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Since the days you had just learned how to count beyond 20 and learn multiplications, you've noticed how Zayne's way of caring was different from your gege. Caleb cares for you by playing with you, teasing you, cooking dinner and making your lunch meals. The realization didn't even hit until you were a bit older, how he'd purposely ask to play with you and Caleb whenever he noticed bullies eyeing on you, pushing the swing a little less vigorous or helping you on your homework whenever Caleb wasn't available. His protection was always subtle, and it carried on to adulthood when he became your doctor. Though precise and professional, affection slipped through the cracks of his ridiculously dry humor.
So, it wasn't a surprise when he became much more attentive towards your wellbeing once the both of you had settled on your relationship. Physically and mentally.
It was a shock, at first. Especially since you were used to experiencing relationships with some sorry excuse of a man, his attentiveness to your needs was... A pleasant surprise. Despite your temper often rising without you realizing before it's too late, and as you brace for an equally angry Zayne because you had acted illogically, you were instead always met with him talking in a soft voice, holding your hand or squeezing your shoulder, and his eyes fixed upon you. Often times you looked away, pride swallowing you up that you dare not to look at his concerned eyes.
That day, Greyson asked Zayne to go out for lunch with him. After half a day of being stuck in a hectic hospital, he decided that some fresh air and a hot meal wouldn't hurt. Greyson chose a small Shawarma store. They both sat down at a nearby bench.
"By the way, how's your partner doing?"
Zayne turns his head towards Greyson. "They're doing fine. Why do you ask?"
"Didn't they roll their ankle wrong last week? I heard it was from a mission." Greyson replied, taking a bite out of his Shawarma. Zayne furrowed his brows. Getting a rolled ankle as a hunter isn't something so severe, but it was odd how he didn't recall you mentioning that to him. No matter how busy, he's sure that he wouldn't forget if you ever told him you were injured in any way.
"Oh, yes." Fine then, he'll play along. "Remind me how they rolled their ankle?"
"Tripped over something while saving a kid from a burning house. A Wanderer attack happened near a neighborhood, and it knocked out an electric pole. Fell onto a dry bush, and fire just started spreading from there." Greyson takes a final bite of his lunch, not noticing that Zayne had been zoning out ever since he uttered the words burning house.
Zayne was uncharacteristically quiet for the entire day. Greyson had a feeling that he, in fact, did not know that his partner had willingly ran into a burning house.
The house was cold when you came back.
Something in your stomach shifted, knowing the cold temperature must be Zayne's doing. What could've worked him up to the point of letting go of the tight leash he had on his evol, you weren't sure. But it surely drew your attention tight towards every corner of the house, eyes scanning for any possible clues.
You barely broke a sweat looking for him.
Zayne had his back facing you, a mug in his hand. You sighed in relief, but the tension didn't quite leave your shoulders yet. The cause of the sudden temperature drop was still unknown to you.
"I'm home. Why's the house so cold?—"
"You sprained your ankle last week?"
Silence stretch far enough to teeter on the edge of eerie silence, but you soon closed the gap. "Oh. Yeah, you were super busy last week, and it wasn't that serious anyways, so I didn't want to make you fuss over me." The line of your lips curl to a smile, but the mention of your sprained ankle roused memories of hot red licks of flame barely brushing against your body, sweat and grime sticking uncomfortably to your skin. A child, coughing with his eyes droopy and consciousness slipping away as he desperately held onto your shirt.
"How'd you sprain it?"
"During a—"
"A mission. Where you ran into a burning house, disregarding your own life."
The air ripped in silence. You didn't — couldn't — defend yourself and sew the gaping maw between the both of you, because what he said was true. You ran into a fire with your own will, even when Captain Jenna refrained any Hunter to enter without notifying and proper preparation.
"Zayne." His name was spoken in cautiousness, and you hated that you ever had to say the one name, who held his very own throne in your life, to be spoken in anything but intimacy and adoration. "It's my job."
"I'm aware. But there are risks that you could easily avoid, such as this one." He sets the mug down, calmly, but his hands were tight around the smooth ceramic surface as he physically restrained himself from slamming the mug too hard. He starts walking towards your way, slow and heavy steps. "Firefighters were present in the scene. You could've at least asked for your Captain's permission. Wore protective gear. You may be physically adept, but you were not trained for this." He stops just a few steps short from you.
Hands balled into fists, you felt anger brewing in your stomach. It burned hot, a different kind of heat that you usually felt around him. It was consuming, making your skin crawl not with desire but with the urge to say something reckless. Your jaw tightens.
"If I did all of that, it would've been too late for the kid. And I'm safe now, aren't I?"
"If no one reprimanded you for doing something reckless and life threatening like this, you would continue to do this." His gaze visibly hardens, eyes set to a stubborn frown. "Luck will not always aid you." There was no humor, just pure anger. You realized that deep down this all came from concern, but it still bothered you how Zayne was suddenly all up in your business. He knows the risk, but why is he frustrated just now?
"Then what am I supposed to do?" That restraint that you held on began to fray. "Let that kid burn by himself in that house?"
"But you could at least—"
"Being careful is going to get that kid killed!"
"At the cost of your own life?"
"Yes!"
Snap.
Zayne's expression changed. He never snaps at you, but it only made him much more terrifying. Seeing his eyes try to contain the anger and disdain, knowing that it was targeted to you. Knowing his capabilities, the possibilities of what could happen if he ever lets go of his restraint. His self-control that always tight and secured, you'd never expect when the ropes could let loose. You'd never know what could happen if it did.
He didn't say anything. But he looked at you with a deep seated anger, that you snapped out of your anger and it molded into fear. You stepped backwards, as if the sight of him terrified you. And it did. Seeing him seething with rage all the while bottling it all up was nerve wracking.
He noticed.
His eyes did not soften as usual when he looked away and it twisted an ugly scar in your chest.
"I need to cool off."
Was all he said before disappearing into his study.
The house was still.
For the next few hours, the walls of your room and pillows had been a silent witness of your predicament. The pillow was half-damp from your tears, and you're sure that Zayne must've heard the times you tried to punch a wall. Alas, the wall was too thick to be broken. You ended up with red knuckles instead.
The sun had dipped beyond the rows of towering building, off to shine on another part of the world. The emotional turmoil started to take a toll on your body, feeling more exhausted than ever. Even missions never felt this tiring.
Knock, knock.
Your body seized up.
"Dinner is ready." The voice from the other side spoke. You set your heart to ignore him, pride and shame clouding your judgement before he added.
"Eat with me. I don't want you to go to bed angry and hungry."
...
Slowly, you opened the door.
Zayne was expressionless, but it wasn't cruel either. He simply left the door when he saw you exiting your room at last. You sat by the kitchen table as he took out two plates. Zayne cooked spaghetti aglio olio. An unusual recipe for him. Soon enough, both plates were served to both of you.
"Is it good?" He spoke, peering up from his plate. Suddenly your voice seemed to disappear, and you simply nodded. He didn't ask any more questions afterwards.
Once dinner was wrapped up, he picked up his plate and yours to bring to the sink. You trailed behind him. As Zayne was scrubbing the plates, you brought in the used pan. You began washing the pan when he stepped aside to store the newly cleaned plates. "Thank you." He said after you were done.
"No problem." It was suddenly hard to smile. You gave him an awkward nod.
"Love," The tone of his voice shifted immediately, "we need to talk. Please. For the both of us."
Zayne is dangerously persuasive.
He kept his hands and distance when the both of you reached for the couch to talk. He sat next to you, close enough to make you feel included. Far enough as to not touch you. It felt almost odd to have Zayne purposely put distance between the both of you. His hands clasped against each other tightly for a few seconds.
"We got off at the wrong foot." He broke the silence. "The two of us have a valid point to prove. Just perhaps, reasoned the wrong way.
"I commend your bravery, darling. You are incredibly brave to have saved that kid. That, I acknowledge." Zayne sounded almost proud, but his tone took a turn. "But I must acknowledge my concern too. How could I not be, when the person that I love the most ran into a fire without proper preparation?"
You knew that. You understood his view. But a selfish part of yourself insisted on your own reasoning.
"I know it was stupid." You finally spoke up, properly this time. "I could've told Captain Jenna. I could've gotten a firefighter with me. But instead, I ran directly inside. It was foolish, I know." Your hands clasped tightly against each other to hold back the trembling. You trusted Zayne, very much. But still, it wasn't always easy to be fully honest with him. "Do you know what I was thinking, when I heard about a little boy, still stuck in there?"
"What did you think of?"
"I thought of my house in Bloomshore. Of Granny. Of Caleb. Of myself. Knowing that years ago, I was in this situation as well. With my skin almost peeling off from the sheer heat, as I watched the house and the people I grew up with swallowed by flame. But now, it's different. I'm older, stronger, and it's practically my job to save people. I saw Caleb in that little boy, and I couldn't help but put myself on the line." Shaking. Your hands were shaking and he definitely noticed.
Zayne was quiet, seemingly deep in thought.
"I see."
You look up at him.
"I might not fully understand the feeling, but I know the feeling of helplessness when someone you could have help is dying in front of your eyes." Zayne's eyes turned to you. They were warm now, no longer cold or piercing that it struck your heart and left it to bleed because you disappointed him. It was as if a warm blanket had settled over to you, and he hadn't even said much. Zayne tentatively reached for your hand. You clasp him. The tension in his shoulders seemed to leave. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.
"I'm sorry for being reckless." The emotions overwhelmed you, pushing tears into the sockets of your eyes. "I forget that I still have you waiting for me to come back too. I'm sorry, Zayne. I'm sorry, I—"
"No need to beat yourself too much now." His hand cupped my cheeks, thumb brushing against the skin to wipe away the tears. A fond smile curved upon his lips. "Promise me that you'd really prepare yourself when danger comes okay?"
Your lips turned downwards to a pout. He's too good. He understands you too much.
Your arms tackle him to a hug. Zayne doesn't refuse, his arms circling around your body as well, all the while you're sniffling and moping against his shoulder.