Archive of Our Own

"It's good," Zhikai says once he finally removes his headphones. His hesitation hangs over his words, a heavy presence Kun can't ignore. Reading Zhikai's expression, Kun feels the tension in his shoulders sink down to his chest.

"But not good enough," Kun supplies.

The smile he receives is kind and pitying. "Just… not quite what they're after. But let me ask around. I'll see what people are looking for and get back to you. Maybe, with a bit of tweaking... something will work out, I'm sure. Don't worry."

Kun's pride makes him want to refuse. He can't afford to do anything but swallow it. 

"Thank you," he says. "I appreciate it."

On their way out, Zhikai claps a hand to Kun's shoulder. "You have talent," he says. "You do."

Kun smiles and nods. He's heard that before, many times, from many different people. They always seem to mean it.




Kun's favourite jiejie takes him out for meals whenever he asks just as long as she is able to get away from work. She always comes straight from her office to meet him. Kun likes getting a glimpse of a life he doesn't know. In their youth, Li Mingxi preferred wearing loose, comfortable clothes and kept her hair cropped short beneath her ears. These days, Kun only ever sees her dressed neatly and fashionably in her work attire. Seeing her like that, with her pretty blouses and carefully applied makeup, he's struck by a pang of envy he's sure he shouldn't feel. 

"Are you sure you don't want more?" she says, after Kun has left his bowl empty and his utensils untouched for a good five minutes. "You can if you want, you know. I'll order something else."

Kun shakes his head. "I'm full."

There's still plenty of food left on the table. Kun's eyes drift downwards every so often as the noise of rhythmic chatter buzzes in his ears. He reaches for his tea and takes a sip.

"Your mother has been talking to mine again. Always the same, isn't it? I'm sure she must be nagging you a lot."

"Not recently."

"Do you want me to set you up with someone? I know a lot of pretty girls who would love to go out with someone as handsome and dependable as you."

"Ah... I'm not really—"

"Yes, yes, I know; you're not interested, and you don't want me to meddle. But you can't keep saying that forever! You're in your thirties now. The nagging will just get worse. You should really let me help—I'll set you up with a nice girl. Better than letting Aunty interfere, right?"

Kun flashes a smile and looks down at the table. The piece of chicken he'd been eyeing doesn't seem so appealing anymore.

"Right," he says, looking back up. "Thank you."




On the train home, Kun shares a carriage with a group of high school students. There are five of them in total: three boys and two girls. He's seated close enough to hear their conversation: a typical mix of worries about their studies, complaints about their teachers, and gossip about their classmates. They delve deep into a discussion on an upcoming physics exam, and Kun doesn't understand half of what they say, but he likes hearing them anyway. They sound happy to him, despite their worries. These days he thinks it's nicer listening to the people around him than it is to drown out the noise with music. His earphones remain tucked away in his bag for the entire trip.




"You need to go grocery shopping," Chenle says the moment Kun walks through the door. "You don't have enough food."

Kun glances over at him for a second before bending down to take off his shoes. "Enough food for what?"

"For anything. I was going to cook dinner."

Chenle doesn't look as though he intends to cook. He looks perfectly comfortable lounging on Kun's bed and playing with his phone. Kun would tell him to move, but there aren't many other places available for Chenle to sit—and he hates it more when Chenle touches his computer. Kun long ago accepted he has to sacrifice his bed for his guests' comfort.

"I'll cook," Kun says. "I don't need groceries."

"You do! I looked at your wine as well—there's nothing good."

"Some of us are living as independent adults, you realise? I can't afford to go out and buy expensive bottles of wine every week."

"Who said you have to? I'll pay."

"No."




In the end, Kun makes too much. He can never quite lose the habit of overdoing things whenever he has company. Chenle appreciates it in any case; he attacks the meal like he hasn't eaten all day.

"I haven't," Chenle says when Kun shares that observation. "I wanted to enjoy myself. I've missed your cooking."

"It's only been a few weeks! And didn't you say you were going to cook?"

Chenle shrugs. "I lied."

When Kun smacks him, Chenle's laugh is loud and bright. "I'm just joking—I really did want to cook for you! But you always interfere to make sure everything is done the way you like anyway. It would have still tasted like your cooking in the end."

Kun sighs. "So that's why you came here, then? Just to eat my food?"

"No," Chenle says. "I came to see you."




Chenle doesn't even live in Beijing. He moved back in with his family in Shanghai the moment he left SM. "It's nice," he tells Kun. "I missed them. And I want to stay close to my nephew—I'm going to be the best uncle. I'm already his favourite."

As far as Kun knows, Chenle's parents kept the apartment in Seoul. He has no idea how often Chenle goes back. Chenle always seems to be in Beijing; always showing up at Kun's place with no warning. He never spends the night. He has other friends he can stay with, and enough money for a hotel room when he has nowhere else to go. There isn't enough space in Kun's tiny apartment for a second person to sleep.




"I have a friend," Zhikai says. "Another producer. He's working with some kids right now; they're supposed to release something soon. I talked to him about you and he wants to meet."

"For a song?"

"Not a song. Vocals. He says the kids all have nice faces, but their singing... well, you know how it is. He could really use someone who knows what they're doing."

"Ah. I don't—"

"Think about it. It's a good connection to have, anyway. You can never have too many friends." 




Sometimes when Kun decides to take a detour through Wudaokou after a day at the studio, he leaves his hat and mask in his bag. Walking through the streets without any disguise, past busy shops and restaurants and countless students milling around, he wonders whether he's being recognised. Sometimes he can feel it; a lingering stare, or a flash of recognition. Every so often he's stopped. The last time, he'd been with Chenle, on their way to eat galbi at one of the Korean restaurants nearby. Kun could tell the women who stopped them recognised Chenle first, but at least they knew who he was. 

"So, the two of you are still friends?" one of the women said, glancing between them with her eyes wide open. "Wow. That's so nice."

Kun smiled, signed her notebook, and didn't say anything. Next to him, Chenle did the same.

After the women left, Chenle shot Kun a look and said: "They really don't trust that all the friendship stuff isn't just for show, do they?"

"It's been a few years," Kun reminded him. "With that amount of time, it's normal to drift apart. We're impressive if you think about it."

Chenle frowned and didn't reply. It was only later that he brought it up again, after a few drinks brought a flush of colour to his face and a glassiness to his eyes when he stared at Kun across the table. "I don't see why it's so impressive," he said.

"What?" Kun replied.

"Us. Staying friends." He said that word, friends, strangely, like it didn't quite sit right on his tongue. "If you're close to someone—really close—isn't it natural to keep them in your life? Why should anyone expect differently?"

"You're still thinking about that?"

Chenle shrugged. "It annoyed me. What you said."

"What I said?"

"Yeah. You really think it would have been normal for us to drift apart?"

"That's not what I was saying. I was talking about how other people might think."

"They should know us better than that."

Kun doesn't remember now what he said next or how they moved on to easier topics. What he does remember—what he always thinks about as he walks down the street leading back to the station—is Chenle saying to him, "I'm sorry. Before—I overreacted a bit. Lately... I feel frustrated sometimes. Like something isn't quite right, or people don't understand me, and I can't figure out what to do about it. I don't know why that is."

Kun remembers looking at Chenle and thinking he seemed different in that moment. As though Kun could finally recognise a change in him that had been building slowly over the years they'd spent together. He supposed it had been difficult for him to notice when Chenle rarely left his side for too long. 

"Do you think I don't understand you?" Kun asked.

"Maybe a little bit," Chenle replied. "But that isn't your fault."




"Sorry, sorry, it took me ages to get here," Chenle says when he opens the door, as though Kun has been waiting for him. Kun, as usual, had no idea Chenle planned to visit. "The taxi driver wouldn't listen to me and he went the wrong way. Am I too late for lunch?"

He heads straight into the kitchen and opens Kun's fridge without waiting for an answer. Blocked by the refrigerator door, Kun can't see what Chenle is doing, but he can hear him: rummaging through Kun's leftovers, moving everything around, being a nuisance.

"Why are you here?" Kun says.

"Oh, you know. Junhui wants to hang out."

Despite what Chenle says, Kun knows he probably has another reason for being in the city. There's always something: an appearance on a TV show, a meeting with a producer, an MC gig at a random event. Chenle works as much as he plays. It's hard to remember that side of him sometimes when Kun mostly sees him as he is now: dressed down, posture loose, and no airs whatsoever; just a guy inhabiting Kun's space and messing with his things. He never really seems like a celebrity. And Chenle rarely talks about work; he doesn't seem to find it all that interesting. Kun has stopped asking him about it.

"But why are you here?" Kun says. "Junhui isn't here."

"He could be," Chenle replies. "Want me to call him?"

Kun's expression must look dark because Chenle's grin disappears in an instant. "I won't, don't worry. I'm meeting him for dinner later. You should join us."

"It's fine."

Chenle places his stolen container of noodles down on the kitchen counter and turns to face Kun properly. "I mean it," he says. "Come out, have some fun. Junhui will be happy to see you. He says you don't visit enough lately. What else are you going to do—stare at your computer screen all night?"

Kun sighs. "I'm busy."

"On a Saturday night?" Chenle stills for a moment and eyes Kun with suspicion. "Don't tell me you have a date."

Kun hopes Chenle is standing too far away to catch him flinching. He should have never told Chenle about that lunch with his jiejie. "I don't have a date."

"Good." Chenle grins. "Then you can be my date."

"Your—why do I need to be your date?" 

Chenle keeps smiling as he steps closer to where Kun is standing and says, "Because I want you to be. What do you say, Kun-ge? Be my date?"

At least Chenle is close enough now that Kun can hit him. "Don't do that. Be serious."

"I am! But if you aren't ready, that's okay. You'll still come anyway, right?"

Kun doesn't know how Chenle always manages to get what he wants. "Fine," he says. "I'll come."

Surprisingly, Lucas is the WayV member Kun hears from the most, despite the fact he's likely the busiest of all of them. Kun gets the sense Lucas tends to contact whoever he's thinking about the moment he thinks of them. Hearing his voice through the phone, Kun can picture his face clearly: younger and happier than how it looks on billboards.

"I finally found a place with good nam khao! You gotta try it, I'm telling you. You'd definitely like it."

His enthusiasm is infectious. Kun feels himself smiling. "Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where's this restaurant? So I can go."

"Oh, right." Lucas disappears for a few seconds, replaced by a collection of muffled, staticky noises until he returns and carries on as though there'd been no interruption. "I'm not sure," he says. "A guy I'm shooting with just told me about it. I trust him; he's Thai. Hey—how about I ask him where it is, and then I'll take you sometime. My treat."

Lucas can't go anywhere without attracting attention. Kun doesn't think that has a lot to do with his fame; he's just too tall, too handsome, too loud even when he's saying nothing.

"Sure," says Kun. "When we're both free."

Kun hears from Lucas often, but he rarely sees him. It doesn't matter how many times Lucas suggests they meet up. Lucas simply doesn't have the time.




Kun does his own research. He never hears back from Lucas about the restaurant, so he finds it himself—or what he assumes to be the right place, in any case. It's a little far from his apartment, but he doesn't mind travelling for good food. He wonders whether Lucas would be upset if Kun went there without him, or if he would just be happy that Kun called him to talk about the food. About some things, Lucas is hard to predict. Kun can't make up his mind.




He thinks about asking Chenle to go with him the next time he visits, but Chenle's jokes about dating are still too fresh in his memory.




There was a period of time during the previous year when Kun followed through with the dates set up for him by people he was sick of disappointing. He'd just turned thirty; he thought it was time he made more of an effort to maintain appearances. He was sick of tense conversations and biting his tongue.

He couldn't keep it going for long. Sitting across from someone and pretending to want something he knew he didn't want felt too awful to bear. So when Mingxi sends him the details of the date she set up, he asks for the girl's number, and calls her to cancel. He's gentle about it—he's had enough practice to know the right things to say to give himself a bit of a buffer before the news circles back—but he knows sooner or later he'll be getting a call full of questions he won't want to answer. He'll need to figure out his evasion tactics.

For now, he scrolls through his contacts until he finds a name that feels right for what he needs. A nice dinner and some wine in the apartment of a man who won't ask him for more than a night. Casual conversation and no hard questions. A bit of relief.

He wonders afterwards, while he's lying in the dark waiting for his breathing to steady, if this is how it will always be. He wonders how much the idea of that bothers him. He's had relationships that felt like the answer for a time; glimpses of how it could be to stay with someone, building a connection and understanding in comfortable privacy. The feeling never lasted. Something always seemed to be lacking; the relationships inevitably fizzled out. He wonders if the problem is him.




"You're good," Zhikai's friend says. "You worked in Korea before, right? As an idol?"

It's a question Kun is always asked, though he rarely brings up his history himself. "I did."

"Which agency again?"

"SM."

A flash of recognition crosses the man's face. "Oh? You must know some good people."

Kun does. Not all of them he made through SM directly, but he's aware that every connection he has can be traced back, in some way, to the person he was. He can't complain. Knowing people has helped keep him employed. He likes to think his skills are enough to be recognised on their own merit, but he can never know for certain. The path he's taken has already been followed.

You can never have too many friends, Zhikai said. Kun has already forgotten the name of Zhikai's friend, too nervous when he arrived for the introduction to stick.

"When will the song come out?" Kun asks.

Zhikai's friend waves his hand dismissively. "Who knows. Today, they say next month; tomorrow, it'll be something different. You know what these companies are like."

He looks over at Kun for a second and cocks his head, considering him. "You're a producer too, right? Zhikai told me you work together sometimes."

"I'm not—" Kun stops himself. "Yes."

"You should send me something. I'll give you my details. Maybe we can work something out."




Kun goes to bed with beats and melodies circling in his mind, short sections on repeat until there is either progression or failure and something new takes over. He pictures his computer screen; how the lines of instrumentation look, creating an image that feels pleasing somehow, yet frustratingly incomplete. While he's lying in bed, too tired to move, he thinks about the adjustments and additions he needs to make. In the morning, none of those ideas feel quite right.




Ten tells him he's wasting his potential. "You know, I always believed in you," he says. "I always thought you'd leave and do everything you wanted to." Kun doesn't think that's true, but he lets Ten say it. He can recognise that Ten, in his own way, is trying to be supportive. He can appreciate him for it, he thinks. 




Chenle says: "You haven't played me anything in a while. Can I hear something?"

He's sitting on Kun's bed, leaning back against the wall with his legs folded loosely above the faded blue bedsheets. His clothes are simple as always: a plain t-shirt, old jeans, and worn, white socks. The watch he's wearing looks oddly harsh wrapped around his pale, thin wrist. Kun stares at it for a moment. 

"I don't have anything for you," he says. "Nothing you haven't heard."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing ready."

Sitting on the floor with his laundry surrounding him, it's easy for Kun to avoid meeting Chenle's eyes. He picks up a t-shirt, folds it, and adds it to the pile near his right knee. Noise filters in from outside through the small window above his bed left open. The usual hum of traffic, a neighbour playing music, someone yelling on the street. Kun opened the window to let in some fresh air, but it's too hot and too humid. His neck feels sweaty.

"When did you start keeping things from me?"

Kun doesn't look up. "I'm not."

"You used to play me everything."

Chenle is almost right. Kun used to play him his music all the time; whenever Chenle asked, or when Kun had something he really wanted to share. Chenle would take up space on Kun's bed and listen to the music Kun played from his computer. He would always share his thoughts: asking questions about Kun's choices and his process, and making Kun play sections back so he could point out the parts he liked the most. Their usual banter disappears when it comes to discussing music. Chenle is just as serious as Kun.

But there are songs Kun never played for him. Songs with lyrics he wrote and then sung into his microphone late at night after a few glasses of wine. The first time Kun recorded one such song and didn't play it for Chenle was the first time in years he kept something secret from him.

"Play me something," Chenle says. "Anything. Something old. I just want to listen."

Kun gets up and goes to his computer. He finds a track in his library: the first song he wrote after moving; the first song he played for Chenle—in a different apartment on the other side of the city, but still the same bed Chenle is on now. Kun hits play, and sits back down with his laundry. Chenle watches him and doesn't speak.




"I heard Jaemin was caught dating again," Chenle tells him. "Just when he landed a new drama, too. I think he must be cursed. Or just kind of stupid, which... well, I won't say anything. I keep saying he should just tell people from the start so there's nothing to expose—he's old enough now, surely, that people shouldn't expect anything different. And if he can't do that, he needs to be more careful. Either way, it's his life; but it made me think—we're kind of lucky, aren't we? To be away from all of that. I don't miss it."

"You don't think you're a celebrity?"

"No. Not a real one. But even if I were, it wouldn't matter. I'd be too careful to get caught."

"You? Careful?"

"Sure. I can be careful. For something I want—something that really matters to me—I would do anything."



 

Kun wakes up when the sun is just barely starting to rise and the sky outside is a cool grey-blue. His body moves automatically: out of bed and into his running gear; he washes his face and brushes his teeth, but he tries not to linger in the bathroom too long. It's easy to get distracted.

No matter how often he runs, Kun still can't say he likes it all that much; but he's gotten used to pushing through the initial sluggishness. He keeps his mind occupied with thoughts of his schedule. Today will be busy: his usual work at the studio in the morning, a meeting at lunch, a recording session in the afternoon, and drinks with some producer friends after that. He runs through the tasks he knows he needs to complete, repeating them over until he's sure he hasn't forgotten anything. He has to remember not to drink too much tonight. Tomorrow will be busy too; and the rest of his week is filling up. It's nice to think about.

He doesn't know yet when Chenle will next visit, but he assumes he'll be by soon. He's been over a lot lately. Kun mentioned as much the last time Chenle was over, but Chenle just frowned at looked at Kun as though he was strange for saying anything. "Does that bother you?" he said.

"No." Kun remembers smiling, happy from the wine Chenle brought. "I like it when you're here."

On the way back to his apartment, Kun stops by the small grocery store on the corner of his street to pick up a few things. He hesitates for a moment once he's inside, debating with himself whether to get anything extra in case Chenle comes soon.

He decides against it. They can shop together when Chenle arrives.



 

Mingxi's call comes when Kun is distracted, or else he might have thought twice about picking up when Chenle is right next to him, trying to argue about which ingredients they need for dinner. Kun winces when he hears her voice and realises why she called. He considers moving away, out of earshot, but the moment he stops paying attention Chenle tries to sneak something into their basket, so he stays where he is. He keeps his answers brief: mostly yes, sorry, next time.

"Jiejie, can I call you back? I'm just in the supermarket. It's hard to talk."

"What was that about?" Chenle asks after Kun hangs up.

"Later," Kun replies. "I'll tell you when we're home."

He doesn't last quite that long. Holding the words in when he can feel Chenle waiting expectantly for them gets too tiring. Walking up the stairs to his apartment, arms laden with bags of groceries, Kun explains: "That was Mingxi-jiejie. On the phone earlier. I cancelled the date she set up for me."

"You did?"

Chenle's voice is loud enough to echo. Instinctively, Kun shushes him, and Chenle makes a show of looking vaguely apologetic for half a second in response.

"Why are you surprised?" Kun says.

"I don't know. You only said before that she was going to set you up; you didn't say anything about not going. I thought maybe you wanted to."

Kun completes his step up to the second floor landing and then stops where he is. "I don’t—" He cuts himself off and looks around. The stairwell is empty. Lowering his voice, he says, "That isn't something I want. You know that."

Chenle's expression is hard to read. "I thought maybe you changed your mind."

"I haven't."

A pause follows. Chenle keeps looking at him as the silence stretches, giving nothing away until he lifts his chin with a slight nod. "Good," he says.

He resumes his ascent, and Kun is left to follow him.

"What do you mean 'good'? What does it have to do with you?"

"Everything," Chenle says, not looking back as he continues climbing the stairs. "I don't like seeing you do things you don't want to. It isn't fair."

Kun sighs. "What's fair?"

Reaching Kun's door, Chenle steps aside to give Kun access and then turns around to face him, letting his body fall against the wall. Kun spares him a brief glance before reaching into his pockets for his keys. The half-second of eye contact is enough to send a strange feeling running through him, like a charge of energy he's yet to define. He's been feeling that way more and more with Chenle lately. He hasn't quite figured out what it means.

"Fair is getting to live the way you want to live," Chenle says. "Do the things you want to do, as long as you aren't hurting anyone. That's what I think."

Kun looks at him sidelong as he turns the key in the lock. He doesn't respond until they're safely inside, with the door closed behind them. "It's hurting my parents. There are things they want… you should understand that, surely? At your age, they must be nagging you a lot."

Chenle shrugs. "Not really. My parents have a grandson already."

It stings a bit to hear the flippancy in his voice. "Good for you," Kun mumbles.

The ingredients they need for dinner get unpacked onto Kun's small table while he clears some space on the kitchen counter for prep. It will take them longer than it should to get everything ready, hindered by the constraints of the space, but that's okay. The time always passes quickly when Chenle is around.

Kun often complains Chenle is a nuisance in the kitchen. The words are true, but they lack any real weight. Chenle's presence is too welcome.

"What are you doing?" Kun says when he realises Chenle has abandoned the rice he's supposed to be washing and is instead going through all of Kun's cabinets and drawers.

"Looking for something."

"Yes, I got that. But what are you looking for?"

"Not telling."

"Can you just—"

"Found it!"

Chenle straightens and spins around, clutching a bundle of patterned fabric in his hand. He smiles as he unravels it, looking altogether pleased with himself. Kun can't understand why.

"Congratulations. You found an apron. Mind telling me why you suddenly decided you needed one so much? Or why you couldn't just ask me to find it for you?"

"I just felt like it," Chenle says as he slips it over his head. He turns around so his back is to Kun. "Tie it for me?"

"You can tie it yourself."

"I want you to."

Kun stares at the strings hanging loose from the sides of the apron. With a heavy sigh, he steps forward to grasp at them with both hands. He can't help an accidental moment of touch as he fumbles to secure his fingers around the strips of material, nor can he help catching a hint of Chenle's scent when he inhales through his nose. Both moments pass quickly enough.

"I was thinking," Chenle says as Kun ties the strings together around his waist. "You're always saying that people keep talking to you about marriage. How you need to start getting serious. Find a good wife."

Kun concentrates on the knot he's making: fingertips holding a loop in place as he wraps the other string around to pull it into a bow. He takes his time so not to fumble. He doesn't want to embarrass himself.

"Can't I be your wife?"

The strings slip from Kun's fingers.

"Or you can be my wife," Chenle says, turning around though Kun's knot is unfinished. "Or husband—whatever. I'm not picky."

Kun's breath catches in his throat. "Don't joke."

"I'm not joking." Chenle looks at him, calm and steady, as though there's nothing at all strange about what he's saying. "Why do you always act like you think I am? You know me better than that, don't you?"

"I—" Kun swallows. He can't lie to Chenle. He can make jokes, and he can keep quiet—but only as long as Chenle is happy to play along with him. Without that indulgence, he has nowhere left to hide. Such direct questions aren't fair. Kun isn't prepared to answer them.

"What's the problem?" Chenle says, and Kun still can't figure out how to respond. "Is it that you don't know how to reject me? Because you shouldn't worry about that." He smiles and shrugs, almost seeming flippant, but Kun knows better. "You can reject me, I'll be fine. Nothing will change—not on my side, anyway. I'll still keep coming back here for as long as you'll let me."

It isn't fair of Kun to demand anything of Chenle when he's been giving nothing in return, but the question slips out before he can stop it.

"Why?"

Chenle's response is immediate. "Because I want to. I know what's important to me, and I know this is where I want to be. Sometimes it's that simple."

He reaches across to cup his hand to the side of Kun's face, and it's surprising enough to make Kun feel lightheaded. Of all the touches they've shared over all the years they've known each other, none have ever felt so intimate. Kun hadn't realised until now that it's something he's been wanting.

"You shouldn't stress yourself out over this. Just think about it."

The smile Chenle gives him as he drops his hand almost distracts Kun feeling sorry that it's gone. He wonders for a second if he can get it back somehow, but Chenle doesn't give him a chance to figure out how. He moves away from Kun, out of arm's reach, back to the rice he should have washed ten minutes ago.  

Kun can't remember what he's supposed to be preparing. He stands in place and watches Chenle wash the rice, one hand gripping the bowl as the other swirls around the grains with steady, circular motions. Facing the sink, Chenle's back is to Kun. The strings on his apron are still holding together in a loose tangle; thanks to the interruption, Kun's knot never took. 

When Kun steps forward to reach for the strings, he's sure his fingers must be trembling enough that Chenle will notice. He starts making the knot anyway.

"You can't want this," he says.

"I can."

He sounds so certain.

"Do you think I haven't thought about it? Ever since you told me about that lunch—well, before then too. But ever since that lunch, I've known. I don't want to just watch you do things that make you unhappy. I don't want to keeping waiting for you without telling you how I feel. Why should we both be unhappy? Why can't we have the things we want?"

Kun drops his hands. "It isn't that easy."

"Maybe not. But what else are we going to do but try?"

Chenle removes his hand from the bowl of rice and tips it to one side to drain the cloudy water into the sink. Normally Kun would scold him for forgetting to save it, but he says nothing as he listens to the water spill freely. The grains shift back into place when Chenle places the bowl back, and Chenle doesn't reach up to turn on the tap for another rinse. He stands still, and doesn't speak, and Kun knows he's waiting for him.

Speaking to Chenle's back, Kun finds his honesty comes more freely. "You know I want to say yes."

"Of course. I know you."

"So you know I won't."

"No." Chenle turns around to face Kun. "I don't think that." He reaches up to place his hand on Kun's face again, but this time it's wet, and Kun shivers at the contact. "See?" he says with a smile. "I know you want this too much." 

Heat rises to Kun's cheeks. "That's not—! Don't—"

Tease, is what Kun wanted to say. But Chenle moves before he can—towards Kun, with no hesitation, almost throwing him off balance with the suddenness. He kisses Kun, and when Kun's initial shock wears off, it's replaced by a fresh sense of surprise at how gentle Chenle is. And more than that, Kun realises he's kissing back with an eagerness that he knows betrays him completely. 

He finds he doesn't care. 

In Chenle's kiss, Kun finds relief, and warmth. He finds tenderness, and something deeper that curls in his stomach and pulses through his veins. Once he knows that feeling, he knows he won't be able to let it go.

Chenle is the one to pull away first. "Was I right?" he says, smiling at Kun with unshakeable confidence.

Kun sighs. "You're really unbelievable sometimes."

"Maybe. But you like me. You like me enough to forget about everything else and give this a chance."

Before today, Kun would have thought that impossible. Right now, he thinks it's true.




Kun's bed isn't big enough for two people to sleep comfortably, but he presses himself against the wall as Chenle curls in closer. He doesn't know that he'll be sleeping for a while yet anyway. Chenle keeps drawing light patterns over his chest with his fingertips; a line over his sternum, a curve around his nipple, figure eights that drift down to his stomach. The pale light of the moon filtering through his window illuminates enough for Kun to be able to see the way Chenle stares at him, transfixed.  

"Can I hear something?" Chenle says. "A song?"

Kun is too alert to be sleepy, but he's still tired. His body feels boneless. "Tomorrow," he says. "It's late."

"You don't have to get up. Just sing."

Silence hangs in the space for a while. This late, Kun can't hear anything more than the occasional vehicle passing through on the streets below. Chenle's fingers make their way to the top of Kun's waistband and then stop. Kun feels warmth there.

He closes his eyes.

The first few words come through cracked and unsteady, voice wavering as he tries to find the right notes. He doesn't stop. The melody fills the silence, and Chenle strokes him with his fingers in time with the unsteady rhythm, slow and gentle, and Kun loses himself in the sensation for a little while. It's as though nothing else exists but his voice and the two of them huddled together on his tiny bed.

He stops when he feels a thumb brush over the skin underneath his right eye.

"You're crying," Chenle says.

Kun hadn't noticed any tears, but when he blinks, he feels wetness on his eyelashes. He can't remember the last time he cried.

"It's okay," Chenle says, still touching him. "You can cry. It's only me here."

His hand dips lower, and Kun closes his eyes.

"Everything will be fine."