It was a quiet, sun-warmed afternoon in the apartment.
Zenith and Light sat together on the couch, the late golden light slipping across the cushions and the coffee table. The TV played softly—one of the shows Light had chosen. A live-action detective mystery. The kind of thing most six-year-olds wouldn't even look twice at, but Light watched it with the same calm he wore everywhere, legs folded neatly, eyes steady.
Zenith didn't question the choice. The moment the plot started rolling he was already analyzing it—tracking motives, predicting reveals, mentally sketching out the killer's psychological profile. Half of his attention was in the room. The other half was dismantling the entire narrative structure of the show without effort.
Light didn't react to the chase scene.Or the interrogation scene.Or the stabbing.
Just watched. Quiet as always.
But then the officer on screen found the mother character—lifeless, her son crying beside her.
Light let out a breath.
Barely anything. A soft, weighted sigh.
Zenith's head turned immediately, pulled from his train of thought. Light wasn't crying. Wasn't shocked. But something in the boy's eyes had shifted—just enough to make Zenith study him, brow lowered, curiosity sharpening into concern.
Light didn't look back at him.He just stared at the screen, jaw tight, like the scene had brushed against a part of him he didn't know how to name.
The front door unlocked.
Raylene stepped inside with two bags of groceries hooked over her arms. She nudged the door shut with her hip, kicked her shoes off, and set the bags down by the kitchen counter.
When she walked into the living room, Zenith glanced at her but didn't move. Light kept his eyes on the TV.
But Raylene's eyes flicked from the screen… to Light… to Zenith.
Her brow creased instantly.
"Zenith," she said, the warning already in her voice, "he's six. He shouldn't be watching this."
Zenith blinked at her, genuinely not understanding. "It's just a detective show."
Raylene stared at him like he'd said something outrageous. Then she looked back at Light—saw the small, quiet grief on his face that neither of them fully understood.
She stepped forward, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV off with a firm click.
Light didn't complain. He just sat there, hands folded in his lap, gaze lowered now that the screen was blank.
Zenith watched him again.Raylene watched them both.
The room fell silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the gentle glow of the afternoon light, stretching across all three of them like it was trying to keep them together.
Raylene set the remote down on the coffee table, exhaling slowly before lowering herself to her knees in front of Light. She brushed a strand of hair from his face, tilting her head to meet his eyes.
"Light," she said gently, "what upset you?"
Light blinked once.Looked at her.Then looked away.
"I don't know," he murmured. And he didn't. The feeling had come and gone like a faint shadow across his mind—too soft to grasp, too heavy to ignore.
Raylene searched his expression for a moment longer… but Light's attention was already drifting.
His eyes caught on the grocery bags sitting in the hallway, one of them slightly open.
And something white peeked out.
Light slid off the couch in a heartbeat, bare feet tapping against the floor as he hurried across the room. Raylene blinked at the sudden shift, standing up as he reached the bags. He peered inside, hands gripping the paper edges.
And then—
His whole face lit up. A glow that had nothing to do with the sunlight.
"Cloud mochi!"
Raylene's concern evaporated instantly. The worry in her shoulders softened, replaced by that subtle fondness she carried so easily around him. She walked over and placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair as he held the package like a rare treasure.
"Well," she smiled, "we'd better get it into the fridge before it melts, mister."
Light nodded vigorously and offered the box up to her with both hands, already bouncing on his heels in anticipation.
Zenith watched from the couch—expression unreadable, but eyes following every movement.The detective show was long forgotten.But something else lingered in the air, softer than a memory, heavier than a coincidence.
Raylene carried the mochi to the kitchen.Light followed close behind, still glowing with excitement.
And Zenith finally stood, his gaze lingering on the now-dark TV screen before he turned toward them.
Quiet afternoon, quiet family.Everything normal.
---
Almost.
---
Raylene tucked the cloud mochi into the fridge, closing the door with a soft click. Light hovered beside her, hands clasped in front of him, eyes fixed hopefully on the place where the box had just disappeared.
"After dinner," Raylene reminded gently.
Light's face fell instantly.
"Mom…" he whispered, voice small but weighed.
"You know the rules," she said with a sigh she already regretted. "Sweet things come after real food."
Light's mouth tightened. A tiny pout formed—a real one, not the quiet, uncanny stillness he usually carried. And before Raylene could reach out to him, he turned and marched toward the hallway.
Light shut his bedroom door with more force than necessary.
Raylene stood there for a second, rubbing her temples. "He is never like that."
Zenith finally stepped into the kitchen, leaning one shoulder against the doorway. "He's allowed to be upset," he said simply.
She shot him a tired glance. "I know. It's just… new."
Zenith pushed off the doorframe and joined her by the counter. He opened one of the grocery bags, glancing inside. "What are we making?"
"I bought everything for chicken katsu curry," she said. "Thought it'd be comforting."
Zenith nodded. "Comforting is good."
They moved around each other seamlessly, the way people do when they've spent years learning one another's rhythms. Raylene washed the vegetables while Zenith sliced the chicken with precise, almost surgical motions. Flour, egg, panko—lined up perfectly under his hands.
Their shoulders brushed as they moved around the kitchen—small, casual, nothing that would normally cause a reaction in either of them. Raylene smiled faintly as she reached past him for the cutting board.
Zenith's hand shifted automatically to make room for her.
---
A normal moment.Comfortably familiar.
---
Raylene started chopping the vegetables again, and without thinking, Zenith stepped behind her. His arms slipped around her waist, his chin resting lightly near her shoulder. It wasn't unusual—Zenith often held her while she cooked, when Light wasn't in the room. His touch was warm, steady, grounding.
Raylene leaned back into him, humming quietly."Mm. You're clingy today."
"Maybe." His voice was low against her ear.
She turned in his arms, fingers drifting up the back of his neck as she faced him fully. Zenith didn't pull away. In fact, he stepped closer, hands sliding to her hips with an ease that made Raylene's breath hitch.
She kissed him softly.
He kissed back.
One kiss became another. Her hands moved up, sliding over the fabric of his shirt, gripping the material near his chest as she pulled him in—
And Zenith stopped.
Just a flicker.Barely noticeable.
But Raylene felt it.
His body tensed under her palms, breath catching—not in passion, but in something hollower, colder. His eyes lowered, focus slipping as though something invisible had brushed against him.
Raylene's hands froze on his shirt."…Zen?"
He didn't step back. But he also didn't lean in again.
For a moment he simply stood there, hands still on her hips, caught between intimacy and something deeper tugging him away. His gaze drifted downward—not at her lips, but at her hands on his chest.
As if something about that touch—her grip right there—echoed a memory he didn't have.
A memory his body still feared.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, too quickly. "Just—"
He shook his head. Whatever thought tried to surface drowned before it reached him.
Raylene loosened her hands, cupping his face instead. "Hey… it's okay." Her voice was soft, steady. "You don't have to explain anything."
Zenith blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes—the kind that came when his reactions didn't match the reality around him.
He let his hands fall from her hips, not abruptly, but with a carefulness that felt almost apologetic.
Raylene brushed her thumb across his cheek. Then, without pushing him further, she turned back to the stove, resuming the cooking with a gentle calm.
Zenith stood behind her for a moment, staring at his own hands like they belonged to someone whose life he didn't remember living.
He exhaled slowly.
The kind of breath that didn't come from fatigue.But from something deeper—older—and unnamed.
He stepped beside her again, quietly chopping, pretending nothing had happened.
Raylene didn't mention it.But she felt it.
He did too.
He picked up the knife again and continued cutting, movements methodical and controlled.
Raylene watched him out of the corner of her eye.
"Dinner will be good," she murmured.
Zenith nodded. "Yeah."
---
But his voice carried something hollow.Something the story hadn't revealed yet.Something he felt long before he ever understoodit.
---
Light reappeared just as Raylene set the plates down.
He slipped into the kitchen with a small, controlled smile—calm again, collected, as if the little storm over the mochi had never happened. Raylene recognized the shift immediately. Light rarely held onto emotions long. Whatever sadness the show had stirred in him, whatever frustration had sent him to his room… it was gone. Or tucked away somewhere unreachable.
"Dinner's ready," she said gently.
Light nodded and climbed into his seat. He murmured a soft "thank you," then picked up his spoon, blowing on the curry before taking a bite.
Raylene sat across from him. Zenith sat beside Light.
For a moment, everything felt smooth again. Normal.
Until Light looked up—just for a second—and saw something in the way Zenith and Raylene held themselves. A quiet stiffness, a fragile line between them he hadn't noticed before he left for his room.
He didn't know what it was, couldn't name it.But children—especially children like him—feel things.
His spoon paused midway to his mouth.
Raylene noticed immediately.
"Light," she said, leaning forward with that gentle warmth she always used with him, "how was school today?"
Zenith glanced at her, then at Light. He said nothing. His expression didn't change, but the edges of his silence were sharp—he never saw the point in small talk that pretended normalcy where there was none.
Light swallowed his bite.
"It was fine," he said quietly.
Raylene smiled. "Learn anything new?"
Zenith almost snorted.Light's eyes flicked to him briefly.
"…Not really," Light admitted softly. "I already knew most of it."
Raylene's smile dimmed just slightly. The same way it always did when she was trying to balance pride with worry. "And… how are your classmates?"
Light stirred his curry a bit too thoughtfully.
Zenith noticed that.
Raylene did too.
Light finally whispered, "Some kids… don't really like me."
Raylene's breath caught. Zenith's cutlery stilled.
But Light continued, voice calm—too calm for his age.
"They say I'm weird."A small shrug."Or they stare. Or walk away."
Raylene's heart squeezed. "Light…"
"But some are nice," Light added, as if trying to lighten her mood instead. "I play tag with Maya and Jun. They're fun. They don't ask questions."
Zenith watched him carefully, his analytical mind weaving through Light's words.
"That's what matters," Zenith said quietly, without looking away. "Real friends aren't confused by differences."
Light gave a tiny smile. "Yeah."
But the silence after that wasn't comfortable.Not for Raylene. Not for Zenith.And Light sensed it.
He put his spoon down gently, eyes flicking between his parents—the warmth lingering between them, but threaded with something he didn't understand. Something fragile.
Zenith picked up his napkin, forcing his shoulders to relax.
Raylene reached across the table and brushed Light's cheek with her thumb.
"You know we're here if anyone upsets you, right?"
Light nodded.
He believed her.But the feeling in his chest—the one from the detective show earlier—drifted back for a moment like a quiet echo.
He didn't know why.He didn't dwell on it.
He just took another bite, small and steady, as the room hummed softly around them, full of golden light and unspoken things.
---
Raylene stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, washing the dishes with soft clinks and the steady rush of warm water. She hummed absentmindedly—an attempt to keep the atmosphere light after the strange tension earlier.
Zenith and Light moved into the living room.
Zenith grabbed the remote, scrolling until he found something brightly colored, harmless, and mind-numbing. A kiddie cartoon with bouncing shapes and a theme song composed entirely of high-pitched enthusiasm.
Neither of them liked it.Zenith least of all.Light stared at the TV like he was being punished.
But it kept Raylene at ease, and that was enough.
They sat together in silence—a forced, artificial silence that didn't really belong to either of them.
The cartoon chattered brightly.
Then Light spoke.
"Dad?" His voice was soft, nearly lost under the obnoxious music. "Can I ask something?"
Zenith didn't look away from the screen at first. "Mm-hm."
Light shifted. His feet dangled off the couch, heels tapping lightly against the fabric.
"…Was Mom's pregnancy easy?"
Zenith's hand froze mid-motion, thumb stilling against the remote.
He blinked.
Slowly turned to look at his son.
The cartoon noises continued—loud, cheerful, painfully repetitive—filling the space between a question Zenith had never expected to hear.
"Why do you ask?" he said, voice quieter than before.
Light kept his eyes on the screen. "I don't know. I just wondered."
Zenith waited—for context, for a childish explanation, for anything. But Light didn't offer more. His face remained calm, peaceful, as if he didn't understand the weight of the question he'd just asked.
Zenith leaned back slowly.
But when he searched his mind…there was nothing.
No memory of Raylene pregnant.No hospital.No delivery room.No fear.No joy.
Just a blank space where six years of history should have been.
It made his chest tighten.
The cartoon babbled on.
Zenith opened his mouth—but a soft, shimmering glow brushed across the living room floor.
Golden light.
Subtle at first, like the late sunset reflecting off glass… then thicker, warmer, like honey in the air. It wasn't bright enough to alarm—but just enough to stop something.
Zenith felt it.Light felt it.
Time… paused.Not frozen.Just suspended.Held gently between two breaths.
The question hovered in the air with them.
Light stared at the glow swirling faintly around Zenith's arm. His pupils widened. "Dad…?"
And then—
The light receded.
Slowly.Softly.As if satisfied.
Zenith blinked hard, disoriented for half a second.
Light blinked too.
The TV resumed its obnoxious cheerfulness like nothing had happened.
Zenith inhaled sharply through his nose, then exhaled.
He placed a hand on Light's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Don't mention this to her," he said.
Light nodded, quiet understanding passing between them—the kind that didn't belong to a six-year-old,and yet fit him perfectly.
The golden residue in the air faded.
Raylene dried a plate in the kitchen, oblivious, humming softly.
And father and son sat there on the couch, the cartoon flashing colors across their faces, both pretending nothing unusual had happened at all.
---
"Light! Time to brush your teeth!"Raylene's voice echoed from the bathroom.
Light's head snapped up like a fox hearing its favorite sound. He hopped off the couch instantly and sprinted down the hallway, feet pattering against the wooden floor, hair bouncing behind him.
Zenith followed at a slower pace.
By the time he stepped into the bathroom, Light was already lined up beside Raylene at the sink—tiny toothbrush in hand, tiptoeing just enough to see himself properly in the mirror. Raylene smiled when Zenith appeared.
"Great, all three of us," she said.
Zenith didn't understand why brushing teeth together mattered, but he stepped between them anyway, picking up his toothbrush. It felt… domestic. Ritualistic. Something Raylene treasured and Light lived for.
They brushed.Three sets of motions in sync.Foam. Rinsing. Spitting. Rinsing again.
Raylene wiped her mouth with a towel and leaned over to Zenith, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek.
Light froze.
His small face went pink, eyes widening in secondhand embarrassment.
Zenith's breath hitched just slightly—he still wasn't used to affection in front of Light—but Raylene was right there, warm and soft and smiling at him.
So he turned toward her, hand sliding around her waist, and kissed her properly. Not quickly. Not shyly. A full, gentle, slow kiss.
Light made a strangled sound.
"I'm— going— to my room—" he blurted, squeezing past them and fleeing the bathroom as if their affection physically burned him.
Raylene pulled back from Zenith, laughing under her breath, but then something flickered across her face.
Confusion.Curiosity.A hint of that worry she hadn't shaken off since dinner.
"What's gotten into you?" she whispered, searching his eyes. "Earlier today in the kitchen you seemed so— distant. And now you're…"
She gestured vaguely between them.
Zenith blinked at her, brow creasing as though the question didn't match any internal experience he was having.
"I'm just kissing my wife," he said simply.
His hands remained at her waist, steady and warm, as if nothing had been wrong at all.
Raylene studied him a few seconds longer.
He looked calm.Solid.Completely sincere.
But something in the way he said it—too straightforward, too composed—felt like he wasn't aware of the contradiction. As if the part of him that had tensed in the kitchen belonged to a different life entirely.
She pressed her forehead gently to his."Okay," she murmured.
He kissed the tip of her nose—the smallest, softest gesture—and then let her go.
---
They turned off the bathroom lights together and padded down the hallway. Light's door was just barely cracked open. Raylene peeked inside—just enough to see him pulling on his pajamas, cheeks still pink.
Zenith exhaled, shoulders easing as they headed toward their own room.
Another normal night.Almost.
---
Raylene closed the door behind them, the soft click echoing faintly in the dim room. The glow from the hallway faded, leaving only the warm bedside lamp painting everything gold.
Zenith pulled off his shirt, folding it automatically. Raylene watched him with a small crease in her brow—a mixture of affection and quiet worry.
"Zen," she said softly.
He glanced up.
She stepped closer. Wrapped her arms around his bare torso, cheek pressed lightly against his chest. "Are we okay?"
His hand hesitated in midair before settling at the small of her back.
"Yes," he murmured.But the answer felt too simple. Too clean.
Raylene leaned back enough to look into his eyes, searching.
"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"
Zenith held her gaze—dark eyes softening just a little. "You don't have to worry about me."
"That's not how marriage works," she whispered, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "I want to know what you're feeling."
He swallowed—slowly—but then his expression softened further, like her concern touched something tender in him. He cupped her jaw gently.
"I'm here," he said. "I promise."
Raylene exhaled, relieved, and she lifted up on her toes to kiss him. It was slow, warm. He kissed her back instantly, pulling her in fully. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.
One kiss became two.Two became more.
Zenith slid his arms around her waist and lifted her slightly, carrying her to the bed with fluid ease. They fell into the blankets together, bodies close, until only their underwear were left between them.
Raylene laughed softly against his mouth, fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him down for another kiss—
And Zenith froze.
Not gently.Not subtly.His body locked—muscles tightening, breath halting right beneath her touch.
Raylene pulled away instantly, sitting up. Her hand rested on his chest, over the rapid beat beneath it.
"Zenith," she whispered, eyes wide, "what's wrong?"
He stared up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, breath uneven. His hands—still resting on her hips—felt like they didn't know whether to hold on or let go.
"I—" He swallowed. His voice came out thin. "I don't know."
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Talk to me."
Zenith's eyes flicked to hers, filled with an unplaceable fear. Not panic—just something deeper. Something instinctual. Something older than memory.
"Every time we get this close…" he whispered, voice cracking at its edges, "something in me… stops."
Raylene stilled.
Zenith breathed out shakily.
"It's like—" He pressed a hand to his sternum, confusion shadowing his face. "My chest just… closes. Like I'm afraid of something but I don't know what."
Raylene's heart broke a little. She touched his cheek again—slowly, gently. "Zen… nothing's wrong. You're safe. I'm safe. You're not going to hurt me."
He shut his eyes for a moment, jaw flexing.
"I know," he said quietly. "But my body doesn't."
Raylene's throat tightened.
She reached for him carefully, guiding him up into a seated position so she could rest her forehead against his. Her hands framed his face, thumbs stroking the warmth of his skin.
"It's okay," she whispered. "We don't have to do anything. We're fine. You're fine."
Zenith's breath trembled against her. Not out of shame—out of frustration. Out of fear he didn't understand.
She kissed the corner of his mouth.He leaned into it, but didn't deepen it.
They stayed there, intertwined but motionless, wrapped in softness and tension—two people loving each other through wounds only one of them felt.
Raylene pulled him against her, letting him rest his forehead on her shoulder.
Zenith exhaled.Long.Shaky.Unexplainable.
Something in his body remembered a night he couldn't recall.Something in him feared losing her in a way his mind had never witnessed.
Raylene held him tighter.
They stayed like that until the shaking faded.
Raylene eased them both down onto the bed, guiding Zenith until he was lying beside her. She kept her arms around him, one hand stroking gently through his hair, the other resting over his heart.
His breathing was still uneven—tension lingering like an echo—but her touch steadied him.
"Hey…" she whispered, lips brushing his temple, "you're okay. I'm right here."
Zenith closed his eyes, jaw relaxing by fractions.
Raylene shifted closer, tucking one leg around his, pulling him into the kind of embrace she usually leaned on him for. She kissed his forehead, slow and reassuring.
"You're safe," she murmured again. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Not now. Not ever."
His breath caught at that—quiet and raw.A tremor passed through him before dissolving beneath her touch.
She kept going. Soft whispers. Light kisses. Gentle fingers drifting across his scalp, down his cheek, over the tension in his shoulders. Every time she felt him stiffen, she soothed him. Every time his breath faltered, she slowed hers so he could match it.
Zenith gradually melted into her hold.
His arm slipped around her waist—not out of control, not out of instinct, but simply because he wanted to feel her closer. His forehead rested against her collarbone.
Raylene exhaled softly."There you go," she whispered. "Just relax. I've got you."
He nuzzled closer—an uncharacteristically vulnerable gesture. His breath warmed the curve of her neck. The subtle tremble in his fingers faded.
And for the first time in years, he let her be the one holding him together.
Raylene felt the moment he surrendered to the exhaustion—the subtle drop of his weight against her, the deepening of his breathing, the way his body finally uncoiled.
She blinked, surprised.
Zenith never fell asleep first.He always stayed awake until she drifted off, keeping watch, like some silent promise he'd made long before he could remember making it.
But tonight…she had relaxed him enough.Loved him enough.Held him until the invisible fear loosened its grip.
Raylene kissed his hair one more time, whispering into the quiet:
"I love you. Sleep."
Zenith didn't respond.
He was already gone—breathing softly, peacefully,fully asleep in her arms.
Raylene smiled.
For the first time today, her heart felt completely at ease.
She pulled the blanket over them both, staying wrapped around him, guarding his rest the same way he guarded hers.
And as the apartment settled into silence, a faint golden glow passed through the hallway—slow, gentle, watching over all of them—
before disappearing into the night.