[BL] Spring Is in the Air!

[ caeruleum ]

by Ruyi

 

Premise Tags: Cold Protagonist,

Devoted Love Interest, Modern Day,

Scifi Elements, Military, Scientists,

One-Sided Love, War, Time Skips,

Family Affairs, Arranged Marriage.

Content Warnings: Mild Emetophobia,

Mild Gore, Violence,

Elements of Slight nonSexual Dubcon

(angry display of affection,

drugging (no sex/non-romantic, plot-reasons).

 

 

 

 

 

✿

 

“Date me.”

“What?”

“Make me your boyfriend.”

The shorter of the two just scoffs, giving his companion a once over behind his glasses before drawling, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Sure ya do. You’re always callin’ me over to help with experiments, right?” the second shrugs, his tone light. “Sounds less fishy if we’re goin’ out already.”

“Work and dating shouldn’t mix.”

“Yeah? It ain’t like yer gonna fall in love with me anytime soon.” 

Cyril pauses at the crosswalk to study the person beside him. Although he and Aeton are only one month apart in terms of age, the other easily towers half a foot over him, his messy hair tied up in a wild ponytail that cascades down his back. There’s a plaster on his cheek that covers a cut, remnants of this afternoon’s weapons trial. It’s an imperfection on the otherwise flawless face with piercing golden eyes and sharp, angular brows. His careless slouch, sukajan jacket, and barely visible tattoo peeking from the wrist mark him as a native of the streets: in other words, a common gangster.

In comparison, the young scientist with his dark-rimmed spectacles, white lab coat, and collared shirt tucked primly into his trousers oozes authority and self-restraint. His features are soft where Aeton’s are hard, his gaze cloudy with the myriad thoughts that plague a constant, intellectual pursuit of curiosity.

“You were chosen as a test subject to further my research,” Cyril says coolly. “Not to make forays into my personal life.”

His “test subject” only smirks and casually leans over. “Uh-huh,” Aeton agrees, “As long as ya honor yer end of our contract.”

“I see.” A flicker of understanding passed through Cyril’s features before he looked askance at him. “You are overdue for a reward after your efforts. What would you like this time? Another new toy? Perhaps the prototype for the latest model would do?”

“Nah, nothin’ with that much paperwork,” Aeton says languidly as he rests his chin on that oh-so-pristine shoulder covered in the white lab coat.

“Oh?” Cyril is a little impatient as he shrugs Aeton off. “Then a direct transfer of payment is sufficient. I’ll ask the R&D department to calculate the appropriate bonus based on your recent performance.”

Aeton resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When it came to science, Cyril was centuries ahead of the curve, but for things like picking up cues in conversations, he was hopeless. 

“Go on a date with me!” he repeats, this time with a trace of a whine.

“No.” The rejection is immediate. “I told you, I’m not inter—”

“Just one,” Aeton interrupts. “No strings, no relationships. I’ll pay for dinner an’ everything.” He can see the gears turning in Cyril’s head as the young scientist digests his words. The next second, Cyril reveals a puzzled expression. 

“What benefits does that give you?” Cyril asks. “My tastes are expensive and very particular. You would be losing money on a pointless exercise.”

“It’s for my mental health!” Aeton cuts in quickly. After six years of working with this guy, even his fight-addled brains had picked up snatches of jargon here and there. “Ya know I perform better when I’m less irritable, yeah? Humor me for once.”

Cyril purses his lips when Aeton beams at him. “With your current erratic behavior, I’m afraid a dinner date will only exacerbate emotions into further excitability.” His gaze drifts to the trees around them, just starting to bud after a long winter frost, and frowns. “Your reactions today were 2.5% slower than usual as well. Such carelessness is uncharacteristic of your typical performance, but I’ve witnessed similar cases of restless inconstancy in animals come springtime. You are, perhaps, distracted by the warm weather to—”

“Anyways!” Aeton interrupts before he can finish. “I’ll come to the lab and pick ya up at 7 tonight! Checked with yer assistants already, they said yer evenin’s free.”

By now the light is already green, so the gangster simply flees across the street before his good scientist buddy can catch up with him. 

Six years ago, Aeton had only been a common vagabond, fighting to survive amongst the other lurkers in the streets. He had no parents and even less of a home, but he thrived in the chaos in spite of it all. Then one day, he’d been caught by surprise and beaten up by a group of thugs and left bleeding in an alley. 

Aeton had thought that was the end, but that was when Cyril came in. The clean-cut, primly-dressed 14-year-old was already enrolled in university and pursuing a double degree in engineering and medicine. He had crouched next to his broken body, gave him a rundown of every single mistake that had cost him the fight, then bandaged him up and sent him to the nearest hospital. Cyril had no family either, but his genius had made him a special ward of the state. The government was funding his education with the expectation that he would enter into the newly established sector of the military dedicated to developing next-generation weapons for their soldiers. As for how Aeton knew this, it was simple: Cyril had found him after graduation and hired him to work for him—not as an assistant or bodyguard, but simply as a basic test subject. 

“You know how to fight, so I’ll leave you in the streets to keep your skills sharp,” Cyril had proposed, “But I also want to pay you to fight for me. Of course, you’ll be able to request rewards within reason based on your performances in my weapons trials.”

Others might have laughed him off for the lopsided arrangement, but not Aeton. For the boy who had grown up alone all his life, being noticed for his own merits was a novel thing. And he didn’t mind the arrangement either—fighting was all he’d known, so he wasn’t planning to stop. Getting reimbursed for it simply meant he could afford to live a little better, scope a little farther, for challenges that suited him. 

It also didn’t hurt that Cyril was a very attractive man. Physically, he was weak and rather delicate—one could describe his pale skin and ice-blue eyes as doll-like, especially against his shock of silver hair. But mentally he was a monster, a predator like Aeton who delighted in hunting down weaknesses whether they be scientific theories, design flaws, or the very human failings of his co-workers and colleagues. He was uniformly dismissive of human notions, yet ironically advocated for subjects like Aeton to participate in his trials because he best embodied the “organic, unpredictable nature” of human thoughts and feelings. 

Mankind had yet to evolve to a state where robots controlled warfare, and if scientists like Cyril had any say in the matter, they never would.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

At 6:55PM, Aeton saunters up to the front gates of the Aesir Research Institute and waits dutifully for his date to begin. His plaster is gone, the cut on his face already healed to a faint pink scar. He’s changed his shoes and jacket for something more respectable and even his ponytail looks a tad less spiky than usual.

At precisely 6:59PM, Cyril strides out of the gates with quick steps, still wearing his lab coat and cradling a tablet beneath one arm. He sees Aeton and makes a beeline for him while pushing up his glasses.

“I’ve already called a car to pick us up, it should arrive shortly,” the scientist announces briskly. “I know you don’t have your own and I can’t stand taxis.”

Aeton just shrugs. He has the money to buy his own ride, but no space or time to park the thing and drive it around the city. “Ya don’t wanna change clothes?” he asks instead. As far as he could tell, the other was still wearing his work uniform.

Cyril glances at Aeton’s outfit and shakes his head. “I don’t own anything worth as little as yours—and even if I did, I’d hardly find such rough fabrics comfortable.”

Aeton internally facepalms, but drops the subject. The next second, a black company sedan pulls up just as the clock strikes 7PM. Before he can speak up, Cyril’s already gotten into the front seat and settled himself comfortably across from the chauffeur.

“.....” says Aeton as he slides into the backseat all alone.

“Where are we going?” Cyril asks as soon as their ride turns out of the laboratory driveway. When Aeton rattles off numbers and streets to the driver, he checks the GPS navigation and frowns. “A residential address?”

“My house,” Aeton explains simply.

“Did you forget something at home?” 

“No, we’re goin’ there to eat.”

Cyril turns around in his seat with a rare, childish pout. “I don’t like take-out food.”

“I know,” Aeton tries not to laugh. “That’s why I’ll cook for ya instead.”

Cyril opens and closes his mouth a few times, then quickly tabs open his tablet. It holds copies of most of his notes as well as important files to review on the go, such as Aeton’s personal profile as a test subject.

“This doesn’t list your cooking parameters,” Cyril complains after flipping through the pages.

“Then yer in for a surprise,” Aeton replies airily.

“Have you ever cooked before?” Cyril asks suspiciously.

“I’ve been livin’ alone since I was old enough to make it on the streets,” Aeton says matter-of-factly. “What d’ya think?”

Cyril really does think, but it doesn’t take him long to draw conclusions. “According to statistical evidence compiled in the last decade, a majority of minority homeless are forced to engage in foraging behaviors to supplement their less than sufficient diets, commonly limiting themselves to cost-effective meals from fast food or dumpster div—”

“All right, stop thinkin’!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yer evidence is outdated! Obstinate!”

“I believe the correct term is ‘obsolete.’”

“I can cook,” Aeton finishes the conversation. “So just get ready to enjoy a good meal.”

That night, he burns the steak. 

Cyril doesn’t seem to care and is in the middle of shoveling charred meat into his mouth when Aeton knocks the fork from his hands.

“Don’t, it’s prac’ally charcoal,” he fumes.

“It’s fine,” Cyril says. 

Aeton’s heart skips a beat. “Aren’t ya suppos’d to have ‘expensive and particular’ tastes?”

“Yes, but you’re my most expensive investment,” Cyril explains matter-of-factly. “If eating your poorly-cooked food satisfies the requirements of our ‘date,’ then the risk of a bad stomachache is worth it.”

Aeton’s heartbeat speeds up as his temper flares. “Fine then, eat it all!” 

“No need.” After wrestling with one piece for a few moments, Cyril sets it back down on the plate. “I have exerted enough effort to express my sincerity and am now well justified in calling for take-out to replace the main course.”

Aeton slams his hands on the table. “Ya said ya didn’t like take-out!”

“Your steak is even worse,” Cyril remarks while texting his favorite restaurant. “It’s wise to pick the lesser of two evils.”

Aeton sits in his seat and sulks. Outside the window, mockingbirds chirp in ridicule as the sun goes down. 

He can’t pinpoint the moment he fell in love with Cyril, only that he did and it’s probably a lost cause. Some people are born with all brawn and no brains, while Cyril is all brains and no heart. He means what he says and speaks what he feels, but he’s never shown affection towards any human being. Even his act of rescuing Aeton in their past was simply born from goodwill bred from curiosity, later sharpened to motive when he brought him in for his experiments. 

Maybe he was in it for the cash.

Maybe he was so starved for attention that even some from a weirdo scientist was welcome. 

Maybe might be anything, but as Aeton watches Cyril cut through the fresh delivery of medium-rare steak with mathematical precision slices, he realizes he could stare at the sight until the world ends.

Rrringgg!

Or at least until the phone rings. Not even looking up from his steak, Cyril merely speaks to his tablet resting on the table. 

“Accept it.”

The call connects, and the screen springs up with a perfect hologram of a man’s face. Aeton creases his brow at the sight: the hat and uniform indicates it’s military. The sound is transmitted directly to Cyril’s eardrums so he can’t eavesdrop on the conversation, but he reads enough lips to catch “new project,” “confidential,” and “hopes of the armed forces.”

Cyril only nods and hums between bites of steak, never looking at the man at all. At the end of the call he finally opens his mouth to say one word.

“Okay.”

The call disconnects, and Cyril reaches for his cup of tea. He never drinks unless he’s done with a meal, so Aeton’s quick to follow up.

“There’s still dessert.”

“No time,” Cyril shakes his head and wipes his lips with a napkin. “Latest news, I’m needed back at the lab. They have something big planned.”

“Then I’ll come with ya?” Aeton offers.

“Not right now,” Cyril brushes him off. “Wait until they authorize field tests and I’ll bring you in.”

“How long s’that gonna take?” 

“One, two weeks at most,” Cyril rattles off as he gets up from his seat. “They’re in a hurry. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Cyril pauses before reaching over to pat Aeton’s hand awkwardly. “You’re an irreplaceable step in testing our prototypes. Skipping you would mean weeks of pointless troubleshooting.”

Aeton grabs Cyril’s hand before he can pull away. “All right,” he swallows, ignoring the questioning look the scientist shoots him. “I’ll be waitin’...for ya.”

Cyril’s gaze on him intensifies. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“H-huh?!”

“You’re physically restraining me from making a speedy exit,” Cyril points out.

Aeton scowls at him, then simply raises Cyril’s fingers to his lips for a quick kiss. “There, I’m done!”

Cyril wiggles his freed hand, then shoots Aeton another strange look. “What was that for?”

“Dammit Cyril, it’s a kiss!” Aeton sputters as he turns bright red. “What else did ya expect after a dinner date?!” Especially one ya cut short with work commitments!

“I understand that, but I thought you also knew I have no interest in you,” Cyril points out. “You’re very good at deluding yourself otherwise.”

Aeton’s face flushes again—this time with indignation. “It ain’t a crime to act on my feelings, is it?!”

“When it comes to matters of romance,” Cyril turns serious, “Consent is a very important detail. We’re adults, but it’s common sense to ask permission first.”

“Fine then, gimme permission ta kiss ya whenever I want!”

“Denied,” Cyril arches his eyebrows. “Why should I let you take advantage of me for no reason?”

“Then make ‘em my rewards for workin’ hard,” Aeton insists. “I don’t need more prototypes or bonuses—ya give me enough money as is. I just want more time with ya!”

“We spend all day together when we’re running field tests,” Cyril points out.

“I mean time with ya alone,” Aeton clarifies. “Like tonight. Things like dinners and hangin’ out!”

“You mean more dates?” Cyril asks.

“Yes! Dates and kisses and whatever couples do,” Aeton rambles on, “It’s easy pay, and it won’t cost you a penny.”

“It’ll cost me my time,” Cyril frowns. “A very valuable resource—”

“Then I’ll save up extra to pay for dates, and just do hugs and kisses other times,” Aeton compromises easily. “They can’t hurt ya any, and they’ll only take a second each. Think of all the extra time you’ll get for researchin’ and readin’, those kinds of things!”

“Direct payment is the best way to circumnavigate bureaucratic red tape…” Cyril finds himself nodding while Aeton eagerly looks on. Unfortunately, his tablet chooses to ping him at that moment with a text message: the driver downstairs has gotten a nudge from headquarters to speed him along. 

“Fine,” Cyril agrees quickly. “We’ll put the new terms into effect tomorrow.”

Aeton silently cheers. 

He’s soon wallowing in neglect however, because Cyril doesn’t contact him for the next two weeks. 

Feeling bored and restless, Aeton haunts the old alleyways and streets until he ends up beating up half the population of troublemakers in the area, starting a miniature reign of terror that lowers crime rate by 0.68% in the neighborhood. 

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

16 days, 8 hours, and 23 minutes later, Cyril finally texts. The message is simple: Meet me at the labs in an hour.

It reaches Aeton in the middle of a fistfight, so he simply breaks the jaw of the last thug before calling a cab and speeding for the research facility. The security recognize him as an exception by now and wave him in, but he’s accosted by a soldier in uniform as soon as he reaches the door to Cyril’s laboratory.

“ID?” the soldier barks.

“I’m here on special permit,” Aeton scowls and flashes him the e-card installed in his phone. 

“I don’t recognize that name from the staff database,” the soldier replies while narrowing his eyes at Aeton’s bloodied fists. “This is a sterilized environment—”

“Yo, Cyril!” Aeton raises his voice instead. “I’m here, lemme in!”

He expects a pause, but to his surprise the door opens in the next instant to reveal the scientist stepping out. He’s gripping his tablet in one hand while scribbling with his stylus with the other, his eyes glued to the screen. Dark circles frame his eyes—not unusual for a Cyril deep in research, but creased brows wrinkle his forehead—a definite sign of stress. Aeton’s just about to ask him what’s the matter when he sees the tall, hulking general trailing out behind him. 

“...so you must understand, Dr. Cyril, how eagerly we’re awaiting these results—”

“My next appointment is here,” Cyril says crisply and finally looks up at Aeton with an aggrieved air. “You’re five minutes late.”

Aeton shrugs. “There was traffic.”

“Terrible. Whatever, let’s go,” Cyril brushes past Aeton with no other signals, but Aeton starts following him automatically down the hall.

“Dr. Cyril, who is this?” the old general asks amiably.

Cyril ignores him, forcing the general to follow as well. Aeton subconsciously speeds up so he can act as a wall between him and Cyril, but earns a narrowed stare for his efforts that quickly widens into realization.

“Dr. Cyril,” the general clears his throat. When Cyril continues to treat him as air, he only smiles and continues, “You know that the new procedures will mean higher security clearances for all staff involved—”

“He has enough clearance,” Cyril cuts in briefly, only glancing at Aeton before tapping furiously at his tablet again.

“Yes, but I’m afraid that’ll be insufficient. You see, I’ve heard of your special subject here, but we simply can’t allow civilians to participate in our trials. Think of the scandal! Why, I—”

“He’s a registered employee, we have him on the payroll.” Once again, Cyril interrupts.

“But he isn’t army, is he?” the general quickly follows up. “From this point on, all trials will be restricted to military personnel only. And with his background, I hardly think it possible the army would recruit him—”

“Oi, ya gotta problem with my creds?” This time, it’s Aeton who rebuffs him. 

“His work history is flawless,” Cyril adds flatly. “His colleagues and superiors can account for his character and professional demeanor.”

Aeton is just feeling a tiny bubble of euphoria when the general clears his throat. “Ah, but I’m afraid Aesir Research isn’t in charge of recruiting soldiers to the military.”

The sound of footsteps halt. Aeton stops when Cyril turns around, the crease between his forehead more pronounced than ever. 

“General Peyton, I presume?”

“Dr. Cyril,” General Peyton acknowledges with a nod. 

“If I understand correctly, the military funds a vast majority of Aesir Research’s projects and holds executive say over allocation of its resources.”

“That’s correct.”

“But I daresay even you, General Peyton, have no say in my personal affairs?”

The general’s expression shows a flash of hesitation before he smooths his expression into a genial smile. “Naturally not, Dr. Cyril. Neither I nor the military will ever interfere in your private matters.” To do so was tantamount to a career suicide, especially considered the hefty identity of the 20-year-old’s legal guardians.

“Very well.” Cyril seems to come to a conclusion, because the next second he tugs Aeton to his side.

“???” Aeton doesn’t mind getting close, but he’s still in the dark.

“Please, allow me to introduce you to my fiancée,” Cyril carefully enunciates every single word. “We just started dating two weeks ago.”

“!!!” Aeton’s head snaps toward Cyril, but the latter is wearing a thin-lipped smile. His next reaction is to look at General Peyton, whose expression is nothing short of spectacular.

“W-what,” the general huffs in disbelief. “What are you talking about, doctor?” After all, he had just gotten agreement from Cyril’s “parents” to arrange a meeting between him and his granddaughter this week. Where did this third wheel pop out from?

“I assume you understand English,” Cyril continues in a bright tone. “He was my boyfriend. Now we’re engaged. The next step is, naturally, marriage—ah, but I forgot, we’ve yet to find rings.” He glances up at the dumbfounded Aeton with all the brilliance of his sleep-deprived panda eyes. “Come on, we’re going shopping.”

“Wh—” Aeton’s reaction cuts off when Cyril jabs an elbow into his side. Suddenly regaining his senses, he grabs Cyril’s hand and runs for the exit. “Rightrightright, you better buy me the biggest diamond there is!” 

“Stop—!” General Peyton’s protests break off as soon as they leave through the doors.

The “happy couple” make it all the way to the parking lot, where Cyril calls for his usual chauffeur to ferry them to the biggest mall in the city. In a daze, Aeton realizes they’re both sitting in the back seat this time and feels like laughing. He squeezes their hands and—Cyril promptly lets him go.

“.....” Aeton cries internally at missing his free tofu. “All right, what’s the deal?” he asks instead. “Last time ya said ya didn’t like me and today we’re engaged?”

“Legal loophole,” Cyril doesn’t look up from his tablet as he resumes typing at a furious pace. “Like you heard, the military can’t touch my spouse.”

Aeton’s heart warms considerably at “spouse,” but he’s quick to get to business. “Uh-huh, and my job?” he prods. “It doesn’t sound like I’ll be doin’ any of those weapons trials soon.”

“As long as you still have access to the lab, I can take care of the rest,” Cyril replies, looking up from his screen. “I’ve found a civil office that officiates weddings, we can get an appointment before the end of the day.”

“H-hold up,” Aeton feels that things are suddenly moving very fast. “A civil—we haven’t even gotten wedding rings yet!”

“Right, we’ll buy them with the engagement rings,” Cyril agrees. “Do you have a preferred style? I understand it’s the wife’s tastes that take preference in these relationships.”

Wife’s tastes? Aeton is about to question him when he recalls Cyril’s words.

Please, allow me to introduce you to my fiancée.

My fiancée.

Fiancée...

“How come I’m the wife?!” he sputters indignantly.

Cyril is completely unmoved. “Because I’m paying for the rings. I also have a higher salary than you.”

“So?! I’m taller!”

“Does that matter?”

“The husband’s always the taller one! I’m also stronger an’ more buff!”

“Those are only superficial considerations.”

“I’m older than ya too!”

“Again, surface considerations,” Cyril shakes his head. “Besides, if you were the husband you’d have to ask my guardians for permission to marry me. I don’t have to ask anyone at all.”

“That ain’t true,” Aeton huffs, “Ya still have to ask me!”

Cyril blinks for a second as he falters. Then he nods. “Alright. Aeton, will you marry me?”

His tone is as flat as always, his face pale and expressionless. He might have been discussing the latest round of lab results or asking to borrow a pen. Aeton stares at him, this perfectly intelligent yet indifferent man, before he feels his temper drain away like rainwater into a gutter.

“Ya don’t need to go that far,” he finishes lamely.

“Of course I do,” Cyril disagrees. “I can’t afford to lose you, my most valuable—“

“Investment, right?” Aeton finishes for him with a wry grin. He reaches over to ruffle Cyril’s hair, ignoring the unamused glare he gets as a result. “Yeah well, ya better make it worthwhile. I meant it when I said the biggest diamond ring!”

Cyril seems unaffected as he processes the words and nods. “Okay.”

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

They pull up to the mall, but Cyril has the driver make a detour at a pharmacy first to bandage Aeton’s hand. Luckily, his ring finger is undamaged. Later at the jewelry shop, they don’t actually buy the biggest diamond ring because it looks disgustingly gaudy, but Cyril compromises by finding a very expensive one in black tungsten with a band of gems. Aeton can’t help having mixed feelings as the cashier congratulates them on their impending wedding.

“Put it on,” Cyril pushes the box at him after they leave the store.

“Yer supp’sd to propose first,” Aeton argues, trying to push it back.

Cyril looks at him, then repeats the familiar line. “Aeton, will you marry me?”

Aeton tries to stop his twitching eyebrow as he urges, “Yer supp’sd to get on one knee—”

“I’d be too short to reach you then,” Cyril says impatiently. He’s already taking the ring out of the box. “Give me your hand.”

“That’s the wrong ring,” Aeton points out immediately. “It’s supp’sd to be the engagement one first, an’ then—”

Cyril takes out the other ring and shoves them both on Aeton’s finger. “There, done.”

Aeton gives him a deadpan look. “That was awful, Cyril.”

“I’m learning as fast as I can,” Cyril grumbles as he stalks off.

“Huh?” Aeton frowns. That ain’t his usual answer. He hurries after him. “Oi wait up, I still gotta give ya yers!”

Before they can talk further, Cyril’s tablet goes off again. He’s already blocked multiple calls from the lab and General Peyton, but this time he frowns at the caller ID.

“Yer folks?” Aeton asks, recognizing the name of Cyril’s legal father.

Cyril’s lips thinned before he skips the call and goes to text message. “When we’re done with the paperwork, I’ll take you to meet them officially.”

“Meet who?” Aeton asks, his brain still playing catch-up.

“My ‘parents.’”

Aeton nearly trips over his feet.

He’s still reeling hours later in the car, holding a brand new marriage certificate in his hands while Cyril directs the driver to take them home. 

Really? They were married just like that? 

And after just one date, too… Aeton feels mournful. Of course, this is his best end, but hadn’t they skipped too many steps along the way? Scratch that, Cyril didn’t even like him that way. 10 out of 10 the guy was only doing this to keep his test subject handy. Aeton sighs.

His has to be the saddest love story yet, and it even has a happy ending.

“What’s wrong?” A voice asks, and Aeton stops drooping to see Cyril seated next to him, still flipping through his tablet.

“Nuthin’.”

“You don’t look like ‘nothing,’” Cyril murmurs.

“Well, what am I supp’sd to be?” Aeton retorts. “An’ what’s goin’ on with yer projects an’ stuff? Why’s the top brass all meddlin’ in yer business?”

Cyril cocks his head at him. “Aesir Research is part of their ‘business’ to begin with.”

“Alright, but they ain’t never bother’d ya much before,” Aeton points out.

Cyril fiddles with something on his screen before he deigns to answer. “It’s the government’s orders. They want to bulk up the military, so that means more restrictions and security around what they do.”

“So?” Aeton knows that can’t be all.

Cyril exhales and looks him straight in the eye. “We're going to war, Aeton.”

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Aeton decides he must’ve gotten soft fighting against laboratory simulations all these years. Why else would Cyril’s reveal shock him so much? The man was raised and bred to be a brilliant mind for a weapons tech organization, so it was blatantly obvious how important the country viewed its military.

Still, an all-out war’s kinda extreme…

He hasn’t seen any mention of it in the news besides reports of unrest from the borders. Most countries are at peace in the year 2146 G.E. (Global Era), with the Earth divided into six distinct nations based on the continents. 

Dammit, I don’t got time ta worry about this!

His eyes swivel towards the large double oak doors leading to the private study in Cyril’s house—no, mansion. Greeting the parents had been a stilted affair, but now Cyril is shut up inside with his guardians talking about who knows what. Just as Aeton’s imagination slips into ridiculous scenes of Cyril being house-confined or his mother offering Aeton a handsome check to leave her son alone, the doors creak open and Cyril steps out.

Aeton immediately rises from the white plush leather couch to meet him, anxious. “How d’ya go?” he asks, palms suddenly sweaty.

Cyril looks up at him, then back at the doors. Aeton follows his gaze and sees the pristine and proper couple of upper society walk out side-by-side. They’re supposed to be in their fifties, but look remarkably well preserved. The mother could easily pass for 35 as she steps forward and opens her arms.

“Dear,” she smiles as brilliantly as sharpened glass. “Welcome to the family.”

Aeton gapes at her. 

“Don’t be shy, son,” her husband steps up, looking coolly refined. “After all, you’re one of us now.”

Aeton stares at him too. Whatever happened to the prejudice of the rich? 

“You don’t like it?” Cyril’s voice pipes up, subdued.

“I, uh,” Aeton looks between the expectant parents and Cyril’s sharp gaze. “It ain’t the usual...” For me to have family like this.

Something must show on his face, because the next second Cyril grabs him by the sleeve and hauls him towards the foyer. “Good, because I don’t either.”

“Oh darling, you can’t mean that!” the woman’s voice rises to a screech as they reach the entrance.

“Cyril, at least stay for dinner,” the man tries, but Cyril’s already walking out the door.

“Cyril, wait! Cyril!”

Cyril doesn’t stop. He keeps Aeton with him as the lab processes weapon after weapon, test after test. Aeton tries them out with simulations, against other soldiers, in field tests and the occasional VR pods. He’s rarely given a moment to rest, but he hardly cares when Cyril seems to be skipping sleep, period.

During a rare lunch break, Aeton works his way into the researcher’s observation room. “Cyril—”

“Don’t bother me, I’m busy.”

“Did ya eat yet?” Aeton demands.

The silver-haired genius doesn’t look up from his computer screen. “I’ll eat later. You should rest up before the next trial.”

“But—”

“Stop distracting me!” Cyril slams the table. It’s the first time he’s shown such heat, and it throws Aeton off.

“Ya don’t hafta be prissy ‘bout it,” he snipes back, a little short. “I do it ‘cause I care!”

“Well, I don’t,” Cyril snaps. “You’re a nuisance, get out.”

Aeton scowls as he bangs his tray of food on the table. “Suit yerself!”

“Take your lunch with you!” Cyril orders as Aeton heads for the exit.

“I already ate! That’s yers!” Aeton retorts before slamming the door, startling a poor intern who skirts past him like a frightened deer.

Cyril takes deep breaths, pointedly ignoring the other staff in the room who try to stay invisible. In the end, he picks up a plastic fork and jabs it so hard into the chicken that it snaps the tines.

“I’m close…just a little more…”

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

“Congratulations, congratulations!” the head of Aesir Research is shaking Cyril’s hand, his eyes flush with success. “As expected of you, Dr. Cyril. You managed to perfect the weapon before the end of spring!”

Cyril’s gaze is about as lively as dead fish, but he still pastes a smile onto his wan features. “Thank you, director.”

General Peyton looms behind, but even he has nothing but praise for Cyril on this day. After being paraded around the room of government V.I.P.s, Cyril finally finds a chance to break free and slip into the hall.

Outside, Aeton is waiting while leaning against a wall and flipping a coin.

“Heads, he won’t come,” the youth grumbles. “I’m gonna try one more time—”

“I’m already here,” Cyril breaks in, and Aeton drops his coin in surprise.

“S-so ya are,” he stammers, and somehow steps on his fingers while trying to pick it back up.

Cyril stares at him a moment, then starts walking. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?” Aeton perks up as he scrabbles up the money and trails after him.

“Out. Anywhere but here,” Cyril says. Midway down the hall, he takes something out of his tablet and chucks it into a trash can—Aeton gets a glimpse of something that looks like an SD card.

“S’almost dinnertime,” he says while catching up easily to the short scientist. “Ya wanna eat out?”

Cyril’s eyes slide to him, then back to the front. “No.”

“Oh,” Aeton falls silent. The past three weeks have been hellish for them both, but he’s only had to deal with physical fatigue while Cyril’s been run through the mental wringer. The man had completely ignored him after their last spat over lunch and even banned him from the last week of testing trials, leaving him with nothing better to do than linger in the halls and avoid overly suspicious soldiers. 

Aeton isn’t sure if this is Cyril’s way of getting back at him or what, but right now he’s more worried about the other’s health. 

When they finally exit the research institute, Cyril suddenly says, “I want to go to your place.”

“Hah?” Aeton blinks. 

“Make me dinner,” Cyril goes on. “It’ll wash out the taste of the lunch you gave me. Then I’ll stay the night.”

“W-what’s this all of a sudden—” Aeton stammers, half pleased with the admission that Cyril did eat his lunch that day and half-terrified that this is all just one elaborate joke from a sleep-starved scientist.

Except Cyril doesn’t do jokes. Ever.

“Aren’t we married?” Cyril shoots him a look. “Of course we should live together.”

“Wait a sec,” Aeton blustered, “Ya—ya haven’t even moved in yet, I mean—”

“Living together doesn’t mean staying in one apartment,” Cyril adds, then does something he’s never tried before.

He takes Aeton’s hand and pulls him close.

Then what does living together mean?! The question echoes in Aeton’s head, but he’s too busy staring at their entwined fingers to voice it out loud.

Back in the dusty apartment he hasn’t visited in three weeks, Aeton looks mournfully at the rotten food in his fridge. “Hey, Cyril,” he pauses. “Maybe we should cook at yer place instead?”

Besides his family mansion, Cyril has quarters at the research institute as well as a loft to his name inside the most upscale part of the city. But he shakes his head at the request.

“I don’t have any food there. Can you use canned ingredients?”

“Canned…” Aeton opens his cabinets to look at the selection of beans and vegetables. He has some frozen meat in the freezer too, so it’s not impossible. “Ya sure ya wanna eat that?” 

“Food is food,” Cyril says stiffly, as if he isn’t the one who ordered a fancy 5-star takeout steak dinner last time. There’s a piece of hair that sticks out lopsidedly from his ear and his tie is crumpled as if he’d just woken up from a nap. Aeton hides a smile and indulges him.

“Aite, one tinned masterpiece comin’ right up!”

This time he doesn’t burn anything, but the meal is pretty bland: canned beets and ground beef with some barely-edible onions, stir-fried with frozen vegetables into a stew. Still, Aeton is surprised to see Cyril inhaling the meal as if it was the best thing he’d eaten in months.

“Whoa whoa, slow down there,” Aeton fidgets as Cyril swallows a beet slice whole. “Don’t go overstuffin’ yerself.”

Cyril only shoots him a look. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah?” 

“Then stop talking and start eating,” the scientist huffs before chowing  on another spoonful.

“Yer gonna regret eatin’ so fast,” Aeton shakes his head, but picks up his spoon and digs in.

Hours after washing the dishes and settling down on Aeton’s beat-up couch in the living room, Cyril plops his head straight onto Aeton’s lap, making his heart jolt.

“Ya wanna a pillow...or somethin’?” Aeton tries.

Cyril glares at him. “Aren’t you good enough?”

“Uh sure, if yer comfy…”

“I’m sure,” Cyril declares. After a moment of shifting around in Aeton’s lap, he finally finds a good spot and closes his eyes, still frowning.

Aeton stares at him for a long time before asking, “Ya doin’ all right?”

Silence.

“Oi, Cyril?”

Soft breathing answers him. Working up his resolve, Aeton leans down as far as he can to study the man’s sleeping face. His dark circles are as deep as ever, but his eyelashes are exquisitely long and delicate. Aeton’s breathing stirs them softly, and the sight tickles his heart.

“Why’d I fall in love wit’ a troublesom’ guy like you…” he murmurs, just in time to hear the other sigh.

The next second, a tear trickles out the corner of Cyril’s eye. 

Aeton is spooked. He freezes in place to see if Cyril opens his eyes, but the other remains asleep. Carefully he reaches out a hand and brushes the tear away, his calloused fingers exceptionally gentle. Contact with the liquid almost seems to burn his skin, making him realize that this isn’t a hallucination.

If that’s true, why is Cyril crying?

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

When Cyril wakes a few hours later, the room is dim and the only lights come from the city lights outside the window. He’s sleeping on a pillow instead of a lap and hears Aeton in the background humming to himself as he clears the apartment of spoiled food and dust.

“Awake?” Aeton looks over with a grin and Cyril’s vision goes hazy for an instant. “Ya want somethin’ to drink? I’ve got, uh, hot cocoa and stuff.”

“I thought you were being my pillow,” Cyril points out moodily as he adjusts his glasses.

Aeton scratches his head. “Well I didn’t want ya breathin’ in all the dust, so I thought I’d clean up first.”

“Hm,” Cyril doesn’t argue as he hugs the pillow to his chest. “Then hot cocoa will do.”

“Sure!” Aeton agrees cheerfully. “Hey, uh—ya feelin’ better after that nap?”

“It was better when you were with me.” Cyril’s lips thin. “You could have at least moved me to the bed.”

Once again, Aeton’s heart gives a jolt, this time accompanied with a flush in his cheeks. “I-it ain’t bedtime yet, ya know.”

“I sleep early.”

“Well, ya—ya wanna sleep now?” Aeton’s face turns even redder.

“No,” Cyril narrows his eyes at him. “You were going to make me hot cocoa.”

“R-right!” Aeton fumbles and almost drops a cup. Cyril notices and snorts.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

When the cocoa is done, Aeton brings both cups to the sofa and sits gingerly next to Cyril. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“Mm.” When Cyril doesn’t protest, Aeton seizes the chance to scoot a little closer and feels a thrill of joy to get no reaction. Most days, Cyril told him to mind his personal space!

They both take sips at the same time and settle into a companionable silence.

“What’s gonna happen after this?” Aeton asks after a pause. “Yer done wit’ the weapons, right?”

“What happens next with them is none of my business,” Cyril says a little sharply, causing Aeton to frown.

“Hey, what’s th’ matter?” he prods. “Yer been actin’ weird fo’ a while.” If he has to put a finger on it, the strangeness started after his two-week hiatus when Cyril had first been called to work on the latest weapons tech. After that they got married, met the parents, and Aeton had suffered through both a temper tantrum and cold shoulder from the normally impassive scientist. Compared to the Cyril from their first date, this one is moodier, more fickle, and even open to wasting time on spending the night without subtracting it from Aeton’s bonuses. (Or maybe he forgot. In any case, Aeton wasn’t gonna remind him.)

The Cyril he knows just doesn’t do emotions.

Cyril scowls while sipping his drink. “I’m sleep-deprived and stressed, what do you think?”

“Yer always like tha’ after a big project,” Aeton reasons. “Is it worse this time ‘cause...we’re goin’ to war?”

“Yes.” Cyril looks up at the man next to him. “Let’s fly out of here.”

“Just like that?” Aeton blinks at him. “Where’re we goin’?”

“Anywhere,” Cyril grumbles. “No, somewhere secluded but civilized will be best. I’ll need to keep up with the news…” He suddenly reaches for his tablet on the table. “Give me your Wi-Fi password.”

And just like that, Aeton watches Cyril research airlines and tickets for the rest of the evening. When he’s washed and changed to an oversized shirt for his pajamas, Cyril suddenly asks, “Do you have a passport?”

“No?” Aeton cocks a brow. It’s not like he ever needed to leave the city, much less country, where Cyril lived.

“We’re getting you one tomorrow.”

“Eh? What for?”

“We’re eloping.”

“...we’re already m-married, Cyril.”

“Not with a ceremony. How do you feel about that and a honeymoon in Hawaii?”

Slowly, Aeton sets his cup down and gives Cyril a long, hard look. He even pinches himself for good measure, but the scientist’s scowl doesn’t fade. Aeton leans in close until they’re touching foreheads, then asks in a wondering tone, “I’m not hallucinatin’?”

“No, you idiot,” Cyril growls. “I mean what I say. Is that a yes or no?”

“Damn yes! I’ve always wanted—but why all o’ a sudden—”

“Because we’re running out of time,” Cyril hisses before shoving Aeton back. The taller man flops against the couch, laughing out loud. 

“What the hell, Cyril—?!”

“Don’t swear,” Cyril snaps, before leaning down to peck him on the forehead. The kiss is so soft and sudden that it might have been a fleeing butterfly; Aeton’s mind is still catching up when his arms grab Cyril around the hips and hold him fast.

“What.” Cyril is scowling with the heat of a hundred suns, his cheeks tinged a pleasant pink.

“Didya just kiss me?” Aeton blurts out.

Cyril gives him an Are You an Idiot look.

 “Holy shit.”

“Don’t swear!”

It’s barely an expletive, but Aeton gives in as he succumbs to mirth. “What the everlovin’ fu—is that it? Yer finally in love wit’ me, ain’tcha? After all these years!”

“So what if I am?” Cyril counters stiffly. 

Aeton finishes laughing before he fixes Cyril with a stare. “Why?”

Cyril tries to break free, but the other isn’t letting him go anytime soon. “Why what?” he finally asks.

“Why th’ change o’ heart?” Aeton asks. “It ain’t like ya want’d this before.”

“Maybe you wore me down,” Cyril’s reply is evasive. He seems to be looking for an answer too. “Or I came to my senses. Apparently.”

When Aeton only looks at him, Cyril shifts awkwardly on the other man’s chest and fails to get up—again. “You—”

“Ya didn’t ask for perm’ssion to kiss me,” Aeton says suddenly.

Cyril freezes.

“But s’alright...s’long as I dun needya ask ya either,” Aeton finishes with a smug smirk. He waits for Cyril’s inevitable rejection, but the other only hooks his fingers into Aeton’s shirt.

“Okay.”

“Eh?” Aeton’s mind blanks. Wait, what?

The next second his heart stops as Cyril’s lips crash against his.

“Mmph—?!” Aeton tries to speak, but Cyril doesn’t give him a chance. His hands scrabble clumsily for Aeton’s shoulders as he deepens the kiss, his eyes squeezed shut beneath brows furrowed in anger, or maybe desperation.

Wide-eyed, Aeton only gawks until blue eyes fly open to glare at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be kissing back?” Cyril mumbles between their lips. 

Aeton feels a jolt run through his body at the words. The next second his arms react and pull Cyril close, pressing their bodies together as he returns the kiss. His fingers race restlessly up and down Cyril’s back, causing the scientist to squirm in his arms. He tries to hold his partner still, but Cyril resists until Aeton slips a hand under his shirt and pinches his waist.

“C-cold…!” Cyril opens his mouth in complaint, but Aeton soon silences him by entwining their tongues together, causing the scientist to stiffen before melting into soft pleading noises as he gasps for air.

Still relentless, Aeton kneads the tender skin beneath him with one hand while his other comes to circle gently around Cyril’s nape in a sign of possession. The shorter male lets out a faint moan before Aeton simply flips him over to pin his body below him.

Heart thumping, he finally leans back to let Cyril take a breath while admiring his handiwork: flushed cheeks, crooked glasses, and a pair of very wet, slightly bruised lips. Cyril is looking at him in a mixture of embarrassment, helplessness, and a stubborn denial about them both; a faint trace of moisture lingers at the corner of his eyes, evidence of unwilling tears.

“Y-you,” the scientist stammers, then trembles when Aeton leans down to suckle at the faint sheen of sweat gracing the section of clavicle exposed by his crumpled collar. “A-ahh…!”

His cries are music to Aeton’s ears, but he pauses mid-suck to nestle his head in Cyril’s neck, exhaling hot breaths against his skin.

“Sorry,” he mutters hoarsely. “Didya want me to stop?”

“You. Absolute. Fool.” Cyril grits his teeth and hits Aeton’s chest, albeit weakly. “Are you a man or not? Don’t quit something you started halfw—hnngh...”

He barely manages to finish the sentence when Aeton responds by licking his ear with his tongue.

“Yer awfully sensitive, Cyril,” Aeton croons, the last word coming out more like a growl.

“As if, ah, you’d know—unngh!” Cyril suddenly arches his back as Aeton traces his fingers along one thigh. His movements are clumsy, but Cyril is inexperienced too, so the little sparks they made eventually build up to a blazing climax.

After their passions die down, Aeton scoops up a topless Cyril and princess-carries him gently to his bed, smiling the entire time. As soon as they hit the sheets, Cyril scowls at him.

“It’s freezing,” he complains, but even that sounds charming in his half-hoarse voice. 

“I could warm ya up real quick again,” Aeton grins as he traces the fresh hickies lining his lover—no, husband’s neck. 

Cyril punches him, his fist smacking soundly against Aeton’s shoulder. “Five times is enough.”

Aeton looks wounded. “Tha’ was you. I only came—”

“Go to sleep!” Cyril all but croaks before scurrying under the covers, red and furious. Aeton’s eyes curve like a satisfied cat before he scoots over to wrap his arm around the slim body next to him. 

“Don’t be like tha’, Cyril. C’mon, I’ll keep ya warm, promise~” And he spoons around his partner with a contented sigh.

Hours after Aeton succumbs to soft snores, Cyril lies awake to stare blankly at the wall.

I’ve done almost everything.

Is this enough?

His eyelids droop, but Cyril bites his lip and forces himself to stay awake. All he had these days were those pointless repeating nightmares. But circumstances are against him: Aeton’s arm still holds him close, and the warmth of their shared bodies makes him feel irresistibly safe. Cyril’s eyelids flutter a few more times before they drift off into slumber.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

The next time he opens his eyes, the world is white.

Cyril grimaces as he picks himself off the spotless floor, scowling at the all white pants and long-sleeved shirt he’s been stuffed into in this dreamscape. His hands empty, his feet bare, he can only ball his fingers into fists as he stares into the endless blank.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.

“Over here.” 

The exact same voice sounds from behind him as Cyril turns to face...a copy of himself. But this Cyril looks older, his face thinner and sharper. His silver hair is tinged white with age as he stands with hands in the pockets of his white lab coat. 

“Have you done what I asked?” the older Cyril asks.

“I’ve been checking off the list,” his present counterpart replies. 

“The bare minimum, then,” Older pushes his glasses. “Try harder.”

“Define that in exact terms,” Cyril crosses his arms. 

“That doesn’t exist.”

“Get me an estimate, then.”

“There are no estimates.”

“You’re lying.”

“Have we ever lied in our lives?” Older challenges him.

Cyril’s face distorts in disdain. “I’m lying to him right now.”

“Are you, though?” Older raises his brows. “You married him and rushed work so the two of you could run away. You even let him fuc—”

“Don’t swear!” Cyril cuts him off. “You didn’t give me enough time. I had no choice but to speed things up.”

“I’ve bought you all the time I can,” Older retorts coolly. “So answer me this: do you love him?”

“I don’t have to tell you,” Cyril turns frosty.

The older Cyril smiles. “You’re right,” he acquiesces and steps back. “Because I already know.”

You don’t.

Cracks appear in the sky in jagged streaks as sections of ceiling fall down. Cyril shields himself with his arms and squints as the older Cyril in front of him begins to splinter and crumble away. He clenches his jaw and stalks forward, hand intent on wiping the grin off that insufferable face.

“Don’t pull this crap again you—!” His fingers touch and the world contracts violently on itself, shapes and colors bleeding into a menagerie of nausea-inducing waves that splash against the blank canvas, spreading and growing into new scenes and memories.

It’s spring when he bandages a teen Aeton who’s gotten the thrashing of a lifetime.

It’s spring when he hands Aeton a carefully-worded contract to work at Aesir Research.

It’s spring when he rejects Aeton’s badly burnt steak to order takeout instead.

Slowly a city grows around him, covered in ash and grime. The weather is cool and the skies are heavy with rain that pelt like bullets against his skin. A single daisy grows out a crack in the sidewalk by his feet, its petals flecked with blood. 

It’s spring.

“Ya don’t...do ya.”

Like the other 48 times and counting since he’s had this dream, Cyril looks down to see Aeton clinging to his leg with one hand. The correct thing to do, Cyril knows, is to gather the man in his arms and rest his head on his lap, but he can’t move beyond sitting sprawled on the ground, his clothes drenched by the downpour.

These are his memories, but not now. Not yet.

“Why are you asking that?” His own voice, older and deeper, comes out of Cyril’s mouth unbidden.

“Heh,” Aeton chuckles before he ends with a cough. “Thought I’d try m’luck one last time.”

“You’re bleeding,” Cyril’s keeps talking at flash speeds. “You need to see a doctor.”

“Yer funny, Cyril,” Aeton mumbles back, “Ain’tcha a doc yerself?”

“I can’t fix something like this.” This time, a faint tremor accompanies Cyril’s reply. He’s shaking, but he compensates by digging his nails against wet asphalt. “I can’t put you back together.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Aeton even grins. “Nothin’ hurts anymore… Nothin’ I can feel, ‘nyways.”

“I’ll get help,” Cyril finally decides, but the hand on his leg jerks reflexively as it holds him fast.

“Wait…”

“You don’t have time to wait!”

“Need’ta tell ya...somethin’ important,” Aeton insists. “Don’t got time...to do it again.”

“Tell me later!” Cyril snaps, but Aeton holds on stubbornly.

“I’ll pay,” he protests. “I’ve still got, four ‘undred thousan’. I’ll pay, a ‘undred thousand for a minute of yo’ time. Just four minutes!”

“No—” Cyril begins, but widens his eye when Aeton tries to move. “Don’t, you can’t get up right now!”

“Then stay,” Aeton’s stare never leaves his face. “Please.”

Cyril stiffens before he finally collapses. “...alright. But only four minutes!”

“Yeah.” Aeton’s eyes are shining bright, his hand still clutching Cyril’s leg. 

“Hurry up,” Cyril presses him. 

But Aeton is in no rush at all. He meanders along, sometimes pausing to just look at Cyril and smile an idiotic grin. He talks about small, inane things: how a certain section of Cyril’s hair always sticks out when he steals naps at the table, how he’d saved up years and years of bonuses just to get those coveted date night rewards, how Cyril only smiles once in a blue moon, but what a beautiful moon that was.

He wants to cook him a meal at the apartment again, but Cyril never let him after the first failure. He would’ve liked to kiss him more, maybe even touch and fondle and other things, but he doesn’t dare force it. Cyril is so heartless, he says. He never returns anyone’s feelings. Still, that was fine because it means Aeton never has to share. 

“Stop!” Cyril clutches Aeton’s sleeve. “I don’t need to hear these things!”

But Aeton won’t stop. Cyril needs to know. He’s dreamed of them getting married someday with matching rings. Then he’d convince Cyril to take a vacation so they could fly to Hawaii. He doesn’t actually know if he likes beaches, only that they look nice and were advertised on all the honeymoon resort commercials. They could eat, sleep, and work together until Aeton was too old to move around and Cyril retired.

They might’ve died together too, but Aeton’s glad he’s going alone this time. 

It’s been seven minutes and 32 seconds. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Aeton finished in one, because they both know he’s done for.

For the 49th time, Cyril watches the short, sharp jerk that occurs before Aeton succumbs to his injuries.

“C-Cyril,” Aeton tries to smile again, “Cyril, I—”

And he falls silent, still wearing that half-formed grin as he stares at Cyril from the asphalt. Framed in death, it looks more like a leer.

With the memory at an end, Cyril finally regains control of his body and climbs to his feet. Aeton’s hand slides off his leg and splashes into a puddle with the movement, but Cyril only flinches before straightening up.

“Why do you always play this memory?” he asks the air, and only gets a laugh in response.

“Because I always remember it,” Older Cyril appears at his side and kneels down to caress Aeton’s unblinking face. “This was the impetus, you see? Without it I wouldn’t have made it back to you at all. So I play it every night in case I forget.”

“Then why show me?” Anger creeps upon Cyril’s voice. “Mine isn’t dead.”

“I thought you could help me understand,” Older reaches up to close Aeton’s eyes. “People have reasons to live or die. Why did he choose the latter? I think a doctor could’ve made it in time, but still he…” He trailed off.

“You said he did it for your sake.”

“So he claims.” Older looks genuinely pensive. “If he really did, why would he choose to leave me alone? I thought he loved me.” He turns to his younger self, eyes brimming with impatience. “Hurry up and find out. We don’t have much time left.”

“I’ve already done most of the things he wanted,” Cyril retorts. 

“That can’t be all,” Older reflects. “He only lasted seven minutes before he bled out. Ask him what else he wants and give it to him. You don’t want to lose yours, right?”

Cyril only glares while the Older Cyril brushes his fingers over the dead body. “Look at what mine left us.”

He doesn’t want to look, but his eyes are drawn to his counterpart’s movements anyways.

“This is where his spine broke, severing nerve endings to the brain. This is where the bullets cut through his kidney and pancreas. His left wrist is shattered in eight places and his right foot is twisted backwards. His leg—”

Cyril covers his ears but can’t block the other’s words. He squeezes his eyes shut and recites chemical formulas in his head to drown him out instead, but Aeton’s half-leering smile and bloody corpse still haunts him in his head.

“Cyril...didya ever love me?”

“......”

“Ya don’t...do ya.”

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Cyril wakes up gasping in the middle of the night with Aeton breathing steadily by him. His partner’s sprawled on his back, one hand slung haphazardly over Cyril’s shoulder. It’s the same hand that was clinging to his leg in the nightmare and Cyril feels a wave of fresh nausea at the memory.

He stumbles to the bathroom and throws up.

The dreams started over two months ago, during the two-week lull where the military had signed him up to their latest project. He had written them off as a product of his subconscious, but couldn’t stop ignoring them once Older Cyril started predicting events and statistics before they happened. His counterpart claimed he was from the future and that he had invented a machine to send his consciousness five years back. 

They were going to have a war and Aeton would die protecting him right after it began. Older Cyril wanted to find out how to prevent Aeton’s death but more importantly—why he’d chosen to die in the first place.

It would be better to enter a mental institution at this point, but Cyril didn’t dare to wait. What if his counterpart was telling the truth? He only needed to hold out until the fated day passed. According to Older Cyril’s memories, the war would start less than a month from now. If he took Aeton far away before then and didn’t come back…

Putting problems to logical solutions suited him better than panicking, anyways.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

The next morning, Aeton wakes to an empty bed and has a double take before he smells coffee from the kitchens. He wanders out and sure enough, Cyril is sipping from a cup on the couch. 

He looks tired, Aeton frets, but he puts on a cheerful smile and walks over to boldly kiss his spouse on the forehead

“Mornin’! Ya hungry fo’ breakfast yet?”

Cyril sips quietly as he looks up at him. “What are you making?”

“I was thinkin’ pancakes,” Aeton tries. “We dun hav’ any milk, but I can still manage.”

“Okay.”

Hearing Cyril so docile makes Aeton feel strangely affectionate. Was this how all husbands felt about their newlywed wives? He can’t resist ruffling Cyril’s hair and planting a second kiss on his cheek, neither of which Cyril rejects.

I must’ve died an’ gone straight t’Heaven, Aeton decides as he whistles a cheerful tune in the kitchens.

They have a blissful breakfast with more stolen kisses before going to get Aeton’s passport done. While Cyril waits in the reception area, a phone call comes in from General Peyton. With a frown, he sets it to audio only and finds a secluded corner of the building to take the call.

“What is it?”

“Dr. Cyril, you’re not at work today?”

“I took a leave of absence. Did you not check with HR?”

“I did. But something urgent’s come up and we’ll need you back at the labs.”

“Postpone it for two weeks,” Cyril replies. “My husband and I are going on vacation.”

“You can’t possibly think of leaving at a time like this! We’re at the most critical part of our presentation—”

“I don’t work well under prolonged stress,” Cyril finishes. “Goodbye.”

He hangs up. With the encryption he’s installed on his tablet, they shouldn’t be able to track him now, especially after he tossed the old SD card in the trash.

Half an hour later, Aeton emerges with his Special Persons expedited passport and Cyril hauls him straight to the airport.

“In a taxi?” Aeton raises his brows when Cyril hails one from the streets. “Dontcha like yer drivers more, Cyril?”

Cyril freezes minutely, but relaxes into a half-smile. “We can’t take my chauffeur to Hawaii, so I thought I’d get used to public transport early.” More importantly, the institute can’t record us this way.

“That’s true…” Aeton ponders as the cab pulls up. “Ya always think ahead, huh.”

“...yes.” Cyril suddenly has a terrible, hysterical urge to laugh.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Nobody tails them on the trip, though Aeton keeps asking Cyril why he’s looking out the windows. The scientist is still staring suspiciously around them when they arrive at the airport and start checking in.

Finally, Aeton can’t stand it any longer and asks, “What’s botherin’ ya?”

“I want to make sure nobody’s here to drag me back to work,” Cyril replies honestly.

Aeton is indignant. “They better not! Ya haven’t had a vacation in years!”

“What would you do if they tried?” Cyril asks, more as a distraction as he sweeps the crowds.

“Beat ‘em to Hell an’ back,” Aeton proudly cracks his knuckles.

So simple, Cyril thinks. And yet neither him nor his future self can read Aeton’s heart. 

“Okay,” he says out loud and firmly grasps Aeton’s hand. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Aeton is a blushing, flustered mess right through security check and the boarding gates. 

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

“Sir, could I speak with you a moment?” An airline attendant approaches Cyril with a pleasant smile as the duo find seats in the waiting area.

Aeton instantly grabs Cyril, but he nods at him and stands up. “What seems to be the matter?”

“Ah, it’s regarding your return tickets from Hawaii. It seems that the airline cancelled the flight, so if you’d like to reschedule a different one…”

“Why dun we just pick a new one in Hawaii?” Aeton suggests in a sudden burst of insight.

The attendant continues to smile. When the boarding announcements start, Cyril smiles back and turns to Aeton.

“It’ll be less hassle if we take care of it now,” he reasons. “You can find our seats on the plane first.”

“I can wait wit’ ya,” Aeton insists.

“If you wait too long, the other passengers will take up the luggage storage space,” Cyril frowns. “This plane is full.”

Aeton looks around and sees a crowd starting to form a line at the gates. He scrunches his brow but eventually gives in. “Aite. Don’t take too long!”

Cyril gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before the two of them part ways—one to line up, one to follow the attendant to the help desk.

“Dr. Cyril,” the attendant starts politely. “General Peyton is waiting for you outside with a car.”

“Is he really that desperate?” Cyril’s lips are still stretched into a smile. 

“I am to say that General Peyton informs you this is a matter of national security,” the attendant went on. “Under your contract with the military and Aesir Research, you cannot refuse, nor is resignation an option without due consequences. Please cooperate.”

One more month, that’s all I need.

Cyril falls silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Aeton shuffling up the line. He keeps shooting Cyril looks, so he waves and keeps smiling back.

If I’m not with him, he doesn’t have to put his life in danger.

That was the direct, most practical solution. His eyes harden by the time he turns to the attendant again. “We wait until he’s on the plane,” Cyril begins, “and I have two conditions. Connect me to General Peyton.”

Number one, fly Aeton to Hawaii.

Number two, keep him there for a month.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Aeton fidgets in his seat, eyes sweeping across the relatively empty First Class section. The first thing he did was put away their luggage in the overhead bins, then claim their seats. Everything here feels so clean and expensive he doesn’t know what to do besides sit, even though he can hardly stay still.

When Cyril still hasn’t shown up a few minutes later, Aeton gets ready to hunt him down when he spots the same attendant from the airport gate entering the cabin with a smile. 

“Mr. Aeton?” she asks.

“Yeah?” Aeton eyes her warily.

“Dr. Cyril’s just wrapping up some details with the travel desk. He told me to tell you not to worry.”

“When’s he comin’ on th’ plane?” Aeton frowns. 

“When he finishes. I’m so sorry for the wait, can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, whatever’s fine.” He could use something to soothe his nerves.

The attendant brings him a cup of water. Aeton downs it in one gulp, but that’s when he realizes something tastes off. He wonders if it’s one of those nasty flavored things rich people like to drink before he knocks out cold.

Humming to herself, the female attendant primly buckles his seatbelt and takes the empty cup away.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Outside the airport, Cyril checks his tablet for the time and confirms on the airline website that his plane has already taken off. In the car behind him, General Peyton gets off the phone with an update. 

“Our agent confirmed the target was unconscious before she left the plane,” he says.

“He’s my spouse, not a target,” Cyril corrects, but internally sighs in relief. He types off a quick text message and sends it to Aeton’s phone so he can see it when he lands.

「I’m fine. Wait for me in Hawaii.」

Inside the car, General Peyton requests his aide to take Cyril’s tablet to dismantle and disable its communication functions. Absolute secrecy would be maintained for the next few weeks. He would personally assign agents to make sure Aeton was safely secured in Hawaii until the sensitive period passed. 

Cyril debates for a few agonizing minutes, but ultimately gives in. Logic tells him it’d be fine. Emotions, well—he learned to ignore those a long time ago.

Which is why he isn’t bothered by the heavy weight settling in his chest.

Not a bit.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

There’s a crowd gathered in front of Aesir Research Institute by the time their car pulls up to the entrance. Cyril spots the scores of anti-war picket signs through the tinted windows and guesses, “Protesters?”

“The usual anti-war rabble,” General Peyton scoffs. “They won’t get past security.”

Cyril vaguely remembers his older self mentioning these protesters too, but they’re too peripheral to interest him. He blocks out their slogans as best he can to  review his notes.

Time passes quickly after that. The first scouts to report after escorting Aeton to the resort gives him a brief rundown of the situation—only brief, because Aeton had started to beat them up as soon as he learned Cyril was back at work instead.

Wordlessly, Cyril arranges the institute to cover their medical bills and has someone pass Aeton a message to calm down. A few more days of violence happens, including a near holdup at the local airport, before Aeton finds his chill. By the time reports say he’s going to the beach, Cyril is changing into a suit and tie for a formal meeting with the president. 

A meeting is held and words exchanged; praises and speeches of hope shared for the nation’s first step towards world domination. On some level Cyril thinks they’re all insane, but he doesn’t care for politics and won’t start now.

He does, however, make sure no signs of war will touch anywhere near the Hawaii islands.

Three weeks into his one-month countdown, the Democratic States of North America (DSNA) formally declares war on the Confederation of Southern Nations, formerly known as South America. Cyril reads the news in short military bulletins sent to his desk every morning—he’s living in the research institute now, as is every other scientist—while the hubbub dies down. There’s another report about Aeton too, which he picks up and scans:

—Subject A last seen 19:56 previous evening. Currently missing. Search in progress.

His right hand jerks and spills coffee all over his sleeve, but Cyril’s too stunned to notice. Two days isn’t a lot. More likely Aeton grew bored around town and decided to explore the wilderness. Besides, with his fighting skills and exceptional recovery rare, Cyril doubted he’d be in any trouble.

Still, though…

Still I worry because he’s an idiot!

“Are there any more updates on this?” he suddenly demands the orderly who had dropped off his correspondence.

“These are the latest reports, Dr. Cyril,” the man replies humbly. “The next one won’t come until tomorrow at the earliest. They submit them by the day.”

“Get that to me as soon as you can.”

“Yes, doctor.”

Little news is forthcoming. The next day, they find Aeton’s sukajan half-stashed behind some rocks at his favorite beach. There is no blood. His cell phone is still in the pockets. Cyril has a crazy image of Aeton swimming the Pacific Ocean to get back to him, but dismisses that idea as absurd. For now, he distracts himself by counting down the days to the deadline.

A week passes. DSNA takes over Panama, severing Central America from the rest of the southern continent. More protesters flood the streets, decrying the use of force during peacetime. Some of them even turn violent. Analysts, newscasters, and politicians crowd out TV shows with special bulletins and debates.

On the morning of May 15th, his colleagues invite Cyril out for some air around Aesir Research grounds. It’s been weeks since any of them have seen daylight, so Cyril relents after putting on a bulletproof vest.

He’ll only be outdoors for a few minutes, but it’s better safe than sorry. Ten minutes later, when the bombs have exploded and the labs start collapsing behind him, Cyril can only sigh and cover his face.

Of course the extremists would launch a terrorist attack on the one day he decides to take a walk.

It had been raining in the memory when Aeton died but it’s still sunny now, so Cyril has no qualms picking his way from the bodies and rubble to leave elsewhere. Going back is out of the question, but there’s a military base located west of the city that he can easily access with his credentials.

He skirts around the chaos of flames and screams, stoically blank-faced as he rounds the corner, darts between buildings, and emerges onto a side street. Just as he steps onto the sidewalk, someone grabs his arm and pulls him back, sending him crashing against a firm torso. A hand forcibly tilts his chin up to meet a pair of smoldering gold irises on a very tanned, extremely grizzled face.

“Found ya,” Aeton rasps with a grin.

He has to be hallucinating. 

“Why are you here?!” Cyril exclaims.

“Didya miss me?” Aeton’s fingers tighten on Cyril’s jaw until he winces. “After ya dump’d me on th’ islands, I swam out ‘til I found a ship, then drove myself ‘cross the country.”

Cyril mentally calculates the timeline. Boat speeds in the 22nd century were comparable to planes from a hundred years ago, so it was perfectly possible for Aeton to make it here within a week. He’s always so straightforward, Cyril thinks, but a burst of warmth floods his heart. Idiot. 

He can’t decide if he’s insulting Aeton or himself.

“Ya should’ve froze my bank accounts if ya wanted me to stay away,” Aeton drawls on, his other arm snaking firmly around Cyril’s waist and crushing him close. “I told ya, ya give me enough money as is.”

“You’re angry,” Cyril realizes. “I can explain—”

“I dun wanna hear it!” Aeton snaps, “Ya got any idea how worried I was when they said we were goin’ to war? And you stuck straight in Protesters Central! I’ve been watchin’ the labs fo’ days, tryin’ to find a way t’get in, and then it explodes—” He stops, voice shaky.

“I ‘aven’t left yer side for six years, but ya push me away when ya needed me most,” Aeton murmurs. “What am I s’pposed ta think, Cyril?!”

“You don’t,” Cyril hisses, finally wresting his chin free. “All you have to do is follow directions! Leave the planning to me and—”

“An’ what? Have ya lead me on like a dog wi’ a leash?” Aeton snarls back, “Find someone else ta drug me th’ next time it’s inconvenient to tell me the truth?”

Cyril wrinkles his brows. “You wouldn’t have stayed on the plane otherwise.”

“But I could’ve stayed away if ya wanted me to,” Aeton rebuffs. “Ya didn’t even give me a chance!”

A strange twinge goes through Cyril’s heart at the words before his gaze grows uncertain. “I was wrong,” he admits, “But—mmph!”

Aeton drowns his sentence in a sudden kiss. It’s furious and desperate, almost suffocating Cyril in its intensity. The whiskers from his unshaved face scratch against Cyril’s skin, rough but ticklish at the same time. He opens his mouth to gasp and Aeton’s tongue enters to entwine gently with his own.

“No buts,” Aeton murmurs between breaths, “Jus’ don’t do this...again.”

Cyril relaxes and gives in, hands wrapping gingerly around Aeton’s back. “...okay.”

He sees them when he peeks past Aeton’s shoulder.

Men in black carrying guns spot them down the street and raise their weapons. After all this time, Cyril more or less expects them. He belatedly realizes that wearing a lab coat paints him as a target in the wake of the bombing, but there’s no time to worry about that now. With seconds to spare, Cyril wrenches Aeton around so they trade places and shields him with his body. He’ll be fine since he’s already armored up.

But fate plays her card in funny ways. The shooters are only amateurs with shaky aim, so their bullets nick past Aeton’s arms or miss the targets entirely. A couple manage to bury themselves in the bulletproof vest, knocking the wind out of its owner.

Bang!

The last one rips a hole through Cyril’s brain.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Once again, Cyril wakes up to a world of white. This time, Older Cyril simply materializes in front of him.

“I miscalculated,” Cyril sits up while cradling his head. It’s still throbbing with pain even here. “Ow.”

Older looks down on him expressionlessly, hands in his pockets.

“You don’t have anything else to say?” Cyril arches a brow at him.

“Welcome to the club,” Older tosses out a line. “Seems like we’re both terrible at looking after others.”

“Huh. So that’s it, then,” Cyril sighs. “Do I die together with him this time?”

“The shooters didn’t know what they were doing,” Older replies. “Most likely they fled after you took their bullets. He...should have survived.”

Cyril’s eyes gleam. “You think so?”

“He’s too tough to die unless he wants to,” Older is certain of the fact.

“That’s true…” Cyril rests his cheek on his knees. “This headache is killing me.”

“It is.”

“Very funny,” Cyril rolls his eyes. “What happens next? We fade away as my life winks out?”

“You’re not dead yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“Do you love him?”

The sudden question throws Cyril off before he remembers. “Does that matter at this point?.”

“Do you?”

Cyril’s lips draw into a thin line. Finally he admits, “I don’t...not love him.”

“That’s more than I can say.”

Cyril studies his older self, but his expression is inscrutable. Instead he sighs and goes on, “Whatever that means, there’s no chance of finding out now.”

“I don’t remember myself being such a pessimist.”

“It’s pragmatism.”

“You’re not dead yet,” Older repeats, then crosses his arms. “Go back. I’ll clean up things here.”

Cyril only winces while cradling his head. “What’s there to clean?”

“You were shot in the head,” Older prods him. “Where do you think we are now?” 

“A dream. Or the subconscious, you tell me. Ow.”

“We’re in your head.” Older explains, and launches into a long-winded explanation about pocket dimensions, time-space travel, and dual existence paradoxes that make Cyril’s headache worse. The point, as Older finally concludes, is that he can mitigate some of the brain damage Cyril suffered from his near-fatal injury by absorbing it in this space. But in exchange, the pocket dimension would collapse and Older Cyril would disappear.

“Did you have to explain everything in such a convoluted way?” Cyril complains while massaging his temples. 

Older only leans back with his hands in his pockets. “I’m only stimulating your brainwaves.”

“Huh?” 

“You’re in a coma right now,” Older finishes. “Unless you regain consciousness, you’ll be stuck here with me.”

“You’re really doing this?” Cyril blinks. 

“The one thing I won’t accept,” Older’s tone is crisp, “is failing at the same thing twice.”

He snaps his fingers and the white space around them starts crumbling away again. Beyond them lies darkness, but it’s still and soothingly quiet. 

“What about the answers you wanted?” Cyril asks. 

“Our data is already too different,” Older Cyril rests his hands inside his pockets as he begins to fade away. “You pushed him away but he came back to you. I kept him by my side but he left of his own accord. There is nothing of statistical value to compare between our separate scenarios after all these deviations. I may even need to formulate a new hypothesis…”

Despite the fact that Older Cyril’s legs have already disappeared, he remains cool-headed in careful thought. 

“Even if you do, how will you test it?” Cyril demands.

“In person,” Older doesn’t waver. “after I meet him on the other side.”

“Can you really find him?”

“If that fool could travel 3,000 miles just to run into you on a street corner at the perfect moment—“ Older pauses to smile wryly, “Then I refuse to believe that my superior intellect won’t be able to track him down in the afterlife.”

And then, darkness.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

The first thing Cyril senses when he regains consciousness is droplets of liquid splashing against his skin.

Rain?

He changes his mind five seconds later when he sees Aeton holding his hand while crying. Cyril wants to tell him to stop soaking the sheets, but the breathing mask over his face makes it hard to talk. So he settles for moving his fingers and squints when Aeton zeroes in on him with all the intensity of a heat-seeking laser.

Aeton yells loud enough to wake the dead, then knocks over a vase of flowers to the floor while trying to call for a nurse. Measurements are taken, questions asked, and a dustpan and broom produced to clean up the mess before they finally get the breathing mask off him.

“How ya feelin’?” Aeton’s still cupping his hand between his rough, calloused ones. “Yer head, does it hurt?”

Cyril opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He tries again and only produces a garbled mix of noises and half-formed words.

“Nurse?” Aeton looks anxiously at the uniformed hospital worker beside him. “Is his throat bad?”

The nurse doesn’t know but goes to call for a doctor. In the meantime, Aeton helps him to some water before thrusting a pen and paper into Cyril’s hands. “Ya can write it down if speakin’s no good, Cyril!”

The slender pen feels familiar yet awkward in Cyril’s fingers. He presses it against the paper and ends up spiraling into a fantastical scribble of loops and scrawls. In the end, the pen slips out of his fingers and clatters off the bed.

“S’ok, ya just woke up,” Aeton quickly picks it up and gives it back to him. “Take yer time, there’s no rush.”

With difficulty, Cyril applies pen to paper again. A, thinks his brain. A for Aeton.

“Not bad!” Aeton consoles him five minutes later. “I couldn’t write my ‘H’ half as good whe’ I was littler.”

Cyril despairs.

 

✿✿✿

 

 

“Dr. Cyril has suffered substantial damage to his left frontal cortex,” the physician summarizes later. “thus resulting in a regression of his language abilities. He’s very lucky the bullet didn’t do much damage beyond that.”

“He’ll get better, yeah?” Aeton asks confidently. “Cyril’s got a damn’d good brain.”

“The brain is not a muscle,” the physician replies with some disdain. “It is an intricate network of—”

“When’s it safe to go home?” Aeton asks next.

“Mr. Aeton.” the physician objects stiffly.

Cyril squeezes Aeton’s hand. With his speech and writing crippled, this is the most direct way to communicate. Instantly, golden eyes swivel his way.

“Ya wanna leave soon too, dontcha Cyril?” Aeton asks him.

“Agjkhn.” Cyril tries and sounds abominable. So he nods. For the sake of my dignity, get us out of here.

 

 

✿✿✿

 

The world moves on. 

The Democratic States of North America successfully annexes Central America to its territories and stops there before their neighbors across the sea get restless. General Peyton personally leads a campaign decrying protester violence in the city and apprehends the extremists responsible for the bombing—or at least, believable enough scapegoats who can take the blame. He tries to invite Cyril for a public ceremony honoring victims of the war but Aeton rejects him, citing the scientist’s need for peace and quiet now that he’s retired.

Ten months pass.

One morning Cyril wakes to robins twittering outside his window. The bedside table has a picture of him and Aeton wearing suits on a beach. Somehow, he’s the one who ends up holding a bridal bouquet while Aeton poses behind the handlebars of his wheelchair. He stretches gingerly, then slowly maneuvers his feet to the floor. His physical coordination is much better now, although Aeton still insists on carrying him down the stairs whenever he’s around.

“Mornin’!”

Speak of the devil, he was at the bedroom door now.

Cyril scowls at him and says, very slowly, “I.... can… ...down...stairs.” I can go down the stairs myself.

“Yeah, but I like carryin’ ya,” Aeton says shamelessly. “Yer my mornin’ workout!”

A snort. “That...heavy.” As if I’m that heavy.

“Yer still the only one that makes my heart race,” Aeton beams and all but skips to gather Cyril into his arms. “Th’ flowers are real pretty this time o’ year. Wanna check ‘em out today?”

Cyril resigns himself to being Aeton’s weights and tugs at his sleeve. Whatever, you win.

“Doc says ya should try ta talk as much as ya can,” Aeton pinches Cyril’s cheek in response.

The scientist rolls his eyes and relents. “O...kay.”

Aeton rewards him with a kiss on the nose. 

 

✿✿✿

 

 

Tulips dance at their feet while cherry blossoms play with sunbeams in the treetops. Aeton has prepared a picnic in the park and tries to hand feed Cyril bite-sized portions of his sandwiches before the latter simply wolfs them down in one bite.

“Yer not romantic at all,” he complains. “An’ on our ‘nniversary too!” The legal one, he means, when they ran off and signed their names at the city hall. The Hawaii wedding ceremony was delayed by many more months.

Cyril arches his eyebrows between bites of tomato and cheese. That’s today?

“S’fine, s’fine,” Aeton waves it off and offers him a fruit tart next. “Eat however ya want, ‘cause I love ya ‘nyways.”

Cyril absently nibbles it from his fingers, noting his partner’s pleasant blush. It’s not the first time he’s said “I love you”—in fact, Aeton repeats it at least three times a day. 

On the other hand, Cyril hasn’t said it once. His near death experience taught him to cherish love, but giving it is more difficult. It’s also impossible to express his honest feelings in a coherent sentence. Yet who’s to say he can’t try? At least he should, on a day like this.

Cyril licks crumbs off his lips and fixates on his husband with a serious expression. 

“What’s wrong?” Aeton is instantly alert. “Does it taste bad or somethin’?”

“Aeton,” Cyril begins. His husband’s name is the one word he never mangles.

“Do ya needa drink?” Aeton guesses before Cyril grabs him by the shoulders. 

“Aeton.” Cyril tries again. “I...want… …..you.”

Aeton’s face turns even redder as he darts a look around the park for other people. “Here? Righ’ now?!”

Not that! Cyril shakes his head sternly and cups Aeton’s face between his hands. “I… …...learn...you.”

Aeton falls silent and waits for him to elaborate.

“Want… ...learn… you… I… ….love.”

Aeton, I want to learn how to love you.

A soft breeze stirs the strands of Aeton’s hair as he gazes at Cyril in wonder. The next moment he wraps his hands around his partner’s, eyes suspiciously bright.

“Ya can start by kissin’ me now so I know I’m not dreamin’.”

Cyril turns pink as he frowns in embarrassment, but leans in to do as he’s asked. The weather is warm, the sun shining, and their love story well and truly started.

It’s spring.

 

- end -

 

 

✿

 

 

{extra - just memes}

 

Author's Account:

Ruyi (SH).