Heart of a fiend works in mysterious ways

Xavier didn’t even flinch. He turned that serene expression toward your boss and stood up with the kind of graceful calm that made everything else in the room feel clumsy. “Actually, I’d like to speak with the manager on duty.”

“I am the manager,” he sneered. “And we’re closing.”

“Perfect timing then.” Xavier’s voice stayed gentle, almost friendly. “I noticed your signage outside says last call at 2 am. and kitchen closes at midnight. Yet it’s past four and your staff is still serving. Do you have special licensing for that? Or are you operating under an extension I should know about for my report?”

Your boss blinked. “What report?”

Xavier pulled out his phone like he was checking notes. “I used to work hospitality, a long time ago. Health code compliance, labor laws, overtime tracking. Fascinating stuff. For example, how do you calculate overtime for your servers when shifts regularly exceed twelve hours? Do you use the fluctuating workweek method? Or straight time-and-a-half? I’m just curious.”

You watched your boss’s face cycle through confusion, then irritation, then the first flicker of unease. He clearly wasn’t used to being questioned. He was used to yelling until people folded.

“I don’t have to explain my business to some kid-”

“Kid?” Xavier smiled, soft and disarming. “That’s flattering. Mind if I ask about your wage theft complaints? There were a few on the review sites. Former employees mentioned tips being pooled incorrectly. Also, forcing staff to stay past posted hours without compensation. Interesting pattern.”

He kept going, polite as ever, asking about break compliance, mandatory overtime notice, whether the restaurant had updated its emergency evacuation plan since the last inspection. Each question landed heavier. Your boss knew some answers. Most he didn’t. Every time he blustered, Xavier just nodded thoughtfully and followed up with another perfectly professional inquiry that made it clear exactly how little the man actually knew about running his own place.

You stood there frozen, tray clutched to your chest, watching the dynamic flip in real time. For once, someone was making him sweat instead of the other way around.

Eventually Xavier glanced back at you. “You’ve worked a double today, right? More than a double, actually. You should go home.”

“She’s not going anywhere until the last customer leaves,” he cut in.

Xavier’s eyes cooled, but his tone stayed even. “The last customer is me. And I’m leaving. With her. Unless you’d prefer I file that formal complaint tonight. I know people at the labor board. They’re old friends.”

The silence stretched. Your bosses jaw worked. Finally he jerked his chin toward the back. “Clock out. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your bag, legs trembling with relief and exhaustion. Xavier waited by the door, holding it open like it was the most natural thing in the world. Outside, the cold air hit your face and you nearly cried from how good it felt to be done.

He walked you to his car, one hand lightly at your back. “You don’t have to go back there,” he said quietly once you were inside, engine humming.

“I need the money, Xavier.”

“I know. But there are other places. Better ones.” He reached over and brushed a stray hair from your face. “Why don’t you try helping Jeremiah out at Philo?”

You leaned your head against the seat, eyes already drifting shut. For the first time in months, you believed you might actually sleep through the night.

ZAYNE

Dr. Zayne Li did not belong in a dive like bar you worked at 3:47 a.m. Yet there he was, sitting at the counter in his dark coat, looking like he’d stepped out of an otome game and into your personal hell. You poured his coffee with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling after your bosses latest screaming match in the kitchen. Something about a wrong order. Something about how you were costing him money.

Zayne watched you the whole time, green eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“You’re pale,” he said when you set the mug down. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch.” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

Before you could elaborate, your boss stormed out from the back. “What the hell is this? You chatting up customers now? Get back to work, table nine wants another round.”

“They’ve had six,” you murmured. “And we’re supposed to be closed.”

“I decide when we close!” his voice rose. “Not some waitress who can’t handle a rush.”

Zayne set his coffee down quietly. “Excuse me. You’re the owner?”

Your boss sized him up. “Yeah. Problem?”

“Several.” Zayne’s tone was calm. The same voice he used when telling Pie to quit doing something. “First, your employee has mentioned she’s a university student. Forcing her to stay until nearly four am. on a weeknight violates both labor regulations for students and basic duty of care. Second, the posted hours on your door and website do not match your actual operations. That’s misleading advertising at best, potential licensing issues at worst.”

Your boss laughed, but it sounded forced. “Who the hell are you, her lawyer?”

“Her partner. And a physician who understands fatigue related health risks. She’s exhibiting clear signs of chronic sleep deprivation and stress. Continuing this way will lead to medical consequences I will document if necessary.”

You wanted to sink into the floor. Part of you was mortified. The other part, the exhausted, beaten down part, felt something dangerously close to hope.

Zayne continued, voice never rising. “I’ve already taken photos of the time. I’ve noted the lack of proper breaks. If you insist on keeping her here tonight, I’ll be contacting the labor department first thing in the morning, followed by the health inspector. It’s your choice.”

Your boss stared at him. Zayne stared back, unflinching. The doctor who performed delicate cardiac surgeries versus a man who yelled at waitstaff for sport. It wasn’t even close.

“Fine,” he spat. “Get your stuff and get out. But don’t think you’re getting any shifts next week.”

Zayne stood, towering over your boss without trying. “She won’t need them. There are campus positions that respect student schedules. Or hospital admin roles. Places that don’t treat people like disposable labor.”

He guided you out with a hand at the small of your back, steady and warm. In the car he cranked the heat and handed you a protein bar from his glove compartment like he’d planned for this.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered.

“Yes, I did.” He reached over and squeezed your hand. “No one gets to exploit you. Not while I’m here. Let’s get you home and to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll look at better options together. And if he tries anything, you have my number. Actually, you have my lawyer’s number, too.”

You laughed weakly, the sound cracking. For the first time in ages, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

RAFAYEL

The door had barely closed behind the last customer when Rafayel walked in. The few remaining staff did double takes. Your boss nearly tripped over himself rushing forward.

“Mr. Qi! What an honor. We’re technically closed, but for you, anything. Sit wherever you like. Best table in the house.”

Rafayel smiled that charming, slightly threatening smile and scanned the room until he found you wiping down a high top with heavy, exhausted arms. “I’ll sit wherever she’s serving.”

Your bosses expression faltered for half a second before the salesman mask snapped back on. He actually shoved you lightly toward the table. “You heard him. Move it. And smile, for God’s sake. This is Rafayel Qi.”

You forced the smile and approached, notepad trembling in your fingers. Rafayel’s eyes softened when they met yours, but the smile he gave your boss was pure performance.

“Water for me, cutie,” he said to you, voice honeyed. Then, louder, to your boss: “And whatever she wants. She looks like she hasn’t sat down in hours. Rough night?”

Your boss laughed too loud. “She’s fine. These kids today can’t handle real work. Always complaining. But she’s one of my best, right? Real team player. Even when she screws up the orders, she stays late to fix it.”

Rafayel’s eyebrow arched. “Screws up? I’ve seen her artwork. Her attention to detail is impeccable. Strange that she’d be incompetent here.”

You wanted the floor to swallow you. Your boss kept digging his own grave, oblivious. “Ah, you know how it is with pretty girls. They get distracted. Especially when important people come in.” He winked at Rafayel like they were sharing a joke at your expense.

That was the moment something in you cracked.

Rafayel noticed. Of course he did. His smile never wavered, but his eyes went sharp.

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “You know, I’ve been thinking about doing a series on modern exploitation. The quiet violence of minimum wage service work. Overworked bodies, stolen wages, bosses who mistake fear for loyalty. It’s very… visceral. I might need a consultant. Someone who’s lived it.”

Your boss preened. “I could give you the inside scoop-“

“No, I think she’d be perfect,” Rafayel cut in smoothly. “She has the soul for it. You, on the other hand… well. Your establishment has such a charming reputation online. All those one star reviews about verbal abuse. Very authentic for the piece.”

The color drained from his face as the implication landed. Rafayel kept talking, light and pleasant, about how he could make or break a small business with a single post. About how his fans loved a good scandal. About how he’d hate for this place to become a case study in toxic management.

By the end, your boss was practically bowing, promising you the week off with pay, offering comped meals, anything. Rafayel waved it all away.

“She quits. Effective immediately. And I suggest you treat the rest of your staff with a little more respect. Or I might get inspired to paint something very specific about this charming little hellhole.”

He stood, offered you his arm like a prince in a storybook, and walked you out. Outside, he pulled you into a hug that smelled like expensive cologne and safety.

“You’re done there,” he murmured against your hair. “I’ll help you find something better. Something that doesn’t crush your spirit. My studio always needs assistants who actually understand beauty.”

You clung to him, tears finally spilling. He let you cry, rubbing slow circles on your back until the shaking stopped.

SYLUS

Sylus took one look at you balancing three trays at once while your boss screamed about a spilled drink and decided the night was over.

He sat down at the worst table in the place, the one with the wobbly leg no one wanted and crooked a finger at you. When you approached, he simply pulled out the chair beside him.

“Sit.”

“I can’t. I’m working-”

“Sit, kitten.” His voice was low, commanding in that way that made your knees weak. “Now.”

You sat. The relief in your feet was almost painful. Sylus flagged down another server, ordered food and drinks, and told them to put it on his tab. When your boss came storming over, Sylus didn’t even look up at first.

“She’s on break,” he said calmly.

“She doesn’t get breaks right now-“

Sylus finally lifted his gaze. Red eyes, sharp as knives. “She does tonight. In fact, she’s done working while I’m here. Bring her water. And something to eat that isn’t from your sad little kitchen.”

Your boss opened his mouth. Sylus smiled the kind of smile that made smart people reconsider their life choices. “Unless you’d like me to have a conversation with the people who own this building. I know the landlord. Be a shame if rent suddenly tripled.”

You ate while Sylus watched, making sure you finished every bite. He kept the conversation light, teasing you about your stubborn independence, telling you stories that made you laugh despite everything. When you were done, he stood and walked straight over to your boss.

The conversation was short. You couldn’t hear most of it, but you saw your boss go pale. Sylus returned, jacket in hand, and draped it over your shoulders.

“Time to go home.”

In the car, the city lights blurred past. You leaned your head against the window.

“I can’t just quit, Sylus. I need-“

“You need a job that doesn’t treat you like garbage. Elysium has openings. Or any of my legitimate businesses. You want to make your own money? Fine. But not at the cost of your health. Find something better, or I’ll find it for you. And before you argue about money, they won’t be handouts. Just better opportunities. Deal?”

You looked at him and something warm spread through your chest. The crime lord who could’ve burned the place down but chose to do things your way instead.

“Deal,” you whispered.

He took your hand and didn’t let go the whole drive home.

CALEB

The girls at the bar noticed Caleb the second he walked in. Tall, easy grin, that boy-next-door charm wrapped around something sharper. They flirted shamelessly, batting lashes, leaning over the counter. Caleb smiled politely, but his eyes tracked only you. Every time you passed his table, he found a way to make your job lighter. Passing you clean silverware before you asked. Quietly clearing plates when your boss wasn’t looking. Slipping extra tips under his glass with a wink.

But when your boss started in on you again, loud, public, accusing you of “disrespect” for not refilling a water fast enough, Caleb’s easy demeanor vanished.

He stood up, sizing your boss up.

“Got a problem with how she’s doing her job?” Caleb asked, voice deceptively calm.

Your boss puffed up. “This doesn’t concern you, buddy.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Caleb stepped closer. he carried himself like someone who’d faced worse than a shitty bar owner. “It concerns me a lot when someone talks to my girl like that. Especially when she’s been on her feet for ten hours straight while you sit in the back doing nothing.”

You could feel the eyes of the other patrons zoning in on the scene. Conversations quieted down. Even the drunk customers were paying attention.

Caleb kept going, low and steady. “You’ve got cameras, right? Good. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings when I file that complaint tomorrow. Verbal abuse, wage theft, unsafe hours. Health inspectors love tips from military folks.”

Your boss tried to come up with something to say. Caleb just smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Or we can handle this like adults. You treat her and the rest of your staff with respect for the remainder of her time here. She quits when she’s ready, not when you force her out. And if I hear one more raised voice at her tonight, we’re going to have a different kind of conversation outside.”

Your boss backed down. Grudgingly. But he backed down.

For the rest of the night, something shifted. Caleb stayed until close, actual close, not your bosses version. He helped you clean your section when the boss wasn’t looking. Walked you to your car. Leaned against the door while you unlocked it.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he said softly. “There are better jobs. You’re smart, capable, kind. Don’t let him convince you that you deserve this shit.”

You looked up at him, exhausted but seen. Really seen.

“I know,” you admitted. “I’m just… scared to leave.”

Caleb pulled you into a hug, chin resting on your head. “Then be scared with me standing next to you. We’ll find something new together.”

Zayne, well-versed in protocore syndrome and the effects of an aether core, has concerns for the latest edition to your relationship. It took him longer to notice, granted, but now he can't stop noticing.

Sylus's aether core seems to glow all the time.

While he isn't knowledgable on how an aether core can affect anything other than a heart, he can come to some reasonable conclusion that having it active for such great lengths of time has to be detrimental to one's health in the long term. Not that Sylus would admit it openly if it was, given his other ability to heal even the gravest of wounds, but that isn't enough to satisfy Zayne's concern.

"Sit."

Sylus quirks a brow at the stool. "I don't remember scheduling an appointment, doc," he says, crossing his arms, still in his spot by the door.

Zayne taps at his keyboard, bringing up a new chart. While it won't go in the hospital's data, due to the risks of Sylus's criminal status, he wants to do this by the book. It's best to know a patient's natural baselines first. "You didn't. However, if we are to be partners, I believe it is important to understand any health concerns that may come up."

Sylus scoffs. "You're supposed to be my romantic partner, not my doctor."

"Then give me the contact information of your primary care physician and I'll discuss any concerns with them." Zayne shoots him a look.

Sylus meets his stare. Then, he relents. He sighs as he crosses the distance and settles on the stool. "You don't always play fair, snowflake."

"I analyze my patients to ensure the best approach," he says back dryly. He settles the earpieces of his stethoscope in place and wheels his own chair close. "I'm going to listen to your heart and lungs first."

He places the bell overtop Sylus's clothes, where his heart is. As he listens to the rapid beats, irregular and concerning, he stares at a spot beside his shoulder. "Does your heart beat this fast normally?"

"Mhm."

"Hm."

He shifts the bell to one side of his chest. He listens to his lungs as Sylus breathes in and out. Moves it to the other side and listens again. Then he pulls away and slings his stethoscope back over his shoulders as he pushes his chair behind his desk. He types this data into the chart.

"Your lungs sound healthy, but you have extreme arrhythmia. Do you have any health conditions that could be causing this, as far as you know of?"

"None. My heart's always been like this."

Zayne frowns. That's not the reassuring statement it was presented as.

He turns to the drawers behind his desk. Out of one, he removes a large arm cuff and begins undoing the velcro. "Lift your sleeve, please."

Sylus shakes his head slightly, almost amused watching Zayne at work, and rolls up one of his sleeves. Zayne attaches the cuff around his arm and puts his stethoscope back on. He tucks the bell at the crook of his elbow, holding it in place as his other hand begins pumping air into the cuff.

Ever since Sylus stepped through the door, his eye has been glowing. It was dim at first, but then became bright after mere moments in his presence. Even now, as Sylus watches his face, only a couple feet away, it shines brightly.

The cuff deflates after a few moments and he rips the velcro apart, folding it up nearly before putting it back in its place. He types it into the chart. "Your blood pressure is 110 over 70."

"That good?"

"It's within the ideal range."

He checks his ears, nose and throat. All normal and healthy. When he gets to checking his eyes, however, his right eye is glowing so much it's throwing off his readings. He backs his chair away and puts the ophthalmoscope back in its place. "Tell me about your aether core."

Sylus smirks. "What do you want to know?"

"You seem to have some level of control over it. What does it do, exactly?" He wheels himself over to his computer to make notes.

Sylus wheels forward to lean his arms against the edge of the desk. He glances at the screen. From this angle, he can't see much. He watches Zayne's hands instead. They glide so smoothly over the keyboard. Type with such efficiency.

"It allows me to look into the hearts of people," he says, lowly. Zayne's typing pauses, his interest caught. "I can see their deepest, darkest desires. All the things they want most."

He turns to look at him. "And it glows when it's active?"

"Mhm."

"Then, why do you have it activated right now?"

Sylus blinks. He straightens out as he turns to see his reflection in the glass cabinet and huffs a chuckle to himself.

"I don't appreciate you using it on me, Mr. Qin."

"Relax, snowflake, I'm not using it right now." He meets Zayne's eyes again, earnest as he assures, "I don't use it on those I'm close to unless they ask me to."

Zayne frowns. By all accounts, that doesn't make any sense. His aether core only glows when it's in use, but it hasn't been used this whole time? Certainly, with the control he has over it, he would know if it was in use in the first place, but he was just as confused to learn it was glowing.

Sylus stands slowly. He nudges his rolling stool away with his foot, and calmly rounds the desk. Zayne watches him, confused, as he approaches.

Sylus grabs the back of Zayne's chair and turns him so Zayne is facing him head on. Zayne grabs onto the arm rests. His chair is pressed back against the side-desk. Sylus cages him in, hands holding him up against the desk behind him.

"And here I thought I was good at hiding it..." His eyes skim down Zayne's body, catching onto the bob of his Adam's apple and the space between his open legs. It seems to glow even brighter now, somehow, when he meets Zayne's eyes again.

He leans down closer. The space between them is narrowed down to a couple inches. Zayne feels his own breath get heavier with the electrifying proximity, lips parting around them. Sylus's eyes, half-lidded, flicker down to his mouth, and back up.

"It seems... it shows what my heart's deepest desire is, as well... doctor..."

---

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