However, he didn’t have the courage to pull it out just yet.
“Blaine, I told you.”
Seeing the gloom shadowing Blaine’s face, as if he’d come to some conclusion, Hurel set the soup bowl and spoon down on the table with a soft clink. Unlike Blaine’s own hands, which had grown rough from endless labor and constant contact with honey, Hurel’s hand—pale and soft—came to rest against his cheek. The fingers that had been gently stroking him moved on to lightly trace along his jawline, tickling it.
“If you have nowhere to go, you can stay here as long as you want.”
As if saying You’re my lifesaver over and over still wasn’t enough, Hurel cupped Blaine’s cheeks with both hands and even met his eyes directly. In his softly gleaming silver irises, there was a calm but unwavering resolve. Finding it hard to meet that gaze head-on, Blaine lowered his eyes slightly.
“…Yeah. Thanks.”
“There’s no need for that at all, hmm?”
His head might be a bit empty, but he wasn’t a bad kid at heart. No—Blaine even found himself thinking that Hurel was overly affectionate and soft-hearted, unable to abandon or ignore even a lowly prey species like himself, someone who didn’t matter in the food chain. At first, Blaine had suspected maybe he was being kept as emergency rations, but now that kind of doubt no longer crossed his mind.
“Blaine, cheer up. I’ll go get some honey soon.”
That worried attitude couldn’t possibly be an act. There was no reason to go to such lengths for a powerless honeybee with no stinger. To reassure Hurel, who was scanning his body with anxious eyes, Blaine forced the corners of his mouth up into a smile.
***
“Um… Hurel.”
“Yes? What is it? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”
“Well, uh… not exactly… I mean, I am uncomfortable, but…”
You’re way too close… it’s kind of hard to breathe… Perhaps he hadn’t heard the muttered words, because Hurel pressed his chin snugly against Blaine’s chest and looked up at him with a puzzled tilt of the head. Seeing those gentle, innocent eyes glimmering even in the darkness, Blaine couldn’t bring himself to say anything more and shut his mouth.
“You were the one who said this was fine, Blaine.”
“That’s…”
It was true. Several days had already passed since Blaine had settled into Hurel’s spacious, old-fashioned home. Living like a freeloader—accepting every meal offered and being waited on in every possible way—had started to weigh heavily on him. Blaine had rolled up his sleeves and tried to help with whatever he could, only to be met again and again with Hurel’s firm refusal. For all his naivety and airheadedness, Hurel was strangely stubborn about certain things.
“I like cooking. There’s nothing for you to worry about. If you really want to help, just make sure you eat well.”
“But still… then at least let me clean or something…”
“You’re not even fully recovered yet. What are you talking about? Just sit down, okay?”
“I-I’m fine now, really…”
Having lived over twenty years as a Worker Bee, Blaine’s domestic skills were nothing to scoff at. Even so, Hurel’s cooking was so good that Blaine had no words in response. When cooking proved off-limits, he’d tried poking around to help with cleaning, laundry, or miscellaneous chores, but Hurel’s home was so spacious and yet so barren that there was hardly anything to tidy up. Putting it frankly, it was absurd—a place far larger than ten or so Worker Bee studio rooms combined, despite housing a spider living alone. And yet, with barely any furniture, it felt strangely desolate.
But Blaine, appearances aside, was painfully a honeybee to his core. He couldn’t endure a life of idleness, doing nothing but eating without contributing. Today, he’d resolved—no, sworn—to finally voice his opinion and convince that spider once and for all. And so, with an unusually serious attitude, Blaine had confessed his true feelings to Hurel.
“If you really want to help…”
After hesitating for a while, repeatedly biting and releasing those pretty lips, Hurel reached for Blaine’s hands. He enclosed them in both of his and gently kneaded them before whispering softly. The sound was so quiet—quieter than the beat of a butterfly’s wings—that Blaine had to lean his ear closer and ask again.
“Hm?”
“I want Blaine to be my body pillow.”
“B-Body… what?”
A body pil… low? He felt like he’d heard it somewhere before. Something long, that you hug while sleeping, like a bamboo wife pillow… was that it?
“I’m actually a very light sleeper, so I can’t sleep deeply.”
“That’s weird. I heard idiots usually sleep really well…”
“What?”
“No, nothing. So?”
“So even when I sleep, it doesn’t feel like rest. I get headaches, dizziness…”
As he spoke, Hurel lightly touched his temples. Now that Blaine really looked, his milk-white face did seem tired. So fragile he looked like he might shatter with a breeze, and he couldn’t even sleep properly. Was that why he fainted so often? The more Blaine thought about it, the more he felt that for a predator, Hurel was a remarkably delicate creature.
“So… what you’re saying is… you want to hold me while you sleep… something like that?”
“Ah—sorry, Blaine. You probably don’t like that, right? I just had this feeling that if I slept holding your solid body, I’d be able to fall asleep really well… but it’s rude, isn’t it?”
It would be uncomfortable, sure, but as someone freeloading in another’s home, Blaine didn’t really have the right to refuse. Besides, caring for larvae was part of a Worker Bee’s job, and he was good at holding others while sleeping. So Blaine expressed, as casually as he could, that he didn’t really mind.
“R-really? Then… that means it’s okay?”
“Yeah, well… it’s not that big a deal.”
Blaine truly believed that at the time. That it really wasn’t a big deal. That for someone doing nothing and leeching off another, this much was only natural.
Who could’ve known it would be this exhausting…
“C-could you move just a little farther away—”
“Mmm… it’s cold…”
“Uh, sorry…”
He had overlooked one fatal detail. After his work clothes were torn apart, he still hadn’t received any new clothes. Seeing Hurel painstakingly spin spider silk to weave him clothes by hand, Blaine hadn’t had the heart to hurry him, swallowing his complaints instead. Each time Hurel’s warm, soft bare skin brushed against his own naked body, Blaine flinched involuntarily.
“H-hk!”
Trying to force himself to sleep by repeatedly telling himself he wasn’t a honeybee but a rock, Blaine nevertheless sucked in a sharp, startled breath and jolted. In the darkness, a pale, gleaming hand had reached out and begun kneading his chest.
All five fingers spread wide, cupping his entire chest and pressing down until they sank deeply into the flesh. One by one, from thumb to little finger, the pressure pressed firmly like playing piano keys, then tightened into a grasp that kneaded him. The hand moved downward, lifting his chest as if supporting it, then squeezed painfully hard until his skin turned white. It began kneading him outright, like working dough.
“Wh-what are you—what are you doing…?”
“Mmm… Blaine? What’s wrong?”
Hurel’s voice, nearly asleep, was a muttered whisper—so faint Blaine only barely caught it. He clamped his mouth shut, rigidly stiffening his body so it wouldn’t thrash, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
He prayed, with all his heart, for this night to pass as quickly as possible.
