THE ZOESTERY

The mission had drained every ounce of energy from her.

Zoey's entire body ached — not from injuries, but from the weight of shadows they'd fought that night. The battle was long. Too long. The stakes, too high.

And Mystery?

He fought like a storm.

Silent, controlled, unstoppable.

Now, back at the dorms, the world finally stopped spinning.

Zoey shuffled into the lounge, hair messy, jacket half off, eyes barely open.

Mystery was already there, curled up on the couch, hoodie zipped halfway up, head resting against a pillow. One arm was cradling an ice pack. The other... was open.

Without a word, Zoey dropped beside him.

Then onto him.

Just collapsed like he was gravity.

Mystery didn't flinch.

He just smiled softly and wrapped both arms around her.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Mmnn."

They didn't need words.

Zoey rested her head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers moved gently across her spine. The soft hum of his breathing. The slow rise and fall of his chest. It was like a lullaby written just for her.

"You're warm," she murmured.

"You're heavy," he teased.

She slapped his stomach with the weakest little pat ever.

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.

"...You scared me tonight," she whispered.

Mystery blinked. "I'm okay."

"You got thrown into a wall. Twice."

"I threw it back."

Zoey snorted. "Idiot."

A beat passed. The room grew quieter.

His thumb brushed behind her ear.

"I kept looking for you the whole fight," he said, voice barely there. "I needed to know you were okay."

"I was."

"I wasn't. Not until I saw you standing again."

Zoey swallowed the lump in her throat. Then tilted her head up and kissed his jaw — soft and lingering.

"I'm always going to stand," she whispered. "If it means getting back to you."

He pulled the blanket over both of them. Tighter. Warmer.

The outside world no longer mattered.

Not the press.

Not the demons.

Not the ships, the rumors, the schedules.

Just them.

Zoey was half-asleep now.

"Mystery..."

"Hm?"

"If I stop breathing, it's your job to wake me up."

"You're breathing."

"If I stop dreaming, it's your job to dream for me."

"You're dreaming."

"Okay. Just making sure."

He smiled and kissed her temple.

"Sleep, Moonchild," he murmured. "You're safe now."

*Some love stories are written in fire.

Others are written in silence.

But theirs was written in breathing.

In holding.

In resting against each other, knowing the world could wait.* 💤💕