The nausea woke her like a wave rising out of darkness — sudden, heavy, urgent.One moment she was dreaming; the next she was kneeling over the bathroom sink, breath shaking.
Zenith arrived almost instantly — barefoot, hair mussed from sleep, eyes sharp and alert in the dim hallway light.He didn't speak.Just held her hair back, hand warm on the back of her neck, steadying her like a lighthouse holds ocean.
She trembled.He whispered only once, low:
"Breathe."
And she did — barely.
It wasn't once.Not twice.It came again. And again.
She leaned against the tile when it finally slowed, exhausted, cheek against cold porcelain.
Zenith wiped her mouth gently with a damp cloth — movements delicate, reverent.Not afraid of the mess.Afraid of her pain.
"It's… just morning sickness," she tried to say, voice thin.
"It's night," he murmured.
That almost made her laugh.Almost.
---
It didn't stop the next day.Or the next.
---
Zenith tried patience first — tea, blankets, cool towels, steady touch.He tried logic next — reading, researching, cross-checking symptoms like data points.
Then he tried simply being there — sitting beside the couch while she slept, thumb brushing circles on her wrist when she stirred.
---
By the third day, something in him tightened — not panic, but precision sharpened by love.
"We're seeing someone," he said softly.
She was too tired to argue long.And truthfully — part of her was scared too.
---
Morning was pale.Raylene pulled on soft clothes with shaking hands, every movement feeling twice as heavy as it should.
Zenith reached for the car keys automatically.
"No," she whispered. "Let's… walk."
He stared, calculating.His hand closed around the keys once more — then slowly loosened.
"If we walk," he said, "I stay beside you."
She almost joked, you always do,but her breath was too fragile for teasing.
---
So they walked.His hand hovered near the small of her back at first — not touching, just ready.When her steps faltered, he didn't ask. He let her lean, arm around her with a firmness that was careful, not controlling.
Their breaths synced without effort.
Together.Always together.
---
Waiting rooms always felt suspended in time — quiet, sterile, too still.Raylene kept her hands clasped.Zenith sat upright beside her, knees touching hers, gaze fixed ahead like he was guarding her from the air itself.
When her breath hitched, he placed his hand over hers — no words, just warmth.
They were called in eventually.Questions.Checks.Soft lights.Slow minutes.
Then the doctor paused, brows drawing together.Not alarm — puzzlement.Like he had encountered something that didn't fit any known shape.
His voice was gentle, careful:
"The development is… unusual. Not concerning yet. But unusual."
Raylene's heartbeat stumbled.
Zenith's hand tightened on the arm of the chair — just once — then relaxed, controlled again.
The doctor offered a small smile meant to soothe.
"It might simply be early irregular growth. We'll monitor weekly. No reason to panic."
No reason to panic.The phrase always meant someone didn't understand what they were seeing.
Raylene stared down at her hands.They didn't look different.She didn't feel different — except tired, frightened in a way she couldn't name.
Zenith thanked the doctor with a polite calmness she wished she had.
---
Cold air met them.Raylene stopped in front of the clinic doors, staring down at the pavement.The world felt normal — cars, morning light, footsteps on concrete — but her body felt like it held a secret.
Zenith stood beside her.Silent.Breathing slowly like he was anchoring gravity itself.
When she didn't speak, he turned, hand brushing her elbow — gentle, asking if she could stand, if she could breathe.
"I don't…" she whispered.Her voice faltered."I don't understand what's happening."
Zenith looked at her.Really looked.Not at her symptoms, not at data — at her fear.
He shook his head once, firm, steady.
"We do it together," he said quietly.
Her breath trembled.
"What if it's something wrong?"
He didn't answer immediately.The city moved around them — cars, voices, wind — like another world happening a step away.
He reached up, cupped her cheek — thumb gentle, eyes steady in a way that felt older than either of them knew.
"If it's different," he said, "we learn it. If it's hard, we face it. If you're scared, you lean."
His forehead lowered to hers.Warm.Certain.
"And if it's ours," he whispered, "we protect it."
She closed her eyes.Not because she was calm—but because she trusted him more than calmness.
The wind brushed her hair. Zenith pressed a soft kiss to her temple. It felt like a vow neither of them could name yet.
---
A child. A mystery. A life that didn't match any book.
And two people who didn't know why—but chose each other anyway.