AB Chapter 20: Deeper
"The right to bear arms is an inalienable human right."
In the past, every citizen had the right to own weapons.
By the year 4057 of the New Century, in the era of heavy weaponry, this "right" had become globally recognized.
It was as simple and swift as getting a driver’s license.
All you had to do was listen to your instructor brag for two hours, then complete some online courses. After systematic training, score 80 or above on the exam.
Congratulations—you’d be issued a very basic paper certificate.
Then you could head to a specialty store, fill out a form, register with the police station, and freely choose any weapon you liked.
(Though you couldn’t use them in public places, if someone—or a wild beast like a coyote—broke into your home, you had every right to shoot and send them to hell to meet Lucifer!)
“A well-dressed society is dangerous—and beautiful.”
The instructor in charge of the course glanced at the excited students with a condescending look. His thick tattooed arms were half-hidden beneath a tight T-shirt.
His broad face was adorned with scruffy, masculine stubble. When students met his gaze, an instinctive fear of a stronger presence would usually compel the weaker party to look away.
Just like wolves.
Making eye contact was a provocation. Looking away was submission.
No one dared to meet his eyes—that alone cheered up the male instructor, making him hold his head high with pride.
But when his gaze drifted to someone outside the glass, a figure even more intimidating and physically imposing than him, the instructor's smile froze, and his eyes sharpened.
Outside, Simon stood watching, admiring his little darling holding a gun with such a serious and focused look. He noticed the stare and frowned, meeting the instructor’s gaze directly.
After a pause, the instructor looked away, facial muscles twitching. Suddenly, he exploded and yelled at a girl chewing gum.
“What are you doing, young lady? I told you to practice shooting, and you’re practicing what? The muscles in your face? Are you planning to shoot bullets out with your tongue and kill the enemy that way?!”
“Pfft.”
“Hahaha!”
“Hahahaha—”
The students who hadn’t yet put on their noise-canceling headphones burst out laughing. Benny, who had a low laugh threshold, clutched his stomach with one hand and shook with laughter, still holding his gun with the other.
Even Michel, who tried to stay serious for a second, couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“So rude!” The girl who had been scolded rolled her eyes at the laughing students and the instructor walking past behind her. She spat out her gum into a tissue, flipping off the instructor with a silent F-word.
“Alright, enough laughing! Ladies and gentlemen, remember the posture I taught you. Put on your earmuffs and start training! Some of you better be careful—I’ll fail you without hesitation!”
The laughter gradually faded. The clattering of earmuffs hitting the metal table echoed around.
Michel also composed himself and took aim.
He adjusted his posture and breathing. The sound of his heartbeat slowly smoothed into a steady rhythm. His pale, bone-thin fingers stroked the cold, black metal of the gun—so sharply contrasted it was blinding.
From below upward… his eyes—so unlike their usual warmth and gentleness—became cold and piercing.
The calm, restrained black-haired youth locked onto his target.
Focused gaze. One shot, one kill.
BANG—!
A faint scorched smell clung to his fingertips.
A shattered bullet hole—dead center.
Outside the soundproof glass, Simon pressed his forehead to the glass, his palm flat against it. His body heat fogged the glass with white mist. His amber eyes glinted, locked onto that figure. The chill seeped through his skin, cooling both his mind—and his desire.
He didn’t know how sexy he looked holding a gun.
He didn’t know how mesmerizing his focus was.
He was adorable.
But he was still so green, so immature, not yet ready…
Simon’s thoughts surged—then stopped abruptly, settling into calm.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, revealing the storm beneath his still, stern exterior. His lips pressed into a firm line, righteous and strong.
Not yet, he told himself. You can’t rush. You must wait. You’ve already waited twenty years—what’s more time? You’ll continue waiting, holding on.
But Michel—
His fingers curled against the glass, as if clutching the person he was staring at.
Just… help soothe my restless years. Please, just a little faster… open your heart to me.
“Michel, I’ve noticed you really love shooting class. Hey, I used to think you were the gentle type, but once you pick up a gun, it’s like you’re glowing or something. Just a tiny bit cooler than me.”
Benny draped his arm around Michel’s shoulder, grinning.
“I do enjoy it.” As the two of them walked out with the other students, Michel said, “It helps me vent emotions and reset my mood.”
“Adjusting your mood—with guns?”
Benny thought for a moment and whistled. “That’s cool as hell. Like a hitman.”
Michel just shook his head and smiled. As they walked out, he was suddenly yanked away by the collar. At first, he panicked—but upon catching a familiar scent, he relaxed like a kitten returning to its Bumblebee’s embrace.
“Baby.”
His head resting against the broad chest behind him, Michel didn’t turn around. He leaned in to rest his aching back and simply replied, “Mm.”
A deep voice sounded above his head. “What do you want to eat tonight? I’ll take you out. We’ll get your health checked while we’re at it.”
Michel, not fond of hospitals, hesitated before replying, “Okay… are we going now?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, I’ll say goodbye to Benny and—Simon?”
Just as Michel turned to call out to Benny, a heavy arm landed on his shoulder and forcibly turned him around—like a book stuffed under someone’s arm—dragging him away.
On the other side, Benny’s hand fell into thin air. He blinked and looked around, confused.
“Michel?” Where’d he go?
Stretching his neck and looking around, he realized his friend had been swept away by his alien roommate. All that was left for the lonely single dog was two retreating heads at different heights.
Benny: ?
Benny: FK!**
Michel found Mr. Bumblebee oddly off today.
He was whisked into a cab, then Simon pulled out his rarely used phone, looked at it seriously, and gave the driver the name of a famously expensive couple’s restaurant.
Then he called to reserve the best table—full glass windows, sky-high floors, wine and food with romantic pink bubbles floating between them, and a breathtaking city view.
Michel, eavesdropping: “…” Is today your birthday?
As if their hearts were connected, Mr. Bumblebee shook his head. “Not my birthday. Just grabbing a bite.”
Michel: “???”
A fancy restaurant… for “just grabbing a bite”? Fine, I’ll pretend I believe you.
Simon offered no explanation, and the cab fell into silence. After a pause, Michel, worried about the cost, tried to suggest otherwise in a soft voice.
“If we’re just grabbing a bite, I know lots of places with great food—we could go to one of those—”
Simon: “No.”
Michel: “…”
Simon (serious face): “I want to eat at a couple’s restaurant with you.”
Michel: “It’s expensive—”
Simon: “I have money.”
Michel: “…”
Simon: “A lot of money.”
Simon: "I'm very rich!"
Michel: "..." Oh.
The air fell silent again. As the car neared the restaurant entrance, Simon took off the hat he used to hide his antennae, then removed Michel's hat as well. He tidied up Michel’s hair, allowing the little flower that had been stifled all day to bloom again.
The car stopped. Simon got out first and walked around to open the door for Michel. He bent over like a proper gentleman and extended a hand, striking an inviting pose.
Michel stared at the broad palm waiting for a "lady" to take it. The foot he had already stepped out suddenly wanted to retreat!
Something felt wrong.
Seriously wrong!
Even though thinking this might seem ungrateful, Michel suddenly remembered an Eastern saying: "Showing kindness for no reason—either a thief or a scoundrel."
"Come with me, baby."
At that moment, the man who had extended his hand urged him again.
Michel hesitated, glanced at Mr. Bumblebee's righteous and stern face, then finally placed his hand into Simon’s.
Mr. Bumblebee… should, um, probably be trustworthy… right?
With that oddly reassuring thought, Michel followed him into the restaurant.
Normally, such high-end restaurants required reservations and formal dress. However, since neither of them were human—and their alien species enjoyed special privileges under the interstellar agreement between their planets—Simon, wearing jeans and bargain-brand clothes from a mall, still secured them a top-tier table.
Led by a waiter, the flower and the bee ascended to the 68th floor in a scenic elevator.
This restaurant was one of the world’s famous “sky-high restaurants,” though not in the top ten. Due to Chicago’s location and weather conditions, buildings couldn’t be built too tall. But elsewhere in the world, the tallest restaurant had already surpassed the 100-floor mark.
The smiling waiter explained the various perks of the restaurant to the alien guests before bringing them to their table.
At the topmost level, you didn’t need to order. If you managed to reserve this spot—and pay the outrageous price—servers would remember your preferences and serve a romantic couple’s menu dish by dish.
You didn’t even have to try each dish. If you didn’t like something, just press the bell on the table and it would be replaced.
Surrounded by luxurious decor and glittering silverware, Michel soaked in this world soaked in the scent of money. He felt a bit breathless, his limbs stiff and uncooperative.
Fortunately, there were very few guests around.
Few enough that even nearby tables likely couldn't hear their conversation.
The black-haired young man, overwhelmed by the fancy setting, expressionlessly poked at the delicately plated food on his plate.
Night fell outside. Because they were nearly above the cloud line, they could see stars shining from the city skyline.
The neon lights of the city that once blocked the stars now stretched beneath them like a red carpet inlaid with jewels.
Knowing the money spent was non-refundable, Michel stayed silent for a moment, then made a move:
Pulled out his phone—took a photo—posted it to Twitter!
Come on—let everyone taste the flavor of decadence!
Simon took a sip of red wine whose price he didn’t know, found he didn’t like it, and casually set it aside. He stared at the flower across from him—his flower—someone he could never get enough of.
“Actually…” Simon spoke softly, with a tone of negotiation. “I have something I’d like to ask you, baby.”
Here it comes!
Michel wasn’t surprised. In fact, he was relieved—so it’s really happening, finally.
The black-haired youth met the man’s gaze. “Go ahead.”
As long as the request wasn’t over the line… he figured… he’d say yes.
Not because of the extravagant “casual” dinner, but because of the man sitting in front of him—the warm and caring Mr. Bumblebee.
“It’s just…”
Simon licked his lips, which were dry from nervousness and still tinged with red wine’s bitterness and sweetness.
“I went with you to school today.”
“Yeah.”
“I scared off those guys who were bothering you.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“So—can I have a reward? Or a thank-you gift?”
“……”
Michel stared at Simon, his brain short-circuiting from the unexpected request. After a moment, he recovered and quickly nodded.
“Of course you can. But I don’t really have anything to give you right now… I’ve never owned much. If you could wait, I’ll prepare a proper thank-you gift for you in the future, okay?”
“No, nothing else.” Simon lowered his gaze. “There’s something I want now. You can give it to me right away.”
Michel, confused: “What is it?”
Simon: “A kiss.”
Michel: “……”
The words had barely left his lips, and the usually composed Mr. Bumblebee was blushing at the ears, though his face remained stoic.
“A light kiss.”
“……”
“Right here.” Mr. Bumblebee pointed at his lips, face firm, voice deep. “Please.”
“……”
“Thank you.”
“……”
Bang!
Michel’s mind went blank. Fireworks exploded inside his head, leaving a ringing in his ears.
“When…” Michel heard himself asking the man across from him.
Simon didn’t understand and frowned. “What?”
Michel slowly raised his hand to cover his chest, his voice trembling: “I said, when did you lose your mind?”
“I’m not crazy.” Simon frowned more deeply.
“I just want you to kiss me like that.”
“From the moment you pulled the trigger.” He added seriously, “Your Earth has a term for it—springtime stirrings.”
“So I think I’ve stirred.”
“From just now until now, I’ve been imagining inappropriate things about you. I can’t help it, but I don’t want you to hate me.”
Mr. Bumblebee stood, placed both hands on the table, and leaned toward Michel, closing the distance in an instant. In Michel’s shrinking pupils, their breaths were nearly touching.
“This is a request, my dearest world.”
He said:
“Please. Give me a reward that will help me calm down.”
“……”
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