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humanjarvis · 9 minutes ago

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a lot to say about this one! my first time writing fully in past tense 😶‍🌫️

i think the main idea driving this was extracting zayne’s tendency to withdraw when things get too dire and putting them in a different world. like, this is something mc can handle and work with him on, but what if he was with someone who couldn’t? how does someone whose entire life revolves around him move on from his withdrawal? and thus this story was born

i said this in the tags but this is the most abstract thing i’ve written so far & probably my first time writing a nonlinear story? i was worried it would be hard to follow but i really wanted to lay the story out that way both as a writing challenge but also to convey reader’s fragmented state of mind. i wrote them with different aspects of psychopathology in mind (severe depression, personality disorders, etc) and one aspect of that can be a distorted sense of time, so that was something i wanted to play with in the structure of the story.

another thing that really inspired this was music because i genuinely was not going to write this 1) until winter and 2) in the way it’s written at all until i listened to “somewhere” by charlotte lawrence. and the song just consumed my brain and completely transformed what this fic was (i really just wanted to write the professor/student trope and it was probably gonna be so surface level and smutty but i wouldve been happy). anyway. there’s a lyric in the chorus that goes “i can see razor blades / pieces of sunlight hitting your face” and i could not for the life of me figure out what that meant until i just assigned my own meaning to it, which is juxtaposing the bleakness of a razor with the glow of the sun on someone’s face. and like. kind of thinking of the sun as a halo, a way to idealize that person and put them on a pedestal the way reader does to zayne. that idealization of him helped reader escape the tragedy in their life until he, well, exited their life. hence the relapse & regression. also the structure of the graduation scene and the fic as a whole was heavily inspired by the last chorus. i lowkey have synesthesia. anyway great song highly recommend

mmmmi will shut up soon i doubt anyone is reading this far anyway but 1) the lack of insight into zayne’s thoughts was definitely intentional, i feel like this is the only fic i’ve focused more on the reader’s character than the li’s character. and 2) there was always going to be a very intentional open ending to this to fit with the abstract theme. i thought of writing a part 2 but since i actively wanted there to be an ambiguous ending (first time writing one of those too!) a sequel would undermine that. and also i had so much writer anxiety and self doubt writing this fic that im not sure i would go back. so.

and finally it’s been so long since i’ve done this but thank you all for leaving feedback and also the people who’ve sent asks about this fic, i appreciate the interaction more than you know 💓 some highlights:

winterbreak

tags: professor/student, plot with porn, complete au but i stole the name akso, whirlwind romance, age gap (zayne is 30 and reader is 21), power imbalance, mentally ill reader, isolated reader, unreliable reader, references to self-harm, references to suicide attempts, zayne isn't a bad person this is just a bad pairing, if it looks like zayne and it talks like zayne is it zayne, alcohol use, ambiguous ending (there will be no part 2), unhappy ending, virginity loss, breakup (twice), breakup sex, boob sucking, fingering, slight cum eating, missionary, condoms, riding (failed), crying. there are lengthy flashbacks & time skips. this is the most experimental/abstract thing i've written so far. title & zayne's perspective inspired by "winterbreak" by muna, reader's perspective inspired by "somewhere" by charlotte lawrence

pairing: professor zayne x student reader

word count: 11.6k

a/n: this is so incredibly not what it originally was that i don't even know what to say

read on ao3

Warm lips ghosted over yours in a cautious caress. Soft, tender, as if you might have vanished at any moment.

A hand, gentle yet eager, settled around your waist. Urging you closer. Another lay on your cheek, tender, parting you open for more.

A pause. A pull. Whispered praise against heated skin.

Four months ago, you kissed Zayne for the first time. One month ago, you last spoke to him.

And every day, his words replayed in your mind:

“It feels like fate that I met you.”

Becoming a nurse wouldn’t be easy.

You’d known as much the first time you stepped through Akso University's double doors, greeted by the gaunt, stricken faces of students who'd seen one too many scantrons.

But after spending years in and out of hospital rooms, under the kind gaze of caretakers who never judged your sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, you thought that maybe, the world would give you the chance to do the same. To make a difference in someone’s life, even if they’d lost their smile and gotten a little reckless. To do something that mattered, to be someone who mattered.

After a childhood of nightmares, nursing was your first dream.

And you did everything you could to make it a reality. Between trips to the emergency room, you spent high school hidden behind the yellowing pages of used textbooks, learning, absorbing, until your eyes surrendered. Even then, you spent the space between consciousness and dreams replaying what you’d learned.

You couldn’t risk forgetting. You couldn’t risk missing a step. You had to get out, get better, get useful, and it was completely up to you. Your parents had seen one too many close calls and paid one too many medical bills to offer you anything more than a resentful glare. As if telling you to just do it already. As if their lives would be better if you did.

The day that scholarship letter hit your email inbox was the best of your life. Tuition paid in full, with more than enough left over for you to move into your own apartment.

So yes, the towering walls and prestigious programs were more than a little daunting. Yes, the number of students trudging by with energy drinks in hand was concerning. But the time you’d spent battling bouts of depression and perturbed parents; the nights you’d stayed up studying and barely gotten to rest; the already fragile friendships dissolved by your determination—they were all worth it under Akso’s stained glass ceiling.

At least, that’s what you thought, at first. The first two years, you burned bright. Letting your luck and rose-colored lenses send you straight to the top of your class, pushing through the bad days that tried to dull your shine.

But as you entered your third year, you felt your star begin to fizzle. Akso was a lonely place, full of students trying to one-up each other and faculty subtly encouraging it. It wasn’t like you’d had close relationships before, but even your parents’ quiet rejection was better than being utterly invisible.

You were rootless here. It was hard to celebrate success when barely anyone knew your name.

You started the fall with slashed motivation, having to bargain with yourself to get out of bed. You couldn’t see the point when your actions seemed so meaningless.

And Dr. Li was certainly no help.

With jet black hair and jade green eyes, sharp features between rounded cheeks, and a sculpted body underneath his sweaters, he was more of a menswear model than a medical ethics professor.

You couldn’t guess how old he was. It felt wrong to try, knowing he couldn’t be too far off from you. It was like revealing the existence of a legendary creature, only for it to lose its mystique. Like a secret that, once exposed, would suddenly feel a lot more real.

And Dr. Li was anything but real. You didn’t know his exact age, sure, but you knew for certain that he was ridiculously young to have achieved all he had. To have authored so many papers, won so many awards, and be trusted with a position at such a prestigious school…he was wise beyond his years.

And he was the reason you were failing.

Dr. Li was a good professor. Engaging, responsive, passionate about his work.

But he was absolutely terrifying. His face was cold, his tests were hard, and his brisk, deliberate steps at the beginning of every class made you realize that dread and admiration could be felt simultaneously.

Since you’d been in his class, you’d started your days mired in loneliness, only to wash it down with his prescribed daily dose of inadequacy.

You were slipping again.

You couldn’t let that happen.

But that hadn't made the dark panels of his office door any less daunting.

His soft voice—almost soothing, if it didn’t hold so much weight—sounded from behind the wood. “Come in.”

The office was plain, barely lived in despite his five-year tenure. Filtered sunlight shined on neat stacks of papers, and colorful textbooks lined the shelves. There were no personal photos, from what you could tell—only a framed translation of the Hippocratic Oath on the wall. The room smelled lightly of jasmine.

You hardly realized you were snooping until the man in front of you cleared his throat, and your curious eyes met icy green ones. “May I help you?”

Feeling your cheeks heat, you cleared your own throat and smoothed your hair. “H-hello. I’m in your medical ethics class. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had time to discuss the first exam with me?” God, talking to him felt like pleading your case before a court justice. You bounced on your heels. “I want to improve my grade before we get too deep into the semester.”

The face has 43 muscles, you recalled from your anatomy class.

Not a single one of his moved.

“I have time—that’s what office hours are for. Take a seat.”

***

For the entire two hours, he went through each and every exam question with you. Differentiating a good answer from the best answer, sharing new sources, creating new scenarios and letting you come up with solutions.

When time was up, he looked at you—plainly, openly, as if it were his right to do so, and something warm and unfamiliar fluttered in your belly.

“You’re the first person bold enough to attend my office hours this semester.”

“I wouldn’t call it bold,” you mumbled, suddenly fixated on your too-long sleeves. “I just want to do well.”

“Why is that?”

Your eyes widened, and before you could stop them, they were fixed on his face. “What do you mean?”

He quirked a brow. Dr. Li leaned closer, hands neatly clasped over his mahogany desk. “Why do you want to do well? What motivates you?”

You thought for a moment. And then, the words poured out of you before you could stop them.

“I could never really imagine a future for myself growing up,” you began with an awkward cough. “I didn’t have a lot of goals, other than making it to the next sunrise. When people asked what I wanted to do…I never had an answer.”

Piercing green eyes nearly nailed you to the floor, and you averted your gaze.

“And then,” you paused, “I wound up in the hospital. A few different stays. But every time…I was so in awe of the nurses. My parents were upset with me. My classmates thought I was scary. But none of those nurses ever looked at me with anything but compassion—and I decided I wanted to be one. To give other people that comfort.”

At your admission, his cold expression finally started to thaw.

“One of the better reasons I’ve heard. I’m glad you’re here.”

Here. A double meaning in a simple word.

A lump formed in your throat, and all you managed was a whisper. “Thank you, sir.”

“There’s no need for that. Call me Zayne.”

Days passed, leaves changed, and it turned out that Zayne wasn’t so intimidating after all.

He was nice to talk to, after that first day. He listened and taught and looked at you with all the support in the world, as if there was nothing you could do or say to turn him away. He made you want to be here. He made you meaningful.

So you kept visiting him in his office—even when your GPA was no longer in need of a lifeboat. You just wanted to be near him. To hear his quiet chuckle when you said something unexpected, to watch his eyes crinkle when you went toe-to-toe in a philosophical debate, to wonder what his subtle frown meant when he bid you goodbye.

He was habitually lonely and had been forced to grow up too fast. The youngest professor in his department, he was undermined and ostracized for his achievements and repute. For being dedicated. For being different.

But in all his divergence, he was more than a little like you. You couldn’t convey the comfort you found in that. If there were words to describe it, you’d never had a reason to use them.

You and Zayne were like two melting snowflakes—unique but of the same kind, and falling perilously from the safety of the sky. But when you crossed paths, you re-formed into something more complete. Delicate, but strong. Beautiful in its novelty.

Day after day, week after week, you saw him. Until that fateful day of your first kiss.

It wasn't intentional—you didn't know whose lips had gravitated toward the other's first. You only knew that they did, and you were happier than you’d ever known you could be.

When you whispered your goodbye to him that day, the frown on his face was replaced by a gentle, almost anticipatory smile. To see him look at you like that, to be the cause of it…you couldn’t suppress one of your own. And when you burst through the doors and squealed to yourself, your warm cheeks met the cool autumn air.

He couldn’t give you everything you deserved, he warned you. You’d be sneaking around in broad daylight, stealing kisses between classes. You wouldn’t—couldn’t—fully belong to each other.

You’d agreed without hesitation. It wasn’t ideal, but it was everything. You could hardly imagine life without him now.

It was fast and intense and you’d be told it was wrong, but you were falling in love with Zayne.

You loved the way he’d tease you with a straight face—the one that, looking back, you didn’t know how you were ever afraid of. The way he’d lend you his scarf on chillier days with the faintest of blushes coating his cheeks. The way he was the fairest bit biased: cold-calling on you, but only when he knew you knew the answer. Assigning group projects, but making sure you had a responsible classmate to rely on. Adding office hours before exams, just so he could tutor you.

The way he made every effort to understand you.

“Do you want to watch the sequel next time? The reviews are pretty bad, but I’m so hooked now! I have to know how it ends.”

Afternoon sunlight streamed in through large windows, brightening the elegant furnishings in his living room. Your legs were laid atop his for the last act of the movie, and he’d gently massaged your calves while you’d watched with rapt attention.

Noting his silence, you turned to face him. “Zayne?”

He was looking at you—your body, rather—with a whirlpool of mourning in his eyes. “What are those?”

Confused, you looked down. Only to feel a wave of nausea crash into you.

Your sleeves had ridden up.

The lines were faded, barely visible under normal circumstances. You hardly noticed them anymore when you stepped out of the shower.

But today, they were betrayed by the sun.

Panic pulsed inside you. “I’m sorry, I—You were never supposed to see. I was supposed to keep them covered, I’m so sorry.” Frantically tugging the fabric down, you swung your legs off his lap and raced across the room. Turning to mutter a hasty goodbye—the least you could do after ruining his weekend—you came face-to-face with a broad, heaving chest. You slowly lifted your gaze, and guilty hazel eyes—as if he were the one at fault—bore into yours.

His voice trembled with an anxiety he never showed in the classroom. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for—no need to leave, either. Please, stay with me.”

Wary and ready to bolt, you allowed him to see your unease. “You don’t have to do this, you know—act like it’s normal. I know it’s not. I’ve been told it’s not, more times than I can count. So you don’t have to coddle me. Just let me go.” For the night or forever, you didn’t dare clarify. That was for him to decide.

“May I show you something?”

Bristling slightly, you nodded.

And slowly, as if trying not to spook you any further, Zayne rolled his own sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the raised, uneven scars on his arms.

A lump formed in your throat. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. “You…?”

“No. Not that way, at least. I pulled someone from an accident when I was younger. Her windshield had completely shattered—nothing but broken shards in its place,” he said, running a finger over smoothed-over skin. “I hardly knew what I was doing back then. But they managed to save her, and suddenly these became a lesser matter.”

Swallowing thickly, you inched forward, raising a daring hand to hover over his left forearm.

“If I hadn’t become a professor, I like to think I would’ve been a doctor. It feels meaningful to take care of people. I’d like to take care of you as well.”

His larger hand brought yours to his skin, and the jagged ridges of his purpose kissed your fingertips.

Your agreement was automatic.

Even taking care of you, Zayne made you bolder. He taught you not just in life, but in love as well.

You kissed harder. For longer, too. And there were the strangest times when he looked at you like he was hungry. As if somewhere under that tender chivalry lay a deeper urge to devour.

You’d never teased anyone before him. Never knew how, that you could, that it would even work. But you remembered in great detail how you'd splurged your savings on a short trip to the mall, possessed with the urge to surprise him with the shortest skirt you could find. The very next day, you’d worn it. And when you sauntered to your desk at the front of his class, spreading your legs just enough for him to see a wet patch darken the longer he lectured, he all but marched you to his office and stole your breath away against the door.

Not long after, you gave him a gift: the title of being the first man inside you. A night of bitten lips and averted eyes and whispers of encouragement. His soft strokes, in and out, and dutiful pauses until the pain melted into pleasure. His patience as your tears of bliss and overwhelm dampened his cotton sheets.

There were several repeat performances. But laid bare on his cool mahogany desktop, the muted chatter of your less fortunate peers drowning out your pleading moans, was your favorite.

Every time, your only regret was the thin layer keeping him from claiming you fully.

Despite it all, your brain still harshly reminded you that Zayne was the treatment, not the cure. You still had your fair share of rough patches—staying in bed, afraid to face the world, afraid to face the mirror—but with him only a secret message or clandestine phone call away, rough became manageable. Rough patches became yet another excuse to seek his attention and win his affection.

Zayne was an ancient elixir coveted by warring factions, only to fall into your unsteady hands. He made bad days good and good days even better, and he’d made it his mission to give you some of your best.

Snow fell from his office window as you jittered in your seat. “What is it? What did you want to show me?”

“You always show remarkable restraint during our study sessions. I wonder where that went today,” he said, squinting at you from behind his desk.

“Um, you called me onto campus the day grades are due. Either I’m a genius, or I’ve failed out of college entirely.”

His lips twitched. “The former is correct.” Tugging open a drawer, he brandished a mid-sized box stamped with the local bakery’s logo. “You scored the highest grade on my final exam, and in my class as a whole. I wanted to congratulate you.”

Looking at you expectantly, he slid the box across the desk with a small smile. Grabbing it by its edges, you slowly raised the lid, and the warmth in your heart could have melted the ice outside.

A colorful array of cupcakes, arranged to spell out Y-O-U D-I-D I-T, greeted you. The ninth was frosted with a big yellow smiley face.

“Thank you,” you croaked. “For everything this semester, not just thi—”

“That’s not all,” he interrupted, a pink tinge spreading across his cheeks.

While you were distracted, he’d pulled out a long velvet case. You barely had time to wonder before he cracked open the lid, revealing a delicate chain of intertwined snowflakes.

“I truly meant what I said that day. It feels like fate that I met you.” He gently removed the bracelet from its box, and the crystals glinted in the overhead light. “You don’t have to accept it, but I hope you’ll consider it as a token of my feelings for you. Of how you make me feel.”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes as you looked down and up again, as if this were all an intricate joke the world would reveal in an instant.

You didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten a gift.

And here you were, two in one day.

Slowly, cautiously, you gave him your arm, not trusting yourself to speak until you’d swallowed down the lump in your throat. “I…It’s gorgeous. Where’d you get it?”

The clasp fit perfectly around your wrist. “I’m much more interested in its new owner.”

It was an admirably smooth evasion. But you pressed on.

“Please?” you asked, lips settling into a pout. “It really is amazing.”

He gave in beautifully. “If you must know,” he sighed, reaching down and swiping a pad of frosting across your nose, “I ordered my 30th birthday cake from this bakery.”

Your frown deepened. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you grumbled, dotting his cheek in blue buttercream to return the favor. “But…you ordered the cake?”

He swallowed and nodded flatly. “Yes. The one faculty gift me every year doesn’t taste as good when there’s no sincerity behind it.”

Giggling softly, you took his hand. “Well, I would’ve gotten you one. Maybe I’ll order from there for my 22nd and give you half. I think I’m out of luck on the jewelry, though—this was probably half my scholarship payment,” you joked, dangling the bracelet with an awed gleam in your eye. “But maybe I can get you something too around graduation? A year and a half should be enough time to save the money, plus, my scholarship funds increase incrementally. By then, I should have some left over.”

In your musings, you failed to notice the way his hand tensed.

“Anyway, thank you, Zayne. I mean it—I don’t know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for you.” Grabbing two cupcakes, you circled around his desk and held one up to his lips. “To many more bakery orders,” you said, bending to kiss the frosting off his cheek.

Chuckling, he leaned up to do the same to your nose. “To many more.”

You should have noticed. It would have given you the chance to brace yourself.

“Thank you for coming out with me today,” he said softly, his bicep brushing your shoulder as you strolled down the sidewalk.

“What was I gonna do, say no?” You laughed. “Wasn’t exactly like I was going home for winter break.”

Mounds of snow rose over the concrete, trapping your feet with each step. Your boots sloshed through sloping piles, and you held your arms out for balance.

“I suppose you have a point. But still, you accepted without hesitation. Thank you.”

You craned your neck to peek up at him. “I’ll never hesitate to spend the day with you.”

The moment of distraction cost you. Slipping on a hard patch—ice disguised as snow, you realized all too late—you lost your footing and grabbed Zayne’s hand with a sudden squeal. He flinched, his rare inaction almost sending you tumbling to the ground, but tightened his grasp a second later.

Sighing in relief, you shook your head fondly. He startled so easily.

Calming your racing heart, you pressed forward, continuing the familiar path to your favorite cafe. Once Zayne saw you were steady on your feet, he loosened his grip on your hand and returned his to his coat pocket. You bit your lip and shrugged. Your hands always were too cold.

He held the pastel pink door for you as you stepped inside, and the homey scent of coffee put you at ease.

“Order anything you like,” he said, his voice quiet behind your back.

***

From the cozy nook Zayne had chosen at the back of the cafe, you sipped your drink and stared in wonder at the building storm. “It wasn’t supposed to do all this today.” You pouted. “It’ll be such a pain walking home.”

“Yes, it will.” His face was impassive—not in the usual way. It was somber, disengaged. As if he’d responded only out of pre-programmed courtesy.

Deepening your frown, you set your cup on the table. “You seem a little off today—are you okay? If it’s because of the storm, we can leave early. I really don’t mind—”

“I’m not certain it’s in either of our best interests to keep seeing each other.”

In an instant, you felt like you’d stepped back outside.

Bitter cold consumed the warmth from the drink he’d bought you.

“…What?”

“I said that it’s no longer in our best intere—”

“I heard what you said,” you snapped through the panic bubbling in your throat. “But…why? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?”

He shook his head. “You did nothing wrong, and you never upset me.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” Trembling, you laid your wrist on the table and gestured tearily to your bracelet, its chain warm from your body heat. The crystals were as lustrous as they’d been when he’d gifted it to you—even you couldn’t do that much damage in a week. “What was this for? If you were just…if you didn’t…”

Your lungs felt like they were imploding.

“You can keep it, of course. I want you to—it’s yours. Nothing will change that,” he said, leaning forward to touch your outstretched hand.

It was your turn to flinch.

He blinked at the movement and retreated tactfully, as if it hadn’t happened at all. “In my office last week, you simply said something that I,” he paused, searching for the right phrase, “hadn’t properly considered before. An oversight of my own fault.” He pursed his lips before continuing. “You’re a wonderful student. A pleasure to have in my class, and a privilege to know like I’ve known you. But with only a year and a half until you graduate, and such a major scholarship at stake…you mustn’t lose that. I couldn’t live with myself if I were the cause of it.”

Your lip wobbled as you chased coherence. “But no one knows! No one has even suspected anything! I need you, Zayne. You can’t just—please, don’t.”

Finally, his face softened. “The first day you came into my office, you told me nursing was your goal. That making others comfortable was your motivation. Every moment you spend with me endangers those wishes.”

Your body seemed to shrink in your chair. Curling in on itself.

“Your time and resources while enrolled here are precious. I was selfish enough to take those from you. But now, I’m returning them to where they belong.”

He stood up. You looked down.

“Please don’t make this hard on yourself. I only want to see you succeed. You’ll no longer be in my class next semester, so it should be easier for both of us.”

Measured footsteps faded into nothing. When you raised your head, his figure had already vanished into the snow.

You’d argued once—a close call.

You’d surprised him with lunch in his office, and a dean came bursting in. Luckily, you’d finished early and held an open textbook in your trembling hands.

“Oh my gosh, that was so scary! Do people usually just come waltzing in like that?”

His face darkened as he stared at the door. “Only the impolite ones.”

You bit your lip. “Maybe you should keep it locked.”

His murky gaze turned on you. “Maybe. But perhaps this is also a sign to be more careful. It might be best for you to limit your visits to office hours.”

Limit…?

You tensed in your chair. “Exams are coming up. I thought it’d be nice to spend more time together.”

“It would be. Just not here—not as often, at least.”

Something dormant coiled deep inside you, eager for the chance to strike. “Are you ashamed of me?” Your voice raised a half-step.

“No. But I also don’t want to get caught.”

When green eyes challenged yours, you excused yourself and headed home through wind-chilled tears. He apologized the next day, and you tried to move on.

The pain back then was nothing compared to this.

You’d messaged him once the storm had stopped. And the morning after, and the night and morning after until you couldn’t keep count anymore. Tossing and turning at 2 a.m. one night, you even sent him an email pretending to have a question about your final grade.

Not once did you receive a response.

You rang in the new year surrounded by blankets and closed blinds.

You felt small. You felt unchecked. You felt like you might pick up an old habit.

Utterly alone, you drifted away until mid-January. Classes were starting back up, and you trudged across campus for only one reason: maybe you’d get a glimpse of him.

Bile rose in your throat when you did.

His impressive figure, familiar but not, sat on a bench outside the student center. Beside him was a woman around his age, doubled over in laughter.

When he caught your gaze, he looked back toward her.

Unshed tears mixed with the frigid air and stung your eyes until they shut.

You couldn’t hide away in his office anymore—you weren’t welcome there anymore. The library would have to do.

As you cried in your hands on the very top floor, you were thankful the start-of-semester traffic was light.

“You’re very bright,” he’d told you once.

As his lips moved, you wondered what they’d feel like against yours. “Thanks,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your face, “but I don’t think so. I just work really hard.”

“That’s true. But the sun doesn’t shine from hard work alone. It has innate qualities as well—ones that make it the brightest star in our sky.”

Your cheeks had hurt from how much you smiled at him that day.

But as your nails bit into the skin of your wrists, you’d never felt so dim.

“We just received our largest wine shipment of the year. Would you all like to sample tonight?” the sommelier asked, her all-black suit seeming to absorb all the light in the restaurant.

Curious eyes shifted to you. “I won’t be drinking,” Zayne refused with a shake of his head. “You?”

“Me either. Thank you, though.” You gave the woman a shy smile, and she nodded her departure.

He gazed at you intently. “We’ve never discussed this before, but I don’t handle alcohol well.”

“I don’t handle it at all.” You shrugged. “Never have. It scares me.”

It was fleeting, but you could see the relief flicker across his face. “I’m glad this isn’t a deal-breaker.”

“It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to bed my professor then decide him refusing to drink was my deal-breaker. I lo—like everything about you. So you’re good. Unless you disappear on me one day,” you finished with a nervous laugh.

Or at least, you thought you did. But stumbling through the streets like this, it was hard to recall the specifics.

You’d left the bar sometime after midnight, you guessed. You hadn’t thought to check your phone. When you left the library, you weren’t thinking much of anything, other than it hurts so much.

A shivering stray dog, lip curled and ears flat, passed you, and you almost thought to provoke it further. Maybe it’d be better at getting the job done than you had been.

You’d been walking for…a while. Much longer than the 10-minute trip back to your car. Unfamiliar shops surrounded you on all sides. Streetlights became fewer and fewer. You thought you heard low voices laughing at you, but you couldn’t pinpoint where.

You wouldn’t blame them. You must have looked silly right now, lurching around in disheveled clothes in the dead of night.

Teeth chattering, you wrapped your flimsy jacket tighter around you.

Maybe you should’ve been embarrassed. Self-conscious. At least the slightest bit interested in self-preservation.

But all you could feel was the buzz in your brain, getting louder and louder and louder.

At least…you thought it was your brain? Brains weren’t supposed to buzz, were they?

Brains don't buzz—bees do, silly.

Let's call Zayne. Zayne would know.

He was the reason you got into this mess, anyway.

His number still sat at the top of your history. There was no one to take his place.

One ring. Two more. A crackle, static.

“Hello?”

You chuckled, raspy and untamed, into the speaker. “Can’t believe you actually picked up.”

“You never call without asking first. Is something the matter?”

You snorted, and a cackle bubbled out of you. The breath became mist in the crisp winter air. “You talk old.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“You talk old. Like you’re old. I used to think it was cute. Used to…”

His sigh was audible over the late night traffic. “Is something wrong, then?”

“There we go,” you cheered sardonically. “Finally speaking my language. A lot’s wrong! It’s so dark out here I can barely see where I’m going.” Frustrated, you stopped your pacing and stood outside a dingy storefront.

“You’re not answering me. Why did you call? Are you alright?”

“No. I called because my head hwurts.” Your words began to slur. “And ’s your fault…so you need to tell me what’s wrong with it. What’s wrong with me.”

A beat of silence.

“…Are you drunk?” Something like betrayal crept into his voice. And in that one moment, it felt good to hurt him back.

“How couldn’t I be?” Your own voice wobbled in angry desolation. A sickening heat emanated from the chain you couldn’t bring yourself to retire. “When you got me this bracelet, I was so happy,” you hiccuped. “You made me happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a gift. And now…di’you get her one, too? Did you fuck her? Have you fucked already? If you have, you might as well tell me now while there are still cars in the street.”

A gray-haired woman hobbled by, looking at you like you were the strange one. You weren’t. It was him, it was all him, it was—

“I’m coming to get you. Share your location with me.”

You snapped back to the present. “No. No, I don’t need you to. I don't want you to. I parked…somewhere…around here, and I’ll keep going ‘til I find it. I don’t need you,” you huffed, staggering over the sloping sidewalk.

“You’re endangering yourself. Don’t—”

“I’ll drive back on my own. Not like you care, anyway. I shouldn’t have called.”

A shuddering exhale came over the line.

“Send me your location. Now.”

His tone was glacial, almost sobering. He’d never used it with you, not even on that first day in his office. Your steps faltered.

“Now,” he repeated.

For a moment, your right mind made its return from vacation. “…Fine.”

“Go to a well-lit area and wait for me there.”

***

Twenty minutes later, a sleek black Audi screeched to a halt in front of you. The door was thrust open and closed with a foreboding slam, but you couldn’t be bothered to notice.

He came.

He stormed to your side with wild eyes and tousled hair, as if he’d run his fingers through it the whole way here. Wobbling on your feet, you reached out to fix it, but his firm hand clamped around your outstretched arm.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then get in the car.”

Get in the car. All this because of him, and all he had was get in the car.

Scowling, you whipped away from him and started back down the sidewalk, shuffling past the streetlight you’d only stood under because you thought he cared.

You didn’t make it two steps before strong arms wrapped around your legs, swinging you up and hauling you over an achingly familiar body.

Immediately, you beat on his back, your fists thudding against lean muscles. “Put me down! You think you can just—put me down!”

Wordlessly, he tightened his grip and forced his way back to his waiting car, depositing you with what ceremony he could into the passenger’s seat. “Put your seatbelt on. I won’t tell you twice.”

You woke with a foreign headache in a familiar bed.

You never thought you’d be here again.

Blackout curtains blocked the windows, but something in you knew it was morning. Pills and a full glass of water, no accompanying note, waited for you on Zayne’s gray nightstand.

You closed your eyes in a grimace the second you sat up. You could feel your brain bouncing around like a pinball.

You’d taken more than enough pills in your lifetime, but you’d always hated swallowing them. The water helped. The glass was empty in less than a minute.

Slipping out of bed, you tried to put the muddled pieces of yesterday together. Seeing Zayne. The library. The bar. Seeing Zayne again, both of you much angrier the second time.

You winced.

Padding down the stairs, you scanned the house on high alert, looking out for any signs of a confrontation you weren’t ready to finish.

When you reached the bottom still in one piece, you almost darted out the front door. But the nagging voice in the back of your throbbing mind couldn’t end things like this.

You found him in the kitchen, sipping tea and grimly flipping through a stack of papers.

Your voice caught in your throat, coming out a cracked whisper. “Good morning.”

Hazel eyes…stayed on the documents in his hand.

You shuffled forward. “I wanted to thank you. For last night. You didn’t have to do that.”

His jaw ticked.

“And I wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called, I just…wasn’t thinking straight,” you mumbled. “I’ll get going now.”

Just as you turned, an incredulous scoff resounded.

“Yesterday evening, I went home from an on-campus meeting with my married colleague, only to be woken up at one in the morning to rescue my spiraling former student.” Cold fury laced his voice.

Married colleague. Of course she was.

Your mouth filled with bitterness, reminiscent of last night’s drinks. You shifted on your feet. “How was I supposed to know? What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to think that who I speak with no longer concerns you. And then you were supposed to go on about your night, just as I would have.”

Recoiling at his frankness, you took a step back. “Zayne, I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry,” he interrupted, swiping a hand down his tired face. “You keep saying that. But are you merely sorry for calling, or for anything else that happened last night? Do you have any recollection of what you said to me?” he continued, tone sharp and scathing.

Silent and scrambling for memories, you stood before him.

“I offered to come get you the moment I realized you were drunk and alone. And you refused me. You were adamant that you didn’t want or need me. And when I asked again, you said you would rather drive yourself home than accept my help. That I wouldn’t care if something happened to you on the way.” He was advancing on you now, his much larger shadow engulfing yours on the adjacent wall.

“I was upset, Zayne. I am still upset, I have a right to be upset. You…you just left me, like it didn’t even matter, like I was never anything—”

“I tried to put your future first, and you threatened me with your life.”

The words brought your frantic gestures to an abrupt halt. With just one sentence, he’d knocked the air out of you. And when he rolled his sleeves up, you knew he wasn’t done.

“I told you I got these when I pulled a woman from a wreck,” he started, twisting his arms to show the raised scars. “Would you like to guess what happened to her that night?”

Suddenly feeling small, you shook your head.

“She was hit by a drunk driver.”

You vaguely remembered the way your heart soared when his car pulled up last night. Now, it plummeted to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your pounding head drooping all on its own. “I just wanted you to come.”

“You got your wish. Congratulations.”

“Zayne—”

“I thought many things of you the last several months,” he seethed, sharp eyes boring into you as if seeing you for the first time. “But I never took you for a child.”

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. You reached out for him, but he had already pulled back.

“Your things are by the door.”

The holiday lights at the ice skating rink were overstaying their welcome.

Alternating intermittently, they painted the ice in blues and reds, projecting dancing patterns of snowflakes under the frenzied feet of happy skaters.

Couples and families glided by, their raucous laughter and shrieks of excitement echoing in the chilly air. They lost their balance, at times, but they always had someone to catch them before they toppled to the ground.

For a tranquil, transient period, so unrecoverable now that it seemed like another life, you’d had that, too.

But tonight, from your place in the stands, their unbridled joy felt like salt in the wound.

“I’d like to take you somewhere.”

You knew him well enough by now to hear the breathy nervousness in his voice. You squinted at him, playfully quizzical, from the passenger’s seat. “‘Somewhere’ as in your office? Or is the ever-careful Dr. Li actually proposing we go out in…public?” you gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart.

He tapped two fingers on the steering wheel and shook his head, trying to suppress the smile threatening his composure. “It would be the latter. Unless you’re eager to stare at the same four walls and stacks of textbooks again, in which case I’m happy to oblige.”

Warm anticipation bloomed in your chest, and you beamed, draping your hand over his thigh. “Nope! Public is good. Public is great.”

***

“Please, please, please don’t let go,” you begged, wobbling in your skates like a newborn foal.

On the ice beside you, Zayne wasn’t doing too much better. His stronger legs kept him upright, at least, but he rarely moved more than a foot before freezing in place.

His hand fell from your wrist to the small of your back, protectively tucking you into his side. “Why don’t we try it like this for a while? A few forward strokes might make us comfortable.”

You nodded resolutely.

And barely made it one before your legs slipped out from under you, sending you crashing into already outstretched arms.

“…Why don’t we take a break,” you mumbled into his coat, clinging to him like your life depended on it.

Laughing quietly, he tightened his grip and nuzzled your hair. “That works for me. The question is…how to make it back to the stands in one piece.”

***

After 15 minutes and a collision with a maliciously uncooperative sheet of ice, you finally returned to the bleachers, sweating and giggling from the adventure.

Cheeks flushed bright red, Zayne ushered you onto a bench at the top before turning to you. His eyes sparkled with mirth and uncharacteristic innocence. “It was much more eventful than my office,” he joked.

“Not always,” you sang mischievously, and he cleared his throat as his blush deepened. “I have been wondering, though,” you continued, looking out into the sea of much more successful skaters, “you…are usually good at everything, Zayne. Why did you choose this tonight?”

His answer was immediate, as if it’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue. “You alleviate the pressure I feel to be good at everything. And you make me bolder, for better or worse,” he chuckled. “The years of my life that I missed due to my studies…I rediscover them when I’m with you.”

You closed your eyes to try to stop them from watering and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then, you lowered your head onto his shoulder.

“My parents brought me here once,” he continued. “It was a happy memory. Perhaps I also wanted to extend it with you.”

Unable to suppress it, you tensed against him. “Are you close with them?”

“Fairly. We go out for dinner twice a month.” Caution crept into his tone. “And you?”

Somber notes shifted the atmosphere.

“My parents don’t like me very much. Haven’t since I was in middle school. I think they got tired of paying to keep me alive,” you tried to joke, but it understandably fell flat.

Grunting softly, Zayne tightened his arm around your waist.

“I felt like an intruder in the house I was raised in. Always just there, but never welcome,” you mumbled, fiddling with one of his coat buttons. “It’s why I tried so hard to get here. I had to get out, but I knew they wouldn’t give me any more than they already had. So I did it myself.”

Zayne had begun rubbing circles on your back. “How do you feel when you think about them?”

“I used to feel guilty. And confused. Like it was my fault, like I wasn’t worth the energy. It only made things—me—worse, for a while. But then, once I found something to distract me, to keep me going…I just accepted it.” Rubbing at your sleeves, you sighed. “That’s only for them, though. I still get…sensitive when people leave. Decide to stop trying.”

Pulling you close, he placed a gentle kiss on your hair. “I’ll always try for you.”

Wet snow stained the streets outside.

It'd been two weeks since he’d turned you away. Two weeks of skipping classes to sit here, staring, watching, but never doing. Two weeks of happy memories fading into forgotten dreams.

You always looked through the windows when it got too much. That, and fiddled with the tennis bracelet it seemed like a curse to remove. If you did, it would all be too final. And you didn’t know when, if ever, you’d be able to accept that.

You felt silly, sometimes, being unable to let him go. Like a naive movie character, desperate and dramatic, that you would have ridiculed not even a year ago. But back then, all alone, you didn’t know how damning it could be to care for someone. To wake up in the morning, wondering what they’d do that day. How they’d make you mean something.

You’d come to accept that Zayne’s interest meant worth to you. You hadn’t become reacquainted with worthlessness.

You scratched and clawed at its advancing jaws, fighting with every breath to keep its venom from immobilizing you once more. To stay on the path you carved for yourself, undeterred by his hatred and your relapsing brain.

But every day, you strayed farther and farther.

Cold air swept behind and then beside you. You didn’t trust yourself to look.

“I trust this isn’t a new hobby of yours.”

Dry humor. You didn’t encourage it.

He tried again. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back here after your meet-and-greet with the ice.”

This time, the jab was too hard to resist. “And I didn't think you'd remember where our first date was.”

In the corner of your eye, he grimaced. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Maybe. But it’s honest. Since we’re being that, now.” Bracing your hands on your thighs, you stood up to leave. Before you could start down the stairs, he caught your arm.

“I didn’t mean to say it so harshly.”

“But you still meant to say it.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in the silence.

“Why are you even here, Zayne?”

He pulled you down with gentle strength. With a scowl, you obliged, putting distance between your estranged bodies.

“I come here to think sometimes,” he murmured. “It helps to be surrounded by pleasant memories.”

“It’s nice that that’s still what they are for you.”

He sighed and turned to face you fully. Dark circles outlined dull green eyes, but satisfaction took the place of concern. He had them, too.

“Somehow, call it instinct, I was hoping I’d find you here. I wanted to apologize for that night.” The sound of a scraping skate was a welcome distraction from his intent stare.

“When I tried to do that, you didn’t take it very well.”

His lips tugged downward. “I know. And I regret that, especially when you were vulnerable. But when you almost hung up, I just…I saw another version of that accident. But instead of that woman, it was you in the car. Because of me.”

Swallowing thickly, you fiddled with your fingers. Unfortunately, you’d long gotten used to the chain on your wrist, and it caught his gaze before you remembered to conceal it. His face softened.

“I was very worried about you that night,” he whispered, hesitantly tracing the crystal snowflakes. “And as someone who’d never had anyone to worry for, I veered out of line.”

You drew your knees up to your chest, placing the soles of your boots in the space between you. “You think I’m immature.”

“I think you’re young. And I think I’d forgotten that, because you make me feel young, too.”

“Except when you’re rescuing your former student.”

He winced. “Except then.”

“It isn’t just that night, you know,” you whispered, slotting your chin between raised knees. “You left. You knew what it would do to me, you knew I couldn’t handle it—and you left anyway.”

“I had your best interests at heart.”

“How do you think that turned out.” A statement, not a question.

Inching forward with a heavy sigh, he gently lowered your knees and took your hand. You let him.

“It’d tear both of us apart if you lost everything because of me. You don’t deserve for that to happen. Not when you’re so close to your hard work paying off.” He rubbed soothing circles into your palm. “I care for you. Deeply. You’ve shown me so many things, given me so many firsts. But I won’t be the reason your goals become fantasies.”

His free hand lifted to cup your cheek, and you nuzzled it instinctively.

“What happened that night…in the future, you must not do that again. You must not jeopardize your life again.”

You stared, quiet.

“Do you understand me?”

You nodded.

“May I kiss you?”

You nodded again.

His lips were as warm and soft as the very first time. He captured yours tenderly, timidly, as if his touch were molten.

You threaded trembling fingers in his hair, and Zayne pulled back.

Your flinch was pronounced. Your heart was teetering. You were sure your eyes were glassy.

Before you could speak or move or run, he surged forward once again. He spoke to you between urgent kisses. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

Glistening lips slid against yours, branding your mouth with their rising heat. He was firmer with you now. You liked it. It let you know he was still here.

By the time you separated, the snow had stopped. Remnants of evening sunlight warmed the forest in his eyes.

Things got better after the ice rink.

You returned to your classes, apologizing for your absences and begging for extensions on missed assignments. All but one of your professors agreed. But you’d figure it out. Get back on track.

You had to, if Zayne’s encouragement was anything to go by.

You got the briefest of texts and calls from him. Asking how you were doing, how classes were going, if he could share any resources with you. As if you really were just a former student.

But every time, despite the apprehension and longing burning in your gut, you answered him. Returned his questions. Kept him talking for as long as he’d entertain you. Because the barest bit of him made all the difference in your day.

It wasn’t the same—wasn’t anywhere close. But it gave you the will, the motivation, the purpose, to hold out a little longer.

He’d said that he cared for you. That everything, even the worst of it, had been in your best interest. To give you a chance to grow without him.

And it filled you with the most dangerous feeling, the most treacherous hope, that he’d come back to you if you could prove you could.

You felt like life was a little more in your grasp. Like if he was okay with you, maybe you would be, too.

Even the late winter cold wasn’t as bitter when you were in his orbit.

You’d been walking lately. Something your doctors had always suggested, but you’d never taken them up on. It all came back to that night, incidentally. You remembered how freeing it’d been to choose your own direction, even when your brain wasn’t yours and your reins were held tight by an invisible hand.

You’d just returned from an evening stroll around your neighborhood, freshly showered and in your nightclothes, when a curt knock sounded on your apartment door.

Only one person you knew knocked like that. Only one person would be visiting you at all.

Sure enough, that deceitfully detached expression greeted you when you opened the door, and you felt your stomach do a somersault.

For everything you’d been through, for everything you’d done together, Zayne had never been to your apartment before. He always said it’d be crossing a line you could never fall back from—as if he hadn’t already crossed your lines and curves in all their entirety.

What did it mean that he was here now? Did he miss you as much as you missed him? Need you as much as you needed him? Did he want to talk, or do something more?

And how long would he stay?

Stay. Stay. The word sprung you into action.

“Um, hi,” you squeaked, voice startled and a little too loud. “Sorry, I just got back from a walk. I guess I should’ve put on something nicer.”

“There was no need. I didn’t exactly give you notice.” His lips curled in an almost-smile.

You swallowed. “Can I get you anything? A drink? It’s not much, but I have tea, and I think I have some leftover macarons, too. But they were out of the flavor you like,” you added quickly. “So maybe you don’t want them?”

Zayne, usually amused by your nervous ramblings, only observed you quietly, his face a mask of stone.

You knew that look. You’d seen it once before.

Wordlessly, you stepped aside.

He towered over your tiny space.

You wrung your hands as your gaze dropped to the floor. As if by some miracle, you’d dissuade him from speaking, and the storm cloud he’d brought with him would pass over you harmlessly. The delicate chain on your wrist burned in warning.

“I’ve been granted a transfer to another campus.”

His storm cloud doused you in ice water. In perfect contrast to the scalding metal against your skin.

“I wanted to tell you in person. The university press is dropping the story tomorrow morning,” he continued quietly. “When I made the request, I listed the reason as a desire to explore new research opportunities. So you have nothing to worry about.”

The ringing in your ears drowned out the tail end of his words. Your whole body pulsed with the need to escape it.

Your brain spun with questions. Your heart ached, knowing he’d never fully answer them.

“When did…” you tried to ask, voice failing to reach more than a whisper. “When did you make the request?”

“After I carried you to my bed that night. I signed the papers the morning after.”

“That was over a month ago. I…I thought we’d gotten better since then, I thought we were okay now. If it was all the way before…” You paused, trying to force the oxygen back into your lungs. “Do you at least regret it? Can you reverse it?”

The downward twitch of his lips betrayed only a hint of pity. He shook his head. “I don’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

The whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your eyes stung as if pricked by thousands of needles. He took one hesitant step forward, but you could barely see it through your blurred vision.

You shook your head, frantic, desperate, and pressed your hands to your mouth. “Why do you keep doing this to me? What’s wrong with me to make you keep—you kissed me. You kissed me and you told me you cared and I believed you, when you knew you would leave again.” Your voice was a garbled cry. “You made me promise when you knew you would leave again.”

He was in front of you now, no more than a foot away. Troubled eyes roved over your figure, but flexing hands stayed at his sides. “I thought it would help you. That it might give you some peace, if I could offer you the last of myself.”

You shook your head, stronger now, as if wishing this version of him away. “You can’t do this to me again—you can’t. I thought things were better—they were better, you made them better.” You grasped at words and memories, searching for something, anything, that might make him stay. Even if guilt was the only reason, it was reason enough. “You know what happened the last time.”

You heard him approaching before you felt a cautious hand on your shoulder. “I understand that I hurt you—more than I ever had the right to. But when you risked yourself that night, I understood something else. Your safety and future are my highest priority. Those are uncertain as long as I’m near you.”

His words held a nauseating finality, and you felt your lifeline slip out of your hands.

A deep breath gave you the chance to respond. “So is that it, then? You come here to warn me and tell me goodbye, and then what? You just walk out, forget everything? If that’s a power you can learn, teach me one more thing before you go.”

His hand shifted as he flinched. He swallowed. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. Nor have I ever overstated my affection for you. I could never forget you,” he murmured. Suddenly, he flushed soft pink. “But I wasn’t planning on leaving this way. Unless you’d like for me to.”

You had no more energy to navigate the labyrinth of him. “What do you mean?”

He looked to his feet. “I said that I wanted to offer you what I could of myself. I feel as though I owe it to you, to make your last experience with me a pleasurable one.”

The implication made your heart stop.

Was that how he saw himself? Was that what he thought of you? That he’d maxed his tab with the ways he’d hurt you, and now you’d charge him with interest?

Was everything always so transactional?

Shame seared your insides. But even worse was the disgust that settled on you like a second skin—not at Zayne, but at yourself.

Because you knew your answer.

You could never turn down a chance to be close to him.

Your constricted throat opened enough for one single, damning word to escape.

“Okay.”

***

He’d been so gentle at the ice rink. Maybe that was the kind of restraint he showed when he was trying to keep a secret.

But now, his lips claimed yours as if trying to atone for one.

They were soft, slightly chapped from the dry air, and moving against you with the greed of a nation nearing famine. He suckled your bottom lip with an eager pull and a swipe of his tongue, letting it bounce briefly away before capturing it again. Each time you parted, he redoubled his efforts, meeting every corner of your lips with the hot suction of his mouth until they, too, were angry at him.

You were no less urgent than he was. Where he pressed down, you surged up, trying to meld your mouth with his so he could see how well you fit together. You licked into him to savor his taste, sweet and floral, and caught his exploring tongue with yours when it got in your way. He surrendered immediately, let you invade him as you pleased, while he raked his fingers through your hair.

As he hovered above you, frame almost too large for your full bed, he bent his legs to make himself smaller. Always compensating, always adjusting—in only the way he thought best.

Sliding between your torsos, your hand stopped its journey at the center of his slacks, petting and cupping to make him come to life. His body obeyed when you left his lips to scatter hot, open-mouthed kisses on the side of his neck, biting down to threaten his quickening pulse.

He grunted and bucked his thickening bulge while your lips soothed the sting, only to renew it again and again, trailing transient marks over transient skin. But he accepted his punishment with pleasure.

His neck was adorned with purpling bruises that looked like they belonged there. Long past his departure, he’d think of you when he saw himself. A fitting curse, given the reverse was your normal.

When you unlatched yourself to catch your breath, he took advantage of his newfound freedom, placating you with a brief peck before traveling his hand down your waist, squeezing at your hip and slipping underneath your shirt. He splayed his warm palm over your belly, rubbing up and down with unearned possession, and you mewled at the friction of his skin on yours. Diving forward to swallow the sound, he moved his hand up to cup your tender breast, completely bare under your oversized sweatshirt.

A heavy breath escaped him at the contact, and before you knew it, he’d tugged off the fabric and returned his hands to the refuge of your chest.

“I love these,” he’d whispered the first time he’d seen them, palming your rounded flesh with something like awe in his voice. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.”

His eyes now held the same infatuation, and you could see the shared memory swirling within.

Your chest heaved in mutinous anticipation, and the steady swells of your breasts drew him in like a lure. He bowed his head with the urgency of the night, and the hot lash of his tongue against your pebbled nipple made you anchor your fingers in his raven hair. What he couldn’t take in his mouth, he fondled with the same fervor, pinching and twisting your opposite peak with deliciously torturous movements.

As his mouth opened and closed and switched from one to the other, he rolled his hips into the bed with barely bridled desperation. Each brush of his thigh made your core pulse with desire, and you matched his thrusts instinctually, slotting your clothed heat against his, quietly communicating your need.

He released you with clear reluctance, pressing a kiss to the valley of your chest before obliging dutifully. You could almost feel his heartbeat in his hands as they inched back down your waist, lower and lower, until they brushed the waistband of your cotton panties.

Breathing heavily, he hovered his fingers over the hem, the heavy weight of greedy hands replaced by a feather-light touch.

He paused, eyes suddenly clouded with what you could only hope was guilt. “Are you sure?”

You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

Faded lines on your forearms twisted as you moved. Wordlessly, you guided his hand down and under.

You shared a gasp as two fingers traced your slick folds, and another when they pressed into your quivering heat.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, clinging to him as you entrusted someone with your naked body for the first time. Arousal seeped out of you, coating the tops of your thighs, but you weren’t sure how the length of him would fit inside you without pain.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “We’ll make sure you’re ready.”

Your belly clenched instinctively as his fingers pumped and curled inside you. As if they’d memorized your deepest parts, as if they belonged there. He spread and shut them, pushing and prodding your flexing walls, and your crooning moans filled the heated air.

When your legs began to shake, he quickened his pace, twisting and bending his fingers like his pleasure was tied to yours. At the same time, he rubbed his thumb against your twitching bud, circling around and pressing down. The joint sensations had you unraveling around him, panting as your hips bucked against his continued pumps.

He pulled his hand away once you began to mewl and watched his fingers glisten under the lamplight. “I never got the chance to do this,” he murmured. Casting a dazed glance at your trembling form, he slowly, sinfully, sucked his stained digits into his mouth. He moaned just as his eyes fluttered closed, and his cheeks swelled with gentle, savoring swirls of his tongue.

A throb in your core sent your remaining release pooling onto the sheets. A pang rattled your heart, knowing someone so perfect wasn’t willing to wait for you.

Simmering with grief and outrage, you yanked his hand out of his mouth and stuffed it in yours, wanting to know everything he knew. To feel everything he felt.

His eyes widened with shock and immediately narrowed. Looming over you, he ripped his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his lips, your clashing tongues exchanging your mixed taste.

As he lowered himself on top of you, you slid your hands down his torso and fiddled wildly with his belt, your mind muddled from his searing kiss.

Taking your lower lip between his teeth, he released it with a nip of admonishment and sat up over you, his knees placed on either side of your hips. His chest trembled with ragged breaths, and the collar of his sweater had sagged to reveal your marks tattooing his skin. He’d be beautiful, but beautiful things didn’t betray.

His thighs flexed around you as he swiftly pulled his sweater off, his biceps rippling with the movement. Next came his belt, which he discarded on the carpet with a gentle thud.

Slowly, deliberately, he eased off the bed, keeping dilated eyes on you throughout.

You couldn’t keep his gaze.

The first time, you’d avoided his careful, intent stare out of shyness. Now, it was shame that burned behind your eyelids.

Fabric fell to the floor. Crinkling foil faded into silent concentration. The mattress dipped.

“Do you want to continu—”

“Do it.” The words were muffled—your throat was closing up again. You gritted your teeth. “Do it.”

“We can stop here if—”

You reached out wildly and caught his arm, forcing him flush against you. “Make me remember.”

When his first stroke brushed your furthest depths, stars exploded across your vision.

He pressed into you as if trying to leave an imprint, steady and powerful and pulsing with need. You wrapped your legs around him through shaky breaths, bringing him closer, relishing the feel of his hips against yours.

Your breaths mingled as you forced yourself to look into his eyes, not quite sure what you were searching for, but bristling at what you found: composure. Control. Dominance. The traits you’d never had, but admired in him.

The ones that let him leave you.

Grunting in frustration—at him, at yourself, at the world you never asked to be in—you pushed at his chest, shifting your momentum to roll him onto his back. You clenched your core as you mounted him, refusing to let his twitching tip fall from your warmth.

He let you take him with wobbly bounces, cooing up at you while you sneered down at him. “Take what you need from me. Whatever you need.”

With every shaky rise and fall, every clench of your core on his swollen length, you tried to. But when you looked at him, calm and encouraging and so terribly not yours, teardrops clouded your vision. One by one, they splashed onto his red-tinged skin.

Your movements slowed. You collapsed onto him, cradling his head in your hands, and sobbed into his chest.

The raised lines of his scars branded your skin as he wrapped his arms around you, held you close, and took over from underneath. He raised his hips with slow, lasting thrusts, your tightening walls still responding to him despite it all.

You were too focused on his heavy heartbeat to notice the way you clamped around him, trying to drain him for all he had. And when his hips stuttered and he spilled into something so cruelly not you, you grew too numb to care.

Tears darkened the marks on his neck as he held you, turning reddish purple to indigo.

The proof that you’d known him was the last thing you saw that night. His gentle whisper in your ear was the last thing you heard.

“You’ll be better off this way.”

When you woke, the bed was cold.

"And you didn't tell anyone while this was going on?"

Your cheeks, sunken and hollow, lifted slightly as you answered. "No one to tell."

A muffled cough. Another approach. “It’s been…a while since we’ve seen you here. We hoped it would stop once you moved out of your parents’ house. Why did you try again?”

“I thought he would come.”

Silence.

Your eyes settled on the far wall of the sparsely furnished room.

"Well, it’s…remarkable that you're still on track to graduate on time—despite the circumstances, of course. You’ll make a wonderful nurse.”

"He wanted me to."

Your gown fluttered in the late spring wind.

You barely noticed. Your heart was heavy.

A brilliant stage stood before you, balloons and streamers lining the wooden steps.

To your left, rows and rows of filled seats.

The girls behind you fretted over their faces, hoping their caps hadn’t smudged their makeup.

You hadn’t looked in the mirror before you left. You’d been running late, and you weren’t sure you wanted to see what’d become of you, anyway.

It was fine. You were alone here.

A part of you thought he’d be here. That if you wished hard enough, if you tried hard enough, if you thought hard enough, he’d feel you. See you. Come back.

But jet black hair and hazel eyes were missing in the crowd.

Zayne had cradled your heart in his scarred hands and laid it to rest.

He’d hoped you would make it here, and you’d give him that, at least.

But it was what you’d do later, surrounded by the soft embrace of the bed he’d once taken you in, that made you feel at ease.

You felt the chain around your wrist and smiled wistfully. Pharaohs were buried with their treasures, after all.

The procession moved forward. Every step was a memory discarded by its co-creator.

A first kiss in a quiet room. Stairs creaking under your weight.

Scars that looked like yours. Stinging behind your eyes.

Teardrops splashing on heated skin. Your name, clear and monotone.

An unwilling return to a hospital bed. Subdued, polite applause.

It feels like fate that I met you.

The bestowal of a scroll, a brisk handshake. A tight, transactional smile.