After saying goodbye to Chris outside NASA, Yan Qing drove west toward his apartment, expecting a twenty-minute trip.

  But New York traffic was New York traffic. Sometimes, you sat for an hour—like now.

  He sighed at the endless line of brake lights, horns blaring and drivers shouting all around him. Maybe I should move to the middle of Australia, he thought. There’s a huge astronomy site out there anyway.

  As he cursed the city’s crowding, he found himself missing the quiet rural life at his grandfather’s place.

  “What happened up there?” a man in a crisp suit leaned out his window and called to someone in the next lane.

  “No idea,” the other replied. “Heard the ground just… opened up. There’s a hole in the road. They’re fixing it.”

  A hole?

  Yan Qing frowned. He drove this route all the time. There hadn’t been a hole yesterday.

  Just appeared?

  Strange things happened every day. People turned it into dinner-table gossip and moved on. Yan Qing did too.

  A twenty-minute drive became an hour and twenty. By the time he reached his apartment, his body ached from the long drive and the tension that had knotted his muscles all day. He fumbled with his keys, hands stiff, and the door creaked open with a groan that echoed in the quiet hallway.

  The apartment was dark, save for the flicker of the television—left on, painting restless blue shadows across the walls. He froze in the entryway, heart thudding. He was certain he’d turned the TV off before leaving. For a moment, his mind raced: break-in, theft, some mundane mistake. But then, a familiar voice—soft, unmistakable—broke through the silence.

  “Welcome back, Yan Qing.”

  Before he could react, arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. All he saw was a blur of gold and black, the scent of rain and something faintly metallic. His breath caught, and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t move—couldn’t even think. The warmth pressed against his back was real, solid, alive.

  He twisted in the embrace, hands trembling as he reached up to touch the arms around him, needing proof. His fingers brushed against a familiar wrist, and a shudder ran through him—relief, disbelief, and something dangerously close to happiness all tangled together.

  “Yan Qing, what’s wrong?” Chen’s voice was gentle, but Yan Qing could feel the tension in the way Chen held him, as if afraid he might vanish if he let go. Yan Qing’s eyes stung, rimmed red from exhaustion and the threat of tears. He stared at Chen, searching his face for any sign that this was a dream.

  “I thought your… Earth species survey was finished,” Yan Qing managed, his voice rough and unsteady.

  Chen smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something soft and real. “Teleopea needed me to handle something. That’s all. It delayed me.” He reached up, brushing a thumb along Yan Qing’s cheek, and Yan Qing leaned into the touch before he could stop himself.

  “But you—why do you look thinner after only a month and a half?” Chen’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his features.

  Yan Qing let out a shaky laugh, the sound catching in his throat. “There was no one at home,” he admitted. “I didn’t need to cook, so I just ate whatever.”

  Chen’s expression softened, guilt and worry mingling in his golden eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t have time to explain properly.” His hand lingered on Yan Qing’s shoulder, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles.

  Suddenly, Yan Qing pulled away, the urge to escape overwhelming. “I’m going to shower,” he blurted, voice tight.

  “Okay.” Chen immediately moved to help, taking Yan Qing’s bag, fetching towels, setting out toiletries—his movements careful, almost reverent.

  Yan Qing watched him for a moment, chest tight with a mess of emotions. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to yell at Chen for leaving and for coming back. Instead, he just shook his head, a faint, helpless smile tugging at his lips.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Idiot, he thought, but the word was tender.

  Until his thoughts slid back to that night, and the smile faded.

  He still cared. A lot.

  At some point, Yan Qing noticed the apartment had grown colder. The balcony door, which he always left wide open, was now barely ajar—a narrow gap letting in a thin draft. The curtain beside it fluttered just slightly, the fabric whispering against the frame. He frowned, trying to remember if he’d closed it, but his memory came up blank.

  That’s strange.

  He turned back toward Chen. The alien was crouched, rummaging through a pile of bags near the coffee table. As Yan Qing stepped closer, a glint of silver caught his eye—something protruding near Chen’s lower back, just beneath the hem of his shirt.

  “Wait. There’s something on you.” Yan Qing reached out, but his hand froze midair as realization struck—a chill running down his spine, breath catching in his throat.

  It wasn’t something stuck to him.

  It was his rib.

  Silver, metal-like bone jutted out through torn fabric. The flesh around it had split and curled back.

  Teleopean bones were titanium-alloy silver.

  “You’re hurt?” Yan Qing didn’t feel disgust—only a sharp spike of concern.

  “Hm? Oh. Missed one?” Chen turned, glancing back at himself.

  During the fight with the assassins, he’d used an emergency hard-brake maneuver to save time and had fractured bones all over. Bones didn’t heal unless reset. He’d set everything before coming here—

  Apparently, not everything.

  “Don’t move,” Yan Qing said, voice tight. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” Chen said quickly, the way people lied when they didn’t want you to worry. “It’s just dislocated. You push it back and it’s fine. Look.”

  A sharp, clean click.

  Chen reset the broken rib.

  The torn flesh knitted itself together at visible speed. Skin smoothed, returning to its original flawless texture.

  No scar or mark.

  It took less than three minutes.

  “See? All good.” Chen turned—then caught the hesitant look on Yan Qing’s face.

  Oops.

  He’d just reminded Yan Qing again how different he was.

  Chen feared, suddenly, that Yan Qing would look at him the way humans looked at monsters.

  But Yan Qing stared for a long time—then said quietly:

  “Don’t treat your body like it’s indestructible just because it heals fast. That must’ve hurt.”

  Chen went still.

  …He’s worried about me?

  Joy flashed through Chen’s golden eyes—relief so sharp it was almost painful. He pulled Yan Qing into his arms again, tight.

  “H-Hey—what are you doing?!” Yan Qing tried to push him off, forehead pressed against Chen’s chest—then heard a tiny, suppressed sound of pain above his head. He immediately stopped struggling. “Idiot. Let go. You’re still injured!”

  This guy probably had internal damage he couldn’t even see.

  “It’s fine,” Chen said, greedy for warmth, refusing to let go. “It’ll heal soon.”

  “No. Let go.” Yan Qing pinched the arm around his waist, signaling. “I’m getting the med kit. How do I do that if you’re holding me?”

  “You’re comfortable to hold.”

  “Is your IQ zero?!” Yan Qing snapped.

  “Yan Qing… I missed you~~”

  The alien, with zero shame, started clinging like a child and shamelessly acting cute.

  They wrestled for ages.

  The result of alien vs human grappling—

  The human won.

  With a solid flick to the alien’s glossy forehead.

  Total victory.

  The alien obediently became the patient.

  Somehow, Yan Qing’s shower never happened. Instead, he was applying ointment to an ET.

  “Yan Qing, you don’t need to disinfect it. I won’t die.”

  “Shut up. This is dit-da ointment from Chinatown. It’s not disinfectant.”

  Yan Qing thought his interactions with this alien were getting increasingly violent.

  “Is that so?” Chen muttered, aggrieved. “But I didn’t fall or get hit…”

  “Didn’t I just hit you?” Yan Qing dabbed the ointment onto his forehead with a cotton ball.

  The smell was bizarre.

  Chen’s sensitive sense of smell still hadn’t adapted to human “medicine.” If Yan Qing weren’t the one applying it, he might’ve suspected it was some specialized Earth poison designed to numb his nose.

  “How did you even manage to break bones all over your body?” Yan Qing demanded, genuinely irritated.

  “Oh.” Chen answered like he was describing the weather. “Someone tried to assassinate me. My ship had to take a violent turn at high speed. The turn was a bit too sharp, so…”

  “Assassination?”

  “It’s nothing.” Chen shrugged, very human. “Once you sit in this position, there are always annoying people. You get used to it.”

  Used to it?

  How many assassinations did it take to get used to it?

  “Don’t be so reckless again,” Yan Qing said harshly. “If I see you hurt again, I’m kicking you out.”

  Every time Yan Qing threatened that, Chen reacted like a child hearing a parent say they don’t want him anymore.

  Right on cue—

  Panic flashed through his long golden eyes. Chen sat up at once, flustered. “I swear on the name of all my royal ancestors—never again. If I break that vow, may I be torn into pieces by the… uh… Ugador of Tarimili Star.”

  “Do you have to make it that vicious?” Yan Qing stared. He didn’t know what “Tarimili” or “Ugador” was, but “torn into pieces” needed no translation. “If you keep making vicious vows, I’m still kicking you out.”

  “Then how am I supposed to swear?” Chen looked genuinely distressed.

  Seeing him show expressions other than his usual smiling mask, Yan Qing liked him more like this. “Just say that if you do it again, you’ll step on a banana peel when you go outside.”

  Chen didn’t understand what kind of terrifying sacred object a banana peel was—but he nodded rapidly anyway, convinced it must be extremely serious.

  Yan Qing still didn’t know that in the future, Teleopean oaths would include solemn vows sworn upon the banana peel.