He often dreams. Most are the simple life of a mushroom, but occasionally memories surface from the other creatures he's absorbed. Sometimes he's a bowed, aged tree whose drooping leaves are being pelted by the rain, and others he's a fluorescent flower visited by the feather-light legs of a pollinating bee.
Today, however, he is An Ze. He knows this because he recognizes that tiny room. Even if he didn't stay there long, he remembers the angle that the morning sunlight would fall across the dull ceiling. The desk is there, too, with its collection of books and pamphlets. In his dream, he rises from the bed with a sense of unease in his heart and steps towards the window. The warmth of the rising sun glances across his cheeks, bright in his eyes.
He blinks. The scene dissolves.
When he opens his eyes again, it's to a darker space. Residual anxiety clings to the corners of his mind. That was the first day An Ze went into the wilderness, he realizes. The precursor to the trip that brought him to his death in the Abyss—here, when An Zhe is now.
A faint glow is only just beginning to illuminate the inside of the armored vehicle, not yet at bright as the sun in his dream. These early moments of sunrise are a rare sight for An Zhe, but something even more captivating is right in front of him where he's cradled in a familiar embrace: Lu Feng's handsome face, eyes shut and serene with sleep.
While An Zhe is prone to sleeping until the sun is comfortably high in the sky, the colonel is one to rise along with it. Perhaps it's a habit drilled into him by the military. The fascinating snippets of their shared childhood spoken by the doctor imply that Lu Feng wasn't always so disciplined. It's hard to imagine, but right now, with the sharp edges of his expression smoothed by slumber, An Zhe thinks he can see the youth in those lines.
"If you wake up earlier than me, you can look at me." Lu Feng told him that once. At the time, unable to contend with his logic, he decided that if he ever woke up before Lu Feng, he would most certainly squeeze his cheeks. Finally faced with the opportunity, that resolve now withers away, utterly defeated by his desire to preserve this image. Is this why the colonel is always staring at him when he wakes up?
At some point, his breath stilled in his lungs, as if the slightest exhale would make Lu Feng stir. An Zhe slowly releases it, lips parting in quiet wonder. Like when encountering a beautiful plant, he wishes to creep his hyphae over the relaxed lines of Lu Feng's face, slowly sensing. Doing that would only wake him up, though. He has to settle for shifting minutely within the circle of the colonel's arms, nuzzling his cheek against the pillow as he admires the cool beauty before him. ]
[ Despite public speculation about the arbiter's dreams, none of it ever reached Lu Feng’s ears. Such gossip had never interested him—his role in society ensured that no one would spare him even a kind word, let alone a gesture of goodwill. Ironically, it was a non-human who saw past the ruthless arbiter, a man who had spilled blood in the name of humanity's safety. To most people struggling to survive another day, he was seen as an enemy, not a savior.
To call the world peaceful would be more than an exaggeration—it's a harmful lie no one should believe in. His days as an arbiter were over now that people had become xenogenics of their own free will. Resigning from his post felt as though an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The most profound change in his life, however, was the chance to spend his days with An Zhe. No longer bound to one place, Lu Feng found this freedom refreshing. His travels as the arbiter had always been driven by necessity, never by choice. Now, they could go into the Abyss or stay in the armored van all day if they wanted to. This new life felt surreal at times, and he often had to remind himself it wasn't just an illusion. Instead of pinching himself, Lu Feng would reach for An Zhe, as though the little mushroom's presence was the only thing that could anchor him to reality.
A light sleeper by nature, Lu Feng often woke shortly after An Zhe, though he kept his eyes closed, knowing better than to let the little mushroom realize he was awake. Curious about what An Zhe might do, Lu Feng remained perfectly still. He could feel the soft weight of An Zhe's gaze, waiting to see if he would act.
Except that never happens. The corners of Lu Feng's lips curl up in a small smile, easily missable in the dark. He knows how observant An Zhe can be, though. His voice came as a soft murmur, teasing without opening his eyes: ]
I had no idea that little mushrooms could wake up so early.
[ Not that he knew any other little mushrooms, of course. An Zhe might think it amusing that someone who had ventured into the Abyss so often could still be so clueless. ]
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He often dreams. Most are the simple life of a mushroom, but occasionally memories surface from the other creatures he's absorbed. Sometimes he's a bowed, aged tree whose drooping leaves are being pelted by the rain, and others he's a fluorescent flower visited by the feather-light legs of a pollinating bee.
Today, however, he is An Ze. He knows this because he recognizes that tiny room. Even if he didn't stay there long, he remembers the angle that the morning sunlight would fall across the dull ceiling. The desk is there, too, with its collection of books and pamphlets. In his dream, he rises from the bed with a sense of unease in his heart and steps towards the window. The warmth of the rising sun glances across his cheeks, bright in his eyes.
He blinks. The scene dissolves.
When he opens his eyes again, it's to a darker space. Residual anxiety clings to the corners of his mind. That was the first day An Ze went into the wilderness, he realizes. The precursor to the trip that brought him to his death in the Abyss—here, when An Zhe is now.
A faint glow is only just beginning to illuminate the inside of the armored vehicle, not yet at bright as the sun in his dream. These early moments of sunrise are a rare sight for An Zhe, but something even more captivating is right in front of him where he's cradled in a familiar embrace: Lu Feng's handsome face, eyes shut and serene with sleep.
While An Zhe is prone to sleeping until the sun is comfortably high in the sky, the colonel is one to rise along with it. Perhaps it's a habit drilled into him by the military. The fascinating snippets of their shared childhood spoken by the doctor imply that Lu Feng wasn't always so disciplined. It's hard to imagine, but right now, with the sharp edges of his expression smoothed by slumber, An Zhe thinks he can see the youth in those lines.
"If you wake up earlier than me, you can look at me." Lu Feng told him that once. At the time, unable to contend with his logic, he decided that if he ever woke up before Lu Feng, he would most certainly squeeze his cheeks. Finally faced with the opportunity, that resolve now withers away, utterly defeated by his desire to preserve this image. Is this why the colonel is always staring at him when he wakes up?
At some point, his breath stilled in his lungs, as if the slightest exhale would make Lu Feng stir. An Zhe slowly releases it, lips parting in quiet wonder. Like when encountering a beautiful plant, he wishes to creep his hyphae over the relaxed lines of Lu Feng's face, slowly sensing. Doing that would only wake him up, though. He has to settle for shifting minutely within the circle of the colonel's arms, nuzzling his cheek against the pillow as he admires the cool beauty before him. ]
no subject
To call the world peaceful would be more than an exaggeration—it's a harmful lie no one should believe in. His days as an arbiter were over now that people had become xenogenics of their own free will. Resigning from his post felt as though an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The most profound change in his life, however, was the chance to spend his days with An Zhe. No longer bound to one place, Lu Feng found this freedom refreshing. His travels as the arbiter had always been driven by necessity, never by choice. Now, they could go into the Abyss or stay in the armored van all day if they wanted to. This new life felt surreal at times, and he often had to remind himself it wasn't just an illusion. Instead of pinching himself, Lu Feng would reach for An Zhe, as though the little mushroom's presence was the only thing that could anchor him to reality.
A light sleeper by nature, Lu Feng often woke shortly after An Zhe, though he kept his eyes closed, knowing better than to let the little mushroom realize he was awake. Curious about what An Zhe might do, Lu Feng remained perfectly still. He could feel the soft weight of An Zhe's gaze, waiting to see if he would act.
Except that never happens. The corners of Lu Feng's lips curl up in a small smile, easily missable in the dark. He knows how observant An Zhe can be, though. His voice came as a soft murmur, teasing without opening his eyes: ]
I had no idea that little mushrooms could wake up so early.
[ Not that he knew any other little mushrooms, of course. An Zhe might think it amusing that someone who had ventured into the Abyss so often could still be so clueless. ]