CHAPTER 214: CHAPTER 214 - TENSION

Varon rushed out of the room, his boots thudding against the wooden floor as he chased after Xing Yu down the hallway.

"General! Please wait!" he called, sweat trailing down the side of his face. "I didn’t mean to cross the line. I—"

Xing Yu didn’t turn around.

Varon stumbled to a stop, panting lightly. "I just... I couldn’t stop myself..."

The silence that followed was heavier than any reprimand.

Meanwhile, inside the room they had left—

Eren slowly opened his eyes.

Not a single trace of sleep was left in them.

His hand trembled slightly as it rose to brush his lips, the very place where that warmth had touched moments ago.

His chest rose and fell sharply, breath shallow. His fingers stayed there—hovering over his mouth—as if afraid touching it too firmly would erase the memory completely.

He had been awake.

Minutes ago, when Varon had shifted beside him, he had stirred too. He was going to give him a scare—shout "boo" just to mess with him like always. But something in the air had felt... strange.

So he stayed still. Pretending.

Waiting.

He hadn’t expected that.

When those lips, soft and uncertain, had pressed against his, his entire body had frozen up.

Not from fear. Not even from shock.

But from the sheer pounding of his heart.

Now, lying alone on the bed, his fingers brushed his lips again. The warmth was gone, but the sensation clung stubbornly.

"Idiot..." he muttered to himself under his breath. "Why’d you do something stupid like that..."

And yet, a small, confused smile played at the corners of his lips.

His heart was still racing.

Nansich groaned, pushing himself up from the floor with his hair sticking in wild directions. He blinked blearily, swatting Li Wang’s limp hand off his stomach with a grumble.

"Ughh... why are you even touching me in your sleep..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes furiously.

His gaze shifted to the bed, landing on Eren—who was still lying down, perfectly stiff, like a corpse trying too hard to fake it. Nansich squinted.

"...Why is your face red?" he mumbled, squinting further.

Eren flinched. In an instant, he jolted upright like he’d been electrocuted.

"It’s not red!" he snapped, patting both his cheeks quickly with open palms. Smack smack smack. "See? I was... I was swatting a mosquito. Yeah. Mosquitoes."

Nansich gave him a long, skeptical stare, his brows crumpling. "You’re weird," he muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Rubbing his stomach with both hands now, he stumbled toward the bathroom. "Ugh, I’m starving. I swear if someone doesn’t make food, I’ll kill a Grayling and eat that."

He yawned so wide his jaw cracked, waddling away in his loose shirt and boxers, mumbling under his breath about dreams of sword fights and crunchy pickles.

Eren finally slumped forward, head in hands.

"...Why the hell do I always get caught like this?" he groaned to himself, cheeks still flushed.

The day slowly began to bloom with warm sunlight filtering through the half-curtained windows. The cold night was replaced by a gentle warmth, and the house was finally bustling again.

Everyone washed up in turns, emerging from the bathroom in a range of oversized shirts and mismatched pants—courtesy of Nansich’s surprisingly extensive closet. Jian was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, quietly stirring pasta in a wide pot. He’d found a few fresh tomatoes from the small orchard garden and was simmering them down with garlic and herbs from the windowsill planter.

As he stirred, his eyes kept drifting to the tap. The faint creak of the faucet, the way it spat water instead of flowing smoothly... it made his chest tighten. He reached out and turned it on again—more sputtering. His brows furrowed.

"How long until we lose water..." he whispered to himself. "Should we start collecting in buckets now? Just in case..."

A soft crunch interrupted his thoughts. Jian turned slightly to see Nansich leaning against the counter, chewing on a slice of raw tomato like it was candy.

"Relax," Nansich mumbled through his chewing. "We’ve got well water, remember? Deep and fresh. Might taste like mud on bad days, but it won’t run out soon."

Jian blinked, slightly surprised. "Oh... but what about electricity? Isn’t that tied to the pump?"

Nansich nodded, popping the last of the tomato slice into his mouth. "Yeah, but we’ve got a fuel-powered generator out back. Not fancy, but it works. We have to be careful with usage, though. That fuel won’t last forever."

He licked some tomato juice off his finger and added with a slight grin, "We can sustain here for long if we play it smart. Longer than those creepy aliens ever expected."

Jian gave a small smile, relieved. "That’s good."

The pot began to bubble softly, filling the room with a delicious aroma. Despite the danger, the fear, and the unknown still waiting beyond the orchard’s boundaries, this moment—slicing tomatoes, talking about wells, worrying about water—felt strangely normal. Peaceful, even.

Nansich leaned close to the pot and inhaled deeply. "You might’ve just won best chef among all alien survivors, Jian. That smells insane."

Jian laughed softly and gave the sauce one last stir.

The aroma of tomato pasta filled the whole farmhouse, drifting into the living room where Xing Yu was meticulously oiling his weapons, and where Varon sat quietly, sharpening the edge of his jagged sword with slow, methodical strokes.

Jian brought the bowls out first, followed closely by Nansich with a stack of mismatched cutlery and a smug smile. "Best tomato pasta of your life coming right up," he announced proudly, even though he’d only sliced tomatoes.

One by one, everyone gathered at the table. Eren slid into the seat next to Jian, but his eyes subtly flicked to the side—toward Varon, who sat across from him. When their gazes met, even for a brief second, Eren’s posture stiffened and he quickly looked away, pretending to sip water that wasn’t even in front of him yet.

Nansich caught the weird tension instantly and narrowed his eyes. He slowly leaned toward Jian and whispered, "Why’s he acting like a guilty puppy?"

Jian didn’t respond, but he had noticed too. Eren was unusually quiet. No teasing, no over-the-top dramatics. He even mumbled a "thanks" when Jian served him a bowl—without flair.

As everyone started eating, conversation flowed easily. Nansich went on about how he could grow tomatoes better than the garden’s "lazy" vines. Xing Yu quietly reminded him it was winter. Li Wang, sitting at the far end, asked about rationing strategies and fuel supply numbers.

But Eren barely touched his food.

He poked at his noodles, stirring the pasta around aimlessly. Once or twice, he risked glancing up at Varon, only to quickly snap his gaze elsewhere when Varon looked back. His usual bright grin was nowhere in sight. His whole demeanor screamed awkward tension—like he was overthinking every breath.

Finally, Jian broke the silence between bites. "You’re not eating?"

"Huh?" Eren looked up, startled. "No—no, I am! I was just... admiring the presentation," he forced a grin, then scooped a bit of the pasta into his mouth. "Delicious," he said quickly—too quickly—and immediately burned his tongue.

He let out a muffled yelp and fanned his mouth, glaring at his bowl like it betrayed him. Nansich burst into laughter. "You weirdo. It’s pasta, not lava!"

Varon, however, said nothing. His eyes stayed on Eren just a moment longer than necessary before returning to his food. There was something unreadable in his gaze—almost... regret?

Eren didn’t meet it. He just kept eating, slower than usual, fidgeting with the edge of his bowl whenever he wasn’t chewing. For the first time since they met, the energetic scout of the Farian trio looked uncertain—about his food, about where to sit, about everything.

And Jian, who usually found Eren’s antics exhausting, couldn’t help but feel curious. Something had definitely happened.

Something that had Eren tangled in silence... and Varon strangely distant.

Right after breakfast they jumped into training.

Under the thick shadow of the tree, Jian and Nansich’s wooden swords clacked loudly in the open yard. Sweat rolled down Jian’s neck, and Nansich’s hair was sticking to his forehead as he cursed every missed swing. Xing Yu corrected their posture with terse nods and a sharp eye, offering only a few clipped words of encouragement. Li Wang scribbled from the porch, distant as always, content with observing.

A little further back, Eren stood beside Varon, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes were watching the sparring match, but his mind wasn’t. Not really.

Varon, unmoving as stone, turned his head slightly. His voice was low. "You were awake."

Eren stiffened. The words landed like a heavy weight on his shoulders. He didn’t answer right away.

Varon waited, then said again, "You felt it."

Eren’s jaw tensed. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he muttered, still facing the yard, arms hugging himself tighter.

"You do."

Eren slowly looked toward him. "You kissed me."

Varon met his eyes calmly, but there was something raw behind his usually cool demeanor. "I did."

"Why?" Eren’s voice was quiet, but each syllable shook. "Why would you do that if you were just going to pretend it never happened?"

Varon didn’t speak at first. His silence was deafening.

Eren looked down, laughed once, bitterly. "You didn’t think I’d remember? You thought I’d sleep through it like some idiot and just keep following you around like nothing happened?"

"It wasn’t like that—"

"No?" Eren cut in, eyes snapping back to him, wide and furious and hurt all at once. "Then what was it? A mistake?"

Varon’s breath hitched. "No," he said quickly. "Not a mistake. Never a mistake."

Eren took a small step back, the space between them growing heavier.

"Then why do you look like you regret it?" he asked, his voice cracking just slightly.

Varon swallowed hard, his mask starting to falter. "Because I shouldn’t want you. Because wanting you—"

"Means you’d have to do something about it," Eren finished for him, voice hollow. He let out a tired laugh. "Well, don’t worry. You don’t have to. I get it now."

He turned his face away, back toward the field where Jian and Nansich were now panting and arguing about whose blow was stronger.

Varon reached out—but didn’t touch him. His fingers hovered, then quietly fell back to his side.

"I’m sorry," he said.

Eren didn’t reply. His expression was unreadable, but he took another step away. The space between them, once charged and buzzing, now felt cold.

"HEY, EREN!" Nansich yelled. "You seeing this? I think I just won!"

Eren managed a smirk and waved vaguely in their direction. "Yeah, yeah, amazing," he muttered, not even looking.