself. Everything is twenty times more difficult. He has a hard time using the pump on his body wash with one hand. Then there’s the actual process of washing his body. Usually, he lathers the soap in his hands, but seeing as he can’t do that, he tries using it as it is. He ends up needing double the amount of soap he normally does.

Of course, the actual scrubbing is difficult too; he’s unable to reach a plethora of places. He can’t reach most of his left side, no matter how he bends his arm. And he feels like he isn’t thorough with what he can reach. 

Long story short: showering with only one hand is hard.

He takes one look at his shampoo and conditioner and steps out of the shower, not even trying. That’s a challenge for another day. 

Even then his suffering isn’t done. Drying off is a struggle, too. 

Ten shakes out the towel and traps one side of it under his armpit before attempting to wrap it around himself. It falls to the floor. He hisses and switches methods. He pats the area around his right arm dry and takes the plastic covering off. That makes things a bit easier; it isn’t in his way or dripping everywhere anymore.    

He tries a few different methods, eventually finding one that works and sticking with it. It’s still inconvenient, but he manages to succeed.

Putting on his clean clothes is easier than showering, but he doesn’t have the hang of changing yet. He slings the towel over his head to dry his hair and carefully puts his feet into his boxers one at a time. Pulling them up is awkward. He takes turns tugging each side up a couple of inches before eventually getting them around his hips. It takes way longer than it needs to. It’s the same story for his sweatpants, slowly shimmying them up until they rest where they’re supposed to. For the shirt, he sets the front collar in his mouth and pulls it over his head. He gets his arms in okay, tucking his right arm safely into the sling after. Kun would be proud.

He’d rant to his roommate but he’d already left for class. Ten sulks as he dries his hair. He’s not going to his dance classes today. He could still dance if he skipped some of the movements, but Taeyong insists that he rests. At least for the first couple of weeks so his arm can heal properly. 

‘He shouldn’t exert himself,’ Taeyong says. Fuck that. Ten just wants to do something. 

↞↠

When Kun comes home, Ten is bent over the kitchen table, grappling with a pen in his left hand. There’s a sheet of paper in front of him, and he’s so focused he doesn’t even notice Kun come in. 

Kun steps around behind him to look over his shoulder. The page is filled with a bunch of intelligible scribbles. The ones near the top seem meticulously done, Ten’s careful attempt at writing hangul with his left hand. The words are wobbly, only legible if one looks at them very closely. They grow increasingly messier and messier the farther down the paper you go.

Ten draws a thick line down the center of the paper hard, ripping it in the process. Then he crumples it and throws it and the pen across the room with a frustrated groan. 

“I’m not picking that up,” Kun says, and Ten flinches.

“Holy shit, you scared me,” he says, clutching his hand to his heart.

Kun laughs and pats him on the head, noticing that his hair is kind of gross. He can tell that Ten has showered; he smells like that sweet orange body wash he uses. But he must not have washed his hair. Maybe his wrist was making things difficult. Kun steps around Ten and picks up the pen and paper, despite saying he wouldn’t.

“I was trying to write,” Ten says. He pouts as Kun pretends to assess the paper.

“Hmm, what does this say? ‘Kun is the best?’” He scratches at his chin thoughtfully, watching as Ten fumes.

“That’s not what that says and you know it.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. It’s an honest mistake, your handwriting is awful.” He can’t resist the jab. Ten’s cute when he’s angry.

“Writing with your left hand is hard, damn it. You try if you think you could do better,” Ten says hotly. He reaches across the table and wrenches the paper from Kun’s grasp, crumpling it up again and tossing it into the recycling bin with a little more force than necessary.

“I’m teasing, Ten. You’re doing good. It’ll get better with practice,” Kun says, smiling. It only makes Ten bristle more. “Did you not go to your lecture today?” he asks to change the topic. While pissing off Ten is fun, getting him too angry usually results in physical altercations. 

“No.” Ten doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Tennie, I understand not going to your dance classes because of your wrist, but you still need to go to regular lectures,” he scolds lightly.

“You’re not my mom.”

“I might as well be, with you calling me ‘Kun-ma’ all the time. I’ll embrace it just this once, so you better listen to me,” Kun says. He pulls some ingredients from the fridge to make lunch. “Go to your lectures next week, okay? I’ll make your favorite,” he persuades.

“Fine, okay.”

↞↠

When Kun comes home from the studio, the apartment is quiet. It’s fairly late, but it’s a little bit surprising. Ten usually doesn’t go to bed this early; he tends to wait for Kun to come home and make dinner. Even if it is 10:00 at night. He must have been tired today.

Kun takes a quick shower, changing into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a plain T-shirt. There’s still no sound.

Still, Kun taps softly on Ten’s door, not enough to wake him if he’s asleep. There’s a noncommittal grunt on the other side. He opens the door.

Ten’s laying spread eagle on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He turns his head to look at Kun when he enters.

“What’re you doing?” Kun asks, stepping further into the room. He stops just short of the bed, and Ten slowly moves his limbs to make a space, offering it to Kun. He takes it, lying beside the other.

“I don’t know anymore.” Ten sighs. 

“Are you alright?”

“Just tired.”

They’re both silent for a moment. Kun senses something wrong, something Ten’s been bottling up that’s finally burst out. Kun wishes he could help but he doesn’t know how. His heart aches a bit.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly. He won’t force it if Ten doesn’t want to talk, but he hopes he will. Ten doesn’t let his feelings out enough and it’s taking a toll on him. 

“I’ll get over it, don’t worry.”

“I’m gonna worry anyway, so you might as well tell me about it.” From where he’s laying, he can see patterns on the ceiling, little bumps and grooves that make pictures if he uses his imagination. He knocks into Ten’s elbow with his own.

“I just feel useless ,” Ten finally admits. “I can’t do anything myself anymore and it’s making me wonder if I’ve always been this dependent on other people. I know it makes sense right now ‘cause I’m still adjusting to only having one good hand. So yeah, I need help with that, but what about everything else? I need you to cook for me, I can’t choreograph anything without making Taeyong look over it a hundred times. Even my art! I’m so reliant on how other people respond to it to keep myself going.” He turns over onto his side, meeting Kun’s eyes. “Why am I like this?” he asks miserably.

And Kun’s just shellshocked. Ten has never told him these kinds of thoughts, probably hasn’t told anyone. That’s his thing, bottling things up and pretending he’s okay. And while it hurts to know that Ten feels like this, Kun’s proud of him. Ten’s issue isn’t that he’s too reliant on others, it’s that he doesn’t rely on them enough. 

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Kun scoots closer, wrapping an arm around Ten’s shoulders and pillowing his head on Kun’s chest. “There’s nothing wrong with relying on other people. Especially since we want to help. Taeyong loves giving feedback on your dances and I love cooking for you. You don’t need us to do that; you’re perfectly capable on your own. We just like doing it. And of course other people motivate you to keep doing your art. That’s just how people are, Ten. It’s normal.”

“Maybe, but isn’t it annoying? I pester you all the time and I’ve made Taeyong stay with me in the practice room hours after everyone else left,” Ten wails, hiding his face in Kun’s shirt.

“Don’t you think we’d tell you no if we didn’t want to do those things?”

“You guys are so nice! It’s like ‘no’ isn’t even in your vocabulary!”

“Trust me when I say that if I genuinely didn’t want to do something for you, no amount of begging would make me do it. I just care about you, Ten, so I’m always willing to help. Taeyong and I like doing things for you. There’s nothing wrong with you asking for it.”

Ten looks up at him, something indecipherable in his eyes. “You mean that? If I’m being a burden you’ll turn me away?”

“You’re not a burden, Ten. Even at your worst. I’d never turn you away, I’d just make you do some things yourself.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay? So you’ll stop thinking like this?”

Ten hums, buries his face in Kun’s shoulder once more. Kun can tell he feels vulnerable. And Ten hates feeling vulnerable, but he’s allowing it in Kun’s presence. It makes something insurmountable wash over Kun in waves. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?” he murmurs. 

“Why would you be proud of me right now? I’m weak and pitiful.” It’s muffled from how Ten’s hiding his face.

“You told me how you’re feeling, rather than bottling it up,” Kun says. “So I’m proud of you because you’re growing by stepping out of your comfort zone to trust me like this.”

“So you don’t think it’s annoying?”

“No, Ten, not at all. It’s a good feeling to be relied on.”

↞↠

Ten has two lectures in the afternoon that day. He’s been practicing doing things with his left hand—writing and using his laptop—so he thinks he’ll be fine. Better than he would be if he skips altogether, at the very least. And even if he doesn’t end up taking good notes, he can probably get someone to share theirs.

Now, Ten comes face-to-face with a new issue. He hasn’t washed his hair in nearly a week, aside from rinsing it out when he takes regular showers. It’s greasy, frankly gross, lying flat and pasted to his skull. Running a hand through it leaves his skin oily. Not to mention his scalp is getting itchy.

So he steps into the shower, plastic-wrapped wrist and all, determined. He goes through his routine, saving the worst for last. When he’s done, he moves on to washing his hair.

Now here’s the problem: his shampoo and conditioner are in the type of bottles with a twist-off cap. Opening them and getting the product out is very much a two-handed job.

Ten picks up the shampoo, debating how to go about this. He tries holding it in his armpit to keep it steady and twists off the cap easily. He tries using that same position to tip the bottle and squeeze the soap out but finds it ineffective. The bottle is almost empty and he’d need to apply a lot of pressure to get enough. Once again, a two-handed job. 

He tries a lot of things, sticking the bottle between his knees and trying to squeeze it from there, pressing it against the shower wall, nothing works.

Ten calls for backup. 

He turns the shower off and climbs out, drying himself off partly and leaving the plastic cover on his arm. Then he stumbles into his boxers and down the hall. 

He knocks lightly on Kun’s door, fighting off his embarrassment in favor of necessity. He can’t go another day without washing his hair. “Kun,” he calls. “Can you help me really quickly?”

“Sure, what’s—” Kun opens the door, shocked eyes falling to Ten in all his half-naked, dripping glory. “Umm.” He hurriedly collects himself.

“How can I help?” he asks, tearing his gaze back to Ten’s face.

“I need you to help with my shampoo,” Ten says.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Is that all?” Kun agrees easily.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t get the bottle to cooperate with me.” Ten laughs, leading the way back to the bathroom.

“Just… sit down, I guess?” Kun says, gesturing to the bathtub. And oh. Ten hadn’t meant for Kun to wash his hair, but if that's how the other is going to interpret his request, he isn’t going to turn him down. A part of Ten thinks it might be nice.

Ten leaves his boxers on, resolving to just get a new pair after. He pulls the shower curtain open and sits down—head near the faucet—and winces as the liquid on the ground soaks through his underwear. He reaches up for the bottle of shampoo and offers it to Kun.

Kun takes it, sitting on the side of the bathtub. “Lean back,” he instructs, turning on the water and checking the temperature. When he deems it warm enough, he cups Ten’s head and tips him under the stream, re-wetting his hair. He turns off the water and Ten sits up again. 

Ten watches as Kun taps the bottle against the edge of the bathtub, opening it and squeezing some out. This is an intimate position to be in, Ten thinks. He’s exposed, vulnerable. He usually doesn’t like the feeling, that’s why he bottles things up, avoids asking for help as much as he can. But with Kun, he just feels safe. He’d never hold this over Ten’s head, never belittle his emotions. Because he’s Kun, steady and trustworthy, and trust him Ten does. It’s an odd moment for it, but Ten thinks he’d fall in love right now if he hadn’t already.

“You know, you’re doing well, Ten. It’s not easy to adjust to a broken bone, but you’re trying so hard and working it out,” Kun says, lathering the shampoo between his hands. He runs them through Ten’s hair, gently working the soap into his scalp. 

“I can’t do anything myself anymore,” Ten says flatly. He feels so mushy on the inside, doesn’t know what to do with it. He defaults to sarcasm. “You’re literally washing my hair right now.”

Kun smiles. Ten can barely see it through the corner of his eye because of how he’s positioned. He wishes he could see it straight on; Kun has the loveliest smile, warm and welcoming, like home.

When did he start associating Kun with home?

“There’s nothing wrong with relying on other people,” Kun insists. He keeps saying that, Ten thinks he must actually mean it.

Kun cards his fingers through Ten’s hair, rubbing the shampoo further into the strands. “I think it’s a good thing that you’re letting me help. The strongest people are ones with good support from others.”

“You’re cheesy; that sounds like it came from a self-help book.”

“You love it.”

Ten loves it.

“But I’m serious, it shows that you trust me. And, Ten?”

Ten hums.

“I’m glad you trust me,” Kun says, so sincere. And this is why Ten’s in love. How could he not be?

They’re not together, but Ten’s okay with tucking his feelings away. He’s always been good at that. And he’s okay with anything, as long as it’s with Kun. Right now that’s entirely platonic. It’s okay. Ten’s okay. Even if his heart wants to beat out of his chest and into Kun’s palms. Ten will keep it for now, because even though Kun doesn’t want it, it’s okay.

Ten makes a soft noise in agreement, scared of what might come out if he tries to speak. Usually, he’s fine, his feelings well kept in a jar with the lid screwed on so they can’t come out. Maybe there’s a leak every once and a while, but nothing that Ten can’t clean up. But right now something’s overflowing.

He turns his head to see the other. And oh, it’d be so easy to believe he loves Ten back with the look in his eyes. Kun’s fingers still and his gaze brims with fondness, affection slipping out like invisible tears.

Ten wants nothing more than to kiss them away, to taste what it feels like to be loved. It’s a dangerous thought, one that takes more force than usual to push back.

He tears his eyes away before he hurts himself. Kun resumes washing Ten’s hair, running his nails lightly over his scalp. Ten makes an involuntary pleased sound, melting into the touch.

Kun does it again. Ten’s eyes flutter closed.

“Do you like it when people play with your hair?” Kun asks absentmindedly, like he hadn’t meant to say it. He scrubs through the stands one final time before tipping Ten back to rinse the foam out, checking that the temperature is warm enough. He’s careful as he works, keeping the suds and water out of Ten’s eyes. A hand on Ten’s bare shoulder keeps him in place.

“Yeah,” Ten answers honestly. And his chest feels too tight all of a sudden. He looks at Kun and he wants. It’s terrifying, and Ten tries to push it away. “Although it’s usually under different context, and never as gentle.” He attempts a smirk. 

“ Ten. ” 

“Kidding.” Ten laughs. Although, it’s true to an extent. He used to sleep around a lot, for stress relief and fun. He thought he was satisfied with it, never craved a real relationship. But then Kun happened, and suddenly that wasn’t enough, didn’t feel right. And now it’s been a long time since his last hookup. Kun’s the first person to touch his hair, under any context, in a couple of years. 

And that? That feels right.

Ten’s full to bursting and he can’t seem to do anything about it. It isn’t a bad feeling, not at all. It’s more than pleasant, even. But that’s what scares him. He thinks that if he lets himself feel it he’ll miss it too much when it’s gone. 

He’s free-falling, but he doesn’t try to slow down. Just this once.

Kun puts the conditioner in too, waiting with Ten as it works. 

“We can go to the store and get you new shampoo and conditioner,” he says. “The kind with a pump, so you can use it yourself.”

“Good plan.” Ten hums. 

Kun helps him rinse, deft and gentle fingers working the product out under the faucet. He leaves Ten to get changed, and when Ten comes out—towel atop his head—Kun helps him dry his hair, too.

It’s painfully domestic. 

When he checks the clock, he finds that he has to leave for his class in a few minutes. He goes, and leaving Kun feels like ripping off his skin, but he has to. If only to protect himself from falling further. 

But at this point, he isn’t sure if there’s any further to fall.

↞↠ 

Ten’s been taking care of his injury really well, Kun thinks. He’s icing his wrist and wearing his sling, even if he needs a reminder sometimes. He’s working hard to better use his left hand, too. His illegible writing has become slightly easier on the eyes, and he’s gotten the hang of using a fork. He hasn’t tried tackling chopsticks yet, but at this rate, he may soon.

Ten isn’t the type to let struggles stop him from doing things, and this is no exception. He’s determined, cooperating with his body to see what works. It's truly amazing to see. There’s something about watching Ten gradually come back to himself that’s just so refreshing.

Right now, Ten’s latest conquest is attempting to draw. His hand has become steadier in the couple of weeks since the injury. He’s only written, though, never drawn. But drawing is a part of Ten and nothing can tear it away from him. Kun thinks he’d still draw even if he lost both arms. He’s passionate like that. If he loves something, he’ll keep at it no matter the circumstances. Maybe he’d hold the pencil in his mouth, maybe his feet, but he’d adapt, find new ways to do it until he’s created a method that works. Because that’s just how Ten is.

It’s the same with dancing; Ten’s been sitting in on his dance classes lately, not participating, just watching. Kun’s seen him practice the choreography by himself a few times. He’s always careful, never testing his limits and skipping the motions meant for his right arm. Kun knows he’ll bounce back immediately once he heals fully, jumping right into the steps with a vigor only Ten could possess. He’s already practicing, probably has the choreography memorized in his head. He’ll have no trouble falling back into formation with his dance team.

But right now, Ten’s got his tongue pinched between his teeth in concentration. The pencil in his hand traces across the paper, strong and steady. Ten furrows his brows, glaring hard into the page as he sketches. 

Something about seeing the other like this is making Kun’s usually dormant feelings rise to the surface. He’s always loved Ten, but now it feels like he loves him a little bit more each day. Ten’s growing, even if he doesn’t know it. It’s terrible that the injury happened, but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Ten’s learning to be patient with himself and to rely on others.

And Kun? Kun’s just proud. 

He steps up behind Ten and hooks his chin over the other’s shoulder. “What are you working on?” Kun asks. He looks down at the paper, and while he can tell it isn’t nearly as clean or good as Ten’s other work, it’s still beautiful.

“I feel like my entire art style has flipped upside down,” Ten says miserably. He leans back into Kun slightly. 

“It kind of has,” Kun agrees, plucking the paper from Ten’s loose fingers to look at better. It’s of a tree, all rough lines and heavy textures. Normally, Ten’s work is detail-oriented, clean, precise, and perfected. This picture isn’t any of that; it’s primal. It’s different, but Kun loves it all the same. He doesn’t know much about art, but Ten’s drawings are always beautiful and expressive. It doesn’t matter if he drew it with his left or right hand, Kun will love it no matter what. 

“But that isn’t a bad thing. I like it,” Kun says. He sets the drawing back down, careful not to touch any of the sketch. 

“I can’t get it to look the way I want it to.” Ten pouts. “I still don’t have enough control over my left hand, so I press too hard and make the lines too thick. Or they aren’t straight, and I keep smearing the lead everywhere. It’s messy.” Clearly, he isn’t fond of this latest piece, but maybe that’s just his artist’s spirit. Artists are always harsh on their own work.

“It definitely isn’t as clean as the rest of your stuff, but it’s still good,” Kun assures. “It’s just different.”

“Bad different,” Ten says flatly.

“ Good different.” Kun sinks further against Ten, his arms coming up to back hug him. “I think it looks cool.”

“You like everything.” He’s still pouting, but he reaches up and sets his hand atop one of Kun’s and laces their fingers together.

“Not true. There are a lot of things I don’t like, your art just isn’t one of them.”

Ten huffs indignantly. 

“Stop putting yourself down! You’re a good artist, Ten. Even with your left hand.”

“You mean that?”

“ Yes. ”

↞↠

Taeyong’s new choreography is starting to shape up into something amazing. It’s not perfect, not by a longshot, but there’s a lot of potential. Ten itches to join, to be dancing those steps, to be a part of those formations. He watches as Yuta falls into place next to Shotaro, and there’s a space there. They’ve left a spot for when he heals. And how he wants to fill it.

It makes Ten feel good, knowing that even if he can’t dance he’s still a part of the team. Knowing that they’re waiting for him.

It’s been over two weeks since he broke his wrist. It isn’t swollen anymore, hardly aches to the point where he barely uses his painkillers anymore. He’s taking care of it, icing his wrist every day and wearing his sling. He could dance again if he doesn’t use his right arm. He’s been practicing the choreography at home, even. He knows he could if he can convince Taeyong.

Every cell in his body is crying for him to dance. It’s his passion; he’s been without it for too long.

At their next water break, Ten takes a deep breath and slinks up behind Taeyong. He taps him lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh my God!” Taeyong flinches, startled, and turns to face Ten with wide eyes.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ten apologizes.

“No, you’re okay, I just didn’t hear you coming.” He sends Ten a blinding smile. “What’s up?”

Ten takes a deep breath. “Can I dance?” 

Taeyong frowns, opens his mouth to speak, but Ten interrupts him.

“I know what you’re gonna say, but my wrist is okay now. It’s not healed yet, but it isn't swollen and I’ve been taking really good care of it. I won’t do any of the right arm movements, I’ll even keep the sling on. Just please, let me dance. I’ve been practicing the choreography at home, and I’ve watched you guys enough that I know I won’t slow you down,” he blurts. He gives Taeyong his best puppy eyes.

Taeyong heaves a sigh. “You’ll be extra careful?” 

Ten nods enthusiastically. 

“I’m just worried you’ll fall on it again or something,” Taeyong frets. “I know you’ll be fine, but I can’t help but worry…”

“I’ll stop if anything hurts, I promise.”

“Okay,” Taeyong reluctantly agrees, because he’s always been a bit of a pushover. “You can join us.”

Ten squeals his delight. “Thank you, Hyung!” He squeezes Taeyong into a half-hug with his left arm.

“Just don't overexert yourself. Okay?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, come out here.” Taeyong sends him a smile and leads him into position. “Ten’s going to join us this time,” he addresses the group. “So we’re going to run through it a little slower this time, yeah?”

Everyone voices their affirmation, some of them whooping at Ten’s return. The music starts, and Ten falls into the routine, getting a feel for the moves, dancing. For the first time in what feels like way too long. His muscles sing with the movements, aching pleasantly as he twists into the next formation. Dancing again feels like coming home. Ten’s never been more glad to be back.

↞↠

“They let me dance!” Ten hollers when he gets home that night. He barely tugs off his shoes before he’s racing down the hall, knocking sharply on Kun’s door. He opens it a second later without waiting for a response. 

Kun doesn’t mind, turning to look at Ten as he throws himself inside. Ten grins widely, and Kun does too, dimples and all. 

Ten steps right up to Kun, who’s sitting at his desk, and pokes the index finger of his left hand into the other’s cheek. “I danced, Kun! Taeyong let me dance!” he exclaims again.

Kun stands and takes Ten by the shoulders, squeezing firmly and tugging him into a hug. Ten’s hand at his face falls to his back, reciprocating the hug as best he can with one arm.

“I’m glad, Ten,” Kun says, and Ten fills to the brim with joy.

“What’re you working on?” he asks when he finally pulls away. Kun has his composing software open, he notices. The things on the monitor’s screen don’t make much sense to him, but he can tell it’s a new track. It might just be for school, but Ten’s interest is piqued. He hasn’t heard a lot of Kun’s work, but what he has heard has been really good.

“Just a new song, it’s nothing special,” Kun dismisses. But he sits down and turns to his keyboard, pressing the beginnings of a melody into the keys.

“Can I hear it?” Ten asks, unsure. He expects a rejection; Kun doesn’t like showing people his music unfinished. He waits until it’s perfected if he shows it at all.

“Why not?” Kun chuckles, and Ten’s pleasantly surprised. He falls back onto the bed and sets a pillow in his lap.

“Okay. I’m ready,” Ten says, entirely serious.

Kun smiles faintly. “It’s not done…” he trails off, self-conscious. But he presses play on the track, biting his lip and turning away from Ten so he can’t see his face.

Music fills the room and Ten listens in awe. It’s clearly unfinished, empty and slightly awkward in some places, but it’s good. The track is filled with beautiful sounds, piano, something soft and airy and a little bit melancholy. There’s a gentle beat, not overpowering but giving the song rhythm. After a few moments, Ten closes his eyes. The song is the kind you listen to with your headphones on as you lie on the ground, just appreciating it. It fills Ten with calm and something like pride. Because Kun created this. And it’s beautiful.

Eventually, the song ends, and Ten opens his eyes, finding Kun looking at him nervously. 

“So? What do you think?” Kun asks insecurely.

“That was amazing !” he exclaims. “Are you writing lyrics for it?”

“Oh, I’m… not much of a songwriter. I usually just compose and produce…”

“You should try! If you want to, that is, but I think it’d sound good with vocals.” Although Ten doesn’t know anything about music, maybe singing would clash with the piano or something like that. But the song sounds like an instrumental, the backing to a beautiful voice singing beautiful lyrics. And there’s no harm in trying; Kun’s been saying he wants to do more with his music anyway. Writing lyrics might be a good start. 

“You think?” Kun hums, contemplating. “Maybe when it’s finished. I can’t promise they’ll be any good, though. I’ve never written my own lyrics before.”

“Really? You’ll write them then?” Ten beams. Maybe if he’s lucky Kun will sing on the track, too; it’s been a long time since Ten’s heard him sing. Kun’s good, just doesn’t do it often.

Kun taps his chin, smiling. “On one condition,” he says.

Ten frowns. “What?”

“You have to sing it.”

“Me? Why?” Ten hasn’t sung seriously in years, not since high school. He’d been in choir, and pretty decent at it, too. But he’d drifted away from singing as he got older, pursuing dance and art instead.

“Because you have a nice voice and I hardly ever get to hear it,” Kun states like it’s obvious. And Ten knows he’s a good singer, but hearing Kun say that makes him feel warm. He blushes, something pleasant bubbling up in his chest.

“Oh? You like my singing that much?” he can’t help but fish.

Kun turns around in his chair, crossing his arms along the back of it and resting his chin on them. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I love your voice, Ten.”

Ten hugs the pillow in his lap to his chest, sandwiching it between his sling and his good arm. “Okay,” he agrees easily. Kun smiles wide. “But you have to sing it with me.” That way they both get what they want.

“Okay, Tennie. We’ll sing it together.”

↞↠

Dejun invites Ten for lunch ridiculously last minute. He texts Ten while he’s already at the restaurant, telling him to hurry and come. But Ten’s been friends with Dejun for ages, so he’s used to his antics. He gets ready quickly and heads to the little sandwich shop Dejun picked out.

When he steps inside, it isn’t difficult to find Dejun. He’s with Yukhei, Sicheng, Kunhang, and Yangyang, all of whom are being awfully rowdy for a little place like this. He does not envy the employees working here.

Yukhei notices Ten first, rising from his seat and barreling toward him. “Ten-ge!” he exclaims in Mandarin, wrapping him into a crushing hug. It jostles his right arm in its sling, but thankfully Ten doesn’t feel anything with the thick cast protecting it. Yukhei pulls away with a gasp. “What happened to your arm?” His eyes go wide and worried and it’s moments like these where it feels weird that Ten has to look up to meet his gaze. He’s so tall but acts a lot like a small child.

“I broke it last month,” Ten explains. He slips it from the sling and holds up the hideous neon pink cast for inspection. And wow, it’s been over three weeks since he broke his wrist. He hasn’t seen Yukhei in even longer. He puts his arm back and they sit at the table. Dejun pushes a sandwich toward him with a short, “we already ordered.” Ten nods in thanks.

Yukhei pouts. “Why didn’t anyone call me? I should know these things!”

“‘Cause you were too busy with your boyfriend, ” Yangyang teases. And it’s true; Yukhei had gone back home to Hong Kong with Jungwoo, his boyfriend, to attend a cousin’s wedding. They’d been serious for years, even moved in together, but Yukhei hadn’t had a chance to introduce Jungwoo to his family because of the long distance. So when the opportunity came up, they jumped on it.

“Oh! He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” Yukhei says cheerily. Ten automatically looks down. There, on Yukhei’s left ring finger, is a shining gold band. Holy shit.

Unfortunately, the others don’t come to the same conclusion as Ten, because they all look at Yukhei with varying shades of shock and sorrow.

“You broke up?” Kunhang asks, dismayed. “Oh, Yukhei! You don’t have to pretend you’re okay, come here.” He holds out his arms for a hug, eyes watery and infinitely sad. 

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could have gotten ice cream and watched romcoms instead,” Dejun offers as Yukhei accepts Kunhang’s embrace. Yukhei’s grinning dopily when he pulls away. Yangyang stares in shock.

“You’re all kind of dumb,” Sicheng tells them and stares pointedly at Yukhei’s hand. Nobody seems to notice.

“Sicheng, don’t be rude, Yukhei just got his heart broken!” Dejun scolds. 

“Guys,” Yukhei starts.

“No, Yukhei. It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. We understand,” Kunhang says empathetically.

“Why would you—” Yangyang looks like he’s about to cry. Sicheng pinches the bridge of his nose. He and Ten meet eyes and share an exasperated look.

“Are none of you going to question why he’s smiling?” Ten attempts to interject, but nobody hears, too busy trying to comfort their friend. Clowns, all of them. He looks at Sicheng again and finds him rolling his eyes so hard they might drop out of his head.

“Why would he be smiling if they broke up. Oh my God, these idiots,” Sicheng murmurs.

“No, guys, we didn’t break up,” Yukhei gets out, finally putting Ten and Sicheng out of their misery. He displays his hand, flashing the ring for all to see. Yangyang, Dejun, and Kunhang’s jaws drop. “He proposed!”

“Wow,” Dejun starts. “That’s… soon.”

And objectively it is soon, Yukhei and Jungwoo are still very young. But they’ve been dating for nearly five years. Even if it is soon, they’re it for each other. Ten’s never seen a couple click as well as the two of them. But it makes Ten feel old. He hasn’t dated in ages, and his friend—who’s three years younger than him—is getting married. But damn him if he isn’t happy. 

“You take your commitment issues and get out of here,” Yangyang tells Dejun. “I’m so happy for you!” He turns to Yukhei, pulling him in for a short hug. 

“I don’t have commitment issues,” Dejun mutters sourly. 

“Damn.” Sicheng whistles, flashing a boxy smile. “It’s about time.” Yukhei beams.

“Can I see the ring?” Kunhang asks. Yukhei slips it off and hands it over. “Oh my God, it’s so shiny. ” He holds it up to the light and stares at it in awe.

“Give that back before you drop it or something,” Ten admonishes. He pries the ring from Kunhang’s fingers and passes it back to Yukhei. Because knowing Kunhang, he would drop it and it would conveniently roll under a stranger’s shoe. “But damn, getting married is big, this is amazing! Do you know when the wedding will be?”

“We’re thinking of having a long engagement, so we’re not sure yet. But probably after Jungwoo gets his degree? So in a couple of years.” Yukhei smiles softly, twisting the band on his finger. “Guys. I’m engaged. ” 

There’s a chorus of catcalls. 

“Damn, if only Kun-ge were here, he would have made a speech like the proud mother he is,” Yangyang says regretfully. “Where is gege anyway?”

“The studio,” Ten answers without hesitation. “He’s working hard on a new song.”

“Leave it to Ten-ge to know where his boyfriend is at all times.” Yangyang taps his forehead. “They’re in sync.”

Ten splutters. “He’s not my— We’re roommates, of course I know his schedule!”

“When’s your wedding,” Sicheng mutters under his breath. Ten shoots him a glare. 

“I’m just saying, you live together, you bicker a lot but are totally in love, and you both act like our parents. Boyfriends, I say,” Yangyang reasons. 

“Seconded,” Kunhang says simply.

“Thirded.” Sicheng snickers.

Ten looks at Yukhei, who tentatively raises his hand. “Fourthed?”

“Fifthed?” Dejun parrots.

“You’re all dead to me. Kun and I are just friends. ” He leaves off the part about him being in love with Kun.

“Shh, gege. Just embrace it, the two of you are our dads and that’s that,” Dejun states.

 Ten slumps in his seat. “You’re all lucky I don’t have two good arms. Strangling someone with just one would be messy.”  

“We’re just teasing, Ten-ge. We don't mean it,” Sicheng says. And this is why Sicheng is Ten’s favorite. “But you have to admit, you and Kun-ge are weirdly domestic.” Ten takes it back. Sicheng is devil spawn, just like the rest of them.

“We’re not!” he protests.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you two were the ones about to get married,” Yukhei adds with a laugh.

“My own sons,” Ten moans miserably. “This is betrayal.”

“See! You admit it, you’re our parent! Kun is also our parent and therefore you two are together by association!” Kunhang exclaims.

“Stop trying to pretend you’re smart,” Ten hisses. 

“Rude.”

“You’re bullying me!” 

“Okay, okay, fine. We acknowledge that you and Kun are not together. We’re just joking,” Yangyang attempts to placate him. Ten pouts.

“You’d be cute together, though,” Yukhei mutters.

“Fuck you.” Ten sulks. He and Kun would be cute together. But Kun doesn’t like him that way and now he’s sad. He takes an angry bite of his sandwich.

“You would,” Dejun agrees. When Ten sends him a harsh glare, he raises his hands in surrender. “But you’re not, I know, I know. You two don’t like each other like that, etcetera, etcetera.” 

“ Unless, ” Kunhang adds mysteriously.

“No!” Ten says, too loud.

“Alright, we’re done,” Sicheng says flatly, ending the discussion and restoring his place as Ten’s favorite. 

It goes quiet and tense as everyone turns to their forgotten food. Everyone eats as an excuse not to say anything. 

“I’m sorry, gege. I didn’t mean to strike a nerve,” Yangyang apologizes when the silence becomes too much.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry for getting so defensive. It’s just, we’re not… like that.” And it wouldn’t bother Ten if they’d teased him about anyone else. But with Kun, it hurts. It hurts because he wants that to be real. But he and Kun are strictly friends. Ten tells himself he’s okay with that. He likes what they have, platonic or not. He values Kun’s friendship too much to risk it.

The rest of them apologize as well, strangely solemn. 

Ten dismisses them and finishes his sandwich, ignoring the way his heart aches.

↞↠

Four weeks after the injury, Ten visits the doctor for a checkup. They X-ray his wrist again, and after some tests and a bit of probing, the doctor tells him it’s well on its way to healing. Another three weeks and he’ll be good to get his cast off. He gets those dreaded braces off his fingers, too.

Ten holds his hand in front of him, wiggling the digits experimentally. They feel weak but otherwise okay. The doctor gives him some exercises to help rebuild their strength. He thanks her with a smile and practices them immediately, following her instructions closely.

When he leaves the clinic, he slips his phone out of his pocket and calls Kun as he waits at the bus stop. He picks up after a couple of rings.

“Tennie?”

“Hi, I just left my doctor’s visit,” Ten says, trying to sound as dejected as he can.

“Oh? What did they say? Is your wrist okay?” Kun frets, genuinely worried. Internally, Ten snickers.

“It’s just that—” He cuts himself off with a dramatic and very obviously fake sob.

Kun goes silent.

“Kidding.” Ten laughs. “I’m getting my cast off in three weeks, and my fingers are healed.”

Kun chuckles. “You had me worried there for a second,” he says. “But that’s good, Ten. I won’t have to suffer through trying to read your handwriting anymore,” he teases.

“Uh, rude.”

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to text me when you go somewhere rather than leaving notes I can barely read.”

Ten huffs. 

“But really though, I’m glad your wrist is healing well,” Kun tells him. “Tell you what, how about we get sushi to celebrate, yeah?”

“You’re forgetting I still can’t use chopsticks,” Ten deadpans.

“That’s okay, I can feed you,” Kun states, entirely serious. Ten splutters.

↞↠

They do end up getting Sushi that night. Kun even asks the waiter for a fork so he doesn’t have to feed Ten. Ten protests, embarrassed, because who eats sushi with a fork? But Kun laughs him off, says if anybody questions it, he can just show them his cast. Eventually, Ten gets over it and Kun contently watches him eat, not once laughing at him for using a fork.

Ten isn’t wearing his sling today, he notices. Although, he’s supposed to take it off every once and a while so his shoulder and elbow don’t get stiff, so Kun holds off on scolding him. 

When they finish, Kun pays for the meal, telling Ten it’s only because they’re celebrating. But at the same time, he knows he’d let Ten mooch off of him any day of the week. He’s fine with it, likes it, actually. Maybe that’s just because it’s Ten, though. Buying a meal for Kunhang will never give the same satisfaction buying one for Ten does.

Kun thinks of the song he’s writing, how he and Ten are going to sing it together. Well, if Ten doesn’t hate him for it, that is. Because the song he’s writing is Kun’s heart on a platter. He’s left his feelings alone for too long. He’s never been like Ten; he can’t let things build up. He needs to let them out, and this is years overdue. So he’s going to be brave.

If Ten rejects him, it’ll give him closure, and maybe then he’d finally be able to get over him. But on the off chance that Ten feels the same way…

He doesn’t have high hopes. Sure, Ten flirts with him sometimes, but he’s like that with everyone. And Ten doesn’t seem like the type to want what Kun has to offer. Kun’s boring, dull and practical. Ten’s a free-spirit; he would probably want something exciting and passionate. Someone who could take him on spontaneous trips and adventures without a care in the world. Not Kun, uptight and too responsible to do anything without proper planning. He isn’t expecting much; he knows he isn’t what Ten wants. But he needs to try, if only so he’ll stop wondering.

And if he ruins their friendship, it’ll hurt like hell, but he knows they’d come back to each other with time. They care about each other too much to let something like this come between them. He’d need space, but eventually Kun would get over it and they would go back to being friends.

And in the worst-case scenario, the lease on their apartment is almost up anyway.

When they get home, the first thing Ten does is get ready for bed. It’s pretty late, already past 10:00 PM.

They both shower, Ten first. Kun goes after, washing up quickly and brushing his teeth. He dries his hair, the towel still on his head when he slips into his room for the night. He’s not going to sleep yet. He'll probably do a bit more work on the lyrics for the song first, but when he steps into his room, he stops short. 

Kun huffs a laugh once the surprise wears off. “You have your own bed, you know,” he says. Ten looks up from where he’s propped up against Kun’s headboard, phone in hand.

“I do indeed,” he says simply. So much for working on the song. Kun sits beside him, setting the towel aside. 

“You know how Yukhei’s getting married?” Ten asks. 

“Wait. What? Yukhei’s getting married?” he exclaims, jaw dropping.

“Yeah, he told us last week when we went for lunch with Dejun and them. You were at the studio,” Ten says casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Kun shrieks, hitting Ten with a pillow. 

“I did! I just forgot!” Ten drops his phone to block the pillow with his good arm, pouting. “You’d hit an injured man?” 

Kun hits him again for good measure. “And to think, I bought you food. The disrespect.”

Ten sticks his tongue out, plucking his phone back up. “As I was saying before you so rudely attacked me, Yukhei sent a picture of Jungwoo’s ring. It’s beautiful.” He angles the screen in Kun’s direction, displaying an image of Jungwoo’s hand. His ring finger is adorned with a gold band embedded with three small amethysts. Kun takes the phone to zoom in on it.

“It is pretty. I’m happy for them,” he says, grinning. “So when’s the wedding?”

“Not for a while. They’re waiting until Jungwoo graduates,” Ten answers. He shifts closer and takes his phone back, pressing warm into Kun’s side. 

Kun remembers a time when Ten’s touch had left his heart fluttering and his cheeks flushed. Now it just makes him feel comfortable, safe. But that’s what love is, isn’t it? Knowing something well enough to take refuge in them, feeling most at home when they’re next to you. Almost like instinct, Kun’s hand comes up to tip Ten’s head onto his shoulder. 

Ten turns his phone off, setting it on the nightstand. “It just makes me feel old, you know?” he says. “Like, I’m twenty-three, and I haven’t dated in years. And now my friends—who are way younger than me—are getting married.” And it sounds like this is something that’s been bothering Ten for a while. He sighs, breath ghosting Kun’s collar.

“We’re still young, Tennie,” Kun says softly. “You’ll find someone.” And how he wishes for that someone to be him.

“‘M tired,” Ten murmurs after a moment. He slides down the bed and under the covers, laying his head in Kun’s lap. 

“You have your own bed, you know?” Kun repeats, but his hand falls to Ten’s head, petting his hair. 

Ten hums, pleased at the action. “Why would I go there when yours is so much more comfortable?” he slurs, eyelids drooping. 

And Kun is weak. “Okay,” he whispers. He slips from under Ten, laying him gently on the pillow. He gets up and turns off the lights, climbing into bed and tucking the covers around both of them after. He shifts nervously, trying to get comfortable. They’ve never shared a bed before. Accidentally falling asleep together on the couch is one thing, but this is new ground. Kun isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Ten decides for him, turning on his side and cuddling close, sharing Kun’s pillow. His cast finds Kun’s chest and his face the place between Kun’s neck and shoulder. Then he promptly falls asleep. 

Kun lays awake for a little bit longer, Ten’s hair brushing his skin and Ten’s warmth against his side. Eventually, the rhythm of Ten’s breath lulls him to sleep.

↞↠

Kun finishes the song three days later. He listens to the track over and over and can’t find anything wrong with it. He even takes it to some of his classmates to get their opinions. Kun reviews the lyrics for the millionth time and practices them, going as far as to record himself on his phone to make sure everything sounds okay. It’s as close to perfect as Kun could ever get it.

Now to show it to Ten…

Kun isn’t sure how he wants to do that yet. The song is for Ten, and Kun intends to tell him that. But how should he do it? Does he just hand Ten the sheet music and go, “hey this is about you!”? That would be embarrassing.

Should he sing it first and stare into Ten’s eyes like they do in dramas? He doesn’t think that’d go over well. Ten would just laugh at him. 

Kun guesses he’ll just have to deal with that when it comes. 

↞↠

Kun’s been acting weird. It started around the morning after they slept in the same bed, and it’s making Ten a bit worried. Did he push a boundary? Kun didn’t seem to mind Ten sleeping in his bed, but maybe he was just being nice. When Kun had gotten home from the studio today, he had locked himself in his room immediately, barely stopping to say hi. Maybe he’s uncomfortable.

Ten suddenly feels the need to apologize, but he doesn’t even know if he did anything wrong. 

He taps on Kun’s door, determined to make this right. There isn’t a response so he knocks again. When there’s still nothing, he opens the door, praying that Kun isn’t doing anything questionable. He isn’t. He’s at his desk with his headphones on, deep in concentration. He looks up when Ten comes in and slips them off.

“I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” Ten says, gesturing at the door. He stands there for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “I wanted—”

“Sorry, I was—” they both start at the same time.

“You go first,” Ten says, rocking on his heels awkwardly.

“I was working on the song…” Kun trails off, bringing a hand up to rub at his neck. He looks away, flushing. 

“Oh? And how's that going?” Ten asks, stepping the rest of the way into the room. He sits on the bed gingerly, but there isn’t anywhere else to sit, since Kun’s at his desk.

“It’s done, actually,” Kun says sheepishly.

“Can I hear it?” Ten asks.

“Umm…”

“No, sorry. You don’t have to,” he backtracks before Kun can say anything else.

“I—”

“Look, I actually came here to apologize,” Ten mutters. He fiddles nervously with his cast. 

“What for?” Kun asks, bewildered. 

“Making you uncomfortable,” Ten starts. “I shouldn’t have forced you to let me sleep in your bed like that the other day. I think I crossed a boundary? I don’t know, you seem weirded out and that wasn’t my intention. I was just tired and I’m sorry,” he says abashedly, not meeting Kun’s gaze.

“No, Ten, that’s not—” Kun struggles to find the words. “You didn’t cross a boundary or make me uncomfortable, it’s okay.”

“Then why have you been all awkward lately? I thought it was because you—” found out how I felt. “Were weirded out.”

“Why would I be weirded out? We fall asleep on the couch together all the time, why would sleeping in the bed be different?”

Ten doesn’t respond, too busy wallowing in mortification. But if it isn’t the sharing-a-bed thing, what is it?

“Then what’s wrong? Did I do something else?” Ten asks.

“No, Ten, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve just been… busy. Yeah, I’ve been busy working on the song,” Kun says. It sounds fake. “You can listen to it, if you want?”

Ten perks up. “Play it for me, please.”

“I haven’t recorded the vocals yet since I want you to sing it with me, so… yeah. Yeah,” Kun breathes nervously. And with that, he starts the track. The familiar piano comes to life, and Ten listens intently. 

Kun closes his eyes, inhales, and oh. He’s about to sing.

He’s shaky on the first verse, but he steadies himself with each line he gets out. The song is in Mandarin, and while Ten’s better at Korean, he hangs on each and every word. It’s a love song. The lyrics are beautiful, poetic, and the way they’re carried on Kun’s voice makes Ten feel something.

The second verse is soft, melancholy. It speaks of an unrequited love, the pain and the longing. And Ten feels that. Because that’s exactly what he's feeling right at this moment. The chorus sweeps it away, full of hope and affection.

It’d be easy to delude himself into thinking the song is for him, with the way Kun is looking at him right now. His heart flips and he fills with warmth, and for once he allows himself to indulge in it. To pretend that Kun is singing about him. 

Eventually, the music stops, and Ten thinks his eyes are wet. He reaches up and wipes at them, and yeah, those are tears. “Wow,” he says, awestruck and in love. He sniffles, dabbing at his eyes again. “Oh my God, you made me cry what the fuck.”

“Good crying?” Kun asks hopefully, nerves audible in the words.

“What the fuck, it’s so pretty, ” Ten wails. And God, whoever Kun wrote this song for is the luckiest in the world. The thought makes Ten cry harder. Because wow, the man he’s been in love with for literal years just wrote an amazing love song and it isn’t even for him. What if Kun wrote it for Dejun or something? It makes Ten feel like a loser, because Dejun is obviously pining after Kunhang, and what kind of idiot pines after an idiot who’s pining after another idiot who’s pining after one final idiot? It’s just a sad unrequited love square. 

So no, it’s not good crying, Kun. The song’s amazing, but Ten’s going through a dumpster fire of emotions right now, and none of them are good. 

“I’m glad you think so since I—” Kun takes a deep inhale and clears his throat. “Since I wrote it for you.”

And everything goes silent. Ten looks up at him through red-rimmed eyes, vision blurred so he can’t even see Kun’s beautiful face. And what the fuck? The song’s for him? The love song Kun wrote is for Ten? So there isn’t a sad unrequited love square? 

“What the fuck,” Ten bawls again. He scrubs at his eyes, trying to stop himself from crying. “Fucking, what the fuck?” His sight finally clears, and there’s Kun staring at him, concerned and clueless about how to act. He’s so pretty, and Ten probably looks like a mess right now. Damn it, he’s crying again. He makes grabby motions at Kun. “Come here,” he sobs.

And Kun looks entirely confused, face twisting into a deep frown. He hesitates but goes to Ten, wrapping him up in his arms. 

“What the fuck,” Ten complains into Kun’s neck. “Am I really the dumb one here? I was the idiot all along?”

“I have no idea what that means, Ten. Help me out a bit?” Kun pleads with him, vulnerable and out on a limb. But he continues stroking Ten’s back soothingly and tries his best to comfort. 

“It means I’d kiss you if I wasn’t crying,” Ten says miserably.

Kun laughs and falls backward on the bed, taking Ten with him so they’re laying down instead of sitting. He tucks Ten comfortably against him and pets his head. “I take it that means you like me too?”

“No, it means I’m an ass who’d kiss you just for shits and giggles and reject you afterward,” Ten tries to deadpan, his tears finally drying. He rubs at his eyes once more, awkward with his cast, but Kun tugs his arms away.

“You’ll make them itchy,” he scolds. 

“Fuck you,” Ten murmurs into Kun’s shoulder. God, he’s such a mess. Why is he always such a mess? How did someone composed and capable and perfect like Kun fall for him of all people? He’s a trainwreck personified.

“So you mean it then? The song’s for me?”

“You’re the most beautiful, funniest, best person I know. Who else would it be about?” Kun asks gently, smiling so fondly.

“I don’t know, Dejun?” Ten grumbles. 

“Wha—” Kun breaks off laughing. “You thought it was about Dejun? He’s pining after Kunhang, why would I even—” 

“Shut up. I already said I was stupid, okay?”

Kun just pulls him even closer. “You’re my favorite person, Ten,” he says seriously. Ten blushes a horrible shade of red. 

“Stop, you can’t just say stuff like that,” Ten protests. He hides his face in Kun’s neck. 

“I mean it though, Tennie. I love you. I have for years.”

“I love you too,” Ten mumbles into Kun’s shirt.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you,” Kun feigns ignorance.

Ten pushes back up so he can look Kun in the eye. “I love you too,” he repeats. 

“I know,” Kun breathes. “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

Ten leans their foreheads together. “You know, I’m not crying anymore,” he says. And he’s sure he doesn’t look good right now, eyes red, face blotchy and tearstained. But his gaze dips down to Kun’s mouth.

“You aren’t,” Kun confirms. He inches closer. “Sleep here tonight?” he asks.

“Okay.” And Ten finally closes the gap between them.

Kun kisses a lot sweeter than most of Ten’s previous partners. He doesn’t push for control, doesn’t bite or part Ten’s lips too soon. He’s slow, thorough in a way that no one has ever been before. He kisses like he wants Ten to feel loved.

Ten brings his left hand up, fitting his fingers against Kun’s jaw, tipping him into a better angle. He presses closer, and Kun’s arms tighten at his waist in return. Ten can feel him smile. They pull away before the kiss can become more teeth than lips. 

And there’s Kun, grinning like he’s won the lottery. Ten traces down his jaw and pokes one of his dimples. “You’re cute,” he whispers, and Kun just smiles wider. 

“You’re cute,” Kun tells him back. “Go out with me?”

“Yes.” Ten kisses him once more for good measure. 

(The next morning, the first thing Ten does is ask Kun for the sheet music for the song so they can sing it together.)

↞↠

The dance is finally done. They’ve practiced more times than any of them can count and Taeyong’s finally satisfied. The formations are perfect, everyone’s in sync, and they’ve worked out all the kinks in the choreography. 

Still, they run through it a few more times, and if Ten takes his sling off to better do the motions—still carefully, of course—nobody stops him. He runs through the steps with the rest of the team, giving his all. His muscles ache and he’s sweating, but he feels good.

Eventually, Taeyong signals for a break. Everyone collapses, exhausted. But they’re all glowing, excited and fulfilled. There’s no better feeling than finally perfecting something you’ve been working hard on for a long time. 

Ten slumps beside Taeyong, back against the far wall. He sticks his water bottle between his knees and screws the cap off, taking a drink. The water is cool, refreshing. Ten wipes sweat from his forehead.

“We could use this for the showcase,” he tells the other. And Taeyong beams.

“Really?”

“It’s the best dance we have,” Ten confirms. “And the showcase isn’t for over a month. We’ve already got it down, think of how much we could improve by then. I think we could win with this.”

Taeyong flushes proudly. Ten remembers the year before; Taeyong had choreographed for them but his dance wasn’t chosen in the end. He’s sure the other has been itching to prove himself since.

“You think?” Taeyong asks. “I’ll pitch it to the rest of the team and see what they think.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one, ‘Yong,” Ten tells him. Taeyong grins.

↞↠

Kun takes Ten out after class three days later. They go after dinner, leaving the car behind to walk instead. The sun is beginning to go down, but it’s still fairly bright. Kun takes Ten’s hand as they walk.

He’s wanted to do that, more times than he can count. But he’s been suppressing his romantic urges for years in fear of making Ten uncomfortable. It’s baffling that he doesn’t have to do that anymore. He can let them all out, because Ten’s his… boyfriend? They never properly established that. Kun will have to bring it up later.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re headed or am I just gonna follow you aimlessly?” Ten asks, drifting closer to Kun. Their shoulders bump.

“You don’t know?” Kun would have thought this route would have been familiar to Ten.

“Would I have asked if I did?”

“I guess not, but still.” Kun turns, leading them down the street. 

“So?”

“You’ll see.” Ten grumbles a bit but doesn’t push for an answer. And then they arrive. Kun pulls Ten up the steps to the building and watches with a smile as Ten gasps.

“You didn’t!” he exclaims.

“I definitely did,” Kun confirms, holding the door open. Ten steps inside, grinning. They cross the marbled tile floor to the counter. And there, in pretty glass display cases, are cakes of all sizes, shapes, colors, and flavors.

An employee, whose name tag reads Seulgi, smiles at them, taking their order. She serves them two slices of Ten’s favorite chocolate cake and Kun pays, thanking her. They find a table near the back of the store and sit.

Most of the other patrons are couples. He and Ten fit right into the atmosphere. It feels good.

“I can’t believe you took me to get cake for our first date,” Ten says, enthusiastically starting on his slice.

“Is that a complaint?” Kun asks. He knows it isn’t; Ten loves the cake here. They rarely go, though, because despite it being good and nearby, it’s also expensive. But it’s a special occasion, Kun doesn’t mind spending a bit extra if it’s for Ten.

“Absolutely not, I very much approve,” Ten says, taking a bite. “Oh my God, it’s so good. ”  

“If I’d have known the way to your heart was through your stomach I would have done this sooner,” Kun says, smiling. 

“I haven’t had the cake here in so long, I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed it until now. I’ve been deprived, Kun. Deprived.”

“And we can’t have that, can we?”

“Nope, you’ll have to take me here at least once a week from now on,” Ten decides, taking another bite and closing his eyes to savor it. 

Kun laughs it off. He isn’t made of money; that isn’t happening. But he would if he could. 

When they leave the restaurant, the sun has gone down. It’s dark, and Ten takes his arm.

“Walk me home?” he asks, looking up through his eyelashes. 

“We literally live together?” Kun says dumbly. 

Ten hushes him. “Pretend we don’t. We’re on our first date, we had a great time and now you’re walking me home and it’s gonna be super romantic and then you’ll kiss me at the doorstep. Get it?”

Kun nods, a bit dazed. He’s always known Ten’s pretty. But something about seeing him like this—illuminated by streetlights, blushing a bit, a fond smile on his lips—has him awestruck. Ten’s beautiful.

Kun walks him home. 

They climb the stairs together when they reach their apartment complex. The elevator’s broken, has been for months. Neither of them complain about it tonight, though. When they reach their flat, Ten stops, looks at Kun expectantly. 

Kun blinks, reaching for his keys. Ten stops him. “Thank you for walking me home,” he says. Oh. Ten slips his right arm from his sling and wraps both around Kun’s neck, pressing close.

“You know one of our neighbors could come out any minute and see us, right?” Kun laughs nervously. But still, one hand comes up to cup Ten’s cheek.

“Shh, don’t kill the mood,” Ten whispers.

“Sorry,” Kun murmurs. His other hand lands on the small of Ten’s back, tugging him closer. 

“Kiss me to make up for it?”

Kun complies.

Ten meets him halfway, eyes falling shut. 

Ten, Kun learns, kisses like he means it, wholehearted and passionate. He kisses in a way that makes Kun feel what he must be feeling, something like love and joy and adoration. It’s addicting, kissing Ten. He opens up so easily under Kun’s touch, pliant and soft and safe . He tastes like chocolate cake and likes to bite, catching Kun’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

Ten takes Kun’s hand from his face, pressing it over his heart instead. It’s racing, maybe as fast as Kun’s is. He pulls away, flushed and grinning. Kun’s sure he must look the same.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Kun breathes.

“It is,” Ten confirms. He places his hand on Kun’s chest. “Yours is too.”

“That’s you. You did that,” Kun says.

“Cheesy,” Ten says, smiling. He tugs Kun down for another kiss. “But we’re still in the hallway so we should probably go inside.”

↞↠

“Are we dating now?” Kun asks one night. Ten looks up from where his face was hidden against Kun’s shoulder, blinking sleepily. He’s taken to sleeping in Kun’s bed with him.

“I’m pretty sure that's what it’s called when you go on dates together, yes,” Ten says sarcastically.

“You know what I mean.”

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Qian Kun?” Ten teases.

“Would you say yes if I was?” Kun asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“I don’t know, would I?” Ten says coyly. “You might have to ask and find out.”

“Ten, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul—”

“Oh my God.”

“—will you do me the honor of becoming my boyfriend?” Kun asks with a grin. Ten pokes him in the dimple.

“Not if you call me Chittaphon I won’t,” he says, pouting.

“What do you have against me using your real name?” Kun pouts too.

“You say it weird,” Ten complains. 

“Wow, rude.” Ten doesn’t budge.

Kun heaves a sigh. “Ten Lee,” he corrects himself. Ten rewards him with a smile. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my boyfriend?”

“ Yes, ” Ten breathes. Kun kisses the smile off his face.

↞↠

Dejun invites everyone out on Saturday. Ten makes sure Kun comes this time since he had been lamenting not being there for Yukhei announcing his engagement. Plus, they have their own news to share.

The restaurant Dejun picked is small, with brick walls and a flower bed out front. Ten and Kun climb out of the car and head inside. 

Dejun’s already there, with Yukhei, Sicheng, and Yangyang, sitting at a table and being loud as usual. Right as Ten and Kun sit down with them, Kunhang comes rushing into the restaurant breathing hard. He stops in front of the table and slams his hands down. 

“I ran all the way here,” Kunhang states between pants. 

“Bitch, no you didn’t. I literally saw you through the window and you were walking. You ran like two steps,” Sicheng says without remorse.

Dejun laughs, gesturing for Kunhang to take the seat beside him. He does, and they share a smile. Looks like the hypothetical sad unrequited love square isn’t unrequited or sad on any account. Now for those two to get together…

“Oh!” Kunhang exclaims when he finally tears his heart-eyes away from Dejun. “Everyone’s here this time!” He grins at Kun.

And Ten resolves to drive everyone crazy. He takes Kun’s hand as casually as he can atop the table. Kun doesn’t react either, just turns his palm and lets Ten lace their fingers together. Ten stifles a laugh as Yangyang stares not-so-subtly. 

“Looks like the parental unit came together today.” Yangyang chuckles awkwardly, looking terribly confused.

Yukhei shoves Yangyang gently. “Don’t joke about that,” he scolds. “You’ll make Ten-ge mad.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Ten says. He strokes his thumb over the back of Kun’s hand. Sicheng meets his eyes across the table, giving him a look. Ten winks at him. 

A waitress comes over and takes their orders. It dissipates the tension, and Ten’s determined to bring it back doubled.

“Do you just collectively refer to me and Ten as ‘the parental unit?’” Kun asks with a smile.

Ten looks at him and leans closer, freeing his hand to brush it beneath Kun’s eye. “You had an eyelash,” he murmurs, playing up the PDA. He’s aware of his friends gaping but pretends he isn’t in favor of staring lovingly at his boyfriend. Internally, he’s dying of laughter. 

“Thanks,” Kun whispers, also overly affectionate. He takes Ten’s hand back in his own and turns to their friends. There was no eyelash.

Honestly, where are their Oscars?

Dejun laughs and it’s painfully uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah, sometimes. Because the two of you are like our… parents…” he says, high-pitched and strained.

“How so?” Kun asks innocently. And God, Ten loves this man. 

“Umm…” Dejun trails off. 

“You nag a lot,” Yangyang saves him. “Both of you.”

They laugh it off.

“So, Yukhei,” Kun starts. Ten stares at him like he hung the stars. “Ten tells me you’re engaged now?” 

“Oh, yeah! Jungwoo proposed in Hong Kong!” Yukhei answers enthusiastically.

“In your hometown? That must’ve been so romantic, I’m happy for you!” Kun exclaims sincerely. He turns to Ten, and they do their best to appear like an old married couple reminiscing on their own wedding. 

“O-oh? Thanks,” Yukhei says, clueless. 

The waitress brings out their food, and they thank her. 

“So,” Kunhang starts. “Ten, Kun, did something… happen between you?” he asks, suspicious. 

“Like what?” Ten feigns oblivion. 

“Oh, I don’t know, just… something?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Ten blinks.

Sicheng snorts into his water cup. 

Ten and Kun spend the rest of the meal acting as grossly in love as they can, short of actually kissing. Kun tenderly wipes food from Ten’s lip, and Ten barely manages not to laugh. It’s a monumental feat. With how their friends are reacting, it’s everything Ten can do to not start cackling. 

“Okay,” Yangyang finally breaks. He gestures to where Ten has scooted his chair right next to Kun’s, the entire sides of their bodies pressed together. “ This, is not okay.”

Ten blinks at him—and upon seeing the incredulous look on Yangyang’s face—promptly breaks into laughter. He doubles over with it until his abs begin to hurt and tears well up in his eyes. At his side, Kun starts laughing too. The rest of the group’s bewilderment only grows. 

Sicheng’s the only one who seems to have a clue. “So are you dating now, or what?” he asks shamelessly. 

“Yeah,” Ten says when he finally catches his breath.

“You are?” Yukhei exclaims, clapping his hands together. “It’s about time!”

“It really is. You two have been pining for what, years now?” Kunhang adds. Ten scoffs, like Kunhang’s one to talk. He types out a text beneath the table. Ask Dejun out first, then you can talk, it says. Kunhang’s phone buzzes and the screen lights up with the notification. He glances at it and immediately flips it over, flushing a dark red.

Dejun gapes, but when the words finally settle, he grins wide. “Oh my God, I’m so happy! I’ve been invested in this romance since my second year of high school!”

“What the fuck?” Ten asks.

“I never thought it would become real,” Dejun says, wiping at his eyes. 

“Holy shit, the parental unit are parents together now,” is all Yangyang has to say. 

“Good for you,” Sicheng says simply. But he smiles genuinely to show that he means it.

“Oh my God, our dads are dating.” 

↞↠

Kun can tell Ten hasn’t been in the studio in a long time. He sees it in the way he looks around with wide eyes, taking everything in, full of wonder. It’s endearing. 

They’re finally recording the song together today. They’d practiced and sung it several times, and Kun had finally deemed it ready to record. He sets everything up and ushers Ten into the booth. 

Ten throws him a peace sign through the glass and puts on a pair of headphones, struggling a bit to do it with one arm. He warms up a bit, doing some short vocal exercises. “Okay, I’m ready,” he says into the mic. Kun starts the music.

Ten sings, beautiful and melodic. He sings Kun’s lyrics passionately, putting his entire being into it. It’s a shame that Ten stopped singing seriously. His voice combined with his dancing, he could easily become an idol if he wanted to. Kun can only listen in awe.

He gets the first verse done in one take. Kun has him go back and record some backing vocals, and it’s really something to hear Ten harmonize with himself. Kun knows this song is going to come out better than anything he’s ever produced. 

They move onto the chorus, and Ten looks at him as he sings. It’s embarrassing, having him look at Kun like that as he sings the lyrics Kun wrote for him. He turns back at the computer screen, face hot. But at the same time, he’s buzzing with pleasure. 

Ten gets through the recording smoothly, and when he’s done, he comes out of the booth with a big smile on his face.

“So? How was I?” he asks coyly.

“So good, Tennie. Your voice is beautiful,” Kun breathes out entirely sincerely.

Ten brushes him off with a shy smile and a blush. And then it’s Kun’s turn to record. He explains how to work the computer to Ten.

He’s about to go into the booth when Ten calls him back. He turns, and Ten tugs him down by the collar into a kiss. 

“For good luck,” he explains abashedly. Then he pushes Kun into the booth. 

Kun takes his time warming up. When he’s done, he slips the headphones on and signals Ten.

Kun sings the second verse. He fills it with as much emotion as he can, the pain of thinking his love was unrequited, the hope that it wasn’t. He puts everything he can into the lyrics. When he looks through the glass, he finds Ten gazing back. His expression is distinctly proud. 

Kun harmonizes with Ten on the chorus and fills in the spaces left for him in the bridge. They have to record a couple of parts multiple times, but overall, they get it done pretty quickly. Once all the raw vocals are done, all that’s left is editing. Kun steps out of the booth and back into the studio, sitting next to Ten. He looks through the audio they have and plays some of it back. 

“I think we’re done,” he tells Ten. They grin at each other.

Kun saves the files onto a flash drive to take home. 

“You know,” Ten says as they climb into the car to head home. “I may be biased, but I think this is your best work.”

“I think so too,” Kun agrees. Although to be fair, he may be biased as well. But he’s happy with this song; he’s put a lot of effort into it. And he’s never written lyrics, so he’s proud of himself for doing that. Objectively, he may have produced better music, but this is special.

Ten’s phone buzzes with a text. He checks it, and through his peripheral vision, Kun can see him beam. 

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Taeyong. He says his choreography got approved!” Ten exclaims. “We’re performing his dance for the showcase next month!”

↞↠

Suddenly, it’s been seven weeks since he broke his wrist, and Ten is getting his cast off. He just got another X-ray, and the doctor says he’s healed fully and properly. Ten is overjoyed. Almost two months with only one usable arm has been a struggle. 

Kun sits next to him in the doctor’s office, offering moral support. He holds Ten’s good hand, running his thumb over Ten’s knuckles. 

“You excited?” he asks.

Ten nods. “A bit nervous, too. I feel like I’ve had the cast on for so long I won’t know how to act without it. And I’ve seen some before and after pictures of people with broken bones, and when they get their cast off, their limb is like, super skinny and pale. I’m scared of what it’s gonna look like.”

Kun chuckles. “That’s what physical therapy is for.”

“I know, but it’ll be ugly for a while.” Ten pouts.

“Don’t worry, Tennie. You’ll still look good, even if your arm is skinny and pale.”

The doctor coming in interrupts Ten’s retort. “Are you ready to get that off?” she asks with a smile, gesturing at Ten’s wrist. Ten confirms grimly. Kun laughs at his side, squeezing his hand. 

The doctor produces a cast saw from a cabinet. Ten eyes it warily. “Don’t worry,” she says upon seeing the look on his face. She brings the device closer. “See the blade? It doesn’t rotate, it vibrates back and forth really quickly. Since the cast is hard, it’ll cut through it. But even if it touches your skin, it won’t cut you, just move it around,” she explains. Ten nods, nerves eased slightly. 

“Alright, let’s do this,” she says when she’s finished. “Fair warning, it’ll probably smell awful for a minute here.” She laughs and turns the saw on. 

She takes Ten’s wrist between gentle fingers and waits for an acknowledgment before she starts cutting. Ten watches anxiously as the cast begins to split beneath the tool, feeling it vibrate. It’s an odd sensation, to say the least. Then it touches him.

“Oh my God, that feels so weird.” He cringes, trying to keep still and not shudder. His grip on Kun’s hand grows harder. The doctor lets out a weak chuckle, easing up on the area and moving on, deeply concentrated. When she’s done, she pries the cast off, setting it aside and freeing Ten’s wrist. And she’s right, there is definitely a smell, seven weeks’ worth of bottled up sweat. Ten scrunches his nose in disgust. 

The doctor cleans off his wrist and goes on to show him some exercises to try out before his real physical therapy appointment. Ten, she gives them some information pamphlets and answers their questions before whisking off to collect their paperwork.

Ten brings his arm in front of himself, eyeing it with a mix of horror and awe. “Is this really mine?” The limb is unrecognizable, more skinny and pale than Ten could ever imagine it. He repeats the motions the doctor had shown him, stretching the stiff muscles. It feels weird. 

“Yes, Ten, that’s yours,” Kun confirms with a laugh. “How’s it feel?”

“Weak and stiff as hell,” Ten deadpans. 

Kun takes his wrist, holding it reverently, like he’ll break it again if he presses too hard. “It’ll get better. And think of all the things you get to do now! You can write legibly, and finally eat with chopsticks—”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Ten pouts. But he is excited to be able to do those things again, and plenty to look forward to in the future. The dance showcase, Kun’s song, spending time with his boyfriend. He wonders how much differently the past seven weeks would have gone if the injury hadn’t happened.

You know, Ten thinks. Maybe he owes the broken wrist a thank you.