[June 23rd, 2014]

Being back in that house was eerie for Kris.

It had been so long since he had been there, and it was just like how he remembered it. He and Junmyeon bought the house painted blandly; grey walls and white trim, a monochromatic kitchen, and they matched the furniture they bought to it.

The blinds were drawn, the windows shut and the lights off. Small amounts of daylight trickled in, illuminating the place, which further supported the drab, monochrome scheme of their house.

Junmyeon liked it that way, it was easier for him, and so Kris never protested, rather going about everyday and making sure they were all closed well. The only lights that were ever were the one bathroom light and occasionally the kitchen light when Kris had enough energy to cook; when he could cook something for Junmyeon. Junmyeon ate little, which Kris hated, but when Kris did manage to force something into his lover, it was small bits of fruit and spoonfuls of yogurt. Kris made do with instant microwave meals and takeout, and whatever Chanyeol had in his home or brought to work with him.

Kris felt that when Junmyeon died, the house died with him. It took Kris over a year to work up the courage, nerve, and energy to finally sell the place and move away. At first he had no intention of doing so, as he became attached to the house as Junmyeon was still in it to him, but as time went on he felt he needed to severe it. Kris had tried to remodel the house at first, finally paint the walls a new colour, open the windows and blinds, but he still felt as if there was no life within it.

Kris had painted the walls of the house a muted yellow, as Junmyeon had told him that if they were to ever repaint, that’s the colour he would want because it reminded him of home with his parents as a child, before he was too sick to do much of anything. Alas, the fumes of paint were too strong for Junmyeon, and they resulted to the blandness of it.

Junmyeon was born with a respiratory disease Kris couldn’t remember or pronounce, but he knew that for the most part, as a child, Junmyeon was well. Monthly doctor’s visits, many pills, having to breathe through a machine at night. These would evolve into weekly doctor’s visits, even more pills, and a machine Junmyeon would have to constantly be hooked up to - one he could drag with him or wear on his back like a bag during the day, and a heftier one for at night.

When the two first met, Junmyeon worried that his machines would get in the way, that they would scare and intimidate Kris, but he grew used to it and didn’t mind. He grew to love Junmyeon and all that came with him, whether it was driving him to his doctor’s visits or doling out his pills or checking the levels on his machines. 

Junmyeon was quite well when they first met. Kris remembered it so vividly; it was sophomore year of high school, and they had an English literature class together. As English wasn’t their first language, Kris’ being Mandarin and Junmyeon’s being Korean, they would stay longer after class with their literature and ESL teacher to make sure they understood the content and the language.

At first, the robotic hiss of Junmyeon’s breaths through his machine weirded out Kris, and made him feel indifferent about it. He would take off as soon as he could, unsure of how to treat it, leaving Junmyeon to have to take the elevator up to his locker on his own while Kris played basketball in the gym with his healthy friends.

It was three weeks before Kris mustered up the courage to ask Junmyeon if he wanted to have lunch with him, and he was surprised when Junmyeon agreed. He took the elevator up with Junmyeon, and sat inside in an empty hall.

“It’s hard to breathe outside,” Junmyeon told him, snapping lids off of containers he had brought with him. “And in crowded halls. It’s easy here.” Kris just agreed, unsure if it was rude or not to ask why Junmyeon lugged that machine around with him, why his breathing was so touchy.

They ate lunch together in that hall for a month before Junmyeon explained why - his disease that would eventually overtake his lungs, the slow killer he dealt with every day.

“I feel like I’m just prolonging death.” Junmyeon once told him. They were in university, then, having been officially dating for nearly four years.

Kris never liked to explain how he knew he liked or loved Junmyeon. Kris’s friend, another Chinese student named Luhan, liked to for it, saying Junmyeon was his ‘gay awakening’, but Kris was unsure if he’d call it that. Prior to Junmyeon, Kris believed he liked girls and girls only, but as time went on and Kris got older, he knew Junmyeon wasn’t the only boy he’d ever love, but the only person, and he had trouble imagining himself without Junmyeon. Doing so scared him, as both he and Junmyeon knew he’d have to one day, someday soon.

“Doctors say I won’t live long enough to see thirty.” Junmyeon once told him. They were living together, then, having been for nearly two years.

Kris and Junmyeon rarely talked about death, especially death concerning Junmyeon. They only ever had four conversations about it in their entire time together. One, when they were sophomores, Junmyeon said his disease was fatal. Twice, the summer after their senior year before they started university, when Junmyeon said the doctor had upped his medication and that he would be due for a new machine. Thrice, when Junmyeon said he wouldn’t live to see thirty. Quince, when Junmyeon told Kris what he wanted after he died. 

For such a deep conversation, one that left Kris so shaken he called into work sick that day, 

Junmyeon brought it up so casually. It wasn’t long before Junmyeon passed; a few months after. It was one of the rare days where Junmyeon felt well enough to be up and out of bed, and he was sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a door-to-door magazine.

“Krissy,” he started with, not looking up from the magazine.

“Hm?” Kris hummed in a reply. He was milling about in the kitchen, fixing them up a small dinner. 

“When I die, I want a closed casket, but I also want as much of myself donated as they can.”

Kris was a little taken aback by that. It was so out of the blue, and something that needed to be said and talked about, but Kris needed more mental preparation for this conversation. Perhaps that’s why Junmyeon brought it up out of nowhere; so Kris couldn’t back out of it or delay the conversation anymore.

“What do you mean?” was the only Kris could force out. He kept his back to Junmyeon, not in such a way as to ignore him, but because he feared that if he looked at his Junmyeon, especially in the eye, he’d break down, and he didn’t want to make things harder for Myeonie than they already were.

“Like, an organ donor. Not my lungs, obviously, and probably not my blood, but like, someone could probably use my liver or my eyes or something.”

The thought of someone else having Junmyeon’s insides - his Junmyeon - made Kris sick to his stomach. 

“Okay.”

“Kris,” Junmyeon sighed, and Kris wasn’t sure if it was Junmyeon’s lack of breath or his starting frustration. “We have to talk about this. Come sit.” He pushed the chair across the table out with his foot.

“I’m making dinner right now.”

“Dinner can wait.”

“Do you want to eat or not?”

“I’m not hungry anyways. I want to talk.”

It was Kris’ turn to sigh, and he sank into the chair, avoiding eye contact with Junmyeon. He put his head in his hands, trying to stay away from Junmyeon. Focus on the peeling wallpaper instead of Junmyeon’s hands, the way they always shook nowadays, no matter what he did about it. Focus on the way the kitchen lightbulb was dimmer than usual, and that it would probably blow soon instead of the way his eyes seemed to pout (because that’s physically possible; Kris wouldn’t know, he failed science freshman year and had to take it again sophomore year, and only passed because of Junmyeon), glossing over and how easy it was to tell that he was also holding back tears because a conversation about his own death was harder for him than it was Kris.

Kris was silent, just running his finger over his lips absentmindedly, afraid to speak in fear of breaking down in front of Junmyeon. It’s not that he was afraid to show his feelings, but he felt as if he had to stay strong for Junmyeon. Junmyeon seeing him so distressed over this would just make matters worse for him, and that wasn’t something Kris wanted to do to him.

“Everything should be set to run smoothly when I die,’ Junmyeon continued. “Most of it goes to you; some to my family. But most to you. I trust you know what to do with most of my things, but I also want you to do what you want and not what you think I would want you to, if that makes sense. Keep some of it, sell some of it off, I don’t really care. Some of it’s good for you to have, and some of it can be of better use to others. Like I said, I want to be an organ donor - although a lot of me isn’t much good - and I want a closed casket. I don’t want to be dressed to the nines. Like, dressy casual, I guess. Nothing too fancy, but nothing trashy, either.

“There should be money for it socked away, but I want to be buried back home if possible. Here is fine, because it’s with you, but back in South Korea will be easier for my family. I’m scared you’ll go back to China one day or move elsewhere with someone else and I’ll be left here alone. Not that I don’t want you to move on - I do, you deserve it - but I don’t want my dead body to be six feet under soil that’s not really mine. I’d prefer the whole funeral to be back in Korea, really, but it’s what we can afford. Whatever we make do works. Just make sure my mother doesn’t bury me in that stupid polo.”

Kris couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that. Kris was close with Junmyeon’s parents, who had lived in the country until two years ago, when they moved back to South Korea. Kris still stayed in close contact with his parents, mainly about Junmyeon’s conditions. He still frequently had freak outs over the phone with them, especially when Junmyeon had flare-ups, which were becoming more and more common and increasingly worse. His mother had bought Junmyeon a blue polo shirt, that, frankly, probably looked cute on the mannequin, but on Junmyeon, not so much.

“It looks like I’m about to pull up for my shift at Wal-Mart.” Junmyeon frowned after his mother had left after gifting him the shirt. Neither one of the boys had the heart to tell Mrs. Kim it was fugly, but she insisted it was cute and seemed disappointed when they saw her and he didn’t wear it. The fear of her wanting to bury her son in it was totally valid.

“I’d rather bury you in my old Oasis shirt from high school.” Kris rolled his eyes.

“God, please no. I’d rather the Wal-Mart shirt. I still can’t believe that thing survived all four years; you wore it so much. Besides, all you know by them is Wonderwall.”

“That’s a lie. I know Champagne Supernova, too.”

“Really? Sing it, then.” Kris paused, hesitating. “See? You barely know Wonderwall.”

“I so do! You’re my wonderwall…” Kris sang off-key, fumbling with the words of it.

“That’s not exactly how it goes.”

“That’s how it goes now.”

Kris could still see the two of them sitting at that table so clearly, as if it were yesterday for him instead of nearly two years ago. He could still hear the hum of Junmyeon’s smaller machine; one that was easier for him to lug around with him, but one that was more taxing on him and barely used around this time. He would use it on the rare occasion they went out together, and up until the last of it, Junmyeon would have to take small breaks and lean against him, struggling to feel as if he wasn’t drowning or short of breath constantly.

He could still hear the heavy hiss of the machine as Junmyeon took in large, laboured breaths, drinking them in as if he had just crossed a desert without any water.

“Krissy?” a voice broke through Kris’ thoughts, and his head followed the sound of it. In the kitchen, sitting on the floor, propped up against the cupboards, was his Kim Junmyeon, the small, portable machine beside him as drew in large, sharp breaths, and the ones he breathed out were shaky and slower.

“Myeonie,” was all Kris could force out as he sank to his knees next to him. A million things rushed through his mind. The fact that he was here, with his Junmyeon yet again, was hard for him to believe. He had thought about this so many times, played a multitude of scenarios out, but not one of them amounted to this. He also couldn’t believe that he had done it. If Park Chanyeol bringing some man from the 1800s wasn’t enough to convince him, the fact that he could now lay his hand gently on Myeon’s cheek and feel the coldness of his skin under his fingertips totally was.

“You’re home early.” Junmyeon told him, laying his hand on top of Kris’ own. “Is everything alright?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you about the day I’ve had.” Kris whispered, looking Junmyeon’s face over. He was trying to take in as much as he could, knowing that the time they had together was short and artificial, and that it would be a long time before he was able to see it so clearly, so alive, so real.

“Is everything alright?” Junmyeon reiterated.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Kris kept his voice soft, letting his eyes wander, soaking in the outline of Junmyeon’s body; the way his jawline was soft yet so defined, the way his neck rounded out into his shoulders so effortlessly. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I’m fine,” Junmyeon insisted, gently removing Kris’ hand from his cheek and rather keeping it in his lap, holding it. Kris couldn’t feel his hands shake anymore, but his hands were still cold, his fingers soft, and the back of his palm had a dry spot. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Kris was unsure how to explain to his boyfriend that he had time-traveled from the future to before his death, and so he continued to divert the conversation until he figured out the right words to say to him. “What are you doing sitting on the kitchen floor?”

“I was hungry. I just wanted food.”

“I left you food before I left, did I not?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to get something for myself,” Junmyeon’s gaze wandered away from Kris’, and he hung his head as if trying to hide from him. “I just want to do something for myself for once. I’m glad you do all this for me, I really am, but…” he trailed off, taking in a deep, shuddery breath. “I just wanted to feel like I could do something as simple as get myself my own snack.” 

Kris never thought about how trapped Junmyeon felt. He just knew that he was sick, and that Kris had to do everything he could to make Junmyeon as well and as comfortable as he could. Did Junmyeon feel like this when he died? The thought caused angry, burning tears to lash at Kris’ throat, and like anytime he talked to Junmyeon about his death or thought about it, he held it back, because Junmyeon didn’t need to see that.

“I’ll have to make you something so the stairs here are easier for you.”

“I don’t want one of those stair-chair things; I’m not a hundred years old.”

Kris laughed, moving his hand back onto Junmyeon’s cheek, running his fingers through his hair. “I won’t, I won’t. An elevator, maybe?”

“We don’t have room in this house for an elevator, nor the money.”

“I’ll make a giant slingshot so you can just catapult yourself up and down the stairs, than.”

Junmyeon laughed at that, but his laugh quickly turned into a small coughing fit. “I hate you,” he joked once he had recovered. “But seriously. Shouldn’t you be in the lab? Is everything alright? Is Chanyeol okay?”

“Everything’s fine, my love,” Kris reassured him. “Did I ever tell you about that machine Yeol and I were working on?”

Junmyeon nodded, the thin tube of a cannula jiggling as he did so. “Yeah, you said it was a time machine, and you asked me where I would go if I could time travel, and I said something stupid like the 50s to see the moon landing.”

“The moon landing was in ‘69.”

“No, Luna II was in ‘59.”

“I don’t know what that is, but you’d rather see that than the first men on the moon?”

“No, I’m just defending myself. I know what I’m talking about.”

Kris couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “You’re a nerd, Kim Junmyeon.”

Junmyeon smiled, laughing slightly, and Kris felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart. Was it really possible to be this in love with someone?

“Anyways, you were saying? About the machine?” 

Kris fumbled for the words for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. Despite the time he had stalled for, he still didn’t know what to say, how to explain it. However, Junmyeon did all the work for him, as if he had read his mind. Maybe Kris just let his cards bleed too much.

“It works, doesn’t it?” Junmyeon matched Kris’ soft tone, his voice barely above a whisper. “I knew something was off about you.”

“You could never see through me, could you?”

“How far?”

“What?”

“How far. Like, what time did you come from?”

“Oh. September, 2019.”

“Am I dead by then?”

“Myeonie.” was again the only thing Kris could force out, but this time he was trying to hold back the pity in his voice, yet still his tears that lashed out violently, threatening to overtake his throat and clawing at his head. 

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be if I wasn’t.”

Kris didn’t have to say anything more for Junmyeon to know. Kris just leaned forward, pressing his forehead up against Junmyeon’s.

“Please tell me it wasn’t bad. Was it painful? Probably, who am I kidding.”

“I did everything I could, Myeonie, I really did.” Kris’ voice shook, and his eyes stung with tears he still tried his hardest to hold back, but they had other plans.

“I know you did. I trust you.”

“I miss you so much.” His voice finally cracked, his breathing becoming as shuddery and broken as Junmyeon’s.

“I know you do. It’s okay.” Junmyeon tried to talk him down, and he pressed his lips against Kris’.

It was soft and gentle at first; it had been awhile since Kris had done this. He had forgotten how much Junmyeon’s cannula tickled against his lip. Once they found their footing, it came more naturally for Kris, and the kiss itself became harsher, and Junmyeon moved into Kris’ lap and Kris held onto Junmyeon so tight Junmyeon had to push himself away to breathe.

“What’s it like?” Junmyeon asked once they broke away.

“What’s what like?” Kris played dumb - he knew what Junmyeon meant.

“What’s it like after I die?”

Kris sighed and hesitated before answering. “It’s really hard, Myeonie, it’s so hard, you don’t understand.”

“You’re telling the guy that’s lived all twenty-six years of his life with an ever-worsening fatal lung disease that. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I just recently moved out of here. I didn’t want to, but-”

“It’s good for you to.”

“That’s exactly what Chanyeol told me.”

“I did want you out of here as quickly as you could after I died.”

“I spend a lot of time in the lab with Chanyeol. Built a robot and a time machine. Named it after you.”

“The time machine?”

“The robot.”

“I’m flattered.”

Kris laughed slightly, and Junmyeon gulped before he kept speaking.

“Do me a favour.”

“Anything.”

“When I die, I want you to move on. Find someone healthy, someone who you can live your whole life with. Someone you can go places with and do things with and don’t have to constantly dote on and care for and worry about. Someone that makes you happy and forgets that the world is cruel.”

“Myeonie,” Kris brought Junmyeon back in close to his chest. “I wouldn’t trade this for the world. I don’t care for, nor do I want, anybody else but you. I don’t care if we can’t travel or go do big things. I dote on you and care for you and worry about you because I love you, healthy or not. You do make me happy, Myeonie. I wouldn’t’ve come back if you didn’t. I designed and built a mothering time machine and travelled through time for you, Kim Junmyeon. Because I love you so ing much.

“It’ll take me a bit to regain my footing, I know. But I’m getting there. I don’t care if I never have kids or never get married or don’t get to grow old with someone. 

“I’m just happy I got to spend what time I did with you.”