The Fake Son Wants to Live [BL]-Chapter 152 - 153 fake son

The man shifted his grip and carried him gently, cradling him like a baby in those strong arms.

Nansich was too stunned to fight anymore. He didn’t even flinch when he felt the dried, crusted blood from the alien staining his clothes. The man didn’t say anything—just walked slowly toward the barn, footsteps soft against the grass.

And that’s when it hit him.

This man... he had killed that monster. Not out of rage or bloodlust. He had done it to protect him.

He had saved him.

Nansich blinked, staring up at the man’s unreadable face. His heart, which had been pounding in terror moments ago, was starting to settle. He didn’t feel so scared anymore. Even though this guy was drenched in alien blood. Even though those arms holding him had just ripped through a creature twice his size.

Somehow, none of it mattered.

That smouldering gaze—the one that had paralyzed him with fear at first—now melted it away. All of it.

The man carried him back into the barn, the hay-scented air cool against Nansich’s skin. He walked over to one of the hay piles and slowly lowered him down onto it, setting him gently like he was something fragile.

Then, without a word, the man sat down beside him.

For a moment, there was silence.

Nansich cleared his throat. "T-thanks... I guess..."

His voice sounded smaller than he expected.

It was weird, sitting there awkwardly beside someone who looked like he belonged on the cover of a sci-fi magazine soaked in blood—but also weirdly comforting. Nansich had always been the "tough one" back at school. The one people didn’t mess with. The one who started fights and ended them. But now? Now he felt like a damn baby in comparison.

Still, he couldn’t help but stare.

Those golden eyes were back on him. Unblinking. Just... watching.

Usually, someone staring like that would’ve creeped him out. But not this time. Something about the man’s face—sharp jawline, smooth skin, hair tousled from the fight—made it... bearable. Actually, it made it kind of hard to look away.

Nansich looked down, face warming slightly. He scratched the back of his head, feeling the short, uneven spikes of his two-inch hair.

The man’s eyes shifted, following the movement.

Nansich noticed.

He gave a weak laugh, trying to lighten the silence. "We kinda have the same hair color, huh..."

He ran his fingers through his hair out of habit. "It used to be bleached, you know. Back when I was still... I dunno, trying too hard to be the school badass or whatever." He glanced sideways at the man. "After Jain left, I decided to grow it out natural. Let the brown come back in."

He shrugged, unsure why he was even sharing that. It wasn’t like the guy would care.

But still, it filled the silence.

The man tilted his head slightly, golden eyes flicking back to his face. Nansich didn’t know what he was thinking, but it wasn’t threatening. Just... observing. Like he was trying to figure him out, too.

His own gaze drifted again to that red crystal on the man’s forehead.

It glowed faintly in the dim barn light.

Still, his heart thumped again.

Nansich cleared his throat sharply, needing to break the weird tension growing between them. He averted his gaze from the man’s face, which for some reason was way too close and too good-looking under the dim barn light.

"Uhh... I think we should go wash that blood off," he said, voice a little hoarse.

Seriously, the stuff stank. The foul odor had already started seeping into the hay around them. It smelled worse than any barn he’d ever cleaned—and he’d cleaned plenty of stalls filled with week-old cow crap. That alien blood though? It was on a whole other level. Thick, sticky, and reeking like rot mixed with metal.

The blond-haired man looked down at his chest, then back up at Nansich with a blank expression, like he didn’t understand what the big deal was.

"Oh..." Nansich muttered. "Maybe you really don’t understand me..."

He raised his hands and mimed pouring water over his head, then pretended to scrub his chest and arms.

"Bath," he said clearly, pointing toward his own body, then to the man’s. "You, bath."

The man’s golden eyes followed every movement closely, head tilted slightly like a curious child watching something new for the first time.

Nansich snorted under his breath. "You’re kinda like a big puppy, huh..."

He stood up and held out his hand. "I have water here. Come."

The man didn’t move at first. Nansich gently grabbed his wrist—surprised again by the strength beneath that skin—and tugged him along toward the side of the barn. Thankfully, he’d stashed a few buckets of water there earlier in the day, just in case the old pump went dry.

There was an actual bathroom outside, a tiny shack with a cracked mirror and cold tap, but no way was he stepping outside again tonight. Not with those things out there.

He handed the man a soaked rag. "Here. Wipe yourself down."

The man looked down at the rag like it was some foreign object. Then he glanced back up at Nansich, unblinking.

Nansich sighed. "Okay, look—like this." He took the rag, gently pressed it against the man’s chest, and wiped. "See? Clean."

But even after that little demonstration, the guy still looked confused.

"Seriously?" Nansich muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes and took over, dabbing at the dried blood smeared across the man’s torso. "You’re like a baby... You really don’t know anything about this world, do you? Where the hell did you come from?"

He asked it casually, not expecting an answer. His hand moved over warm skin, muscles firm beneath his fingers.

Suddenly, his knuckle grazed one of the man’s pecs—solid and toned.

He froze.

His cheeks turned red before he could stop it.

"Sorry—uh—I didn’t mean to—" He quickly wiped the last bit of grime away and stepped back. "There. All done."

Just as he turned to walk away, a hand reached out and caught him by the wrist.

Nansich turned back, startled. "Huh?"

The man cupped some water in his large palm and gently splashed it against Nansich’s face.

Nansich blinked, caught off guard by the sudden coolness. "Wha—hey—"

Then, before he could react, the man leaned closer, his other hand brushing softly across Nansich’s cheek. It wasn’t rough or forceful. It was slow. Careful. His thumb wiped at a spot beside Nansich’s eye, trailing down to his jaw.

And then he did something completely unexpected.

He smiled.

Just the tiniest curve of his lips. But it was real.

Warmth crept up Nansich’s neck, despite the dampness on his face.

Then the man opened his mouth—and spoke for the first time.

"G’orenzia."

Nansich blinked. "Huh?"

The man simply repeated. "G’orenzia,"

Nansich’s lips parted.

"...Your name?"