The man hasn’t changed a bit since Jaejoong last saw him. His face is without the slightest trace of age or change, his hands, as pale as ever, still look as if God himself had taken extra time sculpting them and his posture is pure dangerous elegance—he looks every inch the fallen angel he did when he killed Jaejoong’s father, only in more...modern clothes.

Their eyes meet for what seems like eternity, as if time itself has stood still. Jaejoong, like he did ten years ago, can’t tear his eyes away from the man’s, and the man is the first to break his gaze, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands and calling out the next name on the class list. A girl behind Jaejoong answers, voice a little higher and more flirtatious than Jaejoong remembers. The man nods and marks her as present, and then calls out the name below hers.

“Shim Changmin,” he eventually calls out, and Changmin responds with so much ice in his voice that the entire lab turns to stare at him. The man raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t comment on it, merely making a tiny check mark next to his name before moving down the remainder of the list. When he’s through, he puts the clipboard down with a bright smile, and picks up a marker from the table to write his name on the whiteboard in slightly curvy characters that show he isn’t used to writing in such a large font.

Jung Yunho.

Though Jaejoong’s never heard that name before, much like the man’s eyes, it calls out to him in a way he can’t understand.

“Yunho,” the man says, tapping lightly on his name with the tip of the marker, making little black freckle-like splotches. “Professor Jung makes me feel old, so I’m only going to respond to ‘Professor Yunho’ or plain ‘professor’.”

Seductive. Now that Jaejoong’s old enough to know the meaning of that word, he knows what the man’s voice was back then: seductive. And though Yunho’s tone is now light-hearted and jovial, Jaejoong senses that the voice—and the man—from ten years ago is not that far away.

Yunho pulls a sheaf of papers out of his bag, bound by a single rubber band, and a collective groan rises up when it becomes obvious that they’re the scripts from the previous test, the one about intestines and enzymes that almost everyone bullted their way through. Jaejoong is pretty sure Changmin’s paper is the only one that doesn’t have more red ink than blue on it. He sighs and leans back in the narrow chair, mentally prepared for a fail.

Nevertheless, he still curses colourfully when he finds out he’s half a mark from a pass.

“Jaejoong,” Yunho admonishes, and the pain from the mark, which faded almost immediately, flares up again to deliver one more needle-like prick before disappearing. Jaejoong mumbles an apology and starts copying down what Yunho’s saying, only half paying attention to the scientific terms that litter Yunho’s speech.

He seems so normal that it scares Jaejoong.

Changmin’s unusually tense, giving short, stilted answers when his name is called, eyes constantly roving the room as if searching for something, distracted by the simplest things like teachers walking down the hallway outside and the faint singing of children from the neighbouring kindergarten that wafts through the open windows. Even when they’re dissecting the sheep’s heart, Changmin does it as though he’s in a dream, not even laughing at the girls when they squeal at the blood that pulses out of the many tubes with every accidental or intentional squeeze. Sometimes, something would flash in his eyes and Jaejoong would catch him glaring daggers at Yunho when he’s turned away from their table and helping other students, but more often than not Changmin simply seems dazed, like he can’t believe what is happening.

Time is going by too slowly for Jaejoong’s liking.

When the bell rings after what feels like a lifetime later, Changmin nearly dislocates Jaejoong’s wrist pulling him up from his seat.

“Jaejoong, please…wait.”

Yunho is suddenly next to them. “Could I borrow your brother for a moment, Changmin?”

Changmin freezes, then shrugs. “Be my guest, professor,” he says, voice dripping sarcasm, and Jaejoong can almost swear that the expression on his face is a sneer. He abruptly lets go of Jaejoong’s hand and stalks off down the hall alone.

“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong apologizes as soon as Changmin is out of earshot. “I don’t know what came over him…”

“It’s fine,” Yunho dismisses, surprising Jaejoong. “He wasn’t the first person on Earth like that and he’s not going to be the last. You looked a bit…distant during corrections. Do you have any questions you want to ask?”

Jaejoong hesitates, then shakes his head. “No.”

Why did you kill my father?

Yunho’s answering smile somehow seems a little sad. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I’ve waited for so long…I can wait a little more.”

Jaejoong bows slightly and leaves the lab, an odd sense of emptiness in his heart.