horror effect

"The doctor should be called immediately!"

"No, it's not necessary. He's just having a nightmare."

"But he looks miserable—"

"Nightmares are always painful, just wake up. It's all right. See, he's waking up."

Valentine, Stephen, Julian, all staring at him.

"Ah! You're awake at last! You looked so scary just now."

Valentine reached out and helped him up.

"Are you having a nightmare?" he asked.

"Uh... yes." Herbert sat up, looked around, and found that he was still in room C307, with a lot of dust on his clothes, and the three people were not much better than him.

The door of the room was wide open, and Kragujewicz was standing outside, looking in.Herbert frowned.

"How do you know I'm here?"

Julian and Stephen looked at each other and said, "Dr. Hostatova sent us here, she is worried about you. We think you must be in this room."

Of course, of course they would be here, since both of them had been in the room.

Herbert looked again at Valentine.

Valentine lowered his eyes. "I...I have been following you..." His cheeks turned red, "When I left Ms. Malmey's house, I found that you looked very... very painful, so I just... just followed..." He He fell silent, biting his lip like a child.

Stephen stabbed Valentine from behind, and then said to Herbert, "Valentine is worried about you."

"Stephen! Shut up!" The boy's cheeks turned redder.

"Oh! Don't be so shy, I'm telling the truth—! Hey! Valentine!"

But Valentine was on his feet and running out of the room, and Stephen only felt Julian looking at him in disgust, and he muttered, "Looks like I screwed up."

Herbert looked at the remaining two people and sneered. "Excuse me please explain to me?"

"Perhaps you are really a very dull man," said Julian coldly. "Don't you realize that Valentine likes you?"

Herbert laughed, a feeble mockery, and said simply, in a voice so distant and strange that someone far away spoke for him.

"No. I'd rather not have anyone like me, because I can't return the same affection." He stood up and walked out the door.

Julian said to his back, "I'm just making a suggestion - you can't just drink the painful memory poison every day like this. Why do you have to carry things that shouldn't belong to you, but give up your right to hope What about it?" Looking at Herbert's puzzled eyes, Julian continued, "I don't have much sympathy for weak people, but I do sympathize with suffering."

Herbert smiled slightly, turned and walked out the door.

As he crossed the threshold, he knew grimly and clearly that the dark and mysterious past was over and that a new day was about to begin, but that new day would still require him to struggle to live no differently than the past, He has no hope of victory.

"Do you think Herbert will understand your suggestion and start caring about Valentine?" That afternoon, Julian was sitting on the sofa in Stephen's attic room, fiddling with the invitation letter for Bouy's funeral, and Stephen was sitting on the chair He asked while scooping up ice cream with a spoon.

Julian shrugged and replied, "I don't know. Herbert's character has more rational and thoughtful aspects. Of course it's not bad, but sometimes he misses something."

He looked at Stephen and blinked.

"I can't wait to see them together." Stephen put the spoon in his mouth, waited for the ice cream to melt before taking it out, licking the remaining liquid with his tongue.

"Maybe the desire is just out of a sense of approval, because it just so happens that they're also one man and another man, and I wish them well."

He suddenly found Julian staring straight at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Julian quickly looked away. "It's nothing...I'm thinking about the funeral in two days. Ms. Malmay's funeral will also be held soon."

"Anna said it will be soon." Stephen put down the ice cream, walked up to Julian, and touched his shoulder. "Are you worried about this?"

"I'm thinking, I've been in this town for less than four months, but I'm going to four funerals," he said with a wry smile.

"There's a wedding," Stephen said, and grinned. "Just right for a movie—twisting stories, weird subject matter. You can put that in your coverage."

Julian shook his head. "It's not a story for the publicity. Would you like to suddenly find the place full of good journalists asking about Bernous or Albert G?"

"I'd find it funny."

"I'd rather it all end here and be slowly forgotten."

He leaned back on the sofa, sighed, and put the invitation aside.

Stephen stared at him.

"You seem a little depressed." Julian smiled silently. "That's not good," said Stephen. "I've got something nice. Would you like it?"

Julian turned to look at him and said, "What? Or morphine?"

"Neither." Stephen giggled. He sat down next to Julian, put his arms around his waist, and said, "I find that I can no longer find meth, morphine, or any drugs. I used to only If I wanted to, I could always find it, but right now there’s nothing under the floorboards and in the cracks in the walls. And it’s weird to me that I don’t feel anxious or have a drug reaction.”

Julian kissed Stephen on the cheek.

"I think I know why. Bernous has been giving you drugs for 15 years, whenever you need them. He's been a really great nanny. I think he must have had a lot of fun watching you." He sighed He breathed a sigh of relief, "Stephen, I think now Bernous has canceled your long-term 'subsidy'-he finally did a sensible thing."

"Well." Stephen nodded, "It's indeed very sensible. I like his approach. Drugs will reduce sexual desire, and I care about it very much now."

He looked at Julian with a tired but charming smile.

Their intersecting eyes conveyed warmth through the hazy steam, and their lips touched under the water.

Those warm things, those things they own, spread like water on the stretched and contracted skin, from the top of the head to the ankles, and finally gathered again on the ground, gradually passing away with a fragrant breath.

At this moment, they feel that joy is real.

It is not beautiful or brilliant, it is only a bright moon rising over a stormy sea, a cool wine in the throat, a cold breath from the cellar in summer.

When it comes, it is like a light that suddenly goes out, but it is always lingering nearby.

It comes from the rays of countless suns and the rotation of stars, from the black volcanic rocks, from the thousands of firefly-like sparks sparkled by the charcoal fire, from the whirling maple leaves, and from the beating of people's hearts.

All these sounds, these melodies of all things, all these wonderful things, blend together like cross-pollination.