The dorm was unusually quiet that night. The echoes of the comeback concert still hummed faintly in the city streets outside, a distant reminder of the chaos that had followed the performance. But inside, the hallways were calm, and for once, Draven felt something he hadn't allowed himself in weeks: a fragile sense of safety.
He walked beside Zenith, fingers tightly laced with the other boy's, each step measured, careful. Even in the dimly lit corridor, Draven could feel his heart hammering, his chest tightening from the adrenaline that had yet to fade. That kiss earlier—their first real one—still burned on his lips and in his memory. Every moment with Zenith had felt like walking a line over fire: dangerous, thrilling, and terrifyingly perfect.
"I… I still can't believe I actually said it," Draven whispered, his voice barely audible, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the delicate moment.
Zenith's hand squeezed his gently, his thumb brushing along the back of Draven's. "You didn't say anything wrong," he murmured softly. "You were honest. That's all that matters. You trusted me with your feelings, and I—" he paused, gaze softening, "I feel the same."
Draven's stomach dropped at those words. The tension, the months of fear, the constant worry about fans, about Velric, about everything—they seemed to vanish, if only for a moment. But old instincts die hard, and Draven's mind immediately flared with questions and doubts.
"But what if… what if this changes things? What if Zenith—what if the fans—" His voice caught, and he swallowed hard.
Zenith shook his head gently. "It changes nothing that matters. Not us. Not tonight. Not here. You don't need to worry about anyone else when you're with me." His eyes, dark and steady, held Draven in place, grounding him.
Draven took a shaky breath and leaned into Zenith's side, letting himself rest against him. For a few precious minutes, the world outside didn't exist. The chaos of fans, the poisonous gossip Velric had spread, even the relentless pressure of being close to idols—it all faded.
Meanwhile, miles away, Aiven stood behind the café counter, idly wiping glasses while his thoughts wandered to Raze. The main dancer was probably in the dorm with the rest of ECLYPSE, preparing for the next round of rehearsals and interviews. Aiven's mind replayed the concert footage, the sound of fans screaming, the way Raze had looked at him from the stage. There had been that moment—the one brief glance that seemed to pause time entirely.
He smiled faintly, though his chest ached. Being a fan once, he had always known the thrill of seeing someone perform. But now, seeing Raze up close, knowing the man behind the idol name cared for him… it made everything more complicated, more intense.
Draven and Zenith had passed by the café on their way back to the dorm, unnoticed by most of the customers. Aiven had caught the sight of them, fingers frozen mid-wipe on a glass. His heart had leapt. There was an unspoken energy between the two, something deep and meaningful, and it made him both happy and anxious. Happy because Draven looked… alive. Happy because he had never seen Draven so sure of his feelings. Anxious because Zenith's presence made everything more complicated.
Back in the dorm, Zenith guided Draven into a small lounge area off the main hallway. It was quiet, private, and shielded from any staff or lingering fans. Zenith allowed Draven to settle onto a couch while he paced lightly near the windows, checking that the coast was clear. He glanced back at Draven, who was still fidgeting with his hands, shoulders tense.
"You've been holding so much in," Zenith said quietly, lowering himself onto the couch beside Draven. "I can feel it. You can stop pretending now. I won't let anyone hurt you while I'm here."
Draven's fingers twitched. "I… I don't want to be reckless. I don't want to make it worse, for you, for anyone."
Zenith tilted his head, brushing a loose strand of hair from Draven's forehead. "It's not reckless to feel. It's not reckless to want someone who makes you feel alive. And I—" he swallowed, voice catching, "I want this. I want you. All of you. Right now, yes, and… everything after."
Draven's heart lurched. Every nerve in his body was on fire. He wanted it too, wanted Zenith in every way, but his mind screamed caution. The fans, Velric, the pressure—they were never far away. And yet… he couldn't deny the pull he felt.
The room fell silent, save for the distant hum of traffic outside. For a long time, neither of them spoke, letting the silence stretch, letting the unspoken emotions between them fill the space. Draven's fingers found Zenith's hand, lacing their fingers together tighter. He glanced up, meeting Zenith's eyes, and for the first time, he allowed himself to speak without fear.
"I… like you," he whispered. "More than I've ever liked anyone. I've been scared, but I can't hide it anymore. I want to… be with you. I want to try."
Zenith's lips curved into a faint, triumphant smile. "Then we will. Together. Nothing else matters."
Draven closed his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth of Zenith's hand, the steady pulse of his presence. The world outside—the fans, the gossip, Velric's manipulations—faded to a blur. For the first time, Draven allowed himself to feel hope, something he hadn't felt in months.
Meanwhile, in a corner of the city, Velric slammed his office door, fury radiating from every muscle in his body. His subtle schemes had failed. Fans were no longer buying the narrative he had meticulously crafted; confusion and support for the boys had begun to override his manipulation. And worse, Draven and Zenith were uniting, strengthening each other against his plans.
"This isn't over," Velric growled, pacing the floor. "I'll find another way. I will. I will…" His words echoed off the walls, but for once, they carried less weight.
Back at the dorm, Zenith and Draven remained in the lounge, hands intertwined, shoulders brushing. The city outside continued its chaos, indifferent and unyielding. And yet, inside, the two boys had carved out a tiny bubble of peace, a place where they could breathe, exist, and simply be together.
They talked quietly about rehearsals, the comeback, the fans, the unrelenting pressure—but always returned to each other, drawing comfort in the simple touch of hands, the warmth of presence. Every word, every glance reinforced what they had begun to build: trust, understanding, and something delicate and powerful.
For the first time since all the chaos began, Draven allowed himself to believe in something enduring. And Zenith, sensing it, gave a small, reassuring squeeze of his hand.
The night stretched on, slow and deliberate, a quiet before the inevitable storm. Outside, the city continued its relentless pulse, fans and chaos and gossip swirling. But in that small dorm lounge, Draven and Zenith had found something stronger: the beginning of a bond that neither Velric nor the world could break.