Life and death
Milo's fingers twitched, and just a second before he was about to press the button, a figure suddenly flashed through his long-blank mind.
He suddenly felt immense fear, but the more he tried to stop, the tighter and deeper the shadow clung to him, almost drilling into his brain and then down to bite his heart.
Milo closed his eyes tightly, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
Why did he think of that madman?
Wasn't he just using that person from beginning to end?
It was all just enduring humiliation and putting on an act. She was clearly suffering every day, hoping it would end, wishing she could escape his side forever, but at this moment…
Why does he still want to think about him?
Milo felt himself floating in the sea, an endless blackness, an endless cold. He had reached the end of his plan and thought he had nothing left to look forward to, but then he saw a faint light of a lighthouse in the sea.
Milo had a strong intuition that this shot would kill him; no more miracles would happen. But the first two shots had drained all his strength, and the reality he had just come to realize was constantly pulling him back, away from the sea of death.
In the end, Milo turned his gun around.
"Bang--"
The third bullet was fired, and it turned out to be a live bullet, instantly shattering half of the statue's cheek.
Rusty water seeped from the eye sockets of the shattered statue, like a merciful father shedding tears.
Milo completely broke down, tears streaming down his face. He angrily pounded on the cabin until his hands were covered in blood.
The Bethlehem drifted alone on the high seas, its destination unknown, with no one to talk to or influence its decisions. This meant it made its own choice based on independent thought…
Because of Blaise, he actually chose to live.
This fact is both shameful and appalling.
Milo slowly crawled on his knees and lay down at the foot of the icon. The intense emotional turmoil completely consumed his spirit; he felt an exceptional emptiness in his heart and had no strength left.
He didn't know how long he had slept, but he slowly woke up when he realized that the blood on the deck had soaked half of his cheek.
Milo staggered as he dragged the Remington shotgun out from behind the liquor cabinet. The metallic scraping sound of the lead bullets being chambered suddenly reminded him of the organ in St. Seville Cathedral, where the priest would ask him to lead the chanting of prayers.
Priests always say that the loving Father will protect His devout and gentle people from heaven. But He is not a sheep; He is a goat, or perhaps, even a wolf, a snake.
Sea fog blanketed the deck, and Milo stood in the cold wind, gun in hand, his lips pale. He rested the butt of the gun against his shoulder, the muzzle pointing at the indistinct wall of fog.
The cruise ship was about to dock, and it was easy to imagine what consequences awaited him on shore.
The air was heavy and suffocating, with only the monotonous lapping of the waves against the hull, producing a hollow echo.
Time flowed viscously through the thick fog, and just as Milo's nerves were stretched to their limit, a tall, blurry figure gradually emerged from the chaotic gray-white, appearing and disappearing in the flow of the fog.
Milo held his breath instantly, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, and his cold index finger instinctively, through muscle memory, rested on the cold trigger.
A crystal-clear image suddenly flashed into his mind.
That day, the weather was exceptionally fine. On the lawn of the villa on White Sand Island, sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shimmering dappled patterns in the dry air. Blaze stood behind him, his tall frame casting a shadow that completely enveloped him. Blaze extended his well-defined, calloused hand, his thumb gently pressing down on Blaze's index finger joint, demonstrating how to aim at the target.
A sudden wave of soreness washed over Milo. She braced herself against her teeth, suppressing the intense emotions welling up inside her, and let the tears stream down her face.
A strong sea breeze briefly tore open a corner of the thick fog, allowing light to penetrate with difficulty and outline the silhouette of a person in the fog.
Milo's pupils contracted sharply, and his index finger, resting on the trigger, jerked back as if burned by a hot iron. The heavy muzzle plunged downwards, the butt slamming heavily onto the deck with a dull thud. He was almost completely exhausted; his back was instantly soaked with cold sweat, and the sea breeze brought a chilling coldness.
He almost... he was just a hair's breadth away from firing.
The heavy roar of the cargo ship's engines became clearer, the hull trembled slightly, and it began to clumsily approach the shore, crashing onto the wet, gravelly beach.
Milo walked off the diving board as if in a trance, his boots sinking into the mixture of icy seawater and rough sand, his gaze fixed on the tall figure on the shore.
Blaze stood there, like a silent, black reef. From the ground beneath him, a shocking, dark red trail, like a venomous serpent, snaked its way into the unfathomable depths of the fog-shrouded rainforest behind him. The bloodstains stood out starkly against the greyish-white sand and dark vegetation; some places had been diluted by the sea, but at their source remained thick and black. The fresh, pungent stench of blood, mingled with the distinctive aroma of decaying rainforest plants and the salty smell of the sea, assaulted Milo's nostrils, almost making him nauseous.
A fierce battle, a brutal and intense battle that had just ended. This fact struck Milo's chaotic mind like a cold hammer.
Was Blaise there to see him? Or had he encountered Zowin's pursuers? Was he injured? How badly? Countless questions exploded in his mind like boiling bubbles, rendering him completely unable to think. He stood stiffly in the cold sand, his feet seemingly nailed to the ground, his mind blank, with only the winding trail of blood and Blaise's silent figure magnified infinitely in his vision. Should he go forward? Or should he run? He didn't know what to do.
For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.
The two were only an arm's length apart, but that arm's length distance kept them both rooted to the spot.
Suddenly, Blaze reached out and hugged Milo tightly, his tall frame leaning forward slightly, pressing down with his entire upper body weight, his chin resting heavily in the crook of Milo's neck. His warm breath, deep and unobstructed, sprayed onto Milo's cool earlobes and neck skin, stirring a subtle shiver.
Milo froze completely.
It's real.
This person is real, not a dream.
His body was warm, his arms were strong, and his breathing was deep.
This embrace was unlike any other. They had engaged in far more intimate acts before, but this time, it was devoid of lust. It was as if the embrace was simply an embrace, much like the one in the Fire Dance on White Sand Island.
But that happiness was an illusion, while this moment is real pain.
Milo's muscles tensed, even his fingertips were paralyzed. Chaos, horror, a ridiculous sense of relief, and an indescribable, immense fear... countless emotions clashed wildly within him, almost tearing him apart. He was frozen in the embrace, completely disoriented.
He didn't know how much time had passed when he felt a dampness on his neck. Suddenly, a spark ignited in his long-dormant mind. He pushed Blaise away with difficulty and looked at his face.
Although Blaze had his head down, Milo could still see the wetness and redness in his eyes because of the height difference.
"You cried." Milo said mechanically, momentarily unable to believe that these words were actually coming out of his mouth.
Blaze actually cried?
Why would he cry?
Why was he crying?
Milo felt his heart begin to throb, each pain stronger than the last, as the emotions he had been forcibly suppressing became uncontrollable.
Why does he feel sad when he sees Blaise upset?
Why does his heart beat again and again for someone else?
No, no, don't do this... it shouldn't be like this...
But the more you try to suppress it, the more uncontrollable that intense throbbing becomes.
Blaze raised his hands, which were covered in blood.
Extend both hands outwards, "I".
Pointing his index finger to his eye, he lightly tapped his forehead, "Really."
He pressed his long, slender hands together against his face, his index finger trembling as he pointed, "I love you."
Milos was struck dumb, frozen in place.
Blaze reached out and hugged Milo, gently pressing his pale, frostbitten lips to Milo's forehead, as if trying to meld Milo into his own body. He pressed his head against Milo's, inhaling his scent, and suddenly felt an overwhelming sorrow.
Milo was willing to die for Miles, but he didn't have the courage to ask Milo to choose to live for him. For Milo to choose him meant choosing to be with the descendant of his family's murderer, a life filled with torment and pain for which he would live. He loved Milo so much, loved Theo Green so much, but he suddenly realized that all that love, all that longing, was less important than the fact that Milo was alive.
I really can't bear to let go.
Blaze silently repeated that phrase in his mind, using the only voice he could remember, and probably the only one he had ever possessed that was worthy of Theo Green's favor, to speak it little by little in his imagination.
I truly love you.
Blaise lowered his eyes.
But I don't want you to suffer.
If loving you causes you pain, then I can stop loving you, and I can stop fantasizing that you might love me.
Blaise felt his heart had never ached so much. Any time, anyone who asked him to give up Theo Green, to give up Milo, he would have wanted to tear them apart. But how cruel it would be to make someone lose another person forever while falling in love with them. He had experienced that kind of pain once enough; he couldn't bear to let Milo suffer like that.
Blaze removed Milo's hand, said nothing, did nothing, and slowly pushed him away before walking alone toward the shore.
Milo stepped into the shallow water, a dull ache rising in his heart. He stood frozen, neither chasing nor retreating. Just like the great fire years ago, he was beyond thought, standing dumbfounded at the crossroads of fate, letting the pain consume all his reason.
By taking that first step, he can break free from his shackles and embrace a new life.
Milo found himself unable to move, while behind him, the sound of Blaise wading away gradually faded from clear to indistinct.
Blaise is really gone.
For the past five years, he has been pushing himself to move forward, not to look back, for looking back would mean falling into an abyss.
But this time, he actually longed to turn back.
Blaze, damn Blaze...
Nonai's words suddenly echoed in my ears.
There will never be another Blaze like this in the world.
No one in the world will ever be able to go through such a complicated, shameful, and chaotic relationship with him again.
Among the countless possibilities of the future, perhaps healthier and brighter choices await him, but he cannot shake off this quagmire. Just as Miles made him temporarily lose two years of his memory, the pain only multiplies once he recalls the past. He morbidly needs this twisted and humble, forceful and passionate love, like a raging fire that completely burns him through, and in this world, only Blaise can give him that.
Another clear voice suddenly questioned him in his mind.
Why did he turn back that night in April?
Blaise's voice is an anchor embedded deep in his memory; his strength comes from the power of revenge; his dependence is the capital he can be sure he possesses. He has always been dangerous, powerful, and violent, yet his vulnerability and laughable naiveté have become the joystick he can control.
Blaise's face gradually became clearer in his mind from a blurry shadow.
He was a complete, complex, and three-dimensional person with many flaws and many habits that he hated and despised.
But after he has stood tall enough and become powerful enough to have everything, why doesn't he want anyone but Blaise?
Perhaps, he truly loved him.
It wasn't because he loved him that I loved him; it was simply because I loved him.
Miluo stopped wading through the water, resolutely turned around, and began to run.
In the hazy morning light, Milo's figure resembled a white wave surging on the sea, desperately trying to reach the shore.
Milo raced through the shallow waters until he finally managed to grab Blaze's back.
"Bang bang bang—"
Milo heard thunder rumbling in his own heart.
"You dare let go?" Milo's throat tightened, and tears suddenly streamed down his face. "You dare let go without my consent...?"
Blaze tried to push Milo away, but the other refused to let go. Blaze's resolve seemed to crumble at that moment, and he could only lower his head and look into Milo's red eyes.
In the southeastern sky, a thick plume of black smoke rose, and towering flames began to burn.
Milo hugged Blaise tightly. He was suddenly terrified and didn't even realize that his hands were sticky and cold.
It wasn't until Blaise's legs gave way and he could no longer stand that Milo belatedly realized his hands were covered in blood.
Was he shot?
When was he injured?
Blood... how can there be so much blood?
"No, no... no—!" Milo collapsed to his knees, unable to utter a complete sentence.
Blaze ran his fingertip across Milo's face, smearing the bloodstains on it. His lips parted, uttering only two silent words: "Don't cry."
The sun rose slowly over the sea, and the distant sound of helicopter rotors hummed incessantly.
Tears almost glued his eyes shut, blurring his vision. Milo could only instinctively grip Blaise's limp hands and shout for help.
A sun rises from the sea, casting golden rays across the pale blue sky.
Daylight broke.
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