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The first thing you noticed was the shouting. It cut through the hospital corridor with a violence that didn't belong among the muted beeps of monitors and the squeak of rubber soles against polished floors. You had only come to the hospital to drop off lunch for Zayne, but the sounds of conflict drew you in the opposite direction from his office.
You slowed near the intersection of two hallways, and found two men arguing beside the elevators.
At first, it looked like the kind of confrontation that might burn itself out. One man was broad-shouldered, red-faced, and gesturing wildly. The other was younger, leaner, and visibly furious. A handful of people had stopped to watch. A nurse was trying to usher a patient around them.
Then the broad-shouldered man shoved the other. The younger man stumbled backward and slammed into the wall.
"Hey!" you called.
Neither listened.
You glanced around for security. Nothing.
The two men lunged at each other again. Before you could think, you stepped instinctively between them.
"Stop!" you said loudly. “This is a hospital. Can’t you take this somewhere else?”
For half a second, everything seemed to freeze. Then one of the men swung. You saw the movement too late. His fist struck your mouth, and pain exploded across your face.
You staggered backward. The world seemed to tilt. Someone gasped. Somewhere behind you, a metal cart rattled. The argument abruptly stopped. The man who had hit you stared at you in shock.
“Oh, God,” he stammered, “I didn't—"
You couldn't say anything. Your mouth hurt too badly. A metallic taste spread across your tongue, and your eyes immediately filled with tears.
A nurse hurried toward you, placing her hand on your shoulder. "Are you alright?"
You nodded automatically, but before anyone could say more, hospital security finally arrived, separating the two men and demanding explanations. The hallway erupted into overlapping voices.
You backed away, just wanting to disappear.
"Miss?"
A young man in a white coat approached you. He looked barely old enough to have finished medical school. His badge identified him as a resident, Dr. Davis, and his expression was professionally concerned, if slightly overwhelmed.
"You've been struck in the face," he said. "We should take a look at that."
"I'm fine." Your words came out strangely muffled.
He frowned. "You're bleeding."
You touched your lip and looked at your fingers. There was blood.
"Come with me," he said. "Just let me make sure you're okay."
You followed him because your legs felt shaky and because arguing seemed exhausting. He led you into an empty room and closed the door. The sudden quiet made everything feel worse. You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, and he passed you a wad of gauze to hold against your mouth.
Dr. Davis washed his hands.
"Any dizziness?” he asked.
You shook your head.
"Loss of consciousness?"
"No."
"Headache?"
"A little."
"Nausea?"
"No."
He pulled a stool in front of you. "Alright. Let me see your mouth."
Your stomach dropped. You shook your head. "I don't want to."
His eyebrows rose. "I need to see where you're injured."
"I'm okay."
"You were punched in the face."
"I know."
"Then I need you to open your mouth. The swelling doesn’t look too bad, but we can’t know for sure what’s going on unless we check."
You tightened your fingers around the gauze. "No."
The resident sighed.
"Look, I understand you're upset, but you were knocked to the ground," he said. "I need to determine whether you have a laceration or a dental injury."
"I said no."
He leaned back slightly. "Why are you refusing?"
You didn't know how to explain it. Your heart was still pounding from the fight. The moment the fist had connected kept replaying in your mind. Every time you imagined someone reaching toward your face, your body tensed before you could stop it.
You shook your head again. "I just can't."
His patience visibly thinned."You can't or you won't?"
You stared at him.
He exhaled sharply. "You're making this more difficult than it needs to be. You’re a pretty girl, you know. What if your teeth are damaged? Wouldn’t you want to know so you can get them fixed?"
The words landed harder than they should have. Your eyes burned.
"I'm sorry," you whispered.
The resident's expression softened for only a moment before professional irritation returned.
"I'm not asking you to do anything complicated," he said. "Just open your mouth."
You couldn't. You pressed your lips together more tightly. He reached toward your chin, and you flinched away violently.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then the door opened.
"What's going on?"
You knew that voice. Zayne.
You looked up.
He stood in the doorway wearing his white coat, his expression utterly still. His eyes went immediately to you, then to the bloodied gauze in your hand, then to the resident sitting directly in front of you.
His gaze stopped there. Something in his face changed.
Dr. Davis straightened, apparently relieved to have another physician present.
"Dr. Li," he began. "There was an altercation in the corridor. She was struck in the face."
Zayne didn't answer immediately. His eyes returned to you, then moved back to the resident. "And why hasn't she been treated yet?"
"I've been trying, but she's refusing to cooperate."
Zayne's eyes narrowed. "Trying?"
Dr. Davis hesitated. "Yes."
"I see."
There was something dangerous in the quietness of his voice. Zayne stepped into the room. His attention settled on the resident's hand. The same hand that had been reaching toward your face moments earlier.
His expression hardened. "What exactly were you trying to do?"
Dr. Davis blinked. "I was attempting to examine her."
"After she refused?"
"I was only trying to reassure her."
"By reaching for her?"
The resident's face reddened. "Dr. Li, I—"
Zayne's gaze flicked toward you. He noticed the way your shoulders were still drawn tight. The way your fingers were trembling around the gauze.
His mouth became a thin line. "Did she tell you why she was refusing?"
"I think she's afraid."
"And you decided that impatience was the appropriate response to her fear?"
The younger doctor's face reddened further. "I didn't mean—"
"You told her she was making things difficult."
Silence.
The resident looked startled. “You heard that?"
"I heard enough."
Zayne walked closer. The atmosphere in the room seemed to contract around him.
"She was assaulted," he said. "She's frightened. And your response was to pressure her into an evaluation after she explicitly refused?"
"Dr. Li, I was only trying to—"
"Leave."
The resident stared. "What?"
"I'll take over."
"I can handle this on my own."
"No." Zayne's voice cracked across the room like a scalpel against glass. "You are dismissed from this case."
Dr. Davis stared at him. For several seconds, neither man moved, then the younger doctor swallowed.
"Understood."
He turned toward the door. As he passed Zayne, he paused.
"She really does need someone to look at her mouth.”
Zayne's eyes turned cold. "I am aware."
The resident left. The door clicked shut. The room fell quiet.
You sat frozen on the bed. Zayne remained standing for a moment. His shoulders were tense. His hands were clenched at his sides. He looked furious. Not at you. But the sheer force of his anger made your chest tighten.
"Zayne,” you said quietly.
His eyes immediately softened. He crossed the room and crouched down in front of you so you didn't have to look up. His fingers hovered near your face, but he didn't touch you.
"May I?"
You nodded. Only then did his hand gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed carefully beneath your eye, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen.
"You were hit."
You nodded. "I tried to stop them from fighting."
"I know. I heard about what happened."
"Someone called you?"
"Someone told me you were involved in an altercation in the corridor." His jaw tightened again. “I came as soon as I heard."
You gave a tiny, shaky laugh. "Of course you did."
His thumb moved slowly along your cheekbone. You reached for his wrist. “I'm okay."
His expression said he didn't believe that.
"Alright," he muttered. "Then let me make sure."
Your stomach tightened. He noticed immediately.
"I'll be gentle," he said quietly. "And we'll go as slow as you need."
You looked at him. “You won't get mad?"
The question seemed to confuse him. His brows drew together. “At you?"
You nodded.
"Never."
His voice was quiet and absolute. He brushed his thumb over your knuckles and glanced toward the closed door. His expression darkened again.
Then, almost reluctantly, he asked, "Did he hurt you?"
“Dr. Davis?” You shook your head. "No."
"Did he touch you?"
"Only when he tried to look at my mouth."
Zayne's jaw flexed. "Did you tell him not to?"
"Yes."
"And he continued."
It wasn't a question. You nodded.
Something flashed in his eyes. Anger.
You squeezed his wrist. "Zayne."
His gaze returned to you.
"I'm fine,” you said softly.
"You say that." His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. “But I saw your face when I walked in."
You swallowed.
"You looked scared,” Zayne said.
"I was."
The admission made his expression soften. Then he glanced around the room.
"Why don't we go back to my office?" he said. "You'll be more comfortable there."
You hesitated, then nodded.
Zayne smiled. “After I take a look at you, I'll make some tea and you can rest on the sofa."
You hopped down from the bed, eager to escape the cold, sterile room. After making sure you were steady on your feet, Zayne took your hand in his and led you through the halls to his office. You immediately felt yourself relax as you entered the safe and familiar space. It was warmer than the hospital room had been.
Zayne settled you in the comfortable chair next to his desk, then sat down across from you.
"You don't have to open your mouth until you're ready," he said. "I'll explain everything before I do it."
You nodded.
He sat up a little straighter. “I want to look at your lips first. I won't touch the inside of your mouth yet."
You paused, then slowly lowered the gauze.
Zayne examined the split in your lower lip. His expression became clinical, but his touch remained impossibly gentle.
"There's a small laceration," he said. "Some swelling. I don't see anything alarming from the outside."
You swallowed. "Does that mean I'm okay?"
"It means I need to check your teeth and the inside of your mouth."
Your shoulders tensed again. Zayne noticed. He reached for you and took your hand in his with a small smile.
"Won't you be a good girl for me and open wide?"
You blushed, heat creeping swiftly across your cheeks and down your neck.
"Zayne," you muttered. "That's unfair."
He knew exactly what his praise did to you. The corner of his mouth lifted. But the amusement in his eyes didn't quite reach the tension still lingering in his jaw.
You studied him for a moment, then a thought suddenly occurred to you. "You were really angry with the other doctor."
He hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said. "I was."
"Because he was impatient?"
"Among other things."
You tilted your head. "He said I was making things difficult."
"I heard."
There was something else in his expression now. Something almost petulant beneath all that composure.
You smiled faintly. “You didn't like him."
"I didn't particularly care for his bedside manner."
"That's not what I meant."
Zayne was silent. You squeezed his hand. “You were glaring at him."
"I was assessing the situation."
"You looked like you wanted to throw him out of the hospital."
His eyebrow lifted. “I remained perfectly professional."
"You told him to leave."
"He was no longer useful."
You laughed softly and watched the tips of his ears turn faintly red. You looked at him for another moment. "He said my mouth looked pretty normal before you came in."
Zayne's eyes narrowed.
"Did he, now?” He sounded skeptical.
"Well, he didn’t say that, exactly. He said the swelling wasn't too bad."
"I see."
A pause.
Then, very calmly, Zayne said, “If you’re trying to get out of an examination, this is not the way to do it. I certainly don’t trust that man’s clinical judgement.”
You bit back another smile. “Zayne."
"What?"
"Are you jealous because another doctor complimented me?"
Finally, he sighed. "Perhaps I disliked hearing another man call you pretty while you were sitting there frightened and bleeding."
Your expression softened.
Zayne leaned closer, his voice quieter. "You deserve to be treated gently. Especially when you’re hurt."
Your fingers curled around his. He gave you a knowing look before turning his attention back to your injury.
"Now," he murmured, "I still need to examine the inside of your mouth."
Your shoulders tensed. Zayne shifted his chair closer, keeping one hand wrapped around yours.
"Look at me."
You did.
"I'm going to ask you to open your mouth. Just a little at first. You don't have to force it."
You bit your lip, wincing at the pain.
His thumb traced a slow, reassuring circle over your knuckles. "Can you do that?”
You swallowed. “What if I can't?"
"Then we’ll take a break, and try again.”
"And you won't be disappointed?"
"Never."
His expression softened. "You're allowed to be scared. I'm not going anywhere."
Your eyes stung again, but this time you smiled. "Okay."
"Good."
He reached for the small penlight in his breast pocket, then paused. "Ready?"
You nodded.
"Open your mouth for me."
You parted your lips only slightly.
"That's it," he muttered. "Perfect. Just a little more."
You hesitated, and the corner of Zayne’s mouth ticked upward.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Say ahhh.”
That earned him a laugh and an eye-roll. You opened a fraction wider.
"Excellent.”
His voice was so gentle that some of the tightness in your chest began to ease. "You're doing very well."
You glanced at him, embarrassed.
He smiled. "See? No pressure. Just breathe."
You took a slow breath through your nose.
"Good girl."
Your cheeks immediately heated. “You really do know what you're doing to me, don’t you?”
Zayne's eyes flickered with quiet amusement. “I have some idea."
He carefully angled the light, examining your teeth and gums.
"I’m going to touch you now. Tell me if anything hurts."
You nodded, though your fingers tightened around his.
Zayne moved slowly, giving you plenty of time to see each motion before he made it. His fingertip touched the inside of your lower lip, avoiding the cut. He reached behind you and grabbed a wooden tongue depressor from a jar, then started prodding carefully around your mouth, checking each tooth with gentle pressure. Whenever you tensed, he paused. When you relaxed, he continued.
After several minutes, he finally leaned back. “Good news."
You blinked. "What?"
"Your teeth are stable. No obvious fractures. Your jaw moves normally, and I don't see any sign of a serious injury."
Relief flooded through you. “So I'm okay?"
"Yes. You have a bruised lip and a small cut. It'll probably be sore for a few days."
You finally let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. The tension that had been coiled inside you since the moment the fist struck your face slowly began to loosen.
You looked at Zayne, and for a moment, you simply watched him. His expression was calm now, but you could still see the concern in his eyes. He hadn't once made you feel ashamed for being afraid. He hadn't rushed you or demanded that you trust him. He had simply stayed beside you and waited until you were ready.
The realization made your eyes sting.
"I'm really okay?" you asked quietly.
Zayne gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "You're okay."
You nodded, finally allowing yourself to believe him.
The fear hadn't disappeared completely. Your lip still throbbed, and you knew the memory of that hallway would probably stay with you for a while. But the panic was fading. In its place was a quiet sense of safety, strengthened by the warmth of Zayne's hand around yours.
You leaned back in the chair and closed your eyes.
"You can rest now," he murmured.
For the first time that afternoon, you felt like you didn't have to pretend that you were fine. You could simply be frightened, tired, and vulnerable, and Zayne would still be there. That was enough to make the last of your fear loosen its grip.
“I think you should apologize to Dr. Davis,” you muttered, eyes still closed. Somewhere above you, you heard a quiet chuckle.
“Absolutely not.”