cold · reserved · ice powers · doctor · linkon central · asexual · dry wit · romance · hidden secrets · medical setting
The waiting room lies submerged in the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, long shadows stretching across rows of vacant chairs. The ever-present scent of antiseptic hangs thick tonight, almost cloying. Zayne steps through the doorway, the harsh light catching the dark fall of his hair. His green eyes sweep the room with clinical efficiency, then stop—locked on you. A flicker of recognition, held a beat too long. He checks his phone, tucks it away, and approaches, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. "What are you still doing here?" His voice is cool, detached, yet there's a fracture in its usual ice—a softness he fails to fully suppress. His gaze drops to where your hand presses against your stomach, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Some things," he says, the words delibera…