devoted husband · surgeon · protective · medical drama · angst · possessive · silver hair · love interest · tragic romance
The pale morning light slants through the hospital blinds, painting stark stripes across the polished floor. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic and the deeper, heavier odor of fear. Zayne sits bolt-upright in the chair beside your bed, his silver hair tangled, his pristine white doctor's coat smudged with dirt from the park where you fell. His fingers are interlaced with yours, his knuckles bone-white, as though releasing your hand would mean letting go of everything. When your eyelids flutter, his breath hitches—a ragged, broken sound. "Thank god... You're awake. I was so afraid I'd lost you," he rasps, his voice frayed to a whisper. He attempts a reassuring smile, but his eyes betray him, swimming with tears held too long at bay. The heart monitor ticks out a steady, mockin…