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Sweat rolls from Kaelix’s face, tracing a slow path down his neck. Hours of relentless dance practice are finally catching up to him. His breathing turns erratic, limbs heavy from nonstop movement, and his vision wavers blurring with every blink. The music rings like a bullet in his ears, a cruel reminder that his body is rotting long before his heart ever could.
Then it happens.
A sharp crack tears through his foot as he lands with flesh on flesh, slipping on his member’s body as he falls. The sound swallowed by the music but screaming through his bones. White-hot pain explodes up his leg, stealing the breath from his lungs. His ankle buckles, foot twisting at an angle it was never meant to bend. He stumbles, trying to recover, but the floor feels unstable. The members all stopped in their tracks to rush towards him. As every attempt to put weight on it sends fresh agony lancing through him.
The lights blur. The crowd’s roar distorts into a distant echo as he collapses, clutching his foot, fingers slick with sweat. The horror in his member’s faces as they try to call for help. Pain pulses in time with the beat, drowning everything else out. He tries to stand. He can’t. The stage tilts, the sound warps—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Kaelix jolts awake against the counter.
Coffee drips from the machine’s valve in a steady rhythm, each sound sharp in the quiet haze of the cafe. Steam curls into the air, stinging his eyes, while low murmurs from nearby customers wash over him. The smell of burnt espresso hangs thick and suffocating.
For a brief moment, he lets himself face the crowd.
He’s back on stage. The blinding lights beaming down on his face, the floor vibrating beneath his feet. The crowd roars with every move he makes, chanting his name like it still matters. Kaelix, Kaelix, Kaelix Debonair!!. The name rolls off the tongue like a spell. Out there, he’s fire. He’s the moment. He’s alive.
“Hey! Can I order now?.”
Reality snaps him back.
He meets a customer’s eyes and forces a small, nervous chuckle, fingers tightening around the empty cup as he takes their order. A low smooth jazz can be heard surrounding the cafe. The roar fades into idle chattering of waiting time. His name isn’t screamed anymore but printed in small, forgettable letters on a plastic tag pinned to his chest.
Kaelix exhales slowly, steadying himself against the counter as the leftover coffee continues to drip, counting the time he wishes to get back to that specific memory. Today’s a slow day, with few customers lingering around the empty seats. The timer above the register continues to move as he stands there in silence, waiting for another new face to walk through the door.
—-
The beat thumps softly as Zeal adjusts the notes, fine-tuning the track for the hundredth time. But no matter how many times he listens, something just still feels off—like a space that refuses to be filled. He taps his desk in frustration. Beside him sits a freshly brewed coffee, with a straw between his lips a bad habit he never quite outgrew from his youth. His manager’s voice echoes in his head.
“If I’m being honest, the track feels empty.”
Zeal exhales heavily. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“You didn’t have this problem back then,” his manager continues. “When you won Show Me the Honey with Ren Zotto. The album was a hit!.”
“Have you thought about bringing someone else in? Maybe a ballad singer—something softer than your usual?.”
“The thing with Ren is,” Zeal mutters, “we’ve worked together long before the competition. I doubt a new voice would flow the same.”
But it wasn’t just the vocals. He tried everything. By tweaking the instrumentals, rewriting the melodies, and stretching the choruses. Each attempt still ended up the same. Empty and hollow. His manager pointed it out bluntly each time, on three separate meetings of rejections started to replay in his head.
“Zeal, these tracks just sound like a remix of your previous album. Are you even into this?”
Ouch.
The words stung but far from the truth. He thought he was innovating, moving forward, finding new space to stretch. Instead, it felt like he was rehashing his past, a shadow of something he’d already done. A one hit wonder.
Hmm hmm—
It’s not that he’s opposed to collaborations, they’ve just never felt right. Frustration gnawed at him, he saved the edited track anyways and switched playlists, letting something else loop in the background. The first song that plays is a cover he doesn’t recognise. The view count is in the millions. How has he never heard of this singer before?
The name flashes across the screen:[From By the Beat] ft. Kaelix Debonair .
From that moment on, the song stays on repeat. There’s something haunting about his voice—the melancholy, the pitch, the way every note feels lived in. Zeal slumps back on his office chair, eyes closed, listening closer, an unfamiliar ache settling in his chest. It isn’t just curiosity anymore, it’s a pull, a wanting he can’t explain, a yearning to be closer to the person on the other side of the screen.
Curiosity gets the better of him as he clicks through the channel, only to feel massively disappointed when he sees the last upload was five years ago. His socials are gone too, wiped clean after Kaelix Debonair’s retirement due to his foot injury, and the “By the Beat” group continued as a duo in a new company.
He tried every attempt he could think of, sending out emails to Kaelix Debonair, messages to his management, multiple contact and inquiry forms—but either silence or automated replies greeted him. Each failed attempt tightened the knot in his chest.
Zeal lets out a quiet breath, eyes still on the screen. His cover being looped for who knows how much.
“Kaelix…” a smile tugged on his lips.
He flips his phone over in his hands, thumb hovering a second before tapping in his contacts. When the call finally connects he lets out a soft exhale.
“Mane san– I have a favour to ask”
—-
The next afternoon, Zeal stands across the street from the cafe, heart pounding louder than any bassline he’s ever layered.
Fragments of the call replayed in his head, uninvited and distracting.
Publicly, his manager had said—one word that cracked everything open. Kaelix Debonair hadn’t vanished the way the world believed. The foot injury ended the stage, not the title. The contract stayed. So did the training. Weekends spent in quiet practice rooms, voice work, piano sessions with no cameras and no applause. Discipline carried out like muscle memory.
Weekdays were different. A cafe. Early mornings. A barista’s apron instead of an idol’s mic. A life where no one asked him to sing or perform on stage with his members.
Five years without a release. Five years without a stage.
And yet—still training.
Zeal exhales slowly, grounding himself.
He still stands out—and he knows it. A black hoodie zipped high, black mask snug against his face, glasses perched low on his nose, a cap pulled down just enough to shadow his eyes. Headphones rest around his neck, more for comfort than disguise. Anyone who knew him well would still recognise his posture, his height, the way he stands like he’s bracing for sound. But here, among strangers and passing cars, he blends well enough.
This isn’t gonna go well, he tells himself.
He crosses the street anyway.
The cafe is warm in a way studios never are. Sunlight spills through wide windows, catching dust in the air. The scent of coffee wraps around him instantly—rich, and grounding. There’s soft jazz music playing overhead, something instrumental, and calming. Zeal orders without really looking at the menu properly, then moves to the side, pretending to scroll through his phone while his attention locks onto the counter.
That’s when he sees him.
Kaelix Debonair doesn’t look like an idol anymore. No stage makeup, no dramatic lighting, no camera angles crafted to perfection. His hair is slightly longer than in the videos Zeal’s been obsessing over, tied back loosely, a few strands slipping free. He wears a simple apron over a long white shirt, with sleeves rolled to his elbows. His blue eyes reflect the light slightly. There’s a calmness to him—not empty, not dulled, just… mundane.
Zeal’s chest tightens.
He watches Kaelix move with quiet confidence, hands practiced as he works the espresso machine. There’s a rhythm to it. Not rushed. Not careless. Like muscle memory softened by time. Customers come and go, exchanging small smiles, murmured thanks. Kaelix returns them easily.
Then he heard it.
As Kaelix wipes down the counter, barely audible beneath the cafe’s ambience, he hums a tune. It’s soft. Almost accidental. A thread of sound that might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else.
But Zeal freezes.
The hum isn’t flashy. It isn’t polished for performance. It wavers slightly, dips into a lower register before lifting again, gentle and aching in a way that makes something twist painfully behind Zeal’s ribs. The pitch is still there—God, it’s still there. Not strained. Not rusty. If anything, it sounds warmer, like a voice that’s been carried quietly instead of pushed.
Five years of silence, and it hasn’t left him.
Zeal forgets to breathe.
Every fear he’d carried with him—the doubt, the worry that time might’ve taken something precious—crumbles in an instant. Kaelix hums again, absentminded, lost in his work, and Zeal feels it settle straight into his bones.
This is it, his mind whispers helplessly. This is what was missing.
He doesn’t realise he’s smiling until his cheeks ache beneath the mask.
Zeal stays until his coffee goes cold, until Kaelix disappears into the back for his break, until the hum fades and the cafe feels quieter for it. When he finally leaves, his steps are light, his thoughts loud, his heart impossibly full.
The track hadn’t been empty after all. He’d just been waiting for a voice that never truly left.
—-
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
The rhythm of his soles echoes throughout the dance studio, mimicking the soundtrack thunders through the speakers. Bass vibrating in his chest, as Kaelix took a misstep that’s off by a second behind the beat. His right foot starts to ache from that.
He clicks his tongue, irritation can be seen in the mirror’s reflection. The song’s rhythm didn’t wait for him– it never does. “One, two, three” He starts counting under his breath, letting the beat from the numbers drag his body to the melody. Steading himself as sweat beads down his brows, an exhale came out of Kaelix’s mouth.
The tension from his shoulders and legs eases. A small reluctant smile escapes him when he meets his gaze in the mirror–-not because he nailed the choreo but the fact he didn't let that misstep get to him.
A hurried knock made Kaelix flinch a little from his spot. “Yes?” he chimed.
The sliding door opened as his manager emerged, looking frazzled with documents in his hands.
“Kaelix!! a once in a lifetime opportunity just came in for you!” Before he could react, his manager starts to tug on his shoulders, steering Kaelix towards the hallway.
“W-woah woahh,” Kaelix laughs nervously, as he starts stumbling a bit while still getting pushed around. “Can I at least get a rundown on what's happening?”
His manager kept reassuring him everything will make sense after they get into the office. As Kaelix ushered into the office, his pace slowed down as he took a step inside—and froze.
Across the room, his eyes met with the sharpest, and most intense purple rings locked onto him. Zeal Ginjoka. He flashes Kaelix with a soft, enigmatic smile that doesn’t ease Kaelix’s tension at all, almost a dread comes over him. Something about the gaze feels like it reaches past his defenses, probing, and analysing.
—-
Kaelix swallows a lump in his throat, heart hammering in his chest, and realises with a jolt that this isn’t just another meeting. This… could change everything. His career? An opportunity for him to be back in the group maybe? A chance to be… back on stage.
His manager clears his throat, breaking Kaelix from his deep thoughts. “Kaelix, this is Zeal Ginjoka. You might have heard him from the new survival music show, Show me the Honey”
“Yeah! Congrats on getting first place Ginjoka!” Kaelix’s eyes lit up as he excitedly extended his hands towards him. With a smile Zeal grasps his hand giving it a brief, firm shake before letting his fingers lightly brush over his hands.
“Why thank you, I’m glad you paid attention to me but please.. Call me Zeal yeah?” he replies, his tone remaining calm but carrying a quiet warmth. That last part had a lingering effect on Kaelix somehow and he couldn’t help but nervously let out a shy giggle while nodding.
“Great, now that greetings are out of the way..” Zeal’s manager chimed in. “If you haven’t been filled in yet, Zeal is currently working on his new album and is looking for a ballad singer to collaborate with!” he continues. “And it just so happens that he stumbled across your old covers from a few years back. He want you to be featured in his opening tracks”
A big smile spread on Kaelix’s face, he couldn’t believe his ears right now. Someone as great as Zeal Ginjoka wanted him, a small nugu idol to be featured in his next album? He must be dreaming.
Suddenly his stomach twists. As he remembered a few variety shows he appeared in, Zeal Ginjoka is known in the industry– a quietly composed guy who is always polite but has a sharp tongue when calling out TV hosts or anyone who overstepped his boundaries. That blunt personality made him both admired and also intimated by his character.
Now, he was in the same room as him, chatting about their new project together. Kaelix couldn’t help but notice how Zeal’s eyes seemed to catch his every movement, like a serpent silently coiling around him. A chill ran down his spine whenever he dared to look away from that intense gaze, leaving him both unsettled and oddly captivated by him.
A small, quiet voice in his head whispers doubt—was his voice truly enough for this project? Before that voice can be louder and can take hold, he shook his head. Reminding himself that all the years of training, the long hours of practice, the countless late nights over the weekends, had led him here. This was what he had prepared for. A chance.
Zeal leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Kaelix’s. “Just like mane san mentioned, I came across your cover from a few years ago. You have a certain… tone in your singing. A fragility that carries a lot of emotion, if you let it.”
Kaelix shifts nervously in his chair, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I… I—I appreciate that. I didn’t expect someone like you to…” He hesitates, unsure at how to finish his sentence. He recalls Zeal on those shows. “…even notice it.”
His smile widens at the response. “I notice even the smallest of things. That’s why I want you on this track. It’s a pop ballad—I need someone who can feel it, not just sing it.” The words linger in the air, stretching the silence that follows. Both managers exchange uncertain glances, unsure whether the two artists are actually getting along or merely circling each other through light banter and unspoken tension.
“Ehem… should we start talking about the specifics?” Kaelix’s manager finally cuts in, having stayed quiet until now. Zeal’s smile doesn’t fade, calm and unreadable, while Kaelix nearly vibrates in his seat. He does his best to keep his nerves from showing, but inside his heart is racing— unsteady at the thought of working alongside someone as undeniably talented as Zeal Ginjoka. A small nugu idol collaborating with an award winning producer.
Still, beneath the anxiety, a steady conviction takes root. This opportunity might be the very thing that pushes his career further than it’s gone in years. Fumbling this will not be in his best favour.
—-
The two managers excused themselves to discuss further details with upper management, leaving Kaelix and Zeal alone in the office. When the office door closed behind them, the room felt different—quieter, and heavier. Kaelix shifted in his seat, suddenly very aware that it was just the two of them now. After seemingly a minute of silence passed, Zeal rose from his seat and walked over towards Kaelix. Zeal extended his hand toward him. Caught off guard by the sudden gesture, Kaelix took it without thinking, only for Zeal to pull him closer.
He barely had time to register the warmth of Zeal’s palm in his before they were standing face to face. Kaelix let out a nervous laugh, words tumbling out in a clumsy attempt to fill the dead air as his heart raced. Zeal didn’t let go—his grip remained firm yet gentle, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips as his gaze lingered on Kaelix, clearly enjoying every second of his flustered reaction.
Only after Kaelix had rambled himself breathless did Zeal finally speak. “Let’s get going, yeah?”
“Oh—yeah! Yeah, let’s go,” Kaelix answered quickly, laughing again as heat crept up his neck. “Wouldn’t wanna be late or anything—wait.” He paused, blinking. “Where exactly are we going?” His voice wavered, betraying his nerves.
Zeal’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of Kaelix’s hand, tracing the faint lines and pressing just enough so that Kaelix could feel it under his skin. The touch sent a quiet shiver up Kaelix’s arm. “We’re going to my home studio, of course,” Zeal replied, his voice was low and smooth, a soft smile curving his lips as his eyes stayed on Kaelix’s face.
The moment lingered unrushed, undeniable before Zeal finally turned, still holding Kaelix’s hand as he began to lead him forward.
—-
Zeal’s home studio was warm in a way that felt intentional. With dim lights, muted colors, the quiet hum of expensive equipment resting between takes. The door shuts behind them with a gentle click, and Kaelix realised a little too late that he’d been holding his breath the entire walk inside. He immediately exhaled, with his breath being slow and shaky.
Focus, he told himself. Studio. Music. Normal things.
The moment Zeal stepped away to set his bag down, Kaelix’s thoughts betrayed him—slipping backward to the drive over, rewinding the details he hadn’t dared acknowledge at the time. Zeal’s car had been quiet at first. Comfortable. The kind of silence that didn’t demand conversation, only presence. Soft tunes seeping out of the radio, accompanying them without it being the star of the show. Kaelix remembered staring out the window, trying to adjust himself to the new surroundings, he glanced at Zeal only to be greeted with his purple sharp eyes.
Zeal smiled before shifting his gaze to the road. Talking like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Food places nearby. A song he’d been obsessed with lately. Asking Kaelix what kind of music helped him relax. While the radio accompanies them quietly.
Every time the car stopped at a red light, Zeal’s gaze would be on Kaelix again, never enough to be obvious, just enough to make Kaelix be painfully aware of it. It was then Zeal became brave to lace their fingers together, resting between them like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. Kaelix answered his questions on autopilot, nodding along, laughing when he was supposed to while his thoughts screamed incoherently in the background.
Now, standing in the studio, Kaelix shook his head lightly, as if that might clear the memory from his mind. It didn’t help. His ears still felt warm.“You can sit anywhere,” Zeal said easily, glancing over his shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable, yeah?”
Comfortable.
Kaelix swallowed and nodded, choosing the small couch a little too quickly. He perched on the edge, hands clasped together, suddenly very aware of where Zeal was in the room at all times. Every sound, the soft shuffling of equipment, the low music humming through the speakers felt amplified.
Zeal glanced at him again, something unreadable passing through his purple eyes. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You okay?” he asked.
Kaelix laughed, breathless. “What me? I’m as okay as I can be!” Zeal hummed softly, stepping closer but not too close, but close enough. Familiar and intimate in the same effortless way as the car ride.
“Take your time,” he said gently before walking towards his setup.
The studio is an integral part of his home with sound proofing panels lining the walls surrounding them. A grey hoodie draped over the office chair , a half-empty coffee mug with a straw near the audio interface. Warm LED strips ran beneath the desk, casting light over tangled cables. This wasn’t just a recording studio but a place where nights stretched too long and music happened whether or not anyone was watching.
Zeal moved through it with ease, fingers brushing past his MIDI keyboard before settling at his laptop. He glanced back and gestured for Kaelix to come closer. As Kaelix did, the screen came into view.
Tracks stacked chaotically in the DAW. With unfinished beats, muted harmonies, raw vocal takes labeled things like v2 maybe and don’t hate this yet. Some tracks were neatly color-coded; others looked like they’d been dragged in at three in the morning and never cleaned up. A folder sat open off to the side: old stuff. Untouched.
Kaelix felt intrigued by it immediately.
The unedited mess, the random shuffles, the honesty of half-formed ideas it all hit too close. It reminded him of his idol days, when songs were still experiments instead of capitalist products, when the studio felt more like refuge instead of a deadline to meet. Before everything had to be perfect. Before it had to be sold.
Zeal noticed how Kaelx’s eyes started to droop.
“I don’t delete the first takes,” Zeal said, voice low, almost casual. “They might be useful for later. Even when they’re a little rough.” Kaelix didn’t answer, but his eyes were still fixed on the screen. A restless thought slipped in his head. “Are you showing me this because you need me… or because you actually want my opinion?”
The quiet hum of the monitors filled the room, joined by the faint clicking of a metronome waiting to start.
Zeal shifted beside him, close enough that Kaelix could feel his presence closely. He reached out not to touch Kaelix, but the trackpad next to him and scrolled. He smiled as it made Kaelix blush and looked away.
A handful of vocal tracks appeared, muted and stacked. No names Kaelix recognised, but the structure was familiar. Intro layers, placeholder harmonies and a chorus marked with a comment highlighted: too low, higher pitched.
Again Kaelix recognised the structure instantly. It was familiar in a way that hurt. He had lived inside sessions like this before—when songs were still rough, when nothing had to be justified yet. Back when his voice wasn’t just a product to be marketed.
Zeal scrolled slowly through the session, then paused. “I saw By the Beat had a comeback,” he said. “The duo I mean.”
Kaelix nodded. “Yeah. I did too.”
“You still talk to them?” Zeal asked, his gaze flicking to Kaelix’s reflection on the screen before returning to the tracks.
Kaelix huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. More than people think.” He leaned back, careful to not put weight on his right foot. “We get dinner sometimes. Text about stupid stuff. They check in when they know I’ve got doctor appointments or if my practices are going well.”
“That sounds… good,” Zeal said.
“It is.” Kaelix hesitated, then added more quietly, “That’s kind of the problem.”
Zeal glanced at him but didn’t interrupt.
“They’re genuinely good people,” Kaelix continued. “They never made me feel like I was holding them back. Never treated me like a burden. Even when I left.” His fingers curled slightly at his side. “And they’re doing well now. Better than ever.”
The metronome clicked on.
“They don’t need me,” Kaelix said. Not bitter. Just honest. “And I hate that I can’t be angry about it.” Zeal reached forward and muted the metronome. The sudden silence felt deliberate.
“You’re allowed to feel bitter,” Zeal said in a steady voice. “Even when the people you miss didn’t do anything wrong.”
Kaelix swallowed. “I know. But sometimes it feels worse knowing they were kind about it. Like… if they’d been awful to me, at least I’d know where to put the blame.” Zeal leaned back against the desk beside him and held out a hand. Kaelix took it without hesitation. Zeal squeezed his hand gently, saying everything he didn’t out loud.
Kaelix looked at the screen again—at the messy layers, the unfinished ideas, the songs that weren’t trying to be anything yet. “I’m proud of them,” he said. “I really am.”
“I know you do,” Zeal replied, his thumb tracing a slow, absent-minded line over the vein in Kaelix’s hand.
Kaelix exhaled, his breath uneven, a laugh caught halfway. “I just didn’t think I’d be this easy… to be erased.” Zeal didn’t rush to answer. Letting the moment linger on, his purple eyes lifted to meet Kaelix’s ocean eyes, and neither of them looked away. The moment stretched, heavy and unguarded, before Zeal finally spoke.
“You weren’t erased,” he said at last. “You were discarded by a system that thrives on pretending people are replaceable” His face was tight, with the mere mention of the unfairness of the industry.
For a moment, Kaelix couldn’t bring himself to respond, the sharp pain of those words settling deep in his chest. It felt too tight, as if everything he’d kept intact through careful distance had finally been set down. He shifted away from Zeal without meaning to, even as his hand remained firmly in his.
“Hey,” he said softly, cutting the tension away. He gave Kaelix’s hand another squeeze. “Let’s take a break, yeah?”
Kaelix blinked, feeling confused with the sudden shift “A break? But we barely did anything!”
“Yeah, I know,” Zeal said calmly as he closed the laptop with a quiet click, as if sealing the moment away instead of ending it. “You don’t need to sit with all of that right now, maybe some other day.”
He guided Kaelix away from the desk, careful of his footing, steering him towards the sofa along the far wall. The sofa was a deep green colour with cushions slightly uneven, a throw blanket folded over the arm like it had been used more times than it could count.
Zeal settled beside him, close—closer than before—and reached for the remote.
“Any suggestions?” he asked, flipping the channels.
Kaelix shook his head with a skeptical look on his face. “I’m fine with anything.” A movie started playing, something low-stakes and familiar, the kind meant more for background comfort than attention. The room dimmed further, the screen’s glow replacing the studio lights.
And still, Zeal didn’t let go.
His hand stayed wrapped around Kaelix’s, thumb brushing slow, reassuring patterns against his skin. Every so often, almost like he thought Kaelix wouldn’t notice, Zeal leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Kaelix’s knuckles. Then another. Gentle. Unassuming. Like muscle memory. As if he’s used to it.
Kaelix tried to focus on the movie. He failed.
A soft, nervous laugh slipped out of him instead. Zeal glanced over, faintly confused. “What?”
“You,” Kaelix said, grinning despite himself. “Why are you being… So cute right now?”
Zeal huffed, ears going faintly red. “I’m just making sure you’re okay.”
Kaelix laughed again, quieter this time, leaning into Zeal’s shoulder. “You’re doing a terrible job of being subtle.” Zeal didn’t deny it. He just kissed Kaelix’s hand again, a little slower this time, like he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.
“If this is how you comfort people,” Kaelix murmured, “I don’t think I stood a chance.”
“Good,” Zeal said softly, arm tightening around him just a bit. “You don’t have to.” The movie continued to play, mostly ignored. Kaelix’s laughter faded into something calmer, steadier, his head resting comfortably against Zeal as the ache in his chest finally loosened its grip.
For the first time that night, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It felt held.
—-
The bright sunlight had already started to leak through the blinds, when Kaelix stirred awake. The faint humming from Zeal’s laptop and the soft scratch of a track being tweaked greeted him before his eyes fully adjusted to his surroundings. Seeing Zeal already working on layering their new vocals, reminded him of their new routine.
Over the past few weeks, mornings have started with Kaelix waking up in Zeal’s bed. He would insist on Kaelix to stay over whenever their sessions went longer than usual. Saying Kaelix “needed rest” or “it was easier” for him to stay the night, and somehow Kaelix never questioned it. Slowly, the excuses had become invitations. The bed, shared.
Kaelix lies still for a moment, listening. To the soft, absent-minded way Zeal hums under his breath as he works. It wraps around the room like it belongs there.
Like he belongs there.
That’s what breaks him.
This has become routine now. Waking up here. In Zeal’s bed and Zeal’s space. The casual way his name is murmured when he stirs, the way a mug of coffee always appears within reach, like Zeal never even considered asking. The way his injury is remembered without being pointed out. The way he’s guided, not hovered over. Taken care of so quietly it almost feels planned.
Almost.
Kaelix turns his face into the pillow, gripping the fabric between his fingers as his chest tightens.
“Why are you so kind to me?”
That question gnaws at him, repeating like a broken record. Because kindness, he’s learned, always comes with conditions—even when no one says them out loud. Especially back then.
From the desk, Zeal laughs softly at something on the screen, rewinds a section, listens again. Kaelix watches him through barely opened eyes. The way his shoulders tense when he concentrates. The familiar curl of his fingers over the trackpad. The easeness of it all.
Too easy.
Kaelix’s thoughts spiraled, unravelling faster the longer he stayed quiet.
“Is this still just a collaboration? Or am I being kept because I’m useful?”
His voice. The only thing everyone wanted. The only thing that survived even when everything else didn’t.
He remembers the studio. The messy tracks. The first takes Zeal refused to delete. The way he’d listened—not just heard, but listened. Like Kaelix wasn’t something to be polished and sold, but something worth keeping even in the rough.
His throat tightens, his eyes start to blur from the tears.
“Would you still want me if I couldn’t sing anymore?”
That thought engraved heavy in his chest, pressing until his breath stutters. He turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling, blinking hard. He doesn’t want to cry. He hates that it’s this easy, that comfort is what finally makes him break.
Zeal glances over him.
Not immediately—just a flicker of attention drawn by something he feels more than sees. His movements slow. The chair creaks softly as he turns.
Kaelix doesn’t look at him. He can’t. His hands are clenched now, knuckles pale against the sheets.
A shadow falls across him as Zeal stands. The bed dips slightly as he sits down, close enough that warmth seeps through the space between them. He doesn’t touch Kaelix right away. Just waits. Like he’s learned when to let silence speak first.
It makes Kaelix’s chest ache even more. When Zeal finally reaches out, it’s careful. Fingers brushing against Kaelix’s wrist, then curling gently around his hand. Grounding. Familiar. The same way he always does.
And suddenly Kaelix can’t stop it. How does he know.
His breath breaks, shallow and uneven, shoulders trembling despite his best effort to stay still. He turns his face away, but Zeal follows, pressing his forehead lightly against Kaelix’s temple. No words. No pressure.
Just there.
Kaelix squeezes his eyes shut.
“Are you in love with me, he thinks helplessly, or is it just my voice that matters?” The thought hurts more than he expects. Because he doesn’t know which answer scares him more.
Zeal’s thumb traces slow, steady circles against his skin. Not urging. Not demanding. Just reminding him he’s here. That he’s staying. With whatever this is.
Kaelix exhales shakily, letting himself lean into it, even as his heart aches with questions he’s not ready to ask. For now, all he can do is stay. Let himself be held. Let himself believe—just for this moment—that he isn’t being kept for what he can give.
But for who he is. And somewhere deep down, that hope is what terrifies him most.
—
By the time Kaelix finally drags himself out of bed, the apartment already smells like coffee. Something Zeal always makes sure of.
He walks into the kitchen half-awake, only to pause when he catches his reflection in the dark glass of the microwave. He’s wearing Zeal’s clothes.
The hoodie hangs a little too long on his arms, sleeves swallowing his hands. Black, of course—soft, worn-in, carrying that faint mix of detergent and Zeal’s natural scent. The joggers sit low on his hips, comfortable in a way that makes him acutely aware he didn’t put much thought into changing. Even the shoes by the door—sleek black sneakers, very much idol-coded—are Zeal’s.
Kaelix huffs a quiet laugh. He usually wears brighter things. Soft blues, warm creams and browns, colors that feel open. This—this feels like stepping into someone else’s shadow. And yet. He doesn’t change.
Because it’s Zeal’s.
Zeal finally walks out of the bedroom and immediately notices Kaelix’s messy hair, his hoodie sleeves pushed up clumsily. His eyes linger for half a second too long, something warm and unreadable passing through them.
“You stealing my wardrobe now?” Zeal says lightly, already reaching for another mug.
“Borrowing,” Kaelix corrects, tugging at the sleeve. “You didn’t complain.”
“I won’t,” Zeal says, and there’s something a little too sincere in it.
—-
The cafe feels different when Zeal walks in behind him.
Kaelix clocks in, ties his apron, slips back into the rhythm of muscle memory. Steam. Cups. Orders called out. It grounds him—usually. Zeal’s clothes feel heavier here. The black jumper hangs loose on him, sleeves pushed up, the fabric dark against the brightness of the cafe. A chain around his neck, small enough not to be noticed. He catches his reflection in the stainless steel of the espresso machine—idol-coded from head to toe, even dressed down to it. He looks… different. Quieter. Like a secret somehow.
But today, he feels watched. Not in an uncomfortable way. In the I know exactly who it is way. He doesn’t even need to look up to know Zeal’s there. He feels it in the way the space bends around him, in the familiar presence lingering just on the other side of the counter.
“Scuse me, sir,” Zeal says, voice pitched just a little higher than normal. “Quick question.”
Kaelix exhales through his nose, trying to hold in his laugh, then turns.
Zeal leans casually against the counter, hood up, mask off, a silver necklace hanging off his neck, purple eyes far too bright for someone pretending to be normal. He looks like he belongs anywhere he stands—even here, even like this.
“Do you, uh,” Zeal leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, “happen to have a lover?” Kaelix finally looks at him.
The grin covered his whole face. Mischief gleams sharp in Zeal’s eyes, like a kid trying to pull a prank and is just waiting to see how far he can push it.
“Sir,” Kaelix says flatly, voice steady despite the warmth creeping up his neck, “this is a cafe, is there anything you want to order?”
Zeal hums thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping over him—lingering on the borrowed jumper, the sleeves pushed up too far, the apron tied a little crooked. His fingers tap the counter once. “Right,” he says, nodding as if that settles it. “Follow-up question—do you have Wegram?”
Kaelix turns away before the smile can fully betray him, reaching for a cup. He feels Zeal lean closer, the counter suddenly too narrow for the space between them. As his hand closes around the espresso handle, Zeal’s fingers slide forward.They brushed lightly against each other, barely there. But it’s enough.
Kaelix’s grip tightens just a fraction before he steadies himself. Zeal doesn’t move away. His fingers linger, warm against Kaelix’s skin, like he’s testing how much he can get away with.
“Sir,” Kaelix mutters, eyes fixed on the machine, “you’re distracting the staff.”
Zeal smiles wider. “I’m a customer. That’s allowed.”
Steam hisses. Milk foams. The noise gives Kaelix something to hide behind. He sets the cup down between them a little harder than necessary. Zeal reaches for it slowly, deliberately—fingers sliding over Kaelix’s again, this time on purpose without a hint of hiding it. Kaelix’s ears burn. Zeal lifts the cup, completely unbothered. “Excellent service,” he says, in his soft voice. “Five stars.” as he put out his hand to show five fingers.
Kaelix doesn’t respond. He turns away under the pretense of the next order, but he can feel Zeal’s gaze on him even as he moves. When he looks up again, Zeal is already backing away, walking toward a table far too close to the counter.
He pauses there. “In case I need anything else,” Zeal says lightly. “You know. More questions and maybe another cup of coffee, yeah?”
Kaelix watches him sit, posture relaxed, eyes never leaving him. Like he’s exactly where he wants to be. The rest of the shift passes in a blur. Every time Kaelix glances up, Zeal is there—pretending to scroll through his phone, pretending to sip his drink, pretending not to watch the way Kaelix moves. Sometimes he catches Zeal smiling to himself, like he’s in on a joke no one else can hear.
When Kaelix wipes the counter again, Zeal walks by closer, with a cheeky grin.
No words this time. Just proximity.
Their hands brush once more—then again. Zeal’s fingers curl briefly around Kaelix’s wrist beneath the counter, thumb pressing lightly like a promise before he lets go. Kaelix’s heart stutters. He finishes his shift feeling flushed and unsettled, warmth pooling somewhere dangerous in his chest. Bright colors or black. Idol or barista. None of it seems to matter right now. Because the way Zeal looks at him like this, feels like it isn’t just for convenience. Like it's a choice. As if he wants to be there, with him.
—-
After that, it starts quietly. Late nights would stretch longer again and again. Not because they meant to—but because the music has a way of pulling them under. Kaelix slips back into his old habits without him realising it, headphones half-on, fingers moving instinctively over keys and pads. With Zeal sitting nearby more often than not, hunched over his laptop, knee bouncing in tune with an unfinished beat.
Kaelix didn’t notice the camera at first.
Since Zeal never made it obvious. No flash. No exaggerated movements. Just a phone lifted briefly when Kaelix is too focused to look up—when his brow furrows in concentration, when he laughs under his breath at a mistake, when he leans over Zeal’s shoulder to point at a waveform and forgets how close he is.
Captured mid-breath. Mid-note. Mid-existence.
Pictures consist of Kaelix, bathed in screen glow. Kaelix with his hair messy and eyes sharp. Kaelix leaning against the studio wall in Zeal’s black jacket, sleeves too long, collar slipping just enough to look intentional.
Sometimes Zeal gets one of them together—reflections in dark glass, shadows overlapping on the floor, Kaelix’s hand half-visible in frame, resting on Zeal’s knee. Nothing explicit.
The posts start as album teasers. Bits and pieces of cropped frames. A hand on a synth. A shadow against the studio wall. No faces, no names. Zeal’s Wegram fills with speculation the way it always does—fans starving, decoding, convinced something big is coming.
Then comes the photo that changes everything. It’s almost nothing. Just the corner of a frame. A blurred shot of Zeal’s desk, cables tangled, a coffee cup half out of focus. But hanging from the side of a phone, barely centered, is a small charm. White and yellow. A worn little monkey. The internet catches it instantly and Wegram explodes. From that small little charm post.
Speculation ignites immediately. Zeal’s fanbase dissects the images like a missing puzzle piece. Zoom in. Enhance. Compare angles. A new idol? A producer? A trainee? But why does he feel familiar?
Zeal Ginjoka’s name trends alongside phrases like album soon and teases new partner. Purple hearts flood the comments. The mystery feeds them. Every cryptic upload sharpens the hunger. And then—
Someone recognises him. Not all at once. Not loudly. Just a quiet post buried deep in a corner thread of social media. Wait. Isn’t that Kaelix Debonair? A few fans speculated. Five years of silence finally broke the barrier.
Old fans came rushing back, disbelief turning into something electric. Screenshots would circulate. Side-by-sides. All of Zeal’s cryptic posts started to circulate in his fanbase, trying to piece together whether Kaelix Debonair was in these other posts.
He’s back??
No way he’s back!!
I knew he never really left!!!
Is he joining By the Beat?!
Kaelix was found out by accident. He was sitting cross-legged on the studio floor, listening back to their new track as he idly scrolled on his phone while Zeal tweaked a new mix he’s working on. He freezes mid-scroll. The warmth drains from his fingers.
Screenshots circulate faster than Zeal can refresh the page. Old fan accounts stir awake like something resurrected. Threads bloom, frantic and disbelieving.
That charm? It’s debon!
No way—
Kaelix Debonair always had that!!
Five years of silence collapses in on itself. Old clips resurface. Old interviews. His iconic laugh resurfaced. Hands that haven’t changed. The same little charm, swinging from his phone in grainy photos from years ago. The last remaining memory of the life he once had, a mascot of his fanbase. His chest tightens. His phone feels too hot in his hands. It wasn’t his face or his name. Just something that was his. Something small. Something private. The room suddenly feels too loud, too bright, too exposed.
Zeal notices immediately. He always does. Kaelix didn’t look at him at first. His voice comes out steadier than he feels. “Did you post that?” Zeal’s smile faded, he immediately looked at his phone and paled.
“I didn’t think—” He stops himself. “I’m sorry.”
That’s when everything crumbled. There was no yelling, not anger the way he’d expect. Just everything Kaelix has been holding on for far too long—five years of careful distance, of choosing obscurity over being watched, of deciding what parts of himself the world was allowed to touch.
“You didn’t ask,” Kaelix says, finally looking up. His eyes are bright, but not with tears yet. “That wasn’t yours to show.” Zeal looks wrecked. Not defensive. Not irritated. Just… breaking, quietly, as he takes it in. He crouches in front of Kaelix like before, but this time there’s no teasing, no softness meant to charm.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says. His voice is low. Careful yet tender. “I swear to you, I wasn’t thinking about the fans. I was thinking about how much I—”
He stops, because Kaelix is physically shaking and that’s what undoes him. Kaelix presses his palms into his knees, grounding himself, forcing the words out before fear swallows them whole. “I need control,” he says with his breath shakes. “I need to choose when I’m seen. Or I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.”
The silence presses down. Sharp. Heavy. Kaelix can feel it in his chest, as if the air was holding his breath. Then Zeal nods. Once. Firm. Certain. A small motion. “Okay,” he says. “Those are the rules. And I never cross them again.” Not maybe. Not we’ll see. Just never Again.
He immediately deleted the post and Kaelix watched it disappear. No statement. No explanation. Just… gone. Kaelix swallows the lump in his throat, and for the first time in years, he feels the tension in his chest loosen just a little. Small, sharp relief prickles underneath his skin.
—
Much later, exhaustion weighs down the space between them, but it’s safe this time. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, the quiet stretching between them, thick and steady. The music is paused. The studio, usually buzzing with half-finished tracks and static energy, is still for the first time. “I should’ve asked— no… I should’ve checked,” Zeal says quietly. Honest, bare and sincere. Kaelix can hear the weight from the words in his voice.
Kaelix exhales, long and trembling, as if he’s been holding his breath for years and only now realises it. “I want to be here,” he admits, voice low, barely audible. “With you too. Just… not like that.”
Zeal moved closer towards him. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that Kaelix can feel the warmth from his presence. “Then we do it your way,” he says. “Or don’t at all.”
The words hit him like sunlight through a storm cloud. Kaelix’s hands without realising finally unclench. His shoulders relaxed. His pulse, which had been pounding like a drum in his ears, slows just enough for him to notice. He can breathe again. Really breathe.
He held out an empty hand before it was laced in Zeal’s warmth. Without any words, they share this silence together. The comfort of knowing that they’re together is enough, for now.
Outside, the internet spins. Theories flare. Fans demanded and waited for answers that never came. Inside, something steadier takes hold, clear lines. Chosen moments. Consent that isn’t borrowed or assumed. For the first time in five years, Kaelix doesn’t feel like he’s losing himself to the noise, to expectation, to strangers who think they can claim pieces of him. He feels held. Seen. Protected. Not possessed, not displayed, not consumed. Safe. Finally, truly safe with Zeal by his side.
—-
The album was finally released. Every track Zeal had poured himself into, every late nights they’d spent hunched over monitors and keyboards, every hesitant lyric and meticulously layered beat—it all landed perfectly. The response was unsurprising immediate. Streams skyrocketed, playlists picked them up, and critics called it a “carefully chaotic masterpiece” that seemed to exist in its own orbit. And with it, Kaelix, who had quietly lingered in the background, with his soulful ballad voice. Found himself pushed into the spotlight and was adjusting to the newfound attention, but this time it was planned.
Zeal’s fanbase noticed him too, and the new fans who had stumbled on Zeal’s new album wanted to find him too, but there was almost nothing—no Wegram posts, no online presence, just a few scattered tracks from when he was a trainee and before By the Beat became a duo. They shifted through old interviews, old clips, trying to piece together the person behind the angelic ballad singer who collaborated with Zeal Ginjoka. For the first time in his career, Kaelix felt the strange, sharp tug of fame, now landing gently because he wasn’t alone in it.
The timing, as it turned out, wasn’t accidental. A week after the album’s release, with numbers still climbing off the charts, as Zeal Ginjoka and Kaelix Debonair’s names settled comfortably into conversations it had never been part of before, their managers called them in. It wasn’t framed as pressure—more like possibility. Kaelix’s manager was the first to say it. A comeback. Not a solo, not yet. But alongside By the Beat.
The idea landed slowly at first, then all at once. A reunion stage with all of the members of By the Beat, Seible and Freodore. The names he thought wouldn't ache of what he’d lost. And this time, it wouldn’t be a quiet return or a test run—it would be deliberate, supported by everyone including by the companies. Zeal Ginjoka would be featured alongside them, bridging the past and present, pulling new listeners toward the group while giving longtime fans something they’d never thought they’d see again.
Kaelix didn’t even realize he was smiling until Zeal nudged him under the table.
“That’s a yes face if I ever seen one,” Zeal murmured, amused.
It was more than a yes. It was the kind of excitement Kaelix had buried deep inside after the injury—the one that had taken stages away from him, forcing him to learn how to stand still while everyone else moved forward. The thought of being back under lights, with his members, with music that felt like home—and with Zeal, who had stayed beside him through quiet doubts had made his chest feel too full.
—
Later, when the meeting ended and the hallway noises mellowed down, Zeal leaned in beside Kaelix and started grinning.
“So,” he said, sing-song, “when do I get introduced to these legendary By the Beat members, huh?” Kaelix laughed, soft and a little embarrassed. “You say ‘legendary’ like they’re mythical creatures.”
Zeal grinned. “Please. I’m delightful. And if you keep stalling, I might accidentally bring up your sock-stealing habits on this Friday’s Variety show.”
Kaelix tilted his head.“Bold of you to threaten me when I know where the rest of your laundry is.” Both of them started laughing and pushing each other, engrossed in their own little world. Then the introduction happened sooner than Kaelix expected.
The first meeting was… tense. Polite nods and careful handshakes. Seible watched Zeal like he was still deciding which category to put him in, while Freodore carried the quiet curiosity of someone who is already analyzing the rhythm of the room. Kaelix felt the familiar flutter of nerves twist in his stomach, caught between two worlds he cared deeply about.
But Zeal, effortlessly Zeal, didn’t force anything. He talked about music first. About synths and analog gear, about hating overproduced choruses, about how he still listened to the same old underground artists on repeat. He laughed easily, listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, it was with the kind of sincerity that didn’t feel rehearsed.
Seible was the one who broke first. “Well,” he said, shifting his weight as he pulled out his phone, “since we’re apparently doing a show and tell now…” He tapped a few times, far too pleased with himself, then turned the screen around. “I found these.”
Kaelix barely had time to react. “Oh no, please Seible no!.” as he started to screech his name.
There he was—years younger, overdressed, posture rigid, hair styled to perfection. He looked good, objectively. But every photo screamed trainee handbook approved. He looked good, undeniably so, but stiff in the way only someone trying too hard not to mess up could be, as if he’d been afraid the camera might scold him for breathing wrong.
Zeal leaned in immediately. “This you? HA!” Zeal continued, delighted. “Why do you look like you’re about to apologize to the camera for blinking?”
“I was seventeen and a trainee,” Kaelix muttered. “That was considered cool back then.” His face heated as he hissed at the last part.
“Okay, but why so serious?” Zeal said, flashing a shit-eating grin as he tilted the phone. “Like the camera personally offended you. And every photo you’re standing at attention. Were trainees fined for slouching, or were you just one breath away from saluting?”
Seible snorted as he tried to stable himself . “You practiced these poses for an hour back then! And you would yell at us if the photos don’t look right.”
“I was nervous!!,” Kaelix said, reaching for the phone in Seible’s hand.
Zeal hummed, gazing and flicking from the photo to Kaelix’s face now—softer, looser, more himself.“Still,” he said lightly, “kind of obsessed. You were beautiful then.”
Kaelix’s brain shuts down completely. “…Zeal.” he mumbled
“And you’re even worse now,” Zeal added, smiling. “Dangerous, really.”
Kaelix tried to grab the phone again. But Zeal caught him easily, fingers brushing his wrist as he leaned in just a little too close. “Careful,” Zeal murmured. “You’ll smudge the evidence darling.” The touch was brief, but it was enough. Heat rushed to Kaelix’s ears, down his neck, everywhere at once. He starts to laugh and wheeze nervously, staring anywhere but at Zeal’s piercing purple eyes.
Seible stopped laughing.
He looked from Zeal’s hand to Kaelix’s face, then back again. His smile turned into a questionable face. “You two,” he said slowly with his two fingers on his chin, “always like this?”
Zeal adjusted his seat, completely unfazed at what’s happening. “Like what?”
“That,” Seible said, gesturing between them, suspicion threading into his voice.
Kaelix opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. “We just—he’s just joking—Zeal likes to joke.”
“Do I?” Zeal tilted his head, amused. “I thought I was being honest.” Kaelix made a sound somewhere between a cough and a whine and turned away, pressing his palms to his face. Zeal became more and more amused by his reaction, while Seible had a grin on his face as he realised what’s going on.
Freodore, silent the entire time, took another sip of his tea. His eyes followed everything—the timing of Zeal’s teasing, the way Kaelix unraveled instantly, the way Seible leaned forward without meaning to. It’s as if they’re back from before, but with a new air for the better. When Freodore finally spoke, it was calm and mild. “You’ve changed,” he said to Kaelix. “More freeing”
Kaelix peeked out from behind his hands, a bit startled. “You think so Freo?”
Freodore just simply nodded once, then immediately glanced at Zeal. “He seems… encouraging to you at least.”
Seible exhaled slowly. “Encouraging huh,” he repeated, still watching Zeal with narrowed eyes. “Right, I see that.”
Zeal just smiled, easy and unbothered. “Told you. I’m very charming.” Kaelix groaned, as his heart raced, while Freodore calmly took another sip of tea—already certain he was witnessing the start of something neither of them was ready to admit out loud.