UPS AND DOWNS 𓄴 เตนล์
เสียดาย ten returns to bangkok after nearly a decade of being in seoul, and there’s more changes to his home turf than he’s comfortable with... however, when one of them turns out to be a pretty girl his mother insisted he meets, he decides there are some changes he could adjust well to.
until he remembers why he doesn't ‘do’ falling in love.
warnings swearing, partying and alcohol consumption, mentions of job loss and sour familiar relations, gratuitous amounts of angst, i briefly diss jaehyun’s flat ass 😔 HEAVY suggestive content, like… heavy. allusions to sex, ten avoiding commitment and accountability like the man he is, depictions of post-nut clarity never before documented.
genre angst, romance, slooowburn, friends to ?, best friend’s older brother, unhappy ending, matchmaking au, idol!ten, chef!reader
word count 13.5k of 30.4k
notes part two to don’t delete the kisses! oh guys i seriously did u dirty with this ending…
IN APRIL, THE TWO of you spent a lot of time together, just you and Ten.
There had been sights he’d been meaning to see since he’d returned but had never been motivated enough to make the trip. Samut Prakan was a place you’d both agreed on wanting to see at some point during Ten’s rehab time, and it was one you finally had the budget for.
It was a two hour drive there with the infamous Thai traffic at large, and Ten had questioned how you’d be able to get the time off as your week off had long passed, but you’d reassured him that you’d be able to make the trip as one of your colleagues would be covering for you.
Ten had booked a small, rented out flat near city centre for the three days you’d be staying there—and he made sure to check with the owner that there was space to sleep two. He was not about to have a ‘two people but only one bed’ moment with you. Especially not when he couldn’t even sit through sleeping over at your place for one single night without thinking at least once about sticking his tongue down your throat with sheer need.
The day was spent looking over places to go, as you’d arrived mid morning and still had time to tour around the city. Ten insisted on visiting Imperial World first, claiming retail therapy was the best way to start off a trip.
“What do you want for dinner?”
Your voice didn’t reach very far, but still got to Ten, who was standing a few paces away, shopping bags hanging off his arms as he browsed a grocery rack.
The fluorescent lights made his blue-black hair shine, made his form so much more visible beneath his loose-fitting clothes. You wished to crucify yourself for even noticing, and your cheeks burnt with an emotion that could only be compared to religious guilt.
He hummed, his lips forming a thoughtful pout as he picked up a sheet of nori paper.
“I’m feeling sushi tonight,” he said, finally turning to face you.
You nodded, trying to think of what you could say in response. Truthfully, you’d wanted to offer to make dinner for Ten as a thank you for bringing you along on his trip, but you couldn’t make sushi, or, at least, had never tried to—and you assumed he hadn’t, either.
“You?” your friend asked.
You shrugged. “Sushi’s good.” You took the packet of nori sheets he was holding, turning it over in your hands. “I’ve just... never made sushi before.”
Ten raised a brow. “I thought you graduated top of your class and work in a super fancy restaurant?” he asked, teasing.
“Neither of which specialise in Japanese food,” you replied flatly.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I’ve never made it, either. Why don’t we go out for sushi?”
You shrugged. You hadn’t had sushi in a while, so it would certainly be a nice spoil. “I suppose… given the fact that we’re ‘away,’ we can splurge on food.”
Ten had a moment of thankfulness over the fact that you’d agreed. He’d cooked with you before, and it had been far too intimate for him to handle. A restaurant would be better—sitting across from each other, gazes focused on your own food… until a waiter came, and your focus was broken, and his eyes would travel to yours, and he’d attempt to swallow a lump in his throat, but that would be all, and you’d be able to go back to you rented flat and your separate rooms in peace.
A restaurant would definitely be better for his sanity.
“Okay, but before we go, I want to go buy a new pair of jeans,” Ten said, holding up a slender, authoritative digit.
You frowned. “You’ve already packed two pairs,” you replied absently, attention having been drawn to a jar of peculiarly pickled vegetables. “And we’ve just gone shopping."
Ten shook his head. “First rule of vacationing, newbie: you can never shop enough.”
Amazingly enough, the restaurant wasn’t too crowded when you arrived. It was a small building, lit warmly with paper lanterns. Paintings lined the black walls, and the sheer yellow lights shone softly above them. The two of you found a booth in a relatively secluded area at the back of the restaurant, and both of you wondered why the hell the other would choose to sit there, in the near dark, with only a single, sensual candle lighting the table.
What the hell is he thinking? you thought as he pointed at the faraway table and you nodded.
While Ten thought, Why the hell would she agree with me? while pulling out a chair for you.
Once you placed your orders and your waiter left to relay your wishes to the chefs, you and your friend sat in silence for a few moments, you toying with your chopsticks, and Ten trying his best to focus on the painting behind you.
A painting of a royal wedding.
“I just want to say…” Ten repressed an animated gulp. “Thanks for coming here with me. I didn’t know if it would be possible, but… I’m glad it turned out to be manageable for you.”
You smiled, and it was as if all prior tension melted away whenever you did. “I’m always keen on visiting new places, Ten. Especially places like this. I’ve been meaning to visit, but…” you shrugged. “Never really had the time. Being a chef is a surprisingly busy occupation.”
Ten chuckled. “Yeah, no shit. Don’t you work from, what, five to ten?”
“If I’m lucky,” you joked. “Sometimes I come home at three in the morning. But I’ve gotten used to it,” you added. “Besides, being awake at three AM has its perks.”
He raised a brow. “Like?”
“Like… being able to talk to you, because you’rs always awake in the early mornings,” you pointed out. “And—well, that’s pretty much the only perk.. but it’s a good one!”
Ten smiled lightly, and his heart shuddered. He knew at the back of his mind that you enjoyed talking to him. Of course, you’d never have picked up his calls even while you were exhausted if he bored you. But, something about hearing from you, listening as the words spilled from your pretty lips, that you liked talking to him, that you valued his company even when you hadn’t slept properly in two days?
God, Ten didn’t know why that was such a big deal for him. It’s not like hemd never heard it from a girl before. It’s not like he’d never been in a relationship like this before, full of feelings and love and talking above a physical connection. And yet… this felt ten times worse, because you weren’t even in a romantic relationship. You talked this much, spent this much time together, while being ‘just friends.’ You wanted to be around him without wanting something in return, and that was enough to make Ten want to run far, far away.
Far away from any possible feelings he may or may not have had for you.
Which he didn’t.
Because he didn’t like you like that.
Your food and drinks came, and Ten silently thanked the waiter for the very needed distraction. You ate in silence, only exchanging light conversation in between. Ten complained that the wasabi wasn’t spicy enough, and you smartly supplied that most wasabi in Japanese restaurants was made with horseradish, and that the real thing was often too expensive to manufacture en masse.
“I thought you weren’t a trained sushi chef?” Ten joked, raising a brow.
You deadpanned. “The horseradish fact is common knowledge, Ten.”
He took a sip of his sake. “Yeah, sure.”
The rest of the night passed by in a blur. When ten paid for dinner, you took a taxi back to your rented flat, and Ten immediately plopped in front of the television after slipping into his nightclothes. A black tee and shorts that wrapped around his lithe thighs a certain way, not that you were looking.
You sat down next to him while he scrolled through Netflix (how was it that nearly every television had it?) and settled on Summer Strike again. Ten was in the mood for seeing his spirit animal on screen. Last time the two of you had watched together, you’d gotten to the fifth episode, just after Bom had ended up in the hospital.
“I’ve been lying to you,” you confessed at one point, eyes trained to the screen. You itched to turn to Ten while his attention was elsewhere, but thought better of it.
Ten turned to you, a question on the tip of his tongue. “What?” was the only thing he trusted himself to ask. The possibilities of what your next words could be made his heart stop.
You stayed silent for too long.
“I got fired,” was your eventual answer. “All this time I’ve been telling you I got time off—that was a lie. The restaurant is closing down, and I got fired.”
Thank God.
Was what Ten thought when he realised you weren’t planning on confessing anything terribly serious to him, of course. It was terrible that you’d been fired, but...
“Why’s it closing down?” he asked softly.
You shrugged. God, you looked sad. Ten didn’t like seeing you sad. “That’s just how life goes. People stop visiting, things get too expensive to maintain... then restaurants close down.”
And Ten knew how much you’d enjoyed working there. You’d told him that was the first restaurant you’d worked at after quitting the catering job, that it was your first ‘fancy’ job.
“Oh… C’mere.”
Ten hadn’t hugged you a lot in your past few months of friendship. You just weren’t someone who was keen on skinship. But when you did allow him to hug you, your arms looping around his shoulders, your cheek coming to rest in the crook of his neck, spreading coldness across his warm skin, your hair tickling his chin... it felt like he was falling, like he’d just jumped from incredible heights. He pressed a quiet, chaste kiss to his top of your head, squeezing you tighter in his arms.
Neither of you slept easy that night. You tossed and turned in your bed, your head filled with worries of your future, of work, of people you currently called friends with great hesitation. Ten lay awake, staring at his whitewashed ceiling, wondering why he felt the same way he had when he’d gone bungee jumping for the first time.
The next few days were spent walking through streets and browsing through markets, visiting temples and snapping pictures with digital cameras.
Your nights were spent splayed across the navy couch in your rented unit, attention solely on the screen in front of you... and maybe the man in his pyjamas next to you.
As you drove back to Bangkok on the evening of the last day, back to Ten’s home, the older man thought back on how his life had become ever since he’d met you. The past few months had been spent travelling and spending time together, and it had been a few months in which ten had enjoyed himself greatly.
It had been a few months in which he’d enjoyed himself more than he had in a while.
“I’m an introvert, but I party like an extrovert.”
Those were words Ten would only say a few months down the line, but they’re words you lived through in the lovely month of may.
You didn’t do clubbing. It simply was not of much importance to you, nor could it ever have been, given how much time you’d previously dedicated to your work. But, due to the abrupt changes in circumstance, you’d been given the opportunity to finally make it a point of importance, much to your chagrin.
Ten was drunk. As in, incredibly drunk. You presumed he’d done some solo pre-gaming before arriving at the club with you, and had only built on that once he stumbled his way over to the bar, slurring his order to the bartender.
That was about three drinks ago.
Now, your friend had occupied himself by jumping onto the dance floor, swaying his hips in time with the music, smiling drunkenly at the cheers he received.
Even while inebriated, he was good at it. Dancing. He seemed to let the music take over his whole body, take control of his soul, making for a particularly enticing show to watch from your spot at the bar.
You, too, were drunk. By a large margin, not nearly as much as Ten. You were at the point where you didn’t stumble where you walked, but you had to think twice about whether you were falling asleep or if your eyes were simply drooping. You were seated by the bar, exchanging menial chatter with the bartender while casting fond glances in your friend’s direction.
“How long have you two been together?” she asked, nodding in Ten’s direction.
And like the Han river in winter, you froze over.
You looked down into your glass, the sharp smell of the alcohol overwhelming your senses. “We... we’re not dating,” you told her. You smiled tightly up at her, shaking your head. “Just friends.”
The bartender had given you a look, as if saying, ‘If you say so,’ before turning to another customer who'd lined up next to you with an order sitting on the tip of their tongue.
Your heartbeat was hammering in your eardrums.
The music in the club was unintelligible; you couldn’t make out the lyrics between the bass and the DJ mixing in other songs on top of all that. All you could make out was a faster, dreamy beat that had Ten whipping his head in your direction and holding out his arms to you.
You shook your head.
“Ten, I can’t dance,” you confessed, your cheeks growing hot under his gaze.
He smiled.
His smile only widened. “You don’t have to know how. Just dance with me. Please.”
The feeling of his hand slipping into yours for the second time was something you’d never forget, even years down the line.
His smile was easy as he twirled you around in his hold, one hand securely holding your hip, slender fingers splayed over the warm skin. He was behind you, then he’d be in front of you, letting go of your hip and then grabbing hold of it again.
It was like it was just the two of you, bathed in the red light of the dance floor.
Ten’s eyes were on you all throughout the song, unmoving when someone almost bumped into him, distant when someone else asked him to dance. He merely said no, his eyes still on yours. Throughout the entire four minutes that song played, you were frozen, only momentarily moving when Ten took things into his own hands and moved with you, swaying both of your hips to the beat, bumping his forehead with yours as he moved closer.
His breath smelled of the sweet liquor he’d taken long sips of earlier. His hair felt soft and smelled like the shampoo he always used. His lips looked velvety, smooth to the touch. They came so close, whispering a hushed thanks in your ear the same way they did a month ago.
The feeling of being in his arms, looping around your body, his fingers trailing down your waist all the way to your hip—
“You’re a great friend,” Ten said softly, his lips plush against a glass of liquor he’d purchased as soon as you went to sit down again. “None of my other friends ever want to go clubbing with me.”
If you act the same way you did with me, your brain said to itself, I can easily see why.
Instead of responding to his soft-spoken words, you smiled, trying to take the drink out of his hands. “Ten,” you tried. “You’re drunk. You can’t drink any more than you already have.”
He scoffed. His smile was teasing. “For your information, I know that I’m drunk, Mum. What I also know is that I’m twenty seven, and can therefore drink as much as I damn please,” he added, as he made a grab for the glass.
You leaned out of his reach. “And what I know is that you’re sure to be a pain when you're shitfaced, and as the person who has to take care of you in the morning, I don’t much feel like dealing with that side of you when it’s preventable.”
“You’re so mature,” Ten scoffed, almost like it was an insult.
You raised a brow. “Should I not be?”
“No, you shouldn't.” He pulled a face, and it took you a moment to realise he was pouting. Cute. “You make it so hard to hate you. Y—you’re mature, you’re selfless—” he hiccuped, expression becoming annoyed— “and you’re smart, too. You’re so damn smart it makes me sick.”
You froze, a bit caught off guard by the nature of his words. He was saying it was difficult to hate you—was that a compliment, an insult, or some secret third thing you didn’t know about?
“I’m terribly sorry that I’m not a hateable person to you,” you said softly.
You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but think how cute Ten looked like this. God, you should not have started drinking.
“I’ll try harder to make you hate me.”
“I hate you.”
Ten’s narrowed eyes met yours as the light to your living room was flicked on, invading his deep drunken slumber. You’d strolled into the room carrying a breakfast tray, sleep still clouding your features, before turning on the light and subsequently waking the sleeping beast.
“I know,” was all you said as you set the tray down onto your coffee table, placing it in front of your friend. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching his arms over his head, shivering a bit from the action.
He stared at the tray for a while, unmoving even when you took one of the cups from it and sat down next to him.
“You made breakfast.”
This wasn’t the first time you'd cooked for ten. Of course, you were a chef. It was literally your job—not to mention, one you loved doing. But Tern had once told him that getting you to cook for someone outside of a restaurant kitchen was as difficult as getting Ten to put on a show without getting paid the thirty six dollars he worked so hard for.
Sure, you’d cooked with him, helped him those few times you came over to his parents’ for dinner, but that was mostly because Ten didn’t know the first thing about cooking properly and, well, you did.
And yet, right before his droopy eyes, was a tray full of food meant for his consumption. Rice, eggs (just the way he liked them, no less), bacon, and even pancakes. Hotteok, a Korean food he'd mentioned craving in passing. Your area of expertise wasn’t even Korean food and yet, he mentioned craving it, and you made it. There was a cup of coffee set next to the plate, light brown and sweet to the taste-/just the way he liked it—and next to the food lay a bottle of Chinese herbal medicine supposed to help with headaches.
You didn’t mention anything, merely crossing your legs from your spot next to him and drinking your tea like it was nothing.
Like you hadn’t just given him breakfast in bed, like you hadn't just done the most romantic and intimate thing a person could do for someone who was, upon wordless prior agreement, only supposed to be your friend.
You nodded in response to his words. “Food helps with hangovers,” you said simply. “And you said you’d been craving these.” You then gestured loosely to the hotteok, shrugging. “So I made you breakfast.”
When he didn’t respond, you asked, “There’s nothing... wrong with me making you breakfast, is there?”
The way you asked it, sounding so genuine in your concern—it made Ten want to scream. He just couldn't figure you out. One moment, you’re acting all shy and repressed, freezing up when the tips of his fingers lingered too long, came too close—and then all of a sudden you’re acting indifferent and dispassionate like you did when you'd first met him. All of a sudden you’ve gone back to your blunt, honest self.
Ten was supposed to be the emotionally distant one, switching up whenever he pleased. He was supposed to be the one infuriating you for how you couldn’t figure him out. He was supposed to be the one confusing you, making you question your sanity. Ten didn’t much like being on the receiving of this equation when he was usually the one giving.
“No,” Ten forced himself to say. “Just a little... intimate, don’t you think?”
You shook your head. “I don’t think.” Standing up from your spot, you said, “I made you breakfast because you haven’t eaten anything since five PM yesterday and I don’t want you to die on my couch, not because I’m in love with you or because I want to sleep with you. Now, eat. Please.”
Ten left your flat at eight thirty in the morning, right after finishing his breakfast and wishing you a hushed thanks. He’d all but raced out of there, not caring that he hadn’t yet brushed his teeth, that he hadn’t changed out of the previous night's clothes, that his cheeks were burning pink as he left your apartment building.
You didn’t seem to be bothered by his sudden change in attitude, seeming caught up in your own problems. Ten yearned to ask out about them, to try and make them better and take the concerned crease from your brows, but he was at such a conflict of interest he feared his head would burst open if he spent another moment in the pheromone-infested spider’s den that was your home. The smell of your scented candles, the incense that burnt early in the morning, the soft, summery scent of your Enlee perfume that still haunted his dreams, the smell of coffee and tea and all sorts of mild spices... it would’ve driven him insane.
Yangyang had tried to call him twenty times throughout the night, despite Ten not having any memory of his phone buzzing or his special ringtone going off. Then again, he hadn’t remembered going home with you and yet he’d woken up on your couch, curled up in your soft blankets.
He only called his friend back once he made it back to his parents’ house, seated on the couch after surviving an onslaught of kisses and questions from his mother. She’d become accustomed to Ten staying out late at night, but the case of him spending the night at your place had only occurred once, excluding today.
“Oh, my God, he’s alive!”
Ten scoffed as Yangyang’s voice crackled to life through his phone speakers, the younger man laughing in mock glee as soon as he’d picked up the phone.
“I don’t remember you being such a pain in the ass when we were roommates,” Ten grumbled. “Is this a new development?”
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” was all Yangyang replied, smiling. Ten could almost see it through the phone.
“Whatever you say,” Ten murmured. “Why did you call me twenty times last night? Not to mention why you left me sixteen voicemails of you yelling incoherent shit in Chinese. Should I be worried?”
“No,” Yangyang said immediately, “I don’t think so...? Wait—did I call you last night?”
“Twenty times,” Ten reaffirmed, nodding.
“I’m sure all of them were for a perfectly logical reason,” Yangyang said. “Just like there had to be a good reason as to why I sent you sixteen voicemails of me screaming... but I’m currently too hungover to remember just what those reasons are.”
Before Ten could respond, Yangyang made a noise—the same one he always made when he remembered whatever he wanted to say.
“Oh! Our manager wanted me to call you to tell you that they’re sending over a filming crew in June,” he said. “We’re gearing up for a comeback and they wanted to film your trailer in Thailand.”
Ten frowned, sitting up straighter in his spot. “Comeback? Us? When? Where? Wh—why the fuck am I only finding out about this now?”
“Relax, Jesus,” Yangyang sighed. “The comeback is only in August. Didn’t you get the email SM sent you last night? We all got one.”
Quickly switching from his call to his personal email account, Yangyang still waiting for his response, Ten refreshed his emails until a letter popped up in bold, titled, NCT NATION 2023.
15 MAY, 17.00 KST
TO: NCT
FROM: SM Creative Department
Evening, members of NCT.
In celebration of seven years of Neo Culture Technology as an active group, SM Entertainment has decided to have a full-group comeback during August 2023, as well as a concert that will be taking place in Incheon, Munhak Stadium, August 26th at 06.00 PM.
While the album is still in beta, it is estimated that it will consist of nine songs featuring unique member lineups that will be written with the aid of our trusted songwriters as well as you, the members of NCT.
Part of the album preparation will be member trailers, each showcasing a member’s unique environment that perfectly captures their essence as an artist and their place in the group. Ten out of twenty members have already filmed their trailers earlier in the year, however members TEN, JOHNNY, WINWIN, YANGYANG, KUN, JENO, YUTA, HAECHAN, JISUNG, and CHENLE still need to have their trailers filmed.
“More information will be released between the end of this month up until June 30th,” Ten read from the email, his frown fading. “Best regards, Lee Sooman and the SM creative team."
Okay, so it wasn’t like he’d missed something major. Still, it felt... odd, being so far from the situation. Ten was usually one of the first to know about comebacks, and even though this had been a recent development, he felt like he was the last to know. He felt like he’d... missed something, almost, because he was too busy living in the moment, too busy caring about his own semiromantic drama that he’d missed an important announcement that had to do with the job he so loved doing.
Almost as if reading his senior’s thoughts, Yangyang hummed, saying, “You didn’t miss anything too major. The creative team just told me to tell you about the filming crew, since they didn’t want you to fly out with your injury.”
Right. His injury.
Almost as if on command, a pain flared up in Ten’s knee, making him hiss in discomfort. It had been doing alright as of late, and he’d dropped the crutches way back in March, however he suspected his dancing queen moment last night must’ve set him back a few weeks.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ten said distractedly, “That— that makes sense. I’ll be ready when they come.”
Yangyang nodded before remembering Ten couldn’t see him through the screen.
“So how’s it been, Ten hyung?” he asked. “I know we talked yesterday morning, but… I don’t know, I’ve lately been feeling like you’re holding back on me. You’re not telling me everything."
Ten chuckled. “Yangyang, I wouldn’t lie to you for no reason like that. My name isn’t Nakamoto Yuta, professional pathological liar.”
“But your name is Ten Lee, professional emotional torture artist,” his junior replied.
Ten rolled his eyes. “Okay, now you’re reading into this way too much. If there was a problem, I’d tell you. I won’t ever, ever keep something from you like that."
“…If you say so, Ten.”
The rest of the month passed by in a pleasant haze, as the atmosphere between yourself and Ten had gone somewhat untouched, briefly going back to the way it was before Ten started denying his pesky feelings getting involved.
Your relationship was difficult to describe, in the way it was ever changing. Some days, it was like how you’d been when you’d first met, pleasant and polite, with the slight air of preconceived personas coming through. Other days, it was easy, comfortable, the way it had been around the two month mark. And other days, other nights, there was something so... vulnerable in the way you thought of one another. Something so vulnerable in the way your hearts ached and yet you didn’t dare to tell the other in fear of that ache not being returned.
Ten had found somewhat of a sweet spot in his long time hanging out with you, to perfectly avoid that vulnerable, sinful window of doubt and lust he found himself in. He just needed to follow the old How I Met Your Mother rule:
Nothing good happens after 2 AM.
Ever since he’d remembered that integral rule, it had been smooth sailing with you. There were no more soft-spoken phone calls at three in the morning, no more breakfasts in bed, no more dances that made the inside of his legs ache with want. He only saw you during the day, sometimes pushing it and having dinner with you. But he always left before the clock struck twelve, always said his sweet goodbyes with a promise to see you the next day.
In his mind, he was doing everything right. Too much time together made his mind hazy, and too much time apart made his heart ache. He’d found the perfect balance of time spent together, and time spent apart.
But that didn’t mean it all went according to plan. After all, Ten wasn’t the only one in this relationship.
Your feet swung off the edge of the deck, fingers scraping off the label of the drink in your hands. Your feet occasionally dipped into the cold water, disappearing into the inky black liquid, before you pulled them out again, crossing your legs and starting up your conversation again.
A tank top hung off Ten’s shoulders, revealing the crescent moon tattoo he’d had done a few years prior. It was once a scar, a reminder of another obstacle he’d overcome, before he decided to turn it into something more beautiful, more meaningful.
“When did you get your first tattoo?”
It was your soft voice that pulled ten from his reverie, making his head turn to you with an easy smile ready. He hummed. He always looked like a mischievous cat when he smiled like that, almost like a cheshire cat smiling down at you through the moon's rays.
“Let’s see,” he started. “I got my first tattoo two years after I debuted in NCT, when I was twenty two. It was... this one.”
He lifted the flowy material of his shirt, revealing the tattoo he’d had done on his chest. You’d seen it a few times, but had never been so brave as to ask about it; that would mean you’d indirectly have to admit to staring at your friend’s bare chest more than a few times.
It was a crescent moon, the edge spiked with thorns, a star hanging off the bottom. The once fine lines had faded into his skin a bit, making the once sharp edges appear softer on his bronze skin.
“I had heart surgery as a baby,” Ten explained. “It had left a sizeable scar here just above my heart. It was visible every time I took off my shirt. So I decided to make it prettier.” He finally looked up at you, his eyes soft as his tone of voice. “It symbolised an obstacle I overcame. The scar served as a reminder of how strong I was... and I wanted to treat that as a work of art.”
You stared at the inked art still, your eyes fixated on the soft spot of skin your friend cared to reveal to you.
“Now, what about you?” he asked. “Any tattoos? Any first tattoos I would want to know about?”
You nodded, not taking much time to process his request. You twisted your arm, revealing a spot you’d had done about a year ago.
In a scrawled font Ten recognised as his sister’s handwriting, surrounded by little stardrop doodles, the delicate scripture revealed a message that had him frowning a bit due to his lack of context.
Wave.
“It’s stupid,” you dismissed once you saw him frown. “The full quote is ‘new wave’—uh, Tern has the other half of the message tattooed on her other arm so that the words mirror each other. It… it’s my first and only tattoo. Tern and I had it done about six months into our friendship after we got a bit drunk and emotional about some things that had happened in the past. It.. Well, I’m not good at explaining it, but it symbolises us as the new generation, the new wave in the ocean that is a multigenerational society.”
Ten nodded along to your explanation, his eyes softening as you revealed the true meaning behind the cute scrawl. Part of him was surprised you got his sister to get a tattoo with you, but a bigger part of him felt his heart swell with affection. His mother wasn’t wrong when she said you had similar outlooks on life.
“I don’t think it's stupid,” Ten said, softly tracing the words embedded into your skin. “I’m more surprised you got my ever traditional sister to get a tattoo.”
You chuckled. “It was Tern who suggested it, actually.”
Ten’s eyes widened. “Really? Damn... things really have changed since I left."
Your arms dropped back to your sides, the tips of your fingers softly landing on his knuckles. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “Just... a lot of things. My sister never used to be as unconventional as she is now. My mother and father never spent their days instigating my dating life—or, at least, my dad never did. Thailand never used to be this hot. I never used to be this…”
He shook his head, smiling. “Just small things like that, you know? Small things that remind me just how long I’ve been away."
You hummed, your expression falling back into indifference like it had been before. Ten feared he was the cause of that, and silently wished he’d kept the atmosphere light.
“Mm... well, I’m glad you’re back,” you said. “Even if only for a few months. It’s nice to be in the same place at the same time as you.”
God, Ten hated when you did that.
When your gaze on him became so soft, when your words became profound and saccharine as your smile, when your lips became that much more kissable. He hated when you did that, because it made him feel ready to throw away all the work he’d put into not falling in love with you.
“It’s crazy we’ve known each other for so long, isn’t it?” Ten found himself asking, eyes fixated on your lips. So soft. So pillowy. So inviting. “I came here in February, and it’s been, what, three? four months that we’ve known each other.”
Three months, two weeks, three days, four hours and twenty six minutes.
You nodded, not swayed by his sudden change in subject. “I remember how you didn’t want to interact with me at all in the beginning. You even hid from me the first time I saw you,” you said simply.
Ten groaned, smiling in embarrassment. “Don’t you dare remind me. My mom kept talking about you and how cool she thought you were. I never expected her to be right!”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “You didn’t even get half of the hyping up that I got. From the moment your mom knew more than my name, she was talking about how well we’d hit it off and how I’d surely sweep you off your feet."
“And look where we are,” Ten said. “Three months later, and we’re the best of friends.”
“No offence,” you said, “but I already have one Leechaiyapornkul sibling playing the role of best friend, and I’d rather offend you than Tern.”
He smiled, rolling his eyes heavenwards. He knew you were joking. Your friendship meant as much to you as it did to him. After all, you’d have long dropped him if your late night walks and deep talks didn’t bring you joy.
“I really do respect them,” you said eventually. “Your family, I mean,” you added, to avoid any misunderstanding. You leaned back a bit, and Ten caught himself staring at your tattoo, now aware of where it was. “They’ve become something of a family to me in my time here. And it’s not like I’m saying I took your place or anything.”
You smiled, shaking your head. “I just came here... completely alone. Really, I had absolutely no one. No friends from school, no boyfriend, no family contact. Nothing. I only had my shitty job and a shitty flat. But when I met your sister, when we became friends—that’s when it felt like my new life here had finally started. When I met your parents, it felt like I was finally able to settle down here.”
He never did say it, but he understood what you were trying to express. He’d felt the same way when he’d moved to Korea. He had been completely alone, not understanding a word of what was spoken around him, never having the opportunity to talk to his family, to go back to a comfortable familiar. And then Taeyong had walked into his life, invited him to a special place in his heart, dragging a band of misfits behind him.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t think my mom would mind you actually being in our family,” Ten said dryly. “You’d be like the third child she’d always wanted.”
You smiled, still fiddling with the label of your drink, softened by the condensation on the bottle. “I wouldn’t mind being in your family, either. You’re all some of the best people I’ve ever met."
“What, Mum and Dad give you a hard time back home?” Ten joked.
When your expression twisted into something morose, Ten wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He instantly wanted to say something, longed to take away the pain he’d caused you.
“I don’t want to go into detail,” was all you said. “If that’s okay with you?”
You stayed like that for a while, just looking at him, your eyes expectant as if truly waiting for his permission on the matter.
“Of course it’s okay with me,” he breathed. “I’m— I’m sorry I ever said anything.” He was honest, sincere.
“Don’t be,” you replied softly. “Don’t ever be sorry for not knowing something I could’ve told you.”
“Do you speak Mandarin?”
You started a bit at Ten’s sudden words, turning to look at him, brow raised over your reading glasses, freshly rinsed scallions still in your hands.
“My mom once told me you speak four languages,” Ten explained, eyes still trained on the vegetables he was chopping, almost sensing your confusion. “I was just curious which languages you spoke.”
“Oh.”
Turning back to the basin, tossing more scallions under the water, you said, “Yes, I speak mandarin. I speak five languages, though. Not four.”
Ten perked up. “Really?”
You nodded. “Mhm. There’s Thai, of course, since I live here. Mandarin, because for the first six months of culinary school I lived in a neighbourhood with a big Chinese population and had to get around. Thai sign language, because one of my first roommates here was hearing impaired and couldn’t read lips too well. English, because I was required to learn it in school, and…”
Your native language, of course.
“That’s... really impressive,” Ten breathed. “I only speak five languages because my company tells me I have to.”
You turned to him, handing him more vegetables to cut. “Don’t sell yourself short, Ten. Five languages is still five languages. You sing and speak in, what, your third, fourth, and fifth languages? That’s incredibly impressive, no matter who tells you what to learn. Your ability is certainly not any less because our learning circumstances are different, so don’t let me sense you trying to pass it off as such.”
At the last sentence, Ten’s mother strolled into the kitchen, looking like she was eager for a piece of gossip.
It was the beginning of the new month, and Ten and yourself had taken it upon yourselves to prepare a dinner for Ten’s family in celebration of the new month. Tern and her boyfriend had also been invited, and though the beginning of a new month wasn’t really that good of an excuse to throw a dinner party, you could tell Ten’s mother enjoyed having her family all together for one night.
“What are we talking about?” the older woman asked, taking a seat at the kitchen island.
Ten smiled, his cheeks still warm from your previous little rant. “Nothing, Mum. Just... multilingual stuff.”
“Oh, I’ve always been impressed by how smart the both of you are,” Mrs Leechaiyapornkul said, ready to lay the flattery on thick. “Speaking so many languages like that—only geniuses can do that!”
Ten raised a brow. “I suppose the delinquents I live with must also be geniuses in your book, Mum.”
She nodded. “Of course they are! Especially your younger friend, Huang Renjun. He’s so incredibly respectful, too—has a very good idea of what it means to keep face.”
You, ever unaware of Mrs Leechaiyapornkul’s obsession with Ten’s younger member, sent a questioning glance in his direction, to which your friend simply shook his head.
The rest of the night passed in a blur, the hours it took you and Ten to complete dinner and the minutes it took you to settle down at the table all blending together into one big montage. You sat next to Tern and her boyfriend at the dinner table, while Ten sat across from you next to their mother, while Mr Leechaiyapornkul was seated at the head of the table.
The evening passed by in a pleasant haze, filled with deep conversations and genuine smiles. It became late before you actually realised how much time you’d spent at the Leechaiyapornkul house, and you realised that you’d surely need to head home if you still wanted to make it before it got completely dark.
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Mrs Leechaiyapornkul dismissed. “You can sleep over, no? Ten and Tern are spending the night as well!”
“Mum, I live here,” Ten chuckled.
Internally, he was losing his shit. He was depending on you going home early to keep his sanity intact. All this close proximity was making him burn up, was making him become lovelorn and heartfelt again. He didn’t want to act on any emotions that had only been brought on because you were the only woman currently closest to him—or something pathetically-thought-out along those same lines.
You, amazingly, were feeling the exact same. Except, instead of thinking you’d do something you regret simply because Ten was the only man currently closest to you, you feared you’d act on the emotions you knew Ten stirred in you. You knew yourself too well to trust yourself around him.
It was an absolute miracle how you kept it together the two times he’d slept over.
“I really can’t stay, Mrs Lee,” you smiled. “I have a handful of responsibilities at home, and I feel like I’ve imposed on your family time quite enough as is.”
Ten’s mother looked in the mood to argue, but she kept her steady smile and let you excuse yourself for the night. Her only request was that Ten see you off.
“Sorry about her,” Ten said, leading you down the steps back to your car. “You know that whenever you’re around, she gets a bit... matchmake-y.”
You smiled, shaking your head. “That’s no problem for me. I— I’d have loved to stay over, but I really do have a bunch of things to do at home. I wasn’t lying."
“Good night,” was all he said, opening your car door and helping you inside. Then, a whisper, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay? I’ll see you soon."
In Ten’s mind, he was simply doing what you were doing—being kind, and being sexy while doing it.
In your mind, one that had never used your niceness as an ulterior motive, big red alarms titled ‘feelings’ were going off. They were going off hard.
Baggy Jeans sounded like shit.
Later into June, SM Entertainment scheduled several Zoom meetings between Ten and the members, and he spent hours with them and the songwriters on lyrics, and extra hours with the choreographers. Today’s meeting was hearing the demo for the comeback’s title track, Baggy Jeans.
It, as he said before, sounded like shit.
He supposed with Korean lyrics and better sounding voices the song wouldn’t sound too bad, but with this current version, the one they had to sit through? It was a massive, steaming hot mess.
Ten sat through those three minutes with an expressionless face, his hands covering his mouth so as to stop himself from word vomiting on the poor songwriters.
Taeyong, on the other hand, was loving it.
“This is it,” he said after the first two seconds of the song started playing. “This is our title track.”
After the demo listening, Ten had a meeting with Taeyong, Dongyoung, Jaehyun, Mark, and their choreographer. The aforementioned six were all in NCT’s practice room, while Ten was back in Thailand at his personal work desk. Part of him felt like these zoom meetings were just to include him in the process. After all, he only needed to record his lines and he was perfectly capable of memorising several choreographies in a month.
It felt nice, though, to be back in his old work environment. He liked taking notes again, and he liked seeing his members again, even if it was just through a computer screen. He felt at home in environments like these, where his friends were present and he wasn’t always on the verge of his brain and heart exploding due to internal sexual and romantic conflict.
“I think, on the second beat of the verse, rather than that, we should do the first move we discussed,” Ten said as the choreographer nodded along to his points, agreeing.
“So, like, instead of ta-ta-ta,” said Mark, mimicking the new move they came up with, his form visible from where they’d set up the laptop in one of the company’s practice rooms, “we do ta-ta-ta?” then he did the first move they'd discussed.
“Perfect,” was all Ten needed to say, giving the younger man a thumbs up.
Taeyong nodded, parroting the move. “I think we should keep most of our original ideas for the choreography. It seems more us. More authentic, you know?”
Jaehyun laughed. “You think this—” he whirled around, mimicking the ass grab move his leader had suggested— “is us?”
Ten had laughed along with him, the light sounds bubbling in his throat. It lasted for a bit, him just bundled up in his hoodie in his home office laughing at how Jaehyun had grabbed his ass. Or, Ten thought, laughing harder at the mere thought, the crevice in his pants that wouldn’t’ve been there if he’d actually had an ass to grab.
After the 7th Sense unit meeting, Ten had a sitdown with SM’s creative team. Like with the rest of the Zoom calls, their computer was set up in one of SM’s conference rooms, while Ten’s was set up on his personal desk at home.
“We were brainstorming possible places where we could film your trailer,” said Areum, one of the creative execs. “Do you have any ideas, Ten?”
Ten looked down at his notebook, staring at the nearly blank page. He’d written down only two places: Samut Prakan, and The Maharaj.
Samut Prakan, the city where he once spent a day with you. Or The Maharaj.
The Maharaj was an expensive, high-end restaurant near the Chao Phraya river, a place where Ten had previously spent a lot of time. It was surrounded by beautiful, beautiful sites. Rama VIII bridge, Wat Phra Kaew, Wat Arun...
“Do you have any ideas, Ten?”
“You know where The Maharaj is?”
It was late. Very late.
Ten had spent his entire day on a boat, dealing with filming crews, managers, making calls, taking them. He’d been in the middle of filming a shot when an exec had said “Time out!” to take a call.
He leaned against the balcony of the aforementioned restaurant, and had previously been filming bits of his trailer there, going back and forth between there and the boat the crew had rented for the day. His phone was pressed to his ear, and there was an easy smile on his face.
That could only mean one thing.
“Of course I know where The Maharaj is,” you answered, making your way down the steps that ran next to the Chao Phraya river, the low, warm lights of surrounding buildings far outshone by the temple of the Emerald Buddha. “Every chef in Thailand knows and dreams about that place.”
“Oh.”
And here Ten was, thinking he’d be able to show you something magnificent.
Part of him forgets you’d lived in Thailand for half a decade by this point.
“Well, I’m right by the second floor balcony,” he said, turning so that he was looking down at the ground beneath him, noticing passersby and hoping to catch a glimpse of you. “Just look up when you get here.”
“Won’t the filming crew stop me before I get there?” you asked. Last you’d checked, K-pop staff took their job as idols’ protectors very seriously, and you weren’t much in the mood to get tackled into a river by one of Ten’s crewmen.
You made your way through a small crowd of people, all holding large cameras and big furry mics that you’d only seen on radio shows before. They seemed to pay you no mind, which confused you.
“I told them I was expecting a guest.”
You stopped at how near his voice now sounded. Looking up, you saw Ten staring down at you, warm light from the restaurant enveloping him and shining around him like a halo. The white tank top he wore was loose-fitting, showcasing all the lovely little doodles placed expertly over his body. He’d shrugged on a flowy white button down, and the jeans he wore were those he’d bought while shopping with you a few weeks prior.
He merely smiled when you didn’t respond.
The night passed considerably fast, with Ten and his crew scurrying all over the place. You, conversely, had taken a seat by the docks, right next to the rented boat Ten was busy filming the last of his scenes on.
It was a bit odd, seeing him in such a professional setting. He was here, in Thailand, dressed in clothes he’d wear out on a normal day, authentic as he came, and yet... something still felt different. As if his attitude had done a complete one-eighty, going from the easy, laidback person you knew to the terse, passionate idol people described him to be.
You knew no one could be the same off and during work hours. Even you had your moments when you were completely unrecognisable. No one was supposed to be recognisable in such circumstances. Work and daily life were two completely separate things, meant to be kept as far apart as humanly possible.
And yet, you didn’t hate seeing this side of him.
His smile was wide and easy when he approached you with the message that he’d finally wrapped up filming. He took your arm softly, just standing in front of you for a bit, his slender fingers wrapped around your arm.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d take too kindly to me bothering you at this hour—”
You gave him a look. He rolled his eyes.
“—and I know you keep insisting that I could never bother you,” he said. “That doesn’t make me any less grateful that you came to keep me company while filming. I can feel two things at once,” he added.
Your look faded into something of a smile, and you shrugged. “I’d never turn down the opportunity for a free boat ride in one of the most beautiful spots in the country.”
The boat certainly wasn’t the biggest you’d ever seen, but it was a beautiful thing, with its dark brown interior, with its variety of paper lamps hanging all over the place, bathing the whole atmosphere in a light as warm as Ten’s eyes on you as you stared out at the river, your arms crossed in front of you as you took in the sight before you.
You drifted past the beautiful Rama VIII bridge, made your way past Wat Anur in complete comfortable silence.
Something about the place you’d found yourself in, the proximity you shared with Ten; it made your stomach ache with flocks of butterflies, made your heart beat quicker than was comfortable.
As you passed Wat Phra Kaew, Ten broke his gaze from you to focus on the water in front of him, his eyes searching the golden lights the way they’d searched your face bathed in that same light.
He wasn’t completely sure why he’d invited you. After all, this went against his own after dark policy. God, this even went against his own company’s rules. He wasn’t allowed to have anyone besides himself and his crew present. Anything else could, at best, leave him with a scolding and, at worst, result in the termination of his contract.
But they’d wrapped filming earlier than expected, and Ten still had two hours left on the boat’s warranty. He didn’t want to spend it alone, nor did he want to make the tired crew stay any longer than they wished just because he felt lonely.
And part of him felt like he was doing the right thing.
Another part of him knew he just couldn’t stay away from you, regardless of if this visit was for his own selfish gain or for your happiness.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” you said at one point.
Ten looked back to you for an explanation, smiling in slight confusion at your sudden words.
“Go on the river, I mean,” you said. You pointed to the Asiatique mall, a place Ten himself was very familiar with, and continued, “I’d always be standing near the railing there, looking out onto the river, watching boats pass by. I never had the money or time to rent a boat for the night and just... drift past, looking back at dry land the way I am now.
“When I first moved here,” you continued, “I kept a notebook, filled with things I wanted to do with future friends or…” you stopped a bit, carefully choosing your next words. “…a different kind of loved one.”
“And what were those things?” ten asked, soft and intrigued.
You scoffed a laugh, embarrassed by your own misty-eyed moment. “Small, stupid things,” you dismissed.
Ten leaned in closer, bumping his bare shoulder with yours. “Like…?
“Like... coffee in Chinatown.”
...Ten places his order. A condensed milk coffee over ice, substituting cow’s milk for coconut milk. You made a mental note that he had somewhat of a sweet tooth, and that he didn’t drink cow’s milk...
“Or like cooking for someone who wasn’t a paying customer where I worked.”
You held the spoon to his lips, urging him to taste. He smiled once he did, suggesting, “Maybe a little bit more cream?”
“Or like going to a concert.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” he said, not fighting to be heard over the music. You could easily make out what he’d said just based on the curve of his lips. Was that bad? “None of my friends wanted to go out with me when I was here last.”
“Or like visiting Samut Prakan together.”
There had been sights he’d been meaning to see since he’d returned but had never been motivated enough to make the trip. Samut Prakan was a place you’d both agreed on wanting to see at some point during Ten’s rehab time, and it was one you finally had the budget for.
You shrugged. “And... this, like I said earlier. floating over the river late at night, just us two.”
Ten knew ‘us two’ was supposed to refer to whoever you’d have chosen to do this with, and that it was not exclusive to him and him alone. But part of him took it as such, part of his heart broke at the fact that he could never truly be part of an ‘us two,’ not even right now, when he had someone to complete a pair with right in front of him. Someone he was interested in, someone he cared for.
Someone he loved.
Because for Ten, everything was temporary. Temporary as the flings he had while abroad, temporary as his stay in Thailand. temporary as the fleeting moments of vulnerability with his friends, temporary as the few moments he got to himself when he wasn't working, when he wasn't on stage, or hopping on a plane to a new country.
Nothing, and he means nothing, was ever constant. Constant as his mother’s matchmaking, constant as your indifferent bluntness to anyone who wasn’t Ten. Constant as your love for the colour green, constant as his hatred for fruit. Constant as your plush lips revealing simple truths, constant as his sister teasing him about everything under the sun.
Nothing was ever constant in his fast paced life, and up until recently, he’d liked it that way. Unchanging in its continual change.
“Well,” he started, a painful lump in his throat, “I hope you find someone to do these things with.”
Your expression while your eyes landed on his made his heart break, made it ache the way it did when he looked at you for too long.
It was one of understanding; one that said,
It’s okay. I know you want me. But I know I want you more. I know you don’t love me the way I love you.
God, it made him feel like shit.
“Yeah,” you said. “I hope so, too.”
You both turned back to the water, staring at the inky black masses in front of you. You caught glimpses of Ten’s reflection in the water, messy and garbled. It felt like a pretty accurate representation of what it felt like to know him. Messy. All over the place. Never the same.
Ten stared at you through the water, finding beauty in your body even when your reflection was obscured through the surface.
Part of him longed to be reckless. To just wrap his arms around your waist and slot your lips together in a heated kiss. He wondered how you’d react to such an advance. Would you kiss him back? Would you sigh in pleasure and return his affection with fervour? Or would you pull away? Would you balk, and try to explain to him that all those months of fleeting touches, of early mornings spent together, had just been your unique way of showing explicitly platonic affection?
Another part of him knew he couldn’t. He’d admit it, yes, he may have had feelings for you. but he couldn’t throw away a decade of work for the first pretty foreigner he saw. If he kissed you, if he took things further, made it clear that he didn’t want to be ‘just friends,’ what then? If he took you into his arms and made love to you to his heart’s content at this very moment, how would he proceed?
He was leaving for Korea between 12 July and August 1st. That left him with—if he took the jump and just fucking kissed you—one month. One month to be in the honeymoon phase, to be all lovey dovey in a way that would make his friends vomit.
A month was not a long time. This had been proven, over and over again, with each month that went by and Ten spent with you. Sometimes he didn’t even realise a month had passed. Other times he wondered how something as short as five months felt like five years. How could he love you in one month? How could he make sure you received almost five months’ worth of love and adoration in one, and then be okay when he left and didn’t return until he was touring there?
The obvious possibility of a long distance relationship was not an option. He’d decided early on that someone like you deserved someone you could see and kiss every day. Someone you could have spread out for you like a charcuterie board with the snap of a finger.
As much as he’d love to, Ten couldn’t be that someone for you.
So... where did that leave him? With an aching heart as his return home came closer and closer, with lips that had gone without the kisses they so longed to give? A soul full of longing, one half fighting for his love and the other fighting for his life?
Maybe.
“Why did you want to become an idol, Ten?”
The older man started, ripped from his reverie by your sudden question.
“Why did I want to become an idol?"
You nodded, not noticing how your fingers slipped between the other’s, as if by second nature.
He didn’t smile when he explained it, unlike all the other times he’d been asked that exact question. “To be honest,” he started, “I don’t know. I guess— I’d always dreamt of being a performer. And for the longest time, I didn’t really know what that meant. When I was younger, I thought it meant singing and dancing on stage, so that’s what I did. That’s what I’ve been doing. And I won't lie and say I don’t enjoy it. It’s... exhilarating, being on stage in front of thousands of people who came just to see you. It’s... empowering, knowing that you broke through in such a difficult industry.
“I guess I also took it as a bit of a challenge, you know?” Ten continued, a small smile growing on his face. “Ever since my granny introduced me to K-pop as a genre and I said, ‘I want to do that,’ there were people who told me no. Who told me that some nobody from Thailand wouldn’t be able to make it in one of the most cutthroat music scenes. I was too this, I was too that. I wasn’t enough of this, I didn’t have enough of that. So I, all of sixteen years old, said, ‘Okay, watch me.’ And so... that got me where I am now.”
He turned to you, playing with one of the rings resting around your thumb. “Part of me regrets it,” he said. “Part of me wishes... I did something smarter. Like, I don’t know, studied marketing or art in London. Wishes I’d followed in my friends’ footsteps and actually made an adult decision."
He shrugged, smiling an embarrassed smile and feeling grateful at your patience with his monologue.
“You can still do that,” you said, leaning down so that your chin was resting on his arm, and your faces were finally level. Your noses almost brushed. “It’s never too late to change directions. or, even, just add a route to the path you’re currently taking. You can still be an idol and be an artist. You contain multitudes, ten. Everyone does. and no one is meant to only take one route in life, even if they stay on the same path.”
Ten wasn’t sure if it was your proximity or your soft-spoken words that made his breath catch in his throat.
“I know,” he replied. “Doesn’t make my conflict any less infuriating.”
You smiled. “That, I can agree on. Being multifaceted is all fun and games until your different personalities are at war.”
Ten laughed, the sound light and airy in your ears. He didn’t move from his spot, nor did you. Not even when he settled, enveloping you in virtual silence, did either of you move, the sounds of the water lapping at the boat’s edge the only actual sound echoing in your ears.
“Why did you want to become a chef?” Ten asked, as a way of filling the silence he’d created.
Your eyes widened a bit, quite obviously not expecting the personal question. Ten mimicked your expression, awaiting your answer. You hummed, thinking.
“My parents wanted me to be a pianist,” you started, “so I thought to myself, ‘What is a career in that exact opposite direction?’ and became a chef just to piss them off.”
Ten rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”
“I am,” you insisted, before sighing, your pupils shaking a bit under his gaze. “I suppose I became a chef for the same reason you became an idol; it was presented as a challenge. I used to work in a restaurant as a waitress—a Thai restaurant, funnily enough—and one day I asked the owner why there weren’f any female chefs. He told me that women couldn’t handle the stress of a kitchen, couldn’t deliver when given a chef’s task, and I wanted to prove him wrong.
“I guess it was also because I really do find it to be a type of art in its own right. If not that, then it’s a full contact sport.” You smiled, and Ten couldn’t tell if it was a happy one or not. “A lot of people think being a chef is just making food, when it’s so much more than that. It’s hours, and hours of thankless work, both inside and outside of a restaurant. Sure, anyone can cook at home, anyone can follow a recipe, but not everyone can withstand the sheer pressure of being a chef. And there’s something so… exciting about that, you know?”
Ten knew. It was what drew him to becoming an idol, as he'd said. Anyone could dance, anyone could sing, anyone could rap, but not everyone could handle sleepless days, sleepless months. Not everyone could handle the pressure of having the public eye on you at all times, of always having to be perfect.
He nodded. “I know.”
He knew very well.
You soon fell into silence once more, but this time it was comfortable, void of the angst and heartache your previous ones had been filled with. Still you did not move from your spots, leaning on your arms and looking deep into each other's eyes.
Ten was once taught that the eyes are the gateway to the soul.
If your eyes were truly revealing anything, being genuine under those soft stares, those adoring crinkles around them when you smiled, Ten knew you had the most beautiful soul in the world.
And he’d cherish it, even if he could only do so from a great, great distance.
Ten wished he’d never opened his emails.
The month of June had passed, as had several meetings with nct members and SM’s creative teams. June made way for July, and Ten had spent all of his free time with you, despite your own free time becoming less and less due to you throwing yourself into a job search.
The idol had spent most of his current day at home, attending meetings and taking notes left and right. He’d been a bit annoyed throughout the week, seeing as how he’d visited his doctor on monday for a checkup on his knee, and had subsequently been told that he’d have to wait almost an entire week for the results.
The results which would tell him whether or not he’d be returning to seoul on the weekend.
The thought alone drove him up the wall. He’d have to pack, have to break the news to practically his entire family and say his goodbyes once again.
He’d have to bid you goodbye.
He didn’t want to do that. No matter how much he denied his love for you, or how crazy you drove him, or how many times he came to realise that he’d always have had to say goodbye at some point or other, he still didn’t want to.
Didn’t want to have to look into your eyes as he announced his departure with no promise of a future together. Didn’t want to have to hug you one last time. Didn’t want to have to say goodbye to your touch.
And yet, here he was, reading a dreaded email as he tried to keep the tears out of his eyes.
JULY 14th, 2023
TO: Ten Lee
FROM: Doctor Mi
Congratulations, Ten! The tear in your knee has been completely healed within the discussed healing period.
You will be able to return to Korea as soon as tomorrow morning, as long as you make sure to take it easy on your knee for now. It may have healed completely, but cannot yet take the strain you are used to applying.
It was a pleasure to see you heal so quickly.
Best regards,
Doctor Araminta Mi.
You will be able to return to Korea as soon as tomorrow morning.
Great. That was just great. Ten had healed quicker than expected, and thus was able to do just what he’d been longing to do since the moment he stepped foot in the country; go back to Seoul.
He’d get to go back to his exciting life, where no one day was the same. He’d be able to return to his tight schedule, to his friends, to his beloved songs and concerts. He’d be off around the world again.
So why was he not happy?
Don’t get him wrong. Part of him was. Going home meant no romantic confusion, and no meddling family.
But going home meant no you.
Seoul had everything. Technology, adoring fans, SM Entertainment, a bustling nightlife, lifelong friends.
But it didn’t have you.
It didn’t have your dry, self-depricating humour. It didn’t have the skirts that hugged your waist the way Ten liked. It didn’t have your plush, pillowy lips, or the absurd and profound words and tired little sighs that spilled from them. It didn’t have your hands, icily soft to the touch on his burning skin. It didn’t have your eyes, ever changing yet constant in their emotion.
Seoul had his home, had his work, had his life.
But it did not have you.
For a moment, he weighed the possibility of asking you to come with him. You’d easily be granted a visa and a work opportunity, with your extensive experience. You could live with him, let him love you in secret. Away from the cameras, away from his crazy fans. You’d both live happily ever after in Seoul, and that could be that.
But he quickly dismissed it, as tempted as he was to ask you.
Because just like he had a life in Seoul, you had a life in Bangkok.
He cried after reading the email. Almost as much as his mother had when he'd first arrived. He cried all the way to his room, all through his packing process. He cried until it was dark, and his entire room was spotless, just the way his mother had left it when he’d left the first time, ten years ago.
He cried when he said goodbye to his parents, cried when he said goodbye to his sister over the phone despite all of them inevitably insisting on accompanying him to the airport the next morning.
He got a text message confirming his flight, and bitterly thought of how SM Entertainment must’ve also been in contact with his doctor, as per their agreement. They probably booked him a flight as soon as they received the okay.
They probably rejoiced at the thought of stealing him away from his sombre paradise.
He was at your doorstep again.
After your night in June, Ten would come all the way to your door in the late hours of the night or the early hours of morning, raise a hand to knock, then let it drop to his side and skulk away.
He meant nothing predatory by it. Really, he didn’t. He simply longed to see you, to talk to you, to touch you, but never had the confidence to come further than your doorstep.
This time, however, was different.
As he waited for you to open your door, part of him wondered if you even cared to, seeing how tired you’d get after work which would just result in you plopping down on your couch with Min’d cats and passing out.
Ten’s suitcase, his carry-on, as well as Louis, Leon, and Levi were back at his parents’. His mother had insisted that he should properly say goodbye to you before leaving for the airport early in the morning, and so insisted that he leave them there and pick them up on his way to the airport, as well as his family who’d wished to see him off before he went back to his second home. Just so that he could spend one last night with you.
Your eyes were tired when you opened the door, unsuspecting as they crinkled at the sides when you smiled at the sight of him.
“Ten!”
In that moment, Ten didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the sound of your voice that set him off, or the smell of your perfume, or the curve of your hips, or the bursting of his heart as he thought about leaving an angel like you behind.
All he knew was that he was a man possessed.
His lips on yours were intense, passionate as they moved against your own as he all but fell through the threshold of your flat. You’d made a small noise of surprise, but it did not last long. Quickly, as naturally as breathing, your arms wrapped around his neck, ringed fingers finding purchase between the soft strands of hair that curled around his nape.
Your lips were as soft as he’d imagined, he thought, pulling away for only a few moments before pressing passionate pecks all over your face and neck, fingers curling around the back of your shirt.
“I need you,” was all he trusted himself to say, dragging his tongue over your bottom lip as he kissed you once again. “I’ve needed you for so long.”
You stumbled through your flat, hands messily coming to undo buttons, zips, and belts through hushed whispers of baby, of I need you too, of You should’ve told me you needed me. Your lips stayed on each other’s, straying only to kiss a neck, or the tip of a finger, or to bite a bottom lip and sigh breathily, movements stuttering at the sensation; while hands strayed, searching desperately for a place to stay. His fingers curled around your clothes, found purchases around your body once those were gone. Yours touched his lips, his collarbone, his hipbone, the v leading downward from there.
His lips tasted of the sweetest poison, you thought, catching a small taste of condensed milk and coffee on his tongue. A poison you could absolutely drown yourself in until you perished by the tender, deadly hands of lust and gluttony.
It was a gentle, passionate affair. It was not comparable to the tense nights you’d spent wishing you’d said no, or the messy nights Ten ended up abandoning as soon as they ended. You took care of each other, tender in his touches, benign in your oaths and affirmations. he spoke sweetly into your ear, and you breathed softly into his mouth. He called you baby, you called him sweetheart.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make a move sooner,” you’d said at one point. “I didn’t think— I didn’t know—”
“Don’t be,” he replied softly. His lips were red and swollen from your kisses. He was poised perfectly over you, silver pendant landing perfectly on your lips as if to silence your breathy apologies. Somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the hungry kisses and the breathy groans, he wondered how badly he’d fucked up your friendship. The thought didn’t last long. “Don’t ever be sorry for not knowing something I could’ve told you.”
It did not last long, for six months of pent up affections could only leave one with so much endurance. You soon fell next to one another, limbs weak with overexertion, hearts filled with love.
You lay in each other’s arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck, occasionally pressing kisses to the warm skin, gleaming with sweat. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead, sometimes taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb and slotting your lips together in a heated kiss.
“I love you,” he’d whispered after his lips departed from your own, the swollen skin still brushing together. “I’ve loved you for so long.”
“I love you, too, Ten.”
You’d fallen asleep sooner than later, your breaths steadying against Ten’s chest. The idol could feel his own eyes becoming heavy, but was lurched back to reality when he first woke up again.
It wasn’t that late. 23.09 is what your bedside clock read when Ten lifted his head just that little bit to check the time. He’d already calculated that he’d have to stop by his house to pick up his luggage and three sons at five, to get to the airport at six, to get on his flight which left at seven.
Which left him with five hours to hold you in his arms and pretend like he wouldn’t have to leave come daybreak.
He pressed a small kiss to your forehead, merely ruffling your hair and laying his cheek atop your head, wordless as you were further enveloped in a love-filled slumber.
Bangkok International Airport got very quiet early in the morning. Despite it being absolutely bustling on the regular, it was always quiet while the sun came up. The entire airport only had a few dozen people milling about, departing or arriving with their suitcases strung behind them.
Ten was glad for the silence. Any time he was spotted at an airport, he was ambushed by photographers, eager for a picture of him. He was approached by fans who’d surely spent the previous night there, all to get a good look at him and his friends and have their fanfiction protagonist moment.
Tern’s arms were wrapped tightly around her brother’s form as she enveloped him in a hug.
“I’m going to miss your ugly face,” she grumbled, chin wobbling as she tried to keep her tears at bay. The younger woman sniffled, looking at Ten like he’d done something wrong. “And your stupid Sheen voice.”
With the early morning sun filtering through the large windows, bathing Tern in the natural light, Ten could almost imagine her to be ten years younger, wishing him the same aggressive goodbye as she had when he’d left home for the first time.
“I’m going to miss you, too, you crybaby,” Ten chuckled. “But I’ll definitely keep in touch. Whenever I have a moment, I’ll call you. I’ll take up all your time, and always text, asking you if you’ve been eating and—”
“Okay, all I need is monthly calls!” Tern interrupted. “Thank you very much.”
Ten smiled widely, nodding. His father then wished him goodbye, hugging his son tight with promises of keeping in touch no matter their schedules.
And, last but not least, the cause and solution to all of his problems, Mama Lee.
She was teary as she wrapped Ten up in a hug, resting her chin on his shoulder. She held him tight, standing in place for what felt like several minutes.
“I’m gonna miss you, mum,” Ten said, his voice muffled by her hair. “It was amazing to be back here for so long. ‘M sorry I was so eager to leave in the beginning.”
She only kissed his forehead, cupping his cheeks fondly. “I’m glad you stayed, as well, Chittaphon. I’ve missed you terribly since you left and feared you were missing out on life.” Their foreheads met, and his mother continued, “I’m grateful that I got to see you experience life as I thought it would be for you. Even when you didn’t exactly reap the benefits I sowed,” she added, smiling mischievously.
Ten’s throat tightened at the indirect mention of you, smiling stiffly. His hands had been trembling slightly before, though he felt them properly shake when the topic of you came up.
He nodded, shrugging. “Sorry, mum. Still no jub. B-but I’ll.. We’ll make sure to keep in touch,” he assured, though he was certain you’d block his number after he slept with you and disappeared without a trace the next morning.
He wouldn’t fault you for it.
He descended the steps to the departure gate, waving as best as he could with both of his hands holding his luggage. Leon mewled from inside his crate, and Ten tutted empathetically.
“Don’t worry, Leon. We’ll be back home soon enough.”
┈┈┈┈┈┈
“You were right, Yang. I wasn’t telling you everything.”
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