Morning approached slowly, like it didn't want to disturb them.
Raylene's eyes opened first. Not because she wanted to wake, but because her body nudged her gently upward, like a whisper from inside. The room glowed in soft gold, curtains breathing with the faint movement of dawn.
Zenith slept beside her — calm, one arm under the pillow, the other loosely around her waist. He always held her that way in sleep. Not tight. Not claiming. Just… knowing she was there. Like instinct more than touch.
Raylene blinked up at him for a moment. His face looked different in rest — younger, unguarded, like he had melted into the safety of this life without realizing.
A life neither of them fully understood yet.
Her stomach fluttered — the now-familiar mix of nausea and disbelief. It still didn't feel real. The softness under her palm. The idea that there was life inside her. That she wasn't alone in her body anymore.
She eased out from under Zenith's arm, slow and careful. Bare feet touched the cool floor. Her nightdress — pale, soft, loose — brushed her knees as she stood.
Water. Just water.
Something normal.
She padded quietly into the kitchen, fingers trailing the wall for balance. The house was still, peaceful. Too peaceful for a heart that couldn't decide if it was excited or terrified.
Raylene filled a glass. Brought it to her lips.
The room tilted.
A sudden rush, like her body forgot gravity. Her breath hitched, knees loosening. The glass slipped. Time stretched—
A hand caught her wrist. Another steadied her waist. Warmth behind her. Solid.
She hadn't heard him rise. He was just there, like breath after a long underwater moment.
The glass hit the floor. Water spread across tile in a soft hiss.
Zenith's voice was low, sleep-roughened but steady.
"Easy."
He guided her gently to the kitchen chair, not letting go until she was seated. Then he lowered himself to a crouch, eye-level with her — one hand lightly on her knee, the other hovering near her face as if checking without crowding.
Raylene tried to speak. Her voice was small.
"I just… stood too fast. I'm fine."
Zenith didn't answer immediately. He scanned her face — pupils, color, breath — with the quiet precision of someone who once operated in a world where mistakes cost lives.
"You don't need a reason," he murmured, voice calm and sincere. "You don't need to justify being taken care of."
Her throat tightened. That old instinct — to be self-sufficient, to not burden — curled in her chest. She looked away.
"It's silly," she whispered.
His hand brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. A gesture so careful it felt reverent.
"Not silly."
She swallowed. The kitchen light caught the faint tremble in her fingers. Not fear — not exactly. More like the fragile weight of change settling into her bones.
Zenith rested one hand over hers. Protective. Grounding.
"You're safe," he said softly. "With me. And with this."
Her other hand drifted unconsciously toward her abdomen. She didn't touch — not fully. Just hovered there, unsure, overwhelmed by how real it all truly was.
Zenith noticed. His gaze softened even more — an almost invisible shift, but warm like sunlight finding skin.
"You don't have to be ready," he added. "Just present."
Raylene breathed slowly. His steadiness wrapped around her like a blanket she hadn't known she needed. She met his eyes — quiet, deep, filled with patience.
"…I'm scared," she admitted.
"I know."
Not dismissing it. Not fixing it. Just holding it.
Her shoulders eased, a long exhale leaving her.
Zenith squeezed her hand — gentle, certain.
"You're not fragile," he murmured. "You're precious. That's different."
Something in her unraveled — the guardedness, the disbelief — just a little.
The world felt less sharp.
She nodded once, small and soft.
Zenith rose, picked up the broken glass carefully, and wiped the water with a towel — movements precise, habitual. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he passed.
"Sit. I'll get you fresh water. Then we rest again."
Raylene watched him in silence. No grand declarations. No dramatic promises.
Just presence.
Just care.
Just a life that held her gently.
And for the first time since the test turned positive, the future didn't feel terrifying.
It felt possible.