Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 289: You’ve Been Holding Back

It was the kind of comfort that didn’t have to raise its voice or dress itself up to be noticed—the kind that didn’t try to be remembered but still stayed with you long after the moment passed.

Everly rose first, collecting the empty plates with careful hands, moving with the kind of gentleness that made even the clink of ceramic sound like a whisper.

It wasn’t just neatness but respect for the space they’d made here. Evelyn followed a beat later, vanishing into the kitchen with a soft sweep of fabric and the same quiet rhythm as if any sudden motion might shatter the stillness that had taken root.

Ethan didn’t move.

He stayed where he was, hands resting loosely on the edge of the table, eyes unfocused, half-watching the flicker of the candles.

The wax had begun to drip unevenly, curling down the side of the glass holder and forming a small, sticky pool on the wood.

There was no urgency in him.

Just stillness.

Eventually, Everly returned. She didn’t speak at first, just set two cups of tea down—one in front of him, one beside the empty seat Evelyn had left behind.

Then she lowered herself into the chair next to him, not quite brushing his side but close enough that her presence filled the space between them like warmth spreading across a blanket.

"You’ve been holding back," she said quietly.

Her voice wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t even curious. Just honest.

Ethan didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. It was the kind of truth that sat between people without needing to be chased down or explained.

Evelyn reappeared from the hallway. She didn’t sit immediately. She just leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, her expression soft but focused, like she’d heard the question too.

"We know," she added gently. "But you don’t have to."

There was no pressure.

No hidden message beneath the words.

Just the kind of understanding that came from people who had stopped waiting for the right moment and had chosen, instead, to simply be present.

Ethan’s fingers curled slightly around the cup in front of him. He brought it to his lips and took a slow sip. It was warm—mildly sweet, familiar, like something from a better day.

And without realizing it, his shoulders eased, his spine relaxed, and the quiet wrapped around him like a second skin.

He looked at both of them.

At the two people who weren’t asking anything from him, who weren’t trying to fix or push or dig deeper—just staying with him, steady and unmoving.

He spoke softly.

"Let’s stay like this," he said.

"Just a little longer."

No one answered aloud.

They didn’t need to.

The candles kept burning, their flames shorter now, flickering low but alive. Outside, the night sky had settled fully, casting a faint silver light across the outer walkways, barely strong enough to stretch into the room.

The system lights inside dimmed even more on their own, sensing the change in pace.

Everly shifted, tucking one leg beneath her as she leaned into the chair’s backrest. A few strands of her silver-blonde hair fell across her shoulder.

Evelyn walked over to a side drawer, opened it without a word, and pulled out a soft blanket folded into a perfect square.

She didn’t ask. She just walked back, unfolded it, and laid it gently across Ethan’s lap.

She sat beside him after that—closer this time.

No questions. No noise. Just warmth.

The ambient hum of the city faded behind the windows, replaced by the soft breathing of the room.

Ethan tilted his head back slightly, letting the tea rest in his hands as he closed his eyes—not to sleep, but just to breathe.

When he opened them again, Everly was watching him.

"You’re always trying to carry everything yourself."

She didn’t say it like a complaint. She said it like someone who had seen it up close for a long time and knew what it cost.

"I’m used to it," Ethan replied. His voice was low, even. It’s not defensive—just tired truth.

Evelyn’s hand brushed lightly against his. "That’s why we’ve been waiting," she said.

Not waiting for him to break.

Waiting for him to come back.

To soften.

To share.

He looked at them again. No walls. No masks. Just quiet loyalty and patience so deep it made his chest feel heavy in the best kind of way.

He set the cup down on the table. His hand lingered on the blanket, tracing the fold lines, then stilled.

"I didn’t know how much I needed this," he said.

"You still don’t," Everly murmured, her voice a little softer now. "But that’s okay."

No one spoke after that for a while. Not because there was nothing to say. But because they already knew it. Felt it. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Ethan leaned back just enough for his shoulder to brush Evelyn’s. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved a bit closer, her arm settling against his with quiet finality.

Everly stood, slow and unhurried. She walked to the console panel near the wall and gently tapped it once, turning off the last flicker of the system light.

The candle flames flickered, then vanished too—soft fingers of smoke rising for a moment, then fading into the air.

Darkness settled.

But it wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t empty.

The room felt full. Steady.

Ethan didn’t speak again.

He didn’t need to.

They sat like that for a long time.

Eventually, Evelyn’s voice came through the quiet.

"We’re not rushing anything."

And Everly added from the other side, "But we’re not stepping back either."

He heard it clearly. The meaning behind it.

It wasn’t about tonight.

It wasn’t even about him.

It was about all of them.

It was a promise.

He didn’t break the silence. Just sat with it. Let it stretch and settle.

Evelyn’s hand shifted again, fingers sliding over his knuckles in a simple, quiet touch. Everly’s leg bumped his lightly, a soft nudge more than anything. Just there. Present.

There were no messages pinging. No lectures to review. No distractions bleeding in.

Ethan leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees.

And when he spoke, it came from somewhere quieter. More real.