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“Where the hell did they even get these?” Chan mutters, which is how Big knows they really are fucked, because Chan never sounds like that unless he’s encountered something that he’s intelligent enough to know has bested him – and that really, really does not happen often. The older man is holding their joined wrists up close, inspecting the metal holding them together; from what Big can gather, these handcuffs are going to actually present a challenge to unlock. A challenge means time: something they don’t have, stranded in the middle of the woods with no phone signal and nobody to save them.
Chan sighs, dropping their wrists. The back of his hand brushes Big’s. Big pretends he doesn’t notice.
“If only Arm was here,” says Chan quietly, head tilted upwards, eyes squinted against the harsh sunlight. It’s sudden and familiar, the way his words form a fist that punches through Big’s chest: this feeling of inadequacy is something he knows well, yet is no less difficult to deal with even after all these years. Of course Chan would prefer to have Arm here: Arm would know what to do, and would be better company too, come to think of it; how frustrated must Chan be to be stuck here with Big? He knows what the other bodyguards say about him, the way they whisper that he’s always angry, always –
“We could have used his glasses to try to send an SOS signal. Granted, that could’ve been seen by the wrong people, so maybe not…”
Oh, Big realises. Right.
(Relief, hot and heavy, that he refuses to acknowledge).
Chan turns to him. His expression flickers from contemplative to searching, and Big finds himself frozen with it.
“Although…” Chan continues, and Big tenses. “It’s a good thing you’re here. I think I’d go crazy if I was stuck with anyone else.”
Big feels his lips part. He blinks, tries to summon words from somewhere, and fails. He knows that he’s one of the most competent bodyguards to the family, but the way Chan looks at him, strangely intense, as if he’s trying to peel back the veil of his words and show Big something vulnerable beneath, makes him think that’s not what he means; makes him think Chan might want him here because of something else.
Big manages a nod, and a weak smile. The corner of Chan’s mouth twitches.
“Let’s find water,” Chan suggests, and Big follows as he leads them, trying not to think about their hands brushing between them as they walk.
It doesn’t take long to find water. In the moments before, Big finds his thoughts wandering to how they got here: unknown hands shoving fabric over his nose; harsh fingers on his arms, too many to overpower; vision fading as a familiar voice calls his name, strangely pained – Big, no –!
Chan had been overpowered, too. That had caused the pain in his voice, not…
The water is ice-cold – not actually ice-cold, Big knows, but it damn sure feels that way as he lowers himself in, trying to ignore the way his bare skin feels ironically like it’s on fire from its proximity to Chan’s. His teeth begin chattering, jaw clenching fruitlessly to try to stop it. He doesn’t dare to look at Chan, which is why when he does, it’s involuntary, the broad curves of his shoulders and neck blazing in Big’s peripheral, because he won’t look there, he won’t. He’ll stay focussed on Chan’s face; the hard line of his jaw and the way his eyebrow raises as his gaze flicks down to Big’s mouth – his teeth, his teeth chattering, not – not –
Chan’s head jerks, beckoning. Big is helpless to resist.
It’s slow, the way he moves in the water, finding himself close after aeons and no time at all. Chan’s hand, the one not joined to Big’s, is cold when it touches his arm, but compared to the water it is warm, and it is gentle as it turns Big around so that his back presses against Chan’s chest. Like this, Chan’s arm is wrapped around Big, his hand touching Big’s beneath the water, and Big chases the warmth of him, sinks into it, allows his head to fall back, settling atop Chan’s shoulder.
At first, he doesn’t realise that his eyes have slipped shut. When he finally opens them, Chan is looking at him.
“You’re warm,” Big says, in the faint hope that it might add some normalcy to the situation; might haphazardly explain this position they find themselves in.
“You’re cold,” Chan responds after a moment, and says nothing else.
Big swallows, on the edge of a precipice. “Sorry.”
It’s quiet.
Then, Chan shakes his head. “Never apologise,” he murmurs, and kisses him.
Big feels himself tense, then gasp, then relax, body melting further into the warmth behind him, hand a growing vine pulled helplessly toward sunlight as it winds upwards and around the back of Chan’s head, fingers flexing with sensation. Chan’s own hands have found a home on Big’s waist; his collarbone, arms wrapped tight around him, securing him close and safe and comfortable in a way Big has never known himself to be. It’s bliss to let his mouth open; to let Chan inside; to let himself float away, flying and tethered both, free either way, with Chan holding him; consuming him.
After a long while, they part.
Big’s eyes slide open, hazy. “We should…” His fingers are still in Chan’s hair. Should what? Should continue, and never stop, and stay here, safe, apart from everyone and everything that will hurt us when we return.
“We should,” Chan whispers, agreement reluctant in his tone, and Big blinks.
The world comes crashing back.
When they leave the pool of water, Chan entwines their already joined hands to pull Big out, palm somehow still warm around Big’s frozen fingers. Big finds himself thinking about the small interaction as they make their way through the trees, picking up dry pieces of wood wherever they see them. Chan knows Big is capable enough to hoist himself out of a small pool of water – of course he does – so why – why would he –?
Later, they watch the sun descend below the treeline, fire making shadows on their faces.
“What would you do if you weren’t a bodyguard?”
It catches Big off-guard, the openness of the question. Chan is looking at him, turned to Big where he rests against a tree trunk, and there’s an expression on his face that Big isn’t sure he’s seen before.
Or maybe he has, just once, their bodies warm and cold and dripping wet and close, close, close –
“I don’t know,” Big says quickly, shaking errant thoughts from his head. “I never thought about it.”
Quiet.
“Ever?”
“Well,” Big begins, shifting under the weight of Chan’s stare. He isn’t sure he’s ever been paid attention to so much in his life, used to passing eyes deeming him more ghost than human – but here Chan is, bringing him to life with the touch of his gaze. “There’s… no use thinking about impossible things.”
Something in Chan’s expression changes then, into something far too complicated to be sympathy, but far too unfamiliar for Big to name. “You’ve never thought about something you want? Something you could have, if not for all this?”
If not for all this. All this: his career; the life he has given his body to willingly, in return for enough money to live and a roof over his head. The life he has surrendered his self; his very soul to, if only to survive without it.
“I try not to.”
Chan doesn’t ask, not aloud, but his expression prompts Big to speak further. Big lets out a quiet exhale.
“It’s… harder. Afterwards. After reality kicks back in. It’s harder, once you’ve given in to… wanting.”
Suddenly, the space between them is far smaller than Big remembers. Chan’s arm beside him is warm, warmer than the fire before them, so warm that every cell of Big’s being left inside him after that sacrifice he made long, long ago aches to pull closer; screams against his skin for it.
Chan’s head dips closer, just slightly. “I think you deserve to let yourself want, Big.”
“It’s not about what I deserve,” Big whispers. It’s about what’s necessary. What’s impossible and what’s not. What Big wants – or deserves – doesn’t even come into the equation.
Abruptly, Big shivers.
“Are you cold?” Chan asks, and it feels like something else; something more; something Big wants, desperately, wholly, but isn’t sure he’ll ever deserve.
Big nods.
When Chan pulls him close, Big sighs, quiet, and it feels as if his entire body, skin and muscle and bone viscerally felt for the first time in a long time, sighs with him.
“We don’t have to go back to reality just yet,” Chan murmurs into his hair, and Big feels the warmth of it everywhere.
He closes his eyes.
They can stay here, just on the edges of reality, until the sun comes up.