Zenith woke to the sound of a heartbeat.
Slow.Steady.Warm.
His cheek rested against soft fabric and warmer skin—Raylene's chest rising and falling beneath him, her arms wrapped securely around his shoulders, fingers loosely tangled in his hair as though she'd fallen asleep mid-comfort.
For a moment he didn't move.
He just listened.
thump… thump… thump…Her heartbeat anchored him in a way nothing else ever had.
And that's when he realized—she had held him all night.
Not the other way around.
He stiffened slightly, shocked. He never fell asleep first. Ever. It was his silent ritual: stay awake until she drifted off, guard her, hold her, protect her.
But last night…he hadn't guarded her.
She had guarded him.
And she hadn't let go.Not even in sleep.
The memory of the night before hit him all at once—the freezing,the panic he couldn't explain,her hands soothing him,her voice grounding him,her warmth wrapped around him until the fear faded.
Raylene, half-asleep even then, had held him together.
And hearing her heartbeat now—strong and alive beneath his ear—something in him cracked wide open.
A soft sound escaped him.Not a sob—just a quiet, broken breath.
Then the tears came.
Silent at first, dampening her skin.Then heavier.Warmer.Until his shoulders trembled and he hid his face deeper against her chest, trying to stifle the sound.
Raylene stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She felt the shudder before she heard the breath.And when she looked down, she saw the crown of his dark hair pressed to her chest—felt the faint dampness soaking through the thin fabric of her bra—and her whole body stilled.
"Zen…?" she whispered.
He didn't lift his head.He couldn't.
He just gripped her tighter, fists curling into her bare sides, knuckles white.
Raylene's heart squeezed at the sight.
She slid one hand to the back of his head, cupping him instinctively, her thumb brushing through his hair as she pulled him even closer—holding him the way he'd held her so many times.
"It's okay," she whispered into his hair. "I've got you. You're safe."
Zenith let out a small, strangled sound—half breath, half cry—and Raylene's arms tightened around him.
He sank into her, helplessly, forehead pressed to her heartbeat as if trying to anchor himself to it. Tears continued slipping down his face, warm patches spreading across her skin.
Raylene tilted her head down, kissing the top of his hair over and over, whispering between the kisses:
"I'm here.""You're alright.""You're not alone.""You're safe."
Eventually, Zenith forced himself to lift his head.Barely.Just enough for her to see his face—tear-streaked, eyes shining with raw, vulnerable confusion he didn't know how to hide.
Raylene froze for half a second.
Zenith never cried.
Ever.
Her hand immediately cupped his cheek, thumb wiping the tears as they fell, gentle and steady. Just as he had always done for her.
She leaned in and rested her forehead against his, breath mingling with his.
"We're safe," she whispered again.
Zenith's breath shook—but he nodded.
Then Raylene kissed him.
Soft.Slow.Anchoring.
His grip loosened—not out of distance, but surrender. And he leaned into her kiss like she was the only thing keeping him steady.
Which… right now… she was.
---
Raylene eased out of Zenith's arms carefully, pressing a final kiss to his forehead before slipping out of bed. Zenith didn't stir much—just exhaled softly and turned into her warmth even after she was gone, like his body still reached for her in sleep.
He never slept in.
That alone made Raylene's chest ache with tenderness.
She slipped into one of Zenith's shirts—soft, oversized, brushing warm against her thighs—and padded into the kitchen. The quiet began to fill with gentle sounds: the clatter of pans warming on the stove, the low hum of the fridge, the familiar rhythm of a home waking up.
Light's door creaked open.
He stepped into the hallway, rubbing his eyes. His hair was a fluffy, sleepy mess, sticking up in a halo around his head. He looked into the kitchen—
No Zenith.
His brows lifted just slightly.
He didn't say anything…but Raylene saw the flicker of confusion immediately.
"Morning, Light," she said warmly. "Zenith's just tired today. I let him sleep in a bit."
Light blinked at her.
"…Dad?"
"Asleep," she repeated with a soft smile, lifting her index finger gently to her lips in a quiet shh.
Light didn't fully buy it—he knew Zenith's patterns better than most adults knew theirs—but after a tiny pause he nodded. Letting it slide. He padded into the kitchen quietly.
Raylene continued packing his lunch. When Light saw what she placed into his lunchbox—three perfectly shaped white onigiri, filled with sweet tamagoyaki, arranged neatly beside crisp apple slices—his expression brightened instantly.
"Onigiri?" he whispered, eyes wide.
Raylene laughed. "Of course. I know they're your favorite."
Light stood on his toes, watching her finish packing it with a little spark of excitement. He didn't squeal or bounce like other kids would—just smiled in that calm, glowing way he had, soft and unmistakably happy.
"Can you help me set the table?" she asked.
Light nodded and moved with quiet efficiency, placing plates, utensils, and cups gently where they belonged. His motion was neat and careful—much more coordinated than a six-year-old should be—but Raylene didn't mention it.
She just watched him with a soft fondness.
When everything was ready, she stepped back. "Thank you, Light."
Light gave a tiny nod.
Right then, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Zenith appeared in the doorway—hair tousled, shirt half-buttoned, eyes calmer than last night but still carrying that lingering softness. He looked… normal again. Or close to it.
He didn't say anything at first. Just walked quietly to Raylene.
He put one arm around her waist. Pulled her in gently.Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
A quiet, unapologetic thank you.
Raylene smiled against his skin, leaning into him. Her hand brushed his arm affectionately.
Light saw it.
He froze mid-step.A mild blush spread over his cheeks.
But since it didn't escalate into a full kissing session, he exhaled in relief and turned deliberately to the table, pretending to be very focused on aligning the spoons.
Zenith let Raylene go, brushing her fingers once before stepping to the counter.
"Morning," he murmured.
Raylene's smile warmed.Light's ears stayed slightly pink.
And the kitchen settled into a soft, domestic calm—as if last night's storm had never existed,but also as if its gentleness still lingered in the air.
---
Light tugged on his backpack straps and pulled on his shoes. Raylene kissed both his and Zenith's cheeks before they stepped out.
The morning air was crisp.Their apartment building sat only a few streets from the school, so they walked — they usually did. Light liked the fresh air, and Zenith… well, Zenith liked having time alone with him. Even if they said nothing at all.
Today, they didn't speak at first.
Their footsteps tapped lightly on the pavement, in-sync. Light's shorter steps pattered; Zenith's were slow, measured. Leaves stirred. Birds chirped. The world felt ordinary in a way that didn't quite match the golden undercurrent humming beneath it.
Light kept his eyes forward.But his thoughts were tangled.
Zenith had slept in.Zenith had seemed shaken.Zenith had kissed Raylene like he was saying goodbye.And the tension at dinner yesterday…
Light finally swallowed and looked up.
"Dad," he said softly, "are you okay?"
Zenith didn't answer immediately.He wasn't surprised — Light was far too intelligent for his age, far too perceptive to overlook anything. Zenith's mind ran the calculations in an instant:
Light already knew something was wrong
Light processed emotional inconsistencies quickly
Light didn't forget details the way normal kids did
Lying outright would only confuse him
Telling the truth would… hurt him
Zenith exhaled through his nose.
"I'm fine," he said, voice steady but gentle. "You don't have to worry."
Light's eyes lowered. He didn't fully believe that — Zenith could tell — but he didn't push for more.
They turned the corner. The schoolyard came into view.
Children scattered across the fenced-in area — some playing tag, some chasing leaves, a few standing awkwardly in little clusters with too-big backpacks.
Light's face brightened.His friend — Jun — waved wildly from across the yard.
Light's steps quickened.
"See you later, Dad!"
Zenith nodded. "Stay safe."
Light sprinted off, feet barely touching the ground, sliding into easy conversation with Jun as if nothing in the world had troubled him that morning.
Zenith didn't turn around immediately.
He never did.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowing just slightly as he scanned the schoolyard.
Not casually.Not like a normal parent.But like someone decoding a social battlefield.
Jun's posture — open, relaxed, genuinely friendly.Maya — enthusiastic, waving from the swings, likely one of the "safe" friends.Three other kids grouped together — their glances at Light were sharp, assessing, judgmental. One nudged another and whispered.
Zenith's jaw tightened.
He shifted his gaze—and that's when he saw the boy he had already been keeping an eye on, long before Light ever admitted that some of his classmates didn't like him.
A boy standing stiffly beside his father.Arms crossed.Eyes a little too sharp, too defensive, for a six-year-old.
Zenith hadn't needed Light's words yesterday to identify the source.He had noticed it weeks ago:the glances,the distance,the way Light's posture changed around certain children.All the data had been there.
Light's confession had only confirmed what Zenith already knew.
The parent looked almost identical — same stance, same frown lines, same quietly simmering frustration masked as concern.
Zenith observed:
Father's grip on the boy's shoulder: firm, controlling.
Tone of voice: low, corrective.
Boy's expression: defensive, anxious, projecting onto weaker children.
Likely source of bullying behavior: mimicry and externalized insecurity.
Future risk: moderate to high.
Probability of repeated conflict with Light: 78%.
He didn't need names.
He already understood everything.
The father looked over, briefly meeting Zenith's eyes.
Zenith held the stare — unreadable, neutral, but undeniably sharp.The man looked away first.
Light remained oblivious, laughing with Jun near the slide.
Finally, Zenith exhaled and turned away, hands sliding deeper into his pockets as he walked back toward home.
Calm on the outside.
But analyzing every variable the entire way.
---
Zenith walked home slowly, hands in his pockets, mind analyzing the schoolyard even as he moved away from it. His thoughts were sharp, methodical, recursive—yet underneath them, an unease hummed like static.
Behind him, a faint shimmer of golden light drifted across the air.Soft.Thin.Almost like dust catching the sun.
He didn't notice.
His mind was far too occupied.
---
Raylene opened the front door before he even reached it—almost like she'd been waiting. Her eyes scanned his face first, not searching for answers, just feeling something in him that was slightly off.
"Welcome back," she said softly.
Zenith stepped inside and kissed her cheek before she could ask anything. Her brows lifted slightly at the unexpected tenderness.
She didn't question him.But her expression—gentle, collected, perceptive—asked anyway:
Are you alright?
Zenith looked away just a fraction.
"…Everything's fine."
It wasn't a lie.But it wasn't the truth.
Raylene didn't ask.She didn't tilt her head, or narrow her eyes, or press gently the way she would have before yesterday.
She simply looked at him — really looked — and saw the softness behind his posture, the lingering fragility in the way he held himself. The memory of him crying into her chest was still warm on her skin.
And before she could say anything, Zenith stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
It wasn't rough, or sudden.It was quiet.Intentional.A little desperate.
He held her tighter than usual, and longer than usual — the kind of embrace that meant don't let go yet.
Raylene slid her arms around him immediately, without a second thought. Her hands moved up his back, fingers gentle, grounding. She tucked her face into his shoulder, letting him hold her however he needed.
She didn't ask what was wrong.She didn't ask what he was thinking.She didn't try to make him talk.
She just held him.
A soft exhale left Zenith's chest — a subtle release, but noticeable.
Only when he loosened his hold did she step back with him, her hands smoothing once down his arms, a silent reassurance that she was still there.
Zenith cleared his throat softly.Not to hide emotion — just to steady himself.
Raylene didn't comment.
She didn't need to.
"I'll… make some tea," he said.
Raylene blinked. "Now? It's still morning."
"I know," he murmured, already moving to the kitchen. "Would you like some?"
She smiled at his back. "Always."
He prepared the tea slowly—deliberately—hands steady, movements too precise. It wasn't about the tea. Not really. It was an excuse to stay close to her for a little longer, to occupy his hands, to keep from spiraling into thoughts he didn't want to examine too deeply.
Raylene settled onto the couch with her notebook, legs tucked beneath her, pen gliding softly across the page.
Zenith brought her tea, then sat down next to her, cupping his own mug in both hands as if absorbing warmth would help.
He watched her write.
Quietly.Observantly.Protectively.
He had seen her notebooks for years—stacked on shelves, scattered across her desk, tucked between couch cushions—but he had never actually read them.
Not really.
He didn't know what she wrote about.Fiction?Diary entries?Dreams?Plans?
Today… curiosity tugged at him.
His eyes drifted to the open page.
Just a few words.
Just enough to see a name.
Raxian.
Zenith blinked.
Raxian.
Where—Where had he heard that?
A flicker crossed his expression.Not pain.Not fear.But something like… a ghost of familiarity.
Raylene glanced at him, sensing the shift. "Zen?"
He looked away from the page. "Nothing. Just… thinking."
But the name lingered.
Raxian.
Why did it feel like a thread tugging at the edge of a memory he didn't have?
Zenith stood after a moment, gently touching her shoulder before leaving the couch.
Raylene watched him go, her pen pausing for a second.
---
Zenith settled behind his desk, the laptop screen reflecting softly in his eyes as he opened a clean document.His daily notes.
Something he wrote every day.Quietly.Methodically.Almost compulsively.
He typed:
"Light seemed well this morning.
Jun remains a positive influence.
Three children pose potential social threats — monitor interactions.
Bully's father displays negative reinforcement behavior.
Probability of conflict repeating: high. Observe tomorrow."
He paused.Then—hesitating—added a new section.
A section he had never written before.
"Notes: Self.
Slept in. Unusual.
Emotional response upon waking: heightened. Cried.
Reason: unknown.
Trigger: Raylene's presence? Her heartbeat?
Physical reaction to intimacy: fear response. Root cause unclear.
Memory of pregnancy: none. Should recall. Cannot recall.
Body reacts to unknown threat. Mind does not understand.
Hypothesis: somatic memory, dissociated from cognitive recall.
Conclusion: Further research required."
He stared at the last line for a long time.
Then—fingers moving almost automatically—he opened a browser tab and began researching symptoms, medical patterns, psychological frameworks, anything that could explain why he felt fear in situations that should bring comfort.
He read quietly, steadily.
The golden light from the hallway drifted closer to the bedroom door.
Zenith didn't notice.
He was too focused on understanding the one thing he had never thought he'd have to analyze:
himself.
Zenith stared at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen.
His breathing had steadied.His thoughts were sharp again — too sharp — but turned inward, circling something he couldn't name.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes drift shut—
A flash.
White.Burning.Soundless.
He inhaled sharply, eyes snapping halfway open—
A flash.
A hospital ceiling — or something like it — washed out in violent white.Shapes without edges.Voices without words.
Zenith's breath stuttered.
He pressed a hand against his chest.
Another flash.
Raylene.
Not fully.Just the curve of her face.Jaw clenched.Sweat on her skin.Her hands twisting the sheets she lay on.
Then—
The sound of pain.Her pain.Sharp.Raw.Wrong.
Zenith flinched hard in his chair.
His fingers dug into the desk.
Another flash.
Blood.Not detailed — just the color.Red blooming into white light.Swallowed instantly, like the world refused to let him see more.
Another.
Raylene's hand slipping out of his.Her eyes unfocused.Her chest stilling.
Zenith gasped—a choked, strangled sound—but when he blinked—
Everything was gone.
Only fragments remained, dissolving at the edges like burning paper.
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, heartbeat frantic, breath unsteady. His vision blurred at the corners; his palms dampened.
"What—"He swallowed hard."What was that?"
Another tremor passed through him.
He shut his eyes again, trying to catch the trailing edges of the flashes—
And from the hallway,something moved.
Soft.Slow.Warm.
Golden light.
It drifted in like a gentle tide, slipping beneath the bedroom door, curling around his ankles, rising in thin ribbons that shimmered softly in the dim air. Not bright. Not hostile.
Just warm.
Calming.
Zenith's breath slowed without him meaning it to.His shoulders lowered.His chest loosened.
The panic coating his ribs melted away like frost under sunlight.
He stared at the soft glow pooling on the floor, spreading over his shoes, brushing the leg of the desk — and yet he felt no alarm.
Only quiet.
Peace.
His breathing evened.His pulse steadied.The tightness in his throat eased.
The golden light pulsed once, faintly —as if reassuring him.
Then it receded.Slipping back into the hallway.Leaving behind only stillness.
Zenith sat there for a long moment, his hands trembling faintly on the surface of his desk.
He didn't know what he had just seen.He didn't know why it felt like remembering something that had never happened.He didn't know why the golden light calmed him the way nothing else could.
He only knew one thing:
His body remembered something his mind absolutely did not.
Just his quiet bedroom again.Just the hum of the laptop fan.Just sunlight leaking softly through the curtains, warm and harmless.
Zenith gasped.
A sharp breath in.A trembling breath out.
His hand flew to his chest before he realized it, gripping his shirt over his heart.
"What…"He swallowed hard."What was that?"
His pulse hammered.His palms were cold.His breathing too quick.
He opened his eyes.
No hospital.No blood.No Raylene dying.Just a phantom echo in his nerves — an image that made no sense, because it had never happened. Couldn't have happened.
He pressed his fingers to the corner of his eye and felt dampness.
He hadn't even realized he'd cried.
Zenith lowered his hand slowly.
"…False memory," he whispered to himself. "Has to be. Impossible to verify. Doesn't align with lived experience."
But something in his chest clenched —deep, instinctual, ancient —as if the body knew something the mind rejected.
He inhaled again, steadier this time.
He typed a single line under Notes: Self.
"Experienced intrusive false memory. Hospital setting. Raylene in pain. Emotional response severe. Origin unknown."
Then he sat back, exhaling shakily, eyes unfocused on the screen.
Behind him, the faintest shimmer of golden light drifted in the hallway —soft, slow, watching.
Zenith didn't notice.
He was still trying to understand why his heart felt like it had been broken by something that never happened.
---
Light sat at his desk, pencil in hand, quietly working through a math worksheet the teacher had just handed out. Numbers were easy. Predictable. Steady. He didn't even need to think; his hand moved on its own, neat and precise.
Jun sat beside him, swinging his legs, humming faintly as he worked.
Everything was normal.
Until it wasn't.
Light's body went still.
His pencil paused mid-stroke.
A strange, cold ripple passed through him — subtle but unmistakable, spreading from his chest outward. A twist of unease. A tug. A sense of… something shifting far away.
He didn't know what it was.Didn't know why he felt it.Didn't know where it came from.
But he felt it.
His breath caught.His fingers trembled just slightly.
Jun noticed instantly.
"Light?" he whispered, leaning closer. "You okay?"
Light didn't look at him.Didn't answer.He just stared down at the paper, the numbers blurring at the edges.
Jun frowned. "Light…?"
Across the room, a chair scraped harshly.
The bully — the same boy Zenith had analyzed that morning — twisted in his seat, staring at Light with that too-sharp, too-curious expression.
"What's wrong with you?" the boy sneered loudly enough for the kids nearby to hear. "Why are you acting weird?"
Light blinked once.Slow.Uncertain.
He didn't respond.
He didn't know how to.
"Oh, come on," the bully pushed, leaning forward. "What are you hiding?"
Light's chest tightened.
He lowered his gaze.
Before the boy could say anything else—
"Hey!" Maya snapped from across the aisle.
She slammed her pencil onto her desk with a force that made Jun jump.
"Leave him alone," she said, eyes blazing in that fierce, unfiltered way only truly good kids had. "He didn't do anything to you."
The bully rolled his eyes. "I didn't say he did. I just said he's being weird."
"Then mind your own business," Maya shot back.
Jun nodded vigorously in agreement. "Yeah! Light's allowed to be quiet."
A few more kids turned in their seats, watching.Some whispering.Some annoyed.Some confused.
Light swallowed, staring down at his worksheet, the faint pressure in his chest still there — but softer now.
He didn't say a word.
Jun leaned in again, gentler this time. "If you're not feeling good… you can tell the teacher. Or me."
Light managed to whisper, barely audible:
"I'm fine."
Jun didn't believe him.Maya didn't either.But they didn't push.
The bully huffed and turned back around, muttering under his breath.
The classroom noise resumed, kids returning to their worksheets —
But Light's hand shook once more before he steadied it.
---
Whatever Zenith had felt,whatever the golden light had calmed,whatever memory had flickered through the world…
Light felt it too.
Even if he didn't understand it.