Nightmares
Zayne Also on AO3
She'd brought a bag.
His mind didn't short circuit—that was thinking too poorly of himself—but he did look at the leather bag, too large to be a purse, smaller than a suitcase, and realized... she fully intended to take him up on his offer.
They'd had several… dates? It was hard to tell, as so many of the times he'd spent with her doing things that could have been considered a date were just what they both wanted to do. Whether they were just getting dinner together because there was no one else they wanted to go with, or watching a movie, working on paperwork because they liked each other's running commentary as they worked.
So many days were just lunch in his office, or at the cafeteria downstairs, or going for a walk while she was on break, or her hanging around the waiting area in the cardiac wing, or him following her to another Trial or training session at the Hunter's Association, picking her up from a shift or patrol... and yet she'd kissed him more times than he could now count.
Not to mention that failing to call what they'd been doing 'dating' felt like a technicality and nothing more. They'd spent all of that time together because they'd wanted to. Akso wasn't exactly next door to the Hunter's Association, and if he wasn't faced with the tantalizing opportunity to sit across from her, he wouldn't have gone out to eat so many times; he'd have ordered takeout and stayed at the hospital, or picked up a sandwich from the konbini.
It had gotten to the point where he felt wrong if he tried to sleep without responding to a silly, serious, or thoughtful text message from her, even if they just exchanged emojis, it had become a ritual. Their sleepy phone calls had gotten more frequent too, she'd call him when he was trying to sleep in the on-call room and she was on a night patrol, or if their schedules were entirely incompatible on any given day.
Greyson had even figured out that Zayne now took 'private' phone calls.
Really he just didn't want Yvonne to tease him any more about smiling while he was talking to 'nobody'.
But tonight, Ostros bustled in, sat that bag down next to his couch, and handed him a grocery bag full of...
“Steaks?”
“You're a better cook than me. Up for the challenge Dr. Zayne?”
“Don't call me that.” He scolded. She really loved pushing that particular button.
“Okay.” She grinned and grabbed his head to kiss him on the cheek. His heart didn't race at that. “I don't have to work until tomorrow afternoon, so if you want to stay up late watching bad sci-fi movies again, I'm game.”
“I have Pile It Up, too.” He said, taking the steaks into the kitchen and beginning to plan which pan would work best to sear them in.
“Oh I love Pile It Up!” She followed him into the kitchen.
“I also found a bottle of the wine you liked from that restaurant last week.”
“Really? You have time to shop for wine?”
“Not quite. I have access to online shopping while I'm waiting on lab reports.”
“Oh.” She grinned. “Thank you.”
This wouldn't be like when they crashed at her apartment during the typhoon.
This was an entirely intentional date. Well, no, he couldn't claim that yet, because this still wasn't official enough to be a date. They'd had dates. They'd been on a date when she decided she liked this wine that much that he'd memorized the name of the winery and the logo from the bottle. He remembered the blush that spread over her cheeks as she drank it and flirted with him at the Italian restaurant. The restraint he felt compelled to maintain as he walked her back to his car had been tested, particularly as she'd held his hand with both of hers, nestled between the warmth of her knees, and stroked the inside of his wrist as he drove.
Walking her up to her apartment, tipsy, exhausted, and exuberant had been a struggle.
He'd gotten back home that night to a string of text messages that were just emojis. He'd laid in his bed with his phone in his hands for hours trying to decode them. He finally texted back that he was glad she'd had a good time.
She had a glass of wine while he cooked, a second with their steak and grilled leeks, and by the time they'd ended up on his sofa, she'd been blushing and red faced, but entirely sober compared to the night at the restaurant.
“You should sleep.” He said, laughing at the way she kept trying to lay down and take up the entire sofa.
“You should hurry up and pick a movie.” She returned, grabbing his hand with the remote in it and pointing it back at the screen.
“Alright fine. This one?”
“Looks great.”
“You're not even looking.”
“I don't care about the movie, Zayne.”
“Oh. I see.” He glanced over at her. Her legs were draped over his lap, and her cheek was propped up on one fist. The skirt she wore was long enough that there was nothing immodest happening, and yet the line of her rectus femoris as it climbed up from the front of her knee only to disappear under the pink corduroy was... enticing. He swallowed. “Then I suppose I can pick whatever I want to watch.”
“Mmm. What do you want to watch?” Her leg shifted against his thigh, but he refused to play along just yet.
“This one.” He picked literally the next one on the list. It didn't matter after all, did it? Alcohol didn't hang around that long in someone's bloodstream, so she'd either be asleep by the end or... or they'd make use of that bag she'd brought. Zayne could wait.
“Oh, I remember watching the trailer for this one.” She said, sitting up.
“So now you're interested?” Zayne asked, glancing over at her. She grinned back, and leaned against his shoulder instead.
Throughout the movie, she held his hand, idly scraping the pad of her finger over his thumbnail. It didn't distract him exactly, but it kept his attention off the movie entirely, and he kept glancing at her. She kept glancing back.
About halfway through, she stood and silently retrieved a blanket from the basket, and draped it over them, before climbing back onto the sofa next to him. Her legs were immediately back in his lap, and she wrangled a pillow into her arms, eyes still steadfastly focused on the screen.
Zayne appreciated that she wasn't a movie-talker, even if she did fidget incessantly. He at least got to run his fingers over the almost too smooth skin of her calves, the tops of her ankles.
Apparently he'd been too involved in movie, or perhaps just the opportunity to touch her, because when he looked over at her again, as the star-fighters crashed into the space station with unrealistically flame-ridden explosions, she was fully asleep. Her mouth was just open, eyes shut, and blanket tucked between her chin and shoulder.
Perhaps no wine next time, he thought.
