Aiven woke the next morning feeling restless.
Even after last night's conversation with Draven, his mind refused to settle. Zenith's words repeated themselves in his head—so honest, so raw. And Draven's scolding—sharp, protective, but not unkind—echoed too. He rubbed his temples, trying to sort out the tangled emotions.
Draven was already awake, sitting at the small table with a cup of coffee in hand. He looked up as Aiven entered the kitchen. "Sleep well?"
Aiven shook his head. "Not really."
Draven sighed. "Figures. You've got a lot on your mind."
Aiven hesitated, then lowered his voice. "I keep thinking about what Zenith said… about you."
Draven froze, coffee mid-air. "Aiven—don't."
"I just… I wanted to know. I wasn't asking you to feel anything back. I just… wanted to understand," Aiven said quickly, heart racing.
Draven set his cup down with a soft clink. He ran a hand through his hair, expression tense. "I told you yesterday—you don't ask me things like that. Not about feelings. Not about him. You're overstepping, even if you don't mean to."
Aiven flinched. "I'm sorry. I just… I care."
Draven's jaw softened slightly, and he crouched a little to meet Aiven's gaze. "I know you do. But sometimes caring isn't about asking. It's about protecting. Understanding when to step back. Got it?"
Aiven nodded, swallowing hard. "Got it."
Draven let out a long breath, then added quietly, "You're lucky I like you."
Aiven's heart jumped, warmth flooding him. "I—"
Draven stood abruptly, interrupting the moment. "Don't make me repeat myself. Step back sometimes, okay?"
Aiven nodded, cheeks burning. The mix of frustration, relief, and affection left him breathless.
---
Later, the day passed in a haze of routine. Aiven went to the café to help Miss Liora, lost in the simple motions of brewing coffee and serving regulars. But his mind never strayed far from the dorm, from Raze, from Draven, and now even from Zenith.
Raze's comeback preparations kept him occupied, yet every time Aiven's phone buzzed, he flinched. A short message, a photo, or a simple "thinking of you" made his chest tighten with longing and worry.
The fans hadn't disappeared. They were relentless, but Aiven had learned to navigate around them, always cautious, always alert. Draven was there, protective, watching every movement, and it gave him courage even as the fear lingered.
---
Evening came, and Aiven returned home, exhausted but restless.
Draven was on the couch, eyes half-closed but attentive. "You've been quiet all day," he observed.
Aiven shrugged, climbing onto the couch beside him. "Just thinking. About everything."
Draven reached over, brushing a strand of hair from Aiven's face. "About who?"
Aiven froze for a heartbeat, then whispered, "You. Zenith. Raze."
Draven's eyes darkened. "Careful," he murmured. "You can't mix them up. You'll end up hurt."
"I know," Aiven said softly. "But I can't help it."
Draven's hand lingered on his shoulder. "Just… remember who's here now. Who's standing next to you. Don't let curiosity get ahead of loyalty."
Aiven leaned into the touch, heart pounding. He knew Draven's words weren't just a warning—they were a claim, a boundary, a subtle reassurance all at once.
---
Across the city, Zenith was pacing in the dorm lounge, restless. He thought about Draven, about Aiven's questions, and about his own feelings that had been growing silently for weeks. He wanted to reach out, but the timing wasn't right. Not yet.
He ran a hand over his face, jaw tight. "Patience," he muttered. "Patience, patience, patience."
Meanwhile, Raze stood by the window, phone in hand, staring at the message Aiven had sent him earlier. "Can't wait to see you tomorrow."
A surge of relief and longing rushed through him. He knew they weren't safe—not yet. Velric was still waiting for a mistake, a slip. But Raze didn't care. The risk was worth it if it meant he could be near Aiven, even for a short while.
He exhaled slowly, voice soft, almost a whisper. "I've got you. Always."
---
That night, Aiven lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
He thought about Draven, patient, protective, frustrated at his questions but caring all the same. He thought about Zenith, quiet, vulnerable, waiting for a moment he wasn't ready to give. And he thought about Raze, distant but close, honest, loving, and patient in his own way.
Somewhere in the quiet, his phone vibrated.
A simple text from Raze: "Tomorrow, just us."
Aiven smiled softly, tracing the screen with his thumb. Tomorrow. Just them.
And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the chaos around them could be paused—if only for a little while.
But deep down, he knew this calm was fragile. The storm wasn't over.
Velric was still watching, still waiting, and fans would always find a way.
And somewhere, across the city, Zenith clenched his fists, silently promising himself that he would be patient, even if it killed him.