When love finds Sylus in the form of Lili, a resilient hunter with scars of her own, heâs forced to confront the man he was and the man he wants to be.
This series is a collection of intimate, interconnected stories that span the lifetime of Sylus and Lili in no particular order. From the early days of their relationship to the joys and challenges of building their family and finally to their twilight years.
Master list
Kiss it Better - fluff, light angst, h/c
When Sylus discovers the scar running down her back, itâs more than just a markâitâs a reminder of the pain sheâs endured without him.
The one where Sylus sees her scar for the first time.
I Remember, I'm Sorry - angst, h/c
âI donât want to lose you again. Not in this life, not in any other.â
âNo matter how many lifetimes we live, no matter how many times we have to start over, Iâll always find you. And Iâll always choose you.â
The one where she finally remembers.
Dragon Queen - dad!sylus, domestic fluff
Aria noticed her little brother out of the corner of her eye and frowned. âKai, you canât be the Dragon Queen too! Thereâs only one Dragon Queen, and thatâs me!â
Sylus's son wants to do everything his big sister does, much to Sylus's amusement.
Sweet Dreams - fluff, implied smut
Sixteen years was a long time to love someone. Somehow, for them, it still felt like a beginning.
Slip of the Tongue - fluff, light h/c
"Let me take care of you." They had already crossed so many lines, touched each other in ways that were so intimate and so far away from modest, but this felt completely different somehow. This wasnât wandering hands and kisses and whispered confessions in the dark. This was him seeing her in a moment of complete vulnerability. But Sylusâcalm, steady Sylusâonly met her eyes with patience that felt so easy, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. And then the words just slip out of her mouth. The one where she accidentally says I love you.
Sins of the Father - family, fluff
Known as the devil, loved by a saint, and father to miracles.
He built his empire on blood and fire, but his legacy will not be the darknessâit will be the laughter of his children, the quiet sanctuary he shields from the world he once ruled. Some call it redemption, but Sylus knows better. The past will always linger as a shadow that never truly fades, but neither does the light.
He was never a good man, but he is a good father. And for themâfor herâhe will try to be better.
A reflection of Sylus and his journey into fatherhood.
Certified Silverfox - family, crack
When Sylus shows up for report cards in a black turtleneck and glasses, half the school loses its mind. Again.
Aria wants to disappear. Her little brother laughs. Her mom finds it entertaining. Her dad? Just vibes, leaving chaos and thirst traps in his wake.
A slice-of-life comedy with cool dad, PTA drama, and a marriage that still feels like flirting, years and two kids later.
Birthday Interruptions - family, fluff, Sylus day fic
Sylusâs idea of a birthday used to involve ignoring the date entirely. Now it involves a fancy dinner, a watch with a hidden compass, two kids fighting over space metaphors, and a fever that cuts the night short. Itâs chaotic. Itâs imperfect. Itâs his best birthday yet.
Ariaâs face filled the screen, all serious business. âDad, I have a question about the universe that canât wait until tomorrow.â
Coming out of the woodworks to report that I am still alive! Just very busy and working on my Rafayel fic. I like to physically write on my iPad before I have my stories typed out but this is an early draft for chapter 3 of How to Spin a Scandal. Just thought Iâd share this hahaha
Anyways, Iâm sorry for not posting in a while. Aside from being busy, I really want to get this story right and I have had too many ideas in my head about how things could go. But I decided Iâll take my time with this fic because itâs dear to me and Iâd rather have it made slowly than rush it with regrets.
Sylus has never really known grief. A mother he canât remember, a father he doesnât miss, a friend who disappeared without goodbye. All his life, loss has felt like something distant, hollow, almost abstract.
But then came Lili. And then came Aria and Kai.
Now, for the first time, Sylus has something to lose. And if grief has always been a stranger, fear is the shadow that clings to him. Until he realizes that love, fragile as it is, might be stronger still.
Sylus x MC. Rated T. Angst with a happy ending! 747 words.
A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for Sylus and Lili, and this was something that just came to me and I finished it in 15 minutes (so obviously not beta read), but I love it. It's the first piece I wrote in a hot minute where I didn't have to overthink and sweat about the details too much. Call it a character study on this series version of Sylus.
You can read on ao3Â here
Series master list here
Sylus had never really known grief.Â
He lost his mother before he could remember her, and his father was anything but loving. The day the nursing home called to inform him of his death, all Sylus could do was sigh in relief.
Some days, he dreams of a child in the meadows, running in reckless abandon as he chased butterflies across the field. Somewhere near was a white haired woman with crimson eyes, gently calling on to him and making sure he never got too far. The child would always come back, because in his motherâs arms he knew he was safe.
Sometimes Sylus wonders if those dreams were memory or wishful thinking. Was it grief if it was for something he didnât even know happened? Or was he simply trying to find some semblance of connection to make him feel more human?
When he was a teenager, he knew a girl at school. She was taller than him, and had purple eyes that showed kindness before her actions could. They would talk in class, spend time after school and just⊠be. Some days she would come to school with a bruised eye, the kind that even heavy duty concealer had a hard time covering up. And if anybody was familiar with cruelty at home, it was him.Â
So he would sit near her, talk about school, even take her to ice cream shops and arcades where they could forget the darkness that awaits back home. But he never had it in him to talk to her about why her eyes were swollen, or why she came to school wearing a cast on her wrist, or the days her kind eyes felt empty. He thought he would live within the silent understanding of what it was to be suffering, until she eventually stopped coming to school one day.
Could he call the loss for his friend grief?
If grief was an emptiness carved into your chest, then his had always been hollow before it could even be filled. He told himself he was fine with that. That some people were born without the luxury of attachments, and he was one of them.Â
Until Lili.
She had a way of slipping into his life without asking permission, like sunlight sneaking through the cracks of a boarded window. He noticed her first in the little things: how she would tilt her head when she was listening, as though every word he said deserved to be kept. How her laugh didnât just rise in the air but stayed, lingering in his chest long after she left the room.
And then, somehow, Lili became his home. And in time, Aria and Kai were born.
Sylus still wasnât sure he understood grief. But fear. Fear, that, he knew. And if there was one fear that rooted itself deep in his bones, it was losing his family.
It hit him one evening as he watched Kai wobble across the living room floor, determined to make it from the couch to Lili without toppling over. Lili sat waiting with her arms outstretched, laughing encouragement, her hair loose around her face.
Kai stumbled once, caught himself, and then barreled forward with reckless confidence. For a split second, Sylus saw not his son but the dream-child in the meadow. Running, running, until he might disappear. His chest seized, and before he could stop himself, he moved as though to catch Kai, to pull him back, to keep him safe.
But Kai reached Liliâs arms, triumphant, squealing in delight. Lili glanced over her shoulder at him, curious, as though she could sense the storm behind his stillness.
Sylus forced his hands back into his pockets.
He told himself it was nothing. Just a father being cautious. But when Lili smiled at him all soft, knowing, the kind of smile that reached into the hollowest corners of him⊠something inside eased.
Slowly, he crossed the room, crouching beside them. Kai tumbled into his lap with a giggle, small hands tugging at his sleeve. Sylus ruffled the boyâs hair, almost shy in the gesture, and Liliâs hand brushed his as she adjusted Kai against them both.
The fear was still there, yes. But when he looked at themâhis sonâs bright eyes, Liliâs steady warmth, his daughter peeking from the hallway to join themâthe meadow no longer belonged to dreams.
It was here, in front of him.
And for the first time, Sylus thought: maybe that was enough.
A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts! Feedback is much appreciated and helps me grow as a writer. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are.
Rafayel gets an emotional support axolotl named The Judge (yes capital letters, yes he's consulting on artistic choices), nearly drowns for Vogue, and accidentally becomes half of the internet's new favorite ship when he trips and his publicist catches him in what can only be described as a romantic dip.
Meanwhile said publicist discovers fan-made video evidence that he's been Looking At Her Differentlyâą this whole time and decides it's time to stop playing defense
Featuring: 1 (one) very aesthetic underwater photoshoot, social media losing its collective mind, and the exact moment our girl realizes she's got LEVERAGE
Celebrity AU - Actor!Rafayel x Publicist!MC (MC has a name)
READ ON AO3 HERE
"QiNora," Rain interrupted triumphantly, spinning around in his seat. "It's official. You two have a ship name."
Beatrice blinked. "A what?"
"A ship name," Jade said from her corner, calm as ever. "Portmanteau. Qi plus Lenora equals QiNora. It's trending."
"Everywhere," Rain said, scrolling furiously. "Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, Tumblr thinkpieces. The dip photo is everywhere. And the comments..."
Across from Beatrice, Rafayel was uncharacteristically quiet, scrolling through his own phone.
"This is a professional relationship," Beatrice dismissed. "People understand that."
Rain, ignoring her, read aloud: "'Forget Abysswalker, I need twelve seasons of them bickering about schedules and finally kissing.'"
"Rain."
"'He FELL and she CAUGHT him. The symbolism.'"
"RAIN."
"Fan edit," Rain finished gleefully. "'Rafayel Qi being completely gone for his publicist.' Four hundred thousand views."
Finally, Rafayel looked up. His voice was lazy, amused. "Four hundred thousand? That seems low. I'd expect at least a million."
"Rafayel," Beatrice warned.
"I'm only saying," he drawled, "if people are going to analyze my micro-expressions, they should at least get the statistics right."
How to Spin a Scandal, Chapter 1: Linkon's Most Impotent Talent, Rafayel
She's a rookie publicist who just made the single biggest, most humiliating typo of her career. He is the A-list actor she's just accidentally labeled "Linkon's Most Impotent Rising Talent." Instead of firing her, he gives her an ultimatum: turn his public humiliation into PR gold, or they'll go down in flames together.
A story about a chaotic star, his long-suffering publicist, and the seven years of banter, pining, hiding love letters in paintings and a fandom that figured it out on day one. It'll take them a bit longer.
Celebrity AU - Actor!Rafayel x Publicist!MC - Rated T - 3.1k words. Enemies to Lovers Romcom!! - Loosely inspired by the K-Drama Sh**ting Stars
Preview:
Mo Entertainment Presents: Impotent Rising Talent, Rafayel Qi.
Her palms were sweating. Her six month career was over. She was twenty-two years old and about to become a cautionary tale whispered in PR circles for decades.
Rafayel looked up when she entered. For a moment, she braced herself for fury, for the kind of explosive anger that sends one to sign a resignation letter within seconds. Instead, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but somehow felt infinitely more dangerous.
"Well, well," he said, setting his phone down gently. "If it isn't the conspirator of my sexual downfall."
Heat crawled up Beatrice's neck. "Mr. Qi, I want to apologizeâ"
"Rafayel." His voice carried the faintest trace of an accent she couldn't place. "If you're going to destroy my reputation, you might as well use my first name."
Two years after the gala that changed everything, Mona and Zayne have built something beautiful and deliberate. But when their daughter asks the question they've both been avoiding, they're forced to confront what forever means to them now.
Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, angst and yearning BUT FINALLY HAPPY ENDING SINCE THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER AUUUUURRRRRR
A/N: Okay... I know I've gone MIA and I'm so sorry! Life has been... life-ing. But here I am with the final (!) chapter of Midnight Blues! It took me about 6 rewrites and I had to take a step back because I was going through a block, but it's finally done!
I also just realized I never posted chapter 4 here and that's my bad. But the show must go on! Enjoy.
You can read on ao3Â here
The call came at 2:47 PM on a Tuesday, right in the middle of Mona's consultation with the Hendersons about their daughter's surgery. She almost didn't answerâwould have let it go to voicemail like any other administrative interruptionâbut something made her glance at the screen.
Dr. Patricia Lee, Chief of Staff of Valentine Memorial Hospital.
"Excuse me for just one moment," she told the worried parents, stepping into the hallway with her heart hammering against her ribs for reasons she couldn't name.
"Mona," Dr. Lee's voice was warm with something that sounded suspiciously like joy. "I hope you're sitting down."
She wasn't, but she found herself leaning against the wall anyway. "What's going on?"
"The board met this morning. It was unanimous." A pause that seemed to stretch forever. "We'd like to offer you the position of Department Head of Pediatrics here at Valentine Memorial."
The words hit her like a physical force, stealing her breath. Mona decided it was time to spread her wings and embark on a new chapter in her career, but she didn't expect to hit the jackpot on the first attempt.
"Mona? Are you there?"
"Yes, I'mâyes. I'm here." She pressed her free hand to her chest, feeling the wild flutter of her pulse. "Did you say unanimous?"
"Every single vote. Your research on pediatric procedures, your patient outcomes, your leadership during the outbreak last winter⊠You've earned this, Mona. No one deserves it more."
After the call ended, Mona stood in the empty hallway holding her phone, trying to process what had just happened. The dream she'd carried since residency, finally within reach.
Her first instinct was to call her parents; old habits carved deep by years of seeking their approval. But her finger hovered over Zayne's contact instead, and she realized with startling clarity that he was who she wanted to tell first. Not because she needed his validation, but because good news felt incomplete until she could share it with him.
The phone rang twice before his familiar voice filled her ear.
"Hey, are you okay? Aren't you supposed to be with the Hendersons?"
"Zayne." His name came out breathless, giddy. "I got it."
A pause. "Got what?"
"Department Head. Pediatrics. They just called."
The silence that followed lasted exactly three heartbeats before he let out a sound that was an exclamation of pure joy.
"Mona, that's incredible. Of course you got it, butâ" She could hear him moving, probably standing up from his desk, and she could picture his face lighting up the way it did when he was truly happy for someone he loved. "I'm so proud of you."
"You're the first person I called," she said softly.
Another pause, shorter this time, filled with understanding. "I'm honored to be your first call."
Two weeks later, their living room buzzed with quiet conversation and the clink of champagne glasses. Nothing elaborate. Just a few close friends and colleagues gathered to celebrate her promotion. Amara, now seven and full of opinions about everything, had insisted on helping plan the menu and decorated the coffee table with drawings of people in white coats surrounded by hearts.
"To new beginnings," Zayne raised his glass, grinning at Mona. "And to the best pediatric department head Valentine Memorial's ever going to see."
"Here, here," echoed Greyson and Dr. Chen. "We'll miss you," Yvonne added.
Mona felt Zayne's hand find the small of her back as the room filled with warm applause, his touch grounding her in the moment. A few years ago, this same group had watched their marriage crumble with concerned whispers and careful neutrality. Tonight, they celebrated together as if the fractures had never existed.
Later, after the guests had gone home and Amara had fallen asleep sprawled across the couch with frosting still smudged on her cheek, Mona found herself cleaning up beside Zayne in comfortable silence.
"You know what I realized tonight?" he said, loading the last plate into the dishwasher.
"What's that?"
"No one tiptoed around us. No careful questions about how we're doing, no avoiding mentioning your name when I'm around." He smiled at her. "We're just... us again. But better."
Mona considered this, recognizing the truth in it. The eggshells were gone, replaced by something easier. "It's taken a while."
"Worth it, though."
She nodded, leaning against the counter beside him. In the quiet of their kitchen, surrounded by the comfortable debris of a shared celebration, she felt something settle in her chest. A contentment she hadn't known she was missing.
Sunday morning arrived soft and golden, the kind of late spring day that made staying in bed feel criminal. Amara had set up camp in the living room with her art supplies, working on what appeared to be an elaborate family portrait featuring three stick figures holding hands beneath a rainbow that consumed half the page.
Mona stood at the stove in one of Zayne's old sweaters, sleeves pushed up as she flipped pancakes. The sweater had migrated to her side of the closet months ago through the natural osmosis of their rebuilt relationship, appearing there without discussion, accepted without question.
"Daddy, is the food ready?" Amara called without looking up from her drawing, tongue poking out in concentration.
"Almost, sweetheart," Zayne replied, moving around Mona to reach the coffee mugs. His chest brushed her back briefly, an excuse to be close that neither of them questioned anymore.
These Sunday mornings had become precious to them, unhurried hours that belonged to no one but their small family. Amara would claim every flat surface for her projects while they cooked together, moving around each other with the practiced ease of people who'd learned to share space deliberately this time.
"Mama, can you look at this?" Amara's voice carried the particular note that meant she had something important to show.
Mona set down the spatula, immediately taken over by Zayne, and settled beside their daughter on the floor. The drawing was more detailed than usual. Tiny flowers dotting the grass, a sun wearing sunglasses grinning from one corner.
"It's beautiful, baby. Tell me about it."
Amara beamed, pointing to each figure. "That's you, and that's Daddy, and that's me. We're holding hands because we're a family." She indicated the rainbow with pride. "And rainbows mean good things are coming."
The simple declaration made something warm unfurl in Mona's chest. After everything they'd been through, to see their daughter understand love as something uncomplicated and joyful...
"Are you going to get married again?"
The question dropped into the peaceful morning like a stone into still water. Mona felt her breath catch. Not from surprise, exactly, but from the matter-of-fact way Amara had asked it, as if wondering about the weather.
From the kitchen came the soft sound of Zayne setting down the spatula and turning the stove off, but he didn't speak.
"Why do you ask, sweetheart?" Mona managed, relieved at how steady her voice sounded.
Amara shrugged, selecting a purple crayon. "Sophie's parents got married again last month. She said they had the same wedding but with better cake." She paused to color what appeared to be clouds. "I just wondered if you were going to do it too, since you love each other and you live together now."
Zayne appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an expression Mona couldn't quite read. Patient. Hopeful. Careful.
"What do you think, baby?" he asked quietly. "Would you want us to get married again?"
Amara considered this seriously, her small face scrunched in concentration. "I think you should do whatever makes you happy. But..." She looked between them. "I think it would be nice. We're already a family. A wedding would just make it official."
The logic was so perfectly seven-year-old simple that Mona had to suppress a smile. But underneath the child's reasoning was a truth they'd been dancing around for months.
"Can I tell you a secret?" Mona said, reaching out to smooth a curl behind Amara's ear.
"What?"
"I've been thinking about that too."
Zayne straightened slightly, and Mona caught the careful hope flickering across his face.
"You have?" Amara's eyes widened with delight.
"Mm-hmm. And do you know what I realized?"
She looked up at Zayne as she spoke, meeting his gaze directly. "I realized that sometimes people need to learn who they are separately before they can build something together properly. And I think we've done that now."
The smile that spread across Zayne's face started slowly, beginning at the corners of his eyes before transforming his entire expression with quiet joy.
"Is that your way of saying yes?" he asked.
"That depends," Mona said, surprising herself with her boldness. "Are you asking?"
He was quiet for a long moment, then moved to sit beside them on the floor. "I don't have a ring," he said. "This isn't how I imagined this conversation."
"I don't need a ring for this conversation," Mona replied. "I need to know how you feel."
Zayne looked at their daughter, busy adding details to her rainbow, then back at Mona. "I feel like we built something worth making official. Not because we need to, but because we want to."
"Yes," she said simply. "I want that too."
Amara squealed and launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around both of them in an enthusiastic hug that sent crayons scattering across the floor. "Does this mean I can help plan the wedding? I have lots of ideas about flowers."
"I wouldn't dream of planning it without you," Mona laughed, meaning it completely.
Later, after Amara had gone to her room to draw what she called "wedding plans," Mona and Zayne found themselves alone on the couch, the morning's revelation settling around them like sunlight.
"So," Zayne said, pulling her against his side. "We're really doing this."
"We're really doing this," she confirmed, curling into the familiar warmth of him. "Are you scared?"
"A little," he admitted. "But not of the same things I was scared of before."
She tilted her head to look at him. "What's different?"
"Before, I was scared of not being enough. Now..." He paused, considering. "Now I'm scared of how much I want this. How sure I am."
Mona reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because we chose each other twice," she said. "The first time, we were kids who didn't know better. Now we're adults who do."
He caught her hand and pressed it against his chest, over the steady rhythm of his heart. "I love you. All the versions of you, but especially now."
"I love you too," she whispered, feeling the truth of it settle deep in her bones.
They kissed then, soft and unhurried, tasting like the future they were brave enough to imagine together. When they broke apart, Mona rested her forehead against his.
"When?" she asked.
"Soon," he said immediately, making her laugh. "I've already spent five years not married to you."
"We needed those years," she corrected gently.
"I know," he conceded, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But I still don't want to wait long."
"Summer?" she suggested. "Amara will want flowers, and she'll be heartbroken if we don't have proper growing season for her vision."
"Summer it is," Zayne agreed, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Our daughter, the wedding planner."
When Amara burst back into the room an hour later with a notebook full of carefully drawn wedding plansâincluding her sketches of flower arrangements and a strong preference for ice cream over cakeâshe found them still curled together, planning a future that included all of them.
"I think," Amara announced seriously, "that this is going to be the best wedding ever."
Looking at Zayne's face, soft with love and certainty, Mona couldn't help but agree.
A/N: Thank you for reading until the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, blocks and all. I think this is probably the first multi-chaptered fic I finished in a long time. And for that, this story already means a lot to me.
I will also be posting oneshots exploring their lives throughout the years before and after this story, so stay tuned! I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are <3
Mona and Zayne finally confront the tension that lies between them. It's raw, it's soft, and it's hopeful.
Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, angst and yearning. We are finally getting somewhere this time! 3.3k words.
A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for this late update. I wanted to work on the chapter last week after my weekend concert (Hope on the Stage was AMAZING!) but I got sick and am finally feeling good enough to revise my draft and post. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! We are finally making some progress here between our two beloved.
Previous chapter | You can read on ao3Â here
There were people you outgrew, and then there were your ex-spouses.
Zayne used to tell himself Mona belonged in the first category. A fever dream of the past, messy but beautiful while it lasted. She was the girl he had kissed in library corners at eighteen. The woman he had married in a courthouse at twenty-two. The mother of his child who had once fit perfectly against him in the quiet of night when the world was locked away from their sanctuary. Someone he'd believed would be his forever, just because they were young and in love. Or maybe just young and impulsive. Hard to say.
Theoretically, they had outgrown each other. They were too young when they got together, and then they grew into people who no longer fit together. That was the narrative they agreed on. The responsible, adult conclusion after a thousand fights over nothing and everything. Their love, cracked and crumbling beneath the weight of parenthood, ambitions, the unraveling of their individual selves, and the strange loneliness that only sets in when the person beside you no longer feels like home. They had tried until there was nothing left to salvage.
And when they signed the papers, Zayne had told himself he was doing the right thing. So he started over.
Therapy. Journaling. Baking. Rebuilding his relationship with his parents, with himself. He took Amara to parks and museums on weekends, started attending his residents' presentations, made peace with the version of himself who used to fall asleep at the desk trying to be everything for everyone and failing Mona most of all. He let the silence teach him things he used to run from instead of a shield to cower.
He was finding himself again, in his own way, slowly and imperfectly. And he told himself that was enough.
But there was still that part of himâsmall, stubborn, half-feralâthat yearned for her. A part in him that kept on whispering that maybe it wasnât over. That maybe healing didnât mean letting go. And maybe some things didnât belong in the past.
He told himself daily it had been the right choice. That he should have tucked her away in some tidy box in his mind and tossed the key. And yet at thirty, there he remained: wedding ring on a chain beneath his scrubs, still using their hyphenated last name by force of habit, still catching himself at times thinking in terms of we when we no longer existed.
The divorce was supposed to be clean. They had promised each other that much. But Mona... Mona had grown roots so deep in his being that removing her would leave him forever hollow, even when he had worked so hard to find himself and enrich his life in his own companionship. Now he knew it had been just wishful thinking. He realized that some ties took time to sever. Or maybe they werenât meant to be severed at all. He couldnât decide which truth cut deeper.
Because when Mona had crashed her car last year, the hospital had called him first. When his Evol had spiraled in the on-call room, it had been her voice that anchored him, her hand on his forehead like she still had the right to care. It was frustrating enough that he was still latching on to her, but it hurt more that she would always downplay these incidents even before he could start thinking if there were any hidden meaning behind them or considered them trivial. And two weeks ago, she had come to his door in that damned midnight blue dress andâŠ
He tried to tell himself it was just the effects of co-parenting. It was the trap of nostalgia mixed with the part of him that regretted how things went down back then. It shouldn't really mean anything.
But he had never believed that. Not in the quiet hours when memory became more real than the present. Not when he remembered everything about her better than he remembered how to breathe.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days of carefully coordinated schedules and text messages about Amara and nothing else. Fourteen days of Mona ensuring there was always a nurse or resident nearby when they crossed paths and a nanny to handle Amaraâs drop-offs. Fourteen mornings of Zayne waking to the phantom scent of jasmine on his sheets, though heâd washed them twice.
For a man who had spent three years learning to live without her, two weeks of deliberate distance shouldnât have felt unbearable. And yet.
He saw her now, across the hospital cafeteria, her hair swept into the same neat bun she wore for difficult consultations. She was laughing at something Dr. Chen said; a bright, unguarded laugh that once had been his. His coffee tasted bitter in his mouth.
The rational part of him knew he should respect her space. That night had been an anomaly, a slip born of nostalgia, alcohol, and that damned dress that had haunted his memory for years. They were divorced co-parents and colleagues. Nothing more.
But the part of him that still wore her ring on a chain beneath his scrubs knew better.
Because Mona hadnât just fucked him that night. She had traced the new scar on his forearm with careful fingers, asked after his motherâs health in the soft voice she reserved for things that mattered. She had looked at him afterward with eyes no longer clouded by resentment. There had been something almost like peace there. Something that felt dangerously close to forgiveness.
And then, before sunrise, she had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the whisper of her lips against his temple.
Now she was laughing with Dr. Chen like she hadnât gutted him and left him standing in the ruins of his own desperation.
It was Greyson who dragged him back to the present, sliding into the seat across from him with a tray of what the cafeteria optimistically called lasagna.
"Earth to Dr. Zayne," he said, waving his fork. "You look like you just got dumped by a grant committee."
He forced a smile. "Just thinking about the Reynolds case."
His gaze followed his line of sight to where Mona stood, then flicked back to him. His expression softened, almost pitying.
"Right," he said quietly. "The Reynolds case."
Zayne changed the subject to his research project, and Greyson, to his credit, let him.
It was well past seven when he finished his rounds. The cardiology wing had quieted, the air filled only with the soft beeping of monitors and the shuffle of night nurses moving between rooms. He checked his phone: three texts from his mother about her sourdough starter, one from the sitter saying Amara was already asleep.
No messages from Mona.
He was halfway through replying to his mother when he felt it. That old, unmistakable pull. The awareness of her.
Mona stood at the end of the hall, still wrapped in her coat despite the warmth inside. There were no residents hovering nearby now, no nurses to serve as buffers. Just the two of them and three years of careful distance punctuated by one reckless night.
They stayed frozen like that, caught in some silent standoff. Then Zayne did the only thing he could. He walked towards her.
She didnât move. Only straightened her shoulders, the way she always had when steeling herself for something painful. He had seen it before: before board exams, difficult surgeries, the day she told him she couldnât stay married to him anymore.
"Dr. Li," she said, formal and clipped, as though professionalism might save them from the weight of the past.
"Dr. Amani," he replied, voice low.
A nurse passed, nodding at them politely. As soon as they were alone again, Mona exhaled.
"I should go," she said. "I have early rounds."
"Why are you avoiding me?"
Her gaze lifted to his, guarded and tired in a way that made something ache deep in his chest. Once, he would have known exactly what she was thinking. Now, she was a closed door he didnât know how to knock on.
"Iâve been busy," she said.
"For two weeks?"
"Zayneâ"
"Was it a mistake?" The words came out rough, urgent. "That night. Was it something you regret?"
The question hovered between them, fragile as glass. He watched her hands curl into fists at her sides, an old nervous habit from med school.
"No," she said finally, so quietly he almost missed it. "It wasnât a mistake."
Something loosened in him, but it hurt too. Because if it hadnât been a mistakeâ
"Then why are you avoiding me?"
She looked down at her hands, at the place where a ring had once lived. Sometimes he still thought he saw its ghost there, a faint mark against her skin.
"Because it wasnât a mistake. And that complicates everything."
"Things were already complicated, Mona," he said, a rough edge creeping into his voice. "Theyâve been complicated since the day we met."
A reluctant smile ghosted across her lips. "True. But weâre not kids anymore. We canât just..." She made a vague gesture, frustration bleeding through the cracks in her careful composure.
"Canât just what?"
"Fall back into old patterns because of one thing. Weâve both worked too hard to find ourselves again."
Her words landed with the heavy finality of truth. They had clawed their way toward stability, painfully and separately. Built lives out of the wreckage of what they had once been.
"Iâm not asking for patterns," he said quietly. "Iâm asking why you left without saying goodbye."
Her face softened, something raw slipping past the walls she had thrown up.
"Because I was afraid," she said.
"Of what?"
"Of how easy it would have been to stay."
The honesty of it hit him like a blow. He understood, he really did. How simple it would have been to wake beside her, to reach for her without thinking, to let muscle memory lead the way and try to rebuild everything they had.
Before he could find the words to answer, her pager beeped, shrill in the quiet.
She glanced down, her face flickering between regret and relief. "I have to go."
He nodded, stepping aside. But as she moved past him, he reached out, his hand brushing her wrist. She stilled.
"Have dinner with me," he pleaded. "See where we are now."
She hesitated, looking down at his fingers curled loosely around her wrist, then up into his face. He didnât try to hide what he felt. Didn't know if he even could.
"Zayne..." she started, and he braced himself for her to pull away.
"You said it wasnât a mistake," he said. "Letâs not treat it like one. Letâs just talk. About that night. About what it meant."
A long moment stretched between them, taut and trembling.
She pulled gently from his grasp. Her pager shrieked again. She stepped back, eyes still holding his.
"I donât know what this is," she said.
"Neither do I," he said softly. "But I think we should find out."
For a heartbeat longer, she stayed there, as if weighing some invisible scale. Then she turned and walked away, the soft squeak of her shoes on linoleum the only sound left behind.
Zayne leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. He didnât know what tomorrow would bring. I could very well be the start of something new or simply a cleaner goodbye.
But for the first time in three years, something in his chest, something long dormant and aching, stirred to life.
Heâd chosen a spot in the back, away from the windows. Not because he was hidingâthough maybe a part of him wasâbut because Mona had always liked the quiet corners. She said she thought better with her back to a wall, something about feeling grounded, safer. One of the thousand small details he still carried with him, a memory that refused to fade.
The bell above the door chimed, and he didnât need to look up to know it was her. He felt her before he saw her, a shift in the air that made his lungs work differently.
When he did glance up, she was scanning the room, her gaze landing on him with an unreadable expression.
Hair down. That was the first thing he noticedâdark curls falling past her shoulders instead of the polished up-dos she favored at work. The second was her dress, a deep teal that reminded him of the ocean on their honeymoon, water shifting in color under a changing sky. He wondered if she remembered too, or if he was the only one assigning meaning to something that might have been just a coincidence.
"Hi," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Hi." He tried to steady himself, unsure of his hands, his posture, every carefully rehearsed line dissolving the moment she sat down.
Heâd imagined this conversation a dozen different ways. Maybe theyâd fall back into easy banter, or maybe it would be stiff and straightforward, dissecting the situation between them like a case study neither of them wanted to admit they were invested in. But now, with her right in front of himâclose enough to see the tiny scar at her temple from that childhood fall, the one he used to kiss on sleepless nightsâeverything he had planned to say evaporated.
"I ordered you tea," he said, nodding toward the steaming cup on the table. "Jasmine with honey."
Her eyes flickered in surprise, something warm blooming there before she could tuck it away. "You remembered."
"I remember a lot of things."
A brief, uneasy silence settled between them. Around them, the soft clink of dishes and muted conversations filled the space, but it felt like a world away.
"You cut your hair," she said, breaking the quiet.
He ran a hand through the shorter strands, self-conscious. "Yeah. Easier to deal with during work."
"It suits you." A small smile tugged at her lips. "You look⊠different. Like youâve grown into yourself."
The observation hit harder than it should have, something tender and sharp all at once. He cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "You look good too. Different, but⊠good."
Different felt too small for what she was now. The Mona sitting across from him carried herself with a quiet certainty he hadnât seen beforeâa softness that wasnât weakness, a strength that wasnât born from constantly having to prove herself. It was something earned, something sheâd fought for. He wondered if she knew how much it suited her.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, breathing in the steam before taking a careful sip. "So," she said, her voice softer now, "this dinner."
"Yeah." He shifted in his seat. "I thought we should talk. About⊠everything."
Her fingers traced the handle of her cup, her gaze dropping. "Weâre both adults, Zayne. What happened was⊠physical. Familiar. Something left over from who we were." Her tone was calm, almost dismissive, like she was trying to make it smaller than it had been.
"Is that all you think it was?" He couldnât quite keep the edge from his voice.
"What else would it be?"
He held her gaze, refusing to let her hide behind practicality. "I donât know, Mona. You tell me. Because youâre the one who came to my door."
A faint flush crept up her neck. "It was just a night."
"It was never just anything with you."
Silence fell between them again, heavier this time. He watched her shoulders tense, the way her fingers curled around the mug like she was holding onto something fragile.
The server arrived, a brief reprieve, and they ordered without glancing at the menu. Years of shared meals had carved those preferences into memoryâher pasta with extra basil, his steak medium rare.
When they were alone again, she exhaled slowly. "It wasnât a mistake. But it wasnât a beginning either."
"Why not?"
Her eyes flicked up, something raw lingering just beneath the surface. "Because we burned everything down once. It was so bad, I didn't think there was anything left worth salvaging. I canât⊠I wonât go back to that."
"Iâm not asking you to go back." He leaned forward, his heart pounding in his throat. "I donât want what we had. I want something different. Something⊠better."
She looked at him for a long time, like she was searching for cracks in his resolve. "You make it sound so easy."
"Itâs not." His admitted. "None of this is easy. But when you showed up⊠it wasnât just nostalgia or leftover feelings. It was you. And me. And the fact that after three years, I stillâ" He broke off, swallowing hard.
"Still what?" she asked softly.
"Still love you," he said. "Maybe differently than before. Maybe more carefully now. But I do."
Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came.
"I know we canât just pick up where we left off," he continued, voice steadier now. "Weâre not the same people we were then. And maybe weâll never fit the way we thought we should. But I want to know who you are now. I want to try, even if itâs slow, even if itâs messy. I want us. Whatever that looks like now."
Her eyes glistened, but she blinked the emotion back before it could spill over. "I spent so long trying to rebuild myself after everything fell apart," she said quietly. "Trying to figure out who I was without you. I donât want to lose that again."
"You wonât." He was unsure if it would be met kindly, but he laid his hand on the table between them anyway, palm up. "Iâm not here to take anything from you. I just want to be someone you can let in again. And maybe we can share our lives together while still staying true to who we are now."
She stared at his hand for a long time, her expression unreadable. He didnât push, didnât dare breathe too loudly, terrified that if he moved too fast it would all fall apart.
Finally, she slid her hand into his. Her fingers fit differently now, but the warmth was the same. It settled something deep inside him that had been restless for far too long.
"We go slow," she said, her voice steady but still soft. "No expectations. No falling back into old habits."
"Slow," he agreed, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles. "No old habits."
"And if it doesnât work?"
He met her gaze, his heart twisting at the vulnerability in her eyes. "Then weâll know we tried. Really tried."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, rain had begun to fall, soft and rhythmic against the windows. It reminded him of all the nights they used to lie awake, listening to storms, wrapped in each other without saying a word. Only this time, there was no rushing back to what once was. Only the quiet, tentative promise of something new.
"Where do we start?" she asked after a while, her fingers still tangled with his.
Zayne gave her a small, hopeful smile. "Right here. Wherever we are."
And for the first time in a long time, the space between them didnât feel like a void. It felt like a beginning.
Mona and Zayne finally confront the tension that lies between them. It's raw, it's soft, and it's hopeful.
Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, angst and yearning. We are finally getting somewhere this time! 3.3k words.
A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for this late update. I wanted to work on the chapter last week after my weekend concert (Hope on the Stage was AMAZING!) but I got sick and am finally feeling good enough to revise my draft and post. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! We are finally making some progress here between our two beloved.
Previous chapter | You can read on ao3Â here
There were people you outgrew, and then there were your ex-spouses.
Zayne used to tell himself Mona belonged in the first category. A fever dream of the past, messy but beautiful while it lasted. She was the girl he had kissed in library corners at eighteen. The woman he had married in a courthouse at twenty-two. The mother of his child who had once fit perfectly against him in the quiet of night when the world was locked away from their sanctuary. Someone he'd believed would be his forever, just because they were young and in love. Or maybe just young and impulsive. Hard to say.
Theoretically, they had outgrown each other. They were too young when they got together, and then they grew into people who no longer fit together. That was the narrative they agreed on. The responsible, adult conclusion after a thousand fights over nothing and everything. Their love, cracked and crumbling beneath the weight of parenthood, ambitions, the unraveling of their individual selves, and the strange loneliness that only sets in when the person beside you no longer feels like home. They had tried until there was nothing left to salvage.
And when they signed the papers, Zayne had told himself he was doing the right thing. So he started over.
Therapy. Journaling. Baking. Rebuilding his relationship with his parents, with himself. He took Amara to parks and museums on weekends, started attending his residents' presentations, made peace with the version of himself who used to fall asleep at the desk trying to be everything for everyone and failing Mona most of all. He let the silence teach him things he used to run from instead of a shield to cower.
He was finding himself again, in his own way, slowly and imperfectly. And he told himself that was enough.
But there was still that part of himâsmall, stubborn, half-feralâthat yearned for her. A part in him that kept on whispering that maybe it wasnât over. That maybe healing didnât mean letting go. And maybe some things didnât belong in the past.
He told himself daily it had been the right choice. That he should have tucked her away in some tidy box in his mind and tossed the key. And yet at thirty, there he remained: wedding ring on a chain beneath his scrubs, still using their hyphenated last name by force of habit, still catching himself at times thinking in terms of we when we no longer existed.
The divorce was supposed to be clean. They had promised each other that much. But Mona... Mona had grown roots so deep in his being that removing her would leave him forever hollow, even when he had worked so hard to find himself and enrich his life in his own companionship. Now he knew it had been just wishful thinking. He realized that some ties took time to sever. Or maybe they werenât meant to be severed at all. He couldnât decide which truth cut deeper.
Because when Mona had crashed her car last year, the hospital had called him first. When his Evol had spiraled in the on-call room, it had been her voice that anchored him, her hand on his forehead like she still had the right to care. It was frustrating enough that he was still latching on to her, but it hurt more that she would always downplay these incidents even before he could start thinking if there were any hidden meaning behind them or considered them trivial. And two weeks ago, she had come to his door in that damned midnight blue dress andâŠ
He tried to tell himself it was just the effects of co-parenting. It was the trap of nostalgia mixed with the part of him that regretted how things went down back then. It shouldn't really mean anything.
But he had never believed that. Not in the quiet hours when memory became more real than the present. Not when he remembered everything about her better than he remembered how to breathe.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days of carefully coordinated schedules and text messages about Amara and nothing else. Fourteen days of Mona ensuring there was always a nurse or resident nearby when they crossed paths and a nanny to handle Amaraâs drop-offs. Fourteen mornings of Zayne waking to the phantom scent of jasmine on his sheets, though heâd washed them twice.
For a man who had spent three years learning to live without her, two weeks of deliberate distance shouldnât have felt unbearable. And yet.
He saw her now, across the hospital cafeteria, her hair swept into the same neat bun she wore for difficult consultations. She was laughing at something Dr. Chen said; a bright, unguarded laugh that once had been his. His coffee tasted bitter in his mouth.
The rational part of him knew he should respect her space. That night had been an anomaly, a slip born of nostalgia, alcohol, and that damned dress that had haunted his memory for years. They were divorced co-parents and colleagues. Nothing more.
But the part of him that still wore her ring on a chain beneath his scrubs knew better.
Because Mona hadnât just fucked him that night. She had traced the new scar on his forearm with careful fingers, asked after his motherâs health in the soft voice she reserved for things that mattered. She had looked at him afterward with eyes no longer clouded by resentment. There had been something almost like peace there. Something that felt dangerously close to forgiveness.
And then, before sunrise, she had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the whisper of her lips against his temple.
Now she was laughing with Dr. Chen like she hadnât gutted him and left him standing in the ruins of his own desperation.
It was Greyson who dragged him back to the present, sliding into the seat across from him with a tray of what the cafeteria optimistically called lasagna.
"Earth to Dr. Zayne," he said, waving his fork. "You look like you just got dumped by a grant committee."
He forced a smile. "Just thinking about the Reynolds case."
His gaze followed his line of sight to where Mona stood, then flicked back to him. His expression softened, almost pitying.
"Right," he said quietly. "The Reynolds case."
Zayne changed the subject to his research project, and Greyson, to his credit, let him.
It was well past seven when he finished his rounds. The cardiology wing had quieted, the air filled only with the soft beeping of monitors and the shuffle of night nurses moving between rooms. He checked his phone: three texts from his mother about her sourdough starter, one from the sitter saying Amara was already asleep.
No messages from Mona.
He was halfway through replying to his mother when he felt it. That old, unmistakable pull. The awareness of her.
Mona stood at the end of the hall, still wrapped in her coat despite the warmth inside. There were no residents hovering nearby now, no nurses to serve as buffers. Just the two of them and three years of careful distance punctuated by one reckless night.
They stayed frozen like that, caught in some silent standoff. Then Zayne did the only thing he could. He walked towards her.
She didnât move. Only straightened her shoulders, the way she always had when steeling herself for something painful. He had seen it before: before board exams, difficult surgeries, the day she told him she couldnât stay married to him anymore.
"Dr. Li," she said, formal and clipped, as though professionalism might save them from the weight of the past.
"Dr. Amani," he replied, voice low.
A nurse passed, nodding at them politely. As soon as they were alone again, Mona exhaled.
"I should go," she said. "I have early rounds."
"Why are you avoiding me?"
Her gaze lifted to his, guarded and tired in a way that made something ache deep in his chest. Once, he would have known exactly what she was thinking. Now, she was a closed door he didnât know how to knock on.
"Iâve been busy," she said.
"For two weeks?"
"Zayneâ"
"Was it a mistake?" The words came out rough, urgent. "That night. Was it something you regret?"
The question hovered between them, fragile as glass. He watched her hands curl into fists at her sides, an old nervous habit from med school.
"No," she said finally, so quietly he almost missed it. "It wasnât a mistake."
Something loosened in him, but it hurt too. Because if it hadnât been a mistakeâ
"Then why are you avoiding me?"
She looked down at her hands, at the place where a ring had once lived. Sometimes he still thought he saw its ghost there, a faint mark against her skin.
"Because it wasnât a mistake. And that complicates everything."
"Things were already complicated, Mona," he said, a rough edge creeping into his voice. "Theyâve been complicated since the day we met."
A reluctant smile ghosted across her lips. "True. But weâre not kids anymore. We canât just..." She made a vague gesture, frustration bleeding through the cracks in her careful composure.
"Canât just what?"
"Fall back into old patterns because of one thing. Weâve both worked too hard to find ourselves again."
Her words landed with the heavy finality of truth. They had clawed their way toward stability, painfully and separately. Built lives out of the wreckage of what they had once been.
"Iâm not asking for patterns," he said quietly. "Iâm asking why you left without saying goodbye."
Her face softened, something raw slipping past the walls she had thrown up.
"Because I was afraid," she said.
"Of what?"
"Of how easy it would have been to stay."
The honesty of it hit him like a blow. He understood, he really did. How simple it would have been to wake beside her, to reach for her without thinking, to let muscle memory lead the way and try to rebuild everything they had.
Before he could find the words to answer, her pager beeped, shrill in the quiet.
She glanced down, her face flickering between regret and relief. "I have to go."
He nodded, stepping aside. But as she moved past him, he reached out, his hand brushing her wrist. She stilled.
"Have dinner with me," he pleaded. "See where we are now."
She hesitated, looking down at his fingers curled loosely around her wrist, then up into his face. He didnât try to hide what he felt. Didn't know if he even could.
"Zayne..." she started, and he braced himself for her to pull away.
"You said it wasnât a mistake," he said. "Letâs not treat it like one. Letâs just talk. About that night. About what it meant."
A long moment stretched between them, taut and trembling.
She pulled gently from his grasp. Her pager shrieked again. She stepped back, eyes still holding his.
"I donât know what this is," she said.
"Neither do I," he said softly. "But I think we should find out."
For a heartbeat longer, she stayed there, as if weighing some invisible scale. Then she turned and walked away, the soft squeak of her shoes on linoleum the only sound left behind.
Zayne leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. He didnât know what tomorrow would bring. I could very well be the start of something new or simply a cleaner goodbye.
But for the first time in three years, something in his chest, something long dormant and aching, stirred to life.
Heâd chosen a spot in the back, away from the windows. Not because he was hidingâthough maybe a part of him wasâbut because Mona had always liked the quiet corners. She said she thought better with her back to a wall, something about feeling grounded, safer. One of the thousand small details he still carried with him, a memory that refused to fade.
The bell above the door chimed, and he didnât need to look up to know it was her. He felt her before he saw her, a shift in the air that made his lungs work differently.
When he did glance up, she was scanning the room, her gaze landing on him with an unreadable expression.
Hair down. That was the first thing he noticedâdark curls falling past her shoulders instead of the polished up-dos she favored at work. The second was her dress, a deep teal that reminded him of the ocean on their honeymoon, water shifting in color under a changing sky. He wondered if she remembered too, or if he was the only one assigning meaning to something that might have been just a coincidence.
"Hi," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Hi." He tried to steady himself, unsure of his hands, his posture, every carefully rehearsed line dissolving the moment she sat down.
Heâd imagined this conversation a dozen different ways. Maybe theyâd fall back into easy banter, or maybe it would be stiff and straightforward, dissecting the situation between them like a case study neither of them wanted to admit they were invested in. But now, with her right in front of himâclose enough to see the tiny scar at her temple from that childhood fall, the one he used to kiss on sleepless nightsâeverything he had planned to say evaporated.
"I ordered you tea," he said, nodding toward the steaming cup on the table. "Jasmine with honey."
Her eyes flickered in surprise, something warm blooming there before she could tuck it away. "You remembered."
"I remember a lot of things."
A brief, uneasy silence settled between them. Around them, the soft clink of dishes and muted conversations filled the space, but it felt like a world away.
"You cut your hair," she said, breaking the quiet.
He ran a hand through the shorter strands, self-conscious. "Yeah. Easier to deal with during work."
"It suits you." A small smile tugged at her lips. "You look⊠different. Like youâve grown into yourself."
The observation hit harder than it should have, something tender and sharp all at once. He cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "You look good too. Different, but⊠good."
Different felt too small for what she was now. The Mona sitting across from him carried herself with a quiet certainty he hadnât seen beforeâa softness that wasnât weakness, a strength that wasnât born from constantly having to prove herself. It was something earned, something sheâd fought for. He wondered if she knew how much it suited her.
She wrapped her hands around the mug, breathing in the steam before taking a careful sip. "So," she said, her voice softer now, "this dinner."
"Yeah." He shifted in his seat. "I thought we should talk. About⊠everything."
Her fingers traced the handle of her cup, her gaze dropping. "Weâre both adults, Zayne. What happened was⊠physical. Familiar. Something left over from who we were." Her tone was calm, almost dismissive, like she was trying to make it smaller than it had been.
"Is that all you think it was?" He couldnât quite keep the edge from his voice.
"What else would it be?"
He held her gaze, refusing to let her hide behind practicality. "I donât know, Mona. You tell me. Because youâre the one who came to my door."
A faint flush crept up her neck. "It was just a night."
"It was never just anything with you."
Silence fell between them again, heavier this time. He watched her shoulders tense, the way her fingers curled around the mug like she was holding onto something fragile.
The server arrived, a brief reprieve, and they ordered without glancing at the menu. Years of shared meals had carved those preferences into memoryâher pasta with extra basil, his steak medium rare.
When they were alone again, she exhaled slowly. "It wasnât a mistake. But it wasnât a beginning either."
"Why not?"
Her eyes flicked up, something raw lingering just beneath the surface. "Because we burned everything down once. It was so bad, I didn't think there was anything left worth salvaging. I canât⊠I wonât go back to that."
"Iâm not asking you to go back." He leaned forward, his heart pounding in his throat. "I donât want what we had. I want something different. Something⊠better."
She looked at him for a long time, like she was searching for cracks in his resolve. "You make it sound so easy."
"Itâs not." His admitted. "None of this is easy. But when you showed up⊠it wasnât just nostalgia or leftover feelings. It was you. And me. And the fact that after three years, I stillâ" He broke off, swallowing hard.
"Still what?" she asked softly.
"Still love you," he said. "Maybe differently than before. Maybe more carefully now. But I do."
Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came.
"I know we canât just pick up where we left off," he continued, voice steadier now. "Weâre not the same people we were then. And maybe weâll never fit the way we thought we should. But I want to know who you are now. I want to try, even if itâs slow, even if itâs messy. I want us. Whatever that looks like now."
Her eyes glistened, but she blinked the emotion back before it could spill over. "I spent so long trying to rebuild myself after everything fell apart," she said quietly. "Trying to figure out who I was without you. I donât want to lose that again."
"You wonât." He was unsure if it would be met kindly, but he laid his hand on the table between them anyway, palm up. "Iâm not here to take anything from you. I just want to be someone you can let in again. And maybe we can share our lives together while still staying true to who we are now."
She stared at his hand for a long time, her expression unreadable. He didnât push, didnât dare breathe too loudly, terrified that if he moved too fast it would all fall apart.
Finally, she slid her hand into his. Her fingers fit differently now, but the warmth was the same. It settled something deep inside him that had been restless for far too long.
"We go slow," she said, her voice steady but still soft. "No expectations. No falling back into old habits."
"Slow," he agreed, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles. "No old habits."
"And if it doesnât work?"
He met her gaze, his heart twisting at the vulnerability in her eyes. "Then weâll know we tried. Really tried."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, rain had begun to fall, soft and rhythmic against the windows. It reminded him of all the nights they used to lie awake, listening to storms, wrapped in each other without saying a word. Only this time, there was no rushing back to what once was. Only the quiet, tentative promise of something new.
"Where do we start?" she asked after a while, her fingers still tangled with his.
Zayne gave her a small, hopeful smile. "Right here. Wherever we are."
And for the first time in a long time, the space between them didnât feel like a void. It felt like a beginning.
Guilt was Sylusâs first inheritance to his daughter. And even as the years healed what was broken, his devotion would always be tangled with penance, a debt he will never stop trying to repay.
But when she finally becomes a mother herself, Sylus sees it at last: a lifetime of love, reflected back at him in its purest form.
Sylus x Named MC, but mostly Sylus & Aria. Emotional h/c and angst with a happy ending. We love dad!sylus and generational healing in this household! 1,786 words.
A/N: Hi everyone! I'm back with what is technically another (belated) Sylus birthday fic but angst times one hundred (with a happy ending!). I really enjoy writing about Sylus as a father and hopefully you enjoy this story. Happy reading!
You can read on ao3Â here
Series master list here
Sylus sits alone in the nursery. It is three in the morning, and the house is quiet except for the faint sound of Aria's breathing as she sleeps in her crib. She's finally home after weeks in the hospital; tiny, fragile, but alive and safe. His daughter. The word feels foreign on his tongue. Heavy and almost undeserved.
It's his birthday. Thirty-two years of this lifetime, and he has never felt more unworthy of celebration.
He leans forward on the rocking chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together until his knuckles turn white. The guilt that has been his constant companion has never felt heavier than today. It sits steady on his shoulders, coils tighter with each passing second. In the stillness of the night where no one can hear him, he allows himself to remember the words he would never say aloud. The memory rises unfiltered and raw.
I resented you before you were born.
The admission burns in his chest. He has carried it alone throughout most of Lili's pregnancy, wrapped tight inside him, letting it suffocate him from the inside out. He has spent so many nights watching Lili struggle to breathe beside him, clutching at her chest while he sat helplessly by. Watched her body betray her a little more in different ways with each passing day. He remembers each and every time they sat in the hospital room, holding her hand as the doctors delivered increasingly grim updates.
The pregnancy is compromising her heart, one of them had told them like it was nothing, as if it could downplay the weight of what it meant. The potential outcomes. We will need to be prepared for difficult decisions.
They had offered Lili the option to terminate in the earlier months. Sylus himself had begged her to consider it, but Lili had been so insistent, as if she knew for sure that they were going to be alright. Meanwhile, all he could see at that time was a bleak future. One without Lili where he despised the human he, too, had created. And in those darkest moments, in the ugliest corners of his heart, the thought slithered in:Â This child is taking her away from me.
He runs a hand over his face, his fingers scraping over the rough stubble lining his jaw. He hasn't been able to sleep properly in months. To this day, every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is Lili on that hospital bed. Weak and helpless, bleeding and fighting for her life.
We're losing her, someone had said, and in that moment, Sylus made a choice he would never admit to anyone. Save her. Not the baby.
But the universe hadn't listened. It never asked for his input or his permission. It had taken both Lili and Aria to the brink of death and forced life back into both of them. One barely holding on and the other fighting for her first breath.
Sylus rises and makes his way toward the crib, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. He looks down at his daughter, her chest rising and falling in delicate, precarious breaths. The tiniest wisps of white hair, just like his, catch the night's glow.
"I didn't want you," he whispers into the stillness, the words cracked and raw. "For months, I dreaded your arrival. Every time she clutched her chest in pain, every time she couldn't catch her breath, I blamed you."
Aria stirs slightly, her fingers curling into a tiny fist, her brows furrowing before she settles again. Her featuresâso heartbreakingly like Lili'sâsoften in sleep.
"And then you were born," he continues, voice barely audible. "And she nearly died anyway."
The memory cuts through him. Lili's body wracked with seizures, her heart stuttering against impossible odds. The doctors pushing him away as they decided they needed to do a c-section to deliver the baby and then cut her chest open to save her. The extreme anxiety and hopelessness he had felt in that waiting room, wondering if he was minutes away from another tragic end to their story.
But he also remembers the nurse bringing him to the NICU, hours later when Lili was still in surgery. She had recommended skin-to-skin contact to help regulate Aria's temperature and breathing. He wanted to run away then, but for some reason he decided to follow the nurse's orders. When she placed the tiny bundle into his arms, he hadn't expected to feel anything but rage and disgust, but then she opened her eyesâLili's eyesâand something inside him splintered and broke open. It was during that moment that he understood what it felt like to be instantly, irrevocably changed.
Sylus reaches down, tracing a line down Aria's cheek with the back of his fingers. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm so sorry for every moment I wished you away." Gently, he lifts her from the crib, cradling her against his chest the way the nurses taught him. She weighs almost nothing, this small life that has already survived against impossible odds. Just like her mother.
He sinks back into the rocking chair, holding her against his heartbeat. She settles there, trusting him completely, unaware of his earlier betrayal. Sylus presses his lips to her downy hair, breathing her in. "I don't deserve either of you," he murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "But I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you both."
"You don't have anything to make up for."
The soft voice from the doorway surprises him. Lili stands there, one hand braced against the frame for support. She's still weak, still recovering, but the warmth in her eyes is as strong as ever.
"You shouldn't be up," he says immediately, concern threading through his voice.
"I heard you talking." She moves slowly to his side, lowering herself to sit on the arm of the rocking chair. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, fingers lightly stroking the back of his neck the way she always has when the weight gets too much for him to bear alone. "I heard what you said."
Shame washes over him. "Liliâ"
"No," she interrupts gently. "Listen to me." She reaches down to touch Aria's cheek, her smile soft and knowing. "What you felt... it wasn't wrong. You were scared. I know what you're thinking, but that's not something you need to punish yourself for."
He presses his forehead against her shoulder, breathing her in, Aria pressed safely between them. "I wished her away," he admits, the words torn from somewhere deep inside him. "What kind of father does that make me?"
"A human one," she answers, her voice steady with conviction. "But we're here now, Sylus. She's here."
Aria's fingers wrap tighter around his, and it feels like a forgiveness he doesn't deserve but will spend the rest of his life trying to earn anyway. He holds them both closer and lets the guilt live there too, silent and heavy. A ghost that would never leave, but one he could learn to carry.
"Happy birthday," Lili whispers against his temple, and he closes his eyes against the sting of tears.
He would love her without condition, without fail, without letting the darkness of his past touch her light for as long as he had breath left in his body, just as he had promised her that night on his birthday. But no matter how many years passed, no matter how tall she grew or how brightly she smiled, he would carry this guilt into old age. He would smile through it at her birthdays, her graduations, her wedding, every milestone she crossed, never letting her know that once, before she ever learned his name, he gave up on her.
When Kai was born, the weight was different. Lili's second pregnancy had gone smoothly. There were no emergency hospital stays, no breathless nights filled with prayers and whispered bargains to a god he barely believed in. When Sylus first held Kai in his arms, there was no guilt or fear. He doesn't love Kai more, nor does he love Aria less. But with Aria, despite Lili's words, the love had always been tangled with penance; a debt he will never stop trying to repay.
He would never let her feel it. Children deserved love without the burden of their parents' regrets. But in small ways, he would try to show her. Every laugh coaxed out of her. Every cry he soothed. Every night he tucked her in and sat by her side until her breathing evened out into dreams. Each moment was an offering, a sincere plea for forgiveness. He would love her until his soul would hopefully forget there had ever been a time he didn't. She would never know, and he is glad for that. Glad that she eventually grows into a woman whose heart is light enough to dance, to love, and to walk forward without the burden he chose to carry alone.
Years later, Sylus stands in the corner of a hospital room, the steady beep of monitors surrounding him in a familiarity he wishes he didn't recognize. But this time, there is no terror clawing at his chest. No helplessness, no prayers ripped raw from his throat. He watches in awe as Aria cradles her newborn daughter against her chest. She looks so much like Lili in this moment it makes his heart ache.
Sylus grips the back of a chair to steady himself, overwhelmed by the sight. He remembers, too vividly, the first time he held Aria, the way love and guilt had tangled themselves and drowned him. But now⊠now he sees Aria whole, unbroken, cradling a life she brought into the world without fear. And somehow, it feels like redemption. Like the forgiveness he never dared to ask for out loud finally being handed back to him.
He still carries the private ledger of past debts he can never fully erase, but it weighs less today. He breathes in slowly, feeling Lili's hand slip into his, grounding him, anchoring him in this perfect fleeting moment. Across the room, Aria looks up and meets his eyes, and she smilesâbright, effortless, freeâand Sylus feels something inside him finally, finally let go.
On this birthday, decades after that night in the nursery, he receives the gift he never thought possible: the lightening of a burden he had believed would be his to carry forever. Here, in this hospital room with three generations together, he understands that love isn't just about carrying weight, itâs also about learning when to set it down.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what your thoughts are on this story. I'd love any feedback, as it helps me grow as a writer. Hope you have a great day/night wherever you are :D
Sylusâs idea of a birthday used to involve ignoring the date entirely. Now it involves a fancy dinner, a watch with a hidden compass, two kids fighting over space metaphors, and a fever that cuts the night short. Itâs chaotic. Itâs imperfect. Itâs his best birthday yet.
Ariaâs face filled the screen, all serious business. âDad, I have a question about the universe that canât wait until tomorrow.â
Sylus x Named MC. Romantic fluff but also chaotic family dynamic, kind of lmao. Will I ever stop writing about Dad!Sylus? Neveeeer! 1,956 words.
A/N:Â And here it is, my late Sylus birthday piece! Happy birthday to my favorite dragon :D
You can read on ao3 here | Series master list here
Sylus had never been one for birthdays. Growing up, they passed like any other dayâunmarked, unremarkable. He used to prefer it that way, finding comfort in the quiet, the forgettable. But then Lili came along, and birthdays slowly transformed from days of silence into soft rituals, miniature adventures wrapped in laughter and love.
Truth be told, Sylus hadnât wanted anything special this year. Left to his own devices, the day wouldâve slipped by unnoticed, and he wouldnât have minded. But after almost thirteen years of marriage, Lili knew better than to let that happen.
âI booked us dinner at The Seasons in Linkon. The whole twelve-course,â she announced that morning, stealing a piece of baguette from his plate and pressing a kiss to his temple. âAnd I already booked a sitter, so donât even try to use the kids as an excuse.â
Now, sitting across from her in the restaurantâs soft amber glow, Sylus found himself deeply, wordlessly grateful. Lili wore a green-emerald silk wrap dress, the fabric catching the light like water. Ruby earringsâhis gift to her last yearâglinted at her ears, and her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves. Her eyes lit up every time they landed on him.
âYouâre staring,â she murmured, a smile teasing her lips as she studied the menu.
"I'm appreciating," he corrected, reaching across to brush his fingers against hers. "Thank you for this."
"For making you leave the house on your birthday?" Lili laughed. "Such a hardship."
The waiter had just poured their wine when Sylus's phone lit up. Lili's eyes met his, both of them recognizing the specific chime.
"That would be approximately..." Sylus checked his watch, "Forty-seven minutes without a kid interruption. Longer than I expected."
Lili raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to answer it?"
The device lit up again, insistent. Sylus sighed, already lifting it.
âTheyâll just keep calling.â
Ariaâs face filled the screen, all serious business. âDad, I have a question about the universe that canât wait until tomorrow.â
Sylus's expression softened. "Is that so?"
"Kai said stars are just holes in the sky where heaven shines through. I told him that's scientifically inaccurate."
Behind Aria, Kaiâs smaller face popped into view, eager to defend himself. "But Mrs. Elton at school saidâ"
"Mrs. Elton teaches kindergarten, not astrophysics," Aria countered with the supreme confidence of an eleven-year-old.
Sylus cleared his throat. "Stars are actually massive balls of burning gas, mostly hydrogen and heliumâ"
"See?" Aria turned triumphantly to her brother.
"âbut," Sylus continued gently, "there's something beautiful about thinking of them as holes where heaven shines through, don't you think?"
Kai's face brightened while Aria looked mildly betrayed.
Lili leaned into frame. "Where's Ms. Tessa?" she asked, referring to their regular sitter.
âMaking popcorn. She said we could watch one movie, but we couldnât agreeââ
âRobots!â Kai shouted.
âWeâve seen it seventeen times,â Aria groaned.
âHow about Deepspace Explorers?â Lili offered. âRobots and scientifically accurate space.â
Both children considered this compromise with matching thoughtful expressions that made Sylus's chest tighten with fondness.
"Love you!" Kai added, blowing an enthusiastic kiss before the screen went dark.
As the call ended, Sylus set the phone down with a soft smile. âThat went better than expected.â
"They lasted almost an hour," Lili agreed, raising her wine glass. "To small victories."
"To small victories," he agreed, clinking his glass against hers.
"Fifteen years," he said quietly. "Sometimes it feels like yesterday we met."
Lili smiled, swirling the drink in her hand. "And sometimes it feels like I've known you forever. But I guess I do." She took a sip, studying him over the rim. "Do you remember that disastrous first date?"
"The leaking ceiling wasn't part of my plan," he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Neither was the fire alarm."
"But you handled it with such composure," she said, her eyes warm with the memory. "Most people would have been flustered or angry. You just... adapted."
"I wanted to impress you," he confessed, something vulnerable in his admission. "But you already knew that."
Lili reached across the table to take his hand. "I think what impressed me most wasn't your composure, it was when you finally laughed about it on our walk home. That's when I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That there was so much more to you than you let the world see." Her thumb traced patterns on his palm. "That I wanted to be the one you showed those parts to."
His fingers tightened around hers. "You're the only one who ever has. Well, you and the kids."
As the courses came and went, Lili eventually reached into her purse. "I have something for you," she said, producing a flat, elegantly wrapped box. "Happy birthday, my love."
Sylus accepted it with visible curiosity. He unwrapped it carefully to reveal a watch case. Inside was a timepiece of exquisite craftsmanship: sleek gold face with a brown leather strap, understated but unmistakably luxurious. It was classic, timeless, and from Lili. He loved it instantly.
âTurn it over,â she said.
He did. Inscribed on the back:Â For all our time. Past, present, future. My heart beats with yours. -L
Sylus stared at it for a long moment, his expression inscrutable to anyone who didn't know him as intimately as she did. But Lili saw the emotion in his eyes, the slight tightening of his jaw that signaled deep feeling.
"There's something else," she said. "Press the crown twice."
When he did, the watch face illuminated briefly, revealing a hidden feature beneath the gold. A tiny compass and locator.
"So you can always find your way back to me," she explained. "No matter where you are."
Sylus looked up at her then, and the raw emotion in his gaze made her breath catch. He removed his old watch and buckled the new one onto his wrist with the kind of care he usually reserved for delicate instruments and newborns. âItâs perfect,â he said, voice just rough enough to betray everything he felt.
They drifted through memories after thatâthrough time. Liliâs laughter spilling across the table, Sylusâs quiet reflections, the map of their years unspooling between them. Thirteen years married next month.
âWhen did you know that this was it?â she asked, swirling the wine in her glass.
Sylus considered this, his expression thoughtful. âThere wasnât one moment,â he said. âYou know I waited for youâfor a long time. I wouldâve accepted it if you never chose us. But one morning I woke up, looked at you sleeping beside me, and realized I couldnât imagine a life without you in it. The thought felt... wrong. Like a missing piece.â
âFor me, it was the hospital,â she said. âThat heart scare. You didnât leave for three days. Not even to change. You looked terrible.â
âAppreciated.â
âBut you were there. Solid. Quiet. Unshakable. And I knew. Whatever happened, you were my person.â
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, fifteen years of shared history surrounding them like a warm embrace.
"Any regrets?" he asked eventually, his tone casual but his eyes watchful.
Lili didn't hesitate. "Not one. You?"
"Only the times I've hurt you," he said honestly. "Even unintentionally."
She squeezed his hand. "That's part of loving someone. The risk of hurt comes with the territory. But you've given me so much more joy than pain."
"I plan to keep that ratio heavily skewed in joy's favor," he promised.
The gentle moment was broken by ring of Lili's phone, but this time it wasn't a video call from the children. Tessa's name flashed urgently on the screen.
"Tessa? Is everything okay?" Lili answered, concern immediately evident in her voice.
"I'm so sorry to ruin your evening," the sitter said, her voice tight with worry. "Kai woke up about twenty minutes ago crying about his ear hurting, and now he's running a fever. I've tried the fever reducer you left, but it's climbing pretty fast. He's at 39.2 degrees now."
Sylus was already requesting the check before Tessa finished speaking. "We're on our way," he said. "Did you try the cold compress?"
"Yes, but he's asking for both of you. Aria's helping me keep him calm, butâ"
"Tell him we'll be there in fifteen minutes," Lili said firmly. "Less if Sylus drives."
They made it home in twelve.
Kai's room was dimly lit by his small star projector, casting gentle blue and purple galaxies across the ceiling. The boy lay curled on his side, eyes glassy with fever and clutching his stuffed robot for dear life. Aria sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, reading aloud from one of her books about space exploration.
"Daddy," Kai whimpered when Sylus entered, arms immediately reaching up.
Sylus gathered him close, pressing his lips to his son's forehead to gauge the heat there. "I'm here, baby. Not feeling good, huh?"
Kai shook his head miserably against Sylus's chest. "My ear hurts."
Lili moved efficiently around them, checking his temperature again, administering medicine, and murmuring soft reassurances. Her fingers brushed against Sylus's as they worked in practiced tandem, a silent communication refined over years of parenting.
"Are you mad that I ruined your special dinner?" Kai asked, his voice small and scratchy.
"Not even a little bit," Sylus answered without hesitation. "Some things are more important."
"Like what?"
"Like you," Sylus said simply. "And Aria. And Mom. That's why birthdays matter at all."
From the doorway, Aria watched with a protective older sister's gaze. "I knew it was his ear again," she said to Lili. "He was pulling at it during the movie."
"Good observation," Lili acknowledged, brushing back Aria's hair and giving her a kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you for helping, baby."
By the time they had Kai settled with medication taking effect, it was well past midnight. Sylus's birthday had technically ended. Aria had eventually fallen asleep in her own bed, and Tessa had been thanked and sent home with extra compensation for the unexpected medical situation.
Sylus found Lili in the kitchen making herbal tea later on. "Some birthday," she said with a tired smile. "I had plans, you know. The kids would be well asleep and there was going to be dessert back at home that wasn't just... dessert."
He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her hair. "I'll consider that a rain check ," he murmured. "Besides, I got exactly what I wanted."
"A sick kid and cold soup?" she questioned with a laugh, leaning back against him.
"You," he said, turning her in his arms. "The kids. This life we've built. All of itâinterruptions, fevers, science debates included."
Lili's eyes softened as she reached up to trace the lines at the corners of his eyes, signs of years of shared laughter. "Even when nothing goes according to plan?"
"Especially then," he confirmed.
Lili rose onto her toes to kiss him, soft and certain. "There's always next year for uninterrupted dinner," she whispered against his lips.
"I'm counting on at least three interruptions. Wouldn't feel like my birthday otherwise."
Later, with Kai nestled between them in their bed (his fever finally breaking but his need for closeness still acute), and Aria eventually finding her way to their room as well ("Just checking on Kai," she'd claimed, though they all knew better), Sylus found himself more content than any elaborate celebration could have made him.
Lili caught his eye over their children's sleeping forms, her hand finding his in the darkness.
"Happy birthday," she mouthed silently.
And despite everythingâor perhaps because of itâit truly had been.
A/N:Â I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading and have a great day/night <3 -Nona
Zayne was the first thing she had ever wanted recklessly. She was always taught that desire should always be measured, tidy, and justifiable. That ambition is scripture and vulnerability is sin. It was all she had known. But Zayne? He made her greedy. He gave her the kind of love that burned bright and fast without ever stopping to consider the cost.
The one where Mona looks back at her relationship
Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, ANGST, a lot of reflection on this chapter.
A/N: Hi guys!! So I decided to continue Midnight Blues because the concept of Zayne and Mona would not leave my head. But I didn't just want to hastily post a follow up. This story needed care, and I wanted to make sure I did this right. If you read my other recent stories, you might know that writing is something I am just seriously picking up again, and this has been so far the most challenging idea to explore. I have toyed with this concept in four different formats, went back and forth between three main arcs, and here we are today. While I have not completed writing this story yet, I believe I have the big picture finally set to guide me there.
I also want to thank you so much for your feedback about my writing! Whether it's about Midnight Blues or my other fics, they really have become a motivator. In a way, you help me hold myself accountable to my writing goals, which is amazing. And in exchange, if I can provide you stories you like, that is good enough for me. Enjoy!
Previous chapter | You can read on ao3Â here
Structure, precision, and strategy.
These three things werenât just Monaâs values. They were the building blocks of her life. They pushed her to aim higher, move faster, and chase ambitions no matter the cost. That blueprint had been laid early in her life, mapped out by parents who loved her through excellence. Fortunately, Mona had the brilliance to match their expectations. Even as a child, she understood that excellence was a language people listened to, and achievement is a currency.
Medicine had been a breeze to conquer this way. The human body followed rules. Systems. Predictable consequences. Love, on the other hand, broke every law she had ever learned. There was no structure nor strategy that could come into play.
She and Zayne had met as the youngest in their batch in medical school. They were both prodigies. Too young, too brilliant, too fast. They were taught to dissect bodies before they even understood their own. In comparison, most of their peers had more years, more life, but not more pressure. They would never understand the aching loneliness of being the youngest in every room, always to be admired and dismissed in equal measure. Sparks did not draw the both of them together, but it was the quiet recognition of feeling out of place. Always a little too much, never truly belonging anywhere.
They had grown up quickly to get where they were, but they hadnât finished growing yet. Maybe thatâs what made the connection feel so sharp when it finally clicked; their youth was both armor and burden. A sweet, bitter common ground.
Zayne was quiet back then. Guarded in that way that looked like arrogance until you realized it was just survival. Mona ignored him for most of their first semester, though. Her grades were the only thing on her mind and she refused to let any distraction lead her to fumble. But one day, in the middle of a lecture, he muttered a deadpan joke under his breath. Something about the aorta or the jugular vein? She couldn't remember it now, but she laughed so hard she snorted. Professor Noah had scolded her, but Zayne just looked at her like he was glad someone had heard him. And that was all it took. Soon it was late nights at the library, caffeine-fueled rants, anatomy quizzes before class, shared dreams about what kind of doctors they would become. Somewhere in the blur of ambition and overachievement, they fell in love.
When she was twelve, Mona grew a love for embroidery. She would buy tools and flosses after school and learned to make flowers on her hold t-shirts from video tutorials. When she started getting really good at it, she embroidered her mother's handkerchief with violets all around. When her mother found out it took her a month to complete it, she chastised her.
"Don't waste your time on things that don't bring any benefits to your future."
"You shouldn't be dwelling on useless things."
"If anything, you could have used those hours to study."
The handkerchief was thrown away, and Mona cried silently in her room that night. Ever since then, she never had the courage to want anything for herself unless it was encouraged by her parents. Not even the little things. It was a miserable way to grow up, but it did bring her to where she was right now: an accomplished doctor, carefully molded by her ambitious parents. She can't tell if that was supposed to be liberating or suffocating.
Zayne was the first thing she had ever wanted recklessly. She was always taught that desire should always be measured, tidy, and justifiable. That ambition is scripture and vulnerability is sin. It was all she had known. But Zayne? He made her greedy. He gave her the kind of love that burned bright and fast without ever stopping to consider the cost. Neither of them had been prudent in love, but especially not Mona. And she didn't want to. Not for this one thing in her life that was her safe place. She loved him, and his love never made her shrink. He didn't just understand her ambitions; he matched it. For once, she didnât have to soften herself to be wanted. She could be brilliant, relentless, and still feel seen. That kind of intimacyâwhen you're young enoughâfeels like a forever thing.
For Mona, it had felt less like a choice and more like fate. They were two stars caught in the same orbit that grew closer and closer until it inevitably collided. The problem with celestial collisions, of course, is the aftermath.
For a while, it was beautiful. They were building something together. They had a rhythm, parallel lives moving toward the same horizon. But they didnât know themselves yet, and love without identity can only get you so far before your marriage started to feel like something created together, so much as something they survived.
Residency. Fellowships. Parenthood.
There was no room to pause. No time to breathe, let alone reflect. Just the next shift, the next case, the next tantrum. They triaged everything, even each other. Function kept them afloat, but there was no space left for softness. It didn't just happen suddenly; it was a slow moving erosion, chipping away at them little by little as time passed by without them realizing it until the damage became too much.
Amara was born when they were twenty-five. Holding her for the first time was the only moment Mona had ever felt time stop. She was perfect. And terrifying. And nothing had prepared her for how deeply she loved her.
Mona thought if she could just keep the ship afloat, they would eventually outlast the storm. She was wrong. They loved each other, yes, but their entire life had become urgent for so long that neither of them remembered how to simply sit in the same room and just be with each other.
They stopped being curious. Stopped asking each other the small, big questions. How are you? What do you need? They became excellent co-parents and efficient housemates, but as lovers? They were a hopeless case long before the papers were signed.
They were both problem-solvers, trained to fix what was broken. But feelings donât behave like patients. They bled differently; in ways neither of them ever really knew how to handle. There was no textbook, no guide, no instruction on how to deal with them.
Mona had always been the type to swallow her grievances whole, mistaking silence for composure. But silence isnât peace. Some part of her always kept score. And when things got hard, that part rose like a tide dragging old hurt to the surface, demanding retribution for wounds that were left to fester.
Zayne, in contrast, retreated when emotions grew complicated. He just... vanished. Turned inward when the words didnât come, folding into silence like it might shelter him from the weight of unresolved issues bursting at the seams. Where Mona calculated, Zayne concealed. Two flawed defense mechanisms that left them stranded on opposite sides of the same silence.
âEvery time I asked what was wrong, you said you were fine,â he told her once. Not in anger, but in resignation. âSo I stopped asking.â
And it gutted her, because it was true. They were too alike in all the wrong ways. Brilliant. Proud. Terrified of needing too much. Neither of them knew how to lean on the other without feeling like they were failing. They had spent so long being exceptional that admitting they didnât know how to be married was unbearable. It further destroyed her when she realized that both of them had turned into unrecognizable people. Zayne was no longer the inquisitive, cheeky, affectionate person he used to be, and Mona had lost her spark so much she felt like looking like a stranger in the mirror every time.
As Amara grew, their fractures widened. Her presence wasnât the problem, though. If anything, she was their brightest light and the best part of them. But parenthood amplified every fault. Monaâs relentless standards became suffocating while Zayneâs guilt made him disappear into himself, and it was starting to clearly affect Amara. Her signs of upset and emotional distress whenever arguments happened were the first red flag that made them sit down with themselves. Their daughter became both salvation and reckoning.
Mona would find herself staring at their daughter's sleeping face some nights, tracing the slope of her nose as she whispered silent apologies with grief that weighted her heart. How had they create this perfect, wonderful, breathing thing together and somehow still lost each other?
Their end was death by a thousand cuts rather than one fatal blow: a forgotten anniversary, a birthday celebrated late, the evening she sat in their spotless kitchen, staring at the calendar where Date Night! had been crossed out for eleven weeks in a row.
Signing the divorce papers had been the most civilized thing they had done for each other. It was an act of mercy. Nevertheless, she cried when she got home. Not the graceful kind. The kind that locked your lungs, cracked your ribs, and left you with a headache that lasted for days.
âWe didnât fall out of love,â Zayne had said during one of their last arguments, voice cracking. âWe just never stopped being kids playing house. And it got too much.â
And wasnât that the cruelest truth? They had built a life together like children stacking blocks. No foundation, just the dizzying height of their ambitions and impulsivity. Mona had mistaken endurance for intimacy, had believed if she just worked harder and performed better, the fractures would seal themselves. She hadnât realized Zayne was drowning too, his silence not indifference but a cry for help she had been too exhausted to hear.
And maybe that was the tragedy of it all: they did it all too soon. They tried to be everything for each other before they had figured out how to be anything on their own.
Prodigies, after all, are always praised for what they can do. Never for who they are.
After the divorce, Mona didnât fall apart the way she thought she would.
The year after unfolded like a slow exhale of relief. For so long, she had sprinted toward every milestone: medical school at fourteen, marriage by twenty-two, motherhood at twenty-five, and chief of pediatrics before thirty; only to wake up one morning and realize she never paused to ask herself who she was outside of these titles. The unraveling of her marriage, as painful as it was, became the unexpected beginning of something else entirely: her own becoming.
There were nights when the silence in her apartment felt like a gnawing reminder of her failure, or when someone casually asking about Zayne's presence struck her like a blow to the ribs. But there were also mornings when she woke up and realized she could just be. Not someoneâs wife. Not someoneâs anchor. And certainly not someone trying to patch something long past mending. Just Mona. And that was a novelty she hadnât known she craved.
So here she was at thirty, gradually learning the art of solitude. Not the hollow loneliness of those final years with Zayne, where they moved around each other like ghosts, but a quiet companionship with herself. The kind that felt like a rebirth.
She read novels she never had time for. Reconnected with old friends over wine and laughter that didnât feel forced. She picked up embroidery again and started making little flowers on Amara's clothes. "Mama, you make the most beautiful flowers," she would tell her. And Mona would cry, not because she was sad, but because her daughter's words and appreciation for this once deemed stupid thing healed something in her. It gave her the courage to finally set firm boundaries with her parents. Not completely cutting them off, but keeping their contact at a minimal. The last straw for her had been when her father blamed her for her failed marriage, implying that if she had been capable enough, Zayne would have stayed. Today, those words would easily roll off her back. A testament to how far she had come.
She started buying herself flowers every Sunday. A small act that felt almost laughable, but it mattered to Mona. To choose beauty simply because she could, and not out of the expectation of having to always keep up with appearances. She even dated, briefly, a fellow pediatrician who made relationships feel like such a breeze. Something that was a contrast to what she was used to. They ended amicably after three months. The remarkable part wasnât the breakup, but the realization that she could still choose like that. Not because she had to, not because the timeline demanded it, but because she wanted to. It reminded her of how she had once chosen Zayne. Not because he was convenient or approved, but because he was the first thing she allowed herself to want out loud. This time, though, the choosing came from a steadier place. Not a rebellion, not a rush of young defiance, but something gentler. Something like peace.
As for Zayne, he was changing too. They didnât talk much beyond co-parenting and the occasional overlap at the hospital, but Mona noticed things. The way his shoulders no longer seemed perpetually braced for impact. The suspiciously perfect loaves of sourdough he started sending over with Amara, despite claiming to be a beginner. When he took Amara camping and sent a video, she watched it twice. It was unmistakably him, but softer somehow. There was a lightness in his laugh she hadnât seen in years. It was like watching the man she used to love and someone entirely new, all at once.
And yet, for all their growth, the past still lingered like a thread neither of them could quite sever. It hummed beneath every shared smile over their daughterâs antics, every polite conversation that edged too close to something tender. A quiet, relentless ache for what was and what might have been. Because the truth was, you donât just stop loving someone like that.
She told herself it's just the side effects of proximity. That sharing a child keeps you linked in strange, emotional ways and does things to the heart. That working at the same hospital only adds to the illusion. It shouldn't mean anything.
And then came the gala.
Mona hadnât meant to wear that dress. She had worn it for herself, not anybody else. But when she looked in the mirror, something inside her went still. The memory hit hard and fast: the night she told him she was pregnant with Amara, and how, in hindsight, it felt like the beginning of the end. And when she caught Zayne staringâhis gaze lingering just a moment too longâit sparked something warm, traitorous, and wholly uninvited in her chest.
It had been months since she really let herself look at him. But that night, there he was. Zayne, in a tuxedo, nursing a glass of whiskeyâsomething he never did in all their years together, and he seemed to have the tolerance for it too, nowâhumoring conversations with people she knew he couldnât possibly care about. When he saw her, his expression faltered for the briefest second. A tell that only someone who used to love him would notice. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the dress. But the way he looked at herâas if she were the only one in the room, as if he still knew her better than anyoneâundid her.
Hours later, she was standing outside his door.
She didnât plan to go. She hadnât even texted. Her body just moved, guided by something buried under her skin since the day they signed those papers. Dormant all this time, now suddenly awake.
She didnât know what she wanted coming to his apartment. And she certainly hadn't meant to kiss him. She just did.
Maybe it was the years of restraint collapsing. Maybe it was the way his fingers trembled slightly when he touched her face or how his voice cracked when he whispered her name. But when he kissed herâslow and achingâshe knew. Some ties donât burn out. They smolder. They wait.
It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was two people finally admitting that they were tired of pretending they hadnât missed each other, even knowing very well they parted for the best.
After, she lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. It should have felt like a mistake. It should have felt reckless or selfish or confusing, but it didnât. It felt like coming home to a place she didn't realize she had been aching for.
Still, she didnât stay the night. She got dressed in the dark, pressed a kiss to his temple, and slipped out while he was deep in slumber.
Because as much as she wanted himâas much as something inside her screamed that this wasnât finishedâshe was also afraid. Afraid that they would fall back into old patterns. Afraid that love, deep and devastating as theirs had been, still might not be enough.
In the backseat of a taxi, Mona pressed a hand to her racing heart. She wanted him. But she couldnât go back if it meant losing herself again. Not this time.
A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you a wonderful day/night wherever you are <3
When Sylus shows up for report cards in a black turtleneck and glasses, half the school loses its mind. Again.
Aria wants to disappear. Her little brother laughs. Her mom finds it entertaining. Her dad? Just vibes, leaving chaos and thirst traps in his wake.
A slice-of-life comedy with cool dad, PTA drama, and a marriage that still feels like flirting, years and two kids later.
Sylus x MC. Parenthood. Domestic fluff and semi-crack. Aria is a dramatic teenager and Kai is an admirer of his dad. 864 words.
A/N: Hi hi hi! 2 fics in one day because I am on a roll today. This idea came up last week and has been at the back of my mind so I couldn't help but write it. I hope you like this one!
You can read on ao3Â here
Series master list here
Aria knew this was going to happen. She had begged her dad not to come pick up their report cards this semester. She was in eighth grade now, practically an adult. She couldâve handled it herself! She even practiced what sheâd say to her and Kai's homeroom teachers (âSo sorry, my parents had a last-minute emergencyâ), but no. Of course not. Because her dad had to roll up in his annoyingly sleek car, step out like he was about to go into a film set, and proceed to direct her personal nightmare.
The moment he walked toward the school in his black turtleneck, long coat, and rimless glasses, the vibe shifted. The whispers started immediately.
âOh my god, is that Aria and Kaiâs dad?â
âI hear he's, like, a big time CEO or something..."
âIs he single?!â
Aria groaned and sank low in her chair. She didnât even want to look outside anymore. What was the point? She knew the PTA parentsâmany of whom are her friendsâ momsâwould suddenly discover a burning passion for âvolunteeringâ whenever her dad was due to show up at school events. One even brought cupcakes âjust becauseâ and spent ten minutes asking about his skincare routine the last time the school held a family event. Which was rude, considering it was actually her momâs. His wife!
Now he was again, striding through the school halls like he wasnât single-handedly activating the thirst radar of every mom (and some dads) within five miles.
Kai, of course, thought it was the best day ever. But thatâs because heâs only nine and stupid.
âDid you see Mr. Carter smile at Dad? He called him sir!â A starry-eyed Kai whispered as their dad shook hands with the principal like he owned the place. âHeâs like a K-drama character. The mysterious CEO with a tragic past.â
âShut up, Kai.â Aria hissed, dragging him down the back hallway to avoid the growing crowd of âcasually loiteringâ moms and their very obvious phone cameras. âThis is a disaster. I told him not to show up. I begged him!â
Kai just shrugged, completely unbothered. âHeâs literally picking up our report cards. Itâs not like he walked in shirtless or something.â
âThatâs not helping,â Aria snapped, cheeks flaming. âIâm never showing my face again.â
Kai grinned. âHe looks like heâs about to save the world and make it to our soccer game on time.â
Aria groaned louder. âStop talking.â
Their dad, meanwhile, was busy being the human embodiment of cool dad energy, casually charming every school staff, saving her science teacher from tripping on spilled water, and picking up the report cards like he hadnât just caused a minor school-wide heart attack.
By the time they got into the car, Aria had reached critical levels of secondhand embarrassment. She flung herself into the passenger seat and crossed her arms with a dramatic huff.
Sylus glanced at her. âSomething wrong?â
âYou know what you did.â
âI picked up your report card. And your science project. Which, by the way, smells like vinegar.â
âItâs a volcano. Itâs supposed to.â
âSure.â
She narrowed her eyes. âYou wore perfume.â
âI always wear perfume.â
âYouâre the worst.â
Kai was already in the backseat, unwrapping a lollipop he got from the front office. Probably because Sylus smiled at Mrs. Finch. âShe said I was polite,â Kai said proudly. âAnd that I look just like Dad.â
Aria muttered, âItâs already starting.â
When they got home, their mom was at the kitchen counter, scrolling through her tablet. Sylus handed her the folders.
âAll done.â
She peeked inside, flipping through the grades while he grabbed a bottle of water and the kids headed for the couch.
âNice work, both of you! Kai, you crushed math. And Aria, your social studies teacher says youâve got âexcellent leadership qualities.ââ
Aria dropped her bag and sighed. âMom, please. Donât ever let Dad go to school again.â
Lili looked up with a perfectly innocent smile. âWhy not? I heard heâs now officially known as the Certified Silverfox.â
Sylus choked mid-sip. âIâm sorry. The what?â
Aria spun around, horrified. âMom!â
âWhat?â Lili blinked, the picture of fake innocence. âYouâre the one who came home ranting about it last semester.â
âYeah, doesnât mean you should say it out loud!â
Kai, squinting, asked, âWhatâs a silverfox?â
Sylus just stood there, grinning like this was the best day of his life. Lili, smug as ever, leaned over and kissed his cheek. âIt means the parents think your dad is handsome and distinguished.â
âI didnât even talk to them,â Sylus said, sipping his water again. âJust said hello.â
âExactly,â Aria groaned. âThatâs the problem.â
Lili turned back to her tablet, unfazed. âWell, I happen to think Iâve got the best-looking man in the PTA.â
Kai nodded solemnly. âI hope I turn into a silverfox too.â
Aria buried her head in a cushion. âI need a new family.â
But later that night, curled up on the couch while her parents bickered softly in the kitchen about who actually bought the almond milk, she found herself smiling. Even if her dad was embarrassing. And, according to the tragically misguided people of her school, stupidly attractive. Ew.
