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cygnuusss · 2 days ago

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he leaves you out like a penny in the rain (p.3)

Pairing: Zayne Li x Non MC Reader

Summary: You spent years orbiting Dr. Zayne Li, but when a careless comment shatters the fragile bond you thought you’d built, you walk away. Only then does Zayne realize what he's lost.

Warnings: FLUFFFF. Zayne being a simp. A man who yearns is a man who EARNS!

Word Count: 5.7k

Disclaimer: Also, to all the lovely folks in medicine finding this, I am not a medical professional yall, so plz ignore any errors lmao.

A/N: Huzzah, last part! I just want to thank everyone who interacted with the last two parts. I loved reading every comment and reaction. I hope you liked how I wrapped it up.

I will be doing lads x non-mc reader fics for all the boys, so lemme know if you wanna be tagged for those, and who you'd like next <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

It had been months since the fallout with Zayne. Months of cold silences gradually warming, and old wounds scabbing over with routine kindnesses. He had chipped away at your anger with persistent thoughtfulness, but you were no fool. Whatever had cracked between you had re-formed into something more�� professional. Friendly, at best.

And that was fine. You weren’t delusional enough to believe in fairytales. You took his gestures for what they were: The generosity of a colleague. Nothing more, nothing less.

Regardless, the cardiology interns didn’t deserve to suffer the effects of your grudge any longer. You hadn’t stepped foot on their floor in months, and poor Dr. Greyson had taken to dramatically moping around in your office every other morning, as if his soul were leaving his body due to “muffin deprivation.”

So today, in a rare act of mercy, you stopped by the bakery across the street and picked up a basket of assorted treats, carefully chosen according to the spreadsheet you kept tucked away in your phone, listing every known allergy, aversion, and guilty pleasure of the hospital staff. Maybe it was ridiculous, but it mattered to you. People should be known and remembered.

You arrived at the cardiology nurses' station just as the lunch lull set in, and Nurse Yvonne spotted you first, her entire face lighting up.

“Guess who’s back?” she announced, looking at you like you were some benevolent snack deity.

You were nearly tackled by a flurry of white coats and clipboard-toting chaos as all nearby interns surged toward you. You waved them off and laid out the spread carefully.

“Oh my god—!”

“No way—!”

“Dr. Muffin! You live!”

“She returns!”

You grin at their greetings, feeling warmth spread through you. “Plenty available, worry not. Everyone gets one. Except Brian. You get half until you finish your progress notes."

The intern, Brian, groaned. “I would’ve stayed home today if I knew I was going to be picked on.”

“Then you would’ve missed lemon poppy seed,” you remarked, handing him his with a raised brow. “And I know for a fact you love lemon poppy seed. Don’t lie to me, I have the receipts.”

“Okay, stalker,” he muttered fondly. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Maple walnut for Freya, blueberry crumble for Theo,” you continued, handing them out like a fairy godmother in scrubs. “No nuts for Amara. And yes, Liz, I remembered the vegan chocolate one for you.”

You looked up to see wide eyes, crinkled noses from grinning too hard, and a chorus of thank-yous that made your chest ache familiarly.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the sugar fairy.” Dr. Greyson was watching the spectacle with great interest. “Took you long enough. We’ve been surviving on vending machine despair and broken dreams.”

You snorted. “Sounds like your interns could’ve used a better attending.”

“I tried feeding them,” he promised solemnly. “But someone replaced my protein bars with ketchup packets and a single stick of gum.”

“Brian,” three interns chorused in unison.

Brian held up his hands. “Not me!”

Greyson shook his head in mock sadness. “Anyway. I’m filing a formal complaint with HR. You vanished for months, and morale plummeted. You owe us seven months’ worth of baked goods and emotional support.”

“Oh, please, you just missed having someone to complain to.”

“That too.”

The mood was buzzing with laughter and stolen bites, and even though you’d told yourself you were done chasing after external validation, you realized you enjoyed this feeling of being welcome and a part of something.

You were so engrossed with the enthusiasm around you, you didn’t even notice the subtle glance one intern threw toward the glass corridor behind you.

Zayne wasn’t expecting the commotion outside his office. Such sporadic bursts of conversation weren’t exactly uncommon at this hour, but what made him pause wasn’t the noise. It was the scent.

Vanilla, with just the faintest hint of cinnamon and sugar. It tugged a thread in his memory.

He stepped out of his office, expression impassive as always, until he saw you standing at the nurses' station, laughing.

Actually laughing.

Your head was tilted back, your hair catching the light as your lips curved in a grin he hadn’t seen in months. You were flanked by your two interns, Clara and Nam, both helping you manage the leftover baked goods, but all Zayne could see was you. Your smile settled something in his chest, and completely upended something else. Something that somersaulted in the hollow beneath his ribs.

He cleared his throat, and the sound was enough to make everyone freeze like they’d been caught stealing vials from the laboratory.

"Do I get one?" he asked, deadpan.

A sudden shift fell over the group. Interns brushed crumbs off their coats, straightened their backs like soldiers standing to attention. But you just looked at him with a teasing grin.

“Of course." You held up a brown paper bag. "Can’t have our head surgeon deprived of his sugar fix.”

Zayne stepped forward as you handed it over, and when your fingers inevitably brushed his, he swore his heart skipped a beat. Perhaps he ought to get himself checked for arrhythmia.

“What is it?” he asked, busying himself with his treat to avoid looking at you.

“Something new. Thought you might want to try.”

Before he could respond, one of the cardiology interns—Brian, if he remembered correctly—let out a wistful sigh and groaned through a mouthful of muffin.

“I’d marry you for these,” he mumbled, eyes rolling skyward. “Just say the word, Doc.”

The entire station burst into raucous laughter. Except Zayne.

Clara and Nam stepped in front of you like bodyguards, crossing their arms with theatrical flair.

“As if you could keep up with our magnificent doctor,” Clara jeered.

“Yeah,” Nam chimed in. “She wouldn't marry a guy who still confuses systole and diastole.”

“It was one time!” Brian protested.

The bickering rose in volume, but Zayne’s eyes stayed on you. He didn’t miss the way you humoured their teasing, or how your eyes flickered toward him briefly, unreadable. If it were anyone else, they would have shut down the jibes already, but the interns were comfortable enough to joke around with you because you treated them like friends, not your underlings.

“C’mon, Doc,” someone teased. “You are married, right?”

“Ha,” Clara cut in with a smirk. “She’s practically married to her job, so the rest of you better get in line. Her attention is already spoken for.”

“Oh,” Brian piped up. “So like Dr. Li.”

A hush fell over the group—half amused, half awkward.

Zayne didn’t move, but he raised a brow, appraising the young man carefully. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Brian flushed. “Uh—no, I just meant like you know. She's dedicated. Married to the work. Like you.”

You snickered, diffusing the tension by tossing Brian a napkin. “Relax, you’re not the first person to make that comparison.”

Not knowing what else to do, Zayne took a small bite from the pastry you’d given him. A mild citrus glaze hit his tongue. It was not something he would’ve chosen, but it was surprisingly pleasant, and he wondered how many more things he didn’t even know he liked until you handed them to him.

Brian, likely in a desperate attempt to redeem himself, addressed you again. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You and Dr. Li. Two of the most overworked doctors in this hospital. Same brutal hours. Same merciless expressions when someone makes a dumb mistake—”

“—same self-destructive perfectionism,” Clara added, looking between you and Zayne like she was connecting yarn on a conspiracy board.

Nam grinned. “Same tendency to pretend they don’t need sleep.”

“Same inability to remember where they left their coffee, or who took it.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “That was one time, Clara.”

Zayne shook his head. “Twice, actually.”

You turned your glare to him, but then, right on cue, Dr. Greyson interrupted.

“I must say, it's awfully nice of you to rejoin us, Doc. I was starting to think Dr. Li scared you off for good.”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not—”

“Don’t worry,” Greyson cut in again. “We all know his effect on most people. It’s a miracle you still visit our floor at all.”

“Pretty sure it’s the interns she visits,” Nam pointed out.

“Obviously,” Brian agreed. “We’re the fun ones.”

Just then, Nam leaned in conspiratorially. “Alright, alright, before we let you get back to work, we need to know some important stats. How well do you know each other? You know, good colleagues who work together must know each other's habits to function cohesively.”

You frowned. "Nam, what are you even saying?"

Clara clapped her hands together. “Yes, excellent idea! Rapid-fire round. Dr. Li, what's her favourite late-night snack? Go.”

You opened your mouth to tell her that there was no way he'd know that, but Zayne responded before you could. “Subpar takeout from the establishment down the street.”

You pursed your lips sullenly. “You don't have to emphasize the word subpar.”

He gave you a blank look. “You get the same thing every time you're on-call. Even when you should be prioritizing nutrition over price.”

"I am supporting a small business! That is significantly more important."

Meanwhile, Brian pointed between the two of you with a dramatic gasp. “You watch what she eats?”

Zayne didn’t respond, but the twitch in his jaw suggested he realized he’d walked right into that one.

“You never notice what the rest of us eat, Dr. Li.”

“I’m not responsible for your questionable caffeine intake, Brian,” Zayne replied.

“Okay, okay,” Clara said, grinning. “Next one. Worst habit?”

You smirked. “Dr. Li hoards pens. A concerning number of them. Once I borrowed one and he acted like I’d stolen a kidney.”

“They were organized,” the man grimaced. “You put them back in the wrong slot.”

Brian sniggered. “So you’re saying he’s a pen goblin. That’s fine. What about you, Doc?”

Zayne answered for you this time. “She volunteers for too many shifts. Even when she’s dead on her feet.”

The teasing paused for a beat. You glanced at him, surprised by the concern in his voice.

“That’s not technically a bad habit, Dr. Li,” Clara argued.

“It is, if it means she runs herself into the ground.”

Brian cleared his throat loudly before it could get awkward again. “So… you both don’t sleep. Great foundation. Now, last one. Dream vacation spot. Go.”

You both hesitated, then, spoke at the same time. “Somewhere quiet.”

Clara leaned into Nam and whispered audibly, “Okay, but if they don’t already live together, I’ll eat my stethoscope.”

Greyson, who had been observing everything with the satisfaction of a man watching a very slow car crash, finally interjected. “God, you two really are like a divorced couple who never filed the paperwork.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Alright, Dr. Greyson, if you're done assembling your case file for imaginary conspiracy theories, I'm going to go steal some gloves from your supply closet.”

Zayne glanced at you. “Out of gloves again?”

"You know how it is." You shrugged. "Kids love getting things sticky. Paint, glitter, jam, bodily fluids. It’s a fun surprise every time I enter a room.”

Nam made a face. “Why would you say jam and bodily fluids in the same sentence?”

“Because it’s true." Clara nodded sagely. “We’ve seen things. Sticky things.”

“And suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.” Brian set his muffin down.

“You’ll get over it,” you said dryly. “It’s your favourite.”

Zayne, meanwhile, looked faintly amused in that imperceptible way of his. His eyes softened, and the edge of his mouth twitched. “I’ll have a box sent over this afternoon. You don't have to raid Greyson's supply.”

That earned a round of wiggling eyebrows and mischievous looks, but the two of you chose to ignore them.

“I’m going back to work, as should the rest of you,” Zayne said curtly, turning on his heel and walking off, but you swore the tips of his ears had turned an endearing shade of crimson.

After that day, the interns of your two departments formed a coalition of sorts, although you weren't sure what their end goal was.

It started subtly at first.

Whenever a shared consult with cardiology came up, Nam would look at the patient chart, let out a theatrical sigh, and say, “Oh no, I’ve just remembered I’m needed in the NICU,” before fleeing with such urgency you didn’t have the heart to stop him.

“Guess I’ll have to deliver the updates myself,” you’d declare, trudging reluctantly toward Zayne's office. Enough time had passed that you weren't avoiding him like the plague anymore, and you had fallen back into a friendly routine of bringing him his favourite macarons while he brought you whatever stationery you were currently in short supply of.

The good doctor himself never looked surprised to see you, but then again, he never looked anything. Except when your hand accidentally brushed his while handing over a file, and he watched you like he was trying to solve a complex equation. One he didn’t yet have the formula for.

After that, the interns got bolder.

You once spotted Clara scribbling something into a notebook, and when you asked what she was doing, she yelped and slammed the book shut, claiming it was just her clinical notes. But you could have sworn you saw the words accidental hand touch: 2 points?

It only escalated from there.

Your coffee order was mysteriously doubled every morning as well. Whenever you’d go to pick up your usual, you'd find two drinks waiting, one marked with your name, the other with Zayne’s initials, forcing you to drop by his office.

On rare free afternoons, when you went to the cafeteria to grab a quick bite between shifts, you would often find your regular table occupied by whichever interns were available at the time, and most surprising of all, Zayne. And every time, there was only ever one empty seat between him and the wall.

You could have probably just taken lunch in your office, but you were curious as to what the interns were trying to accomplish, so you played along. Besides, if it got Zayne out of his office and actually eating on time, who were you to complain?

One evening, you and Zayne were reviewing overlapping patient files in the cardiology break room when a slow song suddenly started playing from someone’s phone left on the table. The music was loud and awkward, and you promptly burst out laughing.

“Is that… is that Careless Whisper?”

Zayne looked irritated, especially when a chorus of muffled giggles could be heard from the hallway beyond the slightly ajar door.

You sighed. “We should probably put a stop to their antics soon?”

"Probably," Zayne agreed, pointing to the whiteboard behind him. "Have you seen Brian's latest artistic endeavour?"

You had to choke back another undignified sound when you saw the exceptionally detailed doodle of a heart monitor graph with exaggerated spikes. The words underneath spelled out your name along with Zayne's.

"There's a spreadsheet too, apparently."

You nearly fell out of your chair. "There's a what?"

Zayne slid his laptop over to you, showing you an elaborately set-up document titled Dr. Li's Compatibility Study: Ongoing Observational Data, with columns labelled “Shared Preferences,” “Mutual Glances,” and “Chemistry–Debatable.”

"Why do you have access to it?"

"It was shared accidentally, I am told."

Your mouth dropped open as you examined it further. “They’ve graphed it.”

"The Pearson correlation coefficient is impressive.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to kill them.”

“You’ll have to take a number."

However, he didn’t seem as annoyed as you’d expected. In fact, someone with his disposition would have shut down the little project a long time ago, and it was almost as if he was letting it continue on purpose. You told yourself not to read into it too much. Perhaps he, too, was amused by their antics and wanted to see what their end goal was.

And the next day, you caught him deliberately slowing his steps when he saw you walking into the hospital courtyard, matching your stride like it was muscle memory. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. Not when Nam, Clara, and Brian were watching from the second-story windows with binoculars and wildly jotting into their notebook.

It all came to a startling conclusion the following week.

It began innocently enough, almost too innocently, in retrospect.

First, Clara asked to borrow your pager in the morning, drumming her fingers on your desk with a perfectly casual smile. “Mine’s been glitching all day. I want to compare the alerts side by side.”

You barely looked up from the patient charts you were reviewing. “Sure,” you allowed, sliding it toward her. “Just bring it back in a few minutes.”

She chirped an “Of course!” and breezed out the door.

You didn’t think much of it after that. You had rounds, consults, a half-eaten granola bar and a cold coffee to finish before midnight. A typical day.

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that Nam groaned from the nurse’s station, holding his lower back like an actor in a bad soap opera. “I think I’ve aged three decades today,” he groaned. “Doc, could you grab more bandages from the supply closet? I’ll owe you my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wasn’t that your assignment?”

“Alas, I am but a shell of a man,” he moaned. "I can barely move, let alone brave through that maze of dust bunnies."

“Fine,” you muttered, taking pity. “But only because I don’t want you fainting from sheer dramatics.”

That was mistake number two.

You made your way to the old supply closet near your office, the one you loathed. It was narrow like a crawl space, shelves stacked dangerously high, and perpetually dim because no one ever fixed the overhead bulb. You’d sent several maintenance requests, but never received a response.

You pulled out your phone, switched on the flashlight, and carefully picked your way through the tunnel of medical chaos. And there it was, balanced idiotically on the top shelf like it was mocking you. You glowered up at the box of bandages, already placing your foot on the bottom-most shelf to use it as a stepping stool, dignity be damned. You were not in the mood to hunt down a ladder.

Just as you had hoisted yourself up a considerable distance, you heard footsteps outside. You turned your head sharply, opening your mouth to warn whoever was approaching. “Careful! Don’t let the—”

But your warning came too late.

The door swung open, and Zayne Li stepped inside. His shoe landed squarely against the cardboard box you’d wedged in the frame to keep the old door ajar, kicking it clean out of place. You watched in dismay as the door swung shut behind him with finality.

“Noooo—”

Zayne blinked. “What’s wrong?”

You groaned, smacking your forehead lightly against the metal shelf. “That door is always getting jammed. And you just kicked away our only means of escape.”

Your intruder regarded the discarded cardboard box with an expression of mild guilt. “Oh… I am sorry.”

The space was dim and dusty, lit only by your phone on a nearby shelf, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Zayne’s face, half-illuminated, looked too serene for someone who had just ruined your day.

“Why are you even here, Dr. Li?”

The man held up his pager. “Weren’t you the one who called for me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why would I ask to meet you in a closet?”

“Who am I to question your cryptic summons? You said it was urgent.”

“I don’t even have my pager on me—" you interrupted yourself with a grunt, "—CLARA!”

“...Ah.”

You groaned again, your head thunking against the shelf with more feeling this time. “I knew something was off when she asked to borrow it. I should’ve known she was up to something. I can’t believe I’ve been outwitted by an intern.”

“They’ve grown bold. Greyson found a tally sheet on one of their clipboards last week. I believe there are betting brackets involved.”

“Of course, there are.”

Then Zayne squinted up at you, as if just realizing your precarious position. “Why are you climbing the shelves?”

“Because I hate my life, obviously."

“That’s an occupational hazard. You should probably get down.”

You cast a look down at the narrow space between you. You would definitely have to descend directly into his personal space. Like… very personal. Chest-to-chest proximity.

You gave a forced little laugh. “Maybe, uh… maybe I’ll just stay up here and call for help. Pass me my phone, please.”

Zayne rolled his eyes. “You are being dramatic. You can’t possibly make a coherent phone call while perched up there."

"It is surprisingly comfortable up here, actually," you countered.

"Let me help. I can't simply stand by and watch a colleague twist an ankle.” He moved toward you, standing in front of the shelf with his hands raised like he was expecting you to faint into his arms.

“Are you seriously going to spot me like I’m a toddler on monkey bars, Dr. Li?”

“You’re the one climbing a shelf. The metaphor makes itself.”

You glared down at him. “Do not drop me.”

“I never drop the things I value.”

His voice was too serious, and your pulse quickened at the insinuation behind it. But you shook the delusional notion out of your head as soon as it entered. No, he was simply just being a helpful coworker.

“That was almost too poetic," you teased. "Are you sure Dr. Greyson didn’t write that line for you?”

He let out a huff. “Come down, Doctor. Please.”

With a sigh, you acquiesced, placing your foot on the shelf below the one you were on. Then, for one distressing second, you slipped, but Zayne was at your side instantly, one hand at your waist, and the other catching your flailing one as you stumbled.

Your heart stuttered.

“See? I told you it was a hazard." Zayne's voice was hoarse despite the forced levity.

You swallowed thickly as he helped you all the way down, hyper aware of the minimal space between you now. His hand hadn’t moved from your waist, even after both your feet were firmly on the ground, and your faces were far too close.

You wondered if you imagined the subtle shift in his chest, the faintest hitch in his breathing. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed, and his usually unreadable expression seemed almost unsettled.

Was it discomfort? Frustration? You couldn't be sure, and that uncertainty made you uneasy.

You took a slow, calming breath and offered a placid smile, the kind you wore when trying to diffuse tense parents or scared patients. But strangely, it seemed to make matters worse. Zayne’s gaze only darkened, his mouth tightening like he’d eaten something sour. Yet he still didn’t move, or let you go.

You cleared your throat. “I’ll just go ahead and make that call now.”

When you reached toward your phone, his hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could touch it.

You froze. "…Dr. Li?”

His name came out quieter than you meant, the intensity of his grip startling you. It wasn't painful, just firm. You couldn't decide if he was trying to anchor you or himself.

You watched his throat bob, his eyes darting across your face like he was searching for something.

“Is it really…” he faltered. “Does it not bother you?”

His breath ghosted over your cheek, and you instinctively craned your head backward, trying to give him space, unwilling to make him uncomfortable. It took you a moment to register what he meant, but then, realization flickered behind your eyes.

“Ah… The interns and their jokes? No… it doesn’t really bother me. I mean, medicine is a gruelling field. If they find little ways to have fun, even if it’s at my expense, well…” You shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t really mean anything, does it? All in good fun.”

You tried to keep your tone light, like none of it affected you. Like the implication that you and Zayne could be anything beyond colleagues didn’t sit heavy and half-formed in your heart each time someone said it aloud. If you turned it into a joke, then it wouldn't hurt as much when everyone else did too. If you pretended it didn't matter, then it didn't.

When Zayne didn't respond, you winced at your own thoughtlessness. Of course, it irritated him. He wasn't the type to put up with such jokes. Maybe he loathed the idea of being with you in any capacity beyond a fellow staff member. Maybe he was just waiting for you to put a stop to it.

“I'm sorry," you apologized. “I didn’t realize it bothered you so much. I’ll tell them to stop if you like. I’m sure I can convince them to set their sights on Dr. Greyson and that radiologist he’s been pining after all year instead.”

You chuckled nervously at the end. A peace offering.

But Zayne didn’t return the gesture. He didn’t even blink. His fingers were still curled around your wrist, and the look in his eyes wasn’t one of amusement.

It was something else entirely.

"All in good fun," you’d said.

Zayne nearly laughed aloud, except nothing about this felt remotely funny. Not when the only thing separating the two of you was his own desperate willpower. Not when he could feel the heat of your skin beneath his ice-cold palm, and your pulse fluttering wildly under his fingers.

Good fun—was that truly all it had been to you?

Because to him, it had been torment. Every single joke the interns cracked, every knowing glance and coincidental moment engineered to bring the two of you closer had driven Zayne to the edge. At first, he thought he could ignore it, like he did every other distraction in life. He was good at ignoring things and bottling up what shouldn't be felt.

But then came the little things. The way you brought him his morning coffee and favourite macarons every week. The way he had begun to anticipate your presence in his department. And worst of all, you'd laughed through it all. Every ridiculous setup, offhand comment about your compatibility, or synchronized schedules, or some other nonsense—you laughed.

You smiled as though none of it mattered. As though he didn’t matter.

Meanwhile, he’d spent the past week like a man walking a tightrope over a fire, the heat rising, the air thinning, and the fall inevitable. All while you watched from the sidelines, unaware that his heart was blistering.

And now, here you stood, telling him it didn’t mean anything.

Zayne’s hand tightened slightly on your waist, grounding himself. Your flashlight, perched a few feet away, cast the softest glow upward, catching on your lips, your lashes, and the curve of your cheek.

It was unbearable.

He wanted—no, he needed—to kiss you. To cup your cheek, press his forehead to yours, and tell you how maddeningly bright you made his life. How much he thought about you when you weren’t there. How much he missed your stupid stickers and the smell of your shampoo when you leaned over his desk. And your eyes—gods, your eyes. He could drown in them.

Zayne had always prided himself on control. His life was a sequence of precision and calculation. He had no room for chaos.

But you were chaos. Beautiful, compassionate, infuriating chaos.

You were the only variable he hadn’t planned for. The only person who could walk into a room and make his carefully built world tilt on its axis. And now you were looking at him with that sheepish expression and apologizing for a joke he would spend the rest of his life chasing the hope of.

How could you stand here, just inches from his mouth, and smile, and ask if he was the one who was bothered? How could you say none of it mattered when he was unravelling, just trying not to tell you he’d been in love with you longer than he’d even allowed himself to realize?

“Because of you, everything is spiralling out of control…” he managed to utter. “How can you pretend you’re not affected?”

Your heart thundered against your ribs, but your eyes were resolutely focused on some point behind his head. “I’m not sure what you mean, Dr. Li.”

Zayne let out a strangled noise of frustration. “I don’t know how much clearer I can make it for you.”

You scowled then, irritation lacing your words. “I suppose you’ll have to spell it out for me. I’m not in the practice of assuming other people’s feelings for them. You can imagine how messy it could get if I infer wrong.”

The silence between you was razor-sharp. Then, Zayne leaned impossibly closer, one hand braced on the shelf behind your head, the other still on your waist.

“Then perhaps I will spell it out for you."

"Best that you do."

He scoffed at that. You were aggravating as always.

“I think about you constantly," he confessed. "When you’re not there, I look for you. I find myself listening for your voice in every room you do not occupy. I have the sound of your footsteps memorized. Every time someone mentions your name, I can’t help turning my head like a fool. And when you stopped coming around… it felt like someone had taken a scalpel to my lungs.”

He met your stunned gaze head-on, eyes so raw with sincerity you forgot how to breathe.

"You were brilliant back in medical school. You are brilliant now. And I’ve been in awe of you from the moment I met you."

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled out of the water, and all you could give him was a hushed, "Oh."

"You do not need to give me a response, or even return the sentiment," he added hesitantly. "I just needed you to know. I didn’t think I had the right to want someone as exceptional as you, but I do care for you. Deeply. More than I’ve ever known how to say."

Your response was not what he expected. “…Are you feeling alright, Dr. Li?”

He scrutinized you, trying to assess whether you'd gone mad or were mocking him. “Why would I say all of that if I wasn’t?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ve come down with a fever. Or had a lapse in judgment. I just—” You paused, your throat tight. “Zayne… are you being serious right now?”

He didn’t flinch when you dropped the formalities. If anything, it made him soften, and he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek. “I have never been more serious about anything in my life.”

"Oh."

“I know I said terrible things," he continued, almost desperately. "I know I hurt you. And I will regret it for the rest of my life. But none of that was a reflection of your abilities. It was my own incompetence talking, and my inability to handle things."

You stared at him, wide-eyed, and all the pieces of the past few months—his clumsy efforts, the apologies, the devout offerings—slotted into place with a painful clarity.

But still, your heart throbbed with old bruises. “You made me think I meant nothing to you.”

“I know.” Shame rippled across his face. “And I hate that I did. But you’ve meant something to me for a long time. I just never had the courage to say it, and for that, I will always be sorry.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to cry, but your ribs ached with the effort.

“I missed you,” you finally whispered. “So much. I thought we were at least friends, and then you went and...”

That was all it took for the tension between you to shift, something tender taking its place. His hand was still resting lightly against your cheek, and his thumb brushed beneath your eye, as if prepared to catch a tear before it could fall.

“You don’t have to forgive me. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

You looked at him for a long moment before dropping your forehead to rest against his shoulder, avoiding his gaze. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I’d be worried if you weren’t,” he murmured, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

You closed your eyes, enveloped in the scent of him—clean and sharp, like antiseptic and pine and something vaguely citrus. You inhaled it like it might tether you to reality, though part of you wasn’t entirely sure you wanted to stay grounded. This couldn’t possibly be real.

It felt too surreal. His hands steady at your waist, the hushed heat of his breath against your skin, the look in his eyes like you were something precious he was finally allowing himself to reach for. You weren’t sure what to think.

Maybe you were dreaming. After all, how many times had you imagined something like this during med school? Embarrassing little daydreams you'd never dared to speak aloud. You were just a giddy, overworked student back then, half in awe, half in love with the smartest boy in your class. The boy who let you sit beside him during study sessions, and always remembered your coffee order.

So what were the odds that you’d end up here? In a tiny supply closet, no less. Whispered confessions. Flushed cheeks. Breathless tension. This was either your most vivid delusion yet or...

You pinched his arm

Zayne hummed in response, sounding offended. “Why’d you do that?”

“I’m checking to see if you’re real.” You blinked up at him, dazed. “If this is all real.”

“Don’t people usually pinch themselves in those situations?”

“I suppose… but this seemed more reasonable.”

A fond chuckle escaped him, and it warmed the air between you like sunlight bleeding through storm clouds. “Feel free to report me to HR after all this, if you wish," he stated eventually.

There was a beat of silence before, to his surprise, you giggled.

“Is that truly what you think I would do?"

"Wouldn't you?"

You shook your head, your lips twitching. "You're wrong, by the way."

"About what?"

"When you said I wasn't affected. You were wrong."

"Oh."

It was Zayne's turn to look bewildered at your revelation, the realization dawning that maybe you had been teetering close to the very same edge he'd been trying to rein himself back from.

“You’re staring again,” you pointed out after several moments, half-teasing, but far too gentle for the joke to land.

Zayne didn’t waver. “I’ve wasted enough time not doing it.”

That made your mind fuzzy again, and you felt your throat grow dry. It was suddenly too hot in this cramped space, and there was only enough light for you to see the tension in his jaw. Then he shifted, close enough for his nose to brush yours, but still giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You didn’t.

When he uttered your name, it was a confession on his tongue.

“Would it be… completely inappropriate if I kissed you now?”

The question nearly broke you, because in all your aching, sleepless nights of imagining this moment, you hadn’t once pictured him asking so gently.

You didn’t answer with words, instead closing the sliver of distance and kissing him.

It was tentative at first. Your fingers found the front of his coat, and his trembled where they cradled your jaw. But then he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

He kissed you like he was making up for every second he hadn’t, like he, too, couldn’t quite believe this wasn’t a dream.

When he reluctantly pulled back, his voice was a low rasp. “…Was that alright?”

“You’re about several years late, Dr. Li.”

His lips twitched. “I’ll work on my timing.”

Hope I didn't miss anyone ❤️

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