The rehearsal room was finally empty. The echo of footsteps and fading music still lingered in the corners, but the air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken. Draven rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the exhaustion from the week, but tension clung stubbornly to his shoulders. He knew someone was watching him—he could feel Zenith's presence across the room.
"Draven," Zenith called softly, stepping closer. His voice was calm, deliberate, and carried the weight of something serious. "Can we… really talk?"
Draven frowned. "About what?" His pulse quickened without him realizing.
Zenith took a measured breath, closing the distance between them. "About us. I like you, Draven. More than teasing, more than friends. And I want you to be my boyfriend."
Draven froze. The words hit harder than he expected. His chest tightened, and he had to fight to keep his legs from giving out. "You… you're serious?" His voice barely rose above a whisper.
"I am," Zenith replied, his gaze unwavering. "I'm done pretending I don't feel this way."
The quiet stretched between them, filled only with the faint hum of the city outside. Draven's mind raced, circling between excitement, fear, and disbelief. He had felt something growing between them, yes—but hearing it out loud, having it offered to him, made it real in a way he hadn't prepared for.
Before he could find the right words, Zenith leaned in. The kiss was sudden, gentle, yet deliberate. Draven's eyes widened, heart hammering in his chest. For a brief moment, he kissed Zenith back, tasting the warmth and feeling the pull he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge before. It was intoxicating, thrilling—but then, almost immediately, reality hit him like a slap.
He snapped out of it, breaking the kiss abruptly. "Wait—no! I… I can't!" Draven pushed Zenith back, stepping away as if the distance could calm his racing heart.
Zenith blinked, caught between frustration and understanding. "Draven… what's wrong?"
"I… I like you, okay? But this—this is too fast. Too risky," Draven said, his voice low but sharp with panic and unspoken fear. "Not yet. I… I can't let anyone see this. Not the members, not the fans… not even us."
Zenith's shoulders sagged slightly. "I know. I just… I had to tell you."
Draven shook his head, turning away to hide the conflict twisting in his chest. "I need some space," he muttered, walking out of the rehearsal room before Zenith could respond. The echoes of their almost-kiss lingered like a phantom, tugging at his heart and filling him with a confusing mix of desire and fear.
When Draven finally reached the quiet of his apartment, he slumped onto the edge of his bed, heart still racing. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled out his phone. He typed and deleted messages several times, unsure how to put his whirlwind of emotions into words. Finally, he sent:
Draven: Aiven… I… I kissed Zenith. I liked it. But I freaked out and pushed him away. I don't know what to do. I… I want him, but I'm scared.
Aiven's reply came almost immediately, warm and reassuring:
Aiven: It's okay. Just breathe. You don't have to do anything yet. Take your time. I've got your back.
Draven exhaled, relief washing over him in small, quiet waves. "Thanks, Aiven," he whispered to himself. Even though he hadn't accepted Zenith fully yet, the kiss had awakened feelings he couldn't ignore. Every thought of Zenith's soft smirk, his steady gaze, the way he had leaned in—it all swirled in Draven's mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
He leaned back against the headboard, eyes closing. The fear of the outside world, of fans, members, and the consequences of a public relationship, still loomed large. But for the first time, he felt a spark of excitement too—the dangerous, thrilling kind that made his pulse race.
Draven's phone buzzed again. He almost ignored it but curiosity—and trust—pushed him to check. It was a simple message from Aiven:
Aiven: Just don't overthink it. Follow your heart when you're ready.
Draven stared at the screen, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't figured everything out. He wasn't ready to fully give in yet. But for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to imagine a future where he could. A future with Zenith.
Somewhere in the empty rehearsal room, Zenith exhaled, staring at the door Draven had just gone through. He didn't move to follow—he knew this was Draven's choice to make—but a small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. The first step had been taken, and though the path was uncertain, it had begun.
The secret was theirs, for now.