The city outside Zenith's house was alive with movement, but inside, the world felt paused. Draven sat on the couch, hands clasped tightly in his lap, trying to focus on anything other than the lingering tension between him and Zenith. The quiet hum of the refrigerator and faint street noises felt magnified in the stillness, every little sound reminding him that they were alone—yet under the invisible weight of fan scrutiny.
Zenith moved around the kitchen, preparing a simple tea, his movements deliberate and calm. The contrast between Draven's racing heartbeat and Zenith's composed presence made the tension almost unbearable. Draven kept his gaze fixed on the floor, listening to the scrape of the kettle, the soft clink of cups.
"You've been quiet," Zenith finally said, leaning against the counter. His dark eyes caught Draven's, sharp but unreadable.
Draven swallowed, trying to steady his voice. "Just… thinking. About… everything."
"Everything?" Zenith asked, stepping closer. "You mean… last night?"
Draven felt heat rush to his cheeks. He nodded, unable to look up. "Yeah… about that."
Zenith's expression softened slightly, and he sat beside Draven on the couch, leaving just enough space to respect the tension between them. "Draven… I want you to know that you don't have to rush anything. We'll take this slow. But I also can't deny what I feel."
Draven's chest tightened. He wanted to respond, to confess everything—the way his body remembered last night, the way his mind and heart were tangled with Zenith—but fear held him back. Fear of the fans, fear of judgment, fear of what it meant if anyone found out.
"I… I like you," Draven admitted softly, almost to himself. "But I don't know how to… handle it."
Zenith's hand brushed lightly against Draven's, fingers warm, grounding. "Then let me help you. Don't fight it. Don't run. Not from me."
Draven's heartbeat quickened. The temptation to lean closer, to let the tension unravel, was nearly irresistible. He could feel Zenith's presence, steady and commanding, and it called to him in ways he couldn't deny.
They sat in silence for a moment, the unspoken connection stretching between them, thick and electric. Draven finally dared to glance up, meeting Zenith's eyes. That gaze, intense and unwavering, made his chest ache.
Zenith leaned closer, the proximity making Draven shiver. "You don't have to say anything more. Just… feel this. Just us."
Draven's lips parted slightly, caught between fear and desire. He could feel the heat, the pull, the quiet storm building, and he knew that if he let himself, he wouldn't be able to stop.
Outside, the streetlights flickered, fans oblivious to the silent tension behind closed doors. Inside, every glance, every brush of skin, every heartbeat was magnified. The world could wait. For now, it was just them—tangled in quiet storms, unspoken desires, and a secret that was theirs alone.
And Draven knew that nothing after this would ever be simple again.