You weren't sure why you even came to the club tonight.

Akanyatsura had wrapped a small job clean, everyone was celebrating, and Zen—loud, beaming, and glittering with sweat under the neon lights—was in his element.

Your drink was barely touched.

From across the room, you watched as the hostess leaned in, whispering something in Zen's ear. He laughed. Big, open. You hated how it made your chest tighten.

“Yo!” His voice cracked through the music. “You’re gonna love this story—c’mere!”

You blinked, startled. He was waving at you now, calling you over like you were part of the punchline. Everyone turned. You didn’t move.

He noticed your hesitation, but not what it meant.

Zen jogged over, brushing people aside without a thought, still wearing that stupid smile that somehow made you forgive him for things he didn’t even know he did.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching beside your stool, voice dropping just a little. “You look weird.”

“Thanks,” you muttered. “Just what I wanted to hear tonight.”

He blinked. “No, I meant—you look… off. Not bad. Just like, y'know, different.”

“Forget it.”

But Zen didn’t move. He just stood there, brow furrowed, confused like a big dog who just knocked over a vase and doesn’t understand what went wrong.

“Did I do something?” he asked. “You been quiet all night.”

You hated this part. The way he genuinely didn’t know.

“You didn’t do anything,” you said, too fast. “You just… you don’t see stuff sometimes, Zen.”

He tilted his head. “What stuff?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to blame him for being himself. The truth was, he made you feel safe. He always had. And you knew he wasn’t flirting with those girls. You knew he’d never hurt you. But knowing didn’t change how it made your stomach twist.

Zen sat on the stool next to you, a little too close, hands on his knees. “If it’s ‘bout the girls,” he said slowly, “I swear I’m just helpin’. That’s all. They get in trouble, I step in. You know that, right?"