The café was buzzing with its usual morning energy, sunlight spilling across the wooden tables and the smell of fresh pastries filling the air. Aiven moved behind the counter, carefully preparing drinks, trying to ignore the growing tension in the room.
Draven stood near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes scanning every customer. He wasn't a regular, didn't need coffee, didn't care about small talk—he was here to protect Aiven, and that alone kept him on edge.
The bell above the door jingled, and a group of girls wearing Zenith fan merchandise stepped inside. Their eyes immediately locked on Draven.
"That's him!" one hissed, pointing directly at him. "He's hanging around Aiven! He's trying to get close to Zenith!"
Draven's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?" His voice was calm but edged with steel.
"You know exactly what we mean!" another girl snapped. "We saw him leaving buildings, always nearby! He's using Aiven to get to Zenith! He doesn't belong there!"
Aiven immediately stepped forward, hands raised. "Please, you're misunderstanding—"
Draven moved slightly in front of him, blocking her view, and his voice dropped lower, sharp and dangerous. "I don't care if you misunderstand. You're crossing a line. Leave now."
The girls froze. They hadn't expected him to be so… commanding.
Before they could answer, a shadow fell over them. Zenith entered the café quietly, his calm presence immediately shifting the room's energy. He stopped just behind Draven, dark eyes scanning the girls.
"I said leave," Zenith's voice was low, deliberate, and sharp, carrying authority in every syllable.
The fan group hesitated, glancing nervously at each other. One muttered, "Fine… we're leaving," and they backed out toward the door, angry but clearly intimidated by the quiet power Zenith radiated.
Once they were gone, Draven exhaled slowly, shoulders releasing tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "That's done."
Aiven came up beside them, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I didn't want this to get messy."
"You were the target," Draven said softly, glancing at Zenith. "Not me."
Zenith reached out and rested a hand lightly on Draven's shoulder. "I've got you," he said. "You don't have to face this alone."
Draven's fingers curled slightly into his own shirt, a mixture of relief, pride, and lingering tension. He wanted to tell Zenith everything—the frustration, the fear, the adrenaline—but he couldn't. Not here.
For a few moments, the three of them stood together, quiet but united. Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the tension inside. But inside, they all knew the storm wasn't over. The world was watching, and secrets, especially those involving idols, were never safe.
Draven's gaze flicked to Zenith. A warmth spread through his chest—quiet, steady, unshakable. And in that moment, he realized just how much he cared for him, and how much he needed him.