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Kaelix always smiled first.
He laughed before anyone else did. He reached out without waiting. He filled silences like a favorite song looping in the background—not loud enough to demand attention, but always there, always warm. He was reliable. Bright and sweet.
But lately... even he could feel it. He was dimming. Not that anyone noticed. Not really. “Man, you’re intense,” someone had said once—offhand, half-laughing, half-sighing in a green room post-stream, eating chips too loudly to mean anything by it. Kaelix had just grinned back, flipping his hair. “By that you mean intensely fabulous, I am.” he’d said, striking a mock pose. Everyone laughed.
But the words stuck anyway.
Like a splinter.
Small. Invisible. Constant.
Intense. Too much. Over the top.
“Also, I noticed You’re always so clingy with that Freodore and the others. Doesn’t they get annoyed? I mean, we might if its 24/7.” Kaelix expression fall for a split second. That one landed lower. Because maybe… maybe he was.
Freo always had boundaries—gentle, polite ones, like velvet ropes. He never pushed Kaelix away, but he never really pulled him close either. And Zeal—Zeal never said anything. He just let Kaelix lean on him during long meetings. Accepted little gifts dropped into his lap with a quiet smile. Sat there with that unchanging calm, like driftwood in a tide. No complaints. No thanks. Just… silence. Maybe that was worse.
Then there was Seible. Bold, teasing, unfiltered Seible—who flinched. Just once. But Kaelix caught it. They’d been at a café—dim lights, quiet jazz, the smell of espresso and butter—and Kaelix’s fingers had brushed Seible’s as they reached for the same napkin. A blink. A recoil. Like static shock. Seible had played it off with a smirk and a jab about Kaelix’s “greedy hands,” but— Kaelix saw it. Felt it. Logged it. Maybe it was nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing. So he decided to talk a little less. Just to test it.
He skipped the usual “Good morning ~ ” in the group chat. No hearts, no memes. Just silence or just waiting others to greet first since he always the one that did it first.
And yet, nobody noticed. Not Freo. Not Zeal. Not even Seible.
Two days later, Freo finally asked—voice low and careful during a mic check call. “You good, Kaelix?” His voice was always calm. Measured. Gentle. Like the faint pressure of snow on your shoulders. Kaelix forced a grin, though Freo couldn’t see it through the call. “Just tired,” he lied. Freo hummed—acknowledging, not prying. “Get some rest then. Don’t burn yourself out.”
And that was it. No push. No pull.
Kaelix ended the call early that night and stared at the wall for a long time. It was raining when it finally cracked.
The four of them had finished a long day of work. A live singing collab—high-energy chaos, laughter, jokes, that half-scripted, half-spontaneous rhythm they’d mastered together. But it didn’t quite reach Kaelix. Not like it used to.
He sat in the after-call, everyone still unmuted but half-distracted. The energy had cooled into background noise. Freo’s voice filtered in faintly from his side—tinkering with audio, as always. A soft hum, maybe his usual pre-edit focus state. Seible was strumming absent-mindedly on his guitar. Not really playing anything. Just the occasional dissonant chord and muttered lyrics under his breath. Zeal hadn’t spoken in a bit, but Kaelix could imagine him there—laid back, probably scrolling through his feed or sipping something warm. Watching, always quietly observing.
The screen showed their icons glowing, little green dots beside their names.
Still here.
Still online.
Still alone.
And then—
“Kae-chan,” Seible’s voice cut in with that casual lilt, “Kae-chan, you’ve been like a clingy little puppy lately, huh? Dogs are dramatic too, so it checks out~”
Huh? Ouch?
Kaelix blinked.
It was a joke. It was always a joke.
And Kaelix knew that. He knew Seible meant it playfully—meant him playfully. Because dogs were sweet. Affectionate and loyal.
But tonight, the joke didn’t land.
Kaelix gave a soft laugh—more breath than sound. “Yeah. Guess I’m just wagging my tail too hard, huh?” Seible chuckled. “At least you’re house-trained.” That one might’ve earned a comeback any other night. But not tonight. Kaelix stared blankly at the screen. The little flickering mic icons. The faint clatter of someone’s keyboard. The low hum of rain at his window. His fingers, resting on the desk, moved without thinking. His foot caught the PC cable tucked beneath.
A soft clack.
The screen went black. Disconnected. He stared at the dark reflection on the monitor, his own face barely visible, warped by the curve of the glass.
No one would know if it was on purpose. No one would ask.
He didn’t cry. At least, not right away.
The hum of the city below his apartment was muffled by the downpour. The rain tapped persistently on the windows like fingers asking to be let in.
Kaelix slid off his chair and sat on the floor, his room dim and quiet. Faint LED glow spilled across posters on the wall—soft colors, fan gifts, a few Polaroids taped around the frame of his monitor. He pulled his knees to his chest. Rested his forehead there. He had loved them so loudly. So obviously. And now he wasn’t sure if any of it was welcome.
What if they had only tolerated him?
What if every laugh was polite?
What if every smile had been a shield?
His phone buzzed against the hardwood.
Zeal: “Everything okay, Kaelix? Sweetheart?”
Freo: “You left fast. You alright?”
Seible: “Kae-chan? That wasn’t about what I said, was it? Connection issue again? Ping me if you're good.”
Kaelix didn’t open them yet. Let them assume it was the Wi-Fi. Let them sit with that. He didn’t want to answer. Because honestly—it wasn’t just about the joke. It wasn’t even about the words anymore. It was the way their love landed differently. His came crashing in. Theirs floated in like feathers, delicate and brief.
His was a hurricane. Theirs were breezes.
And maybe he’d flooded them. Drowned them. Broken something that couldn’t be fixed. His breath caught. Tight. Shaky.
But he told himself—
Tomorrow, he’d smile again.
He always did.
But for tonight, Kaelix let himself feel it.
That aching, gnawing truth he had tried so hard to smother beneath sunshine and sparkles:
Maybe he was too much.
And not enough at the same time.
…
He didn’t cry at first.
He just sat there—knees drawn in, arms wrapped so tightly around himself it hurt. Not the kind of silence that felt peaceful. This one was swollen, brimming. If he moved even a little, it felt like it might all spill out. And still, the rain kept tapping. Soft. Rhythmic. Relentless. Like it was counting the seconds he tried not to fall apart.
The only light in the room came from his phone screen. The group chat still glowed in the corner—messages unread, tiny dots blinking like a heartbeat that wouldn’t settle. But the room itself was dark, and cold. The kind of cold that seeped through skin and sat behind the ribs.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
Then something inside him cracked. It wasn’t loud. Just a breath drawn too sharply, a small stutter in his chest. A noise slipped out before he could catch it.
He pressed a hand over his mouth—tight. Tried to hold it in.
But it came again. Louder. Shakier. Uglier.
It wasn’t words. Just sound.
A choked inhale.
A ragged exhale.
A whimper curling at the edges of a scream.
At first, it wasn’t even words. Just sound. Muffled gasps. His voice—usually smooth, teasing, full of life—twisted into something jagged.
He tried to swallow it down.
He always took care of his voice. It was his charm. His control. His defence. His way to guide crowds, to calm down fights at the live house, to joke with drunk customers until they forgot what they were mad about. He could stop a brawl with one sharp callout. Make a whole room laugh with a smirk and a well-timed line. He was the one who held the chaos back.
The one who made sure the others could perform without worry.
But right now, there was no crowd to manage. No drinks to pass around. No soft spotlight to hide under.
Just him.
And a scream caught behind his teeth.
He sobbed.
Loud. Raw. Messy. The kind of crying that burned as it forced its way up his throat—like it had been sitting there for days. Weeks. Months.
It didn’t sound pretty.
It didn’t sound like him.
And maybe that was the worst part.
He shoved his face into the pillow, trying to smother it. But it didn’t help. His body shook. His lungs clenched, wrung out like a rag. His chest heaved like something was crawling out of him—something that had waited too long.
Everything he tried to ignore came crashing back.
The offhand comments. The subtle jabs.
"Too loud."
"Not professional."
"Just eye candy."
"He's just the bouncer, right?"
“Too much.”
“Clingy.”
“Loud.”
“Attention-seeking.”
The little things that shouldn't have mattered. That he told himself didn’t matter. That he laughed off in front of the others. That he’d smiled through while handing someone their fifth drink of the night.
They came back now, heavy and sharp. His heart clenched.
He gasped between sobs, voice cracking like glass—
“I d-didn’t mean to—”
“I just—”
“I just wanted—!”
But the words fell apart. Died on his tongue. And all that was left was the scream. Muffled against fabric.
He screamed until his throat burned. Until he tasted salt and static. Until the sound wasn’t sound anymore, just vibration. Just ache.
Until there was nothing left but shaking. Until the spinning stopped. Until the only thing that remained was the sound of the rain against the window and the ragged pull of his own breath. Kaelix had never cried like this.
Not when he had to quit chorus, even though his voice was the only thing that made him feel seen.
Not when he left home, with nothing but a suitcase and a heart full of goodbyes.
Not when the live house got too quiet on weekdays and they wondered if they could keep the lights on.
This was different. This wasn’t grief. This was being unseen. Unheard. This was the sound of being dismissed, again and again, until he wasn’t sure he existed outside of his role.
Not the singer. Not the youngest. Not the star.
Just the bouncer.
Just the loud one.
Just the one who’s always “okay.”
It was something cracked open. Exposed. Raw. And no one saw it. No one would hear it.
Because tomorrow, he’d smile again. He’d show up early, open the side door, do the mic check, wipe the counters, help Freodore with the cables, tease Seible until he smiled, and make Zeal’s coffee just right—no sugar, extra strong.
His voice would be just a little hoarser. And none of them would know why.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
Zeal leaned against the bar counter, stirring a drink with lazy precision. The pre-show buzz hadn’t kicked in yet—just the low hum of soundcheck vibrating through the floorboards, and the occasional clatter of chairs being shuffled into place. The stage lights were still warming up, casting hazy glows against dust-speckled air.
Kaelix had been unusually quiet during setup.
Not tired—quiet.
He watched as the white-haired bouncer adjusted mic stands, movements more sluggish than smooth. No humming. No cheeky banter with the sound techs. Not even a dramatic complaint about the playlist being “too emo for a Friday night.”
Zeal’s gaze narrowed slightly when he saw Kaelix pinch the bridge of his nose, thumb and forefinger pressing hard, like trying to rub away something heavier than just a headache. Or maybe trying to keep something from leaking out.
He crossed the floor, two cups in hand. “Extra strong. No sugar,” he said, voice soft as he extended one cup.
Kaelix blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—thanks, my darling bartender,” he replied with a tired smile, fingers brushing Zeal’s when he took it. But Zeal didn’t smile back right away. “You sure you’re good?”
Kaelix took a sip, held it in his mouth a little too long before answering. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep well. Y’know, brain doing laps.” He chuckled softly.
Zeal gave a slow nod, eyes scanning his face. The curve of that smile was off. The jaw a little too tight. The usual spark in his voice? Dimmed.
“Alright,” Zeal said at last, tapping a gentle hand to Kaelix’s shoulder. “But if those laps get too loud… you know where the stockroom is.”
Kaelix gave a short laugh, brittle at the edges. “What, to cry into the rum bottles?”
Zeal grinned this time, leaning in to kiss his temple—soft, grounding. “Hey, they’re good listeners, darling.” But even after Kaelix walked away, drink in hand and swagger returned, Zeal’s eyes didn’t leave him.
There was something different.
Something tired beneath the swagger.
Something fragile, like a wire pulled too tight.
…
Something had been definitely off tonight.
Kaelix had smiled. He’d moved through the crowd with his usual effortless charm, cracked jokes with regulars, even did that over-the-top mic-drop impersonation that always killed. But his voice had cracked during it. Not enough for the crowd to notice. Just enough for Zeal to hear it. And he’d laughed it off. Like always. Like he always did when something slipped.
But now, sitting in the hush of an empty live house, that crack felt deafening.
He ran a hand through his hair, knuckles brushing the back of his neck. Reached for his phone. Opened the group chat.
Nothing.
He thought back—Kaelix hadn’t finished his drink. His hands trembled while adjusting cables. And when everyone said their goodbyes… he lingered. Hovered by the door. Like he didn’t want to go home. Or maybe didn’t want to be home.
Zeal’s chest tightened. He should’ve asked again. Should’ve pushed. But Kaelix made it so easy to believe the smile. So damn easy to be convinced that nothing was wrong.
Still, Zeal couldn’t forget that brief moment. That flicker in Kaelix’s expression when he thought no one was looking. The smile faltering for half a second. The tired tremor in his voice, like a worn-out record struggling to stay in tune.
Like someone holding glass together with bare hands. He grabbed his keys, turned off the bar lights one by one. Darkness settled gently over the room like a blanket, heavy and still.
Then he paused. Walked back to the door. And left it unlocked—just in case.
“Hang in there, Kaelix,” he whispered into the quiet.
…
He didn’t go home right away.
Kaelix sat alone in the stockroom, back pressed against a tower of sealed crates. The hum of the walk-in fridge behind him was the only sound—steady, dull, familiar. It grounded him in a way the silence outside couldn’t.
He stared at the half-full paper cup in his hand. Coffee gone lukewarm. Still strong. Still no sugar—just the way Zeal always remembered.
Just the way Zeal always cared.
Kaelix exhaled through his nose, slow. Controlled. Or trying to be.
His other hand rubbed at his temple again, but it didn’t ease the throb building behind his eyes. It wasn’t from lights or noise or lack of sleep. Not really.
He’d nailed the crowd, hadn’t he?
Mic-check, improve joke, a wink, a flourish—smiles, laughs, light on his feet.
Exactly what they needed from him.
Exactly what he was supposed to be.
The bouncer. The buffer. The bright one who made sure the bad never reached the stage.
He had to be okay.
That was the rule.
That was the job.
But somewhere between the third joke and that final song, his voice caught. A second. Barely noticeable.
Except Zeal noticed. Of course he did.
And of course he brought coffee, warm eyes, a kiss on the temple like punctuation. Like comfort you didn’t have to ask for.
Kaelix stared at the wall, blinking fast. “I’m fine,” he’d said. “Just didn’t sleep.” Stupid lie. Familiar one.
He’d slept. Slept through alarms. Slept through meals. Slept to not think. But not well. Not deep. Not real. His head tipped back against the crates with a soft thunk.
He should’ve told Zeal. But how do you tell someone that the role you play is starting to swallow you whole? How do you say: I make people feel safe, but I haven’t felt safe in weeks.
That being loud started to feel like screaming.
That being loved felt like a performance.
Just sat there, shaking in small ways. Fingertips tapping the side of the cup. One leg bouncing too fast to be casual. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased. It throbbed like something unspoken had curled up under his ribs. He remembered standing at the door earlier. The others had left. Even Zeal had turned to grab his keys.
And he—Kaelix—had just… lingered.
Half a breath away from asking if he could stay.
Half a step from saying I’m not okay.
But he smiled instead. Waved. Made some dumb comment about locking the side door because “ghosts hate proper exits.”
Then left.
And now here he was. Not home. Not anywhere, really. Just… waiting. For the ache to pass. Kaelix looked down at the cup again.
The coffee Zeal made wasn’t hot anymore. But it was still there. Still real. Still strong. He held it close to his chest like it was something warmer than it was.
Then finally—quietly, so softly it barely made a sound—he whispered, “I’m tired, Zeal…”
His voice cracked on the name.
Not enough for anyone to hear.
But just enough for the silence to answer back.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
Freodore
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
A few days later…
Another week of performances. Another blur of lights and sound.
Backstage was alive with the usual hum—guitars being tuned, inside jokes thrown across the room, drumsticks tapping restlessly on snare and thigh.
But to Freo, it all rang hollow.
Distant. Like everything was happening behind a glass wall.
Kaelix wasn’t here.
Not on stage.
Not near the merch table, where he’d usually be teasing Seible or humming whatever melody got stuck in his head.
Not at the mixer, hovering like he always did, hands always busy, voice always warm.
Gone. And the silence left behind didn’t feel still—it felt wrong.
Freo’s fingers toyed with the edge of his guitar strap, leather worn soft from years of habit. His phone screen flickered awake in his palm.
“Don’t forget to warm up your voice.”
That was the last message Kaelix sent. Three days ago.
No follow-up. No nagging check-ins.
No voice notes with off-key harmonies or half-laughed reminders to eat something.
Just... nothing.
Not even silence, Freo thought. Just absence.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. Had he said something wrong? Pushed too far?
He replayed the moments over in his mind — moments where he flinched from Kaelix’s touch because he wasn’t ready. Times he didn’t respond when Kaelix leaned in, playful and too close, because he was too tired to figure out what his own body wanted. He knew Kaelix noticed. Of course he did.
Did it hurt him?
Was that why he left?
Freo clenched his phone tighter.
He’d told himself before that Kaelix was just busy. That he needed space.
But the truth clawed at him, quiet and cruel. Maybe I made him feel unwanted.
A sharp crack of wood against metal snapped him out of the spiral. Seible was across from him, drumming a fast rhythm on a practice pad. “You okay?” Seible asked, eyes sharp despite the casual tone. “You’ve been staring at your phone like it owes you money.”
Freo gave a half-smile. “Just tired.” Seible’s look said he didn’t believe a word of it.
Zeal, crouched nearby by his pedalboard, glanced up too. His eyes lingered, full of the kind of understanding that made Freo want to shrink. Zeal didn’t push—he never did—but sometimes his quiet presence felt heavier than words.
They were watching him. Caring for him. Still here.
They love me, he reminded himself. And yet… that guilt. That gnawing guilt wouldn’t let go.
Because he wasn’t like Kaelix, or Zeal, or Seible. They could bend to the world, dance with its chaos. While Freo just… retreated. Folded inward. Held people at arm’s length and hoped they’d understand why.
Kaelix had understood. Always. He never asked for more than Freo could give.
But the outside world didn’t see it that way. Whispers online. Comments tossed around backstage. Words like “distant,” “cold,” “hard to love.”
What if Kaelix started believing them?
Freo looked back at his phone. Thumb hovered over the keyboard.
“Hey, I’m sorry.”
Deleted.
“Did I make you feel unwanted?”
Deleted.
“Please come back.”
Gone.
He locked the screen. Let the silence eat it all.
The worst part wasn’t not knowing if Kaelix was mad. It was not knowing if Kaelix was hurting—and Freo had done nothing to stop it.
When Kaelix finally appeared, it was like nothing had happened.
“Hey, sorry—got caught up.”
Same voice. Same grin. That easy charm that made everyone laugh a little louder.
Freo forced a smile. But his chest felt tight. Because even from across the room, he could see the tension behind Kaelix’s eyes. The curve of his mouth didn’t quite meet them. His shoulders didn’t settle the way they used to. He was here. But something was still missing.
That night, Freo sat on the edge of his bed, guitar in his lap, silence around him like a second skin. He replayed the warmth of Kaelix’s touch, the closeness, the playful teasing that once made him feel adored. Safe. Wanted.
And now…
They love me, he whispered to himself. I know they do. But love couldn’t always drown out doubt. Especially not when the world tried to rewrite the story for them.
And Freo couldn’t help but wonder—
What if Kaelix left not because I pushed him away… but because someone convinced him I had? Freo sighed softly as he decided to send a message to Kaelix, finally.
“Miss you.”
…
The stage lights always felt like home.
Up there, with the roar of the crowd and the pulse of bass under his boots, Kaelix wasn’t “too much.”
He wasn’t too loud, too clingy, too emotional.
He was just… Kaelix. Whole. Anchored. Alive.
But offstage—
Offstage, it got harder to breathe.
He sat curled up in the corner of his room, phone dimmed in his hand. Freo’s last message still lingered on the screen:
“Miss you.”
He smiled. Too quickly. Too tightly. He didn’t reply.
Instead, he let the grin settle on his lips, hoping it would carry the weight of an answer. Hoping, foolishly, that if he kept smiling, the cracks wouldn’t widen. That maybe, just maybe, the others wouldn’t notice the shadows creeping in when no one was looking.
Because that’s who he was supposed to be—
The spark. The glue. The chaos wrapped in love and light.
The one who pulled Seible into spontaneous dances, slipped Zeal extra sugar in his coffee even when he didn’t ask, and pressed a kiss to Freo’s temple even when he pulled back without meaning to.
Kaelix gave everything, because that’s how he loved: loudly.
But love, real love—was messy.
And he was starting to wonder if he’d ever given himself room to be messy too.
Sometimes, he caught himself replaying those moments—Freo flinching ever so slightly when touched, Zeal’s watchful silence, Seible’s voice trailing off when Kaelix didn’t respond right away. He knew they loved him. He knew.
But part of him twisted the silence into rejection anyway.
Was I too much again?
Am I overwhelming them?
Am I ruining what we built?
So he laughed louder. Replied less. Walled himself off, one wink and smile at a time.
Because if he ever stopped smiling—
If he let that weight show—
Would they still hold him the same?
Would Freo, quiet and guarded, pull away completely?
Would Zeal look at him like he was broken, not bold?
Would Seible try to fix him when all Kaelix wanted was to be held?
He wasn’t sure.
And the not-knowing hurt more than he wanted to admit.
So he stayed quiet.
Unread messages. Unspoken fears. Unfinished apologies.
But when he saw Freo’s message that night—just those two words:
Miss you.
Something fractured behind the smile. Because Freo had always been careful, always cautious with his affection. If he said he missed you, he meant it.
Kaelix closed his eyes, thumb hovering over the screen.
He didn’t know how to say:
I’m scared I’m losing myself trying to be everything for everyone.
I’m scared you’ll leave if I stop performing.
Instead, he whispered to the dark:
“I miss you too.”
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
Seible
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Seible tapped his fingers rhythmically on the armrest, eyes half-closed but mind racing.
To the outside, he was the wild card—the one who threw jokes and teasing lines like confetti, who could flip the mood with a grin or a sudden, loud laugh.
But inside, things weren’t so simple.
He knew how unpredictable he was. Knew how his energy could be too much, too sharp—like a spark that didn’t always land right. And lately, things had been off. The walls were higher. Not just Kaelix’s, but maybe Freo’s too. Even Zeal had been quieter than usual.
They were built from quiet spaces, unread messages, glances that didn’t last. That too-bright grin Kaelix wore—his signature light—it didn’t reach his eyes the way it used to.
Seible wasn’t blind to it. He wasn’t dumb. He saw the tension building, thread by thread.
Freo lingered in thought more than usual, fingers twitching near his phone. Zeal hovered close but said little, his concern folded into gestures—a gentle refill of someone’s drink, a soft pat on the back.
Kaelix though—Kaelix was the hardest to read, because he never stopped smiling. And that scared Seible more than anything.
Because Seible loved messy.
He loved how Kaelix clung to them like it was instinct, like touch was his language. He loved how Freo sometimes withdrew into silence, needing time to surface again. He loved Zeal’s quiet—how it wasn’t absence, but weight, grounding them all.
But lately, it felt like the world outside kept whispering:
"Isn’t Kaelix too clingy? That’s tiring."
"Freo’s always so cold. So many rules."
"Zeal rarely talks, was he even there."
"Seible’s just playing around—does he even take them seriously?"
And that last one? That one hit deeper than he wanted to admit.
Because he did. He really did.
He loved them with every breath, every stupid dance, every badly timed joke. They were his everything—the first thing in his life that felt like home instead of performance.
But maybe… maybe he had gone too far.
He remembered the joke. It hadn’t even been that sharp—something dumb about Kaelix being needy, delivered with a wink. But the moment it left his mouth, he saw it.
The crack.
A flicker in Kaelix’s eyes. The split-second twitch of his lips before the smile returned, brighter, faker. That image haunted Seible more than he let on. And now, even though the others were near, they felt far. Like they all wanted to say something, but no one knew where to start. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full of unsaid things.
Seible stared at his hands, trying to still their rhythm.
He was scared.
Scared that maybe he himself wasn’t enough to fix this. Scared that maybe he was pushing them further instead of pulling them close.
Scared that one by one, they’d decide he wasn’t worth the mess.
But gods—he loved them. Fiercely. Entirely. With the kind of love that didn’t care if it made sense.
And if that love looked messy from the outside? So be it.
He wasn’t going to lose them to someone else's idea of what love should look like.
He just had to find a way—his way—to remind them that even if he fumbled, even if his jokes sometimes cut the wrong way, his heart was never a punchline.
…
Zeal
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Zeal leaned back in his chair, fingers lightly drumming on the worn wood of the rehearsal space’s table. His gaze was calm—steady and unshakable to anyone watching—but those who knew him well could catch the faintest flicker behind his downturned eyes.
Experience carved deeper than age ever could, and Zeal had lived long enough to feel it in every breath. He had seen storms rise and fall, watched bonds bend beneath pressure, and witnessed hearts both build and break.
Still, there were things even he hadn’t figured out.
Like how something so deeply loved could still hurt in the quietest ways.
His laughter, when it came, was soft and rare. A gift, given only to those who had earned his trust. His boys. To them, it was more than amusement—it was a promise. That beneath all the shadows he carried, his heart was theirs.
His flirtations? Carefully placed. Purposeful. They hit like a slow tide—sometimes a tease, sometimes a truth—but always real. His devotion ran deep, not in volume, but in quiet consistency. In how he showed up. Stayed. Watched.
Zeal’s love didn’t shout.
It lingered in late-night check-ins. In cups of warm drinks made without being asked. In the way he never pushed, but was always there.
And maybe… that was the problem.
Sometimes he wondered if his silence—the comfort he thought he offered—was being mistaken for absence. If his calm presence was being misread as emotional distance. If the way he loved wasn’t loud enough to be believed.
Lately, he’d started to see it in them—in the subtle shifts they thought he wouldn’t notice.
Freo, pulling back more often. Measuring his words, second-guessing his steps.
Kaelix, still radiant, but there was a strain behind that light. Like he was burning brighter just to hide the cracks.
Seible, calculating in a way that didn’t suit him, like he was walking on eggshells instead of dancing through them.
Zeal felt it creeping in—the outside noise. Those whispers from people who didn’t know them, shaping things in ways they didn’t fully realize.
At first, Zeal ignored it. They were strong. They knew who they were. But lies, even soft ones, repeat long enough and start to sound like truth. And he hated it. Because even he, despite everything, had caught himself wondering—
Am I really keep everything on the ground? Or just another weight dragging them down?
He had spent so long trying to be their calm, their constant. But now even he could feel the shift in himself. Subtle. Slow. Like erosion. The way he hesitated before touching. The way he thought twice before speaking.
Maybe he’d let their devotion become too quiet.
Maybe he, too, had started to believe the noise.
And that scared him more than anything.
Because to Zeal, they—Kaelix, Freo, Seible—weren’t just bandmates, weren’t just partners. They were his heart. Chosen. Cherished. His own definition of love. And if they started doubting that, even a little—he wasn’t sure how to fix it.
Because devotion doesn’t always come with declarations.
Sometimes, it’s just a hand reaching out, steady and sure—even if it’s trembling inside.
And Zeal?
He would keep reaching.
Even if the world got louder.
Even if his love stayed quiet.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
The cramped rehearsal room felt colder than usual, the stale air buzzing with unspoken tension. The four of them were there—barely touching the edges of each other’s space—but the silence between them screamed louder than any chord they could play.
Kaelix sat on the edge of the couch, fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. His signature grin was plastered on his face like cheap tape over a cracked mirror. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered anymore.
They probably wish I’d shut up for once.
That creeping voice had been louder lately, snaking around his ribs and digging in like splinters.
Too much. Too loud. Too much energy. Too many jokes. Too much of everything.
The smile twitched. He couldn’t remember the last time it had been real.
His eyes flicked to Freo, who stood by the amp, stiff as a statue, tension bleeding from every muscle. His gaze never met Kaelix’s—not really. That stung more than it should have.
I messed it all up, didn’t I?
He’s tired of me—tired of always having to hold the line while I screw around on the edge of it. Always so careful, so distant now. Like he’s building walls to keep me out.
And why wouldn’t he? Who’d want a walking storm around?
The thought twisted in his gut.
Seible lounged against the drum kit like always, but even that was too neat, too practiced today. His smirk felt like theater. Kaelix could feel the shift, the edge of discomfort buried just beneath Seible’s usual swagger.
I probably ruined things with him too. He used to laugh at my joke.
Now I just feel like the punchline to a joke no one wants to tell anymore.
His gaze flicked to Zeal last. Zeal didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stood like a statue carved from cold stone. Calm. Steady. Untouchable.
Kaelix’s throat tightened.
Even Zeal looks like he’s waiting for me to implode. And maybe he should be.
He trusted me to help hold this group together. I made a mess of it instead.
That fight—we never really came back from it, did we?
Ever since that time—the one none of them really talked about anymore—Kaelix had pulled back. Just a little at first. Then more. Until even his loudest voice couldn’t bridge the growing distance.
The worst part? No one had tried to pull him back.
So he’d started to believe maybe they didn’t want to.
His grin faltered for half a second. His fingers curled into fists, digging into the fabric of his pants. He wanted to scream, to crack a joke so loud it shattered this silence into pieces. But all he could do was whisper.
“...I’m sorry…”
The words slipped out without warning, barely audible, brittle as glass. His voice cracked, broken in a way he hadn't let them heard before.
But no one looked. No one moved.
And it made sense, didn’t it?
Why should they care what the clown says when he’s not being funny? A sharp breath caught in his throat. He swallowed it down hard, blinking fast.
“...I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to mess everything up…”
The words were smaller now. A whisper of a whisper. Raindrops disappearing into the soundless concrete. They didn’t hear. Or maybe they didn’t believe him. Maybe it was easier to let him be the problem.
Freo stared at the wall, his knuckles white. Seible toyed with a drumstick like it might snap between his fingers. Zeal was still, unreadable. They were all lost in their own heads.
They didn’t even look at me.
They didn’t see the tremble in his shoulders. The way he was folding in on himself like a dying star. Kaelix wiped his cheek quickly, pretending it was just an itch.
If they only knew…
But he didn’t know—couldn’t know—that every one of them was drowning in guilt of their own. That each of them blamed themselves for letting things reach this point. That they saw him, but didn’t know how to reach him anymore.
They were all too wrapped in their own storm clouds to see that he wasn’t the lightning, but the one getting burned. In that dim, shrinking room, Kaelix sat crumbling under the weight of a silence he thought he deserved.
Not realizing the others were silently screaming too.
…
Kaelix tried to steady his breath as he rose, but a sudden, sharp hiccup escaped him—small, almost accidental. He froze. His cheeks flushed, panic flickering behind his eyes as the fragile wall inside him trembled under the weight.
The room went still.
Seible was the first to notice. His playful smile dropped, replaced by a sharp concern. He pushed himself up from his spot, voice soft but urgent.
“Kae-chan?”
Kaelix swallowed hard, shoulders trembling just slightly. Another hiccup—a ragged, unsteady sound this time—slipped past his lips. His heart pounded like a frantic drumbeat.
They’re going to think I’m weak. That I can’t handle this. That I’m just… falling apart.
He barely whispered, voice cracking as he backed toward the door.
“I just… I need some air. I’m fine.”
Freo’s eyes narrowed, brows furrowing deeply as he took a step toward him.
“Don’t brush it off. You don’t sound fine.”
Kaelix’s throat tightened painfully, the lump in his voice growing. His hands clenched at his sides as more hiccups escaped—each one sounding more fragile, more fractured than the last. Why now? Why here? Why do they have to see this?
Zeal moved quietly but with purpose, stepping beside Freo, his gaze calm but heavy.
“You’re not alone in this, Kaelix. You don’t have to pretend with us.”
Kaelix shook his head, lips pressed tight, trembling. But his breath hitched sharply—then cracked. A soft sob escaped him.
His eyes widened. That sound—that sound—wasn’t meant to get out. He clapped a hand over his mouth, like he could pull it back in, hide it, fix it. The others stilled again.
Seible reached out suddenly, placing a firm hand on Kaelix’s arm. His voice was gentle but edged with frustration. “Stop apologizing. You’re not a burden. We should’ve noticed sooner.”
Kaelix stared at the floor, his vision blurring as hot tears welled faster than he could blink them away. His voice shook. “I—I didn’t want to make this a thing. I thought if I just smiled and kept going, it’d be okay.”
Another sob escaped, louder this time. It startled even him. His knees buckled slightly, and Freo caught his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Kaelix choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. “I tried to be okay. I thought… if I made jokes, if I laughed like usual, it wouldn’t matter. But it’s all my fault.”
“What is?” Zeal asked gently.
“This—everything!” Kaelix finally broke, his voice sharp with sorrow. “I was being stupid and childish and dramatic and now everything’s tense and you’re all upset and I made it worse and I couldn’t fix it and—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. The words spilled into sobs.
Freo pulled him into a tight, grounding hug, steady and sure. “You didn’t ruin anything. We’re tense because we care. You didn’t make things worse—keeping it all inside would’ve.”
Seible wrapped his arms around them both from the side, murmuring, “You don’t have to carry the whole world. Not with us here.”
Zeal stepped in last, resting his hand gently on Kaelix’s back, voice soft as a whisper. “You’re not too much, Kaelix. You’re ours. And we’ll hold you, however you come.”
Kaelix’s body shook as he let the tears fall freely now, the hiccups still rattling through him. He wasn’t strong tonight—not like he wanted to be.
But here, in the warmth of their arms, in the quiet of their love, he finally let himself break.
…
Kaelix slid down against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, trembling. The tears weren’t loud.
They came in silent waves, punctuated only by the fragile sound of breathless hiccups he tried to choke back.
“I thought if I was bright enough… if I kept smiling enough… no one would question it…”
His voice cracked like old glass, barely audible. “But they still said I was too much. Too soft. Too clingy. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you guys, not cry like some stupid kid.”
His fists curled tightly into the sleeves of his hoodie, knuckles white.
Freo stood rooted, fists clenched at his sides, breathing slow and hard through his nose—like if he didn’t, something inside him might snap.
His voice, when it came, was quiet, but laced with a sharp edge.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Kaelix, you can’t— You can’t just carry all that alone.”
Kaelix didn’t look up. “Because you already carry so much, Freo… And when you set your boundaries, I… I thought it was me crossing them. I thought I was the problem.”
A bitter breath escaped him. “I always think I’m the problem.”
Freo’s chest twisted at the words, gutted by their simplicity. The weight of every misunderstood glance, every night Kaelix quietly retreated with a tired excuse—those moments came crashing down all at once. He’d been so focused on keeping things together, on staying steady for them all, that he hadn’t noticed Kaelix quietly slipping through the cracks.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he whispered, voice ragged. “God… I didn’t want that.”
Seible, who had crouched a few feet away, now pressed a trembling palm to his mouth. His usual smirk had long since vanished, swallowed by helplessness.
“I knew something was off,” he murmured. “I—I know people like me can be too much sometimes. Loud. Touchy. Wild. I’ve spent years learning when to hold back.”
He looked down at his open hand, fingers curling slightly. “But I thought with you—with us—I could just be. That it was safe.”
A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “Maybe I held back at the wrong moments. Maybe I missed what mattered most.”
His voice cracked, and for the first time in a long while, Seible didn’t know how to talk his way out of the ache forming in his chest.
“I hate that I didn’t know how much you were hurting. I hate that I thought your silence was just space… when it was you falling apart.”
Zeal knelt down last, slow and steady, grounding the air with his presence.
His usual mysterious calm wasn’t gone, but tonight, it felt thinner—held together by threads of guilt and worry. His voice, when it came, was low, heavy.
“I saw you smile when they said those things. I laughed it off like you did. Thought you were fine because you always are. Because you always make us laugh.”
Kaelix flinched at that, just barely—but it was enough.
He lifted his face, just slightly, meeting Zeal’s eyes—purple-pink, clouded with regret.
“I’m the oldest,” Zeal said softly. “I should’ve seen it. I have seen it. That smile that tries to hold everything together. And I still let you carry it alone.”
Kaelix let out a shaky breath, voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to be the reason the band fell apart. I didn’t want to be the weak link.”
Zeal leaned in—not touching, not crowding, but close enough that Kaelix could feel the warmth radiating from him. His next words landed gently, like a melody softened by rain.
“You’re not a weak link. You’re one of the reasons this band even exists.”
The room fell quiet again. The silence wasn’t comforting—it pulsed with pain, with fear, with guilt.
Kaelix, even as he sat surrounded by the three people he loved most, felt a hollow ache grow in his chest. Because their love was real. Their words were real. But so was his fear of ruining it. Of being too much. Of finally breaking something he could never fix.
And then—without a word—Freo moved first. He crossed the space between them in two strides and lowered himself beside Kaelix, his shoulders tense, but his movements gentle. Seible followed next, quieter than usual, curling in on Kaelix’s other side like a storm finally spent. Zeal didn’t hesitate. He eased down last, closing the circle around him.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t rush to reassure or untangle the mess with words.
Instead, they just were. Solid. Warm. Quiet.
Arms found their way around him—not tight, not smothering, just present. Real. A pile of bodies folded together, anchoring Kaelix in place. No pressure. No expectations. Just shared breath and shared silence.
And Kaelix sat there, held in the quiet weight of them, his head tipped slightly forward, eyes glassy with confusion. His heart thudded in his chest, still caught between guilt and something softer—something he didn’t quite understand yet. Something painful. Not because it hurt, but because it felt safe.
He didn't know how to hold it.
Didn’t know if he deserved it.
But for a moment, he tried to understand it anyway.
And slowly, just barely, he let himself breathe.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
The moment Kaelix’s rasped voice faded into silence, the air grew still. He hadn’t meant to make the room feel heavier. But somehow, it did—though not in the same way as before.
Freo sat on the edge of the couch now, hands clasped between his knees, shoulders taut. The soft smile he wore wasn’t a defense this time. It was gratitude. Quiet and breaking at the edges.
Zeal had shifted to lean against the nearby wall, fedora pushed back, eyes shadowed in the dim light. He watched Freo—not with suspicion, but with something quieter. Understanding.
“You’ve always been the core, Freo,” Zeal said at last, low and gentle. “You keep us tethered. You don’t say a lot—but when you do, it’s something that stays.”
Freo looked down, almost bashfully. But his eyes glimmered.
Kaelix, still seated on the floor where he’d broken down earlier, leaned forward slightly. “I used to think you didn’t feel as much because you didn’t talk as much.”
He let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “But the way you listen... how you remember all the little things. How your hand always finds mine first when I start spiraling backstage. You don’t say much, Freo. But you’re loud in all the ways that count.”
Freo drew in a breath and let it out slowly. His throat bobbed with the effort of holding something in.
“I never thought I was doing enough,” he murmured. “There’s so much I don’t know how to say. So much I want to—but it never comes out right. And I’d see you three, shining, burning so bright, and I’d just… want to protect that.”
Kaelix’s brow knit together, eyes glossy again. “You do protect it.”
Zeal nodded, firmer now. “You protect us. You keep me grounded when I’d rather disappear behind my own shadows.”
Another quiet moment stretched between them—not awkward, but reflective. A pause that asked nothing and gave everything.
Kaelix shifted closer from where he sat on the floor, knees nearly bumping Freo’s. “You’ve always given so much, Freo. The way you step back when someone else needs the spotlight. The way you never make things about you. I think you’re the only one who saw through all our masks before we even knew we were wearing them.”
Zeal exhaled softly through his nose. “He’s right. You notice things before they shatter. That’s a rare kind of love.”
Freo stared at them. He looked like he might fold in on himself from the weight of it all—but something was unfolding, too. Something long-caged behind his steady silences. Pain, maybe. But softened by warmth.
“I thought if I stayed small,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t mess anything up. That maybe if I didn’t reach too far, I wouldn’t become one of the reasons things fell apart.”
Kaelix’s response came with gentle conviction. “You were never a reason. You were the one holding us together.”
His voice cracked just slightly at the end, but no one pointed it out. Freo’s hands were trembling now. But he didn’t hide them.
Instead—he let them see it. He let himself be seen.
And across the room, though the mood remained tender, they all seemed to breathe a little easier. Like something unspoken had finally come to light.
Freo didn’t cry.
But his body—tense and curled—spoke of years spent fearing he wasn’t enough. Of a heart so full it couldn’t bear to be seen as a burden. And finally… finally—he was beginning to believe he wasn’t. The shuffle of fabric broke the stillness. A shift. A presence drawing close.
Seible.
He hadn’t spoken yet—not because he didn’t want to, but because he’d been watching. Reading the silence between every word. For someone as loud as Seible could be, he could also read a room better than anyone. And right now, Freo needed all of them.
Seible knelt down in front of Freo—not dramatically, not for show. Just there, grounding. Solid.
“Hey, Furi-chan,” he said gently, smiling with the corners of his eyes even as the rest of his face trembled. “Can I just say something completely true and non-negotiable?”
Freo blinked, startled by how close he suddenly felt to unraveling.
Seible didn’t wait for permission. “You are the kindest, clearest, most quietly fierce man I know. You make space for all of us without asking for any back—and that... that’s not something I ever want you to think is invisible.”
His voice was quieter than usual. No teasing this time, no playful lilt—just honesty. And something soft behind it. Something raw.
“You’re the one who makes us feel safe when we don’t even realize we’re breaking,” Seible added. “You’re always thinking five steps ahead, keeping us steady. That’s love, Freo. That’s what our love looks like.”
Freo swallowed hard. “But I don’t always get it right—”
“None of us do,” Seible interrupted, reaching out without hesitation to hold one of Freo’s shaking hands. “But you’ve never once made me feel like I’m too much. And I’m so much.”
That earned a soft laugh from Kaelix, roughened by earlier tears. Even Zeal huffed a gentle exhale that might’ve been a chuckle.
Seible leaned his head slightly against Freo’s knee. “You’re not too pushy. You’re not controlling. You’re honest about what you need—and that makes it safer for us to be honest too.”
Freo’s chest lifted with a breath that quivered on the way out.
Zeal, still leaning quietly nearby, added, “You’ve got a strength in knowing where you stand. That’s not something to shrink from. Especially not for people who don’t understand what we have.”
“And besides,” Kaelix whispered hoarsely, rubbing at his reddened eyes, “you’ve seen me at my worst and still called it love. You don’t even realize how much that saved me.”
This time, the silence that followed didn’t feel like something to be feared.
It felt like something sacred.
Freo stared down at Seible, then at Kaelix, and finally toward Zeal. His mouth parted slightly, words forming in the back of his throat—but catching, not quite ready.
His hand curled tighter around Seible’s, not in fear—but in trust.
The smallest smile ghosted his lips. It wasn’t fully formed.
But it was real. His voice didn’t come.
But they didn’t need it to.
They saw it in the way his shoulders relaxed.
In the way he didn’t pull away.
In the way he let them see him feel.
They all stayed like that for a little while longer. Soaking in that hard-won honesty—knowing it was only the beginning of mending.
And then, Freo’s fingers tightened just slightly around Seible’s. He blinked slowly, as though choosing his next words carefully. His lips parted, and this time, the words came. Because Seible needed to know he mattered too.
“Seible,” he said quietly. “You’re always the one who makes us laugh… always filling the silences so we don’t fall into them. But you know—” his eyes flicked upward, “—I’ve never once felt like your love was too much.”
Seible’s brows lifted, almost startled. Like someone had just read a secret he didn’t realize he’d written in ink visible only under grief.
Freo continued, more firm this time. “Not once. You’re unpredictable, sure. But never unsafe. Never anything but real.” There was no bitterness in Freo’s voice. Just truth, unwavering and warm. It wasn’t praise—it was recognition. The kind Seible rarely let himself hear without turning it into a joke.
Kaelix’s voice joined, raw but tender, still hoarse from earlier. “You’re the one who always says the thing no one else can. You carry the heavy silence like it’s nothing, and we let you—but it’s not nothing, is it?”
Seible blinked faster, a flicker of his signature grin twitching at the corners of his lips. “What, this is an intervention now?”
Zeal pushed up from the wall at that moment, quiet as ever, and walked over with slow, measured steps. He didn’t say anything right away—just lowered himself beside them all, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Seible.
Then his gloved hand reached out, rubbing circles into Seible’s back, soft and grounding.
“I think it’s just the part where we stop letting you hold it all alone,” Zeal murmured. “You joke a lot. Smile more than any of us. But I see how your eyes flick between us when you think we’re not looking. Like you’re calculating how to hold everyone up without dropping anything.”
Seible exhaled sharply—an awkward laugh trying to claw its way out.
“Don’t say cute thing like that, guys,” he mumbled, ducking his head. “You’ll make me cry.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kaelix whispered, his eyes already watery again.
“I mean it kinda is,” Seible replied with a choked little chuckle, eyes scrunching. “I don’t cry pretty, y’know? It’s all scrunchy and mucus and embarrassing—”
But his voice broke halfway through the sentence.
The laugh dissolved into a soft, guttural sound as his shoulders curled in, and he let out a hitched breath that cracked like glass. His other hand flew to his mouth like he could stop it—but it was too late.
A sob escaped—sharp and trembling, like it had been waiting weeks for permission.
Kaelix leaned in immediately, arms brushing. Freo’s other hand slid in, anchoring. Zeal didn’t stop rubbing slow, grounding circles into his back.
Seible shook his head, words spilling out between hiccups. “I thought—I really thought—I was doing good. I was trying so hard to keep things light, to not—not ruin it if someone was already breaking. I thought if I made it funny enough, nobody would notice when I wasn’t okay.”
Freo’s voice cut in—quiet but solid. “And it worked. But you don’t have to hide behind that anymore. We’re already here. That doesn’t mean you have to burn alone.”
“Or burn out . You do so much for us,” Zeal said, low and firm. “Even when we don’t ask. Especially when we don’t ask.”
“Yeah, and like,” Kaelix added, sniffling, “you don’t even wait for the right time to help. You just... appear. Like some sexy, chaotic therapy raccoon. Oh, and you cry really cute, actually. It’s like a baby seal.”
That earned a wet, choked noise from Seible that could've been a laugh or a dying squeak. “What—what the hell does that even mean—?”
“I don’t know, man,” Kaelix said, shrugging helplessly, “I’m running on three hours of sleep and two decades of repressed affection.”
Seible laughed—a real one this time, even if it was watery and clogged by tears. He leaned forward, pressing his face into his knees again, but he didn’t pull away.
Freo reached out, brushing his fingers through Seible’s hair, soft and careful.
Zeal leaned forward too, his forehead resting lightly against Seible’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to be messy with us.”
“I am messy,” Seible muttered, voice muffled. “I love too loud. I hold too tight. I get jealous when I think I’m being replaced by a sandwich—”
“That sandwich was amazing,” Kaelix whispered solemnly.
“Shut up,” Seible half-laughed, half-sobbed.
Freo’s hand didn’t stop stroking his hair. “You’re not being replaced. You couldn’t be. The way you love—it makes room for everyone else to love more freely. I wouldn’t know how to reach out the way I did tonight if it weren’t for you.”
“And,” Zeal added, warm and unshaken, “I don’t think I’d have made it through last year without you calling me at 3AM to watch cursed YouTube videos just so I’d stop spiraling.”
Seible snorted. “That was objectively the right call.”
Kaelix wiped his eyes, sniffling. “You made me believe I could be loved even when I was annoying and impulsive and—well, me.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Seible said, quieter now. “We’re all kinda broken. But not in the same places. So we fit.” And for a second, the room was still. A silence that didn’t need to be filled.
Freo leaned his head against Seible’s. Zeal’s hand stayed steady. Kaelix’s shoulder bumped his like punctuation—gentle, constant. Seible’s face was blotchy, his nose red, and his voice raspy—but none of them flinched.
Zeal leaned closer too, forehead brushing against the back of Seible’s shoulder.
“I hate this,” Seible muttered between breaths.
“We know,” Kaelix said softly.
“But I also… kinda needed this?”
“We know,” Freo echoed with a gentle hummed.
Seible lifted his head just enough to glance at them, eyes swollen but bright with unshed laughter. “You’re all so sappy.”
“Yeah,” Zeal said, finally smiling. “We are. You taught us that.”
Kaelix laughed, the sound soft but real.
Freo’s smile didn’t waver—but there was still a shimmer in his eyes, unshed tears he didn’t bother hiding. Because they weren’t tears of pain now. They were something else.
Hope, maybe. Or just the simple relief of being seen.
And for a moment, all four of them sat there, huddled on the floor of their studio—hearts wide open, bruised but whole.
The outside world, its assumptions and noise, felt far away now.
Because in this room, where love was messy and loud and quiet and strange—they knew exactly what they meant to each other. No more questioning.
Just being.
…
The quiet after Seible’s sobs wasn’t empty. It was full. Breathing with something raw and open—something that pulsed between them like the thrum of a bassline in a too-small room.
They sat on the studio floor, limbs tangled, shoulders pressed close. Four beats of the same song, finally syncing up.
Then slowly… eyes shifted.
Toward Zeal.
Zeal, who hadn’t said much. Who never did.
His head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. Calm, as always. Like the eye of the storm—wrapped in his overcoat and silver rings and gentle shadows.
But Freo’s gaze lingered. Kaelix’s jaw tightened. Seible, still hiccuping softly, narrowed his eyes through the shine of tears.
“You’re real quiet,” Kaelix muttered, voice barely above a hum.
Zeal opened one eye, languid, lazy. “That’s kind of my thing, sweetheart.”
“You’re always quiet,” Freo said. “Even when you’re not.”
“Bartenders are supposed to listen more than they talk, right?”
Zeal gave a crooked smile. “Gotta let the customers vent.”
“You’re not our bartender,” Seible said hoarsely, wiping his cheeks. “You’re our boyfriend. You don’t get to hide behind the fedora forever.”
Zeal chuckled low, warm. “You sure? It’s got a good brim to hide under.”
“Zeal,” Freo said—firm, serious.
This time, Zeal looked at him fully. And he flinched. Just slightly. At the way all three of them were watching him.
Like they saw him.
Like they’d stopped buying the smile he sold behind the counter.
“You do this thing,” Kaelix said slowly. “You slip into the background. Like you want to hold us up without us ever noticing. And I let you. We all did.”
“I didn’t mind,” Zeal murmured, voice still steady, still too calm.
“But we do,” Seible shot back. “We mind. You make us feel safe—like everything’s going to be okay because you’re there. And then you pretend like that’s nothing. Like you’re nothing.”
Zeal’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
Freo leaned in, softer. “You laugh with us. You flirt like you’ve never doubted yourself. But we’ve seen it, Zeal.”
Kaelix nodded. “That edge in your voice when you think you’re not enough. When you think we’ll see through you and decide you're just… the sexy background music.”
“You are the sexy background music,” Seible interjected, half-joking.
Zeal snorted, one hand dragging down his face. “Aw, shucks…”
“Don’t ‘aw shucks’ us,” Kaelix snapped gently. “We’re not letting you brush this off.”
“Yeah,” Freo added. “Your silence isn’t wrong. But your silence isn’t armor either. You don’t get to stay on the other side of the bar, Zeal. Not with us.”
Zeal’s eyes softened. And his voice—when he finally spoke again—was lower. “I thought I was doing good. Just… keeping steady. Holding the rhythm. Letting you all shine.”
“You do keep the rhythm,” Seible said. “But we want you to shine too. We want you with us.”
Zeal swallowed thickly, throat moving. His hands rested on his knees, curled just slightly.
“I’ve been alive longer. I’ve seen things. Felt things. Lost things,” he murmured. “Sometimes it just feels easier to be the one leaning on the wall while you all burn brighter.”
Kaelix reached out first this time—his hand curling around Zeal’s wrist. “Then we’ll drag you into the fire with us.”
Freo’s voice was soft but sure. “Let us hold you for once.”
Zeal’s breath caught—just once. His shoulders shook. Barely.
Then Seible leaned in, wrapping his arms fully around Zeal’s waist, pressing his face into his side. “C’mon, pretty boy. Don’t make me beg.” Zeal let out a laugh that cracked halfway through—real and painful and free.
He slumped forward finally, letting his head fall into Kaelix’s shoulder, letting Freo’s arms loop around them all.
And just like that, the bartender wasn’t behind the bar anymore.
He was here.
In their arms.
Not holding them.
Held.
The room was silent again.
But this time, it wasn’t heavy.
Just full.
Full of unsaid things that were finally finding space to breathe. Full of four heartbeats steadying into one tempo. Full of arms wrapped tight and eyes still red and puffy and lips pressed into each other’s shoulders like apologies, like promises.
Kaelix’s hand gently carded through Zeal’s hair. His fingers trembled, but his touch was sure. Freo’s cheek rested against Zeal’s back, eyes closed, his breathing quiet. Seible’s arms hadn’t loosened at all—his nose pressed into Zeal’s shirt, still sniffly but not sobbing anymore.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then:
“I never wanted to be the reason you all broke,” Kaelix whispered.
“You’re not,” Freo murmured back. “You never were.”
“I know,” Kaelix said. “Now I do. But that part of me—the scared part—still thinks I have to earn you. Every day.”
Zeal let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You don’t. You never did. You’re already here, Kael.”
“Same goes for me,” Freo added quietly. “I keep thinking... if I don’t draw enough boundaries, I’ll lose myself. And if I draw too many, I’ll lose you.”
“You won’t,” Seible said, finally pulling his head up. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes still wet, but his voice was clear. “Freo, you’ve never pushed us away. You’ve only asked us to be gentle. And we want to be.”
Freo looked away, his expression taut—but the corners of his lips pulled up, trembling. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m just saying what’s true.”
Then Seible turned to Kaelix. “And you, dumbass—if you ever think we love you less for being messy, I will cry harder and it’ll be your fault.”
Kaelix actually chuckled—a quiet, breathless thing. “You crying is my kryptonite, Sei.”
“Exactly,” Seible huffed.
Then his eyes turned toward Zeal again—still wrapped in their arms, still silent.
“But you, Zeal…” Seible’s voice softened. “You always try to be the steady one. The guy with the answers. But we don’t want a perfect bartender.”
“We want our Zeal,” Freo said. “The one who laughs like rum and sea breeze. The one who blushes when he thinks we don’t notice.”
“The one who can crumble with us,” Kaelix added. “Not just watch from the side.”
Zeal swallowed hard.
“I’m not used to this,” he admitted.
“This?” Seible tilted his head.
“Being caught,” Zeal said, voice hoarse. “Being seen. I’ve always been the one listening. Making sure the drink is strong enough. The beat steady enough. The vibe warm enough. I didn’t think you’d ever notice when I needed it back.”
Kaelix pressed a kiss to Zeal’s temple. “We did. And we will. Every time.”
Freo gently bumped his forehead against Zeal’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to be soft, too.”
“And messy,” Seible added, “and dumb, and grumpy, and selfish.”
“And ours,” Kaelix finished.
And this time, Zeal didn’t look away. He just closed his eyes—and stayed. Zeal smiled—really smiled this time, wide and open and unguarded.
“I love you,” he said.
They all said it back, overlapping, tangled in voices and breaths and the warmth of shared space. For now, nothing else mattered. Not the whispers, not the expectations, not the outside noise that tried to write their story for them.
They were here.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
The soft calm stretched between them, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from earlier.
It was warm. Languid. Like sunlight after the storm. They were still tangled up—limbs overlapping, leaning into one another without thought. Eyes were still a little red. Noses sniffly. But hearts were light.
Until Freo slowly pulled back and narrowed his eyes at Kaelix.
Kaelix blinked. “What?”
“You know exactly what,” Freo said, his voice suddenly sharp like a tuning fork. “Let me see your throat.”
Kaelix recoiled. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve definitely been crying earlier than that hiccup maybe long before,” Freo accused, sitting upright with a sudden flare of righteous vengeance. “Your voice was shot.”
“I sang too hard at rehearsal,” Kaelix tried, panicking slightly.
“Oh, so you’re lying to a sound engineer now?” Freo’s voice went up half a pitch. “I know the difference between hoarse from strain and hoarse from sobbing. Open your damn mouth, Kaelix.”
Seible gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Kae-chan! You were crying and you didn’t show me?! How could you?! I wanted to see your beautiful tragic anime-boy breakdown!”
Zeal snorted so hard it turned into a full laugh, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “Seible, what the hell—”
“You don’t get it!” Seible waved wildly. “I live for that kind of moment! You denied me!”
Kaelix groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “You’re insane.”
“Let me love you through emotional collapse, dammit!” Seible whined.
Freo, meanwhile, had crawled over and grabbed Kaelix’s chin like a disapproving doctor. “Say ‘ah.’”
“No.”
“Say ‘I’ve been emotionally compromised,’” Freo said, deadpan.
“Absolutely not,” Kaelix replied, muffled behind his hands.
Zeal leaned back against the couch and drawled, “Y’all want to see crying? I could make you cry.”
Three heads turned toward him.
Zeal smirked. Kaelix spluttered. “What?!”
“You know,” Zeal mused, tapping his chin, “if you cry again, I wanna see it up close. Like real close. Just to study the details. Artistically.”
Seible grinned like a cat who’d just found a string to pull. “You mean, like that little tremble his lip does when he’s trying not to sob? Or the way his lashes get clumpy—”
“What?!” Kaelix squawked again, face going crimson. “Pause, rewind, play—look into my eyes and I dare you to say it again?!”
“I just think,” Zeal continued smoothly, “it’s a waste of good content. Beautiful man. Sexy cry face. Give the people what they want.”
“WHAT PEOPLE—?!”
Seible nodded solemnly. “He’s got those Bambi eyes, too. Glistening. A little sparkle of despair. Kinda hot, honestly.”
“STOP!” Kaelix wailed. “YOU GUYS ARE DERANGED—”
Before they could keep going, Freo’s hand came down sharply between their heads with a loud smack! Zeal and Seible both yelped in unison.
“Cochinos,” Freo muttered, shaking his head. “Filthy. Degenerates.”
Zeal rubbed his scalp. “Ow, damn—physical abuse from the cutest member, I see how it is.”
“I have to keep you in check,” Freo deadpanned. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring the chancla.”
Kaelix had curled in on himself, face burning as he pointed a shaky finger at both of them. “You two are menaces. I trusted you.”
Seible grinned and winked. “We’d never make fun of your crying face, Kae-chan. We’d only admire it.” Kaelix let out a scream into the couch cushions.
Zeal leaned back against the armrest, draping his arms lazily behind his head. “I think this is the most alive we’ve been in weeks.”
Freo, biting back a smile, sat beside Kaelix again and patted his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll protect your dignity.”
“You smacked them for me,” Kaelix mumbled, voice muffled. “You’re my hero.”
“Anytime.”
“Still,” Seible added, flopping across Zeal’s lap dramatically, “I really do want to see you cry again.”
Zeal added, “Maybe we should write a ballad just for that. Title it ‘Crying in C Minor (Kaelix’s Version).’”
Freo raised the slipper he pulled from under the couch. “I will use this.”
The room erupted into laughter, even Kaelix finally breaking with a helpless wheeze. Their ribs ached from it—but in a good way.
And nothing felt heavy.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•
After the whole live house meltdown—and a very public stream of heartfelt apologies and “see-you-soons”—they told the fans they were taking a break. A few weeks off to rest, recharge, and maybe… figure each other out a little more deeply.
The beach house they rented was far enough from the city to feel like another world. The waves crashed rhythmically outside, cicadas hummed in the trees, and inside, their laughter echoed through the open windows like something sacred.
Golden hour was just slipping into twilight, painting their skin in soft amber tones. But whatever warmth the sun left behind, they more than made up for on their own.
Kaelix had claimed the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, stretched out like royalty, fingers idly toying with Seible’s hair. Seible, in turn, was leaned in close, whispering something that made Kaelix choke on his own breath and swat at him with zero real conviction.
On the nearby armrest, Zeal lounged with all the grace of a panther who'd just finished a glass of rum. His eyes gleamed like he knew exactly what page this story was on—and he was enjoying the hell out of reading ahead.
But their attention shifted—like always—toward Freo, curled up beside Kaelix with his eyes shut and cheeks blooming pink.
Kaelix grinned. “You look like you’re overheating, Freo. Should we turn on a fan or just keep seducing you till you combust?”
Freo groaned softly, but didn’t move. “You are the fan. You’re all—too much. Too close.”
Seible, clearly delighted, crawled closer like a smug cat himself. “Aww, is Furi-chan being perceived again? Tragic.”
Zeal snorted. “Careful, Seible. Don’t tease him into oblivion. We only just got him to stop stiffening like a board every time someone breathes near his neck.”
“Correction,” Seible purred, trailing a finger up Freo’s arm, “you breathe near his neck. That’s a crime of its own.”
“Guilty,” Zeal said smoothly, twirling an invisible stir stick. “Want me to garnish it with a cherry next time?”
Kaelix was already leaning in, laying the softest kiss to Freo’s temple like it was second nature. He whispered, “Relax. We’ve got you.” Each kiss that followed—cheek, jaw, neck—was deliberate. Sweet. No rush. Like a favorite love song set to slow jazz.
Freo’s breath hitched. His eyes fluttered open and immediately met Kaelix’s gaze—warm, grounding, annoyingly good-looking.
Seible slipped a hand around Freo’s waist. Zeal, now comfortably cross-legged beside them, reached out and began tracing idle circles on Freo’s knuckles.
“You’re too precious, you know that?” Zeal murmured, tone low and teasing. “We’re gonna take care of you. Might also wreck you a little. For balance.”
Seible snickered. “Team Freak Number One and Number Two reporting for cuddly destruction.”
“Which of you is Number One?” Freo managed to mumble.
Kaelix raised an eyebrow. “That depends on the day.”
Freo’s blush deepened, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into them all, letting his head rest on Kaelix’s shoulder.
Kaelix kissed his hair. “We love you, Freo.”
Seible’s fingers snuck under Freo’s shirt, skimming up his side. Zeal’s touch moved to his neck, thumb brushing that one spot that made Freo shiver like he’d been zapped.
The air filled with soft sighs and shared smiles. A warmth that wasn’t just physical—it lived in their words, their touches, their laughter.
Kaelix pulled back just enough to grin. “You don’t have to say anything, Freo. We already hear you.”
Freo’s voice came small but clear: “I trust you. All of you.”
Seible kissed his palm with theatrical flair, then flopped dramatically against Freo’s side. “Ugh, why are you so cute when you're emotionally available. It’s unfair.”
Zeal laughed low and slow. “Careful, Kaelix. If you cry again, you might have to share the spotlight.”
Kaelix groaned. “God forbid.”
But there was no bite in it. Just love—stupid, sappy, bone-deep love. And as the last of the sunset melted into stars, they stayed there. A tangle of limbs and warmth, bad jokes and gentle hands.
•───────•°•❀•°•───────•