Come and find me!

by REENN

Summary:

They say everyone gets a Tiny between the ages of twelve and twenty-five. A miniature version of your soulmate, delivered in a little metal box with a glowing bar that measures how much they love you. Sounds magical, right?

Kaelix's still waiting. Still no box. Still no Tiny.

He’s watched friends meet theirs, seen the glow that sparks when two Tinys find each other. Some people cry. Others run. Some fall in love.
Kaelix waits—and wonders if something’s wrong with him. Or if maybe his Tiny decided he wasn’t worth the trip.

(More tags will be added)

Chapter 1: Introduction

1. What are Tinys?
Tinys are miniature (10–12 cm) versions of a person’s soulmate.

2. Arrival of the Tiny:
Between ages 12–25, a metal box appears at the person’s window containing their Tiny.

3. Love Meter:
The box has a love bar that measures how much love the Tiny feels for their owner. If it hits 0, the Tiny may leave forever.

4. Purpose of Tinys:
Tinys can sense their other half. When both Tinys meet, a light from their chests confirms the soulmates are united.

5. Separation:
Once united, it's hard—but not impossible—to separate them. It’s important to follow guidelines to avoid harm.

6. Tiny’s Box Interior:
Each box contains a personalized, fully equipped living space for the Tiny. Some boxes have transparent walls, but most are private.

7. Rejecting a Tiny:
If the owner doesn’t want their Tiny, they can tell it, and the Tiny will leave shortly after.

8. Soulmates Are Not Forced Together:
Even if Tinys meet, soulmates can choose not to be romantically involved. Agreements can be made to ensure the Tinys still get time together.

9. Living Without Finding the Other Half:
Tinys can live with their owner without meeting their soulmate, but long-term separation can cause illness or even death from sadness.

10. Healing and Care:
If well cared for, a Tiny can recover and live happily even without their other half.

11. Basic Needs:
Tinys require food, water, hygiene, and above all—love. Lack of love lowers the bar and harms the Tiny.

Chapter 2: First meeting

Summary:

Kaelix being miserable for a looooong time (don't worry, he'll feel better).

They say everyone gets a Tiny between the ages of twelve and twenty-five. A miniature version of your soulmate, delivered in a little metal box with a glowing bar that measures how much they love you. Sounds magical, right?

Kaelix's still waiting. Still no box. Still no Tiny.

He’s watched friends meet theirs, seen the glow that sparks when two Tinys find each other. Some people cry. Others run. Some fall in love.
Kaelix waits—and wonders if something’s wrong with him. Or if maybe his Tiny decided he wasn’t worth the trip.

—

Kaelix woke up to the soft hum of his alarm, a single note arching through the air like a ghost. Light filtered through the thin curtains of his small bedroom, dyeing his bed in soft golden tones. The digital clock read 7:00 a.m., and the outside world felt still, silent, as if holding its breath. He pulled back the covers, feeling the morning chill on his skin.

Today was just another day in the chaos of university life, the anticipation of each class woven into the tapestry of his existence.

He slid out of bed with heavy steps and a mind still wrapped in fog. The cold floor sent a slight shiver through him, a tangible reminder that once again, he was alone.

The automatic coffee maker grumbled softly as it turned on, and while the bitter aroma of coffee filled the tiny apartment, Kaelix leaned against the counter, staring out the window as if waiting for something — anything — to break the monotony of his routine.

Nothing. Just the same quiet street, the same trees lazily swaying in the May breeze.

He took the hot mug in his hands, seeking comfort in its familiar weight. His thoughts, like every morning, drifted to the question that never truly left him:
Where is my Tiny?

It wasn’t that he was desperate — or so he told himself. But with every birthday that passed, every box that found its way into someone else’s hands, a little piece of hope seemed to fade. He couldn’t help it. A part of him — small, stubborn — still believed in the silent promise that the system implied: that somewhere, someone was waiting for him too.

He finished his coffee and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Outside, the world was beginning to stir. Cars, footsteps, voices. But in Kaelix’s chest, the silence remained — like a space reserved.

For someone who had yet to arrive.

And yet, today… something in the air felt different.

As he walked across campus, the sky began to cloud over with pale gray clouds, like someone had brushed wet watercolor across the blue. The air carried that indefinable scent, a mix of earth and electricity, that announces a storm still distant.

Kaelix cursed inwardly. He should’ve brought an umbrella.

—

When he returned home, Kaelix was fed up with his feelings. The professor had been absent, the rain had caught him off guard, and he’d stumbled on the building’s stairs. He let out a long sigh, dropping his backpack to the floor as he knelt down and buried his face in his arms.

“Ah, Kaelix, you’re hopeless.”

The silence of the apartment wrapped around him like a damp blanket. Only the soft tapping of rain against the windows and his own uneven breathing could be heard. His clothes still clung to his skin, cold, but he had no energy to change.
Not now.

Kaelix stayed there on the floor, face buried in his arms. He could feel frustration burning behind his eyes, threatening to spill over as tears — but he didn’t even have the strength for that.

“It’s always the same.”

After a while, Kaelix forced himself to get up. The cold was starting to seep into his bones, and if he didn’t shower soon, he’d probably end up sick. He dragged himself to the bathroom without turning on the lights, letting the dimness envelop him.

The hot water took a while to come, but when it finally did, Kaelix let it pour over his head, washing away the exhaustion, the sadness, and that sense of being out of sync with the world.

He didn’t think. He just existed.

The steam fogged up the mirror and his reflection became blurry, almost unrecognizable.

He got out, dried off without rush, and put on an old t-shirt. He wasn’t hungry. The thought of cooking or even reheating something felt absurd. He collapsed onto the bed as if the weight of the day had emptied him from the inside.

And just like that, he fell asleep.

—

A sharp thud woke him. Not too loud, but enough to pull him from sleep.

Kaelix blinked, confused. The room was dim, lit only by the grayish glow filtering through the window. The clock read 2:43 a.m.

He stayed still, holding his breath.

Another sound.
A soft click, like something metallic opening.

Kaelix, confused, sat up in bed and turned on the light on his nightstand, too disoriented to think clearly.

The warm light filled the room, banishing the shadows and revealing the everyday mess: clothes on the chair, a half-empty mug on the shelf, scattered notes. All normal.

Except for one thing.

Kaelix squinted. And that’s when he saw it.

The box.

It was on his desk — he didn’t remember seeing it there when he went to sleep. But now, under the warm light, it looked like something pulled from another world.

It was made of a dull, slightly greenish metal, with reflections that shifted subtly depending on the angle: aged silver, smoky gray, and sometimes a flash of red, as if the surface was breathing. It had no visible locks, hinges, or manufacturer marks. Just a thin line around its edge, like the seam of a carefully sealed lid.

On one side, a small luminous bar pulsed with a calm rhythm. It wasn’t a defined color, more like a glow between warm pink and pale gold — like the first light of dawn trapped in crystal. Just above the bar, his name was engraved in clean, curved lettering:

Kaelix.

The engraving didn’t look carved, but rather printed directly into the metal like an eternal imprint.
There was something organic about the design, as if the box had been built for him and only for him.

The lid was now slightly open, parted by a few centimeters. And from inside, a faint warmth emanated — comforting.

Kaelix took a step toward it. He didn’t dare touch it yet.

Something moved inside.

He swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly as, without thinking too much, he gently pushed the lid back.

The inside of the box was not what he expected.

From the outside, it seemed like a simple metal container, but upon opening it, it was like peering into another universe. There were no cables or visible mechanisms. Instead, the interior unfolded like a small living room, with walls that seemed to breathe soft, warm light.

Everything was perfectly sized for someone the size of a doll, yet had the detail and complexity of a real home: a tiny bed covered with miniature sheets, a bookshelf with books no larger than postage stamps, a table with a thimble-sized cup.

The floor looked like wood, though when he briefly touched it with the tip of his finger, it felt soft — like linen. At the far end, a translucent wall emitted a milky glow, as if it contained a captured sunrise. And it smelled… like coffee and something slightly sweet. Something strangely familiar.

Kaelix stood there, awestruck, almost enchanted, unsure if he was dreaming.
That place wasn’t a simple box.
It was a home.

And then he saw it: a shadow slipped quickly between the bed and the bookshelf. Someone else was inside.

Someone small.

Before he could say anything, the tiny being approached the opening with unsteady steps and, climbing the edge with visible effort, emerged from the box with short, uneven breaths.

It was a boy.
Small, fragile, real.

And Kaelix couldn’t look away.

Notes:

Hi! I'm a little nervous about sharing my work here. English isn't my first language, so please be kind. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!
Feel free to leave a comment—I'm doing my best and every word means a lot.
See you around!

Chapter 3: Getting to know each other

Summary:

Kaelix and Freo are starting to get along! Yippee!!!!!

Kaelix couldn’t stop staring at him.

The tiny figure, now clearly a boy barely eleven centimeters tall, froze for a moment when their eyes met. The silence between them was almost reverent, charged with a delicate and fragile electricity.

But then, the Tiny flinched. His eyes widened in panic, and his breathing quickened.

He let out a barely audible squeak and immediately stepped back.

Kaelix remained still, unsure of what to say or do. The Tiny stumbled on the edge of the box as he backed away and, with clumsy agility, turned and tried to hide again inside the lit interior of his tiny room.

“Wait,” Kaelix whispered, afraid to scare him more if he raised his voice.

But the Tiny had already slipped behind the miniature bed, only a tuft of green hair peeking out from the side.
The lid of the box trembled, as if responding to the little inhabitant’s distress.

Kaelix swallowed hard.

He didn’t know how to calm him down or what he was supposed to say.
He only knew that, after years of waiting for something that never seemed to come...
It was finally here.

And the last thing he wanted was for his Tiny to be afraid of him.

Kaelix slowly knelt beside the desk, careful with every movement, as if any sudden gesture might make the tiny being vanish.

“Hey…” he said softly, his voice barely a murmur. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Silence.

The Tiny’s light hair still peeked out from behind the bed. Kaelix could see he was trembling slightly.

“You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to…” he added with a shaky sigh. “I just… I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Nothing.

Kaelix rested his arms on the edge of the desk and let his forehead fall against them, exhausted. The contact with the warm wood helped him stay grounded.

“Honestly… I’m just as confused as you are.” He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I thought the box would never come. I’d stopped expecting it. And now you’re here… and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

He stayed there in silence a few moments longer. He wasn’t trying to pressure. He just wanted him to know he was there.

“I won’t touch you. Or force you to do anything. I just… if you want to come out, even a little, I’d be really happy to meet you.”

Something moved.

A pair of cautious eyes, shining under the dim light, peeked out from the side of the bed. Kaelix barely lifted his head, just enough to offer a tired but sincere smile.

“Hi,” he said, almost in a breath. “I’m Kaelix.”

The silence stretched a moment longer. Then, the little one moved a bit more, coming just slightly out of hiding. His steps were careful, as if each one weighed the risk of getting too close.

Kaelix didn’t move. He just held his gaze, with the same gentleness one uses to watch a shooting star: knowing it could vanish if you wished too hard.

The Tiny stopped near the edge of the box, just a few centimeters from Kaelix. He was still trembling slightly, but he no longer seemed as scared. His eyes were wide and bright, full of emotions hard to read.

Then he made a small sound.
A sweet, soft click, almost like a pebble falling into water. Then another, higher-pitched, like a questioning snap.

Kaelix frowned slightly, not understanding, but didn’t interrupt.

The Tiny tilted his head. Took another step.
And then, with visible effort, his lips parted.

The voice that came out was barely audible, a whisper broken by fear and shyness. But it was clear.

“Freo…”

Kaelix straightened a bit. His eyes widened just slightly, holding his breath.

“Freo?” he repeated carefully.

The Tiny nodded once, as if even that gesture were too intimate a confession.

And then, just like that, he stepped back a couple of steps —but didn’t hide again. He sat near the box’s edge, crossing his tiny legs, as if finally accepting that he was where he was meant to be.

Kaelix brought a hand to his chest, where something warm was beginning to stir, deep inside.

“Freo…” he repeated once more, in a whisper that almost sounded like a prayer.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone.

—

The sun lazily filtered through the curtains, casting golden lines across the wooden floor. The room was calm, bathed in that warm light that only appears on slow mornings. A faint breeze rustled the papers on the desk, but everything else seemed suspended in a new calm.

Kaelix woke up slowly, blinking heavily. It took him a few seconds to remember the night before. The knock. The box. The tiny being who had spoken his name.

Freo.

He sat up suddenly, heart pounding. He looked at the desk.

There he was.

Freo was sleeping soundly in the tiny bed inside the metal box, wrapped in a tiny blanket that looked like soft cotton. His body was curled up, hands near his face, and his expression —despite being so small— was peaceful. One of his little ears peeked out from the tousled strands of hair, twitching slightly with every exhale.

Kaelix held his breath, as if any sound might break the stillness of that moment. He tiptoed closer, resting his arms on the edge of the desk. The box was still open, revealing its carefully designed interior: miniature furniture, a lit lamp casting a warm amber glow, details that seemed impossible at that scale.

Then his eyes landed on the metal panel of the box.

The bar.

Last night, it had barely glowed, like a dead line. But now…

Now a small strip of light pulsed faintly, rising just slightly above zero. Not much, but enough for Kaelix to know he hadn’t dreamed it.

Freo stayed.

Kaelix let out a low, incredulous laugh, placing a hand over his chest. The warmth of that tiny light was more comforting than any morning sun.

“Thank you,” he whispered, barely audible, not knowing if he was speaking to the universe or the tiny being sleeping before him.

And then he decided today was going to be a good day.

No matter what it brought, he would begin it with care.

With one last glance at the tiny sleeping figure, Kaelix stepped carefully away from the desk, determined not to wake him. His steps were soft, almost reverent, as he headed to the kitchen.

He didn’t know exactly what Tinys ate, but he remembered reading in forums —back when he still waited for his box— that soft fruits were safe. They also mentioned that many preferred fresh, easy-to-digest foods, especially at first.

He opened the fridge and took out a strawberry, a piece of bread, and some cream cheese. With clumsy but focused hands, he cut a tiny bit of fruit, no larger than a fingernail. Then he dabbed a drop of cheese onto a corner of the bread, trimmed with scissors to resemble a tiny toast.

As he worked, something within him settled. The routine of preparing something for someone else —even someone as small as Freo— grounded him, brought him into the present.

He placed everything carefully on the plastic lid of a small jar, improvising a little tray. He also found a bottle cap, which he filled with fresh water, and placed it beside the tiny breakfast.

Before bringing it to the desk, he paused.

He looked at everything. Checked the cuts. The proportions. He chuckled softly at himself.

“I’ve never made a breakfast this carefully…” he murmured.

Back at the desk, Freo was still sleeping, but the light bar in the box flickered with a steadier glow. Kaelix placed the tray near the bed, but not too close, so as not to startle him when he woke. Then he sat back on his bed, watching quietly.

He didn’t expect anything.

But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to stay and see what would happen.

Freo stirred slightly. A soft sigh escaped his nose, like the whisper of a falling feather. Then he rolled over, stretching his legs under the tiny blanket. For a moment, he just stayed curled up.

Kaelix watched from his bed, unmoving, as if any sudden movement could dispel the magic.

Freo blinked slowly.

His eyes opened, shining under the soft light of the box. For an instant, confusion took over his face: that fragile, disoriented moment that comes right before remembering where you are.

He sat up, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand. His head turned cautiously and, when his gaze met Kaelix’s, he froze completely.

Not a sound.

Kaelix smiled softly.

“Good morning, Freo,” he said in a low voice. “You slept well, didn’t you?”

Freo didn’t answer with words, but made a faint clicking sound and hugged his legs, watching Kaelix with the intensity of someone still unsure whether to trust or not.

Kaelix slowly pointed to the small tray he had left.

“I made you something. I don’t know if you’ll like it… but I thought maybe you were hungry.”

Freo turned his head toward the breakfast. Sniffed the air. His catlike ears twitched slightly.

With slow, cautious steps, he approached. First, he touched the fruit with the tip of his fingers, then glanced back at Kaelix. And after a moment’s pause… he took a bite.

Just a little one.

Kaelix let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Freo was eating!

Kaelix watched from the corner of his eye as Freo ate. He didn’t dare look directly at him, as if too much attention might make him disappear.

Freo ate carefully, using both hands to hold the piece of fruit. His expression was almost neutral, but there was a small wrinkle of concentration on his tiny forehead, and his tail —short, soft, barely visible beneath the blanket— moved slightly, which Kaelix guessed meant curiosity or… pleasure?

When he finished eating, Freo wiped his hands on a corner of the napkin he used as a blanket. Then he approached the cap of water, sipping quickly, as if still unsure he was truly safe.

Kaelix smiled, looking down.

“Thanks for staying last night…” he said quietly, not expecting an answer. “I thought… maybe you’d leave.”

Freo looked at him again. His expression was still cautious, but now there was a new shade in his eyes. A kind of recognition. As if, for a second, a barrier had lowered.

He walked to the edge of the box and sat right at the border, legs dangling. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t speak a word, but tilted his head and looked at him with a new kind of intensity.

As if trying to understand who Kaelix really was. As if deciding whether that clumsy, tired human was worthy of him.

Kaelix, for his part, didn’t move.

He just smiled. Small. Genuine.

“I won’t rush you. But… I’m happy you’re here.”

Freo let out a soft chirp, barely audible, and looked away with a shy gesture.

The bar on the box, without anyone touching it, rose another centimeter.

—

The afternoon light filtered through the window in warm hues, tinged with orange and amber. The shadows stretched across the floor, and the room felt suspended in that quiet moment between day and night.

Kaelix sat at his desk, going over a half-finished music sheet. Beside him, a sketchbook displayed scribbled poses and scattered notes for a choreography he still couldn’t fully visualize. In the background, an instrumental track he’d found a few days ago played softly on his phone.

He was trying to concentrate, but couldn’t. His mind kept drifting.

Freo, meanwhile, had ventured outside his box. He walked in tiny but determined steps across the desk’s surface, stopping in front of Kaelix’s phone. He looked at it like it was some alien artifact. He reached out, touched the screen with the tip of a finger, and flinched as it suddenly lit up.

The device’s glow lit up his face for an instant. Freo stepped back a bit, but didn’t run. With intrigued expression, he stepped forward again, touching more carefully. The icons, the movement, the design —they fascinated him.

Kaelix watched from the corner of his eye, holding back a smile. Seeing Freo so… curious, so alive, filled him with unexpected warmth.

And still, his mind kept returning to the same thought.

“What if my soulmate already has their Tiny?” he wondered, tapping his fingers on the notebook. “What if they’ve already found them? What if they’re waiting… like I waited?”

A pang shot through his chest. Not exactly jealousy. More like melancholy. Uncertainty.

Freo, unaware of Kaelix’s inner storm, kept exploring. He accidentally tapped the camera icon, and suddenly the screen showed an image: Kaelix, out of focus, lost in thought.

Freo tilted his head. Then turned and stared at him.

Kaelix noticed and sat up slightly.

“You like that?” he asked, half-smiling. “It’s a camera. It shows what it sees.”

Freo didn’t answer, but stepped up to the screen again. This time, both of them reflected: Kaelix large, and Freo miniature, standing on the desk.

For a second, they stayed like that —facing each other, looking through the glass.

Kaelix moved his finger and snapped a photo —one he would keep forever.

Notes:

I'm so excited to keep developing the relationship between Kaelix and Freo! But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer. I'm dying to focus on the other members of By The Beat! Can you guess who's next? ;3

Chapter 4: Just you and me

Summary:

IT'S SEIBLE'S TURN! I'M SO EXCITED AAAHH 😭

Seible's room was bathed in bluish tones, with LED lights snaking along the walls like artificial constellations. It was a tidy refuge, but with small traces of creative chaos: scribbled sheets, tangled headphones, a mug with faded lipstick on the rim.

Zeal was perched on the desk shelf, sitting cross-legged, watching Seible intently. The tiny had a calm expression, but his eyes—bright and keen—followed everything.

Seible stood with his back turned, facing the mirror, practicing an expression with pressed lips and slightly narrowed eyes. Then he tried a smile. Then a dimmer one. He turned toward the desk and sighed.

"Do you think it looks natural?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Zeal didn't speak, as always. But he stood up and placed a tiny hand over his heart. Then he pointed firmly at Seible, as if to say, "Yes, that's the one."

Seible chuckled softly, almost tenderly.

"Of course you would say that, Gin-Chan."

Zeal tilted his head, as if insisting. Then he walked to the edge of the desk and dropped down with agility, landing on the soft surface of a scarf. He walked up to Seible and tugged at his pants, demanding attention.

"What?" Seible said, leaning down a little to get closer.

Zeal gently placed his hand on Seible’s cheek. Just that.

It was enough to unmake him.

Seible closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as if he could absorb some of Zeal’s calm through that simple gesture.

It was curious how someone so small could anchor him to the world.

Seible was one of those who felt too much. It didn’t show at first glance—his firm stride, his always-composed posture, his gaze that rarely wavered—but inside, everything was intensity held in check. He was good at disguising the tide beneath the surface. He had been since he was a child.

Always observant, always one step ahead in his thoughts. He didn’t talk much, and when he did, his words fell like well-placed needles: soft sometimes, piercing others. Some said he was hard to know. The truth was that no one really knew him.

Not even himself.

And yet, Zeal knew him. Had known him from the very first day, when he appeared in his life like a silent promise, with those eyes like full moons. Since then, Seible had felt that invisible, incomplete bond—a red thread stretching toward something he couldn’t name. A place where he belonged but hadn’t yet reached.

"Do you think they already have their tiny?" he whispered to Zeal, lowering his gaze.

The tiny tilted his head, then sat on his shoulder with a tiny sigh.

"And what if… they don’t want me when they find me?"

Zeal didn’t answer. He just pressed his forehead against Seible’s cheek. A subtle touch, almost imperceptible.

But it was enough.

It always was.

—

His room had been different back then. Smaller, messier, with posters taped to the walls and a lamp that flickered when it was cold. Outside, rain was pouring down, the sound on the roof almost like a lullaby. Seible had just turned twelve and was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, with a metal box in front of him.

It was matte gray (a bit greenish), with rounded edges and a thin light bar on one side that flickered faintly green. The lid was slightly ajar. Seible didn’t dare touch it.

He hadn’t expected this. Not that day. Not so soon.

His mom had shouted his name from the kitchen, and when he got to the window, the box was already there. Dry, despite the rain. As if the world itself had paused to place it there, just for him.

His trembling fingers reached out slowly. He pushed the lid with his index finger, and the click was so soft he barely heard it. For a second, nothing happened.

Then, something moved.

A tiny figure, the size of his palm, slowly emerged from inside. It wore a black and green shirt with a wide collar, straight black hair framing its face, and its eyes—huge—looked at him with an intensity Seible would never forget.

“...Hello?” Seible whispered.

The tiny didn’t answer. It walked carefully until it stood right in front of him, studying him as if memorizing every inch of his face. Then, with steady hands, it pointed to itself, placed a hand over its chest, and said, in a loud and clear voice:

“Zeal.”

Seible felt something inside him break and rebuild at the same time.

He didn’t fully understand what Zeal was, or what it meant that he had come to him, but in that instant, he knew one thing for certain: he would protect him. Take care of him. Do whatever it took to keep that bar on the box from ever reaching zero.

Zeal was his.

And Seible, though he didn’t yet know it, was Zeal’s too.

—

Seible blinked, shaking off the memory like someone brushing away candle smoke. Zeal was still there, his tiny hand still resting on his cheek, as present as ever. His gaze—small, bright, honest—pierced him with that mix of tenderness and firmness that only he seemed to master.

The present was different now. He was no longer twelve, nor did he have a heart overflowing with fantasy. Now he was twenty-five. He had lived enough to toughen his skin, enough to stop believing in stories of destined souls. And yet, Zeal remained by his side. Constant, Loyal, Undeniably real.

No one else around him had received their tiny. At least not in his close circle. And he believed his soulmate hadn’t shown up either. Zeal hadn’t glowed. No one had arrived with a gaze that said, “I recognize you.”

But Zeal had. From day one.

Seible gently stroked the tiny’s black hair, who now sat in his palm, watching him intently.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re all I’m ever going to have,” he said quietly, not with sadness, but with a kind of tempered resignation.

Zeal looked at him. Then shook his head and stood up, wobbling a little on the warm skin of his soulmate. He walked to the center of the palm and placed both hands over Seible’s chest, right above his heart. Then looked up, firmly.

Seible let out a short, tired laugh.

“I know, I know. Don’t lose hope.”

Zeal nodded once. Then sat again, crossing his legs.

The phone vibrated. Seible didn’t look at it. He knew it was from the agency group. Rehearsals, schedules, photo requests. Sometimes he felt more like a product than a person (like most idols). But at least with Zeal, he could just be Seible.

He sighed, placed the phone face down, and slowly laid back on the sofa. Zeal climbed onto his chest and settled there as he had thousands of times before.

“Even if no one else shows up, you’re with me.” Seible’s voice faded into the quiet room. “And that’s something I’ll never stop being grateful for.”

Zeal didn’t reply. He just closed his eyes.

As if saying, “same.”

A soft alarm began to ring from the phone, reminding Seible he had to leave. Zeal opened his eyes with a small movement, still resting on his chest.

“I have to go,” Seible murmured, slowly sitting up so as not to startle the tiny.

Zeal watched him silently as Seible put on a jacket and smoothed his hair in front of the mirror. Then he walked to his desk, where a small padded structure stood next to a reading lamp. He placed Zeal there gently.

“I won’t be long,” he promised, and Zeal, though he didn’t smile, tilted his head with a serene expression.

Seible closed the door carefully behind him, leaving the warmth of the room and that tiny presence that, in silence, was his daily anchor.

—

The meeting room was sober, lit by cold fluorescent tubes and a glass table reflecting dull light. Seible arrived on time, as always, taking a seat among other artists in the group. His manager, a man with an unreadable face and an impeccable suit, entered barely a minute later, with firm steps and a direct gaze.

“Before we begin today’s agenda,” he said without preamble, “I want to inform you that we’ve terminated the services of the group’s lead designer.”

Some exchanged surprised glances. Seible raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a common occurrence, and although he didn’t have a close relationship with the designer, he knew their work was crucial to the group’s image.

“There were… certain situations,” the manager continued, choosing his words carefully, “that forced us to make this decision. But don’t worry, we’re already in the process of selecting a new professional who fits our needs.”

Seible nodded along with the others, accepting the news without protest. But as the manager kept talking, he felt a slight twist in his stomach. Something in the tone, or perhaps in the abruptness of the announcement, left him unsettled. He didn’t know if it was about the change itself… or about what that change might bring.

He tried to focus on the meeting, but his mind wandered. And for some reason, amidst talks of costumes and rehearsals, his thoughts drifted briefly back to Zeal, alone at home.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt an unease he couldn’t quite name.

Notes:

I'm trying to write longer chapters but I physically can't LMAO. Anyway, YAY! SEIBLE AND GIN-CHAN! Who would’ve seen that coming? I had so much fun writing this chapter. Let me tell you something...shortly after I posted chapter three (technically two, since the first one’s just an intro) I SLEPT WAY TOO MUCH and dreamed that Seible was part of a super popular idol group LOL. I loved the dream so much I had to add it to the story.

Anyway, THANK YOU FOR READING! I read every single one of your comments and my heart goes Doki-Doki >//< It makes me ridiculously happy that you're enjoying what I’m cooking. Thanks, really.🙏

Chapter 5: Don't fall for him

Summary:

Seible just got shot by Cupid himself and Gin-chan doesn't like it at all!

A few days had passed since the meeting with his boss. The news about the new designer had been nothing more than a footnote in Seible’s mind, lost among rehearsals, vocal adjustments, and endless training sessions with his groupmates. His body ached, but the rhythm was almost addictive: the music, the choreography, the synchronicity... It was a strange mix of exhaustion and euphoria that already felt familiar.

That afternoon, as they were going over the main choreography for the upcoming show for the third time, an unfamiliar figure appeared at the edge of the room.

"Hold it right there!" shouted one of the choreographers, signaling for everyone to stop. "Guys, this is Freodore. He’s the new costume designer, so try not to destroy his work with your sloppy steps, okay?"

There were a few scattered laughs. Seible, out of breath, barely lifted his gaze.

And then he saw him.

Freodore was young, with a presence both calm and vibrant. His clothes were modern without being over-the-top, and his expression… serene, yet his eyes were intense, like they saw more than they let on. The kind of person who notices everything. And when his gaze met Seible’s, Seible felt a strange pressure in his chest. An unexpected warmth.

And his cheeks lit up. He knew it instantly, without needing a mirror.

What the hell…?

But he quickly looked away and turned back to the group as if nothing had happened.

Must be overheated from practice, he thought.

And he kept going. Or tried to.

—

Later, while everyone was reviewing sketches at a long table in the wardrobe room, Freodore approached Seible with a sheet in hand.

"Excuse me, I think this design would really enhance your stage presence," he said in a soft but confident voice. He offered Seible a fairly detailed sketch.

Seible took the paper, trying not to seem too clumsy. He nodded quickly, without looking up too much. The sketch was stunning, and it made Seible's fingers tremble slightly.

"It looks great… Thanks, Freodore."

"You can call me Freo, if you like," the designer added casually. He turned around and went on attending to the other idols.

Seible mumbled a "sure" and lowered his gaze back to the sketch, his heart pounding in his chest.

—

That night, when he got home, Seible dropped his bag by the door, stretched with a soft groan, and walked to his room. Zeal was already waiting, sitting on the bed with his tiny legs dangling, swinging slightly as if keeping the beat of an invisible song.

"I'm dead," Seible said, flopping onto the bed sideways. "We had group practice, then vocal training, and then a ridiculously long meeting about next month's tour."

Zeal crawled across the sheets until he was near Seible’s face, watching him with his big, attentive eyes.

"Oh! And I almost forgot. Vox broke another mic. Again. I swear, I've lost count of how many times it's happened."

The tiny tilted his head with a small smile, already used to the chaotic stories of Seible’s daily life.

"We also tried a new choreography. Lots of jumping. Way too much," he added, stretching his sore legs. "And you know how Ver is—he exaggerates everything. Though, well… he does look good, as always."

Zeal just watched in silence. Waiting.

Seible turned his eyes to the ceiling, letting the silence settle a bit before saying, without too much thought:

"Oh… I met the new designer today."

Zeal blinked.

"His name is Freodore. Freo, actually. And…"

Seible hesitated for a moment, as if saying it out loud gave it more weight than he wanted to admit.

"It was weird. He talked to me, and I… got nervous. Like my face lit up without my permission."

The tiny moved closer and placed his tiny hand on Seible’s hand, saying nothing. But the gesture was enough. Warm. A silent certainty.

"I’m not saying anything, okay?" Seible smiled, cheeks still slightly red. "It was just a reaction. An impulse. It doesn’t mean anything. Probably."

Zeal didn’t respond, but narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe that at all.

"Don’t look at me like that," Seible huffed, though he couldn’t help but chuckle softly. "I still don’t know what to think about him."

Zeal, sitting on the edge of the bed, looked at Seible with curious eyes. With a small gesture of his hands, he mimed a question, asking what Freo was like—how he act, how he looked.

"Well, Gin-chan, Freo has a calm but confident attitude. He’s not the type to demand attention loudly, more like someone who draws eyes without trying," he said, gesturing with his hand as if outlining a silhouette. "He’s shorter than me, has short curly teal-colored hair, well-dressed, though not flashy—more like elegant and simple."

Zeal blinked and nodded, his small fingers gently touching Seible’s arm.

—

From his spot on the bed, Zeal watched Seible in silence. His soulmate spoke in that soft voice he only used when something truly mattered to him. Every word Seible used to describe Freodore carried a different warmth, a glow that Zeal knew… but wasn’t used to seeing in that context.

When Seible finished talking, Zeal didn’t react right away. He just looked at him, nodding softly, then lay on his back on the quilt. His little hands crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if he could see right through it.

“Freo…”

The name echoed in his mind. Short, elegant. Steady. A name that felt like it belonged to someone who walked with confidence, who knew who he was.

And then it clicked.

Freo wasn’t Seible’s soulmate. Absolutely not.

The thought landed like a domino, and brought with it a wave of bitterness. Because if Freo was nothing like him, then he couldn’t be the one. Tinys were reflections. Echoes. Miniature extensions of a person’s soulmate.

Zeal is the tiny version of Seible’s true soulmate—not Freodore.

Was Seible attracted to someone who wasn’t his soulmate?

Notes:

Zeal's panic when he realized he and Freo have nothing in common was so fun to write LMAO. Poor tiny guy, these boys have a lot ahead of them.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about who the next chapter should focus on… and I think I know exactly who it’ll be… HEHEH.

(Let me know if you find any mistakes, I'm too tired to proofread this. 😭🙏)

Chapter 6: Precious memories

Summary:

This chapter narrates the first encounter between Zeal and Kaelix, his newly arrived tiny. The chapter shows how they meet, their first interactions, and how, despite initial distrust, they begin to establish an affectionate bond.

It was a strangely serene afternoon, as if the world had stopped for a moment just to breathe. Zeal was twenty, headphones hanging loosely around his neck, hands stained with graphite. He had just stopped writing in his staff notebook, and the sun streamed through the window, casting warm lines across the scattered sheet music.

He had been living alone for a short time. The apartment was small but enough. The piano took up half of the main room, like a throne, and the walls were covered in old jazz band posters, notes, and drawings he made to let out what he couldn't put into words.

That day, he felt strange. Not sad. Not happy. Just… full. As if something was about to happen. He rubbed his face with both hands, sighed, and dropped onto the couch with a dramatic groan.

Then he heard it.

A dull, metallic sound. It came from the living room. Zeal frowned.

“What the...?”

He peeked in cautiously. In the center of the rug, something clearly not there before now rested: a metal box, about twenty centimeters across, adorned with hand-carved filigree. The design looked ancient, almost sacred. Curved lines and delicate symbols ran over the surface like a secret map. On one of its sides, a small light bar pulsed in a bluish hue, like a trapped firefly.

Zeal approached slowly, his heart suddenly beating faster for reasons he couldn’t explain. He knelt in front of the box, not daring to touch it yet.

He knew what it was.

A tiny's box.

“But... why now?” he murmured. He hadn’t expected it to appear so late.

He hesitated for a moment. Then, with trembling fingers, he lifted the lid.

The first thing he saw was a soft glow, like sunlight reflecting off calm water. Then, movement. Something… tiny. A human figure, no bigger than the palm of his hand, blinking slowly as it sat up.

Zeal froze.

The small being had messy white hair and a confused expression. Its eyes were huge, an impossible blue, as if they carried a quiet storm within. Its clothes were wrinkled, as though it had been asleep for years.

Zeal couldn’t move. He just stared, as if his eyes couldn't comprehend what they were seeing.

The tiny shifted, slowly stretching an arm, blinking clumsily. Its bright, confused, alert eyes locked onto him.

Zeal instinctively backed away.

“Oh shit. This is real.”

Frightened, the tiny scrambled back into the box, pressing itself against the metallic wall. Its little body trembled.

Zeal raised his hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna touch you.”

He didn’t expect a response, and he didn’t get one. The tiny kept staring, unmoving, like a wild creature just discovered.

Zeal swallowed hard. His heart was still pounding in his chest, as if it wanted to escape.

“So... you’re my tiny.”

The light bar on the side of the box blinked briefly, as if in response to his words.

The tiny still hadn’t moved. It remained in the padded corner, eyes fixed on Zeal, as if gauging whether to trust him or not.

“Well... this is awkward,” Zeal muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “For me, at least. Not sure if you’re just as... confused.”

The tiny tilted its head slightly. No answer. Zeal looked down, thoughtful.

“Okay, so how does this work…?” he said to himself. “There’s no instruction manual, huh?”

He leaned forward a bit, careful not to make any sudden movements. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands open in front of him, trying to show he wasn’t a threat.

“Hey, you can stay there if you want. I won’t force you to come out or anything. But... it’d be nice to know your name.” He smiled nervously. “Or if you talk. Or if you understand what I’m saying.”

The tiny blinked. Its body was slightly less tense than before. It still remained in the box, but no longer pressed to the back.

“My name’s Zeal. Zeal with a Z,” he said, pointing to his chest and then at him. “You?”

Silence.

And then, the tiny moved. Slowly, it stood on the padding, swaying a little. It brought one small hand to its chest, just like Zeal had, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, like a sigh afraid of breaking, it said:

“Kaelix.”

—

Zeal was lying on the floor, face down, with a yellowed notebook in front of him and a chewed pen between his fingers. Instead of writing, he was glancing sideways at the low shelf where Kaelix had settled since coming out of the box. The tiny didn’t speak. Didn’t come close. But he watched. He always watched.

“You know,” Zeal began, keeping his voice low, like speaking to a skittish creature in the woods, “…if you keep staring like that, you're gonna find out all my secrets.”

Kaelix blinked. Didn’t reply. But didn’t run either.

Zeal smiled. He grabbed something from behind and slowly pushed it across the floor toward the shelf: a small white cup, about the size of a bottle cap. Inside was a sweet mixture with cookie crumbs.

“I made you something. Don’t know what tinys eat, but this is basically sugar. And if you don’t like it, I can make something else. Or... nothing. You can tell me no.”

Silence. Zeal sat up a bit, resting his head on his hands like part of a strategy not to seem threatening.

“Though... I don’t know if you know what ‘tell me no’ means. Technically, you don’t know many words. I think. I’m not totally sure how you guys work,” he paused. “Well. You. How you work.”

Kaelix approached a bit, cautiously. Looked at the cup. Then at Zeal. Then the cup again. He lowered one leg, then the other, and finally climbed down from the shelf.

Zeal held his breath.

Kaelix walked to the cup silently. He sniffed it. Dipped a finger and tasted it. His face instantly scrunched up. He grimaced and stepped back.

Zeal burst out laughing.

“What?! Too sweet? But you’re so tiny I thought you’d like sweet things! Aren’t tinys supposed to love cute little sugary stuff?”

Kaelix frowned at him. Then, completely unexpectedly, he scooped up a bit of the mix with both hands... and flung a tiny spoonful at Zeal’s forehead.

Zeal froze for a moment.

“...Did you just dessert-attack me?”

Kaelix looked at him seriously. Then tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing his aim.

Zeal couldn’t hold back. He laughed out loud, tears forming from the sudden attack.

“Okay, okay. You win. But this is a diplomatic victory, alright? Not a war.”

Kaelix didn’t reply, but came closer, this time without fear.

Zeal wiped his forehead and smiled warmly.

“I like that you attack me, if it means you’re not scared of me anymore.”

And for the first time, however briefly, Kaelix smiled too.

—

Zeal had a small amber lamp turned on, and the open window let in the murmur of traffic and cool breeze. In his corner, Kaelix was curled up between two pillows specially arranged for him.

Zeal had stopped composing a while ago. Instead, he lay on the floor again, sideways, propped on one elbow while doodling random shapes in his notebook. Every now and then, he glanced at Kaelix, who was flipping through a tiny paper strip booklet Zeal had made from an old magazine — a miniature book.

“Hey,” Zeal said suddenly, voice low. “Can I show you something?”

Kaelix looked up. Didn’t come closer, but tilted his head, curious.

Zeal pulled from his pocket a small enamel pin, just a bit bigger than Kaelix’s palm. It was round, with a musical note design at the center. It didn’t seem valuable, but the enamel shimmered under the light like it held more meaning than it let on.

“I’ve had this in my backpack forever. Someone gave it to me when I started studying music. Don’t know why, but I saw it today and thought of you,” he said with a shrug. “Not sure if tinys use stuff like this. But if you want... it’s yours.”

Kaelix stared for a long time.

Silence.

Then, slowly, he climbed down from his corner and walked toward him. Zeal didn’t move, as if even the tiniest gesture could break the moment. Kaelix approached the pin, touched it with his little fingers and, without warning, climbed up Zeal’s arm until he was sitting on his forearm.

Zeal swallowed, surprised.

Kaelix didn’t stop there. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Zeal’s skin, right on the curve of his wrist.

Zeal didn’t even dare breathe.

Kaelix stayed like that for a few seconds. Then slowly sat down beside the pin, hugging it like a plush toy.

Zeal smiled with a different kind of sweetness, quieter. Something inside his chest settled.

A soft metallic click interrupted them.

Both looked at the decorated box Kaelix had arrived in.

A small light line had turned on at the front: the first bar on the affection scale, now clearly lit.

Zeal raised an eyebrow and pointed at it.

“That’s good, right?”

Kaelix, without looking at him, made a small sound — something between a sigh and a quiet hum of agreement. Then he buried his face into the pin.

Zeal leaned back with a silent laugh.

“You’re gonna kill me with cuteness, you know that?”

And for the first time, with no food war, no teasing — Kaelix didn’t run away.

—

Sunlight filtered golden through the leaves, casting whimsical patterns on the ground. It was a mild afternoon, the kind that promised nothing and, for that very reason, gave everything. Zeal walked slowly through an almost empty park, headphones hanging from his neck and a small backpack slung across his chest.

Inside, in a carefully padded compartment, Kaelix leaned half his body out, arms resting on the edge with a peaceful smile.

“You like it here?” Zeal asked in a low voice, as if sharing a secret.

Kaelix didn’t reply in words — he still didn’t speak — but his face said it all. His expression was calm, curious, eyes wide as he watched the trees, the birds, the bikes passing by in the distance. When a leaf floated down in front of them, he reached out to catch it, laughing softly when he missed.

Zeal couldn’t help but smile. It was a quiet, husky laugh, the kind that slips from the chest effortlessly.

“You’re like a cat with wings,” he said, tilting his head.

Kaelix glanced at him and stuck his tongue out briefly, playfully.

Zeal stopped walking. He pulled out his phone and pretended to take a picture — just to tease.

“That was so cute! I’m saving that for when you’re more famous than me.”

Kaelix laughed again, louder this time, and pointed to a nearby bench. Zeal got the message and walked over, collapsing with a relaxed sigh. He opened the backpack more, and Kaelix slipped out easily, sitting next to him on the wooden bench, his tiny legs dangling.

For a while, they did nothing but watch. They shared a comfortable silence, like they had done it a thousand times before.

Then, without warning, Kaelix leaned against Zeal’s arm. It wasn’t a dramatic gesture, just a simple, direct one, full of sincere affection.

Zeal stayed still. Not because he was uncomfortable, but because his heart — always so loose and relaxed — seemed to hold its breath. He slowly looked down at the tiny body curled against his arm. Kaelix wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were half-closed, lips relaxed, as if he’d given in to the moment’s comfort.

A soft, honest smile bloomed on Zeal’s face.

Gently, he shifted his arm to wrap slightly around Kaelix — not to squeeze, just to say he was there, that it was safe to lean. His tiny made a faint sound, barely a happy sigh, and Zeal felt something in his chest melt.

“You know you don’t have to force anything, right?” he murmured, voice low. “I’m fine with whatever you want to give me...”

Kaelix didn’t reply, but his tiny hand clutched firmly onto the fabric of Zeal’s sleeve.

That was enough.

—

Night had completely fallen, and Zeal’s studio was now lit only by a warm lamp and a few LEDs that changed color very slowly. Kaelix was curled up in one of Zeal’s hoodie pockets, visibly annoyed, while Zeal laughed with his head thrown back.

“I told you you couldn’t handle spicy food,” Zeal said, still giggling. “What made you think stealing my ramen was a good idea?”

Kaelix poked his head out of the pocket, cheeks puffed and brow furrowed. He made choppy little sounds as if he were protesting rapidly, totally indignant.

“No, no, no excuses. I saw you. You climbed the bowl like a ninja and BAM!” Zeal dramatized the movement with a hand, still laughing. “Your face was priceless.”

Kaelix squeaked again, this time with a higher-pitched tone, clearly insulted. Then he slid down to the hoodie string and bit it viciously in retaliation.

“Hey! That’s not for biting!” Zeal laughed, gently nudging him with a finger. “Don’t tickle me, you know I lose balance easily.”

Kaelix, already perched on his shoulder, let out a satisfied little noise as if to say “you deserved it.”

“You’re being such a brat, I should write you a song made entirely of annoying tiny sounds,” Zeal whispered with a mischievous smile.

The tiny crossed his arms, indignant again. But when Zeal winked at him, Kaelix lowered his head, trying to hide… though the slight twitch of his ears gave him away: he was laughing.

Zeal watched him quietly for a moment. He placed a hand over his chest with a dramatically exaggerated expression.

“How can you be so small… and so dangerous for my heart?”

Kaelix squeaked again, leaping onto his head to cover Zeal’s eyes with his tiny hands.

“Ah! I can’t see! Tiny attack! Someone help me!” Zeal pretended to stumble, spinning around the studio.

Kaelix, perched on his head, squeaked with excitement and stretched his arms like he was conquering an imaginary kingdom from atop a mountain. Zeal deliberately tripped over a pile of scattered sheet music, rolled across the rug, and landed flat on his back with a dramatic thud.

“I’ve been defeated!” he groaned, placing a hand on his chest as if fatally wounded. “The tiny… was too powerful…”

Kaelix slid down from his bangs to his forehead, then down his nose, and finally landed on Zeal’s chest. With great ceremony, he sat down cross-legged, arms akimbo. Then he let out a short, triumphant squeak.

Zeal half-opened one eye.

“Seriously? You’re just gonna sit there like you rule everything?”

Kaelix wrinkled his nose and made a playful little growl in response.

“Fine, I accept my fate,” Zeal said with over-the-top solemnity. “Now my soul belongs to a rebellious tiny who bites drawstrings and steals ramen. How tragic.”

Kaelix gave him a very soft tap.

“Oh no, now there’s domestic violence too,” Zeal sighed. “You’re a miniature whirlwind… but I still love you.”

—

Zeal lay back on the couch in his studio, guitar resting on his chest. Outside, the city murmured its usual routine, but inside was a little world of strings, cold coffee, and scattered notes.

Kaelix was curled up like a ball inside the wide pocket of his shirt. Zeal smiled tenderly as he watched it rise and fall gently with his breathing. He looked so calm, so small… so his.

He picked up the sheet music notebook and scribbled carelessly in the corner of the page:

“Kealix’s Song (but don’t tell him)”

The first notes were soft, as if trying not to wake him. A caressed piano, a shy double bass in the background, and a warm melodic line that felt like a stroke behind the ear. It was jazz, yes, but different: intimate, delicate. Like a secret shared between two hearts.

“You’re going to tease me when you hear this,” Zeal murmured. “But I’m going to finish it anyway.”

He recorded a quick instrumental demo, not overthinking it, and uploaded it to a secondary account where he archived old ideas. He didn’t give it a real title. Just something like “test_127.wav”

And then he forgot about it.

Until, a few days later, the song began to play all over the city.

Someone had used it in a viral video of a tiny dancing, and people loved it. Soon, Kaelix’s song appeared in study playlists, bars, even a tea commercial.

Zeal froze in the doorway of a café when he heard his song playing through the speakers.

“Seriously…?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a mix of embarrassment and resignation.

Kaelix, who had been peeking out of his coat pocket, quickly ducked back in at the sound of the melody, as if trying to vanish into the fabric.

Zeal looked down at him and smiled softly.

“I guess the world knows you’re my muse now.”

And although Zeal had no way of knowing it, that melody—born from the intimacy of his affection—had traveled much farther than he ever imagined. It had reached attentive ears, including those of a much taller, chattier, and more charming Kaelix.

Notes:

Ah yes, this chapter doesn’t really push the main plot forward — and honestly, I’m totally fine with that! I wanted to take a little breather here and just focus on developing the relationship between Zeal and his tiny. Sometimes it’s nice to slow down and just enjoy the small moments between characters, right?

Also, writing these quieter, more personal scenes has been really fun and refreshing for me. It helps me understand them better and hopefully helps you connect with them on a deeper level too.

As a fun fact: the song Zeal composed for his tiny? Yep — it’s the same one that gets mentioned back in Chapter 3 (technically 2, but you know what I mean).

Chapter 7: Strange boy

Summary:

Zeal submits a demo and something unexpected stirs him.

Zeal hummed distractedly as he sorted the papers on his desk. The melody in his head hadn’t quite taken shape, but something was there—a spark that promised to become a song if he gave it room. Still, his focus was elsewhere.

—“What if I do it in 7/8…? Or would that be too weird for an idol group…?”

The word idol still felt foreign to him. He had only accepted the commission two days ago. A talent agency had contacted him through his usual manager, asking for a series of compositions for a new group. “Something fresh, emotional but powerful. We want your style, Zeal, just more… digestible.”

Digestible? What did that even mean?

“I don’t even know who they are,” he muttered, letting his head fall onto the table with a soft thud.

Kaelix, curled up in his bed, looked at him from the back with half-closed eyes. He had a small piece of cloth as a blanket and was distractedly chewing on one of its corners.

“Do I look like someone who knows how to write for idols?” Zeal asked, turning his head just enough to see him.

Kaelix looked at him, then shrugged (as much as a tiny could) and went back to chewing on his blanket with a soft, silent giggle.

“Super helpful, my mini musical advisor.”

The offer had come out of nowhere. A generous contract, artistic freedom (according to the promises), and just one condition: he wouldn’t know the group’s identity until he submitted the songs.

Extreme confidentiality, the agency had said. It’s a very special unit. Your style matters more than prior info. Trust the process.

All they had sent were some vague descriptions: four main vocalists, an emotional focus, elegant aesthetics, a wide but youthful target audience.

“And here I am, composing them a sad ballad. Really shining here,” he sighed.

Kaelix let out a soft sound, like a quiet laugh. He jumped from the edge of the box onto the desk, stepping carefully between the sheets, and pushed an empty mug with his leg until it rested right in front of Zeal.

“Is this your way of saying ‘have a coffee and get to work’?” he asked, half-laughing. “You’re getting pretty subtle.”

Kaelix sat on top of the electric piano lid and looked at him from there, tilting his head slightly. His smile was small but genuine. Zeal noticed it, and something inside him loosened a bit.

“Alright… Alright. I’ll make something good. Even if I have no clue who I’m writing for.”

He truly didn’t. He didn’t know who they were or what kind of stage awaited them. All he had was a code name, a deadline, and the freedom to compose without visual or biographical references. It was like writing a song for the echo of a voice he hadn’t yet heard.

But for now, there were only notes, chords… and Kaelix, dragging a pen across the keyboard like some disastrous orchestra conductor.

“That doesn’t go there,” Zeal told him, taking the pen from his hands. “But I like your energy.”

Kaelix stuck his tongue out. Zeal laughed and looked again at the blank score sheet in front of him.

He didn’t know anything about the group, but for some reason… it felt like he already knew them.

—

The office wasn’t anything impressive. A narrow hallway, two unmarked doors, and a reception desk where no one looked up when Zeal walked in. He clutched the pendrive case a little nervously. It wasn’t the first time he submitted a demo, but this time felt different: no name, no face, no reference. Just an address in an email and a specific time.

He knocked on the indicated door, not too hard, not too soft—just clearly unsure.

“Zeal?” asked a voice from the other side, deep and quick.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he answered, clearing his throat.

The door opened to reveal a man dressed formally, though the bags under his eyes suggested a different pace of life.

“Great. You were supposed to drop off the demo. Did you bring it?”

Zeal nodded and handed over the pendrive as if it were more fragile than it really was. The man took it without much ceremony, plugged it into a laptop on an almost empty desk, and motioned for Zeal to step closer.

For a few seconds, there was only silence as the first track began to play. Zeal recognized the opening chords of one of his newest pieces—the one he’d composed with Kaelix half-asleep on his shoulder, mumbling little syllables that weren’t words but still helped.

When the first few seconds were over, the man paused the audio.

“This is good,” he said, without much enthusiasm, as if he was used to not reacting outwardly.

Zeal scratched the back of his neck.

“Good ‘good’? Or good ‘we’ll ignore you for six months’?”

The man cracked a faint smile but didn’t answer directly. He just saved the file into a folder, then looked at Zeal with more intent.

“What do you know about the group you’re writing for?”

Zeal tilted his head.

“Just that they’re idols and that they want something… I don’t know. What they asked for was ‘melodies with soul.’ That’s all.”

The man nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“Perfect. You don’t need to know more. Your melodies already have soul. We’ll contact you if we’re interested. You can go.”

When he left the building, Zeal wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’d done what he came to do, but his head kept spinning with possibilities he couldn’t control. He didn’t want to go back yet. He didn’t want to be stuck alone with his thoughts.

So he wandered aimlessly.

The sun was low now, about to surrender to the horizon, tinting the buildings with a soft golden hue. The streets weren’t empty, but they weren’t crowded either. That in-between hour—offices closing, bars not yet open. Calm. Zeal was grateful for it.

Without thinking, he stopped in front of a small corner café—one of those with wooden tables and plants in the windows. The sign read Zuttomo, and the scent of freshly ground coffee wafted through the door every time someone walked in or out.

“Okay, the craving wins,” he muttered, opening the door and stepping inside.

A little bell rang above his head. Inside, soft music played, barely audible, and two or three people were scattered around with laptops or books. Zeal walked up to the counter, ordered a cappuccino and a croissant, and while he waited, he wandered toward the window.

That’s when he saw him.

A boy, hurrying down the sidewalk, a backpack slung over one shoulder, messy white hair, and striking round blue-tinted glasses that reflected the light like twin mirrors of ice. He passed right in front of the window, looking straight ahead with a tense expression, as if in a rush or searching for something.

Zeal blinked, his mind taking a second to process what he’d just seen.

Not because he recognized the boy—he didn’t know him at all—but because for a moment, something in his chest stirred. Not an alarm, not a memory, but… something. An echo. A sustained note.

The boy was already gone. He’d vanished around the next corner without looking back.

“Zeal,” the barista called, handing him his order.

He jumped a little, took the paper cup and the tray, and sat at the closest table by the window, glancing outside just in case the boy walked past again.

He didn’t.

Kaelix peeked his head out of Zeal’s pocket and looked at him with a questioning expression, as if he’d sensed that sudden pause in Zeal’s heartbeat.

“It’s nothing, little one,” Zeal said, giving him a piece of croissant. “Just… a strange face.”

Kaelix accepted the treat, though he kept watching him like he didn’t quite believe it was just that.

Zeal shrugged, saying no more.

Notes:

Thanks for reading this far! 🩵 This chapter was quieter, but important to plant some seeds: Zeal, the music, Kaelix being a tiny emotional support (and mild chaos), and that little "encounter" that… well, you know.

Next chapter, things are coming. 💿📌

Chapter 8: What Remains Unsaid

Summary:

Freo tries to stay focused, but Seible’s presence—so much like his tiny—stirs emotions he can’t ignore.

Freo closed the door with a soft click. He slowly took off his coat, hanging it by the entrance as the silence of his apartment wrapped around him like a blanket. Everything was in its place. Silence, order, clean surfaces. He took a deep breath.

From the shelf by the window, a small figure stirred at the sound of his footsteps. Seible, his tiny, watched him with calm, wide eyes, bathed in the warm light that came in at that hour. He stretched a little and rested his chin on his crossed arms.

Freo returned the look, just barely. He said nothing.

He walked to the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle. Let the mechanical sounds fill the silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence: it was the kind of calm you earn after a day of surviving chaos.

And today had been one of those days.

The rehearsal. The bright lights. The overlapping voices. The laughter between takes. And him.

Seible. The idol.

The name was the first thing that shook him. But then came everything else.

The resemblance.

The way he furrowed his brow when he concentrated. How he looked at the sketches like they were puzzles. The trembling hands, the quick blush, the way he avoided holding his gaze for too long. As if he had felt it too.

Freo took the mug and carried it to the couch. He dropped into it with a low sigh, his back tired. Then he looked again toward the shelf, where Seible (his tiny) was still watching him, now sitting with his legs dangling, body relaxed but attentive.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, though he knew tinies couldn’t understand words. Or maybe they could, but just didn’t answer.

Seible tilted his head. Freo knew him too well not to notice the curiosity in that subtle gesture.

“He looks like you,” he added, even softer. As if saying something he wished he hadn’t thought.

The tiny didn’t move. He just looked at him. Like always.

Freo tightened his grip around the mug.

“But it doesn’t matter,” he thought. “I didn’t come to that agency to get lost in coincidences. I came to do my job. To dress bodies. Not to analyze souls.”

And yet, there was that face. That way of moving. That strange feeling that had run through his chest when their eyes met. Not love, not attraction… something else. Something older. Something that seemed to have roots.

He shook his head.

No. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He wasn’t going to let this interfere with his work. The boy was just another idol. Another client. Another body to design clothes for. The fact that he shared a face with his tiny was just coincidence.

He didn’t even know if it was a coincidence.

But he’d rather not find out.

“Furi-chan…” Seible murmured in his barely audible voice, saying that nickname with the mix of tenderness and dependence only he could express.

Freo looked up. Seible was watching him from the edge of the rug, tilting his head as if trying to decipher his expression. It was rare for him to speak. He almost never did, and when he did, he only repeated that nickname. Sometimes Freo wondered if Seible understood more than he seemed to. Or if maybe… he felt things he couldn’t or didn’t want to say.

The designer took a deep breath.

“I don’t really know what to think about all this,” he said quietly, without looking away from Seible. “That resemblance… I can’t ignore it, but I don’t want it to distract me either.”

Just then, Seible began to tug gently on Freo’s wrist, with increasing insistence. Freo frowned, surprised by his tiny’s persistence.

The little tiny pulled a bit more, with those tiny hands that seemed to be demanding something clear: he wanted to go with him.

Freo looked at him and smiled in resignation.

“You want me to take you to work, don’t you?” he said, while Seible kept tugging on his wrist, almost like he was saying “I want to see him with my own eyes.”

Seible responded with a small, cheerful gesture, almost like an enthusiastic yes.

Freo sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to say no.

“All right, I’ll take you with me to work tomorrow,” he said, “but on one condition: you can only watch from afar. No getting close to anyone, no talking, no drawing attention, understood?”

Seible tilted his head again, almost as if accepting without protest, and squeezed Freo’s hand with trust.

Freo gave him one last serious look, although he already knew it was useless to try to seem stern with Seible for more than a few seconds. That tender gesture, that tiny squeeze on his finger, melted any attempt at firmness.

“Don’t give me that angel face that makes me doubt everything, okay?” he murmured as he stroked his head with his other hand.

—

As he left the apartment and boarded the transport that would take him to the agency, Freo tried to focus on his work. He still had details to refine in the new costumes, and he couldn’t afford distractions. However, he noticed how his breathing found a calmer rhythm, slightly more at ease, thanks to the simple fact of having Seible with him.

When he arrived, the building was already buzzing with activity. Assistants running, producers talking on the phone, dancers practicing in the hallways. It was organized chaos, as always. Freo greeted with a slight nod and walked straight to the room where the four idols were waiting to review the latest costume adjustments.

The moment he crossed the doorway, his gaze was drawn—unintentionally—toward one of them.

Seible.

The human.

He was stretching his arms, chatting with one of his bandmates. A smile curved his lips, and in that moment, he turned his head slightly toward the door.

It wasn’t a direct look. It didn’t even last more than a second. But Freo felt his chest tighten.

It wasn’t just the resemblance. It was the way he tilted his head, the calm way he breathed between phrases, that subtle motion he made with his fingers when he got distracted. Tiny details that couldn’t have been coincidence.

He felt a slight movement in his coat.

The tiny Seible had felt it too.

“Furi… chan…” he whispered suddenly, in a voice barely audible from the pocket. It wasn’t a cry or a call. It was a confirmation.

Freo pressed his lips together. He gently ran his fingertip along the edge of the pocket, without taking Seible out.

“I know,” he murmured, barely audible. “But we said you’d only watch. From afar.”

Seible didn’t insist. But Freo could feel the small body gently vibrating, as if holding back an emotion he didn’t know how to name.

And for the first time since he had him, Freo wondered if that tiny heart had been waiting for this moment long before he had.

—

The day went on with the usual chaotic rhythm of the agency. Last-minute adjustments, stage set reviews, technicians coming and going, and the idols rehearsing under the pressure of an upcoming performance. Freo stayed focused, exchanging instructions with his team, checking fabrics, fixing seams, taking notes. But now and then, in the middle of the routine, his gaze drifted—to where Seible, the idol, was practicing a choreography under the watchful eye of the artistic director.

And every time their eyes met, even if just for a second, Freo felt a twist of discomfort in his chest.

It wasn’t professional to let things like that affect him. He repeated it to himself over and over. But there was something about that boy that threw him off. Not just the resemblance to his tiny, but the energy. As if he already knew him. As if, without realizing it, he was looking for him too.

Luckily, Seible never looked directly at him. He seemed to be immersed in his own world, practicing tirelessly, correcting every step, focused. Freo forced himself to do the same.

Later in the afternoon, when the dress rehearsal finally ended, the idols retreated to their dressing rooms. Freo took advantage of the calm moment to finally sit down. He carefully took off his jacket and placed it on his lap, protecting the inner pocket with his hands.

"All good in there, huh?" he whispered, barely audible.

The lump in the pocket moved. Tiny hands peeked out, and soon Seible poked his little head out, his eyes shining with an intensity Freo knew all too well.

"Furi-chan," the tiny said softly, with a timid smile.

Freo stared at him. He couldn’t deny something had changed since the morning. There was a kind of quiet trembling in the tiny’s movements, as if spending the whole day in silence had taken more of a toll than he wanted to admit.

"You behaved," he said, almost smiling. "You didn’t talk to anyone. You didn’t draw attention. You kept your part of the deal."

Seible didn’t reply, but leaned against his chest, burying his face in the folds of the coat. It was as if the silence of the whole day finally needed a place to rest. Freo gently ran a finger down his back, a gesture he often did and knew soothed him.

"I know what you saw. I know what you felt. But this is complicated, okay?" he murmured, not expecting an answer. "I don’t want to make assumptions. I don’t want to lose my head. I just want… to do my job right."

Seible stayed still, but his little arms wrapped gently around Freo’s finger.

That gesture was enough.

Freo sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know why that boy on stage looked so much like his tiny, or why both seemed to feel something for each other without ever having met.

But he did know one thing: the chaos he felt inside was real. And for now, all he could do was hold it with tenderness, in silence, from afar.

"Let’s go home, okay?" he said at last, getting to his feet.

And Seible, from his pocket, snuggled in with trust. As if he knew that what they needed right now weren’t answers, but time. Time to understand. Time to find the right moment.

And Freo… he would give it to him. Even if he didn’t know why.

—

The sun was beginning to set over the city when Freo stepped out the back door of the agency building. It had been a long day: multiple costume fittings, last-minute fixes, and a creative meeting that had gone on longer than expected. His shoulders were a bit tense, but at least Seible—the idol, not the tiny—had approved his new design without protest. Well, at least without verbal protest. His expressions were harder to read.

He tucked his notebook into his backpack and carefully adjusted the inner flap where tiny Seible was sleeping wrapped in a folded scarf. He hadn’t moved in hours, but Freo knew he was awake. He knew him too well.

As he turned the corner to head toward the subway, he heard voices a few meters away.

“Did you hear him? He said the choreography could still improve. We’ve been rehearsing for weeks!”

“It’s because you’re off rhythm, Wilson,” replied another voice—calm but sharp.

Freo froze for a second when he recognized the second speaker. Seible, the idol, was walking with another group member. His light brown hair shimmered under the dim sunset light, and his bluish eyes looked as focused as ever. Freo tried not to stare. Even though he’d told himself a thousand times the resemblance to his tiny had to be a coincidence, every time he saw him… something pricked at his chest.

But no. He wasn’t going to think about that now. He wouldn’t feed ideas that could jeopardize his job.

He kept his gaze low and pretended to check his phone. The boys walked by just a few steps away without noticing him.

“I’m telling you, the new design makes me look gorgeous,” the other idol went on, grinning.

Seible didn’t reply. He just walked with his hands in his pockets, as if his thoughts were far away.

Freo resisted the urge to turn his head.

Just as he was about to resume walking, he noticed something else: on the other side of the street, walking quickly, a young man with white hair and round blue glasses passed by a café window. He was alone, with a guitar case slung over his back.

A civilian. Freo didn’t know him.

But there was something about the way he moved—carefree, like he wasn’t quite part of the world—that made Freo pause for one more second.

Then he shook his head. He was just tired, that was all. Too many coincidences in a single day.

He adjusted his backpack strap and kept walking, without looking back.

Notes:

So… Freo made it through a long day carrying more emotions than he expected!

Thanks for reading—more moments of tension, tenderness, and unanswered feelings are coming. 🐀🔥

PS: No tinys were harmed during the writing of this chapter.
Also, full confession—I actually fell asleep twice right before publishing this. Guess even I needed a break!

Chapter 9: Would you like a cup of coffee?

Summary:

Freo tries to go on with his routine, but something unsettles him. Between doubts and emotions he can’t quite name, an unexpected encounter leaves his heart beating faster than he’d like to admit.

A few weeks later.

Freo had managed to steal an afternoon for himself — one of those rare days when the calendar wasn’t crushing him with fittings, last-minute meetings, and urgent adjustments. He had settled into his workspace with a cup of coffee in hand and Seible on the table, wrapped in a small blanket like the tiniest version of a fashion critic.

The designer was going through fabrics, making loose sketches, and testing color combinations. Everything was quiet, with soft instrumental music playing in the background. He felt... In peace.

Until, without warning, Seible got and climbed onto the sketch sheet Freo had just finished. He walked across the table with tiny, confident steps, stopping in front of the drawn figure — the human Seible in a stylized outfit of cool tones and asymmetric lines.

He imitated the pose from the drawing. The slight twist of the torso, the hand on the waist, the proud expression. Freo blinked, somewhere between confused and amused. He watched as his tiny held the pose for a few seconds, then turned and tried another, more exaggerated, as if modeling on an imaginary runway.

“What are you doing?” Freo asked, smiling without realizing it.

Seible glanced at him with almost theatrical seriousness, then raised his arms and spun in place, as if strutting.

“Furi-chan!” he said in his soft voice, pointing with his little finger at the design of the human Seible.

Freo fell silent for a moment.

But as always, he chose not to overthink it. Not now. He had learned that with Seible, things were easier when you just let them flow.

“You’ve got talent, you know that?” he murmured, adjusting the fabric on the table. “But don’t get too excited. I’m not signing you up for a runway show, okay?”

Seible spun again, as if challenging the warning, then flopped onto a swatch of blue velvet. He laughed — or at least his version of laughing, that low vibration from his chest, paired with his bright smile.

Freo sighed and returned to his work.

But as the afternoon faded, the calm changed pace.

He left the building with his bag slung over one shoulder, Seible safely nestled in the inner pocket of his coat. The tiny was quiet, but Freo could feel him shifting inside, restless.

As he walked toward the subway, he turned a corner and came face to face with two of the idols from the group. One of them was Seible.

Freo paused subtly, not making it obvious. It wasn’t unusual to run into them outside the studio, though it wasn’t common either. They greeted each other with a polite nod.

“Freo-san,” said the other idol — a dark-haired one with reddish highlights and a relaxed attitude. “Thanks for the last outfit adjustments. It saved us during rehearsal.”

“No problem,” Freo replied calmly. “I’m glad it worked.”

The human Seible stood a step behind, watching him. He seemed calm, but there was something in his gaze that caught the designer’s attention. Not what he said — because he didn’t say anything — but the way he looked at him.

Freo glanced down for just a second, just enough to check that his tiny wasn’t moving too much. But the little one was completely still. Not out of fear. More like... he was holding his breath.

The encounter was brief. They exchanged a few more words and then the boys left, continuing on their way.

Freo watched them walk away, his heart beating a little faster than usual. Not from excitement, but from a quiet unease. As if something were unraveling — or worse, weaving itself without his permission.

He didn’t want to think about it.

That night, as he organized new fabrics in his sample closet, tiny Seible climbed onto his shoulder and stayed there, resting his head against Freo’s neck. He said nothing. He just settled in.

For once, Freo didn’t try to maintain a rational composure. He lifted a hand and held him gently, as if he were something fragile that shouldn’t be broken by questions.

—

Freo left the agency with the weight of exhaustion pulling at his shoulders, but he wasn’t in a hurry. The day had been long, full of last-minute adjustments, lighting tests, and the constant presence of idols—too much sparkle for his taste. And yet… something about the day had left him uneasy. It wasn’t exactly physical fatigue. It was more like that subtle tension that sometimes clung to his body like a poorly cut piece of fabric.

He walked without thinking, feeling the gentle weight of the tiny against his chest. Seible was asleep, or at least pretending to be, in that way of his of becoming invisible without disappearing.

He stopped in front of a corner café. It wasn’t particularly elegant or eye-catching, but the steam on the fogged-up windows, the warm light inside, and the faint aroma escaping every time someone left invited him in like an invisible hand. Freo didn’t usually treat himself at this hour, but something inside him asked for a pause.

He brought a hand to the chest of his coat. The soft weight of tiny Seible was still there, curled up in his place like a constant but calm presence. He didn’t move. He was sleeping.

“Five minutes,” he murmured to himself, gently stroking the soft outline of the pocket with his thumb. “Just a hot coffee.”

He stepped toward the door, thinking about how he liked that this place served coffee in ceramic mugs, not cardboard ones. A silly detail, but comforting.

He was just about to grab the handle when the door swung open outward, more forcefully than he expected.

WHUMP!

“Ah, sorry!” said a male voice, quick and sincere.

Freo stepped back, lifting a hand instinctively. The boy who had bumped into him... was wearing a gray sweater, his hair was black and headphones were hanging around his neck.

They stared at each other, surprised. The boy laughed a little, sheepishly.

“Didn’t see you coming. My head’s all over the place,” he said. His voice had a warmth to it—almost messy, but in a charming way.

“No worries,” Freo replied, firm but polite. He was still processing the sudden encounter.

The other seemed about to continue on his way but hesitated for a second.

“Were you waiting for someone? Or…?” he asked, with a kind of disarming curiosity. Not invasive. Just… genuine.

“No, just passing by,” Freo said, glancing aside.

They stood in silence for a moment, until the boy smiled slightly and held out a hand.

“I’m Zeal, by the way.”

Freo looked at him. The way he offered his name—without filters, without pretense—threw him off a bit.

“Freodore,” he replied, shaking his hand.

Zeal seemed to think for a moment, then gestured toward the café.

“You getting something? I kind of bought this on impulse. The hot chocolate here is criminally good. Want one?”

Freo looked at him, slightly confused.

“Do you offer drinks to everyone you run into on the street?”

Zeal laughed. It came naturally, without effort.

“Only the ones who don’t curse me out.”

Freo couldn’t help but smile—though it was more with his eyes than his mouth. He was about to decline, to say he had work, that he needed to get back… but something in the night held him still. Something in that spontaneity, in that voice.

“One quick one,” he finally gave in.

Zeal seemed genuinely pleased. They went in together, and the soft murmur of the café enveloped them.

While they waited in line, Freo kept his hands in his pockets. He could still feel the warm weight of Seible against his chest. Zeal talked casually, mentioning things about the neighborhood, about music. Nothing too deep, but he had a way of filling the silence without smothering it.

“And you?” he asked suddenly. “What do you do?”

Freo hesitated for a second.

“I design costumes. I work with idols.”

Zeal raised his eyebrows, visibly interested.

“Oh wow. Stage outfits?”

Freo nodded.

“Yes. We coordinate with choreographers, adjust the designs to each group’s style.”

Zeal smiled and was quiet for a moment. Then he said:

“So you must run into artists all the time.”

“Too often,” Freo replied, with a tone that was almost dry—though not without humor.

Zeal laughed again, as if he understood more than he said.

They ordered a coffee to go. Zeal paid before Freo could even argue.

“It’s the least I can do after almost killing you with the door,” he said.

When they stepped back out, the night was calmer. Cars passed now and then, but the air was mild and kind. They walked in the same direction for a few blocks.

“Heading to the station?” Zeal asked.

Freo nodded.

“what about you?”

“Me... yeah, same,” Zeal replied, though it sounded like he’d just decided on the spot.

They walked a bit more without speaking. Just the sound of their steps and the cardboard cups each held.

At one point, Zeal glanced down toward Freo’s coat. A small shape peeked out—barely visible.

“Is that a tiny?”

Freo looked down too. Seible was perfectly still, eyes half-closed, as if pretending to sleep.

“Yes,” Freo said simply.

Zeal smiled.

“Cute. Mine falls asleep like that too, when I carry him with me.”

Freo raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask more. Something inside him tensed slightly. Did he say “mine too”?

“Well,” Zeal said when they reached the subway entrance. “It was nice running into you. And thanks for letting me treat you. Even if it was just a quick coffee.”

“Thanks to you,” Freo replied. And was surprised to mean it.

Zeal took a step back, his smile softer this time.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

And he went down the stairs.

Freo stood there for a moment, the echo of the goodbye lingering in the night.

He looked down. Seible was watching him from the pocket, with an expression Freo couldn’t quite interpret.

“Don’t get weird,” he said quietly, almost amused.

But his heart was beating differently.

And that laugh, he thought, as he turned and headed down his usual path, wasn’t one he was going to forget anytime soon.

Notes:

I really enjoyed writing this chapter — it felt like peeling back one more layer of Freo’s inner world. He’s always so composed, but even he has moments where emotions blur the lines!

Also, I have to admit I laughed while writing the coffee scene. Freo, so elegant and meticulous, wanting to drink from a nice ceramic cup… and ending up with a sad cardboard one. Life doesn’t always match the aesthetic, huh? 😅
Blame Zeal, not me!

Chapter 10: Closer than I thought

Summary:

So many things happened that I don’t even know what I should write here. Just read it, feel it, and enjoy.

✦ Kaelix

Kaelix adjusted the scarf around his neck as he stepped out of the subway. The afternoon air smelled of toasted bread and dry leaves—a mix he had always liked. He walked at a gentle pace, his steps echoing against the damp sidewalk. In his inner pocket, well protected from the wind, his tiny, Freo, moved with small taps.

Freo had only been with him for a few weeks, but he was already part of his routine. Kaelix didn’t want to leave him alone at home when he went to university or a photo shoot. He didn’t like the idea of him feeling abandoned, so he managed to take him everywhere, even if that meant adapting pockets, backpacks, or even a small padded pencil case he had improvised.

That day, however, he had no classes or commitments. It was his only free afternoon of the week, and he had saved it for something special: visiting his friend Reimu.

Zuttomo was one of those cafés that felt frozen in time. Light wood doors, a little bell that chimed softly when you entered, and always, always, the scent of warm vanilla. Kaelix smiled slightly when he saw the hanging sign with the café’s name. He pushed the door open with one hand, the other discreetly holding the pocket where Freo rested.

"Welcome to Zuttomo," sang a familiar voice from behind the counter.

Kaelix greeted her with a wide smile.

"Hi, Reimu. Do you have a free table?"

She nodded, stepping out from behind the counter with her blue apron and bow fluttering.

"For you, always. And what's that sparkle in your eyes?"

Kaelix shrugged. He glanced down at his pocket.

"I brought someone I want you to meet."

Reimu raised an eyebrow with interest. She led him to a table near the window, overlooking the café’s small garden. When Kaelix sat down, he carefully reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and placed it on the table.

Freo stepped out with measured movements—not scared, but wide-eyed as he looked around. He wore a tiny scarf made from embroidery thread, which Kaelix had knitted the night before. It covered almost his entire torso and made him look even more adorable.

“Oh…” Reimu whispered, leaning in slightly without invading the tiny's space. “He's… precious.”

Kaelix smiled proudly.

"His name is Freo."

Freo stayed still for a few seconds. Then he raised one tiny hand and waved with ceremonious slowness. Reimu stifled a laugh and returned the gesture just as solemnly.

"Nice to meet you, Freo. Would you like something to drink?"

Kaelix translated the question with a look, and Freo immediately nodded, eyeing the menu with curiosity.

"The same as me, I think," Kaelix said. "Can you make one of those mini cups with warm milk?"

Reimu nodded and disappeared behind the counter.

While they waited, Kaelix watched Freo. He loved how he behaved when they went out together—never out of place. He adapted with a calmness that Kaelix envied. He moved confidently on the table, stood with his arms crossed or sat like he was at home. Sometimes, he even mimicked Kaelix's gestures without realizing it.

“Do you like this place?” he asked softly.

Freo didn’t reply. He just nodded slowly, then settled on the edge of the napkin holder and looked out the window, as if trying to memorize every detail.

Reimu returned with two cups—one large for Kaelix and a tiny one, for Freo. She set them down carefully on the table.

They spent some time in comfortable silence. Freo sipped his drink slowly, and Kaelix simply watched him. His world had gotten smaller, but also fuller. There was something incredible about sharing the everyday with someone so… different. So his.

Across the table, Reimu remained quiet.

Kaelix looked up, puzzled by her stillness. Reimu wasn’t looking at him, but at Freo. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, as if trying to recall something.

“Mumu?” she asked softly.

She blinked. Then rested a hand on her chin, tilting her head.

“Your tiny…” she murmured. “There's something… familiar about him.”

Kaelix frowned, curious.

“Familiar how?”

Reimu didn’t answer right away. She crouched a little, trying to get a better look at Freo’s face—his pink eyes, the light hair with a few unruly strands falling across his forehead.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe I’m imagining things. But last week, someone came by… one of those guys who look like they stepped out of a magazine. Teal-green hair, intense gaze. He was with another boy, with black hair. They came in together, though they were quite different. But the first one… there was something about him.”

“Something like what?”

Reimu shrugged, a slight smile on her face.

“Hard to say. Elegance, maybe. Or a way of looking… like he was analyzing everything—even people. And I don’t know, Kaelix, but looking at your tiny now… for a second, he reminded me of him.”

Kaelix looked down at Freo, who was still oblivious to the conversation, now entertained with the napkin’s design, touching it as if it were a work of art. He looked so calm, so sweet. But at the same time… yes, there were moments when he seemed to observe everything with a quiet seriousness, like he understood more than he let on. Much more.

“What time did they come?” he asked without thinking.

“Are you interested?”

“I don’t know. I’m just curious.”

Reimu looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember.

“I think it was in the evening. Almost closing time.”

Kaelix didn’t say anything. He just kept watching Freo. His tiny had curled up on the napkin, and though his eyes were heavy, he was fighting to stay awake.

Kaelix extended a finger and gently stroked Freo’s head. Freo responded with a brief sigh, resting his cheek against the pad of his finger for a moment. It was one of those quiet gestures they had been sharing lately. No words needed.

"What if...?" Kaelix thought for a second.

But he didn’t finish the thought. The last thing he wanted was to become paranoid. Tinys were unique, yes. But coincidences existed too. Similarities. Projections. Freo was with him. That was what mattered. Not the rest.

He turned to Reimu with a smile.

“Thanks for telling me.”

She nodded, though her expression was still pensive.

“No problem. But if I see them again, I’ll let you know.”

Kaelix nodded, bringing the cup to his lips. The coffee tasted stronger than he expected, but he didn’t mind.

—

✦ Seible

The stage lights were blinding, but he was used to them by now. The rehearsal routine, the music repeating until it lost all meaning, the sweat running down his back even with the air conditioning on full blast—everything was part of the job. Part of being who he was.

Seible had accepted that long ago. He had learned to focus. To make every movement part of a mental choreography so precise that nothing was allowed to interrupt it.

Except now, something did.

Or someone.

Freodore.

The designer.

Seible blinked when, in the middle of a dance sequence, his gaze crossed—just for a second, barely a flicker—with Freodore’s figure at the back of the room. He wasn’t even doing anything in particular, just looking through some fabrics, talking to another staff member.

But Seible saw him. And something tightened in his stomach.

He looked away immediately. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t felt it.

Because he couldn’t let himself get distracted. Not now.

He’d been trying for days to pretend he didn’t notice. That there wasn’t a spark every time they passed each other in the hallway. That he didn’t pay attention to the way Freodore rolled up his sleeves, or the subtle frown he made when something displeased him. That he didn’t remember perfectly the way he had said “You can call me Freo,” and how his name had lingered in the air like a dangerous song.

Seible didn’t have time for this. He shouldn’t have time for it.

So he forced himself to rehearse harder. To eat on schedule. To fall asleep as soon as he got home.

But even at home…

Something was off.

Zeal—his tiny—had started acting… strange. At first, Seible thought it was just his imagination. Zeal had always been restless, sure, but lately, he stared at him with an intensity that bordered on uncomfortable. As if he were expecting something. As if he knew something.

He didn’t speak, of course. No tiny did. But his gestures said everything.

He jumped onto Seible’s shoulder more often. He snuck into his bag before work, even when Seible told him to stay home. And more than anything, he lingered by the window. A lot.

As if he were waiting for someone.

One night, Seible found him with his forehead pressed against the glass, staring at the street, unmoving. When he approached, Zeal looked at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.

Like a wordless question. Or as if his tiny were seeing something he himself couldn’t see.

Seible sighed.

He wasn’t good at this stuff. At emotions that tangled. At strange signals. He had spent so long perfecting his image, his art, his presence… that he had forgotten how to handle what was inside.

And yet, there they were.

Freodore.

Zeal.

And a feeling in his chest, growing stronger by the day, as if something was approaching. Something he didn’t yet understand, but that felt inevitable.

For now, there was only one thing he could do.

Keep dancing.

—

The meeting room was more crowded than usual.

Seible sat beside his groupmates, arms crossed on the table. His hair was still damp from morning training.

The production head walked in with a firm stride, followed by the managers and some creatives. Among them, Freodore. Seible lowered his gaze the moment he saw him. But it was impossible not to notice him. That quietness that settled in whenever Freo was near.

“Thank you for coming,” the production head began, without preamble. “I know it’s been a few intense weeks. But I’m happy to announce that, after a long search, we finally have a composer.”

A murmur spread through the room.

“Composer…?” one of the guys whispered.

Seible straightened unconsciously.

“That’s right. The new album is officially greenlit. Recordings will begin next week. We already have demos, so we’ll train with the rough tracks while starting choreography rehearsals in parallel.”

His words floated through the air, bouncing in Seible’s chest like little jolts.

A new album.

A new composer.

He knew how important that was for everyone. They’d been stuck for months with half-baked ideas, waiting for something to shake them. And now that it was happening… he felt a strange, unexplainable anxiety.

“Seible,” the head said, glancing at him for a second. “You’re going to lead the main track. We want that voice to be felt from the very first beat.”

He nodded slowly, resisting the urge to look toward Freo. Of course he had nothing to do with it. Or did he? Seible didn’t know what role he’d play in the stage design, but his presence was there all the same.

And for some reason, just thinking about the composer gave him a slight shiver. Who was it?

While the others kept discussing schedules, recordings, and technical details, Seible lowered his gaze again, still lost in thought.

—

✦ Zeal

Zeal couldn't stop smiling.

He still couldn't fully believe it. His demo—the one he had recorded with trembling hands and a heart pounding like crazy—had been accepted. And not just that: the idol agency he'd be composing for was one of the biggest in the country.

He flopped onto the couch on his back, arms stretched out, while Kaelix strolled across the backrest as if evaluating the gravity of the moment.

“We did it, Kaelix!” Zeal said, turning his head to look at him.

Kaelix started hopping excitedly... then let himself collapse onto Zeal’s chest like he was surrendering to the emotion. Zeal laughed, wrapping him in one hand. The tiny’s soft fur tangled between his fingers.

“I told you it’d happen someday. And since you’ve been there from the beginning…” He paused, looking at him fondly. “We’re celebrating together today, okay?”

Kaelix lifted his little head, as if approving. Zeal took the chance to nuzzle him with his nose, making him giggle in that silent way only Zeal could recognize.

A few days earlier, while wandering aimlessly to clear his head, Zeal had walked past Café Zuttomo. In the lit-up display window, he had seen some raspberry and white chocolate cakes that looked like tiny miracles. He promised himself that if he ever got good news, he'd buy one.

And he had. So…

“Time for a reward, Kaelix.”

He got dressed quickly, put on a slightly tilted cap and a light jacket. He tucked Kaelix carefully into his inner pocket—the safest one—and stepped out with a heart as light as the evening breeze.

Café Zuttomo was just a few blocks away. It had that sweet, homey feel, with light wood décor and hanging planters that Zeal always found comforting. When he arrived, he pushed the wooden door open with a smile ready to bloom.

But then he froze.

At one of the tables, a girl with loose, light hair—whom he vaguely remembered from a previous visit—was chatting cheerfully with a tall boy, hair as white as snow and bright eyes that seemed to catch everything without saying much.

Zeal didn’t need a second to recognize him. It was him.

The boy from the other day.

He stood frozen as his heart leapt in a traitorous jolt. He wanted to look away, but his eyes wouldn’t obey. The boy was leaning toward the barista—Reimu, if he remembered correctly—and seemed to be telling her something with enthusiasm.

“Kaelix...?” he whispered without thinking, brushing the pocket where his tiny was curled up. “Do you see him?”

The tiny peeked out and looked around with curiosity.

The boy laughed, in that soft but electric way that Zeal didn’t know how to categorize. In his chest, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something like nerves stirred without permission.

“We’re just here for cake,” he reminded himself. “Nothing else.”

But as he stepped into the shop, the bell above the door rang louder than usual.

The boy looked up.

And his eyes met Zeal’s.

The air between them thickened, like the whole café had gone still.

The boy blinked. Tilted his head slightly, as if trying to remember where he’d seen him before.

He forced himself to step forward, acting as if nothing was happening. As if his heart wasn’t pounding against his ribs. He walked toward the pastry display with the most casual posture he could fake, though he knew the slight tremble in his fingers gave him away.

The boy turned back to the girl next to him—Reimu, yes, definitely her—and said something Zeal couldn’t quite hear.

And yet… there he was. Searching for the boy’s reflection in the glass to see if he was still looking. Pretending to study the desserts when all he really wanted was to get close enough to hear his voice.

“Can I help you with something?” Reimu asked, looking at him over the boy’s shoulder.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry.” Zeal cleared his throat. “I saw some raspberry cakes a few days ago. Do you still have any?”

The boy turned slightly, as if finally confirming that he had indeed seen him before. Zeal felt that gaze sweep over him from head to toe—quick but attentive. There was no recognition… but there was interest.

“Sure, I’ve got one left. For here or to go?”

“To go,” he answered quickly. “It’s kind of a celebration.”

“A celebration?” the boy asked suddenly, curious.

Zeal looked at him, a bit surprised by the interruption.

“Yeah. I got accepted into an important job,” he said, smiling without thinking. “I’ll be composing some pretty big songs.”

“Sounds exciting!” the boy replied, resting his elbow on the table with a calm that seemed to radiate from him.

Zeal nodded, not really knowing why he was still talking.

“Yeah. I just wanted to celebrate with something sweet, that’s all.”

In his pocket, Kaelix peeked out again, curious. Zeal glanced down immediately and gently covered him.

The boy noticed. For a moment, something lit up in his expression. As if he were about to say something. But instead, he just smiled.

“Congratulations, then. You earned it.”

Zeal smiled back, and felt the world shrink just a little more.

“Thanks... uh… do I know you?”

Kaelix shook his head slowly.

“I don’t think so.”

It took Zeal a moment to realize, but on the boy’s shoulder… something moved.

Zeal squinted.

It was a tiny.

Small, elegant, with a red scarf brushing against his rounded cheeks. His greenish-blue hair was neatly combed, and he wore an… imperious expression. Almost demanding. At that moment, the tiny tried to reach the cup in the boy’s hand, stretching with precise effort, as if it were the most important coffee in the world.

Kaelix sighed and gently pulled him back.

“Freo, that’s not for you,” he said softly, not annoyed, with an automatic tenderness that betrayed how used he was to this gesture.

Zeal blinked.

Freo.

The name flickered through his mind like a spark.

And then he saw him. Really saw him.

The tiny on the boy’s shoulder had a certain air. Not just in his demanding expression, but in his gestures, in the way he adjusted his scarf like he needed to look impeccable even in the middle of a mischief.

Zeal felt something flip in his chest.

He looked like Freodore.

—

✦ Freodore

The lights in the building flickered slightly as Freo walked through the lobby, adjusting his coat. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to get home, take a hot shower, hug his tiny, and quietly go over the costume sketches he had left unfinished due to an unexpected meeting. The clock showed it was nearly nine at night, and the sky beyond the large window looked like a mass of liquid ink spattered with rain.

He sighed. It was pouring.

“Perfect,” he muttered, snapping open his umbrella.

He stepped outside. The sound of water hitting the asphalt enveloped him immediately. He walked a few steps before something caught his attention. Under one of the building’s eaves, leaning against the wall, stood a slim figure, wet hair clinging to his forehead. Despite the darkness and distance, Freo recognized him instantly.

Seible.

The idol was huddled against the wall, no umbrella, with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He stared out at the street without moving, as if waiting for the storm to politely calm down on its own. His shoulders were slightly tense, but his face was calm, almost absent.

Freo hesitated. He could keep walking. He could pretend he hadn’t seen him.

But he didn’t.

“Forgot your umbrella?” he asked as he approached.

Seible turned toward him, surprised. His bluish eyes gleamed for a moment in the glow of the streetlights.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot it. Left in a hurry… and well, I didn’t think it would rain like this.”

“And you were going to wait for it to stop?”

“I was hoping,” he replied with a small, shy, slightly embarrassed smile. “I didn’t want to call anyone to come get me.”

Freo raised the umbrella over them both.

“Want me to walk you to the station?”

Seible blinked. Then nodded slowly, as if he still couldn’t believe Freo was really offering.

“I’d love that, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

They started walking under the same umbrella. The space was tight. Their shoulders nearly touched, and though Seible could have stepped away a little, he didn’t. His closeness wasn’t invasive—it was warm. He seemed pleased by the coincidence.

For a while, they walked in silence, accompanied only by the rhythmic patter of rain on the umbrella. Their footsteps echoed on the wet ground, and the streetlights glowed distorted through the mist.

“Do you always work this late?” Seible asked in a quiet voice, barely louder than the rain.

“When I have no choice,” Freo replied. “Today there was a last-minute meeting.”

“With the boss?”

“With production.”

Seible nodded, then lowered his gaze.

“I’ve seen you a couple of times… leaving the studio. But I never dared to say anything.”

“Why not?”

“You seem really serious when you work. Like you're in your own world.”

Freo gave a slight smile, looking ahead.

“I’ve been told that before.”

“And is it true?”

“A little.”

Seible laughed. His laugh was soft, almost like a melody muffled by the rain.

“Do you mind if I talk to you now?”

“No,” Freo said honestly. “I like how your voice sounds.”

Seible visibly blushed, lowering his head. The silence returned, but now it was comfortable. Charged with a soft tension, sweet, like the moment just before a gesture that hasn’t happened yet.

“Can I ask you something weird?” the idol said after a few steps.

Freo turned slightly toward him.

“Depends how weird it is.”

“Do you ever… see someone, and even if you don’t know them well, they give you a good feeling?.”

Freo paused for a moment. He didn’t quite know how to answer that. Because yes, he did feel that way. He was feeling it right then.

“Yes. It’s happened to me.”

“And what do you do when it does?”

Freo glanced at him sideways.

“Depends. Sometimes I try to stay away. Sometimes, I stay.”

“And now?”

Freo smiled briefly.

“I’m walking with you in the rain, aren’t I?”

Seible’s heart seemed to calm and flutter at the same time. His fingers tightened slightly around the straps of his backpack.

“I like walking with you, Freo.”

They arrived at the station. The platform was nearly empty, except for a few people with colorful umbrellas. Seible stopped at the base of the stairs, under the last streetlight.

“Thanks for walking me.”

Freo nodded.

“Take care.”

The idol started down the steps, but then turned back, wearing a sideways smile and a direct, luminous gaze.

“Freo.”

Freo turned around, looking at Seible with curiosity.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go out sometime?”

Notes:

This chapter should have been up more than 12 hours ago, but apparently the universe had other plans—like killing my wifii <3. I even took a nap hoping my wifi would miraculously come back when I woke up… but no 🙂. I waited a few more hours, but I couldn’t hold off any longer.

So here I am, sitting on a cold bench in some random park at 12 AM, shivering but blessed with FREE PUBLIC WIFI. Honestly, I think I’m way too dedicated to this fic at this point. 😂

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry it took me forever to post it. 😭

Chapter 11: Little Secrets, Big Bonds

Summary:

Freo and Seible share a quiet moment where they open up a little about their lives and the small companions that keep them company.

✦ Seible

He didn’t know why he said it. Or how.

Only that the words came out before he had time to think, floating in the damp air between the patter of rain and the subtle creak of the umbrella. They had walked together to the station, shoulder to shoulder, Freodore’s coat brushing his arm with every step. The city seemed quieter than usual, as if the rain had calmed it. Or maybe it was just his perception, altered by the whirlwind he carried inside.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” he had said. Just like that. And Freodore had looked at him, without surprise or discomfort. Just with that calm of his that disarmed Seible so effortlessly.

And then, simply, he had said yes.

Now, days later, Seible stood in his apartment, in front of the window, watching the rain stop. His reflection trembled in the glass, pale under the bluish light outside. Inside, however, there was no calm. Only questions.

What had he done?

He couldn’t deny it: he felt overwhelmed. That invitation had come from something he didn’t understand, a feeling he couldn’t put into words. Was it curiosity? Affection? Something more? He had tried to ignore it for weeks. Had avoided looking at Freodore too much, pretended not to notice how his heartbeat changed when he was near.

But that night, it had become clear: he couldn’t keep playing dumb. Not with him.
And maybe not with himself either.

He ran a hand over his face, still surprised that it had gone well. Freodore hadn’t rejected him. Hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t run away.

So then, why did he feel so vulnerable?

Maybe because now the next move was his. Maybe because he knew that behind that "yes" was the promise of something that could change everything.

And that… that was terrifying.

But it was also exciting.

Seible moved away from the window and dropped onto the sofa, hugging one of the cushions like he was trying to anchor himself. The murmur of the rain lulled him gently, and deep in his chest, something slowly opened, like a flower under the storm.

He had no idea what would happen next.
But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to find out.

—

The clock read 7:15.

Seible checked his reflection for the fifth time, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on his jacket. His heart was pounding, too fast. It was just a simple outing, he told himself. Just a chat, a walk, going out to eat.

Nothing he hadn’t done before.

Except this time, it wasn’t “just anyone.” This time it was Freodore. The designer. The one who had been too present in his thoughts the past few weeks. The one who got under his skin with that exasperating calm and elegant way of saying less than he meant.

He sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. He was about to grab his keys when he noticed a small movement on the shelf.

Zeal.

His tiny was sitting there, arms crossed over his knees. Normally at that hour he’d be dozing or distracted, but today… something in his posture was strangely stiff. He wasn’t looking at him. But he wasn’t ignoring him either. He was just… there. Silent, with a melancholic air Seible could barely understand.

"Are you okay?"

There was no response, as expected. But Zeal raised his head. He looked at him. And then, without warning, he slid to the edge of the shelf and stretched out a tiny hand toward him.

As if asking to come along.

Seible blinked, surprised.

"You want to come?"

Zeal nodded, barely.

That was definitely odd. Zeal wasn’t usually demanding—especially not about going outside. He preferred quiet spaces, cozy hiding spots, the safety of familiar walls. But today… there was something different about him. Something contained. Like he needed to be close.

Was he sick? Was something wrong?

Seible approached and held out his palm. Zeal clumsily climbed onto it, and a moment later was curled up against his neck, hiding his face in the hollow between scarf and skin.

The idol felt the barely perceptible tremble of the tiny body.

He hugged him softly with one hand.

“It’s okay… I’ll take you with me.”

He had no idea what was going on in that silent little head, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to leave him alone if he needed him. Zeal was his tiny. And even if he couldn’t speak, he always found a way to say what mattered.

Maybe this outing—he’d thought was only his—would be important for Zeal too.

Maybe, he thought, as he turned off the lights and closed the door.

—

✦ Freodore

The evening air was clean and cold, carrying that particular smell that lingers after rain. Damp leaves crunched under his steps as he walked through the park, hands in his pockets, scarf tight around his neck. He arrived a few minutes early to the meeting point. He always did. It was a habit from years of work, where timing was non-negotiable.

What wasn’t usual was this.

A date.

And not just any date.

A date with Seible.

He felt something bubbling in his stomach, uncomfortable, like his body couldn’t decide whether to be nervous or calm.

And then he appeared.

Seible came running from the other side, taking soft strides on the pavement as if he didn’t want to make noise. His jacket flapped with every step and the puffed-up hood bounced a bit behind him. When he was a few meters away, he stopped abruptly, breathing heavily.

"I made it!" he said with a wide smile, cheeks a bit red from the effort. “I thought I was going to be late and that would’ve been tragic!”

Freodore raised an eyebrow, unable to hide a faint smile.

“You’re right on time.”

“Really? Thank goodness,” Seible said, spinning in place a couple of times, like he needed to shake off excess energy before walking.

They began to walk down the path together, side by side. Seible’s steps were light, almost floating, and every so often he crouched to look at something on the ground—a leaf, a stone, a twisted twig—then bounced back up. He was restless, as if his body couldn’t stay still for long.

“Did you know leaves smell different at night?” he suddenly asked, turning his head toward him.

“Is that true, or are you just making it up?”

“Mmm…” Seible tapped his chin. “I don’t know. But it sounds cool, doesn’t it?”

Freodore chuckled softly.

“A little.”

The conversation flowed as if they’d known each other for ages. Seible talked about everything and nothing: the color of the park lights, how he liked walking without a set destination, how the sound of footsteps on wet ground reminded him of a song he never quite finished writing.

But despite the lightness, Freodore noticed something.

Seible’s hood shifted now and then. Just a bit. As if something inside was stretching, adjusting. And occasionally, Seible would discreetly touch his neck or shoulder, murmuring unintelligible things with a peculiar tenderness.

“Is something wrong?” Freodore asked when Seible leaned slightly to one side.

“Huh? Oh, no, no, nothing!” he replied quickly, with a nervous smile. “It’s… just my scarf not sitting right.”

But then he lowered his voice and muttered something else to himself, like he was trying to soothe someone.

Freodore didn’t say anything. Didn’t look too long. Didn’t ask. But something in him knew that, even if his eyes didn’t confirm it, there was someone else there. Something more.

“Thanks for coming, really,” Seible said after a while, more calmly, as if he had finally settled down. “I don’t know why I had the guts to invite you… but I’m glad I did.”

Freodore glanced at him. Seible had his head slightly down, but a gentle smile on his lips.

“I’m glad to be here too,” he replied.

—

The restaurant was small and warm, with windows fogged up from the night’s humidity. A place of worn wood, soft lighting, and the smell of homemade soup. Freodore recognized it from afar as the kind of place you go to when you want to feel a little less alone—not to impress.

Seible entered first. He rolled his shoulders like he was trying to appear relaxed, but Freodore could read between the lines: something made him uneasy. Or maybe restless.

The waitress led them to a table by the window, where the steam clung to the glass like a constant caress. Freodore let Seible pick his seat first.

Freo watched him from the corner of his eye, saying nothing. He sat across from him, elbows on the table, and opened the menu as an excuse to focus on something else.

They ordered something simple: miso soup and bread for Seible, coffee and tamagoyaki for Freo. When the waitress left, silence settled again between them. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It had a softness to it.

Like they already knew each other well enough not to fill the gaps with words.

“I like this place,” Freodore said, just to say something.

Seible nodded with a small smile.

“I come here when I want to disappear for a bit,” he admitted. “Not because anything’s wrong. Just… when I need space.”

Freodore nodded too, slowly.

“I get that.”

A small shadow passed over Seible’s face. He looked down at his lap and shifted slightly, like something had tickled him under his coat. His hand discreetly moved toward his neck.

Freodore said nothing. But he noticed.

Maybe it was just a nervous habit, he told himself.

—

The coffee was almost cold when Freodore brought it back to his lips. The conversation had dwindled, as if they both knew they’d said enough. The rain had returned outside, tapping gently against the fogged windows, filling the place with a constant, enveloping hum.

Seible gazed out the window, distracted. He’d scratched his neck a few times during the meal, like it tickled.

Freodore, without really meaning to, let his eyes drift in that direction. And that’s when it happened.

A tiny hand—truly tiny, smaller than anything human—peeked out from the opening of the coat. Just for a second. Just long enough for Freo’s eyes to widen and his cup to freeze midair.

“…What…?” he murmured, not quite out loud.

Seible noticed immediately. His expression tensed, and he quickly tried to hide it.

“Ah…!” he said, with a smile that was both sheepish and nervous. “Sorry. I… didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Freodore set the cup down with a soft tic.

“Was that…?”

Seible nodded very slowly. He didn’t look away. The discomfort lingered just a moment in the air, but it faded when he added:

“I didn’t mean to… hide something like that from you,” he murmured, eyes downcast. “It’s just… Zeal didn’t want to stay alone today. He was acting weird. He made it clear he wanted to come with me. And… I can’t really say no when he looks at me like that.”

Freo was about to respond with something reassuring, when he heard the name.

Zeal.

The same name as that boy.

The one with dark hair and a mischievous expression. The one who’d bumped into him with a café door a few days ago, and then—unexpectedly sweet—bought him a coffee as an apology.

Freo blinked, and for a moment his gaze lingered on Seible’s tiny, as if he could see through him.

Was it possible?

“Is something wrong?”

Freo snapped back to reality immediately and shook his head with a faint, controlled smile.

“I understand why you didn’t say anything before.”

Seible looked up at him, still a bit unsure.

Freodore hesitated for a second, then smiled with a kind, resigned gesture.

“I have one too.”

The surprise on Seible’s face was instant. His eyes widened slightly, and his body leaned just a little forward.

“Really?”

Freo nodded, folding his arms on the table.

“He’s at home, sleeping. He always keeps me company when I work from home, but… I left early today and didn’t want to disturb him. When he sleeps, it’s like nothing in the world could wake him up.”

A slight smile curved his lips as he remembered.

“What’s his name?” Seible asked in a very soft voice, as if that information were sacred.

Freo held his gaze for a moment. There was a pause in his breathing—subtle but there. Then he looked away, almost imperceptibly, as if searching for the words among the shadows of the tablecloth.

“I call him Sei-chan,” he finally replied, with a gentle smile.

Seible raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Is that his name?”

“It’s the nickname I use for him,” Freo said, his tone unchanged but with a quiet firmness that gently closed the door to further questions.

Seible seemed to notice. He lowered his head a little and smiled to himself, as if accepting that boundary without being bothered. In a way, he liked it. Not everything had to be revealed so quickly. Not everything needed to be given away at the first meeting.

“It sounds sweet,” he murmured, gently adjusting the coat where his tiny was still sleeping. “I bet it suits him.”

Freo nodded.

“It suits him perfectly.”

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it… little by little, the pieces are coming together! Although we still haven’t had a proper meeting between our dear Kealix and sweet Seible…

Also, I’ve read your comments and decided to take things slow. I’ll update with care and make sure to rest properly. ;3

ONE MORE THING — I’ve been planning a new polybeat fanfic… hehe! Just gonna say: It’s raining cats and dogs!!!!!

Chapter 12: Soft hands, sharp eyes

Summary:

Kaelix thought it was just another rainy morning. Then came the invitation. And then… Freodore. A fitting. A look. A phrase that stuck.

Something’s happening—he just doesn’t know what yet.

The sound of steam hissing from the electric kettle was the first thing to break the calm that morning.

Kaelix stretched out on the sofa, the laptop still balanced on his lap, his eyelashes fluttering lazily at the soft light filtering through the window. A light drizzle fell outside, and the gray city seemed to embrace everything like a desaturated filter muted the colors of the world.

On the low coffee table, Freo slept curled up in one of his favorite scarves—a soft wool one with embroidered details belonging to Kaelix. The little one barely stirred, except for a gentle purr each time the rain tapped harder on the glass. It was unusual for him to sleep so late in the morning, but lately he seemed more sensitive to the weather.

Kaelix picked up his cup of green tea—already warm—and looked back at the screen. He was about to close his email—he'd replied to everything important of the week—when he noticed a new message.

From: NIJISANJI Agency
Subject: INVITATION: Kaelix, we’d love for you to join us

He frowned. He hadn’t scheduled any casting with that agency. NIJISANJI was known for managing idols—not models like him.

Still, he clicked.

> Dear Kaelix Debonair,

We would like to invite you to participate as a guest model in the official debut presentation of the idol group Aetherline’s new wardrobe line.

The event will be live-streamed across our platforms and will feature a special segment in which each design is showcased by an artist.

Your profile was carefully selected by our creative team, as we believe your unique style, stage presence, and expressive sensitivity align perfectly with the group’s new vision.

The event will blend fashion, music, and visual storytelling. Each outfit tells an emotional story, and we would love for you to represent one of the centerpieces.

Logistics and schedule are attached.

With admiration,
NIJISANJI Creative Direction

 

Kaelix stayed motionless for a few seconds.

It wasn’t unusual to receive requests for shows, collaborations, or events. He already had a certain name in the scene—not just for his looks (white hair, gentle gaze, serene lines), but for what cameras loved: presence. The kind that doesn’t need to push itself; it just is.

But this… This was something else.

A live runway mixed with a musical show. And from NIJISANJI, no less.

A soft rustle pulled him from his trance.

He glanced sideways and looked down.

Freo was awake. Just waking. Sitting on the edge of the cushion, hair messy and a sleep mark on his cheek. His eyelids half-closed, yet he watched Kaelix attentively. He blinked slowly. Tilted his head. No words—no need.

Kaelix smiled, tired.

“Did I wake you?”

Freo rose slowly, stretching his tiny arms. Then, in small, careful steps, he approached the table’s edge where the cup still steamed faintly. He sniffed the rim and pulled back immediately, making an almost comedic face. He wrinkled his nose and turned to look at Kaelix disapprovingly.

“I know, it’s gross,” Kaelix murmured, laughing despite himself.

Freo ambled toward the laptop, curious. He stopped in front of the keyboard but didn’t lean in. He just looked at the screen attentively… then back at Kaelix.

His expression had changed.

No longer sleepy—but alert. Sharp.

Kaelix didn’t need him to speak. He knew him well.

“Want to know what it says?”

Freo tilted his head again, expectant.

Kaelix angled the laptop slightly toward himself. His finger pointed to the top of the email. The agency’s logo—bright, crisp. The official invitation: model a piece from a new design team for a special idol-group event. A runway, song presentations, live stream.

Freo couldn’t read it. But he understood Kaelix’s tone, posture, the held breath. And he always understood when something made him nervous in that way.

The tiny settled himself, sat in his crossed-leg position on Kaelix’s lap, and watched him. Then he raised a tiny hand to his chest, squeezed his fingers, and slowly nodded.

Kaelix watched in silence.

“Do you think I should do it?”

Freo didn’t answer with words, but his expression was clear. He held his gaze, as though saying, “You already know the answer.” Then he raised his arms overhead and spun himself around in a slightly clumsy yet determined turn. As if on a catwalk. As if urging, “Walk it, Kaelix.”

Kaelix chuckled low and soft.

“Was that a runway?”

Freo nodded proudly again. Then he pointed both digits first at his own heart, then at Kaelix’s chest.

“A hunch?”

Freo didn’t move—but there was something in his stillness, in the slight tilt of his head, that said yes. Like he knew something Kaelix didn’t.

And Kaelix, for the first time since reading the email, felt the tight knot in his chest loosen. That maybe—just maybe… he wanted to be part of it.

He clicked “Reply.”

“I’ll confirm attendance.” he whispered.

Freo stretched his arms upward in a silent cheer. Kaelix leaned his head back, truly smiling.

—

The agency’s headquarters hummed with that electric energy of big days. Assistants hurried hallways with garment racks veiled in plastic, fabrics fluttered amid the rush, and all corners smelled of steam from irons and reheated coffee. Kaelix walked unhurriedly, as if his presence alone cleared a path through the chaos.

He carried a shoulder bag—one of those roomy, sturdy-zipped ones. He’d left a small padded space inside, like an improvised bed, and nestled between a rolled hoodie peeked two wide, silent eyes.

The tiny, Freo, had been awake for a while. Though Kaelix didn’t look inside, he could feel him gripping the edge of the internal pocket, alert to every sound. Freo didn’t speak—he never did—but Kaelix knew his gestures: the way he leaned toward voices, bristled if someone passed too close, and that slight shiver when something caught his attention.

This time, he trembled.

“Kaelix, right?” asked a young woman with a tablet as she approached. “You’re just in time. They’re expecting you in the fitting room.”

He nodded with a soft smile, adjusting the bag strap to stop its movement. The little one settled quietly, as if he understood there’d be more activity soon.

They led him down a side corridor, away from the main bustle. The fitting room was small but bright. A soft carpet, an upholstered chair, and a table neatly laid with scissors, pins, and measuring tape. In one corner, a full-length mirror reflected the scene, calm compared to the rest of the building.

“The designer would like to fit you personally,” added the assistant, slipping away through the same curtain she entered.

Kaelix was alone and took the chance to place the bag on the chair, making sure it was secure. He didn't open it fully but eased the zipper just enough so the tiny could breathe, look, hear.

And at that moment, the curtain moved again.

He looked up.

The designer entered, stepping with fluid grace, jotting something in a leather notebook. He wore a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a dark gray vest impeccably tailored, and fitted trousers that moved like he was part of the fabric. His hair was light teal, slicked back with rebel strands falling to the sides. His eyes—a soft, unusual rose—seemed to observe everything with elegant precision.

“Kaelix?” asked the designer, looking up from his notebook.

“Yes.”

“I’m Freodore. I oversee the wardrobe for this collection. Today I’ll tailor one of the main pieces for you.”

They shook hands—firm, brief, professional.

“Mind if we begin?”

“Go ahead.”

Kaelix removed his jacket, and the tiny peeked from the bag to watch the designer approach. His eyes widened slightly. Though his expression didn't change much, Kaelix noticed a restless movement in the bag—an almost imperceptible tremor, like something deep inside had just awoken fully.

Freo—the human—took the tape measure and began at the shoulders, murmuring measurements softly. Kaelix let himself be guided. The designer's concentration was admirable: his fingers moved confidently, touching only as much as necessary. His hands were firm yet gentle, as if he always knew exactly how much pressure to apply.

“Straight shoulders... clean neckline... interesting line across the back…” he whispered more to himself than to the model.

Kaelix stared forward at the mirror but occasionally shifted his gaze toward the bag. The tiny remained still, but his eyes didn’t blink. There was something different in how he observed the designer—almost as if he recognized him. Or as if he didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop watching.

“Did you know this garment wasn’t designed for anyone specific?” Freodore remarked while measuring his waist.

“I didn’t. What does it represent?” Kaelix asked with genuine curiosity.

Freodore looked up slightly as if deciding whether to explain further. His fingers continued measuring, precise, as he spoke.

“Something not visible at first glance.” He noted in his notebook without pausing. “It’s inspired by connections that seem born of coincidence… but were actually forming long before.”

Kaelix frowned, intrigued.

“Like coincidences?”

“Like the encounters that mark you without clear reason.” Freodore continued as he circled the tape around the waist. “Relationships that don’t make logical sense but pierce through you regardless. Even if you can’t explain them.”

Kaelix nodded slowly, as though the idea struck him in an unexpected way. He lowered his gaze, thoughtful.

“I’ve never heard of someone designing clothes from something like that.”

“Not everyone does. Because I don’t think clothing is just aesthetics. It’s also memory. Or desire. Or intuition.”

Freodore stepped back to view the full outfit on Kaelix’s body. He stayed silent for a moment.

“And in you,” he finally said “you can see it.”

Kaelix met his gaze directly.

And without fully understanding why, he felt exposed. Not because of the fit test, but because of that calm way of speaking… it left him defenseless.

Freodore barely smiled.

“We’ll tailor it to your exact measurements. It has to be perfect.”

Kaelix nodded, swallowing hard.

Notes:

Uh… how long has it been since the last update...? A MONTH??!!

Yeah, I'm really sorry about that 😭
Life decided to pile everything on top of me at once. Between exams, assignments, personal stuff, and that lovely little thing called “zero motivation to even get out of bed,” the story ended up super delayed. I honestly didn’t mean to disappear for so long—it just… kind of happened.
Time flew by, and suddenly it had been weeks and I was like, “Oh. Oh no.”

So, what now?
Well, I’m trying to get back into a consistent routine and I’ll do my best to return to (semi?) regular updates. Maybe even daily ones?? (Don’t quote me on that, I’m fragile.)

Anyway—thanks for your patience and for sticking with me despite the chaos. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 💕
See you (hopefully) soon!

Notes:

This is a recycled idea from a fanfiction I never finished—and honestly never will lmao.