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1019 Words
The landlady followed them upstairs, glancing at Phedra Henry sprawled on the bed, still out cold. She sighed, “This boy’s been acting gloomy since noon—kept muttering about evil things, said there’s no way he’ll survive seven days. Wouldn’t touch his dinner, just insisted on drinking. Who drinks on an empty stomach? I thought he was just having a rough time, but you young people always seem to push yourselves.”
Beatrix Henry picked up on her words, tucking the blanket around Phedra and asked, “He didn’t eat anything?”
The wife shook her head, clucking her tongue. “Look at him. Of course not. Couldn’t keep his eyes open even before he passed out. What about you, young man? Did you get dinner?”
Beatrix Henry replied, “I saw a glass of milk in the kitchen when I got back, but it’s so late I didn’t dare bother you for food.”
The landlady nodded, frowning. “Ah, yes, he asked me to save you some milk. Said your stomach wasn’t well. Told me milk’s good for digestion.”
Beatrix Henry smiled faintly. “Thank you so much. Have a good night.”
The wife left, chuckling. “Alright. You two take care.”
As soon as the door shut, Beatrix Henry turned back to the bed—only to see Phedra Henry sitting up, eyes clear, no trace of a hangover.
Those cool dark eyes were sparkling with mischief.
Earlier that day, as Beatrix was leaving the Mountain God’s shrine, he’d received a message:
Little Bell: Coming home late, so there’s nothing left to eat.
Beatrix Henry: I’m on my way.
Little Bell: What time do you usually go to bed?
Beatrix Henry: Why, are you worried about me?
Little Bell: If your stomach’s upset, you should drink more milk.
By the time Beatrix got home, there was a glass of milk on the table, a note stuck to it: “Good for your stomach.”
While Phedra Henry sat in the living room, loudly playing chess, Beatrix quietly poured the milk down the sink and pretended to drink it, head lowered.
So they kept up their conversation in the team chat.
Little Bell: Don’t skip meals. Try to make time.
Beatrix Henry paused, glancing at Phedra’s profile.
Beatrix Henry: You think there’s something wrong with the food?
Little Bell: I just noticed you weren’t in bed this morning. And I’m not the kind of person who sleeps soundly with someone else beside me.
Beatrix Henry: Sharing a bed with a handsome guy makes it hard to sleep, huh?
Phedra Henry didn’t respond.
Beatrix Henry just rolled his eyes, thinking to himself.
Funny thing, though—he’d gone to bed early, flat on his back, slept all through the night, deep and dreamless. Even if the house had collapsed, he wouldn’t have woken up.
Just like Phedra Henry, third place on the leaderboard, didn’t trust the food either.
Beatrix Henry: So what’s your plan?
Little Bell: Did you find anything useful at the Mountain God shrine today?
Beatrix Henry absently rubbed his chin.
[Beatrix Henry is typing...]
Suddenly, an incredibly faint noise echoed through the room.
It came from the single window—the one with the curtains tightly drawn. A black shadow shifted on the other side.
Phedra and Beatrix exchanged glances. This was the second floor. No balcony, nothing a human could stand on. That shadow was not human.
Phedra remembered Dante’s panicked expression and walked toward the window, slow and calm.
Beatrix instinctively held out an arm to stop him.
Phedra shook his head—he was fine—and peeked outside.
He didn’t unlatch the window, just barely lifted the edge of the curtain.
Face-to-face with him, pressed right to the glass, was a decaying face—maggots crawling in empty eye sockets, one eyeball rolling loose, the other staring straight at him.
Phedra’s heart nearly stopped.
It was only a head, no body.
Now he finally understood why Dante had nearly s**t himself when he saw it.
Some things, you just can’t get used to.
The two of them stood frozen, separated by just a pane of glass and a world of death.
The quiet night, the clouded moon, and that corpse’s head—two pairs of eyes locked, a grotesque “romantic” meeting.
Phedra signaled with his hand: downstairs, now.
Beatrix followed. Just before Phedra let the curtain drop, he caught a final glimpse of the head.
Behind the scenes, on the livestream, the fans nearly died en masse.
[Why didn’t anyone warn me my heart would stop?] [SOS. Please help No. 3!] [Psychological horror genius, Newbie. My heart can’t take it.] [I’m so freaked out. How are you two still functioning?] [Why don’t they even need to talk to understand each other?] [Shouldn’t they be using team chat? No. 3, are you really teaming up with Newbie? I can’t take it!] [That shock was something else =))) No comments for a whole minute. I almost died.] [No. 3 didn’t kiss him, but my heart is still burning.] [My OTP is canon, I swear!] [After seeing that, I need to lie down for three days.] [If a villain falls in love, he really does it all the way.] [Can I just say—why am I in a room full of No. 3 x Newbie shippers?] [Who’s the top and who’s the bottom?] [Not shipping, but honestly, I’m angry at how charming they are.]
The room was almost pitch dark, only the faintest moonlight sliding in. Phedra’s silhouette faded into the gloom, the thin line of his shoulders blending into the endless dark.
Beatrix slipped on night-vision glasses and stuck close behind him.
Beatrix Henry: What did you used to do? Your night vision is amazing.
Phedra Henry didn’t answer.
[Beatrix Henry is typing...]
Little Bell: Carry bodies.
Beatrix’s fingers froze over his comm. His gaze went deep and sharp.
So the beautiful boy was no stranger to hard work after all.
And for some reason, Beatrix didn’t ask any more. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.
- Writer
