Work Text:
“Now, behold let my heart tell Thee what it sought there, that I should be gratuitously evil,
having no temptation to ill, but the ill itself.
It was foul, and I loved it;
I loved to perish, I loved mine own fault,
not that for which I was faulty, but my fault itself.”
—St. Augustine, Confessions
Now
Novus Orbis: 79th Habitat of the Orion Continent, Year 3165
The overhead clock buzzes, and the 79th Habitat's biosphere turns a shade darker to simulate twilight. Across the city, buildings simultaneously begin to flash their programmed images, their wall panels switching to muted colours of blues and violets from top to bottom like falling dominoes. Suncurrents running along the biosphere's frames turn off, instantly switching on the Auroras above, glowing curtains of light projected from the ceiling's central framework.
The scenery change is quick, artificial, and utterly without refinement, but none of the inhabitants give it thought. No one inside has ever witnessed a natural nightfall before.
The buzzing stops. Miles away, the 80th Habitat starts its own twilight.
In fifteen minutes Night will have completely settled in the entire continent of Orion.
---
High, hollow notes of wind chimes ring throughout the laboratory, but it doesn't take long for any listener to discern the electric notes which are more robotic than actual. After a few seconds, the clear and crisp cries of cicadas follow, also contrived and without soul. It’s a messy and distant melody designed to replicate the impression of a hot summer's night from the Old World, except there's no warmth to be found in this windless place, surrounded with thick and cold metal walls and floors, and having been shut out for too long from the outside to receive any heat generated by the Suncurrents near it.
A puff of smoke rises into the air, forming slow, abstract curls in the space, before gradually thinning out and dispersing into nothingness. Yunho watches it unfold and fold in itself before taking one last drag and stubbing the rest of the cigarette into a receptacle.
Anytime now.
"Yunho, it's 7 o' clock in the evening already. Time for you to come home."
It’s a familiar voice, and Yunho closes his eyes to savor the slight burning in his chest before tiredly murmuring, “Be there in a while.”
The control screen on the wall in front of him shuts down and retracts into the ceiling. Yunho rolls his head left to right and back, to rid of any kinks in his neck, and takes off his laboratory wear and throws it to the far end of the lab, the cloth landing on a worn, antique leather chair by the book shelf.
"And hang your coat on the hook by the door, will you?
Yunho laughs to himself and goes to retrieve what he's thrown only moments earlier; he knows it, of course he does.
"Don't forget to press the safety when you leave.”
"Yes," he replies, “I won’t forget.”
Then
Novus Orbis: Habitat Zero, Capital of the Occidens Continent, circa 3013-3014
˹ Isolation Pad III: Patient S-0XV ˼
Yunho reads the sign by the entrance once more before stepping under the threshold for verification. An automated voice reads out the words as they appear on the screen one by one,
˹ Identified Match.
Yunho Jung.
Chief: Project Aeon.
Pad Access: Authorized, no Limitations.
You may proceed. ˼
With a beep, the pad’s doors slide open to admit him. He finds two people conversing inside, one in a complete safety suit and another in commonwear. The red lining of the safety suit tells Yunho that it’s someone from the third division, but he doesn’t wait to see the suit’s chest pattern to know that it’s that particular overenthusiastic team leader he prefers to avoid as much as possible. It's the high-pitched, self-satisfied voice that gives the guy away every time.
It’s only at this point that Team Leader sees him.
"Ah, Yunho-sensei! You're here! You’ve finally arrived! I’ve been waiting for you!”
“You may leave. I’ll take it from here.”
Team Leader’s mouth opens in what appears to be an attempt to make conversation, but Yunho lightly bows to him. Team Leader goes quiet and bows back instead before hurriedly leaving the pad.
Yunho doesn’t bother to linger on what just happened and turns to survey his patient who’s comfortably seated at the couch. His Orbis lenses detect the patient's wrist tag and quickly flash the pertinent information, but there’s nothing in there that he hasn’t read before coming down here.
Yunho begins, “You are—”
“Patient S-0XV,” the man cuts him short, “but please, call me Changmin. Shim Changmin.”
“You do realize—“
“That you are obligated to follow protocol, and accordingly, calling a patient by name or any other term aside from his or her patient identification code might lead to the development of any kind of emotional attachment thus compromising your objectivity as a scientist. Or a doctor, whichever.” Changmin gives him a sheepish grin, “Sorry. I’ve been terribly bored the past few days I’ve resorted to reading the Scientists’ Code of Conduct. They wouldn’t let me access other materials. So… Yunho-sensei?”
Yunho stares at him for a moment before removing his own lenses, and he sighs.
“May I speak now, Changmin?”
Changmin lights up at the mention of his name, eyes folding into crescents from obvious glee. He nods twice, too happy to say another word. Yunho wonders how long he’s been kept in the pad, but he remembers the lenses earlier indicating ˹Duration of confinement: 2 ½ weeks˼, so he doesn’t anymore ask.
“Seeing how you’ve been deprived not only of your readings but also of your own set of lenses, let me introduce myself. Jung Yunho, chief of Project Aeon. As you've said earlier, I’m a scientist, a doctor, whichever, and I’ve been entrusted with your care. I just arrived this morning from a science conference in the Orion continent, hence the late introductions. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“You also live on the 62ND floor of this structure, only two floors below your laboratory, because you’re just that much of a workaholic.”
For the second time that day, Yunho stares at Changmin.
His patient shrugs it off as if it’s common knowledge, “I finished the Scientists’ Directory last week. I’m a librarian; I’m practically hardwired to read. And organize. But mostly read, since the library androids do almost everything. Don’t worry, the directory didn’t indicate that you were a Traditionalist— do people know you are?”
“Sorry?”
Changmin makes a surprised face, “Oh, no it’s just…,” he points at Yunho’s feet, “Your footwear. That’s a geta from the Japanese of the Old World, is it not? I’ve seen pictures of it in the tenth basement of the Orbis Archives. Most would think that as the person at the forefront of the biological revolution, you’d be living in one of those scaly Novus suits.”
“Ah,” Yunho replies intelligently. He’s not sure how to handle conversations about his appearance.
Changmin seems to notice his discomfort and gets up from his seat, “Would you like some tea? This place may be lacking of books, but the kitchen’s well-stocked. I made sure of it.”
“Oh.” Yunho’s seems to have been reduced to responding with vowels now, but he tries to make up for it, “Yes, tea sounds good.”
“Alright then, wait here.”
Changmin goes to the kitchen beside the living area and takes out a fresh bag of tea leaves, before proceeding to heat some water. Yunho is aware of his own kitchen abilities, so he contents himself with being a spectator, scanning the kitchen for its available implements. A familiar box fastened on the wall catches his eye.
“You're not using the beverage dispenser?”
“Ah, that." Changmin spares the equipment a glance, "Yunho-sensei, you don’t strike me as someone who appreciates those ready-made monstrosities. Even if you do, I don’t. So yes, I'm not using it. Besides, I happen to have a lot of free time these days. Are you perhaps in a hurry, sensei?”
“No, no, I have time to spare. You’re right, I do prefer to make my own tea. Not as often as I’d like though,” he's absolutely lying through his teeth; it's his assistant who brews him tea once in a while, but he's not about to present himself as an incompetent person to his patient.
“Then, I’ll personally make you a cup each time you visit.” Changmin presses the furniture control screen on the kitchen wall, and the space in front of Yunho configures itself into a table. He takes two teacups from a nearby shelf and takes it to the living area, before going back for the tea.
“You mustn’t bother,” Yunho says, as common courtesy dictates. He's glad Changmin didn't see through his white lie.
“You’re right, I musn’t. That’s why I must insist.” Changmin brings the freshly made pot of tea and a cup of milk to the table, “Shall we get to the more pressing matters?” he says as he sits down, and Yunho notices the way the man’s expression shutters into a completely different one.
“If I may say so, however, before everything else. I would much rather be a friend than an acquaintance, sensei. I believe I’ll be staying here to serve my purpose as a scientific specimen for the foreseeable future. It would be quite the tragedy to spend such days as mere acquaintances. So, pleased to make your... ‘friend’?”
“That's true," There's merit in what his patient just said, so Yunho doesn't argue, "My apologies.”
“Don’t,” a bitter smile crosses Changmin’s features, “Do you take milk with your tea? I’ll pour it for you,” he asks as he gets the cup of milk.
Yunho reaches out to take it from him, “Oh, let me do it mys—.”
His hands brush against Changmin’s skin and he pulls away quickly, surprised. It’s warmer than anyone’s he’s touched the past year.
“Are you that much afraid of being in contact with the Dead Man’s blood?”
“What?”
“My skin’s significantly warmer than others, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but that was due to…" Yunho remembers the preliminary reports on the patients, but that thought is fast replaced by another, "did you say ‘Dead Man’s blood’?”
“Sensei, don’t you watch the news? Go outside?”
“I’ve been busy…”
“They call us the ‘dead men’ of the ‘dying blood’. Although if you ask me, how is it that we’re dead and our blood only ‘dying’? It sounds stupid when put that way.”
“Dead what… of what?”
“’Dead men’ of the ‘dying blood’. The news calls it the curse of the ‘Dead Man’s blood’ for a catchier feel. The recent mandate of the World Government on universal age preservation of adults as a result of your discovery has uncovered our clan. I believe in the olden times they called this ‘the exception to the rule’? We are an exception to life: we are bound to death. At least that’s what they all say.”
“Horrible,” Yunho murmurs to himself, and catches Changmin trying to pull his sleeve lower, to cover his skin. Yunho stops him and holds his arm, “that’s not true. I’ll release an official statement and dispel—“
“It’s true.” Changmin gently takes Yunho’s hand off his arm, “You’re aware that those with our blood who have taken the Aeon vaccine you’ve made have showed signs of rapid aging and significantly decreased immunity, instead of ceasing to age and getting drastically enhanced regenerative properties. We’re dying, one by one. You know this, sensei. Not the ‘dying man’ label, maybe, but you know what’s happening. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Have you… have you taken it?”
“You didn’t see it on my patient file?” Changmin breathes out a sigh and nods, voice a little quieter than before, “I’ve had it. I was an official at the Ministry of Education when the mandate took effect, meaning, as an employee of the government I was given the privilege,” he chuckles drily at the last word, “to be one of the first people to take the Aeon vaccine.
Changmin huffs before continuing, “Although I can’t really call it a vaccine. For our blood, that is.”
Yunho doesn’t know what to say. He looks at the tea in his cup, translucent and golden, and sees his reflection on it, “I was away. For a conference, and a medical mission to facilitate the implementation of the mandate in the other continent. I was already on my way back when my staff told me about your blood. I haven’t received the list of the vaccinated members of your clan yet.”
“I belong to a political family, and I’m the youngest of my generation. That should tell you everything.”
Yunho’s hand stills all of a sudden, creating small ripples on the tea, and his reflection blurs.
“There are only three of us left.”
---
Yunho spends the next several days conducting tests after tests to find what in the gene of the S-Patients —those coming from Changmin’s bloodline— results to the total opposite of the vaccine’s intended effect. The second patient, Changmin’s uncle, who held a seat in the Ministry of Housing as an engineering adviser, passed away on the fourth day due to multiple organ failure.
Now they only have two S-Patients remaining, and last night he received a report that Changmin’s cousin had contracted a fever.
The only thing they know so far is that it’s not a self-destructive condition as much as it is aging, with some cells ceasing to divide earlier than they should be. But the more troublesome part is the weakened immunity. With their immune systems severely compromised, most of the patients get sick due to exposure to diseases in their environment, and die long before the full effects of aging were able manifest.
Changmin had been quarantined as a safety precaution; Yunho’s staff were able to find him before he contracted any disease from the outside. The rest of his relatives weren't as lucky.
One morning, after a particularly painful procedure of retrieving a marrow sample from Changmin, Yunho lets himself stay longer in his isolation pad.
“Sorry, sensei, I don’t think I can prepare tea yet,” Changmin says, as he adjusts himself slowly to lie down on the bed.
Yunho takes the blanket and covers him, before proceeding to reclining the bed to what he knows to be a more comfortable angle, “Don’t worry about it. Rest for a while.”
“Thank you.”
Yunho gives Changmin’s bedroom a once-over, which, save for the globe displaying the current weather of each habitat floating on a corner, is on the more Traditional side of the spectrum. He’s noticed the influence when he first saw the living area of the pad, to which Changmin had said he especially requested for most of his belongings be brought here since he doesn't want to be overly reliant on the Novus furniture system, where houses can be designed and redesigned at the press of a button. He’s of the belief that humans could have done so much better at cultural preservation.
“Changmin?” He asks his patient who’s just pressed open a Novus scroll containing the last decade’s scientific journals.
“Yes?”
“Can I come visit every afternoon?”
Changmin puts a palm against the scroll to pause the influx of letters, before letting go of it. It stays on the air, hovering in front of him. He stretches his mouth to a thin smile and shrugs, "If you couldn't care less about having an anomaly beside you every day, then by all means."
"Don't say that. We were born mortal to begin with. If we're going to talk about anomalies, then it should be all those people outside."
"And you, sensei. Don't forget yourself. You have taken your own creation, right? Your palms were cold when we met."
Yunho knows apologizing won't do any good at this point, but it doesn't stop him from getting the need to do so anyway, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Don’t be,” Changmin takes the isolation pad’s controller from his bedside table, presses a point on its screen, and the wall to his left flashes the bustling city fifty-nine floors below, “You’ve made a great contribution to mankind. You gave them time, and you gave it to them almost for free. What happened to me and my relatives… no one expected it. You’ve done well, sensei. So be proud and stop saying sorry everytime we meet, alright?”
It's a praise for his work, but there's a bitter taste to it. Yunho can't bring himself to be proud at all. He watches the live feed on the wall, all the ordinary people continuing to live their ordinary lives. People whose life expectancies suddenly extended to infinity just a year ago after the Aeon’s release, but looked like they were dying just the same.
Yunho nods, "All those outside... and I. We're the anomalies."
---
Later that afternoon Yunho brings some games and they have afternoon tea while playing. After tea, they talk about anything that comes to their minds, and given their Traditionalist preferences, the discussion mostly centered on Old World literature they've both read in the past.
Two days later, Changmin finds out Yunho's lie about making tea, after the doctor loses in battleship. Yunho tells him that he can mix even the trickiest chemicals for medications to the last milligram, just don't ask him to make tea. Changmin thinks it's a nice deal, but he still reminds Yunho of his incompetence in the kitchen whenever he gets the chance.
Their afternoon routine continues over the next two weeks and when Changmin asks for the communication monitor installed in his pad to be permanently connected to the laboratory, Yunho knows he’s breached at least four points in the Scientists’ Code of Conduct.
He gets it connected nevertheless.
---
Yunho reviews the results of the latest tests, swiping the screen on the wall and projecting a larger, holographic view of the blood cells. He suddenly feels a presence behind him, and then there’s a whisper to his ear.
“Aren’t you glad I’m a librarian? With people too busy to visit libraries, I practically shut myself out of a disease-riddled society, thank you.”
“Changmin!”
The healthier of Yunho’s two patients waves at him, “I’m here!”
“That’s it, exactly.” Yunho facepalms, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Come off it, you had my pad moved right beside your lab. You can’t possibly expect me not to be here.”
“That’s to allow me to monitor you easily.” Yunho points to the floor, “Is this your pad right here?”
“Um, no?”
“That doesn’t seem wrong to you? At all?”
Changmin flashes what Yunho knows now to be his shit-eating grin, “Nope.”
“Changmin.”
“It’s alright, isn’t it? The entire floor’s designed to be rid of any contamination, and you had it isolated with all these thick walls. Lots of disinfectant columns around too.”
Yunho doesn’t say anything.
Changmin huffs and raises both of his hands in surrender, “Fine, fine. I’ll just sit here and be a quiet patient.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“That’s the point. Yunho, please?”
“Sensei. Call me Yunho-sensei.”
“You lost in chess the other day, remember? I’m now allowed to call you Yun—” There’s a cough and two before Changmin drops to the floor, and Yunho’s by his side before he even realizes.
“Changmin!" Yunho shouts, laying him out on the floor and taking out the patient monitor from his pocket, “What’s wrong? What hurts? Changmin!”
Changmin doesn't budge. The patient monitor’s graphs show nothing out of the normal. Yunho’s brows furrow, and he takes him into his arms to carry into the isolation pad, “Hang in there, Cha—“
Changmin reaches out to Yunho and kisses him.
“Just kidding! Nothing hurts and I am fine as a feather. Although I must admit I’ve never in my entire life seen a feather. Have you?” He laughs contentedly, “Yunho?”
Yunho finds the now familiar smile on Changmin’s face and a flood of emotions rush into him: relief, confusion, anger, and most of all, shock. He tries to talk but nothing comes out, an overwhelming sense of disbelief crowding in his mind.
Changmin’s smile falters; his actions still haven’t fully registered in his mind.
The analog clock near them ticks, and when it finally hits him he gets up, mutters a short apology and bolts to his pad.
The live communication monitor on the laboratory wall turns black, the overhead clock buzzes for lunch, and Yunho is shaken from stupor. He runs his hand through his hair and groans, remembering a conversation from not too long ago.
Are you afraid of being in contact with the Dead Man’s blood?
---
There’s a beeping sound before the pad doors slide open, and then there’s the lavender scent Yunho’s become accustomed to as of late. There’s also the comforting whiff of tea, which tells him that Changmin’s likely awake and in the midst of reading.
It doesn’t take long for him to find the other man. He’s seated by the corner of the living, and Yunho’s suspicions are confirmed upon seeing the paper book on hand, one of the few he had had borrowed for Changmin from the library after one afternoon of his patient’s nagging.
Changmin has a tendency to completely immerse himself when reading so Yunho avoids making noise as much as possible. Today, though, it doesn’t take long for him to notice his arrival. He bows his head slightly to him in acknowledgement, takes the worn bookmark from the table, places it on the opened page before gently closing the book, and returns it to its rightful spot on the shelf beside him. Yunho watches the whole routine from his seat on the couch; when Changmin does it the entire thing almost gives off the feel of a traditional ceremony.
When that’s done, Changmin goes to sit beside him, and Yunho can’t figure out where and how to begin. They stay like that, in silence. For how long, he doesn’t want to know.
He hears the other man mumbling something that sounds like an apology: an apology for what he did, for their circumstances, and for touching him.
Changmin’s apologizing for the wrong things, and he wants none of it. Yunho moves to hold his hands, but Changmin shifts and moves away before they even touch.
“Please leave now. I’m sorry about earlier. It’s not going to happen again.”
Yunho opens his mouth to say something, but truthfully, he has no idea what. He looks at Changmin’s hands firmly clasped together, head bowed, hair framing his profile.
He’s just going to come back later.
He stands and gives Changmin one last glance before heading towards the door. He takes his work coat from the rack, and that’s when he sees it.
On the kitchen counter, there’s a pot of tea, a cup of milk, and two tea cups.
He turns to give another look at Changmin and finds him anxiously fiddling with the hem of his sweater, head still bowed, and Yunho just wants to confirm, wants to find something out.
He goes back to the living area and stops in front of Changmin, who’s still fraying his sweater, “Changmin.”
The man’s fingers still.
“Changmin, look at me,” Yunho says and holds Changmin’s chin, tilting his face up to him.
Yunho has wondered ever since the day he met him, how Changmin would always be fine, how he’d always be smiling at him even as they conducted the most painful extractions, even as he continues to live in this isolation pad, cut out from the rest of society with the exception of Yunho and the handful of his staff that come and go. Indeed, he ever only saw him sad in the slightest during that first meeting.
Are you afraid of being in contact with the Dead Man’s blood?
Now, as Changmin looks at him with creased brows and round eyes lined of tears he had not once seen fall, and mouth pressed together in a tight line, Yunho realizes that he’s never really looked at him in the past.
Apology, fear, and hesitation are evident in his face, but when Changmin’s eyes look away from Yunho, he finds what he himself has been resisting and denying all the while.
Resignation.
No.
Something crashes inside Yunho, seizing him and holding his chest in a closed grip. It kicks into him, an emotion long-forgotten but still known. He’s read about it before, a word from the Ancients’ books that hasn’t been changed and continues to resound in the new world as people search for it like a single star hidden in in the darkest night. Yunho’s throat closes at the idea, and he can’t understand how it’s been in plain sight all this time.
He takes Changmin’s face in his hands, and kisses him.
---
Changmin pushes him off, thoroughly wide-eyed but still in his right mind.
Yunho doesn’t need to hear it for him to know what the other man’s thinking, “Shut up for awhile,” he whispers to his lips before kissing him again, soft and sweet and all sorts of right. He closes his eyes and feels the way their mouths meld into each other like heavy liquid, the warmth of Changmin’s lips stirring something in him as he pushes further into the couch.
He cups Changmin’s cheek with one hand, the other finding its way down his neck, chest, before settling on his hip. Changmin’s left arm wraps around Yunho’s neck to pull him closer, his right hand fully intent on crumpling Yunho’s shirt. Yunho places a leg in between Changmin’s and pushes, eliciting a rough moan from the latter.
Yunho takes it as an opportunity to go deeper into the kiss, teasing and tasting Changmin’s mouth. His patient’s skin burns the chill in Yunho’s touch and he wants more.
They pull away for breath, chests heaving, Changmin holding on to him tightly and leaning on his chest for support. Yunho can feel his pulse thudding throughout him; in his chest and his head, the beat wild and uncontrollable, blood pumping through his veins.
“Yunho…” Changmin pants, “I don’t think we should. You might—”
“Shush,” Yunho tells him. Changmin’s lips are wet, glistening, and red as blood, and Yunho kisses him again. He breathes on Changmin’s lips, “I won’t get hurt. So shut up and just feel me.”
---
“Do you usually get up this early?” Yunho rubs sleep from his eyes, finding Changmin in the kitchen preparing their breakfast. The clock reads 6.12am and the Orbis windows remain moderately dark.
Changmin turns to him, wearing an apron and a cheer on his face.
"Good morning to you too. I actually get up much later. Coffee?”
“Then why,” Yunho yawns and scratches his stubble. He’s pulling out a chair from under the table when it comes to him.
“Changmin... I already told you I’ll be fine. Your blood won’t affect me. And I’m clean since I practically camp at the lab. I won’t get you sick.”
“I know, it’s just,” Changmin recalls yesterday’s events. He turns to the counter and goes back to making breakfast, “It’s been so long since I last slept beside another person, I guess my body’s not used to it yet.”
Changmin takes out a lettuce head from the food keeper and washes it. Yunho’s reduced to being a spectator again, but he knows Changmin well enough to know when he’s being self-conscious. He gets up and walks toward him, and sure enough, the stilted movements are there. Subtle, but definitely stilted. Yunho wraps his arms around Changmin and buries his face on his shoulders, breathing in the scent of lavender, cinnamon and musk.
“It’ll be alright,” he murmurs, “I’m here now.”
---
Very few changes occur over the next few weeks. Changmin’s now out in the lab more often than he is inside the pad, rendering the concept of isolation moot. Most days are spent with him reading, in between providing test samples every now and then. Yunho tells him every morning to act more like a patient and go back to his pad, but Changmin always pretends not to hear, and Yunho doesn’t make an effort to say it again.
Perhaps the most noticeable of it all is the reduced number of afternoon visits, what with Yunho visiting during the nights instead for dinner, and staying over seven nights a week. They sleep beside each other, and the increased personal contact has proven to be beneficial to Changmin’s health; he’s become even more energetic, and his immune system has showed slight improvements.
Overall, Yunho’s glad they took that step forward.
---
“Yunho?”
It’s in the middle of the afternoon, and Changmin observes as Yunho conducts another genetic response test, operating an entire testing room filled research androids from the screen outside. Nearby, cylindrical columns of holograms project live renditions of microscopic images from the ongoing tests and Yunho is obviously too engrossed keeping track of the whole process to hear his patient calling for him. Changmin doesn’t want to disturb him, but he’s just finished an Old World book on evolution and thinks he’s not ready to dive into another book yet.
Changmin calls him again anyway, just because he can.
“Hm?” Yunho replies much to Changmin’s surprise, eyes still on the screen.
“I’m bored.”
“I’m… working.”
“Right.”
Changmin tries again.
“Yunho?”
“What is it?”
“Why don’t you wear the Novus suits?”
“I do.”
“I just did your laundry yesterday, don’t kid me.”
“You did? Thanks.”
A series of notes sound, and Changmin’s been in the lab long enough to know that Yunho just finished with the test. The entire screen shuts and configures itself to an Orbis window, now playing a live feed of the scene outside, but the holograms continue with the projections to allow for observation. Yunho peels off the strip of enablers from his palms before going to where Changmin is.
He takes a sucrose biscuit from the food dispenser beside Changmin, “The suits just feel uncomfortable, like I’m covered with slime all over. And it’s a bit tight on the crotch area for me. Why don’t you?”
If Changmin heard the innuendo, he didn’t show it, “I like doing laundry. Besides I’m in isolation, there’s no need for endless wardrobe choices.”
Yunho thinks back to the closet occupying half the bedroom, “Actually, you do have.”
“Shut up.” Changmin sees the laboratory doors open and a staff member enters to retrieve the latest samples. He notes the awkward way the woman walks with her thick safety suit, and then looks at Yunho who’s wearing commonwear beneath his work coat.
“Why have I never seen you in a safety suit?”
“This place is pretty safe, if I may say so myself.”
“When we first met?”
“I knew whatever was in your blood wasn’t transmissible. I touched you back then, remember?”
Changmin does remember, “So you didn’t know before you touched me?”
“No clue at all.”
“Are you an idiot?”
Yunho shrugs, “Everyone I’ve met says I’m a genius.”
Changmin studies Yunho as he munches on his snack with complete gusto. He wants to ask why he’d expose himself to such risks but when Yunho looks at him, head tilted in wonder, he thinks he understands why. Changmin shakes his head and laughs inwardly. Stupid man.
He takes the next book from the pile and starts reading.
“Changmin?”
“Hm?”
“Is it really so weird? Do you want me to wear the Novus suit instead?”
“Yes to the first question, no to the second. I like doing laundry.” Changmin turns the next page, trying his hardest to understand what he’s reading. He likes doing laundry, alright, but what he’s not yet ready to admit is how he also likes the way Yunho’s scent sticks to his clothes.
No, he won’t say it.
“Changminnie?”
“What now?”
“Do you want to live with me?”
---
Changmin had only required a number of conditions to agree to move in to Yunho’s pad. Apparently, Yunho had applied for a structural swap a week before he asked him to move in, interchanging his residential pad with the one above it. The change had allowed for a reconfiguration of entry points; basically, it’s now immediately accessible from both the laboratory and the isolation pad above. Changmin’s glad to have a bigger space to move about, although he once commented over dinner that Yunho could have done better by moving the entire area thirty-five floors up for a better view.
Yunho had replied that places halfway up were considered the best in the capital. Too high and you’ll be reminded that the clouds are all fake with the fine but obvious lines of Skyguards covering the top protective films of the city’s biosphere, which are responsible for simulating blue skies or cloudy days.
Changmin’s tells him he's read stories about raindrops on the biosphere’s protective film, and the sound of thunder rumbling during storms in the natural world outside.
Yunho shakes his head. It’s been two centuries since the last natural rainfall in the world was recorded.
---
Four and a half months into the research, the test results show an 85% decrease in aging time, putting it nearer the normal lifespan of humans before the release of the Aeon vaccine. They don’t waste time in administering it to Changmin and his cousin.
That night, just as he was about to turn off the lamp before going to sleep, Changmin sees a glass cylinder on his bedside table. Inside, another layer of pale amber material covers a finely frayed object that's flat and elongated. It's tinted with bright red at the lower end, gradually thinning out at the middle to a mix of green and yellow, and on its tips are the most exquisite blue he's ever seen. It's incredibly stunning, the way colors spread and come to life with the nearby light shining on them. There are inscriptions beneath the cylinder, and Changmin squints to read.
Feather of an Old World Ara Macao specie of Aves class from Amazonia (now part of Southern Occidens)
Preserved with tree resin
2028 A.D.
Changmin smiles, memories of a first kiss coming to mind. Beside him, Yunho stirs, and Changmin watches him sleep with that open mouth, breathing even as his chest rises and falls to a slow and relaxed rhythm. The man groans and lightly scratches his stomach, before turning towards Changmin and putting an arm around him.
Changmin places the cylinder back, turns off the lamp, and snuggles closer to Yunho.
He doesn’t forget to kiss him goodnight.
---
Yunho notices him plucking strands of his hair out.
“Are you doing what I think you’re doing? I have a trimming globe tucked away down at home, it’s programmed with every hairstyle you can possibly imagine.”
“When did styling ever involve ripping out of hair? I’m weeding out the grays. I started having them over the weekend, but it’s since stopped after you gave me the serum.”
“You had gray hair? I didn’t notice at all.”
“Yeah, seems like I’m the type that ages quite gracefully.”
“Hm, you’re always gorgeous whenever I look,” Yunho unwraps a strawberry-shaped sweet, unmindful of how Changmin practically beams with the compliment. “So, how does aging feel like?”
"Aging?” Changmin knocks on the mirror to make it disappear before turning to answer his inquisitive doctor, “Let's see... it's surprisingly alright. You realize time really is ticking, too slippery to hold with your fingers. The next thing you know you’re inevitably dancing to a certain beat. Events feel real compared to seeing others living day after day like a redundant show. When you look at it that way, aging doesn’t seem so bad.”
Changmin continues, “I think it’s quite a chore to live an extended life in a repetitive manner, don’t you?”
"But immortality opens up more time to explore possibilities.” Yunho throws a candy to him, “Did you know? When the whole project was pitched to the Highest Council of Nobles to administer Aeon to the entire Novus Orbis, it was with the notion of ‘meaning’, and how the severe weakening and shortened lifespan of the human race within the last millennium has led to people living unsatisfactory lives. There’s something lacking in today’s society, Changmin, and they need more time to find it."
Changmin scoffs at the idea; he’s read an article about it. He agrees about having longer lives, but the part about ‘meaning’? He’s still not convinced, “Yunho, honestly, do you believe that a life simply lived long is a meaningful life? What is this ‘meaning’ even? I say these people just need to read more of the Old World literature. The Ancient wisdom may be behind in science, but other than that they absolutely top us. We don’t ‘find’ meaning. We make it. The length of one’s life can be long and still be unsatisfactory.”
"True. But you can also have a life that’s both long and meaningful. Win and win.”
“Well, there’s that, too. But Sensei… is this really any way to comfort your patient?"
---
Reality catches up fast and Yunho can’t run fast enough to avoid getting sucker punched in the gut. The second patient passes away one morning when a strain of botulinum toxin contaminates the city’s drinking water the night before. The staff had shut the entire building’s supply of running water as soon as the news hit, and Yunho had administered treatment to the patient but it was the resulting complications which ultimately led to her death.
Something changes in Yunho that day.
For the first time in months, Yunho has Changmin confined to the isolation pad for the whole day, altering the exit code, and having it completely stripped of unnecessary implements. Even the shelf of paper books was pulled out, and Changmin is back to reading scientific jargons from Novus scrolls. When night comes and Yunho’s yet to be seen he goes to the live comm monitor and calls him in.
He’s tempted to shout the moment he hears the beeping of the doors, but all ideas of a fight go out when he sees Yunho in front of him, still shaken from the morning events.
“Yunho?” Changmin asks and holds the other man’s face in his hands.
He hasn’t seen this blank stare from him before, and frankly, he doesn’t want to again, “Come here,” he pulls him in and takes him in his arms. Yunho’s breathing on his neck is unsteady, fatigue evident, but he holds on to Changmin tighter as if attempting to bury himself in the embrace.
“Let’s just go to bed and rest, okay?” He whispers, rubbing Yunho’s back, and he feels him nodding, murmuring words which don’t need to be heard clearly for Changmin to know the anguish in them.
---
Changmin knows it’s no one’s fault; as part of the inherently active Ministry of Exploration his cousin has been barely holding on since the bout of pneumonia months ago and has been in and out for a good while. He had actually expected his uncle to last longer than his cousin, but when it didn’t turn out that way he didn’t think much of it.
He had lost his parents when a section of the Third Habitat’s biosphere collapsed during an experimental construction nine years ago, where his mother and his father were coincidentally assigned to work together, and has holed up himself in the Orbis Archives ever since.
It’s not that he was close with his parents before they died; in fact, he had grown up with only a nursing android to provide for his daily needs, which he later found out as common practice for children of prominent families. Another practice of these families is to have their babies borne by surrogate androids in birthing facilities, where the parents only needed to leave their reproductive cells, and claim their child nine months later. No effort required, just loads of money. Changmin had seen all of these in his medical records when he was ten years old, an afternoon before one of the Shim family’s monthly dinners. It was only during these dinners that the members of the Shim bloodline gathered, and it was Changmin’s only chance of talking to his parents.
Until now Changmin’s proud to say that he ate more than usual during that particular night, because it was then that he began to understand what families were and how they worked in this world.
Needless to say, aside from sharing the same blood, there was no significant attachment between him and his relatives. They didn’t bother with him as long as he worked for the government, and as for him, he simply didn’t bother.
For Changmin, all his cousin’s death told him was that he, too, can die sooner than later.
It’s not exactly something new.
---
On the tenth day of confinement, after a lengthy night of discussion about Changmin’s health topped with a good hour of incessant nagging, Yunho finally allows him to get out of isolation and back to their residential pad.
When Yunho shows up with an especially-made safety suit for him, Changmin replies that he didn’t spend the last ten days idly and that, “I was able to sharpen one of the scrolls into a knife would you like me to test it on you.”
Yunho wastes no time in telling him the exit code.
---
It’s past dinner and Changmin peers over Yunho to glance at the book he’s reading.
“Cryonics? Are you planning to freeze me now?”
“Changmin! Didn’t I schedule an early rest for you today? I can’t have you moving around too much.”
Changmin sits beside him on the couch and proceeds to lie down, head on Yunho’s lap and arms straightened at his sides, “There we go. I’m resting, and it’s still early, sensei.”
“You…”
“Put your book away?” Changmin asks with uncertainty in his voice and full innocence in his round eyes.
Yunho has yet to learn how to go against Changmin when he plays the innocent card with those big eyes of his, so he has no choice but to indulge and save his reading for later. He earmarks the pertinent pages before placing the book on the table. No more point in hiding the book now.
He cards his hands through Changmin’s locks which have grown longer the past months, soft and fine as his fingers comb through smooth.
It’s these moments; Yunho tells himself, why he persists on finding that elusive solution.
The way Changmin would instinctively lean into his touch, warm skin on his cold palms. How he’d close his eyes when Yunho massages his temple, lips quirked up and beaming in pure bliss. Changmin’s body, even after he’s lost a couple of pounds, still fits so snugly with Yunho’s whenever he holds him at night.
The small space of quiet that blankets and envelops them when just the other’s presence is enough.
It’s all of these and everything else in between. It’s utterly sublime, burning him slowly, and sometimes he trips over himself realizing how it’s all too vast for him to hold on to.
These are moments that he doesn’t want to yield to time.
Changmin takes Yunho’s left hand and threads their fingers together, thumb drawing circles on his palm, “It’s still a long way to the cure?”
“Your blood doesn’t respond well to the serums I’ve made so far. It took me months to isolate the affected genes, however this particular type of damage hasn’t been encountered even among the scientific communities in the Orion continent. I had nothing to supplement my research with, so it’s taking me long,”
He takes their intertwined fingers and plants a kiss on Changmin’s hands, “I’ve tried asking assistance from some scientists I know, but everyone's occupied with their own projects. You’d think after I gave them Aeon they’d be more helpful…”
“So, cryonics?”
“You know how I’ve kept blood and tissue samples of all the recorded patients? Three days ago, I ran an age test on a batch to check if they’re still viable for a replication procedure. The findings were accurate up to the minute. It’s as fresh as they day they’ve been put in for cryopreservation. Almost like the Old World saying, ‘frozen in time’.”
So the dead man’s blood achieves immortality on ice,” Changmin puts it succinctly, almost acerbic in his tone.
Yunho’s jaw clenches.
He nods.
Changmin reaches out to pull Yunho down for a kiss; short, sweet, and accepting, "I'm fine with aging though. Death too. It's only fair to have an ending to a beginning, no?"
"Idiot, you're fine because you're the one who's leaving."
"That might be true," Changmin pinches Yunho’s cheek, "or are you saying that you won't want me when I start getting wrinkles?"
“That’s not it, and you know it.” Yunho sighs, “Besides between the two of us, I’m the one who has the scarred face.” It’s true. His skin never took wounds too well, and he’s avoided mirrors for years because he dislikes being reminded of them. The advanced regenerative properties brought about by the Aeon vaccine have smoothed the scars, but traces of it remain. He’s literally scarred forever, he muses as he traces his fingers on his own face.
"Don't say that. I wouldn't have you any other way." Changmin rises to sit on Yunho’s lap instead, and he noses along his jaw, inhaling the scent his body’s gotten accustomed to: a mix of candies, vanilla and disinfectant. It’s not what most would consider tantalizing, but to him it is because it’s Yunho.
It’s Yunho, and it’s all he wants.
"Changminnie..."
"Hm?" Changmin murmurs to Yunho’s neck as a hand traces down his chest. He’s always relished how Yunho’s deep voice would permeate his senses when their breaths are this close. He licks at the small scar on his throat, and Yunho groans, tugging on Changmin’s hair.
“Stay with me.”
---
Changmin spends that night watching Yunho sleep, spends it replaying in his mind all their past conversations: playful banters, heated arguments, anguished silences, and just about every word they’ve exchanged during the days they’ve spent together.
There’s something lacking in today’s society, Changmin, and they need more time to find it.
He looks around their room and sees the glass cylinder on the table, the feather’s colors real and vivid under the lamp’s glow.
Changmin thinks it would be greedy of him to ask for more.
---
"What do you mean you’ll take your chances?”
“I mean I’ll live for as long as my body will let me.”
“No.”
“It’s my body, Yunho. It’s my choice what to do with it.”
“I won’t accept it.”
“Yunho,” Changmin gathers Yunho’s hands in his own, “Yunho, listen to me. I can’t let you spend your life trying to find a cure while I’m just frozen in a chamber. You’re a doctor, a scientist, and you have a responsibility to the people. You can’t waste your life for just one person.”
Yunho’s hands curl into tight, hard fists, “No. You’re not just one person.”
“But I am,” He plants a kiss on the knuckle of the man’s hand and it doesn’t take long for it to unfurl. Changmin places his cheek against Yunho’s palm, tries to push down his gut the lies he is tempted to say and believe, because the truth can no longer be denied.
“I am.”
---
Yunho doesn’t speak to him for three days.
On the the afternoon of the fourth day, the strap of his geta slippers breaks.
---
It’s during dinner that Yunho finally talks to Changmin again.
“If you want to die,” He rests the chopsticks on his bowl before drawing a huge breath, “I’ll die with you.”
"Wh—“
“Aeon only protects the body against aging and other internal causes of mortality. Severe instantaneous damage from external sources can still lead to loss of life if the body's supply of recuperative cells run out before the body achieves a stable condition.”
"Yunho!" Changmin slams his glass on the table, hard, loud, and downright furious. "That's enough. It's still long enough before I die! And you'll live, you'll learn to live after!"
Yunho knows it’s a foolish, selfish idea. In the age of quasi-immortality, it's almost spoiled of him to wish for death.
But the past few nights he’s only had nightmares of Changmin leaving him for a place he himself can’t go to, and during the days it’s been too easy to imagine Changmin not being there for him to see, to hear, and to hold. Fear seizes his blood cold, and he feels it breaking and taking away something very important inside him, shutting all else down.
Changmin gets up from his seat. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not now, and not ever.
"...it's not long enough." Yunho mumbles to himself, and his chest hurts, pain swelling, spreading and stretching wide and fast, enveloping him entirely.
"What," Changmin asks; he's too far to hear, to far to see Yunho's tears falling from where he's standing.
"I said it's not long enough! It will never be 'long enough'! How can you so easily decide on things yourself? We'll be together long enough? I'll be able to live on after? That's bullshit, Changmin, and you of all people know it!" Yunho snaps, shoving everything off the table and sending it crashing to the floor.
He’s tired. So, so tired of thinking.
"Why is it... that I should live longer than you? Do you have any idea how it feels to know that you'll soon break, and that no matter what I do, no matter how much I hold on to you, you're just going to slip out of my grasp when the time comes?
“Can you blame me if I want to buy us some more time? Or if I want to be with you even in death?"
Yunho looks into Changmin's eyes, eyes that are just as tear-stained as his and he finds a lot of things. Fragility. Sorrow. Desperation.
"This world...” Yunho takes a deep breath, voice shaking, “I met you in this world. But if you weren't meant to stay here, if you were meant to leave, then I too am willing to leave and meet you on the next. And the next after that. As long as I have you."
---
They don’t sleep that night.
They both watch in silence from the bed as the antique clock on the wall ticks, second by second. Yunho keeps him in an unyielding embrace as Changmin lays his head on one of Yunho's arms.
Changmin pulls on the arms around him to bring them impossibly closer, until he can feel the gentle rise and fall of Yunho's chest and his heartbeat on his back, and his breath ruffling the strands of his hair with every exhale. He tries to feel as much of him as he could, tries to sear this scene, this thin blanket of serenity, the comfort of this moment in his mind.
Changmin’s safest place is with Yunho and nowhere else.
He hears Yunho’s breath hitch, and when he feels the press of quivering lips on his nape, Changmin lets a single tear fall.
Time looms above them, walking and inching closer with each tick of the clock, counting down loud and clear. The sound was previously a challenge; now it only taunts them with its constant and unchanging beat.
One, two.
It won’t be long now.
---
It's a fever.
Changmin coughs. His throat and chest burns, and Yunho nurses him all day, silently staying by his side. He gives Changmin his medicinal treatments at the exact time required, cleans him up with wet towels and wraps him in thick blankets. He holds his body close to his own during the long nights, never leaving Changmin alone.
---
Changmin wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Yunho in the kitchen, staring blankly at the window and unaware of his presence.
Changmin sees his own reflection on one of the glass panels, and he almost doesn’t recognize himself. It's only been a week since he last saw himself, but in that time his face has sunk, and his clothes now hang loosely on his gaunt frame.
"It's okay if you don't want to do the cryo,” Yunho says, startling Changmin out of his self-scrutinizing.
He turns and Changmin sees him forcing a smile, “Whatever you say, I will live for as long as you will. If you believe you aren't meant for this world, then so am I."
There’s resolve in Yunho’s words, and Changmin can do nothing but accept it. He walks, footsteps slow and sure, willing his legs to keep moving forward. Yunho makes to stand, but Changmin raises a hand to stop him. It’s been a week since he last walked, but he’s just as much a man of resolve as the other.
“Don’t leave,” Changmin rasps out, his throat still clawing and he can’t talk too much. Yunho catches him as he stumbles at the last step, “Don’t leave me here.”
Yunho’s grip stills; there’s no need to reply to know what the answer is.
Yunho pulls him up easily, lets him lean on the counter for support, and Changmin rests his head on Yunho’s chest as the latter pours him a glass of water. He puts the glass against Changmin’s lips and holds him with the other hand to steady him as he drinks.
When all that’s done, Yunho wipes the drops on Changmin’s chin and lets him lean on him again, hands drawing circles on his back.
There’s a lot in this world Changmin can accept without a need for struggle: artificial beverages, structural defects, political agendas, fake skies, social isolation and even his very own death. It’s alright. He’s okay with his body being unable to keep up with this world.
He was never meant for this world in the first place.
Changmin was always meant for Yunho.
He can accept his own death, but not Yunho’s. Never Yunho’s.
And there’s only one way to resolve the two.
"Yunho,” Changmin whispers, voice clearer this time, “I'll do it."
Now
Novus Orbis: 79th Habitat of the Orion Continent, Year 3165
"Sensei."
Yunho looks up from the book he's reading, finding his assistant researcher standing by the laboratory door holding an opened Novus scroll. Her face is calm and without any expression, but Yunho understands the second she looks away what this is all about.
He shuts the book and cuts straight to the point, "Which of them?"
"C-2591," she reads from the report on hand, "The genes exhibited a positive response to the serum during the first 7 months in the simulated quicktime chamber, maintaining negligible senescence throughout. Cellular regeneration speed was at par with post-Aeon humans, and antibodies were also successfully able to ward off infectious pathogens administered, with the exception of four which critically affected the sample and required medical interference. At the end of the seventh month, however, cell division slowed considerably, particularly the immune cells, and senescent cells displayed a significant delay to apoptosis. The quicktime recorded death at the 378th year," she ends, tapping on the corner of the scroll to close it.
Yunho doesn't reply; he lets out a long, heavy sigh before leaning his head on the worn out chair, covering his face with the Old World text he was reading earlier.
"I'm sorry," she adds, her superior's disappointment already too familiar but always so intensely palpable.
"Too short," Yunho murmurs to himself.
"Sensei?"
"Nothing, thanks for the report. Could you get me a cup of coffee?"
She surveys the laboratory, used coffee mugs scattered around, some of them half-finished and now stale. She remembers decades ago when she was especially instructed by their last patient to serve tea in the afternoons, repeating again and again the particular blend to use and how to prepare it, "Meticulously," he would tell her with stern eyes, "Cutting corners is absolutely unforgivable if you want an excellent pot of tea." She had obeyed his instructions precisely to the last dot, as a woman of science is wont to do, coming into Jung-sensei's personal laboratory every afternoon, without fail, with a pot of freshly-made tea.
But it will, also without fail, always be left untouched. Jung-sensei would not drink the tea she brings, but he's never told him to stop making it. In turn, the man has developed an obsession with coffee, drinking several cups a day, two shots each cup. It's half-sweetened, but still too bitter for her taste.
She looks at the old clock hanging on the wall, "It's almost 11 in the evening, sensei," she says, but she proceeds to the beverage dispenser anyway. "Are you perhaps planning to continue working on C-2606 tonight?"
She places the steaming mug on the table by the chair, along with the scroll containing the report.
"2606 to 2617 is done, I'll have it sent down tomorrow. I'm working on C-2618 now," Yunho tells her, before taking the submitted scroll and opening it, "You've done well. You may leave."
Yunho doesn't wait for her to exit the room and immediately begins studying the details of the failed serum. He reviews the charts and graphs, flatter lines telling him that the serum's less erratic than the ones before.
It's a significant improvement, but it's still not enough.
Outside, the city's overhead clock buzzes: 11 o'clock. The sound drags on for a minute, before leaving him in silence once more.
He rises, taking the crumpled laboratory wear with him and slipping it on. He walks to the work screen across the room, turning it on and revealing a running list of the C-samples, then opens the latest one: C-2618.
He'll go on.