Casper seemed to have been triggered by something strange. Even though he had been pulling on Leslie’s hand and pressing it against his eyes, tears still seeped through the gaps between his fingers, accumulating at the knuckles before falling in heavy, rhythmic droplets.
“He is such a crybaby.”
“It is just that I said I would not forgive him, yet he has been crying for ten minutes already.”
Leslie sighed silently.
He pulled his remaining free arm out of the restorative fluid and, with a lovely, peach-blossom flush on his skin, pressed his hand against the nape of Casper’s pale, frost-colored neck, pushing it downward.
He gently licked away the teeth marks on the soft flesh inside the mouth, smoothing out the trembling, twitching muscles inch by inch. His cool fingertips circled and massaged the swollen gland, offering the utmost comfort.
When the tense muscles under his hand finally softened and the breathing became long and steady, Leslie let go and sat up. He cupped Casper’s jawbone in his hands and kissed his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and the corners of his lips.
There was no lust, only extreme intimacy.
His father had taught him that when you cannot handle a Zerg’s emotional breakdown, just hug him and kiss him.
If I do not want to forgive you, then I will kiss you.
Stop crying.
Once he had coaxed him until no more “little pearls” fell, Leslie exhaled a long breath and settled back into the bathtub, blowing bubbles with a rhythmic “gurgle-gurgle.”
It was strange.
Leslie frowned, his pale gold eyes filled with confusion.
He clearly remembered that Casper could not accept his approach or touch, and in his countless attempts, he had been forced to be extra careful not to make contact due to Casper’s intense, panicky reactions.
Yet, his actions just now were entirely subconscious. They were choices completely opposite to his superficial consciousness.
Did something happen that he was not aware of? Or did he forget something?
Otherwise, how could one explain Casper’s sudden change in attitude and his own bizarre, instinctive reactions?
After all, in his current memory, he had just become a “widower.” He was a widower who had lost his consort because the Zerg chose to pierce his heart and commit suicide rather than remain by his side.
Unable to figure it out, Leslie decided to simply ask the Zerg in question.
With his snowy-white arms crossed and resting on the thighs of the Zerg who was kneeling beside the pool, Leslie tilted his head and looked straight into those emerald eyes that had just been washed by tears, his tone a bit aggrieved:
“Why would you not let me get close before?”
“Why was the first thing you did when you regained your strength to push me away?”
“Why did you not say a single word to me?”
“Why did you always want to run away from me?”
“Do you hate me that much?”
Casper leaned down and gently rested his forehead against Leslie’s. His voice was hoarse but tender:
“I do not hate you, Your Highness.”
“Let me prepare, and I will tell you before we go to sleep, okay?”
They were very close; so close that Leslie could see his entire reflection within Casper’s eyes, filling those pupils completely.
The sense of urgency in his heart was suddenly much relieved.
“Alright.”
He could wait a year; what were a few star-hours?
The starlight faded completely. Water vapor gathered in the high altitude, and thick clouds obscured the stars and moon. Thirsty plants waited for the nourishing rain.
The little prince curled up alone in the warm, fluffy cloud-like blankets, resting his chin on his hands, lost in thought.
If not for the lingering scent of mint on the bedding, he would have had reason to suspect that Casper was playing a trick on him.
Well, considering he had been responsible for warming the bed, he would wait a little longer.
Outside the window, a torrential downpour fell. A damp, chilly wind crept through the gaps, and the Zerg he was waiting for arrived with it.
He wore a tight white tank top and shorts; it was a standard prisoner uniform.
The only difference was that his suppression collar had been replaced with silver handcuffs, though it only cuffed one of the bandit’s wrists, providing no real restriction.
“Are you going to commit a crime against me?”
The little prince, leaning on his hand and tilting his head, nearly drained Casper’s entire health bar. Casper drew in a sharp breath to steady himself and prevent his pheromones from exploding.
Leslie blinked and watched Casper approach, step by step.
The lights went out.
There was now another Zerg under the covers.
He was hugged and placed on a warm, resilient chest.
His hand was caught, slid down inch by inch, and then was “devoured.”
The scent of wild roses grew sweeter, brushing over his arched back, weaving into a trap of entrapment.
“Your Highness.”
“Mm?”
His other hand was also grabbed. First, it touched trembling lips, and then it was used to gently cover his breathing passages.
“Do you know what a male Zerg who has lost his physiological functions would do?”
Leslie curled his fingertips, feeling a bit panicked.
“I do not know.”
The base of his finger was bitten lightly. After a moment of disordered breathing, he heard a soft, airy voice.
“They use drugs, they use instruments, and they look down from above to admire the Zerg’s misery, whipping their flesh and spirit.”
“Until the spine is broken and all dignity is gone.”
Casper suddenly pressed his palm firmly over Leslie’s mouth and nose. The sudden, intense panic made him struggle.
In the pure darkness, he could not see anything; he could only feel the heartbeat beside him—first intense, then weak.
“Let go! Casper, do you hear me! Let go!”
In the moment the tears fell, the Zerg beneath him suddenly flipped him over and pinned him down.
“Your Highness, look. Even a dying Zerg can erupt with the strength to counter-kill.”
“At the very last moment, I killed him.”
The little prince beneath him sobbed uncontrollably, tears rolling onto the pillowcase, staining it like blooming flowers.
“He is so beautiful when he cries.”
Soothing kisses landed between his brows and under his eyes. Casper spoke against his earlobe:
“I do not hate you, Your Highness. I only hate myself.”
If only I had been more careful, if I had not been so arrogant, if all of that were just a nightmare.
His most beloved little prince must not get close to someone as filthy as him.
“Your Highness, will you despise me?”
“No, I will not, never.”
Leslie raised his hand. He wanted to hug Casper—to hold him as tightly as he could to confirm that he still existed.
The hand he reached out was clasped, his fingers forcibly intertwined, his palm pressed against burning hot skin.
With a crisp “click,” his wrist felt cold.
“I have locked you up, Your Highness.”
“Forever, never again will you be allowed to let me go.”
With his vision deprived, his remaining senses became more sensitive. Leslie smelled an overwhelming scent of mint, surrounding him almost madly, leaving no exit for him to escape.
“You are being unreasonable. I cannot see anything, this is not fair.”
His finally freed hand pressed against Casper’s Adam’s apple, stopping him from leaning in for a kiss. Leslie muttered in accusation.
A slight rustling sound melted into the heavy breathing. A dazzling, silvery-blue radiance slowly unfurled.
Massive butterfly wings stretched out from the wing sacs, shrouding the treasure according to the host’s will, making the sweat-dampened silver hair appear even more intoxicatingly beautiful.
“This is enough.”
The next morning, when Leslie woke up rubbing his eyes, Casper was already gone.
The tightly closed windows meant that the high concentration of pheromones in the room could not dissipate at all.
The intertwined scents of mint and wild roses perfectly soothed the panic of waking up alone.
He dug the unanswered letter out from the bedside drawer and, facing the morning light, Leslie wrote his reply, stroke by stroke.
Wrapping himself in his pajamas, he ran downstairs with a “pitter-patter.” The first thing Leslie saw was Casper holding a glass dome.
The attendant walked toward him, a radiant and brilliant smile on his face. He knelt respectfully on one knee, presenting the exquisite gift.
“Your Highness, I hope you like it.”
Inside the transparent dome, a silver-blue butterfly rested, its gorgeous wings flapping gently, lying comfortably on a pure white flower.
“It is beautiful.”
Leslie reached out to take it and walked into the garden, the clear morning light spilling over him.
The glass dome was opened. The butterfly, originally at ease, seemed startled by the morning breeze and turned to flap its wings, flying away into the distance.
Leslie turned back, looking intently and seriously into those emerald eyes, his tone extremely solemn:
“Casper, butterflies are free. Only they themselves can decide where to stay.”
“The choice was never mine to make.”
Casper understood the subtext of the words. He remained kneeling on one knee, looking up at his little prince.
“Your Highness, the first time, you asked if I could be your consort.”
“I said no.”
Casper stood up, drawing closer with every sentence he spoke.
“The second time, you asked if I could be your guide.”
“I refused again.”
Casper stood at a distance of one step away, bent over, leaned down, and reached out. His tone was sincere yet anxious:
“Do I still have a third chance?”
Leslie pursed his lips and placed the envelope he was holding onto Casper’s outstretched palm.
The pattern and gold trim were very familiar; it was one of the letters he had sent him.
With a chaotic heartbeat, Casper opened the envelope, pulled back into the heartache of the time he had written it.
“My dear little prince, if, and I mean if, we were in that era, I think I would defy my nature to love you, but I would not disturb you.”
In the next line, written in a gorgeous and elegant script, it said:
“Elope with me.”
Leslie’s lips parted silently, mouthing the words:
“The choice is yours, you coward.”