The sky was overcast when they walked — soft gray, breeze cool enough to make Raylene tuck her coat closer. Her hand brushed Zenith's as they moved down the quiet street. Not holding — just existence-touching. Enough.
Then pain struck like a sudden flash — piercing, sharp behind her eyes.
She winced, hand rising to her temple.
Zenith stopped instantly.
"Raylene."
She tried to breathe, but the world vibrated, edges blurring.
"It's… just a headache—"
Her voice faltered, knees buckling.Zenith caught her before gravity could.
They reached a bench — he sat, pulling her gently into his lap, one arm around her back, his hand cradling the side of her head.
"Look at me," he murmured, voice steady despite the spike of fear behind his eyes."Breathe. Focus here."
But Raylene's vision dimmed, sounds thinning like they were underwater.
"I—Zenith, I—"
Then her body softened in his arms, head falling against his chest.Not limp — just… gone somewhere else.
"Raylene."A sharper edge this time, breaking through the calm.No answer.
He held her tighter, hand beneath her jaw to feel her breath.Still breathing.Still warm.
Relief punched through him — and urgency followed.
He carried her home.
---
He tucked her into bed, smoothing the blanket over her like laying down something sacred.Her lashes rested against her cheeks — peaceful, but too still.
He left the door ajar.
Just in case.
He dialed the clinic. Held the phone tight.A polite voice told him he was twelfth in queue.
He sat.Exhaled.Looked up—
The book lay open on the coffee table.
Not closed where she'd left it. Open. Waiting.
Zenith stared.Something in his chest tightened — curiosity sharpened by dread and longing, like déjà vu pulling by the collar.
He moved toward it.Slow. Careful.Like approaching something alive.
He sat, fingers brushing the page. And then — he read.
Raxian.
Fayne.
Milo.
Raze.
Sable.
Lynx.
Names that shouldn't feel familiar. But they did.
Then —
Zenith.
His own name, printed in ink that looked like it was breathing.
His pulse kicked. No rational explanation formed. None fit.
He flipped through pages faster — heart tight, breaths too careful, like the air might break.
Then the last page.
And her name.
Raylene.
Time stopped.
He did not breathe.
The lights flickered once — storm clouds shifting outside though no thunder followed, just a hush, like the world exhaled wrong.
He stood abruptly.The room felt too small.
He moved to the bedroom.
"Raylene—?"
The bed was empty.
Not rumpled from leaving.Just empty.As though she had never been there.
Zenith's breath caught in his throat.
He checked the bathroom.Kitchen.Hall.
Nothing.
Then—
A terrifying moment of stillness inside his mind, like a page gone blank:
---
Who was I calling?
---
His mouth opened — silent.
His pulse pounded.His chest tightened.
There was someone.Someone with warmth in their hands and laughter like morning light.Someone who leaned into him.Someone who—
A door clicked softly.
Zenith turned — too fast.
Raylene stood in the bedroom doorway, one hand on the frame, breath uneven, color ghosting back into her cheeks like she had been… somewhere just out of reach.
"Zenith…?"Barely a voice. Thin as mist.
His chest seized.
"Raylene."
The name left him like air he'd been drowning for.
He crossed the room in three steps — silent, urgent — hands rising to cup her face, thumbs trembling along her jaw as if proving she wasn't illusion.
Her eyes fluttered, unfocused, confused.
"I… felt far away," she whispered, lost in it.
His breath shook.Not violent — just… undone.
He didn't try to answer.Didn't try to solve.Didn't speak at all.
Words were too small for whatever had just brushed their world.
Instead, he pulled her against him.No hesitation.No space between them.
His arms wrapped around her tight — not crushing, but claiming reality, holding her like gravity depended on it.
He buried his face into her hair for half a second, breath sharp, grounding himself in her warmth, her weight, her existence.
Her hands clutched his shirt — instinct, not thought.
"I'm scared," she breathed into his chest.
His hold only tightened.
Not rough.
Not panicked.
Just absolute.
He didn't tell her she was safe. He didn't pretend to understand.
He only held her. Like if he loosened even a fraction, she'd slip into whatever place had tried to take her.
Outside, the rain thickened — sudden, heavy, like the world exhaled wrong.
But inside, in his arms, she stayed.
Warm.Breathing. Here.
Zenith didn't try to make sense of it. Couldn't.
So he simply held her, jaw set against her hair, eyes closed, arms locking around her like the only truth left was this:
Don't let go.
---
And she didn't disappear again.
For now — that was enough.
---
He didn't loosen his arms.
Not even when her breath steadied.
Not even when her trembling stopped.
His chest rose slow beneath her ear —
controlled, grounding them both.
Raylene's fingers curled in the fabric at his collar,
then slid higher — brushing the back of his neck
like she needed the shape of him beneath her skin
to know she hadn't imagined him.
Zenith closed his eyes at the touch.
Only then did he allow himself to exhale.
Without thinking,
his hand moved from her back to her wrist,
fingers finding her pulse.
Warm. Steady. Here.
His thumb stayed there a moment too long —
not checking anymore,
just holding the promise of a heartbeat.
Her body softened slowly against him,
exhaustion pulling her downward again,
not fright this time
but the kind of tired that comes after surviving
something you don't have the language for.
She murmured his name once —
unfinished, breath fading into him.
Then sleep took her.
Zenith didn't move.
Not even a shift.
Not even to reach for the blanket.
He just held her
with both arms around her,
chin resting against her hair,
eyes open and watchful,
as if he could guard her
simply by refusing to close them.
Outside, rain whispered against glass,
soft as memory,
soft as forgetting.
Inside, he counted her breaths.
Quiet.
Steady.
A world might be remembering them —
pages might be turning somewhere —
but here,
in this small room,
in the hush between heartbeats,
she slept in his arms
and he stayed
awake
simply to witness it.
As if by watching,
he could keep the universe from taking her again.
As if holding her
was enough
to keep this life real.
And for now — it was.
---
They existed.
Together.
Still here.
Still theirs.
Still untouched by anything but love.