Archive of Our Own

the sound of someone knocking at the door startles ten so badly that he drops his mug of tea in the sink.

"fuck," he curses. it hasn't shattered, but it's broken into two pieces. his sister painted that mug for him in an art class nine years ago. a kingfisher. she was so proud of it, at the time. he stares down at the mug in the sink and the lemon tea swirling down the drain and is so caught up in his grief that he forgets about the door until whoever is there knocks again.

ten glances down at the sink one last time, then turns around and heads into the hallway. he peers through the spyhole and all of a sudden, he's glad he isn’t still holding his mug, because if he hadn't dropped it then, he would definitely have dropped it now, and the fall to the floor would have broken it beyond repair.

his visitor is so much older than he was when ten last saw him. his hair is cropped short, so unlike the long, straightened fringe he used to sport, and even through the distorted lens of the spyhole ten can see that he's taller and broader than he once was. it's only when ten sees him raise his hand to knock again that he quickly moves to unlock the door.

they stare at each other for a long, silent, moment. ten is sure that they are both assessing each other in the same way, tallying up all the differences - the visible ones, at least - between then and now, all of the ways the years have changed them.

"johnny," ten says finally. "come in."

johnny walks around ten's apartment with a sort of hesitance to his movements, like he isn't sure any of it is real. ten stands off to the side while johnny walks along the length of the living room, looking at the photos and the ornaments and all of the little things that ten has collected in the time that he's lived here. to ten, it's not all that remarkable, but if he tries to look at it from johnny's perspective, ten supposes he can understand. johnny is trying to get an insight into what ten's life has been like for the past five years, to glean what information he can from the way ten has chosen to decorate his space.

"this is a nice place," johnny says. he turns to ten only after he's spoken, but he still doesn't make eye contact.

ten can understand that, too.

"thank you," he says. there's a short silence. "how did you know where i lived?"

johnny stares at his feet and ten stares at johnny. there would have been no one for johnny to ask. everyone who knew where ten lived... well. ten doesn’t need to unpack his survivor’s guilt right now.

"i came here once,” johnny reminds ten. “well, not inside.”

that’s right, isn’t it, ten realises. he actually has seen johnny in the time between, but only once, and ten was so drunk that he convinced himself that johnny was a figment of his imagination, or a hallucination - there was absolutely no way that the guy that sicheng called to pick him up from ten’s party was johnny suh. if sicheng knew johnny, ten would know.

but then, ten reconsiders. would he? ten met sicheng a couple of years after ten last saw johnny, and ten never spoke about johnny to anyone. so technically, sicheng would have had no idea that johnny is anyone to ten.

well. ten supposes that’s wrong - johnny isn’t anyone to him. not anymore.

there’s no point in asking why johnny’s here, so ten doesn’t. today, of all days, it is perhaps the one day that johnny’s reappearance in ten’s life actually makes sense. johnny’s always been resilient. of course he’d still be around.

“do you want something to drink?” ten offers. he’s turning to the kitchen already. “i don’t think i have any coffee, i’m sorry.”

this earns a surprised laugh from johnny, which in turn startles ten into a smile. ten turns to look at johnny but he can’t see him around the corner of the doorway.

“just a glass of water would be nice, thank you,” johnny says politely. ten takes the water from the tap. the broken piece of his kingfisher mug at the bottom of the sink floats in the excess that spills from the glass.

“here,” ten says. he passes the glass to johnny then, gingerly, careful not to cut himself, fishes the two pieces of the mug out from the sink.

“oh, wow, you still have that,” johnny comments. ten glances at him, surprised. of course. johnny was still around when his sister made it.

“well,” ten says bitterly, gesturing at the pieces. “not anymore.”

“it isn’t like you’ll have much use for it -,” johnny mumbles, but he stops short when he sees the way ten’s eyes widen.

“i shouldn’t have said that,” johnny whispers. “just… coping.”

“cope quietly,” ten snaps. “i don’t want to hear it.”

“i’m sorry,” johnny says, and ten ignores it as if he hadn’t forgiven johnny the moment he’d seen the regret in his face.

there’s a long period of quiet again while ten makes a new cup of tea for himself to replace the one he’d dropped when johnny knocked on the door.

the city is so quiet now. it never used to be this way.

ten supposes that’ll happen when four fifths of the population dies. even the remaining survivors end up awfully quiet.

ten turns back to face johnny with a new cup of lemon tea in his hands. he holds it close to himself as he inspects johnny’s face, then asks his question.

“do you know anyone else who…?”

“do you think i’d be here if i did?” johnny snorts. ten’s eyebrows shoot up. “i didn’t mean that,” johnny amends quickly. he swallows. “no, i don’t.”

ten thinks of all of johnny’s loved ones, his friends and family, the people who ten loved by proxy when they were together.

all of them, gone. just like ten’s.

when ten lets himself think about just how many people he lost, it feels like it was a lot more than four fifths of the population.

“i’m sorry,” he says, and he knows the words can sound hollow at this point, but he means them. if he thinks a little harder, remembers johnny’s little cousin who used to tag along with them when they were trying to go on dates, his mother who doted on ten like he was her own, his friends who teased johnny about ten even while ten was standing right there - ten decides not to think.

“i’m sorry, too,” johnny says. “and i’m sorry for what i said earlier.”

ten sniffs and studies his fingernails. “anything else you want to say sorry for? go for the hattrick?”

johnny pauses for so long that it makes ten look up. only then does johnny speak.

“i’m sorry i broke up with you.”

ten is at a loss. he can’t do anything but stare.

“i’m sorry i was a coward. i’m sorry i never stood up for you. i’m sorry i let you fall in love with me and then was too afraid to acknowledge the fact that i loved you, too. so much.”

ten sniffs again and glares at johnny weakly.

“a hattrick means three, dumbass. you were only supposed to be sorry for one more thing.” ten’s inane complaints do little to deflect. still, the corner of johnny’s mouth curls up into a smile.

it’s been so long since ten has seen johnny smile, and this isn’t even that, just a tiny fragment of it. ten wants to see the real thing.

maybe ten will be able to get johnny to smile for real before tomorrow comes. he hopes he can.

logically speaking, two people like johnny and ten should be catching each other up on the years they missed after seeing each other again after so long. but logic has long since gone out the window, and so instead johnny is sitting on ten’s sofa in silence while ten superglues his mug back together. even if he can never use it again, he still wants it to be in one piece. he has to be careful with his fingers, but he does a precise job.

johnny makes a comment about artists having steady hands.

“so do photographers,” ten responds quietly.

johnny makes a noise of surprise. “oh, wow, it really has been years.”

ten looks over his shoulder, eyes wide. “don’t tell me you stopped taking photos.”

all johnny can do is shrug. “it wasn’t going anywhere. i haven’t touched a camera in years.”

“so what are you, then?” ten asks. “i mean, what do you do?”

there’s a short pause, then johnny sits up straight and squares his shoulders.

“i’m an electrician.”

ten stares at him. he can’t help it. the johnny he knew was never without his camera. he used to rattle on about specific manual settings that all went way over ten’s head and ten saved for a year to get johnny a film camera for his twentieth birthday.

ten wonders where that camera is now.

“don’t look like that,” johnny sighs. “just because i didn’t go down the artsy route you did doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with that.”

ten shakes his head, startled. “i was just surprised. i never expected you to not be johnny-who-takes-photos.”

“now i’m johnny who fixes lights.”

“there’s nothing wrong with that,” ten says quickly. he can feel his face heat with embarrassment

“i know,” johnny says pointedly.

ten looks at him for a while then deflates. the glue has set by now, so he lets go of the mug and inspects it carefully. so far so good.

do you think you’d still be taking photos if we’d never broken up? ten doesn’t ask. he doesn’t ask it, and he doesn’t think about johnny’s words from before, when he was apologising.

“do you think i can still use this?” he asks instead, lifting the mug and inspecting it.

johnny reaches out to take it, and ten hesitates for a second before giving it to him.

“if you’re careful not to cut your lip from where you’ve joined it, where it broke,” johnny says, considering, “i think you could.”

ten nods and takes it from johnny’s hands. he sets the mug down on the table gingerly.

“good,” he murmurs.

in the absence of small talk, new information is provided like that: correcting misunderstandings or assumptions carried forward from the past. ten has to tell johnny that his family dog disappeared four years ago, johnny tells ten he spent a year in madrid. ten tells johnny his sister went to fashion school, johnny tells ten his parents had to sell their old house.

like that.

johnny apologises again for being snippy and comes close to acknowledging what he said, so ten almost steers the conversation in another direction.

but there’s so little time left. ten is done pretending. there’s no point anymore.

“i wish you hadn’t said that,” ten says into the silence. johnny looks up at him, startled, but he doesn’t ask said what?. his eyes turn sad.

“i would rather die having told you,” johnny says. “i did love you. even though i didn’t know that i did at the time.”

ten swallows. “you said that already. what do you want? forgiveness? i forgive you, okay, done.”

“that’s not what i want.” johnny’s tone is sour, but again, ten forgives him for it.

ten knows what johnny wants. “we don’t get second chances,” he tells johnny. “we don’t get do-overs. maybe you could’ve, if you’d found me when you knew sicheng, but you messed up then, as well. so now we’re here with no time left, and you don’t get to make it up to me. you just have to trust me and be okay with being forgiven. okay?”

johnny curls into himself. ten looks away, then decides he needs a break. he heads to his bedroom. johnny doesn’t follow.

with nowhere else to go, they find themselves back together again. they sit on the floor of the living room and johnny promises not to to be short tempered and ten swears he won’t be existential. realistically, they’re not the kind of promises that last long. it doesn’t matter. they won’t have to.

with that out the way, they enjoy each others’ company. there was a reason they were so close for so long. the two of them just work.

it’s beginning to turn to late night when ten suggests,

“let’s play a game,” ten says. “truth or dare?”

it catches johnny off guard, and he scoffs. “how old are we?”

“what, are you scared?”

johnny sighs exasperatedly then sits up straight, legs crossed, and faces ten. ready for the challenge.

“truth.”

ten hesitates. and then:

“if we were the last two people in the world, would you kiss me?”

ten wasn’t trying to make johnny laugh, but he does. johnny laughs, full body, and it’s all at once both brand new and achingly familiar.

“we’re not the last two people in the world, ten.”

this moment feels suspended. it’s not the past, but it doesn’t feel like the present. ten locks eyes with johnny.

“it feels like we are.”

there’s johnny’s smile, again. ten wasn’t even trying. “okay. ask me one more time.”

“if we were the last two people in the world, would you kiss me?”

“yes.”

ten swallows. he doesn’t know where to go from here. “okay.”

johnny does, though.

“what would you have said if i said dare?”

ten hadn’t thought of a dare, but johnny didn’t ask him to tell the truth, so he stares johnny in the eye - he’d fallen forward with his laughter and now he’s sitting up again, he’s so much closer than before - and says, “i’d have dared you to kiss me.”

“okay.” johnny shuffles closer to ten. “i’ll take that dare.”

“it’s not your -” johnny shushes ten with a finger brushing against his lip, and ten gets the feeling that it doesn’t matter whose turn it is.

johnny cradles ten’s face in both hands, his touch tentative as his eyes flick between ten’s eyes and his lips. ten just waits.

their first kiss was when ten was eighteen. they were sitting on the grass in the garden of ten’s parents’ house in the late december night. or rather, ten was sitting on the grass at the ledge and johnny was standing on the patio beneath him, so when they finally did kiss, it was johnny who had to get on his tiptoes and lean upwards to reach ten.

then, ten had been impatient and had pulled johnny into the kiss when he was still hesitating.

this time, ten waits.

something about knowing exactly how little time you have left can instil a sort of patience within a person. even someone like ten, who’s never liked to wait.

johnny kisses him like he doesn’t remember how. which, maybe he doesn’t. ten makes it his job to remind him, and kisses him back, tilting forwards. johnny lets go of his face and instead puts a hand in ten’s hair. his grip is grounding, and ten opens his mouth for johnny’s tongue, lets johnny lick into his mouth. maybe it’s ridiculous for ten to remember what someone kissed like five years ago, but ten thinks he does, and he thinks johnny kisses differently, now.

johnny twists his fingers in ten’s hair and tilts his head to get a better angle, kiss him deeper, and ten grips the back of johnny’s neck like he’ll die if he stops kissing johnny. johnny seems in a similar state, unwilling to pull back, staying close to ten’s face and pressing kisses to his jawline even when they break apart, and surging back in after a few moments.

if impending doom has made ten patient, the effect on johnny has been the opposite, but ten doesn’t mind.

johnny is to sleep on ten’s sofa.

at least, that’s the plan. they make it up to be a bed, and ten brings him a pillow and some sheets, and they get rid of the sofa cushions so he has more space. they set the whole thing up.

they both end up in ten’s bed anyway. johnny fucks ten into the mattress and comes inside him, their bodies hot and flush and sticky with sweat, johnny panting into ten’s ear and ten whining into the pillow.

there’s nothing sexy about the end of the world, but there is something human about sex, feeling the warmth of another person’s body, feeling sweat-slick skin and white-hot pleasure, that makes ten want it so badly. to feel like something living, and not just alive.

they fall asleep with one of ten’s legs thrown over johnny’s. ten pulls the covers over himself, and refuses to think about tomorrow.

<

“i don’t understand,” ten tells johnny. they were supposed to come to the cafe to get a cake for jaehyun’s birthday, but now they’re sitting over coffee, breaking up.

ten’s hands are shaking. johnny’s hands are steady. “johnny hyung, i really, really don’t get it. why… i thought…”

ten can barely figure out the words. how do you tell someone who has just put an end to things that you thought you’d be together forever? johnny seems to have it all planned out, though. he puts a reassuring hand on ten’s shoulder but it’s the coldest touch ten has ever felt. still, he doesn’t shrug it off.

“i’m sorry,” johnny says. his words sound mechanical. ten wonders if he practiced in the mirror.

“no, you’re not,” ten mumbles. this time, he does shrug johnny’s hand off, and curls into himself. “you’re the one who’s decided to leave. why would you say sorry, when you could just choose me and then you wouldn’t have to be sorry at all?”

johnny doesn’t have an answer for that. there is a long moment of quiet, then ten stands and grabs his coat.

“fine. i’m leaving.”

ten does it to get the last word, but it doesn’t matter. johnny doesn’t seem to even care.

>>

the heat is what wakes ten up. he’s kicked the duvet onto the floor in his sleep, but the discomfort of overheating remains.

when he looks to his side, johnny is gone.

for a single, horrible second, ten is convinced that johnny being here was all a dream. or rather, some sort of delirious hallucination conjured up by ten’s mind.

but ten can still feel the aftermath of the night before. no, johnny was definitely here.

there’s no way that he could have gone anywhere. not when it’s like this, when the room is dipped in a red-orange glow and ten can feel the sweat dripping down his back from how extreme the heat is.

he kicks the covers off himself and makes his way to the living room, rubbing his eyes.

whereas the bedroom curtains were drawn, the living room’s are not. if his bedroom was dipped in the red-orange light then this room is bathed in it.

ten sees johnny silhouetted across the window, the edges of him soft in the light. he can’t hold back his sigh of relief, and in the quiet of the room it gives him away. johnny turns towards him, smiling.

“good morning,” johnny says. ten looks past johnny’s shoulder, out at the window. the heat is refracting the light like when you look past a flame, and the whole world seems to be shaking. but the ground is steady beneath ten’s feet.

“it’s… something, isn’t it?” johnny murmurs.

ten swallows and looks up at johnny. his shirt is sticking to him with sweat. ten is in a similar state himself. when he looks at johnny’s face, there’s something in his eyes that makes ten’s chest hurt, makes him feel like his heart is going to expand past his ribcage and crack him open from the inside.

ten turns to the cupboard quickly.

“breakfast?” he offers.

johnny makes a sound of assent. “do you have -”

“cheerios,” ten finishes. he pulls the box out of his cupboard quickly and pretends not to notice the surprise on johnny’s face. “yeah, i do.”

johnny eats his breakfast quietly, and ten makes himself tea in the superglued kingfisher mug.

waking up to johnny. breakfast with johnny.

it’s years too late, but ten is finally getting what he wanted for so long.

<<<<

the summer before university passes more quickly than any in ten’s life. his time is distributed between his summer job helping out with the under-10s at the dance school, getting ready to move out, and the rest is spent with johnny. johnny gets a car and starts picking ten up from dance, but a lot of the time, they don’t bother to find their other friends. they hang around in the neighbourhood for hours on end until ten gets to three missed calls from his mother and is forced to go home.

“do you remember when you broke that guy’s nose for me last year?” ten asks. it’s late august, now, and the days, though long, are beginning to get shorter. they’re sitting in johnny’s back garden, underneath the beech tree.

johnny turns and frowns at him. “random. but yeah, i do.”

they were on the train home from a concert and ten was wearing makeup. he used up his last wipes on cleaning the blood from johnny’s fist.

“that was cool of you,” ten mumbles.

“i’d do it again any day,” johnny promises.

ten glances at the time on johnny’s watch. he has to leave in a few minutes. now-ish, if he doesn’t want to make his sister wait.

ten came here this morning with a goal, and it’s now or never. well, not never, but he’s leaving tomorrow, and who’s to say what will change and what will stay the same when he goes to university? so. now or never.

“can i tell you something?” ten asks. his voice is so small.

johnny tilts his head, interested. “sure.”

now or never.

“johnny,” ten whispers. he can’t speak any louder than this. nobody’s listening, but all his energy is going into mustering up the courage to tell johnny the truth. “i… like you. romantically. and i know - i know you’re straight, and that we’ve been best friends since forever, but i just - i had to tell you. i’m leaving tomorrow, so, if you - if you decide you never want to speak to me again, then that’s gonna be easier, so just… yeah. i’m sorry.”

ten realises belatedly that he hasn’t looked johnny in the eye the entire time he’s been speaking, and finally, he looks up. johnny looks utterly shellshocked, mouth hanging open, and ten fights the urge to run away. he just needs johnny to say something. anything.

“oh,” johnny says. not a great start. “ten, i… um. thank you, for - for telling me.”

god. ten can feel tears welling in his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. he’s ruined everything.

ten stands up abruptly and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“my sister’s waiting for me to pick her up from her piano lessons,” he says. “i have to go.”

johnny doesn’t say anything, just stays there sitting against the beech tree, unmoving. ten expected he’d feel better after telling johnny, even if he knew that johnny wouldn’t like him back. ten looks at johnny for another moment before turning on his heel. he’s almost at the gate when he hears johnny’s scrambling movement.

“ten,” johnny calls. he catches him by the wrist and forces him to turn around. he takes a few deep breaths and studies ten’s face for a second. ten looks down at where johnny’s hand is wrapped around his wrist and then back up at johnny just in time to see johnny say, “i’m bi.”

“... what?”

johnny bites the inside of his cheek and nods. ten stares at him helplessly for a second, then he can’t help but laugh at himself, at how fucking pitiful it all is.

“isn’t that worse?” ten sniffs and pulls his arm out of johnny’s grip. “that you like guys, but you don’t like me. but johnny, i’ve never liked anyone but you.”

“when did i say i don’t like you? i do like you.”

ten’s heart stops in its tracks. “you do?”

ten can see johnny’s adam’s apple bob as he gulps. “more than anyone.”

ten stares at him. “oh.”

“yeah.”

“johnny, i -” ten is interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket again. as much as he doesn’t want to, ten checks. it’s his sister. “i’ll see you tomorrow. before i leave, come round, okay? promise.”

“i promise. i’ll see you.”

ten smiles and bites his lip. “bye, johnny.”

johnny chuckles and shoves his hands into his pockets. “go! your sister’s waiting. bye, ten.”

“bye!”

>>>>

there’s no point in sitting in the living room. with its tall, eastward facing windows, it’s worse there than in any other room in the house.

instead, ten and johnny end up back in the bedroom, and once they’re there, there’s nowhere else to be but the bed.

ten sits up against the headboard. johnny sits beside him.

“do you think we would have made our way back to each other if it weren’t for the circumstances?” ten asks. “eventually, do you think so?”

johnny looks down. “i could have come back to you any time i wanted,” he reminds ten quietly.

ten swallows. “so no,” he confirms.

“i don’t think so.”

ten tilts his head back against the wall and looks up at the ceiling in silence.

“if you were in my position, would you have reached out? to the guy who broke your heart all those years ago? you wouldn’t have, right? good riddance to me.”

ten sighs. “you were never just that guy to me. you could never be just anything to me. you were always... you know. johnny. unrivalled.”

johnny is quiet.

“i thought i imagined you the day you came here. that’s how certain i was that we would never see each other again,” ten continues. “so if i’d been sober. if i’d known you were here, in the city. yeah, i would have reached out.”

johnny tilts his head back until it hits the headboard with a dull thud. “i’m sorry i didn’t.”

“i thought we agreed that you would stop apologising,” ten tuts. “it doesn’t do any good.”

“there’s nothing left for me to do.”

ten looks up at johnny, sees the sadness in his eyes, and quickly looks away.

ten hates this. he hates that this is where it all ends. he hates the way the heat is suffocating him, he hates the way his eyes are burning against the light. he hates that johnny is here because there’s nobody left alive that he loves. he hates that they have hours left and he still feels like he has to get all the feelings out from between them and wrap them up in a neat little ribbon, when it shouldn’t matter anymore. when it doesn’t matter anymore.

he hates that they’re together like this, and not after five years of being together and in love. he can’t even tell johnny he loves him because he hasn’t seen him in five years, so it isn’t true. the only johnny ten loves is the one who broke his heart, not the one here now.

ten wants so badly to be able to feel satisfied before he dies. he wants to feel peace.

“ten,” johnny whispers. ten cracks his eyes open and sees johnny halfway through getting up. “it’s too hot. i’m taking off my shirt.”

ten nods blankly at him and watches as johnny peels the sweat-sticky shirt off his skin, then flops back down onto the bed.

“feel better?” ten asks.

“i don’t feel worse,” johnny responds. “i guess that’s something.”

ten nods and follows suit. johnny’s right, there’s little relief from the heat even after taking off his shirt, but he doesn’t feel like it’s gotten worse.

he lies down as well, facing johnny, now.

they lie in silence for a long time, ten studying johnny’s features, johnny watching ten.

there’s a sort of peace in this moment, at least. ten sighs then stops. even the air in his lungs feels scalding.

ten can feel his skin burning. it’s a harsher pain than anything he’s ever experienced, but if he closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s on the beach in thailand in the summer, that his mother is berating him for forgetting his sunscreen.

“johnny,” ten asks. “are you ready to die?”

johnny struggles to open his eyes against the light, but he does. he reaches out and cups ten’s cheek in his hand.

“no,” johnny says. his voice is raw with honesty and if ten had any energy left in him, he thinks he might start crying. “but it’s easier if i’m not alone. it’s easier if it’s with you.”

up until today, ten hadn't seen johnny in years. when ten was a lot younger, and a lot more naive, he thought that they might grow old together, and die together.

well. he wasn't totally wrong.

it’s so, so, hot. he watches the sweat drip from johnny’s brow onto the bed sheets. he takes johnny’s hand in his own and pulls it down, away from his face. ten lifts it so he can fit himself closer to him, under his arm. it’s already unbearably hot. the added warmth of johnny’s body is nothing in comparison.

johnny grips ten, tight, holds him so close that ten can hear johnny’s heart beating in his chest. steady. alive.

ten remembers once seeing a photograph of two skeletons that were thousands of years old, lying facing each other, hands interlocked.

archaeologists called them lovers.

nobody will be around to find their skeletons, but if there was someone, ten thinks about how they wouldn’t be able to see the time that they spent apart, or the heartbreak of all those years ago. they would only see this final moment.

they would call them lovers.