The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 149 - Hugged

Nansich decided to push aside the strange feeling twisting in his chest. Whatever just happened with that glowing pendant and the weirdly dressed man—it could wait. He had chores to finish, and if he didn’t pull his weight, he wouldn’t get fed.

He dusted the hay off his pants and stood up, glancing once more at the unconscious man lying nearby. His chest rose and fell steadily, the crystal around his neck now transparent, almost as if nothing had happened.

With a shake of his head, Nansich turned and headed out.

First, the cows. He made his way to the small enclosure behind the barn where the animals stood, lazily swatting their tails. They mooed in greeting, and he gave them a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, I’m late. You’ll survive." He poured feed into the trough, checked their water, and scratched behind the ear of the oldest one, who licked his sleeve in return.

Then it was back to the chickens. He tossed out more feed for the hens, giving Hawk a wide berth after their earlier scuffle. The rooster strutted arrogantly around the yard like he’d won a war. Nansich narrowed his eyes at him. "You better not bite me again, or I’m putting you in a stew."

By the time he finished, the sun had fully risen, casting warm orange streaks across the field. The sky was clear today. For once, it felt like a normal morning.

"Kid! Come in for breakfast!" the cabbie’s wife called from the porch of the house, her voice carrying easily across the yard.

Nansich perked up and jogged over to her, brushing straw off his arms. "Coming!"

She handed him a small bundle wrapped in a clean cloth—still warm in his hands. "Here’s your share," she said with a kind smile. "Homemade bread, jerky, and a bottle of milk. Eat slow, alright?"

"Thank you!" he beamed, then tilted his head as she lowered her voice and leaned in.

"Go back in quick after you’re done, alright? We shouldn’t be out too long. They said things are getting worse out there," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the forest.

Nansich nodded. "Got it."

She closed the door gently behind him, locking it with a soft click.

Clutching his bundle, Nansich returned to the barn with a bounce in his step. He was starving, and the smell of warm bread filled his nose as he unwrapped his breakfast. Settling down on the hay pile beside the unconscious man, he tore off a piece and chewed happily.

The stranger didn’t stir.

Nansich glanced at him between bites. "You better not be some freaky alien," he mumbled with a full mouth. "I’m not dragging you back to life just for you to eat my face off."

He washed down a bite of bread with milk, sighing contentedly. He didn’t hate staying here to be honest.

In fact, he was used to manual work. His grandpa owned a modest orchard in the northern valleys, and every spring, Nansich would take a few days off just to help him out. There was something calming about it—checking the roots, tying up young saplings, feeling the soil under his fingers.

He liked work like this. Honest work. Simple work.

Nansich wiped his mouth and finished the last of his jerky before packing the now-empty bottle back into his cloth wrap. His gaze drifted back to the stranger, who remained completely motionless on the hay pile beside him.

He tilted his head, brow furrowing slightly. There was no denying it—the man was easy on the eyes. Stupidly handsome, even under all that dirt and dried blood. His jawline was sharp, his nose regal, and those lashes were way too long for someone unconscious. But there was something... off. Something Nansich couldn’t quite place.

His eyes settled on the pendant lying quietly on the man’s bare chest.

That weird glowing red crystal... Now it just looked like glass—completely clear, transparent like melted ice, catching the morning light.

’What is that thing really?’ he wondered, chewing his lip.

Curiosity got the better of him. He leaned closer and reached out again, finger hovering above the stone. Slowly, he tapped it. Nothing happened.

He frowned.

Then, trying again, he poked it a little harder.

Except he missed.

"Oops—!"

His fingertip pressed into firm flesh.

For a second, he froze.

He glanced down and realized he’d accidentally poked the man’s chest instead. And it wasn’t just any chest. It was... solid. Like carved from a block of hardwood. His skin was warm, slightly rough with faint chest hair, but the muscles beneath it were rock hard.

"Whoa..." he whispered, eyes wide. "What a firm muscle..."

Without thinking, he poked again. Then once more. And again.

He wasn’t proud of it, but this was the most impressive chest he’d ever seen up close. Lean muscle, toned in all the right places, and a full eight-pack peeking out just above the waistband of the man’s strange jumpsuit. Nansich had seen muscular guys on TV, but this was something else entirely. This guy looked like he could punch through a wall and not even break a sweat.

"He must work out a lot," he muttered, fascinated.

Suddenly, a hand shot up from the hay and grabbed his finger—hard.

"OW!" Nansich yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin. "Hey! Let go!"

The man’s eyes were still shut, face relaxed, but his grip was like steel. Nansich struggled, trying to yank his finger free, but the guy wouldn’t budge. Panic rose in his chest.

"Seriously? You’re unconscious and still holding on like a gorilla?"

But just as quickly, the man’s fingers slackened.

Nansich let out a breath of relief and tried to pull his hand away.

Only—

Suddenly, another arm moved.

Before he could react, it wrapped firmly around his waist and yanked him forward, dragging him down until he was pressed flush against the man’s half-naked body.

"Wha—!"

Nansich gasped, eyes wide in shock as he realized he was half-lying on top of the stranger. His palms splayed instinctively on the man’s chest to stop himself, but the grip around his waist refused to let go.

"H-Hey! What are you doing!?" he stammered, face going red. "Let me go, you weirdo!"

He wriggled, trying to free himself, but it was no use. The guy’s arm was locked around him like a vice, holding him in place with absurd strength.

The worst part? The man still hadn’t woken up.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" Nansich muttered, cheeks burning. "This isn’t how people say thanks for being saved, you know!"

But the stranger didn’t answer.

He just laid there, completely still... and yet holding onto Nansich like a body pillow.

Nansich stared down at him, jaw slightly slack. "Are you... even alive?"

And then, for a terrifying moment, he felt the man’s chest rise slightly under his palms—and heard a low, unconscious murmur escape his lips.

Nansich gulped.

What had he just gotten himself into?