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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