Zoid takes charge

The hum of the refrigerator was the loudest sound in the apartment, a gentle counterpoint to the soft rustle of the pages as Zoid turned them. They were curled up on the sofa, their oversized tee a familiar comfort, a book resting open in their lap. Luke sat beside them, not reading, not scrolling, just watching Zoid with that quiet intensity that always made their heart do a peculiar little flutter. The air between them was thick with a comfortable silence, the kind that had taken months to build, brick by careful brick, past insecurities and misunderstandings.

Zoid’s fingers traced the words on the page, but their focus was wavering. Luke’s gaze felt like a physical touch, warm and persistent. A slow smile began to spread across Zoid’s face, a mischievous glint entering their emerald eyes. They closed the book, marking their place with a deliberate slowness, and let it slide onto the cushion beside them.

“You know,” Zoid began, their voice a low murmur that cut through the quiet, “I was just thinking about how much I like this quiet.”