A little rough as the situation had been, the feelings and trust they shared had only deepened afterward, so in the end, it had all turned out for the better. After all, doesn’t the ground grow firmer after rain? No matter what anyone said, the ever‑optimistic honeybee chose to believe that.
Since Hurel bore many wounds—both physical and emotional—Blaine needed to care for him even more diligently. Repeating this resolve to himself again and again, he hurried along with a basket full of tiny fruits—cherries, mulberries, all perfectly round and flawless, each one carefully picked.
Lately, Hurel wouldn’t eat anything except the little berries Blaine begged him to swallow. It worried Blaine sick—so much so that he hardly slept at night. Then again, considering Hurel’s cooking skill, their current meals were worse than a salad made of weeds; it was no surprise it didn’t appeal to him. Still, if he kept skipping meals, his body would deteriorate.
Especially today—Blaine had picked the very best fruits, the ones with perfect shape and color. He hoped Hurel would at least eat a little. Sighing, he quickened his pace when he spotted a honeybee bundled tightly in a blanket. The round head made it clear—Basil had recovered quite a bit.
“Basil, are you feeling better?”
“That doesn’t matter right now, Blaine! Something terrible happened!”
“What?!”
Given the circumstances, his urgent voice and panicked expression made Blaine’s heart plummet. Basil was running toward him, sweat beading on his forehead, golden hair plastered down.
A dreadful thought flashed across Blaine’s mind.
He’d been so anxious leaving Hurel alone even for a moment that he had asked Basil to watch him from a distance while he was gone.
“D-did something happen to Hurel?!”
His tongue tangled, voice barely coherent. Blaine grabbed Basil’s chubby, short forearm in a crushing grip. Basil winced, but hurried to explain before Blaine panicked further.
“I think… you’d better come quickly. That white guy—his condition looks strange.”
The moment those words left Basil’s mouth, Blaine lost all sense of himself.
The basket of carefully chosen fruits scattered, rolling across the ground. Blaine sprinted before he even realized he was moving.
Even when his lungs felt ready to burst, even when his legs tingled numb, he didn’t stop. But when he reached the familiar ancient tree—where Hurel should’ve been leaning—his vision swam.
“Hani!”
There was no one beneath the tree. Only discarded clothes and trousers, scattered like shed skin, and several pale, chalk‑white fragments of wood lying around.
Blaine didn’t even feel the stone he tripped over as he ran to them. When he realized what they were, he nearly fainted.
Dry and cracked like drought‑stricken soil, crumbling like dust—the fragments were unmistakably the limbs that had caressed him just hours earlier.
“Hani! Hani!”
Blaine grabbed one brittle arm—fragile as tree bark. It crumbled instantly in his grasp, scattering into powder.
His legs, already weak and trembling, finally gave out. He collapsed to his knees.
“Wh… where…?”
Unable to stand, he crawled desperately across the dirt, searching for any sign of his lover. No. No. He just stepped away for a moment. But how? He couldn’t even walk properly. And the clothes… the limbs…
The more he tried to deny it, the more reality stabbed at him with icy clarity.
Now speechless, lips moving soundlessly, he dragged himself along the ground until he toppled over completely.
In hindsight, Hurel had seemed strange lately. He hadn’t eaten at all. He leaned weakly against the tree every day. How stupid Blaine had been—assuming it was “just his legs.”
“Hhic… n-no… it can’t…”
Repeating it can’t be again and again, he clawed at the earth, trying to gather the fragments. But they only crumbled further—finer than dust—slipping through his fingers into the soil.
Blaine shook his head miserably, tears spilling.
“Hani! Please come out! Answer me! Hani!”
He screamed until his throat should have torn, but no reply came. In truth, the sound barely escaped him—his strained voice choked off by sobs.
Like a lost child, he searched the area over and over, then collapsed onto the ground, clinging desperately to Hurel’s discarded outer garment.
“Uuuhk… hhk…”
It’s not true. He couldn’t have left me. Not like this. Without a word.
His shoulders shook violently as he lay flattened on the ground.
But predators, it was said, hid themselves away at the end—instinctively concealing their weakness so no one would see it. Maybe… maybe Hurel had gone somewhere to die alone.
Blaine sobbed uncontrollably, denying it again and again.
“Huueeh… hhuuuh—”
Why… why…? You said you loved me. I said I’d stay. You said all of me was yours.
He’d never cried like this in his entire life. Tears poured until he felt faint, yet they wouldn’t stop.
From the first moment he’d met him, Hurel’s image rose vividly—like pages flipping open one after another. Such a breathtaking creature. Soft whispers from those red lips—gentle enough that Blaine wanted to believe anything he said. Wanted to grant him anything.
But Blaine had realized far too late— that he couldn’t live without him.
Even being separated beneath the same sky would’ve been unbearable. And now, that sky didn’t hold him at all.
The pain was too enormous. He didn’t want to live. He didn’t think he could.
“Hani… why… h-huuueeeh—”
Even crying hurt. His lungs felt stomped flat, his eyes throbbed, his nose stung, his cheeks felt raw. He couldn’t breathe.
A fleeting thought passed— Would it be easier to die like this? If you’re gone… how am I supposed to go on?
“Hff… hhkk—”
Every last drop of moisture drained from his body, leaving him limp. He collapsed fully, yet tears still streamed down.
Even then, he clutched the black garment to his chest. Through the salty tears and damp earth, a familiar scent reached him—wood, fruit, a hint of moisture. Instinctively, he pressed his face closer, inhaling the lingering trace of his lover.
“Bee-Bee, what happened?”
“Th-that… hhk… Hani… Hani… he…”
Blaine’s voice broke entirely. He could only hiccup and choke.
Then he froze.
That voice—he knew it better than his own heartbeat. And who else called him Bee-Bee?
“……”
Blinking through tear-blurred vision, he saw—illuminated by the breaking morning light—a figure with hair even whiter than before, shimmering as it fluttered. Standing on two perfect, unblemished legs, the beautiful figure looked almost unchanged except for slightly longer hair.
“Bee-Bee? You were crying? Who did this to you?”
You!! Blaine wanted to answer, but his mind was too blank. He stared like a statue at the spider’s fluttering lashes and the silver gemstones beneath them.
“Well? Who was it? And why are you hugging my coat?”
“You…”
The honeybee, tongue-tied and dazed, couldn’t form even a simple sentence. He staggered forward like a creature tangled in strings, reaching out as though mesmerized.
Time slowed. He could almost hear the gulp as his throat moved.
His fingertips brushed delicate strands of silken hair, then glided to a soft, warm cheek—pliable as fresh mochi. Just a little further, and he would touch the warm pulse along that slender neck.
