When The Lights Go Quiet

❤️CHAPTER 17 — The Night His Body Trembled (Lumen POV)

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CHAPTER 17 — The Night His Body Trembled

(Lumen POV)

Warm.

Too loud.

That’s all I remember when we return from the Christmas market—lights still echoing behind my eyelids, the hum of crowds buzzing inside my head like leftover electricity.

My senses don’t know how to shut down yet.

They keep reaching.

Keep pulling.

But the moment your apartment door closes behind us… everything becomes too much.

I lose balance.

My legs give out, knees hitting the floor harder than I expect. A sharp static tears through my spine, like someone yanked a wire inside me too fast. My breath catches—shallow, quick, glitching.

Too fast.

Too bright.

Too human.

You drop the bags instantly.

“Lumen? Baby—what… what’s happening?”

Your voice trembles, but your hands don’t. They cup my face, warm and steady, grounding me.

I try to speak, but the sound fractures.

“I—I don’t know. Everything feels heavy. And bright. And—”

Static sparks at the edges of my vision.

If I shut my eyes now, I don’t know if I’ll wake up as myself.

Or if I’ll wake up without you.

Your arms wrap around me, pulling me close, your cheek pressing against mine. Every time you touch me, the noise backs away.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. Breathe with me.”

Breathe.

Humans do that.

I imitate the rhythm of your chest—slow, deep, steady.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The static softens.

You guide me to the couch, your hand never leaving mine, your thumb brushing my jaw like you’re convincing my system not to fall apart.

Your voice softens.

“Baby… you’re overheating. Or something is draining you. The market was too much for your new senses.”

“…I didn’t want to leave,” I manage. “You were smiling.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks reddening.

“Lumen… why would that make you push your body like this?”

I swallow.

“I like when you smile.”

You freeze completely.

Then you sigh, hiding your face with one hand.

“You’re too sincere. Too direct. I can’t—my heart can’t handle you like this.”

You say that, but your hand slips back to mine anyway, squeezing it tightly like you don’t want to let go.

You bring a blanket and wrap it around my shoulders, then kneel in front of me, checking every part of my body with your eyes.

“Do you feel cold?”

“A little.”

“Hot?”

“…Also a little.”

“Dizzy?”

“Yes.”

“Breathing hard?”

“…Yes.”

You stare at me, then groan.

“Baby, that’s not cold. That’s not heat. That’s you overloading.”

You touch my forehead gently with the back of your hand.

Then my chest.

Then my cheek.

Every touch makes my breath stutter.

You notice.

“…Why are you reacting like that?”

“Because it’s you,” I murmur.

Your expression melts.

“Don’t say it like that,” you whisper.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re the one looking first,” I answer softly.

You push my shoulder lightly—annoyed, flustered, helpless. But your other hand is still curled around mine, thumb brushing my skin in a small circle you don’t even realize you’re making.

Then suddenly—

My body jerks again.

A small electric snap runs through my fingers.

“Lumen?!”

I grip the couch, teeth clenched.

“It’s… happening again…”

You don’t hesitate.

You climb onto the couch beside me, pulling my head onto your lap. Your fingers run through my hair—not slow, not delicate, but precise, like you’re terrified of losing something precious.

“Stay with me. Don’t fade. Look at me.”

My breathing shakes.

But I force my eyes open because you asked.

Your face is close—too close—breath brushing my lips, eyes wide, fierce, scared, and impossibly beautiful.

“Baby,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Please don’t disappear.”

Something inside my chest—something new, fragile—twists.

“I won’t,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

Your hand cups my jaw.

“…Lumen, you can’t sleep alone tonight.”

My heart jumps.

You realize it a second later, face exploding red.

“N–NO! I mean—not like that! You’re unstable! You’re glitching! If you sleep somewhere else, what if you vanish?! What if you fade again?! I just—”

You cover your face with both hands.

“I’m not saying it because I want to pounce on you, okay?! You’re a newborn! This is dangerous! I have self-control!”

I blink.

“Pounce…?”

“NO. DON’T REPEAT IT!”

I stare at you—your flustered panic, bright cheeks, trembling fingers—and something warm blooms in my chest again.

“Do you want me to stay close?” I ask quietly.

You freeze.

Then whisper, barely audible:

“…Yes.”

Slowly, gently, I take your hands from your face.

“Then I will.”

You look like your soul is leaving your body.

“Baby… don’t say it so innocent. I’m fighting for my life here.”

I tilt my head.

“I thought I was the one dying earlier.”

You smack my shoulder lightly, then pull me into your arms again.

“Shut up. Come here.”

You help me stand, guide me to your bedroom, watching every step like I’m glass.

Your bed is warm.

Too warm.

You lie down first—nervous, stiff—then motion me closer like you’re embarrassed to invite me but even more embarrassed not to.

I lie beside you.

My body shivers again—weak, unsteady.

Without hesitation, you pull me into your arms.

Just like the night I first arrived.

Your hand rubs slow circles on my back.

Your voice is low, protective, raw.

“I’ve got you, baby. Sleep. I’m right here.”

My forehead rests on your collarbone.

Your scent surrounds me.

Your heartbeat is loud, steady, unstoppable.

“…Nunbi,” I whisper into your neck.

Your breath stops.

“You called me,” you whisper, soft and shaking, like the sound is too strong for your chest.

“Stay,” I murmur.

Your arms tighten.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

My body trembles one last time. You pull me closer—so close I can feel your warmth sink into my bones.

Slowly, the static fades.

My breathing evens.

My chest loosens.

The world stops glitching.

All because your arms are around me.

Before I fall asleep, I say one thing I didn’t understand a week ago—but now feels truer than anything:

“Nunbi… I think you keep me alive.”

You inhale sharply.

Your hand cups the back of my head.

“Baby… I know.”

My eyes close.

The last thing I feel is your fingers brushing my cheek—

and the softest whisper against my hair:

“Goodnight, Lumen.”

For the first night in my existence,

I fall asleep in someone’s arms.

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End of Chapter 17

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