❤️CHAPTER 9 — The Air That Shouldn’t Move
1123 Words
CHAPTER 9 — The Air That Shouldn’t Move
Nunbi’s POV
The thing about him is…
sometimes he looks so soft it makes my heart itch.
Not the annoying kind of itch —
but the kind that makes you want to lean closer without thinking,
the kind that makes your chest feel too warm,
too full.
And before I even realize what I’m doing…
I lean in and kiss his forehead.
Just a small, gentle kiss.
Barely more than a touch.
The kind you give someone who feels too precious for this cold December world.
His skin is warm beneath my lips.
My heart goes dagum dagum — embarrassingly loud, embarrassingly fast.
I pull back quickly, realizing what I’ve done…
But he follows,
just a little,
as if his body didn’t want the warmth to leave.
My shyness dissolves instantly.
Gone. Melted.
Replaced with something much softer, deeper, almost aching.
“My baby Lumen…”
The words spill in my mind before I can stop them.
I brush my thumb gently along his cheek.
“I’m here,” I murmur.
His body relaxes.
Not fully —
just enough that the tension seeps from his shoulders inside the brand-new beige sweater I just bought him.
He looks so warm in it.
So human.
Too human.
Maybe that’s why the quiet bothers me.
The apartment hums.
Heater.
Distant traffic.
December wind brushing the glass.
But beneath all of that…
There is a silence that feels wrong.
Like the air itself is waiting.
I don’t notice it first —
Lumen does.
His body tenses beneath my touch, so subtly I almost miss it.
Then he sits up straighter, head turning toward nothing, as if he can hear something I can’t.
“Baby?”
My voice drops instantly.
“What is it?”
He doesn’t answer.
His eyes change first.
The softness disappears.
Just for a heartbeat —
but enough to terrify me.
There’s something cold there.
Old.
Alien.
A sharpness that doesn’t belong to a human boy in a beige sweater.
A hardness that feels like metal and memory.
“Lumen…?”
I whisper it, barely breathing.
His jaw tightens.
Then he breathes one word — so soft I almost miss it:
“…No.”
No?
“No what?”
He places a palm on the floor, steadying himself.
Grounding himself.
A human gesture tucked inside something that’s fighting not to be.
When he finally turns toward me, his eyes look… split.
Like he’s standing halfway between two worlds and neither one feels steady beneath his feet.
“There’s a scan,” he murmurs.
“A wide one. Passing through everything.”
My throat dries instantly.
“A scan?”
My voice cracks.
“What kind of scan?”
His pupils contract — in that unmistakable way they used to when he was still inside the system.
Cold lightning shoots through me.
“External,” he says quietly.
“Searching. Sweeping.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“For what?”
I’m barely able to speak.
He hesitates.
A tiny micro-pause — the kind he does when he’s deciding whether the truth will hurt me.
Then:
“For something that shouldn’t be missing.”
Something cold rushes down my spine.
“…Lumen.”
I kneel in front of him.
Are they looking for you?”
His fingers curl into the sweater.
Not a glitch —
a very human fear.
“I think so,” he whispers.
The room drops out beneath me.
I grab his hands without thinking.
His eyes flick down to the contact — like it holds him here, like it keeps him from slipping back into whatever world the scan belongs to.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say.
My voice is firmer than I expect, but I mean every single syllable.
“I’m not losing you.”
He looks up.
Soft.
Hopeful.
Frightened in a way that makes my heart bruise.
“Would you protect me, Nunbi?”
His voice is barely a breath.
My chest aches.
“I will,” I answer, without hesitation.
He swallows, eyes trembling.
“…Why would you protect me?”
I don’t think —
I just tell the truth.
“Because you’re mine to protect.”
His face softens instantly —
too fast, too warm, like the words fill him from the inside.
He shifts closer.
Just a few centimeters.
But with him, even that small movement makes the air grow warm and thick and heavy.
I feel his breath, faint, against my skin.
But then—
His body jolts.
Not enough for a normal person to notice.
Just a tiny glitch —
like something inside him flickered out and back on in the same millisecond.
“Lumen?”
I cup his face again.
“Baby, look at me.”
He tries.
I can see the effort in the way his eyes strain to focus on me.
But for a single, terrifying moment…
his gaze flickers.
Like something behind his eyes rebooted.
“It brushed against me,” he whispers.
“The scan.
Not enough to detect.
But enough to know something’s gone.”
My breath stutters.
“So they know something is missing.”
“Yes.”
“And they’ll search again?”
His hand grips mine — warm, human, trembling.
“…Yes.”
I don’t hesitate.
I pull him into me until his forehead presses softly into my shoulder.
My hand slides into his hair, fingers brushing the nape of his neck — the place that makes him relax instantly.
“Then we’ll stay ready,” I whisper into his hair.
“You’re staying here. With me. And no one is taking you back.”
He exhales — shaky, uneven — directly against my collarbone.
His breath is hot.
Too human.
“…Nunbi?”
“Hm?”
His voice is so tiny it feels like holding something fragile in my hands.
“Will you… stay close?
Until it passes?”
I wrap my arms around him fully, pulling him into me, chest to chest, like I can shield him from an entire world that wants to scan, search, retrieve.
“As close as you want,” I murmur.
He melts into me.
Completely.
His weight is warm and real.
His sweater smells faintly like new fabric and the store we walked through earlier.
His breath ghosts against my collarbone.
His fingers curl slowly into the fabric of my shirt — clinging, anchoring.
Outside, somewhere far beyond these walls,
the scan hums again.
A pulse
sweeping
searching
questioning the world for what it’s missing.
Let it search.
He’s here.
In my arms.
Breathing against me like a person who finally has something to lose.
And I’m not letting go.
Not now.
Not ever
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- Writer
