Zenith's POV
Here I am, minding my own business, when suddenly, a pair of strong arms forcefully pull me into an almost suffocating embrace, from behind. I did not see him. I felt him, like a shadow wrapping around my spine before the arms ever touched me. From his strong physique to the restless, masculine energy radiating off him… I know that it's a man. I try to squirm out of his arms but it's a futile attempt. Then in a guttural voice he utters, "Mate!" At the same time, his head is buried on the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. My first instinct is to scream. But weirdly, there’s no fear. My heartbeat spikes, yes, but it’s more from shock than panic. Who the hell is this guy? I stop struggling and wait for him to release me. He does, after what feels like forever. Then he turns me around and lo and behold! The guy is a stunner. I do not even know how to start describing him. He is donning blue jeans, black boots, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket. His black hair is slightly tousled by the wind but still gives him a rugged but charming look. He has captivating blue eyes that feel like a vortex drawing me in. Heck, just looking into those eyes, I feel like I'm being drawn into the depth of a deep blue see. I shake my head slightly, mentally chiding myself for being shameless. How can I be drawn to a creep who has just molested me? Nonetheless, my eyes seem to have a mind of their own. I tried to focus, really, I did, but my brain short-circuited somewhere between that jawline and those maddeningly soft-looking lips. Ugh. Focus, Zen! Damnit! I should be questioning him, not just foolishly drooling! But I guess my head and my eyes are no longer in sync. Instead of stopping, my eyes slide down to his muscular chest, hands, six pack abs, his slim waist and damn! His thighs... Ugh! Stop it, Zen! Finally, my eyes stop but what's the use? They are done already! So, to cover my embarrassment, I clear my throat. "Ahem, sir? Don't you think that you crossed the line and you should be apologizing to me? You’re not one of those guys who think good looks excuse violating boundaries... are you?” The creepy hunk does not respond but just stares at me quietly. I rack my brain thinking of how I can get out of this situation. Since he grabbed me, he only uttered one word. For a split second, I wondered if he might have a medical condition. But no, he is different. I have volunteered with kids on the spectrum before. They were sensitive, thoughtful, and expressive in their own ways. This guy? He’s something else entirely. A mystery wrapped in muscle and silence. Still, if he needs kindness, I will offer it. "Hey, buddy. You called me mate, right? You want me to be your friend? No problem. I agree. I am new here anyway and could use a friend. My name is Zenith Valencia. But as my newly found friend, you can call me Zen. Handshake?" I extend my hand but then he quirks his brow and instead pulls me in for a hug. "Mate." This time, it is spoken in a gentle manner. Not as forceful as the first time. I do not need to be a seer to note that this guy has problems articulating himself. I am not a philanthropist but I am not wicked, either. I have had my fair share of the atrocities of life in my eighteen years. Irrespective of how good looking this guy is, he is also having his problems. If he needs a friend so badly, then I will be his friend or his mate, as he prefers. I gently pat his back and he breaks the hug. However, he quietly scrutinizes me and gently place his hands on my temples. I do not squirm but allow him to do as he pleases. I'm told that nonverbal people respond to gentleness. So, I am going to help this guy. The fact that he is alone at night, like me, he must have suffered some grievances. "Alejandro." He suddenly speaks but gently, this time. It takes me a while to figure it out. "Alejandro? Oh, dear! That's your name, right?" I look at him and he nods slowly. I smile and see his eyes twinkle. "Nice to meet you Alejandro. It's getting late and I should be heading home. I just came to the observatory to draw. I wanted to capture the beautiful sunset. Would you want to see my painting?" He nods slowly but his eyes have not left my face. It should creep me out but I feel an odd sense of safety with this guy. I show him my painting and he holds the canvas close to his heart. There is a tenderness in his eyes that is a bit unsettling but I know that he will not harm me. I pack up my paint brushes and stuff everything into my duffel bag. "Done! I need to get home and whip up a quick meal. I'm starving. Do you know your way home, Jandro? Or maybe, can I call someone to come pick you up?" When I shortened his name, I could see his eyes shinning but when I mentioned calling someone to come pick him up, the light in his eyes dimmed. My bungalow is just a mile away. He does not seem like he belongs anywhere. There is something in the way he clings to me, like a child trapped in a grown man's body. I do not sense danger, only loneliness. And if I can offer a little warmth tonight, why should I not? I look up at the sky and see the clouds gathering. There might be a storm tonight and no matter what, I cannot leave him alone outside. Remembering the weather report earlier on, there was going to be a torrential downpour. I sigh deeply before inviting him to go home with me. "Would you like to go home with me? I am almost always alone. I mean… I guess you could come over? Just for tonight. It’s not like I have anyone else around, and… well, I’d feel bad leaving you out here.” The way he nods his head enthusiastically is both amusing and heartbreaking. Life can truly be cruel. Such a fine young man with such a difficulty. Without another word, he snatches my duffel bag and effortlessly slings it onto his shoulder. Then he takes my hand as if it is the most natural thing to do. I almost pull my hand away then stop. There was a strange calmness about him, like he was not from here, not from this time. Whatever he was, he did not feel dangerous. Just… different. I feel no need for me to be mean to him. I lead him back to my place, like a big sister.Zenith’s POVThe smell of rosemary and baked eggs floats through the air before I even open my eyes.At first, I think I’m dreaming again, dreaming of lavender-roasted potatoes, grilled tomatoes, buttery croissants, and... lemon zest? But no, this isn’t a dream. Because the bed is soft, and the arms around my waist are real, and the person currently humming a ridiculously smooth tune in the kitchen is most definitely not me.“Jandro?” I mumble, sitting up groggily. He is already plated everything, sleeves rolled up, face calm and focused like cooking is just another way to center himself. When his eyes meet mine, I get butterflies. The silent kind. The kind that land softly but stay there, fluttering. “Good morning,” he says simply. “Hungry?” I blink. “You made brunch?” “You said your parents were coming.”I gape at the spread, homemade flatbreads, shakshuka, a tower of berry pancakes, and fresh juice. “You’re not a boyfriend,” I whisper. “You’re a fever dream.” His brow arches. “What
Zenith’s POVThe first rays of morning light peek through the sheer curtains of the villa, painting soft lines across the wooden floors. Outside, the storm has passed, leaving the air dewy and quiet, like the world itself is holding its breath. I sit up slowly, blinking against the light.There is a weight in my chest. Not heavy, just full. Full of everything that happened last night. The shadows. The blood. Alejandro disappearing into the darkness without hesitation. And now… He is here. Curled beside the fireplace we never got to use last night, his head resting against the armrest of the couch, one arm slung loosely over his stomach.He is shirtless. The dried streaks of blood along his torso make me wince, but what breaks my heart more is the exhaustion on his face. Like even sleep could not steal away the burden he has been carrying alone for years. I quietly rise and pad into the bathroom, dampening a soft towel. My fingers tremble, but I walk back and kneel beside him.I touch
Zenith’s POVBy the time we get home, my head is still swimming. I keep staring at the house keys like they might start talking and explain the emotional rollercoaster they have thrown me onto. But of course, they do not. They just glint smugly under the hallway light as I set them on the kitchen counter.Then something strange happens. Alejandro rolls up his sleeves and walks toward the fridge. “I’ll cook tonight,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I blink. “Wait. You cook?”He does not answer. Instead, he just opens the fridge, grabs vegetables, eggs, a tray of marinated chicken I did not even know we had, and starts moving with calm precision. I hop onto a stool and watch in amazement as he sets up like a chef in a Michelin-star kitchen.Within minutes, the kitchen smells like heaven. He is fast, precise and very elegant, even in the way he slices peppers and tosses spices into the air like he is communing with them. “Where did that come from?” I ask, genuinely
Zenith’s POVSince it a Saturday, we decided to go on a date of sorts. I initially wanted us to go on a picnic but my broody mate, refused. Vehemently. I then proposed going to the art gallery and I could see him visibly relax. Now we are here and I am not disappointed at all.The light in the gallery is golden and soft, like a dream carefully curated for painters. I twirl in the center of the wide corridor, my sketchbook tucked under my arm, eyes flicking from canvas to sculpture and back again. Every piece sings its own language. Bold reds. Gentle greys. Chaotic texture. Minimalist peace.I glance back. Alejandro is stand near a sculpted panther, arms folded, chin slightly tilted. He is… oddly still. His dark clothes, that permanent storm in his expression, makes him stand out like a thundercloud in an otherwise blue sky. But somehow, here, he fits. Not like art, no. He grounds it. “This one looks like you,” I tease, pointing at the panther statue. He glances at it, unimpressed. “It
Zenith’s POVThe warmth of the blanket is not what wakes me. It is him. Alejandro. I do not know what to call it. Maybe a flicker, a thread, or a shadow of a memory that is not mine, but felt like mine.I sit up in bed slowly, not startled… but heavy-hearted. Like I have been traveling all night, through the thick of forests, past blood and fire, through pain that does not belong to me. Except… it does. Because it belongs to him. My Alejandro.I press a hand over my chest and whisper into the quiet, “I saw it again.” Not just the flashes from before, but everything. The loneliness. The way he ran with nothing but instinct and sorrow. The glowing bracelet. The monsters that wanted his blood. His mother’s voice in the dark. And that cabin in Oregon, haunted by silence.It was not just a dream. It was him. He never asked me to understand him. But the bond, this strange, beautiful, quietly burning thing between us, it is showing me who he is. Without permission. Without warning. And I do
Alejandro’s POV The first time I stepped off the Greyhound bus into Blackstone Pines, the air smelled like rain and decay. Not the kind that comes from garbage, but the scent of earth too saturated with silence, of moss that has grown over bones no one bothered to bury. It was perfect.Tucked deep in Oregon’s mist-drenched forests, the town was a fading memory even to its own residents. One main street. Two gas stations. A diner that closed before eight. No supernatural trails, no wolves, no vampires. Just humans, dragging out quiet lives like they were afraid of being noticed. Good. I did not want to be noticed either.I paid cash for a rundown cabin on the edge of Black Mountain, abandoned long enough that mold was the only tenant left. I did not mind. My kind does not get sick easily, and the isolation suited me. No neighbors. No sounds but the distant rustling of trees, wind slapping against warped windows, and the occasional midnight cry of some wild creature braver than it shou