SH 2015: some air'd be good for you (for nachtegael) (3/3)

[suholiday]

The thing with having scientists and doctors as friends is that you have to deal with people who are more stubborn than the most. Tell them to stay away and they'll only keep coming back all the more. Tell them that it's okay, you don't need help on the antidote, "I've got the formula perfected right here–" and they'll insist to help you, anyway. Tell them to keep at least six inches of space from you and they'll just look at you silly, as if saying, do you seriously think that the possibility of contracting a disease that can make me vanish from the world can keep me away? Do you, Joonmyun? Do you? So when Minseok, Jongdae, and Yura appeared at Joonmyun's doorstep earlier this evening, thirty minutes past seven, bringing with them their medical equipment, some pizza and soju, and a change of clothes, Joonmyun didn't even ask why they were there. Instead, he stepped to the side, addressed them with a nod, then pulled a mask over his mouth as he muttered, "You came in overalls. I'm proud of you guys." "I'm questioning my life decisions now," Minseok grumbles now, five minutes past one in the morning, as he pours the liquid he'd mixed earlier into two different test tubes. He holds his hand out in Jongdae's direction, acknowledging Jongdae with only a curt nod and a grunt as he snaps one tube in place between the tongs. Jongdae doesn't seem to mind, though, just mindlessly grabs the tongs without a second thought and places them on Minseok's hand. Returns to staring at the specimen they'd tested on earlier in the Petri dish like it's the most interesting thing in the world while he scribbles unintelligible characters on a big sheet of paper. Joonmyun laughs a little at the scene, at the brand of familiarity hinting at the exact thing Minseok needed just seconds ago and telling Jongdae what he should hand over. It's the same thing that keeps him from not extending his leg in Yura's direction when Yura walks over to where he is, the same thing that keeps him from even addressing Yura with a glance when Yura grumbles and jabs him in the arm, but returns to where she was testing out some solutions against flesh specimens. The same thing that makes him dig his hands in his pockets instead of rushing to Minseok's side to assist, to help out – Minseok hates it when people get in the way of his experiments, after all. "Why are we wearing these ridiculous things again? I can't even hold the tubes properly with this suit on." "Because you don't want to be the next Invisible Man?" Joonmyun teases, bumping his hip into Minseok's own once he sees Minseok set the tube down in place in the rack. He reaches out, then, turning on the fire, and sets the heat on low after the first few tongues of flame lick the base of the tube. "Or Translucent Man, whichever sounds better. Translucent Man is the politically-correct term, though." "Shut up, Myun, you shouldn't even be talking," Yura grumbles. She shifts her glance for the briefest of moments, looking up at Joonmyun like she's testing the waters again, years after they'd drifted apart, then she's back to working on her portion of the project. "Don't spread the virus. Not good for Jongdae. He still has a bright future ahead of him as a commercial model." "–of white fish blastula," Jongdae chirps, holding up an index finger. From behind the mask, Joonmyun sees Jongdae’s cheeks tug up, the corners of eyes crinkling. If years of friendship is anything to go by then Joonmyun's certain this is Jongdae fashioning that weird, crazy grin of his. The same smile that has made the corners of Minseok's lips curl up one too many times. "Seriously, hyung, you should check out my hand in the posters. It's famous now. I might just consider dropping medicine altogether in favor of doing specimen endorsements." "I think you're forgetting that they got me as a toothpase endorser once," Joonmyun mentions. Beside him, Minseok scoffs, snorts, cackles, and the next thing Joonmyun knows Minseok's shutting his eyes in an effort to contain his laughter. "What? It was a nice picture! They even showed my face! It's my fifteen seconds of fame–" "You endorsed the toothpaste that autopsy technicians use on the dead," Minseok and Yura chime. They exchange glances for a quick second or two, then slip back into their roles. Joonmyun catches the light quiver of Yura's lips, though, the soft laughter that spills from the corners of Minseok's mouth. "And you were wearing really thick make up then that made it impossible to identify you as you–" "Still better than a specimen endorsement." "You'll remember me in every white fish blastula you work on, hyung," Jongdae says, curling his fingers into a loose fist and drawing it closer to himself, left of his chest. "And in every single scientific you endeavor you partake in–" Joonmyun looks at the three and narrows his eyes at them. "I hate you all." "Yeah, of course," Minseok mumbles, then sets the flame of the burner on high. "And the more you hate, the more you love." I beg to differ, Joonmyun wants to say, wants to argue. The situation he and Yixing are in right now? He hates it with every fiber of his being. There is no day that he doesn't regret ever swinging his front door open and putting Yixing at the risk of disappearing forever, no day that he doesn't look back and try to see what he could've done differently or better. They still see each other through the glass everyday, eight to nine in the morning because straining their hearing becomes tiring after a while, but with the thin barrier of the glass between them the option of not seeing each other becomes much more enticing by the minute. Joonmyun won't have to get up at six in the morning anymore just to prepare for Yixing's arrival. Yixing won't need to be on the road by seven in the morning and will even get more hours of sleep. They can just listen to each other breathe through the phone lines. Everybody wins, sort of. But they both lose as well to the urge to take a calculated risk, to reach for the pads of each other's fingers through the small opening of the door at the front, one Sehun had fixed just yesterday to make hearing each other through the door easier. Joonmyun takes a deep breath and stares at the flame a little longer, letting the image burn the back of his eyelids. Maybe if he stares at it long enough, it will be easier to erase the image of Yixing's smile at the back of his head. And maybe it will be easier to convince himself that whatever solution they come up with? It's just temporary. Yixing's already partly dead, and they're just scientists. There's no way for them to bring the dead back to life. "Trust Minseok to link everything with love," Yura singsongs, then she's shaking her head and letting out a long sigh. Or at least that's what it sounded like just a few seconds ago, before Yura leaned closer to the dish to her left and started waving her hand in Joonmyun's direction. Joonmyun shifts in his position, then, looking over to where she is, and he sees Yura's eyes widening, sees them crinkle at the corners, catches a glimpse of her cheeks tugging up. "Wait, wait–" Yura looks up, then turns to her left to meet Joonmyun in the eye. "One of the specimens is reacting! Come, look–" Joonmyun cranes his neck a little and pushes himself off the stool he's already made himself comfortable on. He makes his way to Yura, then, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he tries to see the specimen better. It takes a while for the image to become clearer, takes a while for the 1 a.m. rush to kick in, and then he's taking a deep breath, widening his eyes, parting his lips in surprise. "Wait. Isn't that the–" Joonmyun inches even closer, then looks to his right to address Yura. "That's not my skin anymore, right? That's supposed to be Yixing's? A portion you managed to extract from the... damaged part of his body?" Joonmyun grimaces a little at the thought, at the mere notion of Minseok having to scrape some of Yixing's affected flesh just so they can run some tests on it and see if any of the antidotes they've been developing actually works. All he saw then was Yixing looking over his shoulder before he left, Yixing retreating into the distance as he limped while pushing the milk cart days after the extraction took place. Even then, he looked as if he was still in pain. Days after and the dregs of the risk he’d taken still wound around his leg, tight like a vice. "And that should be the liquid from–" "The 11 p.m. batch, the one before this," Yura mutters. Her shoulders lift. Two beats, then she turns to face Joonmyun, her whole body facing the latter. "That one was unrefined so if it worked – if it's working now – then the next batch of antidotes should be better." Joonmyun stares at the specimen a little longer, watching as the bubbles that once covered the surface dissipate to reveal a patch of skin, a nice, soft blend of yellow and orange. It isn't the same tone as that of Yixing's skin, isn't quite as bright as the rest of Yixing's body, but color is color. This is a manifestation of life. And if this is the best he can get right now, the best that he can offer Yixing for the time being, then he'll take it. This is better than staring at Yixing's figure on the other side of the glass, knowing that, in some ways, they can never be together again without one putting the other in danger. It's better than hearing Yixing's voice everyday, eight to nine in the morning, through the opening of the small door, knowing he probably might not be able to reach out to touch Yixing again. So Joonmyun takes a deep breath, then turns to look at Minseok on his left. "Brace yourselves, then, soldiers," he begins, shifting his gaze to Jongdae when he sees Minseok smiling, laughing, shaking his head. He cracks his knuckles and steals a glance at the specimen for one last time. Pushes the urge to reach for his phone from deep in his pocket and dial Yixing's number at the first opportunity. "We're about to go to war." War, it turns out, is a small drinking session in the living room at three in the morning. Minseok and Jongdae have long passed out on the couch, stripped to just their masks now after taking the protective pills earlier and freeing themselves from the bounds of their overalls, but Yura's still up, uncapping two bottles of Cass and handing one to Joonmyun. "Can't believe I forgot you were actually good at this thing," she mumbles against her mask, then pulls it down for the briefest of moments to take a small sip. "I mean, back when we were still doing our residency, you'd always be the first to disappear from parties and ask to be picked up by your mother–" Joonmyun snorts, rubs the underside of his nose. Narrows his eyes at Yura when Yura doesn't stop laughing. This is dangerous, Joonmyun wants to tell her, you're exposing yourself, making yourself vulnerable to this virus. You'll just get hurt. But then they've already ruled out the possibility of normal humans contracting the condition without having direct contact the contaminant. It requires prolonged exposure with the source, the sticky slide of the limbs, bodies pressed together in a tight, tight fit. And Yura's at least twelve long inches away from him. So he scowls and takes a long swig of his drink, breathing out in faint laughter. "I've always been a fan of liquor. My father taught me how to drink at a young age," Joonmyun says after a while. He leans back against the counter, then looks in Yura's direction. "But– I dunno, I never really felt comfortable drinking around too many people? With the four of you, sure, I can probably finish three bottles of soju, but with the whole med team? Not in a million years." "Even if I tell you oppa had a mini stripping show one time?" Yura asks, pressing her lips to the rim of the bottle this time. Joonmyun remembers, all of a sudden, the way Yixing would rest his lips on the mouth of his coffee cup before drinking up, how Yixing would lick his lips after a sip and how he'd close his eyes as if it was his first time tasting coffee that good. He remembers, without meaning to, the way Yixing would press his lips to the underside of Joonmyun's jaw without preamble, how Yixing would dance his fingers over to where Joonmyun's hand was, how their fingers just fit and how their bodies aligned. He's only known Yixing for a few months but it already feels as if they've been dancing around each other forever. And that one time they decided to stop and just face each other, look each other in the eye and just breathe each other in, life decided to wake them up, snap them out of their reverie. Shove the harsh reality in their faces and take them away from each other. Joonmyun gulps hard and tightens his hold on his beer. Yura furrows her eyebrows a little, but she never questions. On bad days, it works against her, but Joonmyun's much too tired and maybe a bit inebriated to dig up the past, pull up an image of the Yura he knew years ago. Yura steals a glance at him, then, quick, barely there, then continues, "We were all too mesmerized to catch it on camera. It was the best show I'd seen in years," like she's already seen this coming – Joonmyun's question, the flashbacks, Joonmyun pulling away from the conversation in the same manner that he inches away from the crowd, from people who care about him. "Did you... always know?" Joonmyun asks. He takes a long swig, then another, parting his lips from the mouth of the bottle when he feels a burp bubbling in his throat. "That I liked Minseok-hyung?" Yura laughs a little. She sets the bottle down on the counter and drums her fingers, just a few quick taps that jolt Joonmyun awake. "Did I always know you liked men, you mean?" she asks, then. She lets out a long sigh. "Yeah, I think so, but I thought it was just... a phase for you or something." "It's never just a phase," Joonmyun mumbles. He can still remember that time, when he was in primary school, during P.E. class when one of his classmates saved him from taking a basketball to the face. The kid had pushed him away, then, in an effort to save him, and somehow ended on top of him, their faces just a hitch of a breath away. Part of Joonmyun wanted to push the boy off of him, roll over to his side, inch away, but part of him wondered how the boy could still smell so good despite playing under the sun for hours. Then his stomach lurched, the same kind of sensation that he felt when he saw Yixing through his window for the very first time. He wouldn't know what it meant until he graduated from high school and had to part with said friend, and wouldn't accept to himself that he was attracted to men more than he was to women until he saw Minseok pulling his shirt over his head between shifts, until Minseok looked in his direction, his bare chest stealing all of Joonmyun's attention, as he asked, Are you alright? Until he'd jerked off to that image in the showers the same night, until he'd run into Minseok the following morning and felt like throwing up. Until Minseok reached out to ruffle his hair in the softest, gentlest manner possible, and said, Relax, kid, we're not on duty yet. You don't have to be so formal with me. Just take a deep breath. "Mhmm, I figured," Yura whispers in response now, then takes a sip of her beer again. She seethes this time, then wipes the corners of her mouth with her thumb. Then she parts her lips only to press them together in a thin, thin line, like she's still trying to arrange the syllables in her words, string those words together until she can form a better, proper statement. "After you and Baekhyun got together, that reality... sort of sunk in already. And then you two moved in, then you started to take care of him. And then you started withdrawing from the world and your friends. From us. "So I guess what I'm trying to say is–" Her voice trails off into a faint whisper, a hiccup. A tiny giggle that spills from the corners of her lips as soon as she swallows down the hiccup she'd let slip earlier. "I'm really glad you... decided to reconnect with us. Ask for help, if you want to put it that way. I mean, it's been so long since we last heard from you and we thought you'd just... decided to withdraw from us completely, d'you get what I mean? We wanted so much to come over to visit and we did, Joonmyun, trust me. We did–" Joonmyun takes a deep breath and drops his gaze to the bottle. He recalls hearing engine noise outside his house, recalls spotting Yura and Minseok pulling over at the entrance one too many times and alighting their vehicles. And on all of those occasions, he'd asked Sehun to please, please, please tell them nicely that he doesn't want any form of human interaction outside of the one he shares with Sehun. That he prefers hiding behind the thick veil of the internet while communicating with them, seeking advice on certain experiments, just trying to reach out. It wasn't until a year and a half ago that Joonmyun started doing video chats and reconnecting with his friends outside the context of work. Healing takes time, he wants to say. For Minseok, it took more than a decade. For Yura, it didn't take too long. Just a few months after and she was back in tip-top shape, but she had to bury herself in work the entire time she was going through recovery. And as for Joonmyun, it took a mix of misfortune and an ounce of good luck to get him going on his road to healing, to stick his hand under the water and let it run over his bruised skin until the bleeding stopped. Part of him thinks he's kept his hand there for too long already that the pressure from the water's already wounding him more than it should, but the cut hasn't closed yet. So he'll stay there until the day comes when he's shiny and brand new again. Whole, complete. Alive. "I know. I saw you guys from the windows. I think in the span of a year, you two even changed cars. Pretty amazing, to be honest." Joonmyun laughs a little and shakes his head, then drinks up the last few gulps of his beer. Yura's taken off her mask now, but she hasn't inched closer, still isn't drunk enough to slide next to Joonmyun for old times' sake. She never was too drunk to let loose, save for that one time in the pub where the series of Joonmyun's bad decisions began. "But I– I don't know. I just couldn't... find the strength to face you guys just yet? I knew I disappointed you then. I knew everyone saw me as a failure, a big blunder." He lets out a long sigh, then finishes by blowing at his bangs. The only thing he ever succeeds in doing, though, is prickling his eyes with the heat of his own breath. He laughs to himself – wrong again. "But you're here now," Yura whispers, shifting in her position so that she's facing Joonmyun. From where Joonmyun is, he can see her tilts her head to the side, in the same direction that a corner of her lips tugs up. This is it, Joonmyun thinks, the woman he became a bit too fond of years ago, the woman he could have fallen in love with had circumstances been different. The same person who was the first to offer help to Joonmyun to try to find a cure to Yixing's condition but the last to step inside the house, asking, is it really okay for us to work here? I mean, I know you hate it when someone gets in the way of good research– "Rather, you let us in," she continues, then presses her lips into a tight-lipped smile. "And honestly, that has more bearing than you showing up at the Seoul labs unannounced." Joonmyun looks up, really looks up now, and meets Yura's gaze. Her cheeks are too red and her forehead is glistening with sweat and she looks like she might pass out anytime, but her gaze hasn't waned. If anything, they've become more focused with the way she's furrowing her eyebrows, with the way she's squinting and nodding in slow, measured bobs of the head. "I guess you could say that... I'm kinda glad this happened?" she adds after a while, voice cracking somewhere towards the middle. "It sucks that we had to reunite this way, but I'm glad something good could come out of it, at least. Never thought I'd see the day that we'd be in the same room again like this, just–" "But you're not drinking anymore," Joonmyun calls out. She frowns at him and reaches for another bottle on the counter, but it's already been emptied out. And the fridge is more than five steps from where they are. Maybe for those who haven't had at least eight shots of soju and then beer it wouldn't be so much of a chore, but with Joonmyun's head buzzing and the voices at the back of his mind beginning to scream at him, he's finding it more and more difficult to move and crawl to where the fridge is, much less stay awake. So instead, he sets his bottle down on the counter, leans against the surface on his side. Thinks that, hey, it's close to four in the morning and if he wants to see Yixing then he has to get up at six, at the very latest. He needs to go to bed, to sleep. Needs to shut up both his mouth and the voices at the back of his head, all screaming at him. "And you know what would be better? If those two were actually up and drinking with us." Yura snorts. "Do you want me to wake them up?" she asks, tone firm and resolute, but with a faint lilt towards the end. And she looks a bit serious, but the way her eyes droop and flutter closed betray her. So Joonmyun just shakes his head, smiles, brushes the idea off with a wave of the hand and gets them a glass of water each, instead. The conversation dissolves into a few quick stories on Jongdae's hand and white fish blastula endorsement, the promotion he'd just received, Minseok finally looking in Yura's direction but only to tell her that sure, they can have dinner, but they can never have dessert together. It's a nice compromise, Joonmyun thinks, an easy way of letting someone down without scarring yourself in the process, so when Yura asks where Joonmyun will be sleeping, if he wants to take the couch instead of the sleeping mat Yura has rolled out on the floor, he shakes his head and says, "Back pains. I'll need to sleep on my bed. Body's kinda missing the... soft cushion already." "You're old," Yura teases, sticking out her tongue as she leans back into her seat. With a wave of the hand and light laughter, she dismisses him, saying, "Go now, old man, get some rest!" Joonmyun shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself from laughing, making anymore noise. It's become difficult with fatigue and alcohol making him a bit loose-limbed, but he manages to saunter to the exit, dragging his palm along the wall the whole time. He's already halfway out of the room when Yura calls out to him, saying, "Yixing... has really done you well," in the faintest, softest voice she can muster. "So we'll do everything we can to save him, Joonmyun. We'll do everything we can to help you." He takes a deep breath, then, looks over his shoulder for the briefest of moments, just quick enough for him to catch the wistful smile stretched across Yura's lips, and imprint the image at the back of his mind. "We'll do everything we can," he whispers in response, back still turned to Yura. Yura hums in reply. "We can do this together." ☁ Christmas passes in a hush, in the songs Joonmyun hears on the radio while Sehun cleans the kitchen or in shows on television that he chances upon when he isn't working on the next wonder drug. It doesn't bother him that much – he hasn't celebrated Christmas in a while outside the usual feast for two and a toast between him and Sehun to wish a much longer life for themselves. Ridiculous, since he and Sehun might as well be immortal what with the magic surrounding the mansion shielding them from whatever harm might come their way, but Joonmyun wishes for it on Christmas Day and New Year's Eve, nonetheless. There's nothing wrong with a bit of naivety, with clinging to the foolish hope that everything will be right again someday. It makes cold winter nights spent listening to Yixing's voice on the other end of the line, thinking how it would be if Yixing had his arms around Joonmyun, instead, much more bearable. It makes it easier to count down to the day when they see each other again through the glass, or hold each other by the pads of their fingers through the small door in front, instead of counting the days they spend away from each other. Joonmyun gets it now, the secret to living a better life: focusing on what he has rather than what he could have had. Looking through the glass to find Yixing on the other side instead of looking to his side and imagining Yixing holding his hand. "I took draft 42 of the antidote, by the way, before going here. So it should have... kicked in by now?" Yixing mentions. Something on the other side of the door shifts, ruffles. Maybe he's trying to find a comfortable position where he can stay in for the next hour or two. Yixing's been feeling stronger these days, after shifting from draft 40 to 41 of the set of pills he should be taking for his body to develop a self-sustaining repellant against the flesh-eating virus. His leg is mostly whole again, his skin sporting only small translucent patches instead of strips of it. He can stay up until two, three in the morning again. He can hold Joonmyun's hand for more than a minute through the narrow opening of the door without flinching or feeling like his entire body is aflame. On good days, he can slide his fingers in the webs of Joonmyun's hand; on bad days, when his body is too weak from working too hard and the medicine simply can't tame the virus inside, he can only tap a simple beat on Joonmyun's nails with his own. But Joonmyun can feel it now – the sticky slide of their fingers, the thundering pulse where Yixing grazes his thumb along Joonmyun's skin. Can hear Yixing humming a soft tune under his breath as he swings their intertwined hands from side to side. Progress, Joonmyun notes – in the past three months that Yixing has been on medication, this is the best development he's shown. On bad weeks during the first week of medication, he could only get up on his feet two out of seven days. Within the first month, he'd be able to stand properly again without feeling his knees give away. The following month, he'd be well enough to slip back into old habit, drop by Joonmyun's place at eight in the morning and stay there until ten, until the heat of the sun gets to him and prickles his skin. "Feels worse than when I touch you," Yixing grumbled one time, groaning at the nasty burn on the back of his hand. He pushed it deeper into the small hole of the door until Joonmyun could see the entirety of Yixing's hand, until Joonmyun swatted his hand away because, "Are you stupid? You're putting yourself in danger–" Until Joonmyun realized that Yixing was already touching him, just a press of the pads of his fingers to Joonmyun's skin, and neither of them was grimacing in pain. "So how will you key this in the progress log?" Yixing asks now, chuckling as he tightens his hold on Joonmyun. Joonmyun hums for a bit. "91710 has displayed level three progress, now able to touch Contaminant 252 without incurring burns and blisters on the area of contact," he says in his blandest, most monotonous tone ever, and the next thing he knows Yixing's pulling away, mumbling something that sounds a lot like, you're the absolute worst. I will never be able to remember those numbers. Unless you call me that everyday and I just get used to it because I know the rhythm of your voice like the back of my hand. He takes a deep breath, then leans his head on the cool surface of the door. "Zhang Yixing is alive again," he whispers when he finds his voice again, then the magic word for 'progress' spills from the tip of his tongue and coaxes the right words out of him. "And Kim Joonmyun's just been reborn." Yixing snorts in response. Reaches inside with his other hand, as well, and covers Joonmyun's hand with his own. "You couldn't have gotten through med school by interpreting data like that," he says, voice just above a whisper, but his voice is lilting and cracking and brush of their fingers is electric, stunning all sense of logic in Joonmyun's system and keeping him from pulling away. "How the hell did you graduate with distinction?" "Magna cum laude," Joonmyun corrects, chuckling. Yixing gives the back of his hand a light pinch. He laughs in thoughtless retaliation. "Come on, at least get that right." They limit getting things right to formulae and solutions, though, to nailing the components of the antidote and knowing exactly how much time they have until they have to part. The window varies, depending on the condition of Yixing's body: when he's well-rested, they have eight to ten minutes to sit beside each other without a thin veil of glass keeping them apart, without anything to prove to them, not even circumstance, that they can't be together. Without having to worry about leaving nasty cuts and burns on each other's skin without even marking each other with misbehaving hands. When Yixing's feeling weak, overextended, they have no more than two minutes to stay by each other's side. And then there are those lapses in logic, those very few times when they can stay in each other's arms for more than thirty minutes and not walk away with scars. It happens in the garden, more often than not, when they harvest the fruits and vegetables together, elbows bumping as they exchange small smiles, fleeting touches. When the closest they can get to being intimate is linking their ankles and Joonmyun wondering, just wondering, if things can ever go wrong it he takes just one calculated risk. "Choke it up to your experiment," Joonmyun recalls Sehun commenting one time. "I mean, you'll have to know the extent to which Yixing-hyung can be subject to touch from a contaminant, right? So kiss him. If he ends up with cuts on his lips then lick them clean before pulling away. If nothing bad happens then just keep kissing him." Then Sehun leaned back in his seat, reached for the extra cup of milk he'd heated that morning. He's never quite slipped out of the habit of heating milk for three. "Everybody wins, and nobody loses. And they lived happily ever after. The end." It doesn't work that way, Joonmyun tells himself now as he settles beside Yixing in the garden, the jut of their ankles brushing. There are no fairytale endings, no happily ever afters. The only thing that he and Yixing can have is five minutes of respite in each other's arms – four minutes and forty-eight seconds now, according to the timer he'd started the moment Yixing stepped inside through the other door from the outside. And maybe the medicine can give them a little extra, say, five, ten more seconds, but that's it. Until the virus inside Yixing dies, until Joonmyun shuts down the virus contained in his body, they'll have to settle for glimpses of each other. They'll have to settle for four minutes and twenty-four seconds of sitting in silence, hands linked by the pinkies, prepared to break away the moment they run out of time. "I'm working on a... solvent of sorts," Joonmyun begins, then tilts his head to the side so he can see Yixing better. From where he is, with these six long inches between them, he can make out the pimples flaunted on Yixing's cheeks, the tiny cuts on his bottom lip from where Yixing worries his lips too much. The gentle upward curl at the corners of his mouth, as well, guiding Joonmyun gaze up to the dimples on Yixing's cheeks. He can feel his stomach lurching and his toes curling in completely on instinct, but– No. "The goal is to dissolve the medicine in your system better and extend its effects," he explains, then, retreating his hand to his side a little, but Yixing fights back. Keeps him right there and fixes him in place with a gaze, pursed lips, a gentle tilt of the head. Like he knows exactly what Joonmyun's thinking about, and that he's thinking of the same thing. So Joonmyun clears his throat, continuing, "I'm not sure if I should up the dosage of your main meds so that the effect of the medicine isn't cut into half, but I'm sorta inclined to do that? I mean, it makes sense – if I want to retain the effect of the medicine even after adding solvent to spread out the particles even more then I have to add more of the main ingredient to–" "Last two minutes," comes Yixing soft response. He leans in, stopping only when their foreheads bump, when the tip of his nose grazes Joonmyun's skin in the briefest, softest of touches. Soon, Yixing's shifting in his position, his knee digging into the side of Joonmyun's thigh now, and shit– Every touch burns. It's a nice kind of burn, though, the type that crawls up from his ankles to the back of his knees, all the way up until he feels it wrap around his throat in a tight, vicious grip. And it prickles his skin. Every breath Yixing takes leaves these tiny marks on his skin, on his cheek, where Yixing breathes out in tiny packets of air. And every breath he takes makes him ask himself all the more – why am I here, why am I doing this, why am I not kissing you? "Make them count." "Fifty-nine, fifty-eight–" Yixing digs his knuckles in Joonmyun's stomach and twists it there, takes a fistful of his shirt so he can pull him closer. "Smart Alec," he mumbles but doesn't quite pull away, just stays there in the tight fit of their bodies with his wrist caught in an awkward twist. Fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty, a voice at the back of Joonmyun's mind counts. He takes a deep breath, then, tries not to close his eyes because if he does then Lord knows what he'll find himself capable of doing. Yixing's still looking at him, at the space between his eyes where his nose stems from, then guiding his gaze down to the jut of Joonmyun's upper lip. And isn't it rude to look away? Isn't it wrong to avert one's gaze when someone's trying to suck you in, heart, mind, and soul? It's like one of those conversations with people who matter – they look at you in the eye because there will always be things they can't say: don't give in, don't put all of our hard work to waste. But if you do decide to make that single mistake then please, Joonmyun, please count me in on this. Let's make that mistake together. Forty-four, forty-three, forty-two– "What do you want me to do, then?" Joonmyun asks after a while. "I dunno," Yixing singsongs in a voice so faint, he could have just been breathing. He shifts in his position, pressing even closer, his chapped lips grazing Joonmyun's skin. Joonmyun takes in a deep, shaky breath. "What can you in under two minutes?" There are a lot of ways to answer the question. He can make good coffee in a minute, can chuck a couple of instant food in the microwave at three in the morning and hope that they'll be warm enough for consumption a minute after. Fix his hair in the mirror before facing Yixing on the other side of the glass on most days, and on the special ones actually open the door to the garden at the back to let Yixing inside. There are a lot of things he can do in a little over a minute, but Yixing seems to speed time up and slow it down in equal amounts whenever they're together. Make another mistake, a voice at the back of his mind says, then, snorting. It sounds a lot like himself. He shakes his head, then, chokes down all the words threatening to spill from his lips when he hears the soft ticking of the hands of his watch. Instead, he answers, "Stay?" and Yixing nods, closing his eyes as he relaxes into the press of their foreheads. Fifteen seconds until they reach the last minute. Fifteen more seconds until they can enjoy this touch, their shared heat. Fifteen seconds until they have to start saying a minute-long goodbye. And then it's back to the house for Joonmyun, back to the open field in front of Joonmyun's house for Yixing. They'll be pressing their ears to the same door again after that and listening to each other breathe. And then Joonmyun will have to count the days until they get that window again. Even then, he won't know how much time they'll have until the right time comes – a minute or five, ten if they're lucky. Thirty seconds if time isn't on their side, or sometimes just a hitch of the breath. You'll never know unless you try, Joonmyun recalls Sehun saying in that bright voice of his, three minutes before eight in the morning. Yixing was already on the other side of the door then, ready to deliver milk and to reach out for Joonmyun's fingers, hold onto them until time decided to push them away. Joonmyun was on his way down, with Sehun holding him by the arm to help him stay on his feet. It was one of those bad days – he had to stay up the whole night to work on draft 41 – but at the first sound of the bell Joonmyun felt a violent breath of life take over him. So really hyung, just... do it. I mean– Would you rather spend a lifetime asking yourself, what if we could be together sooner? What if we could actually kiss? What if we just had to wish hard enough to make this... weird wish come true? Behavior therapy, Joonmyun says to himself, laughs to himself. Maybe Yixing has been teaching Sehun a thing or two about how human behavior can actually cure the sick. Or maybe it really is just that simple – all he has to do is to take Yixing's hand and ask him if he could take that blind leap of faith with him. "On a scale of one to ten," Joonmyun begins, laughing a little when he feels Yixing shake his head in the fit of their bodies. Yixing is close, too close, and if he just tilted his head more, leaned a bit closer, if he could just read Joonmyun's mind like the back of his mind then shit, game over. But Yixing isn't the type who'd hand a loss to someone. He'd play things out until the very end, try to make the playing field even if he's always had the upper hand. And then he'd strike just when the opponent thinks he's already had the victory sealed up. And Yixing lifts one hand now, resting it on Joonmyun's shoulder. Joonmyun shivers at the first contact, gulps hard at the second and at the sizzle of heat that rolls down his abdomen. The pads of Yixing's fingers ghost the slope of his neck. He closes his eyes in thoughtless response. "I said, shut up, listen to me now–" "You listen to yourself," Yixing counters, then gives Joonmyun's wrist watch three taps. Steals three seconds of Joonmyun's time and three important words that Joonmyun could've already said had Yixing not been such a good distraction. And Yixing knows it. Joonmyun can tell by the way Yixing tilts his head, by the way Yixing pulls him closer with these soft and gentle tugs, taps on his bare skin that can be a morse code for another message Joonmyun can't be bothered to decode at the moment. And Yixing remains dangerously still, waiting and resisting in equal parts. Like he's saying, I think I know what you're about to do but I don't want to jump to conclusions. So tell me, Joonmyun, tell me now. If there's anything you want to tell me, all you have to do is to lean closer– Joonmyun snakes his hands up, then, sliding his palms along Yixing's sides and smiling when he hears Yixing's breathing hitch. Curls his fingers at the base of Yixing's nape and chuckles when it surprises a gasp out of Yixing. This is him listening to himself, to the voices at the back of his head, to the lurching sensation in his stomach that has never let him down. This is him taking bending his knees, ready to take flight, but looking over his shoulder to ask Yixing, will you do this with me? "Are you out of your mind?" Yixing asks, breathless as he twists a hand in Joonmyun's shirt. Joonmyun laughs. "Maybe." Thirty seconds on the clock, and Joonmyun sucks in a deep, rattling breath. He can feel his pulse in his palms, the back of his knees and elbows, his ears, can feel the heavy thumping in his chest. Can taste a sick mix of blood and metal on his lips when he licks them as Yixing's hot breath catches on his skin. He draws his hands further up, then, cupping Yixing's cheeks, and then he's leaning in. Ghosting his lips over the corners of Yixing's mouth like he's still mapping out his path, looking for his way home. Then he feels it, Yixing's pulse on his skin, Yixing's cool fingers drumming a beat on his chest, Yixing whispering his name in the thinning distance between them like a mantra, a prayer. So he presses his lips on Yixing's own, sucks on Yixing's top lip, pulls away to catch Yixing's bottom lip between his teeth. Licks the corners of Yixing's mouth in swift, light motions, and coaxes them open when he brushes his thumb along Yixing's cheek. Yixing holds back a moan but doesn't quite hold back a whimper, and then he's laughing into the press of their lips, the inelegant slide of their mouths, the fit of their bodies. Joonmyun drinks it all up, then, swallows the sound whole when he claims Yixing's mouth again, licking the back of Yixing's teeth then sucking on his tongue. Commits every shift of the muscle, every hitch of the breath, every moan and groan and gasp that spills from Yixing's lips to memory when he sucks marks on the underside of Yixing's jaw. He can feel his lips burning, can see the pads of his fingers going lighter, paler, translucent, but they still have ten seconds. And ten seconds is all he needs to dip his head and memorize the way Yixing balls his hands into fists in Joonmyun's hair to break him off and leave marks on Joonmyun's skin, the way Yixing's voice trails off into a high trill when Joonmyun licks the shell of his ear and laughs against Yixing skin, wet and warm. The way their bodies align. "Go," Joonmyun whispers, breathless when they part. He can still feel the slick of saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth, the way Yixing's nails catch on the buttons of his shirt at the sound of the alarm. Can see the faint blotches of white on Yixing's cheeks and his fingers losing color but feeling much, much warmer than before. So he says again, drawling his syllables this time as if offering Yixing something to hold onto, a lifeline Yixing can wrap his fingers around, "Go. Now." "I'll see you," Yixing says, voice cracking somewhere in between Joonmyun laughs a little. The cuts on his lips sting and there a dull ache in his jaw and he's losing himself again, every part of him going paler, but all these thoughts get swallowed by the feeling of his pulse thrumming in anticipation of the next big leap, the slow, simmering heat at the pit of his stomach coming to a boil. "I'll see you," he echoes, then stands from his seat, slipping back into the mansion and not looking back. There's a bounce in his step. It takes no more than five minutes to get from the garden at the back to the front door, no more than five minutes for him to regain some of his color. He can still see through his right hand, for the most part, and he still feels oddly light and a bit light-headed but every part of him feels warm, even more when he holds his hand up against the glass of the window by the door, splays the pale fingers on the cool surface, and sees the veins of Yixing's fingers on the other side. There are scars on Yixing's face from where he's touched Yixing too much, too long, but Yixing doesn't seem to mind – the situation they're in, the half-life they live, the burn of Joonmyun's touch on his skin, Joonmyun can't tell yet. All the knows is that they will always try to find holes in which they can fit, that they will always try to find ways to break down the glass keeping them apart. And that Yixing is smiling, the corners of his mouth stretched wide open, reaching up to the corners of his eyes and making them crinkle. Blinding Joonmyun, washing Yixing out. So Joonmyun closes his eyes and lets his face fall forward, forehead thunking against the glass, the soft thud mirroring on the other side. He stays there and holds in his breath, listening to Yixing breathe. ☄ Spring crawls back with a familiar kind of warmth. Gone are the last dregs of snow on the streets, but from time to time Joonmyun still feels the cool breeze of winter weave his hair into a tangled mess, feels morning settle into place too slowly that he has to set three alarms just to make sure he does get up at six in the morning. The routine is still the same, for the most part – Joonmyun rouses before the sun rises and finds Sehun in the kitchen, already preparing breakfast. The scent of coffee wafts in the entire room, coaxing Joonmyun to come closer. If not, there will be an open bag of ground coffee resting just beside the coffee maker and Sehun's too busy trying to perfect sunny-side ups, or designing scrambled eggs with ketchup doodles that almost always include a smiley. And there's a bottle of milk balanced on the kitchen counter, then a soup pan on the stove. A pack of cookies to the right of the table arrangement on Joonmyun's side of the dining table. Little things that remind Joonmyun that Yixing has somehow carved a special niche in his life that's nigh impossible to ignore. The hands of the clock shift, and Joonmyun looks up. It's only four in the morning, two hours before he has to get up and start crossing items off his to-do list. It's six degrees outside and his fingers feel like they might fall off anytime even with his gloves on and all the layers of clothes he's wearing, but he has to be here. In a minute, Yixing will appear at the doorstep to the garden. He'll be reaching out to ruffle Joonmyun's hair, then he'll drag his cool fingers down the slope of Joonmyun's neck. And then he'll pull Joonmyun close, close, closer, until Joonmyun sees nothing, hears nothing but the loud thumping in Yixing's chest. It's been half a year since he'd promised to himself never to get Yixing involved in any of his projects anymore, promised to himself to push Yixing away at the first opportunity instead of luring him in every single time their knuckles brush. It's been half a year since the disease Yixing had contracted from his sports – no, bullying – injury was jolted back to activity and began to make its ascent, crawling from near his ankles to his calves, then all the way up to his thighs. Joonmyun can still remember that time, the first time they'd ever backed each other up against a wall or a plant or whatever surface they could lean on: Yixing dropped his hands from where he was cupping Joonmyun's cheeks and undid the buckle of his belt, then slid off his pants. Shook off the material where it was dangling off his ankle then surfaced only to kiss Joonmyun deeper, harder. When Joonmyun dropped to his knees and slid his hands down to map of the canvas of Yixing's skin with his hands, all he saw was patches of flesh on Yixing's left leg, then paling skin on the right. Dots of red where the flesh of his skin burned the brightest, then dark brown x marks along Yixing's inner thigh. Joonmyun was no stranger to it, but it felt different seeing it on someone else. And to an extent, it felt comforting knowing that he wasn't the only one losing parts of himself but finding these tiny gems of who he can be in others. Indelible marks on the skin from people who you care about the most. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" Joonmyun had asked then, his mouth hovering Yixing's crotch. Yixing let out a low exhale, bucked his hips on instinct when Joonmyun leaned even closer. Joonmyun pressed his lips to Yixing's inner thigh, then, trailed kisses along the expanse of skin while he cupped Yixing's tenting erection through his briefs. "Just– Just let me know if you're not–" "I'm okay with anything," Yixing answered, voice cracking as Joonmyun moved even closer. So Joomyun snuck his hands up the back of Yixing's legs, cupped his ass through his underwear, and pulled Yixing even closer until he was mouthing on Yixing's dick through the material of his briefs. "How crazy are we," is Yixing's question today, five minutes past the hour and his arms wrapped around Joonmyun's waist. They're still covered in too many layers of clothes, for the most part, but Yixing already has his hands inside the back pockets of Joonmyun's pants, kneading Joonmyun's ass as he slips one leg between Joonmyun's own. We've done crazier things, Joonmyun wants to say – getting each other off in Yixing's Chevy Nova after one of their visits to the institute, after receiving news from Minseok that Yixing's doing much better. "As long as he keeps taking the pills and gets enough rest," Minseok had said then, pausing only to clear his throat, "– and by that, I mean a minimum of six hours of sleep, stop groaning – he'll be alright. The virus in your bodies are taking longer to find each other and make your system go against you so contact should be fine, but you know your limits. Nothing in excess of an hour. Any more than that is deadly." So they set a timer for themselves – thirty minutes, so they'd have thirty more to just talk and laugh at each other and berate themselves for ever sullying the sanctity of Yixing's car. Thirty minutes to come down from the high, to remind themselves of the things they can have and those that they can't. Thirty long minutes for them to ease back into reality. And then there was that one time, the morning after Joonmyun had been cleared by the institute as someone who'd survived the highest, worst strain of the disease and had been bumped down to a C-class contaminant. Yixing showed up at Joonmyun's doorstep at half past five in the morning, a basket of food (cookies, Joonmyun thought they were going to have cookies for breakfast again) in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. "Too early," Joonmyun had gasped then as Yixing sucked marks on the underside of his jaw, one hand guiding him to lie on the mat and the other sneaking past the waistband of Joonmyun's pants, stroking his length with his thumb. "Too early for other kinds of milk." "You're complaining about the time of the day and not the place?" Yixing asked then, chuckling. The vibrations of his laughter prickled Joonmyun's skin, made him shiver all over and buck into Yixing's touch all the more. "You're so weird." "I am," Joonmyun whispered in response, popped himself against his arms so he could suck on Yixing's earlobe as some act of rebellion. "You like me, just the same." Yixing hummed and pulled away for a while, only to claim Joonmyun's lips in a gentle kiss. "Yeah, I do," he said against the press of their lips, voice so soft he could have just been breathing. "I guess that makes two of us." Yixing's brand of crazy this time is roaming his hands along the expanse of Joonmyun’s chest, coaxing Joonmyun to remove both of his jackets this and getting to unbuttoning Joonmyun's shirt so he can suck a trail of marks down the stretch of his torso. Joonmyun leans back against the cool wall for support, for balance, shivering when he feels the cool wind tousle his hair, but when he feels Yixing's lips, wet and warm, on his skin, he feels his knees give away. "This wasn't here before," Yixing murmurs against his skin, tracing lazy circles on a patch of skin, then looks up at Joonmyun through half-lidded eyes for the briefest of moments. He can feel the slow-forming smile on Yixing's lips, can feel Yixing's pattering pulse where their skins brush. Soon, Yixing's rubbing his thumb along the dip of Joonmyun's hips, pressing a kiss where his mouth reaches. "And this, too." "They– I mean the doctors, Minseok-hyung and the others–" Joonmyun takes a deep, shaky breath, lips parting when he feels Yixing lave his tongue along the dip. "–said the recovery's sped up considerably and maybe I'll be off C-class in two weeks so we can go for that trip–" Yixing pulls away, looking up at Joonmyun through the slits of his bangs, eyes wide open. Joonmyun's breath hitches at the sudden loss of warmth, at the cool winds curling around the area where Yixing's lips once were, but soon Yixing's pressing light kisses, tentative, almost shy, like he's still trying to gather his words so here, Joonmyun, have a kiss in the mean time. Have a kiss and a wicked grin and my pulse on your skin as my answer. "We? I thought that was supposed to be a solo trip?" Yixing asks after a while, his thumbs still rubbing circles on Joonmyun's skin but his gaze fixed on nothing, no one else but Joonmyun. Joonmyun feels his insides turn, feels his toes curl in at Yixing's warm spilling onto his skin. "You said you wanted to go to Seoraksan to let go of past grudges for your birthday and–" "And to show you where I came from. Share–" Joonmyun's breath hitches, and his voice cracks when it peaks. He shakes his head. He reaches out, then, threading his fingers through Yixing's hair and coaxing Yixing to stand upright. Soon, they're skin on skin, caught in the messy web of their limbs, and Yixing's worrying his bottom lip and twisting his mouth like he can ever keep himself from smiling. "Share a piece of my past, since you've already introduced me to Lu Han and his family and his best friend's family and their cat–" "The cat is part of my extended family," Yixing whispers. He leans his head on Joonmyun's shoulder, then tilts his head up a little to press a soft kiss to the underside of Joonmyun's jaw. "Like Sehun is part of yours." "You saved the cat from dying, as well?" Yixing laughs a little and shakes his head. Joonmyun feels a tingle in his toes again, a familiar sizzle crawling to his abdomen all the way down to the back of his knees. His body gives a tiny jerk; Yixing goes for the save, resting his hand on the small of Joonmyun's back. After a while, Yixing answers, "Nah, it was the other way around." He takes a deep breath, nose pressed to the slope of Joonmyun's neck, then murmurs, "I guess I have a thing for being saved." No, you don't, Joonmyun wants to tell him, but his throat feels too tight and dry and his chest feels so heavy. And he's losing the feeling in his fingers, more and more as Yixing rubs up against him, knee brushing along his inner thigh. So instead, he presses his lips to Yixing's own, hoping Yixing will understand this – the slide of their limbs, the rhythmic beating in their chests, the fit of their bodies. The words that knock at the back of Joonmyun's lips, waiting for a clumsy enunciation – You saved me. They spend the next hour leading up to six in the morning sitting on the stairs near the front door, a good twelve inches between them, backs pressed to pillars behind them. They don't reach out to each other, don't touch, don't even look other in the eye, but they do listen – to Yixing talking about his plan of finally getting a new car, to Joonmyun wondering if he should maybe get a place closer to the city center, ten minutes away from where Yixing lives. To the booming sound of their ragged breathing, the seven-degree weather getting the better of them and the heat of their bodies. To the sound of footsteps shuffling closer until the door unlocks and Sehun greets them with a small smile, droopy eyes, and a faint, "Coffee's ready. The milk, too." Yixing risks a glance at Joonmyun, eyes blowing wide. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even make a sound, so instead Joonmyun says it for him, the words coming to him all too easily – "Come in." one | two | three 1. The title was taken from Jack’s Mannequin’s MFEO + You Can Breathe. Give it a listen if you can; it’s a wonderful song and sort of tells this story. 2. Some of the ages in the fic have been tweaked. Joonmyun, Yixing, and Yura are all 43, Minseok is 44, and Jongdae is 42. 3. I’d compiled a playlist for this, but these three are my absolute favorites from the list: Up Dharma Down’s Feelings and Blessed, and Maroon 5's Daylight. MOD NOTE: You've reached the end of the fic! Thank you for reading. If you'd like to leave a comment, please do so in THIS Livejournal post!