The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 212: Chapter 212 - Inside or outside

The cool hush of night settled over the orchard, stars shimmering faintly above the gentle creak of old wood and the distant hum of alien tech keeping the perimeter safe. Inside the farmhouse, everyone had huddled back into the small living room after dinner, the comfortable exhaustion from training making the atmosphere quieter than usual.

Nansich stood awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he looked around. ”Uhh, so... small problem. There are only two rooms in the house. And I found just three comforters.”

Eren immediately slipped an arm around Varon’s shoulder, pulling him close with a grin. ”We’ll take one room, General. I like a man who doesn’t talk too much.”

Varon stiffened visibly under his touch, but didn’t say a word.

Nansich nodded. ”Me and Jian will stay in the other, then.”

”No.”

The voice was sharp, immediate.

Everyone turned toward the source—Xing Yu. He stood near the window, arms crossed, moonlight casting sharp edges on his angular face. His voice hadn’t risen, but the firmness in his tone made the air drop a few degrees.

”...What?” Nansich blinked.

Jian looked up too, confused. ”What’s the problem?”

Eren let out a low whistle, raising a brow dramatically. ”Oooh... is the General starting to grow a heart?” He leaned in toward Varon and whispered, ”Maybe all that cold stoicism is melting in front of a certain prince...”

But Varon flinched at the whisper, his body going rigid. Without a word, he peeled Eren’s arm from his shoulder, holding it away as if it were something dangerous.

”Varon?” Eren’s tone lost its usual playfulness. ”What’s wrong with you... are you hurt or something?”

Varon didn’t meet his eyes. He simply turned and walked silently into the nearby room, his back disappearing behind the sliding door with a soft thud.

Eren stood still, confusion etched on his face. ”What the hell was that...”

Xing Yu, still tense, didn’t answer.

Jian gazed at Nansich, who was now groaning and rubbing at his sore legs, then turned toward Xing Yu. His shoulders were tight, his eyes flickering with a vague wariness. ”...I’m fine with anyone. Can we just... sleep?” he muttered, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair.

Nansich nodded with a dramatic whine, dragging his feet toward the hallway. ”Yeah, I’m soooo tireddd...” he groaned, limping exaggeratedly with every step like he’d been run over by a truck.

But just as he passed, Xing Yu suddenly spoke, his voice lower and almost hesitant.

”C-Can we... stay together?”

Jian blinked, startled at the softness in that deep voice. He turned and met Xing’s eyes—those normally hard and calculating eyes now filled with something unreadable. Hope? Nerves?

Awkwardly, Jian nodded. ”Yeah... sure.”

Behind them, Nansich gasped. Loudly.

”Then who do I stay with, huh?! You can’t just throw me to the wolves!” he pouted, stomping once—though his sore legs immediately made him regret it.

Eren came to his rescue, wrapping an arm around his shoulders with a mischievous grin. ”Don’t worry, little blade master. I’m sure we can fit you somewhere.”

”Don’t call me litt—!!”

But before Nansich could finish his protest, Eren dragged him off toward the other room. ”C’mon. I’ll even let you have half a pillow.”

The door closed behind them with a firm click.

And just like that, Jian and Xing Yu were left alone in the warm quiet of the living room. The soft hum of the lights buzzed faintly, and the silence between them thickened—not uncomfortable, but charged in a way Jian couldn’t quite explain.

He stood there, arms crossed lightly over his chest, avoiding Xing’s gaze even as he felt it burning into his skin.

”...Should we go?” Jian muttered, not trusting his own voice too much.

Xing Yu gave a slow nod. ”Mn.” His expression was unreadable, but the edges of his mouth twitched up into a faint smile, almost like he couldn’t help it.

Their footsteps padded quietly as they moved toward the room together, hearts just a little too loud in the quiet.

Jian could barely hear anything except the rapid, almost unbearable thud of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

The door to the room remained open, but his eyes were fixed on Xing Yu’s broad back as the man silently stepped in and moved toward the bed. With calm, practiced motions, Xing dusted off the comforter and laid it out neatly across the mattress. Not a wrinkle remained—just as expected of someone so meticulous.

Then, without glancing back, Xing said softly, ”You take some rest. I’ll be right out.”

Jian didn’t answer. He just watched the man’s back as he turned and began to walk out.

But something came over Jian in that moment—an unfamiliar pull, a warmth that seized his chest and made his breath stutter. His hand shot out before he could stop himself and gently grabbed Xing’s arm.

The general froze.

He turned his head slowly to look down at Jian, eyes slightly wide, surprised but still calm. His silver lashes caught the soft light of the room. He said nothing—just waited.

Jian’s lips trembled slightly before he whispered, ”S...Sleep here.”

He let go of Xing’s arm immediately after, his fingers leaving a faint warmth where they’d touched.

Xing Yu didn’t speak, didn’t even blink for a second. Jian lowered his eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed. His voice was softer now, uncertain. ”I remembered when I stayed at your place... you slept on that little sofa. Your feet were sticking out. I just... I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable again.”

He didn’t dare look up.

But then Xing Yu’s hand moved, gently brushing Jian’s shoulder—not commanding, not teasing. Just a quiet touch.

”Mn,” he said at last, a soft agreement. His voice was low, almost fond. ”Then I’ll stay.”

Neither of them said another word as Xing walked back in, the door quietly swinging shut behind him.

Jian awkwardly laid down on one side of the bed, the thick comforter pulled up to his chin, only his eyes peeking out. He didn’t face Xing Yu directly, but he could sense every movement the general made.

Xing stood beside the bed for a moment, hesitating. Then, wordlessly, he settled down on the other side of the mattress. But... he didn’t get under the comforter. He simply lay there stiffly, arms folded over his chest, his back slightly curved toward the edge of the bed as if trying to make himself as small and distant as possible.

Jian blinked.

Why wasn’t he getting in? It was cold—winter winds slithered through the old walls of the farmhouse. Even the thick blankets weren’t enough unless you stayed tucked in. Jian bit his lower lip, peering at the man in silence for a moment. The frost in the air made the tip of his nose sting.

”...Hey,” he whispered softly, barely loud enough to be heard.

Xing turned his head, his eyes meeting Jian’s from the other side of the bed.

”Get in,” Jian mumbled, averting his eyes quickly, cheeks flushing with warmth. ”If you get sick... it’ll be harder to deal with.”

His voice was soft, awkward, but sincere.

He quickly buried his face deeper into the comforter after saying it, hiding the red crawling up his ears. The silence hung between them for a moment.

Then he felt the bed shift—just slightly.

Xing had moved. A quiet rustle followed as the man finally slipped under the blanket. He didn’t say anything either, just lay still, the warmth between them gradually building.

For a few moments, there was only silence... the shared heat under the comforter, and the steady sound of two heartbeats thudding too loudly in the dark.

Jian kept his back turned, his face buried in the comforter, pretending to be asleep—but every nerve in his body was very much awake. He could feel the slight dip in the mattress where Xing Yu lay, the faint warmth of his body slowly filling the space beside him. It was such a small bed... too small for the kind of distance Jian thought he needed right now. And yet, a part of him didn’t mind it. Not at all.

Xing remained silent for a long time. But unlike before, his posture was no longer stiff. He lay on his side, turned toward Jian, watching the shape under the blanket with a quiet gaze. The boy’s black hair barely peeked out from the comforter, and Xing could hear his shallow breaths—still awake.

”...Thank you,” Xing whispered suddenly.

Jian blinked slowly.

”For letting me stay,” the general added, his voice low and steady, with a tenderness Jian hadn’t expected.

”...I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor again,” Jian murmured without turning around, voice muffled. ”Or the sofa like last time. Your legs didn’t even fit properly.”

Xing let out a soft chuckle. ”That bad, huh?”

”Yeah,” Jian said quietly, and though his words were simple, the silence that followed made them feel much heavier. He gripped the edge of the comforter with cold fingers. ”I just... I don’t want you to feel like an outsider here.”

Xing’s eyes softened.

”I’ve always been an outsider,” he said, not with bitterness, but with a certain quiet truth. ”My place has always been between wars, between worlds. But...” He paused. ”With you, it doesn’t feel that way.”

Jian turned slightly, enough to glance at him over his shoulder.

The way Xing looked at him—eyes glowing faintly silver in the dark, his hair loose and soft against the pillow—it made Jian’s heart skip in a way that startled him. No one had ever looked at him like that. Not with reverence. Not with affection. Not with... that kind of vulnerability.

Flustered, he turned away again.

”Sleep,” Jian mumbled, voice tight. ”We have training again tomorrow.”

Xing smiled faintly.

”Goodnight... Jian.”

”...Goodnight,” the boy whispered back.

The farmhouse went quiet. Only the wind hummed outside the walls, and inside, two hearts beat steadily under one blanket—tangled in a silence that was no longer awkward, just warm.