From that point forward, everything changes.

Two days after he wakes up, Joonmyun is able to sit up in bed. Three days after that, Yixing catches him attempting to stand on legs that have not held weight in close to three months, and in his attempt to race to Joonmyun’s side he nearly blacks out. Joon curses him for a fool, and they argue over it for a moment, but Yixing finds he does not have the strength to fight a determined Kim Joonmyun. Joon wants to walk again, so walk he shall; Yixing lends an arm that is nearly as unsteady as Joonmyun’s legs.

As soon as he can move about under his own power - albeit shaky and slow and aided by a cane, like an aged veteran - Joonmyun insists that Yixing teach him how to prepare their medicine. Yixing wants to protest, but as he is having more and more trouble getting out of bed in the mornings, he sees the practicality of it. There is a goodly chance he will soon be bedridden, himself.

And through all this, there is the constant, pressing knowledge that he is in love with this man.

At first, Yixing tries to ignore it, to hide it, but Joonmyun immediately comments on his forced distance. They have become accustomed, it seems, to sharing each other’s space, to touching each other and seeing one another in all stages of composure from perfectly put-together to deathly ill, and it is silly to maintain propriety at this point.

So instead, he simply wears his love on his sleeve without calling attention to it. It’s always been there anyway, in every word and touch exchanged, in every hellish moment of fever and every bleak urge to give up. The difference is only that he knows now what it is, knows what to call his devotion to this Captain in his own mind, even if he can’t bring himself to confess it out loud.

Though Yixing long ago made peace with his own urges, that God and society deem unnatural, he has no way of knowing how Joonmyun feels on the subject of a man loving a man. He is a sailor, and moreover a pirate, and thus may possibly be a bit more open-minded than most, but Yixing can’t bring himself to ask, for fear of the answer.

In his more delirious moments, Yixing allows himself to think maybe Joonmyun knows, maybe he can see that Yixing’s feelings for him go beyond simple friendship. That maybe, if he were to confess, Joonmyun would accept his emotions, not let them destroy the friendship they have. If he’s honest with himself, though, the reverse is far more likely true, and so he will not risk it. Now is not the time, in any case - they both have larger things to worry about.

One night, though, when the chills are particularly bad and Yixing’s beginning to really feel the shortness in his breath, in a moment of terrified weakness he softly confesses to Joonmyun that he had shared the man’s bed while he was unconscious, remaining close in case anything should happen. Joonmyun, bless him, does not take offense and even offers his bed again, agreeing that Yixing should remain close in case. Yixing thinks it’s probably more that Joonmyun is worried for Yixing’s health than his own by this point, but he curls gratefully up against Joonmyun’s side, a warm arm that is not as thin as it was even two weeks ago holding him close.

The next day, Yixing does not awaken until late in the afternoon, when Joon brings him tea. He tries to sit up and finds his body too weak to manage it, his mind a hazy yellowish fog. He requires Joonmyun’s help to sit up, to eat, and even to lay back down, and this time it is Joonmyun who sits at the bedside and reads aloud. Yixing drifts off listening to the tales of Gulliver’s adventures in Laputa.

It is at this point that Yixing loses track of the passage of time entirely. The little that he can manage to be awake is filled with coughing, pain, shivering, dizziness and difficulty breathing. Sleep is uneasy and restless, filled with delirium and nightmares. Joonmyun is his anchor, the only constant in his life that he can hang onto, the only thing he always believes is real. When Joonmyun tells him to eat, Yixing eats. When Joonmyun tells him to sleep, Yixing sleeps.

When Joonmyun tells him to breathe, dammit, crouched over Yixing’s body with sheer panic in his eyes, Yixing breathes.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


Opening his eyes to see Joonmyun asleep beside him, angelic in the early morning light, feels like another delirious dream. Or maybe, he’s finally given into the sickness, and this is Heaven.

But as Yixing wakes more fully, the world solidifies around him, and he becomes aware of the stiffness in his body, the rasp in his throat, the tender soreness inside his elbows. No, this is reality. Joonmyun, his forehead just barely touching Yixing’s shoulder, is still a bit too thin, his hair too long, worry lines etched in his face. But, Yixing realizes, he’s gained some weight, and the yellowish cast seems to be gone from his skin. He looks well on his way to recovery - far better than the last time Yixing saw him. He’s still alive - they’re both still alive.

How long has Yixing been delirious? How much has he missed? The clock on the wall tells him it’s close to 6AM, but there’s no calendar of any sort in the room, so he has no way of knowing the date.

Carefully, Yixing takes stock of his body. Every extremity works - he can wiggle his toes and fingers, bend his elbows and knees and shoulders and hips. His back feels stiff with unuse, but not overly sore, so he probably didn’t bridge the way Joonmyun did; he hums a little to test his voice and finds it functional.

The noise rouses his bedmate, who makes a small noise of his own and blinks awake. Yixing smiles shyly at him and in return receives the biggest, most beautiful smile he’s ever seen in his life, growing and spreading across Joonmyun’s face like the light of the rising sun on the clear Caribbean sea. Yixing’s heart pounds like a drum and he’s fairly certain it has nothing to do with his illness.

“Good morning,” he murmurs. His voice is gritty and soft; he clears his throat.

“You’re awake,” Joonmyun says in awe, which is stating the obvious but Yixing knows how he feels so he lets it slide. “How are you feeling?”

“Weak,” Yixing admits. “Stiff. But my mind is clearing. How long has it been?”

“You’ve been unconscious for four days,” Joonmyun tells him, “but you haven’t been coherent for weeks. The fever affected you greatly.” His arm snakes under the covers and over Yixing’s ribs, giving him a tiny squeeze. “But you haven’t shown many of the symptoms I did, so, that is a blessing.”

Yixing attempts to move under his own power. He is able to roll onto his side so he is facing Joonmyun, but that is as far as he manages. “No symptoms of the eyes?” he asks, and Joon shakes his head. “No jaundice? No convulsions or opisthotonus?”

Another shake of the head in the negative. “Just the fever, and you stopped breathing a few times,” Joonmyun murmurs. “I did the thing you did to me, manipulating your arms to aide your lungs. I probably did it wrong but it seemed to help anyway.”

Frowning, Yixing says, “I don’t remember that at all. But I am certain you did it well, and equally certain I owe you my life.”

Joon’s smile threatens to consume his eyes. “I do believe, at this point, we are beyond keeping score,” he breathes. “I am just thankful you are back. I am not sure which was more maddening, the weeks of incoherent babbling, or the days of dead silence.”

“Weeks,” Yixing repeats thoughtfully, and he eyes Joonmyun again. The man does look startlingly hale, considering he was barely two steps from death’s door the last time Yixing remembers looking. “How many weeks, precisely?”

Joonmyun’s eyes are hiding something, something painful. “Six,” he whispers, and Yixing’s jaw drops. “It’s midway through November now.”

What a hellish thing to go through! And...hmm. Yixing cannot possibly have been delirious with fever that entire time - his brain would have cooked. “How many times did I fall unconscious during those weeks?” he asks, suspicious.

A tiny twitch of a smile. “So sharp, Doctor,” Joonmyun murmurs. “At least three, that I know of. Sometimes you were just...deeply sleeping. I only considered it unconsciousness if I could not rouse you for two full days.” He presses his fingers to Yixing’s forehead and says “You feel cooler than you have in months, though. I allow myself to hope the worst is over now.”

His hand is warm - not feverishly warm, just pleasantly so. Yixing’s eyes flutter shut at the touch, and Joon’s fingers trail briefly down the side of his face, cupping his cheek for a fleeting moment before falling away.

“I pray you’re right,” Yixing murmurs. “I am done with being a layabout.” He allows himself the indulgence of reaching for Joonmyun’s shoulder, grasping it in a friendly gesture they’d both adopted as customary. Far removed from the heated, paper-thin skin stretched uncomfortably over bone that he had become accustomed to, Joonmyun feels solid and strong under his hand, his skin still pale but once more supple and the muscles nearly returned to their previously hearty state. Relief and hope and happiness bubble up in Yixing, and with them a tiny, weak twinge of desire, the kind of desire he has for the past five months been too worried or ill to experience. It’s odd to feel, but Yixing welcomes it, like welcoming home a long-lost member of the family. It is a good sign, that he can feel desire again, however small.

The crooks of Joonmyun’s elbows show faded yellow bruising; it’s been at least a week - maybe more - since he’s given himself a shot of cinchona. Yixing lets his fingers trail down Joonmyun’s arm as he pulls away, his dry, chapped lip finding its way between his teeth. Joonmyun watches him with unreadable dark eyes, and it hits Yixing how very intimately close they are, even if there is a good six inches of space between their bodies. This experience has utterly destroyed any barriers between them - they’ve both had to change each other’s bedpans, for heaven’s sake; there is no greater devotion than that. Whether or not Yixing ever manages to make known to Joonmyun his true feelings, they are as close now as friends can possibly be, and for that he is grateful.

Yixing’s stomach chooses that moment to growl, a loud and quite uncouth sound in the silent room. Joonmyun blinks in shock, and then starts laughing; weakly Yixing joins him.

“Six weeks of nothing but broth,” Joonmyun wheezes out between chuckles, “you must be starving. I’ll get you something.”

He makes to get up, but Yixing grabs his shirt, tugging feebly to stop him. “Joon,” he says.

Joonmyun looks back at him, and that guarded, hidden thing is back into his eyes. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” Yixing whispers. “I don’t believe I can ever repay you for what you have done for me.”

Silence, for a long moment. Joonmyun averts his eyes.

“Xing,” he says, and the new nickname makes Yixing’s heartbeat triple. “Had it not been for me...you would never have fallen ill in the first place.”

He pulls out of Yixing’s hands and leaves the room.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


Over the next few weeks, as Yixing’s strength slowly returns to him, the feeling around the house becomes increasingly uncomfortable and odd. Joonmyun cares for him with an unending tenderness and devotion, but he smiles less often, and Yixing catches him watching with unreadable eyes when he thinks Yixing’s not looking. Sometimes, when Yixing suffers a coughing fit or stumbles in his attempt to stand, he thinks he sees guilt in Joonmyun’s eyes. Clearly, he’s blaming himself for Yixing’s sickness - he’d said as much out loud, right when Yixing woke up - and Yixing is unsure how to communicate to him that he’s not to blame. The risk of contracting illnesses from his patients is a hazard of Yixing’s profession that he understood full well when he took his oaths.

More maddening is the physical distance Joonmyun slowly pushes upon them as Yixing needs his help less and less to function. In the past close-to-six months, Yixing has gotten used to Joonmyun’s hands on his skin, his skin under Yixing’s hands; to the man’s warmth and strength and reassuring presence. They’re back to sleeping in separate beds, which is only right and proprietary and which Yixing hates, and Joonmyun finishes Gulliver’s Travels on his own while Yixing sleeps.

It’s two weeks to Christmas when Yixing re-opens his practice, still walking with a cane but strong enough to stay awake through the daylight hours and his mind clear enough to see patients again. Joonmyun, fully recovered now and with the old spring in his step, offers to go down to market and post a notice on the board; he returns with a woman and her sickly child in tow and Yixing falls immediately into old habits. It’s croup, a common enough childhood disease, frightening for a new mother to witness but nothing serious. Yixing prescribes steam treatment for ten minutes every six hours and sends them on their way.

Joonmyun watches him interact with the pair with a small smile on his face that he probably thinks Yixing doesn’t see, and then offers to them back to town. Yixing stands in the doorway and watches them go, thinking fondly that Joon is quite a gentleman, for a pirate.

He is about to turn and re-enter the house when he spots a familiar form scuttling up the hill. It’s his errand-boy, whom Yixing has not seen since he awoke; Joonmyun had dismissed him as soon as it seemed like Yixing was getting better to save their pennies.

The boy grins when he sees Yixing, and Yixing smiles back at him.

“Glad to see ye up an’ about, Sir,” the boy says as he approaches. “I ‘appened to spy this in the postmaster’s office and thought ye might like me to bring it up.” He holds out a letter, rough parchment with a familiar green wax seal.

“Imp,” Yixing accuses fondly. “You just wanted the coin.” The boy grins at him shamelessly, not even bothering to deny it. “Alright, hang on a moment.”

Digging a few pennies from the small purse the worried mother just left behind, Yixing drops them in the boy’s hands, pats his head and sends him on his way. That done, he settles inside with a new cup of tea and pries the letter open.


Dearest Yixing (and Captain Suho as well):

We were all thankful to find two letters upon our return to the Keys, for the first was rather alarming in tone, and in penmanship. I wonder, Doctor, if you even realized how very apparent your sickness was in the quality of your hand; as I have myself witnessed how steady you usually are it was quite disquieting to see your pen- shivering all over the page. And so, it was a great ease to our hearts to hear that you were on your way to recovery in Suho’s second letter.

Captain: No. We will not be returning to Tortuga.

You may curse us for mutineers if you wish - don’t deny it, I can practically see your face as I write this. I know you, Joonmyun. I know you think you’re recovered, but I am not willing to take any chances. We will not be coming back to get you until a full year has passed, as per the Doctor’s orders.

Please, both of you, keep us appraised. Our prayers go with you.

Byun Baekhyun


With shaking hands, Yixing re-folds the letter and tucks it away in the envelope. He remains in this chair, his tea cooling untouched by his side, right up until Joonmyun comes home.

The Captain comes in with a murmured greeting, automatically stripping off his jacket and shoes at the door, hanging his hat and sword on the coatrack, perfectly at home in a way that makes Yixing ache. When Yixing doesn’t immediately respond to his greeting, he looks up, his brow furrowed.

“Everything alright?” he asks. Yixing wordlessly holds out the letter.

Joon takes it, opens it quickly and reads. It’s clear from his expression that Yixing’s silence has made him expect bad news, and so it is with an odd mix of relief and resignation that he sets the letter back down.

“Well,” he sighs. “That’s that.”

“Were you going to tell me?” Yixing murmurs, his voice an oddly flat monotone. Joonmyun blinks at him in confusion, and his lack of understanding makes anger bubble up under Yixing’s skin. “Or were you planning on disappearing in the night without a word?”

Dark brows furrow again. “Xing -”

“I told you from the beginning,” Yixing says, and it comes out louder than he intended, and sharper. “I told you you would have to stay for a year. Why would you even ask?”

“I’m fine, Yixing,” Joonmyun says, and the frustrated exasperation in his voice has never been more apparent. “I’m healed and I have been for weeks. You did it, you saved me, and now you’re almost recovered yourself and…”

“And so you think it’s time to leave.” Yixing closes his eyes and breathes deep, asking for strength. “What will you do if it comes back?”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

Joonmyun’s eyes widen, shocked at the outburst. Yixing is a bit shocked himself - he can’t even remember the last time he’s raised his voice like that - but he is upset, dammit, and frustrated. Quickly, though, Joonmyun’s shock is replaced by anger, sparking in his dark eyes and winding his fingers into a fist.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way,” Joonmyun hisses. His tone is hard and biting, and reminds Yixing rather sharply of the slave drivers he’d once been sold to. It is a side of Joonmyun he has not seen, and one he definitely does not like.

Slowly, Yixing gets to his feet, raising his chin and looking down his nose at Joonmyun in the most aristocratically British manner he can muster. “I will speak to you how I please,” he bites out. “If not for me, you would not be standing there.”

A sneer. “Right, and because you saved my life you now have the right to run it.” Joon takes a step forward, and for the first time Yixing feels a thread of fear. Yixing is taller, but Joonmyun is very much the broader and stronger of the two, and would be even if Yixing wasn’t still recovering, wasn’t using all of his strength just to stand up straight and look Joonmyun in the eye.

“I am trying to keep you alive,” Yixing snaps back, with every ounce of force he can muster. “What is so hard to understand about that?!”

“I can’t stand it here, alright?” Joonmyun finally yells. “I am suffocating in this house. If I don’t get out of here, I am going to go mad.”

The force of it drives Yixing back a step, drives his breath out of his lungs, each word burrowing under his skin like fishhooks. Silence follows Joonmyun’s outburst, Yixing struck speechless.

Finally, he closes his mouth, and swallows hard. “I can’t stop you,” he says hoarsely. “If you need to leave so badly, then leave.”

Dark eyes fix on his, and there’s something besides the anger and the frustration, the same something that’s been lurking behind his eyes since Yixing woke up, something that Yixing thinks might be guilt. “I will, then,” he says, low and soft.

He turns his back, headed for the treatment room with purpose in his stride.

Yixing collapses back into the chair, slumping forward with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging. That isn’t how this is supposed to go. Joon isn’t supposed to...He can’t leave. What if he relapses? What if something else happens to him?

But, how can Yixing ask him to stay? The desperation in his voice makes it clear that he can no longer stand being in this house, and after spending six weeks alone with a delirious man and four more playing nursemaid, Yixing can’t really say he blames him for it. Not everyone is cut out to care for the sick; that a man like Joonmyun has lasted this long is a bloody miracle.

Lost in his thoughts, Yixing doesn’t immediately notice when Joonmyun re-emerges, the rucksack Baekhyun had packed for him six months ago slung over his shoulder. He heads for the door, yanking on his boots and his coat, buckling the sword-belt around his hips and jamming his hat onto his head, and Yixing should say something, he should stop this, but he can’t, he opens his mouth and nothing comes out.

Joon pauses with his hand on the latch.

“I won’t be leaving right away,” he mutters, and Yixing can’t even lift his head to look at him. “You’ll likely find me in the inn if you need me.” He doesn’t even need to say which inn - Yixing knows exactly which one he means, that’s how close they have become.

Yixing’s eyes squeeze shut. He hears the door open and close, and then he is alone.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


The house feels extraordinarily lonely without Joonmyun around.

Yixing knows, consciously, that he had spent nearly five years living alone in this very house before taking the pirate in, and that it has only been a little over six months that he has not been alone. It should be fairly easy to fall back into old habits, but Yixing finds it close to impossible. He finds himself preparing too much food, or pouring an extra cup of tea, or calling out Joonmyun’s name to share something that he’s just read or some fleeting thought he’s just had, before remembering that the captain is gone. His bed has felt colder since they ceased sharing the sheets, but now it’s almost impossible to sleep, the silence in the house too complete without Joonmyun snoring or shifting or mumbling in his slumber in the next room.

The first time he takes an overnight patient - a middle-aged woman with a worryingly high fever, two days prior to Christmas - feels like a betrayal, and Yixing gives up on sleep somewhere around 2 AM, instead tucking himself in the chair in the sitting room with Gulliver’s Travels.

In the morning, the woman’s fever has not abated, and Yixing finds himself wondering if perhaps the malaria has somehow spread from his remote home in the mountains down to the town. He doubts it, mainly because the woman’s fever is not behaving the same way as Joonmyun’s or his own, but there is a niggling fear that drives him out of the house and down to market that morning, looking for willow bark in the hopes the fever will respond to treatment when it has not responded to simple rest and care.

The walk down the mountain is long and tiring, as Yixing still has not completely regained his strength. He is sweating and winded when he finally gains flat ground, and stops at the edge of town to rest for a few minutes before continuing into the marketplace.

It is early enough that the drunkards and rowdies are still mostly asleep, and Yixing gets to the apothecary and makes his purchase without incident. On the way back, he passes Joonmyun’s favorite inn, and hesitates for a moment. It’s been more than a week, but it’s possible Joonmyun is still here; particularly this close to Christmas there may not be a ship going wherever he wants to go for quite a while. The native populations and the escaped slaves may not celebrate it, but most of the city is Haitian French, with large populations of English, Spanish, and Dutch, and many of them do.

If it were any other day, Yixing would keep walking. But it’s Christmas Eve.

He enters the tavern.

Speaking with the bar matron - a plump and quite lovely woman named Anna whom he has grown fond of since Joon introduced them - tells him what he needs to know. Joonmyun is still in Tortuga, but he’s not in the inn at the moment. He left early this morning, and no, Anna does not know where he went. It’s a disappointment, but Yixing keeps his polite smile on his face as he thanks Anna and takes his leave.

He doesn’t even get three blocks away before he nearly runs directly into Joonmyun, coming around the corner. He starts, surprised, and legs still not quite up to full strength wobble. With a small cry of alarm, Yixing loses his balance.

Strong hands shoot out and snag him by the lapels of his coat, catching him before he can fall and pulling him back onto his feet. His reflexes are so fast it practically makes Yixing’s head spin.

“Careful,” Joonmyun admonishes, eyes wide and dark.

They stare at one another for a long moment, and Yixing tries to regain his balance and his breath and his sanity all at once. Joonmyun, surprisingly, breaks the spell first, dropping Yixing’s coat as if it burns him and taking a single step back. “I didn’t think to be seeing you in town today.”

It takes Yixing a moment too long to respond, and when he does, his voice comes out a strangled squeak. He clears his throat and tries again.

“I had an errand,” he says simply, holding up his parcel. “You’re...you’re still here?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, clearly; Joonmyun’s expression closes off. “At least until the new year,” he admits tightly. “There’s a merchant vessel headed north towards the Keys, but they won’t be leaving until January.”

Right. The Florida Keys. Where the Two Moons will be stopping at least once every two months. It’s a good plan, probably Joonmyun’s only hope of finding his way back to his ship. “I see,” Yixing murmurs, thinking that he might send a package to Baekhyun on the same ship, with his remaining cinchona and instructions how to administer it. He’ll have to do so without Joon knowing, of course, but that shouldn’t be too difficult - just the right amount of coin in the right hands. No matter how healthy he looks now - and really, he looks incredible, especially considering he was in a coma less than three months ago - Yixing is not willing to take any risks. He has invested far too much in this man to let him kill himself with his own stupidity at this late date.

Lost in thought, Yixing doesn’t really take note of the awkwardness of the silence until Joonmyun breaks it. “Do you...do you have plans for the holiday?” he asks.

Yixing blinks. Holiday? Oh yes, Christmas. Which is tomorrow. “No,” he says, because what plans would he have? He has no close friends in the city and he’s been exiled from his home country and his entire family. “Do you?” he asks, curious.

“Ah. Anna and a few other tavern matrons are planning a dinner for those staying on. I haven’t been at port for Christmas in years, so I’m looking forward to it.” Joonmyun hesitates, then visibly screws up his courage, standing straighter with eyes intense. “You should join us,” he says firmly. “You spend too much time cooped up on that mountain.”

It’s probably true, but Yixing has never minded his solitude. Not until recently, anyway. “I doubt I will be able,” he replies. “I have a patient, quite ill. Hence, the errand.” And, honestly, he has been away from her too long; she needs this medicine as soon as possible and it’s still another hour’s walk back up the mountain. “I should get home,” he hedges. “Thank you, though. For the offer.” He tries on a smile, and it’s a little tight around the edges, but Joonmyun returns it anyway.

“Alright, Doctor,” Joonmyun murmurs. He reaches out and clasps Yixing’s shoulder; the familiarity of his firm, friendly grasp makes a lump lodge unpleasantly in Yixing’s throat. “I hope to see you again before I leave.”

Yixing nods, his smile a little more natural this time. “I suspect you probably shall,” he says, and is vaguely proud of how cordial he makes it sound.

Joon’s fingers squeeze him one more time before his hand falls away, and he brushes past, headed down the street towards the tavern. Yixing turns to watch him go for a long moment before resuming his own journey.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


To Yixing’s immense relief, the woman’s fever is simply that, a fever. It isn’t malaria. And once he begins administering the willow bark treatment, is subsides fairly quickly. Though still a bit shaky, the woman is able to return to her husband and children for Christmas dinner.

Yixing walks her down the mountain simply to ensure that she is capable of making the rest of the trip on her own. With profuse thanks, she takes her leave at the edge of town.

Turning, and with a small smile of satisfaction on his face, Yixing makes to head back home. Then he remembers the day, and Joonmyun’s invitation. It seems he will be free for Christmas dinner after all, and he is already closer to the inn now than he is to his own home. Should he take Joon up on it?

He thinks that he would probably adore spending Christmas with Joonmyun, that he would like to see the man laughing and talking and being the center of attention. But he hesitates, because the clothes he is wearing are not really suitable for a public function, because he is unwashed and sweaty, and because he hasn’t slept more than two hours in a row for at least three days. He doesn’t really want Joon - or anyone else, for that matter - to see him like this. And, all the rest aside, he is exhausted.

So Yixing turns and heads slowly back up the mountain.

Without company to keep him distracted, the walk seems interminably long. He stumbles at least twice; by the time he gets to his door his vision is graying. He barely has the strength to pull off his boots before he collapses into the armchair and passes out.

Roused some unknown amount of time later by a knock on the door, Yixing blinks his way out of heavy, foggy slumber and staggers to the door. He’s half-expecting another patient, and does what he can to fix his rumpled shirt and press down his wild hair before opening the door.

It’s the errand-boy, grinning up at him with a large, cloth-wrapped package in his arms. “Merry Christmas!” he chirps, as Yixing blinks at him myopically. When Yixing does not immediately respond, his face falls a little, replaced with concern. “Are you well, sir?”

Huh? Oh. “Just weary,” Yixing assures him, and tries on a smile. “It’s been a long day.” He nods to the package. “What’s that, then?”

“It’s from your friend, sir,” the boy says, and Yixing’s first reaction is I don’t have any friends. Then it registers who he must be talking about, and Yixing stands a little straighter.

“Well,” he murmurs. “That’s a surprise.”

He reaches to take the package, but the boy backs off a step. “It’s quite heavy, sir,” he says, eyeing Yixing’s hands. Yixing hadn’t realized they were trembling. “I’ll bring it in for you.” Yixing nods gratefully, and the boy does just that, setting it on the table. “Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Is there? Well...yes, actually. “You know the notice boards in the town square?” The boy indicates the affirmative. “Locate my advertisement and take it down, please. I am not certain I am feeling well enough for patients at the moment.” He sighs, because he doesn’t want to do this, but he will be of little help to anyone if his hands are shaking and he can’t even walk home without passing out. Physician, heal thyself, he thinks wryly. He needs a few uninterrupted days of rest. “I will put up another when I am well again.”

The boy bows. “As ye wish, sir,” he says, and Yixing smiles at him and sends him on his way. It isn’t until well after the door has closed that Yixing realizes the boy did not ask for payment - Joon must have paid him in advance.

The package, as it turns out, is a basket of food, of bread and roast fowl and mincemeat pie and spiced potatoes and even a bottle of hand-mulled wine. It’s cold but it smells wonderful and it’s easily enough to feed three large men, or one Yixing for a week. If only Yixing was hungry.

He should eat, though, so he portions out some of the meat and heats it on the stove with the wine as marinade, trying not to think too hard about Joonmyun missing him at the dinner, Joonmyun asking Anna to help him prepare the basket and tracking down the serving boy on Christmas to ensure Yixing receives the gift immediately. He wishes Joon had brought it up himself, but one can’t have everything.

The food is quite good but Yixing can’t even eat the entirety of the portion he’s heated, and forgets to put the basket away before he’s collapsing in the chair and falling back asleep.


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Yixing’s plan was to rest for three days, maybe five if necessary, and then re-open his practice. Things never do go as planned, however, and after three days of restless sleep plagued by nightmares, of a fever he can feel and a cough that steadily worsens, he has to admit to himself the possibility that it’s not mere exhaustion. He’s been so busy worrying about whether Joon would relapse, he failed to take into account the fact that he might relapse himself.

On the fourth day, the chills start, confirming his fears. Yixing stares down at his syringe kit, his mind and body frozen with weariness and despair and deep, deep frustration. He doesn’t want to go through this again. But, of course, he has no choice.

He walks through the all-too-familiar ritual in a daze, grinding bark to powder, mixing the solution and preparing the syringe. It almost slips his mind to sterilize the needle, but he remembers at the last moment, pouring boiled and cooled water from the kettle he put on earlier over metal and glass. The tremble in his hands seems worse than ever before, and it takes him three tries to successfully assemble the wet parts.

Using two hands, he is able to draw the solution into the syringe, but as he has to administer the shot with one hand, he finds himself shaking so badly that the needle slips from his fingers, crashes to the floor and shatters.

He stares, horrified.

It isn’t the end of the world, of course. He has another syringe. But he’d have to go find a stepladder to get it, and prepare another solution, and boil more water, and as it is he’s shivering so hard he can barely stand, and he just...can’t. He just can’t.

Frustrated, hopeless tears well in his eyes, and Yixing sinks to the floor next to the shattered glass and spilled medicine. A terrible scream of frustration rips from his throat, guttural and shaky and painful, and he dissolves into sobs.