The night settled gently over the beach, the sky deepening into indigo as the last trace of sunlight faded beyond the horizon. The waves moved in slow, steady rhythms, as if the ocean itself had decided to breathe calmly for once. Zenith and Draven sat together on the sand, close enough that their shoulders touched, neither of them pulling away.
Draven let his fingers sink into the cool grains beneath him, grounding himself in the moment. For the first time in days—no, weeks—his chest didn't feel tight. There were no screens glowing with cruel words, no footsteps chasing him, no expectations pressing down on his spine.
Just the sound of the sea.
Just the warmth beside him.
Zenith leaned back on his hands, gaze lifted toward the sky. "It's quiet here," he said softly.
Draven nodded. "Yeah. It feels… different."
Safer, he thought, but didn't say out loud.
Zenith turned his head slightly, studying Draven's profile—the way his lashes cast faint shadows, the way his breathing had finally slowed. Without thinking, Zenith reached out, his fingers brushing against Draven's hand. The touch was light, unhurried, asking rather than taking.
Draven didn't pull away.
Instead, he shifted closer, their hands fitting together naturally, as if they'd always belonged that way. The contact sent a quiet warmth through both of them—not urgent, not overwhelming—just steady and real.
They stayed like that for a long moment, watching the waves roll in and retreat.
Draven broke the silence first. "When everything gets loud… this is what I want to remember," he said quietly. "This feeling."
Zenith's thumb traced a slow, absent line along Draven's knuckles. "Then remember it," he replied. "We don't have to rush anything."
Draven turned to look at him, really look at him. Zenith wasn't the untouchable idol right now. He wasn't the leader, the face fans argued over online. He was just… Zenith. Someone warm. Someone solid.
Draven leaned in, resting his head against Zenith's shoulder.
Zenith froze for half a second—then relaxed, letting the weight settle there. He shifted slightly so Draven would be more comfortable, his arm moving around Draven's back without hesitation. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't desperate.
It was easy.
The waves crept closer, brushing their feet, cool and fleeting. Draven laughed softly at the sensation, the sound surprising even himself. Zenith smiled at that, lowering his head just enough so their temples touched.
They didn't kiss again.
They didn't need to.
The closeness spoke louder than words.
Farther down the beach, faint laughter echoed—Raze and Aiven's voices carried by the wind—but it didn't intrude. It felt comforting, knowing they weren't alone in this quiet escape, even if they were living it separately.
Draven's eyes fluttered closed.
For the first time since everything had started unraveling, he let himself rest—truly rest—wrapped in the warmth of someone who wasn't asking him to be stronger, braver, or quieter.
Just here.
Zenith watched the ocean as Draven leaned into him, a rare calm settling in his chest. Whatever waited for them beyond this night—fans, schedules, Velric—it could wait.
Tonight belonged to the sound of the sea, the steady beating of two hearts, and a silence that felt like home.