“I still don’t understand what I did wrong.”
Blaine felt like grabbing the back of his neck and collapsing right then and there. It wasn’t an exaggeration—he looked absolutely wrecked, curled up on his side and groaning on the bed as if something terrible had happened overnight. His pale, blue-tinged face was a clear sign that he was still shaken. From where he sat kneeling by the bed, Hurel looked up at him with big, blinking eyes. The spider had his fists neatly placed on his thighs, seated in a perfect posture with his pouty lips jutting out and his eyes darting in frustration.
“That’s just how spiders do things, okay? It’s not weird at all.”
“Hey.”
A low, gravelly syllable scraped out from Blaine’s mouth like he was trying to drill through the floor. His fist slowly raised. The spider’s brows drooped dramatically, mouth corners following as if he were the most wronged creature in the world. But he didn’t argue—obediently, he leaned forward and bumped his head against Blaine’s fist with a soft bonk.
“…You’re so mean.”
“No, you’re the one who’s mean.”
Just from looking at his lips, he didn’t seem like a spider—he looked like a duck. Hurel now had the sulky face of a child who’d been scolded unfairly. Blaine nearly wavered for a moment, heart softening at the sight… until vivid flashes of last night’s debauchery played through his mind like a horrific panorama. He shuddered. No. No way. One punch wasn’t nearly enough!
Bonk—!
“Seriously! You were too busy doing weird crap to even finish the clothes—!”
This time, Blaine brought his own fist down on Hurel’s head—not hard, just a tap. His face flushed hot as he started fanning himself with his hand. Forget it. Just forget everything. If he didn’t, he might end up going down in history as the first honeybee to literally die of shame.
“Why wouldn’t I finish them? I did. They’re done.”
“Uh… what?”
Already? Then from last night—after doing that—until this morning, in just that short span, he managed to finish the clothes? Was that even possible?
Blaine didn’t know the first thing about tailoring, but even with his basic common sense, he assumed making proper outerwear was way harder than sleepwear. Yet Hurel hadn’t been able to finish the pajamas even after days, and now he’d somehow whipped up a full outfit overnight?
Blaine narrowed his eyes in suspicion. In response, Hurel blushed a soft peach color and fidgeted with his fingers. He muttered something about wanting to dress Blaine in something pretty, so he pushed himself harder than ever.
“It’s not amazing or anything… but I really did my best. I think it turned out well enough to wear. Not to brag, but I got top marks in weaving class back in elementary school.”
Under normal circumstances, Blaine would have been skeptical. But now, with the actual clothes being presented right in front of him, there was no room for doubt. Even to Blaine’s untrained eye… they looked good. The fabric, the design, the details—everything was well-crafted.
“That’s… amazing. Um, th-thanks.”
“No need to thank me. Here, try it on! I’m excited.”
Excited, huh? For someone saying that, Blaine himself was starting to feel a little giddy, like something was fluttering in his chest. The fabric felt incredibly soft against his skin. But aside from baggy T-shirts or work clothes, he’d never really worn anything formal. He clumsily picked up the clothes, fumbling awkwardly—only for a pale hand to reach over and snatch them away.
Shhhk—
“Ah…”
The fabric, softer than a silkworm’s cocoon, brushed over his shoulder, sending a pleasant tickle down his spine. At the same time, a whiff of damp wood hit his nose, the scent wafting up from near his jaw. Blaine fidgeted, dropping his gaze in embarrassment. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst, and his whole body was heating up. He stammered out nonsense just to fill the silence.
“Uh… is it normal for a shirt to have so few buttons?”
The shirt Hurel dressed him in had only one tiny button at the bottom, and then another one maybe four finger-widths above it. That was it. It left his chest—and even his upper stomach—completely exposed.
“It’s trendy these days.”
“…Oh… yeah?”
If that’s what people were wearing these days, he had nothing else to say.
“This is outerwear. It might be almost summer, but nights still get chilly.”
Despite the shirt barely functioning as clothing at all, the jacket and overcoat on top were wrapped tight like armor. Was this what people called fashion—this weird imbalance? Fashion was way too complicated.
“Ufufu~ Bee-Bee, you look so pretty.”
“Bee… pre—?”
The nickname Bee-Bee was sweet enough to make him squirm, but what hit harder was being called pretty. His head must not be empty—it must be filled with bizarre ideas. Or his eyes were broken. But if he started picking a fight about it, only his mouth and brain would suffer. Blaine decided to let it go.
“You really do look beautiful.”
“Ugh…!”
Even Blaine, who was trying to ignore everything and mentally check out, couldn’t let that slide. At some point—probably ever since the day Hurel rescued him while he was out gathering honey—the spider’s touches had grown more frequent. Hurel would grab his hand or pull him into hugs without a second thought. That alone was a lot to deal with, but the kissing! On his cheeks, on his eyelids, even his lips—not to mention those two other places he didn’t even want to say out loud. Without warning, without permission. It was driving him insane. The worst part was that it didn’t even feel that bad.
“Hure—ahhh!”
He had just opened his mouth to protest when, perfectly timed, two slender white fingers slid past his overcoat and pinched a sensitive bump under his shirt—one that the low neckline left exposed. There was no way he could have timed it so precisely unless he was waiting for Blaine to open his mouth. Caught off guard, Blaine let out a loud, lewd gasp before he could stop himself. Humiliated, he couldn’t even summon the will to get mad.
“Hm. As I thought—this design makes you easier to touch. Very nice.”
“Uhh… huh?”
“You look so beautiful. It suits you perfectly.”
Hidden away from prying eyes under layers of outerwear, Blaine’s deliciously firm body could be fondled with ease just by slipping a hand beneath. Naturally, all of this had been planned. Every article of clothing Blaine wore was designed by the very person who knew exactly how to loosen or remove them with just a flick of the wrist. And Blaine—poor, clueless Blaine—had no idea. Nor did Hurel have any intention of ever telling him. Instead, he pressed a light kiss to Blaine’s blushing cheek.
“Come on, we need to get ready. At this rate, we’ll be late.”
“Mmmh… But why—why do you keep kissing me…?”
“Yes?”
Hurel tilted his head with exaggerated innocence, eyes wide as if he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was. Blaine, flustered and mumbling, could only shake his head in defeat, his expression clouded with discomfort.
For someone preparing for a long journey, the packing was almost pitifully modest. But it couldn’t be helped—he was broke. Blaine stuffed a small backpack with a few changes of underwear, emergency rations, a first aid kit, a water bottle, a sleeping bag, and other necessities. As he adjusted the straps, he glanced back at Hurel, feeling a strange twinge in his chest.
All morning—no, ever since the night before—Hurel’s bizarre behavior had kept Blaine’s emotions bottled up. But now, they were starting to leak out. A faint ache tugged beneath his heart, making it hard to move his feet. I guess… this is what it means to feel reluctant. He hadn’t expected to get so attached. He was going to miss him. A lot.
Blaine opened his mouth, ready to say a soft, bittersweet goodbye—only for his jaw to drop at the sight in front of him.
“Hurel… what the—what is all that…?”
“It’s your lunch. Food is the most important thing, right? Our Bee-Bee needs to eat well if he’s going on a trip.”
“Wait, that’s… way too much…”
When did he make all that? That wasn’t even the real question. The real question was: How am I supposed to carry all this? Even the most gluttonous drones didn’t eat that much in a day. Blaine trailed off, overwhelmed, but Hurel just stood there looking sheepish—like he really didn’t understand what the problem was.
