Work Text:
Christmas arrived at Akso Hospital quietly, as if it knew better than to interrupt the rhythm of beeping monitors and soft footsteps. Strings of warm white lights traced the reception desk, tinsel framed the notice boards, and a big artificial tree stood near the corner, its ornaments reflecting the fluorescent glow overhead.
Somewhere down the hall, someone had managed to convince the administration to allow a playlist of soft carols, low enough to be almost subconscious, yet present enough to make the long shifts feel marginally kinder.
You had been on your feet since early morning, moving between wards with practiced efficiency, adjusting IV lines, checking vitals, offering smiles that came easily even when fatigue pressed heavy behind your eyes. Your colleagues buzzed with an energy unique to holidays — lighter laughter, easier conversations, the shared understanding that today, somehow, would be gentler.
Dr. Zayne, as always, remained composed amidst it all.
You noticed him the way you always did — never deliberately, never obviously. The festive high neck he had worn today, the calm authority in his voice as he spoke to patients, the way his presence seemed to lower the volume of a room without effort.
Your crush on him was old enough to feel woven into the routine, something you carried quietly, carefully, like a secret folded too many times to fully flatten again.
When the charge nurse asked you to step out and pick up pastries from the bakery a few streets away, you agreed without hesitation. Fresh air, even cold air, felt preferable to another hour under hospital lights. You shrugged into your coat and paused at reception, phone in hand, staring at the glass doors as snow drifted lazily outside.
It was colder than expected — an unusual, biting cold that crept beneath layers and settled into bone. You hesitated, weighing duty against discomfort, when the unmistakable sensation of being watched brushed the back of your neck.
You turned.
Zayne stood a short distance away, already wearing his overcoat, scarf neatly arranged, gloved hands resting at his sides. His hazel eyes met yours, attentive and curious rather than intrusive.
“Are you heading to the bakery?” he asked, voice even, polite.
You nodded, suddenly aware of how loud the lobby felt despite its quiet. “Yes. I’m supposed to get pastries for everyone.”
“I’m picking up hot chocolate from the same place,” he said after a brief pause, expression softening in a way that was almost private. “It would be more efficient to go together.”
Efficient. Of course.
It was a simple fifteen minute walk together but your chest thudded in a way that had nothing to do with efficiency. You told him you’d be glad for the company, and moments later, the doors slid open, releasing a rush of cold that stole your breath as you stepped outside.
Five minutes into the walk, you realized your mistake.
Your hands burned first, then numbed, fingers stiffening despite how often you rubbed them together. You cursed yourself silently for forgetting your gloves, tucking your hands beneath your sleeves in a futile attempt to trap warmth.
Before you could think of an excuse or suggestion, Zayne stopped.
You must have been doing it too openly, because before the next shiver could drape itself over your shoulders, Zayne’s hand closed around yours and before you could react, his fingers intertwined with yours, fitting as if they had practiced this motion long before today.
The contact was immediate, a sluice of heat that spread from your palm through your wrist and straight to your heart like a current. You whipped your head toward him, heat rushing to your cheeks in sharp contrast to the cold biting at your skin.
He didn’t look at you immediately. His gaze remained fixed ahead, jaw relaxed, expression composed.
“It’s better,” he said simply, “to be warm and close than cold and far.”
You swallowed, noticing — perhaps imagining — the faintest trace of pink along his cheekbones. Whether it was the cold or something else entirely, you couldn’t tell.
Instinctively, you tried to pull your hand away.
He tightened his grip just enough to stop you.
“Doctor’s orders,” he added quietly. “You don’t let go until we reach the bakery.”
You hesitated, then relented, your fingers curling back into his as the two of you continued in a silence that felt anything but awkward. Snow crunched beneath your shoes, the world narrowed to breath and shared warmth and the gentle sway of your joined hands.
The bakery glowed invitingly when you arrived, windows fogged with warmth and sugar. Inside, the air smelled of chocolate and vanilla and comfort. You retrieved the order for the ward, a neat tower of boxes tied with red string, and signaled for the shopkeeper to gather the hot chocolates Zayne would have asked for.
When you turned back to look for him, the shopkeeper returned, setting a small box on the counter and nudging it toward you with a knowing smile.
“These are for you.”
Inside were three small chocolate cupcakes, neatly arranged, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles shaped with careful intention. You didn’t hesitate. Delighted, you thanked him for the free cupcakes and promptly ate them all, laughter slipping from you as frosting smudged the corner of your mouth.
Zayne stared.
You wiped a smear of whipped cream from the corner of your lip, confused by his expression. “What? Did you want one too?”
He blinked once, clearly recalibrating. The walk back passed in silence before he finally spoke.
“Did you read them before you ate them?”
You frowned, trying to recall. “Read… them?”
He exhaled softly. “I asked him to place three things on the cupcakes,” The faint trace of pink at his ears deepened. “Three tokens.”
Understanding dawned too late.
“I heart you.”
You stopped walking.
Your voice barely worked when you found it. “Why would you—”
Realization bloomed fully then, warmth rushing far deeper than your cheeks. You looked away, gathering courage from the snow-dusted pavement. “Do you… like me?”
He looked almost bashful, which was an odd sight on a man who usually wore composure the way other people wore scarves.
“I like you too,” you admitted, heart racing.
The walk continued on in silence for a few more minutes and you were right a few metres outside the hospital when Zayne observed, eyes zeroed on your lips, “Your lips have gone so cold.”
Your breath hitched and before you could process anything else, he leaned in and kissed you.
The bag of pastries slipped from your grasp, forgotten as you melted into him, into warmth and certainty and the soft press of his lips. When you parted, your noses brushed, breath shared.
He picked up the bag with a small smile and handed it back to you. “You’ll need to keep your lips warm,” he said quietly. “Until you see me again.”
Then, as if this were a casual instruction rather than the most romantic thing you had ever been asked, he stepped back toward the hospital entrance. His coat billowed a little and for a half-second he gave you an almost conspiratorial wink before melting into the corridor, blending with the steady traffic of doctors and nurses and the quiet rush of the season.
The nurses herded you as soon as you rejoined them — laughing and demanding pastries. You laughed heartily, breath racing even long after the doors closed behind him.