Pretend to be crazy

All members of Mobius had hereditary diseases, with a variety of symptoms. Over time, with advanced medical treatments, they had gradually evolved to only suffer from mental illnesses.

The original work mentioned that Blaze had one too, but due to his modifications, his symptoms rarely appeared—almost negligible. However, it was never stated exactly what his condition was.

Shen Yan suspected that he had skin hunger.

He wasn’t familiar with this disorder, but judging from its name, the afflicted person should crave physical contact with another’s skin.

Since that night when they first slept together, he had never returned to his own room.

Blaze came back every day.

If Shen Yan wasn’t there, Blaze’s room would become chaotic, filled with loud noises.

To prevent him from wrecking the place, Shen Yan had no choice but to sleep with him every night.

At first, they were quite restrained—both sleeping properly without any of the entangled limbs Shen Yan had previously experienced in the mornings.

But this restraint didn’t last long.

On the third night of sleeping together—

He woke up, completely enveloped in Blaze’s embrace.

Something was pressed against his lower back.

Hard. And hot.

Shen Yan: …

It was normal for a young man to have morning reactions. When he was eighteen or nineteen, he had them all the time.

It was just… awkward.

His breathing subtly changed, and the lightly sleeping Blaze woke up immediately. He instinctively tightened his arms around him, nuzzling his nose against his head, his voice husky with drowsiness, “Sleep a little longer.”

“Bro,” Shen Yan said flatly, “You’re poking me.”

Blaze didn’t move.

Thinking he hadn’t heard, Shen Yan elbowed him. “You’re poking me. I’m going to my own room.”

Blaze frowned. Instead of letting go, he wrapped his other arm around him as well.

One arm was beneath Shen Yan’s head, hooked around his shoulder, while the other circled his waist. He pressed even closer, that undeniable heat making itself known. Yet, he showed no embarrassment. Instead, he righteously declared, “You’re not allowed to go.”

Shen Yan fell silent, his mind battling itself.

Left Brain: Bro is tired and sleepy. Let him hold you for a bit. It’s not like he’s gonna do anything.

Right Brain: Left Brain, are you a dumbass?

One sentence—checkmate.

Having already suffered in this area before, Shen Yan slowly but firmly pried Blaze’s arms off and slipped out of the bed.

Blaze watched him in silence.

Under that deadpan stare, he grabbed his pillow. “I won’t be sleeping with you anymore.”

Blaze: “Why?”

Shen Yan averted his gaze slightly, giving a half-assed excuse, “It’s too hot. I want to sleep alone.”

Blaze immediately activated the room’s temperature control system. The temperature dropped by seven or eight degrees, turning the previously comfortable room into an autumn-like chill.

Blaze said nothing—just looked at him.

The excuse was obviously flimsy, but Shen Yan really couldn’t find a better one. Telling him outright that he couldn’t handle being poked seemed… weird.

So he ignored Blaze’s expression and took his pillow back to the room he hadn’t used in ages.

The villa was meticulously furnished—Blaze had clearly researched Shen Yan’s preferences. Both rooms were incredibly comfortable, and since Shen Yan never had trouble sleeping in new places, he quickly drifted off.

The following days were anything but peaceful.

He wanted to help Blaze progress in his plans, but Blaze refused to tell him anything. When he tried to investigate on his own, Blaze, without a word, cut off his internet access, completely severing all his connections to the outside world.

Shen Yan was pissed. When he confronted him about it, raising his voice slightly, Blaze only looked at him with reddened eyes, lips pressed tightly together.

After a long silence, he finally spat out two words.

“No.”

He really treated him like some fragile greenhouse flower.

Shen Yan rarely lost verbal arguments. He had countless rebuttals ready, but upon seeing Blaze’s restrained, distressed expression, his tongue suddenly felt stiff—he couldn’t bring himself to say anything harsh.

So, he had no choice but to reason with him gently, trying to make him understand that he wasn’t some defenseless little white flower. He could genuinely help.

But Blaze was impossibly stubborn. No matter the approach—whether threats, persuasion, or logical arguments—nothing worked. Shen Yan practically wore out his tongue, yet Blaze refused to budge.

He was fixated on one belief:

His role was to protect Shen Yan, and Shen Yan’s role was to be protected.

This dynamic was non-negotiable.

By the end of the discussion, Shen Yan was both exasperated and amused. He waved a hand dismissively, telling Blaze to do whatever the hell he wanted—he wasn’t going to care anymore.

And so, the cold war began.

Blaze still came back to sleep. Shen Yan still heard the noises at night, still opened Blaze’s door to check on him, still watched until he calmed down from his nightmares before leaving again.

They never spoke. Their mouths seemed sealed shut with glue.

They deliberately avoided each other’s gaze, avoided physical contact, pretending as if nothing had happened. Even when they had to talk, they kept their exchanges strictly within two sentences, polite to the point of alienation.

They were worse than strangers.

Shen Yan started losing sleep.

He tossed and turned in bed, unable to stop thinking about the cold and distant look Blaze had worn during their fight.

“You can’t help me, and I don’t need your help.”

“Just stay put and live well. That’s the best thing you can do for me.”

“This is my problem. It has nothing to do with you.”

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. In one swift motion, he sprang out of bed and paced furiously around the room for a dozen laps before finally calming down.

Little Blaze watched him nervously from the side.

“Are you going crazy?” Little Blaze asked worriedly. “I can contact Blaze and ask him to bring back some psychiatric meds.”

Shen Yan stopped walking, crouched down, and rubbed his temples in frustration.

Little Blaze circled around to face him, squatting down as well, knees together, head tilted up to meet Shen Yan’s gaze. “Do you need some emotional support?”

Shen Yan sighed, his voice low. “Yeah.”

Little Blaze: “What’s one plus one?”

Shen Yan poked its forehead hard. “5201314. You’re using the things I taught you to comfort me? you’re as dumb as your creator.”

Little Blaze tilted its head, shyly playing with its long golden hair. “I can’t help it… I haven’t been taught much. If you teach me more, then when you forget what you taught me, I can use it to teach you.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

Shen Yan couldn’t help but laugh. Little Blaze detected his improved mood and smiled as well.

Blaze had connected it to the internet to load some basic psychological knowledge—it had learned that people felt happier when they laughed together.

After laughing, Shen Yan asked, “Do you have dice?”

“I do.”

Little Blaze lifted its shirt, revealing a sleek artificial abdomen. The synthetic human-like skin receded, exposing a display screen.

Two dice appeared on it.

“Roll them. If it’s odd, I’ll make up with him today. If it’s even, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

The dice spun rapidly before landing on two sixes.

Looking at them, Shen Yan suddenly felt the heavy stone on his heart lift, replaced with lightness.

Alright then.

Tomorrow.

That gave him some time to think about how to approach Blaze.

He didn’t think that taking the initiative to reconcile was embarrassing.

No one had ever taught Blaze how to be a friend. His world was black and white—if he liked someone, he would protect them and keep them by his side forever. If he disliked someone, he would erase them completely.

There was no in-between.

As Mobius’ next heir, he had been brainwashed since childhood to be responsible for everyone in Mobius. By the age of nineteen, he had flawlessly met all expectations, becoming the future protector of Mobius.

No retreat, no weakness.

He had never learned how to rely on others, so he didn’t understand.

For him, accepting help from friends was something outside of the long-established order. Accepting it meant that order would collapse, and he had no time to rebuild it—he could only refuse.

Shen Yan, who had more or less figured out Blaze’s train of thought, rubbed his temples in frustration.

As a child, he didn’t like writing, so he hated studying language arts. He despised reading comprehension exercises. In exams, while others filled their answer sheets with densely written responses, he would stop after finishing the multiple-choice section, leaving the rest of the paper completely blank.

Who would have thought that all those unread comprehension exercises would come back to haunt him like this?

Karma was real.

With that thought, he sighed and went back to bed.

He made up his mind to reconcile at 11:30 PM—just an hour and a half before the next day began.

Blaze came back late that night, but Shen Yan didn’t deliberately wait for him. Exhausted from several nights of poor sleep, he quickly drifted off.

Until he was jolted awake in the middle of the night.

A pale figure stood by his bedside, already dressed in sleepwear. His hair was still damp from a shower, and as he leaned forward slightly, droplets trickled from his hair and landed coldly on Shen Yan’s face.

Blaze gazed down at him expressionlessly.

Shen Yan knew this room was completely secure. Other than himself, Little Blaze, and Blaze, there was no way another sentient being could have entered.

Even so, he was startled.

He immediately turned on the lamp. The warm glow of the bedside light cast onto Blaze’s emotionless face, his inorganic emerald-green eyes reflecting Shen Yan’s momentary panic.

“You—”

Before he could finish speaking, Blaze suddenly yanked his blanket away, hoisted him up, and threw him over his shoulder.

Shen Yan, who was well over 1.8 meters tall, found himself carried like a sack of rice. He stiffened, not daring to move in case a wrong twitch sent him crashing to the ground.

Startled, he clutched at Blaze’s belt for balance. Yet Blaze still had the strength to grab his pillow, completely ignoring his protests, moving like a man possessed.

Blaze carried Shen Yan into his own bedroom, casually tossed the pillow onto the bed, and then, with an empty hand, carefully lowered Shen Yan onto the mattress.

The moment his back touched the bed, Shen Yan bolted upright like a spring and darted toward the door.

Something was very wrong with Blaze.

He was probably having an episode. And considering how much bloodshed he caused in the original novel, he wasn’t about to take any chances. They weren’t exactly enemies, but they definitely weren’t on good terms either. If Blaze lost control and killed him, it wouldn’t end well for either of them.

Blaze moved sluggishly. By the time he processed that Shen Yan had fled, he just stood there, staring blankly at the bed. He reached out to touch the bedsheet, then tilted his head to look at the pillow, seemingly confused as to why the pillow was there but the person was gone.

It took him a while to react. Then, at an eerily slow pace, he turned and walked toward the direction Shen Yan had disappeared.

Shen Yan didn’t return to his own room.

He hid in the gaming room.

There was an immersion pod there. Once inside, he set the pod to “non-observable” mode and booted up the game, activating full-dive immersion.

As long as he was conscious and not in danger, the emergency exit button wouldn’t work.

Still uneasy, he pulled up the external surveillance feed. While nervously queueing up for a casual match, he opened a smaller screen, maxed out the volume, and listened carefully for Blaze’s movements.

His footsteps were eerily consistent—each step precisely measured, moving at the unvarying rhythm of a freshly manufactured robot. His movements were so methodical that despite being a living human, he exuded an uncanny sense of horror.

His footsteps passed by the gaming room three times. After checking every other room and failing to find Shen Yan, he finally stopped outside the locked gaming room.

The lock was useless against the house’s other occupant.

Beep beep. The door unlocked as he entered like a wandering spirit.

Shen Yan’s heart leapt into his throat as he watched him—dressed in a white silk robe—halt before the gaming pod.

Then he crouched down.

And pried the pod open with brute force.

Electric sparks crackled as Blaze forcibly dragged him out.

For the second time, Shen Yan was carried back to Blaze’s room. This time, he struggled wildly, but Blaze’s grip was like iron. He flailed and kicked until he was drenched in sweat, while Blaze’s breathing remained completely steady.

This time, Blaze was smarter.

After locking the bedroom door behind them, he secured the room before Shen Yan had a chance to escape.

The gun was on the nightstand.

Cornered, Shen Yan shrank into the farthest corner of the room and aimed the gun at him.

Blaze approached, step by step, completely ignoring the deadly weapon pointed at his chest. Closer, closer—until there was less than a fist’s distance between them.

Shen Yan was trapped between Blaze and the wall, engulfed in the scent of his shampoo. The only thing preventing them from being fully pressed together was the gun wedged between them, still without its safety on.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Shen Yan pushed him, but he wouldn’t budge.

Blaze was another wall.

Damn it. In this cybernetic world full of augmented humans, the entire main cast was made up of genetically superior cyborgs—he couldn’t fight any of them.

“Wake up!”

Shen Yan guessed he might be sleepwalking and pinched his face. Blaze remained motionless, his gaze fixed on him, as if waiting for his next command.

Shen Yan pinched and prodded some more before confirming—yep, definitely sleepwalking.

It would pass.

It was probably just stress. Blaze always bottled things up, never talking about his problems, so sleepwalking was his way of coping.

Shen Yan lowered the gun.

Blaze instantly closed the remaining gap, pressing tightly against him. His shallow breaths brushed against Shen Yan’s ear. Uncomfortable, Shen Yan turned his head away and sighed.

“What do you want?” he murmured. “You just want to sleep together?”

Blaze: “Take it off.”

Shen Yan shut his eyes. He was so damn done.

He flicked the safety off and loaded the chamber. “Say that again.”

Blaze: “I remember… very clearly.”

Shen Yan: “Remember what?”

A cold hand grabbed Shen Yan’s wrist. Blaze studied it for a moment before lowering his head and biting down on the base of his thumb.

Shen Yan winced—not from pain, but from the strange numbness. Blaze didn’t break the skin, only leaving a pale imprint.

It overlapped perfectly with an old scar that had long since faded.

Shen Yan stared at the mark, then at Blaze.

Shen Yan: “What does that mean?”

“Don’t leave,” Blaze said seriously. “Treat me as him.”

“I remember very clearly—he left these marks on you. I can mimic his kisses. I can make them just like his.”

Shen Yan was stunned for a moment before fully grasping the meaning. He let out a breath, both exasperated and amused.

“Idiot.” He cupped Blaze’s face, sighing. “First of all, I wasn’t running to someone else. I really just wanted to help you.”

“Second, even if I wanted to run, it definitely wouldn’t be for the person who left these marks.”

He clicked his tongue at the thought of Ruan Zhixian, then coaxed, “Be good. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

Blaze didn’t move.

Shen Yan: “What now?”

“You haven’t kissed me in a long time,”he said, his face uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Shen Yan: …

Wait. Do normal bros kiss?

Was this a cyberpunk thing?

Never mind.

Blaze isn’t fully conscious right now—who knows what’s going on with him?

If he promised to sleep together and backed out, there’s a chance he might go crazy again.

Shen Yan got up to open the door. The open doorway gave him a faint sense of security. He placed his gun under the pillow within easy reach—if Blaze suddenly turned violent, he might barely be able to react in time. Other precautions…

There didn’t seem to be any.

He tucked the blanket in for both of them. He turned his back to Blaze, then reconsidered and flipped over to face him.

Blaze’s emerald-green eyes stared straight at him.

Shen Yan flipped over again, this time lying flat on his back—a position he rarely used. Arms pressed tightly to his sides, he lay there like a soldier standing at attention, his expression serene.

Was this Egypt or what? Fine, whatever. He’d just sleep like this.

In the darkness, there was the sound of fabric rustling, a faint, whispering shuffle.

Blaze wrapped himself around him.

“Shen Yan, I want to kiss you again.”