The honeybee blinked and turned to look at him. That voice—it wasn’t the kind of denial that came from surprise. No, it was the sound of unwavering certainty. And yet, the hulking rhinoceros beetle was now squealing with joy in off-key pig-like sounds, bouncing in relief that they were finally saved.
“Huh… Hurel? Is something wrong?”
The spider was silent for a moment. Then, wearing his usual frigid expression—one he rarely showed in front of the honeybee—he slowly shook his head.
“No, Bee-Bee. Come on, let’s go.”
Blaine didn’t know what was going on, but he said nothing and simply followed the spider. Meanwhile, the still-dancing rhinoceros beetle caught a swift kick to the back from Hurel and, on the verge of tears, hurried his steps.
What they arrived at looked like a baobab tree struck by lightning, dying in place. Except this one was so massive, anyone would’ve believed it if General claimed it was a baobab. Or ten of them, really—snapped, tangled together, forming a scene that looked like a single, gigantic tree. Blaine briefly wondered, Do thunderstorms even happen in rainforests? But then remembered hearing that lightning strikes don’t care about location, and brushed the thought aside.
“I remembered it clearly. There was a door beneath this tree. I thought it was weird that I couldn’t find it no matter how hard I looked!”
Given General’s usual memory, Blaine didn’t find that particularly surprising. But voicing that would’ve been impolite, and Blaine was too considerate for that. Unlike someone else.
“So? Where’s the door?”
The voice was rough as coarse hemp—completely devoid of kindness. But General just grinned and, with a theatrical “ta-daaa!” sound effect, pointed proudly to the thick roots. Nestled between them, wide as a tree trunk, was a gaping hole like a rabbit burrow, completely dark inside.
When they brushed aside the seaweed-like drapes of leaves, an oddly clean-cut and refined door came into view—completely out of place among the wild forest undergrowth. It looked just large enough for an ant-sized creature to go in and out comfortably. General grabbed the silver-carved round doorknob, turned it with confidence, and threw the door open with the flourish of a grand welcome.
Or at least, he tried to.
“Uh, huh? Why won’t it open?”
“Isn’t it normal for these kinds of things to not open?”
Hurel muttered in disbelief, his voice deflated. Blaine nodded in agreement. My Hani might have his airheaded moments, but he’s way smarter than General. Plus, with a face that sweet, being a little dumb isn’t even a flaw—it’s cute.
Blaine smiled to himself, lost in thoughts that would leave anyone unsure of who the real idiot was.
“Ugh?!”
As General kept desperately twisting the knob like he was about to rip it off, the door suddenly flung open inward with a violent force. Maybe it was the wind? But to Blaine, it didn’t feel like the door had been pushed from outside—it felt more like it had been sucked in from the inside.
Before Blaine could even trust his eyes, General, still clinging to the knob, lost his balance and tumbled straight into the hole.
“Aaaaaaah—!”
The baritone scream faded as it fell. Blaine stood frozen in shock for a beat, then rushed forward and peered down into the pit, frantically shouting:
“Gen, are you okay?! Gen! Answer me—!”
Nothing.
“General!!”
Blaine called out again and again, voice hoarse, but there was still no reply. He immediately spread his wings and ducked his head through the door to follow, only to be yanked back by the nape before he could utter another sound.
“Hani, what are you doing? Let me go—I have to save Gen!”
He was sure that’s what he meant to say, but with Hurel’s hand around his neck, it came out in a choked rasp. And somehow, the spider still understood. With an unreadable expression, Hurel simply wrapped an arm around Blaine’s waist and pulled him close.
“Keep those wings open and I’ll rip them off.”
“Wh-what?!”
The chilling words made his blood run cold. Blaine stared at his lover in shock. Then Hurel gave him a mischievous smile, leaned in to press a kiss to his lips with a soft smooch, and without warning, twisted one of Blaine’s nipples.
“Haaang!”
“Tuck your wings in. Now.”
The unexpected attack made Blaine let out a weird little cry, his face flushing bright tomato red. Then Hurel’s fingers grazed lightly along the base of his wings—ticklish and teasing. Unable to take it anymore, Blaine finally gave in, sniffling, and folded his wings back in.
The spider, pleased, gave him a tiny kiss of praise and pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Hold on tight.”
“W-Wait, what—?”
Hurel lifted Blaine’s hands and placed them firmly on his own shoulders, then began slowly stepping backward.
Before Blaine could warn him that the drop was right behind them, the two bodies—pressed close together—plunged into the hole at terrifying speed.
“Hani—! What are you doing?!”
“I told you not to spread your wings.”
“Hgh—But that’s not the point, why are you pinching there—!”
A tear formed at the corner of Blaine’s long eyes. What does that even mean?! Do you want me to beg? Or should I be grateful?! The spider’s smug teasing—“Don’t like pinching? Want me to bite instead?”—made Blaine flail, ready to smack his back, but then remembered he couldn’t move his hands.
“You’re too cute, seriously.”
“Ugh, you—!”
Blaine glared at Hurel with what should’ve been a fearsome expression, but then noticed something.
Wait… are we… slowing down?
The speed at which they were falling had eased considerably. At this rate, it didn’t feel like a fall at all—it was more like a gentle descent. At least it didn’t seem like they’d end up as squished honeybee pancake and spider meatball when they landed.
A thin, silvery-white thread coiled around both their waists, stretched taut up toward the ceiling where the door had started. It shimmered faintly as it extended upward. Hurel’s web—stronger than steel—was bearing the weight of both their bodies with ease.
Finally able to relax, Blaine glanced around—and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“What the hell is that—?!”
“Told you, didn’t I?”
As if scolding a misbehaving child, Hurel gave Blaine’s cheek a playful pinch and brushed a kiss to his lips. But Blaine was too overwhelmed, eyes darting everywhere as he tried to take it all in.
Spread irregularly across the walls was something too thin to be called blades, and too sharp to be mere threads—deadly strands laced with a faint glimmer. Sticky, viscous-looking substances clung to them, along with the shredded remains of countless insect wings, each from a different species. It was a gruesome sight.
“A pristine little door in the middle of a rainforest? C’mon, that’s a red flag.”
“H-Hani… how did you…”
“I do know a thing or two about spiders, you know.”
Hurel chuckled at his own terrible joke, then looked lovingly at the trembling, pale honeybee in his arms. How could he just let him be like this? No way. Unacceptable. He had a helpless giant bee dangling from him—there was no way he wouldn’t tease him.
“Why are you shaking so much? Cold?”
“U-Urgh! N-no, Hani, it’s just… General…”
“Mm… if his wings were intact, that beetle would’ve ended up like the others. But lucky for him, that wing got scorched back at the wasp base, so he probably—”
Hurel calmly explained while kneading Blaine’s plump butt in both hands. But mid-sentence, his voice slowed, realization dawning.
“…so actually, he’s still going to end up the same, huh? Oh well.”
“GENERAL!!!”
A creature falling from this height without usable wings? Blaine realized the implication before Hurel did, and his face turned ashen as he screamed.
“What do you mean, ‘Oh well’?!”
“Mmm… he was a decent beetle. A shame, really…”
“HANI!!”
Unable to punch Hurel due to their position, Blaine instead opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into the spider’s neck in furious retribution.
