Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]
Chapter 279 - 280 - Keeping him vulnerable

Chapter 279: Chapter 280 - Keeping him vulnerable

Muchen led Yunfeng back toward the house, one hand lightly guiding him by the elbow. Yunfeng’s steps were steady, but Muchen didn’t relax until they were inside again, the soft click of the front door closing behind them like a breath of relief.

Behind them, Jai trailed along silently, glancing over his shoulder at the house next door. His eyes were wide and a little worried, and his bottom lip stuck out just slightly in a small pout. He walked like someone who’d left a part of himself behind—slightly hunched, unsure, distracted.

Muchen noticed. He didn’t say anything, but a quiet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He recognized that look. He and Yunfeng had been in that same phase once—inseparable, tangled up in each other’s lives so tightly that even a few feet apart felt like an ocean. And then everything had fallen apart, the world had ended, and somehow they’d found each other again anyway.

It was funny, the way things repeated.

He gently lifted Yunfeng’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. Yunfeng turned his head slightly toward him, a small smile spreading across his face even though his eyes couldn’t see.

"Did you have anything to eat?" Yunfeng asked, his voice warm but quiet.

"Not yet," Muchen said, brushing his thumb across Yunfeng’s knuckles. "I’ll bring you something, okay?"

Yunfeng nodded, and Muchen gently led him to the bedroom before slipping away to the kitchen.

Left alone in the quiet room, Yunfeng stood still for a moment. The soft creak of the floor under his feet, the faint hum of wind outside, the distant clatter of dishes—everything felt strangely loud.

He slowly walked toward the window. His fingers curled around the sill, and he leaned forward just a little.

He lifted one hand, holding it up before his face. Through the black haze that covered his vision, he could barely make out the shape of it. Just a faint outline—fingers, knuckles, skin. Vague, flickering.

His hands clenched slightly.

To be honest, Yunfeng had started seeing vague shapes again since last night.

He hadn’t told Muchen.

Not because he didn’t want to share the progress, but because he wanted to wait—wait until he was completely healed, until he could see Muchen clearly again. He didn’t want to give him hope unless he was sure. He didn’t want to see that brief flicker of excitement turn into disappointment if things didn’t last. So, for now, he kept it to himself.

The door creaked open again, and Muchen returned, holding a small bowl carefully with both hands.

"Here," he said, walking over and helping Yunfeng to his feet. "Come sit here."

He guided Yunfeng gently to the bed and helped him sit down, placing the bowl into his hands.

"Shit—I forgot the spoon," Muchen muttered, lightly smacking his forehead. "Wait here, I’ll get it."

He rushed back out without waiting for a reply.

As soon as the footsteps faded, Yunfeng stood up slowly, holding the still-warm bowl. He moved across the room quietly and walked into the small bathroom connected to their space. His expression was unreadable.

Without hesitation, he lifted the bowl and tilted its contents into the toilet bowl. A soft splash followed, and he quickly flushed. The sound of swirling water echoed briefly, and then it was gone—clean, like nothing had ever been there.

Yunfeng stood still for a moment, then dipped his fingers into the remaining bits stuck to the edge of the bowl. He smeared a bit of it onto the corner of his mouth, checking his reflection faintly in the blurry bathroom mirror. It would pass.

He returned to the bed just as he heard Muchen’s footsteps coming back.

Yunfeng sat casually, the now-empty bowl in his hands, legs tucked neatly beneath him.

Muchen stopped in the doorway, spoon in hand. His gaze drifted from Yunfeng to the bowl, blinking once.

"You just... chugged it down?" he asked, brows lifting in surprise. "Wow, you must’ve been so hungry..."

"Yeah..." Yunfeng mumbled, wiping at the corner of his mouth like he’d forgotten there was food on it.

He set the bowl aside and pulled Muchen toward him gently.

Muchen didn’t resist. He leaned in easily, letting himself be wrapped in Yunfeng’s arms.

Yunfeng held him tighter than usual.

His arms wrapped around Muchen, and for a moment, he simply held on—body still, breathing steady, his chin resting lightly on Muchen’s shoulder. It looked like affection. And part of it was. But mostly, he needed time to think.

His gaze drifted downward, toward his hand—the one holding his lover.

And there it was.

Through the dark mist that usually swallowed his vision, he could vaguely make out the outline of his own fingers, clutching the soft fabric of Muchen’s shirt. The edges were hazy, the details muddled, but the shape was there. Clear enough to recognize. Clear enough to know this wasn’t just his imagination.

His sight had started to come back last night. He hadn’t told Muchen.

Not because he didn’t trust him—at least, not then—but because he’d wanted to be certain. He’d wanted to be fully healed before saying anything. Muchen had worried enough already, and Yunfeng didn’t want to give him false hope if the improvement had only been temporary.

But it had been real.

For a few minutes last night, he’d seen almost everything around him. The room, the soft light filtering in through the cracks in the boarded windows, the way Muchen had fallen asleep with a book open on his lap, tilted slightly to the side.

Yunfeng remembered reaching out and gently brushing a lock of hair from his lover’s forehead.

It had felt like coming back to life.

But then, not long after, Muchen had stirred awake. He’d smiled at Yunfeng, murmured something sweet, and then gone to warm up the soup he’d made. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious.

And yet...

Yunfeng had taken a sip.

And almost instantly, the darkness had returned.

It had been subtle, quiet, like a curtain slowly being drawn over his vision again. At first, just a blurring around the edges. Then the light began to dim, until all that was left was that suffocating, familiar black fog.

His heart sank.

Even now, sitting here with Muchen pressed against him, that moment looped in his mind again and again.

His sight had started to come back. Until he drank the soup.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his expression still.

It could’ve been a coincidence. It might have been nothing. But the gut feeling twisting in his stomach told him otherwise.

It terrified him.

Because if he was right, it meant someone—someone in this house—was going out of their way to keep him in this state. Vulnerable. Helpless.

Dependent.

And the worst part?

They were doing it through Muchen.