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“--and Macy wanted an Americano,” she rambles off, though she’s sure he’s already gotten the list she messaged him.
He nods along despite this, allows her to make sure she has everything straight. Zayne’s putting on his jacket, pops the collar just to flatten it down properly. His scarf goes on next. Linkon’s cold this time of year and snow filters down outside-- fluffy, white flakes that gather on street signs and benches in front of Akso. Drifting over to the window of his office, he passes in her view for her to focus instead on the happy couple across the street. The sun of this holiday morning has hardly risen, she didn’t expect to see citizens out and about so early that weren’t there on an emergent basis. But the couple stands together under the terracing of a building above, taking refuge from the snow. The shorter of the girlfriends reaches up and tugs the scarf tighter around the neck of her partner, nudges them until it looks snug and comfortable. Subconsciously, her fingertips drift up to her own bare neck. The two exchange a laugh and lean towards one another, smitten.
Just before their lips meet, Zayne clears his throat. “Hana,” he says, and she can’t help the way her heart hiccups when he does.
“Sorry, I… I was just…” The nurse shakes her head and turns to face the doctor. Distracted, she continues, “...Tim said you’d know what to get him, and--”
“You should wear a jacket. It’s quite cold.” He doesn’t mind interrupting. Especially not when he’s holding out a spare coat, one of his from the small closet he keeps in his office. He takes a step forward, hands on the wide shoulders of the thick, black wool.
She gestures to herself, a touch sheepish. “I already have one… You don’t need to--”
“That? It’s hardly going to help with the wind.” His lips purse and he takes another step forward, tilts his head forward to indicate that he’s going to help her into it. So she turns around, partly to give in and partly to hide the way flush colors her cheeks, as he assists her in getting the coat over both of her arms. It’s entirely too big, even with the padding of her extra layers and hangs well beneath her knees. It is warm, though. And it smells of him. Clinging to the fabric is fresh aftershave and antiseptic, smells of the hospital mingle with the darker scents of his body.
The coat is well-loved, it’s one she’s seen a number of times. On its lapel is a pin of his. A silver emblem she doesn’t know the meaning of, but it doesn’t matter. She thumbs over it as she turns around to face him again. He’s looking analytically down at her as if he was waiting for this moment. Without skipping a beat, his hands are at the double-breasted buttons of the jacket and move hers out of the way. He’s leaning down, nearly crouched, as he starts fastening everything so efficiently for her. The buttons find their holes up to her chest. Unsure of what to do with her hands, they pick at the inner lining of the cuffs of the jacket.
“I, ah-- I could’ve done that, you know…”
Zayne’s brow furrows like he genuinely hadn’t thought of this. His gaze shifts from her to the window. “I suppose,” he concedes. With a shake of his head, “I didn’t mind doing it.”
The instinct is to giggle, giddy, at the affection. Externally, she just smiles at him. Doesn’t want to make him bristle or have herself seem ungrateful for the focus. Instead of making a big deal out of things, she shrugs softly. “Thanks.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want you getting hypothermia.”
“Right,” she confirms. Hypothermia is the focus, definitely not the lingering way he brushes his fingers over her shoulders to smooth the jacket, or the adjusting of it so it fits her more. He’s attentive in a way that betrays the casual firmness of his tone. Affectionate in a way she’s able to discern.
When he steps away without pulling out a key fob, her eyebrow quirks to him.
“The shop is only a short walk,” he starts as he exits the office, beckoning her to follow. “I didn’t think you’d mind it.”
She nods, following him out of the door. He locks it and doesn’t spare a glance back as they move through the administrative areas to the reception.
“I don’t mind, it’s beautiful outside.”
“It’s cold,” he returns, as if this negates what she’s said.
With a small laugh, “it’s still beautiful.”
His matter-of-fact nature has nothing to defend against this with, so he simply hums. The woman at the front desk gives the two of them a wave as they go out the front doors which open automatically for them. A gust of crisp, winter air hits them when the doors open. Instantly, Hana shivers. The coat is warm, but she hasn’t had much time to build up body heat inside it, and the way the wind pushes against her form as they tread the first few steps through snow has her already thankful he gave her another layer to wear.
The crunching of white flakes beneath boots provides the only soundtrack as they walk.
“I didn’t realize you’d be working this holiday too,” she eventually says. “After you were in the last few years, I thought you’d be off finally.”
“My family moved from the city a number of years ago. Travel gets hard around this time of year.”
“Oh.” He has no one to celebrate with, just like her. She wonders what it’d be like to celebrate with him, what traditions he’d like to keep. The things they could start together. Still, she feels that’s too opportunistic and settles on apologetics. “I’m sorry to bring it up.”
“I don’t mind. Knowing I can still help people when they need it is reward enough for the inconvenience.”
“You’re always working so hard,” she mumbles to herself more than anything.
“We all are. You’re no exception.” Without looking to his side, he’s straight ahead past a store decked out with Christmas lights that glow even in the morning. His pace is brisk. It’s not likely he’s doing it on purpose, but it makes her have to bounce faster on her feet to keep up properly. When a half step goes wrong and she stumbles, he swivels his head and extends an arm to stop her from falling. Continuing, he shakes his head. “I saw your schedule, you’re not off for several days. You work yourself too hard, I hope this holiday doesn’t impact you too greatly.”
“I-I…” Righting herself, she tugs at the jacket’s collar and resumes their fast pace. She wants to thank him but reassures instead. “I’ll take care of myself, I promise.”
“You must. Or I’ll end up with you in my office again, for other reasons.”
“Would that be so bad?” She teases, leaning to her left. Their arms brush against each other as they walk for a moment. Friction is slightly awkward and slows him down for a few strides.
He scowls, “I don’t want to see you sick or hurt.”
“No, the-- Zayne, if I was there, for other reasons.” She snickers, covering her mouth with one hand. Hot air puffs out and fogs the air in front of her eyes, she glances up to the doctor to find the lightest hint of pink dusting across him. He clears his throat before looking away, chin tilts upwards.
“Are you too cold? We could turn back around.”
It’s obvious he’s trying to divert attention from the way she caught him off-guard. With a slight laugh, “you’re worrying too much, I’m fine.”
“I just don’t want you--”
“--to get sick, I know.” He’s funny when he’s like this. He’s improved over the years, talks more instead of going silent, but still struggles with what to say when cornered. It’s endearing and soft, melts his exterior even in the frost of winter that surrounds them. Still slower than before, she can see the cafe at the end of the next street. Their fingertips touch at their sides now, she resists the urge to link her pinkie finger with his.
“Am I too close?” He asks, voice surprisingly soft.
Soft enough that he repeats her name after it when she doesn’t dismiss him, soft enough that he sounds genuinely unsure. Her heart thumps unevenly in her chest, breathless. She stutters, “no— N-No, Zayne, you’re. You’re fine, please.”
Instantly, she beats herself up, too frazzled in her reply. But there’s warmth that surrounds her hand. Worn leather gloved fingers intertwine with her own, and when she looks up to him, he’s smiling. It’s faint but there.
As if he isn’t making up an excuse, his head tilts. “If your hands were that cold, you should have said something.”
“They’re fi— Um, yeah. Sorry.” She flusters and cuts herself off, deciding to get caught up in the fact that they’re holding hands instead of correcting him. It’s what she wanted, though he surely doesn’t understand the why behind the desire for touch. Hana doesn’t mind this. It won’t hurt her, pretending it’s the chill that causes this rather than her insufferable crush. Limerence makes everything feel brighter and closer than it is. Reminding herself they aren’t a couple, her head bows. Lamely, she replies: “it’s my fault.”
“ I was the one who didn’t think to get you gloves. That is my mistake.”
Shaking her head, she can’t bring herself to clarify. It makes a stilted smile cross her face, a mix of guilt and infatuation that fight for dominance when he’s either unaware of how much she wanted to walk like this, or knowingly leaves her with a bit of decency. They pause at a crosswalk, he leads her to the lamp and carefully presses the button to cross. She looks both ways down the street— with it empty, she goes to take a step forward. The hand entwined with her own grips tighter and holds fast.
“Zayne?”
“Be safe,” he insists. “We talked about you getting hurt.”
Hana laughs again, light giggles overtake as she shakes her head. He’s so focused, spares no room of silliness. “You’re right, I didn’t think.”
“You’re smarter than that,” he murmurs, sharp.
As they cross the way towards the small shop, Zayne’s hand suddenly disconnects from hers. Cold air overtakes again and she wiggles her fingers, still slightly warmed from him. She tries not to act too crestfallen, stays quiet as they continue to walk. His expression is tough to read when his pursed lips straighten back to the aloof neutrality she’s grown to appreciate so much. A moment of idealized contact is ended and she has to remind herself to stop before she daydreams too much and makes something out of what was apparently nothing. He only held her hand to keep it warm. Surely nothing more.
With the street behind them, he takes a few steps forward, fast, and pulls the door open wide for her. The smell of cinnamon and coffee wafts out and the right corner of his mouth tugs upwards. Zayne gestures politely and suddenly, she feels so very foolish. Childlike as she steps through first, bowing her head in silent thanks to him. It makes sense now-- justifies the breaking of contact in a way that makes her feel soft instead of dumb. Set to a higher peak, her heart bumps against her ribcage when he slides inside behind her and leaves a hand on her shoulder.
As they line up at the counter, he’s the one to pull out his wallet and order a pair of drinks. Only their favorites, not a laundry list of beverages. The man decisively answers “for here” when asked if the order was to go. Confusion cracks across her face, catching his forearm when he turns towards the seating area of the cafe. Looking curiously down at her, she’s sure her brows are knit. He doesn’t seem to notice or mind. Voice even, “what is it?”
“The coffees, for everyone, they--”
“We can get them when we are ready to leave.” His mouth quirks in a slight smile. A hint of mischievousness carries in the later lilt of his words.
Confusion evaporating, it’s replaced by bashfulness. “You just want to spend time together?”
“Sit with me,” he says simply. “I know you want to.”
The burst of boldness is oddly humbling and she takes a few steps forward after him, when he pulls out a chair for her. He stands, expectant, before she thanks him quietly. The jacket that swamps her brushes the ground as she takes a seat in the short chair. His hands at either armrest, he hums in reply as he helps her to scoot in. It doesn’t take seconds before he sits across from her. Something about the atmosphere seems to calm him as he relaxes— or, at least, relaxes as much as he’s capable of. Shoulders come down and he loosens the tie of his scarf.
“Looks warm,” she mumbles. Hana has always liked that scarf on him. It’s a rich, royal blue, one of his favorites. The ends are lined in grey tassels and the whole article suits him.
His brow twitches though his face remains largely impassive. “Do you want to wear it?”
“Oh, I— I couldn’t, that’s. Too nice. I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”
Brow twitches higher, “you could never ruin it. That isn’t in your nature.”
“My nature?”
“You’re too thoughtful,” he returns. Looks her over quickly, gaze doesn’t linger until he meets her eyes again. There’s that hint of a smile again that triggers one in reply, unable to help the way he uplifts her. “Your touch could never ruin anything.”
Taken aback at how raw the compliment is, she opens her mouth to say anything, but no noise comes out. He’s dropped this so casually, and by the time syllables form on her tongue, the barista’s shoes click closer. Between them, two cups of warmth are sat. Both impossibly sweet— she never liked things so saccharine before him. His sweet tooth, like many other things, have slowly rubbed off on her. She wonders what’s been left behind of her within him.
To divert her attention, Hana takes the first sip of caffeine and sighs into fluffy foam. “It’s really good.”
“I would expect nothing less,” comes from over the rim of his cup. Hazel eyes watch her, though close slowly as he takes in the coffee.
“Yours is good too?”
He nods, takes another long drink of the coffee. Zayne looks peaceful, relaxed. It’s the best gift she’s gotten through the holiday season. Usually, she’s stressed with travel or work or shopping. For now, there is only him. Comfortable quiet stretches on and she’s thankful she’s here, in any capacity. Their friendship colors the end of the year in shades of warm red— contrasts his blues in brightness that she knows he’d deny.
This moment is punctuated by his voice, slow and easy. “It’s a good morning.”
Watching him enjoy himself, she hides behind her mug and hopes it covers enough of her spreading grin. Hot ceramic in her hands mimics the heat in her chest and on her cheeks, thankful to have this respite away from the world. The cafe’s quiet, quaint, and makes her impossibly thankful that he spares the time in his morning for her. Though every day isn’t this charming, it’s still nice to just exist with him. She can’t help the affection in her tone when she agrees. “It’s perfect.”
He eyes her when she speaks. He gives a sharp exhale through his nose, the very beginnings of a chuckle. As if he knows what she really means, he nods.
“Perfect.”