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Even though he’s only been here a few times, Win navigates his way through the arrivals terminal of Heathrow with ease. He’s been fantasizing about Team’s first trip to visit him for months, and he’s walked this route in his imagination so many times that he knows it as well as the walk from his university to his apartment.
According to the app he downloaded yesterday, Team’s flight has arrived, and Team himself should be through immigration by now. Win would know for sure, but Team has been strangely quiet since his plane took off from Bangkok. He had free wifi in first class, a portable wifi once he landed, and if absolutely nothing else, he could just use the airport’s free wifi service. And yet, nothing. Not even a “read” on any of Win’s messages.
Win would worry that Team missed his flight except that 1) Wan and View walked with Team to the security line, and 2) Team posted a ridiculous selfie of himself in first class with champagne above the caption: Bye Thailand! written in English. Unless he got off the plane before it took off to get some backup Lays—
“Hiaaaaaaa.”
His boyfriend’s whine precedes him, and Win is already grinning as he turns his head. He’s been leaning on the railing watching passengers stream out through the doors of baggage claim, but Team must have slipped his notice somehow. Win’s tall, sleepy-eyed boy shuffles toward him with a scrunched expression of abject misery, giving Win’s heart a sharp squeeze.
Team’s rolling the wheeled suitcase Win gave him for his birthday last year, and the shoulder bag Wan gave him the year before hangs heavy at his hip. The oversized sweatshirt and soft track pants he’s wearing heighten Win’s already urgent need to hold him.
Win quickly ducks under the railing and stands up on the other side, arms extended for his baby. Team makes another ornery noise, less coherent this time, and burrows into Win’s arms, tucking his face against the collar of Win’s leather jacket with a garbled tangle of complaints. Win laughs and strokes the back of his head, wondering if the people around them think Team’s speaking an actual language.
“Bad flight?”
Team nods once, then makes a petulant noise.
“Want to take the tube or a taxi?”
A longer, more emphatic noise.
Win kisses his ear. “Taxi it is.”
Team cinches his arms tighter around Win’s back and sighs with relief.
“You’re welcome,” Win says.
Well. Maybe it is a language.
•
It dawns on Win as Team sniffles and clings to his arm in the taxi that he doesn’t have anything at home for the head cold Team almost definitely has.
Win has only been sick a handful of times in his short adult life, but Team has an immune system so utterly tormented by his chronic insomnia that he catches two or three head colds a year. When they were in university together, Win kept his bathroom stocked like a veritable pharmacy for the occasions when Team would ask to stay with him while Win did schoolwork at his desk.
“I won’t bother you,” Team said the first time. “I just can’t sleep, and my eyes hurt when I look at my phone, and—”
Win kissed his heated forehead and said, “Go lie down, and I’ll get you some water.”
And he did, and it became a ritual of sorts; for Team to visit Win not only for sleep, but for company whenever he felt terrible in any way.
As if Win would ever turn Team away.
They pass through the green of Hillingdon in a blur that hurts Team’s eyes, so Win guides Team’s head down to his shoulder and presses another kiss to the top of Team’s head. “Rest your eyes,” Win tells him quietly. “There’s not much to see yet anyway.”
“Okay, hia.” Team’s grip on Win’s forearm clenches and then relaxes. “I feel like shit.”
“I’ll tell you when we’re getting close to my place.”
“Mm.”
Win planned to give Team a rundown of their upcoming week together on the ride back to the city. He has a flexible itinerary on his phone with nothing set in stone in case Team sees something else he’d rather do instead. The longer Team says nothing, though, the more bullet points Win erases from the list. He expected jet lag to take Team out for a day or two, but he didn’t factor in the possibility of Team getting sick, and it doesn’t take long for him to restructure his expectations.
As long as he’s with Team, though, he’ll be happy.
•
Win’s renting a one-bedroom apartment to see out his two-year program. It’s in a new-ish building near the university and three tube stations from the London branch of his parents’ hotel. He makes official visits once in a while on his parents’ behalf, sent by his mother or father with errands meant to give him experience. The majority of the hotel staff know him by name at this point, and he entertained the possibility of treating Team to dinner in one of the top-floor restaurants.
Team who is, at the moment, face-down on Win’s bed yelling complaints that his nose is blocked and he is, in fact, moments from death.
Win drapes his leather jacket over the back of the sofa, drops his keys into the bowl on the kitchen table, then steers Team’s suitcase from the front door into the bedroom. He sits on the mattress near Team’s legs and runs his hand soothingly from Team’s shoulder blades all the way down his spine to rest on the hot valley of his lower back.
“You might have a fever,” Win says.
“No.”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Win says, “hence the ‘might’.”
“I can’t have one,” Team says. He rolls onto his side and gives Win a sullen scowl. “This trip was really expensive.”
“I paid for it,” Win points out. “Besides, I don’t mind if you’re sick.”
“I do.”
Win takes in the pure beauty of his boyfriend’s annoyance and lifts his hand to stroke his fringe back from Team’s forehead. It’s been six months since he could touch Team so easily, and every point of contact feels like a jolt traveling through his heart and body. “Hey,” Win says softly.
Team’s expression twitches from a sulk into something far more vulnerable. “I missed you, hia,” he says. A wet shine glazes over his eyes.
Win makes a quiet noise and moves farther into the middle of the bed just as Team curls his body like a comma, resting his head on Win’s thigh with his face close to his hip. Win braces one arm behind himself and massages Team’s temple with his free hand. It’s so achingly familiar, like taking a memory from their university days and bringing it here to relive.
Of course, Team needs to shower, and Win needs to go out and buy medicine to manage the worst of Team’s symptoms, and they’ll need to eat and catch up and sleep as much as possible. But for now and for a while, there’s only Team’s congested breaths, muted street noise, and a cawing raven perched on the windowsill.
“I missed you so much,” Win tells Team. “You have no idea.” He delves his fingertips deep through Team’s hair, limp and oily, and draws tiny circles onto his scalp.
“I missed you more,” Team says.
“It’s not a competition.”
“Then don’t make it into one. ‘Cos you’ll lose.”
Win quirks a smile as Team smirks, eyes still closed.
Brat.
“After I graduate,” Win says, “you’re never getting rid of me.”
Team nuzzles his face against Win’s hip and sighs. “Good.”
•
Win shows Team how to use the shower, kisses his forehead, and leaves to make a grocery run. He’s not much of a cook, and nowhere near the level of someone like Pharm, but he can watch cooking videos and follow instructions, and he loves Team enough that he’ll try as many attempts as it takes to produce something familiar and edible. He walks up and down the aisles collecting whatever seems like it’ll be nutritious and easy to digest. On his last pass through the store, he stops at the pharmacy.
“Oh, Win, hey!”
The sudden English makes him think classmate even before he turns his head. He smiles a greeting at Thuy, one of the non-local friends he’s made in his program, and says, “Hey,” in return.
She has a bag of cat litter in one hand and a basket of wet cat food tins in the other; she told their group chat last week that she found a sick kitten in the campus hedges, and she’s been nursing it back to health with some financial help from her social media following. She’s easily the most outgoing of the friends he’s made so far.
“Did you pick up your boyfriend yet?” she asks.
Win nods, crinkling his nose. “Yeah, but he’s sick.”
“Oh, no. You’ve been looking forward to this for so long. That really sucks.”
“Yeah.” He reaches for one of the boxes he recognizes, then hesitates. “Actually, can you help me?”
“Sure! What’s up?” With a grin, she sets down both the litter and her basket.
Win acknowledges the gesture with a warmer smile, then nods at the shelves before them. “I don’t know what to get him for, uh. Y’know.” He’s never needed to know the word for “decongestant” before this moment. He gestures vaguely to his own nose. “Nose-cleaning medicine?”
“Ohh,” she says, then gives the boxes before them a cursory glance. “Well, in the States, I just drown myself in NyQuil and DayQuil and sleep for however long it takes for me to feel better, but I’ll ask an actual professional for you, hang on.”
Together, Thuy and the pharmacist help Win narrow down the selection by going over what Team’s current symptoms are as well as the symptoms he usually gets. Win accepts a box from the pharmacist, then goes in search of a thermometer, a face towel, and a heating pad. With satisfaction, he reorganizes the items in his basket so nothing is crushed under the weight of something else.
“Is that all for him?” Thuy asks.
Win says, “Some of it’s for our dinner. I’m going to cook.” He grins up at her.
Thuy says, “You’re kind of enjoying this, huh?” with a laugh.
“What do you mean?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing, you just seem weirdly happy about playing doctor.”
He smirks back. “That’s for after,” he says.
“Aaand that’s my cue to go.”
He sees her off with a cheerful wave. ”Bye, Thuy!” Last week, he heard a Thai classmate say, “I won’t consider myself fluent in English until they know how weird I am,” and Win thinks, Definitely fluent now.
Pleased with himself, Win circles back once more to the snack aisle and chucks in a few more bags of Walkers.
•
Team has a fever.
The new thermometer sits on the kitchen table next to its packaging between their two empty bowls. They eat noodles in broth with unevenly sliced cubes of tofu and jagged slices of green onions that Win had to cut with a butter knife because he forgot to pick up something sharper.
After dinner, they sit on the living room sofa bundled in Win’s duvet, Team’s freshly washed hair fragrant under Win’s nose as they watch a movie they meant to see last year but missed because Win was busy with his graduation. Win holds the duvet closed for the both of them, his arms snug around Team’s ribs.
To Win’s surprise, Team didn’t complain once or even tease him about the way dinner turned out. He ate half of it with slow, determined sips and then put his spoon down once he finished all the tofu and onions. Win suggested going to sleep early, but Team shook his head.
“I want to go to sleep when you usually do so I’m on your schedule sooner.”
“I’d agree with you, baby, but you’re sick.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to sleep the whole time I’m here.”
And since Team knows exactly what time Win normally goes to sleep—the same way he knows Win’s entire schedule after six months of trying to coordinate video calls—Win had little choice but to agree. As a compromise, he retrieved the duvet off his bed and insisted on Team lying against his chest to stay warm.
Team seemed content with that, at least.
Two-thirds into the movie, Team starts to surpress a flurry of small coughs. He thinks he’s sneaky, keeping his mouth stubbornly closed and holding his breath, but his body seizes with every one and immediately gives him away. After the fourth, Win picks up the remote and turns off the television.
“Hia—”
Win leans over Team’s shoulder and presses his cheek to Team’s temple. “I think your temperature’s gotten higher,” he says. “C’mon. Bedtime.”
“We only had twenty minutes left,” Team says.
“And you’re coughing now.” Win squeezes his waist gently. “We can finish it tomorrow.”
“I won’t want to.”
“Then we’ll do something else.”
“I want to finish it tonight.”
Win and Team stare at each other, equally stubborn, until a cough builds in Team’s chest and he has to break eye contact to stifle the noise inside their duvet cocoon. That’s an unspoken victory for Win, so Team stands with a scowl and heads into the bedroom without another word.
Win brings the bowls to the sink, fills them with water, and brings the thermometer and the duvet into his bedroom. Team’s already curled up on top of the sheets, his back to the doorway. When Win spreads the duvet over him, Team peeks over his shoulder with an almost wounded expression. Win smiles to show no hard feelings and presses a long, fond kiss to Team’s cheek.
“I want to brush my teeth,” Team says. “And wash my face. I feel gross.”
“Okay, but wear socks. It’s cold. And use one of my headbands—don’t get your hair wet.”
Team nods, deceptively agreeable. As he sits up, though, he flips Win onto the bed and pins his forearms over his head with a whispered, “Okay, daddy,” in his ear.
Win would like to say that he stays quiet out of maturity. That he saw the trap Team set down and simply chose not to walk into it. In reality, Win’s brain just melted the way it always does when Team uses that word on him. With pink ears, Win watches Team leave the room smirking, his own underhanded victory achieved.
One is fluent in English; one is fluent in mayhem.
•
Morning is somehow worse. The vicious combination of jetlag and congestion kept them both awake all night. Win rubbed Team’s back through the worst of the coughing, whispering whatever came to mind that might make Team feel a little bit better. As the hours passed, a steady flow of tissues left the box on the bedside table and ended up in the bin. Around dawn, Win replaced it with a new one from a pack from under the sink, and when Team thanked him, his voice was hoarse.
Win originally planned for them to spend their second day wandering around the neighborhood and catching up in more detail than they’ve been able to long-distance. Their conversations over the last six months have been an odd mix of excruciating detail and broad summaries, with some subjects covered in minute detail while others get skipped over. Win knows everything about Team’s swim stats, but every time Team brings up a story about one of the new club members, Win’s clueless.
It’s clear that Team isn’t in the mood to talk, though, so Win just makes them rice and fried eggs, Team’s constant thin sniffles punctuating the silence as he sits at the table with his head pillowed on his arms.
They spend the morning on opposite ends of the sofa scrolling through social media on their respective phones, the duvet covering their tangled legs. When Win asks Team if he’s hungry for lunch around one, Team says no, so Win reluctantly orders delivery for himself. If he happens to order a little extra, he can claim it’s to store in the fridge for later.
As the winter sunlight fades, Team asks quietly, “Can we finish the movie?”
Win regards him with fondness for a long moment, taken in by his downcast eyes and fever-burnt cheeks. He smiles and says, “Sure.” He tries to infuse the word with as much compassion as he can find in his heart. Team’s waited to see him for six months, too, and losing day after day like this must be maddening for him.
Somehow, Team’s mood plummets even further. While they watch the end of the movie, action and volume at their peak, Win massages Team’s shoulders and kisses his neck as chastely as he can, but Team just shrugs him off and returns to his end of the sofa. When the credits roll, he mutters something about a shower and leaves Win alone to pack up the takeaway boxes from dinner.
When Team leaves the bathroom, Win’s leaning on the wall, a spring roll held between a pair of chopsticks. “You didn’t eat,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Wanna do something about that?”
Team’s face can’t seem to settle on an emotion. Ultimately, he says, “No,” and walks by on his way to the bedroom. “Can I use your washing machine?” he asks. “I sweat through what I slept in last night.”
Win takes a bite of the spring roll and follows him. “Of course,” he says. “Wanna wash what you wore on the plane, too?”
“Yeah.”
That leads them to the kitchen where they fill the front-facing washing machine with both their clothes, and Win finally manages to ask the right question to get Team talking a little. Namely, “Why did View go with you and Hia Wan to the airport? I didn’t know he was going until you messaged me.”
Team hands him a pair of socks from the basket and says, “He just asked to come along. I think he feels left out. Hia Wan and I talk a lot, and you’re not home anymore.”
There’s a finality to the way Team says that last bit that makes Win lift his gaze. “Team,” he says.
For his trouble, he gets only a single glimpse of Team’s wary eyes.
“Team,” Win says again, softer.
“Stop being so nice,” Team says. He reaches into the basket for a shirt and tosses it vaguely at Win’s hands.
In a spasm of immaturity, Win throws the shirt back. When Team tries and fails to catch it, Win stands up and takes Team’s hips in his hands, holding him steady while he stares at him. “Team.”
“Stop saying my name,” Team whines. He finally makes eye contact, though, and that fever-bright shine is back, this time heavier and wetting his eyelashes.
Win leans in and kisses his cheek, lingering for just a moment and enjoying the pressure as Team leans in, too. “You,” he says, “are getting grouchy.”
“I’m not fucking grouchy,” Team mutters.
Win musters up the most skeptical expression in his arsenal and aims the full force of it at Team.
“You’re just—” Team exhales, already defeated before he’s finished the sentence.
Sensing some give in the air between them, Win circles his arms fully around Team’s lower back and touches his forehead to the oppressive heat of Team’s. The next positive sign is Team allowing him to do both. “‘Just’ what?” he prods.
Team’s shoulders fall slack, defeat telegraphed from every angle. He licks his lips and says, “You’re having fun. I only get to be here for a week, and we were going to go—do things. Outside. And now we only have five days left, and on the last day I’ll be going to the airport, so really, it’s only four!” He breathes deep through a thick rattling in his chest, and Win gives him a bracing squeeze around the middle. “I wanted to hang out with you all week, hia,” Team says in the smallest voice yet.
Relief makes Win want to laugh, but he very intentionally doesn’t. Instead, he gives Team a little shake and says, “I wish you weren’t sick at all.” He combs one hand over the back of Team’s hair and gives his neck a fond scratch. “But if you have to be sick anywhere, I’m glad it’s here. So I can take care of you.”
Team makes a mournful noise, a full pout settling in.
“Baby, I thought you understood by now,” Win says. “When I said I’ll always be with you, I also meant that I’ll always want to be with you.” He sways Team in his arms for a few seconds to let his sincerity sink in. When he sees Team start to believe it, he adds, “I’ll want to be with you even when you’re trying not to let your runny nose drip on my shirt.”
With a huff, Team shoves Win’s chest, but not hard enough to put any distance whatsoever between them.
“I would have liked to do sightseeing stuff too,” Win says, “and maybe we still can if you’re feeling up to it.” He thumbs Team’s jaw and smiles at him with utter, ruinous affection. “I made a list of everything I want to show you, but all of it’ll still be here on your next trip. I just like having you here; we don’t need to do anything.”
Team answers with a soft smile of his own. Then, after enjoying the quiet for a bit, he kisses Win’s cheek, yawns, and says, “My legs are tired.”
Win teases him with a disdainful noise and a frown. “You just did this to get me to carry you to bed, huh?”
“Mm,” Team says. He rests his head on Win’s shoulder and leans closer, fully prepared for Win to lift him off the floor.
•
When the lights are out, and the curtains are drawn—when Team has settled into Win’s arms for what they both hope is a better night than the one before—Win whispers, “You were right, though. I am having fun.” He tucks Team’s fringe to the side, touched by Team’s trusting silence as he waits for Win to say more. Once, he would have assumed; now he knows to wait.
“I always have fun when you’re with me,” Win tells Team. “We could spend the week lying here in bed doing nothing—not even that—and I’ll still be telling everyone I know next week that I’ve never had more fun.”
Team says, “Liar,” through a smile.
Win doesn’t insist that it’s true; he knows his eyes say it clearly enough.
After living like two books together on a shelf, it’s been difficult for both of them to adjust to life as bookends instead, separated by several time zones and thousands of kilometers. Win’s missed Team every day. When he wakes up and when he falls asleep; when he’s busy and when he’s free; when he’s stressed and when he’s relaxed. It never eases, and it never ebbs.
But it’s at its worst when he knows Team is struggling; when Team can’t sleep, when Team is stressed, when Team is sick, Win aches every second he isn’t there with him.
He reaches across the narrow gap between them and takes Team’s hand. His skin is still hot to the touch, but he hasn’t coughed in a while, so Win says, “Make me a promise.”
Team says, “You’re supposed to be taking care of me, not taking advantage of my vulnerability by trying to get promises out of me.”
“Team.”
Team rolls his eyes, doing a poor job of hiding his impish smile. “Fine, hia. What?”
Win runs his thumb over Team’s knuckles. “When you’re sick, go to my house. Stay in my room. My parents won’t mind—my mother already loves you like one of her sons.”
Team opens his mouth, then closes it. When he opens it next, he’s settled on: “Why?”
Because they’re Team’s family, too, even if Team doesn’t realize it yet. Wan and View both know that Win’s already browsed rings in a few of the boutique shops here; he’s even approached a few custom designers in his more fanciful moments. When it’s legalized back home, and when Win is there for good, he’ll find the perfect way to ask Team.
But also because: “I like the idea of you in my bed.” He winks.
It’s a testament to how much Team also enjoys the idea that he only says, “Fine,” and when Win says, “Promise me,” he insists, “I just did! Here: I promise. Okay? Happy?”
Win cuddles him closer with a satisfied grin, twining their legs and laughing at Team’s squawk about his cold feet.
“They’re not cold. You have a fever.”
“Put some socks on! You’ve ruined your circulation living up here.”
“You’ll warm them up soon enough.”
“Hia!”
“Mm, toasty Team calves.”
“HIA.”