Space Man

Sleep Deprivation

After he zipped off, my worry only deepened. He sounded tired—not as exhausted as he’d been over the past three days, but still not himself. That unnatural energy masked something, and I wasn’t about to let it slide this time.

Eventually, after some persistence, I managed to corner him, coaxing him to settle down. He perched on a low wall near the honey farm, his wings still faintly buzzing like he was ready to take off again at any moment. But he didn’t. Instead, he finally turned to face me, his digital eyes locking onto mine.

Even through the glowing display, I felt a weight in his gaze. I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I tapped into the magic I rarely used. My own eyes shimmered gold, catching the light in a way that immediately drew his focus. The spell was subtle, almost gentle, but it was enough. His digital eyes flickered, then shifted, revealing a glimpse of his real ones—golden, just like mine under the influence of the magic.

“Breathe,” I said softly, my voice almost pleading. “Take a break. Please.”

I saw his shoulders sag, the tension melting away bit by bit. There was a faint hiss from his breathing apparatus as he exhaled deeply, the sound soft and steady. His hands, which had been fidgeting with his wrist panel moments ago, fell to his sides, still at last.

“Keralis...” His voice was quiet, uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure whether to thank me or scold me for whatever I’d just done.

“You’re running yourself into the ground,” I said, keeping my tone gentle but firm. “You’re allowed to stop, Shishwammy. The server will survive if you take a breather. I promise.”

He looked down, breaking the golden eye contact as the spell’s influence faded. Still, the calm it had brought lingered. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the words lacked their usual conviction.

“Are you?” I pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Because you don’t sound fine. You don’t look fine. And, let’s be honest, crashing into a beehive isn’t exactly a sign of peak performance.”

He let out a short laugh, though it sounded strained. His movements were still stiff, like he was carrying a weight he didn’t want anyone to notice. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted, waving a hand dismissively. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

I tilted my head, crossing my arms as I studied him. “You don’t sound fine, Shishwammy. And you definitely don’t look fine.”

He scoffed lightly, his digital eyes flickering as he turned his gaze away. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all. You know how it is, keeping the server running, making sure everything’s in order.”

“Busy?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Busy enough to fall asleep standing in a field of honey blocks? Busy enough to crash into a beehive? Come on, X, you’re not fooling anyone.”

His shoulders tensed at that, his posture rigid as if bracing for an argument. But I didn’t want to fight—I just wanted him to see that I cared.

“Look,” I said, softening my tone, “I get it. You feel like everything depends on you. But you can’t run yourself into the ground like this. What good are you to us if you’re too exhausted to function?”

He let out a heavy sigh, the kind that seemed to carry more than just air. “I’m not running myself into the ground,” he muttered, though the conviction in his voice was paper-thin.

I stepped closer, resting a hand gently on his armored shoulder. “Then prove it,” I said quietly. “Take a real break. Let us help you for once.”

He glanced at me, his digital eyes flickering again. For a moment, I thought I saw something raw beneath the surface—hesitation, vulnerability, maybe even fear. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual composed demeanor.