Cyril wakes up gasping in the middle of the night with Aeton breathing steadily by him. His partner's sprawled on his back, one hand slung haphazardly over Cyril's shoulder. It's the same hand that was clinging to his leg in the nightmare and Cyril feels a wave of fresh nausea at the memory.

He stumbles to the bathroom and throws up.

The dreams started over two months ago, during the two-week lull where the military had signed him up to their latest project. He had written them off as a product of his subconscious, but couldn't stop ignoring them once Older Cyril started predicting events and statistics before they happened. His counterpart claimed he was from the future and that he had invented a machine to send his consciousness five years back.

They were going to have a war and Aeton would die protecting him right after it began. Older Cyril wanted to find out how to prevent Aeton's death but more importantly—why he'd chosen to die in the first place.

It would be better to enter a mental institution at this point, but Cyril didn't dare to wait. What if his counterpart was telling the truth? He only needed to hold out until the fated day passed. According to Older Cyril's memories, the war would start less than a month from now. If he took Aeton far away before then and didn't come back...

Putting problems to logical solutions suited him better than panicking, anyways.

—

The next morning, Aeton wakes to an empty bed and has a double take before he smells coffee from the kitchens. He wanders out and sure enough, Cyril is sipping from a cup on the couch.

He looks tired, Aeton frets, but he puts on a cheerful smile and walks over to boldly kiss his spouse on the forehead

"Mornin'! Ya hungry fo' breakfast yet?"

Cyril sips quietly as he looks up at him. "What are you making?"

"I was thinkin' pancakes," Aeton tries. "We dun hav' any milk, but I can still manage."

"Okay."

Hearing Cyril so docile makes Aeton feel strangely affectionate. Was this how all husbands felt about their newlywed wives? He can't resist ruffling Cyril's hair and planting a second kiss on his cheek, neither of which Cyril rejects.

I must've died an' gone straight t'Heaven, Aeton decides as he whistles a cheerful tune in the kitchens.

They have a blissful breakfast with more stolen kisses before going to get Aeton's passport done. While Cyril waits in the reception area, a phone call comes in from General Peyton. With a frown, he sets it to audio only and finds a secluded corner of the building to take the call.

"What is it?"

"Dr. Cyril, you're not at work today?"

"I took a leave of absence. Did you not check with HR?"

"I did. But something urgent's come up and we'll need you back at the labs."

"Postpone it for two weeks," Cyril replies. "My husband and I are going on vacation."

"You can't possibly think of leaving at a time like this! We're at the most critical part of our presentation—"

"I don't work well under prolonged stress," Cyril finishes. "Goodbye."

He hangs up. With the encryption he's installed on his tablet, they shouldn't be able to track him now, especially after he tossed the old SD card in the trash.

Half an hour later, Aeton emerges with his Special Persons expedited passport and Cyril hauls him straight to the airport.

"In a taxi?" Aeton raises his brows when Cyril hails one from the streets. "Dontcha like yer drivers more, Cyril?"

Cyril freezes minutely, but relaxes into a half-smile. "We can't take my chauffeur to Hawaii, so I thought I'd get used to public transport early." More importantly, the institute can't record us this way.

"That's true..." Aeton ponders as the cab pulls up. "Ya always think ahead, huh."

"...yes." Cyril suddenly has a terrible, hysterical urge to laugh.

—

Nobody tails them on the trip, though Aeton keeps asking Cyril why he's looking out the windows. The scientist is still staring suspiciously around them when they arrive at the airport and start checking in.

Finally, Aeton can't stand it any longer and asks, "What's botherin' ya?"

"I want to make sure nobody's here to drag me back to work," Cyril replies honestly.

Aeton is indignant. "They better not! Ya haven't had a vacation in years!"

"What would you do if they tried?" Cyril asks, more as a distraction as he sweeps the crowds.

"Beat 'em to Hell an' back," Aeton proudly cracks his knuckles.

So simple, Cyril thinks. And yet neither him nor his future self can read Aeton's heart.

"Okay," he says out loud and firmly grasps Aeton's hand. "Whatever makes you happy."

Aeton is a blushing, flustered mess right through security check and the boarding gates.

—

"Sir, could I speak with you a moment?" An airline attendant approaches Cyril with a pleasant smile as the duo find seats in the waiting area.

Aeton instantly grabs Cyril, but he nods at him and stands up. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Ah, it's regarding your return tickets from Hawaii. It seems that the airline cancelled the flight, so if you'd like to reschedule a different one..."

"Why dun we just pick a new one in Hawaii?" Aeton suggests in a sudden burst of insight.

The attendant continues to smile. When the boarding announcements start, Cyril smiles back and turns to Aeton.

"It'll be less hassle if we take care of it now," he reasons. "You can find our seats on the plane first."

"I can wait wit' ya," Aeton insists.

"If you wait too long, the other passengers will take up the luggage storage space," Cyril frowns. "This plane is full."

Aeton looks around and sees a crowd starting to form a line at the gates. He scrunches his brow but eventually gives in. "Aite. Don't take too long!"

Cyril gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before the two of them part ways—one to line up, one to follow the attendant to the help desk.

"Dr. Cyril," the attendant starts politely. "General Peyton is waiting for you outside with a car."

"Is he really that desperate?" Cyril's lips are still stretched into a smile.

"I am to say that General Peyton informs you this is a matter of national security," the attendant went on. "Under your contract with the military and Aesir Research, you cannot refuse, nor is resignation an option without due consequences. Please cooperate."

One more month, that's all I need.

Cyril falls silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Aeton shuffling up the line. He keeps shooting Cyril looks, so he waves and keeps smiling back.

If I'm not with him, he doesn't have to put his life in danger.

That was the direct, most practical solution. His eyes harden by the time he turns to the attendant again. "We wait until he's on the plane," Cyril begins, "and I have two conditions. Connect me to General Peyton."

Number one, fly Aeton to Hawaii.

Number two, keep him there for a month.

—

Aeton fidgets in his seat, eyes sweeping across the relatively empty First Class section. The first thing he did was put away their luggage in the overhead bins, then claim their seats. Everything here feels so clean and expensive he doesn't know what to do besides sit, even though he can hardly stay still.

When Cyril still hasn't shown up a few minutes later, Aeton gets ready to hunt him down when he spots the same attendant from the airport gate entering the cabin with a smile.

"Mr. Aeton?" she asks.

"Yeah?" Aeton eyes her warily.

"Dr. Cyril's just wrapping up some details with the travel desk. He told me to tell you not to worry."

"When's he comin' on th' plane?" Aeton frowns.

"When he finishes. I'm so sorry for the wait, can I get you a drink?"

"Sure, whatever's fine." He could use something to soothe his nerves.

The attendant brings him a cup of water. Aeton downs it in one gulp, but that's when he realizes something tastes off. He wonders if it's one of those nasty flavored things rich people like to drink before he knocks out cold.

Humming to herself, the female attendant primly buckles his seatbelt and takes the empty cup away.

—

Outside the airport, Cyril checks his tablet for the time and confirms on the airline website that his plane has already taken off. In the car behind him, General Peyton gets off the phone with an update.

"Our agent confirmed the target was unconscious before she left the plane," he says.

"He's my spouse, not a target," Cyril corrects, but internally sighs in relief. He types off a quick text message and sends it to Aeton's phone so he can see it when he lands.

「I'm fine. Wait for me in Hawaii.」

Inside the car, General Peyton requests his aide to take Cyril's tablet to dismantle and disable its communication functions. Absolute secrecy would be maintained for the next few weeks. He would personally assign agents to make sure Aeton was safely secured in Hawaii until the sensitive period passed.

Cyril debates for a few agonizing minutes, but ultimately gives in. Logic tells him it'd be fine. Emotions, well—he learned to ignore those a long time ago.

Which is why he isn't bothered by the heavy weight settling in his chest.

Not a bit.

—

There's a crowd gathered in front of Aesir Research Institute by the time their car pulls up to the entrance. Cyril spots the scores of anti-war picket signs through the tinted windows and guesses, "Protesters?"

"The usual anti-war rabble," General Peyton scoffs. "They won't get past security."

Cyril vaguely remembers his older self mentioning these protesters too, but they're too peripheral to interest him. He blocks out their slogans as best he can to  review his notes.

Time passes quickly after that. The first scouts to report after escorting Aeton to the resort gives him a brief rundown of the situation—only brief, because Aeton had started to beat them up as soon as he learned Cyril was back at work instead.

Wordlessly, Cyril arranges the institute to cover their medical bills and has someone pass Aeton a message to calm down. A few more days of violence happens, including a near holdup at the local airport, before Aeton finds his chill. By the time reports say he's going to the beach, Cyril is changing into a suit and tie for a formal meeting with the president.

A meeting is held and words exchanged; praises and speeches of hope shared for the nation's first step towards world domination. On some level Cyril thinks they're all insane, but he doesn't care for politics and won't start now.

He does, however, make sure no signs of war will touch anywhere near the Hawaii islands.

Three weeks into his one-month countdown, the Democratic States of North America (DSNA) formally declares war on the Confederation of Southern Nations, formerly known as South America. Cyril reads the news in short military bulletins sent to his desk every morning—he's living in the research institute now, as is every other scientist—while the hubbub dies down. There's another report about Aeton too, which he picks up and scans:

—Subject A last seen 19:56 previous evening. Currently missing. Search in progress.

His right hand jerks and spills coffee all over his sleeve, but Cyril's too stunned to notice. Two days isn't a lot. More likely Aeton grew bored around town and decided to explore the wilderness. Besides, with his fighting skills and exceptional recovery rare, Cyril doubted he'd be in any trouble.

Still, though...

Still I worry because he's an idiot!

"Are there any more updates on this?" he suddenly demands the orderly who had dropped off his correspondence.

"These are the latest reports, Dr. Cyril," the man replies humbly. "The next one won't come until tomorrow at the earliest. They submit them by the day."

"Get that to me as soon as you can."

"Yes, doctor."

Little news is forthcoming. The next day, they find Aeton's sukajan half-stashed behind some rocks at his favorite beach. There is no blood. His cell phone is still in the pockets. Cyril has a crazy image of Aeton swimming the Pacific Ocean to get back to him, but dismisses that idea as absurd. For now, he distracts himself by counting down the days to the deadline.

A week passes. DSNA takes over Panama, severing Central America from the rest of the southern continent. More protesters flood the streets, decrying the use of force during peacetime. Some of them even turn violent. Analysts, newscasters, and politicians crowd out TV shows with special bulletins and debates.

On the morning of May 15th, his colleagues invite Cyril out for some air around Aesir Research grounds. It's been weeks since any of them have seen daylight, so Cyril relents after putting on a bulletproof vest.

He'll only be outdoors for a few minutes, but it's better safe than sorry. Ten minutes later, when the bombs have exploded and the labs start collapsing behind him, Cyril can only sigh and cover his face.

Of course the extremists would launch a terrorist attack on the one day he decides to take a walk.

It had been raining in the memory when Aeton died but it's still sunny now, so Cyril has no qualms picking his way from the bodies and rubble to leave elsewhere. Going back is out of the question, but there's a military base located west of the city that he can easily access with his credentials.

He skirts around the chaos of flames and screams, stoically blank-faced as he rounds the corner, darts between buildings, and emerges onto a side street. Just as he steps onto the sidewalk, someone grabs his arm and pulls him back, sending him crashing against a firm torso. A hand forcibly tilts his chin up to meet a pair of smoldering gold irises on a very tanned, extremely grizzled face.

"Found ya," Aeton rasps with a grin.

He has to be hallucinating.

"Why are you here?!" Cyril exclaims.

"Didya miss me?" Aeton's fingers tighten on Cyril's jaw until he winces. "After ya dump'd me on th' islands, I swam out 'til I found a ship, then drove myself 'cross the country."

Cyril mentally calculates the timeline. Boat speeds in the 22nd century were comparable to planes from a hundred years ago, so it was perfectly possible for Aeton to make it here within a week. He's always so straightforward, Cyril thinks, but a burst of warmth floods his heart. Idiot.

He can't decide if he's insulting Aeton or himself.

"Ya should've froze my bank accounts if ya wanted me to stay away," Aeton drawls on, his other arm snaking firmly around Cyril's waist and crushing him close. "I told ya, ya give me enough money as is."

"You're angry," Cyril realizes. "I can explain—"

"I dun wanna hear it!" Aeton snaps, "Ya got any idea how worried I was when they said we were goin' to war? And you stuck straight in Protesters Central! I've been watchin' the labs fo' days, tryin' to find a way t'get in, and then it explodes—" He stops, voice shaky.

"I 'aven't left yer side for six years, but ya push me away when ya needed me most," Aeton murmurs. "What am I s'pposed ta think, Cyril?!"

"You don't," Cyril hisses, finally wresting his chin free. "All you have to do is follow directions! Leave the planning to me and—"

"An' what? Have ya lead me on like a dog wi' a leash?" Aeton snarls back, "Find someone else ta drug me th' next time it's inconvenient to tell me the truth?"