Draven's phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with messages from Aiven. "Where are you? Are you okay?" "Don't disappear on me…" His thumb hovered over the reply button, but he couldn't answer. Not yet. He was on his way to Zenith's house, and the thought of anyone knowing—even a whisper—made his chest tighten.
The street was unusually quiet, the night air crisp against his skin. Every step Draven took felt heavier than the last, the anticipation coiling inside him like a spring ready to snap. His heart raced at the thought of Zenith, at the private, unspoken connection that pulsed between them. But the fear of discovery shadowed that excitement. Zenith's fans were ruthless, far more toxic than Raze's. Protective. Obsessed. Merciless toward anyone who dared come close.
A sudden flash of light made him freeze. Across the street, hidden behind a tree, a figure crouched with a camera phone aimed directly at him. Panic shot through his chest. He ducked instinctively, heart hammering. They're everywhere, he thought. They know.
He cursed under his breath, trying to calm himself. Every step now felt like walking a tightrope, one wrong move away from being exposed.
When he reached Zenith's front door, his hands shook slightly. He raised his hand to knock, then paused, trying to steady his breath. Before he could knock, the door swung open.
"You're late," Zenith said, his tone soft but carrying that low, commanding edge Draven had grown to recognize. He stepped aside, letting Draven enter. The warmth of the house, the scent of faint cedar and fresh linen, was a sharp contrast to the cold tension outside.
"I… I didn't want anyone to see me coming," Draven admitted, his voice tight.
Zenith's eyes softened as he closed the door behind them. "I know. But it's already complicated. The world out there doesn't understand the quiet between us."
Draven nodded, leaning against the doorframe. "I can't… I can't handle them seeing me with you yet. Not like this."
Zenith moved closer, fingers brushing against Draven's shoulder, grounding him. "Then we'll be careful. Just us tonight. No one else."
Draven felt a shiver run down his spine. It wasn't just the memory of last night—the touch, the fire, the unspoken connection—but the weight of what could happen if fans or anyone else saw them. The toxic energy from Zenith's fandom was palpable even in his imagination.
Across the street, the hidden fan's phone buzzed with notifications. The photo they'd taken—Draven entering Zenith's house—was already spreading among the more obsessive corners of the fan forums. Comments appeared almost instantly:
"Draven? Who is he?"
"Get away from my Zenith!"
"Why is he at his house? He's not worthy!"
Draven's chest tightened as he imagined the storm of messages that would await them in the morning. His phone vibrated, but he didn't check it. He didn't want to give in to panic.
Inside, Zenith guided him to the living room, their shoulders brushing lightly, a subtle warmth that contrasted with Draven's tension. "You don't have to think about them right now," Zenith murmured. "Tonight is ours. No one else. Understand?"
Draven swallowed, nodding, but the tight knot in his chest didn't loosen. He wanted to relax, wanted to lose himself in the quiet of the house and the safety of Zenith's presence—but the knowledge that fans could be lurking, waiting to expose them, made his thoughts jagged.
Zenith noticed the way Draven's hands clenched at his sides. He reached out, resting a steady hand over Draven's. "Breathe," he whispered. "We'll deal with the world later. Tonight, we only have this moment."
For a long time, they sat like that, silence stretching between them, heavy and charged. Every sound outside—the distant hum of traffic, a car door slamming—made Draven flinch, reminded him that the outside world was watching.
Finally, Draven exhaled, resting his head slightly against Zenith's shoulder. "I… I just don't want to lose control," he admitted, voice barely audible. "Or for anyone to see this. Or… or judge you—or me."
Zenith's thumb brushed lightly over Draven's knuckles. "Then don't think about it. Just trust me. Trust us. We'll figure out the rest when the time comes."
The tension lingered, but slowly, ever so slowly, Draven felt the tightness in his chest ease, replaced by a cautious warmth. The storm outside was still waiting, but for this one night, he could breathe.
He glanced at Zenith, dark eyes softened in the dim lamplight, and realized just how dangerous and irresistible this secret connection had become. One touch, one look, and everything else faded.
Outside, the street remained quiet, but the world was already watching. And Draven knew, deep down, that the fan storm was only the beginning.