The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 159 - Scrambled memory

On the other side of the city, inside the old barn nestled between withering fields, the quiet morning air was still.

Nansich stirred first.

His eyes fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the dim light seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls. For a moment, he was warm—far too warm—and then he realized why.

He was curled up against the other guy. The man was still half-asleep, his breathing slow and steady, chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. His shirt was off, same as last night. The faint warmth of his skin radiated into Nansich’s own, especially where their shoulders and backs had pressed together through the night.

Flushed, Nansich’s cheeks turned red. He pulled himself away as gently as he could, careful not to wake him. The movement caused a bit of hay to rustle beneath him, and the man stirred slightly, letting out a soft breath, but didn’t wake. His bare chest was still exposed, lightly rising with sleep. His back, Nansich realized, felt warmer than even his front—like the man stored heat in his spine or something.

Face still burning, Nansich sat up fully and adjusted his shirt. He glanced over once more before scrambling to his feet and brushing the hay off his pants. His heart was beating faster than it should have been.

"Get it together..." he muttered under his breath.

He quietly stepped outside, shivering just a little as the cool morning air hit him. The sun hadn’t fully risen, but a soft light blanketed the landscape in pale gray. Everything smelled like dew and dirt, and it was oddly peaceful, at least for now.

He moved through the barnyard and started going about the usual morning chores—gathering a bit of dried grass for the goat, checking the small garden patch nearby, and inspecting the loose fencing. It wasn’t much, but it gave him something to focus on, something to keep his mind off the way his heart still fluttered from the accidental warmth he’d woken up in.

Even as he worked, though, Nansich kept glancing back at the barn entrance. His eyes flicked toward the door every few seconds.

He didn’t feel entirely safe yet.

If he heard any weird noises—shuffling, snarling, or worse—he was going to run straight back inside, no hesitation. The barn might not be the sturdiest shelter, but it was better than being caught in the open.

After making sure nothing was lurking nearby, Nansich turned toward the chicken coop.

He opened it gently and let Hawk out.

"Go on, buddy," he whispered to the feathery bird. "Stretch your wings a bit."

The chicken flapped once, hopping out into the dirt with a cluck.

Nansich watched him for a moment. Yesterday, he hadn’t dared to let Hawk leave the barn. The sounds at night, the tension in the air... he hadn’t trusted anything. But this morning felt calmer—safer, at least for a little while.

By the time Nansich finished letting Hawk out and double-checked the perimeter, the sun was beginning to rise. Pale orange light filtered over the quiet landscape, brushing faint gold against the wooden boards of the barn.

He opened the barn door and stepped inside, brushing dirt off his hands.

The man was awake.

He was sitting up now, legs dangling off the edge of the hay pile. His shirt still hadn’t been put back on, and his hair was tousled from sleep. His eyes looked dazed, blinking slowly as they scanned the barn like it was unfamiliar. As if he had no idea where he was.

Nansich paused.

"Oh—you’re awake," he said, offering a cautious smile as he walked in. "The cabbie family told us to take some eggs from the coop, so... I figured I’d cook you some."

The man turned his head toward him, something odd flashing in his eyes. Not suspicion. Not recognition.

Confusion.

Deep, unsettling confusion.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse but strong. "W–what am I doing here?"

He looked around again, blinking rapidly as though trying to make sense of it all.

Nansich froze.

His heart jumped in his chest.

"Umm... you’re G’orzensia. I think that’s your name..." he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Why? Don’t you remember?"

The man——shook his head slowly. The movement was stiff, as if he didn’t quite trust his own body yet. He stood up from the hay pile without hesitation, even as his muscles wavered slightly beneath him.

"I can’t waste time..." he muttered. "I need to get to him."

"H-Hey! Wait!" Nansich called out in alarm as the man limped toward the barn door.

He quickly pointed to his leg.

"You’re still bleeding!"

The man stopped short and looked down.

Thick, shimmering golden liquid was oozing slowly from a gash down his calf. It stained the edge of his pants, trickling in unnatural rivulets. The sunlight hit it just enough to make it glimmer.

"You have to rest," Nansich insisted, moving a little closer. "You were passed out all night. You nearly died. Just—please. Sit down before it gets worse."

The man didn’t respond right away.

He stared at the golden blood with a furrowed brow, as though seeing it for the first time. Then his hand gripped the doorframe. His knuckles went pale.

"I... don’t remember what happened," he said lowly. "I don’t remember anything after—collapsing. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know how I got here."

He turned his eyes toward Nansich, guarded and distant.

"You... did you save me?"

Nansich swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Yeah... yeah, I did. You were unconscious. I thought you were going to die. So I took care of you." He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, unsure if he should move closer or stay put. "You... you can speak English really well. I thought aliens didn’t know how to speak it properly. I thought you didn’t know anything..."

There was a silence between them.

The man looked away, eyes distant again.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there, staring at the golden liquid now drying on his skin as if it held answers he no longer had.