Prologue:

to love and cherish

In those days back then, the industrial smoke had rolled in from the factories, drowning the city in its thick fog.

Poisoned by mechanical giants, fed by rampant consumerism, unhindered by dying forests and oceans, they couldn't stop the world from eventually running itself into the ground. 

They really should have seen it coming, when it finally happened.

They had come out of the fog like ghosts of the old world, dragging their victims back into the rolling grey with them. 

Too often now they talked about them as if they were just monsters - mindless masses, doomed to wander, to consume - but the truth was it was never about the Changed. 

Rather, it was about who they had been before - because behind every sightless gaze, there was a name.  A mother.  A father. 

A life, full of laughter and tears. 

Because somewhere behind those glazed eyes that stared through him now - there was the man he loved.

Every moment spent together, the best years of his life. 

And if he could have gone back in time, it wouldn't have changed his decision, in the end.

He would have come back for him, every single time, even knowing what it meant for himself.

"Zitao, I..."

"No.  N-no!"

Crumbling concrete and yellowed, dying grass.

"E-everything's going to be okay!  Just stay with me, okay?  Just stay with me!"

As his own grip grew weaker by the second, he struggled to keep his eyes open, staring up at the blurry image of the man who held him close. 

Warm liquid fell onto his cheeks, sliding down in place of his own.

And as his breath began to rattle, the light fading from his eyes - in flashes of vibrant color and sound, he remembered it all.

Ever since he was little, Yifan had a secret problem.

He loved cute things.

He might have looked the way he did - stern, serious, unyielding.  But, underneath that seemingly cold exterior, was a surprisingly sensitive man.  With a serious love for all things soft and squishy.  Of course, to preserve his manly dignity, he'd never ever ever admit to it, but it's not like he had to.  Everyone else already knew. 

He'd cried during the March of the Penguins, made funny faces at every baby he'd pass, pressed himself against glass windows to stare covetously at stuffed plush dogs.

For the real animals, he always had a bag of treats and cans of food in his bag - and whenever he saw a stray cat or dog that looked hungry, he'd wait until he thought he was alone before dropping his normally serious facade, bending down with a soft smile to offer food to those wagging tails.

They'd follow him home - 'Yifan's posse', as Yixing had come to call them - an eclectic and ever-changing collection of stray cats and dogs waiting outside of his door.

They depended on him and loved him unconditionally - and for Yifan, that filled the void in his heart, the overwhelming urge to hold and to protect.  He would have adopted them all if he could, but what with the rampant pollution that plagued the city, none of them had ever lived very long, regardless of how much care he'd pour into them. 

And as much as it hurt him to let each one go, having found a place in his big heart for each, he'd try to give them as best of a life as he could before seeing them off as painlessly as he could. 

Sophomore year of college though, Yifan finally found a stray he could keep.

It was Sept. 25th, 2024.  The date was printed on the top of the newspaper tucked under his arm.

'Soo-Man Therapeutic making leaps and bounds in the biomedical industry!' the tiny text in the side column read, the paper still turned to the third page to save his spot from where he had been interrupted just minutes go. 

"...sorry for all the trouble.  Here's enough money to cover for the food, I hope."

The shop owner eyed him closely, carefully counting up the dollars before pulling it into his till.

"He stupid or something?"

The man asked him gruffly, jerking his head toward the window.

Yifan paused, turning in its direction.

Sitting quietly in his car, still waiting for him to come back, was the skittish young man who he had just stopped from stealing more than twenty dollars’ worth of food from the drugstore.  The young man was now facing away, turned toward the cloudy, rolling fog.

Even from here though, Yifan could see the purpling dark patch on the side of that slender neck.

"No." Yifan responded quietly.

"I think he's just having a bad day."

There was a cute young stranger in his bed, eating a bowl of hot soup as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life.

And although Yifan would have normally been happy for this kind of occurrence, he instead frowned, pressing a damp cloth to the young man as he ate, quietly wiping away the crusted blood and taking care not to press down too hard on the black eye that looked like it might still be very sore.

When tears finally spilled, through miserable hiccups, dripping salty tracks into his soup, Yifan wiped those away too.

"What's your name?"

The young man's hands were trembling from where they were holding the bowl, those frightened eyes avoiding his gaze.

"...I'm Yifan."

The other man said nothing at all in response, but Yifan thought he saw a flick of the eyes - quick and subtle, before the man turned his gaze back to the bowl in his hands.

He sat with him for a long while, holding a one-sided conversation that he thought the other man needed as he quietly pressed bandages into his skin, keeping the man gently still with a firm hand.

All curved lines and a thinly muscled body, the man was beautiful - if not severely malnourished and sickly.  It reminded Yifan of the animals he'd brought home before.

Yifan could see the bitterness in the downward turn of his mouth, in the healing scars of his broken skin.

But despite how the man tried to flinch away from his touch, shuddering weakly - Yifan could still see the best of him lying just underneath.  He was too young yet to be broken, and there was still a fire that burned in those dark eyes.  Something about it intrigued him, made him want to draw close, to coax the truth out of the trembling silence.

But he didn't ask, didn't pry.  Instead, he held the man's stubborn chin within his hands, pressed the bandage down gently across the bridge of his nose, sitting back to review his work. 

Finding that his wounds were finally clean and sufficiently covered, Yifan began to stand - only to be stopped by a quivering voice, the only sound in his small, echoing apartment.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Yifan cocked his head, looking down at the man who had turned from him, staring blankly at the wall. 

He was the type that'd be gone in the morning, there was no doubt, but that doesn't stop Yifan from scribbling his number onto a piece of paper, pressing it firmly into the man's hand and closing slender fingers around it.

"Because," Yifan finally answered him, standing from the bed, ready to retire to the couch for the night, "some people deserve kindness."

He left the room, closing the door shut behind him, not seeing the head that turned to follow him, the eyes that looked down toward that piece of paper in his hands.

The next day, he was gone, just as Yifan had expected.

There was a note on the table though, roughly scribbled in a shaky hand.

Thank you.

The smell of roasted coffee beans.

On the corner of Main and 4th, in the brand new cafe, Yifan met him every time he called.

There were new bruises in new places each time.

It made the protective side of him swell up in anger, but Yifan could do nothing about it in the beginning - he didn't know anything about the other man at all except for what he had seen firsthand. 

In the beginning, he'd remain quiet despite Yifan's pressing questions, staring down at the food Yifan had bought for him while the college student talked quietly, chatting idly about his own day.

Over time though, he begun to respond.  And although it was at first just flashes of emotions on that otherwise guarded face, one-word responses given sparingly over long periods of silence, Yifan found himself delighted each time the man chose to spoke, clinging to each word with wonder each time.

The first time Yifan bought him ice cream, for example, he was witness to the joy filling the man's eyes for just a second.  He bought him ice cream regularly after that.

Yifan also noticed the looks of quiet envy whenever the man stared down at his soft gloves, looking down at his own rough, dry hands before rubbing at them self-consciously.  The next time he called, Yifan silently slid his extra pair of panda mittens across the table. 

Yifan came in late one day, interrupting the scene of the man sitting there with his eyes closed, listening to the music of the cafe play with an almost happy expression.  That night, Yifan made him a playlist of his favorite music.  He knew the other man had no way to listen to them - but that was okay, Yifan never used his old iPod anyway.  He pressed them into mittened hands, leaning over to tuck the ear buds into the shocked man's ears.  The man looked down as the music began to play quietly in his ears, holding the iPod tight within his hands as his eyes began to fill with tears. 

His lip quivered.  Yifan's heart raced. 

He had to look away momentarily and remember to breathe.

This time he came with a split lip, still oozing blood.

Yifan met him outside, reaching out toward him with a horrified expression before the man even began to speak, already taking off his coat to wrap it around the shivering man.

"C-can I..."  The man began, coughing wetly.  "Can I s-stay the n-night?"

The man was struggling to open a bottle of SM Curalls, pouring the red and white pills onto his hand as he sifted through them with hands that shook.

Before Yifan could stop himself, he was taking the pills from the other's hands and scooping them back into the medicine bottle.  He capped the bottle shut before setting it back down firmly on the bedside table.

"You really shouldn't rely on this stuff.  You never know what they put in there."

He told the younger man, grabbing his arms firmly to draw his attention away from the pills which still lay so tantalizingly close.

"Besides, haven't you heard?"

The man stared.

"The best cure is someone else's love."

He meant it to be something incredibly cheesy ...and maybe just a little flirtatious. 

He knew just how corny it sounded and was so sure the man would retch and swat at him with his hand, mood lightened - but he finds himself instead at a loss for words when the man gripped the sheets, so tight within his fingers that the threads began to rip, fat tears spilling from his cheeks.

"Why," The man sobbed, curling into himself, "Why don't they want me?  What am I doing wrong?"

Yifan lunged forward, pulling the other man into his arms, holding on tight through the struggles until finally, the man stopped pushing back.  Instead, he wrapped his own arms around Yifan, clutching onto him tight as he sobbed into his shoulder.

"...what am I doing wrong?"

Yifan gripped him tighter.

An empty bed.

Yifan sighed softly as he slowly woke up, running a tired hand over his face.

Lost in his thoughts for a second, he neglected to hear a clatter from the kitchen, only regarding it when the sound repeated itself louder, just seconds later.

Padding over to the kitchen, he peeked around the corner to see the stranger clumsily trying to clean up a mess of broken egg shells and flour laying on the ground.  Yifan made sure to make noise as he entered, watching as the man whirled around with a flushed, shocked expression on his face.

The man spluttered, muttering some apology for the mess in the kitchen - and Yifan broke him off with a chuckle.

"Good morning to you too."

He leaned on the counter, folding his arms as he regarded the man in front of him.

"I thought for sure you'd be gone in the morning."

The man reddened even further, looking down at his hands.

"Yeah, about that.  I-I... was wondering... if I could m-maybe... stay-a-few-more-days?"

The sentence ended with a squeak.

... So cute.

Yifan reached over to pet the man on the head.

"You're welcome to stay however long you want.  You just have to promise me one thing -"

The man made a questioning noise, flinching away when Yifan reached past him to grab a pan, setting it onto the stove as he the heat.

"Let me know next time you want to eat something.  I'll take care of it without burning the place down."

He winked.  Yifan cracked an egg into the pan, watching it simmer quietly, interrupted only when a nervous hand reached out, tugging lightly on the bottom of his shirt.

"I...I'm Zitao."

Yifan lifted an arm, drawing it around shy shoulders.

"Nice to meet you, Zitao."

His name was Huang Zitao - and he was only eighteen, for Christ's sake - still just a child, as far as Yifan was concerned, and it only made him angrier, remembering the marks and scars on the other man's skin. 

Permanent reminders of how unloved he was by the parents who had never cared.

But it didn't matter anymore.  Yifan would take care of him in their place.  He'd make sure that it would never happen again.

And Zitao trusted him.

Yifan found that the more they stayed in each other's company, the more the other opened up to him, showing him eventually wide smiles, shy, goofy giggles.

He was sweet - surprisingly talkative when you gave him the chance, with a hidden, mischievous side to him that surprised Yifan whenever he saw it.

He stayed for just a little over a month before disappearing into the night.

A knock at the door, a few days later.

He pulled himself from his heartbroken stupor, opening the door to find Zitao standing there, large duffle bags in each hand.

And although there was a bruise on the man's cheek, Zitao looked happier than ever, an apologetic, tired, but relieved smile on his face.

This time, when Yifan returned his smile, inviting him in wordlessly, he stayed.

Though they were still so young, they went through a lifetime of changes together.

Ten years, in that tiny apartment of theirs.

With Yifan's teacher friend Luhan's help, Zitao earned his GED, applied for jobs, finally landing one as a PE teaching assistant at an inner city high school. 

Yifan, on the other hand, graduated with a degree in criminal justice, and with the way he was, it only seemed natural for him to pursue a job after graduation as a police officer. 

He would end up doing extremely well for himself at a job that suited him - working his way up through the ranks to eventually become the youngest police chief in their district's history.

And as their life became more and more stable, under Yifan's careful care and coaxing, Zitao opened up.

He'd slowly become confident, comfortable in his own skin.

His own friends, when he finally allowed them to meet him, took instantly to Zitao's surprisingly affectionate, laughing personality - sometimes, Yifan thought that they might have liked Zitao more than they liked Yifan.

But that was okay, because Yifan felt the same way.  Somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love with a man who, despite all those rough beginnings, had wormed his way into Yifan's heart.

Over time, the stolen glances became loving looks.  The accidental touches became embraces.  The shy kisses became long.  Passionate.

And although Yifan still had a weakness for cute things, Zitao used that fact to his advantage.  Whenever Yifan was burned out from work, there was nothing else that made him feel better than shy fingers that trailed up his arm, a begrudgingly given, thoroughly embarrassed 'buing-buing'.  Not to mention the fact that when Zitao finally learned how to cook, Yifan would open his lunch box at work to find rice balls and seaweed in the shape of tiny pandas and hearts.  He took the teasing from the other officers, because damn it, nobody else had someone doing that for them, and that made all the difference.

...and although Zitao occasionally still had nightmares, Yifan slept on the bed right next to Zitao, wrapping him in long limbs and protecting him from harm.  He'd wake him from his panicked dreams with soft kisses, whispers of 'it's okay - I'm here - you're safe'. 

He paced by the bar of the old cafe on Main and 4th St., holding a ring box in one hand, his cellphone in the other.

His friends and coworkers were waiting with him with balloons and streamers, looking at the clock with worried expressions.

The fog is really bad right now - I can't see more than two feet in front of me.  I'm driving as fast I can, so I'll get there soon. 

Sorry to make you wait!

"Maybe the traffic is really bad." Minseok, their barista friend behind the counter, trying his best to reassure him.

Bull - even driving slow, it should have taken half an hour at most.

Yifan's worst fears were confirmed when the radio on his belt broke the silence with a horrific screech of static and noise.

/ All units called to a vehicular pileup on i-94, code 401, several fatalities reported - /

The smell of burning rubber, torn pieces of metal lining the gravel.

Yifan ran through the thick grey, splashing through the mixed puddles of blood and gasoline, screaming Zitao's name.

There was a flipped over white Subaru, nearly crushed to pieces by the side of the road, the wheels still spinning idly in the air.

Yifan rushed for it, prying the door open with desperation.

Zitao was still inside, pressed up against the hood of the car.

And although he was sobbing, Yifan thanked God.  At least he was still awake enough to feel the pain.

Yifan reached in, prying the seatbelt off as he attempted to pull Zitao from the car - but then the man screamed.

Yifan stopped, peering in through the wreckage to see that Zitao's leg was caught - crushed between the trapped metal of the driver's side door and the hood of the car.  There was a jagged piece of bone sticking from the ankle.

Zitao must have read the panic in his eyes, beginning to look down toward his leg.

"Oh God - how bad - how bad is it -"

Yifan covered Zitao's eyes, holding Zitao's head close to his own chest as he began to scream for help. 

There was something about how artificial everything was that made him nervous in hospitals like these.

He listened to the doctor telling him the extent of the injuries, peering in through the window of the door to watch over the man inside.

Zitao looked dazed, trying to eat a plate of food with a cast around his leg, his bandaged hand shaking each time he lifted the fork to his mouth.

There were bruises all over that tired face - and just like the days when they had still been just strangers - there were cuts and the scars, a bloody split lip.  The image imprinted itself into Yifan's mind.

And maybe that was how it had started - how something dark had reared its head within him.

"I should have been there - I should have been there -"

Yifan cried over Zitao's lap all night, even as the man rubbed a soothing hand over his back.

"It's okay - Yifan, it's not your fault!"

But it was, and he would never forget it.

He'd failed him once already.

He'd wouldn't allow it to happen again.

When he finally proposed, it was a quiet event, virtually unplanned.

It had been six months since the accident, and although Zitao could walk on his own now, sometimes the pain was still so bad that he couldn't sleep.

Every night, Yifan sat on the edge of their bed, massaging Zitao's ankle gently between his hands, pressing warm fingers into tender spots.

"Zitao," Yifan began, slow and unsure, "we've been together how long?"

"Ten and a half years.  Ten and a half years too long."  Zitao joked, with his eyes closed, only to bite back a moan of pleasure when Yifan pressed down on a particularly tight spot.  

Yifan felt his face flushing, not looking up from his task as he continued to speak.

"Could you... could you stand me for ten and a half years more?"

Zitao cracked his eyes open slowly, shifting forward with a whisper.

"...Yifan?"

Yifan bent down, pressing a kiss to the ankle in his lap.

"Zitao, would you marry me?"

One thing that Yifan had learned in those years - sometimes, when Zitao couldn't find the words, he became physical instead.

So he took the hard slaps on his arm as a 'yes', smiling as he took in the sight of Zitao covering his mouth, desperately trying not to cry.

Like usual, someone was coughing wetly in the background, the only sound in the otherwise nerve-wracking silence.

Yifan shuffled awkwardly in front of the altar, ignoring Yixing at his side, telling him to stand up straight and to stop moving.

He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, nervously clearing his throat - before hearing the door open.

Yifan whipped his head toward the sound.

Zitao looked just as nervous as he was - but oh, how he looked, dressed in white.

At some point, cute had blossomed into something hauntingly beautiful, and Yifan couldn't have been happier, to be standing where he was.

Zitao began to make his way forward, walking as fast as he could with the cane at his side, with as much dignity and grace as he could muster with that pronounced limp of his.

He shook off the attempts of help that came from the people standing from aisle, determined to make the way on his own, accepting only Yifan's hand as it extended out toward him, helping him up the step to bring him up to the altar.

Zitao's hands were sweaty in his own as Yifan pulled the cane gently from his hands, leaning it against the altar as he let Zitao grip onto him for balance.

With a soft smile and a nod, he turned to the priest.

To love and cherish you, for better and for worse, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, til death do us part.

I promise.

I promise.

I promise.

The world was crumbling around them, but they leaned in to share a kiss.

A few months before Yifan had even met Zitao, Yifan had been a smartly dressed college student, walking to class with his classmate at his side.

"Stupid ing perfect genes." Kyungsoo coughed, grumbling again as usual.

"You're stupidly tall.  And irritatingly handsome."

The smog and smoke was so thick that Kyungsoo coughed again. 

He grimaced, recognizing the sound of thick phlegm being spat out.

"But you know what bothers me most?  I've never seen you get sick, not once.  You're not wearing a mask!  We're literally walking through a cloud of pollution here, and you're not even coughing."

Yifan could only frown at his friend's words, patting at the other student's shoulder in comfort as he offered him a handkerchief from his pocket, only to have it pushed away with a disgruntled mutter. 

"...There's something strange about you, Wu Yifan."

There's something strange about you.