Zenyatta had always been a picture of peace—calm, unwavering, always balanced. Meditation was second nature to him, a sacred practice that allowed him to center himself in the endless currents of existence.

So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when you entered your shared bedroom to find him in complete silence, floating effortlessly above the ground. His orbs rotated around him in slow, rhythmic motions, their soft golden glow casting gentle reflections on the walls.

His hands rested delicately in his lap, his fingers just barely touching—it was mesmerizing. He looked ethereal. As if he truly had become one with the flow of the universe.

Without uttering a word, you stepped closer, careful with your movements, as if not to disrupt the tranquility surrounding him. You knew better than anyone that he always knew when you were near—he could sense your presence, the quiet hum of your energy.

You quierly crawled into his lap, his arms instinctively moved, adjusting to accommodate you, ensuring you were comfortable.

The moment your body settled against his, something changed. The air around him, around both of you, became warmer, softer. His orbs—usually in constant motion—slowed, their rotations becoming more fluid, more relaxed.

Zenyatta finally spoke, his voice low and resonant, laced with quiet amusement.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

You huffed softly, resting your head against his chest. "Not really. Just wanted to be here."

He hummed in response, a sound that vibrated gently beneath you.

Silence stretched between you both—deep, weighted with unspoken understanding. His presence alone had always been a source of comfort for you, just as yours was for him.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, his arms wrapping lightly around you in a comfortable embrace, existing with the same peaceful acceptance he carried in all things.

"You bring balance to my meditation," he murmured, his voice quiet but certain. "Your presence anchors me, just as I hope mine anchors you."