Unlikely Love

24

Xavier pov:

I didn’t take too much food. It wasn’t that I wasn’t hungry, but I just…didn’t trust it. Even when I saw Hels nearby, I couldn’t shake the thought that something was off. The feeling crawled up my spine, whispering that maybe they’d messed with it or were watching for a reaction. After staring at it for a while, I finally just tossed it in the kitchen trash. Not worth the risk. Besides, I had enough stored in my room if I needed it.

Heading back upstairs, I took one last glance at everyone outside, laughing and talking around the big table they’d set up. They looked happy, relaxed—even Xisuma, which I supposed was the point of this whole thing. He’d been talking to me just earlier, pulling me aside to check if things were running smoothly. So, that was my excuse. I could step away, check the systems, and make sure everything was fine. He needed this break, and if me handling things made that easier, then I’d do it. It was easier to be useful that way, less messy than trying to join in on the “family bonding” thing they had going on.

Satisfied that no one was looking, I backed away from the window and closed the curtain, shutting out the sight of everyone below. Privacy was essential. I took a seat on the edge of my bed, summoning the translucent red panels to hover around me. The familiar hum of the interface steadied me, a reminder of the control I still had, the one thing that didn’t judge or question me. Here, I could see everything that needed monitoring—the server logs, system updates, all the little details that kept things functioning smoothly.

With each task I ran, the panels lit up in rhythmic sequences, affirming that all systems were operating as expected. I kept it simple—commands to generate small things, like an apple or a single block in a distant, unnoticeable area. Just little things that no one would question or even notice. These small, harmless tests were enough to give me a sense of security, a reassurance that everything was under control, even if that control felt...fragile.

As I cycled through each command, a quiet sense of calm settled over me, a strange comfort in the predictable responses of the system. Here, there were no sideways glances, no voices asking if I was okay or trying to pull me into situations that felt too close, too risky. Just the steady hum of commands and responses, a kind of language I understood without having to guess.

But, as I worked, a small flicker at the corner of one of the panels caught my attention—an error message. It wasn’t anything critical, just a minor alert, but it was enough to set me on edge. I took a deep breath, pushing down the reflexive anxiety. It wasn’t an issue, just a reminder to check something.

The error was small, just a miscalculation in a chunk loading, nothing serious. But it was enough to make my heart race for a split second, that familiar fear creeping up, whispering that something was wrong, that someone might notice. I forced myself to take a deep breath and ran a quick diagnostic, pinpointing the issue and fixing it within seconds. The panel flickered back to green, reassuring me that everything was under control. No lag, no further issues.

As I sat back, I caught bits of laughter and chatter filtering in from outside. I couldn’t make out any specific words, but the light-hearted tone made it clear that everyone was still relaxed, probably finishing up breakfast. I felt a twinge of something unfamiliar—a mixture of relief and... something else I wasn’t ready to unpack. They didn’t need to know I was up here, or that I was doing this. As long as everything was running smoothly, I could stay in the background, out of the way, just making sure things worked.

I turned my attention back to the panel, running another quick series of checks just to be sure. The familiarity of it was grounding, each command and response like a small piece of order in my chaotic mind.

I tried to steady myself, but the whispers only grew louder, clawing at the back of my mind, turning every small thought into a wave of panic. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, each one of those quiet doubts sinking its teeth in. You’re going to mess it all up. One mistake, and it’s over. The panels flickered out in front of me as I closed them, but it was like the fear stayed, lingering, feeding off each moment of silence.