Draven didn't answer Zenith's messages that morning.
Not because he didn't want to—but because every time his phone lit up, his chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. The words from the night before replayed over and over in his head, tangled with the comments he hadn't stopped reading.
If he really cared, he'd leave.
He hated how easily that sentence rooted itself inside him.
At the café, Aiven noticed immediately.
"You're quiet," Aiven said as he wiped down the counter, eyes flicking toward Draven for the third time in ten minutes.
"I'm fine," Draven replied automatically.
Aiven stopped wiping. "You're lying."
Draven sighed and leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just… need space today."
Aiven frowned. "From who?"
Draven didn't answer. He didn't have to.
Aiven's expression softened, but there was something firm behind it too. "You don't get to disappear without talking to me first."
Draven met his eyes. "I don't want to drag Zenith down with me."
Aiven's jaw tightened. "You're not dragging him anywhere. He chose you."
Draven looked away. "Fans don't see it that way."
By noon, the posts had multiplied.
A blurry photo taken from across the street—Draven walking beside Zenith, heads close together. The caption didn't name him, but the comments did.
That's him.
Why is he still around?
Zenith looks exhausted. Wonder why.
Draven scrolled until his hands started shaking, then shoved his phone into his pocket like it burned.
When Zenith finally showed up at the café, Draven was already stepping back.
"I should go," Draven said quickly, grabbing his jacket.
Zenith blinked. "We just got here."
"I know. I just—" Draven stopped himself, forcing a breath. "I don't want to be seen with you right now."
The words landed heavier than he meant them to.
Zenith stared at him. "What?"
Draven swallowed. "For your sake."
"For my sake?" Zenith echoed, disbelief flashing across his face. "You think this helps?"
Draven didn't trust his voice, so he shook his head and turned away.
Aiven watched the exchange silently, heart sinking.
Zenith didn't follow immediately. He stood there, fists clenched, eyes dark, until Draven disappeared out the door.
Then he exhaled sharply. "He's pushing me away."
Aiven nodded. "Because he thinks he's protecting you."
Zenith laughed once, bitter. "From what? Loving me?"
Aiven hesitated. "From the damage."
Zenith looked down at the table. "I didn't ask him to carry this alone."
That evening, Zenith finally cornered Draven outside his apartment.
Draven froze when he saw him, keys halfway to the door.
"You're avoiding me," Zenith said quietly.
Draven didn't deny it. "I need time."
"To decide what?" Zenith asked.
Draven's voice cracked. "Whether I'm worth this."
Zenith stepped closer. "You don't get to decide that by listening to people who don't know you."
"They know enough," Draven snapped, then immediately looked guilty. "They see what I am."
Zenith's eyes burned. "I see who you are."
Draven looked at him then—really looked—and the hurt in Zenith's face almost broke him.
"I can't watch you lose everything because of me," Draven whispered.
Zenith shook his head slowly. "And I can't watch you disappear because of fear."
They stood there, the space between them vibrating with everything unsaid.
Finally, Draven took a step back. "Please… just give me a little space."
Zenith nodded, even though it clearly hurt. "Fine."
But as he turned away, he added softly, "Just don't decide my future without me."
Across town, Velric read the latest reports and smiled thinly.
Distance.
Doubt.
Fear.
It was working.
All he needed now was one more push.
That night, Draven lay awake, staring at his ceiling.
Zenith's words echoed in his head.
Aiven's voice followed close behind.
You're not alone.
But fear was louder.
And fear, Draven was learning, could be just as cruel as hate.