Space Man

Oh Angel

Xisuma pov

We stayed in bed far longer than I anticipated, but honestly, I didn’t mind. Eventually, though, I gently pulled away from him, murmuring softly, “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

He didn’t seem thrilled with the idea of me leaving, clinging for a moment longer before reluctantly letting go. Even then, he got up and followed me into the kitchen, sticking close by like a shadow. It was adorable, if not a little concerning. He didn’t say anything, just quietly trailed after me, his presence a mixture of comfort and unspoken worry.

I decided not to push him to talk. Instead, I focused on making breakfast. Something simple but comforting—pancakes, eggs, and a bit of fruit on the side. He lingered at the edge of the counter, occasionally glancing at what I was doing but still not saying a word.

As I worked, I found myself sneaking glances at him. His face was a little puffy from crying, and his hair was still slightly mussed from sleep. He looked tired but less tense than last night, and that was enough for me to feel like I was doing something right.

I made his favorite breakfast—pancakes with just the right amount of syrup, eggs cooked exactly the way he liked, and a side of fresh fruit. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but I could tell it caught him off guard.

When I placed the plate in front of him, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He looked from the food to me, as if trying to process that I remembered something so specific about him.

“Your favorite,” I said casually, sitting down next to him with my own plate.

He stared at the plate for a moment longer before finally picking up his fork. The first bite seemed to melt away whatever lingering tension he had. His shoulders relaxed, and the smallest of smiles tugged at his lips.

“Good?” I asked, pretending not to notice how much he was enjoying it.

He nodded, swallowing before saying softly, “It’s perfect.”

I smiled, watching as he continued eating with more enthusiasm. It was clear he didn’t expect me to remember such details, but I always paid attention. How could I not? Everything about him had a way of drawing my focus—his quirks, his preferences, even the subtle things he thought no one noticed.

By the time he finished his plate, his mood seemed lighter. He leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a mix of gratitude and something else I couldn’t quite place.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said quietly, but there was no protest in his voice—just genuine appreciation.

“I wanted to,” I replied simply. “You’ve been taking care of everyone else. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the soft smile on his face told me everything I needed to know.

I decided to make a day of it, figuring Keralis could use the break. At first, he seemed to go along with it, but as the hours passed, he started to get a little fussy. It was subtle—shifting in his seat, avoiding eye contact, and finding little things to busy himself with, even when there was nothing that really needed doing.

I watched him carefully, trying to figure out what was bothering him. Finally, after he half-heartedly tried to tidy up the counter for the third time in ten minutes, I stepped in.

“Keralis,” I said, gently taking the dish towel from his hands. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable at first. Then he sighed, leaning against the counter. “I’m not used to... this,” he admitted, waving his hand vaguely toward the cozy, calm atmosphere of the day. “I take care of people. It’s what I do. I don’t—” He paused, clearly struggling to find the words. “It feels strange to have someone else do it for me.”

I nodded, stepping closer. “I get that. But today’s not about what you’re used to. It’s about what you need.”

He blinked at me, a little caught off guard by my response.

“You’re always the one looking after everyone else,” I continued. “But who takes care of you, Keralis? Who makes sure you’re okay?”

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, clearly unable to come up with an answer. That alone spoke volumes.

I smiled softly and placed a hand on his arm. “Let me take care of you today. You’ve earned it. No fussing, no worrying—just let me handle things for once, okay?”

He looked at me for a long moment, his usual confidence and charm giving way to something more vulnerable. Finally, he nodded, though his reluctance was still evident.

“Fine,” he said, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “But only because you’re so stubborn, Shishwammy.”

I chuckled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “That’s the spirit.”

I was practically over the moon when he used that nickname—Shishwammy. It had been a while since I’d heard it, and it carried a weight that made my chest feel a little lighter. It was like a small step toward forgiveness, and I clung to that hope.

I dedicated the entire day to him, making sure he relaxed as much as possible. If he subtly asked for something—even the smallest thing—I didn’t hesitate to get it. At one point, he casually asked for a glass of water, clearly not expecting me to actually stand up and fetch it. The look of surprise and faint amusement on his face when I handed it to him was priceless.

The rest of the day passed quietly, but it was exactly what he seemed to need. By the evening, we were cuddled up on the couch, and he didn’t let go of me once. He didn’t want to talk much; he just wanted to stay close. No helmets, no space suits—just us.

For some reason, he kept playing with my cheek. His fingertips lightly brushed against the skin, his touch so gentle it was almost ticklish. I couldn’t quite figure out what he was doing at first, but then I realized he was tracing the faint scars etched into my skin.

It was... oddly tender. He didn’t say a word about it, but there was something about the way he touched me that felt like he was taking it all in—acknowledging every mark, every imperfection, without judgment.

I let him, not daring to interrupt. His touch was soothing, and though I didn’t fully understand why he was doing it, I didn’t need to.

“You’re so soft, Shishwammy,” he murmured after a while, his voice low and teasing. There was a small, playful smile on his lips, but his eyes held something warmer.

“Guess I owe that to good skincare,” I replied, my voice equally light, though my heart was thudding in my chest.

He chuckled softly, resting his head against my shoulder again, his fingers still idly tracing. I didn’t know if he realized how much this moment meant to me, but I hoped he did.