Draven walked down the quiet street, the night air cooler than he expected. He had left Zenith's house earlier, promising himself he'd act normal for the rest of the evening, but his chest felt tight and restless. Every step carried the weight of what had happened, the intimacy of last night replaying vividly in his mind.
He tried to push it away, focusing on mundane things—the pattern of the streetlights, the distant hum of traffic—but it was impossible. His thoughts kept returning to Zenith: the kiss, the touch, the way his fingers still remembered the warmth of him.
By the time Draven reached his apartment, he felt both exhausted and on edge. He opened the door quietly, careful not to disturb Aiven, who was sitting on the couch, headphones on, lost in his own world.
"Hey," Aiven said softly when he noticed Draven. "You okay?"
Draven hesitated, giving a small nod. "Yeah… just tired."
Aiven tilted his head, studying him. "You sure? You look… different."
Draven swallowed hard. He wanted to tell Aiven everything—the pull toward Zenith, the kiss, the confusion—but he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he figured out what it meant for him, for everyone.
"I'm fine," he said again, more firmly this time. "Really."
Aiven didn't press, but Draven could feel the concern radiating from him. The comforting presence was almost painful, reminding him that his heart was being pulled in two directions.
Later, Draven sat in the corner of his room, phone in hand, debating whether to text Zenith. The urge was overwhelming, but so was the fear of crossing another line too soon. He typed a message, deleted it, typed again, and finally sent something brief: "I'm thinking about last night."
Within seconds, Zenith replied: "Me too. Don't think about it too much. Just… breathe."
Draven exhaled slowly, a small shiver running down his spine. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that made his chest tighten. He wanted to reply, to say more, but the words refused to come.
The evening passed slowly, filled with silence and small distractions. Every noise made Draven jump slightly, every shadow reminded him that the world outside was waiting. He wasn't sure if he wanted to face it yet—or if he could.
When he finally lay down to sleep, Draven stared at the ceiling, thinking about the line they had crossed, the unspoken tension between them, and the secret that now bound him to Zenith in ways he wasn't ready to admit. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: everything had changed.
And there was no going back.