Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]
Chapter 278 - Love note

Chapter 278: Chapter 278 - Love note

Muchen gave the final twist of the padlock, his gloved hand steady as the metal clicked firmly into place. He took a step back from the door of the makeshift quarantine house, the soft clink of the lock echoing across the empty yard. It was a sharp, definitive sound—like the closing of a book, or the last tick of a clock before silence.

He stood there for a brief second longer than necessary, looking at the sealed door. A gentle breeze stirred the hem of his coat, lifting it slightly as he exhaled through his nose and turned away.

"It’s done," he said simply.

The words carried no ceremony, no comfort, just quiet finality.

A few feet behind him, Jai stood frozen. He hadn’t moved since they started sealing the quarantine door. His arms were wrapped tightly around his midsection, as if trying to hold himself together.

His shoulders were drawn in, tense, and his brows were furrowed in deep concentration or worry—it was hard to tell which. His mouth was a flat line, lips pale.

His heart beat hard in his chest, like something trying to claw its way out. He stared at the closed door as though he could still see through it. As though Shao might open it again at any moment and step out.

But Shao wouldn’t.

"He’ll make it," Muchen said gently patting him on his shoulders.

The warmth of it made Jai flinch before he relaxed slightly.

Jai didn’t look at Muchen. His eyes stayed glued to the door. His voice was barely audible when he spoke.

"I know," he whispered.

But he didn’t sound like he believed it. Not entirely.

Behind them, Yunfeng adjusted the strap of his pack and turned to look back. His expression was calm, but there was a faint crease between his brows.

"Come on, Jai. We should head back now," Yunfeng said.

His tone was gentle, but it brooked no argument. The kind of voice you used when someone needed guidance, even if they didn’t want it.

He reached out and nudged Jai lightly, his hand brushing Jai’s arm as he turned to guide him back toward the main house. They had set it up a few dozen meters away from the quarantine structure—far enough to be safe, close enough to still feel connected.

Jai nodded vaguely, letting Yunfeng steer him a step or two, but his body moved without commitment. His feet dragged slightly, and his eyes still darted back to the door with every step.

Then—

"Jai?"

The voice wasn’t loud, but it stopped them cold.

It was Muchen’s, but it was surprised—just slightly, enough to make both Yunfeng and Jai pause.

Jai blinked. His body jerked lightly, like someone waking from a light sleep. His gaze sharpened as if clarity had returned all at once.

"Wait," he said suddenly, his voice higher than usual. "I have to do something!"

Before either of them could respond, he twisted out of Yunfeng’s light grip and took off running. His shoes smacked the cracked pavement, sending up tiny echoes between the two houses.

"Jai!" Muchen called after him, not angrily—more exasperated than anything. But he didn’t chase him.

Jai sprinted toward the main house, the wind pulling at his clothes. He burst through the front door, not bothering to close it behind him, and darted to the small wooden cabinet tucked into the side of the kitchen. It creaked slightly as he yanked open a drawer, rummaging through the cluttered contents with shaky hands.

Pens, paperclips, a dead flashlight, a wrinkled tissue.

"C’mon, c’mon," he muttered under his breath, yanking harder.

Finally, he found an old pen wedged in the back corner. He grabbed it and tore a piece of paper from the edge of a half-used notebook nearby. It wasn’t perfect—it ripped unevenly and left a jagged edge—but it would do.

He dropped the notebook onto the floor and leaned over the counter, bracing himself as he scribbled fast, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in deep concentration. The letters came out slightly crooked, his hands still trembling from adrenaline, but it was readable. That was all that mattered.

He stared at the words for a second longer than necessary. Then he folded the paper in half and bolted out the door again, his breath catching as the wind hit his face.

The yard blurred around him—bare trees, patchy grass, the rusted remnants of a clothesline. He barely noticed any of it.

When he reached the quarantine door, he paused only long enough to catch his breath. He placed his palm against the wood, warm from the afternoon sun.

He leaned in, forehead resting against it.

"Shao," he whispered, soft and quick. "Look at this, okay?"

He knelt down and pushed the folded paper through the narrow gap beneath the door. It was just wide enough. He could see the corner disappear slowly, like something being swallowed.

Then he stood, pressing his palm against the door for one more second before backing away.

Inside, Shao sat cross-legged on the pile of blankets in the far corner of the room. The light filtering through a dusty window gave the space a muted glow. The rest of the house was dark, unused. The air was quiet, filled only with the hum of afternoon silence and his own breath.

In his right hand, he held a small syringe filled with clear anesthesia fluid. His fingers curled around it gently. He’d been staring at it for a few minutes now, working up to it.

Then he heard it.

A soft knock.

His name—spoken gently.

And the faint scratch of paper sliding under the door.

He turned his head, still sitting still, and stared at the base of the door for a second.

Then he set the syringe down carefully on the floor.

He crawled toward the door on hands and knees, slow and cautious, as if he wasn’t sure the moment was real.

When he reached it, he saw the slip of paper resting half under the door.

He picked it up gently, as if it might crumble in his hands.

He unfolded it with deliberate care, his fingers brushing over the folds slowly.

There, in slightly crooked writing, were the words:

"To answer your question. Yes. Let’s date."

Shao froze.

He stared at the words like they were something impossible—like they’d materialized from a dream he didn’t dare have.

His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed once, twice, then exhaled shakily.

For a long moment, he just looked at the paper.

Then, slowly, his lips curved upward.

The smile that formed wasn’t big at first. It was uncertain, tremulous. But it grew.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. His entire expression changed. It was as though something inside him had quietly unraveled, letting in warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

He gave a small laugh, breathy and a little broken. Not because he was upset—just overwhelmed.

He touched the word "yes" with his finger, gently tracing it like it was made of silk. The ink smudged faintly beneath his thumb.

It felt surreal.

For twenty-five years, he had kept people at arm’s length. Even when they smiled at him. Even when they offered kindness. Even when he wanted to reach out.

He had always told himself he couldn’t.

That he was too much. Too dangerous. Too volatile.

But now—

Now Jai had said yes.

He looked at the note again.

And smiled wider.

Still holding the paper close to his chest, he leaned back against the wall. The padding beneath him was soft, makeshift but comfortable. He sat there for a minute more, just breathing, absorbing the feeling.

Then he stood up slowly, tucking the note carefully into the inside of his shirt. It rested against his chest, warm from his skin.

He turned and walked back toward the blanket pile, picking up the anesthesia syringe on the way.

He didn’t make a show of it. There wasn’t any hesitation left. Just a quiet acceptance.

He sat down cross-legged, found a vein in his arm, and pressed the plunger.

The suppressant burned slightly as it entered, but he barely flinched.

The moment had eclipsed everything else.

He let the empty syringe fall beside him. The plastic clinked softly on the floor.

Then he lay down on his side, curling slightly into himself as the medication began to take effect. His limbs grew heavy, the warmth of the suppressant dulling his senses, making the world feel slow and soft.

His eyes fluttered halfway closed. He let his hand rest on his chest where the note lay.

His last thought before drifting into sleep wasn’t of fear or pain.

It was of Jai—loud, clumsy, honest Jai.

A tiny smile lingered on Shao’s lips.

He didn’t know how bad the rut would get later. He didn’t know how long he’d be stuck here. He didn’t know what would happen to any of them next.

But right now?

He was alright.

And for the first time in a long while, he believed that was enough.