abstract: your boyfriend just does things that makes your heart flutter and your panties dampen <3
ft. rafayel, sylus, zayne, xavier, caleb
cw: insp by the tiktok trend ; fluff + smut; body worship, somno, riding, fingering | [implied short reader with caleb + chubby reader w/ rafayel; implied yandere! caleb] - unedited <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ rafayel qi ; the way he’s so clingy
whenever rafayel manages to get some time with you, of course he's going to be clingy. his arms are going to be glued around your plush tummy for the whole time he's lounging around with you. his head resting on your shoulder while doing any task with you in front of him. even when he paints, he'd have you sitting between his legs or on his lap, one hand caressing and rubbing circles on your love handles or plush thighs, while the other focuses on the canvas in front of him.
but of course, his clinginess isn't only limited outside the bedroom. and that alone, gets you so turned on.
"shh, don't run away. stay w'me..." he'd whine, an arm wrapped around your tummy and only tightening the more you arched your back away from him. it was tortuous—absolutely insane. normally, he'd be sassy with it, still having a little bit of a joking tone, but when he's fucking you, holding your leg up while he bullies his cock inside you from the side, he turns so needy and clingy, and you fucking love it.
"so pretty... so gorgeous... c'mon, i like it when you're close to me..."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ sylus qin ; the way he moves you gently by your waist
even though you're at a stage in your relationship where you're comfortable with everything sylus does, you still find your heart beat faster every time sylus gently moves you by your waist to get you out of his way.
"move, sweetheart." he'd speak so smoothly while he just moves you so gently, so . of course you'd be acting all shy and flustered. but oh, even when you two have sex, his touches just hold so much weight.
he’d be sitting on one of his elaborate chairs, with you propped up on his lap grinding against his cock before he could ever be inside you. then, even when you try to sink down on him, sylus would have his hands on your hips, slowly pushing you down and helping while you cried out.
“don’t cry, pretty girl. shhh, don’t cry…” you’d be clinging onto him, arms wrapped around him while you could feel him fill you up—and not even being able to take all of him. you would be struggling, but of course, he’d help you. he'd angle his own hips, slightly slouch while keeping the hold on you firm while slowly slamming you onto him. and then when you choose to move your hips all sensually in figure-8s, his light touches would continue and he would rub circles on your skin—a contrast to how he'd move you.
"shit...yeah, sweetheart. keep moving those hips like that."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ zayne li ; the way he lifts his sleeves up + holds eye contact
you know that zayne gets busy as a doctor. but you can't help but just stare at he way he lifts his sleeves up whenever he has a demanding task. you really can't help but stare at the way his arms. the way that the veins on his forearms would be more evident every time he flexed without even knowing how that affected you.
"you know, some people try to be more subtle when they stare." he’d say something like that, because of course zayne pays attention to how you’d stare. he'd notice how you'd look away or how your expression would falter every time he held eye contact with you. you just got flustered over everything.
oh and it's especially even hotter when he enacts on his observations.
"so impatient for me, aren't you?"
he’d roll up his sleeves, crouching down while you’d sit on his desk, panties pulled down while he played with your pussy. he would be rubbing on your clit with one hand and thrusting his pretty fingers with the other; a slightly flustered expression would grace his face. but god, every time he did so, every time he would do that, he would look up at you and hold eye contact, wanting to see your cute little reactions as he ruined you on his desk.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ xavier shen ; the way his voice gets when he wakes up
there's something about the way that xavier's voice gets every time he wakes up beside you. maybe it's the way that it's much quieter and deeper than usual, or that hot vocal fry that adds onto his usually meek voice. he can get quite clingy, especially in the morning, but the way he says things when he barely wakes up—the way he speaks so gently, makes you so flustered.
"shh... just 3 more minutes. let me just hold you for a bit more." he'd snuggle up against you, muttering some weak pleas on how he doesn't want to get out of this position with you just yet. and same thing for morning sex…
“don’t wanna get out of this position…” he’d have you in pronebone, with his arms caging you and yours wrapped around his neck while he’d slowly fuck you, his body and weight pressed against you. the both of you would still be half asleep, clinging onto each other under the covers.
maybe if you were in a hurry, you’d yelp a little ‘we have to get up!’, but your pleas would fall upon deaf ears.
“mmm..not yet.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ caleb xia ; the way he would condescendingly tease you
the nickname he's implaced upon you being 'pipsqueak' is teasing and condescending enough, but sometimes when he's feeling really sassy, caleb just keeps going with that. it's bad enough that he's taller than you, but he would just crouch down—a smile etched on his face and speak with a tone that was laced with playful malice.
"mhm? yeah? how nice." and of course, even with that dark tone and accompanying mocking smile, your heart just does a little leap in your chest; you can't help it, despite him doing so just to mess with you. something is too high up? he'd mess with you with a 'awh, can't reach up and get it?'
but when you have sex, that condescending tone gets worse; his teasing overall gets worse. "awh, pips. can't take it, huh? c'mon sweet girl... you can do it, can't you?"
even in the most basic position like missionary, it's hard to get away from whatever remarks he might make, but regardless, it was still hot. just the way he would slam into you, pressing your tummy bulge hard with his free hand while he held your hand with his other, tangling your fingers together.
oh god... he was mean. you would be crying and he’d have such a dark look on his face, relishing in the fact that he’s the only one to have you like this.
because he knows damn well you like that.
-
-
-
a/n: first lads post ever... what do we think...? (i'm so fucking scared i'm a baby lads fan i'm not that seasoned yet...)
Happy Birthday babyyyyyyyy🤭❤️ Thank you so much for being born, my love.... I hope you have a wonderful day ahead and be prepared for the surprise I prepared for you, hehe~😊💜✨
Btw, this is out of context, but-
Lebieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Would you hate me, even if I love cilantro so much that I want it in every meal of the day! (Given, the dish is savoury like Indian food, that is.)
I promise that you might just come to like cilantro after I cook the chicken recipe I learnt from my mom the other day....
You just need to be brave enough to try🥹🫂~
'kay, bye! Ily 3k!😘🥰
--- Moonie🌛
*Caleb sings* Happy birthday to me happy birthday to me happy birthday to meeeee, I love my pipsqueak next to me :)
I don't mind if you have cilantro *caleb chuckles* I just... won't be kissin' ya until you wash up after a meal. I've tried! I can't do it.
Jaan, I'm sorry for my inconsistency in replying to your messages last week (cuz of the mission...), but I'm back now! So forgive me this time, pls😭🤧. And pls just give me my hugs!!!!🥹❤️
You didn't know what you were expecting when you agreed to marry Dr. Zayne, but it surely wasn't love.
A man still haunted by the voice of his late, first love, you knew you'd never be able to replace her. Yet, knowing can't always result in acceptance. And when your heart begins to yearn for more than just to be a responsibility to your cold husband—what are you supposed to do with these unwanted feelings?
Warnings: Toxic family dynamics, slutshaming, blackmail (not to reader), implied abuse of authority, emotional trauma, mentions of the following - blood, accident, defamation, death. (7.4k wc)
A/N: I just wanna thank everyone for showing so much love in the last chapter. I was so overwhelmed by the response that it motivated me to pump out chapter two iejdidjs happy reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3
<Series Masterlist> | Chapter 1
Meeting Zayne wasn't a push from fate.
Like every occurrence in your life, contrived after meticulously weighing the pros and cons it'd reflect on your family name—this too, was an arrangement.
You remember the day vividly; as if it was just yesterday.
Dew clung to the jasmine petals creeping the pristine pillars of the gazebo—the saccharine fragrance mingling in the cool air. The white lacecloth on the table fluttered with the incoming breeze, your half-filled teacup sitting on it languidly. From the distance you could make out the soft chirping of crickets, traces of last night's rain lingered around and for what it was worth, you'd had loved to recline back on the wooden bench and bask in the tranquil glow of the atmosphere if not the presence of certain people who disrupted your peace.
“Why is he so late?” Your mother sneered, consulting her wrist watch for the fifth time. “What kind of man arrives late for a brunch?”
“From what I heard, he isn't the type to cut slack,” your father added, trying to soothe the brewing tension in the air. Yet, you didn't quite miss the furtive glance he shot towards his phone; worry creasing between his brows. “Whatever's been keeping him must be important.”
“Typical of this sort. People who rise from nothing always remain uncouth.” She huffs, picking up her water glass before swinging one knee over another and leaning back. “Maybe a watch would be suitable for his dowry– at least, that would keep him from giving us frugal excuses.”
“I suppose, he'd be busier than people who think kitty parties count as cardio.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” A faux cough emitted off your lips. Slightly did you rotate your posture, evading your mother's scrutinizing gaze shooting daggers at you; while you brought the lukewarm cup of tea up to your mouth.
“Don't act smart with me, child,” She scoffed, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the armrest of her chair. “If you had an ounce of shame left anywhere, you'd know better than running your nasty mouth in front of us.”
You had grown accustomed to her unrelenting taunts—it wasn’t anything new. The best course of action laid in rolling off the insults with a dismissive shrug. Yet, it was her next choice of words that cracked your composure.
“Sneaking behind our backs, spreading your legs for every man with a pulse. Please—” disgust flared her tone and all of the sudden, the gazebo felt smaller; shrinking down until all you could see were their shadows, “—you should be grateful, we haven't tossed you in the slums by now.”
In an instant, your bones turned to ice. The cup hanging between in front of your face and for a heartbeat—you couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath. Only listen. The sharp bite of wind as it sliced your skin to the droplet falling off the lattice.
What was it? You were left rooted in your spot; rigid, like a deer caught in headlights. Your heart hammered in your ribcage, sweat pooling in your palms and the cup felt heavy. So heavy, that you had to wrench it down. Even then, your fingers trembled—causing some of the liquid to trickle out of it as your breath escaped in abrupt bursts.
“Alright, that's enou— oh! There you are, Mr. Zayne.” Your father stood up, ambling out of the shade to welcome your supposed fiance.
And just like that, the tension dissipated, transcending to a melancholic state as all of you assumed your parts in playing the perfect, happy family—unscathed from any scandals of the press. Yet, the damage was done and you clearly weren’t in tune with your soul for the remainder of the meal.
As malleable as they had trained you to be, all you did was sit back—assessing the embroidery on the table cloth. Even though the shadow of memories didn't engulf you anymore, you couldn’t really bring yourself to pay attention to their conversation. An abrupt exhaustion seemed to cling to you resulting in your silence; and maybe, your parents preferred that. It was good they were with you to stall the air from getting gnarly. They kept themselves busy being absolute sycophants to their guest—filling his ears with flattering praises of their dearest daughter.
“Oh dear, why don't both of you take a wall in the garden? I am sure a one-to-one interaction will help you come to an understanding.”
That's how you found yourself here. Loitering the stone tracks amid the lustrous greenery of your mansion—with a stranger who’d most probably end up as your life partner.
You cradled your right arm, pressing on the scarce bruises; a gift from your mother's sharp nails when she gripped you—urging you to follow your fiancé. Although, her visage was contorted into a mask of maternal affection, the vehement stab of her tips only elicited one order: don't ruin this.
Well, she'd be glad to know you hadn't ruined any of their flawless plan to save face. Because neither you, nor Zayne had spoken a word to each other.
He walked half a step behind you. From your edge of your vision, you caught fragments of his side profile: sculpted jawline, unruly charcoal strands brushed aside except for one defiant lock that grazed his forehead. The black shirt clung to his frame just right, fitted with gray slacks; for an informal invite, his choice of outfit was suitable. And if you had to remark on his appearance, you’d say he far surpassed your expectations in a groom. As for his personality, there was little you could trust—given, you knew nothing about him, save for the thirty minutes of chatter over an appetizing meal. You could still give him minimal credits for letting you take the lead in this aimless stroll and helping you descend the acute flight of steps of the gazebo.
As if sensing your gaze, Zayne angled his chin towards you, “Is there something?”
“Uh, no.” With a move too quick, you turned away.
Thus, silence filled the gaps again.
Honestly, you didn’t mind it. However, you knew nothing good would come if you continue to indulge in this idle detour and circle back to the tyrants of your fate. You were certain, Zayne had his queries of his own but he didn’t seem to plummet you with them just yet.
What was he waiting for?
Was he aware of what you’d done? Something in you said, he didn’t. Maybe it was your intuition confirming that your parents were no fools to choose a groom for you, who was privy of your past. Or, it was the simpler truth that if he did know, he’d never have agreed for this arrangement.
Either way, you decided to break the ice.
The branches of the ancient willow tree was always a shield against the sun’s merciless glare. You halted your stride beneath the canopy, Zayne following suit. Drawing a deep breath, you pivoted to face him. “Mr. Li–”
“Just call me Zayne.”
“Okay… so Zayne,” you began, the corner of your lip lifted, “I am sorry, I don’t know how to quite do this but–” reaching up, you held a strand of your hair–toying with it. “My parents said it was you, who helped me that night from uh… you know–”
“You don’t have to mention it,” He intervened, “I just did what anyother person would.”
“Even so,” you persisted, a shrug easing your shoulders, “I owe you my life. The least I can say is a thank you.”
“Its alright."
Although the tone he used was laced with detachment, you refused to let it dampen your mood, “I don’t know what came over that night to drive like that.” You had to applaud yourself for lying so flawlessly. “I usually handle my alcohol well… on most days, I’d say.”
To which, he fixed you with an unreadable gaze, “Drinking while driving is a serious offence.” He said it so briskly that you’d have missed it, if you weren’t so attentive. Then, his focus drifted; no longer were you the matter the interest. A leaf tumbled down and he caught it mid-air—the stem pinched between his fingers. “But I suppose, some people are privileged enough to have others clean their mess.”
Something about that felt odd to you. Your eyebrows scrunched, “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” The leaf slipped from his hand, landing on the space between you. And this time, when his eyes found yours—something had shifted. The warmth from earlier was snuffed out, as if it never existed. In the place of the man, who had accompanied you until now was a stranger carved from steel. “There’s no point in dwelling over the past and it's clear small talk isn’t our forte. So let’s just get to it.” A pause. Then, “What are your demands?”
Your eyes widened briefly, “Demands?”
“I believe someone like you wouldn’t acquiesce to a marriage to an 'uncouth' commoner like me unless you have ulterior motives.”
You pursued your lips, not liking the way those words tumbled from his lips. It was true that the reason you wanted to tie the knot was for a noble reason or merely altruism, you couldn’t let him know the dishonour this union was supposed to hide. No, it was unacceptable. And yes, maybe telling the truth would make it easier for the both of you but… but what if he left this arrangement after you laid it bare? What if he backpeddaled as soon as you told him that you weren’t an innocent lamb they flattered you to be?
Therefore, you chose to lie again.
“What if I don’t?” You asked, clasping your hand behind your back. “What if I just want to get married because I think it’s about time that I settle down? What if I just want a happily ever after?”
Your joke was met with an inert veneer. For a second he closed his eyes, elliciting a weary breath, “Then I’d say you’re quite foolish.”
“Yeah… I have heard that quite a lot,” a murmur escapes you. Then, straightening your posture, you pressed your lips together, “This marriage is my demand, Zayne.” Holding off for a second, “I understand if you are bothered by its setup but there is no point in suspecting that I am doing this for a greater plan– I am not.” Tilting your head, “I just want to get married, that’s it.”
For a second, he stayed silent; rooted in his position. The next, he closed his eyes, brows furrowing into a reluctant surrender. “Fine.”
“Huh?”
“Its a yes from me,” He clarified, dusting off his sleeve. “That is enough to make you happy right.”
“Absolutely.” Not. But you managed the chirp in your voice, “I’d let my family know—”
“There’s no need for that.” This instant when he cut you off, he held a rather mellow tone. “Your father already knows.”
“Oh…!” You drew out the word but couldn’t help perk up on this piece of information. “That makes it easier for us, I guess?”
“Yeah.” He replied, “I should return—”
“What about you?” The question flew out before he could plant the notion of leaving.
Zayne merely raised his brow at that.
“What are your demands?” You insisted. “Even you must have a demand for agreeing to marry someone like me?”
“Just 0ne,” He averted his gaze from you; staring up at the sky which was beginning to coruscate in hues of nightfall, “Don’t look for love in this marriage."
The moment you stepped into his house, Zayne made it clear you weren’t welcomed anywhere near his personal space.
Stepping down from the black SUV, you were briefly muddled on how to manage your gown—the hem dragging on the concrete—and follow the brusque strides of your husband. After his outburst in the morning, he had tramped out of the bridal suite—not returning until the nth second until the reception began. And for the entirety of the ceremony, he had held this demeanour. Even during the couple dance, his gaze was distant, movements robotic–as if he was a puppet being pulled on the whims of a master and you were no more than a prop for him. He didn’t acknowledge your presence unless provoked by a guest or either of your families; who’d cajole that the heavens hadn’t made a prettier pair than the both of you.
If only they knew…
Now, you weren’t shallow. You knew you had overstepped your boundaries by proclaiming yourself as his wife when he clearly didn’t want to do anything with you. That was the reason, you didn’t take offence to your husband’s callous behaviour and followed him up to the suburban home in measly steps.
As soon as you walked past the threshold of his house, your lips parted with a gasp. Circular stairway leading to the first floor, large windows overlooking the city—which currently provided a flawless view of the dreary sky—whilst the furniture were donned in hues of white and gold. The sleek, modern interiors were an embodiment of how minimalism and luxury went hand in hand; and it’d be a lie if you said, you weren’t impressed.
You weren’t a stranger to wealth, family mansions you had left in the altar would stretch double the expanse of his home; yet, you couldn’t blindside an exceptional indoors. So you remained stranded, letting your arduous gaze roam over the surroundings with a childlike curiosity.
“Take the guest room,” it was only when your husband’s words floated to your ear that you were broken out of the daze. You hadn’t noticed until then but Zayne stood atop the landing on the stairwell. He fixed you with an impassive glance—one that beckoned you to straighten your posture. His coat was discarded, draped over his forearm and he was in the midst of unbuttoning his collar when he continued, “Two doors to the left,” he jerked his head in that direction, “your luggage would be in there.”
“Oh… okay?” Your reply arrived as a reflex. “What about… you?”
“What about me?” He raised a brow, “Are you questioning if I would share a bed with you?”
“What? No.” You stepped back, hands raising immediately in an act of denial, “I didn’t mean that. No- I was just… I meant–”
“Good,” he declared, a solemn breath wafting off him, “At least you aren’t deluding yourself with foolish notions where I’d ever share a bed with you.”
Raking his finger through his hair, he resumed his pace up the stairs. “Good night.”
“Good ni– no, wait… Zayne!” You called aloud, trying to catch up to him. Task not needed because he halted at once.
“What?”
You inhaled deeply, revising the words you had been meaning to tell him all evening, once again. “I am sorry.” Finally, you let it out, “For what I said in the afternoon… I- I remember our agreement very well and I… I don’t know what incited me to say that but I promise it was the last time—”
“What are you rambling about?” Zayne interrupts in an instant, a crease forming between his brows while he regards you with an almost irate glare. “Sorry? For what exactly?”
If there was something crueler for a heart that has been raised to apologize for every mistake, then it’d be the gruelling punishment of being forced to utter their crime. You swallowed a lump down your throat, “I called myself your wife– I thought you’d be upset…”
Zayne didn’t speak for the next five seconds and the house was left to bask in throes of tormenting hush that the only semblance of passing time was evident from the ticking clock. For the world it was mere seconds, for you, it was eternity; until a spark of realization crossed his eyes.
“You are talking about that?” He questioned, but it almost sounded as a sneer.
“Well…” you drawled, fidgeting with your fingers as your eyes drooped downwards, “you weren’t really talking to me in the reception… so I thought—”
“You thought wrong!” He responded in an instant, prompting you to seal your lips shut. “Dear lord…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, a curse falling off his mouth before he turned his attention back to you, “Has it ever crossed your mind that I ignored you because I simply don’t find any reason to interact with you unless absolutely necessary?”
It's okay. It's okay. Calm down.
Your gown creased under the grip you had on them, right hand clamped on your other elbow–nails digging so deep with ferocious will to draw blood. “I- I see…” by heaven’s blessing you managed a normal response despite the emotion clogging your throat, “that’s… good to know that you didn’t mind my stupidity.”
“I am not a child to pout over words,” although his tone laid on the brims of matter of fact, you caught a hint of disgust in them.
You heard his footsteps climbing the stairs but you couldn’t find the courage to look up. It was evident that he was retiring for the night and he had no qualms of making sure you were settled in or comfortable in this new space. That was good. If he left you alone in this dreary hallway, then at least you could navigate to your designated room and finally collapse in solitude. Holding back the cracks in your veneer was difficult as it is, you didn’t need an audience and let your reputation become a circus again.
And it would have been so good if Zayne left you alone for the night. So good, if you could have been rewarded with the possibility of breaking down on your own. So damn good, if only he hadn’t turned back to say those words to you.
“Don’t overthink it,” He announced, sparing you a last glance, “You aren’t important enough to ruin my days, wife.”
You couldn’t sleep that night.
For reasons you’d not like to name, the hours were spent tossing and turning on the bed. And before you could have procured ease in your rigid frame, dawn’s rays filtered through the blinds. From your room itself, you heard the click of the main door; implying Zayne must have taken his leave. After the events of last night, you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Neither did you wish to. You remained in the swaddle of your fluffy blankets for another hour or so, before rousing to begin the day.
And your reflection wasn’t kind enough to feed you with lies. As you went forward with your morning routine, it was hard to ignore what stared back at you from the bathroom mirror. Deep shadows settled beneath your lower lashes, the white of your eyes had tinged red due to all the tears you shed last night and your mussy hair stuck out in frantic strands around your face—every flaw, a testimony to your exhaustion. As if that wasn’t enough, a splitting headache ripped your skull as soon as you stepped inside the shower. The gliding waterdrops had long since turned their backs on you; no longer providing you comfort. Now this.
With all the misfortune raining on you, you couldn’t help but wonder: by some miraculous way did you piss off the gods?
That thought earned a chuckle from you. You finished the rest of your shower and changed into a fresh outfit. By the time you stepped out of your room, you had hid all the recesses of weariness under a thick coat of concealer. Treading into the main hall, you were hit with the stench of lemon and sandalwood. Your gaze fell on a woman, dusting the showpieces kept on the shelves—a bottle of disinfectant kept aside.
Spotting you from the corner of her eyes, she ceased her chores and greeted you with a pleased smile, “Good morning, ma'am.”
“Good morning,” you wished back, entwining your fingers in front. “You would be…?”
“My name's Medea,” saying so, she resumed her work, “I am Mr. Li's househelp. Just give me some time then I'll serve you. What would you like to have, Ma’am?”
“Anything is fine for me.”
After feasting on a light breakfast consisting of toast and coffee, Medea bid you her farewell and thus again, you ended up all alone. It was rather odd that she didn’t question you about the nuances of your relationship with Zayne. Which husband leaves their wife to rot alone only on the second day of marriage? But the rational side of you begged to differ. Considering she had been working for him long before you came into the picture, this mustn’t be an unexpected occurrence to her. Besides, from the mere information you were rewarded with—regarding your husband—the hectic schedule of a surgeon would seldom allow for leisure.
However, when you looked into your situation; you found it to be absolutely hilarious. Only twenty-four hours into your marriage and here you were—stuck in this frigid mansion with all the time in the world, yet none of it was worth living. While you were never a working woman yourself, this feeling of redundancy was foreign to you.
Therefore, you found your steps back to your room. Leaning on the headboard of the bed, you picked up your iPad from the nightstand. The screen flashed to life as soon as the fingerprint sensor detected its owner. You figured you could spend a quarter of your time by aimless scrolling. But your hope of ignoring the truth of your unhappy marriage was shattered when your finger slipped on the national daily.
THE MOST UNEXPECTED WEDDING OF THE DECADE
To those who claim love is a fickle object; this union will make you rethink.
On the 7th of December, under the golden glow of the chandeliers of Waldorf Astoria, the daughter (Ms. S) of Linkon’s one of the most influential industrialists (Mr. K) ties the knot with her fiancé (Mr. Z), the chief cardiac surgeon from Akso hospital. The news sent ripples through high society—stirring disbelief and whispers to float around.
Ms. S, known for her grace and influential lineage has always been the face of refinement; her life reads between reads between driving luxurious cars and visiting art museums. Mr. Z, on the other hand has built his life amid the sterile stench of hospital corridors rather than red carpets; his popularity garnered by becoming the youngest chief cardiac surgeon and leading 18-hour surgeries without breaking a sweat.
“They are so different,” says one guest, “She is born with a silver spoon in her mouth while he comes from a world of labor and yet, when I see them together, they are the perfect match.”
The ceremony was a blend of simplicity and elegance. Ivory roses, classical music and a power couple whose appearance was enough to silence the room. Although the event was filled with people whose legacy transcended half a century, you could feel the intimacy in the air. The poet pens as: ‘In a room full of faces, the only one I’ll search for is yours.’
Mr. K states, “We never expected her to bring someone like him home. But as you know, matches are written in stars but I believe they were written by the heavens itself.”
Tales like this make us believe in the magic of love. Money, class, society are mere brilliance that loses its shine when two hearts begin to beat as one. Perhaps, all that love needs is the need to choose each other again and again and again. In spite of the differences and obstacles that might frolic our path. And the proof of it was given this night; when the heiress and the surgeon said: I do.
The silver lined silhouettes against the black background painted a clear picture of the couple. You and Zayne. The silhouettes were unmistakable—you and Zayne. Posed in front of a black screen but your expressions were obstructed due to the ambient light striking your bodies in such a way that illuminated the outline in hues of silver—creating a dramatic effect to suit the headlines.
To say, you were dumbfounded would be an understatement. Because all what the article contained were straight up lies made in order to craft you and Zayne as this romantic couple who survived plundering obstacles insinuated by class and society and emerged victorious. While in reality, both of you were no better than strangers—compelled to cohabit a residence and put on this facade to please everyone.
A dreary laugh bubbles up your throat as you scroll more articles; each one crafting one fabricated tale over another.
THE WEDDING THAT IS TURNING HEADS IN THE NATION.
FATE AT CROSSWORDS: FROM CLANDESTINE AFFAIRS TO A CATHEDRAL.
FAIRYTALES ARE REAL AND THEY LIVE AMONG US: HERE IS A OVERVIEW OF THE GRAND WEDDING IN LINKON.
You could only wonder how many hearts crumble in disappointment if they were to ever learn the truth about the union. Just a stage play organized to drown out the upheaval that had the same articles calling you a multitude of names only an autumn ago. It's rather jocular how people can turn their backs to the headlines of the past as soon as you give them a new circus.
Multitude of such articles flooded your screen only after a few minutes of screening. Although you were tempted to open the comment section but you weren’t sure if this gamble was worth it (your subconscious told you it wasn’t). Your finger hovered over the icon—the extremes of your wits warring against each other. In the end, cowardice emerged victorious and the tablet tumbled on the mattress with a thud.
With your back against the plush, you stared up at the ceiling. There was nothing that particularly caught your attention and you could lay there—wandering upon the endless possibilities of the universe—until slumber consumed you. Considering, your lack of sleep in the previous night and the hectic schedule imposed on you due to the schedule—it’d be a wise decision to snooze for a few hours.
However, you took a step back to reflect. That’s when you came to the realization that the next days would only be as mundane as today. Your feet padded across the room and led yourself out. Assuming if you were going to live here, you could at least, familiarize yourself with the layout.
With that aim on your shoulder—you began your exploration.
You didn’t mean to snoop. It was never your intention to linger around private chambers and you maintained your stroll well within the corridors decked with indoor plants and souvenirs. In your defence, you assumed the open area in the first floor was merely a miniature library due to the stacks of books piled on the racks. Who would have informed you that it was his study room? Thus, it wasn’t entirely your fault that you came across those letters. And you’d blame it on your curiosity that led you to read them.
Would you like to know a secret, my love? If I could trade my life for yours, I would,
The paper was crisp under your skin—warm and delicate. With precise rhythm, you folded it on the crease lines; smoothening the wrinkled before tucking it back in the envelope. A heavy breath flew past your mouth and your gaze shifted to the large glass window.
For any woman, to come across letters written by her husband to another woman must be equal to have her heart fractured into pieces. To think, all this time you were merely a placeholder in a pretend family while his favourite colour was the shade of his first lady love. A tale of his past romance he grieves till date. And if you sift through the archive of his memory, they wouldn’t consist family picnics or the nights you stayed awoke for him; but of her. Of the one that got away.
Such a scenario is no less than a horror story.
To devote your life to a man who’d trade it all for another woman was pure madness.
And yet, when your palm grasped the envelope with a little too much strength—you couldn’t find yourself to hate Zayne.
Because it is easier to love someone knowing they are out there somewhere. The futile sense of hope that maybe— just maybe— one day, fate would be kind to him. Maybe one day, he’d reunite with the one that got away. Maybe this instance, he’d hold on a little longer, learn to be a more patient and love her enough that he wouldn’t mind following her to the end of the world.
Love only demands that: hope.
But how does one love someone who no longer belongs to this realm? How can one heart beat for a wandering soul? How much strength does it take to hold someone so dear to him only in his memories—all while being aware she won’t ever return? How much did he love her to still devote himself to her even five years after her demise?
All of a sudden, Zayne’s emotional detachment didn’t seem foreign to you. He was merely grieving for his late girlfriend, The woman had held his heart in her two palms and you knew, he would have let her destroy it into a thousand fragments without a single regret. But you also knew, she—the woman he loved—had only one notion when the fragile tissue was left under her care. To nurture it; and she did. Because if she hadn’t, these letters would have never been written.
It was a paradoxical tale. Even though, she was a tale of his past.
But… the past never dies. It stays buried underground, waiting for the right moment to be brought up and create the same storm again. The storm of your past lives in you. In every breath, in every turn, in every glance—it hijacks your very being to the point where you can’t tell yourself from the other. No amount of steps towards a better future can override the demons of your past. They will haunt you, follow you, twist every interaction until you are caged in a prison of misery until you are back to square one.
As if clockwork, a strange sense of nausea consumed you. Your fingers trembled, stones clogging up the air way and before you could compose yourself—something in you couldn’t tell yourself apart from the husk of a grain as beads of water trickled down your lashes.
Your tears drenched the worn-out envelope. How can anyone love you to the point they write letters that’ll never be read?
Don’t look for love in this marriage.
You could never forget those words he said to you; and you knew that it was futile to expect love from someone whose only bled ice for you. Even then, when you pressed the letter to your chest, you could only conjure one thought.
Oh, to be loved by Zayne.
Greyson knew Dr. Zayne could be a workaholic, but he never thought that man would spend the succeeding days of his marriage loitering the halls of Akso Hospital.
“Wait— don’t tell me you’re on duty tonight?”
“I am” Zayne made no effort to look up from the file his assistant had handed him. “Is there a problem?”
“No but—”
“No is a statement in itself,” The cardiologist finally darted his gaze to his colleague, closing the folder. “I believe there is no need for a follow-up reason.”
As a doctor, Greyson had major respect for Zayne and his friend’s antics weren’t unfamiliar to him; but he had to admit the man had a oblivious know-it-all attitude in himself which caused an ire of vexation to arise in him. “I know, but…” he drawled, pressing his forefinger on his glabella, “but man, you just got married. Shouldn’t you be on a week’s leave? Coddling your wife or planning vacations.”
Zayne wasn’t expressive and he kept up the front with an unemotional expression. “I still don’t see how my marriage requires me to neglect my patients. Unless— I have had my license revoked, is that what you want to say?”
“What? No!” Greyson exhaled; it was clear that he couldn’t get this man to understand the social constructs. Therefore, “Leave it. I have to resume my rounds in ten. Wanna grab some tea before that?”
Lifting his left hand, Zayne checked his wrist watch, “I guess, I do have a few minutes to spare.”
“Great then,” Patting his arm, Greyson took the lead. Zayne tucked the folder between his arm and the side of his torso—following suit.
As there shadows faded from the isolated corridors, their steps halted after they found themselves within the cubic elevator. The voices becoming a distant whilst the machine descended to the ground floor until, “Does you inform her that you won’t return tonight?”
He didn’t. But there was no reason for you to wait for him. Besides, he had informed you about your rooms and he assumed, Medea had already prepared your meals for the day. And you accepted the terms before stepping into this relationship so you must learn to reap the seeds of your mistakes. That this would be the new normal and you should not expect him for more.
So he answered, “Yes.”
Zayne had grown accustomed to the smell of hospitals.
The metallic stench of iodoform and antiseptics lingered in every corner. Stretching from the sterile ICU to the waiting rooms, from his chamber to the corridors, from the cabins to the reception. It followed him everywhere—haunting him like a ghost—reminding him of the white rooms and muffled cries he could never escape. It lived inside him now. The miasma entwined him on days he would stroll the care units at 1 AM. Sleepless and caffeine surging in his veins.
And the same cloud overshadowed his sky on a day he was supposed to be nowhere near the hospital ward. Yet, here he was. Standing afore the ER unit, his eyes fixed upon the glass—trying to look past the shield hindering his field of vision. The muddled sound of beeping monitors and the crutch of nurses’ shoes reached his ears but no luck. The red light of the operation theatre gleamed bright; a stark contrast to the dull crimson staining his cufflinks.
Zayne retreated towards the benches, slumping down on one of them. He heaved a sigh before pinching his eyelids shut—and instantly, he was back on the highway.
Zayne wasn’t even on duty today. Merely returning from his parents’ and he had decided to take the long way home. The high road remained mostly soulless at this hour and he was trying to find delight in the silence when an Aston Martin running at a speed above the entrusted limit—overtook him with a sharp turn. Even before, he could register the number plate or feel flabbergasted, he heard the crash.
Fumes erupted from the vehicles as it broke out of the barriers of the road and strode headfast into a barn before it was essentially stopped by smashing into an oak tree.
The next few minutes swept past like a breeze. Literally like a breeze. Because only bleary memories coruscated before his eyes when he tried to remember what he did. He couldn’t give a rational answer and have it make sense with time because he was acting purely on instincts. His sub conscious had controlled him for long and before he could decipher the events, he was sat askew on the driver seat. Gripping the steering wheel with all his strength, the side of his face pressed to his phone—calling the nearest to inform about the emergency while his gaze glided back and forth from the rearview mirror; the backseat of his car was dying red.
Fortunately, your phone was with you when they rolled you into the cabin and Zayne left it on the staff to inform your family. Although he had no relations with you or whatsoever, he refused to move away or clean himself of the blood. He just couldn’t. His moral conscience kept him within a cage of despair, heart beating on miles per hour within his ribcage; it was impossible to leave before he received the signal that you were stable.
The water warded off the stains from his hand. Webbing his fingers after sprinkling some disinfectant on his palms, he mushed his hands clean. He leaned down, splashing some water on his face before straightening up. The droplets clung to his brow and some of it got into his bangs. He wiped off his face the best he could; the rest remain untouched. A bead trailed down his cheekbone, halting at the angle of his jaw; it waited a second before creating a splotch on his shirt.
Zayne exited the restroom, carding his fingers through his moist strands when he was stopped by a man. Donning an expensive Armani with a bright smile plastered over his face; Zayne would never have imagined him to be the father of the frail girl holding on to life with the last threads, if he hadn’t introduced himself.
Now, he found himself standing in the bleak backroom, Mr. Klaude had asked him for an inch of his time but every second he spent in the company of this old man, was another second being added onto his dread. Something about the man didn’t click right and it stunned clear the moment he opened his mouth.
“How much would you like to have, son? Two million? Five?” He questioned and immediately Zayne’s brows scrunched in confusion. Klaude huffed a laugh, “You saved my daughter’s life. Sure, that kind of bravery deserves a reward.” He explained before continuing, “So tell me, how much?”
“I don’t need any reward for that. I just did what anyone else would,” he replied, gaze dodging from the man as he prepared to walk away. “Just take care of her now… that’d be enough.”
“Son this isn’t—”
“I’d like it if you didn't call me son.”
“Now, what else should I call my son-in-law?”
Zayne’s posture turned rigid in a second. His eyes widening, “Excuse me?”
“What?” Your father shrugged, “You didn’t think I was gifting you a cheque just to drink past your conscience on a Sunday or were you? It’s the first instalment for marrying my daughter or what they call— ah yes, dowry,”
“I don’t need any dowry!” Zayne had to control his tone, so as to not shout at the man, “And, I am not marrying your daughter.”
Briefly did Klaude’s eyes widened, as if the notion of being refused never crossed his mind. “Now, why not? Is the deal unsatisfactory to you, son?”
“I am not your son!” Zayne teetered close to the end of his wits now, his teeth ground against each other as his hands formed into tight fists at his side, “And I do ‘not’ want to marry your daughter because I just won’t.”
For a whole minute, Klaude kept his shrewd gaze steered on Zayne. And the latter couldn’t decode what sickness was surging through this vile man’s mind.
Zayne was prepared to call this circus off and walk away until, “You are the one who brought my daughter here, right?”
“Yeah…?”
“Where was she? What happened to her?”
Zayne was confounded with these obvious questions being thrown at him but so as to not make the situation worse, he answered. “She was on the highway when—”
“When you hit her, is that correct?”
“Excuse me?”
Klaude fished out a pack of cigar from his pocket. His eyes drifted to the nicotine sticks and he uncapped the box, “I am just recounting the events of tonight. Weren’t you the one that hit her?”
“No, I didn’t,” Disgust flared within Zayne’s chest as this man strung these vile accusations on him. “She was the one rash driving when the car—”
“Now, don’t turn the story on my innocent daughter,” With a click of the lighter, he lit the stick, “She was only trying to switch off with a late-night drive when you— under the high influence of alcohol hit her car and now, she has to spend a month in care unit.”
“That’s a load of bullshit! None of it happened. You’re—” The ground slipped beneath him; realization finally dawning on the young man and his lips parted with sheer bewilderment. “—you’re blackmailing me?”
“You see, Zayne…” Klaude drawled, heaving out a chunk of smoke. “I have had my men check the car long before I arrived— What? You didn’t I stewed this proposition without any preparations right?” A huff akin to a laugh escaped the man, tilting his chin upward, he looked down on him. If malice were to ever take a humanoid emotion, then it’d be the smile stretching on his lips, “I am a businessman, lad; ensuring a deal done is barely child’s play for me.”
Revulsion wrinkled his nose as though the air itself had turned foul. In some way, it had. From the fragments of his memory, he recalled the Aston Martin to be silver in a silver shade—a limited edition luxury car. He should have known then and there, no civilian would be sane enough to drive at a speed of 200 mph with alcohol churning their livers unless they had enough supremacy to get out unscathed.
Capitalist pigs and their spoilt brats.
“Broken fenders. Blood on the bumper—it’ll take very little effort to prove you were the drunk driver.”
Zayne could feel his blood turning into icicles, the frost accumulating the tips of fingers. So much so, he had to physically restrain himself to doze down on the intensity of his emotions and think rational. As if that was possible.
“But you see…” Klaude continued, “As little effort it’d take me to turn the story, the more of you would have to lose. Like just imagine— three years in prison and your medical license being terminated—”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh? But I would.” Klaude assured, taking a puff of his cigarette, “I, most definitely would.” Tapping the end of his stick, he watched as the grains of ash tumbled to the ground, “Truth is flexible, Zayne. Especially when money is involved.” Pausing again, “Its your choice in the end. You can choose to become a part of my family or… you can choose to be a killer.”
His jaw tightened, a bitter taste filling his mouth. The weight of authority and media hung in the air like a funeral shroud. And true to the vile words being used to blackmail him, Zayne really had everything to lose here. But, “Why do you want me to marry her? I am sure an echelon like you could find someone better among yourselves to appoint as a pretend-fiancé.”
“Now, now, son,” Even Klaude’s jovial laughter sounded wicked to his ears; or maybe it was one. “You can get a front row seat to the drama when you become an official member of our house, isn’t it? Until then… leave the details to the ones in charge. For now, I’ll transfer you five million.”
“I don’t your money.”
Klaude knew Zayne would surrender under the threat he threw at his door. And watching the man’s aversion to even relenting to this fate was an icing to the cake. For a man like Zayne, who valued human life over anything—losing his medical license would be equal to tearing him off the purpose in his life. And every human needed a purpose, a will—to continue living; or else, when the grim reaper arrives, he’d find the man has turned to corpse long before his body decomposed.
“A word of advice, son,” He spoke up, halting Zayne mid-stride. Klaude lifted his chin, breathing out the smoke which faded into the starry sky, “Use every unfair advantage at your disposal to get ahead in life. The world isn’t fair—so there’s no need of keeping your hands clean in the long run.” He threw the half brunt stick across the concrete, “And learn to not refuse free capital. People lose their lives over it.”
Klaude was left waiting for a response. Perhaps, a word of gratitude or another snarky remark that unfairness isn’t fair and the same bullshit but the one he received, surpassed his expectations.
“Don’t call me son.”
As Zayne continued to sprint from the audacious aura of the man, he reflected on how fast his sentiments regarding you, in a matter of few hours. When he entered the hospital, he was pleading the Gods to keep you tethered to the brink of life if it was possible. To keep you alive until the professionals could operate on you. However, when he passed the threshold of the hospital, his emotions were vehemently on the opposite side. Because:
You didn't know what you were expecting when you agreed to marry Dr. Zayne, but it surely wasn't love.
A man still haunted by the voice of his late, first love, you knew you'd never be able to replace her. Yet, knowing can't always result in acceptance. And when your heart begins to yearn for more than just to be a responsibility to your cold husband—what are you supposed to do with these unwanted feelings?
Warnings: Toxic family dynamics, slutshaming, blackmail (not to reader), implied abuse of authority, emotional trauma, mentions of the following - blood, accident, defamation, death. (7.4k wc)
A/N: I just wanna thank everyone for showing so much love in the last chapter. I was so overwhelmed by the response that it motivated me to pump out chapter two iejdidjs happy reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3
<Series Masterlist> | Chapter 1
Meeting Zayne wasn't a push from fate.
Like every occurrence in your life, contrived after meticulously weighing the pros and cons it'd reflect on your family name—this too, was an arrangement.
You remember the day vividly; as if it was just yesterday.
Dew clung to the jasmine petals creeping the pristine pillars of the gazebo—the saccharine fragrance mingling in the cool air. The white lacecloth on the table fluttered with the incoming breeze, your half-filled teacup sitting on it languidly. From the distance you could make out the soft chirping of crickets, traces of last night's rain lingered around and for what it was worth, you'd had loved to recline back on the wooden bench and bask in the tranquil glow of the atmosphere if not the presence of certain people who disrupted your peace.
“Why is he so late?” Your mother sneered, consulting her wrist watch for the fifth time. “What kind of man arrives late for a brunch?”
“From what I heard, he isn't the type to cut slack,” your father added, trying to soothe the brewing tension in the air. Yet, you didn't quite miss the furtive glance he shot towards his phone; worry creasing between his brows. “Whatever's been keeping him must be important.”
“Typical of this sort. People who rise from nothing always remain uncouth.” She huffs, picking up her water glass before swinging one knee over another and leaning back. “Maybe a watch would be suitable for his dowry– at least, that would keep him from giving us frugal excuses.”
“I suppose, he'd be busier than people who think kitty parties count as cardio.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” A faux cough emitted off your lips. Slightly did you rotate your posture, evading your mother's scrutinizing gaze shooting daggers at you; while you brought the lukewarm cup of tea up to your mouth.
“Don't act smart with me, child,” She scoffed, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the armrest of her chair. “If you had an ounce of shame left anywhere, you'd know better than running your nasty mouth in front of us.”
You had grown accustomed to her unrelenting taunts—it wasn’t anything new. The best course of action laid in rolling off the insults with a dismissive shrug. Yet, it was her next choice of words that cracked your composure.
“Sneaking behind our backs, spreading your legs for every man with a pulse. Please—” disgust flared her tone and all of the sudden, the gazebo felt smaller; shrinking down until all you could see were their shadows, “—you should be grateful, we haven't tossed you in the slums by now.”
In an instant, your bones turned to ice. The cup hanging between in front of your face and for a heartbeat—you couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath. Only listen. The sharp bite of wind as it sliced your skin to the droplet falling off the lattice.
What was it? You were left rooted in your spot; rigid, like a deer caught in headlights. Your heart hammered in your ribcage, sweat pooling in your palms and the cup felt heavy. So heavy, that you had to wrench it down. Even then, your fingers trembled—causing some of the liquid to trickle out of it as your breath escaped in abrupt bursts.
“Alright, that's enou— oh! There you are, Mr. Zayne.” Your father stood up, ambling out of the shade to welcome your supposed fiance.
And just like that, the tension dissipated, transcending to a melancholic state as all of you assumed your parts in playing the perfect, happy family—unscathed from any scandals of the press. Yet, the damage was done and you clearly weren’t in tune with your soul for the remainder of the meal.
As malleable as they had trained you to be, all you did was sit back—assessing the embroidery on the table cloth. Even though the shadow of memories didn't engulf you anymore, you couldn’t really bring yourself to pay attention to their conversation. An abrupt exhaustion seemed to cling to you resulting in your silence; and maybe, your parents preferred that. It was good they were with you to stall the air from getting gnarly. They kept themselves busy being absolute sycophants to their guest—filling his ears with flattering praises of their dearest daughter.
“Oh dear, why don't both of you take a wall in the garden? I am sure a one-to-one interaction will help you come to an understanding.”
That's how you found yourself here. Loitering the stone tracks amid the lustrous greenery of your mansion—with a stranger who’d most probably end up as your life partner.
You cradled your right arm, pressing on the scarce bruises; a gift from your mother's sharp nails when she gripped you—urging you to follow your fiancé. Although, her visage was contorted into a mask of maternal affection, the vehement stab of her tips only elicited one order: don't ruin this.
Well, she'd be glad to know you hadn't ruined any of their flawless plan to save face. Because neither you, nor Zayne had spoken a word to each other.
He walked half a step behind you. From your edge of your vision, you caught fragments of his side profile: sculpted jawline, unruly charcoal strands brushed aside except for one defiant lock that grazed his forehead. The black shirt clung to his frame just right, fitted with gray slacks; for an informal invite, his choice of outfit was suitable. And if you had to remark on his appearance, you’d say he far surpassed your expectations in a groom. As for his personality, there was little you could trust—given, you knew nothing about him, save for the thirty minutes of chatter over an appetizing meal. You could still give him minimal credits for letting you take the lead in this aimless stroll and helping you descend the acute flight of steps of the gazebo.
As if sensing your gaze, Zayne angled his chin towards you, “Is there something?”
“Uh, no.” With a move too quick, you turned away.
Thus, silence filled the gaps again.
Honestly, you didn’t mind it. However, you knew nothing good would come if you continue to indulge in this idle detour and circle back to the tyrants of your fate. You were certain, Zayne had his queries of his own but he didn’t seem to plummet you with them just yet.
What was he waiting for?
Was he aware of what you’d done? Something in you said, he didn’t. Maybe it was your intuition confirming that your parents were no fools to choose a groom for you, who was privy of your past. Or, it was the simpler truth that if he did know, he’d never have agreed for this arrangement.
Either way, you decided to break the ice.
The branches of the ancient willow tree was always a shield against the sun’s merciless glare. You halted your stride beneath the canopy, Zayne following suit. Drawing a deep breath, you pivoted to face him. “Mr. Li–”
“Just call me Zayne.”
“Okay… so Zayne,” you began, the corner of your lip lifted, “I am sorry, I don’t know how to quite do this but–” reaching up, you held a strand of your hair–toying with it. “My parents said it was you, who helped me that night from uh… you know–”
“You don’t have to mention it,” He intervened, “I just did what anyother person would.”
“Even so,” you persisted, a shrug easing your shoulders, “I owe you my life. The least I can say is a thank you.”
“Its alright."
Although the tone he used was laced with detachment, you refused to let it dampen your mood, “I don’t know what came over that night to drive like that.” You had to applaud yourself for lying so flawlessly. “I usually handle my alcohol well… on most days, I’d say.”
To which, he fixed you with an unreadable gaze, “Drinking while driving is a serious offence.” He said it so briskly that you’d have missed it, if you weren’t so attentive. Then, his focus drifted; no longer were you the matter the interest. A leaf tumbled down and he caught it mid-air—the stem pinched between his fingers. “But I suppose, some people are privileged enough to have others clean their mess.”
Something about that felt odd to you. Your eyebrows scrunched, “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” The leaf slipped from his hand, landing on the space between you. And this time, when his eyes found yours—something had shifted. The warmth from earlier was snuffed out, as if it never existed. In the place of the man, who had accompanied you until now was a stranger carved from steel. “There’s no point in dwelling over the past and it's clear small talk isn’t our forte. So let’s just get to it.” A pause. Then, “What are your demands?”
Your eyes widened briefly, “Demands?”
“I believe someone like you wouldn’t acquiesce to a marriage to an 'uncouth' commoner like me unless you have ulterior motives.”
You pursued your lips, not liking the way those words tumbled from his lips. It was true that the reason you wanted to tie the knot was for a noble reason or merely altruism, you couldn’t let him know the dishonour this union was supposed to hide. No, it was unacceptable. And yes, maybe telling the truth would make it easier for the both of you but… but what if he left this arrangement after you laid it bare? What if he backpeddaled as soon as you told him that you weren’t an innocent lamb they flattered you to be?
Therefore, you chose to lie again.
“What if I don’t?” You asked, clasping your hand behind your back. “What if I just want to get married because I think it’s about time that I settle down? What if I just want a happily ever after?”
Your joke was met with an inert veneer. For a second he closed his eyes, elliciting a weary breath, “Then I’d say you’re quite foolish.”
“Yeah… I have heard that quite a lot,” a murmur escapes you. Then, straightening your posture, you pressed your lips together, “This marriage is my demand, Zayne.” Holding off for a second, “I understand if you are bothered by its setup but there is no point in suspecting that I am doing this for a greater plan– I am not.” Tilting your head, “I just want to get married, that’s it.”
For a second, he stayed silent; rooted in his position. The next, he closed his eyes, brows furrowing into a reluctant surrender. “Fine.”
“Huh?”
“Its a yes from me,” He clarified, dusting off his sleeve. “That is enough to make you happy right.”
“Absolutely.” Not. But you managed the chirp in your voice, “I’d let my family know—”
“There’s no need for that.” This instant when he cut you off, he held a rather mellow tone. “Your father already knows.”
“Oh…!” You drew out the word but couldn’t help perk up on this piece of information. “That makes it easier for us, I guess?”
“Yeah.” He replied, “I should return—”
“What about you?” The question flew out before he could plant the notion of leaving.
Zayne merely raised his brow at that.
“What are your demands?” You insisted. “Even you must have a demand for agreeing to marry someone like me?”
“Just 0ne,” He averted his gaze from you; staring up at the sky which was beginning to coruscate in hues of nightfall, “Don’t look for love in this marriage."
The moment you stepped into his house, Zayne made it clear you weren’t welcomed anywhere near his personal space.
Stepping down from the black SUV, you were briefly muddled on how to manage your gown—the hem dragging on the concrete—and follow the brusque strides of your husband. After his outburst in the morning, he had tramped out of the bridal suite—not returning until the nth second until the reception began. And for the entirety of the ceremony, he had held this demeanour. Even during the couple dance, his gaze was distant, movements robotic–as if he was a puppet being pulled on the whims of a master and you were no more than a prop for him. He didn’t acknowledge your presence unless provoked by a guest or either of your families; who’d cajole that the heavens hadn’t made a prettier pair than the both of you.
If only they knew…
Now, you weren’t shallow. You knew you had overstepped your boundaries by proclaiming yourself as his wife when he clearly didn’t want to do anything with you. That was the reason, you didn’t take offence to your husband’s callous behaviour and followed him up to the suburban home in measly steps.
As soon as you walked past the threshold of his house, your lips parted with a gasp. Circular stairway leading to the first floor, large windows overlooking the city—which currently provided a flawless view of the dreary sky—whilst the furniture were donned in hues of white and gold. The sleek, modern interiors were an embodiment of how minimalism and luxury went hand in hand; and it’d be a lie if you said, you weren’t impressed.
You weren’t a stranger to wealth, family mansions you had left in the altar would stretch double the expanse of his home; yet, you couldn’t blindside an exceptional indoors. So you remained stranded, letting your arduous gaze roam over the surroundings with a childlike curiosity.
“Take the guest room,” it was only when your husband’s words floated to your ear that you were broken out of the daze. You hadn’t noticed until then but Zayne stood atop the landing on the stairwell. He fixed you with an impassive glance—one that beckoned you to straighten your posture. His coat was discarded, draped over his forearm and he was in the midst of unbuttoning his collar when he continued, “Two doors to the left,” he jerked his head in that direction, “your luggage would be in there.”
“Oh… okay?” Your reply arrived as a reflex. “What about… you?”
“What about me?” He raised a brow, “Are you questioning if I would share a bed with you?”
“What? No.” You stepped back, hands raising immediately in an act of denial, “I didn’t mean that. No- I was just… I meant–”
“Good,” he declared, a solemn breath wafting off him, “At least you aren’t deluding yourself with foolish notions where I’d ever share a bed with you.”
Raking his finger through his hair, he resumed his pace up the stairs. “Good night.”
“Good ni– no, wait… Zayne!” You called aloud, trying to catch up to him. Task not needed because he halted at once.
“What?”
You inhaled deeply, revising the words you had been meaning to tell him all evening, once again. “I am sorry.” Finally, you let it out, “For what I said in the afternoon… I- I remember our agreement very well and I… I don’t know what incited me to say that but I promise it was the last time—”
“What are you rambling about?” Zayne interrupts in an instant, a crease forming between his brows while he regards you with an almost irate glare. “Sorry? For what exactly?”
If there was something crueler for a heart that has been raised to apologize for every mistake, then it’d be the gruelling punishment of being forced to utter their crime. You swallowed a lump down your throat, “I called myself your wife– I thought you’d be upset…”
Zayne didn’t speak for the next five seconds and the house was left to bask in throes of tormenting hush that the only semblance of passing time was evident from the ticking clock. For the world it was mere seconds, for you, it was eternity; until a spark of realization crossed his eyes.
“You are talking about that?” He questioned, but it almost sounded as a sneer.
“Well…” you drawled, fidgeting with your fingers as your eyes drooped downwards, “you weren’t really talking to me in the reception… so I thought—”
“You thought wrong!” He responded in an instant, prompting you to seal your lips shut. “Dear lord…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, a curse falling off his mouth before he turned his attention back to you, “Has it ever crossed your mind that I ignored you because I simply don’t find any reason to interact with you unless absolutely necessary?”
It's okay. It's okay. Calm down.
Your gown creased under the grip you had on them, right hand clamped on your other elbow–nails digging so deep with ferocious will to draw blood. “I- I see…” by heaven’s blessing you managed a normal response despite the emotion clogging your throat, “that’s… good to know that you didn’t mind my stupidity.”
“I am not a child to pout over words,” although his tone laid on the brims of matter of fact, you caught a hint of disgust in them.
You heard his footsteps climbing the stairs but you couldn’t find the courage to look up. It was evident that he was retiring for the night and he had no qualms of making sure you were settled in or comfortable in this new space. That was good. If he left you alone in this dreary hallway, then at least you could navigate to your designated room and finally collapse in solitude. Holding back the cracks in your veneer was difficult as it is, you didn’t need an audience and let your reputation become a circus again.
And it would have been so good if Zayne left you alone for the night. So good, if you could have been rewarded with the possibility of breaking down on your own. So damn good, if only he hadn’t turned back to say those words to you.
“Don’t overthink it,” He announced, sparing you a last glance, “You aren’t important enough to ruin my days, wife.”
You couldn’t sleep that night.
For reasons you’d not like to name, the hours were spent tossing and turning on the bed. And before you could have procured ease in your rigid frame, dawn’s rays filtered through the blinds. From your room itself, you heard the click of the main door; implying Zayne must have taken his leave. After the events of last night, you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Neither did you wish to. You remained in the swaddle of your fluffy blankets for another hour or so, before rousing to begin the day.
And your reflection wasn’t kind enough to feed you with lies. As you went forward with your morning routine, it was hard to ignore what stared back at you from the bathroom mirror. Deep shadows settled beneath your lower lashes, the white of your eyes had tinged red due to all the tears you shed last night and your mussy hair stuck out in frantic strands around your face—every flaw, a testimony to your exhaustion. As if that wasn’t enough, a splitting headache ripped your skull as soon as you stepped inside the shower. The gliding waterdrops had long since turned their backs on you; no longer providing you comfort. Now this.
With all the misfortune raining on you, you couldn’t help but wonder: by some miraculous way did you piss off the gods?
That thought earned a chuckle from you. You finished the rest of your shower and changed into a fresh outfit. By the time you stepped out of your room, you had hid all the recesses of weariness under a thick coat of concealer. Treading into the main hall, you were hit with the stench of lemon and sandalwood. Your gaze fell on a woman, dusting the showpieces kept on the shelves—a bottle of disinfectant kept aside.
Spotting you from the corner of her eyes, she ceased her chores and greeted you with a pleased smile, “Good morning, ma'am.”
“Good morning,” you wished back, entwining your fingers in front. “You would be…?”
“My name's Medea,” saying so, she resumed her work, “I am Mr. Li's househelp. Just give me some time then I'll serve you. What would you like to have, Ma’am?”
“Anything is fine for me.”
After feasting on a light breakfast consisting of toast and coffee, Medea bid you her farewell and thus again, you ended up all alone. It was rather odd that she didn’t question you about the nuances of your relationship with Zayne. Which husband leaves their wife to rot alone only on the second day of marriage? But the rational side of you begged to differ. Considering she had been working for him long before you came into the picture, this mustn’t be an unexpected occurrence to her. Besides, from the mere information you were rewarded with—regarding your husband—the hectic schedule of a surgeon would seldom allow for leisure.
However, when you looked into your situation; you found it to be absolutely hilarious. Only twenty-four hours into your marriage and here you were—stuck in this frigid mansion with all the time in the world, yet none of it was worth living. While you were never a working woman yourself, this feeling of redundancy was foreign to you.
Therefore, you found your steps back to your room. Leaning on the headboard of the bed, you picked up your iPad from the nightstand. The screen flashed to life as soon as the fingerprint sensor detected its owner. You figured you could spend a quarter of your time by aimless scrolling. But your hope of ignoring the truth of your unhappy marriage was shattered when your finger slipped on the national daily.
THE MOST UNEXPECTED WEDDING OF THE DECADE
To those who claim love is a fickle object; this union will make you rethink.
On the 7th of December, under the golden glow of the chandeliers of Waldorf Astoria, the daughter (Ms. S) of Linkon’s one of the most influential industrialists (Mr. K) ties the knot with her fiancé (Mr. Z), the chief cardiac surgeon from Akso hospital. The news sent ripples through high society—stirring disbelief and whispers to float around.
Ms. S, known for her grace and influential lineage has always been the face of refinement; her life reads between reads between driving luxurious cars and visiting art museums. Mr. Z, on the other hand has built his life amid the sterile stench of hospital corridors rather than red carpets; his popularity garnered by becoming the youngest chief cardiac surgeon and leading 18-hour surgeries without breaking a sweat.
“They are so different,” says one guest, “She is born with a silver spoon in her mouth while he comes from a world of labor and yet, when I see them together, they are the perfect match.”
The ceremony was a blend of simplicity and elegance. Ivory roses, classical music and a power couple whose appearance was enough to silence the room. Although the event was filled with people whose legacy transcended half a century, you could feel the intimacy in the air. The poet pens as: ‘In a room full of faces, the only one I’ll search for is yours.’
Mr. K states, “We never expected her to bring someone like him home. But as you know, matches are written in stars but I believe they were written by the heavens itself.”
Tales like this make us believe in the magic of love. Money, class, society are mere brilliance that loses its shine when two hearts begin to beat as one. Perhaps, all that love needs is the need to choose each other again and again and again. In spite of the differences and obstacles that might frolic our path. And the proof of it was given this night; when the heiress and the surgeon said: I do.
The silver lined silhouettes against the black background painted a clear picture of the couple. You and Zayne. The silhouettes were unmistakable—you and Zayne. Posed in front of a black screen but your expressions were obstructed due to the ambient light striking your bodies in such a way that illuminated the outline in hues of silver—creating a dramatic effect to suit the headlines.
To say, you were dumbfounded would be an understatement. Because all what the article contained were straight up lies made in order to craft you and Zayne as this romantic couple who survived plundering obstacles insinuated by class and society and emerged victorious. While in reality, both of you were no better than strangers—compelled to cohabit a residence and put on this facade to please everyone.
A dreary laugh bubbles up your throat as you scroll more articles; each one crafting one fabricated tale over another.
THE WEDDING THAT IS TURNING HEADS IN THE NATION.
FATE AT CROSSWORDS: FROM CLANDESTINE AFFAIRS TO A CATHEDRAL.
FAIRYTALES ARE REAL AND THEY LIVE AMONG US: HERE IS A OVERVIEW OF THE GRAND WEDDING IN LINKON.
You could only wonder how many hearts crumble in disappointment if they were to ever learn the truth about the union. Just a stage play organized to drown out the upheaval that had the same articles calling you a multitude of names only an autumn ago. It's rather jocular how people can turn their backs to the headlines of the past as soon as you give them a new circus.
Multitude of such articles flooded your screen only after a few minutes of screening. Although you were tempted to open the comment section but you weren’t sure if this gamble was worth it (your subconscious told you it wasn’t). Your finger hovered over the icon—the extremes of your wits warring against each other. In the end, cowardice emerged victorious and the tablet tumbled on the mattress with a thud.
With your back against the plush, you stared up at the ceiling. There was nothing that particularly caught your attention and you could lay there—wandering upon the endless possibilities of the universe—until slumber consumed you. Considering, your lack of sleep in the previous night and the hectic schedule imposed on you due to the schedule—it’d be a wise decision to snooze for a few hours.
However, you took a step back to reflect. That’s when you came to the realization that the next days would only be as mundane as today. Your feet padded across the room and led yourself out. Assuming if you were going to live here, you could at least, familiarize yourself with the layout.
With that aim on your shoulder—you began your exploration.
You didn’t mean to snoop. It was never your intention to linger around private chambers and you maintained your stroll well within the corridors decked with indoor plants and souvenirs. In your defence, you assumed the open area in the first floor was merely a miniature library due to the stacks of books piled on the racks. Who would have informed you that it was his study room? Thus, it wasn’t entirely your fault that you came across those letters. And you’d blame it on your curiosity that led you to read them.
Would you like to know a secret, my love? If I could trade my life for yours, I would,
The paper was crisp under your skin—warm and delicate. With precise rhythm, you folded it on the crease lines; smoothening the wrinkled before tucking it back in the envelope. A heavy breath flew past your mouth and your gaze shifted to the large glass window.
For any woman, to come across letters written by her husband to another woman must be equal to have her heart fractured into pieces. To think, all this time you were merely a placeholder in a pretend family while his favourite colour was the shade of his first lady love. A tale of his past romance he grieves till date. And if you sift through the archive of his memory, they wouldn’t consist family picnics or the nights you stayed awoke for him; but of her. Of the one that got away.
Such a scenario is no less than a horror story.
To devote your life to a man who’d trade it all for another woman was pure madness.
And yet, when your palm grasped the envelope with a little too much strength—you couldn’t find yourself to hate Zayne.
Because it is easier to love someone knowing they are out there somewhere. The futile sense of hope that maybe— just maybe— one day, fate would be kind to him. Maybe one day, he’d reunite with the one that got away. Maybe this instance, he’d hold on a little longer, learn to be a more patient and love her enough that he wouldn’t mind following her to the end of the world.
Love only demands that: hope.
But how does one love someone who no longer belongs to this realm? How can one heart beat for a wandering soul? How much strength does it take to hold someone so dear to him only in his memories—all while being aware she won’t ever return? How much did he love her to still devote himself to her even five years after her demise?
All of a sudden, Zayne’s emotional detachment didn’t seem foreign to you. He was merely grieving for his late girlfriend, The woman had held his heart in her two palms and you knew, he would have let her destroy it into a thousand fragments without a single regret. But you also knew, she—the woman he loved—had only one notion when the fragile tissue was left under her care. To nurture it; and she did. Because if she hadn’t, these letters would have never been written.
It was a paradoxical tale. Even though, she was a tale of his past.
But… the past never dies. It stays buried underground, waiting for the right moment to be brought up and create the same storm again. The storm of your past lives in you. In every breath, in every turn, in every glance—it hijacks your very being to the point where you can’t tell yourself from the other. No amount of steps towards a better future can override the demons of your past. They will haunt you, follow you, twist every interaction until you are caged in a prison of misery until you are back to square one.
As if clockwork, a strange sense of nausea consumed you. Your fingers trembled, stones clogging up the air way and before you could compose yourself—something in you couldn’t tell yourself apart from the husk of a grain as beads of water trickled down your lashes.
Your tears drenched the worn-out envelope. How can anyone love you to the point they write letters that’ll never be read?
Don’t look for love in this marriage.
You could never forget those words he said to you; and you knew that it was futile to expect love from someone whose only bled ice for you. Even then, when you pressed the letter to your chest, you could only conjure one thought.
Oh, to be loved by Zayne.
Greyson knew Dr. Zayne could be a workaholic, but he never thought that man would spend the succeeding days of his marriage loitering the halls of Akso Hospital.
“Wait— don’t tell me you’re on duty tonight?”
“I am” Zayne made no effort to look up from the file his assistant had handed him. “Is there a problem?”
“No but—”
“No is a statement in itself,” The cardiologist finally darted his gaze to his colleague, closing the folder. “I believe there is no need for a follow-up reason.”
As a doctor, Greyson had major respect for Zayne and his friend’s antics weren’t unfamiliar to him; but he had to admit the man had a oblivious know-it-all attitude in himself which caused an ire of vexation to arise in him. “I know, but…” he drawled, pressing his forefinger on his glabella, “but man, you just got married. Shouldn’t you be on a week’s leave? Coddling your wife or planning vacations.”
Zayne wasn’t expressive and he kept up the front with an unemotional expression. “I still don’t see how my marriage requires me to neglect my patients. Unless— I have had my license revoked, is that what you want to say?”
“What? No!” Greyson exhaled; it was clear that he couldn’t get this man to understand the social constructs. Therefore, “Leave it. I have to resume my rounds in ten. Wanna grab some tea before that?”
Lifting his left hand, Zayne checked his wrist watch, “I guess, I do have a few minutes to spare.”
“Great then,” Patting his arm, Greyson took the lead. Zayne tucked the folder between his arm and the side of his torso—following suit.
As there shadows faded from the isolated corridors, their steps halted after they found themselves within the cubic elevator. The voices becoming a distant whilst the machine descended to the ground floor until, “Does you inform her that you won’t return tonight?”
He didn’t. But there was no reason for you to wait for him. Besides, he had informed you about your rooms and he assumed, Medea had already prepared your meals for the day. And you accepted the terms before stepping into this relationship so you must learn to reap the seeds of your mistakes. That this would be the new normal and you should not expect him for more.
So he answered, “Yes.”
Zayne had grown accustomed to the smell of hospitals.
The metallic stench of iodoform and antiseptics lingered in every corner. Stretching from the sterile ICU to the waiting rooms, from his chamber to the corridors, from the cabins to the reception. It followed him everywhere—haunting him like a ghost—reminding him of the white rooms and muffled cries he could never escape. It lived inside him now. The miasma entwined him on days he would stroll the care units at 1 AM. Sleepless and caffeine surging in his veins.
And the same cloud overshadowed his sky on a day he was supposed to be nowhere near the hospital ward. Yet, here he was. Standing afore the ER unit, his eyes fixed upon the glass—trying to look past the shield hindering his field of vision. The muddled sound of beeping monitors and the crutch of nurses’ shoes reached his ears but no luck. The red light of the operation theatre gleamed bright; a stark contrast to the dull crimson staining his cufflinks.
Zayne retreated towards the benches, slumping down on one of them. He heaved a sigh before pinching his eyelids shut—and instantly, he was back on the highway.
Zayne wasn’t even on duty today. Merely returning from his parents’ and he had decided to take the long way home. The high road remained mostly soulless at this hour and he was trying to find delight in the silence when an Aston Martin running at a speed above the entrusted limit—overtook him with a sharp turn. Even before, he could register the number plate or feel flabbergasted, he heard the crash.
Fumes erupted from the vehicles as it broke out of the barriers of the road and strode headfast into a barn before it was essentially stopped by smashing into an oak tree.
The next few minutes swept past like a breeze. Literally like a breeze. Because only bleary memories coruscated before his eyes when he tried to remember what he did. He couldn’t give a rational answer and have it make sense with time because he was acting purely on instincts. His sub conscious had controlled him for long and before he could decipher the events, he was sat askew on the driver seat. Gripping the steering wheel with all his strength, the side of his face pressed to his phone—calling the nearest to inform about the emergency while his gaze glided back and forth from the rearview mirror; the backseat of his car was dying red.
Fortunately, your phone was with you when they rolled you into the cabin and Zayne left it on the staff to inform your family. Although he had no relations with you or whatsoever, he refused to move away or clean himself of the blood. He just couldn’t. His moral conscience kept him within a cage of despair, heart beating on miles per hour within his ribcage; it was impossible to leave before he received the signal that you were stable.
The water warded off the stains from his hand. Webbing his fingers after sprinkling some disinfectant on his palms, he mushed his hands clean. He leaned down, splashing some water on his face before straightening up. The droplets clung to his brow and some of it got into his bangs. He wiped off his face the best he could; the rest remain untouched. A bead trailed down his cheekbone, halting at the angle of his jaw; it waited a second before creating a splotch on his shirt.
Zayne exited the restroom, carding his fingers through his moist strands when he was stopped by a man. Donning an expensive Armani with a bright smile plastered over his face; Zayne would never have imagined him to be the father of the frail girl holding on to life with the last threads, if he hadn’t introduced himself.
Now, he found himself standing in the bleak backroom, Mr. Klaude had asked him for an inch of his time but every second he spent in the company of this old man, was another second being added onto his dread. Something about the man didn’t click right and it stunned clear the moment he opened his mouth.
“How much would you like to have, son? Two million? Five?” He questioned and immediately Zayne’s brows scrunched in confusion. Klaude huffed a laugh, “You saved my daughter’s life. Sure, that kind of bravery deserves a reward.” He explained before continuing, “So tell me, how much?”
“I don’t need any reward for that. I just did what anyone else would,” he replied, gaze dodging from the man as he prepared to walk away. “Just take care of her now… that’d be enough.”
“Son this isn’t—”
“I’d like it if you didn't call me son.”
“Now, what else should I call my son-in-law?”
Zayne’s posture turned rigid in a second. His eyes widening, “Excuse me?”
“What?” Your father shrugged, “You didn’t think I was gifting you a cheque just to drink past your conscience on a Sunday or were you? It’s the first instalment for marrying my daughter or what they call— ah yes, dowry,”
“I don’t need any dowry!” Zayne had to control his tone, so as to not shout at the man, “And, I am not marrying your daughter.”
Briefly did Klaude’s eyes widened, as if the notion of being refused never crossed his mind. “Now, why not? Is the deal unsatisfactory to you, son?”
“I am not your son!” Zayne teetered close to the end of his wits now, his teeth ground against each other as his hands formed into tight fists at his side, “And I do ‘not’ want to marry your daughter because I just won’t.”
For a whole minute, Klaude kept his shrewd gaze steered on Zayne. And the latter couldn’t decode what sickness was surging through this vile man’s mind.
Zayne was prepared to call this circus off and walk away until, “You are the one who brought my daughter here, right?”
“Yeah…?”
“Where was she? What happened to her?”
Zayne was confounded with these obvious questions being thrown at him but so as to not make the situation worse, he answered. “She was on the highway when—”
“When you hit her, is that correct?”
“Excuse me?”
Klaude fished out a pack of cigar from his pocket. His eyes drifted to the nicotine sticks and he uncapped the box, “I am just recounting the events of tonight. Weren’t you the one that hit her?”
“No, I didn’t,” Disgust flared within Zayne’s chest as this man strung these vile accusations on him. “She was the one rash driving when the car—”
“Now, don’t turn the story on my innocent daughter,” With a click of the lighter, he lit the stick, “She was only trying to switch off with a late-night drive when you— under the high influence of alcohol hit her car and now, she has to spend a month in care unit.”
“That’s a load of bullshit! None of it happened. You’re—” The ground slipped beneath him; realization finally dawning on the young man and his lips parted with sheer bewilderment. “—you’re blackmailing me?”
“You see, Zayne…” Klaude drawled, heaving out a chunk of smoke. “I have had my men check the car long before I arrived— What? You didn’t I stewed this proposition without any preparations right?” A huff akin to a laugh escaped the man, tilting his chin upward, he looked down on him. If malice were to ever take a humanoid emotion, then it’d be the smile stretching on his lips, “I am a businessman, lad; ensuring a deal done is barely child’s play for me.”
Revulsion wrinkled his nose as though the air itself had turned foul. In some way, it had. From the fragments of his memory, he recalled the Aston Martin to be silver in a silver shade—a limited edition luxury car. He should have known then and there, no civilian would be sane enough to drive at a speed of 200 mph with alcohol churning their livers unless they had enough supremacy to get out unscathed.
Capitalist pigs and their spoilt brats.
“Broken fenders. Blood on the bumper—it’ll take very little effort to prove you were the drunk driver.”
Zayne could feel his blood turning into icicles, the frost accumulating the tips of fingers. So much so, he had to physically restrain himself to doze down on the intensity of his emotions and think rational. As if that was possible.
“But you see…” Klaude continued, “As little effort it’d take me to turn the story, the more of you would have to lose. Like just imagine— three years in prison and your medical license being terminated—”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh? But I would.” Klaude assured, taking a puff of his cigarette, “I, most definitely would.” Tapping the end of his stick, he watched as the grains of ash tumbled to the ground, “Truth is flexible, Zayne. Especially when money is involved.” Pausing again, “Its your choice in the end. You can choose to become a part of my family or… you can choose to be a killer.”
His jaw tightened, a bitter taste filling his mouth. The weight of authority and media hung in the air like a funeral shroud. And true to the vile words being used to blackmail him, Zayne really had everything to lose here. But, “Why do you want me to marry her? I am sure an echelon like you could find someone better among yourselves to appoint as a pretend-fiancé.”
“Now, now, son,” Even Klaude’s jovial laughter sounded wicked to his ears; or maybe it was one. “You can get a front row seat to the drama when you become an official member of our house, isn’t it? Until then… leave the details to the ones in charge. For now, I’ll transfer you five million.”
“I don’t your money.”
Klaude knew Zayne would surrender under the threat he threw at his door. And watching the man’s aversion to even relenting to this fate was an icing to the cake. For a man like Zayne, who valued human life over anything—losing his medical license would be equal to tearing him off the purpose in his life. And every human needed a purpose, a will—to continue living; or else, when the grim reaper arrives, he’d find the man has turned to corpse long before his body decomposed.
“A word of advice, son,” He spoke up, halting Zayne mid-stride. Klaude lifted his chin, breathing out the smoke which faded into the starry sky, “Use every unfair advantage at your disposal to get ahead in life. The world isn’t fair—so there’s no need of keeping your hands clean in the long run.” He threw the half brunt stick across the concrete, “And learn to not refuse free capital. People lose their lives over it.”
Klaude was left waiting for a response. Perhaps, a word of gratitude or another snarky remark that unfairness isn’t fair and the same bullshit but the one he received, surpassed his expectations.
“Don’t call me son.”
As Zayne continued to sprint from the audacious aura of the man, he reflected on how fast his sentiments regarding you, in a matter of few hours. When he entered the hospital, he was pleading the Gods to keep you tethered to the brink of life if it was possible. To keep you alive until the professionals could operate on you. However, when he passed the threshold of the hospital, his emotions were vehemently on the opposite side. Because:
summary. you were each other’s home, your addiction, your downfall—and in the end, the only way to survive was to say goodbye.
word count. 2,5k
disclaimer. angst in capital letters (brace yourselves y’all), first-person pov, unhealthy relationship, cursing, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, both reader and zayne are emotionally unstable reader and zayne. this is completely inspired by ugetsu and akihiko’s relationship from the anime “given”.
nic’s notes ♡ this is maybe the most precious piece of writing i’ve created, and i’m utterly proud of it. i know smutty one-shots tend to get the most attention, but please give this one a chance <3 also, i recommend listening to this playlist i created while reading!
i loved him.
i loved him truly. purely. sincerely.
but it was each other’s presence that drowned us. that silenced us.
that kept us together even when the pain was unbearable.
it was the destiny’s greatest mystery for us to have met. him as a cardiac surgeon, me as a hunter. every day’s danger was the excuse for meeting each other, for gracing him with my presence—and vice versa.
the chilly ambience of the hospital almost lulled me to sleep. with my back pressed against the back of a rather uncomfortable chair, i sat in the middle of a hospital corridor.
never thought it’d now become a place i’d curse at. it didn’t matter if i were bleeding to death.
don’t save me.
don’t let him save me.
quiet, deliberate footsteps clicked against the marble floor, his aura enveloping my very being the moment he set foot in the room. he approached me, calm yet anticipating energy radiating from his scarred skin. “excuse me. is your name yn?”
that was the first time i heard his voice so clearly. zayne li’s cold monotone turned into a soft utter when he spoke to me.
how endearing.
i straightened my back, my fist covering my mouth as i cleared my throat. “yes. you must be the cardiac surgeon from that one time.”
of course i knew who he was. how could i not?
his lips curved, a gentle smile lighting up his hazel irises. “zayne. zayne li.”
that was the first time we met.
how graceful i was for encountering such a wonderful soul.
and how much do i damn that day for ever letting me taste the ray of your light.
time passed and we grew fond of each other. wanderers attacks now weren’t the pretext of our rendezvous—it was the desire of wanting to be next to each other.
the longing to feel the other’s skin.
from early, silent mornings to passionate, steamy nights. we turned into each other’s time. and suddenly, everything i touched, saw, or felt was intoxicated by zayne’s presence. his perfume, his voice.
i could sense him everywhere even when he wasn’t by my side.
it was scary, yet strangely comforting. how could he be everywhere i go? how could he have penetrated into my thoughts and life so deeply?
how.
that was my first mistake,
letting him consume me to the core.
seasons passed, and autumn came. brown and gray were the colors zayne would choose for dressing. and so brown and gray became my favorite colors.
every fallen leaf i stepped on, every latte i drank, every weird-shaped rock i kicked reminded me of him. all because of the stupid color palette he’d picked for the season.
it was all becoming too much, and i realized that one cold winter night.
my elbows rested on the bridge’s railing, chilly air painting my ears and cheekbones pink. a shudder ran through my spine as i grasped my scarf tighter.
my fingertips were numb due to the freezing temperature, but how i wished that numbness travelled all the way to my mind. maybe that way i could quiet down my rushing thoughts.
i exhaled shakily as my eyes welled up, unshed tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. i’d made up my mind, and so i dialed his number with my quivering hands.
one, two, three times the phone rang and i could feel my heart shattering with each beat. “hello?” the honey-dripping melody of his voice filled my ears.
“zayne?” i stopped for a few seconds.
“yes?”
“can we meet tomorrow night? i’d like to talk to you about something.”
my blood vessels felt as though they’d explode at any given moment, goosebumps extending all the way down my skin. but i heard him hum—maybe in agreement or in understanding. but that was all my heart needed for it to ease.
“of course. i also wanted to tell you something.”
my mind quieted down, no exasperated emotions raced my heartbeat. and i couldn’t speak.
“well, my love. i’ll see you tomorrow night then, i got another call from greyson.” he paused but he wasn’t waiting for my reply. “good night, yn. sleep tight, i love you.”
the call ended, and i just stood there. in the middle of that cold, lonely bridge with my phone hanging on my phone, zayne’s contact info decorating the screen.
that night i couldn’t sleep.
the next day’s evening, i met with zayne at his house. due to the low temperature of his apartment, we decided it would be a good idea to cuddle in the couch.
my head rested on his beating chest as he played with loose strings of my hair. he hummed before speaking. “you said you wanted to talk to me about something. what’s the matter?”
it was happening. i was really happening. now it was the moment for me to let him go.
unsteady emotions rumbled in my chest, heartbeat pounding like a drum. “i actually wanted to know what you were going to tell me.”
i couldn’t face it first.
“if i tell you, will you tell me what you wanted to talk about after?”
“yeah, of course.”
liar.
zayne sighed softly, and words started to spill from his mouth. words i wish he’d never told.
“this is something i’ve thinking for a while now, but now i need you to know.” he turned his face so that our eyes could meet. “the truth is… i love you, i love you like i’ve never loved anyone before. and you would make me the happiest man of earth…” he paused for an unnecessary dramatic effect.
so extra as always.
“… if you decided to live with me.”
i couldn’t.
i couldn’t accept such an offer. not when i’m trying to step back from all of what we have created together. i couldn’t say yes to something that would destroy me thoroughly.
and yet.
“…of course i’d live with you.”
i said yes.
that was the moment when i willingly signed my descent into hell.
the second i took up on his offer, his irises turned into the most beautiful crescent moons, cheeks puffing with excitement as loving eyes stabbed daggers into my soul.
stop.
don’t look at me like that.
erase that smile from your face. i can’t bear it.
please.
set me free.
now zayne became my everyday routine as my insanity grew stronger. rainbows casted shadows over every corner of our apartment, zayne was happy with me and i was happy with him. i thought that maybe, if i kept him close, this wound in my heart would heal.
terrible mistake.
then, the arguments started.
they’d happen over silly things, and so you both would quickly overcome them.
“dr. zayne, we’ll require you to work extended hours for the remainder of this month. i apologize for the short notice, but the number of fatalities linked to wanderer exposure has risen sharply. your presence at the hospital is no longer optional — we need you on-site at all times.”
that was the beginning of the end.
our arguments grew stronger, louder, and harsher.
“i just want you to be here with me!” i shouted, my hand gripping my coffee mug’s handle. the one he had gifted me for our one-year anniversary.
“i can’t be here all the time, people are dying in my hands and you want me to what? quit my job?”
he raised his voice at me—but i was the one who handed him the reason.
with pure, savage strength, i smashed the mug against the polished marble floor. scattered porcelain pieces laid there—untouched, soulless, damaged.
resembling my relationship with zayne.
“i don’t give a fuck about your job or the people you let slip through your hands in that emergency room!”
a gut-wrenching silence extended through the room.
all background noise had vanished into nothing but particles of lost melodies.
i thought that maybe, if i kept him close, this wound in my heart would heal.
how wrong was i. how idiotic, selfish and reckless was i.
the rainbows hidden behind the shadows of furniture were obliterated, a somber aura filled the walls and lonesomeness became my best friend.
even though my boyfriend, partner in crime and confidant was meant to be zayne.
those walls zayne and i built and would call home, crumbled down in the blink of an eye. sun rays would not sneak through the blinds, and the moonlight seemed to shine harder on that pristine floor.
the few moments we’d spend coexisting in those four walls felt like hell, an inexplicable and painful tension neither of us dared to break.
and those glimpses were it was only me, myself, and i were torturing. as though the crawling presence of zayne choked me, leaving me breathless, with no way out.
little did i know, zayne felt the same way.
there was something about me that kept pulling him in, that kept him from falling off the abyss. that something was what he held onto for the sake of him, of keeping me by his side.
zayne had spent a lonely, flavorless life before he met me. i gave him a taste of the teeth-rotting sweetness of my presence.
now he’d grown accustomed to me.
and did not know how to let me go.
zayne li—an exceptionally great professional, the pride of akso hospital and a genius who idly walked down linkon city’s streets.
he did not have an answer for this matter.
for once in his life, he did not know what to do.
all he had left was to keep walking by my side—until the road collapsed, until it split in two, until it was my legs that could no longer go on and not his.
because he loved me so much that he would have kept walking beside me to the end of the world, but not enough to realize the damage we were causing each other.
eventually, that pain became the perfect excuse to keep seeing me, to keep feeling me, to keep breathing me in.
the fights would end with steamy, loveless sex.
actually, that’s a lie. the fights would never end, we’d just take it out on each other, let the anger and blazing rage blend with the primal desire to strip bare.
years passed and the loop didn’t seem to be close to ending, and i grew tired of it.
one cold winter night, on that same bridge, zayne and i met.
no soul wandered around, no chatter of people was heard. heavy silence engulfed us as i stood opposite to zayne. cold, glaciated eyes stared deep into my soul.
the hazel orbs i fell in love with were now reduced to an emotionless void, a lifeless stillness.
and i was the one to blame.
“what is it that you want?” zayne’s voice broke through the hard ice we’d buried each other in.
my pale skin and broken lips were the sole evidence of my exhaustion. “let’s put an end to this.”
a choked sound left zayne’s lips involuntarily, his eyes shot open as incredulity and pain flooded his senses.
“i’m tired, zayne. i’m tired of loving you like you’re oxygen and suffocating anyway, of pretending that what we have isn’t rotting from the inside.” my voice broke, tears falling freely from his eyes.
with each teardrop that wetted the ground, my heart sank deeper and broke more.
“every time we fight, we don’t solve anything. we mistake obsession for devotion.” i swallowed before continuing, a part of me breaking little by little with every word that fell off my lips. “we mistake need for love.”
“wait. yn.”
zayne stepped forward and i stepped back.
our bodies were apart, and somehow, our hearts were even farther.
“and i love you.” i confessed as a smile curved my dry lips, belying my sad face. “god, i love you more than i ever meant to. but love shouldn’t feel like standing on the edge of a bridge every night, wondering who will fall first.”
zayne’s calm demeanor crumbled down when he stumped his foot on the hard ground, rage seeping through his very skin. “if you love me, then why are you doing this to me?!”
fury hazed his mind and his breath became more elaborated, each exhale curled into a pale puff of mist in the freezing december air.
“zayne.” my voice cut through his wrath. “you don’t know how to let me go, and i don’t know how to stay without losing myself.”
and i knew those were the words he had spent years trying to outrun. they cut deep within the confines of his very soul as his gaze softened.
“we keep choosing each other, not because we’re good together but because we’re afraid of who we’ll be apart. and that isn’t love, zayne.”
this time, i stepped forwards and he stayed there, motionless. as though he was waiting for me to grace him with my touch.
because he knew that once i pulled away, my touch would never find him again.
“that’s fear.”
my hand reached up and cupped his cheek, my thumb stroking his skin as he nuzzled deeper into my palm.
“but i love you. i can’t be without you.” his hand slid over mine before his crystallized eyes locked onto my own. “i need you.”
a gentle grin puffed my rosy cheeks, cold tears running down my face. “if we stay, we’ll destroy whatever tenderness is left between us.”
“let me go, zayne.” i whispered, heart splintered, soul undone. “before we turn into something we can’t forgive.”
his jaw trembled beneath my palm.
for a moment, i thought he would argue again. that he would tighten his grip, pull me back into the familiar ruin of us. but he didn’t.
his fingers loosened. slowly. reluctantly.
as if letting go required more strength than holding on ever did. as if he were savoring the last bits of each other.
a broken exhale left his lips, dissolving into the winter air between us.
“…and if i let you go,” he asked, voice barely steady, “what will be left of me?”
i swallowed the ache clawing at my throat before replying. “you’ll still be you,” i muttered. “brilliant. kind. capable of saving everyone but yourself.”
a flicker of pain crossed his teary gaze. not anger. not fury.
grief.
the kind that doesn’t scream.
the kind that settles.
my hand slipped from his cheek and the warmth vanished instantly.
he didn’t chase it. he didn’t stop me.
and somehow, that hurt more than if he had.
snow began to fall—soft, indifferent, dusting his dark hair, clinging to his lashes. he stood there like something carved from ice and heartbreak.
i stepped back.
one step, then another.
he remained still, watching me as if memorizing the shape of my absence.
and when i finally turned around, i didn’t look back.
Synopsis: You made the biggest mistake of your life: a drunken one night stand with the man you loved... who happened to also be hopelessly pinning after someone else. In an ironic way you two were in the exact same shoes, but when the alcohol wore off and you woke up to the sight of him naked beside you, the only thing you could think of was to RUN. (Lyrics from "Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call" by the Bleachers)
Warning(s): Angst, Hurt/Comfort, if you don't want comfort only read the first part LOL. No fancy evol shenanigans, Zayne is just an imperfect man.
8.2k words
A/N: GUESS WHO'S A PHD CANDIDATE NOW?! In my first poll, y'all wanted Zayne + hidden child trope, so I HAVE COME TO DELIVER. I will always go feral for pining and (un)requited loves. also tumblr formatting is legitimately driving me crazy. I will fix the large vs small font slowly.
Imagine it's Christmas eve. Your small home is cozy, the fireplace lit. Cookies made. You're sitting next to your daughter, tucking her in bed, as you playfully ask her, "what's Santa bringing you this year?"
She looks into your eyes and laughs, "a polar bear". Rolling your eyes, you bop her nose. "Noo, we can't have that in the house!" "How about daddy then?" You freeze. "Where did you hear that from?" She shrugs, "other kids at daycare seem to have them." Your mind is reeling from the barrage of thoughts invading your mind. Have I been a terrible mother? Why is she asking for her father now? What do I tell her? Is she getting bullied? "A reaaaaally big plushie!" she interrupts your spiraling with a squeal, already moving on from her previous wish. You force your lips into a smile as you smooth the wrinkles out of her comforter. "Be a good girl, and Santa will be here before you know it, alright?"
You stumble out into the kitchen and nearly collapse on the counter, trying to prevent the sob that threatens to escape your throat. You've tried so hard to for the last 4 years. Raising a daughter alone. She hasn't suspected anything out of the ordinary at all, but the combination of your work, your daughter's coming of age to find out about these things, and the time of the year again. The warm christmas lights that you had put up with her weeks ago haunts your vision now, reminding you that it's thistime of the year. The same snowy night when you left him for the first time. It comes all crashing down on you at once.
A ring of the doorbell brings you out of your stupor, as you make your way to the front door, quickly wiping your face. You're not expecting any visitors tonight. Per usual precautions, you look out the peephole...
Imagine it's Zayne. Standing outside your door. The same glasses. A wool scarf and heavy coat. Hands in his pockets, looking more nervous than the first time he scrubbed into the operating room.
You hear your own heart pounding in your temples, not sure if it is out of anger or hidden anticipation. Looking back at the bright lights turned on in the rest of your house, you quietly let out a curse as you head back to the kitchen, sitting down heavily on a chair.
You can't bring yourself to open that door.
To the tempo of your uptight
Is the flicker of a streetlight
You know this moment, don't you?
Imagine time passes. You hold your head in your hands in the living room. You grab yourself a glass of wine. Your phone buzzes with texts and notifications from your friends. "Merry Christmas Eve," "Happy holidays"
You're afraid of checking and seeing something from Zayne
A grueling hour later, you decide its time to retire. As you turn off the lights in the living room, you can't help but glance at your front door. He must've left. Something in you convinces yourself. Just to check.
What you don't expect to find when you hesitantly swing open your door is a tall figure still there. Frozen. Unmoving as you meet his olive eyes. His face is cast in shadow, the flicker of streetlight behind him creating a halo around his dark, snowy form.
Something lights up behind them as he looks at you, almost in disbelief as you appear in the doorway. "Hey," he breathes, "It's been a while."
Time is strangely calm now
'Cause everybody's gone
It's just you and your anger
Imagine the words are so soft, uttered so tenderly that if you didn't personally experience a decade of pining and four years away from this man, you would've almost mistaken the emotion in his voice for longing. "I've been trying to reach you for a long time. I'm sorry-"
The pleading look in his eyes only pours oil over the smothering fire already burning in your chest, ugly emotions clawing their ways out, having been carefully suppressed and beaten down for so many years.
Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind
You were mine, but you were awful every time
Imagine you spit his name out as if it was something vile.
"Spare me the pleasantries already."
So don't tell them what you told me
Don't hold me like you know me
"Y/N, I know what I did back then was horrible-"
"I don't need your apology, Zayne!"
I would rather burn forever
"We both knew that I loved you!" you retort, barely keeping the tears of frustration in. "And you didn't love me back, which is fine!" Your voice cracks. "It was FINE!"
But you should know that I died slow
Running through the halls of your haunted home
"I've come this far without you back then, so I definitely don't need you here now. I don't WANT you crawling back to me after you got rejected by MC, I want NOTHING to do with you, do you hear me?!"
And the toughest part is that we both know
What happened to you
Why you're out on your own
You let years worth of grievances spill from your mouth, too caught up in expelling your emotions. You don't realize you're crying until you feel the prickle of water freezing on the surface of your cheeks.
Blinking to clear your vision, you're almost shocked to find Zayne's eyes bloodshot and just as watery as yours. Something in your heart wrenches, while a quiet sadistic part of your mind rejoices. At least he's hurting the same way I am.
Imagine Zayne says nothing, simply looking at you with tears running down his cheek, waiting for you to catch your breath. Your sniffle turns into a cough as you (embarrassingly) choke on your emotions, and his hand's flying up but pausing before it touches your shoulder, as if he's too afraid to touch your fragile form.
Finally, when the cold wind has completely penetrated your bones standing in the doorway, do you whisper, "Go home, Zayne."
Merry Christmas, please don't call
He doesn't say anything for a minute. Finally, he forces his face into a smile that looks more awful than crying, and whispers "I'm sorry." Before you close the door for good, you hear "I'll be back".
Merry Christmas, I'm not yours at all
Imagine there was a rumor at AKSO hospital that Zayne was in love with someone: a childhood friend with a heart condition, a girl he rarely brought up, but he would have the smallest yet warmest smile on his lips when he did. She was his reason for becoming a doctor in the first place, his drive to relentlessly conduct his research, his green light at the other end of the bay.
Imagine despite confirming this rumor for yourself, it didn't stop you from falling in love with your classmate and now coworker. The first time you heard Zayne mention mc was before graduation; the two of you had finished your last exams of medical school, and the quiet walk out of the exam hall into the cool summer night seemed like the ideal setting to ask your classroom crush of five years why he wanted to pursue this career. You would never forget the look of utter devotion on his face as he told you about her, your heart squeezing, feeling as if it was about to burst. This was the Zayne you loved: his words soft but full of conviction, explaining in detail to you his dedication to the art and science of medicine. Your own heart was hammering so hard against your chest wall that it hurt to breathe. Simply being next to him in that moment felt like fireworks exploding above the ocean, you being foam from the waves. In that moment, you felt a bit of his light illuminate your own.
Imagine the stupid classroom crush that started off as pure admiration bloomed into a bursting bouquet. It resulted in you following him to residency, then AKSO hospital where the two of you now worked as attendings — you in the ICU as internist, and him in cardiac surgery. He had always been the star student, most highly anticipated trainee, the most highly regarded attending, people circled him at every moment, in anticipation, in awe, or simply in curiosity. Despite only ever being a few feet, a few floors away, he felt like a distant galaxy, so dazzling that could bring tears to your eyes. And you were a steady gaze that followed him. It wasn't that you were "hung up" on him, you told yourself. You had looked around before, went on a few first dates that never got anywhere; just that no one you met ever matched up to the lingering feelings you had for this man
Imagine sometimes though, you wished that time could really heal wounds. If not a decade, maybe 2, or more, could be enough for Zayne to move on. You never pushed your feelings, you just happened to be the one in the hospital who knew him the longest, which, in your mind, meant something. There was mutual respect between you two, and you felt proud to be one of the few people who were considered to always be "worth" his time.
You knew his patient list and operating room schedule as if it were your own. Students asked you to relay questions, and other doctors and nurses would sometimes nervously request you to accompany them as they delivered bad news to Zayne's office. On days the surgical team rounded on patients on your floor, you made sure to grab an extra cup of coffee just the way he liked it: black with no cream and 3 sugars, regardless of whether or not he would come by.
Back when the two of you were trainees, he got into the habit of walking you to the bus stop as it was usually dark by the time you finished your shifts. As an attending now, his surgical schedule was much less predictable, but on days he finished earlier than your clinic, you'd still find him waiting outside the same entrance you used for 10 years, commenting "its an early/late day, huh" as the two of you made your way to the garage together.
In those moments, despite feeling so small, so normal, so insignificant compared to Zayne and the dreams he had to pursue, you felt happy. You knew that he was destined for great things, and he won't stay for someone like you. But when that day comes, you convinced yourself that you couldn't be more proud to stand behind him.
Imagine of course, your busy yet blissfully content days were shattered when Zayne took mc in as her patient (and roughly by extension, making her yours as well). You never thought you would finally meet the girl of his dreams, and she was the sweetest thing: round watery eyes, a smile that could grow flowers, always so polite to you and the staff, so much so that even you couldn't help but feel sorry for her condition. Unfortunately, that meant that you stopped seeing Zayne as often as he buried himself into her care. No more lunch talks or coffee deliveries, his door always firmly shut when you popped by. You could tell by the bags under his eyes that he was doing everything he could for her, and it pained you to see his anguish and self-torture over something out of his control.
Imagine you stayed after your shift one evening, hoping to catch a conversation with him, to ask if he was alright. After asking various nurses and chasing down a resident, you made your way up to the rooftop with heavy steps, suddenly doubting if you even wanted to see this with your own eyes. You hear them before you see anything, the gentle peel of laughter from mc, and Zayne's soothing voice floating across the early spring air. There was a warmth to it that you haven't heard in a while.
You watch them through the glass door, how he gently places a blanket over her shoulders, his hands lingering there for a moment too long. You couldn't make out exactly what they are saying, but you didn't need to, already knowing what kind of promises he's making as he gently takes her hands into his, their faces mere inches away from each other. You tell yourself you knew this is supposed to be the ending all this time. It's unreasonable, really, the way your tears sprung up. A decade of quiet companionship reduced to sunlight filtering through trees, the dance of light and shadows. You didn't know that love could feel so painful, the experience of having him, yet losing him at the same time.
Imagine you go home drunk that night, apologetically calling in sick the next morning to nurse your combined heartbreak and hangover. You email HR and hand in your two week notice to Greyson, smiling sheepishly as he fusses over you like a mother hen "What's wrong? Are you having issues with anyone? What can we fix for you?" It's a temporary break, you say. I fear it's the beginning of burnout. Should probably take some time away from, you gesture vaguely, here.
You avoid Zayne for the next few days, except for mandatory patient consults, though you really didn't even need to try. It almost feels like karma took pity on you when mc's brother, oh, ahem, step-brother, comes into the hospital to "help take care of her", and between the crowds of swooning nurses and excited whispers from your other female colleagues, you see Zayne's face crumble.
Imagine it's Christmas Eve, so you decide to go out with your friends for a well-deserved drink and to escape your feelings. You get a call from Greyson well past 1am asking you to pick up Zayne from the bar. The alcohol is only just starting to wear off a bit, enough that the rational part of your brain is telling you that you really shouldn't go see Zayne right now, but as you hear him groan weakly in the background, everything falls apart. You arrive at the address and nearly stumble from the heavy smell of liquor. Greyson and Zayne are the only two left, and he shoots you an immensely grateful look as he unceremoniously dumps Zayne onto you. "Thanks for always taking care of him, doc!"
Imagine it's the first time you've seen Zayne this drunk, and he's mumbling words under his breath as you guide him into the taxi. You give the driver Zayne's address, and try to keep his head (that keeps falling onto your shoulder) upright. Looking out the window, you watch the warm streetlights graze past your line of vision. You make out mc's name a few times between him cursing a guy named Caleb (her stepbrother, you figured), lamenting how he was always just a step too late. You would genuinely empathize with him, if you were not having the exact same thoughts about your own situation. Stumbling up the stairs to his flat, you're forced to cage him against the door to gain access to his jacket pocket as you fumble to find the keys. Much to your dismay, despite the chilly wind, he isn't getting any more coherent.
"Why?" You thought you heard him whimper
"Why am I not enough?"
Oh... the cynical devil on your shoulder wants to laugh at his pathetic predicament, but your heart betrays yourself: The words hit a little too close to home
"That's not it, Zayne..." you say softly, earnestly. "You're perfect just the way you—!"
You twist the key counterclockwise in the lock, yelping as the door suddenly gives away, sending both you and Zayne tumbling backwards.
Imagine you reach your hands out in front of you, bracing for impact, but suddenly find your face an arms length away from Zayne's as he stares at you glassy and wide-eyed on the ground
"Really?" He whispers, as if he hasn't just had the wind knocked out of his lungs
You take the opportunity to examine his face up close, knowing it may be the only chance you get in this lifetime.
His long lashes, murky green eyes, hair that looks so effortlessly good even slightly tousled
You swallow the lump in your throat
"Yeah"
"I love you"
The words come out of your mouth before your brain has enough time to catch up. You hold your breath for a second, wondering if he's drunk enough to believe you if you said "oopsie, you didn't hear that" or "let's just forget this whole ordeal altogether."
Imagine you're about to pull away when you're roughly pulled to the ground again, and suddenly his lips are on yours
Holy. Shit.
Every brain cell of yours is overstimulated right now, half attempting to process this completely inappropriate yet pleasurable sensation, while the the other half is screaming for you to stop this while you can.
His tongue traces the space between your lips, and in your moment of hesitation, he invites himself inside your mouth, tongue languidly sweeping across yours. You taste alcohol bitters on his breath, reminding you of the sorry state both of you share
"say it again".
Huh? You're still in a daze as he is suddenly the one pressing you against the wall, the door closing behind you with a thud
"Say you love me."
Imagine his forehead is heavy against yours, eyes closed, and you think you can count the number of long eyelashes you've always envied on him. His heavy pants ghost your lips, and you think you're hypnotized.
"I...I love you"
You give up on protecting your dignity (not that you really had much when it came to Zayne anyways) as you let yourself be guided closer, lips entangled deeper, limbs holding onto him tighter. Clothes are carelessly discarded as the two of you stumble to the couch. He's everything and everywhere all at once, kisses hot and desperate against your skin.
Imagine all the hair on your body stand up at once where he whispers "I've been waiting for this moment my entire life" as he pushes into you and despite the sweat and heat, you feel your heart plunge below freezing. He's not talking about you, you figure. Just this once, you tell yourself, let yourself go this once and end it for good
Imagine your climax rips through your body, momentarily washing out the condemning voices in your head. It's not until you feel Zayne finishing inside you, that you're suddenly snapped back to the punishing reality.
Your body is thoroughly wrecked and exhausted by the nights events, yet your brain is running static, guaranteeing you no sleep for the rest of the morning. You shakily get up, collecting the remains of your of clothing from the ground as shame overcomes regret. You help yourself to a towel in his bathroom before wetting another to clean him off and make him look presentable again. The logical, calculating and ever efficient side of you knew, It would be best for him to forget this ever happened. You stare at his perfect sleeping face, looking relaxed for the first time in a while, and a small part of you regrets not leaving a single mark on him. The smallest reminder of you.
Imagine you're dusting off a blanket to throw over him as your phone suddenly vibrates on the glass side table, and you nearly dive to snatch it before Zayne can even stir. One of your residents begs you to come help with a new admit from the emergency room, and you're whispering "ok" before immediately hanging up, paranoid that the man beside you is anything but knocked out cold.
Taking one last look at Zayne, you slip into the night once again. Festive red, green, and gold christmas lights mock your shivering form as you escape - pathetically - from your feelings once again.
Imagine the patient case has you occupied well into the late morning, as you are momentarily stunned by the sunlight waging war against your eyes when you finally stepped out of the hospital. Brain finally exhausted, you pass out on your bed still in your scrubs and emerge in the evening, ravenously hungry before ordering takeout, and promptly diving back into the blissful ignorance of sleep.
You wake up the next morning with a start. Fuck I forgot to get birth control and cowered in the pharmacy before taking the long way to your floor. As you open the door to your office, you're greeted with an explosion of streamers and balloons "Happy last day!!!!"
Coworkers, mentors, and students crowd you, lamenting on your leave, and fighting over who was covering lunch and dinner. You notice your eyes flickering hesitantly towards the door every time someone walks by, hoping one of them could be Zayne, but also nervous about how you would face him.
The reality was, you didn't need to hold your breath, because the surgeon didn't drop by. You tell yourself that Zayne isn't on the schedule today, but you felt betrayed on a more personal level, to think someone you had known for so long couldn't even come to wish you well on your departure after years of working together. You wondered how much of his icy heart you ever managed to get through, and whether the decades-long friendship was simply a one-sided fantasy.
Imagine you clear your office, packing away your career at AKSO into a small cardboard box and took it home. You start by going on vacation, something you haven't taken in years, trying to match Zayne's fervor at work. You upped and moved out of the big city, into a smaller northern town, where you served as the division chief at a community teaching hospital. Your case load was much less intense than what you had in the city, with a smaller team, more time to talk to your patients, and a tight-knit community. For once, you find enjoyment in even your most menial tasks, and had time to gather hobbies, explore the charms of the quaint little town. The local bakery have your pastry and coffee ready for you when you popped in every morning, and patient families bring you produce and homemade foods so often to the point you don't even miss the convenience of takeout in the city.
Imagine it wasn't until over two months had passed that you realize with a sinking feeling that you haven't had a period in a while. Your friend in the obgyn department excitedly congratulates you on your pregnancy as you're thrust into a situation you never thought you would be in. You knew you should've taken the proper measures to protect yourself and prevent this ethical dilemma from even being a possibility. The child should not exist and it wasn't fair to them to be born in these circumstances. But as you looked around at the new community you found, you decide to give into the selfish side of yourself for once.
Imagine giving birth six months later to a tiny girl, with a tuft of your hair but Zayne's piercing green eyes. Your new coworkers coo and spoil her rotten, not asking extra questions upon hearing the father was "out of the picture" and instead insisting on helping you with every last task. "All men have is the audacity anyways", said the little old grandma you saw for monthly check-ups as she aggressively knits booties for your daughter. You wonder if this cozy, warm, crazy, but peaceful life would last forever
Imagine it's 3 years later, you pick your daughter up from daycare and bring her to the hospital as you get ready for another night of checking in with the residents and finishing notes. You drop her off at your office, telling her "you know what to do if you want to go to the kids play area, right?" "Yea~! Tell Nurse Mina to walk with me!" You're just about done finishing handoff with the night shift crew when one of the new surgical interns turn to you excitedly.
"We have a big shot surgeon coming to give a talk about advances in heart stabilizing and regeneration technologies!! He's from AKSO hospital! Didn't you used to work there, Dr. Y/N?"
You let out a strained smile, "why yes."
(The other residents are desperately trying to signal to the intern that they should probably stop talking right now. It's an open secret that you don't like talking about your years at AKSO.)
"Zayne Li! The number one cardiac surgeon in Linkon city?? Have you ever seen him?"
You swear your heart rate hasn't shot up like this since your daughter fell (crawled) off an examination table once when you had your back turned for 2 seconds.
"Yes. He was my coworker" and classmate, and someone I was hopelessly in love with
"That's incredible! I wonder how it felt just being in the presence of such an amazing doctor..." They continue gushing on.
"I... will actually be taking tomorrow off" Yeah, you are already texting the manager to see who is able to cover your cases. "I need to bring my daughter to err... parent-teacher conferences"
(The senior resident glares daggers at the poor oblivious intern. Whoever was covering for you was definitely not going to be as nice)
You stare hard at the email buried in your inbox with the subject line "Distinguished Lecture Series: Dr. Zayne Li" and pray with all your might that your coworkers will pull through.
Gritting your teeth, you curse under your breathe. Why is he coming, AGAIN?
Imagine Zayne had arrived in town earlier that day, already familiar with his way around. As he waits in line at a cafe for a sweet treat, a medical student comes up to him, eyes wide. "Are you Dr. Zayne Li? From AKSO Hospital?" He smiles politely and nods, watching the gears in the student's head turn as they try to think of something to continue the conversation. "I was just on rotation with an attending that also trained at AKSO!"
"Really?" Zayne supplies, "would I know them?" He already knows the answer to that.
"Her name is Y/N."
Zayne's eyes widen as he pretends to be surprised at your name. "We go way back. Classmates from medical school to AKSO"
"No way, that's crazy! You should definitely hi to her tomorrow!" they say excitedly.
"Yeah..." Zayne mutters, a shadow of a smile on his lips, "I hope to".
Imagine after your one-night stand, Zayne returns to AKSO Hospital three days later with a half-faded black eye, stirring up quite the rumors. Caleb fought him to take mc home, wanting to spend whatever time she had left together peacefully back in their hometown. He was so close, so so close to saving her; he had been planning this ambitious surgery for years, one novel but risky procedure that would make everything right. Yet Caleb wanted her out of the white walls, sterile rooms, and whispers of people betting on the outcome of her life. Even if the surgery worked, what would be in store for her future? To be continuously studied, monitored, sensationalized, for the rest of her life as a scientific novelty? An experiment? Zayne begged her to trust him, believe him. "Can you just try a little longer... for me?" but she ultimately turned him down. "I'm sorry Zayne... I know how much you've done me, and I'm sorry for being selfish. But I can't stay here anymore."
He took his defeat gracefully, signing off her discharge papers later that night. Perhaps the straightforward rejection was what he needed years ago. What replaced ripping heartbreak was a sense of emptiness. Heavy, but calm.
When a cup of coffee was set down in front of him again that morning, he looked up, expecting to see you, but it was Greyson this time.
"You've looked... better" Greyson notes carefully.
Zayne takes a sip, frowning at the bitterness. "Did you add sugar to this thing?"
Greyson sighs dramatically, "this is not the time for our number one surgeon to be complaining about coffee, it's only been 2 days since Y/N left and my patient schedule is in SHAMBLES"
"Left?" Zayne pauses, coffee still in his hands.
"Yeah, she put in her 2 week notice a while ago, you didn't know?"
The room suddenly feels a few degrees colder.
"I... haven't seen her around in a while" he admits slowly.
"Whaaaat? No way, isn't she always coming down here?"
Zayne thinks of the past two months, of how his days and nights have melded together. It was a cycle of being in his office, the OR, and the lab. He realizes with a start that he had not noticed anything else around him apart from MC
"God, and to think she was the one that got your drunk ass home last weekend," Greyson gawks, "you didn't even know she was LEAVING?!"
Imagine Zayne's heart stops for a second. He had a bad feeling about this. Not the panicky desperation every time MC pulled further away from him, but something slow and heavy clawing at his chest, like an anchor sinking to bottom of the ocean. The realization that a constant in his life he had taken for granted for over a decade had evaporated into thin air, and he was the only one who wasn't paying attention.
He had woke up with a roaring headache with no idea how to got home. He remembers snippets of a very... explicit dream that felt so vivid but surreal at the same time. Greyson's words knocked the wind out of him as he realizes what went down that night.
Fuck. He was the worst human to ever exist. To neglect you while being caught up in his work for so long, then have a drunken one night stand together, and to miss your send-off on top of everything else. You must've thought he was the scum of the earth. In the moment, the only thoughts racing through his head were about how to fix this. There were a lot of words he wants to say to you, and a lot of things he wish he had not said.
In that moment, he feels for the first time that his "perfect-on-paper" life had gone wrong, very wrong. He was Zayne Li, known to possess great talent from a young age. Perhaps he thought too highly of himself in the beginning; he had no interest in romantic love, telling every one of his admirers that he only wish was to be down-to-earth, to do practical things, to establish a livelihood in helping other people, and to contribute all his efforts to advance the human condition. Every move, every step, every risk, was meticulously calculated. Yet, he ultimately failed due to his arrogance. He had been so caught up in resisting fate, playing with control. He crafted his entire career around proving something; proving his skill, his talent, his abilities, himself! To… MC? Caleb? The world? Himself?
Looking back, it all seems like a grand dream. Now, staring at his not-sweet-enough coffee, he feels alone, utterly isolated, longing for someone to be by his side, someone with whom he could share respect and harmony. The worst part was that he knows that person was you, the one he allowed to slip away.
Imagine he tries calling you, but your phone doesn't go through. You had blocked his texts and calls. He asks around if anyone knew where you went, but you hadn't informed anyone of your next steps. He appears in front of your apartment. No one is home. He continues his visits until a few weeks later, the landlord tells him you had moved out. To where, no one knew.
Unlike MC who was always the brightest, most eye catching in the room, your absence haunts those around you more than your presence. Nurses talked wistfully about your kindness and work ethic (as if you were dead), students bemoaned their new assignments, "I want Dr. Y/N back!" Greyson would not shut up about how much harder his life became when you were gone, lamenting how you initially told him it was just a "short break". Zayne prays that no one would ever find out that he was the reason you weren't returning.
A year later, he is elated as he randomly comes across an article announcing you as the new IM director at your hospital. With your name and experience, its not hard to stalk find where you are. He knows you don't want to see him at all. But he still tries. Over the next three years, he gets creative. Cardiology conferences, non-surgical point of care meetings that he used to never care for. He's there, trying to search for your silhouette in the crowds. He willingly offers to give guest lectures at your hospital, hoping to catch sight of you in the hall. You're magically never scheduled for those days. At one point he considered taking a day off to just loiter outside your hospital entrance, even if you don't walk by. Would you think he was being too much? Too pathetic? He askes himself.
Imagine Zayne goes to the hospital later that night, hoping to do a quick run-over of his talk. When he sees your daughter on a bench in the atrium, he thinks he's going crazy thinking of you. The nurse watching over her immediately blushes and makes space as he slowly makes his way over to them. He laughs and entertains your daughter as she tries to sound out the big word "Cardiology" on the front page of the journal she grabbed from your office, but behind the gentle curve of his eyes, there is a bitter taste in his mouth as he imagines what it would be like if he actually had a child with you.
Imagine you see him first, heels clicking in the hall as you look for your daughter, only to see her curled up in Zayne's lap, his stethoscope (since when did surgeons even carry around stethoscopes, anyway?) in her hands. Something in you snaps.
You sharply call her name, telling her to go, refusing to even acknowledge his presence.
Zayne's breath catches when he hears your voice. But the tone is far from familiar. It's sharp, riddled with concern... and none of the softness you once reserved for him.
He stands up, tries to call your name, but your back is already turned as you wordlessly gather your daughter in your arms and walk out the door. He hurries out after you, offering to drive you home, or at least accompany you to the bus station.
"No need, Dr. Li. I can do it myself."
And you can. He knows it. He swears he hears the sound of his heart breaking watching you walk away with your, his, daughter in hand. He can tell that you've gotten used to his absence, maybe even finally enjoys being free from him. He tells himself that he should be satisfied, thankful that he was able to be in your presence. You were doing great in your current position, and living life the way you wanted - without him. Yet perhaps it was seeing his daughter for the first time, the way she smiled like you, crinkled her nose in discontentment the same way you did, all while looking at him with those same olive eyes. Maybe it was the protective way you held her, eyes full of mirth as you looked at him, but with a hint of fear, worried that another rejection would break you apart completely.
Snow starts falling. He ignores the cold flakes that press into his cheeks. He should be respectful, he thinks. He should leave you alone and let you hate him. But seeing your face snapped his last sliver of self-control. He didn't want to, no, he couldn't let go of you anymore. To hell with being a gentleman, always doing "the right thing", being presentable, impeccable, unshakable. He knew he was being shameless in wanting you back. But oh, he was willing to do it. He was going to show you exactly how shameless he could get.
Imagine his visits to your house begin happening nearly weekly after Christmas. You never found out who at the hospital snitched and gave him your personal address, but you tried to ignore him at first. It worked until you run into him on the way to pick up your daughter from daycare one afternoon. He catches your fists that are about to make contact with his stupidly perfect face, pretending he doesn't hear your threats of calling the police. Your aggravation is finally stilled with his soft uttering of "Erikson's stages of development".
"Our daughter is at the age, autonomy versus shame and doubt" he says, methodical as always. "Early childhood development is important. I don't want her to feel abandoned, unloved." You hate how he is always right. He leaves you speechless every time, with no rebuttal. The two of you stand there in silence. To your surprise, he is the one to give in first. "I know I hurt you back then. I took your dedication, care," he hesitates for a moment. "- love... for granted." You pull your arm out of his grasp as if you were burned. His face twitches, struggling to keep his composure as he adjusts his glasses, takes a deep breath and continues.
"I... wasn't in love with mc. Really."
You stare at him in disbelief, a single eyebrow raised mockingly.
"No, the only thing I was enamored with would have been the idea of what I otherwise could achieve." He laughs in self-deprecation. "The last night I spent with you... mc had told me she didn't want to go through with her surgery."
You stilled for a moment, breath hitching. You knew her chart well enough to know what that meant. A death sentence. Self-served.
"I... looked up to her as testament to why I worked so hard all these years. Not just the fact my parents are accomplished physicians, I told myself I had an altruistic reason in doing all of this. Curing her was supposed to be the epitome of success, the end-all be-all." He looks away from you, not trusting himself to be able to withstand the scrutiny of your gaze.
"Caleb beat me up pretty bad," he chuckles. "I deserved it though. He made me realize the drive I had to do the surgery was purely for selfish reasons - to chase something, be someone... when in the end, why does it all matter if it makes those around me miserable?"
He looks up with a start. "My bad, all of this is the fault of purely my own doing. I'm not telling you this expecting it to explain or give reason to my poor behavior in the past." His hands wave awkwardly, voice wavering in a way you haven't heard in years. "I know I haven't done anything to deserve your forgiveness yet, but I genuinely want to build a good relationship with my daughter." His voice is lower now, thick with emotion. "I... I was not there for you when you probably needed support the most. I left you with all the burden of her care. But starting from now, I want to try and become an adequate father. If you are willing to let me.
Imagine you stand there in silence for a while longer before furiously wiping at the tears that threaten to seep out of your eyes. No, you were not moved to tears by his sob story, nor statement of dedication, you were mad at yourself. By how despite the years of slowly crushing your feelings down and watching them turn into dust, there was still the smallest remnant of goodwill you had for him inside your heart. Mood still cross, you turn away stiffly and begin walking towards the kindergarten doors.
"Hey, are you alright?" Zayne is alarmed, worried he made you more upset.
You gather enough breath to shoot a "shut up I'm fine," feet not stopping.
Zayne's heart surges as he quickly falls into step behind you. Afterall, you didn't tell him to get lost. From over a decade working together, he knows you too well.
Your daughter squeals in excitement when she sees Zayne with you at pick-up, eager to meet a new friend. You would rather die than admit that the sight of Zayne gently placing her on his wide shoulders is dangerously adorable.
Imagine as the months pass, you get used to Zayne visiting on the weekends. He is still scarily observant, taking perfect note of each and every one of your daughter's preferences (and annoyingly, still remembering some of yours, like your favorite cookies from the one bakery in downtown Linkon). You also didn't expect the surgeon to be so willing to get his hands dirty in the ugly parts of childcare as well. Temper tantrums, dramatic meltdowns, cry fests over the smallest things? He handled them patiently, in his own way, and of course, always rewarded her with a candy straight from his coat pocket. You begin to question why he didn't go into pediatrics. He never stayed over, taking his leave after tucking your daughter into bed, sometimes staying for light conversation, before coming over early the next morning. Other times you would get an apologetic text message at 2am that he was called into AKSO and needed to head back immediately, with a sad smiley face and a voice message for your daughter to listen to in the morning. You'd stare into the twinkling of lights in the distance, wondering how much sleep he was getting on the train ride back to the city.
The first time your daughter ran a high fever, you and Zayne panicked and fretted, debating amongst yourselves whether to take her to the emergency room or not. Despite the fact the both of you were full-fledged doctors, the uncertainty and fear of having your own child be sick was definitely a first on both of your checklists. The two of you took turns replacing the damp towel on her forehead, gently feeding her when needed, and soothing her discomfort/shushing her to sleep. You doze off, head in your arms on the dining room table when you are waken up by Zayne gently placing a blanket over your shoulders. He informs you of the most recent temperature he took, noting that the fever finally broke. You hurry to go check for yourself.
Your daughter opens her eyes as you place your palm on her forehead, muttering "can daddy stay with me until the morning?"
Zayne looks like a deer in headlights, shocked at the request, a mix of adoration and sorrow behind his eyes. Remembering his role though, he gives you a quick reassuring smile before opening his mouth, about to gently decline.
You glance at the clock. It's past midnight.
"You can stay" you say hurriedly, not giving yourself time to regret it. "It's late anyways," you supply lamely.
Imagine how you end up with your head on Zayne's shoulder as the two of you fall asleep on chairs next to your daughter's bed is a mystery, but what shocks you more is hearing Zayne ask how you would feel if he moved here the next morning.
"Pardon?" you blink, thinking you heard him wrong.
"I'll be closer to the two of you. I'll be able to see our daughter during the week as well, and won't be called away at random times when I'm spending time with you guys." He talks casually, as if discussing changing the color of the walls and not giving up his entire career.
"Zayne. You're a cardiac surgeon."
He shrugs, flipping the pancakes on the stove. "I can be a cardiac surgeon here too."
You look at him in utter disbelief. "What about your PhD students? Your research lab? You're the number one cardiac surgeon at Linkon Hospital!"
Zayne turns of the stove and plates the pancakes before joining you at the table. "So about that... I told the university that I wanted to take my sabbatical." he says slowly, checking for your reaction.
Oh. You didn't know what to say. You are unfamiliar with this Zayne, who's actions are completely unpredictable based on the man you knew before.
"I brought this up a while ago, the day after I ran into you and our daughter at the hospital for the first time."
He offers you a bite of pancakes, but your mind is reeling way too fast to pay attention to the food in front of you. Frowning, he nudges the fluffy, syrup drenched forkful closer to your lips, and you numbly take it, too overwhelmed to refuse.
"Actually, since you've left, I only hired one new graduate student, and they're set to graduate in the spring. Greyson is more than equipped to run the lab without me by this point, and the most I'll need to do is help him with grant-writing once in a while." He keeps cutting and feeding you bites of the pancake, slightly amused by the way you listen to him with wide eyes; plus the small chewing, you look a lot like a rabbit.
"Zayne," you finally speak up, "do you realize what you will be giving up by coming here?"
He gives you a small smile. "I know what I am currently giving up to be at AKSO. You. And our daughter."
"I've thought a lot about what I've done with my life so far," he continues, "and what's important to me now. What am I accomplishing staying in the ivory tower of academia? Will I be proud of myself looking back on this years down the line?" He reaches for you hand, noting how it flinches as you think about pulling away for a millisecond, but ultimately staying. "This isn't meaningful to me anymore," he says softly. "Every time I go back to Linkon City, I'm thinking about the next time I can see you again. I want to pick our daughter up from school, watch her grow, teach her things, I want to do it all with you." He holds your hand tightly, a slight flush drifting over his cheeks. "I'll do whatever it takes, however long it takes, to prove that I am serious about us."
"Let me think about it," you whisper, breaking his gaze as you feel your ears heat up.
"Of course," he immediately supplies. "Take as long as you need"
He basks in the feeling of holding your hand for a little longer until the sound of your daughter waking up snaps the both of you out of the fuzzy moment.
"I'll go get her ready," you volunteer, rushing off in a way that looks suspiciously like as if you're flustered.
Zayne smiles as your figure disappears behind the door. "Just saying, if you ever want to consider going back to Linkon, I can tell Yvonne to stop talking about you to every newcomer as if you're dead."
You splutter, clearly taken about but amused by the information. "Take your sabbatical first! Then I'll reconsider!" You shoot back.
Zayne laughs, a low, warm sound vibrating through the hallway. He joins you in the bathroom, gently taking the brush from your hands as he gets to work pulling your daughter's hair into pigtails.
"I don't mind getting the same treatment as well, you know" he reassures you. "Greyson will make sure that my name haunts the halls of the operating suite for the next decade to come." You know for a fact that your ears are burning at this point. "That's an unfortunate end to AKSO's pride and joy."
"What can I say? I was struck through the heart by cupid's arrow a long time ago. Was just unable to recognize it due to… character flaws"
You fight and fail to keep your face straight as you cringe at the sappy words coming out of Zayne's mouth.
"I love you" he says earnestly. "I'll spend the rest of my life proving that".
synopsis: A cough left ignored. Nights spent alone. Sufferings forced to endure by yourself. You’re dating the Dr. Li, but what what happens if your boyfriend-of-a-doctor failed to foresee something serious?
disclaimer: this series will contain Angst/Comfort(?) (maybe… we will see), slow burn, Xavier mentioned, kind of an asshole Zayne (sorry), probably incorrect hospital stuffs, death, and very very detailed descriptions of health problems
The days after the rooftop date felt like the drifting sunlight—warm for a moment, then already slipping away into shadow.
You clung to every detail like a drowning person clutching driftwood. The string lights trembling in the wind. The way Zayne had looked at you under the stars, his voice low and certain when he said you were his priority. For the first time in months, the ache in your chest felt lighter, almost manageable. Maybe the long nights and late returns had finally reached their end. Maybe the distance that had grown between you was beginning to close.
When Xavier texted asking how you were, you suggested meeting at the cat café again. You wanted—needed—to narrate the dreamlike experience. To make the memory feel solid, real, something you could hold onto when the cough came back.
The same black cat claimed your lap the moment you sat down. You stroked its soft fur with fingers that trembled more than you wanted to admit. The café smelled of warm milk and faint vanilla, the low hum of purring cats filling the quiet spaces between conversations.
Xavier arrived a few minutes later. He slid into the seat across from you, white hair catching the soft afternoon light. His expression was calm, but there was a heaviness in his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time you met. He ordered your usual iced matcha latte without asking and pushed it toward you when it arrived.
You didn’t notice the worry at first. You were too full of the memory, too eager to share it.
“It was perfect, Xavier,” you began, voice soft but bright with leftover warmth. “He actually left the hospital on time for once. No last-minute calls, no emergency pages. We went to the rooftop restaurant—the one with the string lights overlooking the city. He remembered my favorite wine, the dry Riesling, and ordered the profiteroles without me saying anything. We talked for hours. Real talk. Not just stupid “how was your day,” he asked about my thesis, about the supernova project I’ve been stuck on. He listened like he used to, like I was the only thing in the room.”
You laughed quietly, cheeks warming at the memory.
“Then we walked to the observatory hill. The path was steeper than I remembered, but when I got tired halfway up, he just crouched down and said ‘come on.’ He carried me the rest of the way piggy-back. I felt like I was experiencing puppy-love again. We spread his coat on the grass and lay there looking at the stars. He pointed out Orion’s Belt—the one I mentioned to him when we were kids. He remembered. He actually remembered.”
Your fingers traced the rim of the latte glass.
“We took pictures together. One with the city lights below us, another where I kissed his cheek and he closed his eyes like he was at peace. The last one was both of us looking at the camera, foreheads touching. He told me to send them to him later. It felt… intimate. Like we were rebuilding something we’d almost lost.”
Xavier listened without interrupting. He was quieter than usual—no gentle teasing, no small smiles that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Just small nods, occasional soft hums of agreement. He reached over once to adjust the napkin under your glass when it started to slip, a small gesture to keep things neat, to keep you comfortable.
You kept talking, needing to pour it all out before the warmth faded.
“When we got home he held me like he was afraid I’d disappear. It’s been so long since it felt like we were actually a couple instead of two people sharing the same apartment and the same silences. He promised we’d have another proper winter date before Christmas. Just the two of us. No hospital, no late shifts… if he can help it. He said I’m his priority. His home.”
You took a sip of the latte. It tasted faintly metallic, but you ignored it.
“I think this is the turning point. All the waiting, all the nights I fell asleep alone—maybe it was worth it. Maybe… he finally sees how much I’ve been holding on.”
Xavier stayed silent for a long moment. His fingers tapped lightly against his own cup, a rare restless movement. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but subdued.
“Sounds like a really good night,” he said. “I’m glad you had that. You deserve nights where someone carries you up a hill and remembers the stars you taught him.”
He tried to smile—small, forced, but sincere. He pushed the plate of pastries he’d ordered towards you, the ones with extra cream that you liked.
“Eat something,” he said quietly. “You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
You took a bite, still riding the high of the memory. The sweetness sat heavy on your tongue.
“Thank you for listening,” you continued. “I know I’ve been dumping a lot on you lately. All the late nights, the canceled plans, the way I keep telling myself it’s fine. But last night felt different. Like the distance was finally closing. Like maybe I’m not just the person waiting at home anymore.”
Xavier nodded slowly. He reached out and gently brushed a stray cat hair from your sleeve, a small, careful gesture.
“I’m happy for you,” he said. His voice was soft, almost too soft. “Really. It’s good that he made time. That he carried you. That he remembered the stars.”
He paused, then added, quieter, “You looked excited when you walked in. It’s been a while since I saw that.”
You kept talking, the words spilling out faster now, as if saying them louder would make them permanent.
“He even silenced his phone when it buzzed during the date. For once, it wasn’t about the hospital. It was about us. I felt seen. Wanted. Like the girl he fell for years ago was still there.”
Xavier listened. He refilled your water glass when it got low. He made sure the cat stayed curled comfortably in your lap. He offered small, supportive comments, “That sounds romantic,” “I’m glad he remembered,” “You deserve to be treated like a princess,” but his usual easy warmth was muted. His eyes kept flicking to the way your hands trembled around the cup, to the faint blue shadows under your eyes, to the way your breathing had grown shallower without you realizing.
You didn’t see it. You were still glowing, still clinging to the fragile hope that the perfect night meant everything was finally turning around.
Then the cough came.
It started as a tickle in your throat. Then it built—sharp, violent, unstoppable. Your chest seized like a vice. You doubled over, hand clamped over your mouth. Something warm and metallic flooded your palm. When you pulled your hand away, bright red streaked your skin, dotted with delicate red petals, fragile as fresh red carnations.
Xavier’s face went white.
“Shit… okay, you need to go to the hospital. Now.”
You tried to protest, but the room spun violently. Your lungs burned like they were filling with wet concrete. Breathing became shallow, desperate gasps. The world narrowed to a tunnel of black.
The last thing you felt was Xavier’s arms catching you as everything folded inward and went dark.
The flashback came while you were unconscious in the ambulance, oxygen mask pressed tight to your face, sirens warped and distant.
You were twenty again. Second year of university, winter break. Zayne had surprised you with a tiny rented cottage near the snowy mountains—just the two of you, no pager, no textbooks, no distance.
The night sky had been impossibly clear, stars scattered like spilled sugar across black velvet.
You started the snowball fight—a loose handful of snow thrown at his back while he was inside making hot chocolate. He came out laughing, coat half-buttoned, and the war was on. Snow flew in wild, joyful arcs. You slipped on ice and went down in a drift, laughing until your sides hurt. He tackled you gently, both of you breathless and red-cheeked under the cold sky.
Afterwards, you sat wrapped together in one thick blanket by the bonfire he built. He handed you a mug of hot chocolate—extra marshmallows, exactly how you liked it. Steam curled upward like slow smoke.
You leaned against his chest, his arm circling your waist.
“The stars are brighter up here,” you murmured.
He kissed your temple. “You make everything brighter.”
“Ew, cheesy,”you giggled, then turned in his arms.
“Promise me we’ll always have nights like this. Even when you’re a famous surgeon and I’m staring at stars for a living.”
He looked at you with love prominent on his face, firelight dancing in his pale green eyes.
“I promise,” he said softly. “No matter how busy I get, I’ll always come back to you. You’re my priority. My home.”
You believed him with every piece of your heart.
The memory soon faded like how the bonfire smoke does—drifting upward, thinning, disappearing into the cold night air until only the faint scent of woodsmoke and chocolate lingered… then nothing at all.
You woke up in the ER to blinding lights and the steady beep of monitors.
A nasal cannula hissed oxygen into your nose. Your chest felt bruised from the inside. A pulmonologist explained “acute exacerbation of idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis with atypical floral hemoptysis.” Scans showed progressive scarring in the lower lobes. They wanted admission for close monitoring.
You shook your head before they finished.
“No. Outpatient. Please.”
The doctor hesitated. “Your oxygen saturation dropped dangerously low. We need to watch you closely—”
“I have plans,” you whispered, voice raw. “Christmas. A date. I can’t stay here.”
Zayne arrived twenty minutes later—still in scrubs, mask hanging around his neck, hair damp with sweat. His face was pale with guilt when he saw you.
“I’m so sorry,” he said immediately, crossing to your side and taking your hand. “I was in surgery. They wouldn’t let me leave the OR.”
You squeezed his fingers. “It’s okay. I’m okay now.”
You weren’t.
Xavier stood by the door—arms crossed, silent, eyes burning with quiet fury.
The doctors stepped out to prepare discharge paperwork and prescriptions: portable oxygen concentrator, strong anti-fibrotics and steroids, strict rest, follow-up with the pulmonology team. Zayne and Xavier followed them into the hallway to handle the outpatient forms.
You lay there alone, staring at the ceiling, clinging to the memory of the bonfire and Zayne’s quiet promise.
In the hallway, voices rose—low at first, then sharper.
Xavier spoke first, tone tight with barely contained anger.
“This is on you. She’s been sick for weeks and you’ve been too busy with that other patients to even notice. ”
Zayne’s reply was cold as ice, “You think I don’t love her? You think I’m not tearing myself apart every time I walk through that door and see her trying to pretend she’s fine?”
“I know you love her, but you’re not there for her,” Xavier shot back, voice rising. “She told me herself, ‘He’s busy. Has lives to save.’ She’s been saying that for months while she’s slowly dying. She’s coughing up blood and goddamn flower petals and you’re still running back to the OR for that other patient that’s so dear to you. How many times does she have to almost stop breathing before you finally choose her?”
Silence stretched, heavy and painful.
Zayne’s voice cracked slightly when he answered. “You have no idea what my job—”
“I don’t need to,” Xavier cuts in, quieter but no less furious. “She deserves better than being someone’s second priority. She deserves someone who looks at her and sees an emergency. Not someone who only shows up when she’s already on a hospital bed. She deserves someone better than you.”
Another long pause.
Then Xavier exhaled, the fight draining from his voice. “Forget it. She wants to go home. She wants to spend her Christmas with you. So let’s get the paperwork done and get her out of here. That’s what matters right now.”
His footsteps moved away.
His words continued to linger on Zayne’s mind, guilt and regret seeped into his heart.
They discharged you that evening with strict instructions and a small portable oxygen concentrator. Zayne carried your bag. Xavier walked you to the car but didn’t come inside the apartment.
Back home, Zayne helped you settle on the couch. He set up the oxygen machine, made you tea, sat close, and held your hand like he was terrified it would slip away.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll clear more time. We’ll have another winter date. I promise.”
You smiled weakly—small, tired, and yet, still hopeful.
“I know you will.”
Later, when he stepped out briefly to take a call (the same critical patient again), exhaustion pulled you under fast.
Zayne returned a few minutes later. He found you already asleep, breathing shallow even with the oxygen. He sat on the edge of the couch, took your hand gently in both of his, and pressed it to his lips.
Silent tears slipped down his face.
He didn’t make a sound.
Just held your hand tighter, shoulders shaking, silently apologizing for every late night, every missed moments, every time he had chosen the other patient over the girl who had waited for him since they were young.
Outside, snow began to fall softly against the window.
Inside, your chest continued its quiet, relentless collapse.
And still, you dreamed of bonfires and empty promises.
a/n: man!!! this month was crazy for me… it seems like the AO3 curse has followed me to Tumblr too lol. if you guys aren’t aware, Reader’s symptoms are similar to my chronic illness (aside from the coughing up flowers lol). so unfortunately, i had a little health scare for the last few weeks :,( … i am okay now tho!
Tumblr was also banned in my country for a few days … it feels like the universe is against me!!!!! arghhhhh!!!!!!
thank you for all the love and support, the next update will be uploaded in a few hours! i love each and every one of you <3333
✩ synopsis: you run to reddit for advice when it comes to your unsteady relationship with zayne.
✩ pairing: zayne x non!mc reader / wc: 4034
✩ cw/tags: slight angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding
✩ crossposted in my ao3
✩ a/n: written in second pov but will be in first pov with the reddit posts. not proofread, first time writing in a while pls be kind !
r/relationship_advice
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 12h
I (25F) feel like my boyfriend (27M) is falling out of love with me, and I don’t know what to do.
As the title states. For additional context, I (25F) am your average girl. I work at a fairly well-known company in the personnel division, doing the most mundane tasks you could think of. Aside from that, I am often one of the faces of the division as I deal with the people in our company everyday so I’ve memorized all of their quirks and personalities–but that’s about it when it comes to me. On the other hand, my boyfriend (27M) is a profound professional in the medical field. He (quite literally) saves lives every day, and he is very well-known in his line of work. If I add more context as to his career, you would immediately find out who he is–the stark difference between us already says a lot.
We met a few years back through a common friend who is also a professional in the medical field and his close colleague at the hospital where he works. Throughout the relationship, he has been everything that I asked for. However, all of this started when last month, I was notified by my boss that I wasn’t promoted to the position I was vying for. It was heartbreaking. And naturally, I thought of seeking refuge with my boyfriend. When I messaged him, asking him to meet later that evening, he turned it down, saying he was finally meeting with his childhood best friend (24F). If it were any other day, I would’ve been ecstatic, as this was the same friend he mentioned to me that he had lost contact with. But that night, I felt as though it was the cruelest timing of the universe, especially how he described to me with earnest fervor everything about his best friend. How she was a rising hunter, and she found contact with him through a magazine article about him (yes, he’s that famous). However, I couldn’t bring myself to ruin his evening. And so, initially, I understood the situation since I don’t want to seem an overbearing, controlling partner. And so, I thought it would be best if I instead sat with my feelings first and sought comfort from him in the following days.
But those days did not come. Instead, I was always greeted by his cold exterior, oftentimes he would be too busy to respond to me as he was in the midst of his hospital shifts, and once he did become free, he either was too exhausted to converse properly or would spend his time with anyone else other than me. Mostly, his best friend too.
While I am aware that his best friend is also in a relationship (with their other childhood friend, it seems), I still can’t help but feel uneasy about the situation.
It has been a month since I noticed this behavior, and I’m not sure whether this was already occurring before, as my boyfriend could come off as nonchalant at times and stoic.
Usually, I’m not the one to jump to conclusions, but from the situation itself, it seems that my boyfriend has been drifting apart from me. I really love him and adore him, but with each day that we spend apart, it further breaks my heart as it feels like he no longer acknowledges our relationship. Is this worth fighting for, or is our relationship beyond saving at this point?
EDIT: Please do not post this on other social media sites, I’m afraid he might see.
⬆️1,304 💬252
u/linkonsfinest ∙ 12h
first off, i’m so sorry to hear about your career rejection. i’m sure it will redirect you to greener pastures, OP. anyway, about your relationship, this sounds like a classic case of sitting down and talking about your feelings with him. have you tried that, OP?
also, whether you like it or not, he is bound to see this post since it’s public, after all.
⬆️482
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 12h
Thank you for your kind words. But I would have if he had given me just a few minutes of his time.
EDIT: What’s with the downvotes?
⬇️-167
u/starbunny ∙ 11h
Ignore them, OP. It’s reddit after all lol. My advice is that U try and think abt what what matters most for U. Ur relationship with him or ur peace. The meeting with the bestfriend part may seem sketchy but U know ur boyfriend best than compared to us strangers on the internet.
⬆️254
u/fishie_painter307 ∙ 11h
Seems to me that you have hidden insecurities, OP. There was a tendency to look down on yourself in the paragraphs you have written, while you write about your boyfriend as if he had discovered the cure to the protocore syndrome. But it sounds like you’re just as amazing and as hardworking as he is. But I didn’t come here to give you free therapy sessions lol. I fear the only way we can find an end to this is to sit down with him and talk about the icky, uncomfortable thing called feelings. For now, try assessing what you have right now, and consider talking with him as soon as his schedule clears up. Better yet, just barge into his office and demand some answers lol, since he seems like he isn’t the type to care until the last minute.
⬆️393
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 10h
The last comment seemed unnecessary, but it felt like cold water splashing me. Maybe it’s the truth. Thanks.
⬆️146
u/evil_overlord901 ∙ 10h
Since he’s a doctor, you should just pretend you’re on the verge of death to make him worry and as revenge for his neglect, hahaha.
⬇️-673
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 10h
I’m not that crazy enough.
⬆️206
Zayne has been staring at his phone for what seems like hours. But really, it has only been twenty minutes since Greyson hurled open his office doors with a frown etched unusually on his face.
“What have you done to my friend?” Greyson asked, brows knit together. “Pardon?” Zayne could only reply.
Greyson scoffs, running a hand through his hair, “They were right, you really don’t seem to care.”
“What is going on?” Zayne asks, finally setting down the pen he has in between his fingers. “Is there something the matter?”
The younger man holds back a grumble under his breath, “Just see for yourself.” He then set his phone across Zayne as the latter read the title.
I (25F) feel like my boyfriend (27M) is falling out of love with me, and I don’t know what to do.
“What is this supposed to be, Greyson?” Zayne asks, “Is this what the staff are gossiping about in the hallway today?”
He recalls the way the nurses and doctors hushed murmurs in the hallways, sneaking glances towards Zayne as he waltzes through the bleak corridors. He paid no mind to it as he knew it wasn’t his business to pry into whatever they were gossiping about.
“They were gossiping about you, Dr. Zayne.”
“What?”
The conversation seemed like it was going nowhere, so Greyson just sighed defeatedly while retrieving his phone. A resounding ping! echoed from Zayne’s phone.
“I sent you the link to the post. Make sure to read every single word and tell me that isn’t you.”
That was twenty minutes ago, and Zayne was sure that every word was tattooed on the crevices of his brain at this point. But what else should he do now that he’s memorized it? He’s sure at this point that user cheesecake_plushie73 is most definitely you. There’s no denying it, with the way you described the circumstances and your impeccable writing style that mimics his. Yes, he’s certain it’s you.
But now what?
Smoke curls from the teacup you’ve set down seconds ago as you inhale the autumn breeze from your balcony. Your phone is on temporary do not disturb from the hundreds of Reddit notifications you received since last night. You observe the sky-high buildings and rigid architecture of the city, eyes fixated on nothing and everything all at once. It has been a month since you received the news, the words of your boss linger at the back of your mind, and the rejection email sits heavily on your phone, tucked away from the thousands of junk mail you receive. The nonacceptance of your promotion still gnaws at your chest despite the long time you’ve spent trying to accept it. Nevertheless, you have slowly come to terms with the rejection, chanting the line that the redditor told you in your post–that it’s just redirection. However, you can’t help but feel that the redirection that the rejection launched in your way also involved your relationship with Zayne.
You’re sure you’ve told Zayne about the promotion, how you applied for it, and how the chances of getting in seemed highly possible. And yet, you can’t seem to recall whether Zayne was supportive of it or if he had said anything at all. Your mind has been all muddled and cloudy with all of the heartbreaking scenarios you’ve made up since you received his message that he was meeting his childhood friend.
It was silly, and since then, you’ve felt perpetually stupid for thinking horrendously of your boyfriend. You know he wouldn’t cause such a scene like that, to see another woman behind your back–it was preposterous! The thought still makes you gag to the point where you couldn’t believe you actually went and logged into an online forum just to seek advice. The idea alone was enough to make you physically convulse and cringe because you knew that if he wanted out of your relationship, he would’ve already done so.
Which somehow makes you hurt more.
You’ve gone uncharacteristically by posting at an online forum just to seek advice from some stranger on the internet to tell you what to do. But how could you blame yourself? You’re just trying to make the situation better for you. But what is it going to take just to feel okay? Is it hope? Is it love? Do you talk? Or is it therapy?
You sigh for the umpteenth time of the day, watching the glow of the sun turn orange and pink as it continues to slowly illuminate your space. For some reason, despite being on a (fake) sick leave, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay inside your house.
It just felt… emptier.
The doom and gloom of the space makes the apartment stuffier than usual, and no matter how much you’ve dusted the space, you’ve felt like going through different stages of your chest tightening. Perhaps it’s because of the memories that it carries, the way the air permeates Zayne’s faint perfume, or his touch that lingers in your skin when you settle on the couch, remembering how he used to tightly hold you on Friday evenings while watching something.
You just couldn’t take it.
The apartment feels heavier, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go back inside. And so, as a remedy, you find yourself tucked away on the balcony with a book you’ve forgotten the plot to, sitting idly on the table beside you. Your mind races a thousand thoughts, all of which contain the same wish. How you wish that everything would just end soon and that tomorrow the sun will rise again, and you can try again.
But what could be said for a new day when your chest is unwillingly clenching every time you think of Zayne? You want to be angry at him for neglecting you just like that one Reddit user said. You want to do something impulsive, irrational, and unmistakably stupid just to see him come running and say what you’ve been wanting to hear for the past month.
And yet, what is that something that you want to hear from him?
How are you?
I missed you?
I’m sorry?
…Let’s break up?
And what were you going to respond anyway?
I’m okay?
I missed you, too?
I understand?
…Is it her?
Oh dear heavens. You think to yourself, burying your face in your hands. You feel ridiculous and helpless. The Reddit users were right. You should talk to him soon, lest you lose your mind over all of this.
Succumbing to the most vile thoughts you have ever conceived, you didn’t notice the indisputable beeps of your keypad door lock echoing in your apartment. Neither the loud swinging of the door nor the frantic removing of shoes by the doorway, nor the heavy padding throughout the dim space.
Your head only whips in attention when you hear the door frame to the balcony rattling behind you.
“There you are.”
Oh.
“I’ve gone to your work, and they told me you were sick… Are you okay?”
Oh.
You sit upright, smiling meekly at Zayne. “You surprised me.”
Zayne closes the glass door behind him and carefully takes the vacant seat beside the table. You dart your gaze from him and settle on your now cold tea, “Would you like some tea?” You offered. To which he shakes his head.
Silence envelops the two of you. And for once, after all the daydreaming of possibilities of when he will arrive, you don’t know what to do.
“Why would I surprise you?” He asks.
“I dunno… It’s been a while since you’ve come here. And it’s unlike you to drop by unannounced,” you say with a faint chuckle.
“Oh. I’ve left a text. But your notifications were silenced.”
“Oh.”
You picked up your phone and went to your messages, and lo and behold, he did send a message just twenty minutes ago.
“Twenty minutes ago?” You say out loud before you can even stop yourself.
“...Is there a problem?”
You sheepishly rub the back of your head before setting your phone back down, “Nothing…” You begin hesitantly, “You usually just give me a heads up at least hours prior. But it’s no big deal. I’m not complaining!” You defend.
Zayne nods at you promptly, and once again, silence wraps the two of you. You refuse to look at Zayne for a second longer than you should, afraid that the waterworks might come unwarranted.
“I see.”
You only let out a grunt of approval, eyes drifting back to the buildings across from you two. Your refusal to look at him for a second longer warranted you to miss two things:
Zayne’s usually perfect hair seemed unkempt, like he had been running his fingers through it numerous times.
He refuses to look away from you even for a second.
And yet now that he occupies your space, you don’t know how to act. Why was he here anyway? You couldn’t bring yourself to act. Not when you caught a whiff of his perfume once again, making you want to both hurl in anxiety and lunge forward at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and just burying yourself in the comforts of his chest.
Zayne wasn’t doing much better either. The moment he read the comment from user evil_overlord901, he thought about how you’d go to terrifying lengths just to gather his attention. While he knows you won’t go that far, the thought still gnaws at his brain like a pesky pest. To the point where he might’ve broken a few traffic rules just to get to your place.
The silence hangs in the air, and Zayne doesn’t seem to know what to do now that he’s seen you all safe and sound. A thousand questions were running around in his brain, but he didn’t know where to start.
Nevertheless, he kept his eyes locked on your figure. Your elbow is propped on the table, your chin resting on the palm of your hand, and your glassy eyes sporting that distant look. He didn’t miss the swell of your eyelids nor the heavy bags starting to form. And for some reason, he hates himself for it. He hates how he barely noticed anything about you for the past month, how he felt utterly selfish for casting you aside.
He loathes it.
And yet, he couldn’t throw himself a pity party when all he wants right now is to take you within his comfort.
After a couple more minutes of silence between you two, Zayne inhales. “...Cheesecake_plushie73?”
“...What?” You turn your head towards him mechanically, blinking slowly at his words.
“Does that…phrase ring a bell to you?”
You chuckle nervously in response, “...I suppose?”
You see Zayne and his usual pensive expression written across his features. “You suppose…” He parrots.
“Why? What’s that about?” You ask, your voice a bit smaller.
“Nothing… Greyson just showed me this post from a forum that seems eerily like you.”
Like us.
“Oh. I see.”
“...Have I been neglecting you?”
“What?”
“I have, haven’t I?”
You attempt to school your expression into something neutral, but you couldn’t deny the wild thumping of your chest when you see the way his eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you were certain you could melt from it. Zayne reaches out from his seat, clasping both of your hands with his much bigger ones. You hold back a flinch, startled from the sudden contact after being deprived of one for way too long. His hands were warm, you note, much warmer than your freezing ones.
Before you could even respond, he abruptly stands up, which makes the chair almost tilt back, and immediately, he kneels across you. Your eyes widen, wanting to scramble and make him rise from the cramped space of your balcony, but before you could even do anything, his lips ghost over your fingers, and you feel electricity coursing through your veins.
“I’m sorry,” was all Zayne could murmur, “Your heart must be heavy from the weight of carrying our burdens.”
Your breathing constricts, and you feel your eyes well from his words alone. “It was foolish of me not to notice how you were going through such a terrible time, and I am so sorry for letting you go through that without me,” he continues, pressing chaste kisses on each of your fingers.
“Zayne, it’s nothing–”
“Please do not belittle yourself any further. I can’t stand seeing you speak so lowly of yourself, my love,” he says with finality that makes you clamp your mouth shut. He then turns his gaze back to you, his eyes soft and glassy, and you don’t miss the way his lips tremble. He then tightens his hold on your hands, pressing them onto his chest, “Do you feel how my heart only beats for you? How its pace quickens when I catch just a sight of your silhouette in the crowd?”
And you do.
The way his heart rapidly pounds in his chest, even when you lie on top of him as you snuggle, or even as mundane as fleeting embraces, when it’s time to say goodbye.
You always feel it.
“Only you have that effect on me, my love. And I despise myself for having you doubt my love for you. I have done poorly recently, so it seems,” Zayne continues, his hands still clutched tightly against yours. “There’s absolutely no one else that could make me feel this way. Only you.”
“Zayne…” Your lips wobble from the declaration of his love.
“Please forgive me for being such a terrible lover, my dear. There was no excuse to it,” he says, almost pleadingly.
You feel a lump forming in your throat, and before you know it, Zayne already unclasps his hand from yours, and you feel his warm thumb gently caressing the salty tears from your cheeks.
“It was just unfair, Zayne. How… how I felt so alone and miserable without having you by my side, while it felt like you were doing more than okay,” you mumble through fits of your tears.
“I was a fool, my love. Please don’t cry, it hurts me more than you know,” he whispers, inching closer to you.
You shake your head, “I’ve soon come to terms with the rejection, but I couldn’t accept how I was so lonely throughout the process. I just wanted you. But you had other plans. Other people to meet. Other people who seemed more important than I am, and I h-hated that…!”
The knot in your chest tightens as you finally let the damn burst wide open.
With no words left to say, Zayne rises from the floor and engulfs you in his tight embrace, letting your tears damp his shirt. He strokes your head carefully, humming to you as he tries his damndest not to cry with you.
The sight alone makes him physically ache as he continues to wallow in his regret and pity. For the first time in his life, Zayne feels helpless. He could only bring himself to hush you with comforting words like, “It’s okay, my love. I’m here now.” Or “I was an idiot. I didn’t love you properly when you needed it the most.”
And across you two, the sun slowly began to finally set, casting the last golden glow onto your skin. You claw tightly onto his back, desperate to feel that he is there with you and nowhere else.
“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, your tears slowly dissipating. “I felt so terrible that I posted our relationship on an online forum.”
“It’s okay, my love. You didn’t know what else to do, and that’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry too for neglecting you and hurting you in the process. I never desired for you to hurt because of me.”
You shake your head, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say that it’s okay. You swallowed thickly, “I forgive you,” was all you could say.
“And I don’t deserve such forgiveness from the sweetest girl in the world.”
You chuckled half-heartedly, digging yourself closer to his chest and inhaling his scent much further, memorizing the warmth of his body, and how he holds you.
“Am not,” you retort jokingly.
“Yes, you are, miss cheesecake_plushie73.”
You weakly punch his stomach in response, laughing softly at his attempt to lighten the situation. He sighs contentedly, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head.
“I love you, my dear.”
r/relationship_advice
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 12 mins ago
UPDATE: I (25F) feel like my boyfriend (27M) is falling out of love with me, and I don’t know what to do.
I think I owe everyone an update here. My boyfriend and I had finally talked things through, and all my worries had vanished. Apparently, he was meeting up with all his childhood best friends, and it had been a decade since they last saw each other. He also apologized for the neglect, and he took two weeks off from his work to go on a short trip with me to make up for lost time. I felt silly for being worried, but he assured me that it was not silly to feel valid emotions and that we would work things through. I also apologized for closing myself off and for making up bad assumptions about his bestfriend. Anyway, I’m off to pack for our trip. Thank you all for all the advice and comments.
P.S. He also saw my post here which prompted our conversation T___T
⬆️201 💬79
u/linkonsfinest ∙ 5 mins ago
see! all you need is a good ol’ conversation and everything’s okay! glad you fixed it, OP! despite him seeing the post and prompting the conversation lol. still, congrats!
⬆️32
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 3 mins ago
Thank you.
u/starbunny ∙ 5 mins ago
Nice. Glad U worked it out.
⬆️30
u/fishie_painter307 ∙ 5 mins ago
Finally some good news in my feed! Congrats, OP! Bring us some souvenir from the trip, will ya? ;)
⬆️27
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 2 mins ago
Thank you! Also, my boyfriend said your comment was one of the reasonable ones including u/linkonsfinest. Except he didn’t like how you called me insecure lmao T__T
⬆️25
u/evil_overlord901 ∙ 3 mins ago
Aw, no fake deaths?
⬇️-91
u/cheesecake_plushie73 ∙ 1 min ago
Please get off the internet.
⬆️90
a/n: heavily inspired by empty house by neck deep and is it over now by taylor swift !! also, i saw this reddit style format writing somewhere in tumblr and thought i had to give it a try!! comments r very much appreciated :)
a/n: thank you for this request!!! this one is angstyy hehe this song is perfect for angst :3 zayne is probably ooc, sorryyyy not sorry
wc: 1,214
there were few indisputable facts in the world: the grass is green, the sky is blue, and zayne li was the love of your life.
the same boy you used to play on the playground with, the same teenager you used to study with, and the same man that you fell into a rocky relationship with post-college.
zayne knew you deeper than anyone else in the world, he knew your every life goal and every emotion you felt. he’d known you’d liked him since childhood, but he never acted on it because he didn’t quite reciprocate your feelings.
it wasn’t until after graduation when you ran into him back in your hometown and got dinner that he saw you.
he saw your intellect and beauty, how driven you were in your career, and finally- finally- he felt a spark.
you’d gone on dates back and forth before making it official. your first relationship only lasted two months, half of which zayne wasn’t present for, too caught up in working as a new graduate, desperate to cement his spot at akso hospital.
after the 12th night of him standing you up with no call or text, you asked him nicely through text to try and make time for you.
‘I don’t have time for a relationship right now. i apologize, but I must reconsider my future with you.’ is the response you got. and that was it, you were broken up.
except weeks later, you found yourself at his home late at night, encased in his sheets and more importantly, him.
life went on like that for years, you orbiting zayne like a moon might a planet- the moon more reliant on the planet than planet to the moon.
you lived on your own, zayne got bored, the two of you dated for a few weeks, then zayne would get sucked back into work. rise and repeat.
then, one day, your luck turned around. zayne reached out to you, asking to go out to dinner. over dinner he told you you were the person for him, the one true love of his life.
he said he’d become burnt out of work, needing someone there to come home to after long shifts, needing someone who loved him unconditionally- he said he finally realized he’d taken you for granted. he was so sorry, and his honeyed eyes matched his words.
though he was saying all the right words to you, you had a strange twisting sensation in your gut. did he mean it? how many times had he drug you in his orbit only to discard you when it was convenient?
oh, but how good did it feel to have his attention shining on you again? even if he broke up with you again, you thought, maybe it was worth it this time. you swore the next time he came to you like this, you’d leave the relationship buried.
you thought it would last this time. zayne proposed quickly into the relationship and married you even faster. weeks into your marriage he brought up the idea of kids- said he wanted them with you. he talked your ear off about having a house built just for you and your kids, white picket fence and all.
but while he was painting you these beautiful forged paintings, his therapist heard how zayne was so desperate to rise in his career, that when he heard that the hospital promoted surgeons with healthy lives outside of work: marriage, kids, and a happy pet draped with the background of a perfect house? he knew what he needed to do and he knew just the person that would let him.
the worst part was that he didn’t feel bad about the lies he was hand feeding you, because in his mind you loved him so desperately that you would be happy to be in this position.
and you were. you were happy when you didn’t know you were being shuffled around like a blinded pawn. because that’s all you really had ever been to zayne: a pawn. not a rook or a knight, especially not the queen- just a useless pawn. stupid, shortsighted, and easy to throw away to gain a few steps forward.
when you found out why he’d done it all, you cried and cried, trying to make zayne see that he must be mistaken. the two of you truly were in love!
“we’ve loved each other for years, remember elementary school? don’t you remember how you held my hand on the playground and picked flowers for me?” you tried to break through to him, voice hoarse from crying as you gripped onto his wrist with both hands. you’d dug your heels into the plush carpeting in your newly built bedroom, the smell of wood and paint still lingering, trying to keep him here with you in this playhouse.
“we were just kids- that’s what kids do. they form insignificant connections to each other that fizzle out within days, weeks if you're lucky.” zayne pinches his nose and murmurs under his breath. “that’s what should have happened to us, but you… latch on.”
and then, that was it. zayne let you have the house in the divorce settlement. he’d been offered the promotion he so desperately needed regardless of his status as a divorcee. what good was a staged house if there wasn’t anyone to buy it? if only one person wanted to act as a perfect family?
how long did you lay unmoving in your shared bed trying to piece together what went wrong? you lay on your side for a while, trying to comb through his web of elaborately strung lies, separating the truth from the lies. they all end up jumbled together somewhere in the middle.
you lay on your back and try to imagine conversations he must’ve had with other people- friends, coworkers, family. had he lied to them, too?
photos of yourself and zayne stare at you from your dresser, watching you judgementally as you waste away to nothing in bed for days at a time.
are they sad to see you like this? maybe your younger self is. younger zayne probably doesn’t care- he would see your weakness and turn away, just like he always did.
you’d thought at first that he would call. every time you broke up, zayne inevitably called. but not this time.
as you replay your last moments together, his parting words linger in your chest. they’d sunk deep into the very heart zayne saved by operating on and destroyed by holding in his hands.
maybe you’d expected him to apologize or offer an explanation, something that you could be mad or happy at- but no. his final goodbye was as bland as the crackers he used to feed you post surgery.
“ill see you at your next appointment.” zayne said, face unreadable and voice unwavering.
“you’re my doctor again?” you ask in confusion.
“yes, since you’re no longer my wife, there’s no conflict of interest.”
it turns out that some facts are disputable after all. the grass dies in the winter and loses it’s color, pollution bleaches the sky’s blue hue, and zayne li is not, in fact, the love of your life, but rather the loss of your life.
a/n2: eh after rereading this, im not so happy with it. sorry zayne lovers if this is ass
zayne still has your name written down in his calendar for a routine checkup next tuesday, but he’s already holding your hand for the last time.
the emergency room is a blur of bright lights and shouting nurses, but everything goes perfectly silent the moment he reaches the gurney. your hunter’s uniform is torn, stained with a deep crimson. you took a fatal blow protecting your team during the cleanup and the damage was down before the ambulance doors even flew open.
zayne’s white coat is ruined, stained with your blood. his fingers are pressing down firmly against your chest, his knuckles white from the pressure.
“stay with me,” he says. his voice isn’t the calm, cool one the hospital is used to. it’s low, rough and trembling. “keep your eyes on me.”
“z-zayne.....” you whisper, voice barely louder than a breath. you slowly lift your hand, fingers shaking as you reach for his face. “it’s okay... you don’t.... you don’t have to f-fix it.”
“be quiet,” he commands softly, but his voice completely breaks on the words.
zayne catches your fingers mid air, bringing them up to his chest. his hands are usually cold but right now, your skin shedding its warmth so fast makes him feel like the warm one. “save your energy. i am not letting you close your eyes.”
“i’m just so tired,” you mumble, vision blurring as the bright ceiling lights begin to fade into darkness. “it dosen’t hurt anymore....j-just really dark.”
“look at me, please,” zayne shouts, his composure shattering. he leans down close, forehead almost touching yours, his breath hitched. he uses his free hand to cup your pale cheek, his thumb desperately wiping away the blood near your mouth. “don’t you dare close your eyes. you....you can’t, don’t leave me. stay right here.”
you wish you could stay. you wish you could stay with your zayne. but it seems death is pulling you towards its side. you try to give him one last, faint smile, fingers weakly squeezing his.
“zayne..” you breathe, using every last ounce of strength left. “i l-love you, okay?”
zayne’s heart stops. no no no. he will not lose you. he will not survive in a world where you don’t exist. where he can’t hear your sweet voice. where he can’t lay next to you. a world where he fails to save you.
“no, don’t say that. you are going to be okay.”
“say it back,” you whisper, voice slipping away as the darkness closes in. “p-please..? i want to hear it one last time.”
a look of pure agonizing panic washes over his face. “i love you. i love you so much. so stay with me, keep your eyes open–”
but your hand goes completely limp in his, your head rolling slightly to the side. beside the bed, the heart monitor lets out a long, flat, agonizing scream.
beeeeeeeeeeep.
“get back!” zayne screams at the rushing nurses, his voice cracking.
he locks his fingers onto your chest and begins CPR, forcing his weight into every compression with a terrifying, rhythmic desperation. he is a surgeon who knows exactly how much pressure a human body can take, but right now, he’s fighting a losing war against death itself.
“come back,” he whispers, his voice thickj and raw. sweat drips down his temples, his shoulders tensing as he tries to force your heart to remember how to beat. “breathe for me. i can fix this. i can’t survive without you. please.”
the monitor stays flat.
“doctor zayne... stop. it’s over,” yvonne whispers softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “let her go.”
zayne’s arms slowly lose their strength, locking in place above your chest. his fingers stay pressed against your skin, shivering from pure grief.
he doesn’t yell. he doesn’t smash the equipment. he just slowly collapses forward, burying his face into the hollow of your neck. his shoulders shake violently as he lets out a silent, broken sob against your skin.
zayne was a brilliant surgeon, but for the first time, his hands feel completely useless.
Nothing was going right for Zayne today, exhaustion and cling on his weary form like a second suit, an intern messed up his medical files in an attempt to clean, back to back surgeries without rest, he lost a patient today and the family blamed him, fingers pointed at him as if he was the one who delayed the surgery in the first place despite his several insistent reminders that they did not have much time. Why isn't anyone listening to him?
His steps were heavy as he closed the door of his home with a controlled slam. He quickly makes work of his coat, his tie. Vanilla notes fill the air and he knew you were home from your trip to the mall.
You hummed as you finish piping the cupcake you were working on, perking up as you hear the door open and close, albeit a little forceful and it made you flinch a bit, but Zayne was home!
With a carefully decorated cupcake in hand on a small plate, you rush to greet your boyfriend.
"Zayne! You're home!" you beamed at him in that soft, dainty voice of yours that usually soothes his weary bones, but he was too agitated to care.
You were holding out the plate for him to take, "I made some sweets! I know you a hard day at work, I understand so-"
"Mhm," he quickly says, wishing you'd drop it and just let him go, determined to just retire in bed.
"But you need to eat!" you gently huffed, "Just eat one of these while I get started on dinner, okay?"
"Put it somewhere, I'm not hungry."
"But you haven't eaten anything! Yvonne told me-"
"For god's sake, listen to me!" his voice bellowed, startling you. "Are you deaf? Are those ears just for show?"
He knew he should stop, he should shut up. But he couldn't help it as his frustration finally spill out.
"I just spent an entire day of work with idiots who don't know how to follow instructions, I don't need one in my home too." he spat bitterly, "What the hell do you know about hard work? All you do is stay in my house, eat my food, waste my money. I don't have the time to play house with you. And if there's any semblance of intelligence in that brain of yours, you'd know to get off my back."
Somewhere, in your soft little heart, something breaks. You bow your head in shame, eyes starting to water, you lips start to wobble.
He tries to walk away, accidentally nudging your shoulder in the process as the plate fell from your trembling hands, shattering into the marble tile with a sickening crash. You let out a small yelp.
That woke him up.
When he looked back, you were already kneeling. Picking up the pieces of broken shards, visibly shaken.
"My love," he uttered as it finally dawned on him what he had just done. He was quick to approach and kneel with you, holding your hands to prevent you from picking up the shards any further. He fears you might hurt yourself.
"It's alright, please, it's dangerous to-"
"I'm sorry," you let out a shaky whisper. "I'm so sorry, Zaynie," you shoulders were tight, your hands on your lap. You looked so so small. Tears fell from you eyes and onto the back of your hands.
He just shouted at you. He yelled at you. He made you feel stupid, when in fact, you were the best thing that could have ever happened to him. He made you cry.
His heart lurched, a sickening feel starting to form in his stomach.
He slowly helped you up, steering you away from the broken plate as you slowly wrap your arms around his torso, tight.
"I didn't know, I'm sorry. I'll do better." you sniffled in his chest. You hadn't stopped shaking at all.
Zayne's eyes start to sting as he looks at your trembling form. "No, no, sweetheart. I should be the one apologizing, you didn't so anything wrong, I- Fuck." the words were stuck on his throat.
You, his sweet, shy little darling, couldn't have done anything wrong, it was his fault. He let his frustration take over him and he vented his anger on you, his angel. The only person who has never made him feel like he was an asshole, yet he's being one right now.
"I'll get a j-job." you say, "A-And then I'll work hard. I-I'll do my best," you whimpered.
"Absolutely not, you don't-" he gulped, "you don't have to, I know how anxious you get around other people and- I- I'm so sorry, my love. I'm sorry." his voice wavered.
His arms wrap around your shaking shoulders, holding you impossibly closer to him as he finally let his tears free. And under the coldness of the winter night, you held each other through your tears, Zayne remembers the reason he pushes through each grueling day, it was all for you. He doesn't deserve you.
"I keep on hurting you," he croaked through his tears.
"I love you." you reply. That just made him sob harder.
As you talked things through, and Zayne doing his absolute bestest to assure and show you how much you really meant to him, you finally drifted to sleep in the bed you both shared, he slips out to clean the mess. On the floor, the ruined cupcakes sat, untouched.
He picks one up and takes a bite. It was sweet.
His favorite.
Zayne, amidst the quiet, never felt more regret. Fresh tears finds it's way down his cheeks as he slowly savored the pastry you prepared.
titsay
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
