The room is not silent anymore.
Angel and I sit beside each other in the soft lamplight, and the space between us fills with sothing the chaos of today almost stole from —laughter.
Real laughter. The kind that cos from nowhere and everywhere, that bubbles up unbidden and spills out like sunlight after rain.
I lean back on the couch, my head resting against the cushioned edge, watching him with a soft, tired smile.
He’s telling about the photoshoot. About the silly things that happened between takes. About the way the lighting kept shifting and the photographer’s exasperated sighs. His hands move as he talks, animated in a way I rarely see, his golden eyes bright and alive.
He looks relaxed. Calm. Happy.
Spending ti with him like this feels peaceful. Like ho.
"Zyren."
His voice pulls from my thoughts. I’ve been staring without realizing it, just drinking in the sight of him so at ease.
"Hmm?" The sound is lazy, content.
He grins, leaning forward conspiratorially.
"Did you know I once caught Ziya napping in the storage room? The way his face changed when he saw —you’d think he’d committed the biggest cri in history."
I laugh, the sound warm and easy in the quiet room.
"That kid. He’s always running through the company like it’s a marathon. Sotis I wonder if he needs school more than a job."
Angel laughs too, one hand coming up to cover his mouth in that shy way of his. It’s the first ti I’ve seen him like this—so careless, so happy, so utterly without fear.
The sight of it makes sothing in my chest expand, a warmth that spreads through like honey.
"Zyren." He’s still giggling, trying to contain it behind his palm.
"I asked him his age once. You know what he said?"
I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
"He said he’s older than !" Angel dissolves into laughter again, his shoulders shaking.
"With that baby face? Everyone can tell he’s barely twenty."
I smile, warmth spreading through .
"I’m glad you’re having a good ti with him at the photoshoot."
Angel nods, still smiling, his cheeks flushed with happiness.
"He’s such a good boy. Really kind. Really sweet."
An idea forms in my mind, gentle and warm.
"Then what about making him your personal assistant?"
Angel’s smile fades. Slowly. Like light retreating from a room when the sun goes down.
"Personal... assistant?"
The words co out slow, careful, as if he’s testing them for poison.
I nod, not yet seeing the shift. "Yes. Personal assistant. Because my Angel deserves to be happy. And if Ziya makes you happy, he should be with you."
I pause, letting the idea settle.
"Then, when I’m busy with work, you won’t feel so lonely."
"No."
The word is loud. Sharp. It cuts through the warm atmosphere like a blade.
I blink, startled.
The room falls silent.
Angel’s eyes are downcast, fixed on his lap where his hands are clenched into tight fists against his trousers. His knuckles are white. His shoulders are rigid.
"No one," he says quietly, his voice trembling, "can take your place."
I stare at him, confusion flickering through . The shift was so sudden, so complete—from laughter to this, from light to shadow.
I shift closer, closing the distance between us. I reach for his hand, gently, carefully, and slide my fingers between his.
His hand is cold. Tense.
He looks up slowly.
His eyes are wet. Sad. Worried.
"Angel." My voice is soft, barely above a whisper.
"Are you okay?"
He blinks, like he’s just realizing where he is, what he’s said. Like he’s surfacing from sowhere deep and dark.
He looks away quickly, his profile tense, his jaw tight.
"I’m sorry." His voice is small. Broken.
"I didn’t an to shout. Please forgive ."
"Angel." I squeeze his hand gently.
"Look at ."
Slowly, reluctantly, he turns back.
His eyes are wetter now, tears gathering at the corners, threatening to spill. His lower lip trembles just slightly, a tiny movent he probably doesn’t even notice.
My face shifts into imdiate concern.
"Hey."
I lift my free hand, wiping the corner of his eye with my thumb. The tear is warm against my skin.
"If you don’t want an assistant, I’m not forcing you. Please don’t cry."
He swallows hard, his throat moving.
"It’s not like that. I just..."
He trails off, the words catching, struggling to break free from whatever cage holds them.
I wait. Patient. Present. My thumb still resting on his cheek.
Finally, in a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he says, "Zyren... if I get an assistant... you won’t give ti anymore."
The words hit like stones dropped into still water.
I feel them land in my chest, heavy and cold.
He’s worried. Worried that if soone else is there to spend ti with him, I’ll stop.
That I’ll forget him. That I’ll move on. That I’ll leave him alone in this big empty mansion.
A sad smile touches my lips. Gentle. Understanding. Full of an ache I can’t quite na.
I wipe his eye again, my thumb lingering on his soft skin.
"My innocent Angel."
He blinks up at , tears still shining in the lamplight.
"You’re worrying about nothing."
I hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth there, to feel it in the warmth of my hand still wrapped around his.
"If you get an assistant, it doesn’t an I’m going to ignore you. That’s not how this works." I pause, letting the words settle.
"I’m always with you. Even if you get a partner soday, I’m always with you."
He shakes his head quickly, like a child refusing sothing they don’t understand, don’t want to understand.
"I don’t want a partner."
My smile widens. Warms. Becos sothing genuine and bright despite the tears in his eyes.
"Angel."
My voice is soft, fond, full of everything I feel for him.
"Don’t act like a little child. Everyone has a soulmate. I’m sure one day you’ll find yours."
He doesn’t answer. Just stays silent, his eyes on , sothing unreadable flickering in their depths. Sothing old and scared and hopeful all at once.
Then, quietly, "Zyren."
"Hmm?"
"Promise ." His voice is barely a whisper, fragile as glass.
"Promise you won’t leave . No matter what happens."
The words land in my chest and settle there, heavy and precious and aching.
I look at him. At this beautiful, broken, perfect soul who has given everything and asked for so little.
At the tears on his cheeks and the hope in his eyes.
I smile—bright and real and full of everything I feel.
"Why would I leave you?" I say softly.
"You’re the only family I have."
I wait for his answer. For his smile. For so sign that he believes .
Instead, he moves.
He pushes forward, wrapping his arms around in a tight, desperate hug. His face presses against my shoulder, his breath warm through my shirt, his body trembling just slightly.
"Promise ," he whispers against my ear.
I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, holding him safe. My hand moves to his hair, stroking gently, soothingly.
"Promise," I murmur.
And in the soft lamplight, surrounded by silence and warmth and the weight of his trust, I an it with everything I have.
I always will.
User Comments
0 comments from readers