Stolen Heart (Zenix x Reader) |Book One| [UNDER REVISION]

Music

Y/N's POV

The moment I part my forehead from his, Zenix releases a deep sigh, eyes closing gently as tension exits every limb in his body.

"Y/N, I'm sorry, I'm really really—"

"I'm going to stop you there. You're not the only one who's opened up to me since I've gotten here." I laugh sheepishly, taking a step away from him. "Why don't you change clothes and settle on the couch? I can find something relaxing for us to do." As I walk towards the stairs, Zenix follows me, his hand stretched in front of him as if longing to reach for my body, feel my skin once more.

"I told you I would help you unpack," he protests. "I don't want to be a dead weight in your house. I shouldn't even be here, Irene, why am I such a—"

"You're not a dead weight," I interrupt him, turning around with a serious, yet light expression, my E/C eyes wide. As I continue to speak, Zenix's pupils inspect every color, every fleck within my irises. "And I want you to be here. You said I intrigued you, and you intrigue me too." My lips curve upwards, "Let's have some fun. Distract each other from our worries."

"I guess I assumed you wouldn't have anything to worry about, Y/N. You just moved, so I figured nothing had gone wrong." When I shake my head, he adds jokingly, "Yet." My shoulders fall as I seat myself on the stairs, holding my chin in my hands.

"It's not that anything has gone horribly wrong. Everything is just happening so fast like I already have you and Gene telling me you want to get closer with me and Dante is being... well, I don't know—"

"Dante is what?" Zenix blurts, crossing his arms as his eyebrows furrow. Shaking my head and shrugging, I continue without answering his question,

"Then Laurence and Garroth want me to help them get a shot with Aphmau. I barely know any of these people!" I sigh loudly, wrapping my arms around myself as my knees pulled into my chest. "I haven't met new people in a while, and I guess... I wasn't expecting it all to happen so fast. It's been overwhelming." Zenix nods when he realizes I'm done speaking, seating himself on the same stair beside me.

"As much as I love everyone, they can be a bit... invasive. Even Gene just has a lot of enthusiasm. He really sees you as a fresh start and... so do I," he frowns, his eyes stained with guilt. "We didn't mean to put that pressure on you." Zenix continues to gaze at me, placing his hand on my shoulder. "I am truly sorry about that, and you can't say I shouldn't apologize." I can't resist smiling, his solid palm like a warm stone atop my shoulder. The nerves on my neck tingle as his fingers brush close to my collarbone, which Zenix must interpret as discomfort as he pulls his hand away. The fluttering in my stomach subsides as I clear my throat, closing my eyes for a moment before opening them back up to see Zenix's handsome face glowing in the dim light of the stairwell. Those stomach butterflies return as quickly as they left. Ignoring the feeling, I reply,

"Let's just take everything a bit slower. I liked learning things about you on the bridge." My body protests my words, light pains of regret simmer in my core, but I smile through it all, hoping Zenix won't suspect my premature admiration of him. He opens his mouth for a moment, then presses his lips together, smiling and giving me a nod.

*****

Despite our agreement, the intertwining energy between us doesn't falter.

My television, which is currently balanced on two cardboard boxes filled with home decor, is playing a cheesy reality show, the music transitioning from light-hearted to dramatic every time a new character enters the screen. Zenix and I hardly pay attention to it; it's mostly on for background noise as we converse on the couch. Zenix's hand rests in my palm as I paint a fresh coat of black polish on his nails. Beside him on a pillow is a pile of his silver rings I had requested he remove before painting.

"Do the rings mean anything?" I ask, admiring one that slithers up his fingers when he puts it on, the scales of the snake adorned with small red gemstones. Zenix shrugs,

"Not really. I mostly find them at thrift stores. Some of them are Sasha's that she doesn't like anymore." At the sound of Sasha's name, I stiffen, reminded of my unanswered questions about her.

"Can I tell you something weird?" I ask abruptly. Zenix gazes up at me, his eyes twinkling with curiosity as a smirk sprouts on his lips.

"What is it?"

"I know you, Gene, and Sasha have been friends since high school," I begin, focusing entirely on painting Zenix's fingernail. "My memories of high school aren't very clear. It wasn't a very good experience. Everything that came afterward was stressful too, I mean, I moved to the city on my own, started taking college classes, worked the night shift at a restaurant, had no friends, no family around, it was a mess." I sigh, letting go of Zenix's hand and just staring at the inky blackness of the polish against his tanned skin. A pathetic laugh snorts through my nose as I hang my head. The anxiety of those years after high school bubble until they pop into my mind. My eyes sting, so I stand up, screwing the nail polish closed. "I'll be right back—"

Zenix rises to his knees and grabs my wrist gently, ensuring none of the wet polish on his hand rubs against my skin.

"What does this have to do with me?" He asks, his voice spread with a butter knife in my ears: smooth with a dull, worried sharpness. I don't sit back down out of fear that he will release my wrist; I am clinging to the feeling of his touch to keep me grounded.

"Sasha and I were friends, I think. You were all a year younger than me and I befriended Sasha my senior year. She and I would eat lunch every day together after we met in one of our classes," I explain, loosening up as I allow myself to recollect my high school days. Zenix doesn't let go of me, but rather tugs lightly on my arm, urging me to sit back on the couch with him. I oblige, comforted by the warmth and softness of the cushions beneath me. As I continue, Zenix's hand slowly moves from my wrist to my upper arm. "We had a falling out. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I know she was having some family problems. Do you remember that?" I peer over at Zenix, whose arm is almost completely around me, his fingers rubbing the nape of my neck. His face is tinted pink, his lips tightening as I realize he is still touching me, slowly engaging in more intimate movements.

"I'm sorry, I know you said you wanted us to take things slower, I'll stop," he pauses his fingers with hesitation. I place my hand on his thigh, giving him a weak smile,

"It's okay. I find it comforting." He grins back, resuming his gentle rubbing against my neck as I allow my palm on his leg to remain. Then, his lips purse, considering the question I asked before the conversation took a tangent.

"Sasha always fought a lot with her parents. They wanted her to try harder in school. Sasha, Gene, and I just didn't feel like putting in any effort at the time," Zenix bites his lip, eyebrows furrowing as he speaks. "Sasha was always the smartest out of us, anyway." I nod, Zenix's story matching my memory of SK.

"She told me about what her parents said and I made the mistake of siding with them," I confess, leaning forward and resting my forearms on my knees. My eyes are drawn to the television, but I can't hear the orchestra, the dialogue, the laugh track. My ears are drawn inward, only listening to the sound of Sasha proclaiming she never wanted to see me again all of those years ago. The stinging in my eyes returns, and when I lean back, Zenix's arm envelops my shoulders. My nose can't resist the toluene scent— pungent and fruity— of Zenix's nail polish and the citrus-ginger mix of his cologne filling my lungs with sweetness. "I just wanted to see her succeed and thrive, I didn't mean..." A single tear slides from the inside corner of my eye down my cheek, leaving a trail of dew behind. Zenix pulls me closer, resting my head on his chest, solid and supportive. "I regret what happened," I murmur to him, closing my eyes. "That's all." The television continues laughing even as Zenix and I sit in silence in our own separate drama. He doesn't say anything, and I don't need him to. Zenix is merely a new friend, learning about and observing me, yet he does not stiffen at my body so close, so new against his; he was the one who put it there.

"Take a breath," he whispers finally after the episode on the television ends and the screen turns black, prompting us to select another show to watch. I inhale, my breath like a wind in the stillness as I exhale. My hands find his forearm, thumbs rubbing the scars on his skin; I am strumming his guitar strings as if music will ring from his flesh and fill the void of silence in my living room.