The one feeling Doctor Zayne has been very familiar with as of late is fatigue. Exhaustion. His career, one he enjoys nonetheless, is working him to the very bone.
More often than not, he doesn’t arrive back to his apartment until well past midnight, sometimes even in the wee hours of the morning. However, even if it may be at an ungodly hour that Zayne eventually returns, the sight he is welcomed with seems worth it.
The man, by nature, is cold, aloof and rather austere. Icy, to most—except those he holds close, and at present, you’re the only one he’s got.
You always try to wait up for him, but sleep traps you before you can catch the beep of the front door’s code being recognised and the shuffling of feet.
Zayne’s come to expect this sight now. He’d enter, push off his shoes and run a hand through his dark hair, sighing tiredly, turning the corner for the living room. The lights would still be on, the TV playing but on mute, and your slumbering frame sprawled on the couch, neck at an undoubtedly uncomfortable angle.
Zayne rarely smiles, but it’s at moment like these when he feels the corners of his mouth curl up. It’s not significant, it’s nothing special, but it means something to him. He feels appreciated, even though you can never stay awake long enough to actually greet him at two in the morning.
He reaches for the remote, hitting the off button. Some hair has fallen into your wide-open mouth, one of your feet still slippered. He finds it endearing. Scooping you up, he quietly pads across the tiled floor in his tired socked feet for the bedroom, pushing the door open with his shoulder and entering. Zayne gently places you down upon the soft mattress, checking to make sure you didn’t stir. Your eyes remain tightly shut, breath even and deep.
He adjusts the pillow beneath your head to make sure it’s comfortable, pulling a blanket up over you. With a soft peck to the crown of your head, Zayne turns and makes his way for the bathroom, yawning, eager for a shower. He has about four hours of sleep before he has to head back to the hospital again for his next shift, and he’s practically falling asleep on his feet right now. God, I need a vacation.
With you, preferably. Out somewhere remote, maybe tropical, with hammocks to relax in and just chat idly over a glass or two of sangria. Maybe while the night away, lost in each other’s arms. Have slow coffee mornings and a day on the sand, soaking in the sun. Fantasies he’s more than willing to achieve if it means you have a wonderful time with him. Zayne smiles to himself in the mirror while brushing his teeth. It’d be nice.
You’re still snoring softly away once he’s finished in the bathroom, shuffling under the covers beside you. He draws you into his arms, leaning into your warmth, feeling his exhausted limbs relax from your familiar scent. Even with such humble, modest simplicities—they’re the small moments that get him through the day. Knowing you’ll be waiting for him, knowing he can put a hard day behind him and welcome the new one eagerly. If it’s with you, he’d never give up his mundane, draining daily routine for the world.
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Aragorn has two responses upon learning that you are insecure of your physical appearance (especially if you are comparing yourself to a “better fit” to be his queen).
1. He physically shows you how wrong you are. Kissing you until you can barely breathe before tracing his fingers over your lips and cheekbones. Just soft touches and softer looks reminding you that you are the only one he sees and wishes to have at his side.
2. He breaks his typical quietness and tells you something so romantic you forget why you were upset. Along the lines of,
“Your beauty is a question to you because you have never experienced it in the way that I do each day. The flowers never doubt their beauty, yet they are evidence it exists, showing the passing of time and loves of old and yet to come.”
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The venue is nice and extravagant, the restroom is no exception to that. Mirrors line the walls from ceiling to floor, fresh napkins handed to you by an attendant.
That’s when she comes around the corner. She’s just washing her hands, but the aura she holds demands your attention. Her dress leaves you speechless. She has to be someone, but you don’t know who.
“That’s a beautiful dress,” you compliment her.
She turns to you with a striking smile, “Oh thank you darling, you’re looking beautiful yourself.” She says and saunters out of the restroom. Where she returns to the man waiting for her.
His hands are gloved and clasped behind his back as she makes her way to him. If there’s a smile it’s covered by the elaborate mask on his face. As alluring as her aura was his was dangerous. As though a sheer brush against him would call for your last breath.
He walks and she falls into stride with him. He looks down his nose at the crowd with golden eyes, disgusted by them all. Disgusted with everything expect the beautiful women by his side.
Beautiful women, where did you find this dangerous man?
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thinking that. any of the things simon is currently trying to do are going to be good or helpful for him in literally any way. is. congrats you’ve fallen into his trap. that’s what he wants you to think. that’s what HE thinks. if he can see betty again then surely that would make him happy because that’s the problem, right? it’s just that he misses betty that’s all, right? then everything would definitely be perfectly fine. and if he can’t have that then he should have magic again because that’s the problem, right? he can’t do anything to help anyone (without magic) he can’t fit in anywhere (without magic) and he can’t relate to anyone around him (without magic) so that must be what’s wrong. surely that’ll fix him. definitely no more underlying problems here just all this material stuff that’s so much more straightforward to “fix” and doesn’t require actually properly facing up to any difficult emotions or finding constructive ways to deal with the messed up things that have happened to him.
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