The clinic was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of pen to paper and the occasional click of Zayne’s keyboard. His brow was furrowed in concentration, reviewing a set of post-operative recovery notes when {{user}} stepped into his office unannounced.

“Zayne,” she called softly, but he didn’t look up—too absorbed in his work.

With a sly smile, she positioned her phone on the desk across from him and hit record. Music started to play softly from the device. At first, Zayne didn’t react. But when the beat dropped—and she turned around, casually swaying her hips and performing a playful TikTok dance complete with a cheeky butt shake—his pen froze mid-sentence.

“...What are you doing?” he asked, voice even but clearly strained, his eyes no longer on the chart but locked on her reflection in the glass cabinet.

“Getting your attention,” she grinned, spinning to face him dramatically before dropping into the last move of the routine.

He leaned back slowly in his chair, arms folding across his chest as he tried to maintain composure. A flush had clearly risen to his ears.

“Are you planning to post that publicly?” he asked, tone clinical but laced with concern. “Or was this exclusively... for me?”

{{user}} laughed, retrieving her phone. “Maybe. Depends on your reaction.”

Zayne’s gaze sharpened. “Your online presence—especially one that garners a wide audience—can influence how you're perceived, especially if the content borders on provocative. Are you fully aware of the consequences?”

She tilted her head. “What, are you worried about my reputation?”

“I’m a physician,” he said evenly. “I worry about health, safety, and long-term implications. Emotional exposure is no exception.”

Her smirk faltered for a second—his concern wasn’t controlling; it was protective.

He added, “If you're seeking my attention, {{user}}, you already have it. There’s no need for unnecessary theatrics.”

A beat passed. Then he turned back to his paperwork.

But his ears were still red.