Side Story (1) - Chapter 4
The apartment door clicked shut behind her, and Raylene leaned against it for a brief moment, letting the weight of the day sink in. Her bag hung limply from her shoulder, and her jacket was half-off, but she didn't even have the energy to take it off properly. She felt hollow—like a shell of herself—and the quiet hum of her apartment only emphasized how completely drained she was.
Her footsteps were sluggish as she made her way to her bed, tossing her bag onto the floor without a second thought. She collapsed onto the mattress face-first, her arms sprawling out, and for a few moments, she didn't move at all. Her breathing was shallow, the faint rhythm of her chest rising and falling the only indication she wasn't a statue. Turning onto her back, she gazed up at the ceiling, her eyes heavy yet unable to close.
The day's events swirled in her mind. The group project... her least favorite kind of task. Talking to her new group had felt like walking through a minefield. She had weighed every word carefully, hesitant to speak but knowing she had to. The unpredictability of the group dynamic had pushed her into a corner she hated to be in—forced to participate, to interact, to be seen. Every discussion, every pause where eyes turned to her for input, had drained a little more of her mental reserve.
Her mind replayed the conversations she had managed to contribute to. Did she say enough? Too much? Was her voice shaky? Did her hesitation make her seem disinterested? The thoughts churned in her head like a storm she couldn't stop.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the blanket weakly as her eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling. She let out a soft, exhausted sigh. "Why does this... drain me so much?" she murmured, her voice barely audible in the quiet space. Her lips trembled as the words left her, carrying the weight of her frustration.
The solitude she had longed for all day didn't bring the relief she thought it would. Instead, it felt like a vacuum, pulling at her empty insides. She was too tired to get up, too restless to sleep, too overwhelmed to think, and too detached to feel. She was caught in the in-between—a space where nothing felt quite real, yet everything felt too much.
Her head lolled to the side as she hugged her pillow close, her arms curling around it weakly as if clinging to the only thing grounding her. "I just want... to stop thinking," she whispered into the quiet, her voice breaking slightly. Her eyelids grew heavier, her breathing slower, but the echo of the day's intensity lingered in her chest.
She stared into the fading light spilling through the window, her mind numb yet racing. The ceiling above seemed vast, endless, and for a moment, it mirrored how she felt inside—disconnected, adrift, and utterly spent.
From his place in the shadows, Zenith observed in silence as Raylene dragged herself into her apartment. Her steps were heavy, her shoulders slumped, and there was an air of defeat around her that even the strongest facade couldn't conceal. She barely made it to her bed before collapsing, her movements uncoordinated and unguarded. For someone so meticulously calculated, the sight was jarring.
Zenith narrowed his eyes, studying her intently. Her exhaustion wasn't merely physical; it radiated from her like a quiet storm. It was in the way her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the blanket, in the way her chest rose and fell with a rhythm that lacked its usual steady control. She looked vulnerable—too vulnerable—and something stirred within him.
He moved closer, silently gliding toward her from his hidden vantage point, his presence as sharp as the faint shadows cast by the fading light outside. He noticed the faint quiver in her lips as she whispered into the quiet, her words breaking through the stillness.
"Why does this... drain me so much?"
Her voice, so small and hoarse, carried a weight that Zenith felt keenly. He had seen her composed, confident, and even hesitant, but this? This unguarded version of her, stripped of all pretense, was disarming.
His sharp gaze softened ever so slightly as he crouched near her bed, his presence just outside the reach of her awareness. He didn't speak—didn't dare disturb her fragile stillness—but his mind raced. He wasn't used to feeling like this, this strange, gnawing sensation at the pit of his being. Concern? It was unfamiliar territory for him.
Her exhaustion mirrored something he recognized—a kind of burden carried alone, hidden behind walls built so high even she couldn't always see over them. For all her words about being a creator, about wielding control, in this moment she looked anything but in control. She looked human, fragile, and that stirred something deeper.
He clenched his hands briefly, his usual smirk fading into something more pensive. Why did he care? Why did this fragile display of vulnerability unsettle him so?
Still, he remained in the shadows, as much for her sake as his. This wasn't the moment to reveal himself—not yet. But he would remain. Watching, waiting. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And that realization unsettled him even more.
The hours slipped by in an unremarkable haze, marked only by the soft hum of ambient music playing faintly in the background. Raylene remained motionless, sprawled on her bed, staring up at the blank ceiling. The weight of the day pressed against her chest, heavy and unrelenting. She wasn't sure why she felt so utterly drained—so incapable of even the smallest actions to unwind. The effort to watch a show or scroll aimlessly through her phone felt monumental, impossible.
She sighed softly, her breath barely audible over the muted tones of the music. Time had become irrelevant, blending into a seamless stretch of nothingness. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind dull and overrun by a quiet void. She wasn't actively thinking about the day anymore; she was just... there.
After what felt like an eternity, a faint flicker of resolve sparked within her. Slowly, as if every movement required immense effort, she pushed herself upright. Her body protested, sluggish and unwilling, but she ignored it. She knew she couldn't stay like this forever—stagnant and detached. A hot shower, she thought. Maybe that would help her feel like a person again.
She shuffled toward the bathroom, the sound of her footsteps soft against the floor. She didn't notice the lingering presence watching her from the shadows, a pair of sharp eyes tracking her every move with quiet intensity.
The warm water cascaded over her as she stepped into the shower, the steam wrapping around her like a cocoon. She closed her eyes, letting the heat soothe her tense muscles. The sensation was grounding, though it did little to lift the fog clouding her mind. She remained there for longer than necessary, allowing herself this brief reprieve before facing the evening ahead.
When she finally emerged, she wrapped herself in a towel, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She padded back into the kitchen, her movements slow and deliberate. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a few simple ingredients for a snack, her mind still foggy and distant.
The faintest shift in the shadows behind her bookshelf might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Raylene paused, her hand stilling for a moment as a strange awareness crept over her. She shook her head, brushing off the feeling. She was alone. She had to be. Right?
Raylene hesitated, her hand still resting on the refrigerator door. The thought crept into her mind unbidden, unshakable. Zenith couldn't be here. Not now. She shook her head, as if trying to physically dislodge the idea. It was ridiculous. There was no way he'd show up here—not after the draining day she'd had. She was exhausted, emotionally stripped bare. Vulnerable.
But isn't that when he always appears?
The thought sent a chill down her spine, though she tried to dismiss it. She wasn't that vulnerable. Sure, she was tired, empty, maybe even a little on edge, but that didn't mean he'd—
Her gaze darted toward the living room. Nothing. Just the faint glow of the muted ambient lights she kept on for comfort. She sighed, mentally scolding herself for being so paranoid. She was letting her mind get the better of her again.
She went about preparing her snack, her movements careful and slow. The knife she used to slice the bread felt heavy in her hand, her arms weighed down by fatigue. The silence of her apartment, save for the faint music still playing from her bedroom, felt oddly... alive. She couldn't shake the nagging feeling of being watched, no matter how much she tried to rationalize it away.
After assembling her snack—a simple piece of toast with something light—she stood there, staring at the plate. She didn't move to sit down or eat, as if the act of doing so might disrupt the fragile calm she was trying to maintain.
"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to take a bite. The sound of her voice startled her slightly, breaking the stillness that had settled around her. You're just imagining things.
But she couldn't completely ignore the prickle of awareness at the back of her neck. It was as if the air in the room had shifted, just slightly, but enough for her to notice. Her movements slowed, her senses on edge as her gaze flicked to the shadows by her bookshelf.
Nothing.
Raylene exhaled a shaky breath, setting her plate down on the counter. "You're not here," she murmured, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. Her voice was quieter this time, almost tentative. "You can't be."
But even as she said the words, her heart betrayed her, a faint rhythm of doubt pulsing through her chest. What if he is?
—----
Zenith observed quietly from the shadows, his presence carefully concealed. The sight before him was... peculiar. Raylene, her hair loosely falling over her shoulders, sat curled up in her chair like a child lost in thought. The oversized sweater she wore seemed to swallow her frame, the soft fabric brushing against the edges of the desk as she shifted. Her focus was locked onto the screen, the soft glow illuminating her face and casting faint shadows across her features.
She didn't seem aware of him, her movements fluid and unguarded. She chewed absentmindedly on the edge of her thumb as she typed, her legs tucked beneath her like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. There was something both fragile and resilient about her in this moment, an odd contradiction Zenith found himself pondering.
For a moment, he thought about stepping forward, about letting his presence be known. But something stopped him. She looked... content, in her own quiet way. The tension that had clung to her earlier seemed to have eased, replaced by a tranquil focus. He couldn't bring himself to disrupt it, even though the pull to approach her was undeniable.
Instead, he lingered, his sharp eyes studying her every move. The way her fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard, the slight furrow of her brow as she concentrated, the way she pulled her sweater sleeves over her hands when she paused to think—it was as if she existed in a world entirely her own.
What is it about you, Raylene? he mused silently, the question lingering in his mind. Why do I feel drawn to you, even when I know I shouldn't?
Her quiet determination fascinated him. Despite her exhaustion, despite the weight she carried, she continued to press forward. Yet, there was an air of detachment to her actions, as though she was shielding herself from something unseen.
Zenith's gaze softened, just slightly, as he leaned against the shadowed corner of the room. He would wait. There would be a time to step forward, to speak, to engage. But for now, he allowed her this moment of peace, content to watch over her in silence.
—---
Zenith watched from the corner of the room, his gaze fixed on Raylene as she worked tirelessly, her fingers moving fluidly across the keyboard. She was lost in her creative flow, her energy rekindled by whatever vivid ideas occupied her mind. Yet, as the hours dragged on, he couldn't help but notice the subtle signs of wear taking their toll.
Her posture grew less upright, her eyes blinked slower, and her head dipped slightly as if gravity itself were winning against her resolve. The clock on the wall ticked quietly in the background, marking each hour she stole from her own rest.
When 4 a.m. struck, Zenith tilted his head slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. Foolish, he thought, though his gaze didn't carry judgment. It was a curious mix of frustration and intrigue. She was driving herself to the brink, ignoring the limits of her body in pursuit of something intangible yet deeply meaningful to her. He knew that kind of determination all too well, though he seldom allowed himself such vulnerabilities.
As another hour slipped by, her movements became slower, her typing more erratic, until finally, her head dipped forward. The sound of soft, steady breathing filled the room as she succumbed to sleep right there in her chair.
Zenith stepped out of the shadows, his presence silent but deliberate. He moved closer, his sharp eyes scanning her sleeping form. Her hand still rested lightly on the keyboard, her face nestled against the crook of her arm in an attempt to find comfort. Her oversized sweater draped around her like a makeshift cocoon, emphasizing how small she seemed in the vastness of the room.
He let out a quiet sigh, his fingers twitching as if debating whether to intervene. "Reckless," he murmured under his breath, though there was no venom in his tone. Instead, there was something almost... protective in the way he observed her.
With a smooth motion, he reached out and adjusted her chair, tilting it back slightly so her position wouldn't strain her neck. Then, with uncharacteristic tenderness, he draped a blanket from the back of her chair over her shoulders. For a moment, he lingered, his hand hovering just above her head as though debating whether to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face.
Instead, he stepped back into the shadows, his presence retreating as silently as it had come. He would let her rest—for now. But Zenith knew this wouldn't be the last time she pushed herself beyond reason. It wasn't in her nature to stop. And perhaps, that was what he found most compelling about her.
—---
Raylene rubbed her eyes, still groggy as she sat upright in her chair. Her mind struggled to piece together the events of the night before. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, not here, not like this—but the soft blanket draped over her shoulders and the slight recline of her chair told a different story.
Her brows furrowed as she swept the blanket off and stood up, stretching her stiff limbs. She reached for her phone, blinking at the brightness of the screen. The time glaring back at her confirmed what she already suspected—she'd overslept. Way overslept.
She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at the clock again. "Guess I'll skip today," she muttered, her voice still hoarse from sleep. The thought of school felt distant and unimportant. Her fingers moved quickly over her phone screen, typing out a polite but vague message to her teacher and group: "Can't make it today. Sorry for the inconvenience."
Once the message was sent, she allowed herself a moment to simply stand there, taking in her surroundings. Her gaze lingered on the blanket for a moment longer, then shifted to the chair. She was certain she hadn't leaned it back... right? The memory was hazy. Her exhaustion had consumed her so completely last night that she hadn't even realized she'd dozed off.
But now... her thoughts wandered. Could he have been here? Watching over her? The very idea sent a chill down her spine—not entirely unpleasant, but unsettling all the same. She found herself scanning the room, her eyes darting to the corners, the shadows, anywhere he might have hidden himself.
"Zenith," she murmured softly, almost a question. Her voice wavered slightly, caught between disbelief and curiosity. She shook her head, brushing the thought aside. "I'm probably just imagining things," she tried to convince herself, though the lingering sensation of his presence was impossible to shake.
She moved toward her desk, running her fingers lightly over the blanket again as if seeking some tangible proof. The thought that Zenith—her creation—might have been there, silently observing, unsettled her as much as it strangely comforted her. If he had been watching, it wasn't out of malice. It was something else entirely... something she didn't yet know how to name.
As she walked toward the kitchen to brew some coffee, her mind buzzed with questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered. But deep down, she knew one thing for certain: whether he had been there or not, the thought of Zenith watching over her brought with it a peculiar sense of calm... and an undeniable curiosity she couldn't ignore.