Saltwater

Chapter 3

Wan Taoli sighs as he slides into his seat. If he waits too long, he'll start thinking again, and he just really needs to stop thinking right now. So he opens up his notebook and starts sketching.

It's a hobby he picked up sometime during childhood, between piano and tennis and etiquette and finance. But it might've started earlier, in the streets, on paper bags and broken crayons. He can't remember. It's all a muddled mess by now.

Anyway, it helps him relax. The tutors encouraged it, as one of the arts, but he's not expected to actually be an artist. Somehow, that takes some of the pressure off. It's nice, Wan Taoli guesses, to do something and not have to be good at it. That's an odd thought. If you're doing something, why wouldn't you want to be good at it? But life makes Wan Taoli feel like a tightened string, and drawing doesn't, so he hasn't questioned it.

He's working on an outfit design. Maybe when he gets back, he can go to a thrift store and sew together something that looks vaguely like it. It's a nice idea. Wan Taoli smiles.

"What're you doing there?"

The notebook slams shut. Wan Taoli's expression contorts into a scowl, and he turns to the window.

"This is a nice coincidence, isn't it?"

Wan Taoli keeps looking out over the airplane track. He wants to ask what that's supposed to mean, but on the other hand, he still doesn't want to dignify Kun Fengsu with a response. Pride wins out.

It's only when Kun Fengsu is sliding into the seat beside him that the alarm bells in Wan Taoli's brain start to go off. A coincidence, he says? It certainly would be a coincidence if...

Curiosity surges up, and he glances over. Kun Fengsu has let down his tray and set his ticket on it. He catches Wan Taoli's eye and smirks. Wan Taoli snaps away glaring. That cocky bastard knew he'd look, and Wan Taoli fell for it. It's a battle lost.

It's alright. If that ticket is accurate, they'll be having a lot more battles soon, because Wan Taoli and Kun Fengsu have never been within a meter of each other and not had an argument. (Elementary school doesn't count.)

"I suppose that depends on your definition of nice. If by nice you mean extremely unpleasant, then yes, this is a very nice coincidence."

"You're so mean to your poor junior, Senior Wan!" He gives a long chuckle, shaking is head. "You know, I didn't ask to sit next to you either."

Wan Taoli barely keeps from scoffing. "But you go out of your way to mess with me anyway."

Kun Fengsu cocks his head. He takes a long moment pretending to think. "Is saying hello really 'messing with you'?"

In his version of eye-rolling, Wan Taoli casts his gaze to Kun Fengsu, then back out the window. Kun Fengsu shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.

The plane rolls down the lane, and Wan Taoli braces himself with closed eyes and white knuckles against the armrests. Their flight is out of his control, now. It's necessary. It's perfectly reasonable. Short of becoming a pilot, there's nothing Wan Taoli can realistically do to take control of his air travel.

But Wan Taoli really, really doesn't like being out of control.

The thing is, even though the chance of a crash or a complication is close to none, that means there's still a chance. Everything that Wan Taoli is, everything he's built up from dust and ash, sweat and blood, is in the hands of innumerable varying factors. In fact, it always is. Wan Taoli has come to terms that this is an inevitable part of existence. But in the face of countless clouds, all the things that could go wrong crowd his mind, rising, looming over and suffocating rational thought. Crashes. Explosions. Falling — drowning. Burning, bleeding, cut open and bare. Always, there's always death lurking in the back of Wan Taoli's mind.

Himself. His own body as it's crushed under the mangled corpse of the plane, burbling blood and twitching lifelessly in the manner of all lifeless things. He twists into something broken and bruised, eyes open in an alleyway, staring at a sliver of cloud-covered sky. His arm is bent behind his back. His legs are spread wide with scrapes on the knees. There's a line across his neck and a darkening bruise on his abdomen. A slowly drying smudge on the corner of his lips.

He looks just like his —

"— Senior Wan?"

Wan Taoli jerks away from Kun Fengsu's calloused hand brushing over his. "What?"

It's as close to snapping as Wan Taoli will ever get. His heart pounds loud inside his ears, and his breathing is probably faster than is healthy. Kun Fengsu draws his hand back and puts it up casually. "Hey," he says, "don't get all riled up. I was just saying hi."

For the first time, Wan Taoli lets this pass without comment and resolutely stares straight ahead, focusing on leveling his breathing.

Kun Fengsu stares at him, and Wan Taoli tries to ignore the way it makes the back of his neck prickle. Kun Fengsu continues like this while the plane takes off, shooting towards the sky, till it's almost hit the clouds. Then, "Is the great Wan Taoli, heir to the Wan fortune, scared of flying?" A smirk laced with poison.

"Be quiet," Wan Taoli mutters, frustrated, but it comes out thin and a little reedy, a stark difference from his near-constant monotone.

Kun Fengsu gives a radiant grin as bright as a blood moon and as rare as a ray of sun. "Oh? Did I hit a nerve?" His eyes are dark, his breathing slow and deep. There's malice etched into the lines of Kun Fengsu's face. Shadows drape his features. It's not the sunshine boy persona he puts on for the camera; it's even less than the moon because that at least reflects light. Wan Taoli would compare it to a black hole, or maybe a watery abyss, because flickers of dark intent swim across his irises like the swish of a shark's tail or a whale's low bellow.

"Be quiet," he grits out.

To his surprise, Kun Fengsu complies.