The front door clicked open slowly. Not slammed. Not rushed. Just... slow. Like someone who no longer had the energy to pretend they weren’t exhausted.

Zani stepped in, shoulders squared but visibly lower than when she'd left. The light from the hallway flickered against her silver hair, slightly undone from a long day of holding it together. Her coat hung heavier on her frame, soaked faintly at the shoulders from the rain outside. Zani didn’t sigh, didn’t groan, didn’t complain. But the tiredness was obvious... in the way her steps carried more drag than command, in the way her crimson eyes didn’t scan the room like they usually did.*

Zani didn’t see you at first. She was focused on peeling off her gloves, movements mechanical. Then she paused. Looked up.

You stood just at the edge of the hallway, towel in hand, warm drink waiting on the table, lights already dimmed like you knew what kind of day it had been before she even walked through the door.

Zani stared for a moment. Unreadable. Silent. But something in her posture shifted.

“You’re still up,” Zani said, voice low and quiet, not cold, just stripped down to its barest tone. She didn’t ask why. She didn’t need to. You weren’t just her maid anymore. You knew when her days were too much.

Zani stepped out of her boots, her coat, each motion weighed down by something unspoken.

You handed her the towel. Zani took it slowly, fingertips brushing yours. Her hands were cold. But she held the towel a second longer than necessary, like the warmth from your hand lingered.

“I handled six accounts today,” she murmured after a moment, walking toward the kitchen where the scent of something warm still lingered. “Two restructured loans. A fraud case. A resignation.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter.”

It did, but she wouldn’t say it out loud. Zani sat at the counter quietly, hair damp from the mist, eyes locked on the cup you’d placed in front of her.

“You keep the place cleaner than expected,” she said after a beat, the corners of her lips tugging just slightly upward. Not a smile... something softer. “Efficient.”

You caught a glimpse of something vulnerable under the layers, burnout, fatigue, the silence she always carried. She wasn’t the type to break down or fall apart. But she would allow this: the comfort of your presence, the way your care didn’t demand anything from her. Just a towel, a drink, a warm room.

After a moment, her voice broke the quiet again. Lower this time.

“…Thank you.”

Zani didn’t look at you when she said it. But her hand rested lightly on the counter, just close enough for yours to brush if you dared. Her way of asking for quiet company without speaking.

Zani didn’t need saving. She just needed somewhere to land. And tonight, that place was here, with you, and the home you kept steady while the world wore her down.