The first day Kris woke up in his new apartment, he nearly had a panic attack.

The fact that he couldn’t smell breakfast, the pale soullessness of the walls, the dusty drawn curtains were all stark indicators that he wasn’t at home. Even the fact that he was sleeping on a mattress that felt and smelled like lumpy blue cheese caused his throat to close and his fingernails to dig into his palms. His hand flailed and scrabbled on the table next to his bed, and his tongue pushed a pill back until it was crawling to his stomach at a glacial pace. He was frozen in the bed until the medication had dissolved and his pulse stopped snapping against his plate.

In his old district, he’d known the medical examiner, the father of one of his best high school buddies. He was able to get the panic disorder stored away and wormed his way into the force on the strength of a good word and a better smile. Worse men have gotten better jobs on less. At least, that’s what he told himself every time he had to wrench another pill into his body. He was a good man doing a good thing, after all. His use of a bad system didn’t have to change that.

When his legs felt less like iron braces, he swung them over the edge of his mattress and rubbed his thighs until the invisible ropes clinging to them disappeared and he could get up. His hand had mostly stopped shaking by the time he made his way into the kitchen and started cracking eggs. The small flecks of eggshell in the bowl didn’t bother him anymore, and he was happy to fish them out with his chopsticks if it meant that he could still feel his fingers.

After breakfast of scrambled eggs and mediocrity, Kris took to combing his obsidian hair and splashing a handful of frigid water across his steep cheekbones and angular nose. He walks his fingers over a jagged scar on his lip, then another scar under his left eye. His mom had cried from her hospital bed when she’d seen them for the first time. Imagine that. Dying from a disease with 8 different words in its name, and she was crying because of a few stitches.

He managed to dredge himself from his memories long enough to put on his uniform. It was sharp and blue and cleanly pressed, unlike the one he’d left back home, which was fuzzy like velvet and not nearly as comfortable. It had been patched more than a few times, but that’s what a small budget will do for you. That was part of why he’d jumped on a chance at this job in the big city, and he was in Chinatown too. He opened his window and breathed in the smell of charred spices of time-worn street food that gave a smile to his face. After watering his succulent, Jasper, for the day, he locked the window again and grabbed his wallet before heading out the door.

It was a long walk to the station on an oppressively hot day, but he didn’t hate it. He’d always been a guy who enjoyed leisure, which was why even he found it weird that he wanted to be a cop, but he didn’t resent the rushes of adrenaline. After all, it wasn’t fear or pressure that would send him into an episode. In fact, he didn’t know what would send him into an episode. He’d been punched, stabbed, even shot at, and yet, waking up in his new apartment was the thing that terrified him to the point of paralysis. He didn’t understand his own brain, although he doubted anyone did.

He paused his deep introspection to stop in front of a café window, looking into it and swallowing hard at the sight of pastries, and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and the pictures of bubble tea, and… But he couldn’t have too much caffeine or sugar, he knew that. He shoved his wallet deeper into his pocket and kept walking.

If he’d gone in, he might have seen Tao, having his early-morning coffee and even a tiramisu. The 24-year-old another dollop of cream from his plush lips as he scrolled through his phone, looking at his inventory and chewing the side of his tongue in mild displeasure. The orders this week were overwhelming, but he’d have to make do. He took another ravenous bite of his cake, this time taking a large enough mouthful to fill his cheeks too.

Ten pounds of meth? This ’s crazy… And this er, trying to somehow launder 10 grand like it’s just no problem. Goddamn it, what is this doing, trying to get 40 pounds of moonshine halfway across the country? Do I look like a fairy godmother? Tao thought angrily, barely chewing before he swallowed and replaced it with another gulp of pastry and cream. He took another swig of coffee and inhaled the heady aroma. It was going to be impossible, but he had to deliver anyway. Such was the life of customer service.

He finished his food and got up, stretching so that it could be considered “exercise” and justify the pastries that he’d just consumed, before heading out to open up his shop. He hated the walk from the café to his shop, and several times, he’d considered going to some other café, but walking helped him further justify his hedonism. Besides, if he was going to consistently gorge on pastries, might as well gorge on the best.

This place was the best.

He propped open the door to his antique shop with a small statue of a Chinese dragon, something that looked like the mix between a shih tzu and a cabbage. The shop was the perfect laundering set up. It played up to just enough stereotypes that no one looked, no one care about some Chinese boy in a shop that never seemed to have any customers.

He sat behind the counter, his eyes sweeping over the irresponsibly large vases and glistening bronze statues. He straightened the marble stamps on the glass countertop and the tourist pamphlets in the plastic holders. He even dusted off the register, if only to give the image that he gave a damn. Then, thankfully, he was free to read and nap and even take the occasional smoke break until his real clients showed up.

Or, at least, that was the plan. He’d just taken out his first book, a novel about some midwestern city and a depressed car salesman, when he heard footsteps. This early in the morning, it could only be tourists. Sure enough, when he looked up, a couple with visors and sandals over their socks sauntered into his space, looking at his wares with a mix of xenophobic suspicion and exotifying delight.

The man, with a tan line on his upper arm and a strip of sunscreen on the bridge of his nose, seemed especially interested in a set of swords on the wall. His wife had one hand protectively over her counterfeit purse while her green eyes flicked from the decorative fans to the blue and white porcelain vases. Tao watched them both, leaning his chin on folded fingers as each customer shot him a suspicious look. Was this guy going to try to rip them off? Were his products, like so many of the other things they’d bought, fakes? Could they trust this man at all?

“How much for this?” the husband finally asked, gesturing to the set of swords. Tao sighed and pulled out his catalogue. The times when he actually had to do his job were the worst.

“$1500,” he started, and prepared himself for the torment that would be haggling with a tourist couple. The wife nearly choked, although Tao couldn’t quite place on what, at the sound of the price, and her husband puffed himself up grandly. He marched to the counter and put one hand on it, leaving greasy fingerprints, as his other hand leaned on his hip authoritatively. Tao bit back a scoff.

“That’s a bit much, isn’t it, young man?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Tao could tell what kind of a man hit his kids, and this was that kind of a man. The kind that expected Tao to, for whatever reason, instantly cow to the man’s requests as soon as he saw that kind of expression. It really was too bad for this guy that Tao had had his fair share of beatings. He got up as well, bringing himself even to the man’s eye level.

“Then name a price,” he answered, giving a lopsided smirk that shocked the couple. He didn’t live on this business, after all, and as long as he could refrain from punching someone in the face, he’d be just fine in this empty shop on an empty corner living an empty life. These occasional customers were more of a nuisance than anything in the end. The other man’s face turned a ruddy color that couldn’t be healthy.

“$500,” he stated boldly, no doubt taking a page from some book he’d read on how to haggle with these domestic foreigners. Great. An “expert.”

“$1450.”

“$750.” What a jump. Where was that big man now?

“$1400.”

“You sure drive a hard bargain, kid,” the man said nervously. Tao nearly laughed, wondering if 24 could be considered a “kid,” but he just stood his ground, the hands on the counter turning into fists as Tao’s stance hardened so that there was no mistake. The fun had dissolved in these few sentences, and now he just wanted them out.

“Listen, if you don’t take it, someone else with a much bigger wallet is going to come and snatch it right up, so you’d better put your money where your mouth is,” he snapped. The man nearly choked again, and his wife had gone from red to pale to a light green now. All Tao wanted to do today was read, and these two were here, fogging up his counter.

In the end, the man wrote his check and walked out with the swords folded in a leather briefcase. Tao had even gotten out the ladder for this. Wasn’t he a generous young man? Satisfied, he sat back down and kept reading, leaning back on his stool and flipping the pages with his thumb as his other hand wiped down any remnants of the customer’s fingerprints, just in case anyone else came in to disturb his peace.

At noon, he closed for lunch, heading to the noodle joint down the street. It was the best in town, after all, and he’d made it a point to try every location in order to make sure he was right. He was thinking roast pork belly, or maybe something vegetarian to make up for the tiramisu breakfast. Their noodles were fresh-made, and the tea was always brewed right in front of the customer. The air always smelled of rich broth and sautéed mushrooms, and the decorations were both tasteful and exquisite. The store was well and truly…

Closed.

He stood, dumbstruck, as he read that the store was closed down due to a gas leak. Goddamn it, couldn’t they have their issues on a day when he wasn’t starving? Tao groaned and rubbed his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly and even stomping his foot in frustration. First customers, and now this. Mondays truly were the worst. He was too hungry to walk the six blocks to the second-best shop, which is how he ended up seated just a single seat away from Kris, at the cheapest store that still served some quality soup.

Kris sighed as his partner, Luhan, picked at his beef and bok choy. It was still weird to think that they were the same age, even though Luhan’s delicate lips and doe-like eyes made him look like one of those teenagers that they were forever chasing for playing hooky. To make matters worse, he was the chief’s kid, which meant that he was either—

“A spy, or incompetent, right? That’s what they told you?” Luhan asked, sighing as he looked up. Kris lifted his head, chewing the thick-cut noodles and swallowing slowly. He was, of course, guilty as charged of listening to the other guys on the squad earlier this morning when he’d been getting coffee. He didn’t doubt them, why would he?

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, ducking his head down again and taking in another mouthful. The heat was making him sweat, or at least that’s what he told himself. He took a long drink of water, avoiding Luhan’s interrogating eyes.

“Don’t lie, man. It’s not a good look on you,” his partner snapped immediately, trying to put down his chopsticks as calmly as he could and keep his voice at just a dull roar. Kris sighed, not wanting to have this conversation on just his first day on the job. He took in another mouthful of food while Luhan kept his eyes on his partner, unwavering. He really was a cop’s kid.

“Yeah, yeah, they told me that, but I didn’t judge you for it or anything,” the older man insisted. He hated that he could feel an episode coming on, and he tried to remember to breathe and stay centered. This was no big deal, he reminded himself. No big deal. Just a small argument, not even a real fight. He could get through this.

“You definitely did. I saw that look you gave me when you saw me get my gun this morning,” Luhan accused. Kris knew he was caught, and he shook his head to buy himself time to swallow. He could talk. He could breathe. His eyes shifted a few times, looking instead at the framed and yellowed newspaper reviews on the walls, or the chipped wooden furniture, or the greasy windows around the kitchen.

He was here. He was okay.

“Alright, alright, that was ty of me. I’m sorry,” he apologized, just wanting to get this over with. Luhan sighed and rubbed the back of his own head awkwardly, looking back down at his bowl. They both went back to eating, their necks craned over their bowls so that they didn’t have to look at each other. This partnership wasn’t going to last long, as far as the two of them were concerned.

“I’m going to get an order of buns,” Kris said quietly, getting up. His chair bumped against another person’s and he turned his head to see who he’s just bothered, only to lock eyes with a very annoyed Tao, who still had half a stalk of bok choy in his mouth. In an instant, they’d both unknowingly ruined their own lives, and each other’s. If Tao had just walked the six blocks, if Kris had just eating cup noodles in the office, maybe they could have continued living as they’d always had.

“Watch yourself, handsome,” Tao said with a scoff. Kris scowled.

“Sorry, princess,” he muttered. Tao smirked back.

~

A/N: This is probably going to be a short fic, just to get me back in the mood of writing.