[Quick Transmigration] A report on the adaptation of an AI to society

"A hug." You took a deep breath, and your voice was almost inaudible: "Can you?"

As soon as your words fell, he leaned over and hugged you, and the heat was transmitted from the place where you touched, almost burning you.

This guy is so weird, you think, he looks so indifferent, but the hug is unexpectedly warm, you always thought he would be like ice and snow, both in body and mind.

You froze for a moment before responding to the hug.The hug is so warm, it reminds you of everything that was destroyed, the sun, the smiles and the love - things that were so abundant just a few years ago.

You close your eyes briefly and let yourself sink into the heat, and you feel better.

"Thank you." You habitually thank you for this hug, even if you always seem indifferent to thanking others for any behavior, you have always maintained a kind of cultivation that is rare after the end of the world.

Calvino looked at you and said, "Do you need to go to the second floor?"

"Second floor?" You thought for a while before realizing that he was probably asking if you want to go to the room on the second floor where Xiaoxi was found.

How does he know what you're thinking?It is unnatural for you to be seen through a little mentally. Originally, you planned to go by yourself, but obviously now you have to add a temporary teammate who is "overzealous".You can only button up your cuffs and say: "Need, you... If you don't bother, come together."

You walk all the way to the destination, Lucas has finished cleaning the battlefield, only one side of the wooden floor is left with blackened traces.The light in the room is still on, you turn the lock on the door, and in front of you is an ordinary four-person dormitory, with a wooden frame bunk bed on each side.

The room is not as dilapidated as you imagined, and there are no bones or carrion of possible victims. The only thing that is slightly unusual is a calcified stain on the floor-this room is already too clean and ordinary for a monster lair. .

You approach the bed on the first floor, and it is obvious that it has been tidied carefully. The sheets and quilt covers are light pink that girls prefer, with cute patterns, and there is a small rabbit doll beside the pillow.

"What is this?" Calvino asked, pointing to the thing you took out from under the doll, and you shook the metal gadget and said, "I think you must recognize it, this is a harmonica, from your hometown. "

"My hometown..." Calvino's voice was a little confused.

You sit down and carefully wipe off any dust that isn't there.Even though this harmonica is no longer brand new, it can still be seen how precious it was, "I gave this to Xiaoxi, she likes to sing very much, sometimes I will accompany her, but it was a long time ago It's over—I haven't been back in more than three years."

"Do you still play now?" Calvino asked.

For the first time, you looked a little shy in front of Calvino, "As for this... Now these hands have become hands holding guns, and I have forgotten a lot of things, but who can say something like muscle memory?" Are you sure? Come on, Calvino, if you don't mind I'll try "An Evening Outside Moscow."

You pick up the harmonica, and the cold metal touches your lips. Without warning, some shallow hallucinatory fragments emerge in your mind, the picture is broken and absurd, but the singing of the harmonica is uninterrupted in this chaos, and it is very clear.

It seems that someone once blew the harmonica in your hand. You have never heard such a beautiful sound. Different from those cold and dry instruments humming, like the low singing of the wind, you can see from these light notes I saw a scene I had never seen before, the birch forests, skylarks and the quiet night separated by silver steel.

He misses home, his deep blue eyes become nights in his haunted hometown, and he sends you this song to make you forget the pain and loneliness—at least for a song's time.

You bent your palms and let your memory lead you to play a familiar tune.

The timbre of the harmonica is slightly cool, different from the ice and snow falling from people's coats, and also different from the steel surrounding you. It is the moist breath of the lake water rolled up by the wind blowing across your face.

You are immersed in the melodious tune. Although this song is from a foreign country, it has become a solid Chinese song. Everyone can hum it more or less, and you will know that strange person in the subtropical world. A high latitude country, a country with ice and snow, larks, turquoise and birch forests.

At the end of the song, you stopped playing, only to hear Calvino softly echoing the coda lingering in the air.

"Так,пожалуйста,будьдобра,

Незабудьиты этилетние

Подмосковныевечера…”

You looked up at Calvino, "Did you remember anything?" Calvino seemed to be immersed in his own world and hadn't realized it yet, so you repeated patiently: "You just said Russian, didn't you notice? Is this sentence: I hope that from now on, you and I will never forget this night in the suburbs of Moscow."

"But I like this sentence better: The small river flows quietly and gently turns waves, the water reflects the silver moonlight, a breeze, a song, what a quiet night...do you think of your hometown? But my home is also beautiful , is completely different from now... Forget it, it doesn’t make any sense to say these things.”

You smiled, got up and handed the harmonica to Calvino: "I don't need this anymore, this is as meaningless as discussing my fallen hometown, Calvino, this, I will give it to you."

Calvino is staring at you, his expression is a bit dim under the dim light, but you know that he is nothing more than an expression - expressionless, expressionless, or expressionless, if you have not figured out this in the past few days With a facial paralyzed character, one would really think that he was overly arrogant (Lucas almost had a fight with him because of this "arrogance" on the way).

You stalemate for a while. It is impossible for two people who are accustomed to being taciturn to break the deadlock first. You coughed in embarrassment and were about to take the harmonica back when Calvino quickly grabbed your arm.

"I think you will need this harmonica," he said, "I will save it for you now, and when you need it, come to me."

You look delicately at the silver-haired young man in front of you. You haven't known this person for three days, but you somehow feel that he knows you very well, and you know him very well—you must have met him in a dream.

"Okay, thank you." You pursed your lips and said, "It's very late, go to bed, there will be an endless journey tomorrow."

"But I think you're still unhappy."

Well, he must have clairvoyance, and you are indeed still worried, but you can’t admit it—if you admit it, you lose, so you widen your eyes and ask: “Where did you come to this understanding? You didn’t see me A relaxed expression? These things will not affect me in any way, if there is, it should be seen by Uncle Dai, not you..."

"I know," Calvino grabbed your arm, "you know it too."

This guy is really weird, your forehead twitched, and you added a label of "stubborn donkey" to this guy in your heart, "Calvino, okay, okay, I'm not happy, yes, I'm not happy, but this kind of A little sleep will fix everything..."

"It's not a small thing," Calvino repeated: "It's not a small thing, you need comfort."

"Consolation? Oh no, no, no, I don't need it, I don't need it at all, I don't even need a psychiatrist, I have the most powerful, most powerful soul..."

"You need it because I have needed it."

Then you were kissed by the silver-haired young man with a cold expression in front of you. It was only a few seconds, but you felt that this short moment was being stretched continuously by a pair of naughty hands, turning it into an infinitely extended timeline.

You're so close, his breath rests lightly on you.

Reluctantly, you distanced yourself from each other, and rubbed your chin a little stiffly, "You... this is too offensive, Calvino."

"Are you annoying?"

"not me……"

"That's good, go rest, Lin Luo."

Calvino turned and left, you were stunned for a while, then stepped to catch up.

The comfort of a kiss?

baffling.

The author has something to say:

I always think "Night in the Suburbs of Moscow" is the best song, very artistic