Chapter Four:

til death do us part

Zitao had always known that Yifan was different ever since the first day they had met, when a kind, handsome stranger had offered his home to a man he had just met.

Yifan - who had cut an intimidating figure with his towering height, whose neutral expression was as chilly as Zitao’s own. 

Who could have known that Yifan was a secret cuddler, who pressed his chest against Zitao’s back when they slept, who mumbled sweet things into the skin of Zitao’s shoulder when they woke from their dreams?

Who could have known that Yifan was not half as graceful as everyone anticipated him to be, an awkward collection of long arms and legs which were prone to tripping over himself - not perfect at all but admitting to his own flaws with flushed cheeks and a bashful scratch of the head?

Who could have known that Yifan had a breath-taking smile, a laugh so goofy that it made Zitao's heart hurt?

Yes, Yifan was different.

But that had always been part of his charm, one of the many reasons Zitao had fallen so fast – so hard - so deeply in love.

...and oh, had that feeling remained the same, even when everything else had fallen apart.

“...tao.  ...tao.  ...tao.”

Yifan was whispering to him, a word that Zitao had once taken for granted but now treasured more than anything else he would ever hold dear.

He held the stiff body to his own, running a hand through the other’s hair as he searched deep into those lost eyes, a gaze that flickered in and out of coherency.

“Shh, Yifan, shh.”  Zitao whispered, pressing his cheek down on top of Yifan’s head, feeling the arms wrapped around him tighten as he rocked them back and forth.

It was getting harder to breath, but Zitao didn’t say a word, welcoming the constricting pain as pleasure, shivering under the curious touch that traced the lines of ribs that stuck out from underneath his thinly stretched skin.

“This time, I’ll take care of you.”

He had been a gym teacher, not a scientist, nor a doctor.

So, he acknowledged the fact that it was more of a theory than anything,

But he didn't need any knowledge of chemical formulas to observe Yifan’s changing behaviors, didn't need any thick medical textbooks to help him to start piecing the clues together.

And in Zitao’s mind, in the end, it could have only come down to one of two things - a natural process, slow stretches of improvement over time - or…

Or maybe it really was just the diet.

Zitao had to know.

Because if it really meant getting his husband back… anything was worth trying.

The first one had been an accident, really.

The monsters never really bothered him anymore (was it because he smelled like Yifan?), but still, Zitao couldn’t help but continue to be anxious, leaning against Yifan as he drew his rifle, eyes keen and ears sharp as he began to pick up the sounds of an entire group, snarling and hissing, running toward their direction.

“Tao!”

Even Yifan sounded worried, and that put Zitao instantly on edge.

Shoot first, ask later had been Zitao’s mantra as of late, and he did just that when the first body rounded the corner, watching it fall to the ground with a strange, garbled scream of pain.

He had no time to consider the sound as he took out the rest of the group that followed in the same manner, forced to lean past Yifan who insisted on standing protectively in front of him. 

With learned speed and precision, he took fresh shells out of his pockets and snapped the rifle open and closed, barely even flinching as blazing hot cartridges flew past his cheek.

After the last had fallen, he finally let the rifle drop to his side, reaching out for Yifan’s hand which clutched at his own tightly.

Using his husband’s tall, stable body for support, Zitao hobbled over and bent down, rifling through the bodies for anything he could use.

When he finally got to the first body, he paused, watching the blood-soaked shirt rise up and down as a labored breath forced a chest to expand and contract.

Zitao frowned, reaching out and rolling the body over - only to discover that just like his own, the flesh was uncharacteristically warm, rough and weathered from the harsh climates that they lived in.

His suspicions were only confirmed when he stared down into terrified brown eyes, the pained face of a young man somehow still clinging to life with an open wound in his abdomen.

Not a monster, then. 

Another survivor.

Something long broken beyond repair in Zitao’s mind flickered, synapses firing as they strained with rusted cogs to make him feel something for the man below him.  It should have reminded him of Sehun - the man who had told him his life story, only to die in his arms. 

It had been such a long time since he had killed the other man though – and he had adjusted, pushed the guilt from his mind. 

Maybe it was the ever-lingering pangs of his body, or the lack of sleep, but it was as if his conscience, the part of his brain that usually dealt with morality, was functioning at a bare minimum. 

Zitao brushed the lingering thoughts away, suppressing the feelings deep inside of himself as he tilted his head, considering the trembling man beneath him.

He didn’t know the man’s name, nor would he ever, but Zitao’s eyes were drawn to the man’s skin, still soft and supple where his had not been for a very long time.

“Look Yifan, this one is so small.”  Zitao giggled, reaching out to poke a finger into the other’s flesh.

“Tao…”

The wounded man was gasping, crying quietly as shock began to set in, head lifting and hands reaching out to touch at the hole in his chest. 

Zitao tutted, pushing the man’s hands away gently before brushing the man’s bangs back with a blood-stained hand.

“Don’t touch, it’ll just make it hurt more.  No, no, you just sit back.  Zitao will keep you company.”

Zitao smiled comfortingly (although maybe it was a little sinister instead), wiping the clammy, cold sweat from the other’s brow as he began to wait out the other man’s death with him. 

Humming to himself as he the man’s hand, from the darkest parts of his mind, a stray thought struck him at random.

Zitao eyes glimmered.

Slipping his hand out from the other’s loose grip, he reached out instead to cover the dying man’s mouth. 

He turned to his husband with a gentle smile, gesturing down at the offering laid out like a feast before him.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Yifan's expression was unreadable.

Yifan hugged him tighter, closer that night, digging a cold nose into Zitao's hair.

Holding his husband’s hand as they lay in bed, Zitao's mind was not on the fact that Yifan was murmuring his name, overandoverandover, instead he focused on Yifan’s skin - which felt as if it could have been just a fraction warmer.

Or maybe it was just his mind trying to reassure him that he had done the right thing.

Zitao had a hard time sleeping that night, for some reason hearing the wrenching screams of a terrified young man being eaten alive, playing over and over in his nightmares.

The look in Yifan's eyes was so sad, when Zitao did it again.

A wallet full of memories, a man that Zitao never knew, standing side by side with his family in the photographs, smiles all around.

Zitao hummed, letting go of the photographs and letting the pictures flutter to the ground.

"Are you hungry?"

Zitao pushed the cadaver toward him, almost bashfully, as if proud of what he had done.

But Yifan only stared at the body - what used to be a tall man with curly brown hair and big ears, face still set in an expression of horrified shock, cut down while he had been begging for his life - before backing away, the ever-present smile on his face twisting and twitching into something else.

Zitao processed his expression blankly.

"You don't want any?"

"Tao..."

Interesting.  Maybe Yifan was picky, then.

What a shame though, to waste such good, fresh meat.

Bending down, he picked up an arm, holding a pale hand close within his own shaking ones, pressing a nose into the dead flesh, still warm to the touch. 

For some reason, Zitao imagined that he was breathing in the scent of a thanksgiving dinner, of a braised, oven-roasted turkey, fresh and steaming from the oven.  It made him salivate, and his eyes fluttered slowly closed. 

He wondered how it would taste - extending his tongue from his mouth to slowly a line up the exposed wrist -

Only to be ripped away by Yifan who pulled him roughly back up with an arm around his neck, another around the waist.

"Yifan?"  Zitao asked, trying unsuccessfully to turn in his grip.  "Yifan what's wrong - "

"Tao . . . !"

Yifan put a hand over his eyes, pressing himself close.  Belatedly, Zitao felt warm liquid, trickling into his hair, holding his hand up blindly to catch the liquid with a trembling, delighted, smile.

the only flower he had ever seen -

and despite his love and attention, it was wilting before his eyes.

petals fluttered slowly to the ground

as if they were his tears

Yifan was becoming more and more human, with every piece of himself that Zitao gave up.

He couldn't pretend that it'd ever be the same - no, it'd never be the same - but Zitao held onto that hope, the only thing he could still feel that didn't slip from his numb fingers.

Nowadays, Zitao would find himself slipping in and out of lucidity, snapping to attention every few hours only to find himself in places he didn't recognize. 

The nightmares that hid behind his eyelids were terrifying, but at least they were a change from the only monotonous grey he knew, the only thing he could see whenever he opened his eyes to the world.  

It was as if his mind had given up and his body had taken over - because it all still hurt, but now the emotions he felt were like muted colors, fading fast over time. 

The one thing that had remained truly constant was Yifan's presence at his side. 

Sometimes though, Zitao wondered if it would have been better.

If they had given up instead.

Living up to their name, they were truly different now. 

They’d become slow, lethargic.  No longer gave chase.

More curiously though, they’ve begun to sprout things from under their skin, just as the one he’d seen, that one day in the gas station.

Thankfully, Yifan’s skin remains clear with no sign of mysterious growths, stained only with the blood of others.

Zitao counts his blessings.

With less of a perceived threat than usual, they’d taken to having long walks outside – or rather, Zitao leaves when he feels restless, and Yifan would never leave him alone.

One of those days, they were walking down the street as usual, Zitao leading the way, Yifan trailing somewhere behind.

Zitao is muttering something under his breath to Yifan who remains distracted.

Midway down the winding street though, he hears Yifan’s footsteps come to an abrupt stop, a growl deep within the other’s throat.

Zitao begins to turn with a question on his lips – but instead hears the piercing shriek of something flying through the air, and then a burning pain in his neck.

He's sitting in a train station with his eyes closed.

There are people around him that he can hear, but he finds that he cannot turn his head to see them. 

There are shadows, of people passing by, of trains which are departing in both directions.

He can hear the sound of whistles, of the screech of the wheels against the rails, the displaced wind that tickles him and blows his hair back.

It's sunny, his vision bathed in mixtures of light pinks and oranges, in shades he's never known how to describe before. 

Slowly, sensation comes to him, and he can feel it.  There's a hand holding his own, a thumb trailing gently against the back of his hand, so affectionate that Zitao can't help but shiver.

open your eyes, love

Zitao's heart flutters and he smiles, opening his eyes to turn to the figure whose body he can feel against his own –

– but the tracks are abandoned.  Rusted.  Grimy. 

There’s no sound.

And there's no one beside him at all.

Zitao blinks his eyes shut.

"Where -"

"- am I?"

When Zitao opened his eyes, he was in a small, dirty cell, seated on a thin cot.

There was a woman in front of him.

He flinches back at first before realizing she’s not one of them, instead seated quietly in a spotless white lab coat.

"I've told you already.  You're in our research facility."

She was writing something down furiously on a clipboard.

He glanced down at the pages, squinting to try and read the squiggles.

Had he been talking the whole time?  Zitao honestly couldn't remember.

His mouth felt dry and he swallowed roughly.  There was a distant pain in his neck and he rubbed a hand against it, feeling a small pinprick in the back which throbs with heat.

"Ah."  The woman was looking at him now, watching his reactions closely.  "You must be wondering about your wound.”

“We needed to make sure you came with us quietly, so we had to take you out with a tranquilizer.  I'm sorry - it must still hurt.  Would you like some pain medication?"

Zitao was shaking his head but the woman was already pushing a tray closer toward him, metallic and gleaming with a glass of water and a container full of pills balanced on top of it.

Zitao slowly picked up the container, turning it slowly in his hands, recognizing the red-and-white pills, the logo that was printed onto it.

It matched the same logo the woman had on her lab coat.

He put the pills back down, pushing the tray away roughly.

"Who are you?"

She was type who answered indirectly, not responding to his actual question, twisting his words into a way that fit her own needs.

"Who I am doesn't matter.  Who I work for though - I think you must know."

Zitao suddenly felt a chill run through him, his hands suddenly clammy.

"Where's my husband?"

"He's in a different cell."

"Why?"

"We've been observing you both for days.  You should know why."

She shook her head, setting her clipboard aside.

"Your husband... he's different - not like the others.  He might look like a human, but the blood tests have confirmed that he is not."

"I know that."

"Then you must know how important it is for us to study him.  There's something in him, you see - we're not sure what exactly it is yet, but we've only seen it before in one other.  Unfortunately for us, Mr. Kim died from surgical complications before the changes could progress as far as it has in your husband."

Zitao took in a sharp breath.

"Surgical complications?"

Zitao need the pity in her eyes, didn't want the soft touch that patted him on his hand.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Huang.  We’re keeping him alive, but you must understand - sometimes, some sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

Zitao stood abruptly, only to fall back onto his bed when his leg refused to cooperate.

"No - you can't do that!  You don't have my permission - he's my husband -"

"Mr. Huang, think about this!  With Yifan’s help, we might be able to make a vaccine, don’t you see?  We're talking about the survival of the entire human race!"

" the human race!  I don’t care!  I only needed – I only needed Yifan!  Give him back to me!  GIVE HIM BACK!"

His breath came shorter as he began to hyperventilate.

She leaned over him, jabbing something into his skin that made him yelp.  Cold fluid rushed into his body and he felt his limbs involuntarily relax, a sudden, forced fatigue coming over him. 

"Let's not get too worked up, Mr. Huang.  We'll take good care of you both, I promise."

He slumped back onto the cot with a groan, his back hitting the wall behind it as he gritted his teeth in anger.

"You – you monster.  You’ll - you'll regret this."

She sighed, discarding the empty syringe somewhere out of his view.

"We're on the verge of a breakthrough cure for an epidemic plaguing the world, Mr. Huang.  I doubt I will."

Zitao clenched the thin sheets in his hands as best as he could within the fingers that refused to cooperate. 

"A cure for the sickness you spread…!"

She paused, silent and unseeing as Zitao pushed his body forward with a snarl, his neck tight with exertion.

"You should have never separated us!"

"…you say that as if he still remembers."

She shook her head, gesturing to someone outside to open the padded cell door, stepping out of it even as Zitao continued to shout after her.

"He loves me!  Of course he wouldn't forget!  …he'd - never - forget!"

"Ma'am?  Are you alright?"

"...I'm fine.  I just need a moment."

"I can go in there and give him enough sedative to know him out, if you'd like."

"No!  We're not barbarians!  I'm not even angry, I just…”

She paused for a moment.

“Do you have a wife?  …kids?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I don’t either.  So I can’t even begin to imagine though - what he’s gone through.  I don’t think there’s much left though - of his mind.  He really believes what he tells himself, you know?  It makes me sad."

Perhaps he was being held on reserve, a bargaining chip to be used against Yifan should his husband ever act up.  He wasn’t sure why else they would even bother keeping him alive.

Zitao spends the rest of the week in a hallucinatory state of pain, anger, and confusion.

They've been putting the drugs in his food - so much of it that Zitao could barely feel his limbs, slumped over in his cot for hours on end until his back began to become sore, his muscles tingling from disuse.

Still, they seemed to think this was the best alternative. 

It's for your own safety, they told him.

So he stopped eating what they give him. 

Zitao was so thin already, a prisoner with a sickly body and a permanent limp.

He was the saddest thing any of them had ever seen, the physical representation of all the consequences – of all that had gone wrong in the world.

They tried to treat him well as a result - they're not monsters, they've all just made mistakes, that's all.

Extra blankets, torn from their own bare beds, food that for once was cooked on what little gas they have left, served to him steaming, and warm.

In other words - they underestimate him.

Because underneath his sallow skin, Zitao knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly how to get it.

Resources had been scarce, but production demand hadn’t decreased at all.

So they began to look in unconventional places.

In the depths of the blackened sea, they had mined deep into the plates of the earth, finding something down there that they thought they would be able to use.

Too many questions had not been asked though, ones that really should have been important.

What had it been, really?

Had it even really been part of their planet? 

…or had it come here long ago, from someplace far, far away?

“The patient isn’t responding to any of the vaccines we’ve tested so far.”

“His genetic code though – it’s still altering.  I think it’s trying to adapt to what we’ve been using.”

“This fast?  That shouldn’t… be possible…”

Eight days in, in the middle of his lunch, he pretended to faint with a muffled groan, dropping his spoon and rolling his eyes up his head so convincingly that the guard on duty immediately opened the cell door, rushing in to help him.

He hadn't dropped his knife though - it remained clutched tightly in his fist.

The adrenaline rush was enough for him to set aside all the pain.

He made sure to be merciful.

Quick.

Alarms were blaring, red lights flashing in warning, on and off, on and off, on and off.

"…mmm…"

Yifan was muzzled and drooling, chained down where he stood, strange machines and probes attached to his skin.

Zitao paid them no mind, limping in quickly and using the keys he had lifted off of the dead scientist outside to begin to unlock his chains, pulling them off of his husband’s body as quickly as he could.

Yifan slumped immediately into his arms when he was freed, exhausted.

Zitao wrapped his arms around his husband, rubbing him comfortingly, careful to avoid the skin which still looked fresh and raw, dotted blue all over from those harshly probing needles.

"I've got you," He sobbed, letting the knife in his hands clatter onto the floor as he sank down onto his knees.

"I've - got - you!"

By saving Yifan, he might have been taking away the one thing that could have possibly saved them.

But the selfish need to have someone at his side, the memories built over ten years of trust and adoration, the love that burned just as strong now as it had burned before - was a feeling that was stronger.

They had given him a choice, and he had made his decision.

Perhaps it was simply time, to step away and give the rest of the world a chance.

They left the compound in flames, never looking back, not even once.

It was warm, here.

So bright that he had to lift a hand to shield his eyes.

Squinting up at the morning sun as it rose, he realized that he could see it distinctly, no longer having to squint through the clouds at a blurry, pale light in the distance.

In fact, he could see everything - so very clearly.

For the first time in years, Zitao took off his mask.

Taking in deep, slow breaths, he almost neglected to see it - but when he did, he stopped immediately, sinking slowly to his knees.

His fingers hovered over the tiny green bud, as if too scared to touch it.

He leaned down instead, and took his first breath of something new.

It was overwhelming.

"Look Yifan..." He whispered, to the man who he knew was listening, "I think it's a flower."

From somewhere close to him, he could hear someone shifting, a small intake of breath.

"Tao."

"…hmmm?"

Arms were sliding around him, a warm cheek pressed against his own. 

"Zitao."

Zitao froze, recognizing something different in that voice.

"...Yi...f...an?"

"Zitao, I..."

Overnight, the rain had cleared, and the fog disappeared soon afterward. 

Sunlight came flooding in from pale blue skies, illuminating the world for once with light. 

Over time, those who had changed found their places in the sunlight, rooting themselves to the ground and falling slowly into a deep, deep slumber.

And from their still breathing bodies, wondrous things began to grow.

It was the morning of September 26th, 2024.

Yifan wakes alone on his couch.

There's a day-old newspaper on his counter, an empty bowl of soup lying unwashed in the sink.

The covers to his bed are neatly tucked in and smoothed though, as if there had been no one who had slept there at all.

For some reason, the sight makes something in Yifan's chest hurt, because just as Yifan had expected, he ... was gone.

Yifan takes one last look at the empty bed before huffing a soft, disappointed sigh, padding quietly into the kitchen.

He makes it halfway across the room toward his goal of taking out a mug from his cupboard to pour himself some coffee - but his eye catches on something brightly-colored, sticking to the top of his table.

It was a note.

Thank you, it reads, the Y just a little scraggly, the spacing just a little strange.

Thank you.

Yifan feels his heart stop, only to feel it start back up again just seconds later, this time beating just a little faster.

With a soft smile, he brought the note close, praying that he would see that stranger again, just one more time.

click here for A/N on the ending