Archive of Our Own

A week of immersive jazz workshops. That’s seven days away from Duang when they haven’t been apart for more than a day or two. He’s hundreds of miles away, sharing space with over a hundred other students from the music faculty of several universities. His fingers are raw and his singing voice is exhausted. His nerves are shot, not having Duang by his side to encourage him and act as his confidence when he has none left.

It’s the last morning and his alarm blares, flooding him with adrenaline and anxiety before he even opens his eyes, just as it has for the last six stressful days. He rolls to his back and reaches out across the empty bed, loneliness hitting his chest head on. It’s one more day, less than 24 hours, and that’s way too much. But in the end, he’ll be snuggled up to his boyfriend’s chest, in their matching pajamas, and they won’t leave their bed for at least three days.

After nearly a year of Duang trying to win his heart, Qin finally stopped trying to sabotage his own happiness. He realized he was smiling all the time and had begun to trust Duang entirely. After they made their relationship official, Qin never wanted to be apart. Even after three years of being together, they still hadn’t been separated for this long. It was awful.

He grabs his phone off the bedside table and is met with a flurry of heart emojis. The smile that creeps along his face does wonders for his aching heart. Underneath all the hearts is what Qin’s been waiting for: Duang’s nightly voice message.

He presses play and goes to brush his teeth. If he doesn’t listen to the homing beacon that is Duang’s voice while he drags himself through his morning routine, he’s not going to get out of this depressingly empty bed.

“Good morning Qiiinnn!” Duang cheers, voice bright and bursting into Qin’s heart. “I hope you’re feeling better today. Just one day to go! Your final workshop should be more fun than having to play ice breaker games every day. I’m not having much fun here though. I miss you so much even my favorite things are depressing.”

Qin rinses his mouth and groans at a pinched pain in his back. He misses their memory foam mattress almost as much as his boyfriend’s cuddles.

For the past seven days, like clockwork, Duang has left him a one-sided conversation to fill his empty mornings. They’re like little bandages for his gushing loneliness. He’ll monologue a bit, as he loves to do, updating Qin on all the hours of his life that day, then talk about whatever art piece he’s been working on. Currently, this is life drawings.

“I’m at your home, well ourhome, showered and in your pajamas, well our pajamas, sitting on the floor with my sketchbook, and eating snacks, and none of it is making me happy really, not like usual.” Qin can hear the whining start. “I just keep getting stuck on the part where you’re not here to make me rest, or argue with me over who gets to pay for our garlic shrimp. I have to smell you one our sheets and not have your neck to kiss.”

It’s their nightly routine for Duang to wrestle a hundred kisses on Qin’s neck while Qin resists then ultimately giggles and allows Duang to nearly consume him. Qin loved the ritual for many reasons, not the least of which was occasionally getting to see faint red patches on his neck to remind everyone of who he belonged to.

Mostly, he loved it for lying with Duang on their bed, safe and surrounded by him. Enclosed. Protected. Qin hadn’t let anyone other than Duang near him with a ten foot pole, at least with his consent. Duang poured patience and longing into his motions every night, nuzzling Qin’s neck, kissing his forehead, tracing his lips with the pad of his thumb. Making little strokes through his hair just because he knew the feeling of it made Qin all tingly.

Once they began to drift into sleep, Qin rolled until his face was against Duang’s chest. Not just against it, but pressed into its center, his nose and forehead crammed right in the middle, where Duang’s pajama shirt was unbuttoned. He either started the night in that position, or woke up the next morning like that, his body inescapably drawn to Duang’s like a magnet, even when he was unconscious.

He wishes he was there right now. Instead, he's here, in the same mediocre hotel he’s been stuck in this whole time, dragging himself out of bed. At least he doesn’t have to share a room.

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Duang continues, his voice shy and a little sad, “I know I’m whining and maybe annoying, but… everything stays gray when you’re not here. Every line I’m drawing, every lonely shower, every joke Jaimie makes… none of it makes me smile.”

Qin’s own heart aches; he can relate.

“But! Enough sulking for now, I’m trying to encourage you for your last day, not drown you with my broken heart. Where did I leave off yesterday? I – ah, ugh, shit!”

There’s a cacophony of rustling and a thud. Qin laughs and it bubbles the water he’s splashing up at his face. He feels a lot better already, between the steadying sound of Duang’s talking and his cool wet skin.

“Sorry! I tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor. I haven’t exactly been keeping our room neat. But how can I be expected to clean when my Qin has left me?!”

Qin rolls his eyes and smiles, pausing the message so he can take a shower. He scrubs shampoo in his hair with a scowl on his face. It wasn’t him who chose to go on this stupid field trip by himself. His bastard friends had convinced Duang that Qin needed to concentrate and couldn’t do it with Duang attached to his hip. What the hell did they know? Duang had felt so guilty that he'd practically cried as he shoved Qin out the door with his bag packed.

Drying his hair with a towel, Qin continues the voice message.

“Let’s see – oh – I forgot to give you your morning kisses! Muah, muah, muah, muah,” kissing sounds came through the phone, over and over, exactly how they’d sound against his skin if he was there. He lets the familiar sound weave through him and wake him up with a smile. His boyfriend never gets embarrassed about how loudly he loves Qin.

Qin’s heart feels full and warm in his chest. His breath is starting to ease now, filling up his lungs entirely instead of getting stuck in his throat. It’s just one more day.

Qin spends the morning listening to a panel of yet another group of jazz musicians, this time discussing the roles of improvisation in a performance. He complains about it to Duang via text. Although he has been wearing his headphones around his neck, he’s been unable to listen to them, or even put them over his ears to block out the noise. He’s been too busy and too concentrated on trying to take in and follow all the directions thrown at them.

For lunch, Qin is bombarded by his two friends who gather him up and drag him out to eat. After about two bites of ramen, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He eagerly digs it out and is rewarded with Duang’s face lighting up the screen.

“Qin, ter, hi!” Duang says into the phone, all in one breath.

“Hey,” Qin stands up from the table and walks away, heart startled by its relief at hearing Duang’s voice. “I didn’t think I’d get to talk to you until later.” His friends look at one another, exasperated by Qin’s attachment.

“Um, that’s actually why I’m calling.” There’s a disheartened sort of lag to Duang’s voice that has Qin standing up straight, dormant anxiety whipping up. Duang sighs, sounding sad. “That life drawing project I’ve been working on now has to be done during class. Not enough students can find people to model for them, so the teacher is making us all come in to draw the model he’s bringing. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk until much later while you’re traveling. I only have a few minutes even now.”

Life drawings are one of the most time consuming projects because they involve finding someone to pose for you. Not just any pose, but an hour long pose from someone who won’t laugh or complain. If you want a serious model who is used to being drawn in that fashion, it costs money… and you have to be comfortable with complete nudity. Duang can usually convince a friend to model for him, and he tastefully drapes them in some kind of shawl or band of silk to make it classy and at least partially covered.

Qin tries not to sulk about missing his call with Duang, or missing Duang’s concentrated face while drawing. He slumps onto a bench. The only chunk of time they’re able to overlap with their days this week is an hour, if they’re lucky. And even then they’re multi-tasking. It’s really only a few minutes here and there. Of course, Qin will be home tonight, but he’s preserved the hour while he walks to the hotel and packs. It had hung, bright and precious, in his mind and now –

“Oh.” He sort of wants to cry. “Alright. That’s okay.”

“It isn’t! I know it isn’t. I miss you so much ter, I’d spend all day talking if I could. Pae says I’m driving him crazy with my pining.”

“I miss you too,” Qin confesses, the understatement of the century. He rests his forehead against his hand. “This fucking sucks.”

“It really, really does,” Duang agrees. “One more day.”

“One more fucking day.”

They sit for a moment feeling the distance in their bones. Qin sighs and attempts to scoop the tangle of his emotions together. His ramen, now cold, has been abandoned by his friends.

“Wanna switch to a video call for a second?” Qin asks.

There’s a pause as they get the call switched over. Duang’s image appears on the screen, so cheerful and gorgeous.

“Ahhh!” Duang screams, “you’re so adorable I can’t take it!” Duang flirts. He was very good at it when he didn’t know Qin was interested, and now, with his knowledge of what gets Qin blushing, he damn near kills Qin daily. Qin is caught in a sort of giggle.

“So are you,” Qin adds, like a teenager with a crush and not someone who has been in a serious relationship with a perfect man for multiple years. “You’re really hot, actually.”

Of course this makes Duang become all smile and causes his hand to clutch at his chest like he’s dying of shyness. If he wasn’t so fucking far away, Qin would do something about it.

Duang’s eyes have slight dark circles around them. He hasn’t been sleeping well either.

“Can you see my shirt?”

“Qiiiinnn, you’re wearing my shirt! You look so cute, I promise if I was there I’d eat you up.” Qin knows Duang wants to be clapping his hands together in excitement over his boyfriend secretly wearing his clothing without needing to ask.

“Mmh. I’d let you if you were here.” And he most definitely would, maybe right on this bench.

Duang’s face scrunches like he’s eating a sour candy. He’s about to burst into either whining and jumping up and down because his boyfriend is teasing him, or slide into that low tone where he’ll list all the ways he’d fulfill that promise.

“Uh, Loverboy,” Pae interrupts from outside the frame, annoying both of them. I know you’re super sad Qin’s away, but you said you’d be back 15 minutes ago?”

“I’ll be there,” Duang says toward Pae, impatiently.

“Sounds like you better go,” Qin says without meeting Duang’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Duang sighs. He lowers himself on the screen until he catches Qin’s gaze. “I love you Qin. We should be able to talk a little between your flights. And you’ll be home before you know it.”

“Feels like it’s going to be forever, but yeah.” Qin smiles back at him, equally honest. “I love you too, a lot. Bye.”

Duang blows him a kiss and Qin sends him back one after a second of hesitation, a little relieved his friends have left.

“Bye now.”

And with that, Duang is gone. Qin stares forlornly at his now dark screen before putting it back in his pocket. He feels deflated, like a shiny balloon left to droop.

The afternoon goes smoothly, having one last chance to play with different jazz bands. Qin has his last try with horns, guitar, bass, piano, and vocals. The guitar makes him the happiest, with vocals being second. Though without Duang to focus on in the audience, he turns into a ball of anxiety and tends to stare like a deer in headlights under all the pressure. He probably needs to work on that, but he prefers to have an excuse for needing Duang with him.

Then comes the feedback, the closing statements, the goodbyes and exchanging of numbers with new colleagues. Qin grits his teeth through it. He’s not good with words, never has been. He’s fucking flagging, barely keeping is tone from going sharp. There’s not even the hour with Duang to look forward to at the end of this. He wants to just tell all these loud arrogant musicians to fuck off. He wants to get out of here and be home already. He wants Duang.

Gods, he wants Duang.

In an astounding feat of self-control, he manages to wrap up the talks without scowling at anyone or hiding in an empty room. He waves goodbye to his university friends and nearly runs back to his room to shower and pack. Instead of talking to Duang like he wants, he thinks about his plan to be attached to his boyfriend’s lips for at least the first 12 hours. He wants his Duang to tenderly romance him, thank you very much. With his bag packed and feeling clean, he heads to the airport.

His first flight is luckily short. He’s in first class, thanks to his parents and all their air miles they earned with their constant traveling, so he stretches out his legs and gets comfortable. Finally, he can put his headphones on and listen to silence. No more music for now. Just utter nothingness. It’s beautiful. He can feel the buzz on his skin softening.

The tentative calmness evaporates when a student, he recognizes her from the workshops, drops into the seat next to him. Thankful for the roominess of first class, he has space between them as well as a wall to lean against.

The girl doesn’t stop staring at him. Qin eyes her back, adjusting the headphones on his ears in the clearest do not fucking bother me he can manage without saying it.

He hunkers down against the window to watch the plane take off. When they get in the air, he looks mindlessly at his phone and sees the Text me when you land please baby text followed by ten heart emojis. He manages to find some semblance of calm.

He knows he’s more sensitive now, maybe because he avoided feeling much of anything back then. There was a period of time, a handful of months, where he was sort of a mess. He’d found stability for the first time in his life, apparently being safe and loved gave his body permission to experience the years of panic and pain he’d previously choked into submission.

Duang sat down in the dirt and darkness with him and held Qin through the thick of it. A collection of trauma therapy, breathing exercises and nighttime walks holding hands, many hushed secrets shared beneath the covers. There were still bad days, but he could make an honest claim at happiness, at steadiness.

This time away from Duang though, has been hard, to say the least, like slipping fingers off the notes of his sanity.

Though, it doesn’t dampen the excitement he feels every time the plane takes off. Duang has traveled with Qin’s family many times. He insists Qin get the window seat, but he eventually breaks down at Qin’s insistence and agrees to play rock, paper, scissors for the seat. Being in the middle is hardly a sacrifice since they can lay their chin on the other’s shoulder to look out the window, cheek pressed against cheek.

The absence of Duang beside him hurts so much it has left him in physical pain.

The girl next to him is saying something loudly enough to penetrate through the plane’s white noise and his noise cancelling headphones. A bony elbow collides with his. He scowls, ignoring the little bolt of adrenaline at the foreign touch. He closes his eyes and focuses on silence, nice and –

There’s a sharp tug on his headphones as they’re pulled away and snap back into his head painfully. Heart thundering, he jerks his headphones down around his neck and turns wide-eyed to the girl, who glares back.

“I said, you’re blocking the window!”

Qin’s brows shoot up, trying not to let the panic attack that’s been brewing all week manifest. He fixes his face in a snarl.

“What the fuck are you doing,” he demands, low and stern.

Her hair is frizzy and overly bleached, cheeks turning red in frustration. “Don’t use that language with me!” She scolds, “I want to look outside, the pilot said the view is nice.”

“You can’t just grab someone’s headphones.”

“I tried getting your attention politely first – you ignored me!”

“Fuck this,” Qin says under his breath. “I’m going to the bathroom, excuse me.”

He puts his headphones on his seat and gets into the bathroom, which is blessedly quiet. He leans against the sink and works on his breathing, then bends to splash some water on his face. He grips the charm at the end of his necklace Duang gave to him. It matches his own - they wear them nearly every day. He squeezes it hard, then hears a loud rap on the door. His nerves are fried and his skin feels chafed under his clothes. Another knock makes him want to scream.

Fumbling with the lock, he flings it open to the sour-faced girl who smirks at him. His hair on the back of his neck rises; he’s resistant to ever feeling scared or helpless ever again, but his defenses are shot.

“Your headphones got in the way of my hand when I leaned to look out the window. They cracked and now my wrist is all red. I need to run it under cold water,” she informs Qin accusatorily.

The desire to run and hide at the violation of being chased out of his temporary refuge drags along his skin and fights for attention with the desire to punch this woman.

Qin swallows back the anger and the panic both; it sinks down to the pit of his stomach like a stone. He pushes past her without saying a word. Marching back to his seat, his eye catches on his broken headphones. He snatches them off the seat and throws them to the ground in utter frustration and defeat.

He leans his seat back and looks at his phone, opening the texts with Duang again. He picks a voice message at random and presses play, bringing it close to his ear. Duang’s voice washes over him sure as the sun. He keeps his eyes on the clouds and his heart in his ear for the rest of the flight.

The second they land he swipes off airplane mode and is greeted with a text almost immediately.

Those caramel cakes you like are back in stock! I’ve got you two just in case they run out. They’re waiting for you, just like I am.

The heart emojis are followed by a picture. It’s Duang at a café across from their condo, holding two slices of cake next to his face and grinning like crazy. Qin can’t help but grin back, touching the image of Duang’s beautiful cheek with his thumb. His eyes prickle threateningly.

Two more flights. He’s so close. He can do this. He can fucking do this.

Qin angles his phone to snap a picture of himself, giving Duang a thumbs up. It’s blurry and kind of a shit photo of him, but he doesn’t think it looks like how he feels, which is on the verge of tears.

Landed. I can’t wait for the cake or for you.

Three little gray dots burst onto the screen and Qin’s heart beats harder.

Ter, are you alright? You look so tired and a little upset.

Qin looks at his selfie again. There are dark circles under his eyes, but they were there when they video chatted earlier. Somehow Duang, who has devoted himself to studying every micro-expression Qin doesn’t even know he’s making, does. He could always sniff out his distress from anywhere, and apparently that included an awkward selfie. Qin was fairly certain he could do the same if the situation was reversed. He tried with his whole heart to do that for him.

Yeah. I haven’t slept since getting here. It’s been a really bad day since we talked. Miss you.

Oh no, Qin. Maybe you’ll get a nap on your next flight. I miss you too, I might die. Our bed is too big and quiet without you climbing all over me and snoring in my ear.

Qin laughs in spite of himself. The longing is still sharp, but texting with Duang makes joy pool up around it. He used to hate meaningless texts from anyone, but after getting close to Duang, he discovered he liked being cared for by someone he was away from.

Look who’s talking, you’re the one all over me from the second we walk through the door. I can’t get rid of you.

Then he adds –

I also don’t want to. Ever.

Another thing Qin didn’t know he’d tolerate, let alone crave, was cuddling. He wanted, no, needed to be touching Duang while he slept. He could be falling asleep happily on his back with Duang nearby, but would ultimately wake glued to him. At first it was shocking and more than a little embarrassing to wake up so vulnerable, having fallen right into Duang’s trap. That was until he realized it wasn’t a trap, but an open door, offering comfort and love from someone who just wanted to be close and share affection. Now he smiles when he wakes up in Duang’s arms.

It’s because I love you so much. I’m not responsible for what you make me feel and you deserve to be held.

I’m all yours. Can I call you when I get to my gate?

Yes!

Qin checks his gate and walks there blindly, thinking only of getting to hear Duang’s voice in real time. He makes sure to get to a spot on the floor, away from the crowd, but still in front of the tv screen to keep a close eye on his boarding time. He only has 20 minutes until his flight, but that’s more than enough for Duang to work his magic at grounding him and putting him back in his body. It will at least quell the nausea Qin has been feeling for the last five hours.

His eyes jump to the red flashing on the screen. A three hour delay. He’s going to miss his next flight, and it will be tomorrow when this one gets in. He’s not going to see Duang. All that waiting. All that pinning his determination on the minute he sees Duang, and now he can’t get to him. Qin feels like he’s going to puke.

No wait, he’s actually going to puke.

He bolts for the bathroom and barely manages to throw himself over a toilet before he’s on his knees retching. Thankfully it’s over quickly, but the shriek of the automatic flush makes him flinch. He thinks better of lying his head on the toilet seat, and goes to lean against his arm instead. He’s so tired.

He wants Duang.

There’s a slow trickle of tears running down his cheek. He grabs his phone and balances it between his ear and shoulder as he sags against the wall. A stall door slams closed, startling Qin out of his focused misery. His phone slips from his ear and goes clattering into the toilet.

No, no, no.

He dives for it, not a thought spared for how vile sticking his hand in a toilet is. He can’t fucking breathe as he dries it off. The creaking of the stall doors, the roar of air dryers, people urinating and talking on their phones. The panic is swelling.

He presses the home button and nearly passes out in relief that his phone is still functioning.

Qin inhales a breath that squeezes down the vice of his throat. He’s desperate to talk to Duang.

He sees a man’s shoes on the other side of his stall door. “Hi, um, are you alright?”

Fuck off, Qin tries to say.

“You, uh, you sound like you’re hyperventilating. You don’t seem to be breathing okay.”

“No shit,” Qin manages to pant under his breath.

“Can I help in some way?” The man cracks open the unlocked door and Qin sees the sympathetic look on his face.

“I need to – I need to call my boyfriend. Need to talk to him, I, I – fuck – I, f – ”

“Hey listen man,” the stranger says, low and even, “you can borrow my phone.”

Qin locks eyes with the man and tries to calm his breathing. He shakes his head and hands the man his phone with trembling fingers. “I have a phone. I – I can’t get to his number.” His vision is blurring and he can’t seem to focus his thoughts.

“No problem, I can help with that. Just breath slowly man, follow my breathing.” The man crouches down, closes his eyes and takes a breath in, making sure Qin hears the air flow into his nose. Then he slowly exhales through his mouth. Qin grips the charm on his necklace and follows along the best he can. They breathe together three rounds. It cuts the panic enough to regain his vision and think more clearly.

“That sounds a bit better.” The man claps Qin on the shoulder, but retracts his hand urgently when Qin flinches. “Er, sorry. No touching. Got it.”

“Thanks for – uh. Thanks.”

“No problem, I’ve been there. How do I get to your boyfriend’s number? What’s his name?”

“Duang,” Qin breathes out.

“Okay, got it. Here.”

Qin takes the phone and nods at the stranger, ending the interaction. Luckily the man is understanding enough to back up and go about his business. Nothing to see here.

His hands are clammy against his phone and there’s a sheen of cold sweat pooling low on his back. Grimacing, he closes and locks the door and waits for the line to connect. The anticipation, exhaustion, and gripping fear that Duang won’t answer knot together and he might explode. The tremulous beginning of a sob forces its way up the too tight sides of Qin’s throat.

“Hello, Qin?”

And that’s it, he’s done for. Qin fully bursts into tears.

“Qin? Oh, no, Qin, baby, what’s wrong?” Duang’s voice flips to the gentleness that’s just for Qin, like a soft blanket. It makes Qin cry harder because there’s his safe place inside every word his boyfriend says to him. “Qin, what is it? Are you okay?”

Duang soon realizes that Qin can’t string enough words together to tell him why he called, blubbering into his phone in a crowded airport. He lets Qin cry and showers him with heartfelt pet names, hushing him over and over in a silky, soft tone.

“It’s alright ter, I’m here, I’m here,” he soothes. “Oh Qin, you’re breaking my heart. I want to be holding you so bad. Just – just imagine my hand on your back ter, up and down, nice and easy.”

Qin clings to the image, squeezing his burning eyes shut. He can feel the wave flowing over him. He’s getting close to the other side the longer Duang talks.

“That’s it, Qin, that’s it. Shh, you’re going to be okay baby.” He hears Duang inhale a shaky breath. He’s probably crying too. “You’re going to be ok ter. My – my other hand is in your hair now. I’ll run my fingers from your temple to your neck, make some slow circles at the bottom, just like you like.”

The thought of that pierces through the overwhelming pressure of feeling, and Qin seizes it, focusing hard on the phantom feeling of Duang’s hands in his hair. Duang keeps talking, describing, in all the detail, how he would hold Qin, rock him back and forth and tuck him tight into his chest for as long as it took. It works its magic bit by bit and the sobs quiet.

“A bit better now ter?”

“Yeah,” Qin manages, voice gone tight and very tiny, the way it always gets when he cries. “I’m okay.”

Duang breathes a huge sigh of relief. “Good. You had me worried.”

Qin winces. He knows how Duang spirals, and is sure his mind was creating all sorts of horrific scenarios. All while he kept his voice steady and soothing for Qin. He’s incredible, really, Qin is so fucking lucky.

“I’m sorry – ” Qin tries, words still coming out horse and small.

“No! No, don’t be sorry, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Qin can hear the pout in Duang’s voice, can picture his bottom lip poking out. “My poor Qin. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“My – ” he tries again, coughing a bit to make his voice work properly. “My flight’s delayed for three fucking hours. I’m going to miss my last flight and there won’t be another until tomorrow and I just,” he stops on a low whine and digs his palms into his eye sockets.

I want to be with you so badly I feel like I’m going to die, is what he wants to say.

It’s ridiculously codependent, and he can admit he’s clingy. He’s often surprised that he’s like this. And Duang not only doesn’t mind, but he clings right back, like he’s still thrilled that Qin is so damn attached to him of all people.

And – fuck it, it’s Duang; he’s not going to be mad at Qin for needing him, he’s never once flinched when Qin’s shown him his raw squishy side. Again and again he’s cradled Qin’s vulnerabilities in gentle hands until they didn’t hurt so much or seem too overwhelming.

“I want – I. Duang.” Qin surrenders. “I want you so badly I feel like I’m going to die.”

To his horror, he starts crying again.

“Qiiinn,” Duang pacifies, with such tenderness. He makes those low shushing noises again, and it melts Qin’s surge of tears. Duang never means to shut him up or make him feel bad for crying – he uses such a calming tone to lull him into a safe space to calm down. It never fails to relax him and make him feel loved.

When Qin’s calmed a bit, Duang gives a sharp determined huff, the one that means he’s made up his mind about something.

“I’m coming for you.”

“Huh?” Qin stammers, even as hope starts to flare in his chest. “Duang, that has to be nearly a 20 hour drive.”

“Only six hours to your next stop,” Duang corrects. “I’m going to be there when you step off that plane. No, even before you land.”

Qin tries very hard not to burst into tears for a third time and mostly fails.

“You’ll really come?” he more or less whimpers, words all shrunken around the quivering of a sob.

“Baby,” Duang breathes, and must have called Qin that a dozen times in the last ten minutes, but this time it’s said with the sincerity of lighting. “Of course, I will. I feel it too, you know. Being apart from you hurts like hell.”

He takes a breath that only sort of trembles its way into his lungs. Duang’s coming for him. Duang feels this aching misery of separation too and he’s coming for him, and all at once the world is almost bearable. The furious din of the terminal around him that had been thrashing at his nerves from all angles is now white noise. His pounding heart begins to slow.

“Thank you,” Qin croaks, sniffing thickly and swiping hot tear slick skin under his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So much. So, so, so much,” Duang returns. Qin can hear him smiling. He leans the phone into his ear, imagining Duang’s hand on his cheek, suffusing warmth into his too tight chest. “Now ter, I snuck a little something in your bag that I think might be more useful than I had planned.”

“Huh? Where?” Qin perks up. He’s already much calmer, but jittery and wrung out, head pounding. “I thought I checked everything. I found the origami hearts when I was packing earlier. Thank you.” A wry half smile appears on Qin’s face, shy when he thinks of finding the charming, folded papers made just for him.

“I’m such a cute boyfriend, aren’t I?” Duang loves taking in all his compliments. He soaks them up and preens.

There had been more surprises too. Little soaps shaped like stars that smelled like his perfume in his toiletry bag, special film for his camera, Duang’s favorite selfie of them for his phone’s wallpaper just for the trip. Qin kissed him senseless, and then some, for it.

Duang spoiled him in excess, each little kindness a reminder of how they had dedicated their hearts to one another.

“It’s in the inner sleeve of the inside pocket. I tucked it down against the seam.”

Qin unzips the pocket curiously, sliding his hand into the lining. He wriggles it down until he feels plastic crinkling.

“You know I’ve been working on making the perfect chocolates for you. There’s still room for improvement, but I made them with all my love. I wanted you to have something sweet, and to think of your sweet boyfriend. Duang.”

“It’s perfect. I love it.” He laughs and sniffs again. “It’s exactly what I needed. Thank you Duang. I want to make you desserts when I get home.”

“Ter, if I’m going to make it there in time, I have to leave now.” Qin wrestles down a feeling of dread at Duang hanging up the phone. “Can I call you when I get on the road?”

“Yeah, yeah okay. That would be good,” Qin says.

“It’s going to be okay Qin,” Duang promises, painfully gentle, but also in a way that implies he will fight the universe to make it true. “I’ll be with you soon. Try to rest if you can. And eat, alright?”

“Okay,” Qin says, and winces as his voice cracks. He’s not going to cry again. He’s not.

“Oh baby,” Duang whispers, pained. “I’m sending you the biggest hug over the phone. It’s so big that it will last until I can get there and do it properly, I swear it. Do you feel it?”

It’s ridiculous, but Qin does feel it. The memory of the touch surges up. Duang’s hands; one cradling the back of his neck, the other rubbing his back. His arms, all the way around Qin, holding all the contrasting parts of him together. The warm, firm pressure, the smell of him.

“I do,” he breathes. “It feels good.”

“It really does, doesn’t it?” Duang sounds a little watery again, too. “Should be about 30 minutes until I’m able to call.”

The thought of that, the vivid sense of Duang wrapped around him, carries him through their final goodbyes. Qin listens to the click of Duang hanging up, and he sits for a moment, head hanging between his legs, just breathing.

Duang is coming for him. He’s okay. Shaky, but more himself. Qin stands and brushes off bits of toilet paper from his pants that the airport bathroom floor gathers. Gross.

Step one is to wash his hands, splash his face, and fix the mess of his sweaty hair. Step two is to walk out on weak legs and buy some ear pods. Step three is to find a spot on the floor to lay down and listen to music until Duang calls back.

Although the carpet lint is unavoidable, Qin lays down, using his bag to prop up his head. He connects the ear pods, inwardly pouting about his broken Marshall headphones. They were wireless and so soft against his ears, and that unbearable girl had to break them. Getting in the way of her hand, bullshit.

Between the surety of Duang coming for him and listening to Copper of Bus, Qin is starting to feel relaxed. He has to squeeze his arms once in a while to remind himself of the hug Duang promised him, but he’s honestly feeling okay. The chocolates Duang made him are just the right amount of sugar, which is too much. They’ll tide him over until he gets something slightly more substantial.

Qin’s phone vibrates and he barely restrains himself from vaulting upright to take the call. “Hey baby,” Qin gushes, his stupid love struck smile on his face, unable to be erased if he tried.

“Ter! You sound much better.”

Duang’s voice is happy and warm. Any tension Qin was holding is now melting off him with a happy sigh.

“Better, yeah. I still need to eat, but I’m good.”

“I’m so proud of you for getting through that, Qin, really. What do you want to eat, are airport desserts any good tonight?”

“I don’t know. I want to talk to you first.”

“Awww, Qiiinnn, I love hearing your voice. My heart is beating so loud because it misses you.”

Qin gets started on a rant about his last flight with the girl and his headphones. It’s easy to get through the parts where his panic started to set in because Duang is making them into cute conspiracy theories pulled from his brilliant, silly mind.

“No wonder you were so upset, Qin. If I was there, I’d have something to say to that girl. She’d have to go through me first,” Duang near hisses and Qin almost wishes Duang were on the flight with him so he could have gotten to watch him and his protective vengeance. “Maybe it was Phi Pop, the evil spirit who takes over human bodies to eat extremely adorable boyfriends.”

“Mmh, must have been her.”

A few minutes later, Qin sounds tired. He’s never truly gone on a rant before. That takes too much energy and too many words. He prefers to sulk and say a couple sentences, then brood for a bit. But his brain is working with no sleep, no food, and no Duang. He doesn’t know what will come out of his mouth from one minute to the next.

“Ter,” Duang nudges softly, “please eat something. I’m on my way to you and I don’t want you passing out before you’re in my arms. Please?”

“Mmh. I’ll go eat.” Qin closes his eyes. “Duang,” he pleads.

“I know ter, I know. Shh,” Duang reassures him as much as he can. “You’re okay, I promise. I’ll be there soon.”

“Ok,” Qin sniffs. He really thought he was fine now, but somehow his eyes are welling up for the millionth time today. “Love you.”

“I love you to. I’m on my way. Bye.”

“Bye,” Qin sighs and presses the end call button. He takes deep breaths until the lump in his throat dissolves.

Food. He needs to eat so he can have the strength to jump into Duang’s arms. Walking into them just won’t do; their greeting will be no less than a flood of all the nervous energy that hasn’t been able to escape these last hours without him.

He eats a small bowl of ramen while imagining the extra large plates of dinner Duang will feed him tomorrow. They rarely invite their friends out for dinner because they’re usually too selfish to share the other’s company. Qin’s never liked another human so much, and he’d happily not interact with anyone else. But he’s on a journey of shedding his numb, miserable teenage self and nurturing a more open and, dare he admit, friendly adult self. So far he’s learning that he doesn’t have to wear a mask or be an entirely different person. All the bits of him can integrate and become whole. Duang helps him put the puzzle pieces together, never letting go of Qin’s hand.

Qin’s able to drift in and out during the flight, neck angled uncomfortably against the window. He’s so close to getting to see Duang. The anticipation wakes him up every time a dream starts. As soon as the seatbelt light turns off, he gets out his toothbrush and heads to the bathroom where he has success brushing off the lingering taste of bile from his tongue.

The older man seated next to him talks for a bit, but Qin’s social stamina, which is on the lower end at the best of times, is pretty much dead. He’s tired and a bit delirious. He puts in absent responses at the man’s attempts at conversation, and instead, daydreams of brown eyes and a bright smile.

The plane touches down and the strong bump of the landing wakes him enough to practically jump in his seat with excitement. Duang is in the airport right now. Qin’s not first off the plane, but he’s damn near it, pushing past people digging out their bags from the overheard bins, nodding his head in half-apologies.

He walks past the bathroom signs and arrival gates, and sees him. Duang is here, beaming and waving wildly at Qin.

With a sob, Qin closes the last bit of distance between them and launches himself into Duang’s arms. Duang holds them both steady, taking on the added weight. Qin, finally home free, sags into him.

“You’re here,” Qin breathes, fully burying his head into Duang’s neck. “How are you – did – did you buy a ticket just to get back here?”

“I might have. I told you I’d be here right when you got off the plane. My Qin needs me, it was an emergency.”

Qin laughs, but it ends in another sob.

“Shh,” Duang soothes, “I’m here now, baby. Everything’s alright.”

Qin just clings and clings. His tears are relieved tracks of warmth down his face, cooling on Duang’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you, Qin,” Duang promises, low and sweet into his ear, “I’ve got you.”

We’re together, Qin thinks, heart pulsing, we’re together.

When he catapulted into his boyfriend, he landed with one arm wrapped around Duang’s neck and the other fisted in his shirt. Duang has a hand curled around the base of Qin’s skull, securing him against his neck, the other anchored on his lower back. It’s exactly as Qin imagined it, but better. So much better. Duang nuzzles into Qin, getting himself just as close. He rocks them while Qin calms down, steady, back and forth again and again.

After a few minutes, Qin lifts his head from the refuge of Duang’s neck, eager to look at his face. He takes it in like a map, his smooth jawline, the bloom of pink high on his cheeks, his smile. Oh, his smile.

Duang is looking back, of course he is. He’s always soaking Qin up, watching him. They’re equally obsessed. He gathers Qin’s head in both his hands and glows with that soft smile. He looks worried and so in love, relieved as Qin is to be reunited. Qin’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to being so adored. Treasured, protected, safe.

“My poor Qin,” he says, stroking Qin’s damp cheeks with gentleness. “You’ve had such a hard time, haven’t you ter?”

Qin’s lip quivers. Duang leans forward to still it with a kiss. It’s perfect. He wants to do it forever.

There’s an apologetic cough over Qin’s shoulder. He drags his mouth away from Duang with reluctance and turns to see the same talkative older man who was seated next to him on the flight. Who is… um… holding Qin’s bag. He must have dropped it while running full tilt into Duang.

“Thanks,” Qin gets out in a tone that passes for polite only if you squint very hard. The man works a bit to lift off the bag from his shoulder. Instead of reaching to take it, however, Qin has decided he’s done; Duang can handle this social interaction. Qin turns back into Duang’s neck.

“Thank you!” Duang says in that cheery voice. He begins to lift his hands off Qin to put them together in thanks. Qin, bereft of the touch and Duang’s undivided attention, grumbles pointedly.

“Ok, ok,” Duang placates, putting them back and glancing at the man awkwardly. “Sorry, my hands are occupied.”

Qin sighs and snuggles closer. He stays that way while Duang shifts to lift the bag and hang it over his shoulder. Qin keeps clinging as they make their way out of the airport. He just doesn’t want to let go. The hole in Qin’s heart this past week is finally being sewn back together by Duang’s nearness.

It’s not the most efficient way to walk. They're side by side, Qin keeping his arms hugging Duang’s waist, Duang’s own looped around Qin’s shoulders. Qin periodically turns to tease Duang into giving him short taps of kisses by nosing the side of his face. It slows them down, but it’s worth it.

“I’m never letting you go,” Duang says as he kisses the top of Qin’s head laid on his shoulder. True to his word, he holds Qin close the entire way down the escalator and through the maze of the parking lot.

At the car, Duang opens the passenger seat with a flourish. “Have a seat ter, make yourself comfortable.”

What awaits Qin can be best described as a nest. There are four pillows, leaving barely enough room for Qin himself. Their fluffy, dark blue blanket embroidered with a constellation of music notes, is draped over the seat, folded back and neatly awaiting Qin. A little box is propped on the seat. Qin lifts it and sees it holds a slice of caramel cake and a tiny fork.

Qin looks at it all and back up into Duang’s hopeful face, here in front of him at last because he drove hours into the night just so Qin didn’t have to be alone for one more day.

He surges forward, smashing them into a hug.

“You’re the best boyfriend. You spoil me.” Qin feels tingly. Duang would pull down the moon from the sky with a fish hook for Qin. The constant care, the devotion, Qin can’t compete and he doesn’t need to. Duang lives to make Qin happy.

There was a time when Qin expected the rug to be pulled out from underneath him, that this would disappear the moment he accepted it. Duang makes sure Qin never thinks that. From the first day Duang approached him, he has not once lead him on.

“Anything and everything for you,” Duang swears. “Can ter give me a kiss as a reward?” Duang taps his cheek and lifts his eyebrows.

Qin smiles and shakes his head as he leans in to place a loud smooch on his cheek.

“Let me take care of you, Qin. Sit and rest. I’m driving.”

There’s nothing Qin can say to that, so he just nods and lets the tenderness swell through him. Duang thoroughly tucks him in and brushes a kiss to his forehead.

He smiles at Duang, knowing and soft, and his eyes follow his path to the driver’s side, impatient to regain hold of his hand. He snatches it off the gear shift the moment Duang puts the car in drive.

The cake is just as he remembered, delicious and over the top sweet just how he likes it. After 20 minutes on the road and Duang humming along to Anatomy Rabbit, Qin shifts and leans into the wall of pillows. Before he can search for Duang’s hand again, he feels his own being brought to Duang’s lips. Qin breathes a melted sigh. He’s full and warm and ridiculously comfortable. Most importantly, he’s with Duang. His eyes close and he’s asleep before the end of the song.

Qin wakes slowly, eyes still a little puffy from all the crying.

“You can go back to sleep, I’m just getting gas,” Duang says, quiet and soothing.

“Mmh,” is all Qin gets out. He blinks slowly and Duang’s lips meet his sleepy smile. Qin leans into the kiss, the warmth waking him up. “I want to use the restroom first.”

“Me too. There’s a restaurant about 30 minutes away if you want to stop there and eat.”

Qin tilts his head and eyes Duang up and down with sleepy eyes. “No. There’s something else I want to eat.”

Duang’s jaw drops, like it always does whenever Qin flirts. “Qin, are you trying to get me to fool around in the car? Because the answer is yes!” He breaks out in a huge smile and nearly pants like a puppy. Duang’s eagerness to have him gives Qin the last jolt needed to wake up.

They rush to the bathroom, and once they finish washing their hands, they race back to the car, both impatient to finally come together. “Just let me pull over somewhere farther away.”

Qin leans into Duang’s space while he navigates, getting close enough to work a hand between Duang’s thighs and rub there. Duang groans, the wheel nearly jerking in his hands. Qin makes no attempt to apologize, and guides him to an empty parking lot.

As soon as Duang turns off the engine, he dives on Qin, kissing and getting his hands all over him. Duang is giggling, but Qin is making some powerful eye contact. Duang goes quiet as he begins to understand what Qin wants. Everything.

“Get in the back,” Qin gently commands.

Duang doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even bother to open the door and walk to the back seat – he scrambles to the back, nearly kicking Qin on the way. Once seated, he reaches for Qin. “Come here, ter,” he says low and soft.

Qin goes out the passenger side and opens the back seat door. He pauses, looking at Duang with a heavy-lidded gaze. Outside, in the dark, he lifts off his shirt. The moon lights up his pale skin, making Duang painfully hard. It takes all his effort not to grab Qin and take him right up against the trunk.

Qin manages to straddle Duang, curling his body forward as to not hit his head on the roof of the car. Chest to chest, Qin takes Duang’s face in his hands and leaves stardust kisses all over his cheeks. “I can hardly breath looking at you, Duang.”

Duang whines, stripped completely raw by that. He holds Qin’s waist and pulls him closer, then begins unbuttoning Qin’s pants.

“I want you,” Qin says, starting to breath harder, kissing anywhere he can reach, “I need you now, Duang. Inside me.” He dives in, clashing their lips together in a fervent kiss. It’s chaotic and wet, Qin plunging his tongue deep into Duang’s mouth.

A bit at a loss for how to go about opening up and fucking his boyfriend in this car, Duang reaches for a pillow while still sucking on Qin’s bottom lip. Laying it against the window, he moves Qin to the side so he can pull off his pants. Qin lifts his hips and helps by tearing them off in record time.

Qin opens the center console and digs to the bottom, lifting out a packet of lube. Car sex has been in his head for a very long time. Turning back, he once again straddles Duang and drips some of the lube on his fingers. Duang reaches behind Qin and touches a cool slick finger to his backside, slowly circling Qin’s hole.

“Ter, you’re shaking, should I stop?”

Qin presses his forehead against Duang, his eyes shut. “No, don’t stop. I want this so bad, please.” Qin kisses him like a man starved. He’s going to devour Duang.

The finger at his hole presses in, one knuckle at a time. Qin moans as he unbuttons Duang’s pants and pulls out his cock, careful not to rub it on the rough texture of his pants.

Duang is still fully dressed while Qin has not one stitch of clothing on. There’s a time for slow love making, where they take each other apart over the course of the night. Now is not that time. Duang only needs one part of his body out, and Qin is loving the sensations from Duang’s buttoned shirt dragging along his nipples and his rough pants scraping under his thighs.

Biting his lip at the stretch of an added second finger, Qin grinds back against it. “I miss your fingers. I miss your mouth.” He rocks his hips deep.

Duang shivers as Qin wraps a hand around his now freed cock. “Yes, ah, Qin,” he pants, “What other part of my body do you miss, huh?” Duang knows he’s teasing, but he wants to hear Qin say it.

“Bastard, you know what I miss.”

Duang bites the pulse point at Qin’s neck, getting a little more demanding. “Ter, tell me. What part of me do you miss?”

Qin hisses at the pain and grips a bit harder on Duang’s cock as punishment.

“Ah – I won’t give up. I want to hear the word, baby. Please.”

Qin’s lips fall to Duang’s skin with a sharp moan as a third finger is added, stretching him almost unbearably.

“Fuck – I miss your cock, Duang.” The three fingers turn relentless inside of him, curling towards that ball of nerves that makes Qin grab fistfuls of Duang’s hair. He pulls sharply, yanking Duang’s face to him so he can lick into his mouth.

“Go on, ask me,” Duang coaxes, between kisses. “I love when you beg for what you want, Qin.”

The prompt seems to shake Qin’s words loose from his throat in waves. “Please, fuck me – please.”

Duang complies at once, slipping out his fingers and lifting Qin onto his cock. A ruinous shout tears out of Qin’s mouth at the added stretch.

Duang doesn’t know if he’s ever felt Qin like this above him, whether he’s ever moaned Duang’s name this loudly, whether Qin’s whole body has ever reacted this sharply to every snap of Duang’s hips. Qin is gasping and moaning and shivering, riding Duang just as hard as Duang is lifting him. He pants Duang’s name again and again, like it’s the only word he remembers.

Breathing harshly, Duang grips harder at Qin’s waist as he thrusts deep. His mind lights up with every cry on Qin’s tongue, thoughts whiting out at the edges.

“That’s it,” Duang pants against him. He can see the tears in Qin’s eyes, a rush of emotion bringing him right to the same cliff. “I’ve got you. You’re perfect. I’ve got you, that’s it – ”

“Duang,” Qin moans, thighs tightening on either side of Duang in a plea, and Duang groans, not even waiting to hear the rest of Qin’s words before his thrusts quicken obligingly. Qin’s sounds tilt higher, and Duang can feel the way Qin’s hips are coming down on him harder and harder.

“Yes,” Duang whispers, liquid heat coming from his lips. He shifts their position slightly, and suddenly Qin’s thighs are shaking and he gives a sharp cry.

“Fuck!” Qin hisses between his teeth, as his nails rake over Duang’s shoulders. “Right there – yes – please, please.”

Duang bites a groan into Qin’s neck as he holds the angle to thrust fully. “You feel so good, Qin.”

Qin had planned on riding Duang hard and fast, but he should have known his boyfriend could take over from any position. Duang couldn’t help himself, he knows how to break through Qin’s defenses to get to the heart of what he needs. He senses Qin’s impatience, similar to fear. Fear that Duang might disappear if they don’t hurry, that he might slip away after these seven days apart.

Slowing down and pulling Qin’s hips flush against his lap, he looks into his eyes. “I’m here, ter” he says, soft and firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. Take what you need. I’ve got you.”

When they get home later, Qin will thoroughly take Duang apart. Right now he needs to use his boyfriend’s cock to fill him and remind him of what he gets to come home to. He nuzzles his nose against Duang’s as he slowly starts back up, his thighs warm with renewed energy.

Rocking back, grinding down, circling his hips, slow and steady. He puts the pad of his thumb on Duang’s tongue and it’s immediately sucked into the heat of his mouth. They’re both breathing heavily, Qin’s eyes closed, concentrating on his steady motions. Duang’s eyes are open and blissed out, rolling Qin’s thumb around his tongue.

Qin holds Duang’s wrist and brings his hand to his leaking cock that hasn’t been touched in a week. It makes Duang whine, Qin’s thumb dropping from his mouth. Duang begins fisting his cock, hearing an immediate cry from Qin. Tears stream down Qin’s face.

“Never let me go again,” Qin whispers, tears blurring his vision. “Promise me – ah – Duang, promise you’ll never let me go anywhere without you.”

A gentle hand sinks into Qin’s hair, curling close into the strands. Duang’s voice is earnest, barely above a whisper. “I’ll never let you go anywhere without me,” his own eyes are shimmering now, blinking away tears, “I promise.”

A wash of emotion breaks across Qin’s expression, yearning and relief and delight and affection. Duang swiftly moves to kiss Qin deeply, and they’ve slipped back into something hotter again, filthier, Qin coaxing Duang’s tongue into his mouth.

Duang’s hand is quick and purposeful as he fists Qin’s cock, slick with lube and pre come. Qin’s rocking hips turn uncoordinated, desperate. His moans become high and tight as he rides himself to the edge. With a shout that echoes into the night, Qin finally falls off the edge, rigid and shaking in Duang’s arms, spilling over his fist.

Within seconds, Duang’s climax slams into him with an unexpected force. He holds Qin, wrapping him in a possessive embrace, filling him with everything he’s held back.

They both go silent, save for their breathing against each other’s lips. Qin can feel thrumming all over his body. He nuzzles into Duang’s neck as best he can, jammed in as he is, kissing there.

Duang curls a hand behind Qin’s neck, pulling him close to bury his face in Qin’s hair. “I missed you, and this, so much.”

“Me too,” Qin whispers. Looking into Duang's face, he sees how spent he looks. “You need sleep, you’ve been driving all night.”

It starts raining as Qin drives, reflecting a hundred points of light onto Duang’s sleeping face under the passing headlights. The storm breaks when they’re almost home, and the sky blooms a deep blue. Occasionally Qin glances over to look at Duang, this time seeing him awake.

“We’re almost home,” Duang smiles.

Already home, Qin thinks with a degree of sappiness. He makes eye contact with Duang and is certain he’s thinking the same.

As Duang kisses each of Qin’s fingers, giving each one extra attention after all the strings he’d been plucking and strumming all week, Qin thinks about all the years he felt unloved, unprotected. It makes him want to crawl into Duang’s lap. It makes sense that they’re like this – inseparable, so unwilling to consider a life apart.

They stay holding hands until they get home. In the shower they wash each other’s hair and make a promise to stay in bed for a week with their phones off. The hot water runs over them as Duang kisses Qin’s shoulders, a yawn interrupting the trail he’s forming.

When they’re clean and warmed through, they dry off and finish getting ready to sleep. Duang staggers to the bed and Qin climbs in behind him. If there was any tension left in him, it’s gone now. Duang lifts the covers, waiting for Qin to slide against him. Instead, Qin crawls over him and peppers Duang’s face with kisses.

“I love you,” he declares, kissing Duang’s eyelids, the tip of his nose, “Thank you again for coming to get me.” They brush their noses together, adorably.

“I wouldn’t have been able to wait another day either, but you’re welcome. I’d do it again, you know.” Duang presses lightly on the back of Qin’s neck, guiding him down for one last full kiss. “I love you too.”

Duang breaks the kiss to yawn, scrunching his face. Qin gives a swift kiss to his forehead then lets his arms give out and flops on top of him.

“Oof,” Duang lets out at the hard landing, hugging him tight and nestling him into his side.

“Goodnight, Duang,” Qin whispers, his heart already beating in time with Duang’s.

“Goodnight, ter,” Duang whispers back.

Qin focuses on the solid feel of Duang under and around him, no longer out of reach. He unbuttons Duang’s shirt a bit and places his face right against his chest, burrowing closer until there’s no air that doesn’t smell of his warm skin.

They both fall asleep.