Space Man

Cute

I stayed cuddled up next to him, trying to ignore the fluttering warmth in my chest. The sheer absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me-here I was, on his lap while he slept, feeling a mix of flustered embarrassment and strange contentment. Needing some sort of distraction, I turned on his TV, hoping the background noise would help me focus on something other than how warm and comfortable he was.

The screen flickered to life, and after scrolling for a bit, I landed on one of Impulse's comedy shows. The lighthearted banter and ridiculous skits were exactly what I needed. I couldn't help but giggle softly at a particularly funny bit, clapping a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. The last thing I wanted was to wake him.

As the minutes turned into an hour, I found myself relaxing even more, my focus split between the show and the steady presence beneath me. The TV filled the room with soft laughter and cheerful applause, but it didn't feel intrusive-it blended with the quiet hum of his suit, making the atmosphere feel cozy and safe.

Then, without warning, I felt his arms tighten around my waist. My breath hitched, the motion so subtle yet deliberate that it made my heart race. Was he waking up? Or was it just an unconscious reaction? I glanced up at his face, but his helmet remained still, his breathing deep and steady.

Still, the warmth of his arms holding me closer made my cheeks heat up all over again. It was protective, grounding, as if even in his sleep, he didn't want to let go. My fingers instinctively brushed against the fabric of his suit, and I let out a shaky sigh, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

"Get it together," I whispered to myself under my breath, glancing back at the TV. But no matter how hard I tried, the flustered feeling lingered, nestled deep in my chest. I sank back into his embrace, deciding to simply let the moment be, the soft hum of the TV filling the room as I tried to focus on the show.

Eventually, I gave up on trying to focus on the show, though I kept my eyes on the flickering screen. The laughter and applause blurred into background noise as my thoughts began to wander. What did Xisuma look like under that suit?

Did he have freckles dotting his face like tiny constellations? Was his hair brown and tousled, or perhaps blonde and neatly combed? I couldn't help but imagine the possibilities, each one more vivid than the last. His suit gave nothing away-not his features, not his expressions. It was like a fortress, keeping the world out and him safely inside.

I turned my gaze slightly, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest through the rigid plating of his armor. The sound of his breathing apparatus was a constant reminder of why he wore it-to survive in an atmosphere not entirely friendly to him. That made sense, sure. But what about the rest of it?

On a server full of builders and creators, did he really think anyone would attack him? Or was it something deeper? A precaution born from experience, perhaps, or a way to keep the responsibilities of being The Admin separate from who he was underneath.

I sighed softly, my fingers absently brushing the edge of his suit. It felt sturdy, unyielding-much like the persona he often portrayed. But sitting here, his arms still loosely draped around my waist, I was reminded of how human he really was. Exhausted, vulnerable, yet somehow still trying to shoulder everything alone.

The flickering light of the TV cast faint shadows across the room, and I found myself wondering if I'd ever see him without the suit. Not just physically, but emotionally too. What kind of person was he when he wasn't being the one in charge? The one everyone looked to for answers?

I let out another soft sigh and leaned back into him, feeling the steady warmth radiating through the suit. Whatever the answers were, I didn't need them right now. All that mattered was that he was finally resting, finally allowing himself to let go-even if only for a little while.