“Well.” Ten lifts his chin, haughty, defiant. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He’s here now in a rural area of China bordering Tibet with no work, no cats, no distractions. He’s here now, trying to figure out why it still feels like Kun is lying to him. He’s here now with Kun. For Kun.

I missed you, Kun had said, even when they were an arm’s length apart. That part, Ten thinks, is true. And suddenly, and even though he’d been thinking about its impossibility, about its ridiculousness, all Ten can think is I missed you, too.

Maybe Kun senses it. Maybe he doesn’t. Either way, Kun looks at him for as long as he dares to keep his eyes off the road, and when he turns away, Ten sees a flash of what looks like resignation cross his face.

“Yeah,” Kun says. “Yeah, you are.”