AB Chapter 3: You Are My Lost Property
My name... is Michel.
Until today, I always, always thought I would live my life in a calm and utterly mediocre way, like a mass-produced product on an assembly line—
Just surviving, until death eventually comes and takes everything away.
But now—
A ridiculous little flower has sprouted from my head, and an alien lifeform has appeared in my home, telling me:
“Sorry, baby. Actually, you're my personal property. I spent all my savings to buy you. But you were stolen and smuggled to Earth for sale. Oh, and by the way, you're not human. You're an alien (smile). A plant-type one, and that silly little flower on your head? That’s actually your main body.”
How do you think I’m supposed to feel?
God-freaking-damn it!
What the hell am I supposed to feel?!
Michel, wrapped in a blanket, curled up in his sofa that looked like it could swallow a person whole, blankly stared at the giant bee covered in mechanical sci-fi gear that made the whole living room feel crowded.
After scaring off the neighbors who came to check out the noise and closing the door behind him, the bee turned to the bathroom, grabbed some cleaning tools, bent his huge body down, and silently started cleaning up the shredded clothing and down feathers on the floor—courtesy of himself.
This whole absurd and inexplicable development…
It honestly—honestly felt like this giant bee was the actual owner of this tiny apartment.
Michel slowly pressed a hand against his chest, his lips trembling as he took a deep breath.
“…Could you tell me, Mr. Alien Simon, just what exactly are you trying to do?”
You barge into my house, rip my clothes, and now you're just… cleaning up?
Oh my god.
The big yellow bee seemed startled by Michel suddenly speaking. He stiffly stood up straight, pursed his lips, and froze in place for a moment before gently putting down the broom that looked like a tiny toy in his massive hands.
He gingerly—though his weight still made the floor creak—squeezed himself into the narrow gap between the sofa and the coffee table and awkwardly curled himself up to sit opposite Michel.
It took courage to sit face-to-face with this large and oddly shaped alien.
Michel admitted it—he was just a normal person.
Heart pounding, he tried to shrink back as much as possible, wishing he could disappear into the couch, his dark eyes locked warily on the creature’s every move.
The bee, clearly noticing Michel’s fear, lowered his eyes with a sorrowful look, his mouth tugging down at the corners as he called out softly:
“Baby…”
Michel: “...With all due respect, you really shouldn’t call a twenty-year-old adult male that.” Every hair on his body stood on end.
“But—” Simon lowered his head further, and the only somewhat cute thing about him—his antennae—drooped pathetically. “You are my baby, the one I lost.”
“…”
“You are my… lost property.”
“You already said that.”
Michel clutched his head in pain. “I get it. You made yourself very clear. I'm not human. I'm something you lost—a, uh, precious family member of some kind. I’m a plant-based alien, and you spent tons of money and time to finally find me. But… I just can’t accept it.”
Simon looked up at Michel. His eyes briefly passed over the little wilted red flower on Michel’s head—his heart ached.
His flower must have suffered terribly.
This place is completely unfit for his survival!
He’s so thin—just skin and bones.
And living in this kind of place, too…
Simon’s heart twisted with guilt and sorrow. He lowered his voice and carefully asked in clumsy Earth-speak, “Why?”
Michel said dryly, “Because I’m human.”
Simon: “But your seed skin carries my identity code and serial number.” I’m not lying to you.
Michel: “But that doesn’t…”
Simon: “And there’s a flower growing on your head.” Just stop denying it already.
Michel: “Isn’t there a chance that—”
Simon, firmly: “No chance. I filed a report with the Interstellar Federation when you were lost. It’s valid across the entire galaxy.” I didn’t get it wrong—you are my seed.
Michel: “…”
For some reason, he really wanted to kick this big bee.
Right between the legs.
The conversation ended in awkward silence as the two stared at each other.
Michel remained on guard and didn’t speak, still wary of the giant across from him.
And Simon?
Like someone who’s just found their long-lost family, he desperately wanted to pounce on his little flower, fuss over his growth, check for mutations or scars on the flower, and hug him close with whispers of comfort, asking how he survived all those years and whether the blooming process had been painful.
It had to be painful! he instantly concluded.
His baby didn’t even know what species he was.
He couldn’t bear to think too deeply about how his precious flower survived that deadly childhood and blooming stage alone.
The more he thought about it, the more Simon clenched his fists, his silent fury demanding he destroy something.
Of course, he wasn’t without joy or excitement upon seeing Michel again.
Simon was eager to wrap the little one in all his affection and make up for everything he missed.
But Michel’s wariness and unfamiliarity kept him tightly curled up in a corner, not daring to move.
He was afraid of scaring him.
But no matter how terrifying or serious a murder hornet might look in front of an ordinary human, one thing never lies:
Their antennae.
Michel saw the big bee awkwardly curl himself into a ball like a “mountain lump,” trying to appear harmless. The hard, stoic face lowered.
A moment later—
Like a nervous child seeking a hug, the two antennae on Simon’s head stretched tentatively toward Michel, trembling carefully.
A little later—
Simon stole a glance at him, and the antennae began swaying up and down in excitement.
And then—
If he caught Michel looking back at him—
The antennae went wild, spinning in circles—one clockwise, one counterclockwise.
Due to their limited length, the little tips kept colliding.
Smack, smack, smack—
“…”
Michel winced just watching it.
Ahem.
Not just wincing—he was tempted to laugh.
I must be going crazy... Michel pressed his lips tightly together. The terrifying brute from moments ago now somehow seemed... cute?
The atmosphere, though still awkward, finally began to ease into something lighter.
Knock knock.
The door to the tiny apartment rang out. The big bee, who had just been trying not to move a muscle, instantly transformed into a guard dog on high alert—territorial and dangerous.
He shot up, antennae straight, pupils narrowing into slits. His armor or whatever it was gave off a creaking, metallic sound, his body tensed, exuding menace.
From his back, something transparent and shiny began to rise, vibrating with a buzzing hum like a threat.
Michel, startled, stared at it in shock.
Wings?
He has wings?!
He’s that heavy—can he even fly? …Michel’s mind wandered before a loud voice from outside brought him back to reality.
“Michel—hey! You okay? I’m here, open up!”
It was Benny.
Michel quickly told the alien, whose face had turned oddly grim, “It’s just my friend. You—”
“Friend?”
Simon repeated the word and instantly dropped his attack posture.
Seeing that, Michel sighed in relief under his blanket. “Yes. Maybe… you could open the door for me?”
Though it might scare Benny and explaining why an alien was in his apartment would be hell...
Still, if he went to the door looking like a half-naked mess wrapped in a blanket, Benny might scream loud enough to shatter glass.
“…Okay.”
Simon, when facing his flower, was gentle and obedient.
The massive bee squeezed himself out from the sofa gap and went thump-thump-thump to the door.
Just as the door opened, Michel braced himself for Benny’s inevitable scream.
But there wasn’t one.
Instead—
A flood of shouting burst into the room, drilling straight into Michel’s barely-recovered mind and eardrums.
A stranger’s voice yelled with righteous fury:
“Don’t move! NYPD—I mean, NY (Interstellar Police)!”
“We received a report—one man has been violated by an alien! Medical team, medical team—check the victim’s vitals!”
“Michel! I’m here to save you—!”
…
Author's Note – [Mini Theater]:
Simon: The flower is so small, I wouldn’t even dream of doing anything to it (sad).
Michel: (…Has no idea whether to politely comfort him or not.)
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