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You listen silently as the front door opens and closes with a click. The jangle of keys as they’re neatly hung up on the nearby wall hooks. The rustle of fabric as he takes off his coat.
Dress shoes are replaced with slippers that pad softly through the house to the bedroom. You’re already looking at the door when he pokes his head in.
“Have you eaten anything today?” Zayne asks as he comes to your side. He sits down slowly on the edge of the bed, being careful not to touch you. He’s got that familiar frown on his face, the one he gets when he’s concerned about your health. It warms your heart.
“Not much,” you admit. “Just a couple snacks. I couldn’t stand for long today.”
He hums in understanding. To his mind, the worst kind of patient was one that could not be so easily treated. As if your heart didn’t weigh heavily enough on his mind…
You suppress a wince as you slip a hand out of the blanket to touch his cheek. He holds it lightly for a moment, before setting it back to rest on the bed. “You don’t have to have that look on your face, you know. We’re not in the hospital right now.”
“I always worry for your health, regardless of where we are.” With the threshold of touch crossed, he doesn’t hesitate for long before brushing your hair out of your face. His fingers are cool to the touch as they skim your forehead, tucking longer strands behind your ear. “Have you taken anything for the pain yet?”
You look down at his tie, loosened around his neck. He sighs.
“And you don’t want me to worry, even though you have a relentless habit of ignoring your health?”
“I thought…” You sigh. You know it sounds stupid; it always does. There’s no logic behind it. “I thought I could power through it this time. It wasn’t so bad this morning.”
He sighs, but the exasperation drifts on an undercurrent of fondness. “It may not have been as bad right now if you’d taken your medication sooner.”
He gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom. You can see his reflection in the mirror from this angle, until he opens it in search of medicine for you to take. It reflects your pitiful state for a time. Reduced to rotting away in bed all day, barely able to move without risking pain. On days like these, days when your body betrayed you, dangling your success at becoming a Hunter and fighting Wanderers right before your eyes, just out of reach, it was easy to lose yourself to the cruelty of your mind. It always found its way back to the forefront of your thoughts, whether you listened to music, watched a show or movie, or risked moving to scroll through messages.
The mirror cabinet shut, reflecting once more the calm face of your partner, and it felt easier to remember that one bad day did not undo the progress of a lifelong dream.
He returned with a small pill bottle in hand, none the wiser to your plight. Setting the bottle on the nightstand, he worked with you to slowly, as carefully as possible, help you sit up. You purposefully leaned forward to rest against him, but he didn’t push you away, despite the inconvenience. He did his best not to jostle you, listening for any noise of discomfort, as he retrieved the bottle and poured two pills into his hand. When you open your mouth for them, he chuckles, and deposits them onto your tongue.
The cup on your nightstand had been placed there this morning by your darling doctor. It’s still almost full when he picks it up and brings it to your lips. “You were supposed to drink all of this,” he lightly scolds.
Speaking through the pills in your mouth, you tease, “I was rationing.”
He doesn’t speak while he helps you drink. One hand rests at the back of your neck, supporting your head as it tips back. The other slowly tilts the cup, until you tap his knee to know you have enough water to take the pills. His thumb strokes the base of your skull as you focus on swallowing, prepared to assist if you can’t get them down in one try.
As soon as you’re done, he dryly retorts, “Rationing for how long? At that rate, you could make this one cup last a month.”
Your snicker puts him at ease.
He sets the glass down as he speaks. “You should try to get some rest. I’ll make dinner, and wake you when it’s finished.”
“Wait!” You grab his wrist when he starts laying you back down. The movement sends bolts of electricity up your arm. It feels like someone has tangled wires within the marrow of your bones and hooked each end up to a car battery. You let go immediately, but the aftershocks continue to linger.
“Relax,” he soothes. He rests you back against him. “Just breathe. It’ll pass soon.”
You press your nose to his collar as you do as he says. The first breaths come out as a hiss between clenched teeth, shaky and shallow. Like a struck cymbal, the pain gradually recedes until where once was a stabbing sting, there’s only a dull ache. Your breaths even out just the same, working to become deeper and more stable. You don’t have to look to know Zayne would have that sad, sympathetic look on his face, unable to do more than hold you and wait.
“That,” you manage a strained laugh, lacking mirth, “wasn’t my best move.”
Zayne makes a sound of agreement, but holds back from chastising you for it. You’d certainly learned your lesson already.
“I was going to say, let me stay on the couch while you cook.” You lift your head to look at him, smiling. “I haven’t seen you since this morning. I had all day to rest, I’d rather spend time near you.”
He frowned. “You barely moved a second ago and were in excruciating pain. How do you expect to make it as far as the door, let alone the couch, without exacerbating things?”
“Easy! You carry me to the couch.”
“As if that’s much better.”
“Please.” Your smile falls to a pleading earnestness, eyes wide and brow furrowed. “I just want to spend time with you.”
He stares at you for a moment, contemplating. There’s frustration in his voice now. “Either I carry you and risk your pain flaring up, or I don’t and you stubbornly make the trip yourself while my back is turned. Do you always have to tie my hands when it comes to your health?”
“Do you really want an answer to that?”
“No, I already know what you’d say.” He sighs, but relents. “Slowly. I don’t want to make things worse.”
It takes several minutes and a lot of careful maneuvering until you were in his arms, being carried like rescued royalty and not like a chronically in-pain partner who just pestered their doctor boyfriend to bring them to the couch. There were some twinges here and there, mainly in your knees and arms, from the way he carried you and the way you held on, but it was only a few degrees worse than baseline, nothing like the pain from before.
He moves steadily, focusing intently on where he’s going and not hurting you. Before long, you’re laying on the couch, covered in a soft knitted blanket and beaming up at the man before you. He tries not to appear flustered by the attention.
“I’ll get you some more water. Do you need anything else?”
“Just one more thing.”
“What is it?”
Your whole body seems to light up with mischief. “A kiss.”
He smiles as he leans down, supporting himself against the arm and back of the couch. You instinctively close your eyes. And open them a second later to glare at him when he just kisses your forehead. The disgruntled noise you make makes him laugh.
“On the lips, doctor,” you tease. “It’s much more potent that way.”
“Really?” He chuckles, breath fanning your face from the proximity. “Did you read that on the internet?”
You roll your eyes. “This is basic medical knowledge! Everyone knows the healing properties of a good kiss.”
“Then I suppose I should ensure my patient makes a speedy recovery.”
You’re still grinning like a fool when he presses a kiss to your lips, and delighted when he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he takes his sweet time, slowly working to part your lips with his own. He tilts his head, nose brushing your cheek, to indulge in you like the sweet candy he handed out after your check ups. It could have been minutes or hours, when he eventually pulls away. The breath he takes in makes your heart skip several beats. You lean up, hoping to catch it, but come up woefully empty.
You open your eyes, and he’s grinning down at you, a bit smug at seeing the effect he has on you.
“What would you like for dinner?” he asks at a near whisper, voice soft and ever so slightly raspy, full of love. You have to take a second to remember what food tastes like, when all you can think of is how sweet he is.