I slam the door shut behind them, as I turn around and glare at him.
"You little—! How dare you let those thingies out in front of everyone?! And why were you so excited to see that kid, huh?!"
He stiffens, looking genuinely panicked. "I am sorry! And firstly, these are not 'thingies'—these are—"
"Yeah yeah, I know, skip the alien science part," I snap, waving a hand. "Take off your headband. Now."
He look terrified. "No…"
"I'm not going to rip them off, don't worry," I sigh. "Sorry for yelling. But you almost blew our cover."
He lowers his head slightly. "I apologize too…"
I take a deep breath. "Okay. Listen carefully. From this moment on, you're my boyfriend. Got it? B-F. Boy. Friend. And your name is Jiang Yu."
He blinks at me blankly. One antenna twitches. Then the other.
"What is… BF?" he asks, confuse. "And why do you change my name to Jiang Yu?"
Of course. Of course he doesn't know.
"Listen," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Boyfriend means… okay, you are a boy, I am a girl, and when two people love each other and agree to be together, that's called a relationship. That makes you my boyfriend. Got it?"
He blinks twice, like his brain is buffering.
"And for everyone else who shows up, you act like my boyfriend. Fake it. Pretend."
"BF," he repeats slowly. "Okay. But… why name change?"
"Because!" I throw my hands in the air. "Just like your glowing antennae and your weird alien name, it'll blow our cover. No one here's going to believe I'm dating someone called Vaelor Krynn of the wherever you said you are from."
He nods solemnly. "I'm Jiang Yu. You are Yunhua. I'm your BF." He pauses. "Then… what are you to me?"
I blink. "Oh. Uh… I'm your GF. Girl-friend. Since you're my fake boyfriend, I'm your fake girlfriend."
"GF!" he says brightly. His antennae start glowing like Christmas lights. "Yunhua my GF!"
"Yeah yeah, but it's fake, okay?! Acting, remember?"
"Fake… like illusion?"
"Yes! Exactly. Like an illusion. Acting. Roleplay."
He nods again, taking that in. "So… what acting I do? What is BF role?"
I sigh and flop on the couch. "Ugh… I don't know. I'll teach you later. But first, answer my question properly and I'll teach you how to act like a boyfriend."
His antennae blink rapidly, which I assume is his version of excitement.
"Okay!" he says eagerly, glowing again.
He sits beside me like an obedient puppy, white eyes wide, antennae twitching with anticipation.
I sigh and grab the remote, turning off the TV. Great. Now it's just me, him.
I pat the couch beside me again even though he's already sitting there. He scoots even closer. Why is he acting like we're about to start a quiz show?
"Okay," I mumble, rubbing my temple. "Jiang. Let's start simple."
He perks up. I narrow my eyes.
"Why—why did you let your antennae glow and pop out when you saw that kid? Don't tell me—" I point a dramatic finger at him, "—don't tell me you're a freaking pedo."
He gasps, horrified. "Pedo? Is it… dangerous?"
"Yes. Extremely," I say flatly. "Now answer the question."
"I was excited because it was my first time seeing a kid… and this kid was cute, full of energy."
I squint. "Wait, what do you mean first time? You've never seen kids before? Don't you guys… you know, produce babies?"
"Oh, we do produce baby!" he says proudly.
I blink. "Then how come you've never seen one? Don't you have brothers, sisters, cousins?"
He frowns, thinking. "No. I was grown alone. No sibling. No cousin. I am… first-generation prototype in my gene line."
I squint harder. "Prototype?"
"Yes. My cell batch is designed for efficiency, emotional flexibility, and adaptability. They hope I don't explode under pressure like the last model."
My mouth hangs open. "Wait. Explode?"
"Not literal explosion," he clarifies quickly. "Just… meltdown. Screaming. Throwing things. Disobeying orders. Very messy. Like… you, after police kind gone."
"I did not melt down! I stubbed my toe and cry!"
He nods solemnly. "Yes. Not same. You are more… dramatic."
I groan and drop my face into a pillow.
I peek at him. "You're unbelievable."
He leans closer. "But… I am believable boyfriend, yes?"
He grins, proud.
I stare at him, tilting my head. "So… you're not a living thing?"
He looks offended. "Of course I am a living being! I'm made of egg and sperm, just like you. Only… I was grown in an artificial womb. Designed to be like this."
I blink. "Wait—so you are a test-tube baby? You guys don't have parents?"
He nods proudly. "Yes! Everyone on my planet is produced this way. When we are born, we're taken to the White Room."
I squint. "What, like a nursery?"
"No. It is a learning chamber. We stay there until we reach sixteen moon cycles. There, we learn how to live efficiently—laws, history, science, technology—everything we need before being released into the world."
I gape. "So… you're telling me you guys don't, you know… do it to make babies? You just… cook 'em in a lab like space cookies?"
He nods again. "Yes! revolutionaries make us. Babies are made only when needed. Population stays stable. No overproduction. Everyone lives long. In harmony."
I blink slowly, trying to wrap my head around that. "…Y'all really skipped the whole romance and drama part, huh?"
He tilts his head. "What is romance?"
I groan into my hands. "Never mind."
How come the author made him the main guy in a romance novel, huh?
I throw my hands up. "Listen, lil' alien—didn't you say you left emotions behind? But you're out here getting terrified, bouncing around like an excited puppy. So you didn't actually leave all emotions, did you? Liar."
He looks genuinely offended. "I am not liar. I said I left behind unnecessary emotions. Like love. Lust. Sadness. Crying. Depression. They are inefficient."
I squint at him. "So you're saying fear and happiness are necessary?"
He nods. "Yes. Fear helps detect danger. For survival. Happiness is harmony. Balance. Motivation to maintain order."
I stare at him. "Wow. So you dumped love because it's messy, but kept fear so you don't trip on a stair."
He blinks. "Correct."
I bury my face in the couch cushion. "This romance arc is doomed."
"I answered your question," he says, sitting up straighter like a student who just turned in homework. "Now teach me how to act like boyfriend!"
I groan and flop back onto the couch. "Ugh… I have more questions."
"But we agreed to answer each other," he says, tilting his head with innocent smugness.
I narrow my eyes at him. "You little—! First you act all clueless, now you're suddenly Mr. Technicality? Huh?"
He blinks, antennae twitching in rhythm with his fake innocence. I let out a long suffering sigh and sit up again, glaring.
"Okay, BF. Listen close. In front of everyone else, you need to do things like hug me, cling to me, flirt, and kiss."
He tilts his head more. "What is… this all?"
I stare at him. Seriously. Seriously? What did the author even think while writing his character? What is this? A romance novel or an alien instruction manual?
He just blinks again, antennae blinking too—like they're confused by my sarcasm.
I push myself off the couch with a grunt and grab the plates from the table—the ones still smeared with egg and crumbs from our extremely suspicious omelet breakfast. I head to the kitchen, muttering under my breath.
Of course, he follows. I can feel him right behind me. Not just behind—almost touching my back, breathing down my neck like a curious puppy who's never seen a dish in his life.
I turn the tap on, soap up the sponge, and start scrubbing the plate.
He leans over my shoulder like a nosy toddler.
"What are you doing?"
"Washing dishes," I mutter.
"Is it… fun?"
"Not even remotely."
His breath brushes the side of my neck and I finally snap.
"Oh yeah, please, get in my body while you're at it!"
He pauses, looking genuinely intrigued. "How do we do that?"
I freeze. "It was sarcasm, idiot!"
He looks at me seriously. "Ah. I must study sarcasm. Very complex."
"Yeah well, start by not breathing on my spine."
He immediately straightens like a scolded puppy, antennae dimming slightly. "Apologies. I was observing closely for educational purposes."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah well, congratulations. You've now earned a PhD in How to Annoy Yunhua 101."
"I shall note that down," he says seriously, as if he's about to engrave it on his chest.
I finish scrubbing the plate, slap it onto the drying rack with a little more force than necessary, and move on to the next one. And of course—of course—he's still hovering.
"You can sit down, you know," I mutter, "like, on the couch. Away from my general bubble of existence."
He tilts his head. "Bubble?"
"Personal space! A radius! A forcefield that keeps creepy boys from gluing themselves to my back!"
"Oh." He takes a dainty step back—exactly one inch. "Is this enough?"
I whirl around, a dripping plate still in my hand. "You think that's space?! You're still in my aura, idiot!"
He ponders that seriously. "Aura. Is it like… your atmosphere?"
"Yeah. And you're polluting it."
He takes another tiny shuffle back, which does nothing, because his antennae are still within poking distance.
I groan, turning back to rinse the plate. "I can't believe this. You're like a dog. A sparkly, six-foot alien dog."
"That is incorrect," he says cheerfully. "I am not canine. I am a sentient hybrid of—"
"Okay nope, no alien Wikipedia right now," I cut him off, scrubbing the last of the yolk off the dish. "Just go sit. I'll join you once I've recovered my will to live."
He nods obediently and finally walks away. I sigh, letting the water run over my fingers, hoping the kitchen sink will open a portal and swallow me whole.
Then his voice echoes from the living room.
"Now the image-box is showing this four leg creature giving old style birth. It is… sliding out something very pink. Oh! It's covered in goo. Should I help?"
My eyes snap wide.
"PUT THE REMOTE DOWN!"