If you can imagine it you can write it.

And somehow, for the first time in a very, very long time, he feels like explanining himself.

Something he never does.

With light steps, he approaches the bed and settles next to her, the dip of the mattress seving as a familiar welcome home.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"I know i'm dry and curt sometimes, but -"

"That's not much of a surprise though." She muttered, not shiifting to look a him, eyes still boring a hole in the ceiling.

Andi it felt like some twisted sort of ice bucket challenge on his already frailed psyche.

Why would she say something so cruel?

But then... Perhaps he did deserve it. He definitely deserved it.

"Hm." He hummed, like a neutral sign he internally agreed and wished to no longer discuss it.

"Hey. Hey no." Y/N realised her slip in a matter of seconds. "Let me finish. I only meant that... Well, you operate on hearts. You give a piece of your own to every patient on the table, no wonder you have nothing left for yourself..." Her hand landed on his chest, feeling the steady rythm of his blood being pumped. "But for what it;s worth... you have mine. I'll share if that's what it takes."

"Y- Y/N..." he was literally speechless.

"Sh. It;s okay. It's strong. It can beat for us both..." She nuzzled into him, this time guiding his hand to her chest. "I'll be your heart outside your body."

"Should I remind you, you're talking to cardiac surgeon?" He tried to dead-pan, but the way his voice faltered (in a way his hands were never allowed to) gave him away. "What if one day I decide to steal it and transplant it?"

She's been just casually scrolling through some long-forgotten-but-still-underground-alive social page ad figuring that the name of this author actually sounds familiar.

And being a curious little thing she started digging.

Only to find out that the author from 2000-something was...

HER MOTHER,

And if you start to wonder why the sudden flushed cheeks and glossy eyes and closed door to her room?

Because she's enamoured by the stories.

Yes, even those written on bad days, self-indulgent ones with completely unrealistic amount of fluff aimed to sooth your inner child while feeling sad, lonely and depressed.

And you only figure it out when one day you find both Zayne AND your daughter on the couch, engrossed in reading YOUR works.

And then it dawns on you.

You always had it in you. And maybe those days spend with your own imagination and pouring out feelings into words were exacly the thing that led you to this.

And honestly? It kind of felt good. After all it wasn;t like they were glued together. They could love each other and still not go all mopey and miserable while the other was busy and having a life. Zayne definitely wasn't overly sad about it (being himself of course) so she wasn;t going to dramatise either.

Instead, she called one of her friends, asking him if he wanted to visit the arcade and play claw because a new merch has just been dropped.

Lost in fun, laughter and having a good time, she didn't pay much attention to the surroundings. Unfortunately that made her miss someone looking at her from the distance, assessing the threat.

Blissful ignorance came crashing down later that evening when she got a disturbing text.

Saw you having fun today. Who was the guy?

Right. Typical Zayne. She knew damn well he was overthinking everything, trying to find the logical solution, but having to fight his own brain into skipping to conclusion when it came to them.

He was just a colleague.

You didn;t tell me about him.

Oh dear. He was jealous. And while other girls may tease him mercilessly about it, Y/N chose against it.

I did. Just maybe I didn’t use his name. Dylan. He's the one who's going to be transferred soon.

Oh yes. I remember now.

She decided to wait for what was coming next, but as the silence kept on stretching, it was time for a bit more drastic measures.

***

He was wondering how to answer her without admitting he was jealous when his phone started vibrating and her name lit up the screen.

"Hey." he said with a calm (not cold, never cold with her) voice

"What is going on in your head right now, Zayne?"

If they were at the beginning of building a relationship he would wriggle out of the answer. But they've been together for two years. TWO YEARS, And it was Y/N. And he had no intention of questioning her.

"Zayne?"

"Still here."

"Talk to me."

"I didn't like you with him,"

"I figured as much. But you do realise he has a girlfriend, right?"

"Noted."

"And it's not like we've done anything, you know. Oh, and by the way, I won a plushie for you. Do you want to see it?" without waiting for an answer she snapped a photo and sent it to him without disconnecting.

Oh, for crying out loud, it must have been a joke....

A carrot.

She won a carrot plushie for him.

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose, a mix of disbelief and exasperation bubbling in his brain (and heart).

"This is not funny."

"It is a little funny. Admit it." she teased.

"Y/N--"

"It's on its way to you. I called an uber about half an hour ago so it should be there soon."

"Of course you did. And what did the other guy get? A heart?" he scoffed pettily.

"Spoken like a true cardiac surgeon." She pointed out, not letting him off the hook easily. "And for the record, he got nothing. The claw is our thing. Yours and mine. Just cause I found a temporary replacement doesn't change it. It's me and you. Together. Remember?

"hm." (meaning: inside happy dance, cause he was still her no.1)

"See you tomorrow?"

"Hm."

"Good. Don;t lose sleep over carrots, Dr Zayne."

a soft click signalled the end of the conversation. But at least now he had his hope restored.

Even when a moment later a driver delivered that silly carrot, who seemed to start watching him the second it was put on the shelf.

Because it may have been an attempt to torment him, but it came from her, so of course it was getting a honorary place.

"Stop staring at me." he muttered childishly, turning it away so those two black lines of eyes were facing the wall and not him.

And if that was a kid's action? That was between him and the enemy.