AN: A gift for Avistella over at AO3 as a thank you for naming little Ms. Han in my fic Begin Again. I saw the scene in my head immediately when you said it and I hope ths fits what you wanted. It was a welcome break from writing the series as well.

The Best I Know How

You look at the clock again. You know it's useless since time just keeps moving forward and the later it is, the more worried you just get. You always fret when he does this and it doesn't help that there's a storm outside and Zen took his motorcycle out today. You close the refrigerator door, the dinner you prepared tucked in several Tupperware containers to be reheated in case Zen is still hungry. But it's 11.30pm and way past dinner. You wipe down the kitchen counter for the third time, wanting something to do with your energy.

You look at the watch again. 11.32.

You hear sound coming from up front, the familiar jingle of keys and the creak of the front door. You easily maneuver around the counter, steps quick and sure.

"Zen?"

You see him in the dark hallway. In your rush, you forgot to open the lights. But his white hair and pale skin was almost luminous in the moonlight.

"Hey babe." He looks up at you, a gentle smile on his face.

You tilt your head. The smile he was giving you is flawless. Perfected through years and years of practice and training to emote at any circumstance.

You know better, though.

Behind the smile was a frailty he was trying to suppress. The waft of beer and smoke on his person also a dead giveaway that something was wrong. Still, you return his smile choosing not to comment on his lateness or the fact that he was driving after drinking alcohol in the rain.

No need to kick a man when he's down.

You move towards him instead, starting to unbutton his wet coat. "Was the rain bad outside?" You make quick work of the coat (it only has four large buttons) but you pause at the embroidered Z over his chest as you peer up at him.

He averts his eyes like a guilty child which just confirms the fact that he's hiding something. "It isn't as bad as it looks. And the roads are almost completely empty." He turns, shrugging the coat off which forces you to take a couple of steps away from him.

You are a patient woman but you can't bear to see Zen like this.

You press yourself against his broad back, burying your nose between his shoulder blades, his long, wet hair clinging to your cheeks.

"What happened?" Your voice is muffled by his solid warmth. He stiffens before you but sighs, touching your hands that were clasped over his stomach.

"I wanted to hide it from you. I didn't want you to see me like this." It helps, you think, that you're not face to face. It was as if he's finding it in himself to be honest.

You shake your head in response. "Don't. Whatever it is, I want to be a part of it."

He tugs your left hand to brush his lips gently over your knuckles before he turns, his head immediately resting on your shoulder, hands on your hips. One of your own hands start kneading the knots over his neck while the other strokes his scalp gently, letting the motion of your fingers, the pitter patter of the rain and the cover of darkness comfort him.

"I didn't get the part. They said they needed someone that could carry the show better, someone more popular. Someone less raw." He spits the words out like it was poison, his face contorting in disgust.

"They took apart my entire performance. They told me how someone else would do it. They said I had nothing going for me in this industry aside from my good looks. They joked around that if I was willing to use my body, I would be able to get more parts and they made lewd motions with their hands. The implication…" His fingers dig into your hips, his body humming in anger and frustration.

You cease your motions, your own temper rising through you at the thought. He was so excited about this project, mentioning people behind the scenes that he absolutely respected and admired. For some of his idols to tell him such things…

"And I snapped. I told them I had more faith in the industry than that. That I believe people will recognize talent and hard work more than looks and getting favors. That I wouldn't be a part of it." He lifts his head and finally looks into your eyes. "They said I was too naïve. That I should quit while I'm still young. That I'm never going to make it."

You cup his cheek. "Zen…" He looks so fragile. The words, this time, aren't easily deflected. You know he's been struggling with his career lately and one blow after another is eroding his self-confidence.

"I'm sorry you fell in love with a failure."

These words and the defeat in his voice gave you alarm. You would allow Zen anything except this.

Fiercely, you say, "You are not a failure. And you are not naïve or idealistic. And there is nothing wrong with not using money or connections or sexual favors in order to get ahead." Your anger is bubbling to the surface. How dare they speak to your Zen this way? But your words don't seem to have any effect.

"Babe, what if this is it? What if…I don't have anything else to offer? I left home to be a musical actor years ago and look where it's gotten me? I haven't gotten a single job or sponsor for a couple of months now. I'm not moving forward with my career. Maybe I am just not good enough."

You wouldn't have it. You know Zen has a lot of insecurities. He's opened up to you about years and years of self-doubt brought about by a discouraging family. His struggles were barely concealed by his narcissism. But this is his dream. You can't let him quit. Not when he's worked so hard for it. Not when he deserves success more than anyone else.

"Come here." You tug him into the living room, your actions purposeful. He's plaint, almost as if lacking a will to do anything. You push him to sit on the couch and take your tablet before sitting beside him. You browse through it until you find the video you're looking for.

"How many views does that have." You shove the tablet towards him.

"2.2 million." He was so young in this period piece. He doesn't even know how Seven got a copy of it.

"And…scroll down…what do the comments say…"

He pauses for a while, reading through it. "A lot of them are commenting on how handsome I am."

"And?" You force him to continue.

"And asking who this talented man is. Praising my voice. The way I act."

"Look at the 21st comment. That woman said that you moved her to tears and inspired her to fix her own family relationships."

He looks at you, surprised at how you've practically memorized the comments.

"You touch people, Zen. The way you move, the way you sing, the way you give life to even the most ridiculous pieces like 'Promiscuous Japaneo Topping'. You are meant to be on that stage. You deserve the spotlight. And people might not appreciate you now, they might try to make you conform to how they think the world should work, but you shouldn't be ashamed to stand your ground."

You move closer to him, folding your legs underneath you so your knees are touching the side of his right thigh. "I did not fall in love with a failure. I fell in love with a man that wanted to do things right. A man brimming with talent and perseverance. A man that adheres to his principles even if it means having less opportunities."

He's so still, ever since you started your monologue, but his eyes are getting wider and wider.

"And I believe in you." Your voice breaks. You take his hand and place it against your chest, over your heart. "Things might not have gone your way these past few months but you've had dry spells before. The right job will come along. A job that's for you. A job that will allow you to shine. One that won't compromise your morals."

He sighs and looks away, "And what if it never comes along? What if this is as good as it gets?"

"I honestly don't believe that." You say with impenetrable conviction. "But at the small chance that it is, then what's so bad about this? As long as you're doing what you love, then I have nothing to complain about."

He cups both your cheeks to pull you towards him, lips meeting in a soft kiss. "I don't deserve you."

You rub your nose against his, "It's not about deserving each other. I love you. And you love me. And some days it might seem like I love you more while on other days, it will be your turn. And love doesn't ask for anything. It's freely given. So when I say it, each and every time, I mean it as a commitment. I love you, Zen. And no matter what happens, I always will."

You seal the promise with a kiss, first sweet and tentative. But Zen's been through an emotional day and his need for you starts pouring out. You feel the nip of his teeth on your lower lip and you comply. His kiss is demanding but the way his tongue sweeps into your mouth makes your toes curl.

He ends up on his back at some point of the heated make out session, your smaller body resting over his, legs intertwined. "You should get a shower. You'll catch a cold like this." Though you suggested it, you really didn't want to move, too comfortable in his embrace to leave it.

"Only if you join me." He teases, before adding. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. And thank you for being here. I feel like as long as you believe in me, I can do anything."

You shake your head, giggling. "You don't have to thank me for that. It's easy to believe in you and your talent. And I'm not the only one."

He nods his head. One day, he's going to be up on stage, award in hand. And he's going to thank you for sticking with him through thick and thin. He's going to tell people in interviews how he wouldn't have worked as hard or pressed on for so long if you weren't there to encourage him. One day, he's going to be a man worthy of your love. For now, he'll settle for loving you the best he knows how.

The End