The world returned to Xavier in fragments.
The first sensation was heat—deep and dense, coiled beneath his skin like a sleeping creature. It pulsed through his limbs, slow but powerful, as though his very blood had thickened into molten fire.
The second was the weight of his body: sweat-damp sheets, the heaviness of breath, muscles sore like he'd been wrestling a god in his dreams.
The third was silence.
No gunfire. No alarms. No collapsing buildings or screams.
Only the distant chirp of a bird.
And then—a presence.
He forced his eyes open, and the soft light of morning kissed the room. Dust floated like lazy snowflakes through golden sunbeams. The air smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and warm cloth.
And there, sitting by the side of his bed, was Alvin.
Slouched in a chair, arms folded on the edge of the mattress, face pale with exhaustion, his sky-blue hair messy and shadows etched deep beneath his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days.
Xavier didn't move at first.
He just stared.
Because for a terrifying moment in his fever dream, he'd thought he was dying. He had wandered through a world of nightmares—blood-drenched fog, collapsing cities, alien screams in his ears.
But none of that had been as terrifying as the idea that he might not see Alvin again.
And now, here he was.
Sleeping beside him.
Guarding him.
Waiting.
A slow smile bloomed on Xavier's face, full of warmth, relief, and something tender that made his chest ache. "You stubborn little star," he murmured hoarsely.
He tried to sit up—but the soreness dragged him back. He groaned, rubbed his temples, and then, with a quiet strength, forced his body upright. His limbs protested, but he moved.
He stood.
Alvin didn't stir.
Xavier walked around the bed, eyes never leaving that face. Those lashes. That slight downward tilt to his mouth, even in sleep.
So this is what Alvin looked like when he wasn't controlling everything, wasn't arguing or smirking or threatening divine vengeance. This was Alvin in his raw, tired honesty.
Xavier reached out and gently cupped the back of Alvin's head.
"Rest now, it's my turn."
He bent down and, without ceremony, lifted Alvin from the chair like a feather, one arm behind his back and another beneath his knees. Alvin stirred faintly but didn't wake.
Xavier carried him to the bed and laid him down gently.
Then, very carefully, he sat beside him and reached out—
And patted Alvin's back.
Soft. Repetitive. Protective.
As if saying: I'm here now.
And something flickered in his chest. His skin prickled.
He looked at his hand.
A spark danced on his palm.
Black and red, twisting like smoke set on fire, an ember in the shape of a flame. It flickered higher, alive, weightless, and dangerous—but it didn't hurt.
It felt like… him.
Xavier's breath hitched.
"…I see."
He clenched his fingers, and the flame vanished like a snuffed candle, sinking back into his body. But the warmth remained.
He smiled.
"No longer a burden," he whispered. "Not anymore."
Moments Later
Alvin stirred.
It wasn't the sensation of warmth that woke him. Nor was it the soft scent of herbs lingering in the air. It was absence.
There was no one in the chair.
He blinked rapidly, disoriented.
"Xavier?"
His voice cracked as he sat upright.
The chair was empty. The blanket he had draped over Xavier earlier had been folded and placed at the foot of the bed.
The panic hit him like a slap.
He sat up fully, heart hammering in his chest. Alvin Bencio was not unfamiliar with loss. His life had been long and cruel. He had grown used to silence. To people leaving. Dying. Betraying.
He'd told himself that loving Xavier would be temporary.
A pleasant distraction.
A gentle lie.
And yet—here he was, breath stuck in his throat because the man wasn't in arm's reach.
"…Where are you, idiot?" he murmured, pushing strands of hair from his eyes.
He didn't even need to cast a full search spell. His senses were honed too sharply now.
With a breath, he expanded his mana—a simple ping.
He felt Xavier's mana nearby. Calm. Warm. Within the house.
And the pulse… it had changed.
It was no longer passive and human.
It was awakening.
Divine-tinged.
"...Oh," Alvin said, falling back into the bed with a relieved sigh, covering his face with an arm.
"He awakened. Of course."
The panic dissolved, replaced by a deep, tired relief.
"You could've at least left a note," he muttered.
He rolled to the side, eyes falling on the place Xavier had just been. He reached out, fingers trailing along the blanket. Still warm.
Alvin let his hand fall.
So this is what love does, he thought.
Makes a man who once shattered mountains with a flicker of his hand fear waking up alone.
He huffed.
He wasn't supposed to care this much.
But he did.
Too much, maybe.
And now, his beloved had awakened with fire in his veins.
Alvin's lips curled faintly.
"Well… now we'll see who the real danger is."
Xavier stood by the sink, the towel around his waist exchanged for a soft black robe that clung to the lines of his form, open just enough at the chest to show where the fever had left a sheen on his skin. The mirror fog had faded, revealing a face no longer pale with illness, but flushed with something new—awakened warmth, quiet strength, and a calm fire beneath the surface.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, then stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
Alvin was already awake.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, hair tousled, sleeves slipping off one shoulder, and the moment his eyes landed on Xavier—
"Where the hell were you?" Alvin asked, voice still rough from sleep.
And before Xavier could respond, Alvin launched himself forward, arms wrapping around Xavier's neck, slamming into his chest with all the grace of a cat that's missed someone all morning.
"You didn't wake me," Alvin muttered against his neck. "What if I thought you evaporated in your fever or something stupid?"
Xavier blinked, caught by surprise—but he laughed, low and breathless, and caught Alvin easily, his arms wrapping around him on instinct. "I just went to wash my face."
"You could've told me," Alvin scowled into his shoulder.
"I was going to come back in a second," Xavier murmured. "Didn't think you'd miss me that fast."
"I didn't," Alvin said quickly.
Then softer: "…Maybe a little."
Xavier smiled.
Without another word, he bent slightly, lifted Alvin into his arms like he weighed nothing at all, and walked him back toward the bed, pressing a kiss to the side of Alvin's neck as he carried him.
"Hey—" Alvin started, flustered.
"Shh," Xavier whispered, voice husky as his lips brushed the edge of Alvin's jaw. "You just woke up. Let me make up for slipping away."
He set Alvin down on the bed again, but didn't pull back.
Instead, he leaned in, slow and deliberate, his mouth finding Alvin's lips in a kiss that was both soft and possessive—like he'd been waiting days for this exact moment.
Alvin let out a breath, fists curling in the front of Xavier's robe.
Between kisses, Xavier's lips grazed his cheek, his ear, then found the curve of his nape and pressed there—slow and warm.
And then—
"I love you," he whispered.
Just like that.
No theatrics. No hesitation.
Just the truth, spoken into the skin beneath Alvin's jaw, quiet and reverent.
Alvin froze for a heartbeat.
Then he breathed out.
"…Idiot," he said softly. "You're not allowed to say it first."
Xavier chuckled and kissed him again. "Then catch up."