#series zone

[zaynezone]

LUSH LIFE

chapter 3: Gonna spend it like no other

summary: The morning is fuzzy, but volleyball will clear your minds, right?

wc: 2.1k

series masterlist

The morning is warm. Golden sunlight pours into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and for a moment you're blissfully disoriented, trying to remember where you are and whose chest you're resting on.

Wait.

What?

You don't jerk away immediately. Mostly because you don't want to, but also because you can't. Zayne's grip around your waist is firm, his arm a solid weight anchoring you to him. His head rests on yours, his breath even, and you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek. There's no way out without waking him, and a traitorous part of you is deeply grateful for that.

Your body relaxes into him despite every rational thought screaming at you to move. It's alright, you can just savor this moment, right? It's not like it was a conscious thing. The two of you just happened to migrate closer in this ridiculously large bed, drawn together by some random gravitational pull. You cuddled like normal humans do. Completely platonic. Nothing to read into.

“Are you awake?”

If your heart wasn’t pounding before, it is now. His voice is rough with sleep, a low rumble that you feel as much as hear, and it sends a shiver down your spine that you desperately hope he doesn't notice.

“Y-yeah.” You admit, tilting your head up to look at him. His hair is a disheveled mess, sticking up in ways you've never seen, and his eyes are still half-lidded with exhaustion. It's the most unguarded you've ever seen him, no professional mask in sight. That's probably why he's made no move to let go of you yet.

“You had a nightmare last night. Do you remember what it was about?” His grip around your waist releases, so you reluctantly untangle yourself from him, though you try to hide your disappointment while you shift to face him. The loss of his warmth is immediate, and you have to resist the urge to reach for him again.

"Hmm…I don't think so." You search your memory, finding nothing. "I didn't say anything, right?" A sudden fear strikes your heart. What if you'd confessed something in your sleep? What if you'd murmured his name, whispered something that gave away the years of longing you'd carefully hidden?

But Zayne shakes his head, and the tension in your shoulders eases. "No, you didn't say anything comprehensible. But you seemed very agitated. You only calmed down once I moved closer.” If he finds anything odd about that, he doesn’t say.

Instead, he studies you for a long moment, and then slips out of bed. You hold back on trying to call out after him, to understand why, instead of waking you from the nightmare, he’d chosen to cradle you in his arms. And why he hadn’t wondered why it worked.

Of course, before you can linger on the thought, your phone buzzes.

Tara: Hope you’re feeling well rested! We’re gonna meet on the beach for team volleyball if you guys want to join <33

"Zayne?" You call out, propping yourself up on your elbows. "Some of my colleagues are going to play volleyball on the beach."

He peeks his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. You almost immediately cringe at your tone of voice, the way it had come out like you were asking for permission, like you needed his approval. But he doesn't comment.

"We can join them if you'd like?" A ghost of a smile plays on his face, and you feel your chest loosen. You'll take it. Really, you'd take anything he's willing to give.

After an only slightly awkward morning of getting dressed and tiptoeing around each other, both of you carefully avoiding eye contact as you pass each other in the small space, you head out for the beach.

The sun is high and warm, the sand soft beneath your sandals. Once again, Zayne takes your bag from you without asking, quieting your protests with an amused look. You know you should let him do boyfriend things, that it's part of the act, but something about it makes your heart ache every time. How were you supposed to go back to normal life after this? How were you supposed to return to friendly lunches and professional touches when you'd had this?

“Are those your friends?” Zayne points out a group of people, who soon spot you two and begin waving furiously.

“Yeah…that’s them.”

Not everyone had arrived in time for dinner last night, so you find yourself once again introducing Zayne to a new round of faces. You try not to cringe when someone asks for the story again, but Zayne swoops in before you can stumble through it, his hand finding the small of your back as he launches into the practiced tale. He's so smooth about it, so natural, that even you almost believe him.

"I figured you weren't going to come." Xavier's quiet voice pulls you from your thoughts, all of which center around the warmth of Zayne's hand on your back. You'd almost forgotten he was coming.

"Hm? Oh um…we didn't think Zayne would get the vacation time." You force a smile, hoping to hide your nerves. Xavier is annoyingly perceptive, and he's worked with you enough to know when you're lying. Hell, he can probably read it in the slight tremor of your voice and the way you won't quite meet his eyes. But he doesn't say anything.

"Who's this?" Zayne's hand slides from your back to your hip, pulling you just a fraction closer. You almost immediately go rigid, your breath catching in your throat. His palm is warm even through the thin fabric of your swimsuit coverup, and you can feel the imprint of his fingers like a brand. Xavier's brow raises at your clear surprise, and you mentally curse yourself.

"This is Xavier!" You say, too brightly. "I've mentioned him before, right? We go on a lot of missions together."

Zayne nods in understanding, though something flickers in his eyes, something you can't quite name. He doesn't seem as polite as he was last night, his handshake with Xavier brief and stiff before he moves just a little closer to you, his body angled to block you slightly.

Huh.

"Well um, we should go before they start volleyball without us, right? Come on Zayne!" You're quick to pull him away from the conversation, casting Xavier a pleading look over your shoulder, one that says please don't tell anyone this isn't actually my boyfriend. He nods, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch, fighting a smile.

You thought you knew almost everything about Zayne. But what he never mentioned that he was incredible at volleyball.

"This is hardly fair! I demand a rematch!" Simone complains as Zayne once again spikes the ball, managing to score the winning point. The ball hits the sand with a satisfying thud, and the opposing team groans in defeat.

You cheer, high-fiving him as your team celebrates around you. He hadn't lost a single point, in every match. His reflexes were insane, his aim impeccable, and he moved across the sand with an athletic grace that left you breathless every time.

It was so hot. And not temperature wise.

"I'd be happy to play again," Zayne says to Simone, his tone almost teasing, "but I suspect a similar outcome."

You grin at him, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on his outfit. Well, if you could call loosely slung board shorts and nothing else an outfit. The sun catches the water droplets on his skin, tracing the lines of his shoulders and chest, and you have to physically force yourself to look away before you start drooling.

"I'll grab some water. Start preparing our victory speech." You smile, turning to head over to the cooler as he sits down under an umbrella, accepting a towel from one of your colleagues.

"Here." Xavier props open the cooler for you, helping you dig through the ice for some water bottles. You can feel his gaze on you as you take a sip, assessing you. With a heavy sigh, you give up.

"Were we that obvious?" You murmur, eyes downcast as you pick at the label on your bottle.

"Not at first." Xavier shrugs, leaning casually against the plastic cooler. "But I always kiss my girlfriend after we win, and you two only ever high five.”

He points it out so casually, so matter-of-factly, that it takes a moment for the implication to land. Your eyes flit over to Zayne, who's nodding along to Simone's dramatic reenactment of her match against Xavier, her hands flying as she describes his "unfair" serves.

He meets your eyes across the sand, his head tilting ever so slightly when he notices you standing frozen with the water bottle in hand. You wave, a small gesture, and he nods back before returning his attention to Simone.

You move to stand up, ready to head back, when Xavier's voice stops you.

"You should know…he isn't faking."

For a moment, you just stare at him. The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. Surely he isn't saying what you think he's saying? Surely he can't mean-

"Xavier I don't think-”

"Trust me." Xavier's expression is unreadable, but his voice is certain. "If you're worried he doesn't feel the same way, you shouldn't be."

He shrugs, like he hasn't just upended your entire world, and stands up, dusting the sand off his shorts. You're left dumbfounded as he simply walks away, joining his partner under their umbrella with an easy motion.

You take another sip of water just to give yourself something to do, your mind reeling. Maybe Zayne had been a little…different lately. The hand-holding that lingered a second too long. The sandwiches made exactly the way you liked them. The way he'd held you through the night. But he was just helping you out, right? Being a good friend and definitely a good fake boyfriend.

Then again…why was he keeping the act up when the two of you were alone? No one was watching when he made sure your nightmare stopped, when he tucked his jacket around your shoulders. That wasn't for show.

Was it seriously possible that Zayne actually wanted to be your boyfriend?

Before you can toss the idea aside as wishful thinking, he appears beside you, taking the spare water bottle from your hand with an amused smile.

"Are you overheating?" He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, his touch cool against your warm skin. You brush him off with a small smile, shaking away the thoughts that cloud your mind.

"I'm fine, Doctor." You manage. "You must have worked up quite an appetite. Let's get some lunch?"

The rest of the day flies by, filled with various team events and activities. Zayne gets along with everyone well, something you'd expected to happen, really. He's charming when he wants to be, and your colleagues seem to have accepted him effortlessly into the group. But around dinner time, everyone splits off for some alone time, and you and Zayne find yourselves on a solo date at a small restaurant overlooking the water.

"Should we cheers?" You hold your glass of wine up, the deep red liquid catching the candlelight. The food on your plate is mostly finished, and you feel warm and content, a pleasant buzz from the day and the company.

But Zayne hesitates, glancing at his wine glass almost nervously. His fingers wrap around the stem, but he doesn't lift it.

"I don't drink very often." He warns, a note of caution in his voice. "My tolerance is quite low."

"What, you can't have a single sip?" You smirk, emboldened by your own wine. "I never pegged you for such a lightweight, Zayne."

Something flickers in his eyes at the challenge, and he clinks his glass against yours. He lifts it to his lips and takes a small sip, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.

"It's sweet." He notes, glancing at the liquid as if reassessing it.

Before you can warn him to pace himself, he tips his head back and downs the rest of it in one smooth motion.

Well. At least a drunk Zayne would be interesting, right?

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[zaynezone]

LUSH LIFE

chapter 2: Doin' it the way I wanna

summary: The charade begins, and temptation becomes almost too much to bear

wc: 2.2k

series masterlist

As you stare at the menu, you try to calm your racing heart. The elegant script blurs before your eyes, each dish blending into the next as your mind fixates on the man beside you rather than the food.

So far, no one has questioned you about Zayne, not besides the knowing looks thrown your way and the appraising glances directed at his. You catch Tara's eyebrow raise from across the table, the subtle smile she shares with another colleague. But you know your friends, and you know they'll want all the details. Every single one. They're not going to let you off with a simple "we decided to go out."

"I think you'll like the chicken." Zayne leans over to point out the dish to you, his shoulder brushing yours. It's exactly the dish you were contemplating, an herb-crusted chicken with roasted vegetables, so you shoot him a look of surprise. How does he keep doing that?

"I think I will. Do you keep notes of my dietary preferences in my chart?" You keep your voice low enough so as to not be overheard, with the added bonus of looking like a lovers' chat.

"Would that be wrong?" He almost smirks, just enough to have your stomach twisting into knots. The dim restaurant lighting catches the edges of his face, softening him in a way you've never seen before. This was no longer Dr. Zayne. This was someone entirely different, and you weren't complaining in the slightest.

"What are you gonna order?" You peer over to the dish he points out, skimming the summary on your own menu. Your eyes catch on one detail immediately.

"It comes with carrot puree." You grimace, remembering every lunch you've shared where he's pushed the orange vegetable to the side of his plate.

"Are you sure you don't want the salmon instead? It's heart healthy and there's no carrots." He sighs at your words, a soft exhale that's almost fond. But when the waiter comes around, he does in fact order the salmon, shooting you a glance that says are you happy now? And you are. You're happier than you have any right to be.

"So, will you finally tell us the story of how you two got together?" Tara leans forward, chin in her hands like a child waiting for a bedtime story. "The last time you mentioned Zayne, you said it was practically hopeless to try for a relationship with him!”

You feel the heat creep up your neck. You know Tara means well, but a part of you wants to leap over the table and strangle her, just to prevent her from uttering another word and exposing your lie. Zayne's hand slips to your knee under the tablecloth, a steady pressure that makes you want to both melt and flee. You try not to go rigid at the touch, forcing your shoulders to relax. He squeezes gently, in a comforting manner, like he can feel the panic radiating off you.

Clearly, he’s trying to save you the embarrassment by promising to not bring this up later. Yes, that must be it. How sweet of him.

Damn him for being so sweet. How the hell were you not supposed to fall in love with him?!

Before you can continue to curse him in your head, you realize that he's begun to explain to the table the totally real story of how he asked you out. His voice is steady and almost too confident, but you suppose it's fitting for a doctor.

"There isn't much to it, really." He shrugs, as casual as anything. "It only took so long because I was worried my feelings weren't reciprocated.” A pause, then a glance at you that's just too tender.

"But once I discovered they were, I knew I had to act on them.”

You smile at the shared chorus of 'awwws' that ripples around the table, busying yourself with your water glass to swallow down the sudden wave of nausea. You take a sip, let the cool liquid settle in your stomach. He was good at pretending. So good you could almost believe him, almost let yourself sink into the fantasy that your feelings were actually mutual, that the way he was looking at you now wasn't just part of the act.

But you know the truth. That it's all a lie.

You're pretty sure he's still talking, something about the bakery, about how nervous he was, but the room suddenly feels like it's caving in on you. The walls inch closer, the chatter of your friends grows distant, and the weight of the deception presses down on your chest until you can barely breathe.

This was ridiculous. You needed to come clean. You needed to tell everyone the truth so that you could get the hell out of here, run back to the city and bury yourself in work and forget any of this ever happened. You can't go a week like this, can't get a taste of heaven knowing it'll be ripped away from you and you'll never experience it again.

"I'm gonna get a drink." You murmur to the table, not meeting anyone's eyes. You slip away before anyone can respond, practically running past the bar and out onto the balcony overlooking the beach. The night air hits you, salt and cool breeze, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest.

A tear slips down your face, but you're quick to wipe it away, angry at yourself for letting it escape. Maybe you were overreacting. It was just a week, right? Seven days. How different was it from the nights you'd spent laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining what it would be like if Zayne was next to you? At least now he actually was. That should count for something.

“Are you alright?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You don't turn around. You can't. If you look at him now, with the moonlight shining on his features and concern clear in his knit brow, you might lose what little composure you have left.

“Yeah, I’m alright. I guess I’m just not a very good liar.” You murmur, leaning against the cold metal railing. A warmth is placed on your shoulders, smelling cedar and pear. You pull the fabric of his jacket closer, still not looking up.

“If you wish, I could tell everyone you’re tired from the train ride? Perhaps you’ll feel better after some rest.” He doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but he knows there’s more than you’re letting on. You hum in agreement, feeling him step closer until he's shoulder to shoulder with you, both of you looking out to the vast sea stretching endlessly before you.

“For what it’s worth…I’m glad you chose me for this trip.”

You don't know what to say to that. So you say nothing.

You wait for him by the elevator, room key in hand. The guilt you feel over abandoning dinner is outweighed by your exhaustion at this point, so you don’t feel bad as Zayne joins you, his presence oddly reassuring. He hits hitting a surprisingly high number on the row of buttons, and the elevator hums as it begins to rise.

“They must have gotten us a nice room.” You note, mostly to yourself, but he hums in agreement. Ever the gentleman, he takes the key from you to open the door, holding it so you can step inside.

Oh wow.

The room takes your breath away. Clearly, they’d spared no expense. Floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the moonlit sea, plush carpeting that muffles every step, a gorgeous ensuite bathroom with marble countertops and a deep tub you desperately want to sink into. And then there's the bed.

One huge bed.

You and Zayne turn to each other at the same moment, clearly both thinking the same thing. I mean, of course they would give you a room with one bed. They thought you were a couple. Couples share beds. That’s what couples do.

But do friends share beds?

"I can sleep on the floor, if you'd be more comfortable?" Zayne offers, already scanning the room for extra blankets. But you're quick to refuse, shaking your head before the words are even fully out of his mouth. The mere idea was ridiculous. You were two adults after all, fully capable of sharing a mattress without anything happening. You'd known Zayne a long time, it's not like you were strangers or anything. You could totally do this.

"We can share the bed. It's not a big deal." You manage to come off much more nonchalant than you'd expected, shrugging even as your heart pounds away in your chest like a trapped bird. Hopefully he won't give you a check-up on this trip. If anything is going to give you away, it would be that, considering the way your pulse jumps every time he's close.

"I'm going to take a shower first, if that's alright?" Zayne states, already moving toward the bathroom. You know he's probably dying to get the train germs off, so you agree quickly, grateful for a few moments alone to compose yourself.

When the bathroom door locks, the soft click echoing in the quiet room, you allow yourself to sit on the edge of the bed and breathe. Deep inhale. Slow exhale. You count to ten, then do it again.

Your earlier spiral had been a fluke. You felt better now, truly. Just look around! You were at a gorgeous resort with your closest friends, and the man you loved was only a few feet away. Sure, he didn't love you back, but you were making your peace with that.

The sound of the shower turning off makes you shake the thoughts out of your head, sighing as you sink deeper into the plush mattress. But before you can dwell on the situation too long, the bathroom door clicks open, and you turn on instinct.

And what a sight you’re greeting with.

Zayne's hair is wet, dark strands clinging to his forehead and dripping down his neck. Droplets trace his jaw, catching the dim light before running along his collarbone and disappearing lower. His abdomen is even more toned than you'd imagined, lean with the muscle definition of a sculpture. Sure, you knew he worked out, but looking at his biceps now, the way they flex as he runs a towel through his hair, your mouth nearly waters. When your gaze trails even lower, towards the towel slung precariously low on his waist, the faintest hint of a shaven happy trail visible above the white fabric, your head snaps away so fast you nearly strain your neck.

"I left my clothes out here." Is all he says in explanation, only sounding a little embarrassed. His voice is rougher than usual, but you push the thought aside.

You hum in response, trying not to stare and distracting yourself by imagining what it would be like if his suitcase got lost at sea and he was left only wearing this towel.

You know, normal thoughts about your close friend.

When he emerges in a plain t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants, you can't quite meet his eyes. Instead, you snatch your own bundle of clothes and step into the bathroom, setting the spray to the coldest setting possible. The shock of it against your overheated skin does nothing to cool the images seared into your brain.

You take your time, if only to delay the inevitable. You go through every step of your routine with agonizing slowness. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash that you definitely did not pick because it reminded you of him. You do your skincare, patting each layer into your skin. You apply a dessert-scented lotion that you totally did not pack in case a situation like this occurred. No, it was all just a coincidence.

Finally, when you can't stall any longer, you step back out into the bedroom.

He's flipping through a book, glasses perched on his nose, the lamp casting shadows across his face. It's almost sick, how attractive he is. The way his brow furrows slightly as he reads, the way his lips part just a fraction. You slip into the bed, sighing at the feeling of the luxurious sheets against your skin, and trying very hard not to think about the fact that there's less than a foot of space between you.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” He offers as you lay down on your back.

"If you're done reading?"

He nods, and the light shuts off with a soft click. The clink of his glasses hitting the nightstand is followed by the rustle of sheets as he settles in beside you. The moonlight illuminates the room just enough for you to see his silhouette resting on the pillow, and then turning to you slightly. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a presence that's both comforting and terrifying.

"Goodnight." He whispers softly, the word barely audible.

Your heart clenches. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if this were real. If you could reach out and touch him, if he would hold you close, if you could fall asleep in his arms.

"Goodnight, Zayne."

You close your eyes and try not to think about the morning.

taglist: @chlefnikkl @ihavebooze @drgn-sky @pixiu-palindrome @zainaaryam @manhattanstrawberry @bird-is-reading @angeleclair @strawberry-rainclouds @thirstingoverladslis @mybabygab @jaysguitars @foxinnie8 @dvktea @mochibunnies3 @gravitationalbluberry @leighsartworks216 @bluesnectar @burn-it-all-for-your-love @gawa-ng-gabi @smoothopz @lavlynyan @jinnieminniemoon @blacksnape123 @risagichi @solarsylus @v8n3ss1 @fairyeosy @oolong-tea-leaf @pastelgothfrog21 @crimsonsylus @catmekate @cornthebluedog @silvernight-m @francisca @cacaphonoussouls @hachisenshi @theknightthatturnedevil @tenaciouszombiewombat @livonianmaia @calebunny @applesnowandalilcrow @zayniesnowangel @destinysrequiem @3fg7 @d43rsnutnck @poserbowser @pjselee @frostysolstice

[zaynezone]

LUSH LIFE

chapter 1: As if there was no past

summary: Where you and Zayne get your story straight, and maybe get a little closer?

wc: 1.8k

series masterlist

The nerves hadn’t faded.

You’d thought they might once you texted Zayne back. Then when you’d woken up the next morning. And again as you’d packed for the trip that evening, folding each outfit and then refolding them. Maybe even when you’d taken a cab to the train station, watching the city flit past and wondering if you still had time to cancel.

But no, you’d been painfully nervous every step of the way.

Even now, standing on the crowded platform surrounded by the low rumble of idle chatter and rolling luggage, you feel almost nauseous. Zayne wouldn’t stand you up. You know that, of course. If something truly came up, some kind of emergency at the hospital, a last-minute consultation, he would absolutely find a way to let you know. That’s just how Zayne was. He always told you the truth.

You wish you could do the same.

“Hello.” He appears almost out of thin air, standing next to you with a medium black suitcase in tow. It’s sleek and expensive-looking, the kind of luggage that’s clearly never been roughly handled by airport baggage crews. You almost cringe at how your dinged-up pink suitcase must look in comparison, its scratches and faded stickers a sign of every underfunded adventure. If Zayne notices, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he hands you a slip of thick paper, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Our train tickets.” He explains, an almost imperceptible smirk on his face when you glance at him confused. Of course, your confusion is not about what the paper is, but rather why he has them. Both of them. Your name printed neatly beside his.

“You didn’t need to buy mine too. I’d be happy to pay you back for it.” You reach for your wallet, your action halted by cool fingers encircling your wrist. Instantly, blood rushes through your ears, loud as a wave. Sure, Zayne has touched you before. A hand on your shoulder after a difficult appointment, a brief steadying grip when you’d tripped leaving his office. But it’s always been a very professional sort of touch. Never straying too far from the confines of your very odd friend/doctor-patient relationship.

But something about this feels different.

His thumb rests against your pulse point, and you know, you know, he can feel how fast your heart is beating.

“There’s no need.” His voice is quieter now, meant only for you. “Isn’t this my duty as your boyfriend?”

If there’s a heaven, it better be exactly like this.

“You-you don’t need to start that right now.” The words tumble out too fast. “We only really have to pretend in front of my colleagues. And they won’t be around all the time so for most of the trip we can just be our regular selves!” You smile in what you can only hope is a reassuring manner, though it feels more like a grimace.

For some reason, your words have little effect on Zayne. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his eyes dims, just slightly, just for a fraction of a second. You thought he’d be relieved at not having to pretend to be your boyfriend the whole time. Could it be that he was…

Disappointed?

Nah. No way.

You almost laugh out loud at the thought, the sound catching in your throat. What could be more ridiculous than that? Zayne hasn’t ever given even a hint as to returning your feelings. Not once in all the time you’ve known him. You’d nearly given up on the idea altogether, had started mentally composing the speech you’d give yourself about how some crushes were just meant to go unrequited. Maybe this trip would finally be the nail in the coffin for you to well and truly let go.

The train arrives soon enough. Zayne picks up your suitcase with ease, one hand wrapped around the handle of his own, the other lifting yours like it weighs nothing, very pointedly ignoring your protests. You follow behind him as he navigates to your seats, his shoulder blades shifting beneath his coat with each step. He lets you choose where you want to sit with a small gesture of his hand, and you settle by the window, immediately pulling out your phone to distract yourself.

“Okay, so we should get to the resort in time for dinner which means my friends will definitely want to meet you. So we have to get our story straight.” The serious tone in your voice makes Zayne raise a brow almost immediately.

“Our story?” He settles into the seat beside you, close enough that his knee almost touches yours. “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply say I asked you out?”

“And how exactly did you do that?”

“Simple.” He leans back slightly, considering. “We ran into each other at the bakery near the hospital that we both frequent. I asked you if you were free for dinner. You said yes. We went on a few dates, and I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

For a moment, no one speaks.

His ears begin to grow red. The tips first, then the whole curve, a slow bloom of color you’ve never witnessed before. He glances away from your shocked face, focusing instead on the back of the seat in front of him, though there’s nothing to see. You’ve never seen Zayne flustered. Composed Dr. Zayne, who could deliver difficult diagnoses without a tremor in his voice. And you can’t believe you’re seeing it under these circumstances.

“I…okay. Sure.” Your own voice sounds distant. “We-we can tell them that.”

As if to also hide from the awkwardness, you turn to look out the window, admiring the view as the train begins to move, pretending it doesn’t pale in comparison to the man sitting next to you.

Apparently, you fall asleep at some point. The gentle rocking of the train and the low murmur of other passengers must lull you under. You wake to Zayne’s hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you, his thumb pressing lightly into the fabric of your top.

“Are we there yet?” You mumble, rubbing your eyes as you sit up. When they finally focus, you realize that it wasn’t the window you’d fallen asleep against. It was Zayne’s shoulder. There’s probably a crease mark on your cheek. You resist the urge to hide your face from his view.

“Not yet.” He doesn’t mention it. “We still have a few hours left, but I assumed you would be hungry. I packed sandwiches.”

He holds out a carefully wrapped sandwich, which you take slowly, still burning with embarrassment. Zayne doesn’t seem to mind though, unwrapping his own and eating without saying a word, his focus fixed somewhere on the passing landscape.

You take a bite, only to immediately pull back in surprise.

It’s perfect. Exactly the way you like it, the bread lightly toasted, the turkey sliced thin, exactly the right amount of mustard, even the particular brand of cheese you always buy. How the hell did he know how you like your sandwiches?

“The first time we had lunch together, you were very specific with your order.” Zayne says, almost too casual for such an oddly intimate thing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze still on the window. “It was easy to remember.”

But you remember that lunch too. You remember the way he’d listened, nodding along as you explained, in probably too much detail, exactly why cold sandwiches were superior to grilled ones. You hadn’t thought he was paying that close attention. But he’s always had a good memory, so you don’t comment on it.

The two of you eat in silence, save for your mumbled thanks when he hands you a bottle of water, and then a napkin, and then, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen on him, a small bottle of pear-scented hand sanitizer.

“Do you have a bag like Mary Poppins that I’m not seeing?” You joke with a teasing grin as you rub the sanitizer into your skin, the sweet fragrance blooming between you.

“It’s good to be prepared.” Is all Zayne has to add. Of course. He was always prepared for everything. Including, apparently, pretending to be dating you.

When the train finally pulls into the station, the announcement crackling overhead, you once again follow behind Zayne as he leads the way off. The mountain air hits you first, cool and crisp, so different from the city. You take a moment to admire him as he scans the crowd, his broad shoulders and toned physique silhouetted against the golden hour light. Perhaps it’s wrong to be so excited for such a thing, but you’re really looking forward to seeing him by the pool. You allow yourself exactly three seconds to imagine it before firmly shutting that thought away.

“Do you see your colleagues anywhere?” He helps you off the last step, standing just close enough that anyone nearby would easily mistake you for a couple. Which, for the week, you technically are.

“Hey! Over here!” Tara’s voice is loud and clear, cutting through the station noise. She’s waving at you with both hands, a wide smile on her face, flanked by a small group of familiar faces. Zayne’s hand slips into yours so naturally that you don’t even question it, his fingers interlacing with yours like they’ve done it a hundred times before. It feels nice, to hold his hand and feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, even as you walk toward your friends and the performance you’ve signed up for.

“This must be Zayne!” Tara is grinning, her eyes doing that knowing thing they always do. She clearly recognizes the man you’ve spent many drunken karaoke nights gushing over, whose photo you may have accidentally-on-purpose shown her once. To his credit, Zayne doesn’t let his surprise show. He uses his free hand to shake hands around the circle while not letting go of you, his grip warm and steady.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” He says it like he means it, and maybe he does. They exchange pleasantries and small talk about the trip, how were the trains, did you bring swimsuits, isn’t the resort supposed to be amazing. The nerves have started to creep back in now, curling low in your stomach. It’s not like anything bad would happen if you got caught, it’s not a crime to be single, but now it was real. The lie had left the station. And it would be truly humiliating to be found out. I mean, how pathetic. You had to have a friend pretend to be your boyfriend just for a free vacation? You’d never hear the end of it. Tara would never let you live it down.

“You guys must be starving!” Tara suggests, already turning toward the exit. “Should we go get dinner now?”

You glance to Zayne. He’s already looking at you, waiting. When he nods in agreement, you do the same, squeezing his hand without thinking. After all, you were prepared for this. You had a story. You had a fake boyfriend who remembered how you take your sandwich.

What’s the worst that could happen?

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[sashanazim]