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​There was a distinct memory of losing his glasses at some point and and how he didn't care to look for them. He remembers behaving like a chaotic trauma resident instead of a chief cardiac surgeon.

And then, he remembers waking up to his empty bed, a pounding headache, and a single, mocking sticky note on the nightstand that read: "For a guy who talks so polite, you're pretty wicked in the dark"

🏥🥼💉🩺🩻🏥🥼💉🩺🩻🏥🥼💉🩺🩻🏥🥼💉🩺

The freezing air of Operating Room 3 usually acted as a reset button for Zayne. The moment he stepped up to the scrub sink, the rest of the world—and whatever chaotic thoughts plagued him—was supposed to vanish.

​Not today. He closed his eyes, letting the water run over his forearms. He could still feel the phantom sensation of a laugh vibrating against his chest—a laugh that had belonged to a stranger who had matched him drink for drink.

​"Idiot," Zayne muttered to himself, rinsing the soap from his hands.

​The heavy door to the scrub room hissed open. Zayne didn’t look up immediately. "Did the blood work come back from the lab yet?"

​"I have the labs right here, Dr. Zayne," a voice replied.

​Zayne’s hands froze.

​That voice. It wasn't Nurse Clara, who was currently at home cradling a newborn. It was lighter. And it was horribly, unmistakably familiar.

​He slowly turned his head and stared at you like he’d just witnessed a flatline on a healthy monitor.

​You, on the other hand, had to actively fight the urge to turn around and walk directly into oncoming traffic. Of all the hospitals, in all the cities, in all the world—you had to sleep with the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery twelve hours before your first shift. The very same Chief whose chest you had been using as a pillow five hours ago.

The silence that descended upon the scrub room was so thick you could have cut it with a #10 blade. Zayne stared at you as if you were a ghost, or worse, a medical anomaly he couldn't explain. His chest tightened in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with a cardiac event.

​"You," Zayne said, completely stripping away the usual polite detachment he maintained with the staff.

​"Me," you squeaked, before immediately clearing your throat. You took a step forward, offering a sharp, completely fabricated nod. "I mean, Good morning, Dr. Zayne. I'm the new OR nurse taking over Clara’s rotation. I was told you expect absolute efficiency."

​​"Right," Zayne said, his voice dropping into that deep register that felt entirely different when it was whispered against your neck the night before. "Let’s get one thing clear. In this OR, we maintain absolute order. No distractions. No surprises."

​"Of course, Doctor," you said, stepping closer to offer him a sterile towel, keeping your face a mask of innocence. "I'm excellent under pressure. I never lose my focus. Or my glasses."

​Zayne paused, the towel halfway to his hands. He shot you a look so sharp it could have sliced through a sternum.

"What happened last night was a statistical anomaly. A lapse in judgment fueled by an unacceptable blood alcohol level. In this hospital, you are a professional, and I am—"

​The scrub room door swung open, cutting Zayne off mid lecture.

​Sylus strolled in.

​"Zayne," Sylus drawled, his sharp eyes darting from Zayne’s rigid posture to your flushed face, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his lips. "Am I interrupting a consultation? Or are you just hazing the new staff again?"

​"Sylus," Zayne said, his tone dropping into a dangerous frost. "Why are you in my scrub room?"

​"I'm here because you left your car at the bar downtown, Chief," Sylus said, his grin widening as he stepped closer, dangling Zayne’s car keys by a single finger. "The bartender called me because he thinks I'm your best friend, god knows why"

​Sylus turned his gaze entirely onto you "Welcome to the team. If he gives you a hard time, just tell me. I love a good HR complaint."

​"Sylus. Out," Zayne ordered, the tips of his ears turning a furious, bright shade of pink.

​"Going, going," Sylus chuckled, dropping the keys onto a clean counter well away from the sterile field. "Good luck today. You're going to need it. He's terrible when he misses breakfast."

🥼 💉 🩺 🩻 🏥 🥼 💉 🩺 🩻 🏥 🥼 💉 🩺 🩻 🏥 🥼

The surgical lounge was quiet for a Monday afternoon, save for the loud crunch of Caleb eating a green apple. He was propped up against the counter, scrolling through post-op X-rays on his tablet, while Xavier sat at the table, methodically separating a pile of multi colored gummy bears into neat color groups.

​Zayne sat on the opposite side of the table, his posture so straight he looked like he’d been fitted with one of Caleb’s orthopedic spinal rods. He was reviewing a thick patient chart, turning the pages with aggressive snaps.

The door opened and Rafayel drifted in, looking exhausted. He collapsed into an armchair, throwing a dramatic arm over his eyes.

​"If I have to look at another deviated septum today, my own facial symmetry is going to collapse from sheer depression," Rafayel groaned. "Zayne, give me a cardiac emergency. Anything to get me out of the plastics wing. Let me retract a sternum. Let me feel alive."

​"Go do your charts, Rafayel," Zayne said without looking up. "My OR is not a theater for your existential crisis."

​"You're one to talk about an existential crisis," Sylus drawled.

He was leaning against the doorway, having just walked up from the ER trauma bays.

​"What's that supposed to mean?" Caleb asked, taking another loud bite of his apple.

​"It means our esteemed Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery left his vehicle parked behind the bar downtown last night..."

​"I was caught in the downpour after my double shift," Zayne said "I sought shelter. The liquor to blood ratio in my system became unadvisable for operating heavy machinery. I took a cab. It was a purely logical, responsible decision."

​"The bartender distinctly mentioned you didn't leave alone. Said you were practically attached at the hip to someone, looking like a pair of residents fleeing a malpractice suit."

Caleb stopped chewing. He slowly lowered the apple, his eyes widening. "Wait. Zayne? You left a bar with someone? Like... a human being? For social reasons?"

​"An actual person?" Rafayel instantly sat up, his exhaustion completely forgotten as he peered across the table. "Who? Is it a doctor? A drug rep? Don't tell me it's someone from administration, Zayne, I swear to God—"

​"It is none of your business," Zayne snapped, finally looking up. His eyes darted toward the lounge door, silently praying the new OR nurse—you—wouldn't walk in at this exact moment and ruin his life permanently. "It was an acquaintance. We discussed... statistical probabilities."

​"Right. Statistical probabilities," Sylus mocked "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

​"Xavier, back me up here," Zayne said, desperately trying to redirect the interrogation. "Tell them to mind their own business"

​Xavier didn't look up from his gummy bears. He carefully moved a red bear next to a green bear. "I can't, Zayne. I'm actually really invested in this. Did they have a good personality? Or were they just really patient? Because listening to you talk about arterial plaque for more than ten minutes usually requires a sedative."

​"I do not talk about plaque in social settings," Zayne hissed.

​"Yes, you do," Caleb pointed out. "Last Thanksgiving, you gave my ex girlfriend a lecture on the cholesterol levels in gravy. Honestly, whoever this mystery person is, they deserve a medal. Or a psychiatric evaluation."

​"They were completely rational," Zayne muttered defensively, his mind involuntarily flashing to the memory of you laughing at his tie, your eyes bright under the dim bar lights. He quickly cleared his throat, his jaw clenching. "And as I said, it was a one time occurrence."

​"Oh, so it was a wild night of passion," Rafayel gasped, clapping his hands together in absolute delight. "Look at him! He’s adjusting his glasses! He always adjusts his glasses when he’s hiding a scandal. This is magnificent. The ice king has a thaw point!"

​"I'm leaving," Zayne announced, standing up so fast his chair screeched against the linoleum. "I have a coronary bypass at 2, and unlike the rest of this lounge, I actually respect hospital timelines."

​He marched toward the door, the back of his neck burning red.

​"Good luck, Chief!" Sylus called out after him, entirely unbothered.

​Zayne slammed the door behind him.

​The lounge was quiet for a second before Rafayel leaned over to Caleb. "Fifty bucks says whoever it was, they left him within two hours because he tried to check their pulse during a conversation."

​"No bet," Xavier popped a yellow gummy bear into his mouth. "He definitely did"

the second he sees the light flicker on and caleb and yizhou following you inside, the sketchbook is already in his hand, propped on the easel and pen uncapped. one hand sketching fast while the other working himself slow at first then faster, following the pace the twins set.

he's close when caleb looks up, staring directly at him. there's no surprise in his purple eyes. he holds rafayel's gaze, then dips his head and drags his tongue slow up your neck, eyes never leaving his.

rafayel comes just as you do, his hand dragging a ruined line across the page, cum staining the sketch.

caleb smirks, slow and knowing, like he's aware that rafayel has been watching the whole time.