Imagine being Zayne's the one that got away.
Imagine Zayne had always been the reasonable one. The boy who stayed calm when everyone else spiralled. The one who turned heartbreak into neat little boxes he could stack away. Even when MC broke up with him in their last year of high school, after years of being inseparable, after plans whispered in hallways and promises under streetlights. He had managed to keep his composure. At least on the outside. But then there was you.
Imagine first you were just a classmate. A neutral face in a crowded classroom. Clumsy, quick-witted, a little chaotic in ways that irritated and fascinated him at the same time. The opposite of MC in every conceivable way. You weren't careful with your laughter, you weren't trying to be perfect. He hadn't paid much attention before. But after MC, after the break-up, he started noticing you in flashes. The way you always stayed behind to help clean up, the way you cracked jokes under your breath that made him want to smile.
Imagine he didn't plan to ask you. The fake-dating scheme was rash, almost childish. He’d stood at your locker that afternoon, telling himself he was only doing it to shut MC up, to end the rumors. But deep down, something had cracked and for once he didn't want to be the 'good' one. "Pretend to date me." He had said. He remembered how your eyes widened, how you laughed because you thought it was a joke. It was supposed to be a stunt. A performance. But it became something else.
because Imagine you were warm where MC had been careful, because you listened when he spoke, because you laughed at his dry humor and told him your messy truths. Because slowly, painfully, you made him feel like himself again. He started looking forward to your Saturday coffee runs, your shared jokes, the way you teased him about always overthinking. He remembered the first time you reached for his hand without looking. How natural it felt. He'd thought, maybe I can start again.
Imagine then the call came. It was a Saturday, your usual café. You had cream on your sleeve again, and he was teasing you about it. His phone rang. The voice on the other end was frantic. He felt his stomach drop. Hospital. MC. Heart condition. The drive there was a blur. The sterile smell of the hospital burned his nose. He barely had time to glance at you before MC's family swarmed him, pulling him aside. It was Caleb who spoke. Caleb, MC's brother, his own childhood friend.
"Zayne, please." Caleb’s voice cracked, but he gripped Zayne's shoulders like an anchor. "If there's even an inch of what you felt for her left… Come back. She's refusing treatment. She thinks it's all pointless without you. You were her whole world, Zayne. You know that." Zayne stared at him. He wanted to say, I’m with someone else. I’m not the same boy anymore. But Caleb’s eyes were red, desperate. "She's dying." Caleb whispered. "She's dying and you’re the only one who can stop her from giving up." Zayne swallowed hard. He felt like he was being ripped in two.
Imagine when he saw you walking down the hallway, your head bowed, moving like you were already halfway gone. Something in his chest cracked wide open. He excused himself and went after you. He caught your wrist. "Don't go. Please. I don't want her. I want you." But you only looked at him with that sad, breaking smile. "Choosing me means killing her, Zayne." "That's not fair-"
"It's the truth." Your voice trembled. "You’ll hate yourself if she dies without you. And I can't be the reason for that." He shook his head, trying to hold on, but you were already slipping away. "Don't do this." He whispered. "Thank you." You said softly. "For these months. They were the happiest of my life." And then you were gone. He stood in the hallway long after you’d disappeared, feeling like the heart inside his chest had been scooped out and carried off.
Imagine he did go back to MC after that. He stayed. He told himself it was the right thing. But the first week after the hospital he kept looking for you at school. You were absent. Another week passed. Then he heard you'd flown out of the country. He didn't even get to say goodbye. That was the last time he saw you.
Imagine, months blurred into years.
Imagine Zayne pursued medicine, just like he'd always dreamed. Cardiac surgery. The irony wasn't lost on him. He became good at it, steady hands, calm voice, the one people trusted in operating rooms. He married MC after she recovered, the surgery performed by his own hands. They built a quiet life together.
Imagine, he loved her. He did. But it wasn't the same kind of love it had been in high school, and it wasn't the same kind of love he had felt with you. There was a distance, a weight of gratitude instead of passion. They had a child together, a son with his eyes and hair. The boy became his anchor, his new hope. He poured everything into fatherhood, into medicine, into making the life he was supposed to want.
Imagine MC died when their son was still young. He was left alone to raise his boy. Life was… Okay. Manageable. Sometimes even peaceful. But always, deep down, something felt unfinished. Until the letter arrived. It wasn't a letter exactly, it was a message, sent by a young woman who looked eerily like you but younger. Your niece. She'd found him somehow. She said you'd told her about him. She said your days were numbered now. His hands shook as he read it.
Imagine the room was quiet when he stepped in. Your niece had left the door open for him, her worried eyes following as he crossed the threshold. You were smaller now, thinner than he remembered. Time had stolen the energy from your frame, yet when your eyes lifted and found his, it was like the years bent backward, folding in on themselves.
"You never changed." You murmured, voice light, almost teasing, as though you weren't lying on a hospice bed with machines humming quietly at your side. "Zayne."
Imagine the way Zayne froze, his throat tight. His hands shook slightly as they hung at his sides, helpless. "You should've told me." You tilted your head, a faint, tired smile curving your lips. "Told you what?" "That you were sick too." He said, the words grating out of him like they were tearing skin. "All this time. You carried it alone." His voice faltered, cracked. "Why?"
Imagine a breath slipped from you, soft, like it cost effort. "Because what would it have changed? You had your life. You had her." His jaw clenched. "I would've-" "No." You cut him off gently. "You wouldn't have. Not when she needed you. Not when Caleb begged you to stay. And you did the right thing. You gave her hope. You saved her. And you built a life worth keeping." Zayne flinched at your calm tone, like each word was a blade. He took a slow step closer, his eyes burning. "And what about you?"
Imagine the way you gave a faint shrug, the same gesture he remembered from years ago. "I made peace with it. I had my own life, in my own way. It wasn't loud or extraordinary, but… It was mine. I learned to be content." His hands curled into fists. "Content." He repeated, like the word itself betrayed him. He wanted to scream that he’d never been content, that something in him had always remained restless, unfinished. But the words died before they reached his mouth. Instead, silence stretched.
Imagine you watched him with steady eyes. "You became everything you said you wanted to be. A doctor. A father." Your lips curved in the faintest smile. "I heard your son looks just like you." Something in him broke then, quietly, without sound. He swallowed hard. "He does." He whispered. His voice softened, weighted with exhaustion. "He's all I have left." "And he's enough." You said softly.
Imagine the silence that followed was heavier than anything spoken. You both knew what hung in the air between you, the words neither of you could allow yourselves to say. They pressed against the walls of your throats, begging to be let out, but you both held them back. Because he had a son. Because your time was gone. Because some truths hurt more when spoken aloud.
Imagine the way Zayne sank into the chair beside your bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it could keep him from crumbling. "I've saved so many people." He said hoarsely. "But not you." You shifted slightly, enough that your hand brushed the back of his. It was a fragile, fleeting touch, but it stilled him instantly.
"You saved me too." You said quietly. His head lifted, eyes burning. "How?" The word cracked like it had been carved out of him. "You gave me something bright to carry." You whispered. "Back then. For a little while, I wasn't just waiting for the inevitable. For a little while, I lived." His chest heaved, his breath uneven. He turned his hand so your palm fit against his, his fingers curling desperately around yours like he could hold you here, keep you from slipping. Neither of you spoke again. There was nothing left to say.
Imagine you closed your eyes, your breathing shallow, the faintest smile still on your lips. And Zayne sat there, holding your hand, feeling the warmth slip away inch by inch, until it was gone. When the stillness came, he bowed his head against your hand, gripping it like a lifeline that had already snapped.
Imagine he had lived the life he thought he wanted. But the truth was unbearable, unspoken, and absolute. He had lost you long ago, and this was only the ending.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°
: hahahahatdog, I was crying shits writing this. the ending of she's dating the gangster was coming back to me flying like a brick. also, this and the first part was been sitting in my drafts for 2 days now and in my mind for the past few weeks, so yeah, just sharing. ps. i know the two of you didn't asked to be tagged butttt XD
: tagged: @quill-for-glory , @wr4inn , @nezuswritingdesk
