The evening air was crisp, brushing against Aiven's cheeks as he walked out of the café with Draven at his side. The earlier chaos of fans had died down, but the tension didn't leave him. Every step felt heavier, each glance over his shoulder a reminder that he couldn't let his guard down.
"Do you ever get used to this?" Aiven asked quietly, voice barely audible over the hum of the city.
Draven's eyes narrowed as he scanned the streets. "Get used to it? No. But you learn to survive it. And I make sure no one—no fan, no Velric—ever hurts you."
Aiven shivered. Not from cold, but from the warmth radiating from Draven's presence. The protective aura around him made Aiven's heart race in a way he didn't expect. And yet, part of him couldn't shake the growing tension that lingered whenever Zenith's name surfaced in his mind.
Not now, he told himself. Focus on Raze, focus on surviving this madness.
---
Raze had insisted on meeting them outside the café to check on Aiven. Seeing him now, leaning against a lamppost, eyes dark with concern, made Aiven's chest tighten. He didn't need words; the protection and care were evident in every small gesture.
"Raze," Aiven whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Raze stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against Aiven's as if to reassure him without words. "I told you. I won't let them hurt you. Not you, not us."
Draven's gaze flicked between the two, lips pressed in a thin line. He didn't speak, but there was a silent tension in the way he shifted his stance, slightly leaning forward, ready to defend. The teasing spark in his eyes had dimmed into something more serious—focused, protective, almost territorial.
---
As they walked toward the subway station, Aiven's phone buzzed again. Another message.
"We saw you leaving the café. He's yours? You don't deserve him."
Aiven froze, his stomach twisting. He looked at Draven, whose eyes darkened immediately. "That's it," Draven growled. "I'm done pretending this is harmless. Let them come."
Aiven gently placed a hand on Draven's arm. "Draven… calm down. We don't need a scene here."
Draven exhaled sharply, his gaze still fixed on the street. "I'm calm. Just… stay close to me, okay?"
Aiven nodded, though his heart beat faster than ever. There was comfort in Draven's presence, but also a tension that made every step feel electric.
---
Meanwhile, Zenith was observing the streets from across the road. His dark eyes flicked from Aiven to Draven, noting every subtle interaction. He was supposed to focus on the group, on keeping Raze safe, and yet he couldn't ignore the way Draven moved, the way he subtly protected Aiven.
Interesting, he murmured under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. That stubbornness… that loyalty… it's dangerous.
He tore his gaze away, reminding himself of the rules: no distractions, no attachments. Not yet.
---
Back on the subway platform, the three of them stood close together, a small bubble of calm in the chaos around them. Aiven's thoughts wandered to Raze's steady hands, Draven's protective stance, and Zenith's shadowed figure in his mind.
The city noises faded slightly as Aiven's heartbeat filled his ears. He wanted to believe things would be safe for a while, that they could have a moment of peace. But the messages, the fans, the constant pressure—they were a reminder that safety was temporary.
Raze leaned closer, voice soft and low. "Aiven… no matter what happens, I'll keep you safe. Trust me."
Aiven's lips parted, his voice barely a whisper. "I do… I trust you."
Draven's eyes flicked toward them, a subtle shift in expression that Aiven didn't quite understand. There was pride, protectiveness, and something else, something that made Aiven's pulse quicken.
Zenith, still watching from a distance, clenched his fists subtly. He didn't move, didn't approach, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the thoughts racing through his mind. He's… protecting him too well. And I can't do anything yet.
---
That evening, when they finally arrived back at Aiven's apartment, the city lights flickering through the windows cast long shadows across the room. Aiven sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over him.
Raze knelt beside him, brushing hair from his forehead. "Rest. You need it."
Draven leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still tense. "I'll stay here. No one's touching him while I'm around."
Aiven smiled faintly, heart full of conflicting emotions—love, trust, tension, and the quiet stirrings of feelings he didn't yet understand about Draven and… perhaps, Zenith.
The night ended with the three of them together, a fragile peace holding them close but heavy with unspoken thoughts and the knowledge that the storm wasn't over.
In the shadows, Velric's plan quietly advanced, fans continued to stir trouble, and the slow-burn tension between Zenith and Draven grew, unspoken but undeniable.