#it is someone making an inadvertent comment about soup in either of their presence

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion meets someone important during his first mission and then realises he was horribly wrong over the course of a few years. (Rating T, culture clash + hurt/comfort, ~9k words) - written for @yovelie! I can’t thank you enough for this commission and all your encouragement 💞💞 You continue to be a delight! Find my commission info here!

This fic has been posted to AO3 as well!! Read it here :)

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His presence alone demands respect: he has the aura of someone who turns heads unconsciously, who parts a crowd with no effort and without realising, of a man used to making himself heard. Tze Long inadvertently holds his breath as the broad-shouldered, imposing European paces the room, studying the papers handed to him upon entry and not yet having directed a single word at anyone. He oozes confidence and competence, a good mixture as far as Tze Long is concerned, and despite the circumstances, he’s calmed down considerably. With this fortress of a man on their side, he has nothing to fear.

The man’s companion is less impressive, reminds Tze Long more of an aged schoolkid, sitting the wrong way around on a chair and resting his chin on his arms, eyes lazily trailing after his superior. If anything, he’s an apprentice, for some reason deemed worthy enough to follow this legend around despite proving himself lacking in several aspects – physical appearance is just one of them. He merely scanned the report Tze Long neatly put together before switching to playing with a lighter instead, face bored and impassive.

Indonesian weather doesn’t agree with either of them and yet Tze Long can’t pretend he minds, not when it forces the two to expose their toned arms and causes sweat to bead up on their foreheads enticingly. This is a moment in which he stops wondering why he’s got it so bad for Westerners.

Paper rustles and restless footfalls stop. The tall man fixes Tze Long with a level gaze which shouldn’t cause his heart to skip a beat like this. “Your name is…?”

“Liu Tze Long, sir.”

Two pairs of eyes drill into him yet he returns the stare without blinking. “You know who I am?”

He nods. “I do, sir.” How could he not? Operation Nimrod gained international fame and besides, all special forces have their own celebrities, pass on gossip just as swiftly as the Hollywood scene. Vineyards work fast, especially concerning the British SAS, most acclaimed organisation worldwide. Tze Long has been following this man’s career for about a decade now, hungrily devouring every tasty piece of information he could find. This is his idol before him, in the flesh, and he still has trouble believing it.

“Good. This is James Porter.” The sidekick gives a half-hearted wave and a half-hearted smile. “You’re the one who interpreted the files on the laptop found in Macau?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Fucking bubonic plague”, Mike Baker mutters with a shake of his head, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. “What do you reckon, Jamie?”

“Complete neutralisation asap”, comes the reply without hesitation, yet delivered like a disagreeable school report, “the files didn’t indicate the existence of more than one lab, so only one infiltration necessary. We’ll have the SDU assist us in gathering intel and coordinating the whole thing, go in, destroy the prototypes and samples as well as all data and leave.”

Tze Long nods mutely. They’ve identified the location of the extremist’s laboratory already which is why his superiors deemed it necessary to ask the Brits for help – their expertise in storming a building riddled with mercenaries and equipped with a worryingly potent biological weapon is limited. He doesn’t let his surprise over James’ astute observations show. He should’ve figured every member of the SAS has been recruited for a reason.

“Almost.” Mike leans against a table and Tze Long’s eyes drop lower all by themselves. “There’s no need to ask more people for help. We three are more than capable of taking down this megalomaniac – the fewer people can alert these terrorists to our plan of attack, the better. We don’t need the SDU’s fancy gadgets if we can help it. Right?”

The last word is directed at Tze Long who nods automatically. He indubitably knows best, seeing as how he’s not only still alive but also in active duty after all this time. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“See? Even he agrees with me.” James simply rolls his eyes, visibly exasperated, but doesn’t dare object. If he had, Tze Long would’ve been appalled with the blasphemy. “You’re both knowledgeable in toxicology, so you better figure out how to get rid of this nonsense while I do observation and planning. Also, if you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I’m gonna personally feed you my badge.”

Tze Long opens his mouth, throws a glance at an extremely amused-looking Porter and decides against speaking up.

“Alright, let’s brainstorm on how to neutralise this plague without causing a medium-sized epidemic”, Porter turns to him with a cheerful grin. “Or, as I’d like to call it: the fun part.”

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~*~

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Macau has never held any fascination for Tze Long for as long as he could think – the old Portuguese buildings, yes, but once he’d seen them, there was only glamour and glitz to discover, new ways of relieving encumbered tourists of their money and the vice-like grip of the Chinese government tightening on a city doomed to be a one-trick pony forever. He never bought into the explosive potential of the casinos, prioritised work over luck and ended up in a respectable place as a result. Things work out eventually, but always through hard work and not unnecessary risk-taking. He prefers necessary risk-taking.

This day, however, he’s come to experience it through someone else’s eyes and allowed the city to dazzle him as if he was a toddler experiencing the Lunar New Year fireworks consciously for the very first time. Everything is bright, loud, inviting and affordable, even for his wallet, and he takes great pride in explaining all the local delicacies, the colonial history and differences between Macau and Hong Kong, as well as Asian customs in general. Most Europeans he meets either already know their fair share about the region or are much more interested in an entirely different thing, so it’s with childlike wonder that he accompanies Mike and James traipsing through Asia’s Las Vegas.

They’ve washed up in a Din Tai Fung purely because Mike knows the restaurant chain and was thirsting for a little bit of familiarity after an entire day of concentrated culture shock – but not familiar enough to allow them to forget they’re in another continent, like one of the many American fast food chains might’ve done, even given their differing menu.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a gambler”, Tze Long chuckles in between dumplings and marvels not for the first time at the fact that conversing with one of the most renowned blades has become this easy over the course of a singular mission.

“Me neither, but results don’t lie.” Mike frowns at the cup of green tea before downing it in one go. He doesn’t look like a fan. “If you hadn’t dragged me off, I might be a few thousand quid richer.”

“If we hadn’t dragged you off you’d be on your fifth Singapore sling and probably hitting on a coat rack”, James states drily.

“A miracle – the man who bets on everything shies away from roulette.”

“Not everyone has your kind of pocket change. And besides, I only bet on meaningful things. Like the fact that I’m gonna eat more than either of you of these – what are they called again?”

“Xiao long bao.” Tze Long pokes at one of the steamed dumplings filled with pork and hot soup. “And don’t bother betting anything, my stomach becomes bottomless when it comes to them.”

“You look like you don’t have them very often, in that case”, Mike interjects with a grin and definitely did not expect Tze Long to mirror his expression and retort: “You look like you have them a little too often.” He’s come to learn that friendly banter is not only viewed favourably but also generally expected, and not for the first time he’s grateful for his extended interest in expats.

Once James is done laughing (which takes a while and is made worse by Mike’s glare), he suggests: “These things are bloody delicious, so I’m definitely not gonna lose. Let’s bet on a dessert.”

Tze Long agrees, and their banter continues. An outsider might not identify them as extremely recent acquaintances, not with how easily Tze Long laughs, not with how naturally James elbows him in the side, not with how nonchalantly Mike overlooks their antics. But near death experiences have a way of forming unbreakable bonds, invisible strings tying near strangers together and inspiring them to treat each other almost like family: an involuntary gathering of people who share a fundamental trust. It’s easier to ignore shortcomings or differing opinions when they’ve had each other’s blood on their hands, and never before has Tze Long felt this connection as strongly as with these two Englishmen. They will stay in contact after this, that much is obvious, and maybe he’s made friends for life.

Maybe he’s made more.

Mike was the first one to ask him for his number, and if he noticed Tze Long’s fingers shaking, he didn’t comment on it.

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As expected, both of them end up too full to even think about trying the molten chocolate-filled dumplings nor the matcha cake, so they agree on a draw after probably having miscounted anyway. Tze Long shows his gratitude for Mike’s winnings paying for their meal by gifting him a charm for his phone, one that’s not too tacky and meant to bring good fortune, and because he doesn’t want James to be empty-handed, he buys one for him too. They walk off the food coma by one of the beaches; it’s cooled down a little over the course of the evening and so neither of them takes their shirt off. Shame.

They linger outside of the hotel.

“You’re going back to Hong Kong tonight?”, Mike inquires, stretching in the humid night air and displaying his long limbs like an unconcerned predator knowing it’s at the top of the food chain.

“Yes. I sleep better at home and the ferries go regularly even at this hour. It’s a shame about your flight, I would’ve liked to show you my home.”

“And I’d like to show you ours”, James replies, sounding surprisingly genuine. Usually, half of what he utters is sarcasm and the other half jokes – if he hadn’t displayed professionalism and competence during their mission on top of that, Tze Long might’ve refused to work with him outright. “If you’re ever in Europe, call.”

“And if you’re ever in Asia again, let me know.” He fidgets. His throat is swollen with all the half-sentences threatening to burst out, all the confessions he’s suppressing… but there’s a foreign body in the way and he’s not willing to lay himself bare before these attentive eyes which have been following his every move for days now. He’s long understood that laziness and disinterest are a cover to hide a sharp sense of observation as well as a keen mind. James prefers being underestimated. Mike, on the other hand, is as authentic as it gets – he never holds back, sees bluntness as a virtue and wastes no time in hiding. Enviable. Tze Long wishes he could do the same.

“I forgot to buy smokes, be right back”, James announces into the short silence and disappears as if he’d read Tze Long’s mind. The opportunity is perfect, made even better when Mike addresses him directly.

“I’m serious, it was a pleasure working with you.” His chest swells at the genuine compliment. “Even if you’re as suicidal as Jamie. You’ll get far. Do you have a lot of experience under your belt already?”

He omitted this fact as to not spark any doubts, but now he might as well admit it. “Actually, this was my first mission.”

Mike’s brows lift, just like the corners of his mouth. “And you waited this long to tell us? You son of a bitch, I don’t believe it. I have even less doubt about your future now. I hope to see you again soon.” He holds out his hand and Tze Long takes it, feels a warm palm against his own, a strong grip, melts under approving eyes. “You did well. I mean it. Take care of yourself, will you?”

Please, he thinks but doesn’t even dare finish the thought let alone allow his tongue to betray him, dumbly repeats the word in his head over and over like a mantra, like a spell he’s trying to weave. Please. Please. “Yes. You too. Have a safe flight.” And with those words, Mike Baker seemingly vanishes from his life. Silhouette starkly visible against the bright light of the hotel lobby, the embodiment of everything Tze Long wants and wants to be, he leaves, in his wake the hot night air clogging lungs and airways and hearts.

When Tze Long turns, James is silently offering him a lit cigarette. They share it without a word, just like Tze Long often enforced an awkward quiet between them through non-committal replies or flat out ignoring quips despite their wittiness. Looking back, he feels bad about it.

“Wanna join me upstairs?”, the Brit asks as he extinguishes the mutual vice and leads the way when Tze Long nods. Mind and expression carefully blank, they ride the elevator up and enter the luxurious room after James has unlocked it. It’s about the same size as Tze Long’s apartment in Hong Kong. “Shower? Your preference.”

He shakes his head and watches the other man approach him, closes his eyes only a second after their lips touch.

It’s always so obvious, with Europeans. They make no move to hide their interest or curiosity, seem to have no off switch whereas Tze Long has stumbled over vague acquaintances, locals whom he’d never have suspected in the past. James telegraphed clearly until he knew he was understood, and then continued unintentionally.

He’s a good kisser, at least. Considerate, adaptive, even playful – he manages to coax a few smiles out of Tze Long as they just stand there and kiss, despite him feeling like the entire last week didn’t even matter. He wouldn’t have felt like this even if they’d failed. But James is more and more successful in taking his mind off it, and for that he’s grateful. He does have a nice build, favouring the torso over legs but Tze Long doesn’t mind, not when he can run his hands over hard muscles and feel them dance below his fingertips.

They crawl onto the bed, James shirtless and unreasonably attractive-looking, dark mane fanning out on his pillow and ribs expanding prettily with every deep inhale over Tze Long toying with his tongue. He’s hard, both of them are, and it’s no surprise that the first piece of clothing James tries to undo are Tze Long’s trousers.

“I top”, he whispers against a swollen mouth and slides lower to capture an erect nipple with his lips.

James picks up on his phrasing. “Exclusively?” He doesn’t sound like he minds and lets out a beautiful little moan.

“Exclusively Westerners.” Tze Long doesn’t mention he rarely sleeps with locals as it is – many of them are a mirror to his own insecurities and remind him of the endless questions about his marital status. He’s met wonderful local men, yes, one wonderful woman too, an outlier who sadly didn’t stay by his side or else she could’ve made most of his life a lot easier, but when it comes down to it, he prefers the natural demeanour, the surprise over him having to hide, the cheerful forgetfulness concerning their cultural differences. It’s easier to not be reminded than to overcome.

“Had enough of white guy machos who come to the ‘land of the bottoms’ expecting everyone to fall at their feet?” He’s amused yet not mocking.

“Not far off”, Tze Long admits with a smile and leans up for another kiss which is eagerly accepted. He’s starting to get the impression James would be content with nothing but snogging the entire night and the thought makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s not a race thing”, James mutters, hands gently stroking over Tze Long’s body, “I just like pretty people.”

And I like people who take what I’m willing to give without much fuss, Tze Long thinks and marvels over how the body below his comes alive at his every touch. He’s a magnet and James made of metal, has no choice but to strain towards him, intense gaze fixed on his face. Somehow, it hurts looking at him. “What else do you like?” Tze Long parts legs with a soft push to an inner thigh and settles between them.

“Anything. I’m not picky.” Coming from anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but it rings true for James. “Live out your fantasies.” He smiles and means it, despite his next words. “I know I’m a substitute.”

Tze Long’s mouth goes dry. His cheeks burn, actually feel on fire. Restless digits roam over exposed skin but none of its warmth manages to penetrate his own. He feels cheapened, caught. He knows James noticed. He just thought he’d have the decency not to mention it.

He tries to save it with a kiss, but it’s sticky, sickly sweet like too much candy, the taste clinging to the roof of his mouth. Like Macau itself, a pretty façade and nothing more. James can tell he’s not feeling it anymore, he’s sure.

“You don’t have to”, James says, so full of understanding Tze Long’s stomach is in knots.

“I want to”, he lies. Kind eyes blink up at him. James really is handsome, at third glance. He imagines what it’s like to actually fuck him. He wonders what he’d feel like afterwards. The thought is sobering.

“How about we walk around the city some more instead? There were other places you mentioned we didn’t get to see. I’ll just skip sleeping.”

Tze Long doesn’t ask whether it’s really alright with James. He just nods and gets up.

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~*~

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Confrontation goes against his nature. He’s always cultivated a healthy mix of empathy and disillusionment with humanity as a whole, both to understand other people’s actions as well as not care too much – he’s self-sufficient, needs little to be content, is ambitious without being overzealous, and he believes that everyone eventually gets what they deserve. Picking fights, holding grudges, none of it appeals to him, instead seems clunky, awkward, unnecessary. He lives and lets live, expects others to show him similar courtesy but doesn’t cause a fuss when they don’t.

This, however, is different.

“I’ve been working on this for two months, as you’re well aware, and now you’re saying I won’t be permitted to bring this mission to its conclusion?” His tone is even but his fingers flex, betraying his anger, even resentment.

Mei Lin had to pull him aside so they don’t have this conversation in front of the rest of their team, for which he’s grateful, though he hopes it doesn’t appear as if he’s questioning her authority. She’s gotten enough shit as it is. “Yes”, she replies curtly. “This is non-negotiable. Leave.”

Tze Long catches his fury before it breaks out of him. He respects her like no other, and unlike his peers, doesn’t hold her to higher standards just because she’s a woman. She’s had to work twice as hard to receive half as many commendations. No, this isn’t about her. “You know my work is important to me”, he appeals to her sense of duty, but he’s got the impression he’s not talking to her in her function as his superior right now, despite all.

“This isn’t your call to make either way.” He believes it. If their roles were reversed, if he begged her to exclude him from the mission yet she deemed him irreplaceable, she wouldn’t allow it. “I will bear the consequences. I am aware of what I’m doing. And you need to go.”

He sincerely hopes she’s not committing career suicide, not after she’s fought her way into the SDU, clawed her way up with iron discipline and excellent results. She could have him officially rebuked for insubordination if he refused and stayed. So he doesn’t.

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A few hours later, he feels his father’s pulse fade under his fingertips.

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Tze Long feels like he’s underwater. Like he’s a singular grain of sand, mercilessly and relentlessly being tossed around by the tide, ground up against his brethren over and over again until they’ve all lost their edge, become smooth and round and compatible, until they make up a pretty picture as a whole, with their personal identities vanishing in favour of making up a greater good.

A metropolis like Hong Kong seems to have this effect on people – at least on most of the ones he’s met. They turn into exchangeable faces, rehashing the same conversations over and over, fulfilling their purpose and causing no ruckus. Oiling the machine. On bad days, this impression weighs him down amid the traffic noises, the daily rush to work and back, the desperate attempts to take the mind off everything. On good days, he manages to spot beauty wherever he goes, smiles and small gestures of kindness, the shocking diversity of the city representing unification and celebration of life in all forms. Hong Kong is colourful in more ways than one, if he dares to look.

Today is a bad day.

He’s frantically chewing on a toothpick while tonguing the sore spots in his mouth where he poked himself before. A friend suggested replacing cigarettes with something else to keep his mouth occupied and help suppress the addiction, and after dismissing chewing gum and carrots, he’s landed on this. So far, it does nothing to quell his anxiety.

When Mei Lin leaves the building, her expression is unreadable until she’s stopped right in front of him, blinking up into the painfully direct sunlight. They study each other, both looking for signs of weakness not to exploit but to encourage. Eventually, she nods. “We’re good”, she announces and both of them slump a little in relief.

What she really means to say is: I’m good. But Tze Long doesn’t correct her. “What did he say?”

“He was understandably upset I would force you off the mission after you’ve been the most involved op in the whole thing. He blamed me for being soft, for endangering the rest of the troop by replacing you. And he told me I shouldn’t have let you know about the call.”

Tze Long nods silently. It’s what he expected.

If she’d told him of the call afterwards, he wouldn’t have been there to witness his father’s last breath.

“But there was someone else there. SAS. Apparently a friend of yours.”

His stomach flips. Did he really come? He wouldn’t have thought – he messaged him that day, late at night, not expecting a reply as usual. Responses were scarce, have always been, so he figured he’d get a supportive text back in a week or two. Not this. His heartbeat quickens and he has to hold himself back to let Mei Lin finish instead of charging the building.

“He wanted to know what happened and then offered his own advice. I’ll spare you the details, they argued a bit, but he held the opinion that amid our discipline and rigorous training, we mustn’t forget we’re also human. Because this humanity is the entire reason we’re doing any of what we’re doing. And in his opinion, I acted according to this ideal and therefore shouldn’t be punished.”

“That does sound like something he’d say”, Tze Long agrees quietly.

Both of them turn to the busy street as if on signal, take a deep breath, compose themselves. He wants to embrace her, wonders whether she’ll take it the right way. Everything is impermanent, he recently received a sharp reminder of this, and his need to cherish everything he still has left throbs behind his temples. Instead, he settles for an earnest: “Thank you. I didn’t agree in the moment, but I do now. You made the correct call.”

“I know.” She fixes him with a gaze so full of sympathy that it paralyses him. “I’m sorry.”

He just nods again. Despite all, he wants to ask her about him, what he was like, whether she liked him, whether she understood who exactly he is. The realisation of how much he cares is frightening, even more so when he hears footsteps behind him, clearly approaching the two of them. He’ll never be ready to face him, never has been, and so he takes the plunge without hesitation and turns around, turns to -

“It’s just me”, James states almost apologetically the moment he must notice the disappointment in Tze Long’s expression.

Whatever it is, whether it’s the uncomfortable vacuum Tze Long has been carrying around with him for a few days already, hindering his ability to feel anything, whether it’s the relief of seeing a familiar, friendly face, whether it’s the fact that James just helped Mei Lin – it’s not nearly as big of a letdown as Tze Long would’ve expected. Yes, he’d hoped it’d be him. But after a second, he’s already come to terms with the fact that it isn’t, and if he’s completely honest, he doesn’t even mind that much. “Good to see you”, he says and means it.

James’ face lights up with a smile. “Good to be here.”

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Their dynamic is different.

Tze Long fails to pinpoint why, whether it’s the long months – years, he realises – of constant communication, the fact that he’s not looking over James’ shoulder for most of the time, or the sad circumstances. He’s sociable enough, always enjoys making and keeping friends from all over the world which has come in handy not only at his job but also in his spare time, so he kept up the steady stream of messages between the younger Brit and himself. It wasn’t like they texted every day, yet he expected a message at least once a week and wasn’t ever disappointed. Usually, it was either a world event which occupied them, a remarkable injury on either side (like when Tze Long broke his toe by demonstrating his lack of skill on the tightrope, or when James dreamt bad, flailed around in his sleep and punched himself in the nuts), an entertaining story they came across or just a simple checking in. Casual, pleasant, inconsequential conversations.

Now that they’re face to face once more, James is much more tangible, with that singular dimple he actually pointed out at some point, the laid-back attitude which puts Tze Long at ease immediately, filled to the brim with terrible ideas and even worse jokes and never turning down a challenge. He’s a painting which has come alive, surprising in its actuality yet its core still intact. It’s not like meeting an entirely new person, more of… seeing a whole.

In the half-day they have available, Tze Long shows him Hong Kong. The flight leaves late at night and James bemoans the fact that he’s got trouble sleeping on planes as it is, so the jetlag will kill him, and Tze Long doesn’t ask whether he was in the area anyway, doesn’t ask when he arrived in the first place, why exactly he came.

He suggests Din Tai Fung once more but James shakes his head, inquires about other local specialties and trails after him until they reach the night market on Temple Street which isn’t as crowded as usual seeing as it’s only afternoon. Like in Macau, Tze Long revels in his position as tourist guide and points out miscellaneous facts, tells a few anecdotes and buys a chocolate-flavoured egg waffle as well as milk tea so James can munch and sip on something while marvelling at the colourful trinkets and embroidered clothes offered en masse. In order to get him to try as many stalls as possible, they share portions of dim sum, grilled squid and braised meat, and it delights him to see that James is willing to try basically everything – except for stinky tofu, which is understandable. Tze Long barely smells it at this point but he knows it’s quite off-putting to people not used to it.

Before they head to visit the nearby temples, he purchases fresh fruits to complete the culture shock: some lychee-like longans, a shockingly bright pink dragon fruit and a sweetsop, Tze Long’s personal favourite with its creamy, aromatic flesh. James’ curiosity knows no bounds and, very uncharacteristically, he doesn’t treat Hong Kong with his usual biting sarcasm. It’s not reverence he shows either, and Tze Long would be hard pressed to describe his attitude as anything more precise than simple enchantment.

They barely manage to get to Victoria Peak before sunset. Just like the rest of the city, the mountain is flooded with people, all trying to get the best selfie before moving on, whereas James leans against the railing on one of the viewing platforms and merely looks. Tze Long steps up next to him, close enough to touch, forcing the bustling activity behind them to the back of his mind and tries to see his home through James’ eyes. Below them, countless skyscrapers stretch upwards like fingers, reaching out for infinity.

“What about where you live?”, James wants to know after a long while. “I want to see where you used to work. Where you grew up.”

He shakes his head after some deliberation. “We don’t have time for that”, he lies when in reality he’s not ready to face this part of his life again, especially not show it to a stranger of sorts. His past feels deeply personal somehow, his struggle to end up where he is now like a secret he’d better keep. Part of it is simple vanity – he wouldn’t like to imagine James telling his colleagues, telling him. And of course, the one person who shared this history with him has now passed away.

James’ eyes are on him, attentive, almost waiting. “Next time?”, he asks, sounding hopeful. Tze Long wonders what kind of impression he’ll take away from this short visit.

“Yes. Next time.” He’s not sure if there will be one, but he hopes he’ll feel differently about himself by then.

“What was he like?”

A deep breath. How is he meant to answer this question? “Kind but firm”, he offers and puts a new toothpick in his mouth. “No time for nonsense but always willing to listen if something was on my mind. Distracted, at times. Whenever he found a gift for me, he’d present it so proudly. He was happiest when he could teach me things, show me the world. When he couldn’t work anymore, he -” His voice breaks, so he stops talking. Despite it not being his fault, guilt had plagued his father for decades. Having to rely on his only son, witnessing Tze Long’s struggle took its toll on him just like on Tze Long himself, though it changed into fierce pride later on, once he became a Flying Tiger. But he remembers the forlorn stare into their empty cupboards, the reassurances of being able to mend clothes, shoes, self-image.

James is going to get a sunburn and it’s not going to be pretty. He hasn’t tanned much this summer yet and Tze Long wants to reach out to protect his skin from the merciless rays. To maybe run fingers through his luscious hair. “He sounds like a good father.”

“He was.”

And despite the serenity of the moment, James actually goes there: “Your description of him reminds me of someone.”

Tze Long fights down the urge to simply leave. He’s better than that. “I bet you won’t drink a whole glass of durian milk”, he switches topics and earns a side-glance he’s incapable of deciphering.

.

“- you should’ve seen his face when I told him to shove it, pure comedy, this dude was not used to anyone saying no to him, not with him built like a bloody fridge and that stupid fuckin’ tattoo on his forehead, something daft like carnivorous or edgelord, I don’t even remember, I only remember thinking: this lad must’ve randomly picked a word from the dictionary that sounded cool.”

Tze Long moves his own drink out of the range of James’ flailing arms but makes no move to interrupt him.

“And me, a foot shorter and seemingly harmless, refusing to budge? Well, you can imagine what happened.”

“I do hope you wiped the floor with him.”

“First he punched me in the throat, but yes, afterwards I most definitely wiped the floor but only because he tripped over some barbed wire, nearly shredded his entire dick and bled all over the fucking linoleum. That was the last time he tried to sell some fake insurance, I’m sure.”

Drunk James is adorable. He’s become a waterfall, largely unaware of himself not in an inconsiderate way but an endearing one, speaking his mind openly and demanding Tze Long’s full attention. He fills silences with anything and everything, after two cocktails already, and he goes deaf when Tze Long tells him that going on a plane while intoxicated might not be the best idea. They’re perched by the bar, sipping bitter liquor because today is just one of those days and let the soft pop music relax their muscles.

While he prattles on, rants about the next odd encounter, Tze Long gets distracted by the curve of his eyebrows and the hard jaw and he wonders whether he’s still interested. What he’d say to the suggestion of dipping into a hotel real quick. It’s less than an hour until he has to be at the airport, however, hardly enough time, but idly toying with the idea is fun nonetheless.

“Thank you for coming”, he eventually manages to interject while James takes a breath.

“Aye. Mike relayed the message and it sounded like you might get in trouble, or your colleague might. He’s off gallivanting around the Middle East somewhere I think, claims he’s busy doing recon or whatnot but I bet he’s lazing in the sun and resting his bones. Soon he’s gonna be the oldest bloke in the SAS, did you know? Fucker’s immortal. Some of the lads who bet on his retirement are gone themselves by now.”

Tze Long did not know this. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Mike. “I appreciate your help, in any way.”

“Believe me, your boss didn’t.” James grins and it makes him look years younger. “I might get shit for it but my major has my back. And I got yours. If anything else is up, let me know and I’ll travel half the world again.”

He has no doubt James would, and he tries to identify whether it’s a snipe aimed at him for texting Mike only, not him, but isn’t sure. His brooding is interrupted when he spots a familiar figure at the other end of the counter, glancing over and flashing him a wide smile. “Oh no”, he mutters to himself.

“I swear though, that bloody rotten egg fruit, whatever it’s called, I’m never touching one of those again, I still wanna throw up every time I burp.” James interrupts himself to follow Tze Long’s gaze. “What, someone making bedroom eyes at you?”

“Yes. He’s very charming, to be honest.” He sighs, shaking his head. Should’ve known better than to drag James to his usual club. “And very married.”

“That happen often?”

It’s too complicated to go into detail, so he nods. Having grandchildren continues to be one of the highest priorities in the life of a parent, and Tze Long has met many, many guys living a double life – one for society and their family, one for themselves. He’d rather not get involved with these men even if it means limiting himself.

“Want me to take care of it?”

The seemingly innocent question makes him huff in amusement. “Please don’t start a bar fight, I’d hate to get banned.”

“More than one way to show you’re not interested”, James mutters and true, he’s right.

Tze Long doesn’t even mind. He puts his toothpick aside.

They meet halfway between their chairs and James’ corners of his mouth are turned upwards when they do. He tastes of rum and tobacco and the tendrils of addiction pull at him enticingly at the reminder of what he’s given up; the background noise fades in favour of his own heartbeat and James is still smiling, never once stops. His smile feels like a thinly-veiled accusation and a self-satisfied victory simultaneously and yet Tze Long can’t get enough. James switches to his chair, actually settles on his thighs without breaking the heady touch of lips on lips, clearly uncaring of the spectacle they’re putting on. Tze Long’s hands stray to his sides and for once, he’s not picturing a different body between his palms.

“I think we’re good”, he murmurs after a while, after all decency is long overthrown.

“Hmm, no, he’s still looking”, James hums back without even opening his eyes once, smile widening, but when Tze Long withdraws, he relents and instead pulls him into a hug.

And it just overwhelms him. The rare feel of a warm body makes him realise he hasn’t deliberately, consciously touched another human being in days, reminds him of the empty apartment he’ll return to, chock full of memories and shards which don’t cut deep by themselves yet make up a fearsome blade as a whole; reminds him of the desperate loneliness which creeps up on him now and then, whenever he’s weak, whenever he lets it. He thinks of the eternal double check mark, message received, thinks of his colleagues’ triumphant faces as they recounted the successful mission without him.

He clings, hard, and only notices the supportive arms wrapped around him once his fingers have stopped shaking. He’s breaking down in the middle of the bar, visible to everyone, to people he knows, and the shame burns almost worse than his grief.

Regardless, James is still there. Whispering nothings, stroking his back soothingly, acting as if none of this was out of line. His warmth is painful because he’s unsure how to repay it, but right now he has no choice but to accept.

“It’s okay”, James tells him like he really believes it. “You’ll be alright.”

.

~*~

.

He turns out to be correct, even if it takes some time for Tze Long to wholly believe it.

A piercing stare accompanies the realisation together with a suffocating amount of information he’s expected to digest and memorise, and yet he couldn’t be happier. The office is nondescript and icy for his standards and he can already tell it’ll take some time to get used to this part of the earth.

“I am very happy to know you in our team”, Six finishes with a seriousness Tze Long respects. “Welcome to Rainbow.”

“It is an honour.” He matches her tone. “I’m looking forward to working with you, ma’am.” He knows when he’s dismissed, gets up and ready to start this new chapter of his life, but curiosity gets the better of him: “May I ask – am I the only one of my unit you’ve recruited?”

Six’ expression softens. The formal part is over, she can rest assured all her points have come across and therefore she allows herself some friendliness. “No. One of your colleagues will join us as well – Mei Lin Siu.”

He finds himself smiling. “That is an excellent choice, ma’am.”

“Funny. She said the same thing about you.”

.

~*~

.

England is cold, empty, quiet and boring. And Tze Long is surprisingly fine with it.

He traded comfortable warmth for considerably less rain – even if the Spanish operators give him an odd look over this statement – and exercising outdoors is less suffocating, less of a chore. Admittedly, he could do without winter but after having been enlightened about layers, sealing gloves and sleeves and other tricks which Mira and Jackal divulge gladly, it’s not that bad. Even if summer has him a little homesick now and then. Sometimes he also misses the liveliness of his home, the many faces just like his, the natural way people accept each other as an inevitability. Here, it happens that existing in a space earns him disapproving glances.

But it’s quiet. He sleeps like the dead, hasn’t been this calm in decades and finally finds enough time to really pursue hobbies he had to neglect previously: he reads for days on end, dabbles (and generally fails) in a few crafty endeavours, follows the news from the silence of his apartment, feeling secure, comfy, safe. He picks up cooking, much to James’ delight, and together they spend a weekend on xiao long bao, having to re-do the dough several times and despairing over the soup gelatin only to give up and attempt it again a week later, nailing it first try. And whenever the muted quality of this country threatens to overwhelm him, he puts on some music, a film, or simply invites James over.

He doesn’t have many complaints, not when he spends most of his free mornings in bed with a steaming cup of coffee by his side and phone in hand, the world under his fingertips. Still, it required some getting used to the way people treat each other, the blunt and direct style of communication, the many gestures which would be deemed horribly rude in Asia.

Tze Long idly ponders cultural differences while Mike hands him a bowl of rice, chopsticks simply stabbed into it.

Next to him, he can sense James’ eyes widening before he quickly snatches the utensils and holds them out to Tze Long instead. They share a secret, slightly embarrassed smile, just like they did when Mike presented him with four sample bottles of whisky from his favourite distilleries – he can’t expect everyone to be aware of common superstitions, but he would’ve guessed the social stigma around the number four would’ve been widespread enough to have reached Mike’s ears. Even Mark pulled a face in the background, and James elbowed him, accepting one of the bottles gratefully.

Mike is trying, that’s the part which counts, and Tze Long is fiercely appreciative: he hasn’t celebrated his birthday properly in an eternity, certainly not with colleagues which have become more than that over time, and certainly not with gifts as thoughtful as the ones he’s received (like the high quality tea from Mei Lin, and an entire book series of English classics from James). Mike is trying, and as he’s come to realise over the years, this doesn’t always amount to much. But it doesn’t matter, provided he manages his expectations.

Somewhere along the way, he’s stopped drinking up literally every single word dripping from his lips, stopped blindly accepting, stopped the worship. Mike is a friend. Mike is even a bit of a shit friend a lot of the time, yet his heart remains in the right place – which is a little distant, a little distracted, and far, far away from Tze Long’s.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked”, he informs his gracious host matter-of-factly, and can spot the flattered happiness through the ensuing modesty. It’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but his statement remains true nonetheless. Aniseed in curry is courageous and the result a little odd yet edible, and so complaining is the furthest thing on his mind.

When Mike is back to bustling around in the kitchen, Mei Lin quietly asks the other guests: “He really went all out. Does he do this often?”

“Never”, replies Seamus, sounding amused. He looks a giant next to Tze Long’s comparatively dainty teammate, though they seem to get along well. “He’s forgotten Mark’s and Jamie’s before, and gave me out-of-date rum truffles for my birthday.”

“Aren’t you on a diet?”, she asks, prompting a meaningful nod.

“He really cares about Tze Long, even if he’s not sure how to show it”, James interjects, sounding bored. “They’ve been friends for a long while, after all.”

“We have been friends for a long while”, Tze Long feels the need to point out. James’ eyes slide over to him, bore into his skull, almost intense enough to cause him to lower his gaze – but he doesn’t. He knows what it’s for, all the dismissive replies in the beginning, him acting as if the clown (whose humour meshed surprisingly well with his own, who was willing to undertake the same risks as him, who watched his every move) was invisible. If he could go back, he’d act differently. If he could go back, he wouldn’t spend a significant amount of his life chasing after a castle in the sky.

But he did, and now it’s done.

“We have”, he affirms, and instead of agreeing, James gets distracted by Seamus addressing him, and this simple fact shouldn’t bother Tze Long as much as it does. He doesn’t have a monopoly on him, he has to regularly remind himself of this. He didn’t earn the right to have one.

.

Joining Mike in the kitchen feels less like a conscious decision and more of an escape. “I can’t thank you enough”, he begins and is immediately interrupted by a scoff.

“You could lie and tell me this blobby pudding isn’t the most sorry-looking excuse for custard you’ve ever seen.”

“This custard looks delicious”, Tze Long lies smoothly and Mike’s gruff laugh mends his brittle soul a bit. They’ve learnt to interact with each other without any of the awkwardness prevalent in the beginning of Tze Long’s time in Rainbow.

“Good lad. And you don’t need to thank me, it’s the least I can do. For once, you could shut up and accept people being nice to you.” It’s ingrained in Tze Long to fight for the bill, react modestly to and dismiss compliments rather than accept them, refuse gifts a few times when receiving them. He opens his mouth to object, but once more Mike is faster: “I’ve received complaints about you, you know. You’re being too bloody nice – people just need to mention a book and you’ve already promised to let them borrow it, you give lifts to unsuspecting whiners and generally are too friendly. We’re in fucking England, no one knows how to deal with that shite here.”

Tze Long grins, even if he’s aware Mike isn’t purely joking. “Are you suggesting I’m not already playing my part in making our work environment… more toxic?”

The eye roll he receives is inordinately satisfying, yet his triumph doesn’t last. “No, lad, I’m telling you to go out and bloody take something for yourself. Something which you’ve wanted for a long, long time. You’re allowed, you know? You’re allowed to demand things.”

And this strikes a chord. The smile on Tze Long’s lips fades the further the words sink, float down, down, down into the murky depths of his subconscious which reacts with instant, intense panic. Because they only become louder the deeper they reach, their echo reverberating and creating a cacophony making it impossible to think straight. Unhelpfully, his conscious mind provides a solution, the one suggestion which he’s carried on his tongue for years, wrote on his forehead, the one truth he thought irrevocable: “Are you telling me to ask you out?”

The awkwardly-shaped sentence lodges in his throat, causes the gears in his head to grind and shriek, and it’s wrong, so wrong, if Mike says yes he’s never setting foot in his flat again, fuck the idolising, fuck professional relationships, he’ll curl up in ball and shake and shiver and shudder because no, it’s not what he wants, maybe something he never wanted in the first place.

While he’s still reeling from what’s raging on inside him, Mike throws him an almost pitiful glance. “Not me I’m talking about”, he grumbles. “I mean the one bloke whose friendliness you’ve always accepted without any protest.”

And isn’t that the fucking point?

It’s the one person who consistently made him lose face, no matter what, humiliated him with his displays of adoration Tze Long could never hope to repay, proved him unworthy with every breath he takes, and his presence burns under his fingernails, a constant itch chipping away at his honour because he deserves none of it and yet he wants. Oh he wants. He’s humbled by every easy laugh following disrespect, and the more this shadowy figure was pushed away, the harder it tried to keep up, and keeping it hazy is so much easier than allowing its entire being to invade every nook and cranny of his life.

Only -

That already happened a while ago, didn’t it?

James is outside, an unopened beer in his hand and smoking by himself because Seamus doesn’t endorse his addiction and Mei Lin and Mark hate the smell. He’s glowing in the setting sun, illuminated almost from the inside and Tze Long viciously wishes his brilliancy was contagious. “What’s wrong?”, he asks, unaware of the storm raging behind Tze Long’s unchanged exterior.

“I’m cold”, he replies, earning furrowed brows.

“It’s July.”

“Yes.”

They look at each other. James’ lips purse around the cigarette and Tze Long wants to grab the bottle and smash it on the asphalt, just to expend some of the energy throbbing through him. “Did Mike say anything? Are you okay?”

“I bought two tickets to Hong Kong.” And it’s out. With this, he’s handed himself over and there’s no going back.

“You’re going with him?” Carefully neutral. James stubs out the cigarette and takes out his key ring with its bottle opener attached. There’s a piece of string, too, displaying some of the decorative beads Tze Long recognises easily. The charm must’ve fallen off or broken after extensive use over the years.

“I wouldn’t want him to come along.”

Busy hands pause. He still doesn’t understand. “Mei Lin is accompanying you?”

“No.” They don’t have leave at the same time anyway. But he and James do. Always had.

Fingers twitch. Then slowly set the beer down on the stone steps behind them. He’s looking everywhere but at Tze Long, long hair falling into his eyes. “So -”

“I’ve been buying two ever since I joined Rainbow.” They both know how conscious he is of spending money.

“Jesus”, says James.

Tze Long is dizzy. He expected this moment to taste half-fermented, almost rotten, like a fruit ignored for too long, but instead it’s an explosion of refreshing flavour and pleasant sweetness, horrifyingly addicting. His face hurts and he realises that he’s grinning from cheek to cheek, must look like a lunatic if James’ expression is anything to go by. “Come with me. Please.”

And James seems to understand what he means, even if a frown tugs on his mouth and the face he makes is one of sorrow and not happiness, yet when Tze Long steps closer, James latches onto him like a drowning man.

His turmoil is far from appeased, but one thought prevails above all, forces his emotions to simmer down: I might not deserve this, he thinks, but he certainly does. He holds James until he’s shaking only with laughter, nothing else, the half-suppressed bouts of relief convincing him more and more of having made the right decision. They’re each other’s anchors, unwilling to let go, and beam at each other so brightly it blots out the sun.

“I’d love to”, James tells him in that rare, genuine tone of voice Tze Long has never heard him use with anyone else. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.” His lack of hesitation only increases James’ luminosity. “I’ll show you everything, James. I’ll show you all.” This seems to convince him, no doubt due to the far-reaching implications.

This time, when they kiss, Tze Long knows for a fact he won’t feel his stomach drop afterwards. And it’s mostly because he knows it won’t be their last one.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #lesion #smoke/lesion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #this gave me the worst case of wanderlust #if I didn't portray anything correctly please let me know!!