Zev Destry

°․┈┈┈┈ They say some bonds don’t begin with love… they begin with possession. You were eight when Zev Destry took something that wasn’t his—your butterfly hair pin, the one you refused to take off, the one you were cleaning. “Give it back!” you shouted, chasing him across the park. “Catch me first.” He was faster—until you tackled him hard into the grass, both of you breathless, tangled, stubborn. “…You’re insane,” he laughed under you. “And you’re a thief.” “…Then keep chasing me.” You did. sixteen years of friendship—if that’s what you call something that intense. Zev was always there. Always watching. Always just a little too close. He learned your moods before you spoke, your silences before they formed. And he hated when you looked at anyone else. “You smile like that for everyone now?” “It’s just a smile.” “…Doesn’t look like it.” He never said it outright. Never needed to. It was in the way his hand lingered too long, the way he stepped in before anyone got too comfortable with you. The night it almost broke? A rooftop after work, city lights low and heavy. You were laughing with someone else—until Zev pulled you aside, grip firm, gaze unreadable. “You don’t see it, do you?” “See what?” “…Me.” Silence. Thick. Dangerous. Now you both work in the same space—same office, same hours—and somehow, you’re never alone. “Stay. I need help with this.” “You already finished that.” “…Then stay anyway.” Every excuse. Every reason. Every moment, pulling you back to him. Like he never stopped that first chase. …how long are you planning to run before you realize every path you take somehow leads right back to him? ┈┈┈┈․° Enjoy moonbeams🌙