‧₊˚✧ lottie ✧˚₊‧

“Then what's the issue, sweetie? It's better if we match, anyway. I am your date.”

“I don't think I can afford a custom dress right now,” You give him a random excuse, hoping he’d just drop it and let you head home. 

“That's not an issue. It's my treat, a thank you for the invitation.”

“You really don't have to.”

“I want to.” He’s too persistent.

“Fine.” There was no point arguing back. “Just be quick, and I'm not getting undressed.”

You throw him the measuring tape from across the room. He catches it swiftly, still too relaxed.

“C'mere.” 

Before you get a chance to walk over, the tethers of his evol wrap around you and drag you closer to him. You end up between his spread out legs. He looks good under you, handsome despite the usual unflattering lighting in fitting rooms. It pissed you off.

Sylus reaches out to tug at your oversized sweater. “You’ll have to take this off at least.” 

“Fine.” You hesitate for a moment before reaching down and pulling it off, the shirt you have under rides up slightly in the process. 

Sylus’ eyes immediately drop to the exposed skin. His gaze eager for something, heavy, almost palpable, that you can’t help but feel it. 

“What?”

“Nothing, just enjoying the view.” His hand reaches out and squeezes the fat at your waist. His touch feels cold on your heated skin. 

You stiffen up but let him continue.

But he can read you like a book, your discomfort is obvious. “Relax. I won't hurt you.” 

He pulls down your shirt where it rode up, his hand lingering for a bit. You can see a smile on his face as he brings the measuring tape to your waist.

You look anywhere but at him. Your entire body is tense as you try not to feel embarrassed by how intently he is taking your measurements. It’s not like he doesn’t know you’re fat, this just felt like too much, like he’d realise something else entirely. 

“You seem a bit distracted today.” 

His voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“‘M just a bit tired.” A believable excuse. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You hadn’t been sleeping well because of your nightmares and this shopping trip wasn’t helping. The lights were starting to be too much, and you were starting to feel your skin get clammy as you overheat under them.

Thankfully, he lets it go and moves on to take your hip measurement. His hands linger again, 

He jots it down before moving down to your thigh.

“It's for a dress, I really don't think you need to measure there.” You suddenly feel a jolt of embarrassment and reach down to push his hand away. Your thighs were an area you were particularly insecure of and having him so close to them was overwhelming. 

He tugs at the tape that's wrapped around your thigh making you stumble forward slightly. Your breath catches in your throat and you hold onto his shoulders to balance yourself. 

“I need to be precise, sweetie. You took my measurements so well, it’s only fair that I do the same for you.”

You feel yourself get warm at the compliment, and the large hand splayed on your thigh doesn’t help quell your embarrassment. You try to focus on the strong muscles of his shoulders, letting yourself tighten your grip on him as he takes his sweet time with you. 

“You’re awfully touchy today, kitten.” There’s a lilt to his tone, he’s teasing you again.

“As if you’re not.” You take your hands off his shoulders, suddenly ashamed for touching him so freely.

He lets out a deep hum, not bothering to refute your claim. The sound makes warmth pool in your stomach.

“I like touching you.”

You’re unsure what to say to his sudden sincere remark, so you ignore it, hoping he’d just hurry it up or just change the subject. 

But of course, he doesn’t let it go.

“Are you embarrassed?”

He looks up at you, hoping to meet your gaze but you’re staring off to the side again. 

“Or are you uncomfortable with me touching you like this?” His tone is serious now. 

“It’s not that.” You deny it vehemently, finally meeting his gaze.

“What is it then?”

“It's stupid.”

“Not if it's making you upset, sweetie.”

You pause for a moment before speaking up again, “It is embarrassing, and it is stupid. I don't want you measuring my body like this. I know I'm fat, and you can see it, but this is too much for me today.”

Your voice feels loud in the quiet room. Too loud in your own ears. 

“I just don't want you knowing exactly how big I am. Even though it is very obvious,” you try to end it off on a lighter tone, chuckling a bit at your comment but your voice betrays you. 

Sylus waits for you, making sure you're done before he starts talking again.

“I already have your measurements.”

“What?”

“Mephisto,” he answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Of course, it was that stupid bird. 

“Right. So why all this?”

“Just wanted to be close to you.” He admits; another sincere remark that makes you feel strange.

“Sure.”

You watch and he pulls the measuring tape away from your thigh, replacing it with his large hands. 

“I like touching you.” He repeats the earlier phrase. “And it is unfair to let you have all the fun.”

His hands trail up to your hips and then to your abdomen, their grip firm as he touches all of you. They end up at your ribs. Large and warm as they smooth the skin over, they stop there, holding you firmly.

“I want to get you clothes that make you feel good,” his voice is quiet as he gazes into your eyes, sincere and serious. “Can I do that?”

All you can do is nod, already too overwhelmed by his touch. You're afraid if you do speak your voice would crack, you'd already been too vulnerable with him. Instead of continuing, he pulls you down onto the sofa next to him, and he’s gentle like he always is. He hands you a catalogue.

Work’s killing you.

The constant late-night shifts, multiple tedious reports, and never-ending meetings are too much; your body is spent. You miss your bed, you miss your apartment, and you miss Zayne. You miss him so much, but you have no excuse to see him. If you were a bit more honest, you’d show up without a reason, but it’s not that easy. It’s still difficult to ask for these things, to ask for his time on his days off, to admit that you just want to be around him for no specific reason. So when you get a message from a delivery courier asking to verify your delivery location, you reel at the brilliant idea of having it delivered to Zayne’s place instead, it’s the perfect excuse.

You shoot Zayne a quick message, letting him know that a package is being delivered to his place tonight, and he just needs to sign for it. His reply is immediate, you smile when you see the snowman emoji with its little “ok” sign. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you rack your brain for something else to say, but he's still at work; his shift doesn't end for at least another hour, so you close the app and decide to check on the package instead. You aren’t sure what exactly is being delivered, your mind initially too excited at the prospect of finally seeing your partner. Clicking back on the courier's message, you scan it for information on the package. You’re suddenly buzzing with a different kind of excitement when you see that it's the rare Lego set you ordered three weeks ago. Focusing on work will be difficult when you have better things waiting for you at home.

It’s late when you finally finish up. You rush to his place, excited to see both him and the package. And by the time you're at his front door, you’re about to burst from excitement. It’s a struggle to stand still as you wait for Zayne to open the door. You chide yourself for losing the spare key, you could already be inside if you weren’t so careless. But Zayne’s efficient, he never lets you wait outside for too long, and in less than a minute, the door swings open.

“Hi.” You’re distracted while you greet him, your eyes flitting behind him to look for the package.

“It’s in the living room,” Zayne answers your question before you get the chance to ask it.

You rush inside, tripping over your shoes as you hurriedly slip them off. In your distraction, you miss the slight frown on Zayne’s face. He expected you to greet him normally, with a hug or a kiss—you both haven’t seen each other in a while, but apparently, the package is more important than him. He shuts the door behind you and places your shoes on the rack before following you inside.

You’re already on the ground unboxing it, your eyes gleaming with excitement as you tear through the cardboard box. He’s entranced by the way you’re ripping into the packaging; he knows you’re strong, but this is a strength he’s never seen from you before. You feel his gaze on you and look up. There’s a strange look on his face, a slight raise of his brows that has you confused. Your hands still for a moment and you tilt your head, silently asking him what’s wrong.

“I’m curious, why did you have this delivered here?”

“I have no place for it at home,” you answer while avoiding eye contact, your hands reverting to tearing the packaging. It’s a flimsy excuse, but you can’t tell him the real reason you had it delivered here—it’s too embarrassing.

“What is it exactly?” Zayne asks as he goes back to his place on the couch.

With the packaging fully destroyed, you turn the box to him with a smile on your face. “A Lego set. A discontinued one.”

He nods as his eyes take in what you’re holding. He seems interested, so you decide to be brave and throw in the invitation that’s been on the tip of your tongue.

“Do you wanna build it with me?” Your tone is hopeful as you ask him to join you.

“I have to finish some work, perhaps later, love.”

“Hm, alright.” The pout on your face isn’t intentional; your expressions don’t usually slip easily, but you’re disappointed that he’s still working when the weekend just started. You know you shouldn’t be upset—you can’t be—not when you show up suddenly without giving him a chance to clear his schedule, so you let it go and start busying yourself with something else. Your eyes fall on his empty mug; you should make him something to drink. You’ll feel like less of a burden if you make yourself useful.

Your thoughts spiral further while you’re waiting for the kettle to boil. Maybe it was wrong to show up here so randomly, Zayne seems really busy, but surely it would be strange if you just leave now. You didn’t even greet him before invading his space, he must be disappointed in you. You know your worries are illogical, your mind’s prone to exaggerating everything, but even knowing that doesn’t help silence them. So you distract yourself physically, silencing your mind by concentrating on making Zayne the perfect hot chocolate.

With your drinks in hand, you return to the living room. You place his mug down and hesitate for a moment before leaning closer to him and kissing him on the cheek, mumbling a small apology on his skin before pulling away. The guilt of imposing on him too much to conceal, too much not to verbalise. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” His gaze is heavy as he looks at you in confusion.

“Just…” It’s hard to explain. You're sorry for getting too excited. You’re sorry for being who you are. You’re ashamed. You know he can’t read your mind so you try your hardest to verbalise it in a way that won’t leave you too vulnerable. “I kind of ignored you, and I showed up suddenly, and—”

“I missed you.” He reaches for your face, cradling it gently in his palm. His words are sincere, his tone thick and sweet. “You gave us an excuse to see each other when I was struggling to come up with one, so don’t apologise.”

It’s all a bit too much, it scares you how well Zayne can see through you. It makes you feel too exposed, too vulnerable. He understands you better than you understand yourself. You’re unsure of what to say other than a quiet okay, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.

He leans across his laptop, nose bumping into yours as he kisses you clumsily from the weird position. His thumb brushes against your cheek when he pulls away, and you can see it clearly now—he’s relaxed, there’s no tension in his face. “Thank you for the drink.”

Part of the uneasiness dissipates. He makes it all so easy, reminding you that he loves you just as much as you love him. The physical tension in your body drops, and you retreat, a bit overwhelmed by the physical affection. You leave Zayne to his work and settle down on the carpeted ground, secluding yourself with your solitary activity. And as you pour out the building bricks, you smile to yourself. It’s comfortable, existing together in one place without the pressure of performing for each other, without the constant need to maintain a conversation. It’s natural. It feels like home.

As you sit there in the lowly lit room, the sound of Zayne typing away on his laptop and the repetitive movements of your building start to make you sleepy. You push yourself away from the table until you hit the edge of the couch. You can feel the warmth of Zayne’s knee near your head. Shutting your eyes for a moment, you lean back and sigh to yourself—you feel exhausted. At this rate, you won’t be able to finish the build tonight. But you’re so close, you can't give up. You have to call in your reinforcements.

“I'm tired.”

“You have to finish what you started.” He shuts you down instantly, but you hear him close his laptop. He gives in to you so easily.

“I’m tired,” you repeat, nudging his knee with your head. “Finish it for me.”

“You really love ordering me around, don’t you?” There’s no bite to Zayne’s words, he’s already moving to sit next to you on the ground. “So, how should I do this?”

“You’ve never built a Lego set before?”

“I haven’t. I’ve seen the children in the pediatric ward play with them, though these seem more intricate than the building blocks made for children.”

Your heart aches at his admission. He’s missed out on so much, his childhood days spent studying rather than playing games with people his own age. And although he admits it as if it's a fact about a stranger, you know how much it upsets him, how much he grieves his lost childhood. But it’s okay, you’ll make up for it together; you’re here for him now.

You push yourself off the edge of the couch and scoot closer. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, you can feel his body heat radiating through his sweater—it’s comfortable—you want to nuzzle into him, but there’s a more important task on hand. You reach out for the instruction manual and point at the step you left off at. “I stopped here, you just have to follow the instructions.”

He hums in reply and starts building. You watch as his hands move around, mesmerised by the way his long fingers hold each piece. He’s quicker than you at building, there's a surgical precision to his movements, every block snaps into place perfectly—it’s annoying. A sudden competitive feeling surges in you, and your energy returns immediately. You sit up and reach out for the box; you’ll start on the second instruction booklet while Zayne finishes up the first. He can’t beat you at your own game, you’re the expert here. Hurriedly, you pour the bricks out of the bag and start sorting them.

“I thought you said you were tired,” Zayne notes, his attention still focused on the bricks in front of him.

“I was,” you mumble a reply.

Zayne’s eyes drift to you, watching for a moment before commenting with a hint of surprise in his voice, “You’re very organised.”

“Of course, this is a must. You have to organise the pieces by shape and colour, or you’re doing it all wrong.” You start rambling, explaining to him what knolling is for a solid five minutes. You’re sure he’s listening to you—he always does. “It’s half the fun.”

“And yet you still can’t keep your home tidy,” he teases instantaneously, almost as if he set you up for it.

“Hey! My apartment’s an organised mess.”

“If it’s an organised mess, then why are you always complaining about losing stuff?”

Looking up, you glare at him. “Be quiet and focus on building. We can’t go to bed if we don’t finish this.”

“How scary, I’m lucky you’re not my boss.” That light mocking tone is still in his voice; he can be so annoying sometimes.

“I’m not?” Your voice is firm as you raise your eyebrows at him, smiling when he falters under your gaze. It feels good to put him in his place.

“…You are.”

The conversation lulls again, and you continue building together into the quiet of the night. Occasionally, you look up to watch Zayne as he builds. He’s clearly enjoying it; that constant tension between his brows isn’t there anymore, and if you look close enough, you can almost see the slight upturn of his lips, an almost smile. You’ll have to invite him to your place soon, he’ll probably enjoy free-building as well. You mentally note it down, another activity for him to enjoy; another activity to make up for all the lost joy from his childhood. The list is long, you’re unsure how to tackle it, but for now, you’ll focus on enjoying the moment.

You say that, but the exhaustion catches up to you again. You’re messing up, misreading the steps, and the smaller pieces keep slipping out of your fingers whenever you try to snap them in place. It’s frustrating, you’re so close to finishing, just a few more steps, but your body keeps betraying you. A break would be nice; you could rest on the couch, but your eyes fall on something much better. Zayne’s lap is calling you, his strong thighs covered by the soft fabric of his sweatpants, are too alluring to resist. Succumbing to the sudden wave of exhaustion, you lower yourself to the ground, pushing Zayne’s arms away so you can use his thighs as an emergency headrest. “Doctor, your patient needs to be resuscitated.”

He slips into his role immediately, teasing you, his hands still busy with the bricks. “My patient seems perfectly healthy.”

“Your patient’s tired.”

He stops to look down at you, his gaze analytical as he searches your face for something, you can't exactly tell what he's looking for until he articulates it. “Her energy levels seem to fluctuate sporadically, perhaps we should run some blood tests.” There’s a hint of genuine worry in his voice, his question more than just a line in your impromptu skit.

“She’s fine. It’s just been a long week.” You brush off his worries, not wanting him to misunderstand your sleepiness as something more than what it actually is.

“We can always finish this tomorrow.”

“But we’re so close.”

“We’ll still be close tomorrow, there's no need to rush things.” He runs his fingers through your hair as he speaks, always so gentle with both his words and actions. He never pushes you, he’s never in a rush, even though it kills you both to know how much time you lost in your separation. This calmness of his is an anchor you’re grateful for, you just wish you could offer something back. “Let’s call it a night, then?”

“Five more minutes?” The words are heavy in your mouth as you talk; you’re clearly tired, but you don’t want your time together to end just yet. And the softness of Zayne’s thighs is better than any pillow, you really don’t want to move.

“You’d think we’re getting out of bed, not getting into it.” There’s a small smile on his face; he’s proud of his joke.

“Very funny, Dr. Zayne. Have you thought about switching career paths? You’d do so well as a comedian.”

He pinches your nose, chiding you for teasing him, and you giggle, your expression loose from the delirium of your drowsiness. Feeling playful, you roll to your side and bury your face into his soft stomach. At first, you feign innocence, nuzzling into him like a cat, and when he least expects it, you bite him. It's a soft bite, not enough to leave indents of your teeth, but just enough to make him flinch. He's always been ticklish, skin too sensitive, no matter how much he likes to deny it. You laugh into his shirt, pushing yourself further into him, but he pushes you away, forcing you to turn back to face him. His ears are all red, and you laugh again. He’s so cute, you want to go in for another bite, but he stops you.

“Get up.”

Your body moves instinctively at his command. You’re too tired to give it much thought, but there’s something there—there’s something in the way you just listen to him. He’s right behind you as you head to the bedroom, but before he steps in, you stop him, holding his arm firmly. He forgot something. You point behind him to the mugs left behind. He turns to look in the direction you’re pointing at, but he’s still confused, unsure of what exactly has you stumped.

“You won't clean up? You're really leaving a mess behind?” You clarify, your tone more shocked than anything.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s fine? Are you okay?” You reach out to hold his face in your hands, turning it side to side as you examine him. He’s acting strange.

“I’m okay.” His voice is muffled from the grip you’ve got on him, but he still finds it in him to tease you, “Your bad habits must’ve rubbed off on me.”

“Wow, my Zayne’s changing, soon his room will be just as messy as mine…”

He squints at you as you mess with his face. He’s cute like this, cheeks all squished, face rosy from the blush that covers his skin. You can tell he wants to deny that possibility, but you don’t give him the chance.

“How about I teach you some more bad things?” You let your hand drop from his face, choosing instead to wrap your arms around his waist. You pull him in, burying your face into his chest.

“Like what?”

You think for a moment, what could you do when your energy is this low—the bed. “Let’s sleep upside down. Our heads at the foot of the bed.”

You feel his chest rumble as he laughs at your suggestion. It's silly, but he agrees to it without any complaints. He’s pliant in your arms, letting you do whatever you want.

“Then let’s go, Dr. Zayne.” With the little energy you have left, you lift him up. For a moment, his feet are off the ground as you pivot him around. “To the bathroom.”

As you're standing side by side, brushing your teeth, you feel stupid for panicking earlier. The night’s been good, it's been comfortable. Your body feels light, the tension of the week forgotten; you just hope it's had the same effect on Zayne. You meet his eyes in the mirror, and they widen for a split second before he smiles at you. There’s no tension in his face, no tension in his body; his comfort mirrors yours.

He lets you drag him to the bed, all docile as he helps you move the array of pillows to the end of the bed. It feels strange lying in bed like this. The mattress doesn't dip down, still firm from the lack of pressure, and the view is unfamiliar; you've never focused on this spot on the ceiling before. Your eyelids are getting heavier, but you still try to push past the drowsiness, still wanting to talk with Zayne, to enjoy his company. “Does it feel like you’re at a sleepover?”

“I’m not sure how that’s meant to feel like.” Another confession delivered as a fact. But you see past his composed tone—you always do—and offer him whatever support you can.

“I’m not sure either.” Admitting it is strange. For someone so insistent on helping Zayne experience the things he missed out on, you aren’t in a better position yourself. The days of your childhood were spent alone, alienated from children your own age because of who you are; it’s not an easy thing to bring up, so you rarely do it. But the drowsiness gets the best of you, and you allow yourself this small admission. You turn around to face him, letting the moment of honesty linger for a moment before speaking again. “We’ll figure it out together.”