I woke up with an armful of hybrid.
Not that this was new. Nine had always been a cuddler—clingy, warm, and hopelessly endearing when asleep—but this time, it felt more desperate. Like he was trying to make sure I didn't vanish while he dreamed.
His cheek was pressed against my sternum, lips parted slightly in sleep, and one hand fisted into the collar of my shirt like a tether.
Nyx yawned, stirring at the edges of my thoughts. You should just glue him to you and be done with it.
I smiled faintly and ran my fingers through his hair.
I didn't want to move. But I had reports to look over and a call with one of the transport teams in an hour. I shifted gently—
And instantly, Nine stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and a small whimper caught in his throat.
"Hey, shhh," I whispered, brushing my thumb along his jaw. "Just getting up for a bit."
"You're leaving?"
"Only to the desk. I'm still here."
He blinked at me, then, without a word, climbed into my lap.
Again.
I sighed softly. "Sweetheart, you can't help me sort logistics like this."
"I can," he mumbled into my collarbone. "I'm being emotional support."
I laughed, a low, warm sound. "Is that so?"
He nodded solemnly.
I settled back against the headboard with him draped over me like a weighted blanket. It wasn't comfortable—but I didn't make him move.
Not yet.
Because the way he clung, the way his voice held that faint quiver when he thought I'd walk out again... it still lingered. Like the words he'd heard—whatever they were—had planted a seed deeper than I'd realized.
And that scared me.
Nine had been learning to speak up for himself. He'd stared down a boss who insulted him, climbed into my lap mid-meeting like it was his throne, and turned subtle jealousy into a declaration of love loud enough for everyone to hear.
But now...
He was quieter.
Still affectionate. Still soft.
But not quite steady.
What could they have said? I wondered, fingers ghosting through his hair. What would cut him down like this?
He was strong in his own strange way. Not physically. Not politically. But Nine was a survivor. He'd endured unspeakable things with barely a word. And he was beginning to believe—really believe—that he deserved more than pain.
Who would dare take that from him?
Nyx stirred uneasily. You should've been here.
I know.
We reassured him every night. But maybe it wasn't enough.
That part stuck in my ribs.
I had told him he mattered. That he was mine. That he was not a toy or an object or a pet.
But maybe I hadn't said it enough. Maybe I'd thought the bond was enough—that just being with him, touching him, holding him, was enough proof.
Maybe I'd grown too used to the little progress markers. The soft smiles. The jealousy. The courage.
And I'd forgotten that scars didn't vanish just because you kissed them.
"I'm sorry," I whispered against his hair.
Nine shifted. "For what?"
"For not being here sooner."
He looked up at me, blinking slowly, like he couldn't quite understand why I'd say that.
"I'm okay," he said.
"Are you?"
He hesitated.
I pulled him closer. "You don't have to be. But I need you to tell me when you're not. I can't fight shadows, Nine. I need to know what hurt you."
His fingers twitched. "It wasn't you."
"I know."
"But I didn't like what they said."
"You don't have to believe it."
"I don't want to. But it's hard not to."
God.
I hated that someone had done this. Undone so much healing in a few careless words. Or worse—maybe it hadn't been careless. Maybe it had been cruel on purpose. Whispered to a hybrid who finally had something they wanted to destroy.
Nine was trying. So hard. And I was letting him carry more weight than he should.
I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "From now on, we don't let their words sink in. Deal?"
He nodded.
"Good. Now," I pulled back just slightly and raised a brow, "if you're going to insist on being emotional support, you have to at least hand me my datapad."
He blinked. "I'm... helpful?"
"Very." I kissed his nose. "But help includes arms that can pass me things."
He scrambled to the side, grabbed the datapad from the nightstand like it was sacred treasure, and handed it to me with both hands and a proud little puff of his chest.
I took it with a smile. "Thank you, my diligent assistant."
"I'm your mate," he corrected softly.
"You're both."
He beamed.
And for the first time in two days, that flicker of light returned to his eyes.
Nyx purred. Still pouty, but he's coming back.
Yeah.
But I wasn't going to let this happen again.
Next time, I'd be ready—whoever they were.
And next time, I'd remind him how irreplaceable he truly was.