#romance.exe

Chapter 2 - "Clarity" ❄️

You sat at your cubicle, sipping on your watered down iced coffee. You texted your best friend Zoey early that morning, wondering if she knew anything about the new updates for the game.

You: Hey, was there a new update in LADS?

Z: Idk. Maybe? I haven’t really been playing. 

You: Hmm, maybe there was and I didn’t notice. There’s new expressions and phrases. Check Xavier’s. Bet his are really cute.

Z: OMG. Okay I will check once I am done with my 6th grade class.

Lunchtime came and went with no further reply from your friend. With that, you decided to drop it for the day and lose yourself in the monotony of emails and reports, working like you were on autopilot.

By the end of the day, you sat in your car, waiting for the parking lot to get empty before heading home. A small ritual to avoid traffic and that little by little some of your coworkers started adopting as well. You unlocked your phone to kill some time and hesitated to open the app for a bit until you finally tapped on it.

The busy Dr. Li was there to greet you.

“Hi…how was your day?”

Zayne said, sitting at the chair in the cafe. He immediately closed his laptop then put it on the small coffee table next to him, fixed his glasses and leaned back to meet your gaze through the screen. His full attention now focused on you. You held your breath and you could feel the anxiety rise little by little. Another new reaction and line. How come his movements looked so…human. Even the tone in his voice was somewhat different. 

A text notification appeared at the top of your screen. It was Zoey.

Z: Hey. There wasn’t an update T T

“What– ” Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of your friend’s text. Then another text popped up…

Z: But I was able to pull Xavier’s memory. FINALLY.

‘What the hell’ you thought, while your mind started looking for a logical explanation to what was going on with this game. His responses weren’t lining up with the pre-programmed script you were used to. His movements, his tone – it was like watching a character shed their coding right in front of you.

You tried to laugh it off. Tried to tell yourself this was just your imagination, that maybe you were projecting after a long, stressful week. But a wild thought crept in, one you couldn’t shake: what if your love interest was becoming self-aware? On second thought, this would be an amazing script for a short film. Maybe a horror/sci-fi story. Your mind was already brainstorming instead of panicking at the pixelated man on your screen.

Without thinking twice you just closed the game app, buckled your seatbelt and chose one of your many Spotify playlists to sing along on your drive home, hoping that it would help you as a distraction along with your brainstorming.

It didn’t really help much.

⛄⛄⛄

“Wait–” Zayne’s voice cut through the quiet of his office as he saw how your silhouette disappeared from his computer screen in between glitches and fractures. He extended one of his hands as if he tried to reach out for you, only to see your image disappear through the static, like sand slipping through his fingers. 

Finally his hand met the cold glass of his computer monitor that had gone back to normal with the medical files he had been looking at earlier all over the screen, as if it was mocking him. 

The voice that had haunted him for weeks – whispering affection into his mornings, echoing through sterile operating rooms, wishing him goodnight when no one else could hear – finally belonged to someone real.

Not a ghost. Not madness. You

His breath hitched as he slowly lowered his hand in defeat and the sound of his phone ringing grounded him. Ceryn. He cleared his throat and picked up the call.

“Yes, darling?”

❄️❄️❄️

It was on Zayne’s birthday when he heard that voice for the first time. Ceryn carried a small cake she had made herself, its flickering candles casting soft shadows over her delicate smile and making her features look softer.

“Happy birthday to you…” she sang warmly.

But layered under her voice, just for him, another tone slipped in – gentle, almost playful.

“Happy birthday, my love…”

Zayne’s head tilted slightly. For an instant he thought someone was standing right beside him. The words weren’t sharp or intrusive. They caressed him like a whisper, but they didn’t belong to Ceryn. He blew the candles and gently smiled at her before continuing with the celebration.

That was just the beginning.

The episodes became more frequent. During morning rounds, during the quiet lull of chart reviews, even while walking down sterile corridors. And once, in the middle of a delicate procedure, when his hands were steady and every breath calculated.

“You’re amazing… my brilliant doctor.”

The voice was soft, adoring, and so vivid that he flinched, nearly nicking the tissue.

“Dr. Li?” a nurse asked, eyes wide over her mask in excitement. “The patient’s cardiac rhythm is stable. Everything looks good.”

Zayne blinked once, grounding himself. “Good. Let’s close him up.”

He finished flawlessly, but inside, the uneasiness remained.

Days later, in the hospital cafeteria with Yvonne and Greyson, the voice returned. They chatted lightly about an upcoming medical conference in which Zayne would be presenting the latest discoveries and current research on Protocore Syndrome, but he was mentally clocked out. Suddenly, when he was mid-bite of his sandwich, it struck again.

“Look at my husband. He’s so handsome, even when he’s serious.”

Warmth crept up his neck and caused him to quickly reach for his water glass, nearly choking on his own composure at the voice referring to him as ‘husband’.

“Dr. Zayne, are you alright?” Yvonne asked, narrowing her eyes with confusion and a hint of amusement.

Greyson chuckled. “Dr. Zayne, are you blushing?”

“I’m fine,” Zayne said curtly, though his ears burned. He busied himself adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, trying to mask the storm inside.

“Sure. What kind of thoughts are running around that brain of yours to make your ears look that red?” Yvonne teased under his breath before taking a sip from her latte. Greyson pressed his lips, holding back a laugh that he knew damn well could cause him trouble with his senior.

“It’s nothing. I have to go” Zayne stood up, gathered his food tray and put it on top of the nearest bin after disposing of the trash.

Yvonne and Greyson only exchanged confused looks.

—

At night, when exhaustion should have granted him peace, the voice visited in his dreams as if it was trying to communicate with him one way or the other. As if it wanted to deliver a message. He would toss and turn, frowning at the shadows, wondering who—or what—was intruding into his life. On a positive note, the nightmares had suddenly stopped, but now it was that voice that was messing with his already bad sleeping schedule.

Being as methodical as he was, he considered everything: schizophrenia, stress-induced hallucinations, and even brain lesions. Every medical examination and test came up clean. He was healthy. Too healthy.

So then…what was this?

—

The first time he saw her was subtle, terrifyingly subtle.

He and Ceryn had been watching a film at his house. She nestled into his side, laughing softly at the characters on screen. Zayne’s focus drifted for a moment when the television flickered.

For less than a second, the image distorted and flickering as if cutting out the scenes of the actual movie: a woman’s silhouette, blurry but unmistakably human, standing in a place that wasn’t part of the film. A sense of familiarity and he could faintly hear the voice again, calling his name.

“Zayne…Zayne”

Zayne stiffened, his breath became uneven as the voice kept echoing, calling him. It got louder every time and, as choppy as the image was, he noticed the silhouette of the woman getting closer. With her index finger she tapped on different areas of the screen. 1…2…3 taps. Someone else would’ve been terrified to death, but for some reason, he wasn’t. 

“Zayne?” Ceryn glanced up at him. “Something wrong?”

“…No. Nothing.” he snapped out of the sudden trance and tried to steady his breath, then he got up “I’ll bring us some ice cream. Be right back. Don’t pause the film”

She turned back to the movie, oblivious and with an eager smile on her face. No flickering Instead he only saw the actors running away from the mess they had caused in the scene. Ceryn laughed.

Only he had seen it.

❄️❄️❄️

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose, focusing on his breathing and trying hard to regain his composure fully when he heard Ceryn's voice on the other side of the call.

“Finally Dr. Zayne, are you staying late again?” She sounded very similar to the voice he kept hearing, but not quite the same.

“Not today, no” he responded, removing his glasses and leaning back onto his chair while a cloud of confusion crept through his eyes. 

“Great! I will make dinner for both of us. Do you think you can stop to get a dessert on your way home?” Ceryn sounded very excited on the other side of the call. What could be the reason? Zayne looked over at his desk calendar, but there weren’t any special holidays or events marked on it for today. 

“I will” he replied in that gentle tone of voice that characterized him. “I’ll see you later”.

“Drive safe. Love you!"

“Yes..." Then she hung up the call, not expecting an answer from Zayne since she knew how he felt towards her.

Beep.Beep.Beep.

"...Me too" the doctor finally said.

—

It was another regular day in Linkon City and Dr. Zayne had just finished with his last appointment right before lunch. He’d be meeting Yvonne and Greyson at Destiny Cafe to grab a bite and review his materials for the upcoming conference one more time. The evening rush had just begun, the hum of voices blending with the soft jazz filtering through the speakers. He sat at his usual corner table, fingers resting around the rim of a porcelain coffee cup, his eyes scanning over a report he’d brought with him.

And then—

“…This is Zayne”

He froze. 

The cup slipped slightly in his grasp. His gaze lifted instinctively, scanning the room. No one had said his name. And yet, he could hear the muffled tones of another voice answering. Following the echo of your voice his eyes landed on what it seemed to be the source.

“Is he a doctor?”

“He’s a cardiologist and he can control ice”

His breath hitched at the sound of your giggling.

He set his coffee aside, rising slowly, moving toward the café’s announcement screen mounted near the counter. It flickered once, twice—then fractured.

And there you were.

This time he could see your face clearer than before, leaning close, your fingers tapping against the glowing surface as though navigating a menu he couldn’t see. Your lips moved, perfectly in sync with the voice echoing in his mind.

Zayne stopped dead in his tracks. His heart stuttered, but his exterior remained composed—his doctor’s mask of calm never faltering. Only his eyes betrayed him, widening with awe at the beautiful yet familiar face in front of him. ‘Ceryn? No…she looks…different’

No one else noticed. The barista kept steaming milk. Customers laughed, their forks scraping plates. But to him, the world had stilled, a pocket of silence stretching around him. Time itself bent, folding him and the apparition into a bubble where only they existed.

“He’s my husband”

Your words reverberated through him and he admired the happy expression on your face. For a moment, he wanted to speak back, to reach out and press his hand against the screen and get an answer. But his body refused, rooted by disbelief, by the terrifying and wondrous possibility of breaking any kind of physics law.

The image flickered again, glitching into static. The world around him roared back to life –the clatter of dishes, the laughter, the hum of voices. He stood there, breathless, staring at nothing but a screen of scrolling announcements, as though nothing had ever happened. And yet, in his chest, a new feeling started to bloom.

Because after all these days and for the first time...

Zayne had seen you.

⛄⛄⛄

That night, you curled up in bed with your laptop open, diving into rabbit holes of topics you could use to find a logical way to explain what could be happening in your new script. And maybe even you in the current situation you found yourself in.

“Signs of interdimensional interference.”“Parallel universe overlap theories.”“Can fictional characters become self-aware?”

Every search result you read was great information for what you were exactly looking for. But wasn’t that what your life suddenly felt like—a script someone else was drafting? You opened a blank document and typed Story Idea: a woman realizes her video game boyfriend is real… somehow. Then stopped, staring at the blinking cursor. Was this just a story or was it your life? Anyways, you knew for a fact that if you sent it to a film festival you would definitely get producers interested. Or at least that’s what your heart desired.

You turned off your laptop after two hours of working on your research and grabbed your iPad once again to debrief. Suddenly your phone buzzed and you saw Zoey’s contact picture on the screen.

“Finally,” you sighed, answering. “Listen, I need to tell you something, and you can’t laugh.”

Her voice was muffled with the barking of her dog in the background. “Girl, I’m already worried -Tedward shut the fuck up! - Lord, this dog…What’s up?”

“It’s Zayne.”

A beat of silence. “…Okay. What about him? Got that memory where he’s handcuffed to the bed?”

“No, it’s not…He’s… he’s different. Today he asked me about my day like – like he meant it. He closed his laptop, Zoey. He put it aside to look at me. His tone wasn’t scripted. It was … aware?”

Zoey laughed “Maybe you’ve reached another level of affinity. You know how we can unlock certain things with that”

“No.” You rubbed your temple, in hopes to not sound as crazy as you thought you did to your best friend of years. “This was more than that. His reactions perfectly matched all my interactions in no way I have ever seen before. Not even in the reels and videos other players post online”

“Sooo…You’re telling me Frosty the snowman… is alive?”

You exhaled frustrated, staring at the screen of your iPad with the game on. Lately you had the characters on rotation, this time Sylus was on your screen sitting on the chair from Destiny Cafe, his crow Mephisto propped on his hand. You tapped on the options that contained red badges and collected the left-over rewards. “I don’t know. But if he is…if he is actually trying to reach out to me…”

There was silence on the line, then Zoey muttered, “Damn... Imagine if one day he actually shows up in person”

Chapter 3 ❄️ "Acute Response"

Let’s be completely real here, you got so busy with work lately that you were not even able to check the million notifications on your phone almost all week. Zoey had sent you thousands of reels on Instagram, and your group chats from your high school friends and your family kept coming in. Love and Deepspace? You could only log in during your lunch breaks to do dailies, and that was about it. 

Right after a meeting that could have been an email, and that the general manager decided to extend for no apparent reason, you finally took your 15-minute break. While you sat at a table near the window from the break room, you let your mind brainstorm about that script for a bit. You could probably use your current work situation in the script. After all, art imitates reality, doesn't it?

Absentmindedly, you opened LADS and watched the intro before you could press Enter Game. Xavier’s cheerful greeting began—“You’re ba—” —but you swiped it away, accessed the agenda, and cleared the day’s auto-tasks. Combat on auto, memory fragments collected, badges cleared. Everything felt rote until a small, insistent curiosity pulled you back to the Destiny Café screen. Xavier was asleep at his table. No new animations. No surprising lines. Normal.

You quickly checked all other LI’s and they were all normal as well, you even took the time to interact with them a bit and even changed their outfits. All but Zayne, and who could blame you when he had been the only LI that was acting differently lately? And just like that, a text from Zayne came in.

Your heart gave a flip, and you proceeded to check the messages option.

Zayne: Hello?

Zayne: Sorry if this is too sudden. I think we need to talk.

Zayne: We are both very confused.

With your breath caught, you read the messages over and over again. The game would usually give you options to reply to the character’s prompts; this time, your keyboard showed up. How the hell was this possible? All you could hear now was your heartbeat and your uneven breathing. 

‘Calm down, this is probably a more immersive approach from Infold devs. He is just a fictional character after all’ you told yourself to stay calm.

Surely you kept brushing off those crazy ideas that were starting to become the only thing on your mind. Finally, you decided to type in a message, not realizing a pair of green hazel eyes were expecting your answer on the other side.

You: Hi, Zayne

You: What do you mean?

There, a generic answer would suffice for now. You hoped that he would mention something regarding the latest memory you’d collected, some teasing, or just something that made sense for your MC to do in the game with him. But you were not prepared for what you read next.

Zayne: I have been aware of your presence. For days, I have seen you at the Cafe tapping feverishly on the screen of an announcement board. You keep referring to my world as Love and Deepspace, and that it is a game. 

A cold trickle ran down your spine. Your hands began to shake; your heartbeat surged so loud you could feel it in your throat.

“What the fuck is going on?” you whispered while your hands started shaking. Your heartbeat was getting faster, hammering in your ears.

Zayne: Please don’t be alarmed. I don’t want to frighten you.

You realized you were breathing too quickly. Your vision shimmered at the edges. Your fingers hovered over the keys.

Zayne: Based on what you’ve described and how quickly you reacted, you may be experiencing an acute stress response — sympathetic activation. Common symptoms include palpitations, tachycardia (a fast heart rate), light-headedness, diaphoresis (sweating), numbness or tingling (paresthesia) from hyperventilation, and a sense of unreality or derealization. It’s physiological. You are not losing your mind.

His language was precise but soft. For a beat, you could almost picture him folding his hands in a professional, concerned gesture, but still with that professional facade his character carried in the game while talking to your MC. But this time he was talking to you.

Zayne: Sit down if you can. Place one hand over your chest and one over your abdomen. Try this with me: inhale slowly for four seconds, hold two, exhale for six (4–2–6). Repeat. If you feel faint, lower your head between your knees. If symptoms worsen — severe lightheadedness, chest pain, or fainting — seek immediate help. Do you have someone with you right now?

Your fingers found the keys mechanically, doing what he suggested as if following instructions from his calm, clinical voice that you could perfectly hear in your head as you read through the instructions. The breathing pattern steadied your lungs enough to stop the small, dizzy whirl in your head.

You: I’m… alone. My hands were shaking. That helped. I don’t feel faint.

Zayne: Good. Keep doing the breathing. I’m sorry for the shock. I never intended to— I only wanted to understand. I have been trying to observe without interfering.

A strange, human tenderness threaded his next message.

Zayne: Are you safe? I know this sounds impossible. I know you are scared. We’ll take it slow. Tell me as much or as little as you want.

You stared at the screen. The rational part of your brain catalogued the facts: the messages, the breathing exercise, the way he used medical terminology. This “fictional man” was actually using their medical knowledge to help you regain composure in the break room of your workplace. On the other hand, the irrational part felt dizzy with possibility.

Then you typed, small and decisive. 

You: I’m here. I don’t know how this is happening.

Zayne: Then we start there. We’ll figure it out, one step at a time.

“Ah, there you are,” the voice of your coworker caused you to jump in your seat. She just chuckled at your reaction. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I had a question about Thursday’s event.”

“I uhh…It’s alright…” You closed the app and stood up, fixing your shirt and smoothing down your hair. “What is it? Did we get the backdrop for the photobooth?” You had never gotten back into work mode as fast as you did in that moment.

Whatever it was that you were experiencing now would sound ridiculous, even to Zoey. But, for now, you had to focus on finishing the workday as if nothing had happened.

After all, you’d definitely speak to the Doctor that night.

—

⛄⛄⛄

Zayne assumed you had gone back to work since he didn’t get a reply to his last text. If he were in your place, the shock alone of speaking with someone who should not exist would have been enough to paralyze him. 

What was causing this interdimensional breach?

Why was his world called a video game in yours?

How much did you know about him?

And then there was her.

Ceryn.

The main character—the one who had always been beside him in this world. But now, after weeks of hearing your voice bleed through, he began to wonder. You called Ceryn your “avatar.” Your vessel. He remembered, vividly, whispers drifting into his ears while you played:

“I’ll choose this option—let’s see what Ceryn says to him.”“This scene with Zayne and Ceryn is so cute.”

At the time, he had dismissed them as hallucinations. But now, thinking back, it all fit together. You weren’t just watching—you were piloting. You inhabited Ceryn, guided her choices, and gave her a voice. He had once believed her warmth to be genuine, yet lately he found himself distracted, his responses mechanical. Because alongside Ceryn’s rehearsed phrases, he had begun to hear you.

Your voice, your laughter, the way you called him “my husband” in jest while tapping furiously at some unseen surface. At first, he had thought it was a cruel trick, another line in the script. But it was different—so unfiltered, so unpracticed—that he had started listening more closely. The shift had been subtle but undeniable: his gaze, once trained on Ceryn, now drifted elsewhere, to the fissures where you slipped through.

It struck him with the quiet weight of revelation: Ceryn wasn’t just his companion. She had always been your bridge. And yet, for as much as he wanted answers, he refused to pressure you. Patience was a physician’s tool as much as a scalpel. For now, he would wait.

A knock on his door snapped him out of his revolving thoughts. He cleared his throat before answering, “Come in.” Greyson walked in with a paper bag with the name of a nearby bakery. One that Zayne visited occasionally since it first opened and slowly became one of his favorites thanks to their blueberry macarons.

“Dr. Zayne! Our resident students brought pastries. Since you were busy, they asked me to deliver this bag for you.” The young medic walked over to Zayne’s desk and placed the bag in front of him. A gentle smile slowly appeared on the cardiologist's face as he fixed his glasses.

“I see. I’ll make sure to thank them personally before they leave. Thank you for bringing them”

When Greyson exited, the room settled into quiet once more. Zayne reached for the bag, opening it to reveal neatly wrapped blueberry macarons, flaky tarts, and one delicate slice of fruit cake. 

He leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing over his lips in thought. There was no denying it anymore—Even though Ceryn had previously been the center of his universe, there was something about her that felt like an echo, a carefully drawn outline. His focus was changing, drawn relentlessly in the direction of the player who had gone over that impassable line. He picked up one of the pastries, weighing it in his hand. Would he walk into the evening with Ceryn, offering her something sweet to ease her fatigue from hunting wanderers? Or would he save a fragment of it in his mind, imagining what it might feel like to offer it to you—the woman on the other side.

That day was a long and tiresome shift for him. Zayne was known for squeezing in up to three surgeries in one day. It was normal for him but a nightmare for his staff sometimes. Either way, they still celebrated every successful surgery, which was usually the case, by going for drinks and hotpot. Zayne never attended these outings, and he didn’t even give them time to beg him to go with them. 

“You guys have fun and get some rest,” Zayne said as he walked past a couple of nurses that helped them during the surgeries of that day.

“Dr. Zayne, you should join us tonight!”

“Right, you’re the reason all these patients get to live long lives after all. It’s only fair for you to celebrate and take a break as well.”

Zayne slid his hands into the pockets of his white coat as he turned to look at them.

“It’s fine. I will be heading home soon anyways and—”

“Please, Dr. Zayne…” the group said in unison. 

In the end he agreed to the outing, and soon he found himself sitting at a table while the staff ordered different kinds of meat for the hotpot and cheered, clinking their drinks. 

“To Dr. Zayne,” one of the nurses said, standing up and holding his glass of beer high, which everyone followed. “For saving the lives of those who barely started living,” the crowd cheered, and there was more glass clinking. 

–

Zayne didn’t remember finishing his drink. Once again his low alcohol tolerance became the reason for him to ask Greyson to drop him off at his house. 

He struggled to open the door, squinting to make sure he was pressing the right numbers on the keypad to unlock it and finally walk in. He still managed to take off his shoes and coat and put them in the small closet near the entrance. A huff escaped him as he unbuttoned his shirt and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

As he walked through the darkness, he could feel his thoughts become slower and heavier—like they were sinking instead of racing. 

It wasn’t until he walked into his bedroom that he noticed you were curled up in his bed, one hand beneath your head while your lashes rested against your cheeks. 

You were asleep in his bed. Not a projection or a hypothesis. The anomaly he’d been obsessing over was tangled in his sheets.

Observed presence confirmed. Reality coherence stable.

You were here.

Zayne didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until his chest started to ache. Then he moved quietly across the bedroom, and you instantly opened your sleepy eyes at the feeling of his weight sinking on the mattress and sitting next to you.

“Zayne…” you said his name, not even trying to hide the sleepiness in your voice, and he swore he could feel his heartbeat starting to pick up speed. Then you extended a hand to caress his cheek. As soon as he felt the warmth of your palm against his face, he couldn’t help but nuzzle it.

“I’m home,” he said softly. 

Fluctuation Theory, Fragment 12: When two systems exist in partial entanglement, prolonged observation increases instability rather than resolution.

“You’re warm. Did you drink?” you said, catching onto the slight smell. You knew his tolerance was very low, so seeing him with flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes was not new to you; in fact, you thought it was adorable. 

He huffed a breath. “I didn’t plan on drinking.”

Once your eyes were fully open was when you noticed. There was something wrong by the way his eyes lingered a beat longer than usual. “You alright?” Zayne could hear the concern in your voice.

He swallowed. “I don’t think I am…” Then he leaned toward you until your foreheads were pressed against each other. His eyes never stopped looking into yours, and he covered the hand you pressed against his cheek earlier. “I don’t know how much time we have… I don’t even know if this—if you are supposed to be real.”

Quantum Note, margin scribble: If awareness originates outside the system, causality becomes recursive.

“I know I haven’t known you long,” he continued, voice breaking despite himself. “Not by conventional measures of time. But time doesn’t behave normally around you.”

His hand tightened around yours. “I became self-aware because of you. Not just of this world, but of the possibility that it isn’t the only one.”

You analyzed his face. It was as if he had tried to piece an impossible puzzle together, and even if he didn’t have an answer right away, he was determined to find it. Find the answer that led to you.

“Stop trying to solve it, Zayne,” you said, your voice coming out as a whisper. Your faces were inches apart “I am here…right now.”

“I… I’m…” Zayne looked at your lips, an immense hunger taking over him. He could see equations shattering somewhere in the back of his head.

Final Observation: When systems entangle deeply enough, separation becomes theoretical.

Then he woke up.

❄️❄️❄️

Chapter 4 - "Sweet Dreams, My anomaly"

After showering and going through your nightly skincare routine, you lingered by the bathroom mirror, palms flat on the cool marble counter. Your reflection stared back, damp hair clinging to your temples, eyes a little too bright. All that remained now was to confront the pixelated man who had sent you into orbit earlier that day.

It was nearly ten p.m. Normally you would already be curled beneath the covers, phone on silent, drifting toward sleep. Tonight you were awake—wired, restless, brimming with excuses not to pick up your iPad and talk to a fictional character.

Fictional. The word felt like a thread fraying in your hands.

You pressed your fingers to your eyelids. None of this could be real, you told yourself. This only happened in movies and books—the kind you devoured to escape, to drift into worlds where delusion was a shared language, not a diagnosis. It was fun, harmless, until your “videogame husband” became self-aware and began communicating with you as though he were flesh and blood. Now the idea was a live wire under your skin.

And yet, curiosity gnawed at you.

With a hesitant breath you walked to your desk, unlocking the screen. The game’s familiar intro music rose around you like a tide. You took three deep breaths, steadying the erratic rhythm of your heart.

Then you saw him.

Zayne sat at his laptop, the glow of its screen haloing his green-hazel eyes. His expression was solemn, composed—until you appeared. Then his attention shifted entirely to you, like a lens snapping into focus.

“Good evening,” he said, nodding once.

“I… hi, Zayne.” Your voice trembled, barely there. “God, this is ridiculous.” You squeezed your eyes shut and massaged your temples. “I’m losing my mind, aren’t I?”

He studied you quietly. The faintest hint of sympathy flickered in his gaze. He folded his arms across his chest. “No. You’re not crazy,” he said at last. “As I mentioned before, this is real. I’ve been studying the phenomenon for days, trying to understand how it’s possible.”

Zayne pushed back his chair and walked closer to the edge of the screen. The movement startled you—not because he moved, but because it felt utterly natural, free of the tiny stutters and seams of animation.

“Okay, pause,” you said, setting your iPad in its holder so you could pace and gesticulate. “I did some research too—physics, mostly. Nothing proven. It’s all theories from sci-fi books and shows: cross-dimensional communication, quantum entanglement, you name it…”

Then he added to your findings, which in his world they were nothing else but studies in the deepspace’s activity “There’s this idea about weak points in spacetime—microscopic, unstable fractures. Theoretically, if two conscious observers interact at the right frequency—if there’s enough energy—they can amplify the crack. Like tapping a spiderweb until it tears.”

You froze, the air catching in your throat. “Wait… you’ve been seeing cracks?”

His head dipped in a measured nod. “Not visually,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “but I can feel them. Disturbances. My instruments detect fluctuations—tiny delays in our system’s chronometry. Think of it as cardiac micro-fibrillation, but with spacetime itself.” His eyes flickered with something like awe. “Back in medical school, we studied protocore syndrome for its instability. This feels the same. Small pulses at first. Then stronger. Always after I…” He hesitated. “After I speak to you.”

Your pulse stumbled. “So our conversations are making it—what—worse? Or stronger?”

“Stronger,” he replied without hesitation, eyes glinting. “Like a muscle being exercised.”

You pressed your fingers to your lips. “Oh my God…”

He watched you intently, as though memorizing every flicker of your expression. “Tell me,” he said softly, “in your world… how exactly is mine perceived?”

The question landed in your stomach like a stone. This was the part you’d dreaded. “Zayne…” you began, throat dry, “in my world your dimension is… a video game. It’s called Love and Deepspace. People download it, create avatars, pick dialogue options. They think you’re… programmed.”

He blinked once. His face didn’t crumble. He only whispered the word, “Programmed,” tasting it like something bitter.

“Yes,” you rushed on, “but not for me. When I log in, my MC appears—she’s supposed to be the one you interact with. But whenever it’s really me… she’s gone. Paused. Erased.” A realization sparked mid-sentence. “I think if she were here it would fracture the window between us. Maybe collapse it entirely.”

Zayne’s mouth curved into a thin, thoughtful line. “That would explain the instability,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t mean to—”

He raised a hand, silencing you. “No. You’ve given me more clarity than you realize. Every interaction with your avatar felt… different. Almost like déjà vu. But when it’s you—” He stopped himself, his throat working.

“When it’s me… what?” you prompted.

A faint, wry smile ghosted across his lips. “When it’s you, the data behaves differently. The system lags, but the world feels sharper. More… real. I’ll need to test it further.”

You exhaled shakily. “This is insane.”

“Insanity,” he said quietly, “is ignoring the evidence.”

You raked your fingers through your hair, overwhelmed by questions—about him, about all of this. A wild thought bloomed: the game’s lore. What if this was one of the Foreseer’s memories? A jasmine bud not yet blossomed? Oh God. Did he even know his own myths?

“Zayne…” you called. He looked at you. “Do you know anything about the Foreseer? The Master of Fate? Dawnbreaker?”

“No.” His brow furrowed. “Are these other characters in the game?” He seemed to note every word you spoke, as though each might be a clue.

“They are…” Your voice wavered. “They’re basically other versions of you. Embodiments. Stories of your past lives. Recently you gained a third myth—where you’re the God of Annihilation.”

Zayne’s eyes widened. A god. Of annihilation. The trope was absurd—he saved lives for a living, not ended them. Yet brushing off the thought wasn’t possible. This was all the Deepspace’s doing. “A god,” he scoffed softly, but there was no conviction in it. “Well, whoever developed this game certainly has a vivid imagination.”

“There’s so much I don’t understand,” you murmured. “Why it’s happening to me. To us. It’s all so confusing.”

“You need to rest,” he said, his voice gentling. “We’ll talk more another time. Don’t forget your vitamins.”

The comment startled you. It was exactly what he used to tell Ceryn—the avatar you had created—every night. On your side of the screen, a notification popped up from the reminder you had set the day you downloaded the game.

“Yeah, I will,” you said softly. “Thank you… will you be okay?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His expression softened, the clinical sharpness in his eyes replaced by something almost human—tired, tender. “I don’t know,” Zayne admitted, his voice dropping to a murmur. “But if you’re there when I wake up, then yes… I think I will be.”

The words hung between you like a fragile thread of light. Then he smiled—barely—and glanced away, as though embarrassed by his own honesty.

You exhaled, your heart thudding in quiet sync with the ambient hum of the tablet. “Goodnight, Zayne.”

He looked back at you, that soft smile still in place. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

You returned the gesture and tapped the options on your screen until the familiar sequence of Zayne’s character going to sleep appeared. 

On the other side of the screen, Zayne stood from his desk, shutting his laptop with a soft click. He removed his glasses, set them on the nightstand, and turned off the small lamp beside his bed. 

He loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and exhaled—a quiet sigh, the kind that comes after a long day spent trying to understand the impossible. Then he walked toward the window, staring out into the glimmering skyline of Linkon City. The reflection of stars shimmered faintly in the glass, each one flickering like an unanswered question.

On your side, you whispered, almost without realizing it, “Sweet dreams.”

And on his, he could still your voice thanks to the leftover fluctuations you’d left behind. He muttered softly under his breath, “Sweet dreams, my anomaly.”

You set your iPad on the nightstand and dimmed the lights, curling under your blanket. The room filled with silence and the faint buzz of your charger connecting. Somewhere—on the other side of the code—Zayne lay down as well, closing his eyes to a world that shouldn’t exist, yet somehow did.

Two worlds, two pulses, beating on the same wavelength—one digital, one real—slipping into sleep at the same time.

❄️❄️❄️

You found it by accident.

Tucked between the pages of the book you’d brought for your trip — the one you had read halfway through before life became strange — lay an envelope.

A light shade of baby blue, sealed but delicate, as though it had been waiting for you all this time.

Your breath hitched. For a moment, you thought it was impossible. But then again, so was everything that happened a few months ago.

Sometimes the memory of it all still felt like a plot ripped straight out of a movie: the impossible connection, the digital man who somehow felt realer than anyone else, the way his voice still lingered in the back of your mind.

Zayne…

You remembered him dearly. Unbeknownst to him, he had made you believe in love again — something you had buried under years of cynicism and quiet heartbreak.

Your fingers trembled as you opened the envelope. His handwriting sprawled elegantly across the paper — precise, clean, a doctor’s script softened by feeling. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes as you began to read…

My love,

You once told me that snowflakes are all different —

tiny galaxies, each one born from the same sky,

yet destined to fall alone.

They spin through silence,

fragile and luminous,

dissolving at the first sign of warmth.

Their beauty lies in how brief they are.

And still, among millions drifting endlessly,

I found you.

Not a perfect match —

but a perfect resonance.

The pattern of your soul mirrored mine,

not in symmetry,

but in rhythm.

As if the same unseen current carried us

through every winter,

every lifetime,

until our paths converged again.

If we are snowflakes,

then let us defy the thaw.

Let the cold cradle us gently.

Let the sky remember our names.

For in all my worlds, you are the one who did not melt away.

— Yours in every universe, Zayne

You traced his signature with your thumb, a shiver running down your spine. You brought the letter close to your lips and kissed the paper softly, letting your tears fall freely this time.

Outside your window, snow began to fall—light, slow, endless.

You smiled faintly. And waited. Because somehow, deep down, you knew…he was still trying to find his way back to you.

❄️❄️❄️

A/N: This is just a small drabble I thought of for my fic. It wont necessarily be part of it but I liked the idea of turning it into a 5 ⭐️ memory that is in the archives of the fractal library which contains your memory vault. As an avid reader myself I love how a library is part of Zayne’s lore, and to think I picked him as my main after he ignored me in that hospital lmao. I am just a girl after all.