AB Chapter 22: Twenty This Year
The man in front of him—
Absolutely!
Absolutely just a guy who grew in height and muscles, with zero emotional intelligence except when it comes to fighting!
It was like seeing a group of macho men in Barbie-pink dresses and ten-centimeter spiked high heels blowing kisses at him—Michel, at long last, felt the cruelty and malice of the vast universe!
Laughter rang out all around.
His cheeks flushed red, the little flower-boy friend was so furious with shame he looked ready to explode the blossoms on his head!
Rubbing his stinging eyes, he stood up with a swish, no longer caring how expensive this place was.
Face twisted with rage, he marched right up to Mr. Bumblebee, who was still acting cute, and jumped up—grabbing one of his little antennae!
“Baby, that hurts!”
The adorably brainless Mr. Bumblebee instantly bent over from the pain, head lowered, trying hard to see the face of his flower-boy, looking pitiful and wronged.
A vein throbbed on Michel’s forehead as he ground out each word from between his teeth: “So. You. Can. Feel. Pain!”
Mr. Bumblebee (tilting his head): “It hurts...”
“Deal with it!”
Michel clutched his antenna, practically flaming with rage, and dragged him out—if they didn’t leave now, he was going to end up as the restaurant's dinnertime gossip fodder!
“But we haven’t finished eating.”
“Eat what?! Move it!”
It looked like a fluffy bunny with a flower on its head dragging a dumb, vicious big bad wolf by the ear—thump thump thump, storming out in a huff.
The other couples in the restaurant held back their laughter as they watched this odd alien couple make their exit.
After heading downstairs and paying the bill, they received a bouquet of roses as first-time customers.
“Wishing you both a lovely evening,” said the waiter with a smile as warm as spring breeze, watching the furious black-haired youth yanking the antenna of his alien date. One could only wonder what kind of supreme professional training it took to say something like that with a straight face.
“Thanks!”
Panting from anger, Michel snapped every word with heavy emphasis as he grabbed the bouquet and continued dragging Mr. Bumblebee out of the restaurant and onto the street.
Mr. Bumblebee, ever the accommodating loyal dog, squatted down to make it easier for Michel to drag him. The two of them remained in that position, standing outside a fancy romantic restaurant, attracting even more attention than they had inside.
But Michel’s mind couldn’t hold any rational thoughts right now.
“Where are we going!” he asked coldly, glaring at the male bee beside him.
Simon: “Huh?”
The black-haired youth’s voice turned icy: “Didn’t you want a kiss?!”
Simon: “...” As expected of my baby, even talking about kissing sounds like he’s going to war.
“...Let’s go back to the apartment.”
On his own turf, Simon thought, maybe his flower would feel more at ease and open up.
Michel nodded stiffly. “Fine.” They kept their awkward pose until the car arrived, at which point he finally let go.
In the car, Michel pulled out his phone to check and found tons of missed calls and Twitter notifications. He had put his phone on silent for class and forgot to turn it back on, so he hadn’t heard anything.
Most of the messages were from Aunt Jasmine, Benny, and Daisy.
Daisy:
Darling Michel, are you okay? I don’t have class today and haven’t checked the school forum—you know I’m not into gossip or those people with too much time on their hands.
Daisy:
I know you’re an alien, and about the flower on your head—that’s just... SO FREAKING COOL!!! You must show me sometime, promise!
Aunt Jasmine:
Sweetheart, I tried calling you—why didn’t you answer?
Aunt Jasmine:
How are things going with that alien resident? If anything happens, promise me you’ll call, okay? Don’t make me worry.
Benny:
I saw the pictures you posted on Twitter. You guys actually went to that super fancy restaurant?! OMG—I’m breaking up with you. Bros before aliens, dude!
Benny:
Hmph!
Benny:
HMPH HMPH HMPH!
[Stickers] [Stickers]
Michel curiously opened one of the greyed-out sticker messages, and two “Mediterranean” blue-eyed huskies popped up—one lying on the ground with its mouth wide open, howling dramatically.
Caption: You don’t love me anymore! Waaah! Waaah! Waaah!
Another, wearing an Elizabethan cone shaped like a morning glory, was gnawing sadly on its dog bed.
Caption: Ohhhh—don’t touch me! You’ve got another dog out there!
Looking at the vivid, ridiculous images on his phone, Michel—who’d been wearing a straight face—couldn’t help bursting into laughter. His mood instantly lifted.
Squeezed beside him in the car, Simon heard his little flower laugh and curiously leaned over to peek.
“What are those two things? Are they also alien residents? Baby, don’t look at them—they’re ugly,” Simon muttered jealously beside him.
After criticizing their looks, he moved on to their intelligence.
“They don’t look very smart.”
Michel gave him a look of disbelief: “You calling others dumb?”
Simon: “...”
“What’s wrong with me?” Bumblebee tilted his head in confusion, thinking: I can make hearts, order milk and newspapers, cook, iron clothes, tie shoelaces, and earn money for my baby—and I wash his underwear too.
Yes! Washed it sparkling clean!
It was so dirty, and I got it perfectly white.
(Michel: ...I once had a pair of black silk underwear. Then one day, it got bleached into white, and there was even a hole torn in the back.)
Exhausted inside, the black-haired youth sighed. With a complicated expression, he reached out to pat the male bee’s head, fingers slipping through tawny hair, gently ruffling like petting a puppy.
“You know, I’ve realized you’re really a lot like a husky.”
“???”
“In that way where you think you’re cute and capable, destroy the house with great enthusiasm, and end up causing massive damage to your owner.”
“...”
Not caring about Simon’s utterly confused face, Michel continued scrolling through his phone.
He swiped past meaningless likes and comments, deleted useless gossip notifications and messages in one tap—then noticed a text message with no name, just a phone number.
Was it an insurance pitch?
Is it a bank bill?
Michel’s slim, pale fingers tapped on it.
A message burst open on his screen, full of malice, its cold and damp hostility nearly palpable:
“I’ll make you regret it, Michel. I’ll make you live in fear forever!”
Tap tap!
The car window beside him was suddenly knocked on. Michel snapped out of it, turned his head quickly, and his pupils shrank.
But when he saw that the one outside was Simon, his pounding heart finally began to calm.
“Baby?”
At some point, the car had stopped. Unable to wait, Simon had already squeezed himself out of the cramped space and, upon noticing Michel hadn't exited yet, came to fetch him.
“I’m coming…”
Michel pressed his lips together, tapped his now-black-screened phone, and the threatening message reappeared.
He backed out, long-pressed the message, deleted it, and slipped the phone back into his pocket. After settling his emotions, he lowered his eyes, opened the car door as if nothing had happened, and followed Simon back toward the small apartment.
It was from Eric.
Michel knew it almost immediately.
But he wasn’t going to tell Simon. He would remind Simon to stay alert starting today, in case Eric tried anything—but he wasn’t going to show him the message.
Because if Simon found out Eric had sent that kind of text, Michel couldn’t be sure the bee-man wouldn’t do something illegal and reckless behind his back.
It wasn’t cowardice.
He simply understood now—what a plant-type meant to a drone-type alien.
He didn’t want Mr. Bumblebee to get into trouble for him.
—
The chipped walls and urine- or vomit-stained light poles still stood, the usual playground of thugs.
Chicago’s omnipresent cold wind tugged at their hair, making even thick clothes feel insufficient.
Creak, creak—
They climbed the narrow metal staircase spiraling outside the building.
Clack.
The key turned in the lock, and the familiar door opened. A burst of warmth hit them immediately, making Michel shiver under the temperature shift.
Seeing this, Simon quickly pulled him inside, closed the door, and carefully began unzipping Michel’s coat and untying his scarf.
His head hung low.
Michel watched him quietly. Maybe because his emotions had been through so many ups and downs today, he suddenly calmed and began to observe Mr. Bumblebee’s features in detail.
Aside from their inner traits, Pepetja aliens didn’t appear much different from humans.
Simon had thick, well-shaped eyebrows. Beneath them, long lashes shadowed his eyes.
His eye shape was beautiful—double-lidded, with slightly drooping outer corners. If it weren’t for his large frame, they would be the kind of soulful eyes that made girls blush and look away.
And his nose—a classic Western sharp bridge, giving his face strong definition and a striking profile.
Of course, Michel also really liked his lips.
Full, neither upper nor lower lip too thick, a healthy reddish hue—perfect for kissing.
Normally Michel had to look up at him and never really studied his features, but now he saw: Simon was truly handsome. The kind of male lead you’d see in an American drama.
Masculine, good-looking, exuding male pheromones.
The black-haired youth raised his arms to make it easier for Simon to remove his coat.
He caught a whiff of his favorite scent—coming from the bee-man’s quivering antennae and light brown hair.
It was something magical, supposedly only detectable by plant-types on a drone-type alien.
Safe. Gentle.
Like a breezy summer day in this city.
“Mr. Bumblebee.”
“Hmm?”
Hearing Michel’s voice, Simon looked up.
Michel gave him a small smile and said, “Let’s kiss.”
“…?”
“Right here.”
“……”
He couldn’t name the feeling welling up inside him, nor describe how he took the first step.
Michel threw himself into the stunned bee-man’s arms and bit down on his lips.
It tasted exactly as he’d imagined—wonderful.
Simon staggered back, instinctively wrapping his arms around the fragile youth whose back was practically paper-thin.
Bang—
His broad back hit the door. Their heated breaths and entwined mouths locked tightly.
Startled, Simon quickly shut his eyes, sliding down with Michel in his arms…
Shoes fell off one by one.
The black knit scarf twisted on the ground. A down jacket slipped slowly from Michel’s shoulders.
Michel didn’t know how to kiss.
But he was 20 years old.
He had all the impulses and fantasies a healthy, youthful boy should have.
There was no need to be shy—Michel straddled Simon’s lap, his waist naturally fitting into the bend of Simon’s thighs. While kissing, he slipped off his coat and tossed it aside, then clutched Simon’s collar fiercely—wild and passionate.
Soft sounds echoed.
Simon tightened his grip, large palms supporting Michel’s back and cradling the back of his head—holding him like he never wanted to let go.
Black hair, like soft grass shoots, slipped through his fingers.
Slender and tender.
When they broke apart, they gasped for breath, their chests aching from the effort.
Michel’s chest heaved. He tilted his head back, eyes half-closed and wet from lack of oxygen, feeling Simon’s hot breath trail down his chin and neck.
Simon’s bloodshot eyes kept rubbing against Michel’s shoulder and neck, clinging intimately but not crossing the line. His strong body trembled from restraint.
Gripping Michel’s hair and sweatshirt fabric tightly—
Love.
It was never just one person’s control.
Never just one person’s outburst.
Not one person’s craving.
Not one person’s wish.
“You let me know… that when I wanted to hold you, when I felt desire, you were expecting me too.”
Simon’s voice shook.
“Michel… Michel…”
Michel took a moment, then looked into his bee-man’s flushed eyes. He cupped his face, pressed their foreheads together—
He’d never felt this happy.
Never felt so freely alive.
“Wanna go again?”
Michel asked softly.
His lips were immediately met with another’s heat.
——
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