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aurorasdaybreak · 1 month ago

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close to you | zayne li (m)

summary: it’s been a while since you’ve been back in linkon city - staying in one place is hard when you’re one of the most celebrated pediatricians of your time, after all. your constant movement is disrupted when an unexpected invitation to be an honorary professor at linkon university has you packing your bags and settling into a new apartment, excited to create new memories in the city you once called home. there’s just one problem with your carefully laid-out plans, though: a well-known cardiac surgeon who’s going to be co-teaching some classes with you - the same cardiac surgeon who just so happens to be your ex-fiancé. info: cardiac surgeon!zayne x afab!pediatric surgeon!reader | exes to coworkers to lovers | angst, fluff, smut | 24k words warnings: angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, smut, mc has insecurities abt work abilities and worthiness, zayne says hurtful things he doesn’t mean, reader has an evol linked to body energy - specifically soothing/calming emotions, they go back and forth bc they don’t know how to talk and that’s a big plot point, mentions of yvonne and greyson (yvonne is mc’s best friend!), zayne is a yearner but doesn’t know how to properly show it, reader drinks alcohol, reconciliation before it’s broken, another warning for angst, vague description of surgery and car accident, a description of a panic attack including: [heavy breathing, lightness of head, near blacking out], the comfort part of hurt with comfort, reconciliation but it’s real this time, smut, the slightest whisper of dom!zayne x sub!afab!reader, office sex, desk sex, clothed sex, f!receiving!fingering, m!receiving!handjob, zayne’s a tease, unprotected sex, g-spot stimulation, biting but it’s literally once, shared orgasms, zayne cums inside, fluff, happy ending :D author's note: good lord it's done LOL (;-;) i cannot ever shut the fuck up when it comes to dr. zayne li so i hope you enjoy this :D if you liked it, leave smth in my ask box!! i rlly appreciate it <3 disclaimer: will edit soon for any mistakes!! if you are a minor and you're seeing this, i ask that you turn away and do not read. this is an 18+ story and minors are not welcome. if you are uncomfortable with any of the topics listed in the warning, please do not read this story! banner by my beloved miss l, @snowvee <3 ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ playlist linked here!

You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited over west-facing windows before in your entire life.

All throughout your life, you never had the chance to see golden hour and sunsets as much as you would like. Your life prior to this new apartment had been spent huddled over a lab counter and running back and forth in hospital corridors, ensuring your work was done with efficiency and care. Sunrises are your constant companion and you think they’re nice, but there’s just something about sunset.

The warmth it leaves on your skin as it dips below the horizon and the sun-kissed haze it leaves in your apartment…it fills you with a sense of accomplishment and peace.

You’ve done it, ____. You’ve successfully created a new space for yourself - free of some of the memories that plague you at night.

Your eyes trace the lines of marble on your kitchen countertops, giddy with thoughts about all of the meals you can cook and wines you can have on the counter during dinners with friends. The idea of reviving your social life after moving for so long and connecting with certain people has your heart fluttering, although your concentration is broken when your phone buzzes on the counter.

You slide your finger along your phone’s screen without another thought, your smile immediately growing when you see who it is.

“Hi, Yvonne!”

You watch as her signature bangs pop up on screen, followed by her sparkling eyes and sweet, dimpled smile. Yvonne is one of your closest friends from college: one of two people who were able to drag you away from your textbooks and into a mall or a karaoke room during the weekends. She was there with flowers and snacks after you defended your thesis perfectly to become a fully fledged pediatrician, and you were present with her favorite chocolates and a reservation to her favorite restaurant when she passed her nursing exams with flying colors.

Simply put, she’s your rock and you don’t think you’d be able to exist without her.

“My favorite pediatrician’s back!” She cheers, and you laugh when you see her spin in her office chair. “How do you like your new apartment?”

“The west facing windows are incredible.” You pick up your phone and flip the screen so that she can see the sunset through your wall-length windows, and she gasps at the magnificent view.

“It’s gorgeous!” She rolls her chair closer to her phone, and you giggle when she presses her nose up against the screen so she can really squint at the painting-like sky you’re currently showing her. “Wine and dine nights are about to be so good at your apartment.”

“I’m just excited about the kitchen island and the second bedroom,” you sigh in response, picking up your phone and walking around with it. You walk towards the front of your half built shoe rack, sliding on some shoes as you continue your chat with your friend. “How’s work been so far?”

“Same old,” she responds. You watch as she unties her hair from its slicked back bun, shaking her head vigorously and massaging her scalp so that she can release the tension. “I was the charge nurse today, but we thankfully didn’t have any new admits.”

“That’s good!” You grab your leather tote bag and sling it over your shoulder, making sure your keys are on your wrist before you shut the door to your new home behind you. “When are you off, by the way? I have to go to the university to pick up my materials and meet with Dr. Chung, but we need to meet up in person.”

“I’m free a week from now if that’s okay? It gives you time to set up your apartment and get the first couple of classes out of the way.”

You hum at her words, nodding and giving her a thumbs up. “That sounds good! Now go and don’t let the doctors get you down.”

Yvonne laughs at this, waving as she hangs up the call.

There’s a pep in your step as you walk to Linkon U - your new apartment in the university district of Linkon City. There’s a pleasant vibe as you listen to your favorite song, strides unhurried as you take in your new workplace.

When you’ve been far away from everything you used to know, you don’t realize just how small things were until you step back into your previous environment and really take it all in. That’s the case for you as you walk into the health department - smiling fondly at the trophy display case by the entrance of the grand hall. You let your eyes wander as your feet take you into the vague direction of the administration offices, until-

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

You shake your head and smile sheepishly, breathing in deeply to calm your nerves at bumping into your new colleague. You find that it’s a big mistake, however, because it’s the smell you find yourself craving.

The crisp smell of pine body wash and jasmine detergent, mixed with something that makes you know that it’s him.

You feel yourself heat slightly as you dare to look up, embarrassment and something more heady roiling in your stomach as you stare directly into the golden flecked green of Zayne Li’s eyes. They’re carefully blank, his mouth pressed into a straight line and posture so rigid you would think he’s had a ruler permanently tucked into the waistband of his pants so he’s always straight-backed.

But you know that’s not the case.

No…you know that it’s because of how things ended between the two of you.

You wipe your mind of a kneeling man and salty tears streaking your cheeks as you carefully school your features into a pleasant, albeit lackluster smile. Your hands gently grasp at the shoulders you’ve dreamed of and you step to the side as you move past him, focusing on the small plaque with Dr. Alistair Chung: Head Director of the Linde School of Medicine engraved on it so you don’t lose your composure being in such close proximity to the man who’s never left your mind.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Dr. Li.”

And you mean it. He may not act like he cares, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to.

With that, you nod your head once before walking towards Dr. Chung’s office.

To your surprise, however, Zayne begins to follow you.

To Dr. Chung’s office.

You barely have time to process what’s happening before walking into the office, Zayne closing the door behind the two of you softly. You watch as your old mentor lifts his eyes from the file he’s poring over before sitting up sharply, a warm smile gracing his face as he registers who stands in front of him.

“Ah, Zayne! You’ve found Dr. ____!”

“Hi, Dr. Chung.” You barely hesitate to walk over when he lifts his arms out to you, and he envelops you in a hug that has your heart softening and anxiety calming when you step away from him and back by Zayne’s side.

“Look at the two of you!” He laughs joyously, clapping his hands. “Why, it feels like just yesterday that the two of you were undergrads entering the graduate program!”

You force a laugh from your throat, though it dies awkwardly when you realize Zayne is stone-faced next to you. You clear your throat once again, grasping at something to try and make the atmosphere of the room feel somewhat normal.

“I sometimes look back on those days. Some days with fondness, other times with pain” you say. Zayne’s breath stutters next to you but you ignore him, giving Dr. Chung a real smile. “I get the same amount of sleep from back then but I still look back on those days fondly.”

“Likewise, my dear.” He winks at you quickly before clearing his throat and picking up the document he was previously reading. “We’re thankful and honored to have you serving as an honorary co-professor here at Linkon University - your intellectual prowess and care for knowledge will surely be beneficial to the classes you’ll be overseeing this spring semester.”

You pause at his words, heart stuttering slightly when you hear the prefix “co-” in front of “professor.” What does that mean, exactly? Aren’t you supposed to be leading this semester’s medical intro class by yourself?

“Dr. Chung, I don’t mean to intrude,” you begin softly, but with enough assertiveness that you efficiently cut off his ramblings. “What did you mean by co-professor?”

Beside you, Zayne’s breath sharpens and his previously frosty demeanor goes even more rigid if possible - making your anxiety come back with a vengeance.

No…no-

“Well, Dr. ____, it means you’ll be hosting this semester’s course with another doctor.” Your jaw clenches tightly when Dr. Chung’s tone takes on a teasing sort of lilt, his eyebrows wiggling jokingly at you. You force a fake laugh, trying to quell your rapidly beating heart before asking the question you know the answer to, even if your heart sinks straight to your ass.

“Who am I co-teaching with?”

Zayne exhales sharply, as if he’d been waiting for you to finally prod at the snoring bear in the corner of the room. Dr. Chung looks at you with mild surprise, eyes flickering between the two of your bodies before laughing once more.

“Why, ____, did Zayne not tell you? You two are going to be co-professors!”

Fuck…you’re going to be teaching with Zayne?!

You whip your head sharply over to the root of your surprise and growing issues, and you note with little satisfaction at the sheepish tilt of his eyes.

“Is this really necessary, Dr. Chung?” Your voice is tight and you clench your fists so that you can still your emotions, taking a deep breath and schooling your face into its usual pleasant one. “Does Zay- Dr. Li not have his own courses to teach here at Linkon University?”

“On the contrary, Dr. ____.” You can see the bewilderment on Dr. Chung’s face as he regards the tension between the two of you, and he has the grace to look slightly embarrassed as he continues on. “You’re the leading expert on pediatrics in this region - particularly the study of how Evols can affect a child’s many systems. The seminar this semester will be cardiac and pediatrics focused, and Dr. Li requested yo-”

“If it’s a big deal, we can split the lectures so that you teach the pediatrics part and I teach the cardiac unit.” Zayne’s quick to cut off Dr. Chung’s reasoning, and you don’t miss the wicked gleam in Dr. Chung’s eye and Zayne’s rapidly reddening cheeks as he regards you once again. There’s a depth to his eyes that draws you in - eyes that have been your constant companion in your dreams, eyes that you’ve wanted to look at you with soft tenderness.

You know you can’t have those eyes in your life, though.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding before smiling up at Zayne, a bland sort of grin with no teeth and emotion. “It’s all right, Dr. Li. We want to be efficient with this, and it’s easier to explain Evol’s effects on the heart within the realm of pediatrics if we’re both in the room.”

If you were a different person not fully accustomed with Zayne and his emotions, you wouldn’t have seen the invisible war he wages between the facts and his heart flickering on his face. But having known him and his emotions for years at this point, you can see it happening in real time: the way his eyes move back and forth as he scans your face before lifting to the ceiling slightly in thought, the way his hands twitch ever so slightly, and the way his tongue quickly darts out to wet his lower lip. It’s little things you’ve tried to rid yourself of in your time apart from him, but you’re forever cursed with the knowledge in your head.

After what seems like a millenia, Zayne sighs softly and shakes his head. “All right, if you’re okay with it we can do the joint lectures.”

His tone holds a gravelly undertone, and a small part of your stomach erupts in a frenzy of butterflies. You open your mouth to speak but you’re prematurely cut off with a loud ringing coming from his pocket.

Zayne breaks his eye contact with you to reach into his pockets, and he slides his thumb across the screen without even looking. You watch as he answers his phone, face going from curious to severe before settling into a calm that you recognize; the sort of calm you feel when something urgent happens at the hospital.

Zayne hangs up his phone, and he looks at Dr. Chung apologetically. “Called in for emergency heart surgery, something related to a Metaflux fluctuation that triggered an underlying condition.”

Dr. Chung’s eyes sparkle and he nods his assent at Zayne. “Go on, Dr. Li.”

Zayne turns on his heel and begins to walk out. You force yourself to keep your head on Dr. Chung’s nameplate as you hear the door open, but before the door closes shut you hear him pause.

“It was nice seeing you, ____.”

A soft click signals his departure, and you shake yourself off internally.

What a meeting, and it isn’t even your first day lecturing yet.

How the fuck are you going to survive this?

“I think I need to take my leave as well, Dr. Chung.” Your eyes dart back to the man’s bemused smile, and you sigh internally to yourself. What does he know that you don’t?

You nod to him once more before turning on your heel to leave, but-

“You know, Dr. ____…we still have that permanent head of pediatrics position open.”

Dr. Chung’s voice stops you in your tracks, hand hovering above the door knob to his office. You turn your head back to look at him with a bewildered expression. “Sir?”

“It’s been empty for years,” he continues. He peers at you through his glasses, and you suddenly feel like you’re back in grad school - standing in front of him and a panel of your professors skillfully answering questions regarding your thesis. “I can’t think of anyone better than you to lead our pediatrics department.”

You shake your head at this, a bashful expression overtaking your face. “Respectfully, no thank you, Dr. Chung. I don’t think I’m fit for hospital politics - I’d rather be hands on with my care.”

“You, not fit for it?” The laugh that escapes his chest isn’t in a derogatory manner - in fact, it’s full of disbelief that you even think of yourself in that way. “Ms. ____, you fearlessly defended your thesis some years ago before going on to win heaps of awards and researching new scientific breakthroughs for diseases that plague young children. You’ve accomplished feats most of my colleagues barely even get to touch by the end of their career, and you’re still at the first couple of years in your glowing career. Why, you and Dr. Li are of the same caliber! Why are you so afraid of giving yourself time to rest?”

You flinch at the mention of his name as a comparison to your own, but you try to hide your sudden shock as you shake your head harshly. “No, I don’t think I’m quite right for it yet.”

Dr. Chung’s eyes soften at your sudden walls, and he sighs. “Seems I hit a nerve.”

You avert your eyes as he gets up from his chair, approaching you with gentle steps. He stands in front of you and holds out his hand, and after a bit of hesitation, you give him your own. He holds it gently as he regards you with a familial kindness - one that makes your heart ache ever so slightly.

“____, there’s no shame in stopping and resting.” He squeezes your hand and you fight back tears as you squeeze back. “Let me tell you, you’ll never be right for anything - but you can always let yourself grow in your new home and learn. That’s the beauty of our field.”

You bite your lip, willing yourself to get your emotions together before you look up at him and smile as brightly as you can manage. “The semester hasn’t even started yet! Let me get through the courses first - and let me navigate working with Dr. Li while also doing my dailies at Akso and balancing observations. If anything changes I’ll give my response by the end of the semester.”

Dr. Chung sighs, shaking his head. “All right. But just know that by the end of the semester, I will be sending you a couple of insistent emails.”

With that, he lets you go and you wander back down the hallway you came from. As you walk aimlessly, you catch sight of the office door the two of you were by. A shiny nameplate sparkles with the name Dr. Zayne Li, Head of Cardiology engraved on it, and you sigh at your past self’s lack of awareness.

You should have known.

You know it’s foolish of you to think, but is he thinking of you as he’s washing up and preparing for the sudden emergency surgery sprung up on it? Did you consume his thoughts as much as he did in your time apart?

Or have his feelings for you eroded into nothingness?

You shake your head once more, squashing down the disappointment that settles in your stomach before making your way out of the academic office wing.

You don’t have time to think about him. You have lectures to write.

You can’t fight the nervous butterflies that erupt in your stomach when you walk into your assigned lecture hall the following week.

You’ve done a lot of hard things through your career; you can practically do high risk surgeries and retake the Doctor’s Exam in your sleep if you needed to. Public speaking was never really your forte, though - which is hilarious considering you’ve had to speak at international conventions and teach lectures before this.

The more you analyze your feelings, though, you realize that they’re good butterflies.

You don’t know why it feels so different this time. You’re still the same you - maybe with more degrees and an even bigger lack of sleep when you were in undergrad but still, it’s you. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re in a familiar environment that feels so new.

Maybe it’s the person you’re going to be teaching with.

You can’t allow yourself to falter, so you swallow your nerves and open the lecture hall’s computer - waiting for it to boot up so you can access the slides you’ve carefully put together.

You hear the tell-tale sign of the door creaking open, and you hum as you log into your work account. “Hi! Class isn’t in session yet-”

“I would hope not, I don’t want to be late.”

Your stomach drops slightly when you note the soft, slightly frosty tone of your co-lecturer. You clear your throat and steel yourself, looking up to see Zayne holding a stack of neatly stapled papers and his own bag. He sets his bag next to yours on the hook behind the desk before setting the syllabi down onto the desk in front of you.

The air around you suddenly feels too thin, and you reach for a packet so that you can distract yourself from the thin line his mouth is pressed into and how his white shirtsleeves are pushed up to his elbows and hug his biceps in the way you so love- loved. You ignore the way your hands shake as you flip the paper, noting the class schedule and when exams would be before nodding once.

“Glad we both agree on the content schedule.” You cringe internally at how your voice wavers, and you clear your throat once again before scanning the class recommendations once more.

“When would we do observations?” You lift your gaze from the paper and look at him pointedly, tapping at the dates listed. “There aren’t any concrete dates, and with exams and other classes we should let them know in advance so there isn’t any confusion.”

“We should schedule it around our personal timelines.” Zayne’s voice is clipped as he pulls out a pen pouch from his bag and sets it on the desk. “We need to make sure that no major procedures are impeded on when we bring med students around.”

“That’s practically impossible with how fast things change in the hospital and you know that to be true, Zay- Dr. Li.” You catch your near slip and you clear your throat, grabbing a pen and writing down five potential dates. “How do you feel about these?”

Zayne takes the paper from your hands, and you try to fight the shiver that threatens to race down your back when his hands lightly graze against the back of your hand. The tips of his fingers are as callused as you remember and though they barely brush across your knuckles, you fight the gasp that bubbles up against your lips and disguise it as a really shitty cough.

You watch as he purses his lips, scanning through his personal timeline in his head before nodding once in agreement. “All right.”

Your heart sinks at how quickly he agrees - his clipped, almost bored voice letting you know that he intends to spend the least amount of time with you so that he can be rid of you quickly. Did he really disregard you that much - does he really not care for the past couple of years you’ve spent together, even if the ending was horrible?

“I know you don’t want to work with me, especially with how things ended.” You mumble as you avert your eyes so you don’t have to see his expression. “We just have to last the semester and then…well, I’m not sure. But I’m sure you’ll be rid of me by then.”

“What makes you think that?”

His voice is quiet, severe, devoid of any and all emotion that endeared you to him - but he still moves a little closer so that he’s encroaching on your territory. Not enough where he’s all you can feel, but enough that it sends a shiver up your spine when you smell his signature pine and jasmine scent.

“I don’t know.” Your honesty is bare for him to take in, and you swallow thickly when you realize just how vulnerable you’re being with him. This isn’t something that should be happening right now - not with students on their way to the lecture hall right now.

And you definitely shouldn’t be sharing feelings with your fucking ex-fiancé.

“It doesn’t matter.” You swallow thickly before schooling your expression into the bland smile you always seem to have when you’re around him these days. The fire in his eyes gradually dims before frost takes over his expression again because he knows.

He knows that you’re not going to listen to him, not this time.

So you turn back and wave hello to the incoming medical students.

And if they sense the frost between the two of you, they don’t dare to say anything.

“...And that’s how I ended up in this situation.”

“Holy shit, ____.”

“Yeah.” You’re careful as you flop back onto your couch so that you don’t spill the wine you’re holding, rubbing your eyes as you process all that transpired in the past couple of days.

“This is the romance story of the ages.”

Your eyes snap open from shock at Yvonne’s half joke, and you toss a cat shaped couch pillow at her head. “Yvonne! He’s my co-lecturer!”

Yvonne laughs at your reaction as she holds her hands up, half in surrender and half so that she doesn’t spill wine all over your couch. You think she’ll stop the teasing, but…

“You know, most if not all of the health college’s heads set up betting pools on when you and Zayne would start dating.” You groan at her words, throwing another pillow at her laughing head.

“You’re making that shit up!” You slouch on your couch, folding your arms dramatically.

“Am not!” She gasps. “My nursing professors put a lot of gold in the pool for the month of March because of White Day.”

You feel a hot flash of embarrassment when you remember how he had bought you a box of chocolates and a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and you rub a hand at your temple when you recall the classmates and professors that had flocked around you and asked who it was from with a touch of too much intensity. “Oh gods…”

“Now that I think about it, I think Dr. Chung won the whole thing. No wonder he’s so insistent on you working at Akso and becoming the Head of Pediatrics.” Yvonne moves to sit down next to you, placing her wine glass on your coffee table before settling her head on your shoulder. You place your head on top of hers, letting her presence be a safe space for mulling over your thoughts.

“That damn Dr. Chung,” you grumble, much to her amusement.

“It could be worse, ____.” Yvonne’s voice takes on a tone of comfort, and you sigh as you close your eyes. “You’re just lecturing a couple of classes and doing a set of observations with Zay- Dr. Li. Make it through that, you can make it through anything.”

“You can call him Zayne,” you mumble back. “Hearing his name won’t kill me.”

“Well, it sounded like making a little bit of eye contact with him was going to set off cardiac arrest.” Her voice is back to teasing and you make a noise of frustration.

“It was charged and intense!”

“Just say you were eye-fucking him and go, ____!”

The absurdity of Yvonne’s statement makes the both of you burst out laughing, you clutching your stomach as high pitched squeaks escape the both of your lips. There’s something about the two of you absolutely giggling your heads off at something so preposterous that eases your nerves with your current situation at hand.

Maybe it is that easy. All you need to do is survive this semester and then you can transfer to a different city and work in a different hospital and university. Maybe Dawnlight City or somewhere near the Arctic in a sleepy little town.

Somewhere far away enough where you don’t have to be reminded of all of your memories and history involving Zayne.

“All of this would be a lot easier if things weren’t the way they were.” It’s a quiet statement, tinged with a fraction of the sadness that lurks deep in your soul. You want to blame it on the wine, but you know that it’s something that’s been festering within your body ever since that night.

“It’s not on you, ____.” Yvonne’s voice is firm and she squeezes your hand tightly as she bumps you lightly with her shoulder. “It was a mutual agreement to keep the engagement private and you guys were so happy. Transferring to a different hospital was reasonable and you did it so you could move on - no one faults you for that, ____.”

You freeze slightly when you hear move on - a phrase loaded with implications and uncharted feelings.

Have you moved on? You reflect back on your life and you find that things have gotten easier for you. You have a new step stool that’s only allowed in the kitchen because you picked up his annoying habit of placing your dishes on the highest shelf even though you’re shorter than him. You have a car and are more comfortable driving, no longer as reliant on public transportation or your friends. You’ve grown to like eggplant parmesan, too.

But those are little things in your life that you’ve done to fill his absence. You still see and feel flashes of him when you least expect it: in cloyingly sweet lattes that remind you of late night study sessions, in lavender bouquets that surround you with the smell of your first kiss, and with the chibi snowman sitting on your nightstand - the same one you don’t have the heart to throw away because he made it for you when you were bedridden with the fever and he didn’t want to leave you alone, even though he had his own thesis defense rehearsal to prepare for that night.

As much as you’ve tried to move on, you know that you’re just plugging in the gaps for the spaces he used to live in. Deep down, you know that there’s no moving on from him - from the man who wrapped you with his own coat with laughter even though you were the one who insisted on leaving without a jacket, from the one who wiped your tears away and cried with you after you experienced your first loss as a doctor, from the one who tapped his finger three times against your nose before you went to sleep.

No, you can’t move on. Not when you’re still so deeply and irrevocably in love with Li Zayne.

“I haven’t moved on.”

The whisper hangs in the air above your heads and Yvonne stiffens ever so slightly, taking in your confession.

“You’re not over Zayne?”

Her response is a quiet gasp, and you sigh as you rub your hand over your face before shaking your head once, twice, three times - confirming the truth that’s been bubbling in your chest ever since you moved away all those years ago.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been over him.”

“Shit, ____.”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

You let yourself reflect back on that rainy night - the night where everything fell apart for the two of you. He had just been promoted to head of cardiology at Akso - draining his time and his affections from you. You had started seeing him less and less, dark circles forming under his eyes and his cheeks growing gaunter by the second. The two of you had gone back and forth on the subject until everything just…snapped.

“I never see you anymore, ____.” It was lethally quiet after you had said the unspoken truth, venom injected into your tone. “You’re working yourself to death, you’re going to bed when I’m waking up and it’s not good for you-”

“I’m working for us.” Zayne’s voice was icy and he had balled his hands into a fist so tightly you were afraid of him accidentally breaking his own skin. “Weddings are expensive and this is all for you-”

“I don’t want it to only be for me, Zayne! This is supposed to be for us!”

It had burst out of your chest, and in the heat of your anger you had marched up to him and pointed your finger in his chest. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. You’ve distanced yourself from me. We don’t even sleep in the same fucking bed anymore, Zayne!”

Zayne’s anger had rolled over, clouding his judgement as he pushed you away from his body. Your hands had fallen to your side as he said the words that have since been engraved in the twisted, self-hating part of your brain with a coldness that had your entire body shaking. “Sometimes there are more important things than you, ___.”

The living room had gone eerily still, the words punching your gut before you had even processed what he said. There was a breathlessness that had consumed every fiber of your being, and the only thing you remember saying in response to his wide eyes and kneeling position as he clung to your legs and begged for forgiveness over and over again was a simple “We’re done.”

You had pulled off the diamond ring that was nestled on your finger and thrown it at him before walking out of his apartment into the rain, wandering aimlessly until you somehow made it onto Yvonne’s doorstep. She had answered in a mild panic and she held you as you sobbed.

And now you’re in the same position, holding hands while feeling empty.

“Have you talked to him since that day, ____?”

Yvonne’s soft musings break you out of your stupor, and you shake yourself of the past as you process her words. “What was that?”

“Have you talked to him at all?”

“No.” You pull away and rub your cheeks with your hands, hoping that the sensation pulls you away from the dark haze still threatening to consume you. “How would I even approach that conversation? Leaving was the best thing for the both of us.”

Yvonne hums and watches you as you pick up your wine glass and drains it of its remaining liquid. You sigh and wipe the back of your mouth, your thoughts flying out of your mouth as you pour yourself more wine and force yourself to smile. “It’s just a couple of months doing lectures and observations with my ex who I’m still in love with. All I need to do is keep trucking along and not look at him too long and I’ll be okay!”

“You’re deflecting again, ____.” Yvonne’s voice is deadpan, but you can see the glimmer of concern that flashes in her eyes as she reaches over and takes your wine glass and the bottle away from your hands. “And what makes you think he doesn’t feel the same about you?”

You shake your head rapidly at this, refusing to even entertain the idea with her as you try to reach for the bottle once more. “No, I think he was pretty clear when he said other things were more important than me.”

“That’s a big fat lie and you know it, ____.” You scowl and petulantly cross your arms when Yvonne shakes her head and places the bottle and glass on the side table next to her. “No more wine for you, you’re going to have the worst headache tomorrow if we don’t stop now.”

“It’s a good bottle,” you grumble, although you know she’s right.

She rolls her eyes and settles back down next to you, her tone measured as she starts on her train of thought. “You of all people know Zayne the best. He wouldn’t be teaching classes with you if that were the case - fuck, ___, he probably wouldn’t have even approved your guest professor spot if he wasn’t okay with you.”

“Maybe there was no one else available with the same type of expertise?” Your half-hearted joke dies on your throat at the glare Yvonne throws in your direction, and you shrink back as you prepare for her overprotective best friend mode.

“Of fucking course there’s no one else with your expertise, ____!” She heaves a breath, and you sigh heavily.

“Yvonne, no matter how much I want to be with him again, Zayne’s moved on from it. The best I can do now is bear it and try to move on too.”

“You just…just talk to him, ____.” You look at her in bewilderment and Yvonne throws her hands up, shaking her head in exasperation. “I’m not saying I’m defending him or that you need to get back together with him, just…talk to him. He’s changed to the point where even I can see it, and I was his number one hater.”

“You don’t think he’s moved on?” Your voice is tinged with nerves, and Yvonne shakes her head empathetically.

You sink back into your cushions as you mull over your new knowledge, and you feel dangerous feelings of hopes spark in your chest. If Yvonne, the nurse he’s closest to, thinks he hasn’t moved on, then…

“All right, I’ll talk to him.”

This is it.

This is the day you talk to Zayne and try to make things semi-normal with him again.

It’s also the first date of in-hospital observations, and you’re extra conscious of it in the way you triple check that you have your ID badge and stash multiple pens in your pockets for your students. Sure that you’re ready, you walk into Akso Hospital’s cardiac ward in your scrubs and most comfortable shoes, holding a box full of mini cakes labelled “for the ward with the most heart!”

Is it a little bit cheesy? Yes, but you need cheesy if you’re going to get back into a certain cardiac surgeon’s good graces.

For how long you’ve spent in Akso’s cardiac unit in the past, you still can’t remember the exact way you need to take to end up at the cardiac ward’s offices. You were always with Zayne, and he was the one who picked you up and led you to his office so you never really bothered to learn the directions you needed to take because he was always there with you.

You’re certainly cursing your past yourself out for not paying attention now.

You scan your surroundings, lighting up when you see a receptionist’s desk towards your left. You walk around the family waiting room and approach the desk, scanning for a familiar face. You’re a little disappointed, however, when you see a new receptionist.

A handsome looking new receptionist.

As you approach the desk, his head lifts and his eyes widen before giving you a friendly smile, waving hello to you. You give a cordial smile back, letting your feet stop in front of the table and plopping the box in front of you so that you can give your hands a break.

“Hi, I’m looking for the cardiac ward’s offices. I’m meeting a doctor and some students there for observations today?” You cringe when you hear the tilt of a question on your tone, but the receptionist beams at you and nods.

“Yes, of course! And what was your name again?”

“Dr. ____, pediatrics.” You hold out your hand, and he smiles as he grabs hold and shakes it firmly.

“Michael,” he replies easily, and you feel your stomach clench uncomfortably at the way he holds your hand for longer than necessary. You cough and pull yourself back, schooling yourself into a generally nice attitude as you regard him.

“Do you happen to know if anyone else is in the office right now?” You shift your weight around, trying to think of a reason to get going. “It’s fine if it’s the other doctor I’m following for observations today, but I want to get this to the other doctors of the ward before the day starts.”

“Hmm…” Michael’s voice tapers off as he scans his computer before shaking his head empathetically. “Nope, no one’s in right now. I can certainly take the desserts from you, though!”

His laughter fills the air, and you choke out a laugh just so you can try and feel less awkward. You grab at your box though, just to ensure that he doesn’t grab them from your grasp. “Ah, no, it’s okay. I’ll just get going, then-”

“Are you sure?” You feel yourself die a little bit when Michael stands from his desk, walking around and placing an unwanted hand on the small of your back. “I can walk you over-”

“That won’t be necessary, Matthew.”

The voice breaks the awkwardness, and you find yourself filling with cold relief as you turn around and find Zayne walking into the waiting room. He’s pulling on a white coat over his scrubs, and you try to suppress the dangerous thoughts that flare in your head when you see the slight way his fingers twitch at the sight of Michael’s hand on your back.

“Dr. Li!” Michael smiles, although you can see the tightness in his eyes as he registers Zayne using a wrong name. “I was just going to take Dr. ____ to the ward’s offices-”

“And I’m here now.” Zayne’s standing next to you before you know it, swatting his hand away and replacing it with his own. You relax slightly, unconsciously stepping closer to Zayne’s solid body as you give Michael a fake apologetic look.

“Thanks for your help!” Your tone has a soft sarcastic edge - one that has Zayne loosing a soft breath as he begins to push you away. Your movements are stopped though, when you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and tug you back.

“Wha-”

“I was going to help you!” Michael’s voice is tight as he throws a barely disguised look of annoyance at Zayne, who’s jaw ticks dangerously when he sees how Michael holds your wrist. “Zayne doesn’t need to take you-”

“On the contrary.” Zayne grabs Michael’s wrist and yanks him off of you, your eyes widening at the sudden display of calculated aggression from him. Zayne steps from your side and all but pushes Michael back to his seat, the latter’s cheeks burning bright red as he sits defeatedly back at his desk.

You watch carefully as Zayne steps back by your side, noting the way his jaw ticks dangerously when he regards Michael’s sweating face once more. Scoffing just loud enough for you to hear, he places his hand back on the small of your back and tilts his head back to Michael in a dismissive show of goodbye.

“It’s Dr. Li to you, Matthew. I suggest you remember respect.”

With that, the pressure on your back grows stronger as Zayne gently pushes you in the direction of the offices.

Once you’re out of earshot, you step away and regard him curiously. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“You were uncomfortable and Michael messed up some important appointments, I could have done worse.” Zayne’s tone is bored but you can hear the tightness in his voice as he swipes his keycard. He pushes the door open with his foot, and you’re greeted with the sight of a doctor you vaguely recognize and Yvonne, who looks like she’s about to fall asleep on her feet.

“Dr. ___, everybody.” You look at Zayne curiously, but he doesn’t give anything else away as he ushers you towards the two empty chairs at the head of the table. You shake your head at Yvonne’s small smirk, but the smirk only widens when Zayne pulls the chair out for you and gestures for you to sit.

“I’m Greyson!” The doctor with ruffled brown hair and thick glasses smiles at you sweetly as he shakes your hand, and you widen your eyes at Yvonne who’s face suddenly flushes once she sees you’ve come to your realization:

This is the doctor she has a crush on.

You’re never going to let her live this down.

“____,” your voice is warm as you shake his hand, and you give a small wave to Yvonne who’s suddenly avoiding your gaze sheepishly. Your smile grows even wider and you open your mouth to tease her subtly, but you’re interrupted with a cough.

You turn your head to look at Zayne, who’s looking at the box still in your hands with curiosity and something softer - a look he reserved only for you in the past. You watch as his eyes scan your penmanship on the box, and your heart stutters when you see the small upward tilt on his lips.

“‘For the ward with the most heart?’ There better not be a real heart in there, ____.”

“No, not at all.” You pull the lid of the box open, and you watch as Zayne’s face shifts from relaxed to something unreadable.

In the box are little tea cakes, reminiscent of the ones you and him would pick up for your coworkers. You had randomly picked out a variety when you picked them up this morning, but as you look at the innocent little cake jars you feel yourself freeze.

These were the same flavors you and him always gravitated towards when the two of you were still together.

You hold your breath as Greyson makes his way closer, picking up a small jar of earl grey cake piled high with a light whipped cream. Greyson looks towards Zayne with an inquisitive quirk on his brow. “Isn’t this your favorite flavor?”

“I-” Zayne begins, but you clear your throat and snatch the cake from Greyson’s hands.

“They’re meant to be shared!” Your voice wavers, and you shoot a pointed look at Yvonne who you can tell is trying not to die from embarrassment for you. Yvonne, getting the hint, moves to stand next to you and peers into the cake box.

“Chocolate raspberry!” She picks up the little jar and playfully elbows you, resulting in a little oof escaping from your mouth as she inspects the cake with glee in her eyes. “You’re the best, ____.”

“I like that flavor too!” Greyson moves towards Yvonne in an attempt to steal the little jar, but Yvonne moves away with ease and sticks her tongue out at him childishly.

“Get lost, Greyson! I claim this one!”

Their bickering fades when you feel another presence next to you, though you can tell it’s not as frosty. You turn your head towards Zayne, who’s looking at you with an undecipherable expression on your face.

“You didn’t have to get the cakes.” You feel your stomach drop at the tone of his voice - one that doesn’t give away his emotions. Why is he so hard to read now? Are all of your plans going to shit before you can even move them into motion?

“I wanted to.” You let your eyes dart away to compose yourself, and you find yourself scowling at the sight of the little cake jars. Maybe he didn’t want them at all? Why are you always second guessing yourself with him? “It’s okay, though. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, I can take them-”

“Who said I wouldn’t eat them?”

A soft pressure encircles itself on your wrist, and your body stills as a comforting cold starts at your wrist and grounds yourself in your present. You look up to see Zayne’s softening gaze, clearly reading through your facade.

“I’m grateful you got them for me- us.” Zayne’s lips tilt up once more, and you feel yourself melting slightly at the sight. “The ward appreciates it, ____.”

“I’m glad,” you reply. “I wanted to get us off on the right foot, with observations and whatnot.”

You inject your voice with your hidden implications, and you watch Zayne debunk it in real time. You wait with bated breath to see if he’ll accept your tentative olive branch-

-and you exhale in relief when he nods slightly.

“After today’s observations.”

As if on cue, your first students knock on the office door and Yvonne and Greyson stop their bickering to open the door. You nod at him once before pulling away and putting on your best professor smile.

And this time, it’s not as forced as it used to be.

Observations are going well.

You and Zayne had been efficient with introducing Greyson and Yvonne to your class as the accompanying doctor and charge nurse for this set of rounds. You had been thorough with your students’ expectations: take diligent notes, let the four of you handle the brunt of the work, and respect the patient’s privacy.

The first couple of rooms had been peaceful, full of patients who were doing well and willing to chat with a select number of students. You watch with a soft smile as Zayne leads this demonstration with one of your students, an elderly patient giving your group a smile and a thumbs up as you herd them out of the room.

Soon enough, you reach the last room. You scan the patient’s file, frowning when you see the information written on the page. You take Zayne’s lax position as a chance to approach him, walking up to his height and tapping the paper in your hands.

“I don’t exactly know how this file came up in the approved files for observations, are you sure this is okay?” You ask as he scans the profile. His eyes widen and he looks at you, the concern you feel in your stomach mirrored in his eyes.

“Escalated emotions leading to spiked heart rate…” he muses softly, and he scans over the rest of the information before he nods to himself and looks back at you. “As long as we maintain a calm environment for her and direct our students to do the same, it should be okay. We have to be careful though.”

You can’t shake off your unease, but you nod with him. “It’s important for them to see different situations. I’ll take this one.”

With both of your approval, you and Zayne lay down the rules before opening the door to the patient’s room.

Your eyes soften when you see the patient on her bed - a girl no older than the age of ten. She has an apprehensive look on her face that she disguises with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and your heart aches when you note her slightly shaky hands.

You put on your own smile, one you hope that puts her at ease as you approach the bed. You feel Zayne’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head as you sit at the edge - breaking obvious protocol, but different scenarios call for different solutions.

“Hi, I’m Dr. ____! What’s your name?” You see her shoulders loosen ever so slightly at your soft tone, and you take it as a win as you hold out your hand for her to shake.

“Mine’s Grace,” she responds, and you melt when you feel the slight tremor stop as she shakes your hand.

“Well, Grace,” you begin, pulling out your files and selecting her file. You make a big show of flipping through the pages, and she giggles at your theatrics as you find her case details. “It says here you’re due for a heart transplant because of an Evol-related accident. Can you tell me some details and how you’re feeling right now?”

Grace clears her throat, a sudden seriousness taking over her face and making her older than she appears. “I’m 100th on the waitlist. I’ve been on the waitlist for two years, ever since a Wanderer attack created Metaflux waves so strong it affected the chemistry of my body. I feel…tired. Doctors keep telling me I’ll be okay but I don’t feel it.” She suddenly looks at Zayne, her eyes sharp as she regards him. “Am I going to die, Dr. Li?”

Your students pause their frantic notes, and you can feel the energy of the room go down at the sudden morbidness even though you and Zayne barely blink at her question. Maybe because the two of you are accustomed to situations turning all of a sudden, but you know that this won’t end well if you don’t redirect now.

“You’re not going to die.” Your voice is still soft but much more serious as you reach out and grasp Grace’s hand once more, letting her sink her nails into your hand so that she can grasp at her reality.

“I’m dying, Dr. ____.” You can hear the telltale sounds of tears welling up in the back of her throat, and you’re quick to wrap her in your arms as she begins to cry. You can tell that this is her breaking point and you’re cursing yourself out in your head for even bringing students into this room.

“I’m scared to die,” she sobs into your chest as you stroke her hair. Her heart rate begins to pick up on the monitor, and Zayne’s eyes flash as he hears the sound. You know immediately you need to try and get it under control - her heart spiking could lead to dangerous effects.

You will yourself into a calm place in your mind as your hands move up and down in soothing movements. The room grows quiet when your hands begin to emit a soft glow, and you whisper softly into Grace’s ear as you direct your Evol into her body.

“Dr. Li, what’s Dr. ____ doing to the patient?”

You ignore the student’s question and focus solely on Grace’s breathing, guiding her body’s energy into a tranquil place that allows for her heart rate to settle and for her tears to subside. All the while, you rub circles into her shoulder and whisper, “You’re not going to die, Grace. Dr. Li and I will make sure of it, sweetheart.”

Grace’s breathing evens out, and she pulls away with a soft sigh. Her eyes are slightly swollen, but her face looks serene, even a little bit sleepy as she gives you a small smile.

“Thank you, Dr. ____.” Her brow furrows when she looks at your face and you automatically reach up to make sure your smile isn’t slipping off your cheeks. “You look…different now.”

You know. You can feel it in the throbbing of your skull and how your cheeks probably lost some color but you shake your head, pushing away slightly and ignoring the way your hands shake.

“I’m okay, sweet girl.” You give her hand a soft pat before standing up, wobbling slightly on your feet. You brush off the concerned gasps and murmurs, instead electing to look at the bright EXIT sign above the door so you don’t accidentally make eye contact with the other doctor in the room.

“Dr. Li will finish up this round of observations.” Your voice trembles yet leaves no room for argument, and you ignore everyone’s worried glances at each other as you make your way to the door. “Reflections due midnight this Friday online.”

You’re dashing out of the door before you even hear a confirmation, briskly walking the halls of the ward so that you can try to find a quiet spot to collect yourself.

Your Evol isn’t a secret - in fact, it was quite well known in the medical world and the Hunter’s Association. You had been tested rigorously when you were younger because having the ability to control emotions could be dangerous in the wrong hands, but the results came back stating that you could only calm and soothe.

The results didn’t mention how it affected you, however. If done at too intense of a frequency when your energy’s low, it could cause damage to your own emotional being. Stop while administering the Evol and you risk permanently affecting the receiver’s psyche. Do it too many times with no adequate rest and you’re basically irreparable.

Hilarious that you can’t fix your own troubles with your Evol.

You somehow find your way back to the office you were in earlier and you swipe your key card against the sensor, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the sensor beeps red. You try to swipe again and almost kick the door in frustration when it beeps red at you once more, and you’re ready to fall asleep on the wall when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

You let the cool touch guide you away from the door, and you don’t speak as Zayne pushes the door open and gently ushers you inside. Somewhere in your tired mind you can feel the sour mood of the room, but you’re thankful that he doesn’t speak as he pulls out a chair and all but pushes you to sit on the hard plastic.

Your eyes slowly drift shut as you massage your temples, hoping the ache goes away soon so you can run off and take a nap. All the while, he’s a quiet yet agitated flurry of movement, filling a paper cup with water and pulling a chair closer to you so he can sit in front of you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Zayne says as he settles down. There’s a dull clack as he sets the paper cup in front of you a little too harshly, and you barely crack your eyes open to find it before grabbing onto it and taking a small sip. You find that the water helps alleviate the ache, so you take a bigger gulp as you eye him with a bit of annoyance.

“It was a mistake bringing the students into her room so I found a solution to help ease her anxiety.” There’s no warmth in your tone and Zayne sighs in frustration because he knows you’re right - it was an oversight on both of your parts, you just happen to be the one who fixed it.

“We could have found a solution together,” he responds, and you fight back the bitterness that settles on your tongue at the worry that finds its way into his expression and voice.

“Why does it matter?” You don’t mean to sound angry, you really don’t, but being with the man you still hold incredibly complicated feelings for is clouding your judgement and manifesting itself in this way. “Who are you to care?”

The implications of your words hang heavy in the air, and Zayne’s mouth snaps shut as you avert your gaze.

Why is he still so worried about you?

Isn’t he the one who said that there were more important things than you?

Why is your heart aching right now?

“This is stupid,” you grumble, and you push yourself up from the seat even though you wobble slightly. “I’m going to go home and take a nap.”

You sidestep his chair and walk for the door, reaching for the doorknob and pretending not to hear the scrape of his chair against the floor-

-but he stops you, pushing you back down into your chair.

Zayne doesn’t speak, simply opening the box of cakes still on the table and pulling out the earl grey cup with whipped cream - the same cake he was eyeing earlier. With a newfound gentleness, he sets the cake down in front of you alongside a small fork before grabbing your paper cup and going back to the water dispenser to fill it up.

“You’re always drained after using your Evol so you need to get your blood sugar up.” His voice is still concise and clear, but there’s a softer look in his eyes as he hands you back your water cup and lets your hands muddle together. “Eat, ____.”

His fingertips linger on the back of your hand and you watch a war of emotions flash in Zayne’s eyes before he sighs heavily, allowing his hand to reach up and run along the underside of your jaw. The room goes too still and you’re suddenly overaware of him - of his jasmine and pine scent, of the calluses on his fingertips as his thumb barely ghosts over your lips, and the myriad of emotions that flash in his eyes.

Your hand reaches up before you can stop it, and you rest your palm against his own hand. Your breath trembles, but you still find it in yourself to tap your pointer finger three times: a signal only the two of you know.

His eyes widen, but his thumb taps against your bottom lip once…twice…

“-Zayne, there you are!”

He pulls away too soon, and you’re cursing Greyson in your head for walking in on the two of you all of a sudden. Greyson’s eyes widen at the scene but Zayne’s pulling away before you can even blink, quick to stand and move next to Greyson while his hand flexes ever so slightly.

“I want the cake jar empty and a text saying you’re home and asleep by the time I come back.”

And with that, he leaves the room - leaving you flustered and warm all over.

The next few weeks are…infuriatingly pleasant, to say the least.

There’s an unspoken agreement of peace between you and Zayne. While things obviously haven’t gone back to how they were when you were…together, there’s an air of familiarity that you both sink into with an alarming quickness - and to be honest, it has your head spinning.

It’s the lunches sent to each other’s offices without another word alongside neat stacks of assignments, sticky notes of “Do you agree with this grading?” written in penmanship only the two of you understand.

It’s coffee runs early in the morning at the times you always went: 7:00 am, and while you may not talk to each other the silence is comfortable with glances from your end when you think he isn’t looking.

He’s actually staring at you when you actually aren’t looking, with a yearning that would have made your heart stop if you had caught sight of it.

And it’s the subtle touches that catch the attention of students and faculty alike - creating a flurry of rumors that he somehow is oblivious to but you’re completely aware of.

“Did you see the way he moved her away with his hand on her back? That was so romantic!” You’re passing by a group of your students after class, and your head immediately whips to the girl who sighed that statement.

“What was that, Lisa?” You’re not trying to tease or put her on the spot, you just kind of want her perspective on the situation because you were hyper aware of it, too. You watch as both of her companions snicker and she flounders for an answer, cheeks turning pink and games cast to anywhere but your scrutiny.

“N-nothing, Dr. ____!” She bows hastily and all but runs away, her friends bowing at you as a farewell gesture before chasing after her. The laughter that leaves their lips makes you shake your head, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you walk to your temporary office in the academic advisory wing.

Your office is barebones, but there’s a little blind box figurine on your desk that marks it as your own. You smile at the silly little figure checking its watch while carrying a briefcase, placing your own bag down and pulling out a thick stack of reflections and a red pen. You flip your office sign so that it says you’re in before settling into your chair and reaching for the first packet because you know in your heart that the chances of you receiving a visitor are slim to none.

The minutes pass in quick succession and you’ve gotten into a groove as you reach for another reflection. You’re so engrossed in the soft violin of the classical music you have going on in the background that you almost miss the knock on your door, but being alone for close to an hour has you attuned to any abnormal sounds.

“Come in!” Your voice cracks slightly from lack of use and you feel yourself heat from embarrassment, but your posture relaxes only slightly when you see that it’s Zayne walking through the door with a plastic bag in one hand and his work bag in the other.

“Have any of our students come in yet?” He asks as a greeting, and you shake your head while ignoring how your heart annoyingly speeds up when you hear him say “our.”

“I’ve gotten through about half of the reflections, I’ll be continuing with them so I can try to finish before the end of the night.” Zayne slightly grimaces when you say that, and you watch with a quirk in your brow as he pulls a chair so that it’s next to yours behind the desk.

“Come eat first.” His voice is soft as he pulls the plastic bag container towards him, untying the knot before pulling a takeout container and utensils from the bag. With his free hand he lightly sweeps the papers from the desk, ensuring that the space is clear before he sets the container in front of you.

You regard him curiously as you pry open the container, and you feel yourself soften when you see the thick soy garlic noodles with a side of broccoli and orange chicken. It’s been your go-to order for ages now, and your stomach grumbles happily as you turn to look at him.

Zayne’s settling into his chair with his own container, eyeing his classic platter of fried rice and char siu pork with an evident hunger. You pick up your platter and begin to pick up food with your utensil, laughing softly to yourself when you see that he’s even asked for extra garlic with the broccoli - just the way you like it.

“What is it?” He asks, but deflect by shaking your head as you place a piece of chicken in your mouth so that you can ignore how your stomach clenches in an odd way.

“I forgot how good this takeout is,” you reply. His eyes scan your face but you pretend that nothing’s brewing in your mind as you continue to eat through your food.

“It is, isn’t it.” His voice tapers out, and he settles for eating beside you. With the soft music in the background and the academic atmosphere, it almost feels like you’re back in grad school with him - taking a break in between the chaos of your schedules and finding solace in his presence. You swallow thickly around some noodles at the thought, fighting the breath that threatens to leave you by grabbing your water bottle and taking a deep swig.

“Remember when we were presenting the first drafts of our research projects to the academic board?” Zayne’s surprisingly the one to break the silence, and you tilt your head to look at him curiously as he places his now empty container back on your desk.

“And Carter was violently hungover but still tried to pass that presentation off as his work?” You scoff, placing your own container onto the desk. Zayne chuckles at your annoyance - you never liked Carter, and you’re thankful Zayne was able to switch his research project before the studies got too serious.

“Nice to know he still gets on your nerves.” There’s a teasing edge to his voice but you simply roll your eyes as you lift your arms up above your head so you can stretch out your back.

“He ruined your first semesters of grad school, of course I still hate his guts,” you reply, letting a soft moan slip through your lips unknowingly when you feel a crack along your spine. You feel yourself flush a little at the unwarranted sound, and you look over to Zayne to see if he caught it.

Judging by the slight tick of his jaw, he did.

You stand up too quickly, clearing your throat and beginning to reach your hands out so that you can clear your desk, but a hand on the small of your back stops you dead in your tracks.

“Zayne, wha-” you begin, but Zayne’s quick to settle you back into the plush cushion, turning you around in your office chair so that you’re facing the wall. You scowl petulantly, but his hand on the head of your office chair restricts your movement.

“Stay there,” he says, and though he tries to sound nonchalant you can hear a strained undertone that has your heart racing.

“I can clean my own desk,” you try to argue, but your mouth falls shut when you feel a whisper of ice forming on the back of your chair due to his fingers digging into the leather a little too tightly.

“I brought the food, I will clean up.”

You cross your arms, trying to remove the cross crease of your brow as you hear him place the containers into the plastic bag. Your toe taps against the floor as he ties the bag shut, sighing to himself deeply before letting go of your chair and allowing you to spin back around to face the desk.

You both fight to ignore each other’s glances, Zayne throwing the trash away in the garbage can outside of your office while you drink water to keep yourself alert and clear-minded. By the time he walks back into your office you’ve both composed yourselves and you’re reaching out to grab the next stack of reflections to be graded. You expect him to pick up his bag and leave, but to your surprise he’s settling back down in his seat and pushing his sweater sleeves up.

“Are you going to go home?” He asks as he unbuttons the top of the shirt underneath his sweater, and you shake your head in response while putting everything you can in ignoring the appearance of his arms.

“I want to finish these reflections.” You tap your pen against the opening page, eyes widening when you see whose paper you’re about to grade. “Lisa Zhao, huh…”

“What about her?” Zayne’s rolling his chair closer to your’s, hovering his head above your shoulder just enough so that he can also read her proposal.

“It’s nothing, really. She was just muttering something about romance and her friends were laughing at her.” You fight to focus your attention on the words printed on the paper, but Zayne’s presence has your head spinning in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

“Odd,” he replies. You turn to look at him head on, but your heart stutters painfully at the sight that greets you.

His eyes are slightly unfocused behind his thin rimmed glasses, hair pushed up just enough where you can see the concentrated crease of his brow. Against your better judgement your eyes drift lower to his chest, and you gasp softly when you see his bare neck and a little bit of his chest because of the way he’s leaning beside you.

“-!” A soft noise escapes your lips when his nose slightly brushes against your’s, and you push your chair away from him so that you can try and catch your breath. There’s a sudden shift in the air and you need to gather your wits and tell him to leave because if you don’t you might do something you might regret like pull him in for…you don’t know but you don’t want to find out.

“Are you all right, ____?” There’s genuine concern in his voice, you know, but you suddenly feel so angry at him.

“What game are you playing?” You push yourself out of your chair, trying to fight the way your vision swims from the sudden movement as you glare at the way he stands from his chair.

“What do you mean?” He asks, although you can tell by the carefully neutral tone of his voice that he knows - of course he does, when he knows every little thing about you.

“The food,” you begin, lifting a finger for each reason you can come up with. “The soft touches on my back and across my knuckles, taking care of me after the first set of observations, coffee in the morning the way we like…Zayne, what’s happening?”

Your voice breaks off at the last word, and you reach up to rub at your face to quell the frustrated tears that begin to pool in the corners of your eyes.

You’ve admitted it to Yvonne and to a tiny part of yourself: you’re scared. Scared of how easy it is to fall back into this routine, at how you and Zayne are too quick to bury your past and return to almost-normal with a frightening comfort that has you believing you’re still his.

And therein lies the issue: you’re absolutely not Zayne Li’s and it’s going to ruin you and the feelings that have just blossomed tenfold since you first re-met him in Dr. Chung’s office.

“I…I want to take care of you.”

It’s a quiet confession that has your heart racing. You bury your face in your hands even tighter, but a gentle sweep of his thumb across your knuckles has you loosening your grip. When he sees that you won’t peek up to look at him, he sighs and taps his thumb against your knuckle once.

“The lines between us are blurred right now, and that’s my fault.” He admits. You lift your head up slightly, and he exhales in relief when your hands begin to lower. His own hands are there to replace them, and your fingers wrap around his wrists as he gently massages your cheeks with his thumbs.

“All I know is that when I saw your name on the potential list of candidates to co-teach, I wanted it to be you immediately.” He taps your cheek, and your eyes slowly drift shut at his comforting contact. “I knew things couldn’t go back to the way they were immediately but…but I know I want to try.”

“Everything has been so hot and cold with you.” Your voice has dropped to a whisper, and against your own wishes you feel a tear slide down your cheek. “I don’t know what to believe or expect. Will I get cold, avoidant Dr. Li? Or will I get Zayne?”

The room stills as he absorbs your words, music long done from how long it’s been. Even though you know it’s way past your office hours, you know that anyone could walk by and see this compromising position. That alone is enough to begin to untangle yourself from his embrace, but his hold on your face tightens just slightly enough for you to stop.

“I haven’t been the clearest with you, but I want you to know that I want to make amends with you.” His forehead comes to rest against yours, making your grip on his wrists tighten at the contact.

The two of you stand like that for just a moment, and you feel something in your chest ignite when his pointer finger taps your nose gently. You pull away to look at his flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips - a look you know is mirrored on your own face.

“Can we even get to that point?” Your voice bares all of your fears and emotions to him, and you can see the exact moment Zayne’s heart cracks slightly in his chest.

“I’ll spend the rest of this semester and whatever time you allow trying and making it up to you if you’ll let me,” he murmurs in response.

You look up at him, noting the sincerity in his face and the myriad of emotions that lie beneath the surface. They reflect and resonate with you because they’re exactly the ones you feel in your own body.

It feels a little different now, though. You feel a little bit lighter and ready to try.

And by the way Zayne’s face breaks out into a breathtaking smile when you nod in his grasp, you know he feels the same way, too.

As it turns out, his trying includes inviting you to a karaoke party with the rest of the cardiac unit.

“Don’t worry,” Yvonne reassures you as she helps you put on your favorite necklace. “Zayne made sure to not include Michael tonight! It's just the cardiac ward’s available doctors, nurses, and you.”

“You’re making that sound like it’s a bad thing,” you reply teasingly, and Yvonne laughs as she slides on her heels.

“It’s definitely not, especially when you look this hot!”

A burst of confidence makes itself known in your chest, a smile spreading across your face as you look at the floor length mirror by your bedroom door. Your navy blue dress is appropriate enough to wear to a work function but the low back and silky fabric makes you feel bold, even with the white cardigan you end up pulling on.

Yvonne pouts as you button the top closed, shaking out her loose hair and messing with her bangs so they look tastefully messy. “C’mon, ____! Let Dr. Zayne see his beautiful lady, take the cardigan off!”

“It’s cold!” You laugh in response. You wiggle your eyebrows teasingly and she groans because she knows what you’re about to say. “You’re all covered up though, no Greyson?”

Yvonne’s face flushes a light pink, and you can’t help but laugh at the way she scans her white off-the-shoulder long sleeved top and black flowy pants. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“So he is coming.” Yvonne groans at your giggles, shaking her head and making her way to the front door of your apartment with an alarming quickness.

“We have a cab to catch, ____!” You follow after her, laughing all the way down the elevator ride and on your way to the karaoke bar.

The good mood continues when you enter the building, arms linked with Yvonne as you scan the rooms the cardiac ward rented out. Soon enough, you find a screen that says Akso Hospital’s Ward with the Most Heart, and your heart flutters as you enter the room because you know Zayne named it after your lame joke.

You say hi to the nurses and doctors that approach you and Yvonne, giving hugs and accepting compliments for your outfits. You put your cardigan and purse next to Yvonne’s on the designated table before being whisked away to the bar in the corner of the room, away from the karaoke screens and crowd of cardiac surgeons belting a ballad with increasing passion.

Yvonne waves the bartender over, ordering two cocktails while you surreptitiously scan the room for a certain raven-haired head of cardiology. Zayne was never one to spend too much time at work events, even if he’s the one helping plan and pay for said events. If you remember correctly, you and him would show up for an hour at most before doing…other activities.

Your skin heats very briefly, and Yvonne eyes you curiously as she hands you a pink cocktail. “What is it, ____?”

“Just remembering something,” you murmur before lifting the glass up to your lips. You wince at the slight alcoholic sting but you find it’s much easier to drink, making you look at Yvonne suspiciously as she rapidly downs her own drink.

“The tab’s on the hospital,” she answers as a reply to your curious stare, holding her hand up again for another drink. You shake your head and laugh, placing your mostly full glass on the counter before waving the bartender over to you as she pouts.

“Can we get two glasses of white?” You ask, and before Yvonne can protest you shake your head. “The goal is to feel good, not get fucked up. Your cocktails will fuck us up.”

“Okay, okay, ____,” she sighs, and you hand her a glass of white wine before making her promise she’ll go easy on herself.

You hear cheers and greetings on the microphone, and you turn around to see Zayne and Greyson entering the room. Your breath catches in your throat when you see Zayne - eyes wandering down his frame before you even realize what you’re doing. Your fingers tighten ever so slightly on the stem of your wine glass when you see the neat lines of his tan slacks and the way the embroidered birds on his sweater ripple across his chest when he turns his body to scan the room.

His eyes catch yours and you’re rendered breathless as you scan his face. There’s a hint of weariness behind his thin rimmed glasses, hair slightly more mussed than how he usually has it done. But his eyes flash with something dangerous before his lips tilt up ever so slightly, making you squeak as you turn back to the bar.

“What is it?” Yvonne’s eyes widen as you down your wine in one gulp before reaching for the cocktail you had left untouched. She yelps as you try to down it too, but you’re only able to get a little sip before she successfully pries the glass from your palm.

“I need more if I’m going to make it out-” you say hastily, raising your hand but Yvonne stops you and orders two waters.

“Okay, so we’re going to drink water and gather ourselves because we should not be letting men dictate our feelings,” she declares steadily, and you sigh heavily before begrudgingly drinking the cold water. The coolness of the liquid clears your head, although it doesn’t stop the soft buzz that’s still coursing through your veins as you finish the glass. You and Yvonne place the empty glasses on the bar, eyeing the mounting energy in front of the karaoke screens as everyone jumps up and down to a classic party song.

“I think it’s a mistake for me to be here!” By now you’re having to shout for her to understand you through the din, and she shakes her head empathetically as she grabs your hand and begins to drag you to the floor.

“No it isn’t, ____!” She begins to dance, spinning in a circle and making you laugh as you begin to sway your body back and forth to the beat as well. “You’ve worked hard with observations and teaching, it’s time for you to relax!”

You’re quick to let loose, letting yourself open up a little and dance with Yvonne and the other nurses of the cardiac ward to a fun pop song. You go for a little spin during the height of the song, the girls cheering you on as your skirt billows slightly around your ankles and making you feel really, really good.

The dancing continues and you move from crowd to crowd, smiling and dancing with your coworkers. You lose Yvonne in the crowd but you don’t mind it, finding your way to the edge of the crowd and dancing with the first group you had been with. Soon enough, the next karaoke singer chooses a slower song - the crowd groaning but still finding partners to dance with. You take it as a chance to move back to the bar so that you can take a break and try to find your best friend. There’s a wide smile on your face as you order a glass of water, gulping it down greedily before placing it back on the counter and leaning against the solid wood.

“Having fun?”

You tilt your head to the side to find Zayne standing next to you with his elbows propped on the bar behind him, his sleeves pushed up past his forearms and hair even more mussed than when you first saw him. There’s a softness on his face as he regards you, and you feel your knees go slightly weak when you see him scanning your figure with a slow, calculated sweep of his eyes.

“Yes.” You don’t mean for it to sound so breathless, but you find yourself growing bolder when his jaw tightens ever so slightly. You gather your courage and slide yourself closer to him, your fingers reaching up to push his hair back from his face. His hand twitches on the bar, fingers tightening on the wood as the tips of your nails softly graze his forehead before you smile and pull your hand back to copy his stance. “Are you?”

“Somewhat,” he sighs, and you fight your shiver as he moves himself closer so that he can tilt his head towards you. The rational part of your brain is telling you that it’s just so that you can hear him better, but the majority of your brain is melting - especially when he lays his arm flat across the bar so you’re half in his embrace.

“Oh?” You fight to keep your breathing even as you tilt your head up to regard him. “I saw that you and Greyson came in late. Is everything all right in the cardiac ward?”

Zayne’s eyes light up at your words, and you watch with a soft feeling in your heart as he begins to speak once more. “We found a donor so we were organizing who would be doing the surgery and whatnot. It took longer than expected, I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“I’m glad you’re here now,” you reply. You playfully bump his shoulder, your smile widening when you see the corners of his lips tilt up. “Now you get to relax!”

“It’s hard for me to relax.” His head dips down lower so his lips are right by your ear, and you feel yourself shiver at the way his mouth barely brushes your skin. Eyes threatening to slip shut, you reach up and wrap your fingers around his bicep - earning yourself a low groan and another thrilling sensation racing up your spine.

“And why’s that?” You’re tilting your body so that you can place your palms on his shoulders, smoothing the barely creased fabric so that you can put some semblance of normalcy at this clear flirting going on between the two of you. Zayne gets the hint though, and with a bemused smile forming on his lips he places his hands on your waist to pull you closer.

“Too loud.” His right hand picks up your own absentmindedly, and he begins swaying you around in a circle. Your feet follow along without a second thought as you stare up at him - in tune with him from the times he led impromptu dances during late nights in the kitchen while you two were still together. There’s a pang in your chest when you come to that realization, but it’s quickly soothed away with a gentle squeeze on your waist that has you melting even closer to him.

“It certainly is,” you hum back as you allow him to give you a little spin. The skirt of your dress whooshes around your ankles and you giggle softly when he directs your spin back into his safe embrace. His hands are quick to settle on your hips, long fingertips brushing against the warm skin of your spine and making you gasp softly as he regards you with a sudden heat in his stare.

“There’s another reason why I can’t relax,” he confesses softly. His fingers trace up to the middle of your back, tapping three times slowly as he pulls you closer. The swaying slowly stops until it’s the two of you just…staring at each other, noses brushing and eyes unblinking as one of his hands reaches up to cup your face.

“What’s that?” It’s a breathless, rhetorical question that you both know the answer to. It’s a question that has equal parts desire and anxiety pooling in your stomach at how he may respond, your heart beating so loudly you wonder if he can hear it above the din of his coworkers singing horribly on the mic.

“A beautiful vision before me.” It has you gasping as his nose slides against yours, lips barely brushing. “She’s dressed in navy blue silk and she’s made it hard for me to think rationally since I saw her name on a list of potential candidates to teach with.”

“Zayne-” you begin to whisper, but his lips are quick to bend down and press against yours. Your eyes immediately flutter shut at the contact, arms tightening around his neck as you pull him closer to you. His hands are no better - pulling you as close as you can get as he angles your head up to deepen your kiss. His tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip and you whimper against his mouth, allowing for him to bite against your lip softly.

Your head spins as he slowly comes to a stop, pulling away ever so slightly. Your eyes open lazily, and you find that he has a hazy look in his own eyes, scanning up and down your face in a way that has you smiling up at him.

“Hi,” you begin softly. Your fingers trace soft circles at the base of his skull as you tilt your head up at him so you can watch his expression carefully. “How are you?”

It’s like his body temperature goes down in a millisecond, eyes widening rapidly as he all but pushes himself away from you. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair, hands shaking and gaze avoidant as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and clears his throat.

“That was a mistake.”

Your heart cracks.

It’s like you’re watching in the third person, powerless to stop what’s about to happen to you. Your hands itch to reach out to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, hold him close, something, anything - but you do nothing and watch as he takes one step back.

And then another, before he’s turning on his heel.

He barely spares you a glance as he briskly strides out of the room, taking the warmth from your body until you’re shivering by yourself, cold to your hollow core.

You don’t know how long you stand there, lips tingling and heart shattering in your chest as your hands flex by your side, trying to process it all. Being kissed by the man you’re in love with and then being brushed away without another explanation…what’s happening? Did you do something wrong?

You barely register Yvonne pulling on your wrist, guiding you out of the room before stuffing the two of you into a cab. Your head spins and yet you feel nothing at all, staring straight ahead blankly because if you open your feelings to her you’ll fall apart and you don’t know if you’ll be able to repair yourself.

You’re back in your apartment with Yvonne sitting you on your sofa when the first tear falls. No sounds escape your mouth but it’s enough for Yvonne to panic, placing the glass of water she filled for you on the table as she hastily sits in front of you to cup your face and brush your hair back from your temples with her fingers.

“Are you okay, ____?”

That one sentence is enough.

You begin to sob, collapsing into her arms as your cries shake your entire body. She’s silent except for the occasional soothing sound, rubbing her hands against your back as she attempts to help you weather the storm of pain that’s thundering through your chest.

You know there’s no making it out of this one, though.

Not when the hands you crave are the same ones that took your heart and crushed it in between his skilled fists.

You assign your work through an online medium the following week.

Dr. Chung had been confused when you asked for a week to yourself, but he had been quick to put two and two together when he entered the room with a stack of material and you all but ran out of the office.

There had been an email a couple of hours later with a simple message: Talk to him, Dr. ____. Please.

You left it open on your desktop, simply electing to stare out of the windows at the beginnings of sunset.

Was it really a mistake? You don’t think so. You wanted- want him with every fiber of your being, so much that it feels like he’s robbed you of the air you so desperately crave when he walked away last Friday.

Yvonne had been furious once she found out the full story, seething and yelling on your behalf while you sat eerily still on your couch. She had prepared meals for you, sometimes even feeding you spoonfuls when she returned to find your food barely touched. You could sense a shift halfway through the week where she wasn’t as angry, though - more reflective and quiet.

��What is it?” You asked when you find her staring off in the sunset.

“Nothing, ____,” she murmured back, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

You find yourself reflecting back on that change and why Yvonne is suddenly too quiet. Is there something she doesn’t know?

Against your will you find yourself thinking back on that kiss. For a split second it felt like everything was going right - on the path of reconciliation and maybe even love. Just for a singular moment everything felt perfect, like your world was spinning properly and the crack in your chest felt whole.

But now? Now you even feel more broken.

It’s the last day of your leave and you’re desperately trying to pick yourself up. Despite being off from both work and teaching at Linkon you barely got any sleep, staring up at your ceiling at night because being asleep meant dreaming about the man who both haunts and comforts you.

You’re sorting through the last of your graded papers before putting them into a manila folder and packing them in your bag, rubbing your eyes as you do so. You’re trying as hard as you can to focus on your objectives at hand but you find your eyes wandering to your phone and reaching out to grab it. You scowl when you realize what you’re doing, shaking your head and returning to packing your work bags.

There’s a knock on your front door and you walk towards it without another thought, peeking your head out so that you can let Yvonne into your apartment. You freeze, however, when you see a bouquet of lavenders.

Your eyes wander up, and you feel them widening when you see his tired eyes and serious face, though it softens considerably when he sees your face from by the door.

“Can I come in?” Zayne asks quietly.

You let him in without another word, turning and settling your body onto a barstool by the kitchen. You will yourself to take deep, steady breaths as he places the lavenders on the counter and props himself directly across from you, focusing your vision on the tip of his chin so that you don’t completely crumble under his steady gaze.

“How are you?”

Your laugh is humorless at the question, fingers tapping on the counter as you spill the truth from your lips. “Shit.”

There’s a shallow intake of breath from him, but you don’t allow him to speak as you continue on with your thoughts.

“It’s hard feeling okay when you reconcile with your ex-fiancé over the course of a few months, learning how to live and breathe and work with someone who’s somehow still your everything.” Your vision wavers but you swallow your tears, finally pushing yourself up from the counter and walking around. “It felt like things were finally going right when you said you wanted things to work.”

Your eyes finally look up at him and you feel yourself rendered speechless when you see the expression on his face. He looks every bit vulnerable and hollow as you feel in your chest, eyes shining and lips pressed in a thin line.

And you don’t know why, but you feel hot rage consume your body at the sight. How dare he look broken when he’s the one shattering you.

“But then you kissed me and it was the best kiss of my life.” Your voice rises as you step closer to him, poking your finger at his chest as your anger begins to affect your reasoning. “You kissed me like you meant it and everything felt like it was back in place for a split second until you pushed yourself away and said it was a fucking mistake.”

“____-” he tries to begin, but your voice rises to a yell as you finally let everything spill from out of you and into the air, even if it means permanently ruining whatever foundation the two of you still had.

“You said we would try. You said you would make it up to me.” You can’t quite stop your tears now, but your voice is still steady even if your hands shake. “Do you not mean it?”

“I do.”

There’s a brokenness in Zayne’s voice as he reaches out to cup your face, and against your better judgement you press your palms against his. He tilts your face up to look at him and you’re rendered breathless from the vulnerability on his face - open for you to see his deepest feelings.

“It was a mistake because we were only just starting again,” he says, voice thick with pain and unshed tears. “That kiss was something I’ve dreamed about since you left all those years ago - something I’ve craved to do when I’m alone with you. But I know that it’s not right to kiss you - and it’s not fair to kiss you for my own greed.”

Your breath stutters in your throat, chest aching as you absorb his words. Taking your silence as permission, he continues. “I’ve hurt you far too many times and I…I don’t deserve you at all.” His breath is shallow, washing over your face as he leans his forehead against yours. His finger taps your cheek three times in quick succession, a featherlight touch that makes you think you conjured it up. “Please, ____…let me make it up to you. Let me earn your forgiveness.”

You freeze.

You want nothing more to make things right, to patch things over and go back to the way things were. But can you ever truly go back to how things were? With how much has been said and what’s been done in between your bodies, laying at your feet?

Can you even forgive yourself if he shatters the remaining parts of you? Fix what’s been broken for the third time if it happens again?

There’s no way that this is going to end well for the both of you, so you resign yourself to the sad ending that’s been written out for the both of you long ago. The fire of your anger is gone, replaced with your salty tears as you look into his eyes and say, “I’m still in love with you, Zayne.”

His breath hitches.

You step away, keeping eye contact as you curl your hands into fists to keep yourself steady. “I’m still in love with you, but I don’t think you realize the gravity of how much I do. I love you enough to come back to Linkon and teach, even if I was apprehensive at first. I love you to try and fill the gaps you left. I love you enough to try again over and over again, even if it costs me every single time.”

You shake your head, a sob escaping your chest as you hold your hand up so that he can’t step any closer to you.

“I love you enough to know that I’ll shatter myself over again, but I can’t keep breaking.” Your voice shakes as you register him moving to stand in front of you. Your breath hiccups when you see him slowly sink to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs while tilting his head up so he catches your eyes.

“Forgive me, ____,” he all but begs, and you’re transported back to that first time he broke your heart. To when he knelt and groveled for forgiveness, only for you to push your diamond ring into his hands and run out of your shared apartment.

There isn’t a ring now, but there’s still the desperation on his face and tears streaming down your cheeks as you reach out and place your hand on his cheek delicately. He pushes his face into your hand, breathing deeply and kissing your palm as if it’ll help - but you know it’s far too late.

You’re not going to let your heart break for a third time.

“Please leave.”

Your hands emit a soft glow, allowing for Zayne’s emotions to calm down enough for him to understand your words. His eyes widen as he registers the soothing emotion wash over his body, gaze flickering as you continue to soothe his emotions - a sort of parting gift.

A way to soothe him in the way you’ll never be able to be comforted.

He’s on his feet to pull your hands away but you take it as an opportunity to push him out of the door, him going with no resistance due to the shock of you using your Evol on him. You’re barely able to open the door and unceremoniously push him out before you collapse against the door, trying to stop your relentless flow of tears.

You cry for what feels like hours, mourning the loss of the person you love with your entire being. You try to tell yourself that it’s for the best - you can’t keep letting yourself get hurt, he can’t keep apologizing and trying to make it up to you.

But when you sink into sleep that night, you can only see gold flecked emerald and warm hands brushing your tears away, tapping three times before leaving you empty.

You feel like you’ve lived lifetimes ever since that night.

You had sent a curt email to him with Dr. Chung CC’ed, dividing the last of your classes and finals schedule evenly so that you wouldn’t have to cross paths with him again. Your students had been confused, but your steady voice and sharp gaze had put a stop to all prying.

You had effectively closed yourself off, simply going through the motions and giving non-committal hums whenever Yvonne asked a question or if you were with a group of friends. You spent most of your time on your desktop, rifling through open positions in Chansia City and refining your resume.

You don’t think you can stand to live here, not when your heart still aches for him. You need to just get out and force yourself to move on, even if it means moving oceans away.

You’re almost there, you tell yourself. You’re sitting in the pediatric ward’s offices, grading some final papers and eyeing your pager warily. You had come in early even though you were technically scheduled for the night shift, but you had shooed away the attending doctor scheduled for the morning and have since been using the empty hours to grade papers and try to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

Your pager beeps the same time one of your charge nurses bursts through the door, breathless and shaky. You eye the code, feeling a sense of tired calm wash over you at the CODE BLUE flashing on the screen.

“Evol-related car accident,” your nurse gasps, and you’re up out of your seat and walking briskly towards the scrub down room before she even finishes giving the summary.

You enter the surgery with a clear understanding: your patient (female, age 6) has a punctured organ due to being in a car accident caused by a Wanderer attack. Her mother is currently in surgery as well, but her wounds are more severe. Nevertheless, you put all of your focus on your patient as you begin the operation.

The hours pass, your charge nurse noting the time as you extract shrapnel and tie sutures as gently as you can. Your fatigue begins to eat at your concentration, hands shaking as you call for a different pair of scissors but you force it down, honing your laser sharp focus so that you can save this little girl's life.

After twelve hours of work you tie the last stitch, making sure that it’s clean before nodding to the assisting surgeon. He nods at you once more before beginning the removal procedure, instructing the other nurses and anesthesiologist in the room on how to transport the patient to the ICU. All the while you bow to them in thanks, mustering a small yet genuine smile as you express your thanks for their help.

Your scrub down is slow and methodical, taking your time to clean yourself off so that you can look half-decent when you report the results to what family may be waiting in the waiting room. You briefly think of your patient’s mother - is she okay? Did she make it through? You desperately hope so. Losses are never easy to digest and share, so you hope with every bit of your being that she made it out okay, too.

You’re in the waiting room before you can even register you’re there, your tired mind guiding your body on autopilot. You clear your voice before announcing, “Is the family of Lilian Hsu here?”

Immediately, a harried looking man jumps to his feet and rushes to stand in front of you. His eyes are bloodshot as he reaches out to grip one of your hands in between his own shaking one’s, and you allow him to grip at you as he looks at you with primal eyes.

“Is Lili alive? Is my little girl okay?” Mr. Hsu blurts out, frame shaking as he stares at you with all the hope in the world. You nod slightly and his face crumples, tears beginning to race tracks down his cheeks as he begins to sob.

“There were some complications with the Evol-laden shrapnel so we had to make sure her body’s chemistry wasn’t too affected.” His breath hitches but you’re quick to placate him with a soft squeeze on his hand. “Her vitals are stable and nothing seems wrong so we were able to wrap up with no other complications. She’s in the Children’s ICU right now.”

“Oh, thank gods,” he breathes, squeezing your hands once more. “Thank you, Dr. ____, you saved my little girl’s life-”

“Is the family of Amy Hsu here?”

The voice is more somber, and you turn to see Greyson with a tired look on his face. He nods at you in greeting, but you feel something in you sink when you see the grim line of his mouth and the way his eyes shine with unshed tears.

Oh no.

Mr. Hsu senses it too, and his face crumples as he realizes what happened.

“I’m sorry,” Greyson says softly.

That’s all it takes. Mr. Hsu collapses onto the floor, hysterical sobs beginning to wrack his body as he processes the news that was just given to him. The earth-shattering news that his wife is gone but his daughter’s alive…

You bite your lip, tears welling in your own eyes - from sheer exhaustion or empathy for him, you don’t know. Your head spins and you know that you could easily just leave, find an empty hospital room, and go to sleep. It would be so easy to walk away for anyone else, so why can’t you?

Empathy and compassion. Service for others before yourself.

The Hippocratic Oath reverberates through your brain, and before you’re even processing your actions you’re kneeling in front of Mr. Hsu and wrapping him in your arms. Using the last bits of energy you can muster, you begin soothing him while wrapping him in your Evol.

“I’m sorry,” you susurrate quietly, hands stroking up and down his back. He clings onto you and sobs into your neck, and you fight the tears in your eyes and the fuzziness of your vision as you continue to target his energy - soothing the pain and bringing forth a semblance of peace for his turbulent mind. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The hallway is silent, charge nurses and patients watching with equal parts curiosity and horror as your hands begin to emit a stronger glow. You push down the feelings of regret and sadness that spiral in you as a result of expelling the man’s own sadness, although you can tell by the way your hands shake and your breath leaves in exhausted puffs that you might exert yourself past the point of no return.

In the back of your mind you hear frantic steps behind you, and you register an ice cold voice injected with…something, you’re not quite sure. “Stop her, now.”

“Dr. Li, once she starts she can’t stop.” Greyson’s voice is timid and tinged with concern, but you thank him in your brain - he knows better than to deter you from doing your job. “If she does, you know it risks permanently affecting the receiver’s emotions.”

“I don’t care-” the voice above you wavers in and out as you fight to maintain your concentration. You briefly note how the man’s breathing evens out and his sobs subsiding, though you notice your breath is leaving you in unsteady puffs as tears course down your cheeks.

Keep going, keep going. Even through the pain of it all. Endure.

“She’ll risk bleeding her own energy dry and it will affect her psyche permanently and I can’t live with having her go through that-”

The argument above you rages on, but you soldier on. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Your voice leaves in gasps as you continue to give your all. The man slumps onto your shoulder, his breath steady as he dozes off but you continue to inject your Evol onto him so that you can spare him of the pain of a splintering, broken heart. It’s the worst feeling in the world, one you don’t want anyone to live with because you’re living with one right now.

Spare the hurt. Take everyone’s pain and keep it to yourself. Rid the world of its sadness and strife, even if it means you’ll suffer for an eternity.

You barely register the man being lifted off of you through the heaving, shuddering sobs that shake your entire body. With nothing else to support your weight you fall to the floor, curling into a ball and digging your nails into your palms as you scream from the sheer anguish coursing through your veins.

“Everybody move out of my way!”

It’s agonizing, the hollow feeling in your chest spreading through your entire body and the tiny voice in your brain telling you that you’ll never amount to more, be able to do more - that no one will ever be able to help you with what plagues you. Your breathing stutters and your head spins as your vision fades in and out, and you thank the universe that it's finally sparing you of the pain of your broken heart and the knowledge that you'll never get to fully repair yourself - and that you’ve pushed away the one person you want.

No, need. You had the best thing in the palm of your hands, but you pushed him away - thinking it was for the best. He slipped in between your fingers and you’ll forever live with that regret. You vow to run again, if your energy isn’t forever ruined. Spare you and him of the pain that somehow always emerges when the two of you are together.

You find comfort in that fact. Your vision begins to darken and your eyes slowly shut.

Finally, some rest.

Your ears ring and you’re about to slip into the abyss-

-but ice wraps around your hands, pulling you through a pine forest and into the warmth of a hearth with jasmine flowers in a vase.

“-hear me?” A familiar voice swims above you, and against your better judgement you fight your impending black out. “-breath out your mouth, my love.”

The tone is gentle, full of an emotion that you’ve craved during many of your sleepless nights. You begin to follow the voice’s commands, taking an unsteady and short breath in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“-my chest, ____. The rhythm will help-”

Right. You put everything you can into the rhythm of the hearth’s beat, allowing for the steady presence to guide you back to your senses. The ringing of your ears slowly subsides, although exhaustion settles deeply into your bones as your breath hiccups.

“You’re doing well, ____. Keep breathing, my love.” The feeling of hands rubbing up and down your back has you melting against a solid chest, and you feel deft fingers pull at the clip on top of your head. Your hair falls down and the fingers rub against the back of your skull, making your eyes slowly flutter shut at the soothing contact.

“Zayne…” It leaves you in a breathless gasp, and you half curse your stupidity in your exhausted brain because how do you even know it’s him? But you’re placated with a finger tapping three times against your nose, a sure-fire sign that it’s him.

“Are you with me, ____?” His voice is soft, although it’s colored with something heavy. Still, he rubs his thumbs against your temples as he ponders something. “Can you tell me the major chambers of the heart in clockwise order?”

It’s an easy question, yes, but you know it’s his way of checking if you’re back with him. You scramble through your tired mind, trying to piece the answer together and you finally whisper: “Left atrium, left ventricle, right ventricle, right atrium. Aorta on top.”

“Good.” There’s a tired undertone in his voice that has you leaning against his chest, fingers blindly gripping at his scrubs. All of a sudden, you’re being lifted into the air, and you gasp and wrap your fingers tighter against his coat as you fight the fatigue that addles your brain.

“-in my office,” Zayne begins, and you register that you’re going in and out of consciousness. You continue to fight your brain so that you can listen in, but the strong scent of pine and jasmine coupled with the steady rhythm of his heart engulfs your senses and you feel yourself begin to shut down. “-not disturb, I’ll be the one to make sure Dr. ____ is okay. No pagers, no questions-”

You don’t register anything else, the steady steps carrying you to an unknown location lulling you into a trance-like state. Maybe he’ll dump you on a hospital room bed and leave you there.

“No I won’t.” Zayne’s voice is severe, and you feel hot embarrassment in the fact that you’re mindlessly babbling out your thoughts. “You’re staying with me, ____.”

You don’t say anything else, simply curling up against his chest and holding onto his shirt tightly. His grip on your remains steadfast, and he continues to walk until he comes to a stop. You vaguely hear the beeping of a keycard paired with his foot kicking something, and before you know it you’re in a pleasantly cool room.

You feel yourself being gently laid down on a plush sofa and you sigh as you sink against the soft pillows. You feel him begin to untangle himself from you, but you grip onto his shirt as a feeble whimper escapes your lips.

“Stay.”

It’s a helpless plea, a hopeless request, and your one greatest desire in this entire world. You want Zayne to stay with you, in this moment and for the rest of your lives. You don’t know if this will be fleeting or forever, but you’ll take the fleeting touch if it means you can have it in your brain forever.

The moment feels like a lifetime, but not even a minute later Zayne slides onto the couch with you. He arranges himself so that he’s laying on his back and you’re wrapped in his arms on top of him - the both of your favorite cuddling positions, one that has tears welling in your eyes once again.

One of his hands reaches up to massage the back of your head and you sigh against his neck, your fingers gently stroking the skin of his jaw. His chest rumbles in response to your contact and you nuzzle yourself further into his neck, breathing in the scent that’s brought you back from over the edge time and time again.

Your eyes begin to drift shut when his chest moves up, a soft humming in his chest as he whispers something. You strain your ears and you hear it: “I don’t deserve you, ____.”

“Mmm?” you mumble sleepily.

“I don’t deserve you,” Zayne says again. His fingers never stop in your hair and on your back, but you feel something new. A wetness on your forehead, sliding down to meet the previous tear tracks that still lay on your cheeks.

“Zayne?”

“I’m sorry, ____.” A shuddering gasp lifts your body, and your arms tighten around his neck as he tries to swallow his tears so you can hear him clearly. “I don’t deserve you, but I will make it up to you forever if you’ll let me. Please let me.”

“What if we aren't meant to be?”

It’s a soft whisper, but your fears are laid bare for the both of you to analyze. You want so desperately to make this work, but you don’t know if it’s meant to be after what’s happened.

His arms squeeze you tighter, his voice thick with tears yet steady with conviction. “We are, ____. I will work and beg and apologize and kneel at your feet until you forgive me and we build something new. We don’t have to force it - we'll go at your own pace and I will follow until you’re ready because you’re the most important thing in my life.”

His words sink into your skull, and for the first time you find tranquility instead of turbulence. Your lips brush against his pulsepoint once again before you whisper the single word that dictates your future with him:

“Okay.”

You barely feel his breath of relief and the tender kiss he brushes against your forehead as a peace that you haven’t felt in a while envelopes your bones. You snuggle further into his chest and allow yourself to finally succumb to sleep - lulled into a kind part of your brain by Zayne’s fingers in your hair.

Before you finally surrender, though, you hear it:

“You will always be my heart, my love. I hope I can earn yours again.”

It’s finals week, and your body feels lighter than it’s felt in a while.

There’s a soft smile ever-present on your lips, and it’s something that’s aided your students somewhat. When faced with a gentle smile, they relax and do better on their tests.

You tell yourself it’s to make them feel at ease, but you know it’s for another reason entirely.

Zayne’s back in your life, finding ways to show his fondness and apologies in your everyday life. It’s subtle but for you it makes a world of difference - texts asking about your day, your favorite food delivered at your apartment and the pediatric office, and flowers addressed to you and Yvonne because he knows that earning your forgiveness means earning hers tenfold.

She had scoffed the first time he had sent her a bouquet of peonies, even though her eyes sparkled when she saw her favorite flower. “Why’s he sending me some?”

You had sniffed your own bouquet of jasmines and lavender, pointing to the card that was attached to her bouquet. “Read it and tell me what it says!”

She had grabbed the card and you carefully watched her reaction, her eyes widening before filling with tears. You had been filled with alarm, reaching out to hug her but she had shaken her head and held the card tightly.

“What a jerk, making me cry…” She had mumbled, but the smile on her face let you know that his apologies were working on her, too.

There were also the talks after lectures and in between check ups - any time you could find each other, really. They were serious, filled with tears but also with a comfort that you two were finally talking - not skirting around the issues that made your foundations crack in the first place. While things are still a little soft, you find that the cracks are filled with gold - making the foundation of your relationship stable with new meaning.

Your thoughts stop with a knock on the lecture hall door, and you lift your head to see Dr. Chung waving his hand at you with a friendly smile. You scan your students in the crowd; most of them have their heads down, teeth gnawing at their lips and brows furrowed in concentration at the test you and Zayne had put together. Sure that they won’t need you immediately, you nod at Dr. Chung and make your way out of the lecture hall.

Once outside, you regard him curiously as he produces a manila envelope from his side and presents it to you with a flourish. There’s a gleam in his eyes that has your heart pounding as you open the envelope shakily, pulling out the neat packet of papers and reading “OFFER OF PERMANENT POSITION WITH THE LINDE SCHOOL OF MEDICINE AND AKSO HOSPITAL.”

“I told you I would pester you about it during finals week,” he teases with a smile as you look at him with wide eyes.

“I-” you try to begin, but he’s quick to cut you off with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulders.

“You are leagues above the medical world and it would be an honor to have you with us, Dr. ____.” His voice is full of warm conviction, giving you a wide smile as you flounder for words. “I’d also like to be happily retired when you and Dr. Li have children.”

“Alistair!” You ignore formality for a scandalized whisper of his name, but he only laughs as he pats your arms reassuringly.

“I did put a lot of money on a betting pool back when the two of you were in undergrad and won it back tenfold,” he replies cheekily. Dr. Chung gestures to the packet once more, eyes full of hope as he scans your face. “So? Are you ready to step into the shoes that have always fit you perfectly and send me into an early and reassuringly calm retirement?”

Your hands shake, but your smile is steady as you look at him.

You’ve always known the answer, you think.

There’s a knock on your door as you finish inputting final grades for the semester later on in the week.

You quirk your eyebrow when you eye the door, not expecting any visitors or students. It’s Friday, and by the time the sun sets below the horizon students and faculty alike are off to hot pot restaurants and karaoke bars to celebrate the end of the semester and the beginning of summer break. You know you’re supposed to be alone - you saw each of your coworker’s lamps flicker off one by one, their laughter echoing through the empty hall as they waved goodbye to you or tried to goad you into a night out.

You’re definitely supposed to be alone.

Still, you clear your throat and answer. “Come in!”

Your eyes widen when you see Zayne, an unusual ruffledness to him as he shuts the door and flicks the lock closed behind him. He’s wearing blue scrubs, white coat draped over his arm and hair mussed as he looks at you with an intense stare that has your body beginning to melt from the inside out.

“Alistair said you accepted the offer.”

It spills out of his mouth almost unwittingly, and your lips tilt up at the corners when you see how his cheeks flush. Still, his eyes never waver from yours as you stand up from your desk and smooth the thin blue cotton of the long summer dress you had pulled on earlier in the morning.

“Yes,” you confirm as you walk around your desk to stand in front of him. His posture relaxes at your simple word, jaw releasing its tension as his gaze softens.

“Do you know what that means?” He asks. It’s gentler, full of unanswered questions he wants to know the answers to because you know that he needs to know your thoughts.

You reflect back to your analysis of the document, immediately noting that Zayne was signing on as one of the two directors of the Linde School of Medicine.

The reason why you know that is because your name was slotted next to his as the permanent head of pediatrics and a potential candidate for the position of interim director.

“Yes,” you say again. You’re standing in front of him now, head tilted up as you regard his gaze curiously. “I read all of that in the packet. I even gave it to my personal lawyer to ensure that there was nothing problematic in the agreement-”

“I’m sorry, ____, but you know that’s not what I mean right now.”

Zayne’s voice trembles as he steps forward to meet your body, dropping his white coat onto the floor. He cups your face in his hands and tilts your head up so that he can look directly into your gaze. You melt into his touch, reaching up to hold his hands in place with a gentle pressure.

“I need to know if you’re okay working with…me,” his voice is gravelly and filled with anxiety, something that makes your heart clench at the vulnerability of his words. “I need to know that you’re okay working with me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable when we just started mending things between us-”

“Zayne.”

It’s your turn to interrupt him and he shuts his mouth immediately, leaning down to press a kiss against the palm of your hand. You smile at the contact, letting him kiss your hand to alleviate his anxiety before clearing your throat and starting.

“I’m more than okay with it.” Your pointer finger taps against his cheek once, making his eyes widen as you step closer so that your chests are barely brushing. “I wouldn’t have accepted the position and scheduled the seemingly endless meetings and interviews for the interim director position if I wasn’t okay with it.”

He breathes a deep sigh of relief at that, sinking his face further into your hand while you tap your thumb against his chin.

“You’re comfortable with me?” He asks, eyes full of yearning as he moves his hands to settle on your hips. He pulls your body flush against his, making you lose your breath as you stare into your favorite shade of emerald. “Are things…”

“I’m more than comfortable.” Your finger drags a line past his Adam’s apple up to his jaw, eliciting a shaky breath from his lips when you run the tips of your fingers up to his hair to play with the inky strands. “In fact, things are going pretty swimmingly from my vantage point.”

Your pointer finger traces a dangerous line from his jaw to the edge of his mouth, and your eyes hood ever so slightly when you tap his bottom lip once.

“My question is,” you whisper as you tiptoe up to meet his face. “Does the doctor who hasn’t left my mind since I moved back feel the same way?”

A beat passes - a singular moment when you feel his heart beating in tandem with yours. His eyes widen at the implication of your words, registering your hidden meaning before a true smile spreads across his lips.

That one smile solidifies everything for the both of you. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, stealing your breath and the last bits of all rationality away from your mind.

You’re quick to respond to the movements of his lips, running your hands up the back of his head and gripping the inky strands of his hair in between your fingers. A deep rumble reverberates through his chest when your nails scratch his head slightly, making him step back and press you against your desk.

You gasp when you feel the smooth wood against the small of your back, the pressure making your eyes roll back into your head and grip his hair tighter. He pulls away though, eyes flying open at the little sound. He immediately moves to cradle your face in his hands, tilting your head in his touch as he scans you for any sort of hesitation or sign of hurt. “Are you okay, my love?”

“I am,” you reply, melting at the slip of his pet name. He doesn’t notice, simply peppering your face with soft kisses until you’re giggling in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck tighter.

“Good,” he says with a soft twinkle in his eye. His hands reach behind your back, and your eyes widen at the sound of papers and your little plastic cup of pens clattering to the floor before you squeal, your arms around his neck tightening when he lifts you by one arm up onto your desk.

“Zayne, what-” you try to begin, but he simply leans back down and kisses you deeply, stealing your breath away and eliciting a soft moan from between your lips. He groans in response, spreading your legs apart on the table and bracing his left hand on the wood behind your back while pulling your leg up with his right hand up around his waist. He steps in between the newly formed space, allowing his hips to roll slightly against yours in a way that has you whining from the contact.

Your hands move, tilting his head to the side so that you can kiss him deeper. A stroke of your tongue against his bottom lip has his mouth falling open, allowing for your tongue to push in slightly to brush against his. Simultaneous gasps escape your mouths at the same time, and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth so that he can get a taste of you directly from the source.

Soon enough though, the need for air has you pulling away, leaning your forehead against his as you both catch your breath. You giggle breathlessly when you see the marks your skin left on his glasses, the cloudiness making it difficult to see the real emotion on his face. Your hands begin to lift to pull at them but he beats you to it, simply grabbing at the thin frame before tossing them somewhere to the side.

“Your glasses!” You try to yelp, but he leans down to nip at your bottom lip, making your mouth fall open once more.

“They were getting in the way,” he grumbles, and you laugh as you allow him to recapture your mouth with his once more.

The kiss this time is slower but just as needy on your end, the brush of his lips soothing the worried part in your mind. He discards any lingering doubt in your head, cementing him as yours - and the giddy feeling swallows you whole.

His lips make a path from the corner of your mouth to your jawline, soft presses of his lips making your skin heat from his touch. The stimulation has you whining, tugging on the collar of his scrubs to try to get them off of his body. Your needy movements make him chuckle darkly and he pulls away just enough so he can pull the top and his undershirt off of his body, giving you access to his glorious body.

“Zayne,” you murmur softly, drinking in the sight of his body once more. It’s a sight you’re intimately familiar with but it still has molten desire pooling in your stomach, and you let your eyes wander past the planes of his chest and the chiseled softness of his abs before biting your lip at the sight of the thin, dark hairs that lead below the waistband of his scrubs.

“What are you thinking about, pretty lady?” His breath catches when your hand presses on the skin above his heart. He shuffles closer to your body which allows you to press a kiss directly on his heart, and you smile to yourself when you hear a soft gasp above your head.

“You,” you say back, grabbing his hand and letting your fingers trace the fading scars on his forearm. His breath hitches in his chest when you bring his arm to your lips, gently ghosting your lips along the skin reverently.

“Is that so?” He gently pulls his arm away from you, instead placing his palms on your thighs and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Yes,” you breathe, wrapping one arm around his neck to pull him closer. Your other hand trails down his chest and past his abs, fingers toying dangerously with the elastic waistband of his thin scrubs. You smile sweetly up at him as his eyes flash dangerously, playing innocent while your hand slips underneath his scrubs to cup his bulge above his boxer briefs.

“You’re still a little minx,” he groans. You laugh as you begin to massage the tent in his pants, but you gasp when he pulls your thighs up to his waist, making your back fall against your desk.

“Zayne, what-” you try to begin, but your words die in your mouth when he slides your skirt up past your thighs so that it pools at your waist. He gently pulls your hand from his pants so that he can spread your legs even more, folding them so that they’re up in the air and he has a clear view of your dainty white panties clinging against the silken folds of your core.

“Pretty,” he says softly, running a single finger up against your slit. Your mouth is too dry all of the sudden, falling open at the muted stimulation of his finger rubbing your clit above your panties. Your wetness drenches the thin fabric even more, and it has you grinding your hips against his single finger while mewling in a bid to feel even more.

“Still impatient and needy for me, my love?” He places one of your legs on his shoulder, letting you wrap the other one around his waist as you grind against his hand - desperate for his bare skin against the place you need him the most.

“Yes,” you breathe. You pout up at him and he laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss as you continue to grind yourself against his hand. The pleasure builds in the pit of your stomach and continues to rise, but you huff in frustration when you feel it plateau instead of bringing you closer to the edge of your end.

“Zayne,” you gasp, looking up at him imploringly. His eyes flash at your need and without another word he moves his hand, pulling your panties to the side and finally allowing you to grind your bare pussy against the warm skin of his hand. A small cry leaves your mouth, head tilting back as you rock your hips against the palm of his hand.

Zayne looks down at the goddess that is you, writhing on your desk as you chase your high. The ruffled straps of your sundress fall down your shoulders, accentuating the way your breasts heave as your chest rises and falls with the onslaught of pleasure wreaking havoc on your body. If the two of you weren’t in the academic offices and he had more time on his hands, he would have torn your dress off a long time ago, pinching your nipples with his skilled fingers until your eyes went cross-eyed and all that left your mouth were moans and babbles of his name.

Another time, he thinks to himself when he sees the scrunch of your nose. There are plenty of other times to shower your body with love.

Your eyes snap open when he pulls his hand away from your core, a noise of protest beginning on your lips as to why he moved away. It quickly dies, however, when you see him pull his straining cock out of his scrubs. He pushes you down onto your desk once more, jacking himself with your wetness rapidly so that he’s ready too. All the while, he looks down at you with a heady glance, leaning down to kiss you once more.

“Are you still on the pill?” He asks breathlessly. He slides his cockhead against your pussy, and you both moan when he slaps his tip against your clit.

“Yes,” you confirm, eyes going hazy when he drags his cock down to your sopping hole. The tip catches slightly and you whine, tightening the hold your leg has on his waist. “Z-zayne!”

“I got you, my love,” he groans back, and you cry out softly when he begins to push himself into your pussy.

Your head lolls back, eyes rolling back into your skull with each thick inch he gives you. Even with how slick you are, the pleasurable stretch still burns - enough to make you pant when he rolls his hips.

“W-wait-” you gasp, and he’s quick to stop his pace, leaning down to press his nose against your neck. He leaves soft kisses against your pulse point and across your collarbones as you breathe deeply, trying to get used to the feeling of him pulsing inside of you after so long.

Soon enough, though, the burn gives way to nothing but heady pleasure, and you roll your hips against his to sink him further into your cunt. His hand tightens on the leg he has propped on his shoulder, eyes looking down at you with worry as he checks to make sure that you mean it.

“Are you sure?”

You nod once, and while he knows that you do mean it his eyes darken mischievously. He rolls his hips slowly, leaving you moaning as you attempt to roll your hips back to meet his - even with his sturdy grip on your hips.

“Use your words, Dr. ____.” His authoritative voice and use of your title has you clenching down on him, making you whimper and him grip your calf even tighter so that he doesn’t lose his mind. He groans as he thrusts shallowly once more, drinking in your moans that fill the air. “Use your words to tell me what you need.”

“You!” You all but cry out. “P-please Zayne, I need you fully in m-me-”

“Good,” he huffs. He kisses your ankle before sinking his cock all the way into your soaking pussy, making your back arch as you moan. He pulls out slowly, letting your walls pulse sporadically around his cock until only his cockhead remains in your cunt, making you whine at the emptiness. There’s only a whisper of respite from the fullness, though, before he pushes himself back in and elicits a cry from your swollen lips.

“Shh,” he murmurs, moving down to kiss you deeply. His hips never stop their pace, pistoning in and out of you at a relentless speed that has you seeing stars. “You don’t want anyone to catch us, right?”

“I-it’s late night though-” you try to begin, but your mouth falls open when he presses himself all of the way and nudges against your g-spot.

“There she is,” he says with a grunt, thrusting once again so that he can continue to press against that spot. “I was wondering when I would meet her again.”

“-ah!” You cry out in response. Your head falls back as the pleasure continues to wash over your body, bringing you closer and closer to the precipice of your orgasm. Zayne, seeing you begin to near your end, maintains his pace, reaching down to rub and pinch your clit in tandem with his thrusts.

The added stimulation makes your nose scrunch, moans and whimpers the only thing you can manage as your pussy spasms rhythmically around him. Your stomach tightens, and you’re barely able to gasp out his name before he leans down to kiss you once more, stealing your breath away.

“Cum with me, ____,” he breathes, and he swallows your cries with his lips when you finally fall over the edge.

The pleasure is overwhelming, crashing onto you as you dig your nails into his shoulders and making him groan. It leaves you seeing stars in your eyes, your head spinning as you try to control your breathing. You vaguely register your cries of his name and moans falling from your lips, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at how loud you're being - not when it feels this good.

Zayne, all the while, ruts his hips against yours - the pulsing of your slick walls driving him mad and prolonging your pleasure. A whine of his name has his moaning, cumming into your wet heat as he sinks his teeth in the skin between your shoulder and neck to try and keep a hold of himself. You gasp at the bit of pain, letting it mix with the heady pleasure of your orgasm until everything fades away, leaving just you and him in the afterglow.

“Mmm,” you moan softly as he kisses the bite he left on your neck, shivering slightly when he licks the tender skin.

“We’re going to need to make this our office,” he says softly against your neck. The statement makes you throw your head back to laugh, and he chuckles softly alongside you as he gently lowers your leg from his chest to wrap around his waist.

“You’re right,” you tease in response. “Can’t let anyone else have this office after what we did here.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, moving his head up to kiss you once more. You let him press the sweet kiss against your mouth, a stark juxtaposition to the way your shaky legs are still wrapped around his waist.

He pulls away softly, and you push his slightly sweaty hair up above his brow so that it isn’t plastered onto his forehead. You tap your finger three times against his nose, and you feel yourself soften at the breathtaking smile that overtakes his entire face.

“Me too, my love,” he murmurs back, tapping your nose three times - like the two of you have always done. He leans over you to kiss you once more, filling you with that pure feeling of love that has you smiling against his mouth.

And by the way he smiles against your mouth, you know he feels that same love for you too.

August means the start of a new academic year at Linkon University.

You hear the nervous chatter of the fresh-faced medical students currently seated in the lecture hall outside of your shared office and you turn to look at your handsome co-lecturer with a half serious expression on your face while you watch him struggle with his tie. You step closer and help him fix it, straightening out the crooked fabric before smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles on his perfectly pressed white button down.

“Don’t grill them too hard, Dr. Li.” You say softly, amusement coloring your voice as Zayne lets out a scoff. “You want them to want to continue med school.”

“No promises, my love.” He swoops down and kisses you - the kind that steals your breath away and makes you weak in the knees. You kiss him back, smiles forming on your mouths as you relish in the quick contact before pulling away.

“Ready?” He asks, and he offers his arm out to you as you gather your stack of syllabi and notes. You beam at him and place your hand in the crook of his arm, nodding once.

“With you? Always.”

And the two of you walk out of your office and into the lecture room - taking your first steps toward your shared future together as the head lecturers and directors of the Linde School of Medicine.

a/n #2: i'm going to take a nap LOL but i hope you enjoy!! <3

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lyn31 · 3 months ago

Note

Hello there! I’ve read all of you Zayne fics and they are so cute. I was wondering if you could do one before pregnancy where Zayne proposes, to the wedding, and eventually honeymoon. Can you make it romantic and smut towards the honeymoon please. Thank you in advance.☺️

Hey, sooooo I did it, but uh it is bigger than I expected it to be (that's what she said) so I separate it into two part, it's one fics on Ao3 but anyway! Hopefully this is what you're thinking of!

Oh and hopefully you don't mind me writing my OC there as well🫶🏻🥰 Let me know what you think! And enjoy!

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How it all happen

Summary

Returning to the town of their first festival, you and Zayne relive old memories with quiet affection, playful competition, and a spark of nostalgia that gently reveals how much—and how deeply—things have changed between you. And in a quiet garden wrapped in sage green, gold and burgundy, you marry Zayne beneath soft November skies—where love, memory, and mischief all walk hand in hand.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Fluff, proposal, marriage/wedding, fluff, sweet, banter, silly, chaos. Technically still in the canon world!

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The moment Zayne suggests this particular town for the festival, you know exactly what he’s doing.

You don’t say anything right away. You just give him a long look as the memory clicks into place, your lips tugging into a slow, knowing smirk. “Really?”

Beside you, Zayne doesn’t even react. The glow from the hanging lanterns catches in his hazel eyes, casting flickers of soft amber across his otherwise unreadable face. He slips his hands into the pockets of his coat, utterly unbothered. “It’s a festival.”

You let out a small laugh, nudging his elbow lightly with yours. “You’re taking me back to our first festival. After all these years.”

“Hm.” He exhales through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a breath of amusement. “And?”

You watch him a second longer, the corner of your mouth tugging higher. “You’re so sentimental.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head, gaze drifting to the lights ahead—like he’s already walking through the memory and the present at once.

he layout has changed. New stalls have replaced old ones, the colors are brighter now, and the speakers hum with updated music—but the bones are the same. The warm lanterns. The scent of grilled food hanging thick in the air. The laughter and footsteps over cobblestone.

And you’re not complaining. Not one bit. If anything, something warm and heavy settles in your chest. Familiar. Safe. You take a step forward, close enough for your fingers to brush against his. You grab his hand and lead him further into the festival.

“Alright then,” you say softly. “Let’s make some new memories.”

The ring toss stall is tucked in the same corner it always was, wedged between the candied fruit stand and a newer game with blinking lights. It looks smaller than you remember, but that might just be time playing tricks.

You pause in front of it, and nostalgia hits hard—sharper than you expect. Caleb’s dramatic groan when he missed every single shot, and the way Rose had snorted before casually landing all her rings in one smooth motion. You hadn’t been much better than Caleb back then, your aim clumsy, laugh breathless with how hard you’d been trying to prove yourself.

Zayne had made it look effortless, of course. Toss. Land. Toss. Land. Quietly competent, quietly smug. He hadn’t said a word, just raised an eyebrow when you’d glared at him in defeat.

But now—now you’re a hunter. You’ve trained for years. Your aim might not be Evol-level precise like your sister, but it has to count for something, right?

You step closer to the stall, eyeing the rings lined up on the counter. For a moment, the years fall away.

“Would you like to go first,” Zayne asks from behind, voice calm as ever, “or shall I?”

You scoff as you start rolling up your sleeves, already reaching for the rings. “Obviously me.”

Zayne steps back with that easy shrug of his, the kind that says go ahead, impress me, but he doesn’t voice it. He never has to.

You take a ring, trying not to overthink it. You expect the toss to be wobbly. Maybe it’ll graze the bottle neck and fall off, like old times.

But instead—somehow—it lands.

A perfect, clean loop.

You blink. The stall owner pauses mid-motion. Even Zayne’s brows lift the slightest fraction, which on him may as well be open-mouthed shock.

“Huh,” you say, master of words as always.

You toss the next one.

Another hit.

Your mouth parts in disbelief. The final ring spins from your fingers—this one’s a little off-center, but it catches the edge of the bottle and bounces just right, sliding down into place with a soft clink.

You stare. All three. Still stunned.

The stall owner lets out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

You glance sideways at Zayne, whose expression toes the line between unimpressed and quietly impressed. “Was that skill or luck?”

You’re still processing, your heart thumping with the ridiculous thrill of it. “Let’s call it a miracle.”

The stall owner hands you a prize without asking—one that’s all too familiar. A stuffed rabbit plush, nearly identical to the one you won—or rather, that Zayne won for you—all those years ago.

You hold it out to him now, smug. “Something’s changed, huh?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows as you press the plush into his hands.

Zayne exhales slowly, giving you the flattest look imaginable as he accepts the rabbit. “Barely.”

But he keeps holding it anyway.

You grin.

Unfortunately, your miracle does not extend to the other games.

What starts with quiet confidence slowly devolves into a comedy of errors. You try the coin toss—your coin bounces off the rim and somehow ricochets out of the booth entirely. At the shooting gallery, at least you manage a win—because really, if you couldn’t, you might as well retire your guns on the spot. The rubber duck scoop? A complete disaster. You don’t even manage to snag one. The wire scoop breaks in half, leaving you standing there with a soggy paper handle and a wounded sense of pride.

Zayne, naturally, is irritatingly good at everything. You try not to watch as he knocks down every target at the dart booth with surgical precision, winning another small prize with such casual effort that the attendant doesn’t even bother to act surprised. He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t say a word—but you can feel the quiet amusement rolling off him.

By the time you’ve lost your third round at darts, you throw your hands up with a dramatic groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I think my luck ran away.”

Zayne, who now has the rabbit plush tucked securely under one arm and a small bag of festival snacks in the other, glances at your last pathetic dart still stuck in the outermost edge of the board. “It seems that way.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

He doesn’t even blink. “Watching you fail?” His tone is dry as bone. “Not particularly.”

“Liar.”

Zayne doesn’t bother to deny it. He just raises a brow and looks away, as if your misfortune is beneath his notice—though the faint pull of his lips betrays him.

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Sweets are your final stop before the night begins to wind down—your enthusiasm still bright, even if your aim didn’t survive the evening.

You make a beeline for the dessert stalls, immediately drawn to a delicate-looking pastry. The first bite is heavenly—rich, buttery, and soft—but halfway through, the richness starts to weigh heavy on your tongue.

You wrinkle your nose and wordlessly pass it to Zayne.

He accepts it without question, taking a bite like it’s routine.

Then comes a glossy red candy apple. You bite into it and immediately regret it. Too sticky. Too sweet. You stare at the half-bitten thing with betrayal in your eyes.

Zayne, ever wordless, takes it too.

Next is a sweet dumpling—soft, chewy, coated in syrup. It’s delicious, really, but two bites in, you're already shaking your head, lips puckered from the sugar.

Zayne sighs faintly, but pops the rest of it into his mouth anyway.

You watch him with growing amusement as he finishes everything you abandon, not once batting an eye. His movements are so precise, so efficient, it almost feels rehearsed—like he’s been assigned to finish your leftovers with military precision.

“You know,” you remark, licking sugar from your thumb, “people would think I was feeding you on purpose.”

Zayne exhales, reaching for a napkin to wipe his fingers. “I told you to stop getting things you wouldn’t finish.”

“I thought I’d finish them!” you say, indignant. “Besides, you’d just buy them anyway, so really, this is a win-win.”

Zayne gives you a look. Not annoyed—more like resigned. The kind of look that says, This is exactly who you’ve always been.

You grin and reach out, fingers catching the edge of his sleeve. “Thanks for saving me from my bad choices.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, small grin on his face. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable under the soft festival glow. But the lights catch in his eyes, pale gold and endless, and you feel something in your chest settle.

Then, without warning, he exhales and says, “Come on.”

You blink. “Hm?”

Zayne nods toward the edge of the street, where the lanterns start to thin out and the crowds grow quieter. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Your curiosity stirs, but you don’t push. He’s already walking, the rabbit plush tucked neatly under his arm, his free hand brushing lightly against yours in a near invitation.

You smile to yourself and follow.

He leads you past the crowds, beyond the music, the booths, the hum of voices. The air cools slightly as the noise fades behind you, the lanterns becoming sparser, their glow soft and golden on the path ahead. Leaves rustle faintly in the trees above, and every now and then a firework crackles in the distance, a soft pop that lingers in the air like a memory.

Eventually, you come to a small clearing—a quiet, open space where the world seems to slow down. Just enough light filters in to catch the shimmer of something ahead.

A stall. Unassuming. Familiar.

Your eyes widen slightly. Festival sparklers.

The kind that lit up your childhood fingers, that fizzed and glowed like they were alive, tiny explosions of joy in your palms.

You glance at Zayne, brows raised. “Really committing to the nostalgia thing, huh?”

He says nothing. Just steps forward, pulls out a few coins, and exchanges them for a pack. You watch as he carefully separates two, his fingers steady and deliberate, then turns back to you.

“Here,” he says, offering you one.

You take it, your smile tugging higher. “So, what’s the plan? Slow burn romance or straight to the grand gesture?”

Zayne lights his first, the golden spark catching instantly, crackling to life in the dim. The shimmer reflects in his eyes, glowing soft against the sharp lines of his face.

“I thought you don’t like slow burn,” he says.

You huff a laugh, lighting yours next. The tip flares up, buzzing warmly in your hand. “I don’t. Unless it’s you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The world narrows to the space between you, the quiet flicker of the sparklers in your hands. Light dances across Zayne’s face, softening the usual cool precision of his expression. He looks younger—not in age, but in the way memory softens the sharp lines of time.

You stand close, the kind of silence between you that says everything.

And for a few precious seconds, the past and present overlap—and everything is warm.

Then, his free hand—cool, steady—wraps gently around yours.

You blink, the touch soft but unmissable. It lingers, not seeking attention, not demanding anything. Just… there. Like it belongs.

You glance up at him. “Oh?”

Zayne doesn’t answer. Not right away. His grip isn’t tight. Just deliberate. Grounding.

There’s a pause—quiet enough for the sparkler’s soft crackle to fill the air. Its fading fizz mirrors your breath: slow, caught, waiting.

Then, finally—

“You were right,” he murmurs. His voice is low, caught somewhere between the sparks and shadow.

Your brows furrow. “About what?”

His thumb drags lightly across the side of your hand. Not absentminded—no, it’s too careful for that. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your skin.

“Something’s changed,” he says.

The words are simple. But the way he says them—with that quiet finality of someone who’s circled the answer too many times before finally landing on it—makes something warm stir in your chest.

Your sparkler fizzles down to a glowing nub, the light shrinking until it fades completely. Zayne’s does the same a breath later, leaving the air faintly smoky, the world a little dimmer.

But he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he turns toward you fully, expression soft in the gentle glimmer of distant fireworks. The light touches his face in waves—shadows slipping across the sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his cheek, the delicate strain around his eyes.

“Things change,” he says. “We’ve changed. But what I feel for you?” He lifts your joined hands slightly. “It hasn’t faded.”

His voice dips lower. “It’s only grown.”

You almost laugh—almost. The kind of sound that would deflect, tease, ease the weight of what he’s saying. But when you look at him, you can’t. Because his eyes… they’re steady. Open. And it hits you that he’s not just saying this.

He’s letting you see it.

You try to speak, but nothing makes it past the knot in your throat. Zayne’s thumb brushes along the back of your hand with a gentleness that shouldn’t make your eyes sting—but it does.

“I used to think,” he says, slower now, “that the only way to keep you safe was to stay away.”

The words settle over you like a shadow.

You know exactly what day he’s thinking about. You feel the shape of it, even now. The hurt. The distance. The way he looked at you like he was made of glass, terrified you’d shatter if he touched you again.

He doesn’t look away. “That day… when I hurt you. I wanted to be better. Stronger. I thought if I trained hard enough, I could control it—my power, myself—and make sure it never happened again.”

His voice falters, just slightly, but he catches it.

“I was wrong.”

You blink, startled.

“I didn’t need to control my power. I needed to understand what anchored it.” His gaze sharpens a fraction. “What anchored me.”

He steps in—just enough to erase the last bit of space between you.

“It was always you.”

Something catches in your chest. Not pain. Not exactly. Just something raw—something that feels like healing and ache, tangled together.

Zayne lifts your hand to his chest, holding it there gently—over the soft beat of his heart. It’s steady beneath your palm, unhurried.

“This,” he murmurs, “has always been yours.”

Your breath stutters. You barely realize you’ve leaned into him slightly, until the warmth of his body eases the tremble in your fingers.

His eyes lower, like he’s searching for something inward. When they lift again, you see it—that quiet glint of resolve shining through.

“You always said I’d figure it out,” he says. His mouth tips into the smallest of smiles—faint, sure.

“And you meant it. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, you still did.”

He shifts—barely a movement—but then you feel it. The way his grip changes. The slight bend of his arm.

And then, before you can register the motion, he’s on one knee.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t make a show of it. Doesn’t look around. Doesn’t speak yet.

He just reaches inside his coat, pulling out a small box—dark, simple, worn at the corners. Like it’s been carried with care for a long time.

Your pulse stutters as he opens it.

The ring shine under the scattered light—solitaire-cut, clear as morning frost. The band curls like leaves in winter, intricate without being loud. Elegant. Intentional.

But you barely see it.

Because his eyes are still on you.

“You’re here,” Zayne says quietly, “and I’m here too.”

A pause. The kind that feels full.

“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The words are calm. No fanfare. No trembling.

But your entire body trembles anyway.

You stare. Not because you don’t know what to say—but because your heart is too loud, too full, too fast.

Zayne watches you carefully. As always. As if he’s still giving you a way out.

"You always have something to say," he murmurs. "But right now, you’re just staring."

A breath leaves you in a shaky, ungraceful rush.

You grip his hand tighter, as if anchoring yourself. Your other hand flies up to cover your mouth, as if that’ll stop the way your chest is shaking.

He waits.

You swallow hard. Try again.

“I—”

Your voice folds on itself. So you nod. Fast. Almost desperate.

Zayne’s mouth twitches again. Not quite a smile. But something close.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

A noise slips out of you. Awkward. Choked. Half-sob, half-laugh.

Then finally, breathlessly—“Yes.”

Zayne rises, slow and deliberate. He takes your hand again, sliding the ring onto your finger with gentle precision. It’s cool against your skin. It fits like it was always meant to be there.

As soon as it’s done—

You launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, the force of your embrace rocking him a step back. His arms wind around you without hesitation—one across your back, the other curling under your shoulders.

You press yourself into him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You’re crying,” he says softly.

“You—You made me cry!” You sniff, words muffled against his chest.

A beat. Then, dryly— “You were the one who stayed.”

You laugh, the sound cracking down the middle. “I can’t believe you still remember all of that.”

Zayne holds you tighter. His breath shifts near your temple.

“I never forgot.”

And behind you, a firework blooms across the sky—brief, bright, beautiful. Like the past and the future, lighting up all at once.

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The next evening, you and Zayne are at Rose and Caleb’s place for dinner—one of those rare months when Caleb is actually home. The food’s good, the wine even better, and you? You’ve been casually flaunting your ring every chance you get, wrist angled just so when you reach for your glass, the light catching the gemstone like it’s part of the performance.

Rose catches on first, narrowing her eyes with suspicion as she tracks the movement of your hand. “Alright,” she says, setting down her fork. “Let me see it properly.”

You grin, already extending your hand toward her. She takes it delicately, tilting it under the light with an appraising look before her lips twitch upward.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs. “Congratulations.”

“Congrats,” Caleb adds from across the table, raising his glass toward you both before flashing Zayne a look full of good-natured disbelief. “Didn’t think you had it in you to pull off a grand gesture.”

“Oh, it was perfect,” you say, sitting up straighter, your excitement bubbling over. “Picture this—lanterns, sparklers, a quiet moment away from the festival, and then he—”

Zayne lets out a quiet sigh, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “You weren’t this talkative when it actually happened.”

You turn toward him, scandalized. “Shush.”

Caleb perks up, eyes wide. “Wait—were you quiet? You?”

Rose raises a brow, amused. “No way.”

Zayne remains calm, completely unfazed as he takes another sip. “She just stared at me.”

“I was emotional,” you say, half-defensive, half-laughing.

Caleb’s already shaking his head. “The chatterbox was silent? I can’t believe I missed that.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you’re one to talk. Rose was the one who proposed to you.”

“And?” Caleb shrugs without shame. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” you say, waving your hand airily, “except your eyes were so puffy the next day, you looked like you’d lost a fight.”

“Okay, alright,” Caleb cuts in, pointing his fork at you. “That’s enough out of you.” Then he flicks his hand toward a napkin, sending it flying toward your face—only for Zayne to catch it midair and set it down like nothing happened.

You glare at Caleb. “Using your Evol, bro? Really?” Your own Evol flickers in your hand—useless for offense but itching to respond anyway.

“What you’re above using your Evol now?”

“You know damn well that’s not how my Evol work!” You turn toward Zayne, your hand just land on his shoulder but he already shakes his head, “No.”

So you turn toward your sister and she lift her eyebrows toward you, “Are you suggesting I’d cut my own husband?”

“Your husband just attacked your little sister with a napkin!”

“He try, your fiance stop it.” She say smirking. And Caleb beside her just wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan. “Sis, please control your husband.”

Rose sighs, swirling her wine glass like she’s been through this routine a hundred times. “I’ve been trying for years. Remember?”

Without missing a beat, Caleb throws an arm around her, grinning like the smug menace he is. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“She really doesn’t,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

He fires back without hesitation. “You’re worse than me.”

You scoff and turn toward Zayne. “Hey, at least Zayne can control me perfectly fine.”

Zayne exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s trying not to smile. “Both of you, stop.”

Rose leans forward, eyes glinting. “Oh no, please, don’t. Go ahead, sis, what else?”

Caleb grins, clearly egging it on. “Yeah, tell us more. This is great.”

Now it’s you against both of them, and Zayne—your supposed partner in all this—is sitting beside you, rubbing his temple like he’s quietly weighing every decision he’s ever made that led him to this exact moment.

Poor man never stood a chance.

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The garden has gone quiet.

Zayne stands beneath the floral arch, the scent of fresh blooms faint in the crisp November air. The breeze is light but steady, rustling the edges of his tailored deep charcoal suit—cut in clean, deliberate lines that sharpen his frame. The gold cufflinks at his wrists catch the soft afternoon light, and his burgundy tie shifts subtly when he breathes, the color rich and warm against his white shirt.

He’s been calm all morning. Steady. Focused in that familiar, meticulous way—adjusting place cards that don’t need fixing, double-checking timelines, confirming details already confirmed twice over. But now, with the music changing and the quiet settling deep around him, there’s something else unfurling in his chest. A low, quiet pull. Not nerves. Just something undeniable—something that belongs only to this moment.

Beside him, Greyson leans in, voice low and dry. “Still time to fake a medical emergency.”

Zayne doesn’t so much as glance at him. “If you want to explain to her why she got dressed for nothing, be my guest.”

Greyson huffs, a sound that passes for approval, and eases back into place, hands folded neatly in front of him. The silence returns—not heavy, but full. Tense with anticipation, charged with something quiet and electric. Zayne’s gaze remains locked on the end of the aisle.

And then—

The garden doors open.

For a second, there’s nothing but light.

Then comes the soft sweep of ivory—fabric gliding over the stone path, lace tracing down her arms like frost. Gold flickers beneath the layered skirt with every step—subtle, like sunlight breaking through water. The cape veil follows, its floral embroidery catching the breeze in soft, fluttering waves.

She’s radiant—but it isn’t the dress that steals his breath.

It’s her.

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Your grip tightens on Rose’s arm without even realizing it. Caleb is on your other side, straight-backed and composed, but his eyes flick toward Rose with a whisper of concern when he hears her sniff. She’s already tearing up.

“Oh no,” you murmur.

Rose lets out a watery laugh and immediately passes you the bouquet, fumbling for the tissue Caleb—predictably—produces from his pocket with practiced ease.

“Why is she the one crying?” you ask under your breath, amused but touched.

Caleb pats her back gently. “She’s been trying to marry you off for years.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable—thick and glowing and everywhere at once.

Then the music shifts again, and you take a breath.

Everything stills.

One step forward, and the rest of the world falls away.

Zayne stands at the end of the aisle like a fixed point—everything else blurs around him. The burgundy at his collar, the glint of his cufflinks, the way the light brushes the line of his jaw. He looks composed, still, but there’s something in his eyes—some quiet knowing—that tells you this isn’t waiting anymore.

This is it.

Each step draws you closer. The distance between you narrows, and his figure sharpens through the haze. His focus never falters, locked entirely on you. You don’t think he’s blinked since the doors opened.

The soft trail of your cape veil sways behind you, catching the breeze like the petals in the surrounding hedges. Everything feels like it’s moving in rhythm with your steps, with your breath, with the quiet tremble of something too big to hold.

And then you’re there.

Breathless.

Still.

The garden hushes again as Zayne lifts his hand, and you place yours in his. His touch is cool, steadying. His fingers curl around yours with gentle precision. He doesn’t smile, not fully—but the corner of his mouth lifts just enough.

You squeeze back, leaning in the smallest bit. “You didn’t cry,” you whisper.

Zayne mirrors the gesture, his voice soft. “You didn’t either.”

From behind you, Rose lets out another sniffle.

And a second later—far more reluctant—Caleb.

“Still not us,” he mutters, clearing his throat like it might undo the emotion already creeping in.

But none of that matters.

Because all you can do is look at Zayne.

And in this moment, with nothing between you—no nerves, no space—this beginning already feels like everything.

Perfect, simply because it’s him.

He takes your hands, cool and steady in yours, and though his voice is quiet, every word carries.

“I thought I understood what it meant to protect someone…” Zayne’s gaze holds yours, unwavering. “But it wasn’t until you that I realized protection isn’t only shielding. It’s choosing—every day, in every way. It’s staying close, even when nothing makes sense.”

He pauses, not from nerves, but with purpose. A breath drawn like he wants every word to land gently, precisely.

“You’ve always had this way of turning silence into something warm. I never had to say much around you… because you already knew. But today, I want you to hear this.”

His thumbs brush over your knuckles—grounding, intentional.

“You are the one I want to come home to. The one I’ll reach for—through chaos, through quiet, through everything. And I promise… even when I don’t say it out loud, I will love you in all the ways I know how.”

Another small breath, and then, with the faintest tilt of his head—

“And I can’t wait to spend every special and ordinary day with you.”

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Your hands tighten around his, knuckles blanching just a little, and it takes a heartbeat before you can speak past the swell in your chest.

“I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be someone who gets this kind of love,” you begin softly, voice a touch unsteady. “But somehow, it found me. You found me.”

You glance up at him, warmth welling behind your ribs.

“And it didn’t feel like lightning or a fairytale. It felt… steady. Like I was already home.”

Zayne’s expression doesn’t shift much—but you feel the way his grip answers yours. Present. Solid. Yours.

“You’re the calm in my chaos. The one who never asks me to change, but still makes me want to be better. And every time I look at you, I still can't believe I get to be the one beside you.”

You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.

“I promise to keep choosing you—even when I’m tired, even when I’m being impossible. I promise to fight with you, not against you. To grow with you. To be the hand you can always reach for.”

You squeeze his fingers, just enough for him to feel it.

“And I promise not to tamper with the things you’ve so carefully set up… too often.”

A few soft chuckles rise from the guests, but your focus stays on him.

“Thank you for being my safe place,” you finish, voice lower now, threaded with emotion. “I can’t wait to keep walking through life with you—one step at a time.”

The moment your last words settle in the air, something unspoken draws you forward. Zayne leans in without a word, the breath between you shortening—lips just shy of meeting—

A pointed cough slices through the tension.

Both of you still.

The officiant lifts an eyebrow with polite amusement. “We’ll get to that soon enough.”

A wave of laughter ripples through the crowd, warm and affectionate. Zayne doesn’t smile, but you feel his soft exhale, the subtle shift in his shoulders. His fingers slide along yours as he straightens, the warmth of his touch lingering.

“The rings, please.”

Rose and Caleb step forward—your sister blotting at her eyes again as she carefully hands you Zayne’s ring. Caleb offers yours with a flourish so dramatic it earns a few quiet laughs, including a soft snort from Rose.

The bands are simple, elegant—etched with a fine snowflake design at the center. It had felt a little cliché at the time, but both of you had known instantly: they were right. A small gemstone catches the light in yours, subtle but luminous—just like the moment itself.

Zayne goes first. His hands are steady, deliberate as he slides the ring onto your finger. There’s no hesitation. Just quiet, practiced certainty—the same certainty he’s always had with you.

When it’s your turn, your fingers tremble slightly. You brush against his as you guide the band onto his hand, and he flexes just a little under your touch—grounding himself in you with that one, silent motion.

And then—

“You may now kiss.”

You don’t wait. Your hands find his face, thumbs along his jaw, and you pull him in without care for grace or timing. It’s messy and impulsive and yours. The cheers start early, but they fade behind the thrum in your chest.

Zayne exhales into the kiss, hands finding your waist as he draws you close. The rush softens almost immediately, settling into something deeper. Something still.

He kisses you like a vow. A quiet promise that doesn’t need to be spoken.

Applause rings around you, scattered and joyful, but neither of you move—not yet. Not until it settles. Not until the shape of this moment becomes something you’ll carry.

And when you finally ease back, just enough to breathe, to see him clearly—Zayne is exactly where he’s always been.

Right here. With you.

Your heart is pounding, breath catching, but everything in you feels settled. Whole.

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The applause fades into the soft buzz of celebration as the evening air cools around you. Lights twinkle through the trees, casting golden reflections over the hushed garden—but you barely register them. Your fingers are still laced with Zayne’s as someone gently nudges you both toward the center.

You don’t need prompting. You’d go anywhere with him.

The music begins—soft, unobtrusive, just the right amount of warmth in its rhythm. There’s no fanfare, no dramatic cue. Just a simple melody and the feel of his palm finding the small of your back.

You settle against him easily, like you’ve done this a hundred times. Like your body was made to remember him.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel everything in the way his thumb brushes your side, in the slow, deep exhale when your forehead finds his shoulder. You sway together, barely moving, like the whole world has narrowed to this single point of contact.

At one point, he murmurs your name—just your name—and when you tilt your head to look up at him, there’s a softness in his eyes that tugs something deep in your chest.

You don’t try to fill the moment—you don’t need to. His gaze, the hush between you, the unspoken laughter when you almost step on his foot… it all becomes the rhythm you move to.

His hand lifts, trailing along your arm like he’s memorizing you all over again, and when your eyes meet again, it’s with a kind of quiet disbelief.

This is real. This is you. This is him. This is home.

And as the music carries on, slow and weightless, you think—If every version of forever begins like this… I’ll say yes every time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Glasses clink gently as the music fades, guests returning to their seats still smiling from your first dance. Caleb rises with a flourish—predictably dramatic in his tailored burgundy suit, perfectly matching Rose’s dress—tapping a spoon against his glass until the room quiets.

“Well,” he starts, letting the silence linger just long enough to build anticipation, “I was told to keep this short. Which, as most of you know, is the cruelest request you can make of me. But as the best man and the best bro, I'll oblige.”

Laughter ripples through the tables. He flashes a grin at Zayne.

“I’ve known this woman—” he gestures to you, “—since we were kids sneaking cookies and stealing blankets in the middle of the night. And if I’m being honest, I never thought anyone would be able to keep up with her. I mean, she’s stubborn, chaotic, far too smart for her own good... and way too good at convincing people to go along with her.”

He raises his glass toward Zayne now, tone softening.

“But then this guy showed up. Quiet. Polite. Cold, even. At first, we thought she might break him. Or that he’d vanish like a ghost in a week.”

Another laugh, even from Zayne.

“But somehow, instead of disappearing... he stayed. And then, somehow, he matched her. Not by being louder, but by listening, being there. Not by chasing her chaos, but by letting her be exactly who she is. And in return, she does something I’ve never seen her do for anyone else—she softens.”

He pauses. “You ground each other. And that’s something rare. So from someone who’s been there since before the first chapter—congrats on finding your favorite person.”

He raises his glass higher.

“To love that balances. To a partnership that endures. To Zayne and our one and only hellraiser.”

The room erupts in cheers and clinks. Caleb sits back down with a satisfied smirk, already reaching for Rose’s hand.

Rose stands beside Caleb now, her champagne flute half-filled and catching the light. Her expression is softer than usual—less teasing, more thoughtful. She glances toward you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken, something only the two of you would understand. A quiet breath leaves her lips before she lifts the mic.

“There was a time I thought my sister and I would always be alone.”

The opening makes a few people shift in their seats, but you don’t flinch. Neither does Caleb. Because you know she doesn’t mean it dramatically—just honestly.

Rose smiles faintly. “Not in the sad, tragic way. Just… us, in our own little world. It always felt like we had to carry everything on our own. Even when we were surrounded by people, we only really leaned on each other. We didn’t trust easy. Not because we didn’t want to—just because… we couldn’t.”

She pauses. You feel the weight in her words, like the space between them is made of things left unsaid. But her gaze doesn’t waver.

“And then we met people who broke through all that. Caleb, who somehow managed to be both loud and safe at the same time.” That earns a small laugh from the room—and a grin from Caleb that she pointedly ignores.

“And Grandma Josephine… who gave us a home. Even when she didn’t have to. Even when she had every reason to turn away. She didn’t.”

Your voice wavers, just slightly, but you don’t look away.

Instead, your gaze lifts toward the sky—soft and pale above the garden, the clouds stretched thin like brushstrokes. The kind of sky she would’ve called “good for drying laundry” with a smirk and a sip of tea.

There’s no dramatic pause, no gust of wind or shining beam of sunlight. Just a quiet weight in your chest. Just the ache of missing her—and the peace of knowing she would’ve been here if she could.

You glance down again, catching sight of Zayne’s parents in the front row. His mother’s eyes are glossy, her fingers folded tight in her lap. His father clears his throat quietly, looking straight ahead with a softened expression.

They don’t need to say anything. You can feel it—their grief folded in with yours. The kind of silent understanding that only comes from having loved the same person deeply.

“And then there’s Zayne,” Rose continues, her voice gentling even more. “The quiet boy who lived next door. Who we used to see reading on the porch and thought, ‘he’s either going to save lives or accidentally end up in a sci-fi novel.’”

Laughter ripples again, light and fond.

She looks at him now. “You were always a little strange, in the best way. But you never looked at my sister like she was too much. Not even once. You never needed her to shrink herself to be loved.”

You blink. The sting behind your eyes catches you off guard.

“She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that the way you look at her makes her feel safe. Like it’s okay to exist fully. Loudly. Softly. However she is.”

Rose’s gaze returns to you now, warmer than before, quieter. “You found someone who sees you—not just for who you are, but for who you’ve fought to become. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

She raises her glass, her voice low but steady.

“To the girl who held my hand through the darkest nights—and to the man who never lets her forget she’s more than what the past tried to make her.”

A pause, just long enough for your throat to tighten.

“May your future be even softer than your beginning.”

You barely manage to lift your glass in time, the world already blurred at the edges with warmth and tears. The applause comes a second later, muffled under the beating of your heart.

Rose doesn’t look at you again right away. But as she sets the mic down, her fingers brush yours in passing—just once. Just enough.

And that’s all you need.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayne’s mother rises slowly, hands folded neatly in front of her. She doesn’t draw attention with her voice—it’s soft, almost soothing—but somehow the entire room goes quiet for her.

“I wasn’t planning on speaking tonight,” she begins gently, “but watching you both today… it’s hard not to say something.”

You smile, already misty-eyed. She’s not flashy like Caleb, or teasing like Rose. Her tone is simple, sincere—like a memory whispered between friends.

“I used to see you all together,” she continues, eyes flicking briefly to where Rose sits, and then to you. “Back when the world felt just a little too big for all of you. You’d show up at our door, sometimes muddy, sometimes loud, sometimes… carrying Josephine’s latest project in a jar.”

A quiet laugh bubbles around the room. You flutter your lashes, trying to blink it away, heart catching.

“And every time,” she says, her smile fond, “Jo would insist that Zayne come with you. Even if he was already reading. Even if he said no. She’d just wave him off and tell him, ‘You’ll thank me later.’”

She pauses, looking over at her son. Zayne’s expression is unreadable to most, but you see it—the tiny shift in his eyes. He’s listening.

“She always said you brought warmth into the house,” she says to you now, voice softening. “And I see it still. You steady him. And he steadies you.”

You exhale through a trembling breath, trying to keep your expression together.

She leans in slightly, tone almost conspiratorial. “I’ll tell you something else, just between us.” A few soft chuckles. “There are moments when you move your hands while you talk… or when you tilt your head like you’re about to say something clever… and I swear, for a second, it’s like seeing Josephine again.”

That’s it. Your eyes blur. You blink hard, but she gives you a kind smile as if to say it’s okay.

“She would’ve been proud of both of you,” she finishes simply. “Of what you’ve built together. Of the way you love.”

Then she quietly raises her glass. “To love that keeps growing. And to Jo—for introducing them properly, even if she pretended it was just another afternoon.”

Everyone echoes her toast, gentle and warm.

You lift your glass, hands trembling just enough to feel it.

You don’t even try to blink the tears away now.

As the clinking of glasses settles and Zayne’s mother takes her seat again, your fingers slip beneath your eye, swiping quickly—just a beat too fast to catch the tears before they smear your makeup. But Zayne beats you to it, reaching over with the edge of a neatly folded napkin, ever precise, ever composed. He dabs the corner of your eye with a gentleness that makes it worse somehow.

You lean closer, pretending you’re adjusting your hair just to whisper under your breath, “This was supposed to be roast central. Where’s the part where Caleb tells everyone about you falling off the slide because you tried to read while climbing it?”

Zayne murmurs back, quiet and dry, “I believe he’s saving that for the afterparty. When more alcohol is involved.”

You sniff, still blinking, and give him a mock glare. “They’re all supposed to be embarrassing us, not making me cry in public. This was not the emotional breakdown portion of the evening.”

“You’re doing well,” he says simply, brushing a final tear from your cheek with his thumb, like it’s nothing. “Dramatic. But well.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his knee with yours under the table. “I hate them a little bit. All this sentimentality. They’ll never let me live it down.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just glances sideways at you, then leans in so only you can hear him.

“She was right, you know,” he says, so quietly it settles into your chest like a secret. “You do bring warmth.”

And just like that, you're almost crying again.

“Stop that,” you whisper fiercely, blinking fast. “We’re past the vows. This is supposed to be safe territory.”

Zayne leans in, quietly amused as he dabs beneath your eye with his thumb.

“You cried through all of Rose and Caleb’s wedding,” he murmurs. “And you thought ours would be safer?”

You sniff. “Then you should’ve warned me, you menace.”

Your swat doesn’t even land—Zayne catches your hand mid-swing and kisses your knuckles like a peace offering, and doesn’t even try to look sorry.

The next toast begins—but for a brief moment, it’s just the two of you in your own little corner of the world, warm and brimming.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re both standing in front of the cake, cameras pointed, guests gathered. The knife rests in Zayne’s hand like it’s a surgical instrument, his posture too perfect for something that’s supposed to be messy fun.

He glances at you. “We’re doing this properly, yes?”

You raise a brow, already reaching for a second fork like a weapon. “Define properly.”

Zayne’s hand hovers over the cake, hesitating like it’s a rare specimen under dissection. You? You stab right in, unbothered, scooping up a generous chunk with your fork before he’s even made the first cut.

A murmur of laughter ripples through the crowd.

Zayne sighs softly, adjusting his grip on the knife like he’s resigning himself to the inevitable. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You married this,” you shoot back, grinning like the chaos had always been part of the plan.

Then comes the feeding part.

You offer him a bite with a suspicious glint in your eyes.

He narrows his. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you say innocently. “Feed you? Celebrate our eternal union with frosting and devotion?”

He leans in, reluctantly opening his mouth—and of course, you smudge a bit of frosting on his nose right after.

Zayne closes his eyes, slow and resigned, and you hear Caleb holler from the crowd, “She’s already winning the marriage.”

Zayne wipes his nose with one hand, deadpan as ever. “This is why I had napkins prepared in my pocket.”

You cackle, and he just raises the fork and gently, perfectly, feeds you a clean bite of cake like he hasn’t been publicly humiliated.

You chew. “That’s not how you win.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says smoothly. “I just wanted cake,” he says, as if that should’ve protected him from frosting warfare.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chairs are pulled to the center of the floor for the shoe game. You and Zayne sit back-to-back, each holding one of your own shoes and one of his. Caleb stands nearby as the self-appointed game host, grinning like he’s waited his whole life for this moment.

“Alright, first question,” Caleb announces. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

Without hesitation, you both raise your shoes.

Laughter erupts, and Zayne says behind you, calmly, “It was a statistically safe environment to do so.”

“What does that even mean?!” Rose laughs from the front row, hands clamped over her mouth.

You’re already calling over your shoulder, “You ambushed me the next day in a lab and said it back like it was a diagnosis!”

“And you still cried,” Zayne replies simply. You don’t even need to see him to catch the teasing in his tone.

Next question.

“Who’s the better cook?”

You raise his shoe. Zayne raises yours.

You twist around sharply. “What? No. You’ve literally saved us from food poisoning.”

Zayne tilts his head. “Your baking is better.”

You blink. “I’m pretty sure that’s just your 'unhealthy obsession with sweet' talking.”

“You share some with others as well.”

You groan. “Barely. You eat all of them before they even leave the kitchen. So it’s not really a balanced review.”

A few more questions fly by—

Who’s more stubborn? (You both point at yourself.)

Who spends more time getting ready? (Zayne raises your shoe instantly—no hesitation, even though you don’t actually take that long.)

Who’s more likely to survive a zombie apocalypse? (Zayne raises his shoe. You raise his too, with a dramatic shrug.)

Then come the mock interviews. Caleb’s now holding a mic like a late-night host.

“Okay, now for the hard-hitting journalism. Tell me—what was your first impression of your spouse?”

Zayne answers without pause. “Disruptive.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Excuse you!”

“I saw her jumping through our fences.”

Caleb nods solemnly. “Ah I remember that.”

You fold your arms. “And my first impression of Zayne? Distant. Terrifying. Pretty.”

“Pretty?” Tara echoes from her seat, already giggling.

Zayne turns to you, calm as ever. “You said that out loud.”

You smirk. “I was honest from the start.”

Caleb paces toward the long table of guests, still holding the mic. “Alright, round two! Audience edition. Everyone, reach under your chairs.”

There’s a rustle of fabric and surprised laughter as people discover little red and green cards tucked underneath—red for you, green for Zayne.

“Here’s how it works,” Caleb explains. “We’re gonna throw out a scenario. You hold up the card of who you think is most likely to do it. Let’s see if you all really know this couple.”

First question. “Who’s more likely to sweet-talk their way out of a parking ticket?”

The sea of cards rises—mostly red.

Zayne raises your red card too.

You raise both.

A wave of amusement rolls through the crowd.

“Predictable bias,” Zayne says lightly. “How is this even a question?”

You nudge him. “It’s not my fault I’m adorable.”

Next question. “Who’s more likely to accidentally start a fight in a group chat?”

Cards go up—this time, an even split.

Zayne raises your card.

You look around at the divided room and sigh dramatically. “I said the outfit looked like a curtain. I didn’t tag her. That was an accident!”

Tara shouts from across the room, “You sent it to the wrong chat!”

“Which is not illegal,” you defend.

“It should be,” Lara mutters, shaking her head beside Tara.

Next one. “Who’s more likely to survive in the wild?”

Every card turns green. Every. Single. One.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Wow. No faith in the bride?”

You glance at Zayne. “To be fair, I did scream the last time we saw a raccoon.”

Zayne nods solemnly. “She dropped her sandwich.”

“And ran,” Caleb adds, snorting.

“And I stand by that choice! Did you see the claws? Far away I’m good. Up close with no gun? NOPE.”

More questions follow, getting sillier as the night goes on—

“Who would adopt ten cats if left unsupervised?” (You.)

“Who keeps weird snacks in their coat?” (Zayne. You can always find different sweets in his pockets.)

“Who pretends not to know how to do laundry to get out of it?” (Zayne raises your card. You throw a napkin at him.)

“Who’s more likely to completely forget where they parked?”

You raise your red card confidently.

Zayne raises both.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the guests.

Caleb gestures toward him. “Man speaks the truth.”

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, I found the car last time.”

Zayne hums. “After circling the block three times.”

“I was scanning.”

“You were praying.”

Laughter fills the air, and the game continues until it finally winds down with one last question:

“Who’s more likely to be the last one to say ‘I love you’ before falling asleep?”

There’s a pause. Then, as if rehearsed, you both raise each other’s color—Zayne holds up red, and you hold up green.

You glance at him, a slow smile forming. “Huh.”

His thumb taps the edge of the card, unreadable for a beat before he says, “I suppose we’re both persistent.”

Your heart stumbles.

Caleb claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “And there you have it, folks! Stubborn, competitive, and disgustingly in love. A perfect match.”

The crowd laughs and cheers, and you shake your head, setting your cards down before reaching for Zayne’s hand beside the table, giving it a squeeze. His fingers curl around yours, cool yet you feel warm and steady.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The music has softened, the bass no longer pounding but humming low beneath a lazy melody. Most of the guests have drifted off—some hugging you tight before they go, others sneaking out with quiet waves, their arms full of party favors and shoes dangling from their hands. The firepit flickers low in the corner of the garden, surrounded by the last few stragglers nursing drinks and finishing their cake.

Rose is on her third round of teary goodbyes, half drunk herself, sniffling into Lara’s shoulder as Caleb dramatically fans her with a napkin and Tara is shaking her head. Greyson’s somehow managed to corner yet another guest into a conversation about interstellar gut flora, and your in law is still dancing together like they doesn’t realize the reception ended thirty minutes ago. Which is very cute.

But you barely notice any of it.

Because Zayne’s hand is in yours. And he hasn’t let go since the dance.

Your heels are long gone, your dress a little wrinkled from hugs and spinning and sneaking bites of cake behind each other’s backs. The veil’s tucked into your arm now, the pins long abandoned somewhere on the sweetheart table. You don’t even remember when the string lights above started glowing softer—but they do, casting a gold haze over Zayne’s face as he watches you.

You lean into him with a quiet sigh, forehead brushing his collarbone. “Do we need to make a last lap before they drag us back in for another round of games?”

Zayne shakes his head lightly, the edge of a smile playing on his lips. “They’ve been sufficiently entertained.”

“Mhm,” you murmur. “We should slip away before Rose decides she wants a speech remix.”

“She’s already cried through two. I don’t think she’s legally allowed to make more at this point.”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back just enough to catch his gaze. “Did we actually pull it off?”

His thumb brushes gently over your cheekbone, still a little damp from earlier tears. “You tell me.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you nod. “Yeah. We did.”

He kisses your temple, slow and quiet, then threads his fingers between yours again. “Our bags are already packed.”

“Mhm. I made sure of it,” you say, already imagining the escape—bare feet on cool tile, collapsing into soft sheets, the realness of being married sinking in somewhere between jet lag and messy kisses. “We should go before someone notices we haven’t been kidnapped for another round of photos.”

Zayne glances back once, eyes scanning the soft sprawl of people still lingering in the haze of fairy lights. Then he looks down at you, like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

“Ready, wife?”

You beam. “Lead the way, husband.”

And with that, fingers laced, shoes forgotten, you slip quietly away—just the two of you under the stars.

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Notes

Hey :D if you read until this then congrats, you just read 10k words in one sitting ahahaha but joke aside, hopefully everyone enjoy this and if you're the one request this, hope it reach your expectation! This is so cute to write aaaaaaaaa The Honeymoon fic is over this way! Part 1 (Smut) and Part 2 (Fluff) And here's the Festival mention for their proposal! on Ao3! and the proposal reference!

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

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