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Jiyan is a morning person. Mortefi is not.
Not that this has ever been much of a problem. The General wakes before the sun rises, but as much as he tries not to rouse his lover from bed, Mortefi has always been a light sleeper. Fortunately, sending the redhead back to sleep is a simple matter—a smile and a muttered love you, a kiss on the forehead, and Mortefi’s light grip on his shoulder would slip away as he curls back into the sheets, occasionally mumbling a love you too in return as he drifts back to sleep.
He would wake later on, with just enough time for him to show up in his lab with a cup of coffee in hand and a terrifying glower on his face (or at least, that’s how Jiyan’s other acquaintances at the Academy describe him). Hence the unsaid first rule of Huaxu Academy: never pick a fight with Mortefi, and never, ever pick a fight with him in the morning.
Today, however, Mortefi’s grip on him is like a vice, claws digging into Jiyan’s skin. Foreboding.
“What’s the matter?” Jiyan whispers when Mortefi begins to sit up, fighting valiantly against his closing eyelids. “It’s still early. Go back to sleep.”
He’s met with a scowl, which Jiyan hopes (in futility, he suspects) is due to Mortefi’s aversion to being awake at this hour.
“What are you eating for breakfast?” Mortefi demands.
Jiyan blinks. “I…come again?”
“I said, what are you eating for breakfast?” Mortefi grabs his glasses from the nightstand, and they accentuate his displeased glare. “I realized yesterday that I seem to have been depleting the breakfast food from our fridge alone. And for quite a few weeks, at that.”
That makes Jiyan stop and consider Mortefi’s question. What has he been eating for breakfast? His mornings usually go by in a rush, despite him rising so early—the border patrols hand over their shifts at daybreak, and checking in on them always gives Jiyan a peace of mind. And there is the never-ending paperwork, too. Not to mention that he only has time for meetings in the morning, given his packed schedule, and…
Simply put, Jiyan has no time to eat breakfast. Even if he did, chances are that he would have barely enough time to crack an egg into the pan, before some emergency or another that immediately requires his presence would crop up. And he would much rather not waste a perfectly good egg.
But he has a feeling that none of the above is the correct answer. “Bread?” he says instead, hopeful.
Mortefi squints at him. “What kind of bread? Toast? Sandwich? I didn’t see any of the ingredients you’d need for that getting used up.”
“I mean…I just eat plain bread?” Technically not a lie. (Three days ago, that is.)
“Who the fuck eats—” Mortefi exhales loudly through his nose, rubbing his eyes as he gets out of bed. “You go get changed. I’m making breakfast for us both.”
“You don’t have to,” Jiyan frets. “I’m used to it. And you hate waking up early.”
Mortefi’s eyes flash dangerously.
“I would be late,” Jiyan tries. Not that anyone from his shift arrives earlier than half an hour after him, but he keeps that to himself. There’s also the fact that his official work hours are technically the same as Mortefi’s. He also keeps that to himself.
“How about this instead,” Mortefi suggests with a thin smile, in a tone that clearly signals that Jiyan doesn’t actually have a choice. “Go get changed, join me for some delicious breakfast which you’ll regret ever turning down, and then show up for work at a slightly less unholy hour. I’m sure nobody’s going to raise any objections to their General finally having a modicum of self-preservation, and in the highly improbable event that someone lands you in trouble for being two hours early instead of three, I’ll personally incinerate them for you. Sounds good?”
Mortefi’s placid smile doesn’t budge. Jiyan doesn’t dare budge either.
(Never pick a fight with Mortefi, and never, ever pick a fight with him in the morning: the unsaid first rule of the Academy, but also the most crucial, consequence-portending, catastrophe-foreboding golden rule in Jiyan’s lasting relationship—and continued existence.)
Jiyan forces out a laugh. “Sounds delightful.”
At 9 A.M. sharp, Verina waits outside the doors of the Tacetite Weaponry lab.
Her purpose of visit is what the Academy euphemistically dubs as “Mortefi duty”: if one has an urgent last-minute request for the infamously irritable redhead, especially in the morning, it would be prudent for one to seek the help of a proxy whom Mortefi would not be inclined to cremate on the spot. And that proxy, more often than not, is Verina.
Typically, she waits outside Mortefi’s lab a little before the researcher arrives right on time. Today, however, Mortefi is nowhere to be seen.
That’s strange. Verina taps her chin with a finger. Mr. Mortefi is never late. Is he sick? Or…is he already inside his office? She lightly sniffs the air. But I don’t smell his coffee.
She knocks on the door, not exactly knowing what to expect. No response? Or Mortefi towering over her, a deep scowl on his face before he recognizes who his visitor is?
A few seconds of silence pass. Just as she’s about to leave, the door swings open.
“Who is it—oh, Verina? Do you need any help from me?”
The sight that greets Verina has her doing a double-take. Before her, Mortefi’s eyebrows are missing their signature crease, his lips are missing their usual frown, his hair is missing the tell-tale messiness of having just been raked through in frustration, and the office smells only of antiseptic—no coffee at all.
In fact, she would almost describe Mortefi using the last word anyone would ever associate him with: friendly.
Is this really Mortefi? Is she dreaming? Verina rubs her eyes hard.
Mortefi is still standing in front of her, growing visibly more confused by the second. “Are you still half-asleep?” he jokes, cracking a small smile.
The sheer oddness of seeing a smile on Mortefi’s face at 9 A.M. in the morning returns Verina to her senses. “N-No!” She takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about that. I just wanted to ask if you have any spare energy cores?”
If she isn't dreaming, there is only one other explanation for Mortefi’s highly abnormal behavior that she can think of—one that has potentially dire consequences.
“Mm-hm.” He turns around, motioning for her to follow. “You can just come into the lab anytime, you know. No need to wait there. You need some energy cores for your rectifier?”
Pupils, normal size…breathing rate, seems normal… “Not really,” she answers half-absently. “It's for the Pioneer Association. They have an expedition later.”
“Why do those idiots never ask for supplies themselves? It’s not like I’m going to yell at them for it,” Mortefi huffs. (Verina chooses to remain silent at that.) “Let’s see…here you go, thirty advanced cores. Is that enough?”
“That should be enough. Thank you so much.” I can’t check him for his heart rate, but his speech seems normal, too…No visible confusion. Hmm…
“You’re welcome.” He considers Verina for a moment. “Let me see your rectifier for a bit.”
“Huh? Oh, alright.” No cough, no pale or flushed skin…
Mortefi hums to himself, then returns the rectifier to Verina with a few more energy cores. “Premium ones. For you,” he smirks. “Don’t share it with those cowards at the Association.”
“Oh—you don’t have to…” What else do I need to check for? Headache? Skin irritation?
“Okay, I have to ask,” Mortefi interrupts Verina’s line of thought. “Why are you giving me such a scary look?”
Verina pauses. Then, her expression turns dead-serious.
“Mr. Mortefi,” she asks sternly, “Have you been experiencing any diarrhea, headache, nausea or abnormal thirst?”
Mortefi blinks slowly at her. “...No?”
“Blurred vision?” She presses on. “Fever? Increase in heart rate?”
“Uh…no?”
“Stomach cramps? Weakness? Or any other discomfort?”
“No?” Mortefi gives her a flabbergasted look. “What’s with all the questions?”
Verina scratches her head, vexed. “I’m just checking if you’ve been poisoned.”
The next morning, Jiyan wakes up half an hour earlier.
It’s no use. The moment he attempts to peel himself from Mortefi’s side, a pair of amber eyes snap open, glaring at him first thing in the morning.
“Breakfast,” Mortefi rasps. “Don’t you dare escape.”
“I’ll eat breakfast, I promise,” Jiyan hurriedly assures. “You can go back to sleep.”
The redhead ignores him, hand absently reaching for his glasses. “Your breakfast isn’t real breakfast,” he grunts. “Honestly, that egg you fried yesterday was a crime.”
“It’s edible,” Jiyan pouts. “Besides, I’m more concerned about you. Isn’t this a little too early, compared to what you’re used to?”
Mortefi stretches his arms to the ceiling with a yawn. “I’ll live. Besides, I went to work a little earlier yesterday. Never realized the Academy was so peaceful early in the morning—it does wonders for my mood, surprisingly, and I had a rather productive head start for the day.” He frowns. “Though I couldn’t really understand why everyone was looking at me funny. Verina was convinced I was poisoned.”
(Jiyan tries to picture a smiley, friendly Mortefi at 9 A.M. in the morning. The thought sends a shiver down his spine.)
Seeing no possible way to squirm out of breakfast, Jiyan quickly goes through all his morning routines, then finds the redhead in the kitchen. “Is the General craving anything in particular?” Mortefi asks.
“Mm…the omelet you made yesterday was pretty good?”
He gets a withering look in response. “We’re not eating the same thing two days in a row. What else?”
Jiyan racks his brain. “Anything that doesn’t have bittberry?”
“How do you live like this,” Mortefi mutters under his breath. “Do you prefer Jinzhou cuisine? I’m not too familiar with their breakfast dishes, but I can learn. Shao mai? Tang yuan? Oh, but those things probably need to be prepared the day before…”
Jiyan drapes himself over the redhead’s back, smiling into his neck. “Anything you make is good.”
Mortefi elbows him lightly in the stomach. “Flirt,” he laughs.
If there is one piece of advice Baizhi has for her colleagues, it is this: the Academy’s gossip is baseless at worst, and useless at best.
So when rumors of Mortefi being “possessed” reach her ears (similar variants include “poisoned”, “concussed”, and “replaced with a terrifyingly cheerful doppelgänger”), she takes it with a grain of salt. After all, Mortefi alone consistently accounts for approximately a third of the Academy’s rumors, which tend to either be generally true or blatantly false. This new one, in all likelihood, belongs to the latter.
But when she visits Mortefi’s lab in the afternoon, she begins to wonder if her impression of Mortefi needs a complete reevaluation.
For starters, Mortefi’s room is missing the aroma of coffee. This she heard from the rumors (“Did you hear? Mortefi has sworn off caffeine forever!”). She just didn’t think it would actually be true.
The next unexpected thing is what she assumes to be Mortefi’s lunch. Ignoring her now-disproven assumption that Mortefi doesn't eat lunch, what truly surprises her is that he’s eating shao mai (“Did you know that Mortefi’s giving up on research to become a chef?”), because it disproves yet another assumption—Mortefi, apparently, eats more than just sweets.
“Baizhi,” he greets, uncharacteristically relaxed. He holds out the box of shao mai. “Want one?”
“...Perhaps another time. I’ve just eaten lunch.” (“Mortefi’s sudden cheerfulness is to mask the fact that he’s giving out poisoned food for free…be careful!”) “Did you make that yourself?”
“Mm-hm. Tried my hand at it last night for breakfast this morning.”
“Last night?” Baizhi recalls calling Mortefi sometime around midnight. Given the redhead's arguably unhealthy working habits, there was always a decent chance he can be found in his lab, regardless of the time; otherwise, he would most likely be awake at home. But yesterday was a peculiar exception. “Is that why I couldn’t reach you?”
“You called me last night?” He checks his Terminal. “Ah. I was asleep by then, I guess. What did you need?”
Mortefi? Asleep by midnight? Baizhi was under the impression that Mortefi would only be asleep before 4 A.M. if he’d been physically knocked out. Now mildly concerned, she begins to properly consider the possibility that Mortefi was, in fact, very ill.
“Hello? Baizhi?” Mortefi peers at her. “Are you with me?”
“Excuse me. Yes, I’m here.” She clears her throat. “I’d like the data that General Jiyan forwarded you in the recent Riverside Games, please. The one regarding abnormal Gulpuff behavior.”
“The data that…? Oh, that one.” He wipes his mouth clean and pulls out his tablet. “Honestly, I don’t know why Jiyan sent it to me instead of you. It’s Gulpuff data, come on—aren’t you the Ecoacoustics expert between us? What did he expect me to do? Ugh.”
That’s it. Baizhi has never heard Mortefi make so much small talk before. There is most certainly something gravely wrong with him.
She puts a hand to his forehead. “Your temperature seems normal,” she mutters to herself as Mortefi stares at her with widened eyes. “Maybe you’ve taken some psychological damage instead?”
For the first time that day, Mortefi’s face scrunches into a scowl.
“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” he hisses, batting her hand away.
Ah. That’s more like the Mortefi she knows.
A week later, Jiyan wakes up to an empty bed and the distant sound of a stove being lit.
“Morning,” Mortefi greets him when he strolls to the kitchen. “Slept well?”
“Perhaps too well,” Jiyan yawns. “I seem to have missed my alarm.”
“Oh, you didn't. That was me. You're welcome.”
“I could have been late." he frowns.
“I would have called you up,” Mortefi dismisses. “I saw your earliest meeting isn’t until two hours later. And honestly, you should stop fretting over your Rangers like a mother hen. They’re not babies, they can manage a shift handover just fine.”
“I suppose…” He throws a glance over Mortefi’s shoulder. “Is that tang yuan?”
“Yep. Red bean, sesame, peanut. Just the way you said you liked yesterday.”
Jiyan smiles appreciatively. “You know, you’re making me look forward to tomorrow’s breakfast already.”
“That’s the whole point.” Mortefi lightly flicks Jiyan’s forehead with an amused smile of his own. “Taking things slow, appreciating the small things in life…I think it’s treating you well. Nowadays, you don't look nearly as tired as you used to.”
“Funny you should say that,” Jiyan raises an eyebrow. “I’d say that the change in pace had a far greater impact on you.”
One week ago, Jiyan had been worried that rumors of him showing up later to work would spread; as General, he didn’t want to be a bad role model for his subordinates. But it was quickly apparent that his worry was for naught, as a new wave of hushed whispers washed over the ranks about a certain Head of Tacetite Weaponry.
He’s finally lost it, they said. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually feel safer around his old cranky personality.
Thinking back to the times before their relationship, Jiyan had once regarded Mortefi’s rare smile with the same trepidation as everyone else: the sight was an omen that one was—as it was commonly described—thoroughly fucked. The mere memory hits him with a strong pang of sympathy for Mortefi’s colleagues. Constantly seeing a smile on the redhead’s face next door must truly take a toll on their sanity.
“How so?” Mortefi asks him with a squint, pulling the General back to the present. “Recently, everyone at work has been looking at me like I’ve grown three heads. Why?”
Jiyan averts his gaze, watching the tang yuan bounce around in the boiling water. “...Don’t worry about it.”
By the seventh time a panicked researcher pleads desperately with him to purge the supposed demon residing within Mortefi, Xiangli Yao’s curiosity gets the better of him.
He wraps up his work for the Rangers stationed at Norfall Pass just after sunrise—a little delayed, since the General arrived later than expected—and makes the long trip back to Jinzhou along the empty roads, with only the crisp morning air and his own musings for company.
Was Mortefi truly possessed? The thought filled him with more amusement than anything else. Everyone knew about the redhead’s terrible temper, that was for sure, but Xiangli Yao has personally seen him crack a smile on many separate occasions. Perhaps the sight was no longer a privilege Mortefi only granted to those he regarded with the highest respect? Or perhaps there had been a major breakthrough in Mortefi’s research? Either way, there were plenty of possible explanations, none of which struck the Principal Investigator as particularly extraordinary.
It is only when Xiangli Yao opens the doors to his lab that he begins to understand the general fascination with Mortefi’s…behavior.
The time is 8 A.M., and standing in the middle of his lab—the “hellish place”, as Mortefi put it—is Mortefi himself. And if Mortefi’s presence in the Academy one entire hour before working hours isn’t enough to throw anyone off, the redhead proceeds to light up at his arrival with the faintest of smiles.
“Finally, you’re back,” Mortefi says in lieu of a greeting. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.”
Instead of replying, Xiangli Yao wordlessly closes the door behind him, surveying his companion with a contemplative look.
Mortefi frowns. “What? Why are you also looking at me like I’ve grown three heads?”
Here so early, when he’s usually on the dot…no signs of sleep deprivation, in an evidently good mood, no coffee in hand? Strange. I’m missing something. He raises a hand to his chin, meeting the quizzical glare directed at him with his own unfocused gaze. Wait—unless…that is also related?
A single plausible explanation reveals itself in Xiangli Yao’s mind. It certainly isn’t what he would have expected, but it’s promising enough to hazard a guess.
He tilts his head at Mortefi. “Since when were you in a relationship with General Jiyan?”
Mortefi chokes on air.
“Ah,” Xiangli Yao smiles. “So my guess was right?”
“How the hell did you arrive at that conclusion?” Mortefi splutters.
“You might arrive at the same conclusion, if you were me,” he returns mirthfully. “How else would you explain all the signs of you having fixed your biological clock: showing up early, improved mood, energized to the extent of no longer requiring coffee to get through the morning? Our colleagues have been telling me that you've been possessed, concussed, poisoned, so on and so forth—but I think you must have had a reason for doing so. Coincidentally, the General has been showing up later than usual for work. He even brought breakfast with him this morning, instead of settling for rations as he usually would; naturally, there is a rather interesting conclusion I can draw here, which you have just proven to be correct. Those waffles you made look delectable, by the way. General Jiyan is a lucky man.”
By the time he finishes, Mortefi’s face is buried in his hand. Without another word, he walks past the Principal Investigator and reaches for the door handle.
“Leaving already?” Xiangli Yao calls out to him. “Didn’t you have something to ask me? And how should I assure everyone that you’re not possessed? Do I tell them the truth? Mortefi?”
The door locks shut. Xiangli Yao blinks. Then he chuckles to the empty room, wondering what he should do with this new information.
Since Mortefi didn't stop him, a little contribution to the rumor mills wouldn’t hurt…right?