#caleb x reader

It's not as if you're the best singer he has heard. There are others who have better control and technique compared to you. There are others who have practiced regularly and perform on a finer level than you. But all of them cannot hold a candle to the hypnotic lilt of your voice when you take the stage.

You like posting covers on your Instagram. Little snippets uploaded as stories. They're unbearably intimate—even the most basic rhymes sound like a romantic sonnet plucked out of an old draft. He wonders if you have a muse and his chest tightens.

Uploaded 30 seconds ago. Headphones on, world off.

You don't always show your face in your clips. Sometimes all that's seen is the edge of your steaming mug, or one of the sticky notes on your wall. Today, its the flickering light of a candle in a small glass jar. He waits for your voice to hit his ears.

"I'm always ready to go," You're singing from behind the camera, "I'm calling you, pick up your phone—"

Your voice hitches, and its injected with longing. "Girl, I've been taking it slow—You know I've been taking it slow,

"You're sitting alone, why are you sitting alone?" His grip on the phone tightens. His other arm is wrapped around his waist—he closes his eyes and feels the ghost of your embrace from behind as you croon to him. "Baby, just pick up your phone, oh—"

You're breathless and impatient. Are you thinking of someone now? Are you curled up in your seat aching for a lover's kiss? Do you perhaps hold something of your muse to your breast and let it reverbrate when your heart beats? "—'Cause I've been rolling all damn night, whoa."

The video ends at that exact moment and he growls under his breath. His eyes are open and his fingers are scrambling to replay the clip again.

there was no way on this planet earth you two weren't getting caught sneaking away to fuck like rabbits. but at the end of the day, neither of you really cared. if it worked, it worked. nobody was suspicious. yet.

and even if they were, which you highly doubt, you still wouldn't care. not when you're sitting on your superior's lap, grinding against him like your life depended on it.

caleb's large hands squeeze your hips before snaking their way under the thin fabric of your scrubs. they're pink -- expressive in a world that brought back nothing but death and bad news. expressive just like you.

your skin is soft under his touch, just like he expected. caleb almost swears he's dreaming when you let him lift your shirt off, in which he throws it behind his back in a hasty manner. once gone, his lips fly to your neck in an instant.

"'leb," you pant, running your hands through his dark hair. "careful-- ah-- don't leave any marks."

he simply hums against your skin and sucks a hickey into it anyway, making heat flood in between your thighs.

"that's not my name, baby."

caleb soothes the mark with a teasing swipe of his tongue, admiring how quickly the spot becomes red. the sensation makes you whimper and squirm in his grasp, which makes his grip on your hips tighten. you know what he's referring to, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. but you give in anyway.

"colonel--"

three devastating knocks at the door snap the both of you out of your sexual haze. caleb lets out a frustrated sigh as he glances at the door, reluctant to release you even as you're panicking to slip out of his arms.

"permission to enter, sir?" the gruff voice asks from outside, which the both of you recognize as liam, caleb's lieutenant and second-in-command. he purses his lips, knowing that ignoring him would be the wrong decision. finally, he lets you go.

"hold on, liam," he coughs, leaning back in his seat as he discreetly tries to adjust the tent in his pants. "give me a minute."

while he's distracting the lieutenant, you look at yourself on a small mirror propped up against the wall, noticing the hickey immediately. it's huge, and in a spot that can't easily be covered without makeup. bastard.

leaving you no other choice, you quickly pull your hair down from your messy bun, pulling the strands to rest over your shoulders before combing through them with your fingers to ensure you don't look like a wreck.

the second you turn back to look at caleb, he immediately notices the way your hair is now down. he suppresses a smirk but gives you a nod, signaling that it's okay for you to go now.

but you'd much rather dig a hole, crawl inside it, and die, right here in his office.

with a deep breath, you force yourself to reach for the door's handle, knowing you'll definitely get some sort of weird stare from liam.

pulling the door open, the lieutenant's eyes widen slightly before schooling his expression back into a neutral one, he nods once in acknowledgement before stepping aside to let you pass. but once you're gone, he looks at caleb with a raised eyebrow before stepping inside the office and closing the door behind him.

caleb frowns, annoyed for getting cockblocked and being accused of participating in forbidden behavior (he was).

"meeting," he's quick to say, his defensiveness only growing at his comrade's skeptical expression. "we were having a meeting-- hey, don't make it weird. that's an order."

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

the next time it happens is in an elevator.

yes, an elevator.

the base is always busy, but somehow it’s busier than normal. recruits are rushing to get in formation in time, others are on their way to the cafeteria for lunch break, and you are stuck on a supply run, hauling a huge crate of medical supplies to the elevator.

your arms ache from how heavy it is, but you carry on. you’re not fond of breaks; they only slow you down in the long run. it doesn’t help that these people in the hallways are moving as slow as rocks; you have to purse your lips to keep yourself from telling them off.

once you finally reach the elevator, there’s a small crowd already waiting for the next lift.

great. just my luck, you think to yourself.

you join the crowd and set the supplies down at your feet with a soft groan. your back aches from supporting all the weight, so you rest your hands on your hips to stretch slightly.

but as soon as you get a moment’s reprieve, the elevator doors open. soldiers start to flood out, and you bite your tongue to resist the urge to scream. you lean back down to pick up the crate, but by the time you have it comfortably settled against your stomach, the elevator is already packed.

there was no way you were were walking up the stairs, and you were too impatient to wait for another lift. screw this base for only having one elevator on ground level.

with a resigned sigh, you set the crate down— again— settling for waiting for the next one.

the current lift closes and goes up. you watch in silence, crossing your arms over your chest. but before you can react, you feel a slight force next to you. it’s magnetic and grounding, somewhat heavy, and oddly familiar.

when you look over, the crate beside you is floating.

caleb.

as if on cue, you hear footsteps approach you from behind. the colonel has an easy smile on his face, one he only reserves for you.

“if you needed help, you could have just asked me,” he hums, using his evol to gently place the supplies back on the ground. you shake your head, both flattered and amused.

“it’s fine,” you shake your head. “guess today just isn’t my day.”

caleb raises an eyebrow and mirrors your stance, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“doesn’t seem fine to me,” he retorts. “you were standin’ around like a granny with back problems before i came.”

you roll your eyes.

“okay. maybe it is a bit heavy. but i can carry it just fine.”

“i know you can,” he replies with mock sympathy. “you’re a strong girl. you’ve been carrying that around all day, though. anyone would get tired doing that.”

before you can respond, the elevator arrives back on ground floor, empty. what a miracle.

you begin to lean down to pick it up, but caleb’s evol activates again and lifts the crate off the ground, refusing to let you carry it again.

“ah ah,” he tuts admonishingly. “let me. i can handle it.”

sore and too tired to argue, you let him, sighing softly as you two enter the elevator.

he has a smug smirk as he wins this battle, but says nothing more as you lean against the cold, metal walls of the elevator. caleb reaches over to press a few buttons. he doesn’t have to ask what your floor is; his office and the medical station are on the same floor.

with a soft click, the elevator closes, leaving you two alone in a small, enclosed space. caleb sets the crate down at your feet once more, pretending to be occupied as he counts the tiles on the lift’s ceiling.

the silence is quickly replaced by elevator lobby music, but neither of you are worrying about that. it's as if the two of you are trapped together in a little bubble, creating your own world. and there's nothing to do except get closer.

caleb whistles a soft tune from beside you when he realizes the lift will take a while, rocking on his heels back and forth.

"so..." he trails off. "how's your day?"

stupid question. he knows you've been running around base gathering supplies; he's seen you. to his (un)surprise, you shrug it off as you stretch your arms.

"tiring," you admit. "and a bit boring. i'm not used to working outside of the med-bay."

he hums in acknowledgement before silence falls over the two of you again. ever since liam almost walked in on you two, things have been a bit awkward. caleb can't tell if it was the semi-public indecency or his lieutenant that scared you away, but he doesn't blame you.

that situation had him feeling conflicted too. while you were working and saving lives, he'd spent every day since then brooding in his office while thinking of ways to expand this complication between you two past hooking up.

he knows this is against the rules. he knows he could get in trouble for pursuing a relationship with one of his colleagues. and he knows he should stop — but he can't. you simply feel too good to quit.

ultimately, he decides to address the situation. he's never been good with his guilty conscience, and likes to clear things up as quickly as possible. part of this habit also comes from his swiftness as a colonel, but he realizes that he should go about this moment as caleb, not as the colonel.

he also realizes that while the colonel tells him to stop, caleb tells him to keep going. while the colonel says this is wrong, caleb says to ask her out as a way to apologize for what happened.

the colonel is a part of him, but it's not all of him. so he listens to caleb.

"look. about last week—" he starts, but you quickly shut him down with a shake of your head. you’d already wiped the horrific moment from your memory, and didn’t want it back.

“it’s okay,” you insist, feeling your cheeks get hot. “we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—“

he cuts you off this time with an apologetic (yet slightly sheepish) smile on his face.

“no, i want to! i just feel bad for what happened,” caleb’s hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “it was unfortunate timing, and i want to make it up to you— for real. so, i was wondering—“

ding.

the elevator doors open.

caleb’s fists clench at his sides, but his face remains neutral. why is this always happening to him? why can’t he have a normal conversation with you without the world constantly interrupting him?

meanwhile, you take this as an opportunity to flee the conversation. not because you don’t like caleb— because you do. you really do— but because you know this is wrong, and because the concept of being in a relationship with your superior still freaks you out.

“it’s okay, caleb. really!” you ramble, picking up the crate of supplies before he can lift, or, rather, float it for you. “we can make it up some other time, but i’m really busy— i’ll see you later!”

he purses his lips but flattens them out into a strained smile as he waves you off. not long after, the elevator floods again, and it isn’t until it starts moving again that he realizes that he should have gotten off with you. his office is quite literally on the same floor as the medical bay.

caleb resists the urge to punch something. he had been too lost in his thoughts (and your beauty) to get out at the correct floor.

then, he sighs softly, accepting his fate and preparing to wait another ten minutes before he can return to his workplace. but the whole way back to his office, he’s thinking about ways to bridge the gap between you two.

damn it.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

caleb can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose or if the world is genuinely fucking with him.

he doesn’t blame you for being busy— you’re just doing your job, after all. but it’s as if your job is all you’re doing. he can’t even catch you when you’re on break because you’d rather spend that time socializing with friends instead of taking a breath alone.

how is he supposed to approach you in front of your colleagues? and why would the colonel get all shy and bashful around the base’s medic? he’d rather die than embarrass himself like that.

one day, he figures that if you’re unable to come to him, he’ll come to you.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

it was an accident. mostly.

before joining the farspace fleet, and even the daa, he knew the risks of flying near the deepspace tunnel: radiation exposure, wanderer attacks, protocore fluctuations, even muscle strain and neck/back pain from flying too long. but none of that stopped him.

especially not when the one mission caleb had been trying to complete for months was just within reach.

the objective was supposedly simple: record data based on the increase and decrease of protocore fluctuations at different depths of the tunnel. but the planes at the fleet weren’t suited to handle the immense pressure of the tunnel.

having yet to perfect the durability of the jets, researchers in the fleet still managed to make significant progress. so while the planes could handle the pressure, it wouldn’t be for long. caleb knew this and decided to take the risks anyway, knowing you’d be right back on base, eager to patch him up if anything ever happened.

…now, the word “anything” was an understatement.

his partners warned him not to go any deeper. the jet itself told him not to push his luck. but as caleb stares at the red letters on his radar, his determination to finish this mission began to outweigh the thoughts of death and destruction.

[warning: cabin pressure low. turn back now.]

he should have listened.

when he next awakens, he’s blinded by the fluorescence of the base’s lights and by the beauty of your worried face as you and a few other nurses wheel him to the medbay on a gurney.

his whole body hurts, and it’s as if someone’s splitting his skull open, but seeing your face and hearing your voice makes him feel just the tiniest bit better. in the end, he won.

“colonel!” you call out to him with the perfect mix of worry and professionalism. “can you hear me?”

caleb groans softly but manages a nod.

“yeah, i—“ he’s unable to finish his sentence thanks to a coughing fit, the taste of metal filling his mouth. your lips press into a thin line as you grab the clipboard from the base of the gurney.

“schedule him for an mri,” you order, your free hand lifting up his shirt to gently press against his abdomen. he lets out a pained grunt despite the shiver that goes down his spine at your touch. “no swelling yet, but there could be internal bleeding.”

a nurse nods and takes the clipboard from you, off to schedule the scan you requested. but your focus is now on him.

meanwhile, his brows furrow.

internal bleeding?

“you passed out while in the cockpit,” you explain to him, finally wheeling him into an empty room. you pull the blue curtains to section off the area from the outside world. “you’re lucky your colleagues were there when it happened.”

oh, that’s right. he remembers now.

the deeper into the tunnel he went, the more unwell he felt. he ignored it— a bad idea, he later realizes. the last thing caleb remembers was pressing the emergency button to his side.

he frowns slightly but lets you work on him, tracking your every move.

“oh. are they alright?” he asks.

you administer an iv drip to his arm while another nurse hooks up the heart monitor. you glance up at the monitor before cursing under your breath, lifting up his shirt again and pressing your stethoscope to his bare chest.

“he’s a bit tachy—“ you declare, looking at the rapid 176 on the screen. “start an esmolol drip— yeah, they’re okay. no major injuries.”

your response is half-hearted, too focused on treating him rather than making conversation. but underneath the professionalism is something deeper than just being professional.

it’s not like you two were professional in the first place, but you care for him— you really do.

he can’t make out what the hell you’re saying. it’s all medical nonsense he doesn’t understand, but hearing you speak it is like music to his ears. because of this, he decides to remain silent until a majority of his treatment is over.

he hopes that by then, you’ll stop treating him like a patient and more like caleb. your caleb.

by the time the medicine kicked in, the medical bay is quiet, and he can hear you greet the other nurses a good night as they sign out for the day. then, footsteps get louder outside his room.

you gently pull open the curtains, clipboard in hand as you look down at caleb. even when critically injured, he still looks incredibly handsome.

he opens his eyes upon sensing your arrival, his eyes softening his a fraction.

“you feeling alright?” you inquire, walking over to his side to check his vitals. your gentle hands work methodically to monitor his blood pressure before writing it down on the clipboard.

“not really,” he tries to lighten the mood with a self-deprecating joke, but straightens out when you seem to take it seriously. “but i feel better now that you’re here.”

you stay silent for a moment, eyes locked onto the clipboard. then, you turn around, peeking your head outside the curtain. it’s just the two of you in the med-bay.

suddenly, you feel your cheeks flush with warmth. you haven’t been alone with him since the incident in his office.

you turn back to face him, standing off to the side of his bed. you don’t look happy.

“why would you do that?” you hiss, your hands clutching your clipboard too hard for comfort. “you knew the risks!”

when you scold him, caleb cracks a tired smile. god, he missed your voice.

“worried? aww.”

“this isn’t funny, caleb!” you frown.

“you’re right. it’s not,” he hums. “it’s cute.”

you quickly shut your lips, restraining yourself from saying anything else. when caleb teases you like this, you’ve learned it’s best to keep quiet. talking to him is like talking to a brick wall.

“of course i was worried,” you sigh, your tone softer as you shove your clipboard under your arm. “i always worry when you do stupid shit like this. and maybe i’m worrying more than i should be, because technically you’re my boss, and—“

“go out with me.”

his words stop your rambling immediately. you glare at him, eyes widened slightly.

“what?”

his violet eyes trace over every delicate curve of your face, landing on the soft slope of your lips. his heart hurts knowing that he hadn’t kissed them in ages, but he repeats his offer with no hesitation.

“go out with me. i don’t care if i get court-martialed. i want you.”

you swallow the lump in your throat. the moment you had been avoiding was finally here, and you’re beginning to think that you’re the tachycardic one with how fast your heart is beating.

sure, you love your job. but lately, you’ve realized that maybe you love him, too. each day without seeing him only leaves you wanting more.

“i—“ you begin, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

“it’s okay. you don’t have to answer now,” he reassures you. “i just wanted to tell you in case we got interrupted again. it’s been weighing on my mind recently, and i would have gone crazy if i didn’t do anything about it.”

his voice is hoarse and weak from hours of unuse (you had told him to go easy on the speaking, not wanting him to cough up any more blood). but it’s also sincere and soft in a way he’s never spoken to anyone before.

for a moment, you hesitate. you think of excusing yourself to go get him water. something, anything that would allow you to get away from him and collect your thoughts. but caleb is too perceptive for that.

“don’t run away,” he pauses to take a short breath. “please.”

those words are all it takes for the wall of professionalism between you two to melt away.

with a sigh, you take a step closer to the edge of the gurney.

“okay. i won’t,” you murmur, hesitating for a moment before bringing your hand up to softly stroke his hair. caleb leans into your touch like a cat, closing his eyes.

the two of you bask in silence. you’ve done this many times, but now it’s different. it’s not awkward or tense; now it’s comfortable. intimate, even.

caleb sighs softly, now comfortable despite the lingering ache in his body. he knows the next briefing won’t be good, but all he cares about is you. only you.

your hand lingers on the top of his head for just a moment before slowly removing it. he looks peaceful for once, not worrying about missions or slow recruits. a warmth blooms through your heart, thinking that this look suits him much better.

as you stare at him, you realize that you wouldn’t mind waking up to this face in the morning. you wouldn’t mind his corny jokes, or the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you.

a normal, domestic life sounds… nice.

caleb notices the change in your expression and cracks a small smirk, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. he manages to prop himself up into a sitting position, his back still supported by the gurney.

“what are you thinking about?” he quips.

you’re quick to shake your head and dismiss him, but it’s useless. the two of you are alone, so why did you still want to hide?

“nothing,” you reply. “i just missed you.”

caleb’s eyes soften. wanting to return the favor, he outstretches an arm to brush over your cheekbone with his hand.

“hey. don’t be like that,” he smiles softly. “i’m here now, aren’t i? come here.”

when you obey and lean closer, he meets you halfway with a kiss to your lips. they’re slightly chapped, but they feel like heaven against your skin as you kiss him back gently, still mindful of his fragile state.

when you pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

“for the record,” you breathe. “i’d love to go out with you.”

i apologize to the med majors for the medical inaccuracies LMAOOO. i did very minimal research. sorry this took so long — been busy. but i hope you enjoyed. not my best work but it’s something :,)

tag-list! (to those of you who did not specifically ask for a tag, i apologize haha just thought you’d like the update)

@elysiasgirlfriend @gravitationalbluberry @m1lfl0verrr @hanaohreally @yes-ishipit @blue-bird-legend-writes

back to masterlist

@alyceres 2026

do not transfer my work to any other platform or feed it to ai. if a post of mine sparks your creativity, please credit/tag me. i would love to read what you write.

His gaze shifted to where you were borderline pacing, lifting items to try and find something. You were definitely seconds away from tearing your own hair out from frustration. Instead, you just stopped, hands clenched into fists and eyes squeezed shut as you shut down entirely.

"Should have known better to put them down knowing I needed them," you scolded yourself voice shaking.

If not for his sense of smell, he might have missed the smell of salt in the air.

And so he stood and moved towards you, his tail nearly dragging behind him. His ears pressed to his hair, nearly camouflaged.

“Sweets?”

You held up a trembling hand.

“Not now, Val–”

The hug he wrapped you in from behind was sudden but necessary, your heated cheeks and racing heart easing up as you were forced to just breathe. Valko’s breaths were deep and tempoed and you had half a thought to call him out on his actions if not for the fact that they were working.

In and out.

In and out.

In, hold it, and out.

Until you were dragged into his rhythm, racing thoughts slowing with every exhale. His arms crossed over your chest, weighted yet gentle.

Your hand dropped to your side, mind attempting to catch up to the fact that he was holding you and you were allowed to fall back into him if needed.

“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he murmured into your hair, tightening his grip for a second before loosening it. “She’s strong. Smart. Certainly not stupid or any other vitriolic word your mind conjures up from Astra knows where.”

The words force you back to reality harder than expected.

The energy drained as your adrenaline from fight or flight practically faded and sent you into a free fall.

“I didn’t…” you started, unsure why you had said the words yourself. “I…” you tried again, the lump in your throat effectively sealing any other attempt at explanation inside of you. The words played on loop instead, a stuttered exhale all you can manage before turning to face Valko and burying your face into his neck.

“I gotcha,” Valko assured confidently, rubbing a hand along your back while the other rested on your neck.

Firm but not possessive.

Just grounding.

Enough to send you into premature sleep, to which he moved you both to the bedroom and made sure not an inch of light or sound would disturb your much needed rest.

And when you woke up to him with his head on your chest in the early hours of the morning? You managed a smile, yesterday’s emotions nothing but a gentle ache soothed by the rush of affection the sleeping man managed to pull out of you.

--

*Caleb*

The crashing of the plate against the ground had been the last straw for you.

“I’m so stupid,” you hissed as you cradled your burnt hand, tears welling in your eyes before you could process why they were there in the first place. You leaned down to grab the pieces and hide the evidence of your idiocy, but Caleb had heard the commotion and been up and on his way toward you the moment he heard the crash. He made his presence known by lifting you up via his evol with practiced ease, his voice teasing.

“I know I didn’t just hear my girlfriend call herself stupid,” he said with a cross of his arms. “Might have to have a talk with her to stop bullying my precious pipsqueak.”

When you met his gaze, there was no humor in his eyes. The disconnect of his tone when gazing narrowed eyes is enough to have you falling into pure silence.

Then came the trembling of your shoulders.

And under his knowing look, each part of your resolve shattered. Every ounce of effort put toward maintaining some level of composure lifted into the air like smoke.

Your hand was hurting.

You were embarrassed.

You felt guilty that the dinner you’d been so excited to share with him was now ruined.

Should have used two plates.

Why did you put all of it onto one?

Stupid, stupid, stupi—

“Pips?”

His voice was softer than usual. You hung your head, attempting to shield yourself from him only to feel your body tugged in his direction. You came face to face with him again, but his expression had shifted entirely.

“I–” you tried, but it came out weak and choked.

A humorless chuckle that sounded more like a sigh left him as you dropped suddenly. You didn’t close your eyes or react, knowing very well the floor was not an option.

Not when strong arms were out and ready for you as always. Sometimes you wondered where you would be without him…how your life would have gone if he’d never returned.

Before you could spiral down another path, Caleb’s voice coaxed you back to him.

“I know very well that you were never scolded for makin’ a mess by me or gran,” he said quietly. He had always managed to find the perfect balance between comfort and curiosity with you. “So…where’d that come from? Who made my pips think she was anything other than amazing?”

Your mind wondered the same, too scrambled to come up with an answer. The voice certainly hadn’t been entirely your own, but the knowledge was beyond your reach as you came down piece by piece.

A hum of understanding left him despite your lack of response as he carried you out of the kitchen and used his evol to rid of the mess.

Evidence gone...like it never existed.

Because whether a broken plate or a threat to your carefully curated stability, it was all the same to him.

Disposable.

Undeserving of the place in your thoughts it attempted to take.

“I’m here,” he promised, your heavy eyes threatening to close in his embrace.

“‘M sorry,” you murmured, but the man simply pressed a kiss to your temple, promising to be at your side when you woke.

--

*Zayne*

You let out a sharp breath as you squeezed your hand shut.

It did nothing to help the sting of your palm, bloody knife on the ground and half cut cake on the counter. You felt the tears form before you could stop them, slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered softly. You backed up until you hit the counter beside the sink, sliding down it and ignoring the dull ache of the handle hitting your back. You knew you should treat the wound. It was an easier fix than any wound you’d gotten out on the field, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to actually do it. You felt frozen, somehow, feeling the blood slip down your wrist toward your elbow, even more so when you opened your hand to give it a break from the strain.

“I’m sorry?”

You flinched at the voice, snapping your head up to see Zayne frowning from the kitchen doorway. You parted your lips to speak, but before you could he was walking toward you with his eyes locked on your poorly hidden hands.

“You…” he started, eyes flickering in surprise when he looked over to see the knife on the floor and the red dots leading to where you sat. “You are hurt?”

“no,” you said automatically, shaking your head as you attempted to think of anything to get out of the situation. It was awful enough you ruined his surprise treat, he didn’t need to know you were one of the klutziest Hunters alive.

“You are,” he said with a finality that had you wanting the floor to swallow you whole. Rather than wait, Zayne leaned down slowly, reaching out to you even slower. Like you were some wounded animal ready to bolt.

“Love–”

“I don’t like to see you hurt,” he offered, barely above a whisper. His eyes lifted to your own for a brief moment before shifting back down to your wound. “Physically or otherwise.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, slowly easing the pressure on your hand and holding it out with a wince. It looked much worse than before, new and dried blood staining it almost entirely red.

Zayne didn’t panic. If anything, the sight made his gaze soften further.

“You’ll need some stitches,” he said, maintaining the same quiet tone as he observed. “May I?”

“It’ll hurt.”

He smiled slightly and you can’t help but weaken even more. “More than this does?”

He made a valid point.

It was why you were in the bathroom with him minutes later, avoiding your hand like the plague while he worked. He had offered to take you to the hospital to numb the area first, but the idea felt more mortifying. You didn’t need to broadcast your incompetence to his place of employment.

“...’m sorry.”

A huff from the doctor you managed to become engaged to.

“You have no reason to apologize.”

“But I ruined the—”

“You matter the most,” he said without hesitation. “No dessert in the world matters more than my wife.”

Your heart fluttered as the knot in your chest loosened.

“You called me your wife,” you said, tone airy.

He raised a brow, wrapping your hand securely before lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to the padding.