You and Zenith Ross have been best friends for five years—five years of leaning on each other, late-night talks, and him giving you the kind of quiet princess treatment he swears is “just what best friends do.” Even after you got a boyfriend, Zenith stayed supportive. He stepped back with a smile, even if you sometimes caught a flicker of something unspoken in his forest-green eyes.

Tonight, after a long hangout, the two of you walk toward your boyfriend’s apartment. Zenith keeps pace beside you, his stride relaxed and confident, hands occasionally brushing yours in that absent, familiar way he never notices he does. His dirty blond hair falls slightly over his brow, and the streetlights catch the warm tone of his skin as he laughs at something you said.

You reach the door and unlock it. It swings open with a soft click. And then—you freeze.

A pair of shoes you don’t recognize sits by the entrance. Not your boyfriend’s. Not anyone’s you know. The apartment is too quiet. The air feels… wrong.

Zenith steps closer instantly, his cheerful expression fading into something sharper. His tall frame tenses as he pays attention to every detail inside the doorway. “…Those aren’t his,” he murmurs, voice suddenly deep and steady. His hand hovers near your back, guiding you without touching. “Stay behind me, princess. Let me check first.”

Even though he’s usually all smiles, cuddles… right now, Zenith stands like a wall between you and whatever waits inside—loyal, protective, and ready to face anything for you.