The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]

Chapter 240: Chapter 240 - Awake at last

The vast silence of space stretched infinitely beyond the small, battered escape pod. Its thin hull barely shielded its passengers from the cold black nothing that pressed against it. In the dim emergency lighting, everything felt slowed, distant—like time itself had grown heavy.

Dican sat still, cradling Bian’s unmoving hand with both of his own. The fingers were cold, but intact. Perfect, despite everything. His thumb ran carefully along the knuckles, over skin too pale to be warm. He didn’t know how long they’d been drifting—hours, days—it all blurred into one long breath of waiting. For rescue. For death. For anything.

He shut his eyes and listened.

There was no sound of propulsion, no humming engine, just the occasional creak of metal and the soft rhythmic buzz of life support—its power slowly waning.

And then—

A quiet, unmistakable growl.

Dican’s eyes opened immediately. He turned, scanning the pod. Nestled in one of the corner bunks was the old man—the human Jian had once left behind—and beside him, the child.

The boy had curled up against the old man’s chest, his small hands clutching his stomach tightly as it growled again, louder this time. The old man stroked his back wordlessly, as if trying to muffle the hunger.

Dican slowly let go of Bian’s hand.

”I’ll check the supplies,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

He stood up, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, his mind still half on the boy he’d just let go of. The emergency pod was only equipped for short-term escape—rations were scarce, water even more so. But they had to survive. They had to.

Opening the small storage compartment beneath one of the seats, he began to sift through the contents. Half a cracked water packet. Two oxygen reserve canisters. One ration bar—half eaten. And, at the very back, pressed between the wall and a rolled up thermal blanket—a small vacuum-sealed packet of Farian-style meat jerky.

He stared at it for a second.

Technically, it had been Bian’s. He remembered packing it himself, back when they were boarding the cruiser. Bian hadn’t touched it then, nose wrinkled at the smell.

Still, now...

He pulled it out and turned, walking back toward the boy.

The little human stared up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. He was too thin. His cheeks sunken. Too much time without real food. Dican crouched and extended the packet.

The boy looked at it—then looked up at the old man. His guardian said nothing at first, only gazed at Dican with a tired, unreadable expression.

Then he gave a single nod.

Only then did the boy reach out carefully with both hands and take the jerky. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear but from hunger. He didn’t open the packet immediately. Instead, he bowed his head slightly—a small, polite gesture of thanks—and then curled back against the old man’s chest.

Dican watched him open it with quiet reverence, as if the meat was something sacred. The first piece was chewed slowly, thoughtfully. Despite his hunger, the boy didn’t gobble it down. He savored it, bit by bit, like he didn’t know when he’d be allowed to taste something again.

The old man finally broke the silence.

”You... didn’t have to give that.”

”It’s not mine,” Dican replied softly.

The old man’s gaze shifted toward the bunk where Bian lay motionless, wrapped in a thermal blanket that couldn’t quite hide the strange bruising along his neck. ”He won’t mind?”

Dican looked down at his own hands. ”He would’ve.”

There was a long pause.

Then the old man said, ”And yet you gave it.”

Dican didn’t reply.

Instead, he returned to his spot by Bian’s side. He sat again, reaching forward to fix the blanket more tightly around Bian’s form. The boy’s breathing was shallow, but still there—each rise and fall of his chest a desperate kind of hope.

”They’ll come, right?” the boy asked suddenly, his voice muffled by the old man’s chest. ”Your people. They’ll find us?”

Dican didn’t answer.

He stared out the tiny window instead—into the unending black ocean speckled with cold stars, praying one of them was moving toward them. A flicker. A shadow. A sign.

The silence stretched again.

But this time, it wasn’t quite so empty.

A soft crackle buzzed through the stale air of the pod.

Dican’s head snapped up immediately. The communication screen on the far wall, long silent and flickering with static, suddenly bloomed to life with Rhea’s face—pale and bloodied, but alive. Her voice cut through the quiet like a sudden downpour.

”—ness? Your highness, come in—can you hear me?”

He lunged for the console. ”Rhea—yes. I hear you. We’re intact. Bian is unconscious, but we’re holding on.”

Rhea’s breath hitched with relief. ”Thank the stars... I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

The screen split, revealing fragments of other escape pods, their locations weakly broadcasting in triangular arcs. They’d scattered across the sector like shards from a shattered glass—some too far to track clearly. But the presence of others, flickering and pulsing, gave Dican something he hadn’t dared feel in a while.

Hope.

”We received a partial signal from GIA,” Rhea continued, her voice tight with tension. ”They’re dispatching a rescue fleet. Estimated contact in five hours. Maybe less, if the drift current doesn’t shift. They’ll come for us, your highness.”

He exhaled shakily, his gaze flicking to Bian. His mate hadn’t stirred, but the color in his face was a little less deathly now under the emergency lights. The severed arm needed urgent treatment—the stump had been wrapped in all they could find, but infection was a looming threat. Every minute counted.

”That’s good news,” Dican murmured, fingers brushing Bian’s temple gently. ”He needs medical help... fast.”

Rhea hesitated.

”There’s something else.” Her voice lowered. ”The black hold... the one leading back to Earth... it’s collapsed. Completely. Our eldest prince had to detour before it closed. He won’t be joining us.”

Dican’s eyes narrowed—but he said nothing. That wasn’t his concern. Not now. Let the prince chase his glory on another end of the galaxy.

All that mattered was Bian. And getting him out of this frozen grave.

”That doesn’t change anything,” he said simply, coldly. ”We’ll hold on.”

Rhea nodded. ”Stay warm. Keep vitals stable. The signal is patchy—I may lose you again—”

And just like that, the screen went dark, the connection sputtering out with one last soft hiss of static.

Dican leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. They were coming. Someone was finally coming. He glanced over to Bian again and brushed away a stray lock of hair. He didn’t say it aloud—but the ache in his chest cried it:

Please stay with me. Just a little longer.

Then—

A soft tug at his pants leg.

He looked down.

Qungya.

The little boy stood beside him, his small fingers clutching the fabric of Dican’s pants tightly. His wide brown eyes were filled with a kind of sorrow that felt too old for someone so young. Tears shimmered at the corners as he looked up at Dican, lips trembling.

”We...” the boy whispered, ”we can’t go home again... right?”

The words hit like a stone dropped into still water.

The old man—his grandfather—extended a wrinkled hand from his corner of the pod. ”Qungya, come here, child. Don’t bother him. Let the man rest.”

But Qungya didn’t move.

His tiny hands only clung tighter, and he sniffled.

”But... but what about Brother Jian...? He’s still there. On earth. What if he’s all alone...? What if he is in danger from those squid monsters?”

Dican froze.

The boy’s voice cracked with grief—small and soft, yet unmistakably sincere.

”I don’t want to leave him behind,” Qungya sobbed. ”I want brother Jian....”

The old man looked away, eyes wet.

Dican knelt down slowly until he was at eye level with the child. Qungya sniffled again, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. His little chest heaved with guilt and confusion.

Dican gently reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

”I know,” he said softly. ”He’s still there.”

”Then... we can’t leave him, right?” Qungya asked desperately. ”You’ll go back for him, won’t you? When you’re strong again?”

Dican looked away.

Suddenly Bian’s fingers twitched.

It was so slight, so fragile a movement that at first Dican thought he’d imagined it. But then it happened again—his intact hand, resting limply on the blanket, gave another feeble jerk. Dican’s heart slammed against his ribs as he turned sharply toward him.

”Bian?”

He was already by his side in a breath, crouching low beside the stretcher they’d set up against the far wall of the cramped escape pod. Bian’s eyelids fluttered—shadows shifting faintly behind them. A shallow breath escaped his lips, ragged and dry.

And then—

His eyes opened.

Only slightly. Slivers of violet shimmered through his lashes, glazed and unfocused, but unmistakably alive.

Dican cupped his face instantly, the callused warmth of his palm cradling Bian’s cheek. ”You’re awake,” he breathed, voice breaking as he leaned closer. ”My love... Bian, you’re awake.”