Chapitre 54 : Shared Weight, Shared Warmth
New York, Manhattan, ESU – Alex's POV
The week has blurred into a strange balance of discipline and inevitability.
From Sunday onward, my routine grew sharper. Each morning and evening, I trained with the Void — pushing, pulling, stretching its influence. Little by little, the exhaustion at the end of each session became less crushing. By Friday, the headaches were mild, the tremors mostly gone. Modulating the radius was still draining, but more manageable.
Minecraft evolved in parallel.
The feedback from Wendy's classmates turned out to be surprisingly sharp and useful. Their suggestions helped me refine mechanics, pacing, and the early-game experience. By mid-week, the adjustments were in place and the whole structure already felt more polished.
Wendy and I kept playing together, but the testing phase gave way to something softer: just spending time with her, laughing, exploring, letting her drag me into chaos with her usual bright energy.
And May…
I crossed paths with her more times than coincidence should have allowed.
Always when we were alone.
Always with that same warm, charged silence simmering beneath the words.
And somehow — every single time — we ended up touching.
Her tripping on a step; me catching her.
Her reaching past me; us brushing shoulders.
A tight hallway turn; her hand on my chest for balance.
None of it planned.
All of it felt inevitable.
By Friday morning, the pattern was so consistent it bothered me.
Not because I didn't like it — but because I liked it too much.
And she did too.
I exhaled slowly and forced the memories of the week to fade, pushing aside the uninvited warmth that kept threading itself into every accidental touch with May. Enough. I'd dissect it later — or never. Preferably never.
Right now, I had something more important to focus on.
I stepped out from behind the old maintenance greenhouse at ESU, a place so forgotten it barely qualified as part of the campus anymore. The cracked glass panes were fogged from the inside, the vines overgrown, and the fencing around it sagged like no one had checked it in years.
But I had.
And it was perfect: quiet, sheltered, and far from any curious ears.
Gwen was already there, leaning against the brick wall, hood up, hands in her pockets. Her foot tapped lightly against the concrete — her tell when she was anxious but trying not to show it.
When she saw me, her shoulders relaxed a little.
"You found a good spot," she said, voice low but warm.
I nodded. "No one can listen in."
Just to be sure, I flicked a command through my cyberdeck; a soft pulse confirmed the white-noise field was active, muffling every sound around us.
Her eyes searched mine, reading everything I wasn't saying aloud. The soft concern, the fatigue of a week spent pushing the Void to its limits, the pressure sitting just beneath the surface.
"Okay," she murmured, stepping closer. "Then tell me what's going on."
I didn't hesitate — not really.
I just chose to start where I needed to.
"There are two things I want to talk to you about," I said, voice steady. "The Void… and May Parker."
A flicker crossed her eyes, but she stayed silent, trusting me to continue.
"But before any of that," I added, gentler now, "I want to know how you are. This week's been long for both of us, and your side matters to me."
Gwen blinked, surprised — not by the question, but by the calm confidence behind it. She stepped even closer, her shoulder brushing mine, grounding me with simple contact.
Void off, the warmth hit instantly.
"Alex… you don't have to—"
"I want to," I said simply. "Talk to me."
Her expression softened, a small smile tugging at her lips — affection, relief, and that quiet love she never had to say out loud.
"Okay," she breathed. "Then… yeah. I'll start."
She leaned back just enough to meet my eyes without breaking the closeness.
"It's been intense," she said. "Patrol's been quiet, but the wrong kind of quiet. Like something's waiting." Her fingers brushed mine unconsciously. "And I missed you. More than usual, actually."
My heartbeat tightened once, deliberate and warm.
She noticed this time.
"And… I've been worried," she said softly. "About you. You look tired, even when you pretend you're not."
I nodded — not to dismiss it, but to acknowledge it fully.
"That's actually the first thing I need to talk to you about," I said. Steady. Clear. No hesitation. "The Void. My training. And what it's doing to me."
I took a slow breath, letting the truth come out — direct, clean.
"All week, I focused on one thing," I began. "Learning to control the Void when it's off."
Gwen's brows lifted slightly. She knew how unnatural that sounded — most powers demanded effort to activate, not to suppress.
"It's strange," I continued. "Keeping it inactive is what drains me. Not physically — more like holding a door shut against pressure. The longer I keep it closed, the more it pulls at me."
She nodded, following carefully.
"So I trained that. The suppression. Over and over. Letting it go, shutting it down again, watching how it reacted."
I exhaled, tension shifting in my shoulders.
"At the start of the week, it hit me hard. But little by little, I adapted. The fatigue is still there by the end of the day, but it's not overwhelming anymore. It's manageable."
Gwen's expression softened, relief and worry blending in her eyes.
"And the Void itself?" she asked. "Any changes?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "Its range has increased. A lot. I'm sensing farther than before — roughly twice the distance I used to. I can't control that expansion; it just… happened."
She blinked, visibly impressed. "Alex, that's—"
"I know."
No pride. No fear. Just reality.
"But the range isn't the real problem," I said quietly. "It's what happens when I turn the Void off."
Gwen stilled.
I met her gaze directly.
"When the Void drops, everything hits harder. My emotions, my instincts… reactions I don't usually feel that strongly. It's not dangerous — I'm not losing myself — but the contrast is intense. Every feeling becomes louder."
She stepped closer, her hand brushing mine, grounding me instantly.
"Does it hurt you?" she murmured.
"No," I said immediately. "It just makes me more… honest. With myself. With what I feel. With what affects me. And who affects me."
I paused, glancing down for a moment, then added quietly:
"When it's active, though… it's not harmless either. My emotions get flattened. Things that would normally matter — joy, fear, attraction, connection — they all get muted. I feel… calm, precise, but distant. It's useful for focus, for calculations… but it isolates me. People, experiences… they lose some of their weight. Their color. It's necessary sometimes, but it comes at a cost."
Her pulse kicked at that. I felt it.
"And you've been dealing with that for two weeks," she whispered. "Alone."
"I needed to understand it," I said. "To be able to talk to you without being unsure of myself."
Her eyes warmed, deep and steady.
"And how do you feel right now?" she asked softly. "Void off. Here with me."
I didn't hesitate.
"Clear. Grounded. And very aware of what you mean to me."
Her breath caught — soft, real.
She squeezed my hand, shoulders loosening as if I'd just eased something tight inside her.
"Okay," she whispered. "We'll handle that. Together."
I nodded once.
The first conversation was done.
The second waited, heavier, more charged — May Parker.
I let the calm from our previous exchange anchor me. This time, there was no hesitation, no circumspection. Gwen had earned my full honesty, and I trusted her implicitly.
"Gwen," I began, voice steady, "there's something I need to lay out completely. No sugarcoating, no holding back."
Her eyes, attentive and warm, searched mine. "Go on," she said softly.
I explained everything — the subtle tension that seemed to build every time I was alone with May, the accidental touches, the moments where proximity became unavoidable. I described how she seemed drawn to me, how I was drawn to her, and how it created a complicated, charged dynamic.
"And I don't want you to misunderstand," I continued firmly, "I'm not hiding it from you. I'm telling you because I trust you, and because I know you want me to be honest. I'm not pursuing anything with her unless it's clearly mutual and she wants it. But I won't lie to you about what's happening — not now, not ever."
Her expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Alex…" she murmured.
I took a breath and went further, laying everything bare. "I know you want me to explore this — to have… a harem, with you as the queen. And I also know you want me to be honest with you, always. So that's what I'm doing. I'm telling you what's happening with May, how it affects me, and how I respond — because I trust you completely, and because you deserve that trust."
Her gaze held mine, steady, unwavering. "I do. And I appreciate your honesty more than you realize."
"And I want your perspective," I added, "because your feelings are what matter most. If anything crosses a line, if anything becomes too much, I need to know. But I also need you to understand that I'm aware, and I'm being responsible. I'm not just letting this happen without thought — it's measured, considered, and I want it to stay that way."
Her fingers brushed mine, grounding me, warm and reassuring. "You've thought this through. I see that. And I trust you to navigate it. That's why I support you having this… arrangement. As long as it doesn't hurt us."
I let out a slow breath, relief washing over me. "It won't. And I'll make sure it stays that way. But I couldn't hide it from you. Not with the Void off, not with my head clear, and not with us being… us."
She smiled softly, a mixture of affection and approval in her eyes. "Then we handle this together, Alex. Like always. I trust you to keep us safe and honest."
The weight in my chest eased. The conversation, though delicate and potentially explosive, had begun on solid, unshakable ground. Gwen and I were aligned, aware of the stakes, and ready to navigate them — openly, honestly, and together.
Once that topic was settled, I shifted the conversation. "Alright," I said, letting my mind move forward, "let's talk about the other things. My Minecraft project is almost finished — the last adjustments based on the feedback from Wendy's classmates went well. The game's finally feeling polished."
Gwen's eyes brightened. "That's amazing. You've been working on it so long."
"Yeah," I replied. "And the sessions with Wendy are still fun, but more for spending time with her than anything else. I've got a good rhythm now — it's running smoothly, and I can finally take a step back without constantly tweaking."
She nodded, smiling. "Good. It's nice to see you relaxed for once."
We moved on naturally, talking about her patrols. She shared the quiet tension of the week, how the city felt like it was holding its breath, and the small victories that didn't make the news but mattered to her. I listened closely, asking questions, teasing lightly, enjoying the easy rhythm of conversation with the Void off.
By the time we stood, the sun dipping lower over the campus, the heavy topics had been aired, the lighter ones savored, and I felt grounded. Clear. Connected. Ready for whatever the week might bring.
By the time we stood, the sun dipping lower over the campus, the heavy topics had been aired, the lighter ones savored, and I felt grounded. Clear. Connected. Ready for whatever the week might bring.
Gwen squeezed my hand once before we separated — she headed toward rehearsal, and I made my way off campus, the evening settling cool against my skin.
The walk home felt different. Lighter. Not because the problems were gone, but because they were shared now, carried together instead of alone.
By the time I reached my building, the sky had shifted into that deep blue just before night. I stepped inside, the familiar hum of the entrance fading behind me as the door closed.
My thoughts were steady, organized in a way they hadn't been all week — Void off, emotions steadying rather than crashing.
I climbed the last flight of stairs.
I took a breath, stepped forward.
And stopped in the corridor.