Chapter Text
A hot flash of orange burns behind the thin skin of my eyelids. Something hard and cold lies beneath me, and I can feel every rough bit of rock smashed and cemented into the paved roads. The stinging ache licks up the nerves of my irises. I'm met with resistance, when I attempt at forcing my eyes open where they vehemently snap shut with a searing ring of pain. Through gritted teeth, I suck in a forceful breath and grunt, willing for a twitch of muscle.
Thank god, I could still feel my limbs intact. The stupid Elysian Lupus wanderer had nearly torn me to bits when it exploded in my face. One single image stood stark in my mind: Zayne, reaching out, his stricken eyes frozen mid gesture, thermal-etched into my nerves.
I remember the skies of Linkon as a painful blue. The trickling of sweat and sticky clothes of that oppressive afternoon when I sighed into a can of soda my dear, dutiful doctor had brought me. We waited in line for the Ferris wheel at the annual summer fair. His dark rimmed glasses reflected sunlight beneath his furrowed brow. I laughed as he uncomfortably adjusted his collar against the summer heat and leaned against the line's barriers. I rested my shoulder against his side with a cheeky grin.
My beloved primary care physician was too much of a proud, considerate man to ever admit the sweltering heat was getting to him. Truth to be told it was getting to me too, but I wanted to seal our weekly date with a romantic ride on the Ferris wheel, and so, he endured the blistering sun for me.
Where was that irritating sun I had mentally cursed for trying to scorch my love? Now, all I see is dreary gray; a bruised color, cotton dipped in purple and diluted indigo. The clouds are barely there in shape, flat and rolling, overpowering the sky itself. Not even enough for me to try and find the excuse of a distinguishable form, like when I made Zayne lay down in the grass with me not a day ago to play a classic game of shapes and ‘everything is a chicken as long as you squint enough!’
He did his best to play along, no matter if he couldn't always follow, with the gentle shake of his head and the affectionate, slight upward twitch of his lips.
Now, I’m lying in the middle of a road in a city that looks like Linkon but isn’t. Along my periphery, I see cracks, many jagged edges splitting the earth, growing larger as they approach my perspective. A spasm in my finger tightens around the trigger of my Ruger handgun, still clutched from the fight at the fair.
I force the grip tighter, while straining every tendon in my neck, elbows digging into the fractured unused roads of this not-quite-Linkon place as I prop myself up.
I’m still wearing the summer dress he bought for our summer date, before the line broke into chaos spurred by a woman's scream from the next ride over, when in the same breath, my hunters watch beeped to warn for a metaflux rise, blaring red to alert for an Elite level wanderer nearby.
And then what?
I flex my hand. The face of my watch was fractured but there was a faint neon yellow light still beeping, it was charged and working thank goodness. I rack my memory to make sure there were no signs of a lingering concussion.
Yes, I let Zayne fight with me. The monster exploded, and a pulsing pain burst through my body. That look on his face is going to haunt me until I find a way to return. A pained sigh escapes my lips. All I want to do is be there and tell him I'm okay.
It’s easier to rise once I get the first few steps off, my head still spinning with a deadly sway but I scrooge up enough strength to stand with a pained grunt. Movement catches at the corner of my eye, upon looking I find a tightly shut window.
This place isn't completely abandoned and lifeless, I think, narrowing my eyes at the rows of darkened panes of sagging buildings. Most windows are cracked and taped, with a few completely boarded up. But I know people are inside, though I can't dwell too long on their reasons for hiding before my hunter's watch beeps sharply. A frown creases between my brows. Another Elysian Lupus.
I've already theorized that my appearance in this place might likely be caused by an unstable protofield. The universe is weird like that—a bitch, too. My eyes scan the city details as I charge determinedly towards the hologram's coordinates, moving with more careful steps this time. I'm ready to obliterate that wanderer, and it's definitely not for revenge.
At the far end of the narrow pathways around the bend of the desolate street, I find the ice-based wanderer. Its giant hammer tapered to its limb hovering a foot or two above ground stalking to face a figure, who I catch just as it lunges for the Elysian Lupus, his dark cape-like coat swaying as he swings black crackles of Evol.
I spring into action just as the Wanderer makes its move, guns blaring. I can't shout for the stranger to resonate in such high stakes. We’ll have to make do with our individual skill.
The dark-coated stranger seems to be nearing his limit by the slight staggering tread. My peripheral catches a flash of raven hair, then the hand with which he clutches his shoulder, but there was no time to waste on being taken aback, I lunge at the massive creature. With the final dual surge of our Evol, the beast goes down. This time I'm ready to shield myself from the blast.
A healthy heap of seconds passes when I finally feel free enough to lower my arms from the threat, heart calming, only to shoot up to my throat once again the second I raise my eyes, practically losing my footing when they came to land sight of Zayne’s face, staring back, and nearly sending me stumbling as the wanderer’s corpse degenerating between us.
My first instinct is to jump into his arms and cover his face with endless pecks, but I knew better than that, or more so, I know him better enough. This isn’t the Doctor. This is the Grim Reaper. The shadowy figure I’d seen glimpses of before, exchanged fleeting words with, someone I could barely count as an acquaintance.
He holds the face of my doctor but the eyes tell different stories. Where Zayne has the tendency to be cool and collected when serious, his are all hardened ice and piercing metal, accompanied by a sharp set mouth and curt words.
“Dawnbreaker,” I breathe.
I quickly come to realize where I was. My head works fast to click the cogwheels into place. The world this version of Zayne comes from.
“You. . ." I can almost hear him saying the word, but all I see are his lips moving. His hair was such a pitch black it merged in with the immaculate black coat, and the black ice clawing its way up his neck. A piece of the night, he wears no glasses and no white coat, and his hair has a sight frazzle at the tips.
My eyes travel to the stiffened arm at his side, and at the thawing iced fist. “You’re injured.”
But upon moving closer, my hand halfway up to reach out, the stoic man retreats a step. The confusing array of raw emotion that painted his features had hardened, locking with a jaw clenched into carved granite. Unsure of how to respond to his hesitation, my face scrunches. “What’s wrong? Z-Dawn?”
The hand gripping his shoulder slides down to clutch his chest. I watch with growing concern as his throat bobs with a tensed attempt at regaining composure. "This isn't real." I can't make sense of those hushed words. "A dream, only a dream."
His breathing grows labored, chest heaving. His gaze has now risen to drill onto me with a glistening intensity, each sharp exhale in the vapor of his breath visible in the air.
"There was some sort of Protocore disturbance," I began, my gaze darting away when his intense amber gaze became too much. "I was fighting an Elysian lupus when it exploded. I think the Protocore malfunctioned, and that’s why I woke up here... but I’m not entirely sure."
It was now my turn to trail off into incoherent muttering, I fidget not knowing what to do with my hands, rambling on about blue skies and possible technical glitches. When I risk a peek at his face, I find his piercing eyes still fixated on me. This time, I offer a weak smile. "So... I guess that’s what happened?"
The man with the face of Zayne seems to be collecting himself. He nods once, gaze shifting away, and pushes himself to his feet. The empty world echoes around us. He stands at the exact height of the man I tilt my head back for, just enough to feel the cool graze of his lips against my forehead.
“I see,” Dawnbreaker mutters, his tone clipped. He doesn’t meet my gaze as he moves past, the briefest brush of his sleeve against mine. His hand drops to his side, but I catch the faint struggle in his gait. I blink dumbly, watching as he takes several steps, halts, and looks over his shoulder.
“Oh.” I startle and hurry to catch up. This man is such a confusing contradiction, but I don't mind any of it.
If it were anyone else I would've snorted and gone on my own merry way, believing that he may be in some serious need of an attitude adjustment that I wouldn't ever to put up with. But unfortunately, this was Zayne. Too much of him resided in this man for me to not know that a frozen face didn’t mean superciliousness, that a few curt words didn’t mean arrogance, disregard, or even indifference In fact, he may be the definition of someone who cared a little too much.
So, I fall two paces behind when he resumes his steady gait. A peaceful silence settles between us, and a soft smile tugs at my lips as I watch his back, a pep in my step while I take in the quiet world around us.
Everything is so still. It feels as though we were the only ones in the universe, and yet, I'm completely at ease. I know everything is going to be alright with him here. All the nervousness I could ever feel about being lost in this unknown place fades away. Because no matter how much of a stranger he seems, he’s still my Zayne.
But.
I'm not really used to so much silence when the situation calls for a talk so much. What’s up with everybody in this city hiding indoors? Why are you the only one out here? What’s been up with society? How’s. . .uh. . . life been?
His face is as stiff and stony as a determined rock, and I’m hesitant to open my mouth. “So,” I clear my throat as we swerve from one jagged street to another. “Why are the streets so quiet?”
I internally cringe, not only at the sound of my weak voice but because the answer was already obvious. His world, his reality of wanderers overrunning society, and destroying the very foundation of earth, are my nightmares come true.
His answer is, as expected, short. “Wanderers.” His steps don’t even slow. “It's sundown.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, mentally kicking myself for asking something so redundant. Mutant wanderers must be stronger at night in his world. That’s probably what he means.
We walk in silence again, though I occasionally glance at him. His posture is rigid, his shoulders tense, but he walks with controlled precision. I might as well have been talking to the bent streetlight or the cracked pavement below me. They’d probably offer more information than this man.
I don't dare to complain when a plain block of an apartment complex emerges through the narrow alleyways. Its only distinguishing feature is a palette of muted grays. I follow, slowing at his heel when his steps lead us to the second floor. The hollow clunk of my own footfalls bounces off the high walls as I quicken my stride, struggling to catch up. Man, no matter what universe, stairs like these are always there to keep me humble.
He is already at a sleek black door on the second floor by the time I catch up and hesitate at the threshold. I'm looking at his back while simultaneously taking in the sparse details of his studio-like unit. A couch, a table, a chair, and a single bed from where its frame peeks from a narrow room on the opposite wall. It’s clean, but it feels more like a place to exist than to live.
My eyes are on the man before me, on the way his fingers twitch over his injured shoulder. I know Zayne enough to understand that pushing him would only make things worse. So, I stay quiet, hands tight at my sides.
“What are you doing?” His quiet voice floats to the doorway. It's a complete sentence and I'm almost happy that he's finally talking to me until I realize he may be referring to the cold being let in. I quickly shut the door.
“Sorry." I smile sheepishly. He is still not looking at me and I can't see his expression.
“Sit.” He says, already on course to a small door which I first assumed was a closet, but it opens to a bathroom. He wordlessly shuts the door behind him.
I stare at the blank panel of wood and then at the window situated beside the cabinets of the small kitchen. The sun was almost down, and deep starless black was slowly overtaking the lifeless city skylines.
Over the next few minutes I hear the shower turning, of first aid kits opening and bandages being unwound. To pass the time I tinker with my watch, getting it to function enough to tell me how long until I'm pulled back into my world. Usually Protocore issues that result in situations like this have a set time limit for us to wait before it's fixed by the Hunters Rescue department. There's already a countdown of the default seventy-two hours before the malfunction is stabilized.
I might have to extend my stay here for three days.
Three days. I want to pull all my hair out and have a meltdown after all I have a lot of blank space in this flat to roll in agony but I don't, for my desire to preserve my honor in front of the-not-lover-but-definitely-not-a-stranger of a man when he finds me. Besides, I don't think he’d appreciate to see his home drenched in the dam of my theatrical misery.
When Dawnbreaker finally comes out in a more comfortable, albeit, black, turtleneck and slacks, he freezes mid-step, eyes wide when he catches me still on the couch like he really didn't expect me to be here once he got back.
All at once he returns to being a statue.
I offer a tentative smile and wave. I am where he told me to be, so I don't see where I messed up. “Hi?”
At the sound of my voice, he blinks. His expression remains carefully blank, but the I can see the thoughts running endless loops in his head, though I can't tell the contents of which, with no hints in that blank face of his.
After several more agonizing seconds, he finally decides to spare me from the painful hold of his gaze to turn to the black expanse beyond the window. It’s then that my eyes fall on the small clay pot perched nearby, its single, slender stem stretching upward, crowned by a tiny unblossomed bud, still mostly green.
The sight draws a genuine smile to my lips, because of course he would. Zayne had a deep devotion to his plants, though he’d never outright confess it no matter how much I teased him, the tenderness in his gaze as he tended to his green children could be seen from a mile away to anyone looking. While I took the initiative to splash color across his space with slowly invading plushies tucked into each corner of his home, his flat never lacked for vibrance to begin with. Each corner of his home was tastefully done with hanging leafage and open windows to let the plants feed off the light. It’s very like Zayne to coax even the smallest trace of life from a flower, even if it's in such a sunless environment.
No matter the distance or time, Zayne makes sure his collection of plants are always in good hands during his absence, it's a job I gladly took on once we became a couple. His entire apartment would've been on track to metamorphizing into a mini rainforest if the man hadn't had a little self control.
In other words, he's a plant parent in every sense.
I smile at the white bud peeking shyly against the dark glass, a faint chuckle tickles my chest.
“Is that a Jasmine? Those are always your favorite flowers.” The words escape before I can process, and I quickly avert my gaze, but I can feel the weight of his contemplative eyes on me. I’m doing the thing again, where I mesh the lines between the Zayne I know and the Zayne I don’t. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”
I glance up just as a flicker of something crosses his expression. Though I can’t pinpoint it, I’m able to register the tightness settled in his brow and lips before he neutralizes it again.
“Are you hungry?” He's already opening the fridge before I can reply.
"I'm more sleepy than hungry; that wanderer drained every ounce of my stamina." I say wearily, taking note of the couch—it looks inviting; I can curl up comfortably if I kept my knees slightly bent. "These things, Protocore issues, usually take around seventy-two hours to fix themselves, so I might be bothering you until then."
His back stills, the soft glow from the fridge catching light onto the slight glisten of water trailing down his jet-black hair. Two plain, gray packets are clutched in his hands, and though I can't see his face, I sense the tension. "Three days?"
“I–I'll be out of your hair by the time the timer ends!” I wave my hands quickly, “It’s not like I know anyone here." I manage a hesitant puff of an awkward laugh, hoping, praying he lets me stay over.
Zayne doesn’t say anything else when he walks up to me, hands over one of the cool packets. There's a blank smile on my face as I take it–surprisingly heavy and packed–and watch him pull out the one chair from the table and seat himself there. He was no longer burying his intense eyes into my skin, but I still can't tell what he's thinking.
So was that a yes or no? I purse my lips to wait for a response, concluding that if he didn't respond within the next five minutes my ass was staying planted.
I study the packet, unsure of what to do with it. Following his example, I peel it open. The contents are peculiar—the only way my mush of a brain conceptualizes it is that it's similar to a slushie, if the flavor was apples that had neither a sweet nor sour taste. Easy to consume, surprisingly filling, but not fulfilling. Not a way to live, but who was I to say? We eat the packets in silence. It doesn’t taste like much. I look up to see him staring blankly out the window again by the time I'm finished.
Not knowing what to do, I do the next best thing; study his profile. He's Zayne after all, it's not often I get an uninterrupted study session of his pretty face to admire until I get sleepy. Now he look more like the man I know, without the harshness in his features that seemed to express too little, without the frowns and crinkles of someone whose lived too much for him to like it.
I know he’s suffered, but I've never gotten as many details as I'd like since he often disappears as soon as he takes hold of the doctors body.
“You're staring.” Zayne's unmoving gaze is firmly intent on the window. There's a strange, awkward stiffness to his jaw, as if troubled, maybe embarrassed under my full attention. He probably felt a piece of my soul digging into him through my eyes. Good, maybe he got a teeny taste of how it felt being on the other end of the staring stick.
Him being ill at ease somehow gives me the incentive to not feel flustered. I smile behind my hand, shifting only to rest my chin in a palm and blinking the sleep from my eyes. “I’m just waiting to fall asleep, don’t mind me.”
“You're tired.” Between the flickers of my eyelids, I catch him turning to look at me. It's more of a statement than a question, and I nod once. I hear a sigh, slowly he stands and walks to where I'm sitting, I'm fighting to keep my eyes open. “You take the bed.”
That snaps the slug out of my mind. “What? No, I'm not going to intrude like that!"
A line forms between his brows. "It's not an intrusion if I let you in."
"But-,"
“You’ll sleep in the bed.”
I shut up at the second instance and do as he says, sighing on my way to the small room at the back. It's more sparse than the living room with only a narrow window on the side.
"Thank you." I say softly before I walk in and collapse on the mattress, not minding manners as I'm engulfed in his natural scent of mint and something always so clinal, medicinal.
The floral dress is lovely but not very comfortable to sleep in. I had certain expectations for it, mainly ones that had to do with it being snatched over my head mid-collapse in a tangle of lips and limbs once home–ahem,–but the fatigue wears on me quickly enough to not mind the dig of the elastic around the waist.
I can hear him shifting around the room, almost anxiously, muttering something about borrowing a sheet from the closet. I fall asleep not long after faintly registering the door swiftly clicking shut.