She has a night shoot, and he is sick of fancy hotel wallpaper wherever his eyes lay on. God, in form of the old taxi driver with distinct Japanese accent, takes the wheel and leads him to that LED, unmistakable Mandarin sign in middle of neon lights of Kanji.

"HONEYS PUB".

The pub is quiet and empty, but warm with yellow lightning and old-school SOUL music. The inside is tight and cozy even without a living creature in sight, as hinted by the narrow door and humble sign.

Not that he minds much. All he wants is some shots of really bitter and strong whisky, and, maybe if lucky enough, some hometown-like sounds. A hometown-like sound that is not hers: not like a multilayered, unreadable, spiceful, tear-jerking onion.

There seems to be no guests but a broad shoulder facing out from behind the stall with alcohol stacked up.

He is baffled for a moment between speaking Chinese or trying to start up with his two-day-learnt Japanese. His Chinese, though, unfilteredly spills out first.

"Hi."

The man behind the bar turns to face him with a brief confusion on his face, but quickly flashes a bright smile. A bit too bright to greet some random moron who goes drinking at two in the morning, even.

"Hello." The young man gestures him to sit by the bar, his blinding smile not dimming down for a second.

The guest settles himself down on the chair with hesitation.

The server or owner or who-the-hell-he-can-be reaches out with a worn-out menu. "My apology. It's rather late now, so the chef is not here. Can't order any foods, I guess." His awkward voice suggests long time of not speaking Chinese on a regular basis, but still comprehensive. "I live alone, and therefore there's only packed sushi and instant noodle. Should have some still if you wanna have strong alcohol."

The enthusiasm flusters him.

"Ah, I've already eaten. Not gonna have bad stomach. I'll just have a bottle of Hibiki 21, please."

The taller man – he realizes now that they are standing near – nods with that stupid smile still (did he mention he is allergic to smiles?). The bottle is put down next to the signature short glass for whisky.

He pours himself a full glass, and the other is gone by the moment he looks up. Man, how weird of himself. Clearly in need of some company, yet he pushes the only potential companion of a fool away by appearing distant.

The forementioned "fool" must be determined to prove the opposite, footsteps soundly storming from behind as he takes second sip. There he is – how could his cheek muscles not be tired of smiling so widely all the time? – with boxes of must-be-sushi and packs of noddle stacked up on his very wide arms.

"I understand how you think you're full. Trust me, so does everyone before having alcohol torturing their empty stomach. Now, do you want sushi or ramyun as the treat from me?"

"... Ramyun."

That smirk. That damned, victorious smirk. He wishes he could explain it. He wishes he is not the only one who would wonder where the joy could be in force-treating an out-of-mind midnight-drinker.

The drinker assumes the other would just disappear again to cook the noodle, but he pulls out a saucepan from beneath the counter and heats up some water right there, taking away the potential moment of privacy that his guest would like to pretend to need.

He is about to fill up his glass, but the owner stops him midway. "Hey, wait for a while and eat a bit first."

Putting down the glass, his arms suddenly feel way too unbusy. As if able to sense the tension, the friendly weirdo invites himself into his sight again.

"My name is Wong Yukhei. Yours?"

"Qian Kun."

"I'm 27."

"I'm 30."

"You're a ge then."

"No need of formalities."

"So ge, are you a traveler?"

"Could say so."

"Could?"

"Mainly escorting my wife on her business."

"Woah." His big eyes widen, mouth drops. "Dedicated, aren't you? Not every husband is as open-minded."

He hates how his mind automatically "reads" the double-meaning of compliments like this.

That he is weak. He is her shadow. He is inferior compared to the wife he never deserves. He might be used to feigning a half-smile in respond, but not feigning feeling alright with it.

He pours another. Third cup seems successful in igniting the last fragile bit of confidence that he can hold onto.

"How long have you been in Japan?" He hopes changing the subject would take away any chance for the younger to make fun of his weak self.

"Four years or so. I dated a guy, a Japanese exchange student, back in college. After two years he left for Japan and I followed, putting all I had into the pub. We broke up two years ago. The pub actually is doing better than it looks, and also a rare place for Chineses to hang out. I don't wanna take it away from them."

He looks totally nonchalant about it, as if spending a life on a spontaneous college romance is nothing big. Being stupidly in love, Kun can't tell if it is good or not. He has not even been sincerely in love for once.

That passing thought tightens his heart.

Guilt raises. He promised to love her.

The scent of strong spice pulls him out of the train of thoughts.

"Eat up. You've drank a lot."

The cup of noodle is bright red, smoke smelling spicy and hot; not mild or even sweet like those he has been having for days at the hotel. His eyes feel hot too. Could be the noodle, could be just tears.

"Want an egg, too?" He looks up to meet, again, those ridiculously generous eyes. He swallows, muttering a "yes".

The owner – Yukhei, the name finally sinks into him - cracks not an egg but two, in addition to a slice of ham. The guest wonders if this is too much of a favor to receive. This young man, despite the previous "compliment" leaving him with a bit of bitter taste on the tip of the tongue, still seems rather childishly silly than mean at heart.

Kun drives the other from one topic to another, while pouring himself one drink to another. With not bad at all tolerance, God knows how many shots he takes to end up knocked down asleep without knowing.

-----

Kun wakes up in a room that clearly is not his hotel room – spacious and clean but with grey exposed brick walls and posters which seem like they belong to a teenager in the 90-something. His head hurts badly, and all arms and legs ache. Still, after a moment, he figures out where he could be.

His phone lays next to the table light. Two missed calls from her.

The younger man walks in with a plate of pancakes on his hands, only to almost gets bumped into by a rushing guest.

"Sorry, I gotta go." He pulls out a thick stack of cash, certainly no less than the alcohol and noodle's worth, and throws on the tray the other is carrying. "Thank you."

-----

Quietly walking through the hotel door, he bets she is still catching up on sleep to make up for the all-night shoot.

He kneels down by her in between of fluffy white sheets. She looks exhausted, for sure, but still glows as she always does, being the admired beauty she is.

The smell of cologne that he never uses fills his nose, and he hates himself instantly. Who is he to doubt her? Who is she for him to own? To trust and to love her is what he does, unconditionally, isn't it?

He tries to be as gentle as possible with laying a peck on her soft cheek, but still she moves suddenly.

"I'm sorry. Did I disturb your nap?"

With her sleep-deprived voice, she ignores his question. "Where were you earlier?"

"A pub." He thinks back about the two missed calls. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I was concerned about you staying in all the time too. Just text me next time."

"Got it." He lovingly pulls her messily falling bang behind her ear. "Was the shooting too tiring?"

"The female lead couldn't act to save her life. She got on my nerve."

"Can't you guys just replace her?"

"She's the face of the brand, what do you mean with "replace"?"

"Right, silly me again." He gives an apologetic smile. "It's just commercial film after all. As long as it won't leave a big stain on your filmography, try not to stress out too much, okay?"

"It's just that, being a director, I can't help feeling disgusted by those terrible asses who dare to call themselves actors."

She sits up with a slight pout on the plump delicious lips, her arms reaching for him, looking like a kitten waiting to be spoiled. The husband pulls her onto his laps and gives a tight embrace.

"You've worked hard."

As bad at sweet talk as he is, he can only wish this is acceptable for her.

-----

The commercial filming has finally come to an end, and tonight is when the wrap-up party takes place.

He insists on hand-washing and ironing her outfit himself, worried that laundry service would carelessly mess up her expensive dress and possibly her big night. She is putting on earrings by the mirror table, her gorgeousness only complimented by careful makeup.

"Go out and have some fun, would you?" Long, delicate fingers brushes the wavy hair behind her ear. "I would feel guilty going out if you won't stop trapping yourself in this boring hotel."

His eyes don't dare leave the velvet poncho. "No worries. It's your business trip, isn't it?"

He doesn't know since when she has been in front of him, reaching up to place a soft kiss on his nose. "Thank you."

He sends his beautiful wife to the taxi.

Back in the room, his stomach slightly growls. An eat-out night before leaving Japan wouldn't hurt, would it? His favorite denim jacket, after three days of completely no intention of going out, only now he realizes, is missing. Guess he has no choice but to return to the pub.

-----

"Closed?"

He dumbfoundedly stands in front of the pub's door. Luckily, that's when the owner walks out.

"Kun ge?"

Alright, maybe not so lucky so. Now that they're face to face, he realizes he didn't want to face this man again for some reason.

"Hi. My apology but-"

"The black denim jacket, isn't it?"

The taller drags him inside and pushes him down the couch, despite his protest going something along the line of "leaving immediately". The owner rushes upstairs, leaving the newcomer wishing with all his will to fled as soon as possible.

The younger returns with the jacket. "I wanted to call but you didn't leave your number..."

"Thank you for taking care of it on my behalf, this is great enough of you." Kun shoots up from his seat and snatches the jacket. "I would excuse myself now."

"Where are you heading to after this?"

"...To eat."

"I'm going out to eat with some friends, all Chinese frequent customers. You should come along."

At this point he can only question the limit of this man's generosity.

"No need. You guys please have fun."

"We're going to a Chinese hotpot restaurant. Really good. Now that you're in Japan, gotta try Chinese hotpot in here for once, don't you?"

"... What kind of logic is this?"

Yukhei's puppy face lits up. "You are going, aren't you?"

Unreasonable guilt raises up inside although he truly doesn't want anything more to do with the younger. He can't deny a bit of bond to the formerly stranger now.

-----

"Here is Xiao Dejun, and this kid is Yangyang. There is also Li Yongqin, and Huang Kunhang and Zhong Chenle."

The very reserved Kun quickly gets dizzy of overly enthusiastic hands and looks.

"And this is Qian Kun ge, a frequent customer. He lives in China and is only here for travelling, so I wanna take him around."

Kun raises his eyebrows in anticipation for someone to question how "frequent" of a customer he is, so that he can explain that he has only been to the pub once – twice if you count today's intended comeover. But, the group of friends seem oddly familiar to their utterly kind and trusting friend to pick up random Chinese tourists that he meets, showing nothing but hospitality on their faces.

Chenle, easily recognized due to bright blonde hair, cuts up some meat and places them into his plate. "Eat up, eat a lot, please. The more awkward you are, the more you gotta eat to feel less tensed."

Great, now he questions his knowledge of "opposites attract". The free-spirited and out-going Yukhei has friends of similar characteristics; that's why the introvert, antisocial himself is friends to the silly coward Huang Renjun and the old man Dong Sicheng?

"Thank you." He says, hoping his polite nature doesn't make him look arrogant.

Greasy and tender pork belly dipped in spicy broth melts onto his tongue. Doesn't taste quite different from the Japanese hotpot he accompanied her to a few days ago, if he is honest, but the noisy sounds of Chinese make up the difference.

The pretty boy, (what his name is, Kunhong?) speaks with his meatful mouth, "Karaoke afterward?"

Good Lord. Would these fun-loving, energetic kids leave his old man ass out of their second round?

"Kun ge, come along please?"

Yukhei grabs him arms with his eyes sparkling in all of their puppy glory.

God must be too occupied to take care of him today.

Tbc.