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At five o’ clock, the doctor looked up from the screen. He’d been staring at it with empty eyes, his efforts to make sense of the madness around him long abandoned for the day. He couldn’t shake off the anxious buzz that’d been eating at him since that child arrived at his laboratory infected by nothing, turned into a monster for no apparent reason.
He thought of all the people that worked at the Lighthouse, tried to picture a mesh of all their blood vessels and their cells, their organs and their tissues, and then he turned his eyes to the veins in his own wrists. Was this disease inside of him as well? Was it already crawling in him like maggots, waiting for the moment his mind wavered enough for them to take over?
He silently pitied Lu Feng. He wagered that if the entire world was to get infected and eventually lose their minds, someone like him would be the last human standing, resisting every change in his genes simply because he operated more like a machine than like a human. A fitting lonely end to such a lonely life.
As if spurred by that thought, he turned his gaze towards An Zhe, who was quietly sitting next to Lily, his eyes unfocused and seemingly untroubled. Once again he remembered the shock he’d felt the night Lu Feng had put in a request for a genetic test. The first one since he’d become the Arbiter. The only one since. All to test that soft-mannered man that Dr. Ji suspected would stay forever harmless even if he did end up turning into a xenogenic.
After dedicating so many years of his life to this research, he was now able to pinpoint some of the telltale signs of an infected human, though not with nearly enough accuracy to challenge the members of the Trial Court. Now, however, his scientific curiosity was piqued by whatever made the Colonel doubt An Zhe’s humanity in the first place.
On a non-scientific level, he supposed he understood.
After spending more time with him, he’d come to notice that An Zhe’s calm demeanor could be unsettling at times. The most troubled he’d ever seen him had been when he got spooked by the sound of the vents. He hadn’t even known what they were. After getting an explanation, he’d just stared at them as if they were the most intriguing thing in the world. Vents. He’d been granted access to one of the most advanced scientific facilities in the world and he was interested in vents.
Dr. Ji had been busy trying to find the pathogen that could have infected Si Nan, but now that he had a moment of rest he seriously analysed An Zhe. The way he’d easily accepted his request to assist him with the boy, the way he calmly talked to him with no fear or loathe in his voice. The way someone like Lu Feng so easily tolerated him, even kept him around. Maybe the fact that he got along with the Arbiter was the least human thing about An Zhe. He felt guilty for thinking that way about his own childhood friend, but Lu Feng had built up a fortress around him so impenetrable he was sure no one would be able to get close to him again. Not himself, not even his own mother.
And yet, Lu Feng waited for An Zhe, took care of him, even touched him.
He felt inclined to think this was all the natural outlet for a human’s physical urges, but the reality was starting to look more worrisome than that. He’d practically known Lu Feng his entire life. He’d never seen him look after anyone that way. He’d been certain his friend was cursed to forever care deeply for humanity but never for one single human.
In the end, it seemed like he was able to kill everything about himself except his own heart. So he was able to kill nothing at all.
So far, this whole affair hadn’t interfered in the slightest with the Colonel’s diligence. He was sure that if An Zhe ever got infected, Lu Feng would be the one to kill him with no hesitation. But would it always be that way? Just the other day, he’d called him out for his wavering heart.
Was there something in the world that would make him waver too?
He supposed right now there were more pressing issues to attend to. None of this would really matter if tomorrow the whole world decided to go even crazier and all of them woke up turned into arthropods. Buried deep inside the anxiety the idea caused him, he also discovered relief. Wouldn’t all of it finally be over, then? Maybe he could learn a thing or two about An Zhe. He seemed the type to calmly welcome the Arbiter’s bullet if his fate ever came to that.
It wasn't like An Zhe seemed incapable of empathy and human emotions, since he’d encountered plenty of actual antisocial individuals in this barely civilised society. When faced with the reality of their world, though, it was as if a healthy human civilization and natural world had never existed in An Zhe’s genetic memory, in the history of his ancestors. As if the universe had always been this chaotic, ruthless land, and he was all too accepting of the nonsensical rules that governed it.
Dr. Ji was born and brought up in this world, but humanity remembered a better past and in consequence he did too. The Northern Base was a cheap, oppressive imitation of past glories, after all. He’d seen too many scientists in the Lighthouse slowly lose themselves as the hopeless prospects of an uncertain future took over. Still, and just like Lu Feng, he couldn’t imagine An Zhe ever falling into desperation. As he observed him now, he found nothing but a quiet sadness in the way he occasionally gazed at Si Nan, as if him as an insect and him as a human were no different, and he was only grieving Si Nan’s lost chance to decide which shape to take on in the world.
Hope for human survival was the one thing that had kept them going for so long, but it just felt like– he just didn't have it. Like he had never needed it either.
After a short while, An Zhe noticed him and turned to look at him with a gentle smile. He returned it.
“I think that’s enough for today. Don’t you guys want to go home?” He adopted a kinder tone to get the little girl’s attention as well.
“I don’t wanna go back to Eden,” Lily whined quietly, pouting.
“You can come back tomorrow,” Dr. Ji said, “I promise. Si Nan will be waiting for you.”
Lily stood up and followed the doctor to the door.
“It’d be more fun if I was a bee too,” she complained, looking up at him with expecting eyes.
“You don’t want to be a bee,” his tone turned stern.
“I don’t understand what would be so bad about it…”
He watched her pensively as Lily exited the lab. She suddenly stopped in her tracks and turned around for a second to wave An Zhe goodbye.
“Sleep well, Lily,” he told her with a smile.
The doctor then held her hand and took her to the guards who would escort her back home. A few minutes later, the door opened again.
“You’re still here? She’s with the officers now. You can go too, An Zhe.”
“I’m waiting for Colonel Lu,” he explained.
“Huh?” Confusion crossed the doctor’s expression. “Don’t you know he’s a workaholic? You shouldn’t waste your time waiting for him.” He shook his head in disapproval. “He’ll probably spend the night doing screenings or whatever the Court asks of him.”
An Zhe stood in the middle of the room, quietly pondering if he should explain to the doctor that he didn’t have any other choice since he’d lost his key and was currently staying with Lu Feng. He thought of the poet, Mister Shaw, and Seraing.
Everyone seemed to mistakenly think they were closer than they were.
An Zhe decided to stay quiet and not give Dr. Ji any more reasons to misunderstand his relationship with Lu Feng. The doctor raised an eyebrow and was just about to press him for more information when the door opened and the Arbiter himself came inside. Dr. Ji stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Are you going home?,” he asked, skeptical.
“There’s not much else we can do today. No infected so far.” Lu Feng stopped to look at him for a second, then assured him, “I’ll come back if called.”
The doctor narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t asking out of concern they might need the Colonel’s help later. He turned to look at An Zhe suspiciously.
“You’re being spoiled,” he warned him, but An Zhe felt completely lost. How could someone like Lu Feng ever spoil anyone? He’d been kind enough to let him stay at his place, but the judge had made sure to tease him plenty beforehand. No generous action by a man like him ever came without a sure amount of unkindness. He looked at the Colonel to search for clues as to what the doctor meant, but his eyes betrayed nothing as always.
“Let’s go,” he ordered An Zhe, who diligently followed him outside. “We’ll be back tomorrow, then.”
“Sure, sure! Get some rest,” he shooed them away grumpily. Left alone in the lab with all his papers and the soft buzzing of his computer, Dr. Ji looked at Si Nan, who was quietly resting in a corner of his cage, and felt a strange kind of loneliness.
At the elevator doors, An Zhe spoke first.
“How was your day?”
“It went as planned,” he replied quickly, as if he was just repeating an automated message.
An Zhe could suddenly picture it very clearly, the entry Lu Feng would later register in his journal, sitting at his desk on the left side of his bedroom.
Day went as planned.
He smiled despite himself. What help were those blunt entries to anyone, really?
It didn’t go unnoticed. Lu Feng looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and An Zhe quickly willed his expression to turn neutral again. Then, the Colonel did something unusual. He reached out and ruffled his hair, the same way he’d done it the first night they had dinner together. It wasn’t for long and he dropped his hand before the elevator even opened, but it made An Zhe very hopeful.
Such behaviour could only mean the Arbiter was in a good mood. This gave him a great opportunity to improve their relationship and potentially find out more about his spore. Yesterday he had discovered the Colonel liked to bring flower seeds for his mother and he’d started speculating that the Lighthouse scientists might keep all of these specimens in one single room.
Maybe he would bring gardenia seeds one day as well and he'd get to see where they put them.
He walked alongside him with high spirits until they reached the vehicle.
“What do you want to eat today?,” Lu Feng asked as he started the ignition.
“I’m okay with anything,” he answered while putting the seatbelt on.
An Zhe really was. He was used to having potato soup everyday and it wasn’t until Lu Feng treated him to dinner that he started imagining other possibilities. Maybe that was what the doctor had meant when he’d accused him of being spoiled. If that was the case, he couldn’t deny it. He might very well be spoiled, but then–
“How about mushroom soup?”
The air got caught in his lungs. Was it all over now? Lu Feng had seen right through him and this was his way of telling him he knew the truth about his identity. Mushroom soup. This man would for sure find enjoyment in threatening him in this sneaky way. He looked at him with the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights.
“You don’t like it?,” the Colonel asked innocently instead. Only then An Zhe considered the possibility that Lu Feng was simply offering a normal option for human supper.
“I’m okay with it,” he replied, swallowing hard and looking away. He knew humans also consumed mushrooms. Humans ate everything that wouldn’t kill them, he had learned. He’d been careful so far to avoid turning into a mushroom eater. Even so, the last thing he wanted now was to look suspicious in front of the Arbiter, so he accepted his new fate.
“It doesn’t seem like it,” he commented casually, but he didn’t insist. He faced the road and drove ahead, reaching forward to change gears.
“I’m really okay with it.”
An Zhe tried to find a spot to focus his eyes, concentrating on appearing as human as possible, whatever that could mean. He stared at Lu Feng’s hand on the gearstick. He’d just barely rolled his sleeves up and the veins in his arms were following a winding path up the back of his hand. An Zhe suddenly wanted to trace them with his fingers, wondering if the inside of human veins felt like his own hyphae to the touch. Lu Feng was absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Then how about chicken tomato soup?,” he suggested, and An Zhe’s eyes lit up with curiosity. The ghost of a smile crossed Lu Feng’s lips.
At the store, they ended up getting ingredients for a chicken tomato soup. Back in the apartment unit, An Zhe began washing and cutting them after the Colonel announced he’d take a shower first. In the solitude of Lu Feng’s unlived-in kitchen, he reflected about his situation. This was his second night staying with the Arbiter, and he had been nothing but hospitable and polite to An Zhe. Maybe he was a kinder person than he had originally thought. If he asked him about his samples and his work in the abyss, would he tell him what he so desperately wanted to know? How could he bring up the subject as naturally as possible?
If he finds out about me, he’ll hate me, An Zhe thought worriedly. Then, a more urgent idea occurred to him: no, if he finds out about me, he’ll kill me.
He wondered why the possibility of the Colonel hating him had, even if just for an instant, taken precedence over the possibility of his death. He supposed he was starting to get used to his scarce and strange acts of kindness. It didn’t really matter, he had to accept his reality. He was a mushroom that had no place in the human world Lu Feng belonged to.
For now, he’d make chicken tomato soup for the Arbiter to repay him for his generosity. If he did this small thing, then if the moment ever came when he had to be killed by him, Lu Feng might still be able to think of these times fondly. Maybe it wouldn’t have to be a bitter memory. With this in mind, he used all the limited cooking knowledge he had to make the best soup he could.
“How is it looking?” Lu Feng entered the kitchen. He was now wearing a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants. A white towel was sitting around his shoulders and his hair was still dripping wet from the shower, blacker than ever. It made the green in his eyes shine even brighter, even steelier. Yesterday, Lu Feng had hastily ordered him to go to sleep as soon as they got home, so he never even noticed if the Colonel had changed clothes at all. An Zhe had never seen him dressed so casually, or even outside of his uniform, and he thought Lu Feng just looked too normal. He couldn’t stop staring.
“It’s almost done,” he said, evidently distracted. Lu Feng said nothing back and instead opened a drawer to take out a few utensils. He left to set the table. Only then did An Zhe centered his attention back on the soup, but the image didn’t leave his mind. If the Arbiter had been a regular man from the main city, would his everyday life look like this? Then, what about himself? Would he have any place here, at his table, if he wasn’t a mushroom with a very clear mission, doomed to eventually leave this place forever and die alone in the wilderness? He wasn’t used to pondering so much about the world and his place in it, so a small crease formed in his furrow. It stayed there until he sat down, filled their bowls and started eating.
“Do you not like it?,” Lu Feng asked. He’d been watching him since An Zhe left the kitchen.
“No, I like it,” An Zhe forced a smile. “I’m just thinking about… well, everything.” There was no way he could properly express his concerns to Lu Feng, both because he didn’t know how to word them, and because they were related to things the Colonel couldn’t know about. Even if he couldn’t say anything, he somehow still wanted Lu Feng to understand. He quietly wished for this to happen magically, the same way rainy days came when he craved for them the most.
“What needs to be done will be done,” Lu Feng supplied simply instead.
It made sense. The tensions were high, everyone at the Lighthouse was antsy. Never Lu Feng though, with a steady pulse he’d still follow the best course of action regardless of the odds. An Zhe wanted to ask the Arbiter to be careful, but he didn’t know where this newfound concern for him came from either. He suddenly wished Lu Feng could one day live a peaceful life, but he knew that as long as the Trial Court was needed, he would never know such peace.
One day he’d return to be a mushroom with no thoughts, but he wondered if he would ever forget the Colonel. Could his mycelium recall Lu Feng’s smile the same way it recalled which nutrients to absorb from the soil to grow strong and healthy? Would his hyphae hold the marks where Lu Feng held his neck, the place where he grabbed his arm to dress his wounds?
Would he miss his memories when he no longer knew he once had them?
He still didn’t know how to and couldn’t voice any of this, so he just nodded and continued eating in silence. When they were done, Lu Feng stood up and cleared the table. While he was doing the dishes, An Zhe took a chance to look around the almost empty living room. The day before, during his first night at the Colonel’s house, he remembered thinking the unit looked cold and foreign. Now, with the sound of water running, the dishes clashing against each other and the subtle smell of fresh tomato soup, he could sense some sort of flickery warmth. If he thought too much about it, the living room went back to an inhabited, sterile room that belonged to no one at all. But he could feel it now.
He walked over to the TV console and glanced at a pile of books in one of the lower compartments. Initially, he thought these books served only a decorative and idle purpose, like the random manuals and magazines in his own place. However, upon closer inspection, one title caught his attention. It was a poetry book, similar to the ones he had in his classroom. He wondered if Lu Feng had put this here. Did he like reading poetry? He imagined the Colonel reciting poems like the children of the Garden of Eden and a quiet giggle escaped his lips. He grabbed the book and sat down on the couch to read.
He didn’t even notice the water had stopped running.
“What are you reading?,” Lu Feng asked him after spotting him on the couch.
“It’s a poetry book. It was there,” An Zhe pointed at the TV console. “Do you like it?”
“It’s not mine. Sometimes they’ll place random books in these apartments. For entertainment, I suppose.”
Lu Feng headed over and sat down next to him. He placed his arm on the backrest, propping his face up with his hand. In this manner he watched An Zhe read with a relaxed expression for a long while.
“I was thinking maybe I could find a poem to read to Si Nan,” An Zhe mentioned casually, “but he was never very interested in them.”
“You said he was a smart, but strange child,” Lu Feng observed.
“He just didn’t use to engage in anything much at all.”
“Do you usually read to the children?”
“Yes, and sometimes they repeat after me,” An Zhe told him, recalling his classes. He looked at Lu Feng and then at the book once again. The Colonel had been watching him for a while, and An Zhe wondered if he was missing some obscure social cue. What was the polite thing to do in a situation like this? An idea came to him.
“Do you want to hear one?”
He expected him to say no. Like Si Nan, he didn’t show much interest in poetry either, but he knew humans sometimes offered things even when they expected a negative answer.
“Okay,” Lu Feng replied instead. Though this took An Zhe off guard, he decided he’d do his best, but he could only pick a poem he was unsure that he'd like. Even with An Ze's help, his knowledge on poetry was still limited. It was titled Because I could not stop for death.
“Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.
We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—
Or rather—He passed us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—
Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—”
When he was done, he chanced a glance at Lu Feng. He was now fully resting his head on the back of the couch, his eyes were closed and his face was completely relaxed.
“Keep going,” he said, as if he had felt An Zhe’s gaze on him. He picked another poem.
When he finished, Lu Feng opened his eyes. He met his gaze and they stared at each other for what An Zhe felt was a very long time. He wondered if Lu Feng wanted to say something, but the Colonel remained silent, his eyes half-lidded. An Zhe couldn’t help but relax as well, and he yawned after a while.
“You’re sleepy. Should we go to bed?” Lu Feng’s voice sounded very soft, and it made him even sleepier.
An Zhe nodded. “I’ll shower first.”
He got up and so did Lu Feng. “Wait here,” he told him. An Zhe watched him head to the bedroom and heard the closet door opening. A few seconds later, he came back out.
“You didn’t have a change of clothes yesterday. Take this.” He gave An Zhe a white t-shirt that was definitely too large for him. He hesitated for a bit before surmising that wearing it would be more comfortable than sleeping in his day clothes. He quietly thanked him and took it.
When he got out of the shower, he tried his best to dry and tame his hair, but it had gotten longer since he first adopted An Ze’s appearance. Humans had ways to tell the passage of time, he noticed then, even if they didn’t have a spore to mark the end of their life cycle. He thought about boss Shaw and the poet’s stories of his younger years. He’d been an older man when he met him. If An Zhe never went back to being a mushroom, would he change like other humans as well? How long would that take? He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment longer. He would never find out, so what was the point of wondering about it? He put on the t-shirt, which reached down to his mid thighs, and headed back out.
Already in bed, Lu Feng was reading the poetry book An Zhe had left in the living room. He was expressionless, and it seemed like he was just looking at the pages rather than reading the words. He didn’t look up when An Zhe came into the room.
“I’m ready,” An Zhe announced, and only then Lu Feng raised his eyes and looked at him, briefly staring at the hem of the t-shirt he had lent him. He simply nodded and slightly scooted over to give him more space. The Colonel always slept on the outer side of the bed, but he didn’t stand up to let him get in, so he had no choice but to climb over him and crawl to the other side. This man didn’t even react, and An Zhe suddenly felt angry. Surely this was another way of bullying him, but given his lack of reaction, An Zhe wasn’t sure. He decided to focus on something else.
“Do you enjoy reading poetry?”
Lu Feng shrugged. “It’s the first time I read something like this since I was in school. It feels… like it’s not meant for me.”
An Zhe felt both like he could and couldn’t understand what he meant. Poetry usually spoke of human emotions, something he was unfamiliar with, and he’d heard plenty of times from other people that the judges of the Trial Court had no feelings, the Arbiter most of all. However, An Zhe wasn’t sure this was accurate. As he observed Lu Feng's sharp profile, he thought of other things that had no feelings, like the rocks, the flowers, the rivers that ran unbound through the abyss, the leaves and dirt that covered the floor, the sky up above that gave the world a green tint every night. These things were also subject to human poetry, and even though An Zhe had no talent for it, he imagined a poet would find it easy to write about Lu Feng the same way poets sometimes wrote about nature: as a constant, unmoving, ruthless and beautiful force.
Had An Zhe always thought of Lu Feng that way? He was surprised by his own ideas. Maybe that’s just who Lu Feng was, and this was his simple human perception. Had he always been that way, then? He’d mentioned being in school. For a moment, An Zhe tried to imagine the Colonel as one of the younglings from Eden, and a soft smile made its way onto his lips.
“Did you enjoy your time in school?,” An Zhe asked.
The Colonel simply hummed. “It was a slightly simpler time, but even then we knew that the world we lived in wasn’t kind.” He didn’t say anything for a moment and An Zhe thought that’d be the end of the conversation, but he suddenly spoke again. “I went to school with Dr. Ji. We used to play stupid games all the time.”
An Zhe felt curious. “What kind of games?”
Lu Feng stayed silent for a while, and An Zhe was certain he had crossed some sort of line and he wouldn’t get any other answers from the Colonel tonight. To his surprise, however, he eventually closed the book and started speaking once more.
“We used to bet on who could distract the teachers the longest. While one of us was distracting them, the other one would steal the books or chalks, draw silly things on the blackboard, escape into the hallways; anything they didn’t want us doing. Once, the teacher thought Dr. Ji had left again, but he was hiding inside the closet in the back of the classroom. They spent almost an hour looking for him…”
“You didn’t say anything?”
“My lips were sealed.”
An Zhe smiled fondly. He could almost picture the two of them as little humans, running around the classrooms like his own students did sometimes.
“Did you win the bets often?”
Lu Feng shook his head, but seemed amused at the memory anyway. “Dr. Ji would win all the time. He was very good with words. Plus, I was quiet, so that made his job easier. Together we might have been too terrible.”
“I don’t think so,” An Zhe replied softly. “Children are mostly alright. The things they do can be funny.”
Lu Feng looked at him. “Do you enjoy teaching?”
“It’s my first time being around children, but it’s okay. It’s easier to tell what they’re feeling and what they need– unlike adults.”
“All humans are easy to read,” the Colonel stated matter-of-factly. An Zhe was quiet for a moment. That was such a Lu Feng answer.
“That’s because of your job,” he argued. “But you probably don’t even see it… how hard it is to tell what someone like you is thinking.”
The Colonel’s cold eyes shone with a glint of amusement.
“Does that bother you?”
Lying in bed next to this man, An Zhe didn’t know how to be anything but honest.
“I wonder about it all the time…,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
Lu Feng’s gaze turned serious again and he lowered his voice in response.
“Even now?”
An Zhe looked at him intently, trying to read his mind like the judge had done with him so many times before. Despite Lu Feng holding his gaze with no apparent reservations in his expression, he received no inputs; only silence and the frigid waters of his green eyes. He sighed.
Then, he nodded. “Yes.”
A small smirk appeared on the colonel’s lips, but no joy reached his eyes. An Zhe decided to say something he probably wouldn’t have had they been outside, at the Lighthouse or anywhere else that wasn’t this small room in this small apartment unit that, even if it was only for a day or two, felt his as well.
“Will you tell me?"
He didn’t know what answer he was looking for. He thought about his spore, about the place where the Colonel might have sent it. If he asked now, would he tell him? But he had to admit he wasn’t thinking about his spore when his curiosity got the best of him and led him down this conversation. He wanted Lu Feng to say something, but he had no idea what that was.
Meanwhile, Lu Feng's gaze was fixed on him, his eyes as unrelenting and impenetrable as ever. He pressed his lips together once, then twice, as if he was trying to decide whether to say the next thing or not. He seemed to choose not to say anything every time he almost did. Then, he finally broke the silence.
“I’m wondering why I still can’t figure you out.”
An Zhe’s heart raced faster.
“You said you believed I was human,” he said in an accusatory tone, as if Lu Feng was suddenly breaking a promise.
“I do,” he said honestly. “And you’re right. All I do is read people, deem what’s human from what’s not,” he said, “so then…” He rested his hand on the mattress, towering over An Zhe and leaning in, his eyes scrutinising him. “Why is it that I still don’t know what to make of you?”
Even if An Zhe wanted to respond, no words would come out. He felt paralyzed, like a prey holding its breath hoping its captor would believe it was dead. He didn’t dare look away, and he hoped this was enough to make the Colonel think he wasn’t hiding anything. Lu Feng pressed with his eyes for a response, but An Zhe didn’t understand what he was looking for.
“You said you believed me. Is that not enough? What else is there to figure out?” He failed to control his trembling voice.
“I don’t know,” he said, and for the first time since he knew him he heard true frustration in Lu Feng’s voice. “Will you tell me what you’re thinking too?"
He could confess. He suddenly realised he wanted to, and was shocked by this discovery. He wanted Lu Feng’s help, he wanted it with abandon. He could ask him about his spore directly, and beg him to help him find it. Would he do it? Would he let him go? No, would he keep him by his side and assist him all the way to the end? Lu Feng was so close he could feel the air brush his face as he exhaled it, the heat emanating from his body. He felt dizzy, almost out of himself. What did he want? Whatever it was, he wanted it. What could he do now? He’d do it. He’d do what it took to placate this feeling.
Then, his head repeated the Colonel’s words from earlier: what needs to be done will be done. His short-lived frenzy subsided and, as he looked once again into the Arbiter’s unforgiving eyes, he saw it clearly: he would kill him if he found out. He would shoot him right there if he told him he wasn’t human. He’d never find his spore. All his efforts would be wasted and, worst of all, his spore would never be able to grow into a strong mushroom like it was supposed to. He took a breath to calm down his heart and noticed the soft, muted scent of Lu Feng’s skin. It reminded him of the roses in the room. He closed his eyes to take it all in before opening them again to face his only possible reality.
“I think… you smell nice.”
Lu Feng furrowed his brow ever so slightly, an expression of mixed yearning and confusion in his now softened eyes. He leaned in just a little closer and gazed at An Zhe for a second longer before burying his face in the mattress and sighing deeply right next to his neck. An Zhe couldn’t see what kind of expression he was making now, but he felt all the warmth from his sigh, gave him goosebumps from his neck to his lower back.
Then, Lu Feng muttered in his ear. “You were tired. Let’s sleep now.”
A beat after, the Colonel pushed himself up and started pulling the covers, tucking him in. An Zhe offered no resistance and simply watched him work, not really knowing what to say and not wanting to break the silence. After he was done, he looked at him all over, as if checking that he was properly covered. When Lu Feng finally found his eyes again, An Zhe did an impulsive thing. He grabbed the Colonel’s wrist that’d been resting on the sheets.
“Will you tell me what you’re thinking more often?"
He didn’t know why he wanted to hear more of his thoughts. Lu Feng seemed to consider it. As he gently freed himself from An Zhe’s hold, his hand trailed down his skin and he delicately brushed An Zhe’s palm with the tip of his fingers. It felt ticklish.
“I’ll try,” was all he said, but his voice sounded the softest he had ever heard it. “Now sleep.” Lu Feng placed his hand over his eyes. An Zhe obeyed and fell asleep definitely too quickly.
As Lu Feng watched An Zhe’s breathing get steadier and quieter, he once again wondered why he had no issue sleeping like this next to a man like him. An Zhe looked so relaxed and unbothered that, for a moment, he did something he'd never done before. He thought about the humans from the past era and their mostly-peaceful lives, and dared to imagine a different reality. What if they had been born back then? What kind of relationship would they have had? He noticed a rebellious hair strand falling over An Zhe’s brow; his hair looked longer now. He stared at it for a long time before finally reaching out and brushing it back.
As if he had broken some sort of rule, Lu Feng pulled back his hand swiftly and leaned away. He lay down, forcing sleep to take over as well. In his case, it didn’t come as easily, but when it did it was deep and dreamless.
As it had become routine between them, the next morning Lu Feng woke up before An Zhe. He opened his eyes to an empty bed, and he wondered if the Colonel had already left. He would have to take the shuttle bus if that was the case, and he hoped it wasn’t too late to do so. He lazily rose up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. As his brain started to feel more awake, he noticed a rich smell coming from outside. Curious, he went out and peeked inside the kitchen. He didn’t get a chance to test his stealth, because Lu Feng immediately noticed him.
“Good morning,” An Zhe greeted him groggily. “You’re making breakfast?”
“Sit down, it’s almost ready.” All the intensity from their late night conversation was gone, and Lu Feng’s voice was back to its indifferent, matter-of-fact tone. An Zhe headed to the bathroom to wash his face and when he walked out, Lu Feng was already sitting down and waiting for him.
“I didn’t know you cooked,” he said as he joined him. It was a simple breakfast consisting of soup and rice cakes, but as he tried it, he was pleasantly surprised by its warmth and richness. “It’s good,” An Zhe said, grinning.
“I have to feed myself after all,” Lu Feng replied simply, but he looked pleased. He didn’t say anything else and An Zhe was happy to eat in silence. He reflected on his time with the Colonel. It had gone too fast, and he hadn’t even dared to bring up the subject of his spore. In this regard, he concluded he had made no progress, yet somehow he felt more fulfilled than he had in days. Maybe it was a sign that this next evening things could be different.
After they were finished, it was An Zhe’s turn to pick up the plates. He started doing the dishes and he heard Lu Feng stand up. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and seemed content with just watching him.
After a while, he spoke.
“You do a weird thing.”
An Zhe looked back at him and immediately recognised his playful eyes. Was there a wrong way to do the dishes? Was he about to tease him again?
“You stop to dry and put away each dish before carrying on to the next. It’s weird,” he explained.
An Zhe tensed. He tried to search in An Ze’s memories to figure out how and why he had failed at this very basic human task. He could barely recall any instances of An Ze making his own food, as he ate in the canteens most days.
“Some people just do things differently,” he stubbornly defended his honour.
“This isn’t just different. It’s illogical,” Lu Feng insisted. He was an impossible man and An Zhe was tired of him.
“How do you do it, then?,” he asked defiantly.
Lu Feng seemed to be enjoying his little mishap more and more, as he was now grinning openly and shamelessly. He walked over to stand behind An Zhe, resting his hand against the kitchen counter, and spoke right next to his ear.
“Just wash as many as you can and then rinse them all together. Dry and put them away after they’re all done,” he instructed. He picked up the dish An Zhe had just washed and placed it in its designated cabinet. An Zhe changed his method and Lu Feng stayed to help him. Thanks to this, they were able to finish much more quickly, so An Zhe couldn’t, in all fairness, remain upset. Since he had no excuse for his convoluted way to do the dishes, he thought it best to stay quiet and do as Lu Feng said in the future.
The Colonel was already dressed for the day, so once they were done, he sat on the couch while he waited for An Zhe to put his clothes back on.
“Tomorrow morning I should get my key back. They told me they could bring it to me at the Lighthouse,” he told Lu Feng once he was ready.
“Make sure not to lose it,” he replied lightly.
An Zhe frowned at him, but there was no animosity behind it. Instead, he chose to say a kind thing. “Thank you for letting me stay here so far.”
“It hasn’t been a bad time.” Lu Feng said, looking at him with almost-warm eyes. Today, the green in his gaze resembled more the clear waters of a lake in summertime than the cold breeze during the night of Judgement Day. Lu Feng looked outside the small window in the living room, and seemed to be thinking about something. Then, his eyes went back to him with a resolute expression.
“If you need a place to stay, don’t bother anyone else. Just come to me,” he said, tone flat as ever, as if he were simply instructing him on how to follow a protocol. He turned for the door.
Then, with his hand on the door handle, in a softer voice and without looking back, he added, “come whenever you need to.”
“Okay,” An Zhe replied with a small smile. He was now hopeful for their last evening together, and he felt impatient to head back here once the day was over.
“Let’s go, then.” Lu Feng opened the door.
They would never get a third night together at the base.