:: Dance in the Dark :: Part 1 of 2
Summary: You're a dancer in the N109 Zone, he's Akso's Chief Cardiac Surgeon - and he's determined to rescue you, even if you never wanted saving in the first place. Tags: ZaynexNonMC!Reader, Yandere!Zayne, Note: This is my first time writing for a nonmc fic. This is my first time writing a Yandere fic! This was supposed to be a oneshot - buuuuut....it's looking like it's at least 2 parts. I hope you all enjoy! TW: Stalking, Kidnapping, the usual Yandere stuff....
You knew she wasn't from the N109 Zone the first time you laid eyes on her. She was too bright, too shiny. The fog of the N109 Zone stuck to everything and everyone who stayed too long. And this girl? She practically fucking glowed compared to the average denizen of the zone. You didn't say anything of course. Keeping your head down was part of how you'd stayed alive this long.
You weren't sure if you'd ever been that bright. Maybe somewhere in the past, many years ago. Long before the gloam of this place had time to stain your skin.
You'd seen her in the club a few times now. She always appeared on the arm of the leader of Onychinus. As if she didn't attract enough attention as it was. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to relish it. The way his red eyes flashed as he appraised the room, noting just how many people admired her. At the same time, that gaze was clearly a warning, a claim. Mine.
Maybe that was why you'd noticed the minute she crossed the threshold that evening. He wasn't there. Instead she had an equally shiny man at her side. Although, at least he made some attempt to blend in. His clothing was dark, his gaze downcast. Nonetheless, something about his posture, his bearing in the room, was off. He didn't move with shame or fear. Instead, he walked with calm authority. Slipping through the crowd with a confidence that didn't belong.
You couldn't look away.
He slid his coat off, and loosened his tie. One arm guiding the laughing shiny girl to a table. Protective, authoritative, almost fatherly. You had to fight not to stare any longer.
The girl, she laughed, she smiled, she was more animated than you'd ever seen her. She was, nervous? Yes, anxiety radiated off of her. You became more certain the longer you watched.
You'd watched many a soap opera play out from your stage. Spinning around in your sequins and nothing more, you had the perfect vantage point. They were either watching you, or engrossed in their own drama. No one noticed that while you put on a show, they were putting on a show for you.
The music continued to pulse softly around you. Muscle memory keeping your hips rotating in time to the beat. You couldn't help but notice that this new character wasn't watching the stage. He only looked at her. If his gaze slipped your way, he was looking determinedly past you, before returning his attention to the table or the girl.
You felt the heat of envy somewhere in the pit of your stomach. The way he gazed at her. His eyes were hazel-green, even at this distance. You couldn't help but imagine what it felt like to have them look at you.
Eventually her usual companion, the silver haired man, had appeared. The three of them had settled with drinks. He didn't partake from his. You had watched their introductions from the wings of the stage in-between dances. Her nerves had slowly dissipated, but the two men had stared at one another with something that you couldn't name.
Your attention was stolen by a commotion by the bar. The tall silver haired Onychinus boss had appeared. He'd pinned a shadowy figure to the wall. No one else in the club reacted. Just another Friday night in the N109 Zone.
It was your turn again. You stepped back onstage. You kept dancing.
If someone had asked you what happened next, you weren't sure you could give them an accurate answer.
Someone had thrown something. The sound of breaking glass a music all its own. Then red smoke had bloomed thick and angry across the room. Voices had raised, the sound of anger and fear a familiar soundtrack.
Until the air seemed to shiver. A wanderer coalescing near the front of the room. A sickening shift in the air and light filling the now blurry room. Someone screamed.
And then you'd felt it. A searing pain that tore from your shoulder and across your chest, accompanied by a strange warmth. A red more vibrant than you'd imagined it would be that poured over your breast. Stumbling backwards, you'd lost your balance. Your feet sliding out from under you, the floor rising to meet you with alarming speed.
Until your head cracked against the floor. Some distant part of you was surprised by how loud it was. The crack of your skull against the dance floor.
And then he was there. His eyes as beautiful as you had imagined as the world began to swim.
"Stay with me." His voice was calm, a contrast against the panic of the room.
"Didn't plan on going anywhere." You hear your own voice, although it feels out of sync with your lips. He smiles wryly in response to your sardonic response, one hand cradling your head, the other gingerly lowering the sparkling strap on your shoulder, now stained with blood.
"I'm a doctor -" You snort, and cut him off.
"If I had a dollar for every time I'd heard that one." You feel your hand meet his, and surprised to feel just how sticky and wet your own blood is. You hear gunfire, but he doesn't flinch.
He gently moves your hand, concern flickering across his face. Despite the pain, the chaos, you can't help but find yourself fixated on the man above you.
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The pain is what pulls you back to reality. You fight it while you can, knowing that it's preferable to stay in the haze of darkness. But there is only so much you can do as the tether of your consciousness inevitably pulls you back to earth.
You're in a room, far too white. Far too bright. You squint and try to sit up, only to be rewarded by the pain magnifying itself by several magnitudes. A whimper escapes your lips. A bandage is wound around your right shoulder and across your chest. Someone has dressed you in soft linen hospital pants and a loose scrub top.
"You're awake." The voice is familiar, and it makes your heart leap. It's him.
He's as clean and white as the room. Wearing a pressed shirt tailored to his well postured frame, and a doctor's coat that hangs squarely from his shoulders as if it were made only for him. His dark hair and features punctuate his pale face, contrasting starkly in a way that takes your breath away.
But it's his eyes that you can't look away from. Hazel green with a burning intensity that freezes you on the spot for just a moment.
"You weren't lying, Doctor." You manage with a breathless laugh.
He doesn't laugh, but you see a hint of a smile at his lips. He crosses the room in two purposeful strides, his eyes fixed on the monitor above your bed.
"Doctor Zayne." He replies. "You should lay back down." His tone is matter of fact, it brooks no argument. You gingerly acquiesce. "You're in Akso hospital, you -"
"What?" You shoot back up without thinking, and the pain screams back into your body.
"-you were injured by a wanderer attack." He continues as if you haven't interrupted him. "And sustained a laceration to your right clavicle and arm requiring surgical repair, and a minor concussion with loss of consciousness."
You fall back against the pillows, cursing every star you know to name. "I have to go back."
He pauses, his routine interrupted. "Back where? I can assure you the club sustained enough damage that it won't be open for-"
You groan, placing your hands over your face. "No, no, no. Back to the N109 Zone. I can't be here."
"I can assure you, that the hospital is exactly where you belong." He replies curtly, a tone of annoyance edging at his voice.
You sigh and grit your teeth, and then remove your head from your hands.
"Thank you, so much. Truly, I can't thank you enough." You begin, while carefully sitting the rest of the way up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "But I don't belong here." You carefully begn to remove the wires attached to your chest.
"The hospital is exactly where you belong." He's standing in front of you now. A wall of man blocking your path as you shakily stand. You shake your head in wordless disagreement, ignoring how the room swims when you do.
You step past him and he doesn't say another word as you leave, but you feel his eyes on you with every step you take.
Crossing the thresh hold you quicken your pace, and you nearly slam straight into her. She's beautiful up close. Her elfin features and lithe figure seem almost otherworldly, you think.
"It's you!" She exclaims, as if you're old friends. "From the club! I'm so glad you're ok! Dr. Zayne said..." her words fade into a buzz of chatter as you see her gaze slip past you and over your shoulder. You glance behind you and see him standing in the doorway to the room you just exited. He's looking at her like the rest of the world doesn't exist. He's looking at her in a way that makes your chest ache in a way that isn't related to your injury, but much, much, worse.
You almost feel like you're intruding on something. You duck your head and step to the side. "I really have to go..."
You leave without looking back.
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A week later your stitches have mostly dissolved, and the clanging headache you've been fighting has begun to fade. The club re-opens tonight. The N109 Zone is no stranger to rebuilding, and they have it down to a science rather than an art. You've carefully chosen a high necked top to hide the healing gash, and you've prepared yourself to step on stage once more.
No one speaks of the attack. It's not worth mentioning in a place like this. Instead the music plays and you follow its lead, the familiar cadence of lights and bass a welcome relief.
You're lost somewhere in the song when you see him. He's seated at a table by himself and his white dress shirt nearly glows in the darkened room. His sleeves are rolled up past the elbow, his tie loose but still around his neck, and he rests his chin on top of folded, thoughtful hands, but his eyes are fixed only on you.
For a split second, you freeze, before finding the beat again. You can't tell from this distance, but you'd swear that he notices and almost smiles.
The night passes from there in a way that you can only describe as agonizingly slow.
He remains seated the entire night, watching you dance. Slowly, the club empties. As the morning draws closer the last few stragglers finish their dels and drinks and slink towards the exits. And as you wind down and the music fades, he stands, and approaches the stage.
You step to the edge of the worn wooden platform and lower yourself carefully down, sitting with your legs dangling over the edge.
"You came back." You state it as a fact, but the surprise is evident in your voice.
"I came back." He answers with a succinct nod. "You didn't come to your follow up."
You laugh, and it's short and shocked. "I didn't know I had one."
"You're lucky." He replies, crossing his arms across his chest. "I don't know many doctors who make house calls."
You slide off the stage so that you are standing before him, although even in your heels you have to look up at him.
"Lucky?" You raise one eyebrow in faux disbelief. Carefully removing one arm from your top, you reveal the healing wound beneath. You see his gaze drop to your revealed breast, and a light pink flushes his ears.
"Usually I charge for this." You grin, and watch the flush creep further up his neck. "And we're sure you're a doctor?" You tease, although you aren't feeling half as bold as you're acting.
He makes a disapproving noise in response as his graceful fingers begin to gently explore the forming scar. You have to think about your breathing in order not to hold your breath.
"Are you experiencing any pain?" His brow has furrowed ever so slightly, and he's pressing gently at the base of the scar. You shake your head and resist the temptation to reach out and touch him in turn.
"It itches a bit, but it doesn't hurt." You're entranced by the way his eyes look through his long dark lashes, and your voice comes out softer and breathier than you mean for it.
Slowly he pulls away and looks up. The electricity still crackling silently in the air between you. "And your head?"
You grin, "Oh, don't worry. I'm just as dumb as I was before." He doesn't look impressed, but instead sighs softly.
"That's not what I meant."
You slide your arm back into your top and pull it back down. "So, what do I owe you for this house call, doctor?"
He waves your question off with a dismissive hand. "I'm simply caring for my patient."
"It's a dangerous thing to owe people favors in the N109 Zone." You purse your lips. "I know you aren't from around here, but -"
"But-" he interrupts you, "-You don't want to be in my debt?"
You nod, wordlessly. The club is empty now, and the dim lights illuminate dingy velvet and well worn carpets that have long ago lost their luster in the light of day.
"Then don't be." He says, matter of factly. "Just...don't waste my work." His eyes have gone cold and distant, as if he's turned a switch off somewhere inside, and he turns to leave. You feel your stomach sink unexpectedly, and you fight a sudden instinct to find an excuse for him to stay.
Before you can find words, he's gone. You shake your head, as if you can free yourself from the recurring image of him gently, tenderly, reaching for you. And you remind yourself exactly where you are.
He belongs with someone like the shiny girl from before. Someone who still radiates light.
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The wound faded to a pink and pale scar, neat but raised. And the nights faded into one another again, neon lights the comforting companions to the N109 Zone's familiar darkness.
You still saw her sometimes, laughing, an oddity in the N109 zone. Always accompanied by her red eyed and powerful companion. They'd clearly grown closer, if even possible. They moved in sync, and his arm was usually wrapped tightly around her waist or shoulders.
Every time you saw them, your heart fluttered. Not because of his unsettling stare, not because of her strange light, but because there was always a chance, perhaps even a hope, that Zayne might be there too. Even his name felt dangerous - like thinking it, let alone saying it out loud, was too great a risk to take. So you simply, didn't.
You kept to yourself the growing fear that sat deep in your chest. The feeling that something just wasn't quite right. You'd been through a traumatic event, you told yourself. Of course you wouldn't feel great. But glances over your shoulder on the way home told a different story, unease becoming a constant companion.
And there was the fact that work wasn't the same either. Your usual customers, your 'regulars' as it were, were either missing, or not themselves. It wasn't unusual in the N109 zone for people to disappear, or even to reappear after disappearing for weeks. But this was different. Three of them just never returned to the club after the night Zayne came to check on you. And the others no longer requested dances in private rooms. If you approached them on the floor, they would shy away, and if you didn't know better - you would swear you saw them looking over their shoulders in fear. Some of them you were glad to see go, lecherous and handsy types that they were. But you couldn't pretend it wasn't affecting you. You had certainly begun to feel it when you counted your payout at the end of the night.
However, in the place of their eyes, you felt new ones watching you. You tried to explain them away. Telling yourself the years of hypervigilance were coming to claim their toll. That it was simply the decades of looking over your back morphing into something greater.
And yet - there was a nagging feeling of being watched that you couldn't quite shake.
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By the time your arm had fully healed the air had turned cold. The last strains of Autumn's chorus still echoed in the N109 Zone, but the biting wind of early winter was determined to drown them out. You pulled your coat closer around you as you stepped out the back door of the club, letting the cool air of the night hit your face as you tipped your head back. A sigh escaped your lips, and you watched your breath appear in the air, dissipating upwards like smoke.
The walk home wasn't short, but it was at least a familiar path. Although since this new feeling of being watched had appeared, it had felt longer the colder the nights grew. You set out, heels from the club dangling loosely in one hand. You mused to yourself that perhaps in the N109 Zone one was always being watched, and that maybe, you had simply become aware of the eyes you couldn't see.
A street lamp flickered and you jumped. You chided yourself for your foolishness - and for showing weakness, and doubled your pace. The air grew colder, and you wondered if the howl of the wind was growing louder, or if it was your imagination. Rounding the final corner before your block, you almost walked straight into a darkly clad figure as they emerged from an alley.
"Sorry I -" The words froze on your lips as you looked up into a familiar face. "Dr. Zayne?" Your surprise registers in your voice coming out almost a squeak. In the flickering light of the now distant street lamps he looks different. The shadows on his face deeper, his eyes darker.
"I'm sorry." His voice is darker too, softer in a strange way, but tinged with something unfamiliar. "I didn't want to have to do this, but I can't keep you safe here any longer."
You blink in confusion, unsure of what he's saying, or what he means. And then you're in his arms, and there's a sharp prick at your neck, and the world spins around you. His scent is sharp and clean, and even in the chill of the evening his hands are cold on your skin, but his face, his face is soft, his eyes are gentle, and you wonder why he looks so sad, as the world fades away.
