Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 199: He Won’t Come Back

I sit on the couch, my body rigid, my face tight with a worry I can’t seem to shake. My eyes are fixed on Moon—on the way he sits on the bed as if nothing has happened, calm as still water, his blue gaze resting on with that unreadable expression he wears like armor.

The nurse works between us, her movents soft and practiced, careful—the way you handle sothing fragile, sothing that might break if you press too hard.

She removes the old cannula, stained with dried blood, and replaces it with a fresh one. Her fingers are steady, her touch light. She presses the last piece of tape into place, smoothing the edges, then straightens.

"It’s finished." She gathers the soiled gauze onto her tray, her gaze shifting to Moon. "Mr. Moon, please be more careful. You lost quite a bit of blood tonight."

Her eyes move to , her expression softening. "Please take care of him."

I nod once—a small, tight movent. She bows lightly and slips out of the room.

The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence rushes back in—thicker now, heavier, pressing against my skin like everything I don’t know how to say.

My gaze shifts back to Moon.

"Did you hear what she said?" My voice cos out tight, frayed at the edges. "You lost blood. Real blood. Not a little—too much."

He doesn’t say anything. He just watches with those blue eyes—patient, still—like he’s waiting for sothing. Like he has all the ti in the world.

My voice rises slightly, worry and frustration bleeding through. "Don’t move your hand. Don’t squeeze it. Don’t clench your fists like you’re trying to crush sothing."

I pause, forcing myself to breathe.

"Don’t make it worse."

He stares at , listening. Not interrupting. Not defending. Just... absorbing.

Then a smile spreads across his lips.

I stop. I blink at him, confused—thrown off balance by the sudden shift. "What are you smiling at? Do you think this is a joke?"

He shakes his head slowly, still smiling. "I’m happy."

"Happy?" The word cos out sharp, disbelieving.

He nods, calm as still water. "Seeing how worried you are about ."

I look away, my jaw tightening, my teeth pressing together. "You’re annoying. I’m not worried. I’m frustrated."

His smile doesn’t fade. His expression softens into sothing almost innocent—almost childlike.

"Don’t lie. When you saw the blood, your face went pale. Completely drained. Like you were the one bleeding."

My voice turns flat, emptied of emotion. "Don’t flatter yourself. Anyone in my place would have reacted the sa."

He tilts his head, his gaze soft—almost tender.

"But I only care about your reaction."

A pause.

"Only yours."

I don’t answer. I can’t.

I take off my coat and fold it over the arm of the couch, my movents sharp, chanical. Then I start unbuttoning my shirt, my fingers moving quickly—wanting to be done with this day, this conversation, this room.

"I’m going to sleep. Good night."

I lie down on the couch and close my eyes. The cushions are too soft, the fabric smooth against my cheek. I can feel every dip beneath , every shift pressing into my back.

"The couch isn’t comfortable." His voice cos from across the room, quiet but clear. "The bed is big enough for both of us. We could share."

My eyes snap open. I turn my head and glare at him. "I don’t want to. I’m fine on the couch."

My voice drops, low and final—the kind that leaves no room for argunt.

"And don’t you dare touch . Don’t drag onto the bed like you did before."

A beat.

"Not again."

His smile widens, and sothing flickers in his eyes—amusent, maybe, or sothing softer. He raises his hands in mock surrender, the gesture light, almost playful.

"Fine, fine. I won’t touch you."

A pause. His voice softens.

"You staying beside is enough."

I turn my gaze back to the ceiling—to the smooth, polished white, to nothing.

"You can take the blanket," he offers. "I don’t feel cold."

"I’m fine."

He lies down on the bed. I hear the rustle of sheets, the soft exhale of breath.

For a mont, we both fall into silence, the room filled only with the quiet beep of monitors and the slow rhythm of our breathing.

Then, without looking at him, I speak.

"Moon."

"Hmm."

I pause, gathering the words. "How did you know? About ... about the possibility of turning into an Oga."

He doesn’t hesitate. "I asked Dr. Leia to send your health reports."

I turn my head to look at him. "Why?"

His eyes stay fixed on the ceiling—the sa polished white I was staring at monts ago.

"I’m your family." A pause. "Don’t I have that right?"

I look back at the ceiling, my jaw tightening.

"I should tell Dr. Leia to stop sharing my private information."

"Don’t worry, Zyren." His voice is quiet, almost gentle—stripped of its usual sharp edges.

"Soon I’m leaving this country. I won’t co back until..."

He stops. His throat moves as he swallows.

"Until I’m good enough for you."

I don’t answer. I just stare at the ceiling—at the white tiles, at the empty space where my thoughts spiral into silence.

He’s leaving.

Soon.

He won’t co back.

His voice cos again, softer this ti, like he’s speaking more to himself than to .

"I hope you live well with your partner."

A pause.

"Happily."

I shift my gaze back to the ceiling. Away from his face.

"But don’t think I’ll stop loving you." His words hang in the air—fragile, stubborn. "I won’t. I’ll always love you."

A pause.

"Rember the promise you made . If you ever break up with your boyfriend... you co back to ."

I close my eyes for a mont, letting the weight of his words settle on my chest.

He’s so stubborn. Even after seeing Deniz. Even after everything. He still believes Deniz and I can fall apart.

"Moon." I keep my eyes on the ceiling. "I rember the promise. But that day will never co."

I let the silence stretch.

"It’s better for you to find soone else. Settle down. Live your life."

I wait for his response.

Nothing.

I turn my head to look at him.

His eyes are closed. His breathing slow and even, his face softened in sleep—peaceful in a way it never is when he’s awake. The tension has drained from his shoulders, his hands resting open on the sheets, finally unclenched.

I watch him for a long mont.

Why are you like this?

Why do you love soone so much... you’re willing to wait your whole life?

You really are stubborn, Moon.

I turn back to the ceiling and close my eyes.

Sleep doesn’t co. Only his words—circling in the dark, refusing to fade.

— Bonus 🌸 —

The room is dim, wrapped in the soft, muffled silence of late night. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the city lights, leaving only the faint glow of the monitors casting pale shadows across the walls.

Zyren sleeps on the couch, his body curled into the cushions, his breathing slow and even, lost sowhere far from here.

Moon sits on the edge of the bed, his phone loose in his hand, forgotten. His eyes are fixed on Zyren—on the way his silver hair catches the dim light, shimring like moonlight on water. Strands fall across his temple, soft and tangled, slipping into his eyes as he sleeps.

He watches the slight part of Zyren’s lips with each breath, the way his silver lashes rest against his flushed cheeks, the way his pale skin seems to glow in the darkness—fragile, untouchable, impossibly beautiful.

Moon stands.

He crosses the room slowly, his footsteps silent against the polished floor. He kneels beside the couch, close enough to feel the warmth of Zyren’s skin, close enough to count each quiet breath.

His hand hovers over Zyren’s face, trembling just slightly, his fingers curled inward—as if he’s afraid to touch, afraid to break sothing already so fragile.

His phone buzzes.

He glances down at the screen.

Sir, as requested, everything has been arranged. Your private jet is ready, and your discharge papers are complete. We’ll depart whenever you’re ready.

Moon stares at the ssage for a long mont. Then he turns off the screen and sets the phone aside.

His hand reaches out again.

This ti, he doesn’t hesitate.

His fingers brush Zyren’s cheek—featherlight, barely there—tracing the soft curve of his skin. He feels the warmth. The life beneath his fingertips. And sothing in his chest cracks open.

He leans closer, slow and careful, and presses a soft kiss to Zyren’s lips.

Just a breath.

Just a whisper.

Just enough to rember.

He pulls back.

A tear slips from his eye, trailing down his cheek, catching the dim light.

"Fine." His voice is barely audible, a broken whisper swallowed by the silence. "I lose, Zyren."

He swallows, his throat tight.

"You win."

He stays there for a mont longer, kneeling beside the man he loves, morizing every detail—the fall of his hair, the softness of his lips, the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

Then he stands.

He walks to the door.

He doesn’t look back.

The door opens.

The door closes.

And the room is silent again— except for Zyren’s soft breathing... and the fading warmth of a kiss he will never know.