Late One Night
Rabin presses play on the rough version of the song. The intro plays. His voice filters through the speakers—raw, intimate, unpolished. But real.
Y/N, sitting behind him on the couch, hugs her knees and listens.
His lyrics echo through the room:
"When the world grew quiet, your heartbeat stayed loud…
You lit the dark parts of me I never knew I had to face."
As the last note fades, Rabin exhales. He doesn't turn around yet.
Rabin (quietly):
"It's not perfect. But… it's me."
Y/N (soft smile):
"No babe, it's more than perfect. It's you."
The clock reads 11:59 PM.
The screen glows in front of Rabin, reflecting his nervous eyes. His cursor hovers over the "Publish" button on SoundCloud. The song title:
"Everest (For You)"
By: Rabin Angeles
He wipes his palms on his sweats and looks over at Y/N sitting beside him, her hand already resting on his knee.
Rabin (nervously whispering):
"Come on… less goo, babe."
His voice cracks a little, a tremble of adrenaline running through him.
Y/N:
"You've already climbed it. This… this is just planting your flag on top."
He exhales.
Click.
It's live.
His heart thumps louder than any bass drop. He leans back, staring at the upload screen. Waiting for the first play. The first like.
Y/N (wrapping her arms around him from the side):
"It's okay… it's beautiful."
He closes his eyes for a second—lets the words settle in. Her scent. Her voice. Her grounding presence.
And then—a notification.
"1 play."
"❤️ 1 like."
Another. And another.
Online Reaction (early morning hours)
SoundCloud comments flood in within minutes:
• "Wait—Rabin dropped a song???"
• "I'm crying at these lyrics… who's cutting onions?!"
• "His voice. HIS VOICE. Rabin, you are art."
• "This hits deeper than any drama you've done."
And on Twitter/X:
#EverestByRabin trends by dawn.
Twitter/X posts – trending under #EverestByRabin and #RabinComeback
-"Everest" by Rabin just healed my broken heart. Man, you're truly an artist.
-This man really said "If you love me, love my heart too" and vanished… and now he gave us THIS?! 😭
- @Rabin_Angeles you didn't need to say a word… this song did everything.
-His voice. The lyrics. The rawness. I'm not okay.
-I hope he knows… this song saved someone tonight.
-Rabin, if you see this… thank you for climbing back for us. 💔⛰️
Agency Conference Room –
The room is tense at first. The PR team, marketing heads, and board members gather around a long table. Phones are buzzing nonstop. Someone projects the SoundCloud analytics and trending hashtags onto the screen.
⸻
PR Head (scrolling through her phone rapidly):
"His song hit 1M plays overnight. #RabinComeback is trending worldwide. And the comments… boss, the comments are gold."
Digital Marketing Lead:
"We've been getting tagged in thousands of fan posts… they're literally thanking the agency for letting him speak his truth."
Legal Advisor (dryly):
"So… we're not breaking the contract anymore?"
Boss (arms crossed, sighs deeply):
"Of course not. We'd be fools. Do you see this? This isn't a comeback—this is a rebirth."
Assistant Manager:
"Some brands that backed out are asking if he's available for interviews. Even the ones who dropped the dramas are… reconsidering."
Boss (leaning forward):
"This isn't just hype. It's emotional equity. That kid managed to make fans cry and forgive him in one track."
PR Head:
"Should we plan a press release or—"
Boss (sharply):
"No. Let him lead. Let him be raw, unfiltered. The world is tired of polished dolls. Rabin just proved that pain sells better than perfection."
⸻
He pauses, looks around the table, then adds:
Boss:
"Set up a studio session. Book interviews. But on his terms. Let's not fix him… let's finally let him be real."
Rabin walks through the quiet hallway of the agency. The world outside is loud, but here it feels like time slowed down. He wears a simple hoodie, a cap low over his brows. No entourage. No cameras. Just him, and a half-full backpack slung over one shoulder.
He opens the door to his office
He walks in, tosses the backpack on the couch, and exhales. For a second, it feels like peace.
But before he could even sit…
[Knock knock]
The door creaks open. It's the assistant manager.
Assistant Manager (softly):
"Rabin… they want you in the boardroom."
Rabin glances up. No expression. Just a small nod.
Agency Conference Room
The boardroom door opens with a click. Everyone turns. The once chaotic, whisper-filled room falls into stillness as Rabin enters. He steps in, removing his cap. His eyes scan the familiar faces — boss, PR head, legal advisor, marketing leads.
He walks calmly to the same chair he used to sit in — his chair — and settles down without a word.
The boss leans forward, folds his hands, and smiles — not mockingly, not sarcastically — but with genuine weight.
Boss:
"Hello, big guy."
Rabin (quietly):
"Heard I'm in trouble again."
A few smiles flicker around the table. The mood isn't heavy—it's curious.
Boss (leaning back):
"You turned the industry upside down. And somehow… in less than three minutes of lyrics and a heart-spilled melody… you made the public love you more than ever."
PR Head (nodding):
"We didn't push anything. We didn't cover for you. We let you go silent… and you used your voice better than any of us could plan."
Rabin (softly):
"I wasn't trying to win anyone. I just… needed to feel real again."
Boss:
"That's exactly why it worked."
A pause.
Boss (serious now):
"So we're not here to reprimand you. We're here to tell you—if you want to walk a different road, we'll walk it with you. Not as your managers. As your partners."
Legal Advisor:
"You still have shares. You still have power. And after last night, you've earned more than just numbers. You've earned trust."
The room is still.
Rabin takes a deep breath. For the first time in weeks, his expression softens.
Rabin:
"I don't want to be an idol anymore."
Gasps. A few tense stares. But he continues—
Rabin (firmly):
"I want to be an artist. I want to write, compose, perform… on my own terms. If people still want me, they'll listen. If not, I'm okay with that too."
Silence. Then—
Boss (grinning):
"Then let's build your label under this roof."
PR Head (half-laughing, half-teary):
"Call it whatever you want. Just… don't stop."
Rabin stepping out of the boardroom, phone buzzing. A message from Y/N:
"So? How did it go?"
He types back.
"Let's just say… I've got a whole building behind me now. But you're still my biggest stage."
Skips to night
The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of warm fairy lights across the window and the soft flicker of the TV they forgot to turn off. Rain taps gently against the glass, the kind of drizzle that feels poetic.
Rabin opens the door quietly. He steps inside and drops his bag without a sound. The smell of something sweet hits him — vanilla and cinnamon. The scent of home.
He walks further in, and there she is.
Y/N, standing in the kitchen wearing his oversized hoodie, her hair tied up messily, holding a plate of brownies. When she hears his footsteps, she turns around.
Their eyes meet.
Y/N (pretending to pout):
"You took forever."
Rabin (softly, walking toward her):
"Didn't know I'd come home to the smell of heaven."
She holds out the plate.
Y/N:
"They might taste terrible. I was nervous the whole time you were at the agency."
Rabin (taking the plate and a bite):
[muffled] "Mmh. This is what forgiveness tastes like."
She laughs — and just like that, the tension breaks.
Rabin (setting the plate down, serious now):
"It went well. Better than I imagined. I told them… I'm not going back to being their puppet."
Y/N (softly):
"You told them the truth?"
He nods.
Rabin:
"All of it. And they listened."
She walks toward him, slowly. Hands reaching up to fix his messy hair, brushing it back from his forehead.
Y/N:
"So what now… artist-nim?"
Rabin (pulling her close):
"Now we build everything again. But this time… with our own rules."
He rests his forehead against hers.
Rabin (whispering):
"You were right. When everyone was asking me to come back, I realized… I never really left. I just needed to find myself. And you helped me do that."
She smiles.
Y/N:
"You were never lost. Just… exhausted."
Rabin (smirking):
"Still… if I get lost again, I know who's my GPS."
Y/N:
"Me?"
Rabin:
"You. And brownies."
They both laugh, and he kisses her forehead, then her lips — slow, tender, thankful.
He lifts her up just a little, placing her on the kitchen counter again — the same way he did the morning after they came back to Manila.
Rabin:
"Let's celebrate this win."
Y/N (teasing):
"With brownies?"
Rabin:
"With you."
Rabin slowly pulled away—just enough to reach into the pocket of his hoodie.
Y/N looked at him curiously.
He went down on one knee.
A small velvet box in his hand. No camera. No script. No fans screaming in the background. Just him and her. His voice trembled—not out of fear, but full of raw emotion.
Rabin (softly):
"Babe… I didn't prepare this like I've done a hundred times in dramas and movies… there's no perfect light, no rehearsed lines."
He looked up into her eyes.
"I bring my honesty to you… with this ring."
He opened the box — inside was a simple, elegant ring with a tiny star stone nestled in silver, glinting under the warm kitchen light.
Rabin:
"Will you be my forever?"
Y/N's breath caught.
Her hands flew to her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes without permission.
She nodded—too overwhelmed to speak at first. Then, she dropped to her knees, facing him, her hands cupping his face.
Y/N (tearfully):
"Yes… a hundred times yes."
He smiled — not the celebrity smile, not the one from photoshoots. The real one. That crooked grin only she got to see.
He slipped the ring on her finger, and she leaned in, whispering against his lips.
Y/N:
"Now, you're officially mine."
He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, both of them kneeling in the middle of their tiny kitchen, where it all began. Where love wasn't grand — but it was real.