The Lovesick Monster

“What if I tell him and he doesn’t agree?” Zhuo fretted, caught in a dramatic dilemma.

“He shouldn’t disagree, right? Aren’t we getting along quite well?” Zhuo mused aloud to himself, pacing in the apartment living room. The heavy, scaled tail dragging behind him swayed in time with his words.

“I know we get along well,” he continued, slumping back despondently onto the sofa, “but what if this ‘getting along’ is just a friendship?”

“No, it can’t be,” he argued with himself, his tail twitching indignantly. “He clearly knows your feelings; it’s so obvious.”

“But his refusal to speak might be a form of denial,” Zhuo sighed. Such indecisiveness was completely unlike him. Usually, he simply took what he wanted or destroyed what he didn’t. Yet, in this moment, Zhuo found himself utterly unable to muster his usual predatory courage.

His mind was a whirlwind of confusion. On one hand, he felt that his relationship with Yuan Anqing was on the verge of a breakthrough, needing only for the unspoken to be acknowledged. On the other hand, he feared that Yuan Anqing didn’t harbor the same feelings.

What if Yuan Anqing was simply trying to avoid ruining their existing bond? What if speaking aloud meant losing even their friendship?

Zhuo slapped his own thigh in frustration. The tip of his tail instantly drooped. He felt utterly drained, collapsing bonelessly across the cushions.

Zhuo had once envisioned countless futures for himself: either breaking free from his government shackles and regaining absolute liberty, or the authorities finally discovering a way to end his immortal life. He never, however, imagined he would suffer the pathetic pangs of unrequited love.

“Zhuo, are you going to shower?” Yuan Anqing asked, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck. He spotted Zhuo sprawled across the sofa, his massive two-meter form occupying more than half of it.

“In a minute.” Zhuo twitched the tip of his tail—a subtle acknowledgment to Yuan Anqing.

“Are you feeling unwell anywhere?” Yuan Anqing approached, instinctively reaching out to touch Zhuo’s forehead. Beings like Zhuo were practically immune to fevers or headaches, yet checking for them had become a natural, domestic gesture for Yuan Anqing.

“My heart feels unwell,” Zhuo admitted honestly. He wasn’t one for subtlety, and he was incapable of hiding much from Yuan Anqing, especially now that he’d acknowledged the ‘unclean’ thoughts swirling in his mind.

Yuan Anqing pursed his lips, intending to squat down by the sofa. However, Zhuo, sensing his movement, swiftly shifted his bulk, creating a small space on the cushions for Yuan Anqing to sit beside him.

Yuan Anqing complied gracefully. He had already withdrawn his hand, but Zhuo gently took it back, placing it firmly on his own forehead once more. With Yuan Anqing’s cool hand resting there, Zhuo felt a significant sense of relief.

“Do you want me to help you?” Yuan Anqing asked softly. He wasn’t sure how to make Zhuo feel better, but he knew what had brought Zhuo joy these past few nights.

“Even after your help, I’ll still feel gloomy,” Zhuo sighed dramatically. Then, before Yuan Anqing could retract the offer, he quickly added, “But help right now would be nice, actually.” A moment of happiness was better than none.

Yuan Anqing nodded, adjusting his glasses. “How long do you think this melancholy state will last?”

Zhuo stared at Yuan Anqing, not responding immediately.

Yuan Anqing remained silent, patiently waiting for Zhuo to speak.

“How could I abandon you?” Yuan Anqing finally said, finding Zhuo’s unstated fear amusing. “Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Have you forgotten you’re still legally mandated as my bodyguard?”

“It’s not necessarily about physically leaving. You could still isolate or neglect me,” Zhuo countered, finding Yuan Anqing’s potential cold shoulder more terrifying than an outright dismissal.

“I wouldn’t,” Yuan Anqing said with a hint of helplessness. “It’s become a habit for us to share a bed. I can’t just kick you out. If I ignored you all day, only to squeeze in with you at night, what would that even be?”

Zhuo understood. “So you won’t neglect me because of my current, moody state.”

“I won’t.” Yuan Anqing felt as if Zhuo’s red eyes had widened even further, practically sparkling.

“If you just scared me a little, I might be able to adjust quickly,” Zhuo sighed, leaning into Yuan Anqing’s touch. “With you being so indulgent, I truly don’t know when my emotions will return to normal. They might never.”

“You and your personality…” Yuan Anqing echoed the sigh.

He recalled how, when he first met Zhuo and was unaware of his true, childish nature, he had been deeply intimidated by Zhuo’s appearance. Back then, Yuan Anqing had genuinely thought Zhuo was a dangerous menace, ready to explode at any moment.

“You just look like a demon lord on the outside,” Yuan Anqing said, his hand moving from Zhuo’s forehead up to trace his crystalline horn. “The first time I saw you, you were even wearing a muzzle.”

“Because I really do eat people,” Zhuo replied defensively. “Don’t think the officials are all that friendly towards me; they’re constantly terrified.”

Yuan Anqing’s hand moved down to Zhuo’s mouth. He gently squeezed Zhuo’s cheeks, a slight pressure enough to part his lips. “Your teeth are indeed sharp. Especially your canines.”

Zhuo stared at Yuan Anqing, unsure why the man was suddenly prying at his mouth, but he didn’t pull away.

Because Yuan Anqing was sitting right beside him, Zhuo couldn’t lie completely flat. He had to turn slightly inward to make room. His enormous body, squeezed into the corner of the sofa, looked incredibly constrained and domesticated.

“Mmm?” Zhuo blinked. He felt a thumb brush against his lower lip. Zhuo cooperated, opening his mouth slightly wider, allowing Yuan Anqing to explore. “Don’t use too much force. It hurts,” his words were muffled around the fingers.

“The first time we met, I was sitting, and you leaned straight down towards me to sniff me.” Yuan Anqing leaned in now, pressing down slightly on Zhuo. Zhuo instinctively pulled his neck back into the cushions, his vertical slit pupils dilating until they were almost completely round.

At that first meeting, Yuan Anqing had gazed into Zhuo’s eyes through the barrier of his glasses. Now, they were close enough for Yuan Anqing, who was slightly nearsighted, to see the monster perfectly clearly without them.

“Back then, you said you liked my eyes, and wanted to gouge them out and eat them,” Yuan Anqing recounted.

Zhuo was an honest creature. “I did originally have that intention.” Before, he had planned to regain his freedom and find an opportunity to chew up and swallow this Savior—especially those golden eyes, which he was certain were the most delicious part.

Yuan Anqing: “…”

He hissed softly, and Zhuo immediately retorted, “That was my old thought! I don’t want to lie to you.”

“You don’t want to eat me now?” Yuan Anqing asked.

Zhuo still didn’t answer immediately. He carefully observed Yuan Anqing’s expression. Only when he saw that Yuan Anqing wasn’t genuinely angry did he softly ask, “Is that okay?”

“What’s okay?”

“Me… not eating you. Is that okay?” Zhuo still remembered Yuan Anqing’s half-dead state back then. Yuan Anqing had planned to wait for him to break free after a year, then use Zhuo to commit suicide by being devoured.

Yuan Anqing had treated Zhuo as a release from corporate suffering.

“You have to ask me this?” Yuan Anqing seemed to have forgotten the morbid retirement plan entirely.

“I’m not the one who wants to die,” Zhuo said, pushing Yuan Anqing’s hand away from his mouth so he could speak clearly. “If I don’t ask you, who do I ask? I’m afraid that if you decide you want to die again, and I refuse to eat you, you’ll get angry with me.” He still remembered when Yuan Anqing, in his psychic hangover state, had hoped Zhuo would destroy the world.

This Savior was, in fact, the most mentally unstable variable in the room.

“You don’t find me delicious anymore?” Yuan Anqing sensed Zhuo’s hesitation.

“You’re still very delicious,” Zhuo affirmed seriously. “Even if I don’t eat you, I can’t deny your deliciousness.”

Yuan Anqing almost laughed. “So you haven’t changed at all?”

“I haven’t changed a bit.” Zhuo didn’t believe he had undergone any significant transformation. He still had the same volatile temper, and his attitude toward humanity wasn’t any warmer. He just put on a bit of a tame act when Yuan Anqing was around.

“That’s strange, then.” Yuan Anqing straightened up, scrutinizing Zhuo intently. “You just look different in my eyes now.”

Zhuo tilted his head. “Different?”

“From a chaotic demon lord to… to…” Yuan Anqing struggled for the right words. Overall, Zhuo still appeared incredibly dangerous, with his overly sharp features and towering, robust physique. Even if Zhuo weren’t a monster, no one would dare provoke him on the street.

His appearance hadn’t changed, yet Yuan Anqing simply found Zhuo incredibly soft. “You’ve turned into a giant bolster. Or a big, heated mattress.”

“I thought you were going to say I’ve become more handsome,” Zhuo grumbled, a touch of disappointment in his voice.

“You’ve always been handsome,” Yuan Anqing reassured him effortlessly.

A handsome mattress is still useless, Zhuo grew even more despondent.

Seeing that Zhuo seemed inconsolable, Yuan Anqing, at a loss, decided to stop chatting and offer practical comfort. “Let me help you, then.”

“Mm.” Zhuo nodded in eager cooperation.

As he felt Yuan Anqing’s touch, Zhuo lamented his uncertain future, feeling like a pitiful soul in unrequited love.

“Uwah.” Zhuo’s tail suddenly stiffened.

“Don’t like it?” Yuan Anqing asked him.

Zhuo shook his head vigorously. “I love it! More!”

The next day in the office, Zhuo propped his head up, sighing dramatically at the blank CAD software on his computer screen.

Sister Bear, the demi-human colleague beside him, glanced toward Zhuo several times. She discreetly typed into the company’s private group chat: [What’s wrong with Zhuo? He hasn’t been staring obsessively at the Savior today.]

This small chat group did not include Yuan Anqing or Zhuo—only a few trusted people from the modeling department, plus the CEO.

The boss, Tu Hongyu, whose avatar was a wooden Buddha statue, replied: [Huh? I hope there’s no problem. The facility said they were doing well.]

Yang Shu, whose avatar was a photo of crape myrtle flowers, chimed in: [No problem. When they came to work earlier, they were practically glued together, and Zhuo even went out of his way to pour Mr. Yuan hot tea.]

Sister Bear secretly peered at Zhuo again: [But Zhuo really looks unhappy, and Mr. Yuan didn’t give him any ‘tutoring’ work today. Don’t you all find that strange?]

In the office, Yuan Anqing was essentially Zhuo’s mentor, and a very responsible one at that. He was meticulous and planned, never letting Zhuo be idle to prevent him from causing trouble. Yet today, Yuan Anqing hadn’t assigned Zhuo anything, and Zhuo wasn’t actively demanding attention. This was too peculiar.

[When he’s not zoning out, he’s just poking the succulent leaves on his desk. Does he have something heavy on his mind?] Sister Bear asked again.

[What could he possibly have on his mind?] This message came from another human colleague in the office. [He has no worries about food or rent, immense power, and a completely straightforward personality. What could possibly trouble him to that extent?]

Zhuo knew the people in the office were watching him, but he didn’t care. He remained immersed in his own tragic world of unrequited love.

Zhuo felt he was the most pitiful monster in the world. In the past, he never would have imagined that one day he would feel inferior due to romantic emotions. Yes, Zhuo believed he was feeling inferior; otherwise, he couldn’t explain his sudden timidity around Yuan Anqing. It had to be a lack of self-confidence.

With this thought, Zhuo pulled out his phone and began scrolling through popular celebrity accounts on social media, wondering if he needed to refine his styling and appearance to attract Yuan Anqing.

However, after indignantly clicking on a trending idol’s video, Zhuo’s brows relaxed.

None of these useless pretty boys could compare to him. They weren’t as tall, each as slender as a plucked chicken, and not even as robust as Yuan Anqing himself. They weren’t even good enough to be called embroidered pillows.

“Ai…” Zhuo sighed loudly, once again drawing the attention of those around him. Then, he lamented, “My appearance is simply too perfect.”

The eavesdropping Sister Bear: “…”

After his moment of self-admiration, Zhuo became despondent again.

[He’s not feeling sorry for himself, is he?!!] Sister Bear exclaimed in horror in the chat. [Is that his actual personality?!]

[Huh?] The CEO wasn’t in the office to witness it. [I’ll go check the security cameras.] Given Zhuo’s terrifying appearance and temper, watching him feel sorry for himself over being ‘too perfect’ would surely be amusing.

Zhuo started to zone out again. He was so good-looking; it was such a waste not to have a partner. But Yuan Anqing didn’t like him that way.

“Zhuo, want some cookies?” Yuan Anqing finally looked over at the gloomy monster.

“Give me some.” Zhuo pushed his office chair over to Yuan Anqing’s desk, extending his large hand.

Yuan Anqing pulled out two boxes of cream-filled cookies from his drawer and gave them to Zhuo, who immediately beamed. “Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Yuan Anqing nodded in response.

Zhuo slid his chair back to his spot, but as he was tearing open the cookie box, his movements suddenly paused. These were given to him by Yuan Anqing. He felt a little reluctant to eat them now; they felt like a romantic token.

“Zhuo, do you want a drink too?” Yuan Anqing asked him.

“Not tea, right?” Zhuo remembered Yuan Anqing preferred bitter, sugar-free tea drinks.

“It’s soda.” Yuan Anqing pulled open another drawer. Most of these drawers now contained Zhuo’s things; Zhuo had a massive appetite, and his own desk wasn’t big enough to store his snacks.

“Then I want it!” Zhuo’s interest immediately piqued, and he tossed his recent pessimistic mood to the back of his mind.

Sister Bear understood perfectly: [His sudden mood swings probably have nothing to do with Mr. Yuan.] Their interaction pattern was exactly the same as always.

Zhuo felt he was lovesick; even though Yuan Anqing was right beside him, he couldn’t do anything.

Crack.

A faint cracking sound echoed from Yuan Anqing’s desk. Yuan Anqing looked down at the silver ring on his hand. A hairline fracture had appeared on the metal band.

This ring was meant to control Zhuo; it was said to be able to suppress the monster with paralyzing pain. Yuan Anqing had never used such a punitive method, nor was he interested in it. If not for this sudden sound, he would have forgotten about the ring entirely.

Hadn’t Zhuo said he had about a year left until he broke free from his biological restraints? Yuan Anqing thought.

Yuan Anqing looked over at Zhuo, but Zhuo was already wearing his headphones, munching on cookies and happily listening to sad love songs.

By noon, Yuan Anqing took out his insulated lunchbox, but Zhuo only took a few hurried bites before putting his chopsticks down. “I’m full.”

Secret love was too hard; he had no appetite for food.

Yuan Anqing was genuinely taken aback. “Are you feeling unwell? Where does it hurt?”

“I’m not physically unwell.”

“If you’re not physically unwell, why did you only eat two bites?” Yuan Anqing began to worry. “Wait a moment, I’ll call Bai Tian to get the medical drone down here.”

“No, no, no! I’m not unwell!” Zhuo quickly stopped Yuan Anqing, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t worry. Worrying will cause you health problems. I’m just putting on an act.”

“Putting on an act?”

“I’m putting on an act. If you say something nice to me, I’ll eat,” Zhuo confessed truthfully, abandoning the subtle approach. “I’m just feeling a little bit stifled inside. Please coax me.”