Space Man

Confidence

Over the next few days, I dedicated my time to helping Xisuma become more comfortable without his armor, especially without his helmet. At first, it was like pulling teeth. He adamantly refused to even think about leaving his room without it. Every time I suggested it, he'd retreat further into his shell, insisting that the world outside wasn’t safe without his protection. But slowly, bit by bit, I showed him how safe his home was, how the walls he had built around himself weren’t necessary in the space we shared.

We started small—at first, just letting him take off his helmet when we were in private, then working up to him leaving his suit behind when he moved from one room to the next. By the end of the week, though, something shifted.

It was Thursday, and I had been up early, chopping vegetables for a simple lunch of sandwiches—nothing extravagant, just a small break in our usual routine. The soft rhythm of the knife against the cutting board, the faint sizzle of onions in the pan, and the hum of the old radio in the corner made for a calm, almost meditative atmosphere. The faint crackle of static from the radio blended with the sounds of the house settling as I focused on the task at hand.

The smell of freshly toasted bread and melting cheese filled the kitchen. I was so absorbed in the process that I didn’t hear Xisuma approach. But then, suddenly, I felt warmth behind me. He had stumbled into the kitchen, his footsteps soft and unsteady, like he hadn’t fully woken up yet. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him—his presence was unmistakable.

I froze when his arms wrapped around me from behind, his bare chest pressing lightly against my back. The warmth radiating off of him was immediate, and the fact that he wasn’t wearing his armor—or his shirt—made my heart race. The soft brush of his bare skin against mine sent a shock of heat to my face, and I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep, and it was clear from the way he leaned his head lightly against mine that he wasn’t fully awake.

I could barely manage a response. “M-morning,” I stammered, my hands shaking slightly as I continued to chop the vegetables. I tried to focus on the task, to push down the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, but it was hard with him so close, the faint scent of his shampoo mixing with the warmth of his skin.

Xisuma didn’t say anything at first, just holding me there for a moment. The sound of the radio and the faint creaks of the house were the only things filling the space between us. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, a stark contrast to how tense I usually felt when he was fully armored. But now, in this moment, I could feel the softness of who he was underneath all that protection.

"You're making lunch?" he asked, his voice quieter now as he peered over my shoulder at the sandwich spread. His head was still resting gently against mine, the weight of it soothing.

"Yeah, just some sandwiches," I replied, still trying to keep my voice steady, though I knew it probably betrayed how flustered I felt.

He gave a small, contented sigh. "I’m not used to being awake this late. I guess I needed the sleep," he murmured, before squeezing me a little tighter in his embrace.

I tried not to melt into him, but the softness of the moment made it hard not to. The smell of the onions cooking in the pan added to the warmth of the scene, the sizzle growing a bit louder, filling the otherwise quiet room.

After a few moments, Xisuma pulled back slightly, just enough to look at me. His eyes were still a little sleepy, but the pinkish hue of his cheeks was unmistakable.

“Thanks for letting me rest,” he said, his voice quiet, almost shy in its sincerity.

I offered him a smile, though I knew it probably looked a little too flustered for my liking. “You’re welcome,” I replied softly.