Su Ling chugged the rest of his congee in three big gulps, then told Square to lead him to the kitchen. He mixed up a glass of honey water—mildly sweet this time, not the syrupy stuff that cloyed the throat; too much sugar was never good for anyone, least of all someone stuck in a bed all day.
He carried the glass to the admiral's door, rapped his knuckles against the metal, and pushed it open a few seconds later, no answer needed.
The medical droid was there, injecting nutrient fluid into the admiral's arm. Pei You lay with his eyes closed, his face pale and still, no flicker of life in him—like a marble statue, cold and unyielding. The sight twisted something tight in Su Ling's chest, a soft, sad ache he couldn't name.
"Yl7429?" Su Ling said, his voice warm, a smile tugging at his lips like it always did, even when talking to a hunk of metal. "I'm gonna call you Brute, okay? Fits you." He nodded at the droid's massive frame, then tilted his head, curious. "Does the admiral get these nutrient shots every single day?"
"Affirmative. Nutrient fluid sustains all bodily functions." Brute's mechanical belly clicked open, swallowing the empty syringe whole.
Su Ling peeked at the compartment, his eyes wide with curiosity. "What else does he eat? Real food, I mean. To get his strength up?"
"Nutrient fluid sustains all bodily functions." Brute repeated, word for word, no deviation, no understanding.
Su Ling's brain whirred for a second, then it clicked. "Wait—you mean he doesn't eat or drink anything else? Just these shots?"
"Correct, Admiral's spouse." Brute had no programming for human cravings, for the joy of a warm meal or a sweet drink, for the comfort of taste on the tongue.
Why? Su Ling couldn't wrap his head around it. It couldn't be that hard to tell the droids to feed him, right? Why starve himself of something so simple, so human?
Brute didn't get any more orders, so it trundled to a corner of the room, pressed itself flat against the metal wall, and froze—motionless, silent, just another piece of furniture Su Ling had never noticed before.
He stepped up to the bed, knelt down on one knee, and gently cupped the admiral's head in both hands, turning it slightly toward himself. "I got you some honey water," he explained, soft so he wouldn't startle him. "Slow sips, okay? Don't wanna choke."
The admiral's gaze shifted—no longer the empty, icy cold of a stranger, but something deeper, darker, a faint frown creasing his forehead, like Su Ling's touch was a foreign intrusion.
Su Ling held the glass out, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Must taste like nothing in there, huh? A little sweet'll fix that."
The admiral's lips stayed pressed tight, a hard line, no intention of opening them. Su Ling prodded a straw between his lips, his tone playful. "C'mon, one sip. It's good, I promise." The admiral's tongue flicked out, pushing the straw away with a sharp, silent refusal.
"Why not?" Su Ling frowned, his eyes darting to the admiral's throat. "Trouble swallowing?" His brain sparked an idea, and he turned to Brute, quick. "Brute, give me a clean syringe—no needle."
He pulled the needle off, sucked half the honey water into the barrel, and turned back—only to find the admiral's head twisted away, his back to Su Ling, just a mess of dark hair and a stiff shoulder, a silent "go away" louder than any words.
Is he throwing a tantrum? Su Ling thought, his shoulders slumping a little as he stared at the admiral's skull. What do I even do here? "You don't have to drink it if you don't want to," he said, his voice a little dejected, "but at least tell me why? Tell me what you want, what you don't. Anything. I'll do it, I swear."
The man with his back to him closed his eyes, a flicker of something like shame crossing his face—something Su Ling would never see.
"You don't trust me, do you?" Su Ling pressed, his fingers twisting the empty syringe. "If there was poison in this, Brute would've shut me down the second I walked in. I just… I just want you to eat something. To feel something." He wanted to bang his fist against the admiral's skull, to pry open his brain and see what was going on in there.
He'd read the book, knew his habits, his past, his fate—but none of it said why he'd stopped eating, why he'd locked himself away from every small human pleasure. The author had skipped all the good parts, the messy parts, and now Su Ling was stuck here, guessing, flailing, ready to pull his hair out in frustration.
Was it the bad news? The Su family's sickening press conference? Was he taking his anger out on Su Ling, the random beta stuck with him? Or was it just the pain, so bad he couldn't bear the thought of anything touching his mouth?
Men's minds were deeper than the black of space, Su Ling decided. Impossible to read, impossible to figure out.
But no human being could live on just nutrient shots forever, right? A lightbulb went off in his head, bright and sudden. He'd make food—all the food, the sweet stuff, the savory stuff, the warm, hearty stuff that made your stomach feel full and your heart feel soft. He'd lay it all out in front of the admiral, tempt him, beg him, wear him down. No one could resist a good meal. No one.
The plan lifted his mood, chasing away the frustration, and he asked Brute for a cotton swab, dipping it in the leftover honey water.
He knelt back on the bed, one hand braced on the admiral's shoulder, the other holding the swab up to his eyes, his tone soft and cajoling, like talking to a stubborn kid. "Fine, no water. But let's fix these lips, yeah? They're all chapped and sore."
The admiral's lips pressed tighter for a second, his Adam's apple bobbing once, a tiny, silent twitch.
Su Ling took that as a yes. He brushed the swab gently over the admiral's chapped lips, slow and careful, coating them in a thin layer of sweet honey. "Lick it," he said, a little smile in his voice, triumphant. "Tastes sweet, right?"
It was a small smile, not bright or dazzling, but warm—like a hot spring bubbling up from the cold earth, wrapping around you, seeping into your bones, making every muscle relax, every worry fade. His almond eyes crinkled at the corners, bright with soft, silver moonlight, gentle and kind.
The admiral's tongue flicked out, unconsciously, licking the honey off his lips—then his brow furrowed in annoyance, and his eyes slammed shut, like he was angry at himself for giving in, for feeling that small, sweet pleasure.
"Don't like it?" Su Ling asked, used to the silence by now. It didn't matter. He had all the time in the world. He climbed off the bed, patting the admiral's shoulder lightly. "Rest up, okay? I'm gonna go buy some groceries, make you something good to eat. Real food, not just shots."
He didn't see it, but the second he turned his back, the admiral's eyes fluttered open, his gaze fixed on Su Ling's retreating figure— not bold, not obvious, but furtive, like a thief stealing a glance, a little flicker of something soft, something like reluctance, hidden deep in the dark of his pupils.
No one had talked to him like that in so long. Once, it was all praise and flattery, empty words from people who wanted something from him—fame, power, connections. Then, after the injury, it was all disgust and contempt, quiet whispers behind his back, people looking at him like he was a broken toy, a waste of space. No one had ever talked to him like an equal, like a person, with a light, easy voice, no agenda, no fear.
No one had ever asked how he felt. Once, he'd been too strong—unbreakable, unbeatable, a weapon for the galaxy to wield—so no one thought he needed comfort. Now, he was too weak— a cripple, a burden—so no one thought his feelings mattered. He'd lived his life like a battle droid, cold and efficient, no heart, no soul, just a machine built to fight.
Pei You had always thought that was for the best. No feelings, no hopes, no disappointments— that's how you won wars, that's how you survived.
But now he stared at the ceiling, his eyes empty, his mind wandering far away, the sweet taste of honey still lingering on his lips, a small, foreign warmth in his chest he didn't know how to name.