The bathroom was warm, steam from the shower still clinging to the glass. Soft yellow light; the kind that made the world feel hushed, safe, small in the best way.
Raylene stood at the sink in her loose sleep shirt, brushing her teeth slowly, hair falling over one shoulder. Zenith stood beside her, mirroring her movements with an almost comically serious expression, as if dental care were a tactical procedure.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
She tried not to smile around toothpaste. She failed.Zenith noticed, paused mid-brush, and tilted his head like he was analyzing something delicate, something he didn't fully understand but wanted to.
Her smile softened.His mouth twitched — the ghost of a real one.
They rinsed. Spat.Silence wasn't empty — it was home.
Raylene set her toothbrush down, hands resting lightly on the counter… then without thinking, one hand drifted to her lower stomach.
Not showing.Not changing yet.Just… existing differently now.
Zenith noticed. His reflection paused. Then his hand lifted — hesitant, asking without words — before resting lightly over hers. Warm. Firm. Protective.
Raylene blinked, surprised.
"…There's nothing there yet," she whispered, half–embarrassed, half–defensive. "It's too early."
Zenith didn't look at her belly — he watched her face in the mirror.
"There is the beginning of life," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched.
He wasn't talking about biology.He meant hope. A future. A choice they made together.
She swallowed."I still feel like… like I'm pretending to know what I'm doing."
"You are," he replied. Calm. Steady. "So am I."
She turned to him, brow soft, eyes depth-fear and wonder mixed.
"You're scared too?"
"Yes," Zenith answered, without shame or hesitation. "But not of the child."
She blinked."Then what?"
He brushed a stray hair from her cheek — careful, reverent — as if touching something sacred.
"Of failing you," he murmured.
Her chest ached — fragile, full, overwhelmed. She shook her head, tiny, gentle.
"You won't."
His gaze didn't move from hers.
"We won't."
A correction.A vow.A together, not a me.
Raylene breathed, finally — a soft shaky inhale she didn't realize she'd been holding. The bathroom air felt warmer, thicker, safer.
Zenith lowered his hand from her cheek, trailing down. He hesitated — one last chance for her to pull away — she didn't.
He pressed his lips to her temple.
Not dramatic.Not hungry.Just a promise pressed into skin.
A vow without ceremony.
She closed her eyes.
"Together," she whispered.
His forehead rested gently against hers in answer.Breath shared.The quietest universe in the world.
A place the story still couldn't touch.
---
The apartment had gone hushed in the way only night can hush a space —sound cradled, not silenced.
Raylene moved slower now, sleep-soft and peaceful in a way that wasn't tiredness but release.Zenith followed her out of the bathroom, the soft pad of his feet on the wood floor quieter than the hum of the heater.
No words.There didn't need to be any.
She walked to the window and pulled the curtain gently aside. The city breathed quietly outside — gold streetlamps, blurred headlights, little constellations in human glass and steel.
Zenith returned from the kitchen with two mugs — steam fading already. He set them down on the windowsill without expectation she'd drink. Tea, here, wasn't for drinking.
It was a ritual.
A grounding place-holder for peace.
Raylene curled up on the bench cushion, knees tucked beneath her nightdress, hands wrapped loosely around her mug like she wanted warmth but didn't need it. Her eyes traced patterns in the world below, unfocused and soft.
Zenith sat beside her, close enough their shoulders brushed, not enough to crowd.Not claiming — sharing.
Raylene leaned into him with the smallest shift, like gravity found him again.
He let her settle.Then he rested his chin lightly atop her head, breath slow, grounding, protective in a way that didn't hover — just held.
Her voice came quietly, carried by the hush of evening.
"Do you ever think…"She swallowed — not fear, but wonder."…that this isn't real? That it's too gentle to be?"
Zenith's gaze stayed on the window, but his hand came up, covering hers over the mug.
His thumb traced her knuckles in slow circles — the kind meant to steady storms, not weather them.
"If it isn't real," he said softly, "then we choose it anyway."
Raylene exhaled — a warm, trembling sound that wasn't sadness.Just fullness.
"You and your certainty," she whispered.
"No."A pause."Just you."
Her head tilted slightly, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt, seeking the calm beneath his heartbeat.
Outside, a car passed — red tail lights smearing like watercolor in the rain-glossed street.Inside, her tea cooled untouched, his hand never leaving hers.
A quiet eternity folded itself around them.
No plot.No destiny.No past lives pressing at the edges.
Just breath and touch and the soft hum of a world watched from a safe distance.
"This life is small," Raylene murmured — and there was awe in it, not apology.
Zenith lowered his head, lips brushing her hair in a touch so light it felt like a promise whispered more than done.
"It's enough," he said.
She smiled into his chest, eyes closing as the city glittered beyond the glass.
---
And the story — the other one, the one with teeth —still couldn't reach them here.