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[applejuicinator]

The LADS men and your jealousy

Word count: 4.2K

A/N: This is a whole bunch of word vomit that I have compiled in about five hours, so I haven’t properly looked through it. Just needed to post something, make sure I keep writing so I don’t get all lazy.

TW: Slight NSWF themes – very subtle. Rafayel being engrossed in his work, he neglects you a little bit, but he makes up for it, he loves you to the ends of the earth.

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Green isn’t your best colour

Whilst jealousy isn’t something completely unknown to you, the situation in front of you seemed to stir an unbridled fury deep within your gut.

🐡 Rafayel 🐡

To say that you and Rafayel never fought would be a big fat lie.

You argued about who spent the most time getting ready in the morning, it was definitely him and his perfectly ‘messy’ locks by the way, or who spent more money on who… which was also probably him. The man drove a Mercedes Benz Gran turismo, he wasn’t letting you spend a single damn penny no matter how much you protested. You had to admit, it did make your heart flutter and legs quiver when he whipped out his gold card like it was something mundane. The top few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, lazy smirk and arm resting over the back of his seat.

‘My wife is my life” He would say whilst staring into your eyes like you had hung the stars in the sky, until you eventually gave in and he’d kiss the tip of your nose as if to seal the deal.

All this to say, you argued, but not about things that deeply lingered or at the expense of the sanctity of your relationship. You both made sure that problems were aired the moment they began to grow, nip them in the bud cleanly and swiftly.

But this damn upcoming exhibition had grown into something monstrous, the roots clawing at your ankles with long spindly tendrils, grounding you in the most exasperated uncertainty you had ever experienced. And you fought wanderers for a living.

The show was all he thought about.

Rafayel being all-consumed by his art wasn’t anything new or surprising, sometimes when he was truly inspired, normally by you, he’d spend hours relentlessly hunched over a canvas watching the weight of his brush strokes until they were ‘perfect.’ But that was when it was personal, the art was for his pleasure, seeing beauty translated into colours and soft hues. Multiple portraits, every single one in a different medium, context or style, depicted you. Some were just of your eyes and the depth of your adoration for him, some of you posing or modelling, some of you in the mundanity of life.

You drove his paintbrush, he said as much when night tipped the scales and you both laid in a tangled mess, bedsheets cocooning you from the harshness that reality brought with it. He whispered love and adoration into the crown of your head, kissing your temples with keen devotion.

He normally never gave much thought to gallery shows if it didn’t involve you, because you were his muse. Who wanted to portray art without feeling.

When he was forced to put on shows to appease rich donors and clients he actively went out of his way to cause as much shit as he could within reason. It’s the reason why Thomas was going prematurely bald.

However, there was another reason why this exhibition felt different, arguably the reason that was weighing heavily on your mind the most.

Rafayel was an ardent fan of one of the other artists collaborating. She was a beautiful, older woman who moved like calm ripples on normally still water. She was the embodiment of depth, grace, and elegance. Her works centred on fluidity and liquid, made only with water colours. Rafayel even had a piece of her art in his studio, the only one permitted which he hadn’t painted, it was an incredible compliment to her skill.

When you had first laid eyes upon her, walking through the communal art space for the exhibition, you experienced a cold flush. It’s like when you make a mistake, and a chilly realisation flushes through your veins to the tips of your fingers. Something felt wrong.

Jealously wasn’t something new to either of you, mostly it was just empty banter though, you know the type - ‘cutie he was trying for your number,’ or ‘Rafayel she wasn’t after just an autograph you know.’

Rafayel had lots of women who he was friends or acquaintances with, after all he did have a life before you, filled to the brim of the unknown. But it never bothered you before, in fact it was actually lovely to see that your husband was a genuinely accepting and open person who people were drawn to. But this artist itched at your skin, unease crawling up your spine whenever she was near.

She was so kind and warm, which made you feel ten times worse.

The exhibition wasn’t forever; you could endure you told yourself.

But as month three rolled round, the preparation was nowhere near over and your patience was beginning to crumble like bitter ash.

You knocked softly on the door to Rafayel’s private studio, ears straining to hear a response or if there was any movement inside. You couldn’t hear his light teasing tone or the soft padding of feet running to the door, so you assumed he was at the exhibition space again.

You could count on one hand the number of times your husband had been home before 9pm for the whole month. He was fast to respond to your texts and phone calls, his jovial voice telling you all about what he was doing and how he was discussing more subliminal art theory with Rachel.

You appreciated art, you knew how beautiful it was and what messages a piece was trying to convey. But you didn’t understand it in the same way that an artist might. A fact that you weren’t wary of before now.

The TV hummed in the background, a show about the upcoming exhibition sounding like nothing but static in your ears. The house that usually smelled like a weird mixture of your scented candles and paint, laughter and low-fi playing as you both chattered away, was instead empty.

You glanced down at your phone, finger hovering above his name, you could call him and ask him to come home. You could sit him down, tell him how you feel, how this was starting to take a toll on you, how you felt a cold snap whenever Rachel ruffled his hair.

An urge to see him in person stopped you, it wasn’t often you bothered him at night because that’s when his productivity was best, but the anxiety was eating away at you tonight.

Thoughts flitted through your mind like a fast-paced movie reel, gathering your keys, you packed a few snacks and the meal that had gone cold before hopping into your car and making the short journey to the gallery. It wasn’t long before you were calling his name into the empty space, still bare, the floor covered in positioning tape to map out the art pieces and theming.

The art space was hidden upstairs away from prying eyes, people went meandering off into restricted zones too often at these events, so the artists had a dedicated space for relaxing and touch ups for their work.

You called again as your jogged up the steps, the bag holding his pick-me ups jostling against your legs. At the end of the day, above all of this jealousy and bitterness, you were more concerned for Rafayel’s health. He was overworking himself, despite how happy he sounded, the puffiness and dark circles to his eyes only seemed to get worse with each passing day.

“Rafayel! You there?” You called out again, heading towards the door where you could faintly hear muffled music.

“In here baby!” Your heart melted at just the sound of his voice; you missed him dearly. When was the last time the two of you just laid on the couch watching a shitty movie, his beautiful light tenor critiquing every ridiculous discrepancy or loophole, you loved it, watching him get so animated. No one made you laugh like him.

The feelings of love and hope shattered when you entered the art room, holding the bag high, smile on your face as you were about announce how amazing you were for bringing him food like a personal chef. Instead, your smile immediately dropped, bag of food loosely hanging by your side.

He didn’t even turn around to greet you, back to you as you watched Rachel rest her head on his shoulder. They were looking at the gargantuan painting pinned to the back wall, the canvas taking up the whole height and width of the space.

It was a masterpiece.

It depicted a luscious underwater scene, vibrant colours and corals encompassing old derelict architecture, creatures of all kinds flourishing in the absence of humans. The intricacies were breathtaking even to your untrained eye, multiple mediums and techniques rendering the painting almost 3D, the textured surface appearing like moving water.

Something so harmonious, so genius, should have struck at your heart, made you feel emotion and intrigue about the painting. However, all you could feel is the guttural sadness as Rachel lifted her head from your husbands toned shoulder. She was only getting a better feel for the art, trying to see it from a different angle, but it was intimate. The contact was crossing an invisible boundary, one that was obvious to you. But obviously wasn’t to Rafayel. And. Rachel.

Fuck, Rafayel and Rachel. Their names even sounded cute together. What sort of shit is that.

Thomas was in the adjoining office, you heard him talking loudly, so they hadn’t been all alone. Your fingernails dug deep into the skin of your palm, the pain bringing back a sliver of reality.

Rafayel looked over his shoulder finally, nodding to himself in pride. He looked so happy, eyes crinkling when he looked at you, gaze meeting yours.

But you just couldn’t do it. You should be so proud of him, look at the masterpiece he had created, his time and dedication spawning something so ethereal it looked as though you could reach in and feel the cold depths of the ocean.

Feelings swarmed your thoughts, no doubt translating to your face, because Rafayel was soon stood in front of you, a worried scrunch to his cute brows. His hands, still covered in dried paint, a mish mash of blues and whites, cupped your cheeks. His thumbs smoothed over your skin comfortingly; it made bile rise at the back of your throat.

“Baby?” He asked again, and you could see Rachel turn to look too, Rafayel’s worried tone catching her attention.

No no no. You didn’t want her, exquisite, charming Rachel to see you like this, a bitter wife. You began questioning how you looked, still in comfy sweats and hair tousled from lounging in bed. Hanging your head low, as if that would make you disappear from her view, you pushed the bag of food to his chest. He looked down at it flabbergasted, hands suddenly scrambling at the handle, so it didn’t fall.

“Here’s dinner, five hours late and cold, thanks for telling me”

In retrospect, without adoration clouding your judgment, it wasn’t really okay that Rafayel was allowing another woman to lay her head on his shoulder, no matter how close they were, without discussing it with you first. You supposed you’d never had a conversation about lines and boundaries in your relationship, this situation was new to you.

Rafayel looked between you and the bag bewildered, his mind trying to process what was happening, what had he missed. Rising panic swelled in his chest as he watched you turn on your heel and slam the door behind you, your footsteps fading quickly as though you were rushing.

“Is everything okay?” Rachel asked as a tender hand came to rest on his shoulder, but he didn’t hear or even notice it.

He looked inside the bag, his favourite bottles of pop and cute candies bundled together, and a container filled with some sort of veggie filled stew. You had brought him a care package, something so loving would usually make him feel so blessed, but your pained expression was stuck in his mind on loop.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, the hand way past 11pm.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck”

He pictured you sat at home, food in front of you, fingers tapping at the table and eyes shifting to the wall clock.

He pulled his phone out, messages with your name popping up, time stamps showing how long you’d been waiting.

17:05

‘Sweetheart I’m making stew! It’s cold and you’re going to make yourself sick by not eating anything proper’

18:17

‘You are coming home tonight??????’

19:42

‘I’m assuming you’ll still be at the gallery. I’ll package this up for you to eat later’

19:55

‘Love you lots and lots!!!!! Xx’

“I’ve… I need to go” He murmured, feet hitting the floor loudly as he chased after you, jumping down the last two steps.

You slammed the car door shut, not caring if it rattled the expensive vintage frame, his aftershave thick and heavy was embedded in the leather seats. If you closed your eyes, you could picture him next to you, surrounded by his warmth.

Sitting there, in the dark, staring at nothing in particular, you began to cry.

It wasn’t silent or pretty; it was a guttural moan and fat salty tears streamed down your reddening face. Your hands came to wipe at tears, but it was like trying to mop up a burst dam, fruitless.

Why did this hurt so much? You know your husband probably didn’t even realise Rachel had her head on his shoulder, in the past you’d managed to stack plastic cups on top of his head as he stared at the same sculpture for thirty minutes straight. The memory made a small chuckle interrupt your sobs, allowing you to breathe and compose yourself. He looked so goofy when he caught on, the cups collapsing around him as he chased you round the kitchen counter, laughter bouncing off the walls.

It was a culmination of things.

The late nights, forgotten dinners, your art inability, your husband's slight obliviousness… Drop dead gorgeous, amiable Rachel.

In his defence you hadn’t told him ANY of this, too scared of ruining the exhibition which he was excited about for once. And you know how he was when he was completely enraptured in a project.

Resting against the back of the seat, you exhaled a long-withered sigh.

He looked so confused, his brain whirring away like an old shitty laptop, if you imagined hard enough you could even hear the fans blowing off steam. He didn’t follow you out, the door to the building devoid of any Rafayel figure bursting through it.

The thought that he stayed behind even despite you obviously being angry at him drove a pin further into your heart. Your fingers grasped the wheel tight, pulling out of the car park with the expertise of a Linkon One Racer, the trees and city illuminations blurring together into a sporadic light show.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you finally crossed the threshold of your home, haphazardly throwing your stuff onto the coffee table, you collapsed face first into the velvety pillows of the couch. A subtle throb singed your temples, no doubt a dull headache looming.

You let your body sag deeper into the cushions, contemplating what you were going to do and how to properly have a conversation with your husband without it descending into something more devastating like escaping to the beach house for a few days. The last serious argument had ended in Rafayel sulking for a week straight, essentially barricading himself, in the rarely used holiday get away. But that was years ago, when things were still fresh and the relationship was full of love, but equal amounts of trepidation.

You shot up straight, knees unsteady, as the front door clattered open. Sounds of shoes being flung off and harsh breathing permeating the silence, your husband appeared from round the corner seconds later, his chest heaving with exertion and beads of sweat dotting his brows.

He looked panicked.

“Sweetheart” Rafayel hunched over slightly to regain his breath.

He was usually so suave and composed that seeing him like this, sweaty with hair plastered to his forehead and the collar of his normally crisp shirt stuck up, was weirdly therapeutic. You didn’t say anything, watching and waiting.

“I’m sorry, I just...” Deep inhale. “Lost track of time, my phone was on silent” He trailed off softly, as though he realised how lame his excuses sounded. You glared at him, letting the cold silence stifle the air.

“Yeah, I can tell you and Rachel were in your own little world” It came out harsher than intended, her name foul on your tongue, though regret pricked at your conscience at being so mean spirited about her.

“What? Well, she was helping me with the composition” You hummed absentmindedly. It was a strange way of helping somebody. If you didn’t know Rafayel better than you knew yourself, it would be hard to not jump to conclusions. You thumbed at the fabric of a throw pillow, the velvet fabric giving your antsy fingers something to do.

The room was awash with the white glow of the moon, the floor to ceiling windows opening up to the wide expanse of the sky and the calm inky sea. You couldn’t tell where the sea ended and where the sky began, if not for the distorted moon reflection on the water, it would just look like an endless abyss. Ready to swallow you up whole.

“You’ve ran all this way after me Rafayel” he flinched at the mention of his name, like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t baby or sweetheart or darling, the distance between you stretched on. “You know you’ve fucked up on some level”

“I know, it's not an excuse, it's just I turned round, and hours had gone by” he sat down next to you, knocking your knees together, he craved that contact no matter how small.

“It’s not just the time thing ugh” You pinched the bridge of your nose, that dull ache from earlier intensifying with each passing second. “Look it wasn’t okay Rafayel, no matter how entranced you are, I expect the decency of a reply to my texts. You’re usually so good with it”

You got up to grab some water from the kitchen, ignoring the forlorn look as you moved away from him.

“I bet you didn’t even notice Rachel had her head leant on your shoulder” you spoke clearly, slamming the glass a bit too harshly against the marble countertops. His mouth open and closed like a goldfish, expression befuddled. He was thinking back, trying to pinpoint what the fuck you were talking about.

“What? When did she have her head on my shoulder?!” He sat up straighter, suddenly the sweat very uncomfortable and itchy as it cooled on his skin. A big question on your mind was whether Rachel was just extremely friendly and touchy feely, or whether there was something a bit more personal to her lingering touches. You had seen her interact with other artists in a same manner so you’re guessing the former, but it didn’t sting any less. Even though the intentions behind it were pure, you couldn’t help the bubbling anxiety in the pit of your tummy, especially when Rafayel was NOT a touchy feel person. It felt like he was allowing something that was reserved for you, and you only. If she was a close friend, someone that Rafayel trusted, the situation would be different because there wasn’t an element of the unknown. But she was effectively a stranger who you had spoken to a handful of times.

“When I first walked in. Her head was leant on your shoulder.” You can replay the scene in your head even now “That was a boundary Rafayel. It makes me question how many times has she done that? How many times has she touched you?” Each word was dripping with insecurity and jealousy, a possessive bite that might as well scream ‘MINE.’

“Just… what am I supposed to do or think? Am I being selfish? But leaving me alone, days on end, I feel so alone.”

At the root of everything, you just missed him.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until you felt little droplets landing on your hands, still tightly clasped around your drink. And once one tear fell, an avalanche of tears followed soon after, accompanied by the trembling lip and frown that usually happened when you were trying to keep your emotions in check.

Rafayel was by your side in seconds, strong hands pulling you into a tight embrace with your head nestled securely against his collarbone. The beautiful scent of his floral aftershave washed over you, like the worlds most soothing blanket.

You couldn’t see his face, but there was a watery timbre as he spoke.

“I’m really sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise… how can I make it up to you? I’m sorry” He rambled on, words tumbling out faster and faster, nuzzling his face into the crown of your head, he just needed to be as close to you as physically possible. You pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes, face blotched with tears, beautiful eyes clouded with terror. Taking his face in your gentle hands, he leant into the touch like a starved animal.

Anger evaporated in seconds, the fear in his tense body made you pause the argument, instead only to wanting to comfort your husband. You were a sucker for his pearlescent tears.

“Sh sh darling” You wiped his tears away, tracing his nose and cheekbones with delicate fingers. He was beautiful, inside and out. This man would never ever intentionally hurt you.

“I know, you would never do anything like that. I know what you’re like, off in your own world” You laughed, which earned a timid smile in return. The swirling tornado of jealousy dwindled, in its wake a sense of calm, with the backing of the ocean waves crashing against rock, it lulled you into peace. Time slowly ticked on, but neither spoke, just contemplative silence.

“I think we need to talk about what happened, what we expect from one another, boundaries” You listed each point off. Perhaps if you had voiced concerns earlier, this build up of anxiety could have been avoided, communication was such an important factor of any relationship. Not to say that Rafayel was completely blameless, because he definitely wasn’t. “But why don’t we save that for tomorrow?” You were tired, it was late, and whilst the issue still subtly lingered, you needed a clear head.

Rafayel sniffled, his grip on you tightening, not yet ready to let you move. You raised an eyebrow, as he cleared his throat.

“I just want to… properly apologise. Without blubbering” He murmered quietly. “This exhibition is no excuse to how I’ve been acting, all the late nights and not even messaging you properly.” When he’d seen your messages about dinner, happy and caring, he felt like the biggest fucking asshole to exist. And he was an asshole, he knew that, and Thomas called him that on the daily. But not to you, his reason for breathing, the holder of his heart.

“Rachel is someone I look up to, but nothing more than that, I won’t let anything like that happen again.” If he was honest with himself, imagining you with someone else’s head resting in the crook of your neck… he could feel the pangs of hurt at just the hypothetical. But he truly did not even realise she was talking to him, never mind in his personal space.

“I accept your apology, and on my part. I won’t let things build up till I pop. Your poor Ferrari door…” you did slam it pretty hard… Rafayel didn’t seem to be listening though, mind wandering. Another problem for tomorrow.

You laid your head against his chest again, seeking out his warmth and the beat of his heart. A comfortable silence settled over the house; the cold nipped at your bare feet.

“I won’t do the exhibition” he spoke into the quiet, it felt like he was talking more to himself than you. He kissed your forehead, you know full well he’d quit on Thomas and burn the painting in the gallery if you asked him to, his pure devotion to you was unquestioned even with this little blip. But not only did you not want that, it wasn’t fair of you to ask him to pull out of something he had worked so hard for.

“My love, the other half of my soul” his eyes gleamed with adoration. “I want you to do this exhibition, show the world how fucking incredible you are. Not that they don’t know that already” You kissed his damp cheek. “We’re in this together. Forever”

“And beyond” He added, the statement ringing true and final. He’d wait for you in every timeline, every universe, every reincarnation.

“Just make sure you talk to me, let me know what’s going on, so I feel less alone” His hands rested on your hips, his head nodding like an enthusiastic puppy. “Also. I like Rachel, but please no more romantic head holding thank you”

He spluttered as you laughed, rocking into his body, the two of you spinning around, weightless on euphoria. He pushed you back, your knees folding against the arm of the couch as your back hit soft cushions. You looked up at him with fluttering lashes, his toned arms resting on either side of your head, caged in his protective bubble. A triumphant little smile graced his lips as you giggled, happiness radiating from you like a beacon, fuelled by relief.

“I know this goes without saying” he kissed your forehead, lips soft as your heart flip flopped in your chest, the intensity of his gaze pinned you in place.

“I love you” Kisses peppered your face soft and delicate; you were the most exquisite work of art he had the privilege of gazing upon. You gasped as he trailed from your cheek to your jaw, slowly moving down the sensitive flesh of your neck, teeth grazing against your collarbone. Fast fingers moved further down, skirting under your loose shirt featherlight. He caressed your body as though you were the most precious canvas, gliding over soft curves and bare skin, goosebumps following his delicate fingertips. He thrived on the little shudders and pants, heat and excitement building as he became more desperate, more fervent.

You gripped his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, pulling his head up to face you. His cheeks were flushed pink, eyes unfocused.

“I love you too, more than you can ever know” he grinned, surging up to capture your lips, still smiling into the kiss.

🐡

I don’t think I did Rafayel justice in this fic, sometimes my writing carries me away from the character. Not to mention I don’t like how this one is written, it feels disjointed, like it doesn’t flow. But I need to practise practise practise!!!!! Practise makes perfect.

I’m thinking of posting the professional motorbike racer Caleb fic next whilst I work on the other jealousy shorts.

[applejuicinator]

The LADS men and your jealousy.

TW: Angst that is very easily resolved, misunderstanding, Zayne fucking up just a teeny bit.Our baby is only human. Also my first fic in years so it’s probably garbage. Tumblr is now my fic dumping ground.

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Green isn’t your best colour

Whilst jealousy isn’t something completely unknown to you, the situation in front of you seemed to stir an unbridled fury deep within your gut.

❄️ Zayne ❄️

Your beautiful and caring partner in crime was a literal angel when it came to your needs, whims and wants. He had never given you any reason to doubt him or his faith in your relationship, it was something entirely foreign in your mind, as though your brain couldn’t even compute a possibility of him cheating.

But when you walked into his office, well into the night mind you, to see a beautiful young doctor shoulder to shoulder with your boyfriend as they sifted through papers… something horrible and cold came to rest on your shoulders.

You knew nothing had happened, even with the surprising contact Zayne was sharing with another person. He normally didn’t tolerate people in his presence for very long never mind them touching him. He looked up from the report in hand, a look of surprise skimmed his sculpted features, but the sparkle of joy in his expression was hard to miss.

The young woman next to him rolled her chair away from him slightly, as though she had been caught red handed. Zayne, you trusted with your whole heart, your entire physical and mental being.

But this woman, this gorgeous, tall modelesque doctor who tracked your partners movements subtly with her body, was a different story. She probably didn’t realise you saw through her easily, the nervous ramrod straight posture was evidence enough. You had spent years fighting wanderers, watching closely and intensely to shifts in the world around you meant you were very adept at picking up on the small things.

You walked over to his desk with a perfect practised grin, learned through your many undercover missions. Zayne’s small smile disappeared however when he noticed the stiffness to your lips, the unusual tightness in your gaze. He was attuned to your every emotion, knowing perfectly how you felt even if it was a quiet exhale. In fact he was oblivious to pretty much everything except you and his patients, so a hot woman trying to hit on him probably flew straight over his head. .

This was both a blessing and a curse.

“Darling I was just checking up on you before I headed home” He leant into your touch as you delicately kissed his cheek, cooing internally at the red tint to his ears.

Your gaze now shifted to the doctor next to him, who had rolled a few more inches away, papers clutched tightly between her fingers. She didn’t look at you though, instead focusing on the words in front of her, willing you out of existence.

“This is Lillian, a new junior doctor from Skyhaven” Zayne introduced you both matter of factly, unaware of the silent battle ensuing. Lillian smiled at you kindly but it didn’t quite reach her eyes which irritated you even more. If you’re going to be so clear with your fascination for someone else’s boyfriend at least have the decency to look a little shameful.

“I didn’t realise the time; I’ll finish looking through these reports with Lillian quickly. Do you want to wait for me?”

For some reason the way he said her name rubbed you the wrong way, as though they were old friends. His other colleagues simply received a title or their surname, but she had somehow received the privilege of being on first name basis.

Had Zayne ever witnessed you being outwardly jealous before? You think back through your loving five year relationship, filled with some ups and down like any other, but never had you experienced an intense pang of jealously like this. There were times when women had hit on him but… look at the man! He was ethereal, heaven sent. Zayne never spared them even a single glance, barely registering their existence. You were so confident in him that the jealousy never reached more than surface level.

But this felt different, she wasn’t just a random woman who blipped by. This was a woman who held his gaze even if it was just a professional one; he was aware of her.

It didn’t help that Zayne was one of the most beautiful and kind hearted people you had ever laid eyes on. It caused people to flock to him despite his icy atmosphere, because they knew he genuinely cared.

“Darling?” You’re startled from your thoughts by a gentle hand taking yours, Zayne fixing you with a concerned look. “Why don’t you head home without me?”

You subconsciously pulled your hand from his grip, the interaction leaving him more confused.

It was only reports, he was only looking through reports with a fellow colleague. Nothing more you told yourself. The thought of leaving him alone with this woman made your stomach church.

Just colleagues. Heck, even if they were friends, it’s not in your right to tell him who he can and can’t mingle with. You’re not so old fashioned that you don’t think that men and women can’t be friends.

But you could see the gleam in Lillian’s eyes, from the way she angled her whole body to hang on every word he said all the way to her tongue coming to nervously dampen her lips whenever he spoke.

You trusted Zayne. And you couldn’t really find any excuse to stay behind to wait for him.

“Yeah I think I’m just tired. Please don’t stay too late” you clipped, giving him a rushed goodbye kiss and hightailing it out of there without sparing Lillian a second glance. He’s just showing her the ropes whilst she gets used to Asko.

If Yvonne noticed your grimace as you hurried from the building, she doesn’t mention it.

However, you should have known things never go that smoothly.

Lillian continued to rear her ugly head for the next few weeks, subtly at first but then more and more you saw her almost glued to Zayne’s side whenever you visited. You were biting your tongue the whole time, wondering when and if you should even say something. After all they weren’t crossing any boundaries and Zayne was still enamoured with every breath you made.

You scoured forums and advice columns about what to do – how to handle jealousy. Nothing of note ever came back, mostly just people venting how they felt and never really any solutions. You felt too ashamed to talk to your friends; it was such a new feeling and what if they confirmed your fears that you were being vindictive? A horrible nasty woman green with envy.

So you bottled it all up and pushed your complaints into the pit of your stomach. Even when Zayne mentioned her in passing at home, even when he told you not to come give him lunch because he needed to show Lillian some things.

But things came to a head, all things snap and break under pressure eventually.

You blinked down at the Asko hospital official account on Linksta, the page opened to their most recent picture which was a glimpse of the ‘Esteemed Medicine Gala’ which aimed to give due credit to hardworking doctors and allowed them to share tips and stories. The picture was a snapshot of golden hues and ornate declarations, with a group of well dressed people gathered in the middle posing elegantly. There you could see Zayne’s solemn figure, his face impassive aside from the slight upturn of his lips in the ghost of a smile. Lillian, hair professionally tousled and dripping with decadent jewels stood beside him. She wasn’t touching him, in fact she was stood quite far from him but it made your blood boil nonetheless.

You had debated bringing this up with your boyfriend for the past week, ever since you had stumbled across it. This Gala was something you attended with him every year but the event was delayed and you had ended up being at a conference in Skyhaven when it was finally reorganised. Absolutely typical timing when your emotions were a fraught storm of unease and jealousy.

You very much know that a junior doctor like Lillian wasn’t privy to the gala, unless she had attended as a plus one. Zayne’s plus one.

He confirmed it when you first mentioned the photo, just in passing so it seemed casual enough. He was upset it wasn’t you beside him, he said as much, but that was it. And it felt like a punch to the gut. Why had he even brought her in the first place? Surely Zayne, who was incredibly emotionally intelligent under normal circumstances, must understand how bringing another woman to a public event like that would look to your significant other.

Or did he notice and he just… didn’t care? Had he grown tired of you? You were at war with yourself, with your own thoughts pushing you further and further into this spiral of negativity and suspicion.

What did ring true is that you couldn’t keep this to yourself anymore.

When Zayne entered through the door close to midnight to find you staring blankly at the tv which was off, he immediately knew something was wrong. He had noticed your shift in mood and demeanour for the past few weeks, but when questioned you had waved him off with it being due to the back and forth hunters conferences. With your new promotion at work… he believed it without question.

But this was new.

“Darling?” He questioned gently, he placed his keys in the entry way bowl, cringing as the metallic clinking echoed through the quiet apartment. You hummed to confirm you heard him but didn’t move to greet him, your eyes remained glued to the empty tv screen. Zayne came and sat beside you, he shrugged off his coat and laid it on the arm of the plush setae. The silence stretched on for a few moments before Zayne shuffled closer, resting his hand on your thigh in quiet comfort.

“What’s the matter? Has something happened?” Had it been work again? Were they pushing you above and beyond your boundaries, you often did overtime to help out others. Your caring nature was something he adored about you, but not when it came to the detriment of your health. He supposed you were both a pair of workaholics.

You bit your lip, inner turmoil obviously painting your features. Zayne waited patiently, calmly and lovingly as he always did.

“Something has been bothering me lately and it isn’t work” you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes, his face beautifully bathed in the orange glow of the side table lamp. “I really don’t know how to even… say this” you inhaled, then exhaled.

“I’m uncomfortable with how close you’ve gotten to Lillian, and I probably should have told you earlier but I didn’t want to come off as possessive” You rambled, your voice hitched with nervousness but you kept your gaze trained on a spot in the corner above the cute potted plant he bought you recently. You couldn’t look at him. Your voice tapered off quietly, and when Zayne didn’t respond immediately you felt your hear beat stacatto, the thumping loud in your ears.

“My relationship with Lillian is entirely professional, I don’t believe I would even qualify us as friends” Zayne sounded confused, if you turned to look at him you bet he’d have that cute scrunch to his brow that always appeared when something baffled him. Which you did. Often.

His statement was composed and matter of fact, that should have made you feel better. But it didn’t. It was evident this man didn’t feel a shred of anything for the bright eyed, bushy tailed junior. But his statement was dismissive, even though you know he wasn’t trying to be. It sorta fucking hurt.

“I know I know, and I trust you wholeheartedly but there are just some things that don’t sit well with me” You expected Zayne to maybe ask what made you uncomfortable and how you could both try to come to a solution, or at least comfort you but instead your boyfriend did the opposite.

“She’s a fellow doctor, someone I have to work with for the care of my patients. I can’t just ignore her” Your head snapped to him so fast, as though it was on a swivel. First of all you hadn’t even suggested such a thing, second of all he didn’t even ask what was making you uncomfortable in the first place. You questioned yourself for a moment; intensely staring into his eyes. You pushed his hand off your thigh, jumping from the couch like a coiled up spring as unease jittered beneath your skin.

“I’m not asking you to ignore her Zayne!” His name left your mouth with more force than necessary. You two didn’t argue often, once in a blue moon and usually about smaller things like your similar habits of staying out at work late but this felt very different. You felt your hands shaking, you were angry, footfalls heavy as you paced in front of him.

“Well, what would you have me do?” Zayne’s voice was level just like normal but this aggravated you like nothing else. It made you feel as though you were blowing things out of proportion.

The two of you continued to swap passive arguments for what felt like hours but in reality was only minutes. Your pitch continued to get louder and louder, you weren’t aware you were shouting until Zayne told you that screeching wasn’t a way to get your point across.

Screeching? Screeching?

Your mouth snapped shut. You looked down at yourself, chest heaving with anger and anxiety, frustrated tears threatening to gush forth like a dam. The two of you stood apart from one another, the distance seemed like an unbridgeable gap. The man you loved more than anything stood the other side.

For Zayne’s part he didn’t really understand what was happening. He had told you that he didn’t even consider the woman a friend, which he didn’t, he couldn’t even remember her face once he stepped past the hospital threshold. Bubbling indigence spilled from him in waves. It felt as though you were questioning his motives, his love and loyalty to you. He gave all he had, everything was for you and you only.

“Zayne.” The cold frost that seeped from your tone made whatever he was about to say die on the tip of his tongue. The name you usually spoke so lovingly, dripped in honey and happiness, was instead replaced with cold venom. “I repeatedly walk in on you alone, with another woman late at night.” Zayne’s eyes widened slightly, as though he didn’t even realise.

You held up your hand, urging him to let you continue.

“Like you said, you’re both doctors and I understand that you can’t just ignore her. I wouldn’t ever ask you to. But the overtime you’re sharing with her, the missed lunches…” you tried to maintain composure, words coming out coherently to communicate your thoughts and feelings, he is right in the fact that raising your voice isn’t helping either of you.

You fought back tears instead, the reality of this argument stifling the atmosphere of your usually warm apartment and pressing down on your chest.

You know that if you started crying, Zayne would panic and fold immediately, his anger dissipating like a summer breeze in winter. But you didn’t want him to feel bad. You just wanted him to understand what was going through your mind. To work to a solution.

“And the final straw.” You looked him in the eyes, and hurt seemed to reflect back, it almost made you pause, give up on this whole tirade entirely. But this wasn’t something that could be buried deep in the recesses of your mind anymore. “You took her to the Esteemed Medicine Gala” You choked on the last word, your hands coming up to wipe at the stray few tears that slipped over your cheeks. You had tried, but saying it out loud that your boyfriend had gone to that gala without you, another woman grasping his arm, made bile rise in your throat.

“Just think how you would have felt if I had taken Xavier to the Hunters’ Ball. Of if you had even told me beforehand so it didn’t blindside me”

Zayne opened his mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. He looked panicked, a look that was rare on him.

You should have told him how you felt earlier, about how uncomfortable their closeness made you feel, Zayne isn’t a mind reader. You had become so accustomed to him putting your every need first, you relied on him unfairly, Zayne was only human.

And you expected so much from him, too much

At the same time, you were also only human. Someone flawed who loved the man in front of you so deeply it hurt.

“I don’t want to do this anymore” your words came out quietly, you had meant it in the way that you didn’t want to fight anymore but to Zayne, the words implicated something horrendous, something he couldn’t contemplate. You flinched as he grasped your hands, his palms which were normally cool and dry felt clammy with nerves.

“Please- I didn’t -…” Zayne stuttered, but words died when he saw your crumpled expression.

“Just forget… just forget I said anything” you mumbled lowly before hastily retreating to your bedroom, and once the door had clicked shut, everything hit you all at once. It started off as silent flow of billowy tears but it wasn’t long before you were hiccuping and groaning into your pillow. Your heart hurt.

Regret began to replace anger and sorrow.

It was pointless now, why had you even mentioned it. Was your trust in him so brittle? No wonder he looked so wounded, that beautiful face that gazed at you with adoration normally, looked so distraught.

He didn’t come after you either, you had truly fucked it.

You woke to a cold hand cupping your cheek, the touch so gentle and tender that it made your heart quiver. The grogginess made you slur as you reached out for his other hand to clasp within your own. The skin around your eyes itched from dry tears, you bet that they’d look like two baseballs stuck to your face at this moment in time.

“Whatsh the time” you shifted towards him, head resting beneath his chin as arms came to pull you in even closer to him.

“Early, go back to sleep and we’ll talk in the morning” His voice seemed far away and distorted, the throws of sleep and the comforting embrace lulling you back to deep needed slumber.

You blinked clearly as warm rays of sun filtered through the blinds you’d forgotten to shut. The memories of last night seemed to rush back to you like a hurtling freight train with no brakes.

You always said never to go to bed angry with each other. What a hypocrite.

Ugh.

You patted the bed beside you, wondering if you had imagined Zayne’s presence last night, but the tell tale twisted sheets were definitely him all over. The muffled sound of the tv playing reached your ears at the same time the earthy scent of roasting coffee graced your nostrils.

You sat up, the sheets pooling at your waist. You needed to apologise, at the very least for raising your voice at him. Shouting never solved anything.

At this point you just wanted to forget this ever happened, forget about Lillian and just fall into his embrace.

You left the warm bed and freshened up in the bathroom, splashing your face with some cold water and brushing your teeth to feel less like the living dead. Your reflection looked haggard, eyes bulging and red.

You headed to the living room with soft footfalls, the chill of the laminate raising goosebumps on the backs of your arms. And there he was, your ethereal boyfriend busying himself in the kitchen as the news channel garbled on about stocks and wanderers. He glanced over his shoulder at you, the skin around his eyes was blotchy and puffy.

“Sit down and I’ll bring you some coffee”

You swallowed the guilt and did as he said, nestling yourself in the confines of the blankets and pillows like you were in a cocoon. You felt a dip in the couch moments later as a steaming coffee made in your favourite plush mug was handed to you.

Your hands grasped the mug tightly, the nerves didn’t fade even with the kind gesture.

You didn’t want him to break up with you.

“Darling” Zayne spoke first, shattering the barrier. “Can you please look at me?”

You did as he said, shifting to face him. He looked tired, more haggard than when he’d worked a 24 hour shift. He put his coffee to the side, elegant fingers brushing against your knee featherlight. It was as if he was coaxing a small and frightened animal.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”

“No Zayn-“ you began, placing your coffee cup next to his on the table. You needed to touch him, feel his warmth.

“Please let me continue” he moved closer, taking your face in his hands. You felt each ripple and ridge of his scarred palms against your cheek, even the subtle tremble to his hands. “I reflected on what you said, how my actions and attitude must have come across.” He held your face tighter.

“You came to me with legitimate concerns and I just brushed them aside without even thinking.” He inhaled shakily. “I love you so much, the world for me spins only because you’re by my side”

“Oh Zayne..” you sniffled, vision beginning to blur once again with tears.

“It is no excuse, however I only took Lillian at the directors request so she could network with other doctors. But I should have told you this, rather than just expecting you to be okay with it.” You knew there would be a story behind her attendance, but jealously picks at the threads, pulling at them until everything is coming apart.

“And the lunches and late nights… I’m such a fool.” He looked ashamed. “Even if I didn’t see it that way I should have realised that it wasn’t appropriate”

You placed your hands over his, exhaling a deep breath of relief that had been stewing for weeks.

“I love you, more than words can describe. More than I thought was possible” He repeated again.

Your heart clenched, the sincerity and adoration in his cadence made everything feel right.

“Will you forgive me? For being so so stupid”

You nodded as you flung your arms around his neck, nuzzling your cheek against his, his scent immediately calming your frayed nerves. Like a sailor coming home to dock.

He pulled you into his lap, grip ironclad as he nosed against your neck, peppering light kisses to the soft skin.

“I’m sorry too” he pulled back to look at you, confusion painting his features. “I should have told you earlier about my concerns and I should never ever have shouted at you.” Zayne shook his head, not dismissively, but in disagreement.

“Sweetheart, you were not in the wrong for sharing your concerns with me.”

“But I could have handled it better and for that I’m sorry.” Zayne didn’t think you needed to apologise at all. Your partner postponing lunch dates to spend time with another woman? What sort of fool was he. How could he have made you cry, the woman who loved him to his flawed core.

“I love you” You kissed him, his body slotting against yours like the perfect puzzle piece. You peppered his face in loving pecks, murmuring words of adoration in between each one. He received each touch, each statement happily, responding to every single one with his own declaration of love

You stayed glued to each other for a while, head resting on his shoulder. This closeness you both craved settled into pure bliss on a lazy Sunday morning. His rough hands brushed up your sides softly, the touch making your legs quiver. You huffed against his neck, the gasp and shiver not going unnoticed.

“Why don’t we go take a shower and I’ll show you how sorry I am…”

You looked up at him, pure reverence in his gaze as you brushed your thumb against his lips, a dark red flush blooming across his pale neck.

“I want a long, hard apology” You watched him shudder.

“Anything for you” He kissed you hard, grasping at you like you were his only reason for living.

❄️

A good old short fic to get me back into writing, so please be aware that this won’t be a masterpiece. I’m probably going to place all the fics that don’t make it to AO3 on here.

Also I’m going to do one for each of the boys. I picked Zayne first for this because why not, and whilst I recognise he’s incredibly emotionally intelligent I think that sometimes he forgets to make his internal thoughts known. Do I think he’d be as oblivious as I portray him… probably not. He is a man infatuated after all.

This was way longer than I expected - also probably filled with errors and waffling. Feels nice to finally write again tho.