Morning arrived softly, the city still half-asleep when Aiven unlocked the café doors. The bell above the entrance chimed, sharp in the quiet, and he paused for a moment before stepping inside. He liked mornings like this—calm, predictable. They made it easier to pretend his heart wasn't constantly racing.
He tied his apron, mind drifting despite himself.
Raze had a full rehearsal day. He'd mentioned it the night before, his voice low over the phone, careful not to say too much. We'll be busy, he'd said. But I'll think about you.
That had been enough to carry Aiven through the night.
By mid-morning, customers trickled in. Aiven moved on autopilot—coffee, smiles, small talk. It wasn't until the door opened again and Draven stepped inside that he relaxed properly.
"You look tired," Draven said, sliding onto a stool.
Aiven scoffed. "Says the guy who didn't reply to messages last night."
Draven shrugged. "Busy thinking."
Aiven raised an eyebrow. "About?"
Draven gave him a look. "Don't start."
Aiven laughed softly and went to prepare his drink. He didn't push. He knew Draven well enough to understand that whatever was going on in his head was serious—and personal.
Across town, ECLYPSE's practice room echoed with music and heavy breathing. Sweat clung to Raze's skin as the song ended, chest rising as he bent forward, hands braced on his knees.
"Again," Zenith said calmly.
Kaze groaned. "Leader, have mercy."
Zenith ignored him, eyes flicking briefly toward Raze. "We don't get sloppy now. The comeback matters."
Raze straightened, nodding. He respected Zenith more than anyone in the group—but lately, he could tell the leader was distracted. The sharp focus was there, but something underneath was unsettled.
As they took a short break, Raze checked his phone. No messages. He hesitated, then typed quickly.
Raze: How's work?
The reply came almost instantly.
Aiven: Busy. But I'm okay.
Raze exhaled, tension easing just a little.
Back at the café, Aiven leaned against the counter while Draven scrolled through his phone. "You ever wish things were simpler?" Aiven asked quietly.
Draven didn't look up. "All the time."
"I mean… no secrets. No hiding."
Draven's jaw tightened. "Careful, Aiven."
"I'm not asking for advice," Aiven said softly. "Just saying."
Draven finally looked at him, eyes sharp but not unkind. "You chose this knowing it wouldn't be easy."
"I know," Aiven replied. "Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt sometimes."
Draven didn't argue. He knew exactly what Aiven meant.
Later that evening, Zenith stayed behind in the practice room while the others left. The mirror reflected a man who looked composed, flawless—an idol. But his hands were clenched tight at his sides.
He unlocked his phone.
Draven: You ignored me.
Zenith stared at the message for a long moment before typing back.
Zenith: I didn't want to say the wrong thing.
The reply came quickly.
Draven: Then say something real.
Zenith closed his eyes briefly, then typed.
Zenith: I'm trying.
That was the truth. And it scared him more than any fan backlash ever could.
That night, Aiven stood on his balcony, city lights stretching endlessly before him. He held his phone loosely, rereading Raze's last message.
He wasn't asking for promises. He wasn't demanding certainty.
But deep down, Aiven could feel it—something was shifting. The quiet tension, the unspoken longing, the sense that the ground beneath them was slowly moving.
And somewhere far from the city noise, the ocean waited.