Draven stopped reading comments entirely.
Not because they stopped coming—but because they stopped feeling like words.
They became noise.
A constant, suffocating hum that followed him everywhere: in the practice room, in the hallway mirrors, even in silence. His phone stayed face-down on the table, untouched, as if it might bite him if he reached for it again.
Aiven watched him carefully.
"You're shrinking," Aiven said one afternoon, arms crossed as Draven sat on the edge of the couch, staring at nothing.
Draven didn't look up. "I'm adapting."
Aiven frowned. "That's not the same thing."
Draven gave a small, tired smile. "It is when you don't have a choice."
Zenith hadn't slept.
He stood alone in the ECLYPSE practice room long after the others had left, lights dimmed, sweat long dried on his skin. His phone buzzed again—another notification, another warning from management, another spike in trending tags that included his name and Draven's in the same breath.
Velric's message sat unread at the top.
We need to talk.
Zenith already knew what that meant.
He closed his eyes, pressing his palms against the mirror.
For years, he'd been trained to endure. To smile. To redirect. To let fans believe they were loved personally, individually—because that illusion paid for everything.
But Draven wasn't an illusion.
Draven was real.
And they were hurting him.
The breaking point came quietly.
Not with a threat or a headline—but with Draven standing in Zenith's kitchen the next morning, wearing borrowed clothes that hung a little too loose, eyes ringed with exhaustion.
"I think I should step back," Draven said calmly, stirring his untouched coffee.
Zenith froze. "From what?"
"From you," Draven answered, voice steady but hollow. "From public spaces. From practice rooms. From anything that gives them ammunition."
Zenith's chest tightened. "You're not a weapon."
"They think I am," Draven said softly. "And I won't let them burn you through me."
Zenith crossed the room in two steps. "I never asked you to disappear."
Draven looked up then. "But they're asking you to choose."
Silence stretched between them.
Zenith realized, with terrifying clarity, that Draven already expected to lose.
Velric didn't look surprised when Zenith walked into his office unannounced.
"You're trending again," Velric said smoothly. "This time globally."
Zenith didn't sit. "I'm going public."
Velric's fingers paused mid-scroll. "No, you're not."
"I am," Zenith said flatly. "About Draven. About us."
Velric leaned back. "Do you understand what that costs?"
Zenith's voice was sharp. "Do you understand what silence costs?"
Velric studied him for a long moment. "You'll fracture the fanbase."
"They're already fractured," Zenith shot back. "They just chose him as the fault line."
Velric sighed. "This is emotional. You'll regret it."
Zenith smiled humorlessly. "I already regret not doing it sooner."
Draven found out the same way the world did.
Through his phone.
A notification from Aiven, just three words:
Turn on live.
His heart pounded as he opened the link.
Zenith stood alone in front of a plain black background. No makeup. No stylists. No script scrolling in his eyes.
Just him.
"I'm not here as an idol right now," Zenith said calmly. "I'm here as a person."
Draven's breath caught.
"There's someone I love," Zenith continued. "And lately, I've watched people hurt him in my name."
Comments flooded in instantly—some furious, some shocked, some pleading.
"I won't tolerate it," Zenith said, voice firm. "Not from fans, not from anyone. If supporting me means tearing down the person I love, then you were never supporting me."
Draven's hands trembled.
"I won't hide him," Zenith said. "And I won't apologize for choosing him."
The live ended abruptly.
The internet exploded.
The fallout was immediate.
Sponsors paused. Management panicked. Hashtags split into warzones—some defending Zenith's honesty, others declaring betrayal.
But for the first time since this began, Draven wasn't alone in the fire.
Zenith came home that night exhausted, eyes red, shoulders heavy.
Draven stood in the doorway, stunned. "You didn't have to—"
Zenith crossed the room and pulled him into his arms.
"I did," he said quietly into Draven's hair. "Because love doesn't survive cowardice."
Draven's breath shook. "They're going to come harder now."
Zenith held him tighter. "Then they'll meet both of us."
Somewhere else, Velric watched the numbers settle into new patterns.
Losses.
Gains.
Chaos.
And possibility.
He smiled faintly.
Because the line had been crossed—and once idols stop obeying fear, the industry has no choice but to adapt… or retaliate.
And ECLYPSE had never been allowed to choose freely.
Not until now.