The river reflected the city lights like scattered stars, and Draven walked beside Zenith in comfortable silence. The night air was cool, brushing against his skin, grounding him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. This wasn't loud or dramatic. It was quiet, careful—real.
Zenith slowed his steps slightly so they walked in sync. He didn't touch Draven outright, but the closeness was intentional. Protective. Present.
"You're quiet," Zenith said softly.
Draven huffed a small laugh. "I'm just… thinking. This feels strange."
"Bad strange?" Zenith asked, glancing at him.
"No," Draven replied quickly. "Good strange. Like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to… but I don't regret it."
Zenith smiled at that, the corner of his lips lifting. "I was worried you'd think this was too much."
Draven shook his head. "No. I needed this. I needed to remember I'm still just… me. Not someone who has to worry about cameras or fans or rumors."
Zenith stopped walking.
Draven turned, confused. "What—"
Zenith looked at him seriously. "With me, you're just you. I won't let anything else touch this. Not yet."
The words settled deep in Draven's chest, heavier than any confession. He swallowed, nodding slowly. "I trust you."
They stood there for a moment, the sounds of the river filling the silence. Zenith hesitated, then carefully reached out, his fingers brushing against Draven's sleeve—not grabbing, not pulling. Just asking.
Draven didn't pull away.
Zenith's fingers slid down until they intertwined with Draven's, gentle but firm. Draven's heart skipped, but he squeezed back, grounding himself in the warmth of Zenith's hand.
A laugh suddenly echoed from farther down the river.
Draven stiffened instantly, instinct kicking in. He dropped Zenith's hand and took a step back, scanning the area. Two people passed by, drunk and loud, completely uninterested in them—but the damage was done.
"I'm sorry," Draven muttered, chest tight.
Zenith shook his head. "Don't be. That fear… it's real. We'll work around it."
They continued walking, a little more distance between them now, but the connection didn't fade. If anything, it grew heavier, more deliberate.
When they reached a quieter stretch of the river, Zenith spoke again. "Draven… I don't expect anything from you. Not kisses, not promises. Just… honesty."
Draven stopped and faced him. "Then let me be honest."
Zenith waited.
"I want to kiss you again," Draven admitted, voice low. "But I'm scared I won't be able to stop."
Zenith's breath hitched, just slightly. "Then we won't. Not tonight."
Draven stared at him, surprised. "You're okay with that?"
"I'm okay with waiting," Zenith said softly. "As long as you don't run."
Draven didn't answer with words. He stepped closer instead, resting his forehead lightly against Zenith's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Zenith froze for a second, then relaxed, carefully resting his chin against Draven's hair.
They stayed like that for a long moment—no kisses, no touching beyond what felt safe. Just breathing each other in.
When they finally pulled apart, Draven felt lighter. Still scared. Still cautious. But steadier.
"I should go," Draven said quietly.
Zenith nodded. "I'll walk you partway."
Before they separated, Zenith spoke again. "Next time… I'll find somewhere even safer."
Draven smiled softly. "I'll come."
As Draven walked home later that night, he pulled out his phone and typed a message with shaky fingers.
Draven: Aiven… I went on a date with Zenith. It was quiet. I liked it more than I thought I would.
The reply came fast.
Aiven: I knew it. Just don't disappear on me, okay?
Draven smiled to himself. I won't.
Somewhere across the city, Zenith stared at his phone, rereading the last message Draven had sent him earlier.
Draven: Thank you… for being patient with me.
Zenith typed back only three words.
Zenith: Always. For you.
And for the first time, the secret didn't feel like a burden. It felt like something precious—something worth protecting.