The steady rhythm of footsteps echoed through the hospital as the evening shift finally came to an end. Greyson stretched his arms with a relieved groan. Another long day survived, he muttered, grabbing his bag. Zayne closed the final chart in silence, placing it neatly on the desk before removing his gloves. His movements were calm, precise, unhurried, as if exhaustion simply didn’t apply to him.
You should both go home, Yvonne said with a gentle smile. You've earned it.
With a brief nod, he left the hospital, stepping into the cool evening air. The parking lot was nearly empty, the dim lights casting long shadows across the pavement.
As he approached his car, a faint sound reached his ears. A weak, strained noise.
He pauses, his eyes scanned the area before settling on a small shape near the edge of the lot, a cat, or better say you. You curled tightly, he could see that you must be injured. Without hesitation, Zayne crouched down slowly, careful not to startle you. His movements remained controlled, the same careful precision he used with patients. Gently, he reached out and lifted you into his arms. You're hurt, he murmured quietly, studying the visible wounds. You need treatment. At first, he turned back toward the hospital, but your resistance grew stronger, restless and panicked in his grip.
A quiet observation, spoken more to himself than to you. He changed direction, carrying you to his car instead. The engine started, and he drove in silence for several minutes before he reached his home Zayne exhaled softly. You seem to dislike doctors, he said calmly. And yet, you ended up with me. Inside his house, he placed you carefully onto a soft towel before retrieving a small medical kit. His hands worked with quiet efficiency, cleaning wounds and applying bandages with precision. Do you have an owner? Until then i call you Epinephrine. What do you think?