After breakfast, the trainees and their loved ones were finally given free rein—no schedules, no obligations, no looming evaluations. Just open skies, white slopes, and the unspoken agreement that today was for joy.
And so, unanimously, every single trainee chose violence against gravity.
Skiing. Snowboarding. Falling. Screaming. Laughing. Repeating.
The mountains of Saint Moritz bore witness to what could only be described as beautifully unhinged fun.
The air was crisp, the sun bright, and the snow shimmered like crushed diamonds beneath their boots. Some trainees eased into it cautiously, others charged downhill like they had something to prove to God himself.
And then there was Eli.
Shirtless.
Again.
At this point, it was less of a surprise and more of a public safety hazard.
Eli treated snowboarding the same way he treated the ocean—like the mountain owed him money. He carved through the snow as if it were water, body loose and instinctive, movements fluid and almost lazy in their confidence.
He looked unreal.
Like a sports magazine and a high-fashion editorial had a scandalous love child and forgot to tell the world how dangerous it would be.
His perfectly tanned skin gleamed under the Swiss sun, freckles dusted across his shoulders like someone had lovingly kissed him with light. His grin—wide, reckless, boyish—was pure joy. No performance. No camera awareness. Just a kid doing what he loved.
Tourists stopped mid-slope.
Locals paused their lessons.
Phones came out.
Somewhere, a woman audibly gasped.
As Eli descended the mountain, effortlessly weaving through the snow, the squeals started. Not screams—squeals. High-pitched, panicked, "this should be illegal" squeals.
Once he reached the bottom, the universe itself seemed to slow.
Eli removed his helmet and, out of sheer muscle memory from years of surfing, shook his head—sending snow-dusted curls flying, sunlight catching in every strand.
That was it.
A poor girl genuinely fainted.
Medics were called—not for injuries, but for overexposure to Elijah Spencer Reyes.
The phrase "too hot to handle" was officially retired that day.
Those who survived his heatwave gathered what courage they had left and approached him for autographs and photos. Eli, sweet menace that he was, greeted everyone with that easy smile, laughing, apologizing for being sweaty, acting like he hadn't just emotionally destroyed half the slope.
Turns out, a surprising number of tourists and locals were familiar with LEAVEN.
The moment recognition clicked, it was game over.
Fanboys. Fangirls. Fan-they/thems. Everyone was losing their damn minds.
Thankfully—thank fuck—Foca had anticipated this and stationed security nearby. Calm, professional, and very used to chaos, they ensured things stayed orderly.
The trainees, to their credit, were gracious. They signed autographs, took photos, laughed with fans, thanked them genuinely. And yet—thanks to tight security and very clear boundaries—they were still allowed to enjoy themselves without being pulled in every direction like overstimulated idols at an awards show.
Even more surprisingly?
The fans were respectful.
Once they learned why the trainees were in Switzerland—to rest, to heal, to breathe—they softened. They kept their distance. Watched from afar. Cheered quietly. Protected the peace instead of disrupting it.
And honestly?
That kind of love hit different.
Back on the slopes, natural talent began revealing itself.
Some trainees glided like they'd been born on snow, balance coming easy, instincts sharp. Others surprised even themselves—falling once or twice, then suddenly getting it, laughing as confidence bloomed.
And then there were the unfortunate ones.
The snow hated them.
Not disliked. Hated.
No matter how patient the instructors were, no matter how many times they were shown the basics, gravity took personal offense. They slipped. Rolled. Face-planted. Tumbled dramatically like they were auditioning for slapstick comedy.
The snow held grudges.
The teasing was relentless—but loving. The kind that comes with warmth, not cruelty. Every fall was met with laughter, cheers, exaggerated concern, and someone inevitably yelling, "YOU GOT THIS—EVENTUALLY!"
They were cold.
They were sore.
They were breathless.
And they were happy.
For the first time in a long while, there was no pressure to be perfect.
Just snow, sun, and the sound of laughter echoing down the mountains.
****
Of course, when there are fans involved, it was inevitable that the internet would lose its ever-loving marbles.
It was the natural cycle of life.
Snow. Sun. Shirtless Eli. Social media meltdown.
And it all started with one post.
Original Z post:
@FreeBritney:
Y'ALL. You are NOT gonna believe who I just met.
So me and my friends are here in Saint Moritz, finally on a much-needed getaway from nursing hell—double shifts, triple shifts, back pain, emotional trauma, the works. We're literally just vibing, minding our own damn business, when suddenly—
A PSYCHO comes snowboarding down the slope.
FULLY SHIRTLESS.
Yes. No shirt. Zip. Nada. Just skin, snow, and audacity.
So we're like… who the hell is this menace to society???
Turns out.
IT WAS OUR PSYCHO.
IT WAS FREAKING ELI FROM LEAVEN.
Y'ALL I SCREAMED. I actually screamed so hard my soul left my body. The girl next to me FAINTED. Just—boom. Down. Guess she was an Eli stan too because SAME.
Anyway, here are the pics we took with him and a short video.
PS — That sculpture of a body??? Illegal. Eli allowed me to touched his abs. I swear to God, I could do laundry on them. Grate cheese. File my taxes. I wanted to lick them 🤤
Below the post sat the promised receipts.
A short video—slightly shaky, filmed in real time—capturing Eli laughing awkwardly while a girl dramatically fainted beside him, security already moving in like it was a drill they'd rehearsed.
Then came the selfies.
Eli smiling like pure sunshine, cheeks flushed from the cold, and messy damp hair. One candid shot caught him mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, looking so genuinely happy it almost hurt to look at.
The post detonated.
@Yoyo: OMG YOU'RE SO LUCKY 😭 How was meeting him??
→ @FreeBritney:
Honestly? He was SO kind. Like, ridiculously chill. Exactly how he is on the show. No diva behavior, no ego. It just proves LEAVEN is actually authentic.
@Rumi:
But the real question… did you lick his abs?
→ @FreeBritney:
I EMBARRASSED MYSELF. I literally blurted out that I wanted to lick his abs. I wanted the snow to swallow me whole. But he didn't make it weird at all. He laughed, politely declined, and THANKED me for the compliment 😭 That man is dangerous.
@GoldenHamster:
Just Eli being Eli 🤣🤣🤣 Man looks FOINE though.
@MileyCircus:
Did you ask why they're in Switzerland??
→ @FreeBritney:
Yeah! He said it's kinda like a vacation/retreat. Apparently Mr. Foca treated them so they could heal and get away from all the article drama.
→→ @MileyCircus:
I fully applaud Sir Foca. The way he takes care of his people is insane. They're not even signed yet and they're already treated like royalty.
→→→ @overcaffeinated:
IMAGINE Akesh, Adel, and the other clowns stuck in court while the respectful trainees are out here, skiing and snowboarding in SWITZERLAND. Karma clocked in EARLY 😭😭😭
And just like that, the dam broke.
More posts flooded in.
Different angles. Different slopes. Different trainees.
A shaky clip of Nikola absolutely eating snow on skis while laughing so hard he couldn't stand back up.
A photo of Jordan bundled up like a marshmallow, smiling shyly beside his mom.
Isaac patiently explaining something to a curious local, hands moving animatedly, his parents watching with pride from behind.
Yone mid-air, caught in a perfect jump that looked straight out of a commercial.
And yes—more Eli content. Always more Eli content.
Candid shots. Slow-motion clips. Unintentional thirst traps. Entire timelines fed and hydrated.
The internet, collectively, reached the same conclusions:
• The trainees were genuinely kind, grounded, and warm.
• LEAVEN wasn't manufactured—these boys were real.
• Foca was officially crowned Best Boss Alive.
• Security deserved a raise.
• Fans were surprisingly respectful and proud of each other.
• And Akesh, Adel, and the other former trainees? Getting dragged, roasted, and memed into oblivion while sitting in court.
Nature was healing.
The snow was sparkling.
And the internet?
Absolutely, irrevocably unwell—in the best way possible.