Aiven noticed it first in the silence.
Zenith wasn't usually quiet. He wasn't loud either, but there was always something steady about him—an unspoken confidence, a presence that filled the room without effort. Today, though, he sat across from Aiven at the small convenience-store table, hands wrapped around a can of iced coffee he hadn't touched.
"You're staring," Aiven said gently.
Zenith blinked, then looked away. "Sorry."
Aiven hesitated. "You okay?"
Zenith exhaled, long and slow, like he'd been holding it in all day. "Can I ask you something… as Aiven, not as Raze's boyfriend?"
Aiven nodded immediately. "Of course."
Zenith's jaw tightened. "When you realized you liked Raze… how did you know?"
Aiven's heart skipped—not in fear, but recognition. "I didn't know at first. I just knew he felt… different. Like the world got louder and quieter at the same time."
Zenith let out a short, breathless laugh. "That's annoying."
Aiven smiled softly. "Who?"
Zenith stared at the table. "Draven."
The name landed heavy between them.
Aiven didn't speak right away. He waited.
"I like him," Zenith said quietly. Not dramatic. Not rushed. Just honest. "I didn't plan to. I tried not to. But it's there."
Aiven's chest warmed. "Does he know?"
Zenith shook his head. "No."
"Do you think…" Aiven chose his words carefully. "Do you think he likes you back?"
Zenith's mouth curved into something sad. "No."
That answer came too fast.
Aiven frowned slightly. "Why?"
"He flirts with everyone," Zenith said. "But he never lets me in. Not really. And if there's one thing I've learned in this industry—it's that hope without proof is dangerous."
Aiven reached across the table, resting his hand over Zenith's. "Sometimes people protect themselves by pretending they don't feel anything."
Zenith looked up at him then. "You sound like you're talking about him."
"I am," Aiven admitted. "And maybe about you too."
---
Later, Aiven returned to Draven's apartment, a heaviness settling over him.
Draven was already there, sprawled on the couch, phone in hand. "You're late."
"I was with Zenith," Aiven said casually, slipping off his shoes.
Something flickered across Draven's face—too quick to catch.
Aiven hesitated, then spoke carefully. "He… told me he likes you."
Draven froze, jaw tightening. "What?"
"He asked me… I mean, he told me as a friend. I didn't ask anything else, I just—" Aiven stopped, nervous.
Draven stood abruptly, pacing. "Aiven! You don't ever ask me things like that!"
Aiven flinched. "I just… I wanted to know if you liked him back."
Draven's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained sharp. "You don't ask about feelings like that. Not mine, not anyone's. You don't meddle in things you can't control."
"I wasn't meddling," Aiven protested softly. "I just… wanted to understand."
Draven sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, you have no idea how complicated people like us can be. And Zenith… he's not simple. You asking me that—" He shook his head. "Don't do it again."
Aiven lowered his gaze, cheeks burning. "I'm sorry."
Draven crouched slightly, reaching to place a hand over Aiven's shoulder. "I get it. You care. But some things… some feelings… they're not yours to figure out. Got it?"
Aiven nodded, swallowing hard. "Got it."
Draven's hand stayed briefly on his shoulder, a reminder of his presence, his protection, his… ownership, unspoken but undeniable.
Aiven couldn't help but glance toward him, heart beating faster. "I just… I want him to be happy," he admitted softly.
Draven gave a low, almost imperceptible nod. "And so do I. But some things… they need to happen in their own time. Not because you push them."
Aiven bit his lip, knowing Draven was right. He always was.
The night settled around them quietly. No more questions. No more pushing. Just the weight of everything unsaid—and the knowledge that everything was changing, slowly, quietly, and irreversibly.
And somewhere, across the city, Velric was watching, smiling faintly.
He didn't need to act yet. The pieces were moving exactly where he wanted them.