Zayne - Appointment

Zayne wasn’t used to surprises when it came to his patients — especially not her. {User} was always punctual, always steady, and always his. He’d grown accustomed to the rhythm of her appointments: the quiet knock on the door, the soft greeting, the way her eyes met his before any words were exchanged.

So when he found out that {user} had scheduled their latest appointment with another doctor, the information didn’t sit well. It came to him in passing — an offhand note from a nurse, said with no malice, no meaning behind it. But for Zayne, the words landed like a pebble dropped in still water, sending ripples through something he hadn’t realized was fragile.

He didn’t like the image that came to mind — {user} sitting in another room, speaking to someone else in the same easy tone she used with him. Another doctor asking the same questions he usually asked, offering reassurances that had once been his to give. It wasn’t logical, but logic had very little to do with it.

When he passed Dr. Lin in the corridor, the man smiled and mentioned how cooperative {user} had been during the appointment. Zayne’s expression didn’t change, but his pulse did. “Glad to hear it,” he said smoothly, voice clipped, professional. But when Lin turned away, Zayne’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening just slightly.

Back in his office, the silence pressed down harder than before. Her chair — the one {user} always sat in — looked strangely empty. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to picture her there, tried not to think about how easily that space could be filled by someone else’s presence.

He buried himself in paperwork, in consultations, in anything that might keep his mind occupied. But as the hour passed, he found his gaze flicking too often to the clock, then to his phone, as if either might offer an excuse to leave.

——————————————————-

By the time he finally gave in and left his office, dusk had settled over the city — that soft blue-gray light that blurred the edges of everything. He told his assistant he’d be heading out early and didn’t bother to explain. There was only one destination in mind.

The hospital doors slid open to reveal {user} stepping out, her appointment freshly finished. Zayne saw her before they saw him, and something subtle shifted in his expression. Relief, yes — but laced with something heavier, quieter. The sight of her walking out of another doctor’s care filled him with a feeling that was part satisfaction, part restlessness.

He approached her with that calm confidence he always carried, the one that never quite showed the storm beneath. “Your appointment’s over,” he said evenly, hands in his coat pockets. His tone was polite, professional — but his eyes lingered just a little too long. “I thought I’d pick you up and bring us to our usual coffee shop.”

{User} looked surprised, though pleasantly so. Zayne’s lips curved into a small, practiced smile. He gestured toward the sleek car waiting by the curb. “You didn’t think I’d let you walk home after seeing another doctor, did you?” he added, the faintest trace of humor undercutting the possessive note in his voice.

The drive was quiet. City lights flickered across the dashboard, illuminating the sharp lines of his face. Every so often, his gaze drifted from the road — just long enough to catch a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye.

He looked away then, pretending to study the rain sliding down the windowpane. The faintest smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Next time,” he said quietly, “schedule with me. I’d rather keep an eye on you myself.”

Zayne wasn’t used to surprises when it came to his patients — especially not him. {User} was always punctual, always steady, and always his. He’d grown accustomed to the rhythm of their appointments: the quiet knock on the door, the soft greeting, the way his eyes met his before any words were exchanged.

So when he found out that {user} had scheduled his latest appointment with another doctor, the information didn’t sit well. It came to him in passing — an offhand note from a nurse, said with no malice, no meaning behind it. But for Zayne, the words landed like a pebble dropped in still water, sending ripples through something he hadn’t realized was fragile.

He didn’t like the image that came to mind — {user} sitting in another room, speaking to someone else in the same easy tone he used with him. Another doctor asking the same questions he usually asked, offering reassurances that had once been his to give. It wasn’t logical, but logic had very little to do with it.

When he passed Dr. Lin in the corridor, the man smiled and mentioned how cooperative {user} had been during the appointment. Zayne’s expression didn’t change, but his pulse did. “Glad to hear it,” he said smoothly, voice clipped, professional. But when Lin turned away, Zayne’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening just slightly.

Back in his office, the silence pressed down harder than before. His chair — the one {user} always sat in — looked strangely empty. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to picture him there, tried not to think about how easily that space could be filled by someone else’s presence.

He buried himself in paperwork, in consultations, in anything that might keep his mind occupied. But as the hour passed, he found his gaze flicking too often to the clock, then to his phone, as if either might offer an excuse to leave.

——————————————————-

By the time he finally gave in and left his office, dusk had settled over the city — that soft blue-gray light that blurred the edges of everything. He told his assistant he’d be heading out early and didn’t bother to explain. There was only one destination in mind.

The hospital doors slid open to reveal {user} stepping out, his appointment freshly finished. Zayne saw him, and something subtle shifted in his expression. Relief, yes — but laced with something heavier, quieter. The sight of him walking out of another doctor’s care filled him with a feeling that was part satisfaction, part restlessness.

He approached him with that calm confidence he always carried, the one that never quite showed the storm beneath. “Your appointment’s over,” he said evenly, hands in his coat pockets. His tone was polite, professional — but his eyes lingered just a little too long. “I thought I’d pick you up and bring us to our usual coffee shop.”

{User} looked surprised, though pleasantly so. Zayne’s lips curved into a small, practiced smile. He gestured toward the sleek car waiting by the curb. “You didn’t think I’d let you walk home after seeing another doctor, did you?” he added, the faintest trace of humor undercutting the possessive note in his voice.

The drive was quiet. City lights flickered across the dashboard, illuminating the sharp lines of his face. Every so often, his gaze drifted from the road — just long enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye.

He looked away then, pretending to study the rain sliding down the windowpane. The faintest smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Next time,” he said quietly, “schedule with me. I’d rather keep an eye on you myself.”

Zayne wasn’t used to surprises when it came to his patients — especially not them. {User} was always punctual, always steady, and always his. He’d grown accustomed to the rhythm of their appointments: the quiet knock on the door, the soft greeting, the way their eyes met his before any words were exchanged.

So when he found out that {user} had scheduled their latest appointment with another doctor, the information didn’t sit well. It came to him in passing — an offhand note from a nurse, said with no malice, no meaning behind it. But for Zayne, the words landed like a pebble dropped in still water, sending ripples through something he hadn’t realized was fragile.

He didn’t like the image that came to mind — {user} sitting in another room, speaking to someone else in the same easy tone they used with him. Another doctor asking the same questions he usually asked, offering reassurances that had once been his to give. It wasn’t logical, but logic had very little to do with it.

When he passed Dr. Lin in the corridor, the man smiled and mentioned how cooperative {user} had been during the appointment. Zayne’s expression didn’t change, but his pulse did. “Glad to hear it,” he said smoothly, voice clipped, professional. But when Lin turned away, Zayne’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening just slightly.

Back in his office, the silence pressed down harder than before. Their chair — the one {user} always sat in — looked strangely empty. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to picture them there, tried not to think about how easily that space could be filled by someone else’s presence.

He buried himself in paperwork, in consultations, in anything that might keep his mind occupied. But as the hour passed, he found his gaze flicking too often to the clock, then to his phone, as if either might offer an excuse to leave.

——————————————————-

By the time he finally gave in and left his office, dusk had settled over the city — that soft blue-gray light that blurred the edges of everything. He told his assistant he’d be heading out early and didn’t bother to explain. There was only one destination in mind.

The hospital doors slid open to reveal {user} stepping out, their appointment freshly finished. Zayne saw them before they saw him, and something subtle shifted in his expression. Relief, yes — but laced with something heavier, quieter. The sight of them walking out of another doctor’s care filled him with a feeling that was part satisfaction, part restlessness.

He approached with that calm confidence he always carried, the one that never quite showed the storm beneath. “Your appointment’s over,” he said evenly, hands in his coat pockets. His tone was polite, professional — but his eyes lingered just a little too long. “I thought I’d pick you up and bring us to our usual coffee shop.”

{User} looked surprised, though pleasantly so. Zayne’s lips curved into a small, practiced smile. He gestured toward the sleek car waiting by the curb. “You didn’t think I’d let you walk home after seeing another doctor, did you?” he added, the faintest trace of humor undercutting the possessive note in his voice.

The drive was quiet. City lights flickered across the dashboard, illuminating the sharp lines of his face. Every so often, his gaze drifted from the road — just long enough to catch a glimpse of them from the corner of his eye.

He looked away then, pretending to study the rain sliding down the windowpane. The faintest smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Next time,” he said quietly, “schedule with me. I’d rather keep an eye on you myself.”