#zayne fluff

"Hmm, I don't see a cloud in the sky. It's unlikely to rain today." After caressing your cheek, Zayne readjusted his tie in the mirror.

It was always a shame to say goodbye to your boyfriend in the mornings. Not only did it require a great effort on your part to get up early to say a proper goodbye, but you also needed a lot of willpower to let him go.

But who could blame you? All you wanted was to feel the warmth of your sweet boyfriend for a little while longer.

Appreciating his always neat and professional image in detail, even though you know that behind that professionalism lies a Zayne that few have the joy of knowing as well as you do!

A Zayne who, even though he has to leave early for long shifts at the hospital, is always present in your daily life with little notes around the apartment.

'I'll be home soon, my love'

'Try not to finish the movie without me'

'Don't order takeout today. I left chopped vegetables and chicken breast in the fridge. Soup will be more comforting.'

Sweet, sweet Zayne, always looking out for you, even from a distance.

"I don't have much work scheduled for today, any surgery, just paperwork." He turns to you and smiles gently. "I'll be back before you know it."

You grab his waist, nuzzling your face in his arm.

"I know, I'm just teasing you..."

Anyone who didn't know Zayne would probably think he was still the same withdrawn, introverted guy.

But you know him better, like how his gaze softens when you place your hand on his shoulders, forgetting the paperwork for a few minutes and turning into a blushing mess from your touch.

You know he misses you all day, just like you do.

Zayne takes a hand cream from his pocket and puts a generous amount on his hands. "Hmm... apple and cinnamon? Dr. Zayne, you have a sweet tooth, even with shampoos and creams?"

"I also like sweet people only." He massages his hands, making sure to moisturize them well, and takes your hands to repeat the process.

"If it rains, wear my shirts, that way you and your hands will stay warm longer..."

You can clearly see his ears blush at such an innocent and kind gesture. "I thought there was no way it would rain today..." your playful tone amuses him.

You both rub your hands together, an intimate act even if it doesn't seem like it.

"I'll wait for you for dinner, don't be long."

Without thinking twice, listening to the strong beat in your chest, you bring Zayne's hands to your lips, kissing them with deep affection.

Your soft voice could easily melt Zayne's heart.

On any other day, he would have rushed to you and swept you into a warm embrace. But perhaps it was the scent of the hand cream, the overflowing aroma of his cologne, or the warmth of your hands against his... Zayne gently moved closer to you and your lips, kissing them as if he already missed you. He took your waist and pulled you close, chest to chest, heart to heart.

"I'll be back before lunch" he whispered, kissing your forehead before leaving.

“How was your day?” You offer, one hand curled around the door handle, the other gripping your towel above your chest. An answer comes in the heavy sigh that escapes him.

“It could’ve been worse,” Zayne says, hand still on his tie. He works the knot apart as he elaborates. “Rounds were clockwork, and I got no grief from any patients.” Pausing, he peels his tie away from his collar, standing to put it elsewhere, or maybe to get away from something unseen. “Then we had a transplant surgery.”

Zayne folds his tie, draping it over his desk chair with an almost gentle motion, staring at the long strip of fabric. Hands moving to unbutton his shirt, he speaks again. “Everything was going fine until a trauma patient came in in the midst of it. I had one hour left of surgery when they told me, and so straight after I scrubbed out, I was already scrubbing in again to help handle it.”

Button after button, his shirt comes undone, hands falling to brace on the chair’s back before he ever takes it off. “We all did what we could.”

Silence follows, but you don’t give it time to thicken. “I don’t doubt that.” 

Zayne smiles, rueful, sparing one last second to let the remnants of the day hang in the air before his gaze slips to you again. 

“I know,” he murmurs, voice soft. Straightening, he rids himself of his shirt, like shedding the final weight pressing down on his rigid frame, slinging it alongside his tie.

He turns toward you, taking a step in your direction, broad chest lifting when he draws in breath, falling when he huffs. Zayne rakes a hand through his hair, and by the looks of it, he had done that a lot today.

“Are you going to come out?” He says, brow pinching, green eyes observing your position with slight mirth.

Fingertips tightening on the doorhandle, you push it open slowly, entering the bedroom swathed in a towel, hair damp. Zayne’s gaze flickers down once, assessing, as you walk up to him. The knuckles of his hand brush your cheek, a soothing gesture, and then he cups your face in his hands, thumbs smoothing over your skin.

“I don’t need to be there to know that you did well today, Zayne,” you say, quiet but reassuring. Free hand rising to grasp one of his wrists, you tilt your face into the hand, lips pressing into his palm. “You look tired,” you add, the words partly muffled into his skin.

Zayne nods before bowing down slightly, and you tilt your head to give him a brief, soft kiss. Pulling back, he lets out a breath of air, a small but content smile gracing his features. Hands slipping down to your shoulders, Zayne’s fingertips send shivers where they meet bare skin.

“And how was your day?” He asks, voice quieter now, settled. His thumbs make absent-minded brushes against your collarbone.

“Nothing special,” you murmur. Zayne’s gaze holds yours steadily. “I missed you.”

He keeps his eyes on you for one more moment, then they shift downward. Throat bobbing as he swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lip. “I missed you too, my love.”

Humming, your stare drifts to the pale expanse of his bare chest, wasting little more time before pressing your cheek into him, over his heart. Your eyes almost fall closed. Zayne’s fingertips trail lower until he’s grazing the top of your towel, skimming them across the material. He feels his way to the centre of your chest, where your hand is bunched up and holding the towel together, letting his finger run just along the underside of your palm. Loosening your grip slightly, your fingers twitch, and he crooks his finger under your hand and into your palm.

You startle slightly when you feel the towel slipping from your grasp, but Zayne leans down, lips brushing over your temple.

“Take it off.”

For all of two seconds, you forget how to breathe. You let your hand unclench, curling around his finger instead, and he slips his hand into yours. Taking a step back, Zayne pulls you forward gently, and as you walk with him, the towel falls, crumpling onto the ground behind you with a soft thud. 

When the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, Zayne sits, tugging you his way until you’re straddling him, bare thighs draped over his clothed ones. Nose pressing into the side of your neck, he breathes deeply, wrapping his arms around you, two chests pressing together in the silence of the room.

“You smell like my soap,” Zayne comments, lips closing on the skin of your neck, planting a kiss there. You sigh.

“I… missed you,” you repeat, quieter. Arms draped over his shoulders, you nuzzle your face into his clavicle, smelling him and his soap and the antiseptic that had clung on all the way back from the hospital.

Zayne hums, arms loosening, fingertips coming up to draw abstract shapes and lines on your back. Your hands copy, dipping down to rake your nails lightly between his shoulderblades. He shivers, then does the same to you. You squirm.

Hands idly tracing the divots of his back, you bask in the feeling of him wrapped around you, unabashedly. For a long time, you could only imagine yourself in this position if you were different—clean-shaven, prettier, a couple kilos less—but Zayne has never made you feel as if the things you lack make you lesser. Soon enough, you don’t even realise you’re leaning your whole self onto him, and he welcomes all of you with another kiss to the delicate skin of your neck.

“You can rest, if you’re tired,” he whispers, sounding close to sleep himself. “I’ve got you.”