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12:43. The brightness of your phone screen seared through your retinas, lighting up the darkness of your room. You were restless, kept awake by too much caffeine too late in the day. Sleep eluded you, as did your hopes of starting your day off tomorrow, well today, in any state that resembled well rested.
It was rare for you to have a day off, the demands of wanderers never failing to keep you in action, but you’d finally found some time when you could rest. Only now that you had the time, you couldn’t.
You were in the middle of cursing the version of yourself that decided you needed an Americano at 4 in the afternoon, when your phone began to buzz in your hands. You squinted in the shifting light of the changing screen to see who was calling.
In the grogginess of your mind, it took you a moment to process the image that lit up your screen, but once you did, it nearly made you drop your phone in surprise. It was taken on a snowy day up on the ski slopes. The image featured you, accessorized with snow goggles, a wide grin, and a peace sign formed by your left hand. Your right hand was clearly extended, angling the phone’s camera to include not only you, but the man in the background who was attempting, and failing, to evade being captured. You could see the hidden smile that rested on his lips and the gentle flush that dusted over his cheeks, the latter of which he’d claimed was from the cold weather.
It was one of the few photos you had together since you’d been reunited in adulthood, perhaps the only one. It was a photo you’d found yourself staring at just a little too much recently. It was Zayne’s contact photo.
Zayne was calling. At 1 in the morning. Why was Zayne calling?
Your mind raced with worst case scenarios, horrific images of potential injuries and devastating news coming to you in an anxiety induced flurry. You answered, a bit breathless, “Hello? Zayne? Are you alright?”
You were already moving, practically leaping out of bed, tripping over stray pieces of clothing to pull on a sweatshirt over your sleepwear. The panic in your voice was evident, even as you tried to tamper it.
“Yes,” his voice was quiet, as always, but heavy— weighed down by something. “Are you?” Now he was the one who sounded concerned.
“Well—yes I—“ you stopped in your tracks, still trying to catch your breath. You were already by the door, sliding your shoes on, by the time he finished speaking. Your mind was frazzled, both by the thought of something bad happening to Zayne, and the realization of just how much you cared. “I just thought— you don’t usually call this late.”
“Oh—you’re right, I—” he also stopped, the same awkward pauses that you found yourself stuck in moments before.
Awkward was the nice way to put it. Ever since you’d reconnected with Zayne, he’d been an enigma, a mystery that eluded you despite your best efforts to get closer. The two of you had been spending more time together lately, mostly a result of your own doing, often appearing at the hospital after his shift armed with the latest flimsy excuse that you’d concocted simply out of your desire to see him. You were always inserting yourself into his stratosphere, merging into the orbit of constellations that already made up his busy life. You were always the one to initiate.
But this time, he’d reached out to you first. And it was 1am. And not an emergency, but…
“I… I apologize. I shouldn’t have called—Goodnight,” his voice abruptly cut into your thoughts.
“Wait!” You interjected quickly, “Why are you still up? Did you just get off of work?” He paused again, and you were sure his finger was hovering over the “end call” button.
“No. I got off of work a quite a bit ago but,” he paused, gearing up for the admission, “I couldn’t sleep.” You heard the heaviness in his voice once more and it sent a pang through your heart.
“I couldn’t either,” you didn’t know if you meant your words as an effort to commiserate or a lure, but you were willing to cast it either way. “Too much caffeine.”
“Haven’t I told you—“
“Okay, yes you’ve warned me time and time again about my caffeine consumption, but I need you to not be Doctor Zayne right now,” you weren’t in the mood for a lecture that you already had heard from him before. You were, however, more in the mood for the plan that was forming in your mind.
He chucked softly over the line, and you were surprised by how much the simple sound warmed you from within. “Which Zayne do you need right now, then?” There was a softness to his voice that you’d never heard before. It laid gently over you, his usual undercurrent of ice shifting to a fresh snow that blanketed you delicately.
You cleared your throat, gathering the confidence, “I need the Zayne that will meet me at that late night café next to the arcade. In about…20 minutes.”
The line was silent for too long. You felt the sting of rejection and took in a breath, ready to rescind the offer, but he finally spoke, “I can be that Zayne.”
You celebrated quietly at your victory, you’d caught him on your line. The two of you finalized your plans and said your goodbyes. As soon as you hung up, you ran back to your room in a hurry, changing out of your pajamas and trying to make sure that your appearance did not show just how quickly you’d flung yourself out of bed.
In record time, you made your way to the dessert shop, pausing to pack some miscellaneous items in your bag before you’d left. When you arrived, you were not surprised to see that Zayne was already there, sitting at a table with a receipt already in hand. You approached him and sat across the table, “I see you’ve already made yourself familiar with the desserts.”
When he looked up, you could see on his face the exhaustion that you’d previously heard in his voice. To the untrained eye, he maintained his usual stoic, neutral demeanor, but you could see it easily. You’d spent enough time analyzing every micro expression, trying to see past the icy barrier he maintained between the two of you. You couldn’t remember a time that you’d seen him look so unraveled.
“It's already late, we shouldn’t delay any further. The café closes at 3,” as he finished his sentence, the desserts he’d ordered were placed on the table. You were faced with an array of cakes, brownies, and cookies; more than enough for 2 people. “Apparently they’re very efficient.”
Your eyes traveled from the desserts to him, then back to the desserts. You decided not to comment on the sheer volume of pastries in front of you, and instead you reached forward and grabbed the fork that Zayne was extending to you.
A cake with a light yellow hue and spongy texture called to you from one of the plates on that table. “I want to guess the flavors. Don’t tell me,” you scooped a section of it into your mouth and hummed at the taste. “Hmm…lemon?”
“Correct. I’m impressed with your dessert identification skills,” there was clear mirth in his tone. He reached over and swiped a bit of the cake on to his fork, following suit.
“Hmm…Well in my dessert expert opinion, I give this a….7.5 out of 10,” You announced resolutely. “What do you think.”
He hummed, the genuine thought apparent on his face, “I would say the same.”
“Which one should we try next?” Hungry eyes scanned the array, paired with a wide grin.
He shook his head at you, playful exasperation meeting a soft budding adoration somewhere deep in his chest. He tapped the edge of a chocolate cake with light blue frosting, “this one next.”
And so the two of you went on, trying each pastry on the table and giving your best food critic impersonation by rating each piece with dramatic flair. Each review brought another small snort or chuckle of laughter from Zayne, every moment seeming to lighten the unspoken burden on his shoulders.
Once you finished the deserts and the plates were cleared once again, you reached into your bag and pulled out two small notebooks and a case of pencils. Zayne quirked an eyebrow as you slid over one of the notebooks in his direction.
“I had a little idea when I was getting ready to leave. We should draw each other,” You leaned forward excitedly, placing both palms on the table.
Zayne's brow rose even further, “You want me to draw you?”
“Well, I’m going to draw you too,” you flipped open the notebook and pretended to analyze Zayne’s face deeply. “But I remembered that you’re actually a great artist! We can even exchange when we’re done. Or really when the shop closes.”
Zayne shook his head once again, but complied, opening the notebook to a blank page and taking one of the pencils from your case in hand. “Fine. Just make sure that you finish in time. And that it’s not ugly. Or else it won’t be fair,” he tilted the notebook away from your sight and smirked softly.
“Ugly? I’m offended,” you shot back playfully, turning your attention to your own notebook. You were happy to see a glimpse of Zayne’s wittiness, a sign that the weariness from whatever was plaguing him was beginning to wane.
Analyzing him closely, you took in the sharp angles of his face and nearly perfect bone structure, to outline your sketch of him. You looked back to him to capture his eyes, intense gaze focused on the page in front of him, but still burning through you indirectly. Your gaze traveled down the slope of his nose, the bridge taking you down and connecting you to two soft, distractingly plump lips; the bottom of which was tucked between his teeth in deep thought.
You quickly realized that an activity that required you to stare at Zayne was not the best idea given your current uncertain and ever-changing feelings toward him. You didn’t know where you stood with him, whether he thought of you the same way you often found yourself thinking about him. He was the one that called you, after all— that had to mean something.
“So,” you began, eyes still focused on your page. “What prompted the late night call?”
You heard the stutter of the pencil against the page, his fluid movements halted by your words. He’d already said that he couldn’t sleep, but never said why. For a moment he didn’t speak, and you almost thought he wasn’t going to respond. You were willing to let it go, to pretend as though you hadn’t asked until you heard his voice, gentle over the hum of the café ambiance.
“My dreams are sometimes…unpleasant,” his eyes remained glued to the page. You waited for him to provide more, but he gave nothing else. Silence stretched between the two of you.
“Nightmares are truly awful. I’m sorry, Zayne,” you paused then took a breath and continued. “I—sometimes I still have nightmares about—“ your breath caught and for a moment you were back in the memory. The explosion, the rush of heat, the confusion, and the dread as you realized that in an instant, your entire family had been taken from you.
“You don’t have to talk about it if—“
You shook your head and smiled, clearing your throat softly, “No, it’s alright. The nightmares… I think about what I lost, but it helps to remember what I still have. You know?”
He continued to focus on the page, but you could tell he was mulling over your words. “As a doctor, there is so much that I can control with preparation and practice but,” he stopped, clearing his throat before continuing, “there is also much that is left to fate. What cannot be controlled. In my past….what I’ve failed to be able to control. My subconscious mind appears to be altogether too aware of that.” He continued to sketch as he spoke, his pencil strokes becoming more pointed.
“Hmm…well,” you thought for a moment. Zayne had done so much to comfort you in the time since you’d lost your family, and your heart now called for you to do the same for him. “Sometimes fate is cruel and fickle– unable to be controlled. But sometimes, fate is kind. Sometimes” you paused, eyes flickering between him and the page in front of you. “Sometimes it brings you back to the people you need the most at the perfect time.” It was true. You wouldn’t have been able to bear the intense loss of your family without the comfort of Zayne by your side. Even though you missed them, you could say that with Zayne around, you never truly felt lonely.
His eyes finally met yours, blinking in surprise as you continued, the words spilling from your mouth without much thought, “The nightmares still come and go, but I know that in the daylight, I have someone who is willing to face fate and all its cruelty by my side.”
Zayne's eyes widened for a moment as he registered your words. A kaleidoscope of emotions crossed over his face before he cleared his throat and looked away. He refocused on the notebook and seemed to be writing something down in the sketch pages.
Heat blossomed over your face as you realized what you’d said, “I mean— that’s just my opinion. I could be wrong or—“
“Let’s go. The shop is about to close,” you’d been so focused on Zayne that you didn’t realize the population of the shop slowly dwindling around you. Zayne stood and closed the notebook, quickly turning from your sight. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that you’d seen a small smile forming on his lips. You packed the rest of the supplies into your bag before following Zayne out of the door.
The warm light from the shop spilled onto the street as the two of you made your way back to your apartment. Ever the gentleman, Zayne made sure to walk you home. The walk was filled with a comfortable silence, neither of you quite willing to break the air between you.
By the time you’d reached your front door, you found yourself wanting for the walk to be longer, saddened by the end of your time with him. “Well, this is my place,” you turned to him as the both of you stopped in front of your door.
“It is,” Zayne smiled down at you, amusement clear in his eyes. He looked so different than he had at the beginning of the night. He looked more alive— there was a spark in his eyes, one that filled the void created by his sleepless night.
“Is this the part where we say good night? Or should it be good morning?” You contemplated the question for a moment before refocusing on Zayne, seeing him still focused on you intently.
He shook his head and laughed, a full sound that surprised you given his earlier disposition. “Neither. We’ll consider it a ‘see you in the daylight’. How does that sound?”
A flutter of excited nerves were unleashed in your stomach with his words. “That sounds perfect to me,” the joy in your voice couldn’t be masked, no matter how hard you tried. “Goodnight Zayne.”
He leaned forward, closer to you than he usually dared to venture, so close that you could feel his breath on your face in gentle puffs. His eyes were locked on yours, the green hues held within them were warm in the yellow streetlight. You felt his hand moving before you saw it, brushing against your hip to deliver your notebook back into your bag at your side. His voice was now directly in your ear, making your breath catch in your chest, “Goodnight. Try to get some sleep.”
Then, he was gone.
Before the door even closed to your apartment, you were ripping the notebook out of your bag and frantically flipping the pages to find Zayne’s drawing. When you finally found it, you were torn between laughter and a sort of breathlessness that was starting to become more and more associated with anything and everything involving Zayne.
The sketch was you, bright-eyed and grinning, surrounded by small plates of dessert and various scorecards reading the numbers of dessert ratings that the two of you had previously come to an agreement on. At the top of the page was your name followed by two epithets: Conqueror of Desserts, Master of Fate.