Work Text:
When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different... Someone better.
When that person is taken from you...
What do you become then?
"Cannon, eight to six."
John moved Han’s piece, then his own, saying aloud, "Horse, two to three."
Han chuckled and asked, "Are you sure?"
John, amused, replied, "You tell me, Han."
"As I recall, John, you don't make any move you're not sure of. Aren’t you working today?"
John leaned in and said in a lower voice, "My boss gave me the day off. It’s my birthday."
The old man said to him with a big smile, "Sheng ri kuai le."
"Thank you."
Han chuckled again and asked, "Did you get any gifts?"
John took the small package Harold had given him out of his coat and replied, "One."
He finally opened it and, to his great surprise, pulled out a key. He placed it in Han’s hand.
The old man felt it before saying, puzzled, "A key? To what?"
"Good question."
Han asked, "Who gave it to you?"
"My boss."
"Your boss?" The one who gave you the day off?" He's giving you a gift on top of that. He seems nice."
John smiled fondly as he thought of Harold before replying, "He is. He’s also my friend. Probably my best friend."
Han tilted his head and asked with an amused little smile, "So, why aren't you celebrating your birthday with him?"
"He told me to do what I usually do when I’m not working."
John wasn’t going to lie to himself. Even though he enjoyed playing Xiangqi with Han, he would have loved to spend his birthday with Harold for once. However, even though their relationship had evolved, John didn’t feel he had the right to be demanding or make requests.
While Harold had told him he had the right to hope for more, there was a chasm between words and actions that John didn’t feel capable of bridging. Besides, what did that really mean?
Something about his conversation with Harold bothered him, though. His friend had seemed almost annoyed that John had arrived early.
He didn’t doubt Harold’s intentions regarding his birthday, but something was nagging at him. His instinct told him that Harold hadn’t told him everything. There was no number and no case. On his birthday? Everything seemed too smooth.
He had been right. It had all been too easy.
Harold had lied to him. In the end, John took matters into his own hands and went wild anyway. Now that everything was settled, John was walking toward the bench where Harold was sitting. He didn’t know if he was angry, disappointed, or just incredibly tired of it all.
There was the initial anger and disappointment of realizing Harold had lied to him, as well as the exhaustion from Sarah's case, which forced John to relive the darkest moments of his life.
But he knew he couldn’t end the day without talking to his friend, no matter how much resentment still gnawed at him.
He sat down next to Harold on the bench and stared straight ahead.
He felt his friend’s gaze on him as Harold said, "I was beginning to wonder when I was going to hear from you again."
John replied matter-of-factly, not quite sure what else to say: "I had some business to take care of out of town."
Harold replied, clearly on the defensive, "I trust you now fully appreciate why I couldn't tell you about Sarah's case."
John replied slowly but immediately, "I hope you now understand why you should have."
He felt his employer’s gaze on him and let a few moments of silence pass before asking, "Did you know? Was she one of those numbers that came up again and again?"
Without looking at him, Harold replied, "What I know, Mr. Reese, is that New Rochelle happened before we started working together. And because of that, there was nothing either of us could have done."
Unable to reply, John looked at Harold for a few moments and saw the weight this had placed on him. However, it did nothing to ease John's disappointment at having been lied to.
Harold handed him a business card.
"Forgot to include that in your birthday present. Must have slipped my mind."
Then, as John stared at the card and turned it over, Harold stood up and left. By the time he turned the card over and read the address on the back, Harold was gone.
After sitting on the bench for a long time, deep in thought, John finally decided to go to the address Harold had given him. Half an hour later, he stood in front of a door in a building. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the door, unsure of what he would find inside.
The first things that struck him once he had taken a few steps inside were the light, the space, and the sobriety. He slowly walked toward the large windows spanning two walls of the loft. When he reached them, he scanned the surroundings. Suddenly, his gaze fell on a spot downstairs, a little further away.
It was the place where he used to play xiangqi with Han. He saw Han playing with someone else and couldn’t help but smile. He realized just how thoughtful John had been and understood that John’s desire to keep him out of the case stemmed from that.
This was something he could accept.
He sighed, feeling ungrateful.
How was he going to move forward from here? How was he going to make things right?
His eyes still fixed on Han, he watched his playing partner walk away.
At that moment, John thought that Han, always so wise, might be able to help him see things more clearly.
A few moments later, John sat down across from Han.
"John?"
"Good morning, Han."
Han began placing the pieces on the game board and asked, "Want to play a game?"
John stopped his hand and said, "I won't be a good opponent today."
"I haven’t seen you since your birthday. What was the key for?"
John looked behind him at the windows of his apartment.
"It was for an apartment. Right above us, on the street behind me."
Han chuckled.
"Well. A friend, you said? I may be blind, but to me, someone who gives you an apartment must see you as more than a friend."
John lowered his head and sighed.
"It's...complicated."
Han reached for John’s hand, found it on the table, and squeezed it gently. "Is it really that complicated, my friend? The most important question is how you feel about him, this friend of yours."
John replied immediately, "Of that, I'm sure."
Han chuckled again.
"So, should I repeat my question? Is it really that complicated, John?"
When John remained silent, Han continued, "I think you have the answer, my friend. In that case, I have one last question."
"What is it?"
"What are you still doing here?"
Was it really that easy?
If he looked deep inside himself, of course it was.
"I..."
"Come on, go on..."
Han made a dismissive gesture, and John stood up.
Before leaving, he told his friend, "Thanks," and headed toward his apartment.
He touched his earpiece.
"Harold, are you there?"
"Always, John. Is there a special reason you're calling?"
Without giving it much thought, John blurted out, "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and John held his breath until Harold answered, "Sure. Where should we meet?"
"At my place."
"Oh... um... you mean..."
"810 Baxter Street."
"Oh, well, all right."
First hurdle cleared, John thought to himself.
"Great."
"Do you want me to bring anything?"
"Um...maybe some wine? You know, I’m not really a connoisseur, so..."
"What kind? What are we having for dinner?"
"I don't know yet. That's too much to ask of me. Just something that goes with everything."
"All right."
"See you tonight, then, unless the machine gives us a number."
"See you tonight, John."
A few moments later, Harold walked through the door John had left ajar. John had just finished setting the table. As soon as he heard Harold, he turned around and walked toward his friend.
Harold stepped forward, holding out a bottle, and said softly, "Good evening."
John reached out to take the bottle. "Welcome," he said. Then he paused, the words almost choking in his throat.
"John?"
John composed himself, took the bottle, and said, "Sorry, I realize this is the first time I’ve said something like that in a long time. I mean, not just pretending to be a host, but actually welcoming someone home. Come in." In a lighter tone, he continued, "I guess I don't need to give you a tour of the place."
"Do you like it here?" Harold asked, following him to the kitchen counter. John rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out two glasses.
"Yes, I love it, Harold. Sorry for being ungrateful at first. Thank you so much for this place. Although..." He began rummaging through the drawers until he triumphantly held up a corkscrew. "I’m having a little trouble finding some things."
They shared a chuckle as John uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses.
Then, picking up the glasses, he nodded toward the couch. "How about we drink this over there?"
Harold nodded, and a few moments later, they were sitting side by side with their glasses in hand.
Harold raised his glass. "Happy birthday, John."
"Thanks," John replied softly, clinking his glass against Harold’s. After taking a sip, John set his glass down on the table. In a slightly hesitant tone, he said quietly, "I wish I could clear the air between us somehow...about everything that's happened these past few days."
Harold set his glass down as well, nodding.
They turned toward each other in silent agreement. John continued softly, "I'm not going to lie to you, the fact that you didn't tell me the truth did hurt me."
Seeing the sad look on Harold’s face, John raised his hand. "Wait, let me finish, please. It did hurt me. Past tense. You told me you’d never lie to me. Finding out you’d hidden that from me was a punch in the gut at first. But since I came back, I’ve had time to put things into perspective. Most of all, a friend has helped me see things clearly," he said, his gaze drifting toward where Han was playing chess.
He took a sip of wine before continuing, "I realized it came from a place of care. You didn’t want me to get hurt even more. You knew my story, and you knew how much it could hurt me. I realized you did that because you care about me."
Harold nodded eagerly. John continued, a slight tremble in his voice, "And I reacted badly because I care too. A lot, actually."
Harold turned a little closer to John and slowly raised his hand. As he brought his fingers closer to his friend’s face, he asked softly, "May I?"
John nodded.
Harold placed his hand on John’s cheek and gently caressed his cheekbone with his thumb.
"I'm sorry I lied to you," Harold whispered, his voice vibrating with raw sincerity. "I think I could have handled it differently. But you’re right. I didn’t do it because I was afraid of your reaction, I did it because I was afraid of how it would make you feel. I should have talked it over with you. I’m afraid I’m not good at this."
There was an honesty in that confession that disarmed John.
He laughed softly. "I'm no better at it than you are, you know."
Harold offered an encouraging smile.
"But we can learn together, can't we?"
John nodded and leaned his cheek into Harold's palm.
In a voice slightly hoarse with emotion, he said softly, "When you find that one person who connects you to the world... You become someone different. Someone better." John swallowed, then continued, his eyes slightly watery. "For a long time, when I thought of those words, I thought of Jessica. But now, Harold, when I think of those words, I think of you. You’ve helped me reconnect with the world and given me the chance to be a better person."
John turned his head into Harold’s hand and kissed the palm for a long moment, a gesture of pure adoration. They gazed at each other in silence for a few moments, sharing a mutual understanding. Then, Harold’s hand slowly slid from John’s cheek to the nape of his neck. With a gentle press, Harold drew John closer, narrowing the gap between them. John closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips against Harold’s in a tender, hesitant kiss.
He pulled back slightly, breathless, his eyes feverishly seeking approval. "Is that okay?"
Harold shook his head and his expression turned playful. A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Oh no, Mr. Reese. That’s far from okay. It’s not enough, actually."
Without a second thought, John’s arms immediately closed around Harold’s back, his hands gripping him firmly to pull him close while remaining gentle, acutely aware of his lover’s physical condition.
John murmured against Harold’s lips, which were beginning to stretch into a smile, "Let me make it up to you, then."
John captured Harold’s lips once more, and their breaths mingled in the passionate dance of their lips and tongues. At first hesitant, Harold’s hands grew bolder. He gripped John’s waist, his fingers entangling in the fabric of his shirt. In response, John’s hands traveled up Harold’s back to cradle his face, his thumbs brushing Harold’s cheekbones with almost sacred tenderness.
The kiss lingered and grew deeper. They pulled apart just enough to catch their breath, their foreheads brushing, then lost themselves in each other once more with the eagerness unique to those who have waited too long.
Gradually, the urgency gave way to infinite tenderness. Their movements softened into slow, comforting caresses.
They settled more comfortably onto the couch, shifting so that their bodies were entwined. John snuggled up against Harold, wrapping his arms around his waist as he rested his head on his lover’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Harold slipped a protective arm around John’s shoulders and brushed his lips against his hair.
They remained like that for a long time, savoring the peaceful silence and serenity that, for the first time, did not seem like the calm before the storm.
Later, when their stomachs began to rumble, they shared the meal John had prepared in an atmosphere of newfound lightheartedness. The conversation flowed naturally, punctuated by smiles, knowing glances, and casual touches, as if their bodies were learning a language all their own.
When dinner drew to a close, they finished the bottle of wine as the evening lingered on.
A little later, Harold decided it was time to leave, though his expression betrayed his desire to stay. However, they both knew they needed time to process this new step in their relationship.
John walked him to the door. In the shadows of the entryway, they shared one last kiss, promising the next day and the days to come.
After Harold left, John stood motionless for a moment. Then he hurried over to the the window overlooking the dark street. He saw Harold’s familiar silhouette receding under the streetlights. At one point, Harold stopped and turned around. He must have seen John silhouetted against the lit window because he raised his hand and waved. It was a simple gesture, and John could only wave back with a sincere smile, even though Harold probably couldn’t see it from there.
Under normal circumstances, he would have stayed in the shadows, watching his partner leave. But with Harold, he realized he didn’t need to.
With Harold, he didn’t need to hide.