I stare at him. Niran.
At the notebook in my hand.
At the way his presence is still here—but not fully stable anymore.
Like the room is trying to decide whether he should be allowed to stay in it.
My grip tightens.
"…why did you hide this?"
My voice comes out lower than I expect.
Strained.
I don't stop.
I can't.
"…Niran. Answer me."
He doesn't move at first.
Just stands there near the window like the light is barely holding him together.
And then—
"…I already told you," he says.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
My jaw tightens.
"That's not an answer."
The air shifts.
I feel it before I see it.
Pressure.
Not emotional.
Physical.
Like the room is suddenly too full of something it can't hold.
The curtains twitch.
The desk rattles slightly.
My breath catches.
"…what are you—"
And then he snaps.
"YES."
It hits like a wave.
Not sound.
Impact.
The entire room pushes.
I stagger backward instantly, my heel catching the floor as the air turns heavy, almost crushing.
The walls shake.
The mirror trembles.
The notebook in my hand jolts like it's alive.
My ears ring.
"…Niran—!"
I brace myself against the desk, barely keeping upright.
The pressure doesn't stop.
It presses.
Like the house itself is rejecting me standing here.
And through it all, I see him.
Niran.
Shaking.
Not like a person.
Like something breaking in and out of existence at the same time.
His outline flickers—solid, then thin, then almost gone.
Light fractures around him.
His voice comes out broken.
"…I didn't want you to leave."
It echoes wrong.
Too many layers.
Too many versions of it at once.
I freeze.
He laughs once.
But it breaks halfway.
"…that's it," he says, voice shaking harder now. "That's why."
His brows pull together.
And I realize—
he's crying.
But not like anything human.
His face flickers as it happens, like the emotion itself is too much for his form to hold.
"I'm not supposed to—" he starts, then stops.
His body glitches.
For a split second, he disappears.
Then reappears in the same place, unstable.
The room shakes again.
My chest tightens.
"…Niran," I say, but my voice is different now.
Less anger.
More something I don't want to name.
He looks at me.
And his eyes are… wrong.
Not empty.
Just overwhelmed.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice breaking completely now. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to go."
The echo distorts.
His form flickers again.
Longer this time.
Something in me snaps.
I move forward immediately.
"No—"
The pressure pushes back hard, like it doesn't want me near him.
I force myself through it anyway.
"Niran, stop—!"
He steps back fast.
Too fast.
"…don't come closer," he says sharply, but it's not firm.
It's scared.
"I'm not in control— I'm not—"
His voice breaks again.
The room shakes violently once more.
The desk scrapes slightly across the floor.
The light flickers.
I don't stop.
I walk straight into it.
Every step feels heavier than the last.
"…you think I care about control right now?" I say.
My voice is rough.
My throat tight.
"You think I care about rules or any of that?"
His eyes widen slightly.
"Min-Jun—"
I cut him off.
"No."
I stop right in front of him.
Close enough now that I can see every flicker in his form.
Close enough that I can feel the instability like static in the air.
"I'm not losing you," I say.
It comes out quieter than everything else.
But heavier.
He freezes.
For a second.
Everything does.
Even the shaking.
Even the air.
Then his voice drops.
"…you don't get to decide that."
"I already did."
I lift the notebook slightly between us.
"This—whatever this is—doesn't change anything."
His gaze drops to it.
And something in his expression shifts.
Not anger anymore.
Not fear.
Something softer.
Worse.
"…you read it," he whispers.
"I read it."
Silence.
The pressure starts fading.
Slowly.
Like it's losing purpose.
Niran's form steadies slightly.
Still flickering—but less violently now.
His breathing—if it can be called that—slows.
The room stops shaking.
I don't look away from him.
"…you hid it because you didn't want to leave."
A pause.
Then—
a small nod.
Barely there.
"…yes."
My grip tightens around the notebook.
Not in anger anymore.
In understanding.
Too late, but real.
"…you should've told me," I say.
His voice is quieter now.
"…I was trying to keep you."
"I didn't need that."
He looks at me.
And there it is again.
That break in him.
That crack in something that shouldn't be able to crack.
"…I only have you," he says.
Simple.
Destroyed honesty.
Something in my chest pulls hard.
I step forward again.
This time, he doesn't move away.
I reach out.
And I actually grab him.
My hand goes through him slightly at first—static, cold—but I push through it until I can hold what's left of him.
"Niran," I say again.
Lower now.
"…you're not losing me."
He shakes.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly starts to stabilize under my hand.
The flickering slows.
The glow fades.
The room stops reacting.
His breathing steadies.
His voice returns without echo.
"…I can't hold it for long," he says quietly.
I don't let go.
"Then don't hold it alone."
A pause.
His eyes lift to mine.
Still wet.
Still fractured.
But present.
Then he slowly turns his gaze toward the notebook in my other hand.
And I understand.
We're past hiding now.
Past delay.
Past trying to protect each other from the truth.
I lift the notebook slightly.
"…we read it properly now."
A beat.
Then I add, firmer:
"…and then we face it. Together."
Niran doesn't answer immediately.
But he doesn't disappear.
And for now—
that's enough.
I don't move.
Not when the room finally settles.
Not when the pressure fades out of the air like it was never there.
Not even when Niran's voice comes out softer than before.
"…I need to steady myself."
I look at him.
"…how."
He hesitates.
Just for a second.
Then—
"…just… don't move."
That's it.
No explanation.
No logic.
Just him.
And then he does something I don't expect.
He steps closer.
Slow.
Careful.
Like he's afraid the air between us might break if he moves too fast.
And then—
he leans his entire head onto my shoulder.
Not dramatic.
Not sudden.
Just… tired.
Like something that's been holding itself up too long finally gives up for a second.
He's taller than me, so it's slightly awkward at first, the angle off, his weight careful but real.
But he doesn't pull away.
And I don't either.
For a moment, I just stand there.
Blank.
Because I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
I've never—
done this.
Not once.
Not with anyone.
Ever.
My hands stay at my sides for a second too long.
Then slowly—
he lifts one hand.
And holds me.
Not tightly.
Just enough.
Like he's making sure I'm still there.
I should flinch.
I don't.
It doesn't feel wrong.
It feels… steady.
Like something in me finally stops spinning.
So I let myself move.
My hand comes up first.
Slow.
Uncertain.
Then I place it on his head.
His hair is slightly cold at first—faint static still clinging to him—but underneath it feels real enough.
Present enough.
I don't even think about it after that.
My fingers just stay there.
Niran goes still.
Completely.
Like he forgot how to breathe for a second.
Then I feel it the flickering slows.
The unstable pressure around him drops.
The faint glitching at his edges stops stuttering.
His presence… settles.
Not gone.
Not human.
Just here.
Stable.
I step a little closer without thinking.
My shoulder presses more firmly into him.
My hand stays on his head.
Not pushing.
Not holding tight.
Just… grounding him.
Keeping him from slipping.
He exhales slowly.
And for the first time since all of this started he sounds quiet in a normal way.
Not broken.
Not echoing.
Just tired.
"…better," he says softly.
I don't answer right away.
Because I realize something strange.
I don't want to move.
His hand on me loosens slightly, but doesn't leave.
And I finally notice this isn't like before.
This isn't fear.
It's not panic.
It's not him falling apart.
It's him… staying.
Choosing to stay.
My fingers shift slightly in his hair.
Not pulling.
Just… there.
"…you're annoying," I mutter quietly.
A pause.
Then his voice, faint but steadier now:
"…you're not moving me."
"…I know."
Silence settles again.
But it's not heavy this time.
It's… soft.
Almost normal.
Almost.
I don't know when it becomes clear.
But at some point, I stop thinking of him like something unstable.
Something temporary.
Something that disappears.
He just becomes Niran.
Here.
Against me.
Real in a way that doesn't need explanation.
And I realize something else too.
He's not just my friend.
Best friend.
Partner.
Anchor.
That's not enough.
Not accurate.
Not even close.
It's something deeper than that.
Something that doesn't fit into labels cleanly.
Something that just… exists.
Between silence and understanding.
Between staying and not leaving.
His breathing stays even now.
No flicker.
No glitch.
No distortion.
Just steady presence against my shoulder.
And I don't move my hand.
Not yet.
Not because I'm afraid it'll break.
But because for once it finally feels like something is holding still.