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“Only the queen bee is fed exclusively on royal jelly. With this special diet, she will develop into a sexually mature female, unlike the other regular females.”
Jinki snorts softly at the documentary on tv. Cis science is fucking wild. None of them are female. Bees don’t understand the gender binary. They’re bees. And there are three different kinds. That’s not even a binary in the first place. Yet here scientists are. Shoving it into hives where it’s not wanted. He’s too sleepy for this.
“Just say worker bees,” he mumbles at the screen.
“Jinki,” Taemin mumbles at him. Jinki hums, taking his eyes away to look down at Taemin’s head on his shoulder. His black roots are showing through his blonde hair. “Jinki,” Taemin says again, and looking lower, Jinki sees him looking at his own hands, turning them back and forth slowly. “Am I dying or just cold?” he asks.
“Oh,” Jinki hums. This again. He’s not surprised. With the arm he has around Taemin’s waist, he tugs him closer and rests his cheek on top of his hair.
“Just cold,” he says firmly but tiredly, his low energy from before persisting still. Taemin doesn’t reply other than to keep looking at his hands so Jinki pokes one gently. “What’s wrong with them?” he asks. An uncertain hum floats from Taemin to him, short and a little anxious through his own sleepiness.
“My nails are kind of blue,” he says, holding his hands up for Jinki to see. Jinki takes one, lifting it up to squint at it closely because his glasses are on the table and he doesn’t want to expend the energy to get them. Taemin’s nail beds are indeed a purplish blue, extending maybe an eighth of an inch before fading back to normal. Not a problem.
“Just cold,” he repeats, bringing Taemin’s hand up to his lips to kiss. Lowering it next, he takes Taemin’s other hand as well and holds them together in his. He rubs warmth into them gently as Taemin nuzzles his shoulder.
“No iron poisoning?” he asks. Jinki shakes his head.
“You’ve been off of the pills for over two months,” he says. Way too late.
“Septicemia?” Taemin tries.
“You’ve never had any kind of infection big enough to cause that.”
“Frostbite?”
“Have your fingers been stuck in freezing cold snow all day?”
“I know they were in you this morning.”
A laugh escapes Jinki’s lips, splutters out and causes Taemin’s own satisfied little giggle. Fuck. Jinki elbows Taemin in the side gently, but still hard enough to make him sway away and then bump back against him. Taemin totally set that up on purpose. His tiny self-satisfied grin is proof of that. Jinki shakes his head, as fond as he always is of his little goober, and lifts Taemin’s hands again.
“Look,” he says, opening his own hands to show Taemin his nails. Already just from Jinki massaging them gently the blueness is gone and they’re back to their regular color. “Now you’re not even cold anymore,” he says. Taemin hums, but this time it’s an accepting hum, a satisfied one. With his thumbs, he tugs Jinki’s hands back closed over his.
“My hands aren’t cold anymore,” he mumbles, shifting closer to Jinki on the couch. “But the rest of me still is.” He sticks their joined hands under the blanket pooling over their laps and tugs it up over his shoulders. Jinki tugs him closer and tucks his head under his chin. He can make Taemin warm. That’s not a problem at all.