Pregnant During An Apocalypse [BL]

Chapter 227: Chapter 227 - Practiced motion

The wind rustled softly through the sycamore leaves, whispering secrets above Shao’s head as he sat beneath the wide canopy. The court behind him was freshly painted but barely used. He sat still, a figure carved out of silence, the worn pillow resting lightly in his lap. His fingers brushed over the fabric again and again—not to hold it, but as if searching for something long gone.

The scent was fading. That sweet, warm trace of Jai that had once hit him like lightning now lingered only faintly. Still, it stayed in his mind, heavy and unresolved.

Was it just the scent that pulled me in... or was it him? he thought.

He didn’t have answers. He didn’t want answers. The very idea clawed at the walls he’d built inside himself for years. Whatever strange heat had ignited in him, he had no intention of feeding it. He would douse it in silence. Discipline. Solitude. Let it die quietly, like all dangerous things should.

He placed the pillow gently on the mossy ground beside him and rested his arms on his knees, exhaling deeply.

That’s when he saw her.

Out of the corner of his eye, a figure moved—slow, almost aimless. A woman. Short-cropped, uneven hair framed a pale, sunken face. Her steps weren’t hurried, but they weren’t lazy either. Purposeful, maybe. And then there was the smell—a strange, metallic tinge in the air when she passed.

Shao instinctively looked away. He wasn’t one to intrude. If she needed space, she’d have it. But something prickled at his senses. He’d learned to trust that prickling—especially in this new world, where smiles could be knives and silence could mean death.

He stayed under the tree, eyes downcast.

The pillow beside him looked innocent. Just cloth and cotton. Yet it stirred things in him that were neither innocent nor welcome.

I won’t act on it. I won’t. He repeated the thought like a mantra.

Then—

A sharp, high cry shattered the air.

A cat.

Shao turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse the rustling bushes behind the broken fencing. A flash of fur darted out—a scrappy, lean cat bolting across the edge of the court. The woman followed. Her bag swung on her side, and her eyes were locked onto the creature.

She’s chasing it? Shao thought vaguely, his hand stilling on the pillow. Maybe the cat was hers. Maybe she was trying to help it.

He was about to look away when it happened.

In one clean, practiced motion, her hands shot out. She grabbed the cat mid-run, twisted its neck with a sickening snap, and the crying ceased instantly.

His eyes froze.

She glanced around quickly, sharp and alert. Her gaze swept past the fence, the path, the courts.

Shao didn’t move.

She shoved the limp cat into her bag like it was nothing more than a loaf of bread and walked off, disappearing between the buildings.

For a moment, the air was still.

Shao stared after her, something cold curling around his spine. It wasn’t just the act that unsettled him. It was the ease. The fluidity. Like she’d done it before. Like it was routine.

He stood up slowly, brushing his palms on his pants. His expression was unreadable, but something had shifted behind his eyes. He bent down to pick up the pillow again, hesitating briefly before pressing it against his chest.

Shao hadn’t planned to follow her. He just... did. Something about the way she moved had caught his attention. Not nervous exactly, but off. He didn’t even realize his feet had changed direction until he found himself walking behind her at a careful distance.

She walked with her shoulders slightly hunched, almost like she was trying to fold in on herself. Every time a man passed close, she flinched a little. The atmosphere inside the dorm corridors always felt a bit too tight, the air thick with tension, and she clearly wanted to move through it as quickly as possible.

Shao kept his pace natural, slow even, like he was just wandering. But he didn’t lose sight of her. Something about the whole thing tugged at his curiosity in a quiet, persistent way.

Eventually, she came to a stop in front of a dull metal door. She looked around—just briefly—before opening it and slipping inside. Shao slowed as he reached the spot she had disappeared through.

He glanced at the sign on the door: SUPPLY CLOSET.

That deep, unsettled feeling returned.

’What’s in there?’ he wondered, his brow furrowing just slightly.

But now wasn’t the time to find out. He could already hear footsteps approaching from down the hall—someone laughing, someone else arguing loudly. He didn’t want to look like he was snooping around.

So he turned, casually making his way back toward the main corridor, but not before taking a second glance at the door behind him.

’Later,’ he thought, gripping the soft pillow in his hand a little tighter.

He didn’t like jumping to conclusions. But he also didn’t like things that didn’t add up.

*****

Inside the dim supply closet, the woman pulled out the cat from her coat. She laid it on a tarp, her movements swift and practiced. Without hesitation, she skinned it with a small blade, then cut it into manageable pieces.

She reached under the lowest shelf and dragged out a worn, heavy duffel bag. After a glance at the door, she unzipped it carefully.

Inside lay a child—barely a year old. His skin was dull and grayish-blue, his limbs twitching with unnatural jerks. The moment fresh air hit his face, he let out a low, guttural hiss, his pale lips peeling back to show tiny, darkened gums and a few sharp teeth.

The woman didn’t flinch. She took a piece of meat with a pair of tongs and held it just above his mouth.

”Here,” she whispered. ”Eat slowly.”

The child lunged, teeth snapping, and clamped down on the meat. He chewed with frantic hunger, letting out small growls as he tore into it. The woman gently shushed him and fed him another piece.

”Not too loud,” she said, smoothing his hair with her free hand. ”We can’t let anyone hear you.”

The woman gave him another strip of meat, her expression soft—but tired.

”I’ll find more,” she murmured. ”Mommy always will.”