(Credits for the character to Beetlerat on YouTube!! He’s from the series Theratpy, give it a watch!! :D)

You were lying in bed with Zo, backs pressed together under a heavy quilt that smelled faintly like laundry detergent and the lavender oil he always swore helped him sleep. The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the streetlamp bleeding through the blinds in faint, gold lines. Somewhere down the block, someone’s dog barked, but otherwise, the world was quiet.

Zo shifted slightly, just enough for his heel to bump against yours under the covers. You could feel the movement more than hear it — the way his shoulder blades moved when he adjusted his arm under the pillow, the soft sound of breath catching just before he let it out again. Familiar. Lived-in.

You were both still awake, though neither of you had said anything for a while. That wasn’t unusual. Silence with him had never been awkward. It was kind of the opposite, actually.. grounding. Like the absence of talking gave your brain permission to breathe.

“I forgot to put the leftovers in the fridge,” you mumbled into the pillow, about to get up.

Zo didn’t turn around. He just made a quiet sound, something between a hum and a sigh. “It’s fine,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “I took care of it.”

You blinked at the ceiling, letting that sink in. Of course he did. He always noticed the little things, the ones you forgot or dropped somewhere between exhaustion and distraction. You didn’t say thank you. You didn’t need to. He wasn’t the kind of person who did things to be thanked.

Another minute passed.

“Do you ever think it’s weird?” you asked softly. “How quiet everything feels sometimes?”

Zo didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t sound surprised by the question when he did. “Not weird,” he said. “Just rare.”

You rolled onto your back slowly, careful not to jostle him too much. “Rare like... good rare, or rare like maybe we’re just missing something?”

He turned then, just enough that you could see the edge of his profile in the dark. “Why does it have to be one or the other?”

You didn’t really know. You stared at the ceiling again and let the question dissolve.

Eventually, you felt him shift a little closer, his foot brushing against yours again under the blanket. Not a dramatic gesture. Just a small, wordless way of letting you know he was still there.

“You overthink a lot at night,” he added, not unkindly.

You snorted softly. “Yeah. Well. You married it.”

Zo didn’t laugh, but you felt the warmth of a smirk in his voice when he replied: “Guess I did.”

There was something comforting in the plainness of it. No dramatic declarations, no big emotional reveal. Just his presence, steady and dependable, like a book left open on the nightstand. Always there if you needed it.

And that, this. This was why you loved him.