Omega Manual chapter 67
Snowball
Shelley didn’t know what to say for a moment.
Irey’s expression was calm, as if casually describing tomorrow’s weather, as if it were an unquestionable matter.
That expression pierced Shelley, making it hard for him to breathe, his eyes dry and sore.
This wasn’t the expression of Irey he wanted to see, nor were these the words Irey should have said.
He should have casually brushed him off with a joke, used some vulgar banter to laugh it off, continued to live his life arrogantly after sending him away, forgotten him, forgotten a brief encounter with a strange travel companion, found someone better than him, and lived a life he would never see again.
He had no obligation to erect a tombstone for him, nor should he be bound by his death.
Shelley knew the loneliness and pain involved.
But he still couldn’t help but feel happy, as if a warm current was surging in his chest.
Someone said he would remember him.
Someone said he would visit his grave, lay flowers at his tombstone.
But how could he respond to such remembrance? With what could he repay it?
Irey flicked his finger, using a brief touch to pull him back to reality, “Still can’t sleep? Would you like to go out for a walk?”
Shelley hesitated for a moment, “Now?”
“The wind has stopped,” Irey nodded towards the window, “It should be beautiful outside.”
So, at 1:40 in the deep of night, Irey and Shelley walked out of the hotel door side by side.
The wind, having stopped at some point, had already dusted the streets of Fuba Port with a thin layer of snowflakes. The roofs of the hotel, the top of the SUV, and the treetops along the sidewalks were all covered with a white milk cap.
“Are you cold?” Irey asked.
Shelley shook his head.
Despite this, Irey never let go of Shelley’s hand; Shelley’s palm was warm, with a thin layer of sweat seeping out.
They strolled hand in hand on the deserted streets of the deep night, snowflakes drifting down from the sky, crystallizing in their hair and on their clothes.
The bustling commercial street of the day had turned desolate. Seen from afar, the road seemed like a silver ribbon stretching endlessly to the edge of sight. Their footsteps echoed through the quiet neighborhood, squeaking in the silence.
The distant Ferris wheel had stopped turning, quietly resting in front of the moon, like the eyes of a small town closed shut.
After turning two corners, Shelley saw the toy store from earlier in the day again. The store’s lights had long been extinguished, but under the moonlight, one could still see the dolls and snow globes displayed in the window.
For some reason, he suddenly felt that this street resembled the one he had passed with his father in his childhood. The snow globe seemed like a reward that would never come true, frozen in his distant childhood.
Seeming to notice Shelley’s gaze, Irey’s lips curled into a slight arc, gently lifting his hand.
“Little Shelley,” he said, “do you want that snow globe?”
Here he goes again.
Always starting some childish performance at the most inappropriate times.
Shelley felt like laughing, but decided to play along.
“Little Shelley really wants it,” he said, “but how is a grown-up supposed to get a snow globe from a toy store that’s already closed?”
“Adults have their ways,” Irey said mysteriously, gripping his hand and adding, “Come with me.”
Shelley reluctantly followed him.
After the cold wave struck, the outdoor temperature dropped nearly ten degrees. Despite dressing warmly, the dry cold of the north still made their ears ache and fingertips numb. Shelley couldn’t understand why Irey insisted on dragging him out in such weather.
Irey stopped by a street lamp, reached into his pocket, and Shelley thought he was going to pull out a snow globe. Instead, Irey pulled out a plain bottle of bubble solution they had bought from a stall during the day.
“Watch closely,” Irey said, bending down and blowing a large bubble onto the snow-covered railing.
The transparent, flowing bubble trembled twice before settling steadily on the snow. Just as Shelley was about to ask what he was doing, he saw, illuminated by the street lamp, tiny ice crystals suddenly forming all around the bubble.
The small ice crystals spun like snowflakes, soon joined by more companions. They chased each other eagerly, dancing on the surface of the bubble, gradually spreading, stretching, and enveloping it with delicate patterns. The result was a round, snow-like ice shell, refracting beautiful, colorful hues under the lamplight.
The bubble had frozen into a round, magical snow globe that seemed like it belonged only in fairy tales.
“There you go,” Irey said with a smile behind the magical snow globe, “a gift for you, little Shelley.”
Shelley was stunned, forgetting even the pain in his frozen ears. He simply stared in disbelief at the ordinary bubble, finding it hard to believe it wasn’t a miracle from another magical world.
A strange and nostalgic emotion flowed slowly like a trickle from his chest.
He remembered—the feeling he had when he was very, very young, looking at that snow globe in the shop window.
Amazement, joy, touched emotions, anticipation—emotions churned inside him like flickering flames, harboring a childlike curiosity for the unknown and a longing for the beauty of the world.
But that time, the flame was forcibly extinguished in its infancy, and he was forced away from the world of magic and fantasy, thrust into a cold reality. Since then, he had never had the right to dream.
A part of him had forever remained in that night, in front of that shop window, inside that snow globe, like a specimen in time and space, abandoned and forgotten.
But this time, someone remembered it, preserved it, patiently mended a childhood dream he had thought inconsequential, and then gave it to him.
Tears streamed down Shelley’s face like a bursting dam, unstoppable.
Irey’s smile froze on his face. He reached out to grab Shelley’s hand, “What’s wrong?”
Shelley forcefully pulled away from Irey, who furrowed his brows and reached out again, but Shelley resisted, stepping back.
“Don’t touch me!” Shelley’s voice cracked with evident sobbing, “Why are you doing this? You know I want to die, yet you keep coming back. Why warm a corpse, why can’t I get rid of you!”
Irey’s motion froze in midair, his throat swallowing twice, his voice hoarse, “I don’t want you to die.”
“Do you think I want to die so badly?”
Shelley broke down, shaking off Irey’s reaching hand. The emotions that had been pent up in his chest collapsed in that moment, overwhelming.
“Do you think I don’t want to live? Do you think I don’t want to smell flowers, hear music, see the sun every day? Do you think I don’t want to go back to Nantes with you? I do! I want it so badly! I want to live with you, see your face every day, wake up in the morning and kiss your lips, go on dates, go shopping, make love—I want it so much, every day, every moment!”
Tears continued to flow down Shelley’s cheeks, drop by drop falling onto the snow.
“I want to live more than anyone else, more than you or anyone else!” Shelley’s body trembled uncontrollably, his voice becoming hoarse amid his cries, “I just want to breathe, I just want to live… but this world won’t even grant me such a simple wish. What am I supposed to do? How do you expect me to cope?”
Irey’s heart felt as if it were tightly clenched by a hand.
He grabbed Shelley’s hand and pulled him into his embrace. His body was shaking violently, like a rain-soaked fledgling bird on the verge of death.
Never before had Irey felt Shelley’s frailty so distinctly. Shelley seemed as fragile as glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch, scattered into pieces that could never be picked up again.
His face was soaked with tears. Irey lifted his damp cheeks with one hand, rubbing them forcefully, pulling his attention back. “Shelley, it’s okay, everything’s fine. Look at me, I’m here. You’re still alive, not dead yet. As long as we stay alive, there might be a way. Alone, we might not think of it, but together, perhaps we can. Shh—it’s okay, I’m here with you, nothing will happen.”
Shelley’s sobbing intensified. He gripped Irey’s fabric tightly against his chest, like a drowning person grasping the last straw on shore. Irey held him tightly in return, overwhelmed by the potent pheromones emanating from Shelley.
The enticing, bewitching scent of tuberose spread through the deserted nighttime streets, erupting with Shelley’s emotional outburst. By the time Irey began to realize something was amiss, the fragrance had enveloped him entirely, making it difficult to move.
Furrowing his brow, HE reached out to touch Shelley’s forehead, which was hot and slightly sweaty. He was certain this wasn’t from a cold.
“Shelley, Shelley.” Irey lightly tapped his cheeks, calling out, “Your pheromones aren’t quite right. Is it… isn’t it too early for your heat?”
Shelley didn’t reply. His emotions were still in turmoil, his body weak, as if he had exhausted all his strength just now.
It was at this moment that Irey suddenly remembered Douding’s words and understood what was happening.
Gender mutation was a byproduct of meteorite radiation, so high levels of radiation also affected physiological cycles. It made perfect sense.
Fortunately, it was late at night with no one on the streets, avoiding embarrassment and trouble.
Shelley’s potent pheromones had a stronger effect on him than he had imagined. Even in such an inappropriate situation, Irey’s body reacted uncontrollably.
He took a deep breath, reluctantly creating distance between himself and Shelley, struggling to regain composure. “Can you still walk? We need to go back to the inn…”
Before he could finish his sentence, Shelley, like an insecure small animal, tightly embraced his neck, tilting his head up and pressing his lips against Irey’s.