Mr. Gentleman, one ginger soup and fried spinach for your wife coming up.
The elderly woman moved with practiced hands, the dim light casting soft shadows on her weathered face. Zenon sat on the cold bench nearby, arms folded, his sharp gaze distant, exuding calm impatience. The night air was cool but didn't stir a flicker of emotion on his face.
His phone buzzed. Another reminder about tomorrow's meeting with Selene and the board. Without hesitation, he swiped and typed: *Cancel it.*
Just as he was about to pocket his phone, another message arrived.
*Hey Mr. Husband, I'm starving. Is it really that hard to make a proper dish?*
Zenon's lips twitched into a half-smile — brief, almost imperceptible. He typed back, *Poisons are difficult to find the right ingredients.*
The woman returned, carrying the food neatly wrapped in paper. Zenon took the package without a word, cold fingers brushing the paper. He pulled out a crisp bill and handed it to her, no change needed.
"Come back later," she said softly.
Zenon gave a curt nod and rose, the weight of the night pressing on his shoulders. He turned away, footsteps quiet but purposeful, leaving the flickering streetlamp behind.
---
Zenon walked through the hospital's lower floor passage, the food pack in one hand. As the elevator opened, he saw the back of a man that seemed familiar, though he refused to acknowledge it.
The elevator closed. The man turned, bumped into Zenon, and their eyes met.
Zenon sighed quietly, already irritated. It was the same guy from the market.
He said nothing. Silence stretched between them as they ascended.
"I'm Kyle Robinson," the man finally said, offering a handshake.
Zenon ignored it and stepped out the moment the elevator opened.
He reached Selene's hospital door, turned the knob, and stepped in. He froze.
She was fast asleep on the bed, her face calm and peaceful—so peaceful he momentarily forgot to breathe.
He looked away quickly and muttered under his breath, "Finally asleep."
A knock came at the door. He closed his eyes. Of course. That fool again.
He opened the door halfway, already regretting it.
"I'm looking for Selene Cross," Kyle said, holding a basket of fruits.
Zenon didn't answer. He began shutting the door when Kyle held the knob.
"Is she your sister?" Kyle asked casually.
Zenon scoffed quietly and looked away.
A soft voice came from the bed. "Scary face, did you bring my food or did you get kidnapped halfway?"
Selene was sitting up now, still groggy, her hair a mess. Her gaze shifted between the two men. Recognition lit up in her eyes.
"Kyle Robinson?" she asked.
Kyle smiled and stepped forward. "Selene Cross, long time."
Zenon moved to a chair, sat down, crossed his legs, and rested his chin on his knuckles. His gaze locked on Kyle like a silent threat.
Selene's eyes flicked from Zenon to Kyle and back. She smiled. "Kyle, meet my husband Zenon. Zenon, meet my school crush, Kyle."
Kyle extended his hand again, still smiling.
Zenon didn't move. His attention drifted to the window, his face tightening slightly.
Selene folded her arms. "He has social allergies. Don't take it personally."
Zenon's jaw clenched.
Selene smirked and took the food pack from the table. "At least the soup made it back in one piece."
Zenon didn't speak. But his stare made it very clear—he didn't like the guest. Not one bit.
---
Kyle sat comfortably on the bed beside Selene, a little too comfortable for Zenon's liking.
"I still remember those letters you used to write to me," Kyle chuckled, eyes lighting up. "Telling me how you—"
He choked slightly on his own excitement.
Zenon scoffed from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. "He'd better choke and die," he muttered under his breath.
Selene laughed, covering her face. "You were always acting so... holy. I started thinking I was the unholy one."
"No—no, I was just... shy." Kyle scratched his neck, giving a sheepish grin. "You were beautiful, Selene. I felt like I wasn't even in your league back then. But now... maybe I finally have the courage to—"
*Elbow jab.*
Selene nudged him hard, throwing a quick glance at Zenon. His jaw had clenched even harder, eyes still locked out the window, but his entire frame radiated tension like a bomb ticking down.
"I'm happily married now, Kylie," she said sweetly, her voice laced with warning.
Kyle flushed. "You still remember that name?"
"Kylie," he repeated dreamily.
Without hesitation, Zenon stood up, walked over, and grabbed Kyle by the collar.
"You've overstayed your welcome."
He opened the door, shoved Kyle out, and slammed it shut. The lock clicked like punctuation.
When Zenon turned around, his eyes were darker, colder. He stared her down, his glare cutting the air between them.
Selene blinked up at him innocently. "Are you scared he might run away with me?"
His gaze dropped to the food pack.
"Don't let my food get cold. I hate reheating anything."
He moved back to his seat, legs crossed, arms folded again—stone-faced.
Selene picked up the food, smirking. "Ah yes, gourmet homemade by *my* husband. How romantic."
He didn't answer, but a flicker crossed his face—something between irritation and amusement.
She took a bite, then pointed her spoon at him. "This is suspiciously good. Don't tell me you threatened the old lady to make it extra sweet. I know you, Zen."
His lips twitched—almost a smile.
"Is that supposed to be my nickname too?"
Selene paused mid-bite, eyes narrowed playfully.
"Don't call me that again. It's childish," he said firmly, voice low like a warning he gave himself.
She gave him a lazy nod, kept eating without another word.
But her grin said everything.
-
*"Thank you, husband,"* Selene mumbled, her voice drowsy as her eyelids fluttered shut. She curled into the sheets like a tired cat, letting out a small yawn.
*"Hm,"* Zenon hummed, still sitting stiffly in the chair, his eyes fixed ahead, not at her.
*"Tell me a bedtime story,"* she murmured sleepily.
He scoffed quietly. *"I don't do bedtime stories."*
*"So what will you do when we have kids?"* Her voice was soft, fading into the pillows.
His fingers twitched slightly.
*"Selene."*
*"Call me flower,"* she whispered.
He smirked faintly — a rare, fleeting thing. *"You're sleep-talking now."*
She didn't reply.
He stood up, walked to her bedside, and adjusted the blanket over her gently — a gesture he'd never admit he cared to make. Her phone screen lit up on the table. He picked it up and turned it off.
Then without a word, he left the room, locking the door behind him with a fingerprint scan.
*"Don't wake up again,"* he muttered, walking down the hall.
Upstairs, the rooftop terrace offered a clear view of the city. He leaned against the rail, sipping from a glass of whiskey.
Below, children ran wild in the streets, laughing, their parents shouting their names to come in. Firecrackers popped in the distance.
His mind wasn't there.
*"So what will you do when we have kids?"*
*"My time is running out, Zenon."*
*"Your condition is worse... you'll never be able to conceive if you don't rest."*
*"One full month. No intercourse."*
The words rang in his ears like a curse.
He clenched his jaw.
Then, quietly, he let the whiskey glass fall to the floor beside him. It shattered like something fragile he'd been holding back too long.
*"One month gone. Five to go."*
He exhaled.
And then, without another thought, he turned and walked back to the hospital, perhaps to sleep.
---