The door swung shut behind Enlai, the brass key slipping from his trembling fingers and clattering onto the wooden floor. He hadn’t expected Yuhok to be home, not at this hour, not on a Friday when Yuhok typically vanished into his library at the city, leaving Enlai to his solitude. The smell of something savoury wafted from the kitchen, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

To his surprise, Yuhok was standing at the stove, a pot of bubbling broth in front of him. His left hand rested on his waist and the right stirred the pot. The steam wrapped over his face as if enveloping him, lending an ethereal feel to his presence. Enlai couldn't help but feel a pang of confusion mixed with relief at the sight of Yuhok in the kitchen.

“Yuhok?” Enlai called out, his voice a mix of surprise and relief. Yuhok turned, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Enlai’s appearance.

“Hey,” Yuhok's tone was casual, as if he hadn’t just shattered Enlai’s assumptions. “You’re back early.”

Enlai’s mind was a mess. He had been so sure he saw Yuhok there, in that café. But here he was, apron-clad and stirring noodles in a pot. Enlai’s gaze flickered to the clock on the wall; it was barely past six. Yuhok never cooked at six. Rather, he rarely deviated from his routines, especially when it came to Fridays.

“Where were you?” Enlai blurted out, unable to contain the question any longer. “I thought you’d be out.”

Yuhok turned his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he kept stirring the contents of the pot even adding a few condiments. "Nope, decided to stay in today," he replied casually, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief that Enlai couldn't quite place. “Didn’t have much to do so put the house together, did laundry and,” he chuckled going to the drawer right where he stood and brought out a bunch of roses.

“Got you something!”

Enlai’s heart stuttered. Roses? The petals were a deep crimson, velvety against Yuhok’s fingers. Enlai’s gaze shifted from the roses to Yuhok’s face—the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way his lips curved in that half-smile.

“For me?” Enlai managed, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, fingers brushing against the delicate blooms. Enlai wondered if this was some elaborate apology or a celebration of something he hadn’t yet grasped.

Yuhok’s smile widened. “Yeah,” he said, his tone soft. “Just felt like it.”

Enlai's brow smoothened slightly, a flicker of suspicion escaping his mind. The aroma of the simmering broth and the warmth of Yuhok's smile were enough to push the thought aside, at least for the moment.

Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe Yuhok had just decided to surprise him with dinner.

As Yuhok gracefully settled at the table, the gentle clinking of chopsticks filled the room. He then delicately placed a steaming bowl of ramen in front of Enlai. The sight of the glossy udon noodles swimming in the broth was truly a feast for the senses. Enlai looked up at Yuhok with a quiet query in his eyes.

Yuhok laughed, a faint sound that seemed to go across the room. "Here's your fried egg, green onion, spam and a few prawns. Dig in," he encouraged, his eyes gleaming with a hint of a happiness he alone knew.

As he slurped the noodles, he wondered how well he really knew Yuhok. They had been together for long, shared secrets and laughter, but there were always corners of Yuhok’s life that remained hidden. Enlai decided to let it go, for now. The ramen was delicious, and maybe that was enough. Maybe they could sit here, eat, and pretend everything was normal.

When Yuhok stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Enlai expected him to head toward the living room or perhaps retreat to his study—the usual post-dinner rituals. But Yuhok surprised him.

“Come with me,” Yuhok said, his voice low and insistent. “To the garden.”

Enlai’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t been to the backyard after the anxiety attack. He did everything to avoid it rather. He stopped his post-dinner stroll, he had stopped watching the moon and he had completely stopped opening the door to the backyard either.

It was a place they rarely visited now, a tangle of weeds and forgotten dreams. Enlai had always assumed Yuhok disliked gardening, but now, as Yuhok led the way, Enlai’s mind raced. What had changed?

The backyard was visible through the sliding glass door. Roses were climbing up trellises, their velvety petals brushing against the darkness. Violet faces peered over the edge, shining brightly. Forget-me-nots, primroses, and daffodils covered the ground, almost hiding the tulip sapling. It felt like spring had suddenly transformed the empty yard, making it come alive again.

Enlai stumbled, his breath catching. The pain that lanced through his chest was not physical; it was the ache of memories unburied, of guilt festering like a wound. Why had Yuhok led him here? Why this sudden resurrection of life in a place they had both buried one?

“Why?” he whispered, his voice raw. “Why all this?”

Yuhok held him close. “I want you to be happy,” he said. “Whenever you see the backyard, I want it to remind you of joy.”

But Enlai’s joy had withered long ago. His mind flashed to that fateful night—the body, the shovels, the desperate digging. The body they had buried beneath the moonless sky kept haunting him. Yuhok had been resolute then, his eyes like flint, his hands unyielding. They had sworn never to speak of it again.

Enlai’s tears blurred the flowers. “You don’t understand,” he choked out. “I can’t forget.”

Yuhok pulled him closer, his breath warm against Enlai’s cheek. “We did what we had to,” he said, his voice a blade slicing through guilt. “For us.”

“But—” Enlai’s protest shattered as Yuhok’s fingers grazed his temple. The world wavered, colours bleeding together. And then Yuhok’s eyes shifted. They turned emerald green, luminous and otherworldly.

“Look at me,” Yuhok commanded, and Enlai obeyed, his vision narrowing to a tunnel. The garden blurred, its edges dissolving. “Repeat after me,” Yuhok said, his voice both anchor and tempest.

Enlai’s voice trembled. “The backyard is a happy place,” he said, the words foreign on his tongue. “I am happy. I’ll remember who I am.”

Yuhok’s gaze bore into him, the emerald iris swallowing his doubts. Enlai’s mind fractured, memories splintering like glass.

“The backyard is a happy place,” Enlai repeated, desperation lacing his voice. The words became a lifeline, pulling him away from the darkness. “I am happy.”

Yuhok’s lips brushed his forehead like a curse. “Remember,” he murmured. “Remember who you are.”

And then, as if the world itself conspired against him, darkness swirled. Enlai’s legs buckled, and he sank to his knees on the dew-kissed grass. Like a candle snuffed out, Enlai lost consciousness.

Yuhok’s breath hitched as he lifted Enlai’s limp form. The weight of unconscious Enlai pressed against his chest. Enlai’s skin was pale, almost translucent, and Yuhok’s fingers worked as he adjusted the pillows on the narrow bed. The rough fabric of the covers crinkled under the weight of Enlai's limp body.

Enlai's breathing was faint and scarcely audible. Yuhok paused, torn between being near and giving Enlai space. Yuhok's icy, calculating eyes looked down at him, a wicked smirk twisting on his lips. As he carefully walked away from Enlai and sat in a little chair at the foot of the bed, a sensation of dread permeated the dimly illuminated room. His eyes never left Enlai's face.

The room was cloaked in shadows, with the only light coming in through dusty curtains that fluttered in the soft air. The silence was cruel, broken only by the sound of the green-legged Mantis scratching madly against the cage's bars. Yuhok's attention turned to the beast. The scraping on the metal bars sounded like nails on a blackboard.

With a smooth click Yuhok unlocked the cage. The creature scuttled out, its green eyes fixed on Yuhok with a strange intensity. Yuhok extended his hand, and the Mantis stepped onto his palm. Its weight was nil, grounding him.

And then, as if guided by fate or madness, the Mantis lowered itself to the floor.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Mantis began to grow in size, its once diminutive form expanding until it loomed larger than a German Shepherd. The mantis grew. Not gradually, not subtly. It expanded with a sickening, unnatural speed, its chitinous shell cracking and reforming, growing longer, wider, thicker. The green of its legs intensified, a sickly luminescence growing in its elongated limbs.

Its segmented legs, now as thick as tree trunks, scraped against the wooden floorboards, sending tremors through the room. It moved and settled its massive form at Yuhok’s feet.

When the Mantis landed in front of Yuhok, its pointed mandibles clicking in an unsettling pattern, his heart accelerated with a mixture of interest and delight.  The room seemed to shrink around the two of them, the air thick with an oppressive tension that crackled like electricity.

Yuhok's gaze was pulled to the creature's multifaceted eyes, pools of infinite nothingness. Perhaps even recognition. As the Mantis looked up at Yuhok, a weird connection appeared to form between them. It was as if the creature saw something in Yuhok that others did not: a darkness mirrored in his own soul, a common yearning that connected them together.

Yuhok's voice, when it finally broke the silence, was a low rasp, tinged with a nervous tremor.
"Are you okay, Hemah?"