Adrenaline. Focus.

Action, reaction.

He dodged another player, put all his strength into his right arm, jumped and threw the ball. With a loud and satisfying smack, it hit the wall, right in the middle of the neon orange quadrate. It wasn’t particularly small but a hit was a hit. His lungs were burning, the bright colors blurred together for a second and he forgot to smile when some teammate patted his back. But he was happy, and the small smile crept up on him while he showered an hour later, leaning against the wet tiles to catch his breath. The air smelled salty and a little metallic, which was typical for just about any room in the facility. Sweat, rubber, burning neon lights. There were very few humans on the team, so their shower was usually free and there was no need to hurry. That’s why he took his time letting the hot water soothe his muscles.

He was really getting there. By now, he almost felt like he was 16 again - dynamic and fit, with no sensitive waist and chronically damaged leg holding him back. And while Sqija was different from basketball in many ways, it was still similar enough to feel at home on the court.
It filled him with a sense of excitement that he'd believed was dead.

His bare feet made slick sounds against the wet, black tiles as he walked over to his change of clothes, ruffling his hair on the way. The red dye used to stain any towel it touched, but on this planet, they had more advanced materials, both for dye and fabrics. Now the towel and his skin were tinged in shades of orange and pink, but that was just the lighting of the room. Unlike most inhabitants of planet Zera, humans weren't very sensitive to bright light, but he really didn't mind the dark but colorful rooms. It still felt new and exotic to him, reminded him that this was not a human colony. Now Yifan wasn't a person who showed sensitive emotions like that in an unfamiliar place, so it wasn't surprising that he still had a reputation of being very antisocial for a human. He didn't feel like changing that as of now.

With his sports bag thrown over a shoulder, he walked home alone, with no plans of going out with anybody. He took the elevated railway, driving far enough to catch a seat and finally being one of the last to get off.

Despite being an up and coming player of Zera's professional Sqija league (also known as ‘Quadball’ among humans, which served as another proof for their infamous, unimaginative nature), Wu Yifan had to live in this dirty district that was full of buildings, but hardly inhabited any people. There was a reason for that - something about this planet's atmosphere did weird things to humans. That was the main reason why 26 year-old Yifan had saved up enough money and got through the paperwork to get a visa.

He didn't understand the high science behind it, but humans thrived off this atmosphere that was nurturing their bodies beyond the limits that evolution had set for them. He had only spent a few periods on the planet before his chronic injuries were healing noticeably and Yifan could actually attend the tryouts of a sport he had never really played before, driven by the eagerness to stand on the court again. He was certainly an exception though.

With humans turning out to be much stronger than the original alien races living on Zera, things had escalated all too soon, both due to human nature and the inability to cope with the things the atmosphere did to them.Now, even visiting the planet was tricky, much less getting a permanent visa, and the very few humans that were left tended to live together, relatively cut off from everyone else. Yifan couldn't help the bitterness as broken shards of metal scrunched under his shoes while he stalked towards one of the tall, dark apartment buildings in his street.

They were basically scum on this planet. Malicious, stupid scum, both among themselves and among other species. It was alright though. He didn't come here to make friends. Being on his own was his preferred lifestyle, anyway.

The sparse rows of neon streetlights were throwing long shadows, perfect for people to hide in. The street used to be a lot brighter, specifically catering to human preferences, but more than half of the lights had been demolished. Bit by bit, the lights had been replaced with the common neon lights that dipped the walls in shades of blue and pink. At least that's what Yifan had heard from the single other human on his team. There were people around, lurking in these long shadows, laughing too loud, too boisterous, possibly drunk or drugged. Most of them were flocking together in a so-called union that Yifan identified as nothing but a street gang.

When he was new, someone had approached him - a tall kid, almost as tall as him, with silver hair and white tattoos, the clothes a wild mixture of ragged and too expensive-looking to be purchased legally. Yifan had declined the offer of joining them. They looked like trouble and he was not going to go there. He was here to play, not to get into jail. He'd been very sceptical at first, maybe even wary when he had to walk the streets at night, but they didn't seem to take his rejection in a hostile way.

Even though he avoided contact as much as he could, knowing a few names and faces came naturally over time. They were too loud to be ignored entirely. Sometimes, when Yifan was standing or sitting on his balcony, mulling over everything and nothing, he'd hear them scream at each other, sometimes more and sometimes less jokingly. There was the tall kid he had met first - that one was called Chanyeol. He seemed hot-headed and was the most obvious criminal out of the bunch, which also made Yifan the least wary of him.

People who were overly emotional made themselves vulnerable in many ways. It was always the quiet ones that were scary to him. There were a few of those, too, lounging around on the streets, sometimes blankly staring at their handheld screens for hours on end. Sometimes, Yifan pictured stepping onto his balcony and being greeted by one of them, who'd just stab him and throw him over the railing to let his body smack against the concrete. It was not unlike the brief imagination of falling down a high place or accidentally opening the airlock on a spaceship. Sometimes, one would be briefly aware of the daily dangers surrounding them.

Next to the open and withdrawn people was a third type though, one that Yifan had never really considered before moving to this place. And while he tried not to think too much about that type, it might be the most terrifying one.

He came face to face with one of them as he rounded the last corner and was greeted by screws floating in the air. Thick ones, tiny ones and other scraps of metal were almost gently hovering in the air. At the center sat a familiar face, a young guy leisurely leaning his back against the side of a house and watching the levitating objects. Yifan wasn't fazed by the flying objects. Gravity-defying spray was a gimmick for kids, and the effect wouldn't hold up for too long.

"Watch your head," the guy said, tilting his head as he watched Yifan walk by.

"Watch your head when this wears off," Yifan mumbled, eyes dropping to the other's hands, which were coated in a shiny layer of the spray. He avoided the thicker parts of metal with ease and quietly left the guy behind to enter his apartment building.
Jongdae was not a loud, angry kid and not a quiet introvert. He was actually inconspicuous in every way, so it took Yifan a long time to put a face to his name. He was neither tall nor especially tiny, wasn't wearing any piercings, tattoos or otherwise fancy colors on either hair or clothes. He just seemed so normal. Moreover, he seemed like a warm, hearty person full of genuine laughter that easily climbed up to his balcony. Jongdae looked friendly, with bright eyes full of curiosity and encouragement, a curled smile and airy voice. And according to Chanyeol, he was one of the deadliest people walking free on Zera. Yifan hadn't believed it at first, had thought that it was a practical joke. But by now he was almost certain that Chanyeol hadn't joked back then.

A quiet, creepy person might suddenly go nuts and shove his dying body over the railing. But Jongdae would be the one on the ground, clapping his hands and laughing when he'd hit the solid ground and splatter apart. As if he'd just heard a good joke.

 

It would be a lie to say that Yifan wasn't the least bit curious about Jongdae. If he wasn't, he wouldn’t have found out anything about him in the first place, including his name. But the concept of someone so casually cheerful being dangerous in any way was intriguing. Yifan's balcony walls and ground were closed, except for the slits in the corners where the opaque plastic walls were connected with a see-through material. He could easily spend his time there, listening to the sounds below, and when his curiosity was sparked, he'd peek through the thin slits, attempting to catch a glance at what was happening below, mostly fruitlessly. It wasn't like Yifan had much of a life to fill out at the moment, and he wasn't sure whether that was ever going to change. For the time being, his days consisted of training and killing time so his body could rest up for the next training session. If his career ever took off, he'd still spend his time training, maybe traveling a bit more, but that would be it. Was it sad to think that he'd likely always have time to spend on his balcony, listening in on the hustle and bustle below like an old man? Maybe. Was it sad to Yifan though?

Sometimes, he thought about this as he sat on the couch inside his living room, staring outside and into the golden sky. Up to this day he had always come to the same conclusion - that he wasn't really asking for more. It was alright like this, as long as he was content.

Up to this day, Yifan remembered the incident that had really triggered his curiosity and the realization that this Chanyeol guy had not been joking about Jongdae. He remembered it crystal clear. It had been a warm evening, and Yifan had been lying on the plush, grey carpet right by his open balcony door, enjoying the breeze and inhaling the slightly salty air that he was slowly getting used to. On Zera, the sky was mostly tinted yellow. Late at night it would darken, but it would never reach the pitch black shade Yifan had grown up with. Nights on Zera reminded him of early summer nights on earth, when the sky would look faintly yellow, announcing thunder and rain. While his mind was adapting, his body needed more time and Yifan found himself without a real concept of day and night. Still, he was certain that it had been early evening when a loud conversation carried through the silent air and up to him.

"Oh my god, why are you like this?!"

It was more of an accusation than a question, and Yifan didn't recognize the voice at all.

"This isn't your carpet; it’s just a dirty street - who cares?"

He knew that voice - it was Jongdae, who sounded mostly amused.

"Don't you think it's even a little disgusting? You look like you just slaughtered a pig."

"Hey, hey now, are you talking down on overweight people?"

"This isn't funny Jongdae," the first person sighed.

"Oh my god, you look like a serial killer," a third person laughed, and Jongdae's reply came without missing a beat.

"And you look like a rich teenie who abuses their parent's card. I know who's closer to the truth."

By that point, Yifan was standing on the balcony, peeking down with half-hearted interest. He didn't see it at first, but when the people down there shuffled around a bit, he almost got a heart attack. One of them looked like he had taken a blood bath to the point that he didn't even realize it was Jongdae until said person looked up and directly at him. Yifan stepped away from the balcony as if he'd been burnt, stumbling back inside his apartment but not closing the balcony door. Jongdae didn't comment on him.

Instead, he went back to deflecting the complaints of his friends.

"I don't see what's so bad about it," was the sentence that burnt itself into Yifan's head. "It's pretty, isn't it? Tastes like apples and sounds like a deep Glockenspiel. It's warm and comfy, too."

There was not an ounce of mockery in his voice. That night, Yifan fell asleep with the sight of a Jongdae looking at him, soaked in blood and eyes ever so curious.

That night, Yifan hardly slept at all.
 

---

 

The story could have ended there. Yifan would concentrate on his training sessions and avoid the weird psychopaths that were lounging around his street until he could afford to live in one of the really expensive places and never hear of them ever again. If only he wasn't so stupid. He had never pegged himself as a reckless person and was proud of his discipline when it came to matters that counted. And yet he felt this unwavering fascination for Jongdae. There was no logical explanation other than it being a... crush. An infatuation. Yifan hadn't been in a relationship in a long time, and he cursed his brain for deciding to remind him right now, at the worst possible time and on the worst possible person, too. The world was a cruel and dirty place, but he still wasn't going to go after a psychotic murderer. There was no need to go there. No need at all.

He still found himself wondering what Jongdae thought about him, whether he thought about him at all. Yifan was a bit oblivious when it came to these things, so maybe he was just paranoid and imagined the intense looks he was getting.

After another long practice session, Yifan found himself hurrying home, already ordering food on the way. He hadn't eaten enough during the day and it showed on the court. He was irked by the slip up in discipline - eating well was almost as important as the physical exercise. There was not a lot of takeout that was edible and healthy to a human like him, and if he didn't want to grow tired of the carrot-like vegetable they sold here, he should to learn how to use the foreign kitchen utensils.

He wasn't even trying to deny that he was walking more straight as he rounded the corner to enter his street. He pulled his bag over his shoulder in a way that looked casual, ruffling his mostly dry hair into a less chaotic state. Maybe he wasn't there, but Yifan wouldn't like that, right?

He had not anticipated Jongdae sitting right in front of the apartment complex' entrance, on the highest step. He was staring down at his own fingers that were tapping against his knee, Yifan recognized as he got closer. Striding past him would have been comfortable and easy, but now he had to actually tell him to move, and the insecurity flared up, giving him unhelpful flashbacks of the dried blood on Jongdae's skin. What was he even doing?

The question flashed up and disappeared right after, when Yifan stopped in front of him. Jongdae only looked up at the very last second, seemingly irritated that someone was interrupting his thoughts. The annoyance vanished as soon as he got a look at Yifan, and he looked almost tiny, despite sitting on the third stair.

"Oh. Hi," Jongdae said, looking at him with nothing but friendliness. Yifan swallowed. He refused to show any fear but for all the wrong reasons.

"I live here," he said slowly, and Jongdae hummed while nodding.

"I know."

"Cool. So could you maybe..." Yifan trailed off, and when Jongdae looked at him expectantly, he was forced to finish the sentence, "...let me pass?"

Jongdae looked a little glassy-eyed for a second, subtly biting his lip (but not subtle enough for Yifan to miss it), and then he broke into a wide grin.

"Of course. Hey, no need to look so tense, I’m just messing with you."

"That's my face," Yifan muttered before he knew it, watching Jongdae bounce up to his feet.

"And it's a handsome one if I ever saw one," Jongdae replied lightly. He still didn't walk away and Yifan was a bit too busy considering whether he wanted compliments from someone who deemed blood splatters pretty - it came as a total surprise when Jongdae reached out and actually touched his hair, shamelessly carding his fingers through it. Usually, he had it styled up and away from his face, but it was damp and free of any products, or else this would have been very painful. Jongdae his lips and looked positively delighted.

"It really does taste like cherry jam," he said absently, and Yifan just stood there, completely taken off guard. "With a lot of sugar," he almost crooned, fingers wandering down to touch the side of his face, undoubtedly going for the tiny tattoos sprinkled over his cheek area, but the moment his fingers touched skin, Yifan drew away. Jongdae pouted, but didn't get the chance to complain because Yifan had walked past him and inside the apartment building already. He should have gotten angry and told Jongdae off, but instead he was simply confused. Absently, he touched his hair in the elevator. Cherry jam. This person really was insane. Maybe next time, he'd tell him his blood tasted like pineapple juice. He should know better than to go and find out.
 

---

 

Yifan's resolve was strong enough for him to avoid Jongdae and any of his friends. As long as he'd keep his foolish secret crush to himself, no harm was done. He tried to sneak in even more practice sessions and when the trainer refused him, he'd stick around to watch others play. He still had a lot to learn and Sqija was different from basketball in many aspects, requiring very fine coordination skills in different areas and completely different strategies. He would get actual lessons on those eventually. Until then, figuring out things on his own was a nice, distracting challenge. It wouldn't erase Jongdae from his mind, however, and while he was careful not to approach anyone on the streets, he still spent a lot of time on the balcony, mostly sitting with his back leaning against it, reading stories on his tablet. One particular evening, he listened to Jongdae's quiet humming as the guy bustled around, probably doing something odd again. Yifan hadn't checked yet. It was a one-sided, intimate illusion of it being just the two of them. Considering that Yifan's apartment was on the third floor, with the ceilings being high, this was just stupid, obviously.

Jongdae was probably humming rather loudly but it barely reached Yifan, who finally gave in and got to his feet, leaning over the railing. Jongdae was indeed fiddling around with something and for a while, Yifan thought it was mere air and that Jongdae was being mental again. It took a long time until the street lights were hitting just right and he realized that Jongdae was knotting strings together. Many of them, to the point where the narrow part of the street looked like a spider web or a highly secured area. He only caught glimpses of it, though, for the strings were transparent. He didn't even think of it at first, but this was Jongdae, meaning that he was probably not fiddling around with harmless nylon strings. Someone else crossed into the street, and Jongdae waved at him, a cheerful greeting on his lips. As the person walked closer, Yifan's brain tumbled over itself in sudden realization, doubt and reassurances fighting each other, all pushed towards a decision by panic.

"Stop!" he finally yelled, and the person did indeed stop and they both looked up at him. Jongdae looked unhappy while the other was too far away to identify his expression.

He, as well, needed a moment to understand that these inconspicuous strings could have cut him up entirely, and when he did, he started cursing Jongdae out for being a sick bastard. By then, Yifan had already left the balcony, silently fretting whether this act of rebellion put him next on Jongdae's list. Well, he probably had no list. But maybe he had a radar, a certain range of attention and Yifan might have crossed a line and stepped into it.

The following days, Yifan was wary, paranoid even, but nothing seemed to have changed. At least the strings were gone the next day, with no shreds of flesh or blood to be seen - but was that really a good sign?
Yifan was so lost in thought that he almost missed it when it did happen. In his defense, he had hardly expected anything to occur in his changing room. And yet he could see it very clearly now that he looked closely. A single string was breaking the orange light in a subtle way. It was spanned right in the doorway and around the height of Yifan's throat. He kept staring at it, uncaring of his wet and barely dressed state. Surely, he wouldn't be decapitated by quickly walking into one of these strings... probably. Still, his suspicions had been confirmed and Yifan fumbled around the pocket of his used hoodie until he found the small tool that everyone who had ever worked on or around spaceships owned. It took him two tries to get out the tiny pair of scissors - it had been awhile, after all - and then he hesitated, before cutting the string. He jumped back as something snapped, arm raised in defense, a noise similar to a gunshot cut through the air and Yifan thought he'd be dead. When he opened his eyes, however, he saw nothing but feathers. A whole bunch of purely white feathers that had seemingly fallen from the ceiling. Slowly, Yifan stepped into the room, watching as the harmless, fluffy things leisurely floated down around him, dipped in the colorful light. He had no idea what Jongdae was trying to tell him by that and whether he was supposed to cower in fear or enjoy the sight he was being offered right now. He couldn't help doing either.
 

---

 

The following days were quiet. Yifan assumed Jongdae had lost interest in him which was equal parts comforting and disappointing. Sometimes, Yifan wondered whether the atmosphere on Zera was doing odd things to his mind. Obviously, it had happened before, at least for most of the people he saw on his street. As for him, he was clearly not in his right mind when it came to Jongdae. Otherwise, his first impulse upon seeing him in the deserted street a few days later would have been related to fear.

Instead, he was simply reminded of the dream he'd had the night before, the one about hot breath against his neck and ear, about senselessly rutting against each other for relief. Yifan swallowed the dark embarrassment down, but he had stopped in his tracks for long enough to be noticed by Jongdae. Jongdae, who was sitting in a sea of opaque, blue bubbles floating around, his hands still raised as if he was conducting them.

"Can you hear them?" he asked, both excited and curious, a dangerously seductive glint in his eyes. No greeting, no small talk, nothing. Yifan blinked. He actually stepped closer before he knew it, but the bubbles were predictably silent. They weren't that different from soap bubbles, except for the moody way they handled gravity, so there really was no reason for them to produce any sound. He shook his head, and Jongdae encouragingly patted the spot next to him, on the low wall. Yifan awkwardly took a seat, placing his sports bag on the ground. Jongdae shared an almost mischievous look with Yifan before he lifted a hand, swallowed... and began to sing. Smooth, low notes as his hand followed the movement of a bubble, and then he switched to another one, his voice climbing up. It was controlled and crystal clear, and Yifan immediately thought that Jongdae should be standing in a recording studio, not sitting in a dirty street with blood on his hands. There was also a common species living on this planet that communicated through sounds and melodies rather than words, and Yifan wondered whether Jongdae could speak their language.

It took awhile for him to see the pattern in the siren-like sounds. If a bubble was floating low, Jongdae's voice dropped, if he pointed at a higher one, it would raise. If it moved, Jongdae's voice changed accordingly. By switching between them, he created an actual melody, and this was impressive on so many levels that Yifan couldn't even begin to comprehend. Without warning, Jongdae's fingers danced down the bubbles, popping a few as the melody wandered down and then died an abrupt, but not unharmonious, death.

"I used to think you could hear them, too," Jongdae said, and there was clearly some sort of disappointment lacing his voice. Yifan was sensitive to that.

"What brings you to that assumption?" he asked slowly, watching the remaining bubbles float around them. Jongdae hummed.

"I don't know. Your melody was so different," he finally said.

"What do you mean?" Yifan asked, unwilling to wait any longer for an explanation that would never come. Jongdae smiled as if Yifan was being dense.

"It's the Zera influence," he explained, and then took a turn to ask Yifan a question instead. "What did Zera do for you?"

Yifan shrugged. "Made my body work properly again," he said quietly, even though there really was no shame in it, he knew that. Jongdae nodded with a knowing sound.

"I see. Well, my body was working just fine already, so Zera gave me something else instead."

He hopped to the ground and swung around to face Yifan, placing one palm directly next to his.

"Zera tangled my senses," Jongdae continued, voice just above a whisper, leaning in uncomfortably close, as if he was eager to soak up Yifan's body warmth. It should be awkward and uncomfortable and Yifan dearly wished it would be any of those.

"If I look at you, I can hear things."

Yifan held his breath, a hot mixture of fear and anticipation messing him from inside. He watched Jongdae's eyelashes as he lowered his gaze and subtly pressed himself in between Yifan's legs, which weren't nearly as firmly rooted to the ground as they ought to be, with him being stiff from fear.

"If you talk, I can feel things," he continued, voice low and raspy, and Yifan's head was spinning beneath the neutral facade. He felt the other's fingers dance up his arm, rucking up the wide sleeves of his hoodie.

"And if I touch you, I can taste it," he ended, and there was something so smooth and seductive about it that Yifan felt the urge to break the atmosphere before it broke him.

"Does it taste like cherry jam again?" he asked quietly, feeling the fingers around his arm tighten.

"No," Jongdae murmured, still kneading his arm in a way that was actually painful, "but it's still sweet..."

Noticing Yifan's grimace, he loosened his grip and the smile returned to his face. If Yifan were like him, the sight alone might have soothed the burn.

"Are your original senses affected? You got bad eyesight?" Yifan mindlessly asked, determined to ignore the tense atmosphere but not quite willing to leave yet. Jongdae made a vague noise and tilted his head from side to side.

"Kinda," he admitted. "I can feel it if you smack my head into a wall, but it's definitely not that painful. Some sounds, though, are more painful than broken bones."

"Like what?" Yifan asked, voice unconsciously dropping low. He couldn't help looking at the other's lips, at the way they parted and how they naturally curled up towards the end.

"Hmm..." Jongdae mused, his other hand running over the back of Yifan's free hand, "the sound of crushing autumn leaves."

Fingers were dancing up both his arms now and Yifan felt like being inevitably pulled in by a siren with how close Jongdae was.

"Nails scratching over dry skin."

Yifan felt the nails scraping over his skin. He wished they'd scratch him harder.

"The slick and slimy sound of a going in and out," Jongdae added in a whisper, throwing Yifan off guard, who felt his face heat up. Jongdae leaned upwards, and Yifan didn't turn away. He couldn't. The slightly parted lips pulled into a little smile.

"Just kidding," Jongdae breathed out as he leaned in, one hand coming to a rest in Yifan's neck. "That sound is kinda fun."

Yifan was mesmerized and driven by the urge to counter something towards that incriminating smile, so he pushed their lips together almost aggressively. Jongdae sighed - a small sound that ruined Yifan - and then he grinned into the kiss before pushing back just as harsh. Jongdae was in every way smaller than Yifan, and yet Yifan felt a bit overwhelmed by his strong and persistent presence. I'm making out with a psychopath, Yifan thought fleetingly, and in response to the nails digging into his neck, he grabbed Jongdae's waist to force him into place. I'm making out with a psychopath and maybe this is making me a bit of a psychopath, as well.

Jongdae broke the kiss to mouth around Yifan's neck. It was moist and messy, and Yifan couldn't help groaning into the other's messy hair, which seemed to spur him on even further.

"I've had my eyes on you ever since you arrived here," Jongdae murmured, attempting to both tug at Yifan's top and popping open the push buttons on his own shirt. Yifan was buzzed with desire, high on filthy lust and the prospect of getting exactly what he had dreamt of for the past weeks.

He felt Jongdae's hot tongue against his skin and suddenly got flashbacks of thick blood, of Jongdae talking about breaking someone's spine, talking about how nice and warm people are inside- and shoved Jongdae off.

The spell was broken and Jongdae's almost smug smile was replaced by confusion. Unhappy confusion.

"What is it?" he asked, brows furrowed unhappily, hands flying forward to hold on to Yifan who had slipped off the wall and past him, but Yifan wasn't a professional athlete for nothing. Jongdae walked after him, but keeping up with Yifan's long legs and brisk pace didn't come easy to him.

"I won't do this," Yifan just announced, eager to leave this situation, hide in his apartment and rethink the previous days. Maybe his whole life, too.

"You seem to change your mind a lot," Jongdae argued. He didn't sound in any way threatening, but certainly not enthusiastic either. Yifan kept on walking, images of Jongdae trying to weasel into his apartment already flickering before his inner eye. He punched the code into the green square next to the door and felt Jongdae grip his arm once more.

"Why do you keep running away like a shy princess?" Jongdae complained and with a repressed sigh, Yifan turned around.

"I'm not shy," he said. A definite lie, but true enough in this scenario.

"I changed my mind because it's the right thing to do."

Jongdae crossed his arms and looked unimpressed.

"Because you're a sparkling athlete and I'm a street rat?" he asked.

"No," Yifan said decidedly while shaking his head. "It's because I'm just some guy and you're an unpredictable psychopath. And I'm not an idiot."

This seemed to render Jongdae speechless, whose features went from annoyed to surprised. Yifan didn't give him a chance to argue further and hurried inside, hitting his elbow on the door. For once, he didn't worry about the embarrassment at all. He already had to avoid Jongdae forever starting from now on. It was the smart thing to do.

 

It turned out to not be an easy feat though. Yifan's accusation of him being a psychopath didn't drive Jongdae away at all. For some reason, it seemed to spark his determination instead and spurred him on even further. In the morning, Yifan would find things on his doorstep like more stray feathers, food, or ominous little children's toys. Whenever he left the house he could be sure to find Jongdae waiting for him, so he started taking different exits from the apartment complex, even if it meant a longer way to the station. Sometimes, Jongdae would call up to his balcony, despite Yifan ignoring him. If it was any other person, Yifan would have alerted the authorities already. But Yifan was an idiot and also assumed that there was a reason the authorities never got Jongdae in the first place.

He had every reason to be terrified, but he wasn't. Not for the time being, that is. Jongdae was pursuing him to his best ability and wouldn't hurt him. Eventually, he'd get tired. Or mad. That was the most worrisome option to Yifan. That he'd one day step into his changing room and find Jongdae sitting there, with a knife instead of a feather. He'd probably smile.

Yifan shook his head a little and focused on stretching. This was insane. Not only Jongdae but also him. He was insane. Maybe he had an entirely messed up image of Jongdae, but the most insane part about Yifan was probably the fact that he was doubting himself and the way he handled this.

No, he thought firmly as he jogged around the gym with the rest of the team. He was doing the right thing by staying away and he'd certainly not regret it in the future. He'd look back at this and roll his eyes at his younger self who had touched himself at night, thinking about a psychopath. Who had lazed around on his balcony, hoping to hear his voice. It already sounded silly to the present him.

This was the right thing to do, he told himself as he lay sprawled out on the couch, toying with the latest thing found on his doorstep. It was an odd object he could only guess the purpose of; cylindrical and mostly transparent, with cerulean and rose-colored liquids dripping down in a spiral. They gathered on the ground only to start their journey anew as soon as Yifan flipped the thing around. It might be a toy for Zera's children, or merely something to put on a desk or shelf, to decorate the room. It certainly was pretty, and Yifan had no idea what might drive Jongdae to leave it on his doorstep.

It ended up on his living room table, right next to a polished, bright red gemstone, a tiny and ancient-looking, colorful toy car, and all the other curiosities he had collected. There was no connection between them at all and none of them seemed like a typical present to give to a love interest. Yifan was confused. And he really wished he had enough self-respect to stop thinking back to the way Jongdae's tongue had felt against his.

---

 

Yifan hadn't seen Jongdae all day and suspected that he was out doing some very illegal and probably despicable things as usual. He hadn't been there in the morning and he wasn't there when Yifan entered the apartment complex, a container of food dangling in a bag made out of dissolvable, eco-friendly material. He went straight for the elevator. Sure, he only lived on the third floor, meaning very few stairs to potentially take, but the buildings on Zera were complex in structure and taking an elevator right to your area was much more efficient. Stairs were something Yifan definitely didn't miss from his time on Earth and old spaceships.

He almost got a heart attack when someone touched his arm, just as he was about to signal the elevator down to the third floor. He whipped around, feeling a sudden tinge of fear that wouldn't immediately leave when his eyes predictably fell on Jongdae. Luckily, he didn't seem to carry a knife or any other visible weapon. He didn't look angry either, but that just added to Yifan's worries.

"Hey," the other casually greeted him, as if it was a complete coincidence, meeting him like this. Yifan pulled himself free.

"I don't want to-"

"-talk. Yes, I got the memo," Jongdae cut him off easily with a wave of his hand. "I wanna talk though. I feel like you're not really giving me a chance here..."

His voice trailed off and he sought Yifan's face for a reaction. Unfortunately for him, Yifan was born with a resting face and training to be a professional athlete in a competitive sport. At this point, he had to put in effort for his expression to talk for him.

"I already made up my mind," Yifan calmly responded, and the elevator opened with a click. "Please accept a ‘no’ for what it is."

He stepped inside and both his hopes and fears were confirmed when Jongdae followed him inside, keeping the doors from closing by standing on the thin, yellow line on the ground.

"You're saying no, but it doesn't feel like a no," Jongdae argued, placing a hand on his hip. He looked defiant. It took Yifan a second to grasp that Jongdae was talking about literal feelings here, and he fought down the heat that was rising to his face.

"Rejection feels prickly, acceptance smooth," Jongdae explained, taking a step towards him. Too close. Yifan didn't say a word, fearing his voice might give him away. He had arrogantly assumed his voice would be about as neutral as his expression, but Jongdae's senses were apparently sharp enough to see right through him.

Jongdae was so much shorter than Yifan but he had a captivating intensity to him - an aura that yelled for Yifan to touch, to explore and get carried away.

"Your voice felt pretty smooth though," Jongdae continued, his own voice softening a bit with the closer proximity. The elevator doors closed behind him. Yifan's gaze focused from one eye to the other, grazed the slope of his nose and the angled brows that gave Jongdae this unique, mischievous look.

"Maybe a little pushy. Like pressure on my skin," Jongdae added thoughtfully, and the elevator began to move, orange numbers and letters calling for Yifan's fleeting attention that was drawn back to the other in a split second.

"You know what pressure means?"

He was already close enough for Yifan to repeat his previous mistake - to lean in and close the gap and shut up the unwelcome, insightful words - but this time, he didn't move an inch.

"What?" he asked, gaze now lowered because Jongdae was close enough for him to go cross-eyed if he tried to read him.

"Fear," Jongdae breathed against his lips. Then he kissed him. The almost violent tug he felt in his stomach was indeed similar to fear and he certainly was scared by Jongdae's awareness, but it all meshed with the overwhelming feeling of being kissed. Last time, Yifan had dominated the kiss and Jongdae had responded. This time, it started out the other way around and where Yifan had been almost aggressive, Jongdae started out deep, slightly moist lips pressing against his. Deep and demanding.

"And you know what your voice also feels like?" Jongdae panted, torn between wanting to talk and kissing him senseless, hot and damp lips sliding over his lips and skin.

"Like a tongue on my . Always. It drives me crazy-"

Yifan felt floaty, teetering between just giving in and staying strong. He tried to push the other away, but Jongdae seemed to misinterpret the action and pressed back, kissing him harder. It sparked something in Yifan, who flipped their positions - despite his obvious, physical advantage, it took him quite a bit of strength to do so with the way Jongdae was resisting. Doubt flashed up in him like a grain of salt in an otherwise sweet dessert, but when Jongdae's back hit the elevator, it pulled a small moan out of him, proving that he was actually into this. Yifan wasn't into dominating people, but he was a tall person who usually had lovers much more petite than him. Using his energy and strength like this, without worrying, was exciting. But fooling around like this without any intention of commitment was wrong, and now he was in a good position to gain control over the situation again. With his palms on Jongdae's arm and shoulder, he held him there so he could bring distance between them. Behind them, the elevator door opened. Neither of them looked to see if anyone was waiting outside. Yifan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Stop doing that," he silently said, and his intention seemed to be genuine enough, because Jongdae didn't try to kiss him again.

"Why?" he asked instead, voice barely even roughed up by their short, but intense makeout session. It was still so infuriatingly smooth and pleasant.

"Because I'm constantly thinking of the day where you decide that killing me is more fun than having me around alive," Yifan whispered, and he felt a little tired. Jongdae's lips pulled into a frown.

"I'm not that terrible-"

"How many people have you killed already?" Yifan snapped, letting go of Jongdae now that the uncomfortable truth begged for attention. Jongdae avoided his gaze, if only for a split second.

"A few," he admitted, like it was no big deal.

"How many times was it necessary?"

"All the time, I don't do stuff like this outside a job - usually-" Jongdae vaguely said but Yifan wasn't going to let him off this time.

"Usually. And you only kill for money? You think that's redeeming or something?"

"Not everyone gets a red carpet rolled out for them in life, okay?!" Jongdae snapped back, with anger visibly taking over.

"Don't say it like I never worked in my life," Yifan argued in annoyance - Jongdae had hit a sore spot most athletes had.

"Sometimes, you gotta walk through the mud and get your feet dirty," Jongdae added, but Yifan remained unimpressed.

"So what could have possibly forced you to go around assassinating people?"

"I don't exactly feel obligated to tell you after you asked so nicely," Jongdae spat, and Yifan lifted a palm, trying to calm both of them down.

"Okay, but one question. Just one," he said, and Jongdae crossed his arms, clearly waiting. Yifan looked him in the eye and focused on interpreting what he saw there.

"How many times did you kill a being and enjoy it?"

The silence that followed was deafening. It was thick and heavy, with the tiniest humming of the technology around them being as jarring as sandpaper on skin.

Jongdae didn't break their gaze, but he didn't answer, either. Eventually, he let out a deep breath and a small, joyless smile took over.

"Aren't you even a little confident that you could make me fall in love with you to the point that I'd never hurt you?"

Yifan's muscles had relaxed during the period of silence, shoulders not drawn up anymore and fingers no longer balled to fists.

"Quite frankly?" he asked, his voice still so oddly calm. "No."

Jongdae kept staring at him for a few more seconds, brows furrowed in both anger and what seemed like disappointment, before he dropped his gaze to the ground.

Then he slammed the pink square at the wall, signalling for the elevator to return to the exit. Yifan had to hastily place his hand on the door so he could step out first.

As he entered his apartment, Yifan felt like his head was buzzing. There was no specific thought or dominant feeling; it was just one big mess. He felt like he'd lived through more emotions in a couple minutes than he had during the past weeks. He wasn't the type to get impulsive like that, but Jongdae had pulled it out of him somehow. Yifan massaged his forehead. He already knew that his mind would torture him until the sweet blessing of sleep would take over. If he was unlucky, he'd meet Jongdae again in his dreams.
Sadly, Yifan had run out of luck the moment Jongdae had noticed him.
 

---

All of this personal drama didn't affect Yifan's performance on the court at all. Luckily, he was more mature than to be sad about that. Sport has always been his shelter, his go-to when his mind was messy and unfocused. He had always been functioning well even when he felt like his world would continue to crumble as soon as loosened the shoelaces in the changing room. But functioning well wasn't enough sometimes, and his trainer took him aside to once again remind him of all the additional things he had to master in order to be on the team. Running fast and having good reflexes wasn't everything in Sqija - strategy was also a big factor, and apparently there were a ton of different approaches to the game. With the varying number of points spread across different squares, that wasn't hard to picture. Not to mention that there was an invisible square moving across the court in irregular time spans - one that was usually hit by accident, but as far as Yifan understood it, there was a way to develop a feeling for where it was. He figured that in his current state, he simply had to play a lot until he got enough of a feeling for the game to be accessible to actual strategy lessons. He could see why the trainer was pressuring him though - if he wanted to join for the next season, even as a substitute player, he had to step up his game, and do so soon. Yifan may be more sensitive than he looked, but he wasn't unreasonable and no stranger to the language and attitude used among athletes.

Fact was that the trainer was right. There would be no shame in training for another season, but Yifan was equal parts impatient and ambitious - if there was even a slim chance he might make it, he would go for it.

For once, he wasn't thinking about Jongdae at all as he rounded a corner, the sky still dipping everything in generous, golden light. He'd eat a bit, rest, and then return later, to train when everyone went home. There were people lingering around, but their attention was obviously captured by the two people across the street. Yifan heard him before he could identify the two guys in the shadows. Jongdae's voice was usually loud when he was among his peers, loud and unabashed, but today he added to it by straight up yelling Yifan's name and walking towards him like an excited dog ready to smother his owner with affection.

Yifan was entirely confused. Jongdae had never acted like that and ever since their last, rather icy encounter, Jongdae had actually not spared him a single look.

"You're so late!" Jongdae singsonged way too happily as he collided with Yifan's upper body, wrapping his arms around him like a koala.

Yifan didn't return the gesture and just looked over his head and at the person Jongdae had been standing next to. It turned out to be Chanyeol. The lanky boy was walking towards them, looking mostly amused.

"He's so ing high, man," Chanyeol snickered - Yifan would have called it a giggle if everything about Chanyeol's appearance wasn't so far away from that description. Absently, he tugged Jongdae's wandering hands away before they could sneak beneath his shirt.

" - of course you'd be doing drugs, as well. Of course," Yifan groaned, and Jongdae had the audacity and presence of mind to roll his eyes.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lawful Goodie two shoes," he began, and yes, his voice and word choice clearly gave away that something was off. Jongdae didn't usually talk this uncoordinated.

"Excuse me for not being as perfect as you," he slurred, which ruined the attempt at sarcasm. "Some folks need a little aid to achieve what you just get on a silver platter-"

Yifan had no idea what he was talking about, and he had no respect for people falling for alcohol and other drugs, so he kept trying to keep Jongdae at a distance wider than the length of his palm.

"He's done Xena," Chanyeol provided helpfully as he took a sip from his harmless-looking package of juice.

"I thought humans don't do that one," Yifan replied almost accusingly - Jongdae was currently nosing around his collarbones and neck, and Yifan really wasn't in the mood for any of this. Chanyeol shrugged.

"Doesn't kill you," he said, looking even younger as he rocked on the balls of his feet, "which is more than you can say about most drugs we invented. 's definitely Jongdae's first though."

"Is he hallucinating?" Yifan asked, earning a pinch to the side, hard enough to bruise.

"I'm right here, you know? I can hear you," Jongdae complained, shooting him an unhappy look and crossing his arms. "You're really difficult, you know?"

" I'm difficult?" Yifan repeated, too gobsmacked to keep his cool.

"Oooh, marital disputes," Chanyeol singsonged, taking a step back, "I'll be up in my room-

"Shut up," Yifan muttered, while Jongdae didn't even bother giving Chanyeol a response. Instead, he looked Yifan up and down, and the annoyed look melted into something softer.

"You do look kinda bland now," he said, completely out of the blue to Yifan. Now that he was standing still, the slightly wide pupils and way too bright orbs betrayed the drugs in his system. Yifan was no expert by far, but it was common knowledge that drugged up people here were easily identifiable by their unnatural eye color. Despite that, Jongdae seemed pretty clear in the head.

"No more deep melodies when I look at you, no more tingles when you talk, no more cherry jam or blue bubbles whenever I get a whiff of your fancy aftershave."

The blue bubbles Jongdae had played with popped up in his mind as well as the curious toy with its blue liquid drops. He had never mentioned any melodies or tingles, but the main point was...

"And that's now gone?" Yifan asked, forcing himself to sound neutral. To make it sound like he was just eager to get this over with. Jongdae saw through him like he'd look through polished glass.

"Don't be disappointed," he said with a reassuring smile, his palm gliding down Yifan's upper arm. He let him.

"Everything is bland with senses as dull as yours and Chanyeol's," he began with a thoughtful hum, "but you're still sticking out. You're still the most intense out of everyone here."

Yifan found it a bit hard to follow Jongdae's train of thoughts, but if he got this right, Jongdae was currently dulled down by the drug. Instinctively, he looked up to find Chanyeol's gaze for confirmation, but the other's short attention span had already pulled him to the other side of the street, where he was conversing with the other people, as if Jongdae wasn't drugged out of his mind right now.

"You should... lie down or something. Sleep this off," Yifan vaguely said, and the response was an immediate, childish grimace.

"Sleep this off," Jongdae echoed, his tone mocking but gestures mainly stubborn, "quick, go back to being the psychopath so I have an excuse to reject you-"

"Look, I really don't know what you're on about," Yifan began, but was cut off by an impatient Jongdae, who began tapping his feet.

"I am on Xena," he emphasized slowly, meaningfully, as if Yifan was an idiot, "my body is suppressing any effect Zera usually has on me. I'm completely human right now-"

You've been human before, was Yifan's first thought, followed by one that Jongdae could read off his face again.

"-which is incredibly stupid cause it makes me weak as and overall useless," Jongdae added, sounding like he was done with himself and his own attitude, "but at least you can clearly see that this is who I am."

Yifan would have replied, even though he wasn't immediately sure of what to say, but that took too long for Jongdae, apparently.

"This-" he began resolutely, gesturing down at himself, "is me. Nothing really changed. You thought that this planet turned me into some kinda mutation? But it didn't. I am like this. I am this sick. And now that I got a taste of what it's like, being normal like any of you, I can clearly say that it's not worth it-"

Mood swings from euphoric to angry or sad. Yifan told himself to stay calm, but that front vanished into thin air when Jongdae pulled a knife out of a holster. This time, Jongdae didn't mock Yifan's fear; he was too wound up in his own speech.

"I don't ing care anymore if you don't want me!" Jongdae exclaimed, and Yifan took half a step back, fleetingly looking for the others. No one seemed ready to intervene.

"I'm not going to change for you, you know? I'm not gonna run around on Xena for the rest of my days and even if I did, nothing would change, okay?"

In a determined and nonchalant move, Jongdae dragged the knife down his own arm, luckily over the back of it. Yifan still jumped forwards without thinking, attempting to wrestle the knife out of his hands. There was blood everywhere. Jongdae gave up on the knife without much of a fight and instead raised his arm to present the wound to Yifan.

"See?" he asked, voice dripping with borderline hysteric satisfaction, "even without the taste and the scent and the soothing feeling, blood is pretty! What you wanna do about it? About me? I just like this-" he went on, fleetingly staring at his arm, and the rest of the sentence died a staccato death while his eyes widened... and then he dropped his head and with the most disgusting gagging sounds, he threw up. Yifan let go of the knife, which met the ground with a clank loud enough to be heard over the sound of Jongdae gagging. The spell was broken and Jongdae turned from a dangerous, drugged madman to a pathetic and pitiful creature drugs could turn anyone into. Yifan steadied him with a firm grip around his back, trying to hold the injured arm as far away as possible.

"Time to go home," he said quietly, rubbing the other's arm in firm, but slow movements. "You got your keys?"

Instead of a reply, Jongdae started sobbing in between the gasps for air, and Yifan grimaced. He looked up and now Chanyeol was approaching them, throwing something Yifan only barely caught.

"E63," Chanyeol said, and this time he had the heart to add, "and don't hurt him or anything. Minseok would kill me."

"Aren't you a good friend," Yifan mumbled as he dragged Jongdae past him and towards the apartment building. Chanyeol only shrugged.

"What are friends, in a place like this?"

 

Dragging Jongdae into the elevator was... alright. Could have been better, could have been worse. In between the sobs, he was gasping for air so hard that Yifan feared he might hyperventilate. He should be calling for medical aid, but he knew far too little about Jongdae - what if the officials were merely waiting for him to stick out so they could take him away? Besides, people did like this all the time - he'd test him with his tablet to make sure he wasn't showing allergic reactions and that should be enough for now. Jongdae was also still sobbing and Yifan felt for him. Even he was confused - he couldn't begin to imagine how disturbed and confused Jongdae himself was, right now.

While the elevator moved steadily, a calming normalcy in this otherwise bizarre evening, Yifan exhaled deeply, head resting at the wall, one arm still steadying Jongdae.

", man," he said into the elevator, not expecting the other to listen. "Don't do drugs again."

He felt so exhausted that it took him a bit to realize Jongdae was talking to him, almost too quiet to be heard.

"I wanted to prove you wrong. I wanted to know what you look like, with normal eyes, whether Zera was just forcing me to go after you. I wanted-"

The words trickled out of him, quiet, hoarse, and only loosely connected.

"I wanted to protect myself. Prove that I know myself best. But I don't know anymore..."

He started sobbing again, clenching his fist until blood dripped to the pristine floor. Yifan bit his lips and tried to coax him into relaxing again by caressing his knuckles and wrist.

"I don't know anymore," Jongdae whispered, and Yifan changed his plans and pressed the buttons leading to his own apartment instead. In the short walk from the elevator to the hallway, Jongdae tripped, causing Yifan to tug at his arm in the wrong way. At the feeling of his skin being tugged open at the cut, Jongdae vomited once again. For the first time since he moved here, Yifan ordered a clean up for the hallway at the panel next to his door and then dragged Jongdae inside to get him cleaned up and bandaged. He had to go for a temporary bandage so the other could shower without either making it worse or breaking down. Yifan watched over him until Jongdae weakly shooed him away, but he returned when Jongdae half-yelled at the spray of hot water hitting his skin. Without the Zera influence, every touch was way more intense and Jongdae wasn't used to it anymore. It made Yifan question just how painful his grip had been before, when Jongdae hadn't said a word about it.

An hour later he was finally spread out in Yifan's bed, his arm orderly bandaged, a bottle of water, simple painkillers and a makeshift bucket next to his bed in case he didn't make it to the bathroom.

Needless to say, Yifan didn't leave the house for some late night training after that.

 

He did leave the house the day after though. His trainer would have his head if he skipped a practice session now. He wasn't too worried about Jongdae, who had been sleeping peacefully for the past hours. His tablet told him that his stats were going back to normal, too. He simply left Jongdae's key on the nightstand and left. He should have written a note, had already opened the function and had lifted his finger to scrawl across the wall above the nightstand. But he didn't know what to write. His mind blanked out completely. At the end of it, he left without a note, not even anything mundane as 'close the door behind you' or 'breakfast is in the fridge'. Jongdae wasn't an idiot, after all.

A part of him entertained the thought of Jongdae not leaving at all. Or maybe Yifan would come home to a completely trashed apartment. Neither of those turned out to be true though. When Yifan opened his door many hours later, his apartment looked completely untouched. The bed was made, a fresh breeze came in through the open window, the glass of water and the painkillers all gone. His food was still in the fridge and untouched and there was no trace of Jongdae. Heck, he had even replaced the towels in the bathroom. It was very odd and unexpected, but at the same time, part of Yifan was glad not to be confronted with Jongdae now. Throughout the whole day, he had been thinking about what had happened the past evening, but it was a vague, unconscious way of thinking that happened quietly as he ran across the court, did sit ups and conversed with his teammates.

Now he had time to himself, which meant actually thinking about this whole mess. Jongdae had taken drugs that he had never touched before - because while they might do exciting things for others, taking them made no sense to someone like Jongdae, who might have gained some short-lived happiness and the feeling of being drunk (judging by his speech and behaviour), but other than that, they only dulled down his senses. Yifan had no idea what this Xena stuff did to other species, but he assumed that it would be nothing but poison to most - that was just the nature of  drugs. It would have made sense if Jongdae hated the tangled senses Zera had given him, but he seemed to be very attuned to them, so there wouldn't be a point for him in taking these drugs. He'd been smart to avoid them before, especially considering his environment and... occupation. And yet, despite all that, Jongdae had taken this drug because of Yifan. Because he wanted to prove his true nature to him, Yifan mused as he slipped into a hot bath tub filled with steaming, emerald water. But also because apparently, he had wanted to know whether there was more to Yifan than what his tangled senses showed him. Whether there was actually anything special about him. Yifan felt the heat rise to his face and the strong scent of fresh herbs permeate the air.

It came as an actual surprise that Jongdae claimed Yifan still stuck out to him. A lot had happened in the past months, but Yifan didn't doubt for a single second that he didn't deserve this kind of affection, no matter how crooked the person it was coming from might be. He had never put in any effort when it came to Jongdae. Sure, he had admired, had even silently lusted after him, but Jongdae had been the one to do all the work. Jongdae had done the chasing and Yifan couldn't fathom why - sure, it might make sense if his messy senses had painted YIfan in the prettiest colors to him, for whatever reason. But even without all the glitz and glamour, bubbles and tingles, Jongdae had still looked at him with such soft affection.

With a sigh, Yifan took a wash cloth that was long cold by now, placing it on his forehead. The shimmery, black tiles around him vanished into true darkness and soothing cold. Even now, he still knew close to nothing about Jongdae. He liked to remind himself of the crass sides of Jongdae, the ones that enjoyed blood caking on his skin, just so Yifan wouldn't be tempted. This construct - the one with a clear line that took his decision from him - had grown weak though, had done so the moment Jongdae had caught a glimpse of the deep cut on his own arm. He had meant to prove how sick of a person he naturally was, and yet his body had reacted with disgust this strong.

The confusion Yifan felt was surely nothing compared to the one Jongdae was feeling now. Jongdae had never denied being a murderer or having a sick taste, but at the same time, he had been confident in courting Yifan. The image he had of himself had been consistent and now it wasn't anymore.

Either way, he was apparently more than this disturbing person he made himself out to be, and that made Yifan's decision to stay away and simply reject him way harder than it was before. Absently, he played with the pure white foam, feeling it give way under his calloused fingertips. But what now?

Jongdae was probably still lazing around somewhere, plagued by a vague hangover - not that Yifan knew exactly how things like this went. He'd never touched even the most insignificant drug. He barely even drank coffee.

In the end, he placed an order for a very nutritious and rich soup and had them deliver it to Jongdae. Sure, the other didn't look like he was starving, but Yifan wasn't sure whether the shady stuff he did paid well or whether he had received any payment lately; this was better than instant food at least. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen a sprinkle of blood on Jongdae in a while, Yifan mused as he crawled under the covers to put his aching muscles to a rest.

 

Sometimes, Yifan missed the squeaking noises around him while playing. The ground on Zera was made of some advanced material, as were his shoes, and while he could hear the hectic, irregular thuds whenever people quarreled for the ball, it just wasn't the same. Sometimes, that made him feel incredibly lonely for a short moment, before his brain snapped back into it and he lunged for the ball to catch it mid-air. He was by far the tallest on the court which did give him advantages in that area, but Miranean people like Luhan were naturally much faster than humans, and so he lost it before he could even take two steps towards the glowing squares. Someone shouted something Yifan couldn't quite catch, and he really had to learn more grammar.

In a national team like theirs, language barriers were a serious issue - the official language was Zeran, and everyone had to learn it somehow. Yifan considered himself lucky for his tongue and speech enabled him to speak the language relatively easily. Miraneans, who communicated through sounds and melodies, already struggled much more, and there were a few races Yifan couldn't even place yet that he had never heard use the language. Understanding but not being able to talk... in a team made up of different species, everyone had strengths and weaknesses, and there was much more room and necessity for proper strategizing.

He was standing at the side with the rest as they watched two female players trying to locate the invisible square before the other could (individual little matches were a common procedure Yifan never minded watching), when he saw someone sitting on a bench, at a medium distance. Not all training sessions were open to the public, and even when they were, the audience was sparse and only comprised of hardcore fans, all decked in lines of green, orange and black.

Today, though, Jongdae was among them.

The walls surrounding the court and displaying the squares were usually opaque, so he hadn't seen him before. Now that they turned them off since the two girls didn't need them, he could see him clearly. Maybe it was because Jongdae had no vibrant hair color, and looked rather inconspicuous overall, which, among so many colorful people, made him stick out like a sore thumb to Yifan. He was wearing thick headphones and didn't seem to pay him any heed, too immersed in the ongoing game. The rest of the session, Yifan absolutely failed to act naturally, to play naturally, even though he refused to look over to the spot he knew Jongdae was sitting. In fact, the other was moving at some point, until he sat right behind the wall, as close to the court as possible. Luckily for Yifan, the trainer only interpreted his performance as slightly bad and didn't mention it, though he did have a few stern glances for him. When everyone trickled out to go home, Yifan kept throwing at the squares, kept practicing.

"Yifan," he heard a very characteristic voice call out to him and turned around. It was Luhan, his otherwise pale skin still tinged orange from exertion. His hair, which was always slow to adjust, was still stuck in a shade of deep pink. Yifan stopped and kept the ball in his hands, shooting him a questioning look.

"Do you want to eat dinner with us?" Luhan asked in Zeran, words choppy and overly melodic. Luhan was the only one calling him by his first name and he was also the only one engaging with him at all, outside the game. Yifan understood that the others were waiting for him to become an actual part of their team, but he also deeply appreciated Luhan. Still, a look towards Jongdae reminded him that the other was still around, too.

"I'll play a little more," he replied, doing his best to not butcher the words, "but thank you. Thank you," he repeated, ducking his head a little - Yifan had made himself familiar with everyone's customs early on to show good intentions, and thanking someone twice to assure genuity was part of Luhan's culture. The other sighed, flapping the collar of his shirt to get rid of the heat.

"Alright. Don't be too hard on yourself, okay? You'll be a part of the team soon."

A familiar phrase. Yifan nodded gratefully, and waved Luhan off, before he went back to throwing at the squares.

He waited awhile, wanted to make sure that they were the only ones left, but as usual, he was waiting too long.

"You're jumping too much!"

He halted in his move, looking around to where Jongdae was still sitting in the closest seat, a few feet away from him, chin steadied on his palms. He was still wearing the headphones, which explained his slightly too loud voice. Yifan held back on a grimace. It was a phrase he had finally started to hear less often in the past weeks. But what did Jongdae know?

"I didn't peg you as a sport's person," Yifan replied neutrally. He felt like there was an ocean of unsaid words in between them, and he was choosing to not look down.

"I'm not. I still don't understand most of the rules," Jongdae shrugged. He looked recovered, skintone healthy and expression as relaxed as it used to be. Yifan wondered whether it was a front.

"You used to play basketball, right? There's more jumping in there, I assume."

Yifan nodded, dribbling the ball leisurely.

"In basketball, you throw in a completely different way," he said, absently switching hands, "here, you need a lot more aggressive force and your target is usually smaller."

Jongdae nodded.

"So keep your feet to the ground," he said lightly. "You're pretty much the tallest, anyway."

Yifan considered teasing him back, but Jongdae just stared at him expectantly, until Yifan gave in and turned to smack the ball into a medium-sized, yellow square. The digital screen above them showed medium strength and a clean hit.

"That was better," Jongdae piped up above the sound of the ball bouncing off the ground way too far away from Yifan - he had to work on that, too.

"It's almost like you're playing a completely different instrument than anyone else."

"What do you mean?" he asked, somehow not daring to approach Jongdae. He wasn't even sure what kind of atmosphere he might break by that, but he just stayed put.

"Everyone else sounds like some kind of string instrument and you can't shake off that glockenspiel."

For a moment, Yifan was confused. Then he got it.

"You can hear our... moves?" he asked carefully, not wanting to sound dumb.

"Seeing turns to hearing, you forgot already?" Jongdae asked with a tilted head, and Yifan denied that.

"I just didn't think it would work that way. That's why you're wearing headphones?"

Jongdae hummed and nodded. It made sense that he wasn't keen on attending any type of game if visuals turned to sounds in his head. Adding the whole, perpetually active athletes to the actual noises everything around them made was probably a nightmare. Though Yifan couldn't fathom how Jongdae lived like this in the first place.

Jongdae nodded towards the court.

"Go, play. Try a less choppy approach."

That was easier said than done and after a few awkward moves, Yifan fumbled with the virtual training machine until he found the option for hologram players, serving as moving blockades to avoid and play around. Jongdae's directions were vague at best, but they slowly got somewhere with him finally resulting to telling Yifan 'hot' or 'cold', guiding him into the right direction in tiny steps. Yifan didn't get it at first, had no idea what was so different about what Jongdae claimed to be 'warm', in comparison to his usual moves, but it certainly felt different. Like a new pair of shoes that's still unusual, but not necessarily bad. He'd have to practice many more hours to find a new routine and discover whether running and jumping and moving like this made more sense in this game.

When the color of the lights over their heads changed slightly and cleaning androids requested allowance for the daily clean up, Yifan let them. It was time for a break, anyway. He walked over to where Jongdae was still sitting, close to the transparent walls and right next to an entrance to the court. He had still chosen to stay seated and now Yifan handed him a fresh bottle of water. Jongdae finally slipped off his headphones and took the bottle while Yifan sat down on the court, legs stretched out, his back to the wall. The sound of uncapping bottles was heard, and Yifan reveled in the feeling of cool water soothing his throat.

"You sound a little more similar to the others already," Jongdae stated. Yifan let it sink in, couldn't come up with a reply and changed directions.

"How come you're helping me like this?" he asked, staring absently at the cleaning droids. Behind him, Jongdae hummed.

"I dunno. Thought it might impress you more than me trying to get in your pants."

The honesty was so disarming that again, Yifan couldn't come up with a reply. He wasn't good with witty conversation, even less so with people he wasn't absolutely familiar with.

"Besides," Jongdae added after a beat of hesitation, "I feel like I kinda owe you that much, after that embarrassing stunt."

To think that he'd rather mention his first point than the latter, said quite a bit about Jongdae. This time, Yifan's reply came rather quickly.

"It wasn't that bad."

Jongdae chuckled.

"Not that bad. It might be the most embarrassing moment of my life."

Now it was Yifan's turn to smile.

"Okay, for real? You weren't faring too bad. To me, everyone is kinda pathetic on drugs, no matter which ones. It's a personal thing."

"Bad experience?" Jongdae asked, not unkindly.

"Not on me, but I've seen it on others."

"Ah."

Yifan took another deep gulp and leaned his head against the wall. The cleaning droids were polishing the floor and dusting off the opposite seating area.

"So," he began, after a period of silence, "why did you come to Zera in the first place?"

He felt like taking the chance and he was in luck - Jongdae felt like replying.

"I was a translator for a minority here."

"Meranians," Yifan stated, instead of asking. Jongdae seemed actually surprised, judging by his voice.

"How did you know?"

"Your voice is rich and strong, but also precise. Really precise."

He heard Jongdae's breathy laugh. There was no spoken 'thank you,' but Yifan didn't need anything in return for this compliment.

"I was really naive back then," Jongdae began, sounding almost nostalgic. "I was excited about my first job on a far away planet. They dropped me at a point where I was just broke enough to not be able to afford a ride back to earth."

"Is that even legal?" Yifan asked, already a little mad at the prospect of someone doing this to a good, qualified foreigner and translator.

"Oh, a lot of things going on in that business weren't legal," Jongdae openly said, and Yifan guessed he was waving him off. "Luckily for me, the shady, terrifying people outside my door took me in. And considering that my first bloody assignments all targeted the people that ed me up, I'd say they regretted it in the long run."

Now he could clearly hear the equanimous, casual tone that would go well with a shrug.

"You asked me whether I ever enjoyed taking someone's life. I can't say I regretted it back then. Heck, I probably don't even regret it now."

When Yifan didn't reply immediately, Jongdae took a metaphorical step back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mention that."

Yifan shook his head even though Jongdae couldn't see.

"It's okay."

"I think... if you live like this for long enough, everything seems kinda normal. Accepted. The new standard," Jongdae listed, and a tinge of frustration snuck in between the syllables. "I didn't think about it at all, until recently..."

Yifan could understand. Not like he had ever even been close to such a situation, but he got the concept of living a secluded life that isolated and ultimately alienated you from society. Jongdae had slipped into this life by accident and grew into it to the point where he was convinced he didn't care at all whether he was harming anyone or himself. Maybe he really didn't, at least not in his current form. For a moment, Yifan was reminded of himself. Just in a tiny aspect. The one that made you feel bloated and empty when you stare at the dark ceiling, feeling stuck and beaten.

"This doesn't have to be the end of the line though," he finally said decidedly.

"Really?"

For the first time ever, Jongdae sounded completely and utterly surprised, small, maybe even hopeful.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah," Yifan said. "It could be. But it doesn't have to."

For a long time, the whirring of the cleaning droids was the only sound Yifan heard. It reminded him of a faint purr, and he wondered about how easily his brain could adapt, could switch out his emotions and associations targeted at animals to inanimate objects. As if he was unconsciously yearning to be surrounded by life and a sense of contentment. Maybe that's what Jongdae had been doing, too.
"You make a pretty good sports analyst," Yifan finally said, to lighten the atmosphere. Jongdae just snorted.

"I was just spotting the odd one out - doubt that's gonna make me big."

"I doubt your doubts. I feel like that talent alone could get you anywhere," Yifan returned and got to his feet. He looked at Jongdae, who was still sitting behind the transparent wall and whose eyes looked a little red, though he was smiling.

"Even in your bed?" he asked, and Yifan indulged him, played along, gladly so.

"Can't imagine those circumstances. Though I'm sure you could pick out my bed if there were others next to it-"

Jongdae's oncoming, sassy remark was cut off by Yifan, who could also very well be a smartass.

"-cause you've been lying in there before."

Jongdae responded with a childish grimace and Yifan flicked the glass (that was, of course, not just regular glass but some advanced material with a name able to break Yifan's human tongue).

"I gotta take a shower. Catch ya later? You wanna get something to eat?"

Jongdae didn't ask to join him in the shower. He only leaned back in his seat, dangling his legs and saying he'd wait. Simple as that.

 

Yifan moaned at the hot water prickling over his skin.

He'd been sitting for far too long without his usual, hot shower, and his muscles were protesting already. His trainer would get mad at him if he limped due to sore muscles. But maybe he'd also see a tiny, tiny improvement in his overall posture.

He meticulously washed out the shampoo and even bothered with a conditioner. After all, Jongdae seemed to have taken a liking to his hair, and now that he was allowing himself to play along, to give this a chance, there was no harm in getting a little enthusiastic about it.
 

---

 

Adrenaline. Focus.

Yifan dribbled past the defense, sweat dripping down his back uncomfortably.

Action. Reaction.

Luhan grabbed for the ball on his right, there was a foot to his left and Yifan avoided both by holding the ball out of reach - but not too high - and lunging forward.

Strike at a wide range, you need more force.

Yifan lowered the ball again.

Feet on the ground. Aim and-

The ball smacked right into the second-smallest square and his teammates cheered as if this was an actual match. Minseok, the tiny, sturdy Zeran clapped his back as if he was an actual member of their team. It was getting easier, deciding which square to go for, which short-term strategy to pursue and how to use his height and overall built. Recently, his team members had relied on him more during the game and it were unspoken things like this that made Yifan feel like he was getting somewhere. Well, this and the blunt criticism of Jongdae, who wasn't present today. Yifan still fleetingly looked towards the seat he'd usually occupy. A habit.

Today was a closed practice session, though, and shortly after the game, they all gathered around waiting for their trainer to say something. He quickly rattled down a few minor things he noticed and Yifan felt his muscles stiffen. Sure, his strong features weren't betraying any of it, but he was secretly nervous. He had performed quite well today, so of course he'd hope for his trainer to have noticed it.

"That's it for now," the trainer said though, crossing his arms and smiling. Yifan had no time to be disappointed, because he was already talking again.

"All that aside I'm happy to tell you that Yifan is an official part of our team starting from today and he will be part of the offense."

Yifan didn't even blink, he just looked at the trainer as the information was still getting through to him.

"That is, if he wants to," the trainer added, looking at him now. Yifan nodded instinctively, and only after that, the grin made it to his face.

"Yeah. Sure," he said, and it was drowned out in the cheers of his now official teammates who called out their congratulations and other comments that Yifan was a bit too overwhelmed to take in. They promised to treat him to dinner tonight, to human cuisine (which Luhan was more enthusiastic about than Yifan himself), and before they could tug him to the changing room, Yifan took the time to approach the trainer and thank him in person.

"You did the work, I'm just signing it off," the trainer said graciously, waving him off. "For now, that is. I'll get stricter now that we're getting into finer details."

"Of course."

Before he could turn away to join the others, he was held back by a hand around his arm (his trainer was tall, but not tall enough to casually go for his shoulder).

"Say, Yifan. One more thing."

His voice lowered in volume and Yifan easily stepped closer.

"I feel like you polished your skills best outside the actual practice."

When he saw Yifan's sheepish expression, he smiled.

"That's not an accusation or anything. I think we both know who's been teaching you."

Yifan's gaze flickered to the empty seat before he could help it.

"Whoever this is, he seems like a really good teacher. Maybe the others could use some of that magic, too. You can introduce him to me one day. If he wants to."

Yifan stared at him. For some reason he had a nagging feeling that the trainer had a suspicion about Jongdae's unnatural talents. His first thought was to get even more excited - a real job for Jongdae might just be the final saving anchor he needed. But could he even take it, considering his past?

"I'm not... sure if he's allowed in such a position," he vaguely said, and the trainer crossed his arms again.

"Because he's human?"

Yifan grimaced and understanding bloomed on the other's face. After all, the prejudices about humans were widely known.

"Ah. Is he up to shady stuff?"

"Uhm. Not right now I think?"

Jongdae wasn't bragging about it, but Yifan had a good feeling that he had been staying away from violence for a long time now. And other crimes... well, they were always one-time things, and he was lazing around on the streets right now so technically he wasn't up to anything-

"Bring him in, anyway. We can work something out. I don't think a person who associates in such a way with someone like you should be totally disregarded. Let's see what we can do."

He lifted his palms to neutralize the statement a little.

"That is, if he wants to. You're part of the team either way. Congratulations, Yifan."

"Thank you, Captain," Yifan replied, and he meant it. More than these words could probably convey.

 

It turned out that Jongdae was not lazing around the streets with his friends. He was obviously not struck by a certain, moody day on which he'd withdraw into his own apartment, either. Yifan was greeted by blue bubbles, filling up a good chunk of the street, swaying slightly in the air. Jongdae rarely wandered into his apartment before Yifan was home, even though he had explicitly allowed him to. It seemed like his inner urge for stimulation had driven him up there though, up on his balcony, where he could oversee the street and fill the air above it with blue bubbles.

Yifan had soon realized that Jongdae's brain was constantly distracted by its own perception, eager to find patterns and create pictures. As long as those were void of blood, Yifan could support that. He was definitely curious what the world looked like through Jongdae's eyes, but there was no way for him to really repaint it. The bubbles, though, looked pretty to him as well, and so did Jongdae, elbows on the railing of his balcony as he created another surge with a swift blow.

"What does it look like?" Yifan asked when he stepped onto the balcony a while later. He skipped the greeting - Jongdae was actually attentive and no matter how distracted, he never missed Yifan entering the picture.

"They're glowing a little, lighting up the street."

Yifan stood next to him, looking into the sea of blue. It was pretty indeed.

"They're also blue to you?"

"Yeah. That's what I like about them," Jongdae said. "No conflict, just true blue. It's relaxing."

Yifan hummed. When the glistening plastic ring was held up for him, he blew some air through it and watched the new bubbles rush to greet the others, before stilling in a lack of a wind.

"Also they remind me of you. But you're narcissistic enough already, so no need to go into detail," Jongdae joked, and Yifan couldn't contain himself any longer.

"I'm on the team."

It came out blunt and kind of unspectacular, but Jongdae lit up immediately, looking visibly happier than Yifan had, hearing the news.

"Really? It was about time, don't you think?" he asked, nudging and ultimately just staying, with their sides touching.

"Yeah. I mean no, but- yeah."

Jongdae shot him a suspicious look.

"Yeah but no but yeah? What's on your mind, big sportsman?"

"Do you wanna work as a trainer?" Yifan asked, straightforward enough to wipe the teasing expression of Jongdae's face.

"Me? Are you joking? I know nothing about sports."

Yifan turned a little, his words coming out too quickly for his own liking.

"The trainer asked about you. He was impressed and offered you to maybe introduce yourself. If you want to."

Jongdae blinked, and it was comically obvious when exactly he realized that this was not a joke.

"I-I don't know," he said waving him off and turning towards the bubbles again.

"'s a bad idea, to be dependant on your lover."

"Pfft. Dependant," Yifan echoed. They had both proven that they could live quite well on their own and Yifan knew that all Jongdae needed was a stepping stone. "It could be a good opportunity. You know, to get out of there. It's a respectable place."

"I'm a criminal."

"He's willing to look past that. I'm not even sure how this all works, but I know nothing about law here. Seems rather loose, considering you're still running around freely."

"Maybe I'm just impossible to catch," Jongdae said playfully, but Yifan wasn't having it this time.

"You should consider it."

"Yeah..." Jongdae said slowly, and it didn't sound convinced. For awhile, they both looked into the bubbles and down into the street.

"What has you hesitating?"

"I don't know. It probably sounds crazy but the idea of leaving my new home and not being able to return... makes me nervous. Like, what if this is not forever?"

Yifan placed an arm around him, and he faintly saw Jongdae his lips.

"What if it turns out to be a bad idea? They took me in once and they'll let me go once. I'm not so sure about a second time. I could get by on my own but..."

Jongdae exhaled deeply. Yifan waited. Waited, until the other turned towards him, looking conflicted and serious.

"I can't promise you I'll be a clean perfect guy from now until forever. Sometimes, I'm not even sure I'm cut out to live on this planet-"

"Are you gonna try though?" Yifan cut him off, his hand falling down to Jongdae's waist.

"What, to be perfect?" the other asked, a shallow attempt at distraction.

"I'm not gonna tell you that you're perfect already now," Yifan contered, having faith that Jongdae wouldn't actually try to avoid the question. Indeed Jongdae's mischievous grin didn't last long.

"Of course I'll try."

"Then that's enough. I think in this case, it's alright to think of failure as it happens," Yifan said with a shrug, and then, "I wonder at what point crimes lapse on this planet..."

Jongdae boxed his side, but none too hard.

"Wow, way to be confident in me!"

"I mean, just considering the law..."

"The law is sloppy and shady as on here if you ask me," Jongdae argued, and when he noticed that Yifan was egging him on to defend himself, he started nudging his side again.

"You-"

But Yifan leaned down and quietly breathed his reply into Jongdae's ear in the huskiest way possible. Jongdae, who was discreetly fighting a constant when Yifan talked too much, almost came undone on the spot. It was equal parts hilarious and endearing. Yifan feared the revenge, but for now, he saved the sight of flushed skin, glassy eyes and a mix of accusation and fondness. He put it in an imaginary box right next to the sight of Jongdae looking at him through a sea of floating objects. The way he had looked up at Yifan's balcony, the way he slumped down when practice was going on a bit too long. It was right among them and next to the toys and other trinkets he had found on his doorstep.

 

---

 

 

"Come to speak of it, how did you think of sending me random things?"

"Really now?" Jongdae huffed, tossing a damp towel at a freshly-showered Yifan.

"I even included a note. A note."

Yifan just naturally pressed the towel back on Jongdae's head, so he could keep ruffling his hair dry, but the confusion was written over his face all-too obviously.

"Which note?"

"The one saying ' Things I consider pretty that aren't creeping the out of people?' Fine, maybe it wasn't worded like that, but you get me."

Yifan thought back to the paper wrapping up the toy car that had innocently sat in front of his door. Paper he had carelessly crumpled.

"Oh."

"Oh," Jongdae mock-repeated, and Yifan was tempted to shut him up by using the appeal of his voice again. Except the poor guy could use a break - he had already bemoaned that Yifan was ruining in general for him and he wouldn't want that.

When he walked to the kitchen for a bottle of cold water, he passed by the low table in the living room, and crouched down to closer eye the objects he had collected there.

A deeply red gemstone and a colorful toy car with little cherries on it. An incense stick with the faint remains of a fruity scent, a soft, dotted feather. And, of course, the toy with the blue and rosé-colored bubbles dripping down in a journey that wasn't endless, but to be repeated as soon as Yifan flipped it. Which he did.

"I'm the rosé-colored ones," Jongdae suddenly said, placing a damp chin on his shoulder.

"They don't ever mix," Yifan hummed as he felt Jongdae's hands wander up and down his arms.

"Maybe they're not meant to," Jongdae provided.

Then he placed his hand over Yifan's, pulling it away from the toy. When he turned, Jongdae was smiling, eyes twinkling with mischief and just life itself.

 

"Or maybe you never tried hard enough."