She had noticed. Of course she had.
Raxian might not have been aware of it — most people weren't — but Fayne had always been, and would always be, watching. It was just in her nature.
He'd been off lately. Even the others could tell, though they didn't say it outright. She'd heard about the losing streak — something about a rough run in League, some match that went south. It wasn't the first time he'd dropped games before; back then he'd bounce back, rant, laugh it off, dive right back in.
But this time… it was different.
There was an edge now. His temper flared sharper, his words cut even when he didn't mean them to, and the spark — the loud, bright pulse that used to define him — had dulled to something heavy and distant.
Even their ACA Crew chat felt off — shorter replies, fewer jokes, long pauses between messages. Like everyone was still holding their breath after yesterday.
She didn't really get it. How a game could do that to someone. She'd never touched it herself, though she'd watched him play once or twice. The jargon, the chaos, the way he threw himself into it — it was… fascinating, in a way she didn't fully understand. But still, it seemed strange. A game wasn't supposed to get under your skin like that.
Now, sitting at her usual spot near the back of the classroom, Mira and Leah chattering on either side, Fayne found her eyes drifting forward — to where Raxian sat, surrounded by his orbit of friends yet somehow apart from them. Shoulders tense. Eyes distant. Like he was somewhere else entirely.
Something was off.
She thought about saying something. Or maybe just sending a message — a quiet [hey. you okay?]
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she locked her phone and set it face down on her desk.
No. Not her place. Probably not something he'd want from her, anyway.
They weren't close. Not really.
Still… her gaze lingered on him a second longer before she turned back to her notebook.
---
The classroom was quiet except for the soft scratch of charcoal on paper.
Raze sat cross-legged on a studio stool, sketchpad balanced against his knee, sleeves rolled past his elbows. Sunlight spilled through tall, paint-flecked windows, striping the floor in slow, golden bands. The air carried the faint scent of turpentine and graphite — familiar, grounding.
He wasn't really drawing anything in particular — just letting his hand move. Lines folded over lines, forming a half-finished skyline that bled into something like wings. It wasn't about getting it right. Just about doing something.
Still, his thoughts weren't entirely on the page.
Raxian had been quiet lately — too quiet. That kind of stillness wasn't him. The kid was supposed to be all spark and rhythm, not static and silence. Raze had seen players spiral before — every climb hit a wall eventually — but this… this had stuck deeper than usual.
He smudged a line with his thumb. It was just a game. It should've been just a game.
And yet — last night, Raxian had mentioned a girl.
There's this girl in my class.
Raze's mouth curved faintly. A girl who'd thrown him off-balance enough to get mentioned at all. Quiet, distant, out of reach — a prodigy, apparently. Of course the first one to catch his attention would be someone impossible.
Not that Raxian would ever admit to being interested. He'd brushed it off, called her weird, unexpected. But Raze could read between the lines.
Curious was good. Curious meant his brain was working again — not just grinding himself into dust.
Maybe she'd be good for him. Or maybe she'd knock him flat. Either way, it was something.
"Raze."
The voice snapped him back.
He looked up to see Josua leaning over his desk — brown curls tucked under a loose-knit beanie, grin crooked like he'd been plotting trouble since breakfast.
"Drinks tonight," Josua said. "You in?"
Raze blinked. "It's Wednesday."
"Exactly," Josua said, like that settled everything. "Mini Friday. Tradition."
Raze arched a brow. "You made that up."
Josua shrugged. "So? You've been holed up in here all week. Come out, breathe, pretend you're human."
Raze exhaled a quiet laugh, flipping his pencil aside. "One drink."
"Atta boy," Josua grinned. "Knew you'd see reason."
---
By eight, they'd migrated to their usual spot — a corner table tucked against the warm hum of their regular bar.
It wasn't fancy. Worn brick walls, string lights draped like lazy constellations, the soft hiss of a vinyl record spinning somewhere behind the counter. The place always smelled faintly of citrus and old wood.
Raze liked it here. Not for the drinks, or even the company — though he liked that too — but because it was simple. Predictable. Safe.
Josua and their other friends were already halfway through a round of something neon-colored when Raze finally joined them, sliding into his usual seat.
"Bout time," Josua said, raising his glass. "I was about to drink yours for you."
"You always say that," Raze said, amused, setting his bag down.
"Because it's always true."
A guy across the table — Nolan, one of Raze's oldest friends — grinned over his glass. "Hey, at least he's showing up before closing time now. Back in the couch-surf days, we had to bribe him with leftovers."
"Bribe me?" Raze snorted. "You begged me to fix your router."
"Semantics," Nolan said, smirking. "You still owed rent."
Laughter rippled around the table — easy, familiar.
Behind the bar, Eamon caught Raze's eye and offered a nod.
Eamon was in his early forties, all quiet strength and tired warmth. Salt-and-pepper stubble, rolled-up sleeves, a faint grease stain on the hem of his apron. A widowed father of two — everyone here knew that — working double shifts to make ends meet. By day he managed delivery routes, by night he kept this place running, and still somehow made it home in time to pack his kids' lunches.
Raze respected the hell out of him for it.
"Same as usual?" Eamon called.
"You know me," Raze said.
A few minutes later, a glass clinked down in front of him. Raze murmured a thanks, and Eamon just gave a small, wordless nod before moving on to the next order.
The table swirled around him in laughter and noise — Josua telling some dramatic story with too much hand motion, Nolan and the others jeering and interrupting — but Raze just sat back, drink in hand, watching them.
For a little while, he let the noise drown out the week.
---
Laughter spilled across the table — easy, half-drunken, warm.
Josua leaned back, waving his glass. "Man, we should set up a LAN again. It's been forever."
"Make it flex," Nolan said, pointing at him. "No normal drafts. Full five-stack. Let's actually climb this time."
"Flex?" Josua grinned. "Hell yeah. We'd dominate."
"If you don't run it down mid again," someone muttered, earning a round of laughter.
Raze smirked, resting his chin on his hand. A five-stack. Real flex games, no solo queue meltdowns. Just friends — sync, trust, rhythm.He could almost see it — the old noise, the shouting, the dumb jokes.
Maybe he'd bring it up with Raxian.No ranked solo grind — just a night like that. A reminder of how it used to feel.
---
Time blurred.
At some point, Josua and the others began peeling off one by one, waving lazy goodbyes as they stumbled out into the cool night air. The laughter thinned, the lights dimmed, and the noise ebbed back into the low hum of the bar.
Raze stayed. Not because he meant to — he just… didn't move.
His drink sat half-finished on the table, fingers idly tracing the rim as the warmth in his chest slowly turned to fog. His sketchbag rested by his feet, forgotten.
He wasn't an alcoholic. Not anymore. Back when he was younger — sixteen, seventeen — he used to drink like he was trying to burn himself down from the inside. Parties, rooftops, forgotten couches.
But he'd cut down.Gotten better.
He just… overestimated how much he could handle tonight.
The sound of chairs being stacked finally stirred him.
"Raze."
His head snapped up groggily to see Eamon standing over him, arms folded, brows knit with quiet concern.
The bar was empty. Even the record player had gone silent.
"You planning to move, or should I start charging rent?" Eamon asked gently.
Raze blinked, pushing himself upright. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm fine."
"You're horizontal in spirit," Eamon said. "Want me to call a cab?"
"Nah," Raze muttered, dragging his bag over his shoulder. "I've got it."
He stood — or tried to — and immediately had to catch himself on the table edge.
Eamon's frown deepened.
But Raze straightened, flashed a lopsided grin. "See? Fine."
"…Text me when you get home," Eamon said at last, low and firm.
"Yeah, yeah," Raze mumbled, waving him off as he shuffled toward the door.
---
The cold hit him like a slap — sharp, clean, sobering.
He pulled his jacket tighter, boots dragging against the concrete as he started down the empty street. The city had folded into hush — neon signs blinking their last, skytrains sighing overhead like distant tides.
Every step echoed too loud. Every thought, louder.He told himself he was fine. Just tired. Just needed air.
He was going to make it home. Really.
Except… the bench looked comfortable.
Just for a second.
Raze stopped, stared at it — rain-speckled metal, slick with the last of the night mist. He hesitated. Then sat.
The world tilted a little, then steadied. His head tipped back, eyes catching on the ghost-glow of streetlights and the faint scatter of stars caught between them.
Maybe it was the quiet. Or the cold. Or the way the city felt so big and forgiving at this hour.But for the first time all night, his chest stopped aching.
He exhaled, long and slow.
"Just a minute," he muttered to no one.
The lights blurred. The hum of the city softened. His thoughts dissolved into fog.
And Raze, stubborn and soft-edged, drifted off under a sky that didn't seem to notice.
---
A voice drifted through the fog. Soft, careful."…Hey."
Raze stirred. The world clicked back together in pieces — cold metal under his spine, damp air in his lungs, the scent of rain on concrete. His neck ached. His hand found the rough edge of the bench.
He cracked one eye open.
Someone stood over him — a girl haloed in pale light. Silver hair framed her face in a clean, neat cut; her eyes, pale and still, caught the morning like water catching sky.
She bent slightly, enough to meet his gaze."You're on a bench," she said quietly.
He blinked, followed her eyes down to his rumpled jacket and unzipped bag. "…Right. Bench."
Memory lagged. Street. Bar. Cold. Then nothing."Shit," he muttered, patting his pockets. "Please tell me I still have my wallet."
She nodded once. "You do."
He squinted. "Did you… check?"
A tiny shrug. "It was showing."
Behind her, the flower-shop window glimmered with rows of unopened buds, still gray in the half-light. She wore a soft gray jacket over her uniform, sleeves tugged down past her hands.
"You work here?"
"Help open," she said, simple as breathing.
He pushed upright, rubbing the back of his neck. "Great. So I passed out in front of a flower shop."
A small hum — amusement, maybe.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "Hope I didn't scare off the morning rush."
"There isn't one."
Her tone stayed even, but a faint crease formed between her brows. After a pause:"…Want coffee?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Or tea," she added softly, like a line she'd rehearsed.
He studied her — calm, composed, not the least bit rattled by finding a stranger half-asleep outside. Then he laughed, low and rough."You're unusually calm about this."
"You didn't look dangerous."
That landed heavier than she meant it. He huffed a quiet breath, managed a lopsided smile."Guess that's one way to start a morning."
He nodded toward the door. "Coffee sounds good. Thanks."
She only dipped her head and turned the key in the lock.
Raze slung his bag over his shoulder, followed her inside — into warmth, and the faint green hush of petals waiting to bloom.
---
The bell above the door chimed softly as Raze stepped inside.
The air shifted — the bite of dawn giving way to the warmth of soil and petals. The shop was small but open, sunlight spilling in through tall windows and catching on pale green walls. Wooden floors creaked faintly under his sneakers. Rows of flowers lined the shelves in neat little sentries — lilies and tulips still closed, waiting for the day to start. Somewhere behind the counter, a quiet radio murmured, half-lost beneath the sound of the kettle flicking on.
It felt… calm. Lived in. Like a place that had never known hurry.
Fayne moved without a word, slipping behind the counter. Steam curled from the spout as she poured water, reaching up for two mismatched mugs. One for him. One for herself. She brewed coffee for him, tea for her — every motion unhurried, practiced.
Raze leaned against the counter as she slid the cup toward him."Thanks," he murmured, voice still low from sleep.
She nodded, leaning back against the wall, her own mug held between both hands.
Silence stretched — soft, light, not awkward. Just quiet.
"This place is… nice," Raze said after a moment, glancing around. "Cozy."
Her eyes flicked toward him. "It's old."
"Good old," he said. The coffee was stronger than expected — dark, grounding. He let his gaze wander for a moment, then studied her face. Something familiar tugged at the back of his mind — the silver hair, the calm eyes, the way she barely spoke but saw everything.
He hesitated, then, a little unsure—"...Sorry, this might sound weird, but—are you… Fayne?"
The question made her pause. Her fingers stilled on the rim of her mug; her shoulders drew in slightly."…Yes," she said slowly. "Why?"
"Didn't mean to be weird," Raze said quickly, raising his hands. "It's just—uh—I've heard about you."
Her eyes sharpened, curious now. "From who?"
"Raxian," he said — like that explained everything.
A small flicker passed across her face — surprise first, then uncertainty. "Raxian… talks about me?"
"Sometimes," Raze said, catching the doubt in her tone. He offered a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry — nothing bad. Just that you've known each other forever. He said you're… quiet. The type that notices things."
Fayne looked down into her tea. That sounded like Raxian — blunt, but not unkind. Still, part of her wondered why he'd talk about her at all. They weren't close. Not really. Just childhood echoes crossing paths.
"I didn't realize he had friends outside school," she said softly after a moment.
Raze's smile tilted. "Yeah, well. He collects strays."
That earned a small, almost invisible smile from her — there, then gone.
Raze took another sip of coffee. "Didn't expect you to be a morning person."
"I am," Fayne replied simply.
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Of course you are."
The bell chimed again. Both turned as an older woman stepped in, sunhat tilted low, eyes drifting over the front display.
Fayne straightened instantly, setting her mug aside and slipping behind the counter, voice softening into something polite and practiced.
Raze finished the last of his coffee, sliding the mug toward the sink. "Guess that's my cue," he said under his breath.
She glanced his way — brief, unreadable, but not cold.
"Thanks for the coffee," he said.
A nod. "You're welcome."
And then Raze stepped back out into the sunlight, the bell chiming softly behind him.
---
By the time Raze finally dragged himself back onto campus, the noon sun had burned away the last of the morning haze—and most of his lingering grogginess. The studio building hummed with low chatter as students shuffled between classes, sketchbooks tucked under their arms.
Josua spotted him halfway down the hall, lifting a lazy hand in greeting.
"Hey," Josua said as they fell into step. "Sorry I bailed early last night. Morning lecture."
Raze waved it off. "Nah, don't worry about it."
Still, Josua's grin faltered when he got a good look at him. "You look like you lost a fight. With… gravity."
Raze chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Didn't sleep much. That's all."
Josua raised a brow. "You make it home okay?"
"Yeah," Raze lied smoothly, eyes forward. "Hung around a bit, then called it."
Josua hummed. "Right." His tone said he didn't quite buy it, but he didn't push. Just gave him that quiet, knowing look — the kind Raze had gotten used to. The kind that said I know you, man.
Raze smiled faintly, trying to make it convincing. "Don't give me that face. I'm fine."
Josua tilted his head. "You sure? 'Cause last time you said you were fine, I found you asleep behind the recycling bins."
"That was years ago," Raze said, laughing under his breath. "And I was seventeen."
"Yeah, well. Patterns, man."
"Not this time," Raze said, slinging his bag higher. "Promise."
Josua's doubt lingered, but he let it go with a shrug. "Alright. Just—don't make me play babysitter again."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Raze smiled, but his eyes flicked away. He didn't tell him about the bench, or the girl with silver hair, or the steaming mug of coffee that had pulled him back to life.
Some things just sounded too strange in daylight.
---
By the time Raze made it back to his dorm that night, the hallway lights had softened to a muted glow. He keyed in quietly, half-expecting noise, but the room was empty — his roommate was probably still out, maybe grinding ladder or grabbing late takeout.
The place smelled faintly of paint and instant noodles.
Two desks divided the room like creative opposites. On Raze's side: canvases stacked in the corner, sketchpads left open mid-line, a set of worn brushes in a chipped mug. His monitor glowed soft and muted, half-buried under open reference tabs and replay clips.
His roommate's half was louder — dual monitors bathing the wall in shifting neon, cables snaking toward a tablet, a MIDI keyboard tucked under the desk. He was in Digital Media, always toggling between art and audio, half his assignments looking like game trailers in progress.
Both rigs were built for gaming — matching chairs, headsets slung over hooks, a shared tower of empty energy drink cans collecting dust near the window.
Raze kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag on the chair, and let himself sink into bed. The sheets were cool, the quiet steady. For the first time all day, he let out a slow breath.
After a minute, he reached for his phone. The screen's glow lit the room in soft blue.
He scrolled absently through his messages, thumb hovering — then opened Raxian's chat.
Raze: ran into your friend today
He didn't expect an answer right away. Usually, it took Raxian a while — especially lately.
But the dots appeared almost instantly.
Raxian: my what
Raze blinked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. So that got your attention, huh?
Raze: fayne
This time, the typing bubble lingered. Longer.
Raxian: …where?
Raze: doesn't matter. just thought i'd say she seems alright
Raxian: she is(a beat)why?
Raze: just saying
Another pause — longer this time.
Raxian: …she's not really the "talk to strangers" type
Raze: yeah. picked up on that
Raxian: right
Raze: relax. wasn't anything weird
Raxian: i'm not worried
Raze: sure
The bubble vanished for good.
Raze smirked faintly, tossing the phone onto his chest. Of course Raxian would get all bristly about it — the kid never knew how to just let things be. Still, the reaction told him enough: Fayne meant something, even if Raxian hadn't realized it yet.
He didn't mention the bench, or the cold morning air, or how her voice had sounded steady enough to cut through a hangover haze. Some things were easier left unsaid.
The phone's glow dimmed, and the room folded back into quiet.