i love doctor boba eyes

Not that he knew you. That was the cruel logic of it all. To Sergeant James Barnes, you were nobody. Nothing but a nurse he'd been introduced to twice, and forgotten both times. A face in a crowd of pretty faces, but by no means the prettiest.

You had stopped being able to feel your own face somewhere around the third song, no longer pretending to smile.

"You gonna dance, or you gonna be a wallflower all night?"

You turned. One of the girls— Doris, or maybe it it was Lilian, you weren't paying attention— was smiling at you with the social grace that women in this time seemed to possess effortlessly. They belonged in a way you never would. You gave her something that was probably a smile.

"I'm alright watching."

"Watching him, you mean." She followed your gaze to where Bucky stood in his dress uniform, left arm braced against a pillar as he leaned down to murmur something into the ear of a redhead who laughed like he'd hung the moon. "Half the room's watching him. Don't feel bad, sweets. He's real generous with the old charm."

Generous! You laughed to yourself, that was certainly one word for it.

You'd been in 1943 for eleven days. Eleven days since the machine in your lab had done whatever it was that it did. There had been a surge of power, a blinding flash of light and the smell of ozone that still hadn't left your nostrils. You had woken up staring at a strange sky, in an alley between two buildings you didn't recognize.

Eleven days later, you had talked your way into a nursing post with the competence that only came with training from a program that wouldn't exist for another sixty years.

The first time you had seen him, you hadn't been able to move. You almost walked past without a backward glance. The thing that had gotten your attention wasn't how he looked, it was his voice. It hadn't changed. What had changed was how freely he laughed

It was all you could think of as you lay on a narrow rented bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking: He's here. He's alive and whole and here, and he has no idea who I am.

You'd thought seeing this version of him would be a comfort.

You'd been so stupid.

So there you were, contemplating your existence, a woman out of your own time. And you realized that the thing nobody told you about time travel was that it was mostly waiting.

You had managed to track down a physicist— a nervous, but brilliant scientist who was well ahead of his time and happened to work for Stark Industries and liked to carry out experiments in his basement.

When you'd described the machine, he had gone very pale and very quiet and then become very interested. He offered to help you. He thought it would take weeks. He speculated a great many things, and every one of them required you to stay close to the war effort, close to the base, close— by fate or by accident— to Bucky-freaking-Barnes.

You should have quit, but you needed the money and a place to stay. So you saw him. Constantly. At the mess, in the corridors, at these godforsaken dances the other nurses dragged you to. And every time, the same knife went in.

Because Bucky Barnes flirted with everyone.

You watched him do it like a case study you had a vested interest in. In a way, you did.

He flirted with Lilian and Doris and Elizabeth, with Marian and Margaret and even Sandy. He flirted with the girl who sold cigarettes and the middle-aged woman who ran your boarding house who flushed like a school girl every time he tipped his cap.

He flirted with the same energy that other men breathed— unconsciously, effortlessly and with enthusiasm. With the whole world except you.

With you he was polite. God, the politeness was utterly devastating. Every 'ma'am.' Every 'miss.' Every nod.

Once— and only once— he caught you looking at him for too long across the mess hall and you had noticed a flicker on his face. It wasn't interest, no you knew his expressions well enough, it was something closer to confusion. Almost as though he couldn't quite figure out why this particular nurse kept staring at him like she was drowning.

You'd looked away so fast you'd spilled your coffee.

So here's the thing you could quite wrap your head around. It was the splinter which kept digging it's way deeper. He was still Bucky. Before the fall. Before seventy years of ice and torture. Before his free will had been ripped away. It was still him. The same kind man you loved.

And this man had looked at you and felt nothing.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Lillian said. "Never a good idea at a dance."

"Sorry." You forced a smile and made yourself relax. "Long shift," you lied with a shrug.

She patted your arm sympathetically and drifted off in the direction of a corporal who had been eyeing her from across the hall. And then you were alone. Again. Listening to Bucky laughing at something across the room, his eyes crinkled and nose scrunched. You had to close your eyes.

In the present, you told yourself, he loves you.

But did he?

This thought was the poison of the past, the reason the past eleven days had hollowed you out and given you reason to doubt. Because you'd met your Bucky broken. You'd met him after— after the Soldier, after the torture, after the long slow work he had done to put himself back together, with therapy and effort and the kind of hard-won stillness that made his rare smiles feel earned. Your Bucky was quiet. He was careful. He loved you the way a man loves the shore after a shipwreck— grateful, fierce, like something he'd been afraid to hope for.

When you thought back, this stillness had always felt like the depth in your relationship. That his quiet devotion was the shape of a man who had survived far too much to be careless with his heart. That when he reached for you in the dark, when he said your name with reverence, when he told you that he loved you, it was the truest thing in him.

Only now you'd seen the before.

Now you'd seen who he was when the world hadn't broken him yet.

And that man— that carefree, radiant, flirtatious man— he wouldn't have looked at you twice. That man had a type, and you were watching him charm her across the dance floor right now, and it most decidedly wasn't you. It was never you.

So what did that make what you had back home?

It was the ugly thought. The one that had been circling your brain in different iterations for the last eleven days.

He's with you because you were there.

Because you'd been kind to him at the worst point of his life.

Because you were willing, and steady, and you'd stayed when staying was hard.

Because a drowning man doesn't check whether the hand pulling him up is the one he'd have chosen.

He grabs what's offered.

You were what was offered. Convenient. Present. Undemanding.

Not chosen. Settled.

You believed it completely, while standing in that dance hall. It sank deep into your bones, like the weight of something you'd always half-known and finally let yourself see.

"You're that nurse."

You startled so badly at his voice that you knocked your purse off the table. Bucky was standing in front of you— right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the pomade and the wool of his uniform. And he was looking at you with that faint, puzzled crease between his brows. He bent down and retrieved your purse without a second thought.

"I— yeah. Sorry. Yes. I'm a nurse."

Brilliant. Very cool. Totally nailed that response. You mentally face palmed yourself.

"You keep looking at me." He said it plainly, without judgement. "All week. At the mess, and now here." He paused, studying your face. "Do I know you? From somewhere? I feel like I oughta, and it's drivin' me half crazy tryna figure it out."

You don't know me yet, was the thought didn't say. You won't know me for another eighty years.

"No," you managed in a flat tone. "You don't know me."

He studied you. And for one horrible, hopeful second you let yourself imagine that something would spark between you. That he would recognize something buried deep inside himself, the one who would one day become the man you loved. That he'd feel it, the way you felt it. The impossible gravity that existed between you.

He didn't. You watched him not feel it. He just gave you a small, courteous, sorry-can't-place-you smile and the last shred of hope shattered in it chest.

"Well," he said. "You alright? You look a little—" he gestured vaguely at all of you, "—pale. Rough night on the ward?"

You laughed dismally. "Something like that."

"You want some air? You look like you want some air."

And there it was. Not attraction. Kindness. The reflexive decency of a good man toward a woman who looked unwell. He'd have offered the same to Doris or Evelyn, to the redhead or the blonde, to anyone really. You knew it, and you took it anyway, because you were weak and you loved him and this was the closest he'd stood to you in eleven days.

Outside, the night was cold and wet and smelled of the harbor. Bucky lit a cigarette, offered you one, seemed unsurprised when you shook your head. For a while neither of you said anything.

"You got somebody?" he asked finally, and your heart lurched dangerously. "Back home, I mean. You got that look. Like half of you is somewhere else."

You laughed and it came out wrecked.

"Yeah," you said. "I've got somebody."

"He treat you right?"

He loves me like a man loves the thing that saved him, you thought. And I don't know anymore if that's the same as loving me for me.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I used to think so. Now I'm not sure he'd have picked me. If things had been different. If he'd had… options. I think maybe I was just… the one who was there."

Bucky was quiet a moment. When you looked at him he was frowning— not the usual puzzled frown, it was something more thoughtful.

"That's a helluva thing to carry," he said. "You wanna know what I think?"

He looked at you, barely waiting for you to answer before he continued.

"I flirt with every dame in that room. You've seen me, don't pretend you haven't." He gave you a rueful half-smile. "It's easy. Don't cost me a thing. You smile, they smile, everybody has a nice night, nobody gets hurt. It's—" he searched for the right word, "—it's cheap. You understand? It's the cheapest thing I got."

You stared at him.

"You know what's not cheap?" he went on, looking out into the night. "The stuff that costs you something— and that's not the girl you charm across a dance hall. That's the one you'd still want around when there's nothing charming left in you. When you're scared, or sick, or done things you can't take back."

He exhaled smoke. "A fella who's had it easy, he'll flirt with anybody. Don't mean anything. But a fella who's been through the wringer, and he still reaches for one particular person—" he shrugged, "—seems to me that's the only kind that counts. The rest's just… noise."

You couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how deeply what he'd said had resonated with you. He couldn't have. He was just a kind man being kind to a sad woman outside a dance hall, offering the accidental wisdom of someone who'd one day live every word of it. But he'd reached across eighty years and removed the splinter from your heart.

A fella who's been through the wringer, and he still reaches for one particular person.

That was your Bucky. Not a drowning man grabbing for the nearest hand. A man who had been through the absolute worst the world could do. A man who had every reason to be closed and cold and careful with the little warmth he had left. And instead who spent it, deliberately, expensively, on you.

Not because you were convenient. Because when everything cheap had been burned out of him, you were what remained. You were the thing that counted.

The flirtation you'd been grieving wasn't the love you knew. It never had been. It was the noise. And your Bucky had gone silent with everyone else in the world and still turned, in the dark, toward you.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky looked faintly bewildered. "For what? I didn't do anything."

"You'd be surprised," you said, tears slipping down your cheeks before laughing at the way he was hastily patting his pockets for a handkerchief with the flustered gallantry of a man way out of his depth

And for the first time in eleven days the ache in your chest had somewhere to go.

The scientist sent for you nine days later. You had pulled yourself away from the pub, one last glance at the Sergeant before you scurried away under the cover of darkness.

The machine hummed and the basement reeked of ozone. Suddenly your heart was pounding and you were looking back at the strange world you were leaving. At the war that hadn't broken him fully yet. At the still charming boy who would become, through unspeakable years, the quiet man who loved you.

I'm coming home baby, you told him, across the space-time continuum. I finally understand what I'm coming home to.

With that vow, you stepped into the light.

When you opened your eyes it was day and you were back in your lab, surrounded by your things and there— there was already someone crossing the room toward you at a dead run. Someone with a metal arm and a face raw with grief and terror that lasted twenty days. Someone who caught you and held you like the shore holds the shipwreck.

"You're back," Bucky said into your hair, over and over, wrecked and reaching only for you. "You're back, you're back, you're back."

"I'm back," you said. "I know exactly where I am."

You’d met them in New Orleans. Two men who were charming, respectful and had a competitive friendship, and invited you to hang out at the coast with them sometime.

You were four days into your week long stay. At first you had taken to being a regular tourist, visiting sights, going to the beach, until the boys pulled you into their antics.

So, here you were on day four, sat on the docks watching the sunset attempting to drown out the playful bickering of the two next to you.

Sam had noticed the way you looked at Bucky, the lingering glances. The way you always smiled at his his jokes, even the bad ones. Then, the real kicker had been when you’d gone tomato red when he’d complimented your dress, suddenly making you feel like a teenager.

Since then, the newly anointed Captain America had endlessly teased you for it, and even encouraged you. Just a little bit. You had a feeling there was more to it than simple teasing. You’d seen Bucky more than once flirting with Sam’s sister, Sarah, much to his chagrin.

After seeing that yesterday, you’d held your distance, still hanging out with them but keeping your eyes safely in front of you, smiling when socially acceptable.

Sam had picked up on it, giving you concerned glances and mouthing “you okay?” over and over, until you just shook you head as if to say “drop it”.

Now on the docks, you kept your head forward, thinking of where to visit tomorrow that was far enough away they couldn’t follow.

“Sam, that’s ridiculous,” you could hear the low frustrated rumble of Bucky’s voice. “You can’t put fictional characters against us, it’s not realistic.”

“You’re the one with the collection of Tolkien books stashed in the corner!” Sam sounded exacerbated.

“To get way from this shit,” from the corner of your eye, you catch Bucky’s hand flying around in frustration.

They go silent a moment, and you can feel the Sam’s eyes drift to you.

“Alright, humour me Buck,” he says. “Who could you take in a fight?”

“You,” his tone is so nonchalant you have to hold back a laugh.

“Fuck off,” Sam responds, punching him gently on the shoulder.

“I’ve done it twice before,” Bucky remind him, sounding amused.

“The Winter Soldier did, you ain’t him anymore,” he pauses. “What about you, girl? Think you could take Bucky?”

Your head turns, a little stunned at his implication. You could see from the obvious smirk on his face he was teasing you once again, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore it.

“Definitely,” you respond with surprising confidence.

The look of confusion of Bucky’s face was near hysterical. You bite into the sides of your mouth to suppress yourself.

“Really, you could take on a super soldier in a fight?” Sam pressed, his smirk now covered half his face — adding to Bucky’s frustration.

“Oh no,” you shake your head quickly. “Definitely not, have you seen my coordination?”

Sam laughs at that, whilst Bucky looks between the two of you, still dumbfounded.

“What the fuck are you two on about?” He demanded.

“You’re an idiot,” the other man responded. “Steve may have been naïve, but you are just blind.”

Able to sense to tension between them, you get to your feet.

“Goodnight boys,” you begin to turn, carefully stepping across the planks.

“Go after her,” Sam presses Bucky, pushing him in your direction. “She wants you. If you don’t, you’re gonna regret it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen for a second, realisation hitting him in the chest.

“Right,”

You could hear their voices in the distance as you approach your car, but cannot make out the words.

“Hey, wait up!”

Bucky’s voice tears through you, adding another crack to your fragile heart. Yet you find yourself turning to look at him.

“Need something?” You voice is quiet, repressed.

“Yeah,” he stumbles his words for a moment before straightening and looking you in the eye. “Yeah. You— I mean…”

His face twisted in frustration again. “Shit, I’ve lost my touch.” He shook his head and muttered to himself. “Suck it up, Barnes.”

“Do you wanna get a drink with me?”

You blink, frozen to the spot. “Now?”

He seems to consider this. “Yeah. Now.”

“But, why now?”

“Because I’m not going to let a chance like this slip away,” he sounded certain. “I’m over a hundred, sweetheart, I’ve lost enough in my life. I won’t let you be one of them.”

“Bucky,” you begin, he takes a step forward, taking your hands in his.

“You don’t need to say a word,” he promises. “Just have a drink with me.”

You give a single nod, and he pulls you alongside him, the warmth of his right arm around your shoulders as he murmurs in your ear.

Bucky remembers you fondly as Steve's kid sister, a little spitfire who hung fearlessly off the back of his bike growing up, all uncoordinated limbs and wild freckles and toothy smiles. When he and Steve went off to college, you were just starting high school, and the most he’s connected with you since has been through Facebook ‘happy birthday’ posts and the occasional Instagram comment. 

You were serious about your academics, about making something of yourself, which is what kept you away so long. A real smart cookie, he’d always called you. You'd graduated college in just three years, thanks to all your hard work. Internships and summer courses and work studies have stolen you away for so long that Bucky has nearly forgotten what your laugh sounds like. 

Until he hears it echoing off the trees outside, like a long-forgotten favorite song.

Bucky abandons Steve while he loads up the fridge with groceries (aka beer and liquor), and jogs out onto the front porch.

Coming down the dirt path is a small group of Steve's cousins, laughing boisterously, talking plans for the three weeks ahead at the cabin. A flash of hair catches Bucky's eye. You have an arm slung over your older cousin’s shoulders, laughing along with the rest.

Your smile is exactly the same, but it fits your face better now, Bucky notices. You look… grown up. The untamed spirit of your youth still lives in your eyes, but you’ve matured considerably elsewhere. 

He can’t help the way his eyes wander to your frayed jean shorts and the way they hug your hips, the expanse of thigh that lays below their ripped hemline. He tries to pulls his gaze away, but it lands on your freckled shoulders, your tank top, the neckline that slopes down to frame breasts that developed quite nicely while you’ve been away.

Bucky looks down at his feet, feeling like the world’s biggest creep.

Steve had made him promise years ago to never touch you. It was long enough ago that Bucky had never even thought he’d have to worry about keeping it. Bucky wouldn’t have dreamed of it — you were Steve's kid sister. You were never even on his radar in that way before.

Suffice to say, his radar is definitely picking you up now.

“Bucky!”

He glances up to see you running full tilt towards him, bounding up the steps with your smile overtaking your whole face. You crash into him, your arms looping around his neck in a tight embrace. Bucky stumbles back slightly from the force of it, and his hands find your waist to steady you as he huffs a laugh.

He breathes you in, sunscreen and clean sweat and something fruity that makes his mouth water. You give him a squeeze, holding on for a few beats before releasing him.

Your eyes still have that familiar, impish sparkle. “Hi.”

“Long time, no see,” he drawls, trying to keep his eyes where they won’t get him into trouble. It doesn't work.

A large hand claps him on the shoulder, startling Bucky. Steve shoves past him and sweeps you up into a hug, spinning you around in greeting while you squeal and laugh.

It only serves to remind him of his promise. Bucky sighs and rubs the back of his neck. It's gonna be a long couple of weeks.

You have been hopelessly in love with Bucky Barnes since you were nine years old. Since the time your cousin had wrestled you into the dirt and Bucky nearly put his lights out, then cleaned the scrape on your knee with great care.

He’d never noticed you that way, and you’d resigned yourself to that a long time ago. Mostly.

You threw yourself into your studies with zeal and occasionally entertained the idea of a boyfriend. They never lasted long — A, because they were a distraction, and B, because they weren’t Bucky Barnes. Not their fault, but not something you could tolerate, either.

But now, school is behind you. For now, at least. You had been toying with the idea of a masters, but right now the idea of more school makes you want to puke. You have three weeks ahead of you with no books, no plans, no demands or schedule.

Just your family and friends and Bucky.

The moment your eyes meet his on the front porch of the cabin, you can tell something has shifted.

His hands are warm on your waist even though your clothes, and the way he looks at you makes you preen a little with satisfaction. I'm a woman now, Bucky. Surprised?

He, on the other hand, hasn’t changed a bit. He still has that slightly grown in stubble and those infuriating muscles that he started sporting in high school, much to the chagrin of your raging hormones at the time. The only thing that is different about him is the glimmer of interest in his expression, interest that has never once been directed at you before.

Every time his eyes stray towards you that afternoon, it feels like glitter rushing through your veins, shimmering and hot. You feel it everywhere.

Once everyone is sufficiently unpacked, the group loads up a cooler of drinks and grabs their bikes. The plan being to head down to the pier and watch the sunset, as a reward for a long day of driving.

You hang off the back of Bucky's bike like you’ve done a thousand times before, your feet on the rear axel pegs, your hands on his shoulders. But this time, his shoulders flex lightly underneath your touch, his jaw ticks when you lean down to speak into his ear, and he keeps his eyes firmly on the road despite your attempts to distract him.

At the pier, the sun turns everything gold and red, slowly descending to kiss its reflection in the water. You glance at Bucky to find him already looking at you, and he quickly turns his head away, caught.

You grin and take a swig of your beer. This is going to be fun.

Bucky is being tested. He's sure of it.

That night, he stares at the ceiling in the top bunk until exhaustion pulls him under. He tries and fails to think of anything other than you. Those eyes. That mouth. Those thighs peeking out from those god-forsaken shorts. 

In the morning, he climbs down the ladder, creeps past Steve snoring softly on the bottom bunk, and out to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast for the group. He'd gotten the short straw last night, so no rest for the wicked.

The living room is littered with sleeping bodies. There's only so many beds in the cabin, and they were first come, first serve. Which had resulted in you and two of your female cousins crashing on a large air mattress in a tangle of limbs.

In the adjoining kitchen, Bucky earnestly tries to keep his eyes to himself. But you’re splayed out on the air mattress, in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that has ridden up your stomach and flimsy pajama shorts that leave nothing to the imagination.

When Bucky starts on the bacon and pancakes, the noise stirs you. You stretch, your t-shirt riding up even higher, letting out a soft little groan that doesn’t help his morning wood in the slightest. He fixes his attention on the pan and resolves to keep it there.

It wanders anyway. When it does, he finds you looking right back at him from where you lay on the mattress, watching him with interest and a little amusement. His first instinct is to immediately look away, the way he did yesterday. But he doesn’t want you to know how much you’ve rattled him, so he holds your gaze for a beat before returning his focus to flipping pancakes.

He thinks that’ll be the end of it, but of course it isn’t. Before long, you untangle yourself from your cousins, who groan in protest and roll over as you stand. Bucky can hear the sound of your bare feet padding across the wooden floor toward the kitchen.

“Morning,” you greet him in a slightly gravelly morning voice.

“Morning,” he replies casually.

“That smells so good.” You pluck a grape from the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter and pop it into your mouth. “I’m starving.”

A muscle ticks in Bucky's jaw. He's not sure what’s worse — if you’re unaware of the effect you’re having on him, or if you are aware, and doing it on purpose.

“It’ll be ready in a few,” he declares, pouring the last of the pancake batter into the pan. “So, you enjoying your freedom from school?”

“Definitely.” You hoist yourself up to sit on the counter, placing yourself very much in the way, but Bucky doesn’t have the heart to ask you to move. especially when the position grants him another tempting view of your thighs.

“You miss me?” you purr, playfully nudging his hip with your foot.

He doesn’t take the bait. Flipping pancakes is simple, so that’s what he does. “Of course I missed you. The place isn’t the same without you.”

You smile, and Bucky gets stuck on it momentarily. A moment passes, tense and delicious at the same time. You just watch him, content to wait, to sit in the tension winding tighter between you.

Bucky reaches up by your head, opening a cabinet and fetching a plate. His hip brushes the outside of your knee, and he doesn’t move away immediately.

“You planning on helping, or are you just gonna sit there staring?”

“I’m appreciating the view,” you counter, your eyes dragging over his frame as you steal another grape from the bowl.

A chuckle slips out of him at your boldness. “You're trouble, you know that?”

Your eyebrow ticks, a silent dare.

And then Steve stumbles in, bleary eyed, and the moment shatters.

“Please tell me there’s coffee,” Steve mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

As inconspicuously as possible, Bucky shifts a respectable distance away from you to plate the bacon and quietly clears his throat. “By the microwave,” he says.

Steve doesn’t appear to have noticed the atmosphere he walked into, but Bucky still scolds himself internally. You make it way too easy for him to forget where he is, forget his promises and responsibilities to his friend. Too easy to forget that he shouldn’t be looking at you like that in the first place.

He shoves all of it down and brings plates of breakfast out to the picnic tables outside, leaving you and your dangling legs and sharp eyes behind.

“Hey.”

Bucky's voice rings out from behind you, into the open air of the night. You turn to see him descending the cabin steps, towards where you’re sitting on top of a picnic table, your feet resting on the bench. 

You'd come out here to be alone, just to have a quiet moment, while the muffled sounds of laughter and celebration from the cabin underscore your solitude. But you find that you don’t mind having your solitude disrupted, if Bucky is the one to do it.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” he asks, circling the table to face you.

You glance up at the sky. “Too much light pollution at school to really see the stars. Thought I'd remind myself what they look like.”

It really is a sight to see. Swirls of stars glittering in the dark expanse, configurations and constellations you never get to see in the city. All around, crickets chirp and cicadas sing, a familiar song floating on the balmy summer air.

Bucky looks up right along with you, just as appreciatively. Even with several feet of space between you, you can feel that tension that’s been winding tighter ever since you arrived yesterday. You wonder why he came out here tonight. If he came to find you.

“I thought all you boys were playing beer pong,” you say with an arched brow.

Bucky smiles sheepishly, as if he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. From within his pockets, he produces a joint and a lighter. “I’m being selfish. Don't tell on me.”

“I can keep a secret,” you reply conspiratorially as you pat the space beside you on the picnic table. “C’mere.”

He hesitates, and you wait ever-patiently, watching him carefully as his brain wars with itself until he finally gives in. Keeping a careful distance — not too far to be cold, but not close enough to touch — he sits beside you and sparks up.

The cherry of the joint glows in the darkness as he takes a drag, and tendrils of smoke curl out from behind his lips when he exhales. Bucky looks briefly surprised when you reach for the joint, plucking it from his grasp to take a drag of your own.

Smoking isn’t new for you — you’ve indulged a handful of times at the handful of college parties you’d attended between school obligations. But seeing you smoke, smoking with you, is very new to Bucky. Hypnotized, he watches your lips as they wrap around the joint, where his mouth had just been. He only manages to break his gaze away when you breathe out and let the current of smoke escape.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If Steve knew I was getting his little sister high, he’d beat my ass.”

Your older brother is the last subject you want to discuss right now. You pass the joint back to him, letting your hand linger just a little against his. “What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Following up on that comment feels a little too dangerous, and so the two of you sit in silence for a moment, passing the joint back and forth underneath the canopy of smoke and stars.

Before long, you start to feel it. That slight, pleasant heaviness in your limbs, that heightening of your senses. That warm, fuzzy feeling settling over your mind. The high is better here, in this place that has known you since you were a child, shared with someone you’re completely at ease with. You shift closer to him, your knee bumping his.

“This is nice,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” he agrees, something bittersweet in his tone. “Real nice.” 

“Just like old times.”

“I can think of a few things that are different,” he chuckles.

“Such as?” you ask, deftly snatching the joint back from him.

“You’ve grown up.” He looks at you pointedly as you take a long drag. “Quite a bit. It's kinda…complicating things for me.”

You hadn’t expected him to own up to it like that, this newfound attraction. You turn to him, passing back the joint, head tilted in curiosity. “Complicating things how?”

He fidgets with the joint between his fingers, as if he’s debating what to say or how to say it. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re warm and dark and full of want.

“Steve made me promise. That I wouldn't touch you. That I wouldn't even look at you that way.”

You hadn’t known about this, not really. But it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Steve has always been protective of you, even when he didn’t have to be.

“What do you call how you’re looking at me now?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Complicated.” 

His gaze drops to your mouth and stays there. The night seems to fold around the two of you, heavy and hot and close.

You shift closer to him, your thigh now pressing against his.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Buck,” you murmur as you slowly lean into him. “I don’t need a big brother to protect me. I can make my own decisions.”

For a fleeting moment, you’re close enough to breathe the same air as Bucky, lips nearly brushing his. But then he pulls away, gets to his feet, runs a hand through his hair as he looks firmly at the ground.

“I can’t. I'm sorry.”

You don’t have the chance to say anything else, because he walks with quick strides up the cabin steps, disappearing through the screen door. The joint lays on the picnic table beside you, half-smoked and smoldering.

You sigh, frustrated, head in your hands.

Bucky should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it. Maybe if he had never said anything at all to you, it would have been easier. But now it’s out in the open, and you seem to be intent on torturing him.

It’s already difficult to avoid your presence, with everyone cramped into one cabin. Even still, you’re almost always in his orbit, your laughter in the air around him, your eyes occasionally finding his across bonfires and picnic tables. Then there’s the seemingly endless parade of tiny shorts and barely-there tops and strappy little sundresses. He's sure Steve will catch him staring at some point, because he just can’t seem to keep his gaze from wandering in your direction, snagging on whatever new inch of exposed skin he finds there.

At the end of each day, Bucky forces himself under the cold stream of the shower, shamefully stroking his cock as he tries in vain to think of anything other than your hands on his skin and the way you’d looked at him that night.

On the fourth day, the group heads down to the lake for a proper swim. Bucky finds himself woefully unprepared for the toll it takes on his sanity.

The trek down to the lake isn’t long, but with the noonday sun high in the sky, everyone is sweating by the time you arrive down at the dock. Clothes are eagerly shed in favor of sinking into the cool lake water. You waste no time, pulling your tank top overhead and wiggling out of your shorts.

It's not the first time Bucky has seen you in a bathing suit. But that was a different time, a different you. Gone are the sweet little one-piece swimsuits of your youth, replaced by a very enticing little bikini. Every curve of your body that the passage of time has wrought is on full display. Of course, you catch him staring, and you smile coyly before catapulting yourself off the end of the dock and into the water.

You resurface, laughing and gasping, as Bucky sets down the cooler and removes his shirt. He doesn’t have to look to know you’re watching, but he does anyway. He sees you floating on your back, observing him with a siren’s gaze.

Behind him, Steve smacks a mutual friend in the back of the head for staring at you. “That’s my sister, man,” he warns.

Bucky's chest tightens with lingering guilt, and he hopes against hope that the water will cool the afternoon off, so to speak.

Wishful thinking.

Everyone else whiles away the hours laughing and splashing and relaxing, while Bucky is wound tight as a spring. He watches as Steve hoists you onto his shoulders, watches you squeal in delight as he tosses you into the water, and remembers the times when things could be easy and fun with you, in that way. But he can’t seem to trust himself around you anymore. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, sick of himself.

He sits on the edge of the dock, feet dangling into the water, a beer in his hands that is rapidly turning tepid from the summer heat. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots you hoisting yourself out of the water and onto the dock, lake water sluicing off your body. Bucky peels the label off the bottle and stares at the horizon while you dry yourself off.

A nudge at his shoulder grabs his attention. You’re standing over him, a bottle of sunscreen in your hand and a smirk on your lips.

“Could you get my back?”

Swallowing with difficulty, he looks back out towards the water where Steve and three other cabinmates are engaged in a game of chicken. He appears otherwise distracted, and it would be weirder of Bucky to refuse than just help you. It's an innocent enough activity, after all. Or it should be.

Bucky sighs and turns towards you, taking the bottle from your hands as you sit down in front of him.

You pull your damp hair over your shoulder and out of the way, glancing back at him. Bucky squeezes a dollop of sunscreen into his palm and begins to apply it to your shoulders. He works in silence and keeps his touch perfunctory, but he can’t help but note the warmth and softness of your skin.

His hands work lower and lower, until he has to slip his fingers beneath the strap of your swimsuit. He's a gentleman about it and doesn’t linger longer than he needs to, though he can feel a flush creeping into his face.

It’s so quiet for a moment that when you speak, it almost startles him. “Are you planning on ignoring me the whole rest of the trip?”

“I'm not ignoring you,” Bucky counters.

“Bucky.” You shoot him a skeptical look over your shoulder. “I've known you for, like, two thirds of my life. I can tell when you’re lying.”

Bucky sighs again as he finishes working the sunscreen into your lower back and lets his hands fall away. “What do you want me to do?”

You turn towards him. “I think you already know,” you reply smartly, with an arch of your brow.

“Jesus, I mean…” He rubs his temple, looking everywhere but at you. “I already told you why this can’t happen,” he says quietly.

You huff in annoyance and pick up the bottle of sunscreen off the dock. “Well, I think your little bro code is stupid.”

Bucky chuckles under his breath in spite of himself at your bluntness.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you turn him until he’s facing away from you and begin to apply sunscreen to his back now, without having been asked. Bucky grows very still underneath your touch, trying desperately not to be affected by it. It's not really working.

“You made your little promise when I was… what, fourteen?” you continue. “We're both adults now.”

Bucky frowns. “Steve is my friend.”

“Steve is a big boy. He'll get over it.”

Bucky feels your hand run along his spine, nails dragging slightly, and he hates the way his cock stirs at the feeling.

“I’m not gonna touch you,” he says firmly. “Not like that.”

“You don’t want to?” You’re closer now, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your body inches from his back, your breath at his ear.

Bucky takes a deep, steadying breath. “It's not about what I want.”

Finally, your hands leave him, and Bucky doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed.

“Maybe it should be,” you muse softly, before getting to your feet and diving back into the water.

It's nearing the end of the first week. You've been so very, very patient. But you’re done waiting around for Bucky to stop torturing himself over nothing.

After dinner, everyone gathers around the bonfire to make s’mores for dessert. And you’re on a mission. 

You take up the seat directly across from him instead of next to him, where you know you’ll be right in his eyeline all night. And as soon as the marshmallows come out, you put on a show.

For Steve's sake, as well as your cousins, you keep it on the subtle side. You craft a s’more in a less-than-neat fashion, so naturally it makes a bit of a mess as you eat. And naturally, it leaves a few stray smears of chocolate and melted marshmallow on your fingers. And there’s no harm in licking away the evidence, not among friends and family. You're very thorough about it, not missing a single sticky morsel.

As you drag the pad of your thumb along the corner of your mouth and close your lips around it, you glance at Bucky across the fire pit.

Admittedly, he’s doing an admirable job of keeping it together in front of Steve, but the tell is in his eyes. They're hungry, and they don’t waver when they connect with yours. It almost makes you shiver, despite the balmy temperature, and it makes you press your thighs together on instinct.

Because you know you’ve got him — hook, line, and sinker.

Phase two begins. You announce to your cousin sitting next to you that you’re heading inside to wash your hands. You make meaningful eye contact with Bucky as you stand. You turn to walk up the front steps of the cabin, screen door swinging shut behind you.

And you wait, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

Bucky is going to hell. He's sure of it. His fate is sealed as soon as he walks up the front steps.

But he does anyway, two minutes after you left the bonfire. It's a small consolation that no one seems to notice when he slips away.

He closes the screen door quietly, aware that this is probably the point of no return, his last chance to turn around and preserve his friendship with Steve from unnecessary risk.

He doesn’t turn back.

Light glows from the crack underneath the bathroom door down the hall. Swallowing back his nerves, he raps his knuckles softly on the door.

The door swings open, revealing you, excitement and a hint of smugness glittering in your eyes. You reach for his hand and gently pull him through the doorframe, and he shuts it behind him.

His back meets the cool wood seconds after, and his lips meet yours in a tangle of heat and desperation. 

You still taste sweet from your little performance with the s’more, the smell of woodsmoke clinging to your skin. Bucky expects you to at least play at innocence first, but there is nothing innocent about this. It’s immediately filthy, your tongue in his mouth and your hands in his hair and your entire body pressed against his.

His hands find your hips, partly to steady himself and partly to bring you even closer. He tells himself that he’s going to stop, that he just needs a taste of you and then he can go back out there like nothing happened. But you moan softly against his mouth, and he can already feel himself getting addicted.

Bucky had already been half-hard at the bonfire, watching you suck your fingers clean right in front of everyone without an ounce of shame. Now, as your lips wander across his jaw and down his neck, as you subtly rock your hips against his thigh, it feels like all the blood is rushing out of his brain and straight to his cock. He’s harder than he’s been this entire trip so far, which is saying something, because he’s been very hard, very often.

You reach for the button and zipper on his pants, and it snaps Bucky back to reality for a split second. He still has a chance to stop, to be the good guy, to not let this go any further.

“Baby,” he pants. “I can’t—“

“You're not touching me.” Holding his gaze, you slip your hand past the waistband of his boxers and wrap your fingers around his cock. “I'm touching you. It's okay.”

It’s more following the letter than the spirit of the law. but when you stroke him, slow and firm from base to tip and back again, Bucky’s head thuds back against the wood of the door. He knows he’s not going to stop you. He's already going to hell, so he might as well enjoy the perks.

Once you’ve successfully freed him from the confines of his shorts, you sink to your knees in front of him. Bucky's eyes widen as he looks down at you. Fuck, he really is going to hell, because he’s about to let you do this. He’s about to let you suck his cock, all while your brother sits right outside the cabin, unaware.

Your hand slowly works him as you experimentally swirl your tongue around the tip, and Bucky lets out a shuddering breath. “Jesus, you’re—“

The words die on his lips as you lick a long stripe along the underside of him, stroking a particularly sensitive vein. He lets out a startled moan, his hand finding your hair of its own accord.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

You don’t tease him for long. Perhaps you sense that he’s too worked up for that, or perhaps you know time is limited before someone comes looking for one of you. Soon enough, you take him fully into your mouth, sinking down slowly.

Bucky watches, hypnotized. “Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face so he can watch how his cock sinks into the wet heat of your mouth, how your perfect lips wrap around him like you were made to ruin him. “Gorgeous.”

You moan around him, the vibration traveling down his cock and settling into his bones. His abs twitch and his hand tightens in your hair, and Bucky can tell this is going to be a pathetic showing of his stamina. You've barely started, and already he’s starting to lose it.

Your head begins to bob, finding a rhythm as you work to take him further and further down your throat, applying the perfect amount of suction on the uptake. Bucky has to make a considerable effort to keep quiet, lest everyone outside hear exactly what the two of you are doing. 

Eventually, you take a long breath to prepare and take him so deep, your nose brushes the hair at the base of his cock. For a brief moment, Bucky wonders where you learned this, who you’d practiced on at school, and the thought turns him a little bit feral.

You stay where you are for a moment, your throat tensing and relaxing as you struggle to accommodate him. And all of a sudden, Bucky becomes a man possessed.

His other hand tangles into your hair alongside the first. his hips twitching with the effort of keeping still, and he begs in a wrecked voice, “Sweetheart, please, I need— I need to—“

Your hands slip to the backs of his thighs, squeezing lightly as you hum your encouragement.

With your permission granted, Bucky takes control. With his hands fisted in your hair, he fucks your face with with as much control as he can muster. He’s far gone, but not quite far enough where he can bear the idea of really hurting you.

You gaze up at him with hazy, dark eyes as you let him use you, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth as he feeds his cock down your throat.

“That's it,” Bucky groans, low and filthy. “You take it so fuckin’ good.”

He starts to lose the fight for control, his thrusts becoming a little rougher, a little sloppier. Tears collect at the corners of those wide eyes, and he can feel and hear you gag around him.

“I know, honey, I’m sorry, I — I’m almost done,” he gasps, teetering on the edge, guilt and shame and arousal swirling in his gut. 

You gag again, and even though Bucky is seconds away from finishing, he loosens his grip on your head to give you room to pull away. He warns you in a strangled voice, “I’m gonna come, baby, fuck—“

Your grip tightens on the back of his thighs. Stubborn and determined in spite of your need for air, you take him down your throat again, eyes locked on his. Bucky shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle his groan as he comes down your throat, shuddering as he feels you gag and swallow around him. You take every single drop, only pulling off when there’s nothing left to take. You cough and gasp for air and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Bucky gazes down at you in disbelief — you on your knees in front of him, hair wrecked, face flushed, lips swollen. Guilt surging hot through his veins, he gently helps you to your feet.

“Honey, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Don’t be.” Those lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

“You taste even nicer than I thought.”

Bucky stands there in shock as you stretch up onto your toes to kiss him again, and he moans softly when he tastes himself on you. He responds with just as much enthusiasm, just as much hunger as before, in spite of how thoroughly you’ve wrecked him. 

You pull away first, and he chases after your lips, still starving for more of you. Gently pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, you murmur, “People are gonna be wondering where we are.”

His arms tighten around your waist as he protests, “What about you?”

“Later.” 

Bucky hisses as you gently tuck him back into his shorts, straightening out his clothes and hair with a smile.

“Meet me at the dock after everyone’s asleep.”

You turn to the mirror and fix your own face, smoothing out your hair to look slightly less debauched.

“Okay,” Bucky replies, a little bewildered.

Nudging him out of the way, you pull the door open, looking much more composed than he feels. “Wait a couple minutes before you follow me out.”

You slip out of the bathroom without another word.

When Bucky finally leaves the bathroom, he grabs another six pack of beer and tries not to look too visibly shaken as he heads back out of the cabin. You're already laughing with the group like the past five minutes didn’t even happen. Steve throws an arm around Bucky’s shoulders when he sits back down, and it seems that nobody suspects a thing.

When your eyes meet his across the fire pit, they still glimmer with mischief and desire and the promise of more to come. And Bucky can already feel his body stirring in response, his hunger for you only momentarily sated. 

It's only the beginning.

The moon is a spotlight on the water as you look out from the dock.

The bonfire smoldered out about two hours ago, and you’d snuck out almost an hour ago after your cousins had collapsed onto the air mattress, exhausted. The night air is cooler than it has been, a breeze coaxing goosebumps up the back of your neck. 

And you wait. It's made tolerable by the fact that you know you won’t be waiting much longer.

Underneath the cicada’s song, you hear footsteps coming down the path. Bucky approaches, clad in a hoodie and pajama pants, looking almost shy with his hands in his pockets. A thrill of excitement runs down your spine just at the sight of him.

You lean back on your hands, looking him over openly. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I'm not that much of an asshole,” He chuckles sheepishly. Walking about halfway down the dock towards you, he stops for a moment, still hesitating after everything that has passed between you.

It's a little endearing and, at the same time, almost frustrating. Most of all, it makes you hungry. 

“You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna come kiss me?” you ask, a smile playing at your lips.

Bucky rises to the challenge, closing the distance and sitting next to you on the wooden dock. He reaches out a careful hand, brushing your hair back from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture, considering what transpired in the bathroom earlier. Maybe because of it. Maybe he feels a little guilty about it, though you know he shouldn't. He wouldn’t feel that way if he knew how much it had turned you on.

This time, he kisses you first, slow and sweet and entirely too patient for how long you’ve been waiting for this.

Your fingers curl into his hoodie, pulling him closer. You invite him in, opening your mouth for him and letting out a soft whimper when he accepts the invitation, his tongue sliding against yours. 

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to turn messy, needy, heated. You’re not sure whose idea it is for you to climb into his lap, who exactly initiated that particular move. But there you are, your hips flush against him, his cock already rising to the occasion and pressing where you’ve been aching for him all night.

“You got any idea,” he mumbles against your lips, “how crazy you’ve made me these last few days?”

You pull back with a smirk.

“Consider it payback.”

“Payback for what?”

“All those years I was following you around like a lovesick puppy,” you explain as you play with the strings of his hoodie, “and you didn’t even look in my direction.”

“Yeah?” For the first time since the two of you arrived at the cabin, he breaks out into that boyish grin you’ve always adored, the one that made you fall for him in the first place. He leans in and kisses the soft skin just below your jaw. “You had a crush on me?”

“Don't pretend you didn’t know, you dick!” You smack his chest playfully, fighting a sigh as he drags his lips along your neck. You can feel the ghost of that smile against your skin as he laughs softly.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes. “I might have had an inkling.” Another kiss, this one pressed to the hollow beneath your ear, earning another quiet whimper from you. “But I didn’t want to encourage you.”

You like how playful he’s being with you now. It's how things always should have been between you — easy, familiar, natural, without all that guilt in the way. Without your brother’s masculine pride and overprotective nature looming over your heads.

“This is pretty encouraging,” you reply breathlessly, rolling your hips against his. His hard cock grinds into your clit through the layers of clothing between you, and you both gasp nearly in unison.

“Jesus.” Bucky grasps your hips to still you, looking at you seriously for a moment. “If we do this… we can’t tell Steve."

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You wish he’d let you move again, but his eyes grow worried. “I don't… I don't have anything with me. I wasn't exactly expecting...”

Leaning to press a brief kiss to his lips, you whisper, “I'm clean. And on the pill.”

His eyes darken with want. “You really have grown up, sweetheart,” he remarks, chasing after your lips again.

Bucky loosens his grip on you, and his breath hitches as you slowly grind in his lap again.

“I’m clean, too,” he murmurs, pulling back far enough to get a good look at your face. “But only if you’re sure.”

You nod as you reach for the zipper of his hoodie. “I’m sure.”

You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life.

Bucky generously allows you to remove his hoodie and tug off his shirt, even more generously allows you to look your fill. You’ve seen him shirtless probably dozens of times over the years, but it never fails to spark your excitement. You run your hands down his chest, his abs, your nails dragging just slightly. He groans under his breath, the sound an echo of the ones he’d made in the bathroom.

Only now, the two of you don’t have to be quiet. You're far enough away from the cabin that your moans are swallowed up by the cicadas in the trees.

Warm, calloused fingers curl beneath the hem of your t-shirt as Bucky's lips brush against your sternum. He peels the garment off of you, his eyes full of wonder and desire as he takes them over your bare chest. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, cupping your breasts in each hand.

His mouth descends to one, his hand idly exploring the other, and your gasp pierces the night air. You've waited years, a decade and some change, for him to touch you like this. His tongue carefully strokes your nipple, and it makes you ache and pulse and want him so badly you can barely breathe right.

You want to let him take his time, to stretch this moment as long as it can last. But his ministrations soon have you rocking rhythmically in his lap, seeking relief as the ache between your legs builds.

“Bucky,” you whimper, “please.” 

Bucky reluctantly breaks away from worshipping your chest, and a small crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment, you worry that the old hesitation is back, that things will stall.

“Just… gimme a second here,” he mumbles as he reaches for his hoodie.

He shifts you off his lap and spreads the hoodie out on the cool wood of the dock. Then he guides you backwards until you’re laid on top of it. The gesture makes you giggle affectionately.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease.

But he doesn’t laugh. He wears a hangdog expression as he leans over you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I'm sorry. You deserve nicer than this.”

You tilt your head. You're exactly where you want to be. What could be nicer than this?

Sensing your confusion, he rubs the back of his neck and addresses the trees. “Inside, in a real bed. Not a secret hookup in the middle of the woods.”

You can see the guilt, the shame resurfacing his eyes, and you’ll have none of that. So you reach up and take his face in your hands.

“Bucky. Look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly.

“This is perfect. I'm under the stars, in my favorite place in the world, with someone I trust.” You weave your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, hoping that honesty will break through the guilt. Softly, you amend your statement. “Someone I love.”

It might be too much, but it’s true. You've loved him for practically your whole life. As a friend, and as more than a friend. As a fixture in your life as constant as the sun. And it feels right to tell him, even though part of you is worried that it could ruin everything.

Bucky is silent for a moment, realization filling his eyes. There's something else, too — something like discovery, like finding something.

The silence extends long enough that it starts to make you nervous.

“Too much?” you ask, so quiet it barely disturbs the night air.

“No,” Bucky replies. “Not at all.”

His mouth dips to meet yours again, and you don’t even mind that he doesn’t say it back. You know that he loves you, even if it’s not the exact same way, and you can feel how he wants you. That's more than enough. 

Fingers slip past the waistband of your pajama shorts, past the fabric of your underwear, until they drag through the slick mess gathered between your legs. The sound you make in response is equal parts relief and need.

Ever the gentleman, Bucky works you open, not exactly rushing, but not exactly taking his sweet time either. You can feel how bad he wants this as his hard cock nudges at your thigh, that he wants this just as bad as you do.

Then he drags your shorts and underwear down, down, until you’re naked underneath him, under the stars and the moon, in the open night air where anyone could see you if they happened to walk by. You don’t give a damn in the slightest, because Bucky is looking at you like you invented having a body, like he can’t believe you’re real.

At last, Bucky settles between your legs, shoving his pajama pants down just far enough to free himself. A slow drag of his cock against you coats him in your wetness, both of you panting in anticipation.

 Carefully as he can manage, he pushes inside, and you gasp at the sudden fullness. It's overwhelming and right and everything you knew it would be.

Bucky's forehead drops to your shoulder, clearly struggling to keep it together, breath ragged. “Jesus christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“You feel so —“ You cut yourself off with a moan when he moves, hips withdrawing and then snapping them into yours, driving himself into you. “—so good, Buck.”

“Baby,” he nearly growls, hips snapping perfectly against yours once again, “you feel like you were made for me.”

As he moves inside you, everything else disappears — the trees, the dock underneath you, the stars above you. You could be in a five star hotel, as far as you’re concerned. You're on cloud nine, because after years of dreaming of this moment, it’s finally real. Bucky on top of you, inside of you, his moans and encouragement and endless praise on your ear. Every sound, every word, every thrust driving you closer and closer to climax.

His hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit and making your body arch beneath him as he rubs tight little circles into it. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, your pleasure climbing higher and higher. His words turn to stream-of-consciousness, rambles of pleasure and praise.

Somewhere in the middle of it, something slips out that sends you reeling through space.

“So good,” he groans softly, his mouth lowering to taste the sweat on your neck. “Love you so much, honey.”

You’re not sure if he even meant to say it out loud, but the effect is immediate and all-consuming. You clutch him against you, your heart swelling, your lips crying his name as you come apart around him. 

A wrecked moan spills out of him as his rhythm falters, thrusts turning sloppy and rough. “Fuck, i’m close,” he pants, his eyes finding yours. “You want me to—“

“Inside,” you beg, clutching him tighter, aftershocks of pleasure still pulsing through you. “Please, I want it.”

With a shudder and a curse, he buries himself inside you, hot pulses of his spend filling you as he thrusts shallowly to push it deeper. You feel claimed, marked, owned. What a glorious thing, to be claimed by him. You think if you could see yourself from the outside, you’d be glowing all over like a bonfire.

As the two of you come back to yourselves, Bucky brushes a tender kiss against your jaw and carefully pulls out of you. He rolls off of you, his back meeting the wood of the dock, his chest still heaving as he recovers.

For a few moments, the two of you stare up at the glittering sky, the reality of the situation settling in now that the intensity of sensation wanes.

You turn, curling into his side, and his arm drifts around you on instinct, natural as breathing.

“Did you… did you mean it?” you ask quietly.

It could have been the heat of the moment, and you wouldn’t blame him if it had been. People say all kinds of things when they’re about to come, things that look different in the afterglow and in the light of day. You know he cares about you. But you need to know how much truth lived in those words.

“Yeah.” He looks down at you, his eyes so soft and affectionate that it almost makes you want to climb on top of him again. His hand finds yours, fingers weaving together and resting against his chest. “I did.”

That's when it sinks in. This isn’t a one-time, clandestine rendezvous in the woods that you’ll both carry to the grave. It’s not something that will fade in the daylight. It will repeat itself. It will make demands. It will not keep to the shadows. It will not be easy to hide.

You sigh. “We have to tell Steve, don’t we?”

Bucky's sigh mirrors yours. “Yeah.”

“He’s gonna kill you.”

“Yeah.” 

His lips brush against the crown of your head, his voice already resigned to his fate. “Still worth it.”

It seems like every single university student has had the same idea of deciding to reduce their carbon footprint today, with everyone cramped in the same bus that you are in.

After a few “excuse me's”, you find refuge in a less crowded area and lean against the wall whilst you wait for the bus to get to your stop.

With the automated voice announcing your stop, a large chunk of the crowd gets off and you finally have enough personal space for the first time in twenty minutes.

You step down the steps, with your phone in hand whilst you follow the online map on your phone. The next instruction from your phone's map is to cross the road and like the law abiding citizen you are, you wait at the pedestrian crossing until the little man at the traffic light turns green.

With the sound of loud beeping filling the street, you walk towards the opposite side of the crossing. The map orientates itself whilst you change direction and another loud, blaring sound fills your ears.

Looking up to the cause of the sound, a speedy white car drives towards you. Running towards safety, you check the little man at the crossing, only to see that he is happily glowing green without a care in the world.

So much for a good start to the first day of university.

Walking up to the entrance, your eyes scan the building walls for a sign showing all the information about the rooms in the building. But just as lady luck would have it, nothing of said sign is found.

With loud conversations coming at you from left and right and your patience running thin, you decide to spare yourself more pain and walk up to the nearest person, praying silently that they know where your room is.

“Excuse me?” You tap the shoulder of a tall, black haired student. “Do you know where lecture hall C5 is?”

“Sorry, do you mind repeating that? It’s hard to hear what you’re saying over all this noise.” He asks, bringing his ear closer to you.

“Do you know where lecture hall C5 is?” You repeat, making your voice louder.

“It’s on the fifth floor, get on the lift, take a left and you should get there.” The man points to a set of grey, shiny doors and you quickly thank him before running off into the lift.

The lift stops at the fifth floor after picking up and dropping off people at every single floor and as soon as the doors open, you squeeze past others on the lift, mumbling a few apologies before dashing to the left to get to your room.

Doors are plastered with signs that all begin with E, but no C5. You do a quick 360 degree spin, only to be met with more rooms that are also E. Checking the time on your watch, you feel your heart sink knowing that the lecture has officially started.

There goes your chance at making a good first impression, you will forever be known as the student who was late on the first day. You sigh and walk back to the lift doors.

Your eyes wander and you find yourself finally looking at the information board. Level 3: lecture halls C1 to C31. Better late than never.

Heart pounding, you slowly open the door in an attempt to not draw attention to yourself but it betrays you, making a loud squeaking sound that proudly announces your presence. Bracing yourself for an embarrassing conversation with the professor in front of the whole class, you anxiously hold your breath.

But the professor says nothing, only staring at you with their eyebrow raised at your terrible punctuality before continuing on about something to do with what textbooks they recommend borrowing from the library.

Your eyes search the area for a free seat, finding one at the opposite end of the row that you're standing next to. “Excuse me, sorry, can I get through please?” You quietly ask, feeling the embarrassment wash over you.

The person looks up to face you, and all embarrassment is quickly replaced with anger. It’s the guy who gave the wrong directions to this room.

He shakes his head, frowning at you before grabbing his backpack to make space for you to squeeze through the little space for you to get to the free seat at the end of the row.

What kind of ass of a person gives someone the wrong directions and proceeds to act cocky?

Making it to the end of the row, you sit down on the free chair with a growing feeling that you found someone to keep an eye out for.

The hour quickly ends, filled with what to expect during the upcoming academic year, to who you can go to if you need any extra support. Everyone makes a beeline for the exit, eager to make friends on the first day.

But you? You follow the person who has ruined the first impression that the professor has of you.

Petty? Without a doubt. But extremely necessary.

“Excuse me?” You tap the shoulder of a familiar black buttoned up man who turns around. “I understand medical school is competitive and all, but don't you think it's completely unnecessary to purposely lead a fellow medical student to the wrong room on the very first day?”

“I'm sorry, but were you not the person who asked a fellow student for directions? Don't you think you should have asked a receptionist or at least have better observational skills on an important day like this? Maybe then, you wouldn't have needed to ask me in such a crowded corridor and misheard me.” He sighs.

“It might be difficult for you to believe, but I am not the type of person who would purposely sabotage someone else over a matter like this.” Despite this being your second conversation with him, you tell that he was being genuine.

But you’re too far deep into hating him. “Well then,” You glance at the name tag stuck on his chest.

“Zayne Li. Why did you shake your head at me when I came in late?” You cross your arms over your chest. “How am I meant to believe you? This is our second conversation after all. How are you going to prove it?”

“I had a neck cramp. But if you don't believe me, then that's on you. I know that I’m right and somewhere deep down, you know it too. Now if you will excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” He says, adjusting his backpack straps and makes his way to the exit.

“Does anyone have any questions?” The professor asks, pulling the microphone away from her mouth but not quick enough for a quiet sigh to reach the speakers.

The rest of the class groan and some place their heads on the desks, as they prepare themselves to stay back for an extra ten minutes.

Your hand shoots up quickly and you try to find a certain someone’s hand somewhere in the large crowd of people. The professor gestures for you to ask first. “Do you have any extra resources that you recommend for extra reading?”

“Yes, it will be attached to the email when I send out next week’s readings.” She says and points to Zayne.

“Do you know of any recent research papers that I could look through?”

“I will email them to you separately.” The professor sits down on the chair, making it very obvious that she is going to have an incoming headache.

You raise your hand. “Yes Y/n, I will email you the same thing.” You meekly lower your hand.

“Do you have any more questions?”

“Will there be an opportunity for extra credit?” Zayne asks, and the professor shakes her head and dismisses everyone in the lecture hall.

You grab your bag and find Simone and Tara in the swarm of people, making your way to the exit of the hall. “I don’t understand, why does he keep trying to one-up me?” Tara pats your shoulder comfortingly and Simone just sighs.

“Did I just hear you say that you didn't understand something, L/n?” Zayne approaches you with what seems to be amusement.

The stupid expression on his face is practically begging for you to slap it right off.

“What on earth do you want, Li?” You look at him, clearly annoyed. “Why are you even here in the first place? Don't you have to be in the library or something?”

“I do actually, why? Are you that interested in me to the point where you know my schedule down to the second?” He replies, clearly amused at your expression.

“Bold of you to assume that I would pay that much interest towards you.” You scoff. “I just know that your antisocial ass willingly locks yourself in the library until the librarian kicks you out of the building.”

“Glad to know that I spend more time studying than you. Clearly, I know where my priorities lie.” Zayne replies.

“That's because you study inefficiently. A lecture that would take you four hours would take me less than half the amount of time to learn. Besides, I actually have a life outside studying. Speaking of which,” You check your phone for the time. “we have to go to make the lunch reservation we made!” Tara and Simone look at you wide eyed, completely forgetting about your shared lunch plans.

Zayne stares as you quickly forget about him, walking away with Simone and Tara chatting about the restaurant’s new seasonal menu.

You sit in the massive lecture hall, your laptop sitting on the desk, bright as a flashlight in order to keep yourself from falling asleep in the lecture. Tara sits on your left, shopping online for crystals and tarot cards whilst Simone somehow plays a random RPG game with the volume muted.

“We have a simulated case to end this lecture.” Your ears perk up. “Patient is a female, two years old and has been diagnosed with ADHD and has come in with her parents over concerns of a deviated eye. What test would you do after a case history is done?”

You raise your hand without any hesitation, keen to be the first one to get the answer right. The professor points towards you. “You would do a cover test first.”

“Yes, you could do a cover test first. Is there anyone else with another answer?” Your professor asks the rest of the class whilst you tilt your head in confusion. What other test would you do first apart from cover test?

“You could test their visual acuity.” You hear a familiar voice that never fails to get your blood pressure rising.

“Yes, you could do a visual acuity test first, Zayne.” You shake your head in disbelief. “Y/n, can you explain why you believe that a cover test should be done first?”

You clear your throat, “The results from the cover test would help confirm if the patient actually has a deviated eye or if it could be pseudostrabismus. In the case that the patient did have a deviated eye, it may help with expectations about what their visual acuity could be.”

Your professor nods, her hair bouncing as her head moves. “Zayne? What do you think?”

“Doing a visual acuity test can help with predictions about what you are roughly able to expect in a cover test, predicting which eye is the non-fixing eye. The patient has ADHD and is young, so it may be more beneficial to do the visual acuity test whilst they are cooperative.” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Do you have any counterpoints to Zayne's point, Y/n?” You nod, smiley politely in response before staring down the insane maniac across the lecture hall who thinks doing a visual acuity test should be done first.

“It is imperative that you understand if the patient truly has a deviation.” You cross your arms over your chest.

You take a deep breath in, trying to not let Zayne's foolish and idiotic words get the best of you. “If the patient does lose focus and cooperation, you will be able to get a vague estimation of their visual acuity using a photoscreener.”

From across the hall, you notice him pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. It only makes you straighten your shoulders proudly in victory.

“Alright. I can tell that you are both very passionate about this, however if you do want to continue this, please do so in your spare time. The varied answers suggest that you can do either of the tests first, as long as you have the evidence to back up your point. That ends this lecture today everyone, I will see you next week.”

You shove your laptop into your bag completely leaving behind Simone and Tara, keen on finding the man who enjoys sending you into an academic rage. He stands outside the door to the lecture hall, absentmindedly checking the time on his watch.

“So as a practitioner, you would do the visual acuity test first. Interesting. Definitely a unique way of doing an appointment with a patient.” You say, and he looks up from his shiny watch.

“I didn't explicitly say I would do the visual acuity test first— I was simply answering the professor's question. But if we are assuming that I would do a visual acuity test over a cover test, then yes, I do see the benefits. Using the photoscreener can only get you so far, as it is a vague estimation meaning that the results it produces will not be one hundred percent correct. Just like you mentioned earlier.”

Motherfucker is putting the words into my mouth.

“Why get a vague estimation when you can get reliable results?”

“As long as you get both of the tests done before any other test and the results recorded, nobody is going to ask you which one you decided to do first!” You hear a familiar rushed voice and turning around, you see Tara and Simone who look like they could use a week long holiday.

“Now come on, Y/n! We have another lecture to get to in ten minutes!” Tara says whilst Simone gets a hold of your arm, ready to drag you around campus herself if needed.

“Okay, let me just say one more thing and then we can go.” Tara and Simone look at each other hesitantly before nodding. “Why do you enjoy making my academic life hell?” You ask, causing Zayne to press his lips together.

“Because you enjoy doing the same.” He replies ever so nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

Unfortunately, you cannot fathom the fact that he is correct for once, so you bite your tongue whilst Simone proceeds to grab onto your arm and drag you like a doll to the next lecture.

The sound of people discussing their test scores fills the room, with some celebrating and other sighing in their seats. Your hands become damp with sweat and you rub them against the material of your trousers underneath the table.

The professor hands you your test, a smile graced on her face. “Well done, Y/n. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Thank you.” You take the test sheet, looking at the circled 99% at the top of the paper. She walks off, handing the next test to Zayne.

He smiles at her and his warm smile turns dark as he makes eye contact with you. It's filled with nothing but sarcasm and potential to scar an innocent child.

“If you haven't noticed, I gave out the tests from lowest to highest. If anyone has any questions, you can come to my office during office hours or email me. Enjoy your weekend, see you next Monday.” You sit in your seat, staring at the test sheet in denial.

How on earth did you manage to lose to Zayne? By one point?

Sighing, you fold your sheet into half before shoving it into your pocket and heading out the door as inconspicuously as possible.

“L/n.” You roll your eyes, recognising the pride in Zayne's voice instantly. “Getting 98 is an amazing score. You should be very proud of yourself.”

98? Turning around to face his smug face, you quickly glance at the sheet Zayne holds in his hand. 99.

“Actually, I got a 99. I didn't get a 98, Li.” You point to his sheet. “You got a 99 too. You should be very proud of yourself, what a great achievement!” You clasp your hands together, applauding for him.

The smug look on his face disappears, only to be replaced with a feeling you believe to be annoyance. “I see. We both got the highest score on the exam then. What question did you get wrong?” Flicking through the pages, you find the question marked wrong and show him.

“If a patient has nasal corneal reflections, they…” He reads, scanning the paper. “Do not have an esotropia.” He looks up. “They have an exotropia, obviously.”

“Obviously.” You reply, looking over to the side. “I just misread the answers. Now, show me your answers.”

Zayne hands you his paper and you grin when you find the question marked wrong. “Protanopia is caused by not enough energy being transduced or the complete absence of which cone pigment? You answered: M cones.” You laugh, covering it up as a bad cough.

“The answer is L cones. I just also happened to misread the answers too. I believe your mistake was much worse than mine. If a child with a limited attention span only let you do corneal reflections on them and you say they have an esotropia instead of an exotropia, it could cause confusion for other healthcare workers who will see their notes.”

“Yes, of course. If you order the wrong colour correcting glasses for a patient— imagine the distress on their face when they realise their doctor has made a mistake and they have to wait even longer to see full colour vision. Absolutely terrible.” Zayne sighs, taking back his test paper.

“Good thing we are still students, right?” You plaster a fake smile on your face. “We have so much to learn before treating our lovely patients, don't we?”

“Welcome to Akso Hospital!” A grey haired man says cheerfully, a smile adorned on his face.

“I understand that you may have many questions and your consultants will be able to explain without even breaking a sweat.” He chuckles and points to a group of senior doctors standing in front of you.

“When you arrived this morning, you were allocated a number and are now separated into groups. Each group represents a certain speciality, such as psychiatrists, dermatologists and so on. These are the people who you will be training with during your time at Akso, so get on their good side!” You turn around and face your fellow general surgeons, giving them a polite, friendly smile.

You make eye contact with a familiar green, hazel eyed man. Your smile immediately becomes stiff, as if your jaw has automatically clicked into place.

Zayne is in the same group as you. Zayne is going to be training with you.

A tall brown haired woman walks up to your group, smiles and introduces herself as the consultant general surgeon. “I understand that not all of you will be staying as general surgeons, as some of you will branch off into other surgical specialities after you complete your core surgical training. But I look forward to working with each and every one of you.”

You only have one year of this general surgeon training and then you go off into neurosurgery. One year is nothing.

The consultant leads the way to the shared office of all core training general surgeons, and shows important things: the uncomfortable beds you would sleep in during night shifts and the fancy coffee machine. She quickly leaves, letting everyone get to know each other.

You immediately turn around to face Zayne. “I really thought this would be a new chapter where you would not be in it. What are the chances we are both doing this core training together?” A fake smile is plastered on your face.

“Luckily, it’s only for a year since I’ll be going into neurosurgery after the training.”

“Good to know. I’ll be doing cardiac surgery after this year.” You nod, not wanting to contribute more to the extremely lacklustre conversation.

After making your rounds, you decide to spend time with the younger patients. To your surprise, Zayne is there too, busy tending to a stuffed penguin's injured wing.

You sit down on the round tea table where a little girl pours fake tea into her teacups for her plushies. “What’s your name, sweetheart? May I have some tea as well please?” She nods happily, eagerly passing you a teacup whilst introducing herself as Daisy.

You quickly learn she likes strawberries and she's very curious about being a doctor. “Dr L/n, is the brain or heart more important?”

“Well both are very important, but I think the brain is more important than the heart.” You reply and Daisy hums, going back to her teacups. Daisy gives you another teacup of tea but before your hand touches the handle, you hear footsteps making its way to the table.

You look up to the owner of the footsteps, only to see Zayne siting down at the table. “Daisy, can I tell you something?” He asks the little girl who nods in agreement. “Dr L/n is wrong about the brain being more important than the heart. I think that the heart is more important than the brain.”

What on earth is he doing?

“Really, Doctor Li? Why is the heart more important than the brain?” Daisy asks, very intrigued at this new opinion.

“The heart pumps blood to all of the important things in the body, like your lungs and your brain. If the heart doesn't pump your blood to the important places in your body, you’re going to get very tired very quickly.” Zayne says with a smile, specifically targeted at you.

If he wants to play this game, then I’ll fucking play along.

“Then Dr L/n, why do you think that the brain is more important than the heart?” Daisy looks up at you, completely unaware of this emotional tug-of-war she unintentionally created.

“Your brain is very smart Daisy! Your brain is always telling your heart to keep on pumping the blood to the rest of your body so you can stay healthy and strong.” You say, a smile plastered on your face as you look at Zayne.

“Your heart helps you show all the love you have for your friends and family. Do you feel happy when you give friends hugs?” Zayne asks, and Daisy agrees. “It’s your heart that tells you to be happy when you give your friends hugs.”

So he is playing the emotional card. Two can play at this game, Li.

“Daisy?” You call out her name and she averts her gaze to you. “Can you tell me about a fun day you had with your friends?”

“When me and my friends went to the park and we played at the playground all day!” She smiles happily.

“Well sweetheart, your brain remembers all the happy memories you have had with your friends. So whenever you feel sad, you can think about the fun day you had at the park and you will be happy again.” You say and Daisy runs off to find one of her friends.

“I guess the brain is more important than the heart.” You smirk at Zayne and stand up behind the tiny chair, ready to grab a coffee.

“Well if the brain stopped working and the heart kept pumping, at least you would still be alive.” Zayne replies casually, tucking his chair under the table.

“Alive, sure. But living like a normal person? No way in hell.” You say in a hushed tone, not trying to attract attention from the ever-so curious children in the room. “What would you do if you had no brain? You wouldn’t be able to learn about your silly little heart if you didn’t have anywhere to apply the knowledge to in the first place.”

“Well for someone who surely advocates for the brain, you clearly don’t use it enough. Whilst you were doing rounds earlier today, I overheard the consultant asking you why you forgot to bring a notepad along with you. How embarrassing.” He chuckles and you scowl at him.

Just as you were going to answer back, you notice Greyson and Yvonne, two of your fellow surgeons approach you and Zayne.

“Okay that’s enough arguing for the day. The kids are staring.” Yvonne holds your arm, leads you away from Zayne and into the office to calm down.

You sit near the nurses’ station, a cup of coffee nearby as you read the medical history of your next patient arriving in twenty minutes. The atmosphere is peaceful, the nurses are typing away on their keyboards and the sound of baby sensory videos can be heard from the waiting area.

As you bring the cup of coffee up to your lips, a loud voice interrupts the peace. “What do you mean I cannot donate my liver?” You turn around to check where the voice is coming from and see the sign that has Zayne’s name on it.

Muffled speech can be heard from Zayne, most likely trying to calm down an angry family member. The sound of a hand aggressively hitting the desk resonates throughout the floor, causing even the focused children to peel their eyes away from their dancing fruit videos.

The handle of the door opens, revealing a middle aged man who is far from happy. He makes his way over to the nurses station. “Get me another fucking doctor. This guy doesn't know shit. You doctors keep going on about how difficult it is to find a donor that matches but when a matching person comes along, it’s not possible to donate?” The nurses desperately try to calm him down, explaining to him that this is not the place for explicit language.

“Do I look like I’m playing around? I want another doctor!”

“Excuse me sir, what seems to be the problem?” Getting out of your seat, you make your way over to the nurses’ station, gripping onto your white coat like a lifeline.

“This guy told me I couldn't donate my liver to my sister who is on her deathbed!” He angrily points at Zayne who says nothing. “Please doctor, I just want to help her. Tell me I can donate my liver to her.” He pleads, his countenance softening ever so slightly.

“Is there a specific reason he can’t donate his liver?” You look at Zayne.

“He has a liver with a fifteen percent fat content. I have explained to him that the limit is ten percent, as any more can put the recipient at more risk.” Zayne sighs and you frown, immediately knowing that nothing can be done.

“I’m sorry sir, but Doctor Li is right. You may be able to donate in the future but you will have to decrease the fat content through lifestyle choices such as exercise, a balanced diet and refraining from alcohol.”

“All you doctors sound like a broken record! I thought this was the best hospital in the city and you can’t accept my liver? Fucking bullshit.” Over his shoulder, the security comes over and harshly grabs him.

“Let me go!” He tries escaping, only to be pulled away. “Just wait until my lawyer hears about this. I will sue this hospital so badly that the only medicine you will give is paracetamol!” The man shouts even louder until he’s no longer in sight.

You look at Zayne who sighs for the nth time today. “Penny for your thoughts?” He seems like he could need a helping hand, just this once.

“I just find it hard to empathise with people who behave in that manner. I understand that I am fortunate to have not been in a position like that in the past, but when a doctor tells you there is no loophole or way to work around it, isn't it time to face the truth?”

“Well, I think you’re looking at it from a medical personnel perspective. You're trying to face the problem as someone who is only able to give proper solutions. But have you tried facing the problem as someone who could lose a precious family member? You saw the way he softened when he mentioned how all he wanted to do was to help his sister. He just wants to do the best he can.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” Zayne concedes.

“It’s time for my next appointment. See you around.” You nod your head as a goodbye, walking off to your consultation room.

You close the door, setting up your desk for the next patient, trying to make it look presentable after rummaging through the mismatched files when a senior doctor requested an extra copy to read through before surgery.

With all the papers finally stacked into neat piles and tucked away into a corner to worry about later, the door opens with one of the nurses asking if you are ready.

You clear your throat and nod, bringing up the results of the patient as they come in. “Hello, Doctor L/n. It’s nice to see you again.” You look up and smile, making sure that Oliver feels comfortable in the chair.

“How have you been?” You ask, placing your hands on the desk.

“I've been doing well. I have been consistently taking my medication and I try my best to eat and sleep well.”

“That's great news to hear!” You reply, looking at the results on the computer in front of you. “The results from last week's blood results look great too, so there should be nothing to worry about. Do you have any questions for me?”

“I'm quite nervous. Like a kidney transplant is a big thing. I know I'll be in safe hands and all, but I just can't help but feel this sense of anxiety.” Oliver rubs his hands together nervously.

“It is not a minor surgery, that I can tell you with certainty. I can't confirm that everything will go smoothly since surgery is unpredictable but I will be in the room, assisting in the surgery and I will do my absolute best. The road to recovery may not be easy, but once you have fully recovered, the freedom will be like nothing else you have ever felt before.”

“Thank you, Doctor L/n. I trust you.” The words make your heart swell with a strange mix of pride and sadness.

Oliver is the same age as you and it feels like a sick twist of fate knowing that he has endured so much pain yet still does his best to carry on. If you were in the same situation as him, you wouldn't be half as calm and collected as he is.

He constantly brings sweet treats for the staff, ranging from brownies to cupcakes despite it being prohibited to accept any type of gifts from patients. No matter how hard you try to politely decline, Oliver refuses to take no for answer and threatens to stay longer at the hospital.

How could you make a man who spends almost all of his time at the hospital stay even longer? It's pretty unfair to say to other patients that you have favourites, but Oliver is definitely one of them.

“I will do my best to ensure that you trust in me never wavers.” You put on a smile, trying to stay professional despite the feeling of melancholy bloom.

“Considering that the test results look good, there should be no reason to push back the surgery. I will get the paperwork done and ensure that you are admitted for surgery next Monday. Of course, if you have any questions, please feel free to reach out to me or any member of staff.”

Finishing the last consultation of the shift, you close the door behind you and make your way to the shared office, only to see your fellow surgeons crowded near the door.

“Why are you guys all crowded around the door like chipmunks?” They all turn around, facing you as if they have just seen a ghost.

“You scared us! We thought you were someone important, you know, like the hospital director.”

“Geez, that’s nice to know. But you still haven't answered my question.”

“Zayne is listening to what the consultant has to say after the whole liver transplant thing from today.” Greyson says, and you peep through the small window to see him nodding as the consultant continues to talk.

“I need to go in.” You announce to the group whilst they stare at you like you have suggested to do surgery blindfolded.

“No way. Do you want to get yourself into trouble too?” They crowd around the handle of the door, preventing you from going in.

“I was there whilst it happened. Not for the whole thing, but I was the one the patient talked to after they requested another doctor to talk to. I need to hear what the consultant has to say, it’s not just his fault— it’s mine too.” One by one, the group hesitantly disperses.

You knock on the door. “Who is it?” The consultant asks, not taking her eyes off of Zayne.

“It’s Y/n. Can I come in, please?” The door opens in front of you. Zayne stares like a baby deer in headlights whilst you stand opposite the consultant.

“From what I’ve heard, you were also there whilst the patient’s outburst occurred. Can you tell me things from your side of the story?”

You give your side of the story, starting with the shouting in Zayne's room and ending with the threat of suing the hospital, with paracetamol being the only thing that could be administered to patients.

“Well, at least your stories match.” She sighs.

“Wait, before whatever punishment you give us, can I just say something?” You ask and she nods.

“I understand that the patient’s sibling has every right to be frustrated. But it doesn't excuse the fact that he was incredibly rude. Not just to us, but to the other staff too.”

“I’m not mad, you two. You did everything right. You handled it as well as you could have done. Personally, I don't think there should be any consequences. It’s only your second month working in this massive hospital after all. But tensions were high and many patients were scared of what could have happened next. Higher ups have received complaints. There’s a disciplinary meeting scheduled for tonight. I’ll be there as support. I won't let anything bad happen.”

“Thank you, Doctor Zhou.” Zayne says and you thank her too as she leaves the room. “You didn't need to come in, L/n.”

“I know, but it helps clear things up.” You fiddle with the sleeve of your scrubs.

“I could have handled it fine myself but thank you. For everything you’ve done today. You really didn't need to.” He coughs, an awkward air rising in the room.

“Of course. Just because we have some history doesn't mean we can't look out for each other, especially in moments like these.” You smile sheepishly.

The atmosphere becomes even more awkward, this feeling being uncharted territory between you and Zayne.

“Besides, suing the hospital is bad for both of us. I don't think I want to feel the wrath of patients when I tell them they can have paracetamol as their only form of pain relief.” You laugh, trying to deflect this weird feeling in your heart.

Walking out of the conference room, Doctor Zhou catches up with you. “How are you taking the news?”

“It’s a lot better than I thought it would be. Luckily the mandatory seminar about dealing with patient behaviour is only two hours and there’s no pay cut.”

“At least you managed to find the silver lining.” Doctor Zhou chuckles and excuses herself after getting a phone call.

“What about the mandatory shifts for next week?” Zayne asks, and you wince in response.

“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to that. Might resort to downing just coffee powder.” You grimace, imagining yourself with dishevelled hair running on half an hour of sleep.

“It’s going to take a lot of self restraint to not shout at you in front of the entire ward when you do something that pushes my buttons.”

“Glad to know that the feeling is mutual.” Zayne bores his eyes into yours before walking away.

With the late hours of the night settling in, so does the orders and requests from other members of hospital staff. You step into the on call room, shrugging off your white coat on one of the chairs.

The door opens with your fellow colleagues ready to take a quick but very much needed nap. You slip off your shoes in front of one of the lower bed bunks and remove your hair clip.

“Doctor L/n. I'm really sorry but may I sleep on the bottom bunk?” You glance back to see Zayne, adjusting his glasses.

“I'm sorry Doctor Li, but no. It feels like all of the life has been drained out of me by an energy seeking vampire. I quite literally do not have the body strength to climb the flimsy ladder up to the top bunk.”

“I understand that, but I think it would be best if I was to sleep on the bottom bunk. It's more convenient, I am taller and the lower bunk is longer— I can fully extend my legs only on the bottom bunk.” But before you can even open your mouth, he continues. “I have spent more time of this shift on my feet than you have, Doctor L/n.”

“I refuse to believe that, Doctor Li.” You hiss. “I'm sorry that you believe that you are more entitled to the bottom bunk, but I was assisting in a seven hour surgery this morning. I didn't even have the luxury to have my lunch, I was called into another surgery before I could even sit my ass down on a chair. Mind you, it's eleven in the evening so the last time I have put food in my system was over twelve hours ago.” You point to the ladder, gesturing for him to climb up it.

“You may have been assisting in multiple surgeries, but I had go over two dozen patient appointments today. Not to mention, I was tasked with fixing your patient charts because of how unorganised they were. So yes, I do believe I am entitled to the bottom bunk.” You roll your eyes, but with little reaction from Zayne due to the dim lighting in the room.

So what? He's been sat on a chair whilst you have been standing for hours on end. “I will sleep on the top bunk. Now please, save your voices. Fight each other at another time for all I care, go get some sleep.” A groggy voice complains.

Greyson hobbles out of bed and quietly murmurs about how you can both sleep on the bottom bunk before climbing up the ladder.

You quickly slot yourself between the gap of the bottom bunk, laying down on the bed as your back finally relaxes and the sound of Zayne sighing brings a tired grin on your face as he walks to the other bottom bunk bed.

“Eat.” You remove your hands from your head to see Zayne, tossing a sad sandwich on the table.

Having finished assisting in Oliver's surgery which lasted an extra two hours because of a complication, you don't have the energy to complain about how you don't even like mustard, gnawing at the sandwich.

You swallow dryly, the food passing through you like worn out sandpaper. “Why did you give me this?” You ask Zayne, who tears his tired gaze from his equally sad excuse of a sandwich.

“Everyone in the operating room could hear your stomach even when the suction was being used. You need to eat.” He says and you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks in response.

You eat your sandwich, staring out of the window.

This is a first. For someone who was extremely determined to get the bottom bunk, it's like being with a completely different person. You always hear him going off on patient's about how important it is to eat well so that they have a faster recovery.

How strange.

Attending rounds whilst half asleep should be illegal. But you don't have a say in the rules, so you begrudgingly follow the rest of the surgical trainees as Doctor Zhou leads the rounds for the morning.

You have nobody but your phone to blame, the alarm on the stupid thing only went off twenty minutes before you had to arrive to the hospital. That and adding not having your daily cup of coffee to keep you functioning like a normal human, your eyes only get more droopier as the patients drift off into a silence to think about their pain levels.

The cases are quite easy to understand, so the only hard thing should be staying awake. “Doctor L/n, can you tell me anything you notice about this patient?” You barely recognise your name. feeling a slight nudge against your lower arm which jolts you awake.

Quickly scanning the room, you notice the relatively fast heartbeat on the monitor. “The patient has a heart rate of 120 beats per minute with an abnormal P wave following each QRS complex.”

“Yes, correct. Can you tell me exactly what kind of tachycardia this is?” She nods, ticking off something on her clipboard.

Your mind goes blank. Looking back to the monitor, you scan the screen in hopes it jogs your memory. What type of tachycardia? This is a question even a medical student can answer!

The hushed sound of scribbling against a notepad next to you is nothing but distracting. You feel another tap against your lower arm, and realise it's Zayne. He subtly brings the piece of paper towards you, and you read the words.

“Focal atrial tachycardia.” You answer and Doctor Zhou nods, moving on to thank the patient for their time and end the long hour of rounding.

Walking back to the break room, you immediately head to the table and grab a mocha pod to put into the coffee machine. Walking to the cupboard to get your mug, you notice Zayne fixing his sleeves in the mirror.

You should thank him for saving you out there. But you hesitate. Perhaps when not as many people are around.

Grabbing your mug, you close the cupboard door and walk to the coffee machine, placing your mug down as you insert the pod into the machine. The machine buzzes to life, pouring in the frothy liquid ever so slowly.

Zayne still stands in front of the mirror but your feet are unwilling to move. Every single cell inside of you is screaming to walk up to him. You walk up to him, thank him for saving you and walk back, simple. So why the hesitation?

The sound of the machine beeping brings you out of your trance and you turn off the machine before bringing the cup of coffee up to your lips.

Looking up, Zayne disappears. The usual sweet taste of the chocolate and coffee now tastes bitter, burning on your tongue. Perhaps another time.

“Come with me to the cafeteria.” You hear a tired voice ask beside you.

“Sure.” You get out of your seat, grabbing your white coat. Zayne walks slowly, purposely waiting for you before you both leave the office in silence. “So… why ask me to come to the cafeteria with you?”

“Am I not allowed to ask my fellow colleague to eat dinner with me?” Zayne looks at you and you both step foot into the cafeteria.

“No— this week has been an absolute whirlwind: running on energy drinks and three hours of sleep is not normal. I think I have the right to ask if I am sane or hallucinating.” The staff places two scoops of rice into your plate and you smile as a quiet thank you.

“Well, we only have two more shifts left this week. Hopefully we survive.” Another member of staff places some vegetables and meat alongside your rice and you move down the line.

“As long as nobody has a cardiac arrest of some sort, then I think we will be okay.” You walk off to the dessert area to get a cupcake with Zayne in tow.

“How were you not stopped by some member of staff for all the desserts on your plate?” You look at Zayne’s plate holding a cupcake and strategically placed macarons to ensure none go tumbling off his plate.

“Confidence.” He shrugs. “Do you happen to be the dessert police in disguise?”

“I will call them over if you don’t let me have one of your macarons. Where did you even find them?” You threaten jokingly.

“Over by the end of the counter. Nobody stops by the end of the counter because it stops the line from moving and everyone is hungry enough as is.” Zayne pushes his small dessert plate in front of you and gestures for you to take one.

“Wait, you’re serious? You’re actually letting me have one of your precious macarons?” You gasp.

“Why are you reacting as if I have announced I will be participating in the Olympics for the ice skating division?”

“It’s just unexpected. Everyone knows how much you love desserts.” You slowly take one of the macarons and place it next to your cupcake.

“You’re acting like I despise you.” Zayne shoves a spoonful of rice into his mouth, acting like he hasn’t just set your brain into a spiral.

He is acting less hostile, in a sense. Maybe he actually doesn't despise me as much in comparison to medical school.

“I’m guessing from your confused expression that you’re wondering why I seem to tolerate being around you.”

“Are you a mind reader? Did you perhaps manage to evolve your evol into brain related functions too?” You exclaim, feeling somewhat exposed by his analysis.

“Unfortunately, no. How do you manage to make everything about the brain? You definitely chose the right speciality.” He questions and you continue to stare at him.

“Let’s backtrack a bit, mister cardiac surgeon-to-be. When did you suddenly get the ability to tolerate me?” You place your hands in front of him, clearly taken aback.

“When you asked me how I was feeling after the patient interaction on the liver transplant. I was just expecting you to just brush it off or question why he got into such a rowdy mood but you didn’t— you just listened.”

“I guess that was quite nice of me.” You pick at the food on your plate. “You know, it's definitely a lot easier to be around you and tolerate your presence.” Zayne tilts his head, confused.

“I guess you softened me up. I think it happened when you started offering me sandwiches. I hear you constantly nag at patients for not eating well because you just want the best for them. But that doesn't mean that all of the hate is gone, it’s a lot to go from hating each other's guts to acting somewhat civil with each other. This doesn't stop me from calling you an idiot whenever you deserve to be called one.”

“Noted. Now keep eating, your food is going to get cold.”

For what is probably the hundredth time this week, you read through another patient chart, making annotations of things to ask during the consultation on your worn-out notepad.

The last few hours of this horrendous one week shift finally approaches. But in true hospital fashion, the emergency button goes off and the nurses rush into the room, with you following close behind. Nurses quickly convince the family to leave, despite their loud pleas and cries to stay.

You turn to face the critical patient, ready to assess what the next step of action is but stop in your tracks. Oliver.

The feeling of dizziness suddenly overwhelms you, locking you in an unwelcoming hug that you can't seem to shake out of. You feel your knees buckle slightly, steadying yourself against some random piece of equipment.

It feels like the oxygen in the room and your lungs is quickly depleting, leaving you lightheaded and breathless. In a strong state of denial, you trying to snap yourself out of this state of helplessness, staggering to Oliver's bed.

Words come out of your mouth— probably some kind of weak attempt to bark orders at the nurses but they look at you in despair and confusion. “He's having a seizure. Can someone get me some lorezapam please?” A voice shouts out, slightly bringing you out of your daze.

The sound of loud rustling can be heard and you watch as the figure administer the drug. “Doctor L/n, can you hear me?” A warm hand is placed on the side of your upper arm and you muster up the strength to look up. Zayne. “Doctor L/n, Oliver needs you. I can't do this alone.” Flickering your eyes up at him, you notice the worry etched into his eyebrows.

But you don't have time to worry about it, especially not now. As if a switch was turned on, you snap out of your hazy state. “Remove anything tight that might restrict him.” The nurses nod and you hastily remove the blanket covering his body.

“Oliver, this is Doctor L/n. I'm here. You're at Akso Hospital and you're safe.” Oliver's movements stop shortly after, the lorezapam quickly going into effect.

You slowly get him into the recovery position and he slowly opens his eyes, blinking at you. He's okay. After going through the necessary checks post seizure, you leave the room and your back hits the wall. A stray tear escapes out of your eye and you hastily dab the ends of your sleeve to hide the wetness rolling down your cheek.

“This is all my fault.” You mutter under your breath.

“No it's not.” Shocked that someone heard your moment of self depreciation, your eyes flicker to the owner of the voice. “You did your best.”

“Even if it's not my fault, I lied to Oliver. I told him that I would do my best. What I did back in there was not my best. Look at him now.” You glance into Oliver's room, one of the nurses accompanying him for the night.

“I know that Oliver is more than thankful for you. He knows that you care deeply for him as a patient and I'm sure that when he recovers, he will greet you with a smile.” Zayne says, looking through the glass of Oliver's room.

“You saw what I did out there whilst he was having a seizure. What kind of doctor has a massive breakdown whilst their patient could be knocking on death's door? You aren't always going to be there whilst I have another breakdown in front of another patient. Imagine what could happen? It won't be anyone else's fault but mine.”

“This isn't permanent. You will eventually find a way to confront this fear of yours and only then will you be able to forgive yourself.” Zayne says and you don't even have the strength to look him the eyes, only blankly staring at his worn out shoes.

“How about we go to the break room? We don't need to talk about it but it would be good to at least sit down.” You nod, standing up straight as you lift yourself off the wall and walk to the room with your head down.

Making it to the break room, you sit down on a random chair and sit back. Zayne opens the mini fridge and places your water bottle onto the desk in front of you. Not having the strength to speak, you give him a slight nod before drinking from the straw. The cold water quenches a hidden thirst and you feel your lost will to live slowly come back.

After a much deserved rest of four days, the ability to function like a normal human being has returned. Tasks that felt extremely monotone during the seven days of night shift in a row now had meaning to them and were much more enjoyable to do.

You pull back the changing curtain, smoothing out the faint creases on your scrubs. Zayne stands beside the table, removing his watch. “Here.” Zayne passes you an iced coffee.

“Thanks.” You take the coffee from him, before fixing your messy hair in the mirror.

“No sassy remark?” You turn your head to see a confused Zayne. “Not even a question asking why I decided to give you a coffee?”

“Maybe it will come back to me after I finish fixing my hair. Do you want me to ask why you decided to randomly bring me a coffee?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No. But I definitely was expecting a more sarcastic response.” He grabs his notebook. “I’ll see you later.”

During the brief encounter you had with one of the nurses, you find out that Oliver has rapidly improved after the incident on the last day of your torturous one week shift.

With twenty minutes left before the first appointment of the day, you make your way to his room. Knocking on the door, you hear a soft “come in,” from Oliver and you twist the handle. There sits Oliver, propped up on a pillow as the television plays quietly in the background. He looks at you and a smile graces his lips.

“Doctor L/n. I'm really sorry for scaring everyone with my seizure a few days ago. Before you say anything else, I just want to say that I am really thankful for everyone, especially you. I know that you went through a lot last week and I don't want you to think about any of those feel bad thoughts that might be troubling you.” You feel the tension dissipate from your body as you finally find a sense of closure.

“Thank you for recovering Oliver.” You smile and your gaze drifts to the clock above his bed. “I don't have much time left before I have to leave, but is there anything that I can get you before I go?”

“It's a bit cold, would it be possible to get another blanket?” You nod, excusing yourself before heading to the storage closet.

Pushing the door of the storage closet open, a familiar set of shoulders greets you as you step inside. The storage closet is extremely small, the space is just about enough to fit one person.

Having two people is practically invading personal space.

“You could have just waited outside like everyone else does when they see someone in here.” Zayne's voice breaks the sound of equipment being rummaged through.

So much for mood swings, he was somewhat bearable about five minutes ago.

“I could have. But you know very well by now that I enjoy bringing you misery. Could you pass me a blanket whilst you're at it?” You grin. Zayne sighs, but opens up a box and hands you the blanket before going back to retrieving whatever he needed.

“This is one of the small blankets, could you get me a medium or a large one instead?”

“Do you see me as some kind of butler? You are very capable of getting it yourself.” He looks behind his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed.

“So you do see me as capable! Only took you about six years to recognise it.” You place a hand on your chest, pretending to feel touched by his sarcastic compliment.

Feeling very pleased with yourself, you scooch past him, replacing the small blanket for a large one. You squeeze past him, ready to stretch your limbs freely again.

“So much for having a civil relationship.” Zayne mutters under his breath, but the proximity between you allows you to easily hear him. “This is not how acquaintances act around each other.” He pulls out a small plastic box and turns around, bumping into you.

You say nothing, suddenly realising how little space there is between you and Zayne. You don't think you have ever gotten this close to someone since your relationships in college. Maybe it's the unwelcoming memories of things that you have done with someone this close, but you feel your heart rate begin to quicken.

“So you consider us to be acquaintances?”

“I would assume so, especially since we have agreed to be civil with each other. Not exactly friendly acquaintances but acquaintances nonetheless.” Your grip on the blanket tightens ever so slightly.

“Does this mean my acquaintance will allow me to leave this prison cell of a storage room?” You tilt your head up at him.

“Of course.” He shuffles awkwardly, almost lying flat against the shelves. You don't spare him another glance and open the door, heading to Oliver's room.

“Here's your blanket.” You pass Oliver the soft material.

“Sorry for the wait, it took me a while to actually find one in the right size.”

“Thank you, Doctor L/n.” He unfolds the blanket. “Are you okay, by the way? Your face looks a bit flushed.”

Within the second month of settling in to the hospital, you are immediately seen as experienced. You absolutely beg to differ, considering how you only recently discovered that the television screen in the reception area could actually display something other than the news.

However, that doesn't stop one of the first year medical students from following you around the ward like you are their mother duck— they have essentially imprinted on you. With this built up trust, they confidently ask you to sign off their competency forms.

You smile and sit down next to the desk, grabbing a pen. "Thank you so much for signing these forms, Doctor L/n. You are single handedly saving me from getting scolded by my clinical tutor.” He sighs, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“No problem, I remember feeling the exact same way when I first started placements.” You chuckle, signing off the date and your signature at the bottom of the paper.

“Were the wards always this quiet when you first started off? I feel like it hasn't been very busy today.” He innocently asks.

Your grip on the pen tightens, and you slowly exhale all the breath in your lungs. “Not always. But it will become busy very soon." The innocent medical student tilts his head in confusion.

“How do you know, Doctor L/n?”

“Whenever someone mentions how quiet the ward is, emergencies happen within the next five minutes.” You see the colour drain from the his face. “Don't worry, just make sure to not make the same mistake for next time and prepare yourself for the chaos.” You pat his shoulder and leave his forms on the table.

Walking up to the reception, you hear the sound of rapid footsteps to one of the patient rooms and you immediately follow the sound. As soon as you enter, you see Doctor Zhou removing her white coat and you quickly realise the patient is going into a cardiac arrest.

Greyson and Zayne rush in, with Zayne standing next to you and you impatiently await Doctor Zhou's instructions. “The two closest to the door grab the crash cart and anyone else who is left, switch compressions on the patient with me after two minutes.” Doctor Zhou instructs and you quickly assess your position in the room, realising you and Zayne are closest to the door.

Without wasting a second, you rush out of the door and into the hallway with Zayne following behind. The crash cart that usually sits at the nurses' station is nowhere to be seen, explaining why there is nobody else helping out in the room— another emergency is occurring elsewhere in the ward.

“Doctor Li, we need to go to the ICU, the crash cart is being used elsewhere.” You say and he nods, leading the way.

Your mind is on auto pilot, frantically making your way to the ICU in hopes that there's an available crash cart somewhere. Zayne uses his longer legs to his advantage and you see him conversing with one of the nurses find the crash cart.

“Doctor L/n, on your right!” He shouts, breaking the silence of the peaceful department.

Turning right, you notice the white and blue cart instantly. You push on it, and it rolls on its wheels. Zayne comes into your vision and stands next to you, making carrying the weight of the heavy piece of equipment much faster.

“Let's go.” You announce and Zayne nods, pushing the cart out of the ICU hallway.

The journey from the ICU to the general surgery department feels extremely long, despite it being the closest department to the one you have essentially made a home in. Pushing it is honestly not much of a problem, the only problem on your mind is the patient and your hopes of them making a rapid recovery.

You feel something cold on the back of your hand and immediately know it's not you, especially with your body sweating from the stress and your uncomfortable, thick white coat. Probably just a piece of equipment sticking out of the drawers.

You quickly look down and register the 'cold something' as Zayne's hand. You grasp onto the side of the cart tighter and look up to only make accidental eye contact with Zayne. Right about now, you would have said something along the lines of 'get your icicle hands off me' but it clearly is not the time, especially when the patient's room is in sight.

You suck up the comment practically begging to spill from your lips, it causing your heart to beat wild enough to the point where it could end with you being a receiving the treatment.

But the feeling of his hand on top of yours is actually kind of nice — definitely not in a way that would get teenage girls screaming. It's just a very weirdly comforting ice pack. His eyes never stray from yours, only giving you a short nod— probably as a way of letting you know he's there and you don't need to worry.

As nice as it is to have eye contact with Zayne that is not just side eyes and snares, you cough awkwardly, averting your eyes in front of you to prevent the cart from crashing into a poor passerby.

Manoeuvring the cart into the room, you notice the tired expressions on Greyson's and Doctor Zhou's faces. “Sorry we took so long, the cart was in the ICU. I'll take over doing compressions!” You stand by the patient's bedside, rolling up your sleeves.

With the rest of the emergency passing in a blink of an eye, you make your way to the on call room. Flopping down on the spinny chair, you open a water bottle and the door opens with Zayne making his way inside.

“I think Oliver recovering has given me closure— I didn't freak out and handled the situation calmly! I even volunteered to do compressions before you, everyone knows how keen you are to be the first one to help!” You smile widely.

“Seeing Oliver recovered has definitely improved your confidence. I'm glad you aren't afraid to jump into action anymore.” He says and you nod with a mouthful of water.

Considering your newly established relationship with Zayne as acquaintances, you expected a more meaningful reaction from him. Despite him being a man of not very much to say in the first place, you should feel thankful that you have even made it as far as him offering you one of his precious macarons a few months ago.

But you can't help but feel like you need something more from him. Perhaps something along the lines of 'I'm proud,' or 'This is only the beginning of good things,' but considering the fact that it is Zayne, maybe this is as far as it will go.

It quite honestly doesn't make any sense— why is there a sudden need to be validated and noticed by him?

You sit in the conference room, daydreaming about what you should order for dinner when you get home after work.

The topic of internet safety is incredibly boring and the guy from IT didn't even bother making the presentation slides colourful. It's pretty much common sense (there's probably an old consultant somewhere learning what an incognito tab is) and your mind is incredibly under-stimulated.

Letting out a silent sigh, you give your eyes a break from the colourless presentation slides and stare out the window. The view isn't very appealing either: thick, tamed black hair covers your view of the trees below. Sparing a glance at the owner of said hair, you soon realise it is Zayne.

Keen on wasting even more time, your mind wanders off to problems that you have experienced since starting work at Akso. The lack of fluffy pillows in the break room to sleep on, Zayne picking a fight with you in front of poor Daisy, the terrible one week on call shift you had with Zayne, your sudden need to have Zayne act more cheerful around you— fuck.

Why are you so caught up about Zayne in the first place? Why do you want him to act more like a human rather than a programmed robot? It was not much this much a problem in medical school, so what on earth is causing you to feel this way?

Is it the weird period of transitioning into the working world? It might be, it takes everyone different amounts of time to settle into a hospital as big as Akso. Maybe you just need more time to get to grips with the place.

It definitely is, nothing else.

After what feels like ten minutes, you blink slowly in hopes to catch up on micro amounts of sleep that you missed out on last night. During the short period of letting your eyes rest, your mind once again drifts off thinking anything other than this useless presentation.

The sound of papers rustling brings your head out of the clouds and your vision hones in on Zayne looking straight back at you. Shit. Have you been unconsciously looking at him the entire time? You blink a few times, hoping it's just a figure of your imagination, but his eyes continue to stare into yours.

Faking a smile, you pick up your pen and fiercely make notes, writing 'what the fuck did he just catch me???'. Hesitantly, you slowly lift up your head to check if he has decided to save your dignity and look anywhere else but you.

You freeze, realising Zayne's piercing eyes are still locked in on you. The room grows more stuffy by the second, and the heat spreads to your cheeks. Coughing awkwardly, you finally pay attention to the presentation only to find out that the IT guy is thanking everyone for listening.

Grabbing your pen and notepad, you rush out of the room before Yvonne— or even worse, Zayne himself— asks why you are in such a hurry to leave.

Walking up to the hospital entrance, the wind brushes past your shoulders and almost knocks you off balance.

It acts a quiet reminder of how it life at the hospital has been boring to say the least, as this has single handedly been the most exciting thing that has happened all week. No new hospital drama, not even a good show to watch on the reception television when appointments slow down during the day.

Sighing at the lack of gossip, you can only drag your feet along the floors to the general surgery department, hoping that somewhere the drama will start picking up again. The handover from the night shift team remains the same as normal: boring.

Based on the blank expression on Yvonne's face, it doesn't take a genius to figure out how she is feeling. Not even as the handover ends does her expression brighten up in the slightest, her eyes boring holes into the patient files. You can only sigh when the night shift team leaves.

The morale in the room is non existent. Something good has to happen today, and it can't be a patient dancing the macarena on the tables whilst naked.

The end of the shift is in sight, and the break room is silent. Everyone is clearly ready to go home, and you countdown the mere minutes on the clock until you are no longer legally bound to stay at the hospital. Time goes by extremely slowly, checking the clock when you think the shift is officially over, only it to not even change the position of the minute hand.

The sound of the curtain being pulled back catches your attention, and Zayne walks out. His grey long coat only extends his tall figure, matching well with the silver rimmed glasses he wears.

He actually looks good. Not as in a presentable outfit kind of good, but Zayne himself looks good.

There should be no reason for you to be thinking about him in this way. It's just Zayne. It's just because he is wearing something that isn't the weird fitting green scrubs which brings out his eyes that makes him look good.

You blink multiple times, hoping that after twenty blinks he goes back to looking the way he usually does. But he never does. If anything, the excessive blinking relieves your dry eyes and it doesn't hurt to look at him anymore.

It was never about the transition from medical school to working as a doctor. It was never about the stupid scrubs that you associated with work. You have settled into the hospital well, especially with how you went out for drinks with Yvonne last week.

The realisation dawns on you, and you press your nails into your skin trying anything to wake up from the reality. You feel your heart pound against your chest and you assess. There is quite literally nothing else that could cause it to race— you are sat on a chair and there isn't an emergency happening.

It's Zayne. Somewhere along the way, you developed these stupid romantic feelings for him.

The hospital drama you so desperately wanted? It's you.

The next few days pass by in a blur, with your schedule filled up with regular appointments and the occasional emergency, life has been on autopilot.

But with Yvonne rushing into the break room the brightest you have seen her smile since last week, you know something interesting has happened.

“Did you hear? The hospital's twentieth year anniversary is this Friday, so the hospital director is treating Akso staff to the new fancy barbecue restaurant everyone online raves about!” Yvonne spins around in her chair in pure childlike happiness. “I finally get to see the hidden couples of other departments! The hospital drama drought will come to an end!”

“That sounds great! I can't wait to have something interesting to talk about other than the sad selection of crisps from the vending machine.” You chuckle, swallowing nervously as you realise your secret may come out quicker than expected.

“I'm so excited to see the stolen glances from people when they think someone isn't watching! I love watching the tension build up.” She closes her eyes happily, sighing happily.

You definitely won't be the centre of attention, there should be absolutely no reason to worry at all. Eat, laugh at some stupid joke and don't look at Zayne. Simple.

Sitting in the barbecue place for the event, you take in your surroundings, watching as people would be more than happy to chat the rest of the night away. Your gaze drifts to the nephrology department, as you notice the hidden glances between a couple who definitely cannot be any more obvious.

You can only hope that your eyes don't betray your crumbling will to continue being acquaintances with the man sitting opposite you. The sharp tapping of a wine glass breaks the silence.

“Everyone can I have your attention please?” Heads turn and you watch as the hospital director smiles brightly.

“As much as I enjoy watching the different departments together, it is time for a competition. A group quiz! The winning department of the quiz gets a massage chair for all your relaxing needs!” Loud murmurs and hushed conversations immediately start, with people happily imagining themselves sat in the massage chair during a short break.

Whiteboards are quickly passed around the room, with Doctor Zhou being nominated as the team's scribe. “First question, an extremely easy one. What anniversary is Akso currently celebrating on this fine evening?” The hospital director doesn't even finish his first question, and '20 years' is written on the whiteboard.

“Alright, boards up! Okay, all teams get a point!” The crowd cheers as someone notes down the scores on a piece of paper. “Next question, how many times does the average person blink in a day? The exact or the closest answer wins the point!” Everyone huddles around in a circle, keen on discussing their thoughts.

“I think about ten thousand times a day.” Greyson speaks in a hushed tone. Everyone nods in some form of agreement.

“It's about fifteen thousand times a day, actually.” You say, causing everyone to blink silently at you as the gears in their head try to calculate. “I memorised a fact book about weird trivia facts when I was about eight and it hasn't proven me wrong since.”

“Of course, as expected.” A once irritating voice speaks up and you roll your eyes in order to not cause a scene.

“I trust Y/n!” Yvonne raises her arm up, looking around the table to see who would join her. Soon enough, most of the table has their hands raised. Doctor Zhou hums, writing down your answer on the whiteboard.

“Time is up, show me your answers!” He shouts, scanning through the answers written, until his jaw drops. “We have an exact answer everyone!” He points to your table, causing everyone to shake your shoulders happily. “The answer was fifteen thousand times.” The crowd sighs.

“Next question, what is the average speed of a human sneeze in miles per hour?” The other tables suddenly get deep into conversation.

“How about we all say an answer at the same time? I know Y/n probably knows the answer, but this makes it more fun since we will just be sitting in silence as we wait to see if the answer is right.” Yvonne suggests, and everyone around the table nods in agreement.

“How about we all say our answers on the count of three? One, two… three!”

“Fifty miles an hour!”

“Eighty five miles an hour!”

“Seventy three and a half miles an hour!”

“Over one hundred miles an hour.” You say, and your voice somehow sounds like it dropped a whole octave. Looking to the source of your supposed low voice, you feel the colour rush to your face. There should not even be a rational reason to feeling a weird a sense of embarrassment.

Of course, Zayne manages to say the exact same answer as you at the exact same time. It shouldn't even be a surprise, he is a literal doctor and just happens to have a good memory too. He is extremely smart, he probably memorised the exact same trivia book that you did.

“Y/n?” A hand taps your arm. “Did you hear the question?” Yvonne stares at you, a hint of concern written on her face.

“Huh?” You look to her. “Did we get the question right?”

“Yes we did, thanks to you and Zayne!” She chirps happily. “The question was 'where does the term muscle come from?' and include the language of origin too.”

“Little mouse in Latin.” Twiddling your fingers, you try to take interest in the plain colour of your nails but eventually fail. Looking to the person who has your head utterly and completely messed up, you eye the bottle of expensive wine sitting in the middle of the table.

It might as well be easier to spend the rest of the night slightly tipsy and having your feelings spiral rather than just be a human void who can only think about the complications of falling for Zayne.

Huffing, you grab the glass bottle and pour a good amount into your wine glass, admiring the deep red hue before downing it in one quick gulp. You pick up the bottle again, pouring another into your glass whilst everyone keenly watches.

“Slow down, you can't have all the fun without us! Let us have some before you drink your way through to victory, Y/n.” Yvonne whistles, extending her glass in front of you as she waits for you to pour her some.

This sets off a chain reaction of everyone else on the table, grinning from ear to ear as they wait for you to pour the wine into their glass. They happily savour the drink, discussing about the different fruits that they taste as they swirl the liquid.

Almost coming full circle on the table, you stop at Zayne. “Don't you want some?” You ask, displaying the fancy label for him to look at whilst you tilt your head at him.

“No thank you. I am not well suited for drinking.”

“I will drink this in your stead, Doctor Li.” You raise your glass, clinking it with his empty one. “If you don't hear from me on our next shift, it's because I have lost my phone and don't know how to get home.” You smile, remembering your college days as you drink the whole thing in one go.

Zayne just looks at you with a concerned look on his face. “Next question!” The sound of the microphone seems much louder, a clear tell tale sign the alcohol is kicking in. “What is my favourite colour?” He chuckles, enjoying the confused looks on everyone's faces at the new question.

The room goes into frenzy, everyone naming all the colours that they can think of at the top of their head whilst you quietly sing the rainbow song as you forget what colours exist. “Blue!” You lean over the table, pointing to the director's tie. “He always wears a blue tie.”

“Yes, Y/n. But right now, he's wearing a green tie.” Yvonne coos, making sure you sit back down on your chair. Looking over to the director, you focus your eyes and finally see his green tie. You see a smirk on Zayne's face.

“Hey, I'm trying!” Yvonne only pats your shoulder comfortingly to calm your increasing anger which causes your eyes to droop.

“Final question, what fruit does a human share sixty percent of its DNA with?”

“Banana. Yellow fuzzy bananas.” Your mouth opens before your eyes do, seeing the bright lights invade your vision.

“You're drunk, Y/n.” Yvonne announces, taking your wine glass away from you. “Drink up!” She hands you a glass with transparent liquid in it.

“Nope, I don't want water! I want more yummy wine.” You shake your head, pushing the glass of water away from you.

“We both know that's not going to be happening.” She deadpans, putting the water into your hands. “At least take a little sip for me, please?” You use both hands to steady the cup, washing down the taste of the sweet berries.

“We have a winning team, everyone! The winning team is…” The director trails off, leaving everyone in suspense.

“The general surgery team! Congratulations, the massage chair will be arriving on Monday. Thank you everyone for coming to Akso's twentieth anniversary dinner, get home safe!” You cheer, nursing your empty wine glass as you pick up some crackers, watching as everyone collects their belongings.

“Where do you live, Y/n? I want you home safe and in one piece, please.” Yvonne, your shining knight in armour asks.

“Near the hospital, near the park with the cool exercise machines.” You grin, clumsily shoving a cracker into your mouth as Yvonne sighs and Doctor Zhou nods.

“Does anyone live near the big park with the fountains and is able to take Y/n home, please?” Doctor Zhou turns around, facing the rest of the general surgery team.

You sit in your chair, watching as people shake their heads on in response. Grabbing your phone, you tap on the screen in attempts to book a taxi, only to be locked out after the fifth attempt.

“I live close by.” A voice that makes you want to hide in a hole for the rest of eternity speaks up, and you immediately shake your head childishly.

“I can make it home by myself! I am more than capable.” You stand up, gripping onto the back of the chair for dear life as the world spins.

“Zayne is going to take you home, Y/n. I'll see you on Sunday, okay?” Yvonne waves you goodbye before facing the man beside you. “Take care of her for me please. Good luck, she seems like she is going to be a bit of a handful.”

You walk with your head down, trying to walk as sober as possible as you can to avoid the awkward walk home with the man who has been taking up every inch of your thoughts.

“You're going to fall if you continue to walk like that, L/n.” Turning around, you glance back at him and only look at him before huffing and turning back around to leave the restaurant.

Walking past the restaurant entrance, you immediately make a left turn and observe the glass reflection to see if Zayne is still following you. He walks briskly, holding on to your bag as he fixes his glasses. You stop in your tracks, allowing Zayne to catch up with you.

Once he stands in front of you, you grab the bag from him and try to walk, only to find yourself stuck in the same place as he holds a gentle grip around your wrist.

“I understand you want to go home alone, but I need to ensure you get home safely, L/n. Please stop trying to run away from me.” You stick your tongue at him, but he still doesn't let go of you. “Didn't you tell me that I might not hear back from you if you get too drunk?”

“And why do you care if I make it home back safe or not, Li?” You retort back sassily, putting your hand on your waist for extra effect.

“I told everyone that I would escort you home, so I must stick to my words. Nobody was going in the same direction as you, and I have little trust in taxi drivers at such a late time. Despite living in the opposite direction, I need to make sure you attend the next shift.” He stays silent. “As acquaintances, of course.”

“Hm.” Zayne removes his grip on you, allowing you to move freely.

Putting one foot in front of the other, you allow Zayne to walk you home. “You are like fuzzy cheese.”

“I wonder if you will be able to tell me the same thing sober, L/n.” Ignoring him, you continue with your new profound discovery.

“Whenever people look at fuzzy cheese, they just go 'ew' and move on. But if you actually know about fuzzy cheese, you can just remove the exterior and enjoy the insides.”

“I was not expecting to be likened to fuzzy cheese, but thank you for your wonderful analogy.”

“Your coat is fuzzy too.” Grazing your hand past his coat, you feel the material and scrunch your nose up in disgust.

“Look at the park! Isn't it pretty? I could dive into the fountain to cool down, don't you think?”

“You are not doing that.” He grabs the material of your trench coat, ready to pull you back if you jump in.

“Awww.” You look down to the ground, kicking your feet sadly. Zayne sighs, letting go of your coat. You nod at him, blinking slowly as you point to the fountain in child- like joy. “Can we go look at the fountain please?” Looking up at him, you clasp your hands together and put on your best puppy face.

“As long as you promise to go home right after this, L/n.” You put a hand over your heart, agreeing with his statement. “I suppose we can go.”

Running towards the fountain, you pant from the heaviness of the trench coat and the alcohol severely reducing your ability to function properly.

Looking behind you, Zayne chases after you with wide eyes at your sudden exit. “It's so hot.” You wipe sweat off your forehead, fanning yourself with your hands. “Take this,” You hand him your bag.

“Wouldn't you like to take off your—” You jump into the fountain, splashing happily as the coldness of the water hits your face. “—coat.” Smiling at Zayne, you can't tell if he's angry, disappointed or intrigued by your behaviour as he places your bag onto his broad shoulders.

“Let's get you up, hm?” He places a hand in front of you, waiting for you to take it.

“You're warm. This is cold.” Gesturing towards the water, you scoop a handful of water into your hands, watching it trickle down your arms as it slips through the gaps in your hands.

“I find it hard to believe that the one time you call me a warm person is whilst you are completely inebriated and splashing around in a water fountain. Don't you want to go home and get some sleep?” He asks, and you close your eyes shaking your head, whispering 'no no no' under your breath.

Zayne sighs for the billionth time this night. “You leave me with no choice.” Getting into the fountain, he makes sure to not get your bag wet as he crouches down, picking you up and carrying you into his arms.

“Hehe, this is fun!” You giggle, lifting one arm up in the air to touch his cheeks.

“We have very different ideas of fun.” Stepping out of the fountain, the sound of water from his trousers hitting the concrete makes you giggle even more.

“You are going to have a terrible morning when you wake up tomorrow.”

“Hm? Why? I feel great now! Look!” Your wet hands pulling down on his chin, forcing him to stop walking and make eye contact with him.

The atmosphere changes. Zayne doesn't say anything, his lips slightly parted as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips. Running your free hand through his hair, you slowly bring it down to the back of his burning neck, pulling him closer. The distance is almost non existent, his lips hovering over yours, close enough to feel his gentle breath.

In a blink, he pulls away.

“I…” His voice trails off, pressing his lips together. “Apologies. Can you tell me where your house is?”

“First door, second floor over there.” Pointing towards the building in front of you.

He nods, walking towards the direction of your building. The walk back is quiet, the tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. Afraid of making eye contact again, you screw your eyes shut and loll your head against his arm.

“We're here.” A quiet voice that you know all too well says and you don't have the guts to move, only moving your chest in attempts to breathe normally. “Y— L/n, we're here. Let's get you inside.” You only open your mouth slightly in response. “I don't want you getting a cold, please.”

“Hm?” You open your eyes slightly, Zayne's handsome features still visible in your blurry eyesight.

“We are outside your door. Do you have your keys with you so I can get you inside?”

“Bag.” You reply, pressing the side of your head against his chest. “I need to put you down for a second to get your keys, L/n.” Immediately shaking your head, you nuzzle further into him in protest. “Can you get them for me? Your bag is hanging on my shoulder.” With as little strength you can muster, you weakly grab your bag from his side, fumbling to grab your keys.

“Here!” You reveal the keys, dangling them in front of his face like a cat toy.

“Thank you.” He takes the keys from your hand, moving closer towards the door and you hear the rattling of the keys as the scent of your vanilla diffuser hits your nose.

“I need to take off your shoes. Just a second.” The plush feeling of the sofa hits your back as your head rests against the pillows. Your soaked shoes come off, and you sigh in relief at the heavy weight gone from your feet.

“It's cold.” You complain, looking around for a pillow, plopping it over your stomach as a makeshift blanket.

“So now you complain about being cold.” Zayne chuckles. “You need to change into warmer clothes.”

“Can you change my clothes?” You look at him with heavy lidded eyes as you rest your forehead against his. In your bleary state, you notice the tips of his cheeks and ears quickly turning into a bright red colour.

“No. But I can help you take off your coat instead.” As if a switch goes off, you smile and stick your arms out as you wait for him to remove the coat sticking to your body with waiting eyes. His hands reach just under your collar, removing the material off of you, making you shiver.

“Where do you keep your pyjamas? If you sleep in these, you're going to end up sneezing in front of patients.” Zayne asks, hanging your brown coat above the door to let it dry.

“Bedroom.” You stand up, much quicker than what your body can keep up with, causing the world to tilt sideways until you feel the world turn back upright with Zayne's arm wrapped around your waist. “Heh, you caught me!”

Grabbing his arm, you lead the way into your room. “There's my pyjamas!” Pointing to the big wooden drawer as you plop down on the floor.

“Which ones would you like to wear?” Searching through your drawer, he pulls out a few options.

“The blue ones!” They end up in your lap, with Zayne walking out of your room to let you change. Opening the door handle, you smile back at Zayne who only chuckles as he sees your face. “Why are you laughing? These are very stylish!”

“You still have makeup on with them on, that's all. Come on, let's get your makeup removed and your teeth brushed.” Nodding in agreement, you use him as support to walk to your bathroom and wait for him to step inside.

Craning your neck upwards to look up at Zayne, you await his instructions. He quickly catches on, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush and hands it to you. Grabbing the toothbrush, you look at him in the mirror as you begin brushing.

Just before spitting out the toothpaste, you give him a foamy grin which causes him to unfortunately only encourage you to spit it out instead of complimenting your lovely smile.

“What about your makeup remover?” Blinking up at him, you point towards the micellar water and the cotton pads laying about on the counter top.

“Here,” He hands them to you, with the bottle of micellar water opened. Taking them into your hands, you pour the transparent liquid over the cotton pad and gravely miss, with some of it ending on your fluffy mat.

“Can you do it for me?” You pass them back to him, and immediately close your eyes. Gentle hands gently touch your chin, slightly bringing it upwards as you feel the cold feeling glide across your face.

“Sorry, it's a little cold.” He apologises, shuffling about as he takes more micellar water onto the cotton pads. “Almost done.” You feel him get closer, the stupid feeling of his breath resting on your lips makes you internally spiral.

“Done. Into bed now.” You open your eyes as Zayne stands beside you, waiting for you to lead the way into your bedroom.

Your heavy feet pad against the floors, magically making it into the bed and you pull the covers over your body. “Li?” You call out with your head resting against the pillows. He turns back around in the hallway. “Thank you, you're such a good friend.”

“Of course. Just doing what a friend would do. Goodnight, L/n.” He walks away, and you finally let sleep overcome you.

The sound of an alarm that definitely should not be going off wakes you up, and you are immediately greeted with the bright sun hitting your eyes and a throbbing headache. Turning off the alarm, you bury yourself back into the covers to stop the headache.

Whatever happened last night must have been fun for the pain to be this bad. Closing your eyes, you are immediately met with the insane things you did the previous night.

Getting drunk in front of all of your colleagues, some other act that you can't quite remember and Zayne removing your makeup. All of it hits you like a train, except from this one particular thing that happened with Zayne.

Your finger hovers over your lips as a habit and suddenly everything clicks into place. Outside, jumping into the decorative fountain to cool down, Zayne getting into the fountain to only pick you up bridal style, and the kiss. The kiss that almost happened.

You scream into your pillow, the pulsing sensation only getting stronger as you use up more of your strength for such a useless thing. Letting out a heavy sigh, you rush to the bathroom to brush your teeth and create a terrible breakfast to get the pain medication down.

The medication doesn't go down as easily as you assumed it would. The bitter, chalky taste is very much reflecting your bleak outlook on your reputation and the potential for Zayne to think of you as a freak.

Hell, you even called him a good friend in your drunk state. Never have you ever considered him a friend— only an enemy, acquaintance and a confusing crush. This immediately blurs the lines of your confusing relationship, as you vaguely remembering him calling you a friend as he left last night.

Does that make you friends? Do friends almost kiss? Do friends walk you home in the opposite direction to get you home safely and remove your makeup?

Great friends might, but you bravely established the start of a friendship last night. The realisation dawns upon you, and you stare up at the ceiling in a mixture of disbelief and nervousness.

Zayne might just feel the same way.

The walk into Akso is terribly gloomy, your umbrella almost giving into the strong winds and carrying away your remaining will to live.

Making your way into the department, you spot Zayne in the corner of your eye and quickly change into your scrubs before he leaves you to have an awkward rounding session together with the rest of the trainees.

Putting on your most neutral expression possible, you approach with your hands behind your back to hide your fidgeting hands. “Doctor Li, can I speak to you privately please?”

“Of course.” Luckily for you, everyone seems keen on getting started early and leaves you alone with him. “I just want to start by apologising, I was certainly a handful on Friday night. Thank you for going out of your way to make sure I get home safely. Things that nearly happened definitely should not have happened and I want to say sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”

“Of course, we are acquaintances and colleagues.” Your heart flutters, but you can't pinpoint if it's disappointment or acceptance. “It's in the best interests of the hospital to make sure that all staff members go back home safely. As for the thing that nearly happened, it's best if we pretend it never happened.”

“Thank you for understanding. I'm glad we can just put it behind us.” You bite the inside of your lip, realising the emotion you feel is definitely disappointment. “We should get going, we have to do rounds.”

With the specialisation exams approaching, the general surgery department grows more tense as the days go by.

The silly jokes in the break room have now been replaced by the sighs of resident doctors who only want to pass their exams. Thankfully, the department is well aware of this and has blocked out study time in your working schedule to focus on these important exams.

With your appointments running later, you have lost the privilege of choosing your seat and are forced to sit at the only shared table without a computer. But that seems to be less of a pressing problem when you see Zayne and you realise this study session is going to be a lot harder than you initially planned it out to be.

Shaking off the distraction sat next to you, you hover over a neurosurgery textbook as you fiddle with your pen. Placing your pen down, you grab a highlighter from your worn out pencil case and you hear the faint sound of your pen rolling off the table. Your reflexes aren't quick enough to catch it in time, and it drops onto the floor right onto Zayne's side of the table.

Without trying to make a scene, you stretch out your arm to reach for the stupid pen but to no avail. Extremely tempted to just use another one, you glance at the ink filled cylinder only to realise it's your favourite one that has the smoothest ink. With a new found determination, you stretch your arm out even further only to come extremely short.

You sit back up onto your seat and watch the second hand go past. The dull sound of a chair being dragged against the floor shakes the table ever so slightly and you look to the reason that disturbed your silence.

Zayne sits there, holding your pen out waiting for you to take it back. You smile at him, instantly feeling bad that you called him the so called reason of destroying your silence. Reaching for the pen, you wrap your fingers around it, waiting for Zayne to let go. But he doesn't. He only pulls the pen closer to him, causing you to be pulled closer to him by the grip he has over your poor pen.

Blinking at him, you gesture towards the pen, hoping that he gets the hint to let go so you can get back to your studies. You even point out the table, and hope that he just leaves it there. But nothing. Staring at him, you try to figure out what on earth he is trying to get out of this.

With your eyes honed in on his, you feel the pen move in your hold and before you even realise, Zayne's fingers are ever so slightly touching yours. You welcome the feeling of his fingers against yours. If you tried hard enough, you could just about make out the softness of his fingertips despite the rough procedures he helps assist whilst in the operating room.

Or maybe you could almost feel the texture of his skin if you move even in the slightest. Somebody should move their hand away. But in all honesty, you don't want to and you can't bring yourself to do so.

But the textbooks that sit on the desk is calling out your name, begging to be read again— You let out an extremely unconvincing cough that magically causes no one in the room to bat an eye, but only then, Zayne's eyes widen in shock.

He immediately lets go of the pen, and his gaze flickers between your hands and his. He hastily flicks to a new page of his textbook, pretending that you don't exist after everything that just happened.

You can only furrow your eyebrows at his behaviour, especially after noticing the red hue that has rapidly appeared on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

This is definitely not what forgetting Friday night's incident looks like.

Sitting in the break room, you fiddle with your fingers as you watch Greyson and Yvonne walk out, leaving you the only person left in the room with Zayne. The door closes behind them and you feel the conflict between your emotions threatening to spill over but you swallow them down. “I have something to say.”

“Something private, I'm assuming.” You nod, nibbling on the inside of your gum.

“I can't keep pretending like everything is okay. I can't keep going about my day as if my brain isn't clouded so many thoughts to the point where it gets overwhelming. I have tried denying it, suppressing the feeling until it disappears— but it never does. It only makes it worse. As someone who has been wanting to be a neurosurgeon long before starting medical school, I do what I am told.” You pause, looking into his eyes and seeing your own reflection.

“I have always been inclined to think with my head, never my heart. But things have changed, and at first I hated it. At first I thought it was the rush of actually being a doctor, but it wasn't. It was you, Zayne. I can't keep ignoring what my heart wants.” Tears stream down your face. “I have to give into what my heart wants. My heart wants you, Zayne.”

Through your clouded vision, you notice Zayne struggling for words for the first time in all of your years of knowing him. Your heart stammers rapidly against your chest, waiting for him to just say something. But he doesn't say anything, only wiping your tears with his cool fingertips. The coldness of his fingers brings you relief through your flushed face.

You prepare for a heart wrenching rejection that will leave you emotionally unavailable for the next three years whilst still pretending that everything is okay for the remainder of this stupid general surgeon training.

You could perhaps start by having a long movie night with some strawberry ice cream and— “You called me Zayne. Not Li.”

“That's all you care about?” Your mouth drops as your tears find their way back into its tear ducts.

“I just poured out my entire heart and all you care about is that I called you Zayne?” Anger bubbles through your small silver of patience and you walk around him, ready to leave.

“Y/n.” You pause in your tracks, fully understanding why he was unable to say anything when you called him by his first name. “Stay. Please, I didn't even get to tell you how I feel.” His hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from leaving. Turning around, you see him with his eyes glassy with tears. “I didn't get the chance to tell you my feelings. I'm sorry for scaring you like that, I just needed time to make sure what I heard from you was truly real.”

“You don't need to feel pity for me. We can just pretend that this never happened.” You sniffle, the tears threatening to spill again.

“No, Y/n. Just stay for a minute. I just need one minute.” The sense of urgency drips from his voice. His hold on your wrist doesn't tighten or loosen, just waiting for you to make a decision.

With a sigh, you turn around and see him shut his eyes closed for a second. “Studying the health of other people's hearts was always my priority. I assumed that nothing good would happen from putting my own heart first. But fuck, Y/n. I need to be selfish for once.”

“So you…”

“I like you, Y/n.” Tears flow and you find yourself between his warm arms.

“You fucking idiot.” You shove your face in his chest as you hit his shoulder. “Had me thinking if I would be known as the one who stupidly confessed her feelings for a colleague and got rejected.” His shirt becomes drenched in your tears. “You had me so scared, Zayne!”

“Shhh. I know, I'm such an idiot aren't I?” He soothes you, rubbing a hand down your back slowly. The sound of his rapid beating heart brings you a weird sense of peace, allowing you to focus on something other than the happy, hot tears streaming down your face.

Soon enough, your breathing goes back to normal. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, addressing the smirk on his face.

“So you called me Zayne, huh?” His smile grows even wider.

“Shut up.” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him. “Make me.” Without wasting another second, the space between you is closed.

A shaky hand cups your cheek and you finally, finally feel his lips on yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and you can taste the saltiness from your dried tears. But nothing has ever felt so good.

Pulling away, your forehead rests against Zayne's, feeling his breath linger on your lips. “My place.” He nods, kissing your lips once more before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the door.

You lock the door and Zayne is immediately on you, pinning you to the nearest wall. He wraps an arm around your body, pulling you close to him and closes the distance between your lips.

His hands start to wander, his usual logical mind suddenly in a frenzy. His hands soon find the ends of your blouse, placing his cold fingertips at the base of your waist.

You gasp in response, and he takes this opportunity to sweep his tongue against your mouth, leaving you breathless. Your fingers tug at his hair and this only spurs him on, slowly dragging his fingertips higher and higher.

Zayne's lips detach from yours, leaving a connected line of your shared saliva whilst you refill your lungs with air again. Soft kisses trail down your jaw until Zayne finds refuge at the base of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

“You… smell like honey.” He breathes against your neck. “I missed out on my dessert on my lunch break. But who am I to care whilst I am currently indulging in the sweetest dessert after a long day of work?” His lips cover every inch of your skin scented honey perfume, thoroughly making sure to not miss a single spot.

“Zayne…” You breathe out. “Bedroom.” His large hands settle at the back of your thighs and you jump into his arms without hesitation and recapture his lips with yours.

You find yourself being placed on the side of the bed with no idea of how Zayne actually found your bedroom whilst kissing you until all the air in your lungs disappears. But you don't have the energy to care, not when he loosens his tie with one hand wearing those silver rimmed glasses of his.

Impatient, you yank him down with his collar and kiss him like tomorrow doesn't exist. Making good use of his nimble fingers, the opening of your blouse widens as he unbuttons it. The blouse lands on the bed and you fling it away, ready to do the same with the rest of your clothes.

“Gorgeous.” Zayne pulls away from you, admiring your almost naked form. His fingers find the clasp of your bra, but never comes undone. Only when you silently nod in approval is when the flimsy piece of material is released. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Zayne whispers before pinching your nipple, kissing the sides of your neck.

A rush of pleasure runs through you and you can't help but moan at the feeling. If anything, it only encourages him more to devour you, leaving wet kisses down your neck to your chest, taking your lonely bud into his mouth.

“Zayne…” You say, breathless at the pleasure he's giving you. He sucks harder in response, obviously proud of making you feel immense pleasure without even touching you where you need it the most.

He removes his lips with a soft pop from your sensitive bud, only to quickly give the other one the same attention whilst the sleeves of his shirt ride upwards. Swirling your nipple, he removes his tie and shirt with his gaze locked on you.

You grab the back of his neck, pulling him in closer as you try to mentally capture such a lewd image. In your dazed state, your eyes rake down his body, admiring the scars on his veiny arms. He presses heated kisses against your collarbone before looking at you again with his dilated pupils.

“You've been so good for me, Zaynie. Wanna do the same for you too.” You drawl out, teasingly running down one of your hands down his bare chest, watching as he exhales heavily at the mere touch of your fingertips.

“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me.” He curses under his breath but he grabs your wrist before you can go any lower. “I have waited so long to have you in my arms, darling. Tonight is all about making you feel good.” He kisses your temple. “But that doesn't stop you from doing whatever you want for round two.” His warm breath fans your ear, goosebumps quickly forming along your exposed arms.

True to his words, his fingers find the buttons on your trousers and you lift up your hips, removing the unwanted piece of material. Slow circles are traced along your inner thighs, until a finger traces over your drenched panties and you buck your core towards his hand at the fleeting sensation.

“Already this soaked for me?” He mockingly asks, continuing to move just one finger up and down your covered slit. You nod quickly in response, hoping that he actually starts moving properly. “I'm honoured. I'll give you what you so desperately want.” A ripping sound echoes throughout the room, and you feel your hot core exposed to the cold air.

But before you can even open your mouth to protest, a long, thick finger breaches your entrance. You shamelessly moan, feeling his finger explore your tight walls. “Look at you, feeling this good with just one finger.” He chuckles. “I haven't even gotten to your little sweet spot yet.” With the curl of his finger, the pads of his finger brushes against that gummy spot against your walls that has you grab your sheets.

“Fuck. Please!” You cry out, tears filling your vision.

“Please what, darling? I can't give you what you want until you ask for it.” Zayne says, another finger teasing the tip of your entrance.

“Please don't stop! Feels s-so good, Zaynie. Need more.” He slips another inside your wet core, fingers continue to stimulate your pretty g-spot, practically sending fireworks through your body.

“So responsive for me, sweetheart.” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing quick figure of eights whilst you moan unabashedly in pleasure. “I can feel you tighten up around me. Are you going to cum this quickly?”

“Close, s-so close Zaynie. I'm gonna cum, gonna be good, so good.” You grind against his hand, chasing the pleasure right on the tip of your tongue.

“Yeah?” He asks and you shakily nod in agreement. “Cum for me then, sweetheart.” With his fingers never slowing down its ministrations on your poor pussy, you feel the knot in your stomach snap and the pleasure overwhelms your body.

“Took my fingers so well, my good girl.” Your eyes lazily follow his handsome face. An arm grabs your waist, pulling you onto his lap, your lips ghosting over his. “I'm not finished with you yet, darling.” He closes the distance, your wet core hovering over his trousers.

Kissing you deeper, the distance closes even more and you feel his hard bulge under you. The feeling of the material and his imprint feels too good— with every little movement that you and Zayne make, your swollen clit catches against his trousers. “I can feel you dripping, baby.”

You moan in response, pushing your breasts flush against his chest for more stimulation. “You're going to make even more of mess on me, understood?” You nod, unable to help the drool leaving your mouth, landing between your chest and his. The sound of his voice and the feeling of his stupidly hard cock rubbing against your swollen clit has you on cloud nine.

“You're all mine. Mine. My good girl is going to listen to me and make a mess, isn't she? Clenching around fucking nothing. Don't worry baby, you'll have your fill soon, I'll make sure of it. Leave you aching for days, so you never forget who makes you feel this good. I want you to keep your eyes open for me when you cum, can you do that for me?”

The thought of having Zayne making you feel so good without him properly fucking you has you going insane. He nibbles on your ear, making it all too easy to hear how desperate he is for you, making the cord inside of you snap.

“Hah, Zayne! Gonna make a mess, hck!” You cry out, your vision getting blurry as you fight back the urge to keep your eyes closed as pleasure drives through you. In the midst of your vision, you notice Zayne's stupidly handsome smirk as he watches your response, flicking between your face and his lap where you sit on.

“Filthy girl, making such a mess.” He looks down to his darkened trousers. “Did such a good job all over me.” He dries the tears on your face, placing you back down on the sheets as he fixes your hair and kisses your cheek to give you a short respite.

“Can you keep up, baby? Haven't even gotten to the best part yet.” The sound of a zipper reaches your ears in your relaxed state, Zayne freeing his cock from the restraints of his boxers.

The prominent vein running on the side, oh how much fun it would be to watch his reaction as you run your tongue over it. Perhaps for another time.

“Do you have any condoms anywhere, darling?” Shaking your head no, you see the indecisiveness in his eyes.

“Please Zaynie, if I wait any longer I might just cry.” You plead.

“We need to stay safe, Y/n. We don't want any unexpected problems.” He screws his eyes closed, trying to think of something.

“We can get a pill tomorrow, Zaynie.” You press your lips together. “I've waited to have you for so long, I can't wait much longer.” You see his eyes waver. “Please, baby?”

“You are the only one that makes all of my logic fly out of the window. Just this once.” He languidly strokes himself a couple times, his jaw tightening ever so slightly from the pleasure. He hovers over you, his face close to yours. “Tell me you want me and I will give you all of me.”

“I want you— no, I need you Zayne. Need you to fill me up so bad.” You beg and a heart throbbing smile appears on his face. You feel a stretch, your head spinning at the dangerous mix of pain and pleasure.

“I've got you, gorgeous. Just breathe slowly for me, okay?” You follow his instructions, the stretch quickly ebbing into pure pleasure.

Your jaw drops at the feeling and you desperately crave for more. “Need all of you, baby. I can take it, need to feel all of you.” You wrap your legs around his waist, ready for more. He pushes in further and your walls clamp around him, memorising the way his cock curves ever so slightly against where you need it the most.

“So tight for me gorgeous. I'm such a lucky man.” He rests his forehead against yours, savouring the closeness between you two. Without a warning, he pulls back painstakingly slow before pushing himself back in.

“Zayne!” You whine, eyes screwing shut as he continues to thrust repeatedly.

“I'm here, darling.” He finds your lips, slotting it between his, the sounds of your shared saliva echoing throughout the room. You moan into his mouth as he finds his rhythm, showing you the fruits of his stamina.

“So fucking tight.” He disconnects his lips from yours. “Can't believe we spent so long arguing when I could have been in here. We need to make up for all the lost time, sweetheart.” An 'mhm' is all you can manage, your mind only filled with Zayne, Zayne, Zayne.

“Has my darling of a surgeon forgotten how to speak?” You rake your fingernails down his back. “Have I made you go all dumb with just my cock?”

“I can —ngh— still —fuck— talk!” You just about manage to say, looking up at Zayne, drinking in your fucked out appearance.

“I guess I haven't done my job properly.” He snaps his hips forwards and you grasp onto his biceps for support. “Tell me darling, what is the seventh cranial nerve?” You don't have the willpower to prove his stupidly gorgeous face wrong, even though any other moment you would have jumped at such an easy opportunity to do so.

How does he expect you to know when he's literally rearranging your insides?

You use whatever brainpower you have left, formulating a snarky reply. “Zayne I don't fucking care about some stupid cranial nerve right now.” You stare into his hazel green eyes. “Please don't stop, feels so good.”

“As you wish.” He places a chaste kiss on your lips and drills into your sopping core with no mercy. Your head tilts back, exposing your bare neck for him. He licks your skin as a warning, sucking and grazing the surface with his teeth, definitely more than enough to leave pretty marks in the morning. His warm breath finds the small of your ear, nibbling on the fleshy part of your earlobe ever so gently in attempts to bring you closer to the edge.

“I can feel you clenching around me, gorgeous. Feels so good doesn't it?” He mocks you, his tone of voice mimicking to yours. “I'm going to make you feel even better.” Zayne says and much to your dismay, pulls out.

You feel his hands reach out for your calves, folding your legs against your chest, pushing you into the mattress in a mean mating press. “How about this, baby?” He pushes back in and your eyes roll back.

You can feel him everywhere, this position makes your chest heave as you feel all the breath in your lungs being stolen from you with each snap of his hips. “What about now, darling? Do you have words left to say, or has the cat finally gotten your tongue?” You open your mouth, but no words come out. The cool air floods your mouth, a stark comparison to your burning body.

“Thought so.” Zayne smirks, tightening his grip on your waist. “Fuck darling, how did you get even tighter? It's like your cunt is begging me to not stop since your pretty mouth can't do it for you. You're so close, aren't you baby?” Your eyes become glassy, the pleasure overwhelming your senses as you whimper in a pathetic response.

His shoulders are so wide, you can barely even see the ceiling. It would definitely would be fun to leave blooming marks for him to cover up in the morning. A calculated thrust snaps you out of your daydreaming. “Come on, darling. Let all the neighbours know who makes you feel this good.”

His hand snakes towards your throbbing clit, giving it some needed attention after what feels like an eternity. “Hah— 'm close! Cum? Can I cum?” You plead.

“I know you're close darling. Say I'm yours and I'll let you cum.” The quick movements on your clit never stop, if anything they only speed up at his request.

“I'm yours! Yours, yours, Zayne! Mmm, my boyfriend is fucking me so good!” You cry out, your pleasure filled mind begging for release.

“Say that again, darling.”

“Boyfriend fucking me so good! Love it so much, please let me cum!” His eyes lock onto yours, filled with need and desire.

“Only your boyfriend can make you feel this good, can't he?” He greedily presses his fingers into the side of your hips. “Need to see you make a mess. Cum for me.” His thick mushroom head bullies your sweet spot in an uneven rhythm, a bead of sweat falls down his temples.

You don't even comprehend what comes out of your mouth as your orgasm crashes into you. Waves of pleasure run through your body as you blindly grab onto Zayne to ground yourself. You weakly open your eyes and watch Zayne's movements begin to falter as he finds release, hot white spurts of his cum finding home inside your fluttering walls.

With gentleness reserved only for you, he pulls out and finds a spot next to you on the bed. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi boyfriend.” His ears burn with a red ruby colour. You smile, albeit exhausted and snuggle up closer to him.

“I wasn't too much, was I?” He asks, his eyes raking down your body to see the beginning of littered dark marks forming on your skin. “I'm sorry if I hurt you, darling.”

“You didn't, Zaynie. Besides, I wouldn't mind it if you did.” The corner of your lips goes up ever so slightly, feeling the exhaustion clear instantly.

“We have tomorrow off, don't we? Don't you think it's time for you to fulfil your promise of round two?” Your finger trails down his chest and Zayne exhales heavily.

“Let me make my handsome boyfriend feel good, hm?” You look into his eyes for confirmation and latch onto his neck when he begs you for more.

Walking to the lunch cafeteria, you feel a hand appear out of nowhere and pull you into the storage closet you know all too well. “Who are— Zayne?” You exclaim and he places a hand over your mouth to quieten you down, so you bite on his fingers as revenge. He removes his hand, and you rub your hands over the bite marks to soothe the pain.

“Why are we in here?” You question your boyfriend.

“Darling, do you remember this little room?” He asks and you nod quickly in hopes he lets you free to hurry down to the cafeteria. “This was the room where you called us acquaintances. I was not particularly happy with that label on our relationship.”

“Baby, you were the one who told me and I quote, “This is not how acquaintances act around each other,” so it was you, not me.” He only pouts and you kiss his lips as a quick act of comfort. “Can we go now? It's lunch, you know that they serve my favourite lasagna on Mondays!”

“I'm not hungry for that kind of lunch right now.” He replies, caging you between him and the door. “Let me have my lunch, hm?” Realising what he wants, you let him press his body against yours as you impatiently await his lips on yours.

“Hold on, let me get a mop and bucket first!” A muffled voice says through the other side of the door and you feel your skin grow cold at the thought of someone discovering something that definitely should not be happening in a hospital storage closet.

Zayne's hand instinctively reaches for the handle, clearly looking stressed. But your mind strays elsewhere, as you notice the prominent veins on his arms and hands as he uses all his strength to keep the door closed.

“I think the door's locked, Joseph! Just wait a minute, I'll go grab the keys from reception!” The voice fades into the distance and you silently let out a sigh of relief.

“He's gone.” Zayne lets out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding.

“Thank you, my knight in shining armour. So brave, so strong.” You thank him, running your hands down his arms. “We have to hurry before Joseph's friend comes and finds us, don't we?” Zayne's eyes become heavy lidded, one hand on the door and the other resting above your head.

His forehead rests on yours, forcing you to make eye contact with him, sending a swarm of butterflies down your stomach. “My gorgeous darling.” He breathes out before greedily capturing your lips. Your chest presses against his and he shudders at the sensation.

“If we reveal our relationship one day, everyone is going to know who you belong to. Kisses—” He places a kiss on your jawline. “Here,” soft kisses press against your pulse point. “and here.”

The sound of rattling against the door stops your boyfriend in his tracks, going back to putting all of his attention on the door.

You pout, undoing a few of his top buttons to reveal his collarbone. Lifting yourself off the door, you attach yourself to him and leave open mouthed kisses against the hidden area that only you can look at.

“It's not working.” Joseph's friend mutters under his breath. “Joseph, I'm going to try another storage closet, I won't be too long!” He walks away, and you wrap your arms around Zayne's waist.

“He should be gone for good now, baby.” You rub circles around his waist. “But about the revealing the relationship—”

“I'm sorry if I forced something onto you that you don't want to do, my love.” He replies and you shake your head.

“I want to. I just don't know the best time to reveal it. Perhaps the award ceremony, since we're both nominees for the same award?”

“I think that's a wonderful idea.” He pats your head. “Now should we go get your lasagna?” You shake your head, your fingers running against the faint marks against his collarbone before fixing up his buttons.

“Now we can, as long as you let me go first to get my lasagna before it runs out.”

“Are you sure it's not to avoid us exposing our relationship to the whole of the hospital?” You cover your mouth in fake shock. “Both.” Kissing his cheek, you leave him to stop the flush on his cheeks from reddening more as you open the door.

“Over here, Y/n!” Yvonne calls out your name, and you spot her with the other surgical trainees. Walking past the tables, you sit down on the chair opposite Yvonne and place the precious lasagna onto the table.

“It looks like everyone is here?” Looking around the table, you pretend to not notice the seat next to you, intended for your secret boyfriend.

“Zayne isn't.” Greyson replies, and you open your mouth into a small 'o' shape as you pretend to remember his existence. “Have you seen him, by the way? I wonder if he will get here in time before the cheesecakes from the counter are all gone.”

“Not on my way here, no.” You bite into the lasagna, the taste making you instantly smile. “Oh. There he is.” You point to the man hovering over the dessert section. He sits beside you, pretending to not pay any attention to you.

“Since we are finishing our first year as doctors soon and have all passed our specialisation exams, which hospitals are you guys going to work at?” Yvonne asks, grabbing a spoonful of rice.

“The one in Skyhaven, I'm already dreading the long journey there.”

“I'm heading to Chansia, I hope it's as peaceful as people say it is.”

Hearing everyone is going their separate ways, you pick at your lasagna as your appetite slips away with every passing minute. “I'm staying here, thankfully.” Zayne answers, his warm hand is placed on your thigh, drawing small circles to comfort you.

“I am too.” You reply, reaching under the table with your free hand, you feel for Zayne's hand.

“We all need to keep in touch, guys! I have absolutely no idea how, considering our schedules are somehow going to be more intense, but I expect a reunion at least twice a year!” Yvonne points at each person on the table, making eye contact with everyone.

“Of course, don't even worry about it. You wouldn't let us live it down in the group chat, Yvonne.” You reply, causing everyone to laugh.

His large hand reaches for yours, tracing the lines on your palms before interlocking your fingers with his. His calloused thumb rubs the back of your hand gently, hiding back a smirk when you jolt slightly at the sensation.

“Are you okay, Y/n? You jumped in your seat. Was it a fly or something?” Greyson asks, putting all of the attention on you.

“Yep, I'm okay. Just hit my foot against the bar under the table, no worries.” You say through your teeth, hoping they move on and find a new topic to talk about.

“I've been working here for almost a full year and you're telling me there was a bar under the table? How have I not given myself bruises yet?” Yvonne's head dips under the table, and you immediately shove Zayne's hand away from you.

Heat rushes to your face and you tap your foot against the floor to calm down your racing heartbeat. “There actually is one! I think it's a miracle I haven't hit my foot against it yet. It's a sign that next year will go smoothly!” Unsure of what to say, you hum in agreement, picking up your fork to eat your lasagna with one hand as your other finds Zayne's under the table.

“Zayne, why are you eating your lasagna with one hand? Cutting just using a fork seems troublesome.” Greyson butts in, and you feel his hand grip yours tighter.

“I want to get more comfortable with using my left hand for surgeries. Is there a problem, Greyson?” Your boyfriend replies, causing Greyson to compliment him on his dedication for wanting to improve quickly.

Glancing at the clock, your shoulders relax as the time reaches 12:53. “Guys, we have seven more minutes before lunch ends. We should probably go.” Shoving the last bite of lasagna in, you give Zayne's hand a quick squeeze before heading off to put your plate away.

You sit in the large hall that Akso has rented out for the awards ceremony, admiring the blue decorations and banners that cover the walls as you await for the next award to be revealed. Looking over to Zayne who sits next to you, he gives you a gentle smile with a quiet nod which instantly calms your nerves.

“The last award to be announced will be the 'Most Promising Rookie Surgeon of the Year’. Will the nominees please stand up and make their way to the stage, please?” The hospital director asks and you smooth the material of your dress before standing up alongside Zayne.

Shuffling past others in the row to get to the front, the director notices you and Zayne. “Ah yes, the infamous double-trouble duo, Doctor L/n and Doctor Li. Doctor Zhou, you must have had your hands full with these two in the same department.” Everyone laughs as Doctor Zhou eagerly nods her head in agreement.

You make your way up the stage, intentionally walking slower up the stairs to prevent falling with your heels on. “With these two under our radar, our future patients will be in very good hands.” Standing side by side, you notice the large bouquet of flowers that will be given to the winner.

“Regardless of the results, being nominated for such an impressive award is truly an amazing feat. It only starts the future of an exciting career.” He smiles. “But alas, there must only one winner. The winner for the 'Most Promising Rookie Surgeon of the Year’ is… Doctor L/n!”

Loud cheers flood your ears, and you see everyone on the general surgery team giving you proud smiles and claps. Turning around to face Zayne, he smiles as if he holds all the stars in his eyes. “Congrats, my love.” His lips read.

You feel the large bouquet of flowers end up in your arms, and you're gently ushered towards the microphone for your short speech. “I— wow. Being a nominee was truly enough for me, but I would just like to thank all those who helped me get to this point. The lovely patients who taught me the importance of putting others before myself, the general surgery team especially my mentor, Doctor Zhou.” You face Zayne, and he nods, giving you confirmation.

You move the microphone slightly so you face him as you give your speech. “Most importantly, to my pillar of support. Zayne Li. I know that we had an extremely rocky start, but somewhere along the way, you understood me and helped me become someone that others could rely on. Thank you, my love.” The cheers start up again, and you take a celebratory picture with your flowers on stage.

Murmurs of the audience begin to rev up, people talking about how they find it hard to believe that the two people who wanted to take out each other's guts somehow became lovers.

The deadly combination of large flowers blocking your view and tall heels make you unstable on your feet as you walk towards the end of the stage. Above your view of the flowers, you notice Zayne making his way down the stairs and waits down at the bottom.

A familiar hand patiently hangs in the air, waiting for you to take it. You barely manage to hold your hand out and he stabilises you, preventing you from falling down the steps.

The murmurs immediately stop and are replaced with gasps, realising that you weren't lying about your relationship. Disappointed sighs are heard from certain members of the audience, with them talking about how they won't be able to shoot their shot with Zayne or you, making you smile up at Zayne.

Making your way back down to your seats, you hold the flowers in one hand and Zayne's hand in the other. He guides you to your seat, helping you place the flowers on the floor. Yvonne turns to you with a mischievous grin on her face as she asks you when you started to date Zayne. You laugh, elbowing her to stay quiet as the ceremony comes to a close.

Zayne holds your flowers as the entire general surgery department stand outside the hall. “So are you going to tell us exactly how this relationship started or am I going to need to hack into your phone?” Yvonne asks, eyeing your purse that Zayne conveniently also holds.

“That's going to take too long, I'm going to need a few hours for that one!” Yvonne's jaw drops, realising there is so much more to the story than she thought.

“The entire department hosted a bet about you guys.” You look at Zayne, who looks equally confused. “We wanted to see if the tension you guys had would either end up in one of you guys— or both— stabbing each other in the back or if you would end up together. Thankfully, Yvonne and I won.” Greyson high fives Yvonne whilst everyone else sighs, taking out large bills out of their wallets.

“If you told me last year I would be in a relationship with Zayne, I would have laughed in your face. Especially after I intentionally picked a fight with him after we met.” Zayne chuckles as he reminisces your first interaction.

“I had too much confidence for someone who thought it would be best to listen to instructions to a stranger instead of a receptionist on how to get to lecture hall C5.”

“C5? Darling, you asked me where lecture hall E5 was, not C5.” Your jaw drops, realising that this entire time, Zayne never meant to intentionally set you up and send you to the wrong place.

“Your reasoning for starting a six year feud was because he sent you to the wrong lecture hall?” Doctor Zhou asks, clearly amused.

“In my defence, I asked for C5 and not E5— he made me late to the first lecture that I desperately wanted to make a good first impression in. It was extremely loud that day, C and E do sound quite similar when you shout them at someone.” You grin, with everyone still shocked at your levels of pettiness.

“Anyways, I'm glad things ended well for us.” You say, and Zayne kisses your temple lovingly.

“I'm hungry.” Greyson sighs, pretending to not see your public display of affection.

“Should we go to the barbecue place for dinner?”

“As long as Y/n doesn't get too drunk and jump into the fountain, call a good friend before falling asleep after her makeup is removed.” Your boyfriend replies with a grin, and your hand flies up to cover his mouth.

“You did what?” Yvonne turns to face you in shock, her mouth open.

“Dinner sounds wonderful, Greyson!” You swiftly change the topic, turning on your heel as you walk towards your car. Zayne closely follows, his fingers tightly intertwined with yours.

intellectual property of ©hirayalia, 2026. do not copy or feed to ai.

Your inner prey instincts shrieked in protest. Yet, as you stared at the attached photo, your throat went dry. With his sharp jawline, striking eyes, and furry burgundy ears poking through his hair, the man was undeniably gorgeous. 

Worse, his profile had a warning listed: Lupine genes present extreme rut cycles. Past cycles managed via pharmaceuticals due to high stamina projections. 

So, he’s never had a partner, you thought. A pent-up predator didn’t bode well, especially not to a bunny. Even so, according to the warning, he had the exact untapped reservoir of energy that you needed to get through your insatiable heats. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was breathtakingly easy on the eyes. 

A sudden, sharp throb low in your belly shattered your hesitation. The early waves of your heat were beginning to roll in, warming your skin and sending a restless twitch through your elongated ears. You didn’t have the luxury of time, especially not to second-guess the man that, admittedly, exacerbated the effects of your impending heat.

Shifting your finger across the touchpad of your laptop, you slammed the Accept Pairing button before the more logical side of your brain could talk you out of it. 

In an instant, the screen flashed with a bold, celebratory notification: MATCH CONFIRMED!

 A soft gasp escaped your lips. He had already accepted. Before your mind could fully process that little fact, a new interface slid into view. 

KnotAlone Chatroom: Valko and You

The text bubble at the bottom of the screen was already bouncing, the three dots doing their usual rhythmic dance before disappearing, replaced by a message that was surprisingly warm for an apex predator. 

Valko Ao: Hello! So glad you accepted the match. To be honest, I was worried my profile statistics would scare people off. 

You blinked at the screen, intrigued. His message was devoid of the growling dominance and arrogance you had come to expect from predator hybrids. Another message came through before you formulated a response. 

Valko Ao: Your profile mentioned needing someone who can match your stamina, right? That works out perfectly. My doctors always insisted that my rut cycles are too intense for a standard pairing, so I’ve just been using suppressants up until now. I’d love to help you through your heat if you’ll have me. When does your cycle start?”

You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard as a flush crawled up your neck. It was one thing to fill out personal info on a questionnaire, but it was another to openly share with another person.

You: within the next two days at least. Already feeling the warning signs :/

Valko Ao: that’s fine! I can clear my schedule right away.

His easy, accommodating response did wonders for your nerves. Over the next two days, the anticipated dread of your impending heat transformed into something entirely different. Valko texted you constantly, sending jokes, asking about your personal preferences and hobbies, and sharing bits of his own life. By the time the warning signs had become full-blown symptoms, you found that you were genuinely excited to meet him, even if the circumstances weren’t the most ideal.

You woke on the third morning drenched in sweat, your skin hypersensitive to every little touch. Your panties were already soaked and sticking to your swollen folds. It was pitiful, really, how quickly you were made a slave to your own biology, no more able to fight it than you were able to count the stars in the sky. 

With a shaky hand, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, shooting Valko a simple text, followed by your address.

You: I need you

He replied almost instantly, informing you that he was on his way. With a groan, you dropped your phone onto the bed, curling into yourself and wishing you could sleep away the scorching need coursing through your body. It felt like mere minutes had passed when a knock echoed through your apartment.

You stumbled from your bed to the door, unlocking it and swinging it open to see Valko standing in the hallway, his ears twitching almost nervously. Before he could even say hello, he froze. The combination of seeing you in such a vulnerable state and smelling the sweet, heady scent that seeped from your apartment had rendered him speechless, his mouth watering and his cock already hardening in his pants. 

He swallowed thickly. For a fraction of a second, Valko tried to hold onto his manners, but the more of you he inhaled, the more he felt like a wolf rather than a man. He opened his mouth to greet you, fighting every urge to pin you to the wall of the entryway and take you there, but his throat constricted and his body locked up.

You could see in the rigid set of his posture that he was at least trying to be a gentleman, but you didn’t want a gentleman at the moment. You needed him rough, and you needed him now.

While he was still trying to pull himself together in the doorway, you tugged him in by the fabric of his shirt, the door slamming closed behind him. He stumbled forward, his polite composure crumbling to dust under your touch. You practically dragged him through your apartment to your bedroom, and his hand hovered over your waist.

“I’m Valko,” he finally managed, his voice raspy as his eyes locked onto the way you were already pulling your shirt over your head.

You giggled at that, and Valko thought it was the prettiest sound he had ever heard.

“I sure hope so.” He flushed, embarrassment crawling up his spine. Obviously you knew who he was. You wouldn’t have let him in otherwise. He blamed it on your intoxicating scent. It was muddling his brain and making it impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t you. You, who was now wrapping your arms around his shoulders and mouthing at his neck, pressing your body flush against his.

Before he could even think, his strong arms landed on your hips, pushing you back slightly to make space. You pouted, and he suddenly felt like a world-class villain.

“Easy, sweetheart. I’m gonna help you,” he soothed, pushing you backwards until the bed hit the back of your knees. You fell onto the plush on the mattress, bouncing slightly. Your breath quickened. Through the haze of your arousal, you were vaguely aware that you had invited a predator into your home. You were also acutely aware that even the worst of your heat cycles had never affected you as much as the hulking man that was guiding your pliant body to lie against the pillows. 

“So pretty,” he murmured, his hands ghosting over your bare skin, his fingertips skimming the lacy fabric of your bra. It was almost painful, the way his cock was straining against his pants.

You placed your hand atop his, guiding it to cup your breast. “You don’t have to be sweet, you know?”

He locked eyes with you, searching for any hesitation or reservations, and found none, only pure want and need. He surged forward, capturing your lips with his. It was messy, all teeth and tongue and unrestrained instinct.

You arched your body into his, your hips grinding against the bulge in his slacks. He groaned into the kiss, his hands shooting down to hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling both down in one firm tug. Your bra followed shortly after, leaving you entirely bare beneath him. God, you were a fucking vision.

The whimper he let out was pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when a pretty little bunny was completely offering herself to him. Your hands were everywhere, sliding beneath his shirt, stroking his ears, palming his leaking cock. Wherever you could reach.

He reluctantly pulled away from you once more, just long enough to strip his own clothing. His impressive build had you salivating, and your weeping pussy clenched around nothing in anticipation as he resumed his spot above you, your legs on either side of his hips. 

“Please, Valko, please I need you,” you practically sobbed, staring up at him with watery eyes. Valko’s heart thundered in his chest, a possessive pang shooting through his chest. 

It was too much. Your desperate pleading, your legs spread for him, your cunt on display just for him. It was maddening. He lined himself up with your pulsing hole, and you keened, eager to finally be filled, pushing your hips up to force him deeper.

You were dripping, his thick cock stretching you with ease as he sunk all the way to the hilt. You moaned loudly, your fingers clawing into the sheets. He was so big you swore you could feel him in your throat.

“So tight,” he groaned deeply, nearly growling. He was already panting and he’d only just begun. “You feel so— ngh—good.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you like you never wanted him to leave. “More, Valko, pleasepleaseplease,” you begged, urging him to move, to touch you, anything that would quell the wanton need that radiated from your core. 

His hips snapped into yours, the blunt head of his cock molding your insides around him. It took everything he had not to cum prematurely. Your pussy gripped him like a vice, and he was sure this was as close to heaven as a man could get. 

The delicious drag of his cock had you beyond words, only able to cry out with pleasure every time his hips met yours. Your breath was ragged as he pounded into your slick hole, and your fingernails left red claw marks on his shoulders that he would later marvel at in the mirror.

“So perfect,” Valko breathed. “Made just for me.” His face was flushed a magnificent shade of his red, and his eyes were heavily lidded, drawn to the juncture where your bodies met, your slick leaking around his cock and soaking the bedsheets. 

You cried out his name, the edge of pleasure so tantalizingly close. His name fell from your lips like a mantra, spurring him on, his thrusts losing their rhythm and becoming frantic. He was already swelling at the base, but he’d be damned if he embarrassed himself and finished before you. Inexperienced though he was, he wasn’t a total prude. 

He brought his thumb to circle your neglected clit, sending pleasure shooting up your spine. You squealed, arching into his touch, your pussy spasming tightly around him as your vision went white.

Valko gasped, his own release overtaking him. Hot spurts of cum flooded your fluttering walls, and his swollen knot kept it all plugged snugly inside you and kept you connected to each other. 

Your vision was hazy, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, you actually felt sated, at least for the time being until your body again demanded more of him.

Quiet settled over the room, save for the twin sounds of your heavy breaths. Valko grinned broadly, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he dropped his forehead onto yours, nuzzling his nose against your face. Behind him, his heavy tail thumped against the mattress.

It was comforting to be wrapped in such strong arms and taken care of, but the peace was short-lived; your body, in its current state, was already squirming beneath him for friction.

Valko groaned deeply, still sensitive from his release only minutes prior, but the thick smell of your pheromones was pulling him into renewed lust right along with you.

Whether it was with your knees pressed to your chest, from behind where he could watch your cute little tail twitch, or holding you on his lap to fuck up into you, he couldn't get enough of you or the sinful sounds you made when he was buried deep inside you. It was hours before he collapsed onto the bed beside you, his cum dripping down your thighs and a satisfied grin on his face as he took in how thoroughly wrecked you looked all because of him.

As your breathing finally slowed, Valko pulled you into his embrace, clawed fingers stroking up and down your back soothingly. “Are you okay? Was that alright?” he asked, his voice rough and vibrating against your skin.

“I’m perfect,” you rasped, burying your face in his chest, your heart swelling at his genuine care. “Better than perfect. I can see why your profile had a warning on it,” you laughed, recalling the words of caution on his profile.

He let out a soft, pleased sound, his arms tightening around you as if he had absolutely no intention of leaving the bed—or your life—anytime soon. It was like your scent had completely rewired the primitive part of his brain, the part that was now claiming you as his own despite the brief acquaintance. Though, to be fair, you had done more than what typical acquaintances do. He didn't think he could be satisfied being just your heat partner.

A flush crawled up his neck as he debated with himself, his wolf ears twitching nervously, but there was no time like the present. “That’s good. I’m glad I didn't disappoint.” He hesitated, the words he truly wanted to say sticking in his throat. It didn't help that you were looking up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. Now that his more animalistic side had been satisfied and your scent wasn't sending him into a frenzy, he could take the time to admire just how delicate your features were.

“I know we still have a few days left to get through, and I’m not going anywhere, but when this is over, would you want to go on a proper date with me?”

His words had barely even registered before a bright smile lit up your face, and sweet giggles spilled from your lips. You nodded, your long ears shifting with the movement.