The restaurant was loud.
Too loud.
Silverware clinked against porcelain, glasses tapped together in careless cheers, laughter rose in waves from neighboring tables. It was one of those trendy places students loved — dim lighting, overpriced mocktails, French indie music playing softly in the background.
Adrien sat at the end of the table, posture perfect, expression neutral.
Across from him sat Ji-Won, dressed elegantly as always, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked radiant. Intentional. Like she had spent extra time getting ready.
Around them, a few of their friends from school filled the seats — animated, expressive, loud.
And talking about one thing.
"Did you see it?" one of the girls squealed. "The interview?"
"Of course we saw it," another laughed. "The whole internet saw it."
Adrien kept his gaze on his untouched drink.
"He said he's straight now," one boy added, leaning back in his chair. "That's crazy."
A girl across the table rolled her eyes. "Please. You don't just wake up one day and decide you're not gay anymore."
"Maybe he was experimenting," someone countered. "He said he was bi before."
"Yeah but the way he said it?" another chimed in. "It felt… off."
Adrien stared at the condensation sliding down his glass.
Off.
That was one word for it.
Ji-Won laughed lightly. "I think it's good," she said. "Scandals ruin careers. At least he clarified things."
Adrien's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Clarified.
One of the boys suddenly turned toward him. "You worked with him, right?"
Adrien blinked slowly, dragged back into the conversation.
"Yes."
"What do you think about all that 'no longer gay' stuff?" the boy asked, grinning like he was expecting drama.
The table quieted just slightly.
Adrien felt Ji-Won's eyes on him.
He lifted his glass, took a slow sip, then shrugged.
"I don't care."
A beat of silence.
Then a few chuckles.
"Classic Adrien," someone laughed. "Ice cold."
"Man doesn't get involved in drama," another teased.
The conversation shifted again — to gossip, to fashion week, to exams — but the static remained in Adrien's ears.
Ji-Won nudged him under the table.
He glanced at her.
"You spaced out," she said softly in Korean before switching to French for the group. "Ça va ?" (Are you okay?)
"Yes," he answered smoothly. "Just tired."
She studied him for a second longer than necessary, then smiled.
He gave her a polite one in return.
Inside, he felt nothing.
Or maybe too much.
At the gym across town, Zane slammed his fist into the punching bag harder than necessary.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Sweat clung to his skin, muscles flexing under the harsh white lights. The air smelled like metal and effort.
His friends circled nearby between their own drills.
One of them — Marcus — tossed him a towel.
"Yo," Marcus said, eyeing him. "What was that interview, man?"
Zane didn't stop hitting the bag.
"What about it?"
"You know what about it," another friend snorted. "The 'hundred percent straight' part?"
Zane's jaw tightened.
He stepped back from the bag and wiped his face.
"I didn't lie."
They stared at him.
Marcus raised a brow. "So what? You just magically switched teams?"
Zane's voice hardened. "I'm into girls now."
Silence.
They didn't believe him.
It showed.
Before anyone could push further, Coach Ramirez's voice boomed across the gym.
"Enough. Focus on training. I don't care who's kissing who. You fight in the cage, not on social media."
The tension dissolved slightly.
Zane exhaled slowly.
He appreciated Coach for that.
They resumed drills. Sparring. Cardio.
Zane tried to drown himself in movement.
But his phone buzzed in his locker.
And even though he told himself not to look —
He looked.
Email notification.
Camille Group.
His stomach dropped.
He stepped away and opened it.
We would like to inform you of an upcoming smartwatch campaign focused on athletic performance and recovery. Filming will begin next week.
Relief flickered.
Another campaign.
Another check.
He scrolled.
Another email.
Also from Camille.
His chest tightened as he opened it.
We are disappointed by your recent comments regarding your personal life during the post-match interview. While we respect your privacy, we advise you to avoid discussing personal matters publicly. Our focus is performance and brand alignment. We strongly recommend redirecting attention to your training and upcoming matches. Please refrain from answering paparazzi questions unrelated to your career.
He stared at the screen.
They weren't dropping him.
They were warning him.
He exhaled deeply, tension leaking from his shoulders.
He typed a quick response apologizing and promising to stay professional.
For a moment, he felt steady again.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
His breath hitched.
You think blocking me fixes it?
His blood ran cold.
He hadn't blocked it yet.
His hands shook as he quickly hit block.
Then blocked again when another number appeared.
His heart pounded violently in his chest.
He shoved the phone back into the locker and slammed it shut.
"Zane!" Coach called. "You in or out?"
"I'm in."
He walked back onto the mat.
But his hands weren't steady.
Adrien was back in his penthouse by evening.
He had left the restaurant earlier than the others, claiming he had work.
Now he lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Ji-Won's laughter echoed faintly in his mind.
The table's conversation.
He's straight now.
His phone vibrated beside him.
Zane.
Five messages in a row.
hey
Adrien
how are you
school?
Answer me please
Adrien stared at the screen.
Something twisted in his chest.
He typed slowly.
You alive?
The reply came almost instantly.
yeah I'm fine you?
He blinked.
The quickness.
The eagerness.
He shifted onto his side.
Fine.
Three dots.
Training. You?
Home.
A pause.
Then —
You mad?
Adrien's thumb hovered.
Mad.
At what?
The lie?
The denial?
The fact that it shouldn't matter but did?
No. Why would I be?
Several seconds passed.
Then —
Just asking.
Adrien exhaled softly.
They kept texting.
Small things at first.
School gossip.
Coach being strict.
Ji-Won's complaints.
Marcus's dumb jokes.
Zane told him about the smartwatch campaign.
Adrien teased him about modeling watches now.
Zane sent a picture of his sweaty wrist with the caption: future ambassador.
Adrien found himself smiling.
Actually smiling.
Back at the gym, Zane barely focused on drills anymore.
He kept checking his phone between rounds.
Marcus noticed.
"You're gonna lose your next match at this rate," he muttered.
Zane ignored him, typing quickly.
You should come to a match again.
Adrien rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.
Maybe.
Zane grinned at his phone like an idiot.
Coach whistled sharply.
"Calloway! Phone down!"
"Yes sir!"
He shoved it away.
But seconds later, he checked again.
Another message.
Good. Train or something. You better win.
Zane laughed under his breath.
Oh right. Yes yes I swear.
He hesitated.
Then added —
Don't stop watching.
Adrien read that message twice.
His chest felt tight again.
He locked his phone without replying.
At the gym, Zane forced himself to put the phone deep into his bag.
He needed to focus.
He needed to win.
He needed to keep everything from falling apart.
He threw himself back into training with renewed intensity.
Punch.
Kick.
Dodge.
Sweat poured down his back.
He imagined Dante's smug grin.
He imagined paparazzi flashes.
He imagined Adrien watching from somewhere quiet and distant.
It pushed him harder.
Hours later, Adrien was still on his bed.
The room was dark now.
City lights glowed beyond the glass.
His phone rested on his chest.
He replayed the conversation in his head.
Zane didn't seem angry.
Didn't seem distant.
Didn't seem like someone trying to erase something.
He seemed… relieved.
Happy.
Adrien frowned faintly.
Maybe he overthought everything.
Maybe Zane really was straight now.
Maybe none of it meant anything.
He turned onto his side, pulling the blanket over his shoulder.
This was going too far.
The texting.
The tension.
The way his mood shifted based on Zane's replies.
He closed his eyes.
And still saw him grinning at his phone in some sweaty gym.
Across the city, Zane lay in his own bed.
Exhausted.
Satisfied.
And anxious.
He checked his phone one last time.
No new messages.
He smiled faintly anyway.
Adrien wasn't angry.
That was enough for now.
But beneath that relief, something darker lingered.
The blocked numbers.
The threat.
The photos that could surface anytime.
He stared at the ceiling.
He told himself he could handle it.
He told himself he just had to win.
Win fights.
Win contracts.
Win control.
He closed his eyes.
And thought of Adrien's simple text.
You better win.
Zane smirked softly in the dark.
"Yeah," he whispered to himself.
"I will."