[BL] Alpha, You've Got the Wrong Mate!

Chapter 147 — How About A Drink?

"What are you thinking about?"

The deep voice made Ren flinch. He turned, finding Zayden standing before him, hair damp from his shower. The white robe given by the inn hung slightly open, loosely tied at his waist, revealing a hint of his chest.

Ren’s breath caught in his throat when he felt the tall figure’s warmth almost reach him. He hadn’t expected Zayden to be standing so close—the faint scent of soap, the trace of pheromones lingering in the air.

"It reminds me of something I would rather forget," he replied, turning toward the windowpane once again. His gaze remained fixed on the window, where snow fell endlessly in rapid spirals, carried by loud bursts of wind.

Not hearing Zayden speak, he said, "Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to ruin the mood."

The General didn’t respond right away. The fire crackled softly behind them, painting the room in gold and amber. When he finally spoke, his tone was low and steady.

"You don’t have to apologize for remembering your past, Ren."

Ren’s lips parted, but no sound came. How did he know that?

He turned slightly, meeting Zayden’s gaze for only a second before looking away.

"You told me to share everything," he began, his voice almost drowned by the wind outside. "But I need time. I am not the kind who opens up just because it appears fine."

Zayden’s expression softened, his expression dimming into something gentler. Nothing like the one he wore in front of the men in front of the inn earlier.

"I won’t pressure you. You may tell me only when you feel comfortable. I’m simply glad you’ve been speaking to me—or rather, that you’ve been talking about yourself, even if only a little."

"Is that so?" Ren said. It wasn’t really a question—one that demanded confirmation.

His fingers brushed against the windowpane, tracing the frost gathering along the edge. The clear shape of snowflakes was visible and the frost didn’t vanish even when his warm skin brushed against it.

"It’s just... people once pretended to care. They asked, listened, even comforted me," a soft chuckle escaped his mouth. Less of amusement and more of mockery.

"Only to use what I said against me later." A faint, bitter laugh slipped through his lips. "After that, I learned that silence is safer. Maybe that is all they wanted—to make me someone who never trusts again."

The snow outside blurred into white, as if the roads had never existed to begin with.

And who are they?

The question caught in his throat while Zayden took a slow step forward—close enough for his presence to reach, but not close enough to touch. He feared that if he reached for this man—who appeared so strong, strong enough to fight well-trained soldiers and defeat them in a spar—he might break the fragile calm surrounding him.

Maybe it was because of the storm. Maybe that was why Ren seemed to be slowly letting out something that had been locked away for who knows how long.

"Then let me be the one who is nothing like whoever hurt you," Zayden said with a faint grin.

When Ren didn’t answer, the corner of Zayden’s lips dropped slightly. His gaze shifted toward the scenery Ren had been watching for so long.

"Isn’t it pretty?"

Ren turned toward him, expression clearly disgusted.

"Looks—" he paused.

Disgusting.

He thought, but didn’t say the word.

However, Zayden could almost read it—clearly written on the servant’s face.

"How about a drink?" He reached for the bottle of beer the owner had placed in their room earlier upon learning Zayden’s identity.

The man had been flustered at the idea of serving the Imperial General—the one who had kept the Empire safe from all of its enemies, including Hianshu.

"But I heard they sent a delegation. Is that true?"

He tried to get some information, but Zayden remained tight-lipped. He didn’t utter a word about it.

Ren simply stared at him instead of his plate, a hint of awe reflecting his red eyes, surprised to see that the usually casual, carefree General could turn serious when required. Then he laughed at himself.

Of course, he can be serious.

He told himself.

"What are you thinking about?" Zayden asked suddenly, snapping his fingers to catch Ren’s attention.

But a spark of fire lit at his fingertips.

Without thinking, Ren instantly grabbed Zayden’s hand, extinguishing the small flame with his palm. Or rather, panicked, the General made sure the fire vanished before it burned the servant’s skin.

Zayden blinked, stunned by the reaction.

Why would someone grab a flame instead of stepping back? Why would someone jump toward danger instead of running away from it?

"Why would you—" he began, but Ren quickly cut in.

"I will get the glasses," Ren said hastily, stepping away from both the window and the General.

He should have kept his hands to himself and not reached for the fire. But the body had a voice of its own—and his was one forged through years of conditioning to face danger, not flee from it.

Ren had been taught to react, to protect, to fight. Since childhood, that instinct had been drilled into him until it became second nature.

How could he possibly get rid of it now?

When he approached the table where a few glasses were placed, he grabbed two of them, walking back to Zayden. The man had already taken a seat on the couch, his back leaning against the soft leather couch.

"Come and sit," Zayden said. It wasn’t an order, yet somehow Ren obeyed instantly.

Usually, he refused to have drinks with him. Whenever Zayden held a small gathering after completing a difficult mission, Ren was always the only one who stayed sober throughout the night—just like Zayden, who made sure never to overdrink.

Must be because Eiran isn’t here.

He nodded in agreement with himself.

"I sent a letter to the palace notifying our absence for the night," Zayden said while Ren poured down the beer equally into both glasses.

Over time, he noticed that his attendant was a man who loved doing everything perfectly, causing him to take a little longer to complete certain tasks. For example, things that involved measuring.

"Oh. Thank you."

Ren’s voice was almost cold, stripped of the softness it had carried earlier.

Zayden blinked. The words were simple, polite even, but something in their tone stung.

He hadn’t expected warmth—but the distance in that voice felt almost like rejection.

He leaned back, fingers curling loosely around the glass.

Ren was fine just moments ago. He had opened up, even if only a little. So why this sudden wall again?

Is it because of those people he mentioned? Or is it me?