Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 183: I’m Here... I’m Yours...

His eyes find me first—scanning, checking, making sure I’m whole, that I’m here, that I’m real. Then they move to the couch. To Moon. To my fingers still resting against his temple, tangled in his soft blue hair.

I stare at him, frozen. My face must show everything—the shock, the guilt, the desperate need to explain something I don’t fully understand myself. My hand hovers where it shouldn’t be, suspended in the air between us like evidence of a crime I didn’t know I was committing.

Deniz steps forward. His eyes lock on my hand—the one I can’t pull back fast enough.

The one that was touching Moon’s face... like I had any right.

Like his skin was mine to comfort.

Like his sleep was mine to protect.

I pull my hand away, too quickly, like I’ve been burned. I straighten, smoothing my gown, finding my voice somewhere in the tangled mess of my chest. It comes out low, soft, barely audible in the quiet room.

"Deniz... how did you—"

Before I can finish, he’s there.

His arms wrap around me, tight, desperate, crushing me against his chest. I can feel his heart—wild, frantic, racing like he’s been running for hours—like fear has been chasing him all night.

His breath comes in uneven gasps against my hair, his fingers pressing into my back like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

My hands rise slowly. I hug him back. I pat his back gently, softly, the way you soothe a child waking from a nightmare.

The rhythm is steady, patient, a silent promise: I’m not going anywhere.

For a long moment, we just stay like this—his grip unyielding, my touch patient, both of us breathing in the same air, sharing the same silence.

I feel his heartbeat slow against my chest. I feel his breath steady. I feel the fear leaving him, slowly, in waves.

His voice comes, soft, a whisper against my ear.

"Zyren..."

I push back just enough to see his face.

His eyes are bright, wet, holding back tears that threaten to spill. His lips parted, his whole expression raw in a way I rarely see. He looks like he’s been holding himself together for hours, and now, finally, he’s letting go.

"Are you—"

I press my fingers to his lips, silencing him. I glance at the couch, at Moon still sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. His face is relaxed, unguarded in sleep, and I don’t want to wake him.

Not now. Not yet.

I lean in close, my voice a breath against Deniz’s ear.

"Let’s talk outside."

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, and I take his hand, sliding my fingers between his. His palm is warm, his grip firm, and he follows me out of the room as if he’d follow me anywhere.

The lobby is silent, empty. The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, casting pale shadows across the polished floor. Moon has reserved the entire VIP floor, and the staff only appear when called. Our footsteps echo softly as we move through the quiet space, the sound swallowed by the vast, empty hallways.

I push open the balcony doors, and we step out into the night.

The air is different here—fresh, clean, free of the antiseptic smell that clings to hospital rooms, free of the weight that pressed down on me all evening. I close my eyes and breathe in deep, letting the cool air fill my lungs, letting the tension in my shoulders begin to ease.

My hair moves in the night breeze, silver strands catching the city lights below, tangling in my lashes.

Deniz’s voice comes from behind me. "Are you okay?"

I open my eyes and turn to face him.

He’s standing in the soft glow of the balcony lights, his dark hair moving in the wind, his face pale, his eyes red-rimmed and shining.

His cheeks are flushed, the way they get when he’s been holding back tears, when he’s right on the edge of breaking. His hands are at his sides, clenched into fists, and I can see the effort it takes for him to stand still, to wait, to let me answer.

I smile softly. "I’m fine. Really."

His voice cracks. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

I blink. Does he know? Who told him about my condition?

I step forward and hold his face between my palms. His skin is warm, damp with tears he’s trying to hold back, his jaw tight beneath my fingers.

"I’m sorry." My voice is gentle, apologetic. "I didn’t mean to hide anything from you."

He covers my hands with his own, holding them there like he needs to feel me to believe I’m real, like if he lets go I might dissolve into the night air.

"I was so worried." His breath hitches. "When you didn’t answer my messages. When you didn’t pick up my calls."

A pause, his throat working. "And then Secretary Kaz told me you’d collapsed. That you were admitted to the hospital."

He stops. His breath catches, and the tears spill over, sliding down his cheeks in two silent lines that catch the city lights and shimmer.

I wipe them away with my thumbs, gentle, patient, steady.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about the tests, about the results, about what the doctor said. He just knows I collapsed. He just knows I’m here. He just knows he was afraid.

I can’t tell him. Not tonight. Not when he’s standing here like this, barely holding himself together, his fear still fresh, his relief still fragile.

"Please don’t cry." My voice is soft, steady. "Look at me. I’m fine. See? Totally fine."

He stares at me, searching, and then his gaze falters. He looks away, his jaw tightening, his throat working, something caught in it he can’t swallow down.

"Zyren." He hesitates. "Why were you..."

He stops. His cheeks reddening beneath my palms.

I keep my thumbs moving, gentle circles on his cheeks, patient. Waiting.

He meets my eyes slowly, reluctantly. Another tear slips down his cheek, and I catch it before it falls.

"Why were you touching Mr. Moon’s face?"

The words come out in a rush, like he’s been holding them in too long, like they burned his mouth on the way out.

I stay silent for a moment.

He saw. Of course he saw. He walked into the room and found me with my hand in Moon’s hair, my fingers on his skin, watching him sleep like he was something worth watching.

"Deniz." I let my hands fall to his shoulders, grounding myself in the solid warmth of him.

"It’s not what you think. I was just... brushing his hair away. It was in his eyes, and he was sleeping, and it looked uncomfortable. That’s all."

His voice is small. "Is that true?"

I nod. "Yes."

His face flushes completely now, red spreading from his cheeks to his ears to his neck. He looks down, suddenly shy, suddenly ashamed of what he was thinking, of what he almost accused.

"I’m sorry," he mumbles. "I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—"

I lean forward and press my lips to his.

He flinches, just for a second, surprised. Then I kiss him again, and his hands find my waist, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. His lips are warm, his tears salty on my tongue, his grip desperate and tender all at once.

I close my eyes, melting into him, letting the kiss say everything I don’t have words for.

I’m here. I’m yours.

"Zyren."

My eyes snap open.

Moon stands in the balcony doorway, his blue gaze fixed on me.

Bonus 🌸 Moon’s —POV

The room is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles into bones and refuses to leave.

Moon sits on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He hasn’t moved in hours.

His gaze stays on the bed.

Zyren lies there, too still, too pale against the white sheets. The IV drips steadily into his hand—a slow, measured rhythm Moon has been counting since they brought him here.

One drop. Two. Three.

A metronome marking time in a room that no longer feels real.

His silver hair spills across the pillow like moonlight. His lips are parted, his breathing shallow but steady. He looks younger like this. Softer. The sharp edges he carries when awake are gone, leaving behind something fragile—something familiar.

The boy who ran through gardens with flower crowns in his hair... laughing like nothing could ever touch him.

I tried so hard to forget you.

The thought comes quietly, as it always does when the world slows down enough to let it through.

I built a life where you didn’t exist. I told myself I was fine. That I was free.

His eyes follow the slow rise and fall of Zyren’s chest.

That the space you left behind had healed.

Then you came back. And everything I built—every wall, every distance, every lie I told myself—collapsed like it was never there at all.

KNOCK... KNOCK.....

The door opens. Kaz steps in, quiet and composed. His eyes flick briefly toward the bed, then back to Moon.

"Sir. You haven’t eaten. You’ve been here since morning." A pause. "You should rest. I can stay with him."

"No."

Kaz adjusts his glasses, exhaling softly. "Then... should I contact Mr. Kael’s secretary?"

Moon’s jaw tightens. "Call him," he says. "Tell him Zyren collapsed." A beat. "Nothing else. Keep it quiet."

"Yes, sir."

Kaz turns to leave, hesitates—then decides against speaking. The door closes behind him.

Silence returns. Moon leans back, his head resting against the couch, but his eyes never leave Zyren. They trace the line of his jaw. The curve of his lips. The slow, fragile rhythm of his breathing.

You don’t remember any of it.

The garden. The flower crown. The way you looked at me... like I was the only one who mattered.

He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, nothing has changed.

But I remember. I remember everything.