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Zayne’s quieter than usual.
He doesn’t talk as much, doesn’t make any comments about your eating habits, and he’s been working more than usual. It’s concerning you deeply, as the man you married has been avoidant.
So when he comes home at two in the morning on your anniversary (forgetting about the dinner date you two had planned,) you are rightfully pissed.
He’s silent as he enters, not greeting you in any way besides the front door opening and closing. He spots the bedroom light on, and he runs a hand through his hair while he walks in. He doesn’t question why you’re still up. He already knows why.
You sit on the bed, staring at the window outside while Zayne enters. You don’t acknowledge him, but when he sits next to you, mattress shifting because of his weight, you ask, “Do you know what day it is?”
Zayne hesitates, before saying, “Wednesday.”
Your shoulders deflate. Zayne notices, and looks over at you. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch you. Just… stares quietly, observing you.
“It’s our anniversary, Zayne,” you quietly mutter. Your gaze meets his. “You missed our date too— was it not in your calendar?”
Zayne opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t— nothing comes out. You know he forgot to put it in. It’s typical of him at this point to forget events like that, but it still hurts.
“I— I didn’t think it was for another week,” he admits, looking away. “I’ve been busy, and—“
“— And what, Zayne?” you cry out. “You’ve been spending more and more time in the hospital, and I never get to see you anymore— it’s endlessly frustrating. I just— I just want my husband back.”
You sigh. “I’m sorry, ignore me. I’m probably too tired to even be thinking about this right now—“
“No.”
Zayne’s voice cuts through your own, and your eyes widen, and you look at him while he faces away from you. “I’ll… admit I haven’t been the best lover as of recently.” He pauses, letting out a quiet exhale. “It happened again. The third time in two weeks.”
You look up at him when he turns over and meets your gaze, bright hazel eyes now a dull, distant green. You don’t need to ask what he means. You already know. “I’m sure it’s not your fault,” you mutter. “It was inevitable, wasn’t it?”
“It still hurts just as much though,” he whispers, voice trembling as he speaks. “I— I’ve been trying to distract myself from the pain. Working more shifts is the only way I know how. I just didn’t realize how long it’s been—“
“It’s okay,” you finally interrupt, leaning onto his shoulder. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have questioned anything.”
Zayne’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. “You’re not… mad?”
“No,” you start, “just… maybe stop taking extra shifts, and eat some food. And get sleep. I don’t think you’re getting enough sleep— that’s probably why your sense of time is skewed. And I can book another reservation at the diner for us— if you promise to put it in your calendar.”
He nods, voice quiet but still so familiar to you. “I promise.”