The backlash didn't look the way Draven expected.
It wasn't subtle, and it wasn't slow.
By the time he opened his phone that morning, his name was already everywhere—stitched into threads, screenshots, and clipped videos taken out of context.
Not Aiven.
Him.
"So this is Zenith's boyfriend?"
"He's so ordinary it hurts."
"Zenith deserves better than some nobody dancer."
Draven's fingers went numb as he scrolled.
They weren't guessing anymore. Someone had connected the dots—practice room access, late-night schedules, a blurred photo taken from too far away to mean anything but close enough for fans to decide it meant everything.
Aiven noticed immediately.
"Draven," he said carefully, watching his expression shift. "Stop scrolling."
Draven didn't answer.
"They're not even hiding it," Draven said finally, voice flat. "They're angry at me. Like I stole something."
Aiven frowned. "Because you did."
Draven looked up.
"Zenith," Aiven clarified. "In their eyes."
At the ECLYPSE building, Zenith stood frozen in front of Velric's screen.
The comments were brutal.
Not protective. Not worried.
Possessive.
"He's using Zenith."
"He's holding him back."
"Zenith changed after him."
Zenith's jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Raze leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "They're blaming you through him."
Zenith exhaled sharply. "They're punishing him for loving me."
Velric didn't look impressed—or surprised.
"This is why relationships are liabilities," Velric said calmly. "Fans want ownership, Zenith. Not honesty."
Zenith turned on him. "You knew this would happen."
Velric met his gaze. "Of course."
Raze stepped forward. "Then shut it down."
Velric smiled faintly. "Why would I? This tells me who you'll protect when it hurts."
Draven stopped going online by afternoon.
But it followed him anyway.
Whispers in the hallway. A trainee refusing to meet his eyes. Someone muttering "gold-digger" under their breath like it was a joke.
Draven laughed once—short, sharp. "They don't even know me."
Aiven reached for him. "Fans don't want to know. They want to own."
Draven rubbed his face. "I trained for years. Bled for this. And now I'm just… 'Zenith's mistake.'"
Aiven's voice softened. "You're not."
Draven looked away. "They think I'm dragging him down."
That night, Zenith called.
Draven almost didn't answer.
Almost.
"I'm sorry," Zenith said immediately. "I swear I'm trying to—"
Draven cut him off gently. "Don't apologize for loving me."
Silence.
Then Zenith's voice cracked. "They're threatening boycotts. Saying I should choose."
Draven's chest tightened. "And?"
Zenith didn't hesitate. "There is no choice."
Draven closed his eyes.
Somewhere, far away, fans were typing hate with shaking devotion—convinced they were protecting Zenith while tearing apart the man he chose.
And Velric watched the numbers rise, satisfied.
Because now the question wasn't who was dating whom.
It was how much pain love could survive before it broke.