Living with Zayne
Lads Zayne x fem reader!
Things Zayne Does But Never Admits
Summary: Zayne is such a pookie. But because he is a cardiologist, he never admits.
Zayne claims he doesn’t care about notifications. He tells himself he’s disciplined, focused, immune to distractions. Still, the moment his phone vibrates, his eyes flick down automatically. He is a surgeon ofcourse he's fast with his fingers.
(To pick the phone up you- naughty 😏)
When it’s your name, his thumb moves before he’s even aware of it.
A nurse notices.
“You’re popular today, doctor.”
Zayne locks the screen, expression blank.
“It’s nothing.”
The phone remains in his hand.
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Zayne doesn’t plan outfits. He plans probabilities. When he buys a coat he likes, he buys two. Same cut. Same color. One for himself and one for you.
What he doesn’t tell anyone is that when he sees you wear a color, he wants to wear it too.
When you notice their matching coats, you laugh.
“Did we plan this?”
Zayne adjusts his collar.
“Coincidence.”
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After you teased him once about matching outfits, Zayne silently escalates. He buys the same coat in every available color — black, beige, grey, navy. That way, whatever you choose in the morning, he can match without asking.
You raised an eyebrow one day.
“Why do you suddenly have so many coats?”
Zayne doesn’t look up from tying his shoes.
“Options.”
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Zayne does not “need” a period app. He is a doctor. He knows cycles. He knows biology. He knows yours. Still, the app is synced. Quietly. Automatically.
Three days before your period, he starts stocking painkillers, heating pads, comfort food.
You squint at him.
“Why are you acting like this?”
Zayne pours you tea.
“You’ll need it.”
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He knows your cycle better than you do. Your cycle is 28 days. Consistent. Zayne tracks it mentally without effort.
You complain about cramps one afternoon.
Zayne doesn't even look at his app and said,
“Day twenty-five.”
You looked at him.
“How do you know that?”
Zayne pauses, then says calmly,
“Observation.”
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He Adjusts His Mood Around your Hormones
On certain days, Zayne is noticeably softer. More patient. Less sharp.
You noticed it eventually.
“You’re being… nice.”
Zayne blinks.
“I’m always like this.”
He absolutely is not.
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He pretends he doesn’t re-read your messages.
He opens your texts once. Replies normally. Locks his phone.
Then, later at night, he opens the chat again. Reads it slowly. The jokes. The typos. The casual “I miss you.”
When caught staring at his phone, he clears his throat.
“Work.”
The message says: Come home soon.
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Zayne schedules his breaks when he knows You’ll be free.
When a colleague asks why he always disappears at the same time, Zayne answers evenly,
“Coincidence.”
He’s on a call with you five seconds later.
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He learns your coffee order and judges anyone who gets It wrong.
Zayne never asks what you want anymore, he already knows. When someone brings your coffee incorrectly, Zayne steps in.
“That’s not it,” he says calmly. “Double boba.”
“Sir this is doub-”
You smile at him.
“I could’ve said something.”
Zayne shrugs.
“You shouldn’t have to.”
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He knows when you are lying about being fine. You said you're fine. Zayne doesn’t believe you for a second.
He doesn’t confront you immediately. He waits. Adjusts. Softens.
Later, quietly:
“Talk to me.”
You sighs.
“You’re annoying.”
Zayne nods.
“I know.”
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Zayne never uses alarms. When you said that you need to wake up at four, he just answers
“I’ll wake you.”
So he does. He wakes up before her, lies there for a moment,memorizing the quiet version of her the world never sees. He enjoys this part more than he’d ever admit.
When it’s time, he leans in and murmurs softly,
“It’s four. Wake up.”
“You’re already awake?”
Zayne brushes her hair back, voice gentle.
“I said I would be.”
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Zayne walks fast. Always has. But when you're beside him, he slows without thinking.
“You’re holding back.”
Zayne replies,
“No. I’m comfortable.”
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He lowers his voice when you're asleep. Moves quietly. Delays calls.
When asked why, he answers simply,
“She’s resting.”
As if that’s reason enough for the world to stop.
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He keeps extra hair ties everywhere. In his car. In his bag. In his coat pocket.
You find one in his jacket.
“Why do you have this?”
Zayne doesn’t hesitate.
“You lose them.”
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He stands slightly closer in public. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough.
When someone bumps into you, Zayne is suddenly there.
“You’re hovering. Mr.”
“I’m standing.”
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He keeps your photos that he pretends don’t exist.
His gallery is organized. Clean. Professional. Except for a hidden folder.
When you asked if he has pictures of you, he says,
“No.”
There are seventy-three.
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He refuses to admit he misses you. He doesn’t say it. He asks questions instead.
“When are you coming back?”
“Did you eat?”
“Are you home yet?”
It’s all the same thing.
Master List of Delusions
At one time he said
"She my home" but that was my Freaking dream.