After Transmigrating, I Raised Cubs in the Insectoid Clan - Chapter 21

Suter finished the sumptuous dinner in a daze. After consuming three large bowls of rice and two bowls of pork rib and lotus root soup, he nibbled bit by bit on the only small piece of cake on the table, which had been placed pointedly in front of him.

Before bed, Samuel warmed a glass of milk as usual. However, this time it was a special blend made with the strawberry milk they had bought previously and the leftover Suye fruit puree from dinner. Suter gulped it down and went to brush his teeth, feeling calm and composed.

Samuel tidied up the second bedroom, adjusting the air conditioning to the temperature Suter preferred.

The teddy bear that Suter always kicked off the bed was lying piteously on the carpet. Samuel leaned over to pick it up, patted away non-existent dust, and placed it neatly beside the pillow. He then opened the wardrobe, pulled out a slightly thicker down duvet from the bottom, and spread it over the bed. The summer quilt he replaced was carefully folded and set aside on the rattan chair by the window.

Tomorrow, Xiao Su would take it to the washing machine along with the laundry.

Having finished washing up, Suter leaned against the doorframe, watching Samuel move back and forth in his room like a busy ant. He watched as Samuel, like a magician, produced a small octopus plushie and gently placed it on top of the teddy bear’s head. Samuel then turned around with a soft smile and looked at Suter.

“It is a new one. Very soft.”

Suter leaned against the doorframe, his Adam’s apple moving. He had seen this plushie on Xiao Su’s shopping list long ago and had even secretly hoped it might be an excuse for them to sleep together. But Samuel had simply placed it here quietly, as if completing a mysterious ritual.

He moved slowly to the bedside, his long limbs sinking into the soft bedding. His fingers idly toyed with the octopus’s tentacles. He did not quite understand why Samuel had bought this.

“Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight.”

Suter did not understand the meaning of the phrase, but he responded instinctively. He kept his eyes open, subconsciously seeking out the sliver of light at the door in the darkness. Samuel stood there, and seeing Suter looking over, he gently urged him to close his eyes.

“Can I have a kiss?”

Suter buried his face in the octopus plushie, his voice muffled. He pulled at the sixteen long tentacles, letting them wrap around him, feeling a sense of security.

The sound of the door handle turning stopped abruptly.

Suter spoke again. “Can I have a kiss? If you kiss me, I will fall asleep very quickly.”

Samuel paused at the door for a few seconds before finally returning. As he leaned down, he brought with him a faint scent of shower gel. A kiss, as light as a feather, landed on Suter’s forehead.

Suter was not actually satisfied; he wanted to kiss Samuel’s lips more, but he felt he should not push his luck right now. He held one of the octopus’s tentacles, using it to tickle Samuel’s hand just as Samuel was about to withdraw it.

“I warmed a glass of milk for you too,” his voice was hidden under the covers. “Go drink it and sleep, alright?”

Samuel was visibly stunned, and then a smile spread across the corners of his eyes. “Alright.”

The door to the second bedroom was gently closed, and the room plunged into darkness.

Suter buried his burning face deep into the fluffy body of the octopus plushie, and the sixteen tentacles coiled around him as if they were alive. He curled his body, adjusting the position of every tentacle, trying to let the soft appendages wrap around him completely, from his arms to his waist. The final tentacle rested gently against the side of his neck, like a cautious embrace.

Every breath was filled with the specific soap fragrance of the washed plushie, mixed with the faint warmth of the sun-dried bedding. Suter pressed his nose against the octopus’s rounded head. The tentacles made a slight rustling sound with his movements, sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet room.

Suter held his breath, his ears catching every minute sound from outside: Samuel’s footsteps moving from near to far, a brief pause in the kitchen, the crisp clink of the glass hitting the table, and the nearly inaudible sound of swallowing. Those sounds were remarkably clear in the silence, like a thin thread pulling at his tense nerves.

The footsteps approached again, seemingly pausing in front of his door. Then the footsteps receded further; from the next room came the rustle of bedsheets, the shifting of a duvet, and finally a soft click.

Samuel’s night light had been turned off.

Darkness, like thick ink, saturated the room.

Suter kept his eyes closed, his eyelashes casting fine shadows on his pale cheeks. His fingertips rested lightly on his wrist, feeling his pulse—one, two, three.

When he reached the three hundred and seventy-second beat, he slowly opened his eyes.

Thick darkness was an absolute barrier for ordinary people, but for a military insect tempered on the battlefield, it was merely a thin, transparent veil. He could clearly see the fine cracks on the ceiling, the curve of the curtains lifted by the warm air from the air conditioner, and even every small stitch on the tentacles of the octopus plushie.

He sat up soundlessly. As the bedding slid from his shoulders, it made a slight noise. The octopus plushie he had used as a substitute for Samuel was ruthlessly swept to the floor.

He listened to the soft, rhythmic breathing coming from the next room, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

The medicine had taken effect.

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