“A servant is expected to warm the bed, you know.”
Peach-pink repair fluid replaced the warm bathwater, layering over and enveloping the fragile male.
With his mental tentacles clutching a pen and letter paper, Leslie wrote and crumbled the page into a ball several times. A pile of paper balls had already accumulated on the floor.
Leslie tangled his tentacles in the repair fluid, bubbles rising from his lips.
[He does not come to see me, so if I take the initiative, would I seem too forward?]
[But Casper confessed; it would be so immoral to just tease him without responding.]
He struggled until the treatment time ended, yet Leslie still had not managed to write a reply.
Forget it. If it is immoral, then so be it.
The price of being too forward was painful enough; he would just be immoral once.
Perhaps it was because his mental sea was becoming active, or perhaps the repair fluid was finally exerting its intended effect, mending old wounds little by little. Leslie gradually emerged from his weak and despondent state, finding a spark of hope for life once again.
He began to look forward to the next gift.
The young prince, wearing only a sleeping robe and draping his long, silvery-white hair over his shoulders, sauntered to the castle gate. Facing the cavity where Frost-Shadow was waiting, he looked down, arrogant and imposing.
“No reply today. You may leave.”
Frost-Shadow stalled on the spot, swaying at a frequency of confusion.
Leslie watched the silver-blue fairy ball wobbling dazedly left and right, and a thought suddenly struck him.
He coiled his long hair around his arm, crouched down to examine the ball carefully, and spoke out of the blue. “Can you see me, Casper?”
Frost-Shadow completely glitched this time; it stopped rocking and swaying entirely.
In that instant, the data core of Frost-Shadow flashed through strings of garbled code. With its program in disarray, it tumbled away on the spot.
Leslie watched coldly as the silver-blue fairy ball scurried off in a panic, as if fleeing for its life.
[Hmph! Peeping Tom!]
[So you are allowed to look at me, but I am not allowed to see you? Then go ahead and hide. I do not want to see you either!]
On a warm afternoon, Leslie curled up in the garden hammock to soak up the sun.
The warm, golden sunlight outlined his silhouette with a soft, fuzzy glow, making him look exceptionally huggable.
Light footsteps faded into the wind, evading his auditory detection, but the leaking scent of peppermint began its unabashed courtship.
Leslie idly flipped a page of his book, his expression remaining unchanged, yet his mental threads had already spread beyond the gates. They invisibly captured the prey, loyally transmitting every detail back to him.
The familiar, longing warmth and the long-lost, powerful heartbeat.
He turned the pages of his memory, and even after years had passed, they had not faded.
He saw his younger self stumbling in pursuit, and his adolescent self being reshaped by day after day of training. He had grown up chasing that figure in the light, viewing him as the person he admired most in life.
But at what moment did that longing for an idol transform into something more?
Leslie savored his memories bit by bit, searching for the inception of his feelings.
It started with a hug.
A very warm, very precious hug.
When he first took top honors in a team competition, he received a hug in front of everyone.
All the Zerg cheered; no one questioned it. At that moment, he received absolute blessing.
It was as beautiful as a wedding scene.
The moment this thought occurred, the heart of Leslie hammered against his chest like a drum.
Panic swept through his mind, and his racing heart caused him to overlook another heartbeat.
Thump, thump.
The heartbeat muffled in his memories was identical to the one he sensed now.
So, the love of Casper had shown signs long ago.
The black iron railing was once again gripped by frost-white knuckles. This time, Leslie was not worried about his home being broken into.
How could he have the guts?
A coward who did not even dare to confess in person; would he dare to break into a private residence and kidnap him?
Do not even think about it.
The railing was rapped by hard knuckles, making enough noise to attract attention.
Leslie pretended to have just noticed and looked up, only to be transfixed by a single glance.
He is wearing, by any chance, a servant’s uniform?
A dress shirt, slacks, vest, and tailcoat; it was a very standard job-seeker outfit.
“Honorable Excellency, does your estate require a servant to attend to your daily life?”
Leslie put down his book and sauntered toward the gate.
The applicant’s demeanor was elegant and proper, his smile standardized, but his eyes were truly not innocent.
Leslie reached out to cover the frost-white knuckles gripping the railing, his tone sincere.
“Of course I do. But the workload is very heavy. Are you sure you can handle it?”
Casper forcibly suppressed the urge to turn his hand over and interlock their fingers, his voice hoarse.
“Of course.”
His little prince smiled like a fox whose plan had succeeded. He tapped his fingertips twice on the back of the hand of Casper and tilted his head.
“Is warming the bed acceptable, too?”
The artery in the neck of Casper pulsed violently, and his voice went completely gravelly.
“Of course.”
The gate lock clicked open, and the little prince turned his back and waved at him.
“Congratulations on being hired. Remember, do not slack off.”
Casper stood at the entrance, stiff for a moment. He closed his eyes, quickly withdrew an inhibitor, stabbed it into his neck, and waited for the reaction to subside before entering the estate.
“Of course.”
He would not slack off. He guaranteed he would exceed the expectations of the job.
The extreme diligence of Casper gave Leslie a novel role-playing experience.
Because the servant was absolutely obedient, every request Leslie made was fulfilled.
He could eat fruit platters sliced by the hands of Casper, demand to be fed, ask for hugs with righteous confidence, and require Casper to read to him.
He could even request a lullaby before bed.
This overflowing happiness and joy filled the entire day of Leslie.
Until the evening bath.
The mechanical servant had already prepared the repair fluid, and the remaining duty of Casper was to assist with changing and bathing.
Entering the bathroom, which lacked the usual steam or mist, he realized something was wrong.
And the pool of peach-pink repair fluid directly confirmed his grim suspicion.
Casper knelt beside the bath, combing through the flowing silver hair of Leslie, his voice low and choked.
“Your Highness, where were you injured?”
Such a massive dose of repair fluid was far more serious than just broken bones.
Moreover, he had never seen that peach-pink color before.
Leslie tilted his head back, and the next second, Casper supported his neck, relieving the pressure.
The itching sensation caused by the repairs made him squint his eyes, his tone light.
“The physiological awakening was not complete; it left behind some aftereffects.”
Physiological awakening?
Casper only then remembered that in this lifetime, he had not participated in the physiological awakening of Leslie.
Which irresponsible Zerg had enjoyed the privilege of that moment, only to leave his little prince with such lingering pain?
Casper was instantly consumed by rage, wishing he could slaughter that Zerg immediately.
“Who was your guide? To be so irresponsible.”
Hearing this, Leslie opened his eyes and looked at Casper calmly. He saw the fire burning in those jade pupils, a scene that should have been amusing, yet he could not bring himself to smile.
“There was no guide.”
Casper froze.
Pale fingertips reached out from the repair fluid, bringing a translucent, peach-pink drop that landed under the eye of Casper.
“I only extended an invitation to one Zerg.”
“But he rejected me.”
“So, there was no guide.”
Taking the injectors was painful; going against one’s instincts was painful.
Even now, he could recall those memories of pain so intense it made life feel worse than death.
“It hurt so much, Casper.”
“It hurt so, so much.”
Leslie thought that saying it out loud would make it better, to vent the resentment, to find someone to share the burden. But when the words reached his lips, he realized it did not.
He only felt deeply saddened.
He did not want a sympathetic, equal pain; he only wanted to seek a bit of comfort, the kind that had no real substance, for the helpless self he was back then.
Just a little bit would do. He was not greedy.
Water brushed across jade, gathered, and fell, landing right in the center of his brow.
He heard Casper sobbing uncontrollably.
“I am sorry, Your Highness. I am sorry.”
Pale fingertips wiped from under his eye to the corner of it, dampening the skin.
“It is okay. I do not forgive you.”
Small, fragmented kisses fell on his palm, mixed with trembling breaths and scalding tears.
“Okay. You do not forgive me.”