The apartment is quiet when it begins.
Not unnaturally quiet — just the kind of hush that settles when sunlight drifts across old wooden floors, when the windows breathe in warmth, when the world outside decides to leave them alone for a moment.
Raylene sits curled on the couch, one hand resting absently on the gentle swell of her stomach. The bump is small, neat — the kind of pregnancy people don't notice until she shifts in a certain angle.She likes that.She likes the illusion of normalcy.
She doesn't know why she needs the illusion.
She doesn't know why sometimes the silence feels… too deep.Like it remembers something she doesn't.
But she pushes the thought away.
Zenith is out getting something from the store. Just a few items. He won't be long. He's never long. He hates leaving her alone for too long, though he never says it out loud.
The apartment is warm. Safe. Still.
And then —it happens.
A flutter.
Soft.Unexpected.So delicate she almost thinks she imagined it.
Raylene's breath catches in her throat.
She presses her hand more firmly to her stomach.
There it is again — a tiny blooming under her skin, a ripple of movement that steals the strength from her lungs. Wonder spills through her gradually, as if her heart is catching up to her body.
Her eyes sting.Her lips part.Her chest tightens in something between awe and fear.
Because it's real now.
It's real.
She swallows hard, unable to speak, unable to move — just absorbing it, letting the moment claim her.
The door opens.
A quiet click.Footsteps.A rustle of paper bags.
Zenith calls out softly, "Ray?"
He sounds relaxed at first.
Then he sees her expression.
The bags are on the floor before she can blink.
He's at her side in moments — kneeling, breath uneven, eyes wide and sharply focused.
"Raylene," he murmurs, voice low, careful, like she's made of glass. "What happened? Are you in pain? Did something—"
She shakes her head quickly.
And for a long second, she can't form the words.
He freezes, poised between fear and restraint.
Then she whispers, barely audible—
"Zenith… he moved."
Everything in him changes.
His shoulders drop just slightly.His breath releases like he'd been holding it for weeks.But his eyes — his eyes sharpen with a focus so intense it borders on reverence and terror all at once.
He hesitates.
He's so careful with her now.Always so careful.
"May I?" he asks quietly.
Raylene nods.
Slowly — almost ceremonially — he places his hand over hers. His fingers tremble, just once, before he steadies them. He lowers his head, as if listening through her skin.
And then—
A small kick.
Barely there.
But he feels it.
Zenith inhales sharply, eyes closing as something soft and luminous breaks through his expression. His lips part in disbelief — not the dramatic kind, but the raw, human kind. Like reality shifted under his hand.
"...He's real," he whispers.
Raylene presses her other hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.
Zenith looks up at her — and she meets his gaze.
In that moment, they're both undone.
---
Neither knows they weren't supposed to exist.Neither remembers the worlds before.Neither questions why he says he even though they never discussed a name, never saw a scan, never confirmed anything.
---
But in the golden light of their living room, with Zenith's hand over hers and the tiny impossible life moving beneath their palms—
They don't need the answers yet.
Only this.
Only him.Only her.Only the small flutter that makes their world feel suddenly infinite.