Chapter 78

Hels explained, “Did that bother you when I said that about Ben Yian?”

Horne rubbed his temple. “He’s gone. Let’s not talk about him.”

He did not want to prolong the earlier atmosphere.

“Shall we go upstairs and rest?” Hels asked. He lowered his head and gazed at Horne’s face, always watching him. “Since there’s no conclusion for now, can we stop thinking about it?”

“Mm.” Horne slowly sat up. His arm could not bear weight, so Hels supported him.

“No conclusion… that’s fine…” Horne said softly.

“What?” Hels had not heard clearly.

Horne repeated, “It’s good that you’re here.”

Hels paused. His brows furrowed for an instant—a moment of pain—then relaxed. He followed Horne upstairs.

“But if you talk to him like that again, I really will get angry.”

“Got it.”

The bedside lamp was still on. It had originally been on Horne’s side but had recently been moved to Hels’s side, where he often slept.

It was still early. His body was utterly exhausted, but his mind was wide awake. Horne could not fall asleep. His thoughts were too numerous. As soon as he closed his eyes, countless scenes surged in—each one a drastic change. In the end, all his worries turned into a sigh.

Everyone’s fate, the fate of all people. But he truly could no longer consider everyone. Even thinking a little more about himself felt like a panicked attempt to flee, yet he could only sink deeper into the quagmire.

Hels immediately opened his eyes and turned over. “Can’t sleep?”

“Mm.” Horne gave a muffled response. He had suddenly thought of that day again—when Hels had been flung out by an alien and vanished from the window in that instant, his own feelings.

It was as if his blood had stopped flowing, his heart had stopped beating, and the air had frozen still.

He sat up, and Hels, worried about his wound, immediately supported him.

“Hels, there’s one more thing I need to make clear to you.” Horne said seriously. These matters had always swirled in his mind; if he did not say them now, they would weigh heavier with every moment.

“What?” Hels directly grasped Horne’s hand and interlocked their fingers.

“That night, both of us lost control.”

“What?” Hels asked again. He had thought Horne would mention how he had targeted Ben Yian tonight and did not react at first. But he soon realized Horne meant that night in the gray building.

Horne had seen him flung out the window and lost control. Hels had seen Horne injured and felt a chill.

For someone who always needed to stay in combat readiness, this was a grave taboo. Seeing the other hurt and losing reason, unable to calmly assess the situation—that was how he had given the alien an opening, exposing a flaw.

Hels knew what he meant. He lowered his head slightly and said in a low voice, “Horne, I was scared.”

“I was scared too.” Horne gently squeezed his hand. Facing Hels, his tone finally softened. “But we can’t do that.”

“I just wanted to protect you.” Hels explained urgently.

For Horne’s sake, he did not care about his own life—or anyone else’s. He had not meant to cause Horne trouble.

“I know. That’s exactly what I want to say.”

The lamplight slowly traced Horne’s outline, illuminating a sheen in his hair while hiding his sharpness in the shadows, concealed in eyes that rippled like water.

He had been too panicked then. He had never imagined panic could reach such a degree. In that moment, he suddenly recalled what Wen Yu had said.

It can slay enemies, but it can also harm oneself.

Hels’s entire world consisted of him alone, and clearly, he had become the most important part of Hels’s world too.

Horne’s voice carried a moist emotion, like the fine rain of early spring, adding warm tones to the softly lit bedroom. “If you only want to protect me, one day you might end up as enemies with the whole world.”

For example, mercilessly killing the security guard on the 16th floor; for example, letting Wen Yu fire that bullet without any qualms; or for example, showing no mercy toward Ben Yian, with whom he had spent eight years.

Though he could not blame him, he worried that if he were gone one day, Hels would be isolated. In this era, who could live as an island?

Hels could not understand, did not even grasp why Horne would say such a thing. He frowned and said, “So what? I’m not afraid.”

“I am.” Horne quickly replied.

“You’re not afraid either. If I’m the strongest being in this world, I don’t need to fear anything. I have only one unbreakable principle and bottom line: you.”

Horne sighed. He had known it.

Hels’s gaze was utterly serious. In the way he looked at Horne lay all his convictions, just as Horne clung to his own kindness.

“Can you look at others too?” Horne said. As he spoke, his heart beat a little faster—a feeling of tearing, flesh separating—yet he did not stop. “Don’t always focus on me. Look at this world; there are many people, many sights.”

Touch other souls.

But Hels’s response was silence. He stared at Horne in a daze, gazing up as if holding his breath. After a long time, his lips parted slowly, sorrow plain on his face. “I don’t care if Ben Yian curses me, but why do you have to say things like that too?”

Horne realized he had misunderstood and immediately grasped his hand. He said softly, “I’m not pushing you away.”

He sat up straighter to appear more earnest.

He said, “Hels, I love you.

“I love you very, very, very much.

“I hope so much that you can go out into the world, that your heart can wander far. But I’ll always wait for you; you can come back anytime.

“I want you by my side, considering everything for me—not because I’m your only choice, but because after a long road, when we reach the end, I’m still your only choice.”

Hels was stunned for an instant. Horne’s expression rippled in the dim light.

“I understand.”

Horne lay down and said no more. Hels tossed and turned restlessly on the bed, not daring to touch him or make a sound to disturb him. After a while, Horne opened his eyes again and asked something unexpected: “If you can’t sleep, do you want to go to the roof?”

There was no path to the roof. Horne’s arm still could not move. Hels practically bound Horne to his body and climbed up bit by bit along the edges and precarious footholds. Horne warned him several times to be careful; falling would mean death.

Horne had wanted to do this as a child. After arguing with his parents, he would climb to the roof alone, blow in the cold wind, gaze at the moonlight—best if a friend were there too. He had once asked Han Ya if he wanted to try; Han Ya always said they would get scolded if caught and might get hurt falling, so no. The idea had been shelved for over twenty years.

Most houses in Loch City were low buildings, so even from just two and a half stories, they could see far into the city—rows of windows, half lit, half dark; the visible streets, with city defense district patrols passing occasionally, their shadows shifting under the orange streetlights.

The two sat side by side on the roof ridge. Around them gleamed the mirror-like bright moon, casting cold light that soon soothed Hels’s panting from the climb.

Horne was wrapped in a thick jacket, hands tucked inside. He tilted his head back, breathing deeply for a long time, feeling the icy air stir into his lungs. Then he smiled, wanting to spread his arms wide.

A small wish fulfilled.

The night sky showed clusters of stars and faintly the Milky Way. Though only a few meters higher, the feeling was entirely different—liberated, free.

Hels asked if he was cold, if he should give him his jacket too. Horne shook his head and said he was fine. So Hels scooted closer to Horne’s spot.

The two pressed close, both looking up at the sky in unison.

“My biggest dream as a kid was to see the universe.” Horne said. His voice was soft, his gaze always upward as he spoke. The Milky Way dripped like flowing light, sparkling in his eyes, turning cold as ice in the wind, freezing into the blue of his pupils.

“My biggest dream as a kid…” Hels began, then stopped midway. He too gazed at the stars, as if seeing a distant past and a future right beside him.

Horne said nothing, waiting for Hels to continue, though he did not expect him to. Every time the topic of “Hels’s past” came up, he always skipped it.

Horne often thought of eight years ago, when Hels had been covered in wounds—scars that still lingered even now. He had wanted countless times to ask, “What did you go through?” but feared stirring painful memories.

Hels propped his head on his hand, lightly curving his lips. His head swayed left and right with the movement of his leg. He said, “When I was very little, maybe four or five, my biggest dream was world peace—for everyone to be as happy as me.”

Horne was somewhat surprised. His gaze shifted from the sky to the person beside him.

Hels met Horne’s eyes, his smile unwavering. “What? Doesn’t seem like me?”

Horne nodded. It indeed did not fit Hels’s personality. If he had said he hoped for the world’s destruction, it would have been expected. What surprised Horne more was that he himself had once made a similar wish.

“I think it doesn’t fit either.” Hels turned back to gaze toward the distant city, almost beyond Loch City to another. “But back when we were in Langdao City, that’s exactly what I thought.”

So he was from Langdao City. This was the first Horne had heard of it.

Unsure whether to press further, Horne rubbed his hands inside the thick jacket to generate warmth, suppressing his curiosity.

Just then, a cold gust blew, and Horne shrank back. The question on his lips changed: “Do you want to hold me?”

“Huh?” The topic shifted too abruptly; Hels did not react.

Horne paused for two seconds, then found a way down: “I think you do.”

Hels let out a “pfft” and laughed, the sound growing louder, echoing in the air, carried off by the cold wind that had chilled Horne—until a resident from a nearby house yelled, “Who’s laughing in the middle of the night? Are you sick?”

Bang. The sound of a window slamming shut.

Hels fell silent.

The smile moved to Horne’s face, his eyes crinkling as he muttered, “Sick as a dog.”

Hels was helpless. He said, “You’ve always wanted to ask what happened to me before I met you, haven’t you?”

“Mm.” Horne nodded and asked softly, “Are you willing to tell me?”

Hels felt he could hold nothing back from Horne—except this one thing, a bottomless black hole in his heart that no one in the world would know again.

Horne waited a long time but ultimately heard only “I’m not willing.”

“But from the day I met you, I felt like I started truly living.” Hels said, head lowered, gaze fixed on the brown roof tiles, lost in thought.

“It’s fine.” Horne was not surprised and did not press. “The past is the past.”

Hels smiled with pursed lips. He stood, stretched lazily, exhaled deeply, then sat back down. The cold wind stung his skin a bit, but he winked at Horne and said, “Do you really think the past is just the past?”

Horne paused, his expression calming. He gazed into the vast distance, thinking of that birthday night ten years ago and the wish he had made.

—“I want world peace, for humans and aliens to live in harmony, no more war, enmity, or death. Of course… my greatest hope is for my father and mother to be safe and healthy, for our family to always be together, always happy.”

It could not be passed.

A surge welled in his throat, ripples like water. Horne said, “The past is my armor, but also my prison.”

Hels said, “Me too.” He was a bit dazed, staring at one spot, though his gaze had long since passed it to the horizon. “She gave me armor, and also a prison.”

Horne could no longer control his breathing. His voice trembled faintly. Those endless emotions were eventually frozen into ice by the night’s cold wind, the ice cracking with fissures. He asked softly, “Can you hold me for a while?”

Avoiding his arm, Hels wrapped around Horne’s waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder, enfolding him completely.

No stray thoughts intruded—just like in the icy Snowfield, where veins pierced skin from chest to back, linking and merging, becoming heartbeats that sustained each other with blood.

Such a night stretched long and serene, as if it could last forever and ever.

After a long while, Horne went from sitting upright to gradually hunching over, leaning on Hels’s shoulder. He suddenly let out a soft sigh, his body tensing as his tone rose a bit: “Look up! Aurora!”

Unbeknownst when, pink-purple auroras had appeared high in the sky, mixed with hints of green, flowing across the heavens in rippling waves.

Hels looked up, his gaze also fixed on that inverted sea ten thousand meters away from them, spread across the entire sky, flowing.

Horne instinctively clasped his hands together, only to release them the next second. Ever since that wish ten years ago had backfired, he no longer believed in making wishes. Hels noticed the motion and directly clasped Horne’s hands, palm against the back of the hand, fingers interlocking. He softly whispered in the ear of the man in his arms: “If you want to make a wish, then make one.”

Horne hesitated for a good while, but those firmly gripping hands never loosened—resolute and omnipotent, as if receiving such a blessing could reverse his misfortune.

After a decade, Horne believed in making a wish for the first time. He finally relaxed, leaning back against the warmth, and slowly closed his eyes: “Okay, I won’t ask for too much. I just hope to always be with Hels.”

Hels burst out laughing, his breath brushing over Horne’s neck and making him turn his head away with a frown: “Don’t laugh, it tickles.”

“Alright,” Hels said, still holding Horne’s hand. “Then my wish is for Horne’s wish to come true.”

He didn’t expect any wishes to come true. Even such a night felt like a luxury—a fleeting glimmer in the cracks of darkness that one could encounter but not seek.

As night deepened, the rooftop grew even colder. Under the starry sky, Horne finally felt sleepy. Hels asked if he wanted to go down to sleep. After thinking for a long time, Horne said: “But I still want to stay up here a bit longer.”

“Then lean on me and sleep for a bit,” Hels said. He pulled a book out of his pocket—the one he’d grabbed from the study before coming up. “I’ll read you some poetry. Do you want to hear it?”

Horne’s lips curved slightly. He leaned back fully, resting against Hels’s chest, eyes closed: “Okay.”

Hels’s voice was like steady earth, also like the waves of the deep sea.

“I am blind, knowing nothing, yet I foresee,

“Roads not just one. Every thing is, at the same time, countless things.

“You are the music God has set before my sightless eyes,

“The firmament, the palace, the river, the angels,

“The profound rose, secret and without end[9].”

……