The morning sun filtered weakly through the café windows, casting a soft glow over the rows of tables and the steaming cups of coffee. But for Aiven Hale, it did nothing to ease the tension coiling in his chest.
He sat hunched over a cup of black coffee, fingers wrapped tightly around it as though the warmth alone could shield him from the constant unease. His phone vibrated again, and he flinched. Another message.
"We know where he lives. Stay away from Raze or else."
Aiven's lips parted, a shallow breath escaping him. He had learned to ignore most fan messages—but some were impossible to shake off. These weren't just excited admirers; these were people who felt entitled, obsessed, and dangerous.
Draven leaned against the counter nearby, arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched Aiven read the text. "That's it," he muttered under his breath. "I've had enough of these people."
"They're just… fans," Aiven said quietly, though his voice trembled. "They don't realize how much this… it affects everything."
Draven stepped closer, lowering his voice. "No. They do realize. And they're using it. This isn't harmless fandom—it's harassment. And I won't let it go unchecked."
Aiven glanced up, meeting Draven's gaze, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of warmth and reassurance. Draven had always been his protector in ways that went beyond friendship. And yet, he had a presence that was sharp, untouchable, teasing, and… slightly infuriating.
"I just want things to be normal," Aiven admitted softly, almost to himself.
Draven's lips twitched in a smirk. "Normal? For us? You've got to be kidding me. Normal went out the window the moment you started hanging out with Raze."
Aiven blinked, feeling both chastised and comforted. He shook his head and muttered, "I know… but I wish it wasn't like this. I wish it could just… be easier."
Before Draven could respond, the café door rattled violently. A group of fans had arrived, cameras in hand, shouting out names and snapping pictures. Their voices clashed against the soft café music, echoing through the tiny space.
"They're here again," Aiven whispered, a panic rising in his chest.
Draven immediately stepped in front of him, his broad frame shielding Aiven instinctively. "Stay behind me," he ordered, voice calm but laced with steel.
Aiven's heart thumped, not from fear of Draven, but from the strange safety he felt behind him. The way Draven's presence seemed to push the world's chaos away made his chest tighten, a confusing mix of comfort, admiration, and… something else he didn't dare name.
The fans shouted, waving signs and demanding attention. One particularly aggressive girl held up a banner with Raze's face and a threatening message scrawled across the bottom.
Draven's dark eyes scanned them, calculating. "They think they can scare you? They're wrong," he said softly, though his jaw was tight with controlled anger.
Aiven shook his head, a small laugh escaping despite his nerves. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"
Draven's smirk returned. "Maybe. But it keeps you safe."
The moment stretched, a tense bubble in the middle of chaos. Aiven's thoughts flickered briefly to Raze—how he must be managing his own pressures, the constant demands of fans, the weight of being an idol, and yet somehow always keeping Aiven in mind. The warmth spread through him, and for a second, the tension eased.
---
Outside, Zenith stood a few blocks away, watching the commotion from a safe distance. He had no intention of intervening—at least, not yet. But his sharp eyes didn't miss the way Draven positioned himself in front of Aiven, protective and unwavering.
Interesting, Zenith thought, a frown tugging at his lips. He's more stubborn than I expected.
He turned away abruptly, reminding himself of the rules he had set: focus on the group, protect Raze, maintain the image. Nothing else mattered. Yet, he couldn't help the small tightness in his chest, the restless pull he felt whenever he thought of Draven.
Not now. Not yet.
---
Inside the café, Raze had quietly slipped in through the back entrance, avoiding the crowd. His dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on Aiven. Relief softened his expression as he crossed the room and knelt beside him, keeping his voice low.
"I know it's getting worse," Raze said, brushing a strand of hair from Aiven's forehead. "But I'll handle it. I promise… I won't let anyone touch you. Not you. Not us."
Aiven blinked, his chest tightening as the words sank in. "I… I just want a little bit of normal."
Raze smiled gently, brushing his thumb along Aiven's cheek. "Normal isn't our kind of life… but I'll do everything to make it safe. For you."
Draven's gaze flicked between them, a strange mix of amusement and something else he didn't want to name. He remained silent, but the tension in his stance didn't escape Aiven.
And even though Zenith wasn't in the room, his presence lingered in Aiven's thoughts. Draven couldn't help but notice the subtle pull Zenith had over him—the unspoken power, the way he commanded attention even in his absence.
The day wore on with the café slowly returning to normal, though the underlying tension remained. Fans had dispersed for now, but Aiven's heart still pounded with unease. Raze stayed close, protective and gentle, while Draven lingered, watchful and teasing, and Zenith watched from the shadows, quietly assessing.
It was only the beginning. A storm of challenges, teasing, misunderstandings, and slow-burning secrets was steadily approaching. And none of them—Aiven, Raze, Draven, or Zenith—could guess just how much their lives were about to change.
---