also a place to stay

But the sight of MC fast asleep, covered in white blankets like she’s decorated for her burial, pierces your chest. Hatred dissipates into a thing of the past, and realization replaces it. 

She’s dying.

Your fists shake with how hard you’re clenching them, as though they are weapons you can use to fight your way through this grief. But you’re only hurting yourself. You’re only seeing your inadequacy in comparison to the demons that plague you.

She’s dying, and there is nothing you can do to save her.

Tears stream down your face now. You still have time to leave. You didn’t even have to visit her as soon as you got a call detailing the severity of her condition. You still have time to run, to make sure this beloved woman doesn’t see the mess you have become.

But your feet are stuck to the ground, and she eventually wakes up from her slumber.

“Mmm…” she murmurs, absorbing the world around her, seemingly surprised that she’s still alive. Her hair decorates her face like curtains hiding the sight of her exhaustion, and the sliver of what you can see in-between strands is evidence of death looming over her. 

When you find your footing on this mountain of realization, you gently move strands of hair and tuck them in behind her ears, careful not to alter the tubes providing slivers of life into her body. Her eyes widen before she blinks. Once, twice.

“Oh, hi!”

Even though it’s soft, the afternoon sunlight spilling into the hospital room pales in comparison to her voice.

“Hello, MC.”

Your voice is colder in comparison. Like shards of ice sitting atop rooftops on snowy days, only melting when sunlight caresses them.

Despite that, a small smile appears on her face. You can see the battles she fights just to keep her eyes open, the efforts she places in keeping herself present in this conversation. You can see the happiness spilling out of her eyes at the sight of you.

If any drops of hatred still remained in your heart, then they all evaporated from the warmth of her compassion.

“You look familiar. H-have we met before?”

You can only nod because you have met her. It was during a dinner party celebrating the collaborations between Akso Hospital and the Hunter’s Association, and Zayne had introduced you to each other. You can still recall the smile on her face and her laughter that lit up the room. You can still recall how you were sitting on the table all night, sipping wine and conversing with almost nobody. You can still recall the jealousy that sprouted within you that night.

“Yes,” you manage to say. “We met at a dinner party.”

“Oh! You were the woman in the gold dress.” Her laugh is still so infectious, making a smile peek out of you despite the circumstances. “I was awestruck by you. I could hardly focus on anyone else that night.”

“Stop that,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “If any one of us was the light of that night, it would be you, MC.”

She shakes her head, her laugh still spilling out of her lips. You notice that her eyes have closed. “I highly doubt it. Was that the only time w-we met?”

In the literal sense, yes. That was the only time you’ve seen her, but it was enough for her to linger in your mind in every moment you shared with Zayne. When he comes home late from work. When he ends your calls abruptly with her as his excuse. When all of your dinner conversations are about treatments for Protocore Syndrome. When your relationship surrounded her needs and abandoned yours.

You swallow to push down the lump in your throat. “Yes. That was the only time we met.”

“Oh, I wish we could’ve talked more. I feel like we would’ve been great friends.” 

You stare at her saline bag as the liquid flows into her veins so you don’t have to see her expression when she hisses in pain. How does life consume a person so fully and manage to leave just as quickly?

And as you fix the blankets around her — still staring anywhere else but her face — you wonder how jealousy consumed you so fully yet managed to leave so quickly.

“Do I need to call a nurse-”

“No!” she exclaims, her breaths evening out into slow, painless waves. “I-I’m okay.”

You can finally look at her properly, but the sight of her small smile makes you wish you didn’t. You understand why Zayne would rather spend his time with her. While she can find the joys in everything, yours have died long before you met him, and who wouldn’t choose to bask in the light when given the chance?

Words perish in your throat. Everything and everybody seems to want to die today.

“How about you?” she interrupts. “Are you okay? You seem spaced out.”

You can only muster a small nod, because the words that refuse to spill out weigh too much for anyone to handle. 

“I don’t think you are. A penny for your thoughts?”

“I don’t have my coin purse at the moment,” you lie. The metaphorical bag sits in your heart, waiting to spill out, but MC is the last person you would want to open up to.

She simply hums and doesn’t push further, closing her eyes once more. If you allowed yourself to care more than you already do, you would comment on the sharpness of her breaths or soothe the lines of her forehead.

But weapons are more useful, so the elephant in the room is addressed.

“How has Zayne been treating you?” you ask.

She answers like she doesn’t notice the harshness in your tone. “Like a child. Always in my ass about things.”

I bet he is, you almost say, but you bite your tongue until you taste copper.

“He scolded me when my friend Tara bought me a plushie from the gift shop, saying my happiness would make my heart explode.”

“He did that?”

Zayne wouldn’t even notice if you brought home a plushie.

She nods, your heart almost as damaged as hers. “He’s also so stern and serious. You’d think he was the one dying with how cold he sounds. I don’t know how you deal with that.”

You don’t, not when he’s never home.

“And he’s very… smitten.”

That gets your attention. Your gaze shifts from her saline bag — half-empty, you note — to her face, her smile unsettling.

“Smitten by you, I assume?” you murmur. You clench your fists like a child about to cry, waiting for someone who can comfort you. 

The last thing you see before the loud flatline of the EKG is MC tilting her head, her brows furrowed.

Everything after that is a blur. Your voice echoes as you call for a nurse, a doctor, anybody to save her. The machine rings in your ears, quickly followed by voices, then by bodies, then…

“We’ll do our best, ma’am,” somebody assures, but it’s buried beneath harsh orders and beeping machines and everything that has weighed over you. You can only nod silently. You don’t know how you even managed that.

When you walk out of the room, the last thing you see is a familiar white coat bolting inside, and you almost wish you were the one dying.

“Water.”

Your hands are clammy under the bright hospital lights when you take the paper cup offered in front of your face. That familiar voice is here again, and if you were less disoriented, perhaps you would’ve addressed him nicely instead of saying nothing. 

You don’t drink the water. You don’t lift your head. You don’t do anything in hopes that Zayne would leave you alone.

But he doesn’t. He lingers like he doesn’t have ten thousand other things to do. Like he actually cares about you.

On another night, him staying this long would feel like a dream come true.

“Drink it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retort, and you swear you hear him step back. Your voice is unrecognizable even to you, your anger familiar yet foreign in its current intensity. The water sloshes, close to being your next victim.

Zayne doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither do you. You finally take a sip of the water because your throat feels too constricted, and you need to speak if you’re going to tell him off.

The voices of passing nurses and wheeled IV poles are all the noises that sit between your silence. It reminds you that life is happening beyond your grudges, burdens, and anger.

It also reminds you that life can be taken away too, turning your grudges, burdens, and anger into regrets.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice just as soft as hers.

“Yes. The resuscitation was successful.”

You sigh of relief before taking another sip of water. Her heart is still beating. The woman you despise most is okay.

Good.

Your eyes are glued to his shoes. You’ve polished them thousands of times even though 24-hour shifts leave them dirty regardless. Such a Sisyphean curse to always care for someone who doesn’t feel the same.

But if he doesn’t care, why is he holding your hand?

Zayne’s touch lingers, only leaving when someone calls him, and even then you feel the remnants of it as he walks away with a soft “goodbye.”

You remind yourself that he doesn’t care. That he hasn’t put you first in forever. That he’s willing to leave you in your despair because there’s something and someone else more important to handle.

But as the water cools your burning tongue and your eyes dart from the ground to Zayne’s retreating back, you can’t get yourself to.

That night, you decide to leave.

Half-empty bags decorate your bedroom floor as you hastily shove anything and everything you might need for a future you don’t even want to live through. Shirts overflow from your backpack, dresses coat your luggage in pesky glitter, and the zipper works overtime as your items struggle to stay inside.

“Come on!” you scream when your zipper gives up, and you toss the damn thing across the room without considering where it may land.

And when it shatters one of Zayne’s ice sculptures, you find yourself too angry to care.

You’re leaving today. He won’t be able to break your heart anymore.

But as you throw your clothes onto a different luggage — one of his luggages, specifically — life seems to insult you even more. You find shirts that he never bothered to take out, his travel bag of toiletries that you packed for him, and a million other signs of your presence in his life.

They all get tossed on the bed that both of you are supposed to share as though they hold no value to you.

Your clothes fit the luggage this time, with even some room to add your thoughts and grievances you’ve carried in this entire relationship. How nice of the universe to grant you something so useless.

In the midst of tossing your toiletries in the spaces, your phone buzzes in your pocket. With frustration and no regard to whoever is on the other side of the line, you press the green button.

“Yes?”

The voice on the other side of the line, whom you recognize as Zayne’s coworker, asks if he’s calling the right person.

“That’s me. Why?”

“Dr. Zayne requests your presence.”

Your heart sinks, akin to the ice sculpture that fell from your nightstand. “Please tell him I’m occupied at the moment.”

Silence ensues for a few moments before the voice comes back.

“He would like a few seconds of your time, ma’am.”

“Tell him I don’t have that much to spare.”

Your toothbrush peeks out from the luggage as you zip it up, and you bite your lip to prevent any profanities from escaping. God, why is leaving so hard when the universe has been pushing you to do so for a while now?

“Please ma’am, he really wants to speak to you.”

You exhale sharply, hanging up before he can say another word. Before Zayne can speak and undo your decision with his voice alone. Before your doubts can creep up and push you to make the decision you have regretted making for years.

Your luggage finally closes. Years and years of the same chapter finally ends. Now all you need to do is to leave.

But your phone rings again.

When you pick up, it’s not his colleague that answers. 

“Are you all right?”

Zayne’s voice is soft, exhaustion coating every syllable. It reminds you of MC minutes before her cardiac arrest — like death has come for him too.

How odd that he would go to you in that circumstance.

“Does it matter?” you blurt out.

“Very much. I… I need to hear your voice.”

“Listen to your patients. I’m sure their voices are perfectly fine.” 

Your thumb lingers on the red phone button, ready to push it and end this useless conversation, but he always finds a way to stop you.

“Please.”

A plea.

Zayne has asked something from you.

It’s the first time you were met with anything other than his indifference. Of course, it wasn’t always like this, but you can’t recall the last time he had actually shown any emotion towards you.

Quiet meals, expected tasks, a broken home.

Those are all you know now.

Not the past full of flowers, devotion, and sweet nothings.

You end the call before any word spills out of your lips, your legs succumbing to heartbreak’s hands. Tears spill out and caress your face. Your luggage is the only witness.

Just like life, time passes amidst your despair, unwilling to wait for you to stand up. By the time you push yourself, footsteps echo into your bedroom, a familiar duffel bag falling to the ground.

Zayne stands there, alarmed, as he carries a bouquet of jasmines.

a/n: I love this prompt, but I am so repulsed by my writing style here lmao 😭 The next two chapters will be longer, more in-depth, and better written!

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

It’s late at night. Both of you just got done with work, and quite frankly, Valko’s a little too bummed to be overanalyzing things. Having to work on his birthday, alongside other technical mishaps happening at EonCore Tech… it’s all too much, even for a man like him who treads through problems with a bright smile and jokes.

But your apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

Zayne, a dear friend of his who is definitely still working at this hour, would nudge him and say that word was forbidden. But how else would he describe your dim lights, the lack of your hums, and the absence of everything that is you?

Valko sighs. It’s too much, really.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!”

No response.

“Sweetheart?”

The only response he gets is a giggle.

He welcomes himself a little more, steps echoing from the front door all the way to your living room. Placing his duffel bag and his coat on your sofa, where he can so clearly see the laundry you haven’t folded, he observes every inch of this place with a racing heart.

Your scent’s near. That’s for certain. He could sense it miles away.

But Valko doesn’t see you.

“Sweetheart?” he repeats once more, and this time the responses he gets are whispers hidden in a darkness he cannot see.

“Zayne! Scoot over!”

“My back is already pressed against the wall, Caleb.”

“Shh! Valko will hear.”

Oh lord, is all Valko thinks as he smiles. Those voices are awfully familiar and vastly different from the silence he was so worried about earlier. 

But before he can call you out, the lights to the living room turn on abruptly and a cacophony of unharmonizing yet happy voices ring loud enough for the N109 Zone to hear.

“Happy Birthday Valko!”

You, Zayne, and Caleb jump from behind the sofa with smiles on your faces. Valko has to take a step back when you lunge at him for a hug, and he laughs — actually laughs — when you squeal in his ear out of sheer happiness. 

The boys hold out a cake to Valko as they wait for you to let go of him, but because you show no signs of doing that anytime soon, Valko tilts his head towards the dining table. Put it there.

“You want Zayne to eat more of the chocolate cake? I’ve already had to tell him off twice!” Caleb complains.

Zayne scoffs, a sight Valko has never seen before. “That’s an exaggeration.”

Oh, lord. Did that look like a nod to them?

Valko tilts his head a little more, balancing his love for you and his frustration towards his good friends. 

Caleb gets it now. “Ahh, gotcha!” he says before pushing Zayne over to the dining table, whispering words that sound a lot like stupid banter. Valko laughs it off, putting his focus on you again.

“Sweetheart. You can let go of me now.”

“No.”

He raises a brow. “And why not?”

You look up, and he realizes his response was a mistake. Your eyes are full of mischief, your words laced with the same. “Do you want me to?”

“Oh, lord!” The other two yell from where they stand in the dining room. Valko makes a mental note to talk to them later about etiquette when around his beloved.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Valko whispers in your hair, placing little kisses on your forehead as atonement for the only sin he regrets committing. “I’m happy to have you here on my birthday.”

“Mmm, good.”

Good indeed, because he loves the sound of your laugh and the warmth of your presence, and he loves that the day of his birthday is the same day he met you. 

But good doesn’t last forever.

Caleb and Zayne come to join in the cacophony, ruining the moment with their harmonious complaints. “I didn’t cook all this food for nothing,” Caleb says, and Zayne simply smirks in the same way he did when Valko once misread a measurement on a test tube. 

Your ears perk up at the reminder of food, and you instantly let go to grab Valko’s hand, dragging him over to the sweet scent of a buffet-like dinner. His senses are overwhelmed in the best way possible, making him forget he was even exhausted in the first place.

Caleb is the first to snap him out of his reverie with a strong slap on his back. A friendly gesture, Valko has to remind himself. He doesn’t mention the cool of Caleb’s arm or the memories that come with it. Only the brotherhood of today remains. 

“Happy Birthday, Valko! I hope you liked what we’ve made for you,” he greets, and Valko responds with a genuine laugh. The gold balloons on the wall spelling out Happy Birthday Valko! and the chocolate cake sitting front and center… What more could he ask for?

Zayne’s a little more quiet, but he does offer a soft pat of his own. Valko knows him well enough to see the support behind the gesture, so he offers a nod. Like brothers born from the same brutal cloth, they understand each other like no other.

And you?

You lead the song, the melody clashing with your jumps of excitement, and Valko can only stare. Your happiness is infectious, allowing him to break from his earlier exhaustion to fall into your arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers in your hair after your song has ended. “I’m so happy we met.”

a/n: I hope to one day welcome Valko home with this much love.

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

“You’re wrinkling your suit,” you hiss when he shows no sign of sitting back down on the leather seats. There is comfort in every inch of this limousine, yet he chooses to kneel in front of you. “I don’t think you’d want to taint your public image.”

“I don’t care.”

You raise a brow at the unusual statement.

“I’ll be here until you forgive me.”

The tall skyscrapers that surround Linkon become your saving grace as you attempt to ignore his lips, which whisper apologies on your closed fists that can barely be heard above the soft music playing. However much you wish for those lips to touch places you would prefer to keep in the scenarios in your head is ignored, and instead, you turn your attention towards the life surrounding you.

Laughter erupts from a group of friends as ice cream melts on their hands. A couple holding grocery bags seems to be arguing about who should carry more, and in the end, the guy carries all of them in his hands and her pink purse hangs on his shoulder. A little dog shyly approaches another, their owners laughing at the blooming friendship.

Crazy how different your circumstances are compared to those around you.

“Sweetheart,” Valko says, and when you look at him, his eyes are similar to that shy dog you were just admiring. “Please, tell me what I can do so you can look at me again.”

“I am looking at you.”

His ears and cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and you resist the urge to follow its trail with your lips. 

“Yeah, but not… not like this.”

You know exactly what he means, yet you continue your torture. “How do you want me to look at you, sweetheart?”

The nickname undoes him, and his hands move from your closed fist to your cheek in a bold retaliation. “Like this.”

You look away as fast as you can.

From the corner of your eye, however, you can see a smirk on Valko’s face that disappears as fast as it came. God, does he even know why you’re mad? Does he know why your heart rapidly beats as a scowl makes its way onto your expression?

Valko, disappointed by his short-lived victory, stays silent for a few seconds. You know him well enough to understand that this is him pondering, his head tilting to the side the way a puppy does when it’s confused.

Moonlight softens his features a little too well, leaving your defenses as nothing but crumbs.

His wedding ring sits warmly on your cheek as you look back at him again. There are nothing but questions in his eyes and acceptance in the way his thumb rubs against your cheek, careful not to smudge hours of makeup and anger.

That’s the thing about Valko: he’s very obvious when he wants something, and he is incapable of hiding that. But when he knows not to interfere, his presence continues to be loud in quieter ways.

He knows exactly how to love you.

Linkon’s skyscrapers begin to look less like shopping malls and more like your personal hell. Buildings with surnames of wealthy business owners hide the moonlight that previously softened your husband’s features, and it even stops you from being so stubborn.

“We’re close,” Valko points out, as though your stomach doesn’t churn from the fact.

“Then why are you still on your knees?”

“Because you haven’t forgiven me yet.”

You tap his nose as some sort of retaliation for his stubbornness, yet he takes it as a sign of victory. Valko’s smile shines even beneath the night’s darkness, reminding you of the reason you were annoyed in the first place.

“I don’t want today to be the last time I see you, Valko.”

He tilts his head again, this time looking more like an older dog whose utmost trust shines in its eyes. “What do you mean?”

“When you come home late with bruises i-in your arms, I…” Your voice breaks, yet you know fragility has no place in this part of Linkon. “I worry about you, that’s all. And since we’re on our way to another business deal…”

Valko understands the words that crumble into silence. As lovely and desirable the position seems, being chairman of one of the biggest corporations in the country poses dangers only seen by those who have been in the dark, and you know that better than anyone else does. Better than he does, because only when you tend to his wounds does he remember that his absence matters. That life can be beyond the danger he’s gotten used to.

“This one is safe, my love,” he assures you. “I’ve mapped every detail, every person, and every centimeter of the place. I know where to run if I need to.”

“And if… if you lose yourself in the process-”

“I won’t,” he says, defiant as devotion can be. “Not when I have you with me.”

You can only smile as you press your forehead against his, finally looking at him with the tenderness he so loves to receive from you. “Promise you won’t die tonight?”

“I promise, sweet girl.”

The last thing you do before the limo stops at your destination is to place your lips on his, letting him taste the worries you’ve harbored with every risky deal he does. The last thing you feel before you have to step off into the night is his utmost love, spilling onto your soul like no other.

a/n: I hope Valko comes back soon.

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)