a season for giving (no matter how difficult)
view from 30,000 feet
lu han/sehun, 1400w
AU where they are... consultants...? (this is why I shouldn't write AUs)
for pillowfrost, someone who I 超级超级非常非常喜欢. mostly written in a rush at work :x but hope you had a good birthday, j♥!
This week, it's the Crowne Plaza at Singapore Changi International. Safely inside the climate-controlled interior of the airport complex, it's easy for Lu Han to appreciate the sunlight that gleams through the cavernous glass panels, an artificial respite from the heat and humidity that's given his hair a life of its own for the past few days. Overhead, a display mounted on the hotel's entrance blinks out neat rows of numbers for arrivals and departures, the flight symbols and time updates scrolling across the screen in uniform neon imprints. A few years in the consulting circuit, and he now only remembers cities by their airports: Seoul for the private sleeping pods in Incheon, Los Angeles for the chaos of LAX, Hong Kong for his favorite noodle stand squeezed between two departure gates. Singapore, he remembers for its efficiency. He checks his watch, impatiently fidgeting with the metal clasp and turning it around his wrist. Someone taps his shoulder.
"Sorry, were you waiting long? I got held up at customs." Sehun looks a little worse for the wear, his pale blue button-up rumpled and untucked, the sleeves rolled back on both arms. One side of his hair lays flat against his head, molded perfectly in the shape of an airplane headrest. He drops his bags to the floor and half-heartedly stifles a yawn.
"I guessed as much," Lu Han assures him, reaching for the handle of Sehun's roller suitcase. "You flew direct from JFK, right? What's that, 20 hours from take-off to touchdown?"
"Too long," Sehun grumbles as he smooths out the confirmation for his hotel reservation. "I've spent more time in the air than on the ground the last week."
Lu Han leans close and takes a quick sniff of Sehun's shirt. "I can tell," he says, wrinkling his nose.
Sehun nudges him away with an elbow, feigning indignation but giving himself away by the upturning corners of his mouth. "Blame my firm for putting me on so many international projects at once."
"But then we wouldn't get to meet up like this, right?" He gently flicks a finger under Sehun's chin, and Sehun catches his wrist, his fingers warm and secure around Lu Han's pulse.
"That's true," he says, suddenly attentive, the fatigue now gone from his face. "You're here for one more night?"
Lu Han hums in affirmation. "I'm on the first flight back to Beijing tomorrow."
Sehun grins and loosens his grip to grab Lu Han's hand, tugging him toward the hotel check-in desk. "Then let's make it count."
--
Beijing welcomes his return with morning fog and a stack of reports to review on his desk. It's early enough that the only other associate in the office is Kris, who's on a video call with one of their clients in Canada. Most of the consultants on their team are predictably scattered across different airports and time zones, more time billed in transit than standing still. Kris stops by his cubicle after the call ends, one long arm draping over the raised wall.
"How was Singapore? I heard you managed to fit in a rendezvous with your Korean boyfriend."
"Stop getting Zitao to spy on my schedule. You know he exaggerates." Lu Han thumbs through a report and pretends to interest himself with a particularly riveting chart on last quarter's amortization expenses. "And he's not my boyfriend. Sometimes we see each other if we're in the same city."
Kris reaches over and flips the report in Lu Han's hands around so that it's right-side up. "Have you told him you're getting transferred to our Seoul office?"
"We haven't known each other that long, and it's not- we're not- I don't even know if he'd want-" Lu Han stumbles through his protest and then stops, glaring when Kris makes no move to lesson the awkwardness.
"Go on, I'm really curious to find out how that sentence ends." Kris arches an eyebrow, and Lu Han uses the report to whack him hard on the arm. It's already been months since the conference where he'd first met Sehun, but they've only seen each other a handful of times, always a challenge to sync their flight itineraries and hotel stays. They never talk about what the trysts mean; instead, they joke that their meet-ups are just another rewards system for frequent traveling, like room upgrades and access to business class lounges and complimentary breakfasts. Four more flights before I earn another night with you, Sehun would tease.
"I didn't have the chance to tell him in Singapore, but next time," Lu Han finally says, more for his own benefit than Kris'.
"Be brave, Xiao Lu," Kris agrees. "Be the K-drama hero that I know is deep inside you."
This time, Lu Han flings the entire stack of papers at his face.
--
He doesn't see Sehun again until a few weeks later after a series of crossed tailwinds, Lu Han flying out of Narita the same day Sehun jets down the runway at Kansai International, then Sehun attending a workshop in Hong Kong while he spends six hours in gridlock traffic in Shenzhen. They finally have an overlapping afternoon in Shanghai Pudong, Lu Han before he has to catch a train to Suzhou for the night and Sehun as a stopover from Taipei en route back to Seoul. Finding each other in the crushing sea of passengers in the terminal is as much a task as aligning in the same city, and a weight feels lifted from Lu Han's shoulders when he sees a familiar frown separate from the crowd, one that softens as soon as he catches sight of Lu Han.
Sehun has on a loose-collared shirt and jeans with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, the most casual Lu Han has ever seen him dressed coming back from a work trip. "You could pass for a high school student," he says, surprised. "What if people think I'm some creepy salaryman preying on innocent underage boys?"
"With that face of yours? Are you sure you don't have our roles mixed up?" Sehun raises a hand to touch Lu Han's cheek, and Lu Han swats it away with a laugh.
"Come on, I still have my room at the hotel," he says, leading them in the direction of the airport transportation center. He glances back and feels a new weight settle over him, this one pressing down where his rib cage meets his throat, shortening his breath, making words difficult. "-and I have some news for you."
A posse of girls hoisting banners and camera equipment swiftly stampede past them in a beeline for the terminal entrance, and Lu Han gets jostled into a sliding door, his legs starting to buckle forward when an arm catches his waist. "Careful," Sehun warns, steadying his balance. "What do you want to tell me?"
Lu Han plays with his shirt cuff when they step onto the escalator, then turns toward the windows, keeping Sehun in his periphery. "I'm moving to Seoul next month," he says casually, only to ruin the nonchalance by quickly following it up with, "It doesn't have to change anything between us."
Sehun abruptly pulls Lu Han up so they're sharing the same step, forcing them to face each other again. "Lu Han," he says, his voice as if on the verge of laughter. "I just got off a plane from Taipei. I have another flight to Seoul in three hours. Does this layover in Shanghai even make sense? Why do you think I'm here?"
If they were on a plane, Lu Han could blame the sudden inhale and rush of blood to his cheeks on an imbalance in the pressurized oxygen. If in Beijing, then the air pollution. If Lhasa, the altitude. But on the ground, under the pervasive glow of halogen lights and within the climate-controlled glass walls of the airport, and Sehun so close that Lu Han can feel the heat from his skin even through the stiff cotton of his dress shirt, there's only one plausible explanation. And when Sehun finds his hand through the noise to discreetly thread their fingers together, Lu Han knows it's the only truth, too.
lu han/sehun, 1400w
AU where they are... consultants...? (this is why I shouldn't write AUs)
for pillowfrost, someone who I 超级超级非常非常喜欢. mostly written in a rush at work :x but hope you had a good birthday, j♥!
This week, it's the Crowne Plaza at Singapore Changi International. Safely inside the climate-controlled interior of the airport complex, it's easy for Lu Han to appreciate the sunlight that gleams through the cavernous glass panels, an artificial respite from the heat and humidity that's given his hair a life of its own for the past few days. Overhead, a display mounted on the hotel's entrance blinks out neat rows of numbers for arrivals and departures, the flight symbols and time updates scrolling across the screen in uniform neon imprints. A few years in the consulting circuit, and he now only remembers cities by their airports: Seoul for the private sleeping pods in Incheon, Los Angeles for the chaos of LAX, Hong Kong for his favorite noodle stand squeezed between two departure gates. Singapore, he remembers for its efficiency. He checks his watch, impatiently fidgeting with the metal clasp and turning it around his wrist. Someone taps his shoulder.
"Sorry, were you waiting long? I got held up at customs." Sehun looks a little worse for the wear, his pale blue button-up rumpled and untucked, the sleeves rolled back on both arms. One side of his hair lays flat against his head, molded perfectly in the shape of an airplane headrest. He drops his bags to the floor and half-heartedly stifles a yawn.
"I guessed as much," Lu Han assures him, reaching for the handle of Sehun's roller suitcase. "You flew direct from JFK, right? What's that, 20 hours from take-off to touchdown?"
"Too long," Sehun grumbles as he smooths out the confirmation for his hotel reservation. "I've spent more time in the air than on the ground the last week."
Lu Han leans close and takes a quick sniff of Sehun's shirt. "I can tell," he says, wrinkling his nose.
Sehun nudges him away with an elbow, feigning indignation but giving himself away by the upturning corners of his mouth. "Blame my firm for putting me on so many international projects at once."
"But then we wouldn't get to meet up like this, right?" He gently flicks a finger under Sehun's chin, and Sehun catches his wrist, his fingers warm and secure around Lu Han's pulse.
"That's true," he says, suddenly attentive, the fatigue now gone from his face. "You're here for one more night?"
Lu Han hums in affirmation. "I'm on the first flight back to Beijing tomorrow."
Sehun grins and loosens his grip to grab Lu Han's hand, tugging him toward the hotel check-in desk. "Then let's make it count."
--
Beijing welcomes his return with morning fog and a stack of reports to review on his desk. It's early enough that the only other associate in the office is Kris, who's on a video call with one of their clients in Canada. Most of the consultants on their team are predictably scattered across different airports and time zones, more time billed in transit than standing still. Kris stops by his cubicle after the call ends, one long arm draping over the raised wall.
"How was Singapore? I heard you managed to fit in a rendezvous with your Korean boyfriend."
"Stop getting Zitao to spy on my schedule. You know he exaggerates." Lu Han thumbs through a report and pretends to interest himself with a particularly riveting chart on last quarter's amortization expenses. "And he's not my boyfriend. Sometimes we see each other if we're in the same city."
Kris reaches over and flips the report in Lu Han's hands around so that it's right-side up. "Have you told him you're getting transferred to our Seoul office?"
"We haven't known each other that long, and it's not- we're not- I don't even know if he'd want-" Lu Han stumbles through his protest and then stops, glaring when Kris makes no move to lesson the awkwardness.
"Go on, I'm really curious to find out how that sentence ends." Kris arches an eyebrow, and Lu Han uses the report to whack him hard on the arm. It's already been months since the conference where he'd first met Sehun, but they've only seen each other a handful of times, always a challenge to sync their flight itineraries and hotel stays. They never talk about what the trysts mean; instead, they joke that their meet-ups are just another rewards system for frequent traveling, like room upgrades and access to business class lounges and complimentary breakfasts. Four more flights before I earn another night with you, Sehun would tease.
"I didn't have the chance to tell him in Singapore, but next time," Lu Han finally says, more for his own benefit than Kris'.
"Be brave, Xiao Lu," Kris agrees. "Be the K-drama hero that I know is deep inside you."
This time, Lu Han flings the entire stack of papers at his face.
--
He doesn't see Sehun again until a few weeks later after a series of crossed tailwinds, Lu Han flying out of Narita the same day Sehun jets down the runway at Kansai International, then Sehun attending a workshop in Hong Kong while he spends six hours in gridlock traffic in Shenzhen. They finally have an overlapping afternoon in Shanghai Pudong, Lu Han before he has to catch a train to Suzhou for the night and Sehun as a stopover from Taipei en route back to Seoul. Finding each other in the crushing sea of passengers in the terminal is as much a task as aligning in the same city, and a weight feels lifted from Lu Han's shoulders when he sees a familiar frown separate from the crowd, one that softens as soon as he catches sight of Lu Han.
Sehun has on a loose-collared shirt and jeans with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, the most casual Lu Han has ever seen him dressed coming back from a work trip. "You could pass for a high school student," he says, surprised. "What if people think I'm some creepy salaryman preying on innocent underage boys?"
"With that face of yours? Are you sure you don't have our roles mixed up?" Sehun raises a hand to touch Lu Han's cheek, and Lu Han swats it away with a laugh.
"Come on, I still have my room at the hotel," he says, leading them in the direction of the airport transportation center. He glances back and feels a new weight settle over him, this one pressing down where his rib cage meets his throat, shortening his breath, making words difficult. "-and I have some news for you."
A posse of girls hoisting banners and camera equipment swiftly stampede past them in a beeline for the terminal entrance, and Lu Han gets jostled into a sliding door, his legs starting to buckle forward when an arm catches his waist. "Careful," Sehun warns, steadying his balance. "What do you want to tell me?"
Lu Han plays with his shirt cuff when they step onto the escalator, then turns toward the windows, keeping Sehun in his periphery. "I'm moving to Seoul next month," he says casually, only to ruin the nonchalance by quickly following it up with, "It doesn't have to change anything between us."
Sehun abruptly pulls Lu Han up so they're sharing the same step, forcing them to face each other again. "Lu Han," he says, his voice as if on the verge of laughter. "I just got off a plane from Taipei. I have another flight to Seoul in three hours. Does this layover in Shanghai even make sense? Why do you think I'm here?"
If they were on a plane, Lu Han could blame the sudden inhale and rush of blood to his cheeks on an imbalance in the pressurized oxygen. If in Beijing, then the air pollution. If Lhasa, the altitude. But on the ground, under the pervasive glow of halogen lights and within the climate-controlled glass walls of the airport, and Sehun so close that Lu Han can feel the heat from his skin even through the stiff cotton of his dress shirt, there's only one plausible explanation. And when Sehun finds his hand through the noise to discreetly thread their fingers together, Lu Han knows it's the only truth, too.