Work Text:
By Tuesday, the penthouse smells like hair bleach.
It starts on Monday with K'Sante coming home from his appointment carrying two bags of takeout and considerably less hair than he left with. Most of it has been buzzed down close, the top bleached so pale it nearly catches white beneath the kitchen lights, and he makes it all of seven seconds through the front door before Ezreal comes sliding out of the living room in socks and nearly runs straight into him.
“Oh my God, wait.” Ezreal catches himself on the edge of the entry table, then immediately reaches for K'Sante’s shoulders. “Turn around.”
K'Sante shifts both takeout bags safely into one hand. “Good evening to you too.”
“I need to see the back.”
“You need to let me put dinner down.”
Aphelios looks up from the dining table in time to watch Ezreal ignore him and carefully rotate K'Sante toward the overhead light anyway, inspecting the new buzz cut like something expensive he’s considering purchasing. Aphelios has been sitting there for the better part of an hour with one earbud in, his laptop open in front of him and three slightly different versions of the same bridge scattered between his notes app and the lyric document. He should probably keep working, but Ezreal’s intense concentration is difficult not to watch.
“It’s good,” he decides eventually. “You look younger.”
K'Sante raises an eyebrow. “Careful.”
“No, in a good way. Like expensive-younger.”
“That clarification made it worse.”
Aphelios hides a smile behind his mug.
The purple contacts are new too. They catch vividly when K'Sante turns his head, startling against his skin until Aphelios gets used to them. K'Sante has always carried himself with a particular kind of polish even when he’s wearing sweats and carrying enough chicken and rice to feed half a gym, and the buzz cut sharpens it. It strips away some of the old solo-act elegance without making him look less refined, leaving something cleaner and more deliberate in its place.
It suits him.
More importantly, it suits where they’re going.
The entire week has been blocked off for this sort of thing. Hair appointments, wardrobe fittings, visual consultations, vocal check-ins with Yone, final lyric adjustments with Aphelios and enough planning meetings that Alune has already started threatening people for ignoring the shared calendar. Serious comeback preparation doesn’t technically begin until the following Monday, when Riot wants them back in rehearsals and recording sessions, but the shift has already started creeping into the penthouse around the edges.
It almost feels suspiciously relaxed compared to PARANOIA.
Their debut had been one long sprint toward something none of them were entirely sure would work. Everything mattered too much then. Every recording, every meeting, every stupid argument that somehow became another argument because six people carrying six different careers’ worth of baggage had been shoved into a room and told to become a band.
Somehow, they did.
PARANOIA sounded like them at the time because they were all a little pissed off and desperate to prove they deserved to be there. It made writing for them almost easy.
This comeback doesn’t feel like that.
Aphelios lowers his gaze to his laptop again while K'Sante and Ezreal continue debating whether expensive-younger counts as a compliment. The melody playing quietly in one ear is warmer than PARANOIA ever was, bright enough to feel easy without becoming empty. There’s still enough HEARTSTEEL in it that nobody is going to mistake them for harmless, especially once Sett and Kayn get anywhere near a microphone, but the aggression has been pulled back. The drums are cleaner, the chorus opens wider, and beneath the upbeat production there’s something almost ballad-like in the way the melody carries itself.
Yone called it optimistic yesterday.
Kayn called him old.
Aphelios secretly thinks Yone is right.
There’s something nice about writing like this anyway. Nothing about surviving everybody else’s expectations or proving a point to people who already made up their minds about them. Just something they like.
Maybe they earned that.
He changes two words in the bridge and reads the line again. It’s better, probably, until he decides he'll hate it in forty minutes.
His reflection hovers faintly along the black edge of the laptop screen, and for a moment his own hair distracts him.
It’s in an awkward stage, though not an ugly one. He knows that now, even if the first week after using color remover involved more glaring at bathroom mirrors than he’d ever admit. Most of the teal is finally gone, leaving his natural raven-black hair grown through the roots and down most of the length. What remains at the ends has been stripped pale enough to turn blond, especially through the choppy pieces framing his face and the tips of his bangs. It sits around his shoulders now, long enough that he’s started tying the upper half back whenever he works because otherwise it falls directly into his eyes.
Styled properly, it looks intentional. If he doesn’t bother, he looks like somebody who started changing his hair halfway through and got distracted, which isn’t entirely wrong.
Their stylist took one look at it yesterday, combed through the blond ends, checked the condition after the remover and told him not to touch any of it. No bleach, no corrective dye, no emergency return to teal because he gets impatient with the grow-out. Let it grow, trim it later if they need to and leave it alone.
Apparently his makeover assignment is to exist.
Aphelios can probably manage that.
He takes another drink, the small silver ring through the center of his lower lip tapping lightly against the mug. The piercing is still new enough that he hasn’t stopped playing with it when he thinks, tongue occasionally pressing against the cool metal from behind until Alune catches him and tells him to leave it alone.
Sett catches him doing it for entirely different reasons.
Aphelios is beginning to suspect the piercing may have been a strategic mistake.
As if summoned by the thought, a large hand settles across the back of his chair and Sett leans over him, close enough that one soft Vastayan ear brushes the side of Aphelios’ tied-back hair. He hasn’t gotten his own makeover yet. His appointment is Friday, apparently because the stylist looked at the amount of hair involved and decided it deserved its own afternoon, so for now it’s still the same shaggy reddish color Aphelios has grown used to seeing every morning.
“Whatcha workin’ on?”
Aphelios angles the laptop away.
Sett groans. “Really?”
“It’s not done.”
“That never stopped me before.”
“That’s why I’m moving it.”
“Damn.”
His chin lands heavily on Aphelios’ shoulder anyway, and Aphelios leaves it there.
Living together has made Sett worse about personal space, though not in a way Aphelios actually minds. He’s always been physical, the kind of person who throws an arm around somebody first and considers spatial logistics afterward, but years of sharing a home have worn away most of the hesitation he once had around Aphelios specifically. He knows where he’s allowed now, and more importantly, he knows when he isn’t.
Sett squints at the tiny section of document still visible. “Still messin’ with the bridge?”
“Yes.”
“I liked the last one.”
“So did Yone.”
“Then why’re you changing it?”
Aphelios turns his head enough to look at him. “Because I can make it better.”
Sett considers that for a second, then nods. “Fair.”
Sett’s attention leaves the laptop after that and settles on Aphelios instead. He ignores it for another few seconds, finishing the sentence he’s typing before finally looking over.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“You’re staring at my mouth.”
One of Sett’s ears twitches. “I like the ring.”
“You’ve told me.”
“Still like it.”
It’s annoyingly sincere, especially when Sett’s gaze drops again as Aphelios nudges the piercing absently with his tongue. He knows that look by now. Mostly because Sett has been giving it to him ever since he got the thing.
Aphelios catches the ring lightly between his teeth.
Sett’s hand tightens over the back of the chair. “Phel.”
Aphelios lets it go, the corner of his mouth lifting as he turns back to his laptop. “What?”
“You know what.”
He does.
That’s why he puts his earbud back in and keeps working.
Ezreal’s hair becomes pink on Wednesday.
Not subtle pink, either.
Aphelios walks into the styling suite Riot rented for them and finds him sitting beneath a dryer with his freshly shortened hair bright enough to be visible from another state. Ezreal is staring at himself in the mirror with the sort of reverence generally saved for religious experiences.
“It’s perfect,” he swoons.
Two chairs away, Kayn is getting the sides and back of his hair cut shorter while looking increasingly suspicious of the stylist every time another section hits the cape.
“You look like chewed gum,” he tells Ezreal.
Ezreal turns just enough to glare at him through the mirror, the soft hair making his expression considerably less threatening. “Well, you look like someone finally confiscated half your hair.”
“It grows back.”
“Threatening.”
Kayn lifts one hand and flips Ezreal off, but Ezreal only grins wider at him, which apparently deserves escalation. Kayn hooks a finger beneath one eye and tugs the lower lid down before sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated face, and that’s when the little metal stud catches the salon light.
Aphelios’ attention snags on it long enough for Kayn to notice. He gives him a smug look through the mirror, tongue still out, like he’d been waiting for somebody to react.
Aphelios turns toward Alune. “You let him pierce his tongue?”
She’s sitting near the wall with her laptop balanced over one knee and doesn’t even look up. “What exactly did you want me to do? Tackle him?”
Aphelios glances back at Kayn, who has finally stopped making faces long enough for his stylist to keep cutting.
Fair enough.
“He looks cool,” Ezreal says.
Kayn’s eyes narrow through the mirror. “Shut up.”
“I was being serious.”
“That’s worse.”
Aphelios drops onto the empty couch beside Alune and pulls his headphones down around his neck. Kayn’s hair is only being cut shorter, cleaned up enough to leave more of his face exposed without losing the slightly feral look he seems personally committed to. His mismatched eyes stand out more because of it and the tongue piercing fits so naturally with the rest of him that Aphelios is mostly surprised Kayn hadn’t done it sooner.
Ezreal leans sideways in his chair to get a better look and earns an irritated tug from his stylist. “Okay, wait. The short hair with the piercing is actually kinda sick.”
Kayn narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I gave you one compliment.”
“Exactly.”
Their stylists tell both of them to stop moving.
Aphelios puts his headphones back on, but barely a minute passes before Alune taps the corner of his tablet.
“You changed the bridge again.”
He gives her a suspicious look.
Alune smiles. “Why do you always assume I’m about to criticize you?”
“Experience.”
“That’s mean.”
“You’re my manager.”
“And your sister.”
“Exactly.”
Her elbow connects gently with his ribs.
Aphelios leans against her shoulder for a moment, smiling despite himself, before returning to the lyric sheet.
The planning meeting ends up happening there because nobody trusts Kayn and Ezreal to leave the salon on time if Yone doesn’t physically corner them. By three, K'Sante arrives carrying coffee, Yone follows with his laptop and a folder of arrangement notes, and Sett shows up last with a box of pastries balanced in one hand.
Aphelios looks towards him before he means to.
Sett finds him almost immediately, eyes catching on Aphelios from across the room before his expression softens into an easy smile.
Aphelios looks back down at his tablet.
A few minutes later, the couch dips beside him as Sett drops into the open space, close enough that their thighs press together, the pastry box settling beside him.
“Hey. Miss me?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
Aphelios’ mouth twitches.
Sett leans towards the tablet. “Lemme see.”
This time Aphelios lets him.
They go through the arrangement while hair gets cut and color processes around them, which should feel ridiculous and absolutely does. Yone stands near the long styling counter with his laptop connected to a portable speaker while Ezreal remains trapped beneath a cape, Kayn sits still just long enough to keep his stylist from threatening him, and K'Sante drinks iced coffee beside a stack of color references. Alune types notes quickly enough to make the keys sound frightened. Sett has one arm stretched along the couch behind Aphelios and occasionally steals sips from his water without asking.
Somehow, they get work done.
Yone plays the newest version of the instrumental.
The intro comes in bright and easy, almost deceptively simple before the bass settles beneath it. Aphelios watches everyone react. Ezreal starts moving his foot almost immediately. K'Sante nods along. Even Kayn, who has spent the last ten minutes pretending the entire meeting is beneath him, stops checking his phone.
Then the chorus opens, and Sett smiles beside him before the first hook has even finished. Aphelios doesn’t need to look around to know the rest of them feel it too.
Yone lets the track run another thirty seconds before lowering the volume. “I want less weight on the second verse.”
Kayn glances up. “That’s mine.”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean less weight?”
Yone looks at him calmly. “I mean you’re singing it.”
The room goes quiet enough that Ezreal’s stylist pauses with one hand still in his hair.
Kayn stares at Yone. “I’m what?”
“You’re singing.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I rap.”
“You can also sing.”
“According to who?”
“According to the vocal recordings you sent me four months ago.”
That gets two reactions at once. Kayn’s face tightens while Ezreal turns so sharply his stylist has to catch the back of his chair.
“You sent him singing recordings?” Ezreal asks, immediately delighted.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Oh my God.”
“It was for reference.”
“You sent Yone recordings of you singing for reference?”
Kayn sinks a little farther into the chair. “That’s what I just said.”
Ezreal looks at him like he’s uncovered classified information. “How many?”
“Why the fuck does it matter?”
“So more than one?”
“Ezreal.”
Yone raises one hand before Ezreal can make the situation any worse. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell any of you. Rhaast doesn’t fit this track. We don’t need that extra energy here, and forcing a rap section into the second verse would change the tone for no reason.”
Ezreal is still grinning at Kayn. “I just can’t believe you’ve been sending Yone private little vocal demos.”
“They weren’t private.”
“You only sent them to one person.”
“They were for work.”
“Sure.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Not when you give me material like this.”
“Ezreal,” Yone says.
Yone waits until Kayn stops looking like he might actually get up and strangle him before continuing. “Your voice has enough roughness to work against Ezreal’s upper register, especially with K’Sante underneath it.”
Kayn folds his arms carefully around the cape. “I’m not doing some cheesy boy-band shit.”
Sett snorts beside Aphelios. “You joined a boy band.”
“You shut up too.”
Aphelios covers his mouth, but not quickly enough to hide the laugh. Kayn catches it through the mirror and points at him. “You knew?”
Aphelios shakes his head.
“Great. Even Phel thinks this is funny.”
“You did get your tongue pierced the same week we started vocal prep,” K'Sante says.
“That has nothing to do with my voice.”
“Hopefully,” Ezreal adds.
Kayn looks at him with enough irritation that Yone cuts in before they can start again. “The verse is already written.”
Aphelios taps the screen of his tablet and holds it out. Kayn takes it with considerably more suspicion than necessary, but that eases once he actually starts reading. The second verse sits beneath the melody guide Aphelios put together for him, written around Kayn’s voice from the beginning rather than adapted after Yone made the decision.
Kayn reads it twice before looking up. “You wrote this for me?”
Aphelios nods.
“For me singing it?”
Another nod, and Kayn’s expression twists somewhere between betrayed and reluctantly touched. “Asshole.”
Aphelios smiles.
Sett leans over just enough to glance at the screen. “Phel wrote you a whole pretty little singin’ verse. You gotta do it now.”
“I don’t gotta do anything.”
“You’re gonna.”
Kayn shoots him a look, but his attention drops back to the lyrics instead of arguing.
Which is answer enough.
By Thursday, Yone is blond.
It shouldn’t be that surprising considering his hair was already light, but the change still catches Aphelios off guard. The length stays, thankfully, while the upper layers have gone pale blonde and the underside dyed black, showing through whenever Yone moves or ties it back. With the grey contacts, he somehow looks both sharper and even more tired.
Ezreal stares at him over breakfast. “People are gonna eat you up.”
Yone pours his tea. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Yone stops pouring. “Why would I not worry about it?”
Ezreal looks up from his cereal, visibly fighting a smile. “All you need to know is that it’s a good thing. A compliment, even!”
“That did not answer my question.”
“It means people are gonna like the look.”
Yone’s expression tightens. “Then why didn’t you just say that?”
“More fun this way.” He hums as if he didn’t just cause a mini heart attack.
Yone closes his eyes for a long moment like he’s reconsidering the entire conversation, while Aphelios lowers his coffee before he can choke on it.
By Friday morning, everyone except Sett is finished. Kayn’s shorter cut has settled enough that he’s stopped checking it in every reflective surface, though he keeps messing with his tongue piercing until K’Sante threatens to tape his mouth shut. Ezreal has already taken more selfies than Aphelios wants to count, while K’Sante and Yone seem to have adjusted to their own changes with considerably less ceremony.
Aphelios gets the contacts.
They’re blue, brighter than his natural eyes without being vivid enough to look unnatural, and he spends the first few minutes blinking at himself over the bathroom sink while they settle. The color catches differently against his dark hair, cool enough that his reflection looks sharper around the edges even though almost nothing else about him has changed.
Alune had liked them immediately when the stylist first showed them the options. Aphelios had only shrugged, which she correctly interpreted as permission to pick for him.
Now he leans closer to the mirror and turns his face slightly beneath the light.
Not bad.
His hair is more distracting.
His natural hair looks darker against the blue of the contacts, which only makes the blond ends more obvious when he ties half of it back. He spends longer than necessary arranging the loose pieces around his face, pulling one choppy strand forward, changing his mind, pushing it back, then immediately tugging it loose again.
He’s fixing it for the third time when Sett appears behind him in the bathroom mirror, still dressed for the morning in a white tank top and loose sweats. His appointment isn’t for another hour, but him wandering in to find Aphelios before he has anywhere to be isn’t anything new.
“Thought you weren’t doin’ anything to yours.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been staring at it for five minutes.”
Aphelios drops his hands, and Sett comes closer until his reflection takes up most of the space behind him, broad shoulders making the bathroom look smaller than it actually is. His tail gives an idle flick before settling again.
“You don’t like it?”
Aphelios studies himself for another second and shrugs, which makes Sett frown.
“Phel.”
“What?”
Sett reaches around and catches one of the blond-tipped pieces framing his face between two fingers. “I like it.”
Aphelios meets his eyes in the mirror as Sett rubs the pale end lightly between his fingertips. “Looks cool like this. Kinda messy.”
“It is messy.”
“Yeah. On purpose.”
“It’s not.”
Sett smiles. “Nobody else knows that.”
Aphelios turns around finally, letting the strand slip from Sett’s fingers. “You think it looks good because you think everything I do looks good.”
“Not true.”
He raises an eyebrow.
Sett thinks about it long enough, then winces a little. “Okay. Mostly true.”
“That’s not helping your case either.”
“I hated that silver jacket,” Sett adds quickly, like he’s found the one piece of evidence that might save him.
Aphelios stares at him. “You told me you liked it.”
“I was being supportive.”
“You’re a liar.”
“It made noises when you walked, Phel.”
“It was vinyl.”
“Exactly.”
Aphelios laughs despite himself, and Sett’s smile widens immediately, pleased with himself. He steps closer until Aphelios’ back meets the bathroom counter, hands settling lightly over his hips.
“Seriously though,” Sett says, quieter now. “Don’t dye it again just ‘cause you think you gotta look finished.”
Aphelios’ gaze drifts past him towards the mirror. Maybe that’s what has been bothering him. Everybody else changed all at once this week, while he still looks caught somewhere between what it was and what it’s becoming, the last of the teal stripped down to blond ends while his hair grows back through it. He chose to let it happen this way, but seeing himself caught between the two has been irritating him more than he realized, like he should have already decided which version of himself comes next.
He hadn’t really thought of it that way until Sett said it.
Sett’s thumb rubs once over his hip. “I like watching it grow out.”
Aphelios looks back at him and Sett shrugs, suddenly a little sheepish from the attention. “Means I get different versions of you for a while.”
It’s unbearably sweet, and Aphelios hates when Sett does that without warning. He catches him by the jaw and kisses him before he can say more.
Sett makes a surprised sound before melting into it, hands tightening around Aphelios’ hips as he bends down to meet him. The ring in Aphelios’ lip clicks faintly against one of Sett’s fangs, pulling a quiet groan from him before Aphelios finally draws back.
“You have an appointment.”
“I know…”
“You’ll be late.”
“I got time.”
“You always think that.”
Sett kisses him again anyway, and Aphelios lets it go for another few seconds before murmuring, “Go,” against his lips. Sett only chases the kiss for half a second longer before Aphelios presses a palm to his chest and pushes him back properly.
He sighs dramatically, though the quick flick of his tail gives away how pleased he is, then, because he can, steals one last kiss from Aphelios’ forehead on the way out and finally leaves.
Sett comes home orange, which shouldn’t be nearly as distracting as it is considering Aphelios knew the color in advance.
He’s seen the reference photos, sat through the styling call, watched three different shades get held up beside Sett’s face on a screen and listened while everybody debated undertones until Sett finally told them to pick one before he stopped caring altogether.
Knowing does not help.
The front door opens a little after five while Aphelios sits in the living room beside Yone, both of them listening to Kayn’s second vocal test through studio headphones. Sett walks in, and somewhere between the door shutting behind him and Aphelios actually registering what he looks like, the song stops existing.
The shade is warmer than he expected, closer to copper in some lights and burning brighter where the late afternoon sun catches the layers around Sett’s face. They’ve trimmed it enough to give the shape more movement without making it neat, which is probably for the best. Nothing about Sett looks particularly right when he’s too polished.
The red contacts stand out immediately, bright against warm skin and even more striking beneath the new color. One of his ears flicks the moment he catches Aphelios staring, and the smile that follows makes Aphelios slowly pull one side of his headphones away from his ear.
Yone’s gaze flicks between them before returning to his laptop. “Phel isn’t our stylist, but he doesn’t seem to have any complaints.”
Aphelios doesn’t answer.
Sett drops his bag beside the entry table, grin widening. “That good, huh?”
“You look like a traffic cone,” Kayn calls from the kitchen.
Sett only grins wider without taking his eyes off Aphelios. “You can just say you like it.”
Ezreal leans over the back of the couch, hair falling forward. “No, wait, stand next to Phel real quick. I wanna see the contrast.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said no.”
“That’s not a reason, Phel.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Sett laughs and comes over anyway, and Aphelios watches him approach with absolutely no intention of pretending the new look isn’t doing something for him. Being attracted to Sett has never exactly been difficult. Sett could roll out of bed with pillow marks on his face, hair pointing in four different directions and yesterday’s sweats hanging low on his hips, and Aphelios would still have to pretend he wasn’t looking.
This is different.
The orange makes the red of his eyes stand out even more, and his fangs flash when he smiles. For something planned down to the shade, the whole look still manages to leave him a little rough around the edges.
Aphelios likes him that way.
Sett stops directly in front of him, and from the couch Aphelios has to tip his head back to look at him properly.
“Well?”
Aphelios reaches up and catches one orange strand between his fingers. “It suits you.”
His face softens immediately. “Yeah?”
“Mn.”
“Better than before?”
Aphelios gives him a look. “Don’t push it,” he says, which only makes Sett laugh like he’s already gotten the answer he wanted.
He lets the strand slip through his fingers, and Sett’s gaze follows the movement before drifting down to his mouth. Aphelios catches exactly where he’s looking and nudges the lip ring once with his tongue.
Both of Sett’s ears twitch.
Beside them, Yone glances up from his laptop, takes in the way Sett is still standing over Aphelios, then quietly closes it. “I think we can finish this later.”
Aphelios turns toward him, but Yone is already getting up. Across the room, Ezreal looks delighted by the view, practically buzzing from the effort of not saying anything, while Kayn has settled for a knowing little smirk that somehow feels worse. K'Sante glances over from the kitchen, takes in the situation, and very deliberately decides to not involve himself.
Heat creeps into Aphelios’ face while Sett, shamelessly as ever, only grins. “We ain’t even doin’ anything.”
“You’re doing plenty,” Yone says.
“By standing—”
“Comeback meeting in twenty,” Alune calls from somewhere down the hall. “And I mean twenty. Not HEARTSTEEL twenty!”
“That feels targeted,” Ezreal says.
“It is!” Alune calls back.
Sett drops onto the couch beside Aphelios, his weight sinking the cushions until their thighs press together. Aphelios puts the headphones back on and returns to Kayn’s vocal track, though Sett barely gives him a few seconds before leaning closer.
“So you really like it?”
Aphelios keeps his attention on the vocal track for another second before looking over. Sett has leaned close enough that their shoulders press together, wearing the same expectant little grin he’s had since walking through the door.
“You’ve asked twice already.”
“Just makin’ sure.”
“I like it.”
Sett hums, visibly pleased, but apparently not satisfied. “How much?”
Aphelios studies him for a moment. The grin only widens under the scrutiny, smug and entirely too confident, until Aphelios lets his gaze drop from his face, trail down the broad line of his chest, and settle lower just long enough to make the implications obvious.
The confidence slips almost immediately. Sett’s mouth parts like he was about to say something, then doesn’t, one ear twitching sharply while the other lifts with it a second later.
Aphelios looks back up at him. “Enough.”
Then he turns back to Kayn’s vocal track and settles his headphones properly over his ears. Sett stays unusually quiet beside him after that, and Aphelios gets more done in the next twenty minutes than he has all afternoon.
The meeting lasts almost two hours.
Alune spreads printouts across the dining table despite the fact that everything also exists digitally, because she claims nobody respects a schedule they can’t constantly see. Yone sets up at the head of the table with his laptop and arrangement notes, while K'Sante takes the seat beside him and steps in whenever the conversation drifts towards performance logistics. Ezreal keeps finding empty margins to scribble ideas into, and Kayn makes it ten minutes in with feet propped on the chair across from him before Alune reaches over and silently shoves them to the floor.
Sett takes the seat beside Aphelios, close enough that their knees knock together beneath the table within the first few minutes. He doesn’t move, and Aphelios doesn’t bother making him.
It still makes concentrating slightly more annoying.
The song plays low from Yone’s speakers while they work through it section by section, stopping whenever somebody wants to pick apart a harmony, transition or line that still feels off. When Sett’s part comes around, he mouths along quietly beside Aphelios, testing the melody under his breath while Yone adjusts something in the mix. Aphelios catches himself listening to him instead of the speaker and looks back down at his notes before Sett can notice.
He likes the song more every time they start over. There’s an ease to it that PARANOIA never had, less of that constant pressure to prove HEARTSTEEL deserved to exist and more room to actually enjoy figuring out what they want to sound like now.
Sett’s knee presses into his again beneath the table.
Aphelios nudges it away without looking over, but it comes back less than a minute later, warm against his own, so this time he leaves it there.
“We should keep the second chorus cleaner,” he says when Yone replays the section. The rest of the table quiets automatically, and Sett leans a little closer beside him while Aphelios taps the line on his notes. “If we stack too much there, the last chorus won’t open enough.”
Yone rewinds it a few seconds and listens again. “I agree.”
Ezreal glances down at the arrangement sheet. “Does that mean fewer harmonies?”
“It means fewer of yours,” Kayn says.
Ezreal looks personally offended. “Why specifically mine?”
“Because you keep adding more when nobody supervises you.”
“They’re vocal layers.”
“You made twelve.”
“They sounded good!”
“They sounded like a choir of you.”
Ezreal points at him with the end of his pen. “And you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Aphelios hides his smile behind one hand while K'Sante laughs quietly beside Yone. Yone himself looks like he’d already given up on arguing and reaches across the table to write a number beside Ezreal’s part.
Ezreal leans forward. “What’s that?”
“Your limit.”
“You can’t give me a harmony limit!”
“I just did.”
Ezreal stares at the number. “Four?”
Yone looks back at his laptop. “Four.”
“That’s creative censorship.”
“Should’ve supervised yourself,” Kayn says, looking unbearably pleased with himself.
Ezreal kicks the legs of his chair beneath the table, and Kayn kicks back without even looking over as Yone moves them onto the bridge before either of them can find something else to argue about.
Beside Aphelios, Sett laughs under his breath. Their knees are still pressed together beneath the table, warm and solid where they touch, and when Aphelios glances over, Sett is already looking at him. The corner of his mouth lifts before he turns back to his notes, settling into the meeting again as Yone moves them through the rest of the arrangement.
Eventually, the vocal takes for Kayn’s verse appear on Yone’s screen.
Kayn recognizes the project window immediately and sinks lower in his chair. “We’re doing this again?”
“You haven’t even heard what he’s going to say,” K'Sante points out.
“I know that screen.”
Yone ignores the complaint and clicks on the third take. “This one was good.”
Kayn sits up a little at that. It’s barely a movement, but everyone at the table catches it, and for once nobody is cruel enough to point it out. Even Ezreal keeps his mouth shut.
“The first two sound like you’re trying not to sound like yourself,” Yone continues, moving between the recordings. “The third works because you stopped forcing it.”
Kayn looks down at the lyric sheet, running his tongue briefly along the back of his teeth. “It still sounds weird.”
“You sound less guarded,” Aphelios says.
Kayn looks at him.
Aphelios doesn’t soften it. Kayn mistrusts compliments when they come too polished anyway, and the part he clearly hates hearing in his own voice is exactly what makes the verse work.
“This song needs that.”
Kayn’s eyes drop back to the lyric sheet. He sits with it for a few seconds before his mouth twists. “I hate when you make sense.”
Aphelios smiles.
“Fine. Keep the third one.”
Ezreal leans a little closer. “You have a pretty voice.”
Kayn turns to stare at him, clearly waiting for the joke, but Ezreal only gives a small shrug when it doesn’t come. “I’m being serious.”
Kayn looks away first with a quiet, “Whatever,” though the tips of his ears have gone warm enough that Ezreal notices immediately.
Aphelios sees the smile beginning to spread across his face and so does K'Sante, who takes pity on Kayn before Ezreal can say anything else.
“Wonderful. Emotional breakthrough complete.” He taps the schedule in front of him. “Can we please discuss rehearsal times?”
That gets them moving again.
Aphelios sits back while Alune walks them through the next week, tapping her pen down the schedule as she goes. Recording comes first. Stage rehearsals after that, once they figure out where everyone actually wants to be during the song instead of letting six people wander wherever they feel like and hoping the camera keeps up.
There isn’t much choreography, thankfully. There are still entrances and spacings and blocking, which means enough opportunities for somebody to be standing in the wrong place that Aphelios expects Alune to start threatening them with tape markers by Tuesday.
The music video takes up half the schedule on its own. Concept meetings, set walkthroughs, camera blocking, individual shots, group scenes that may or may not survive another round of revisions. Then wardrobe. More rehearsals. There are also two Riot meetings labeled brand alignment, which Sett starts complaining about despite admitting almost immediately that he has no idea what either meeting involves.
It should sound exhausting. By next week, it probably will be.
Right now, though, Aphelios only feels the quiet pull of anticipation as he looks around the table. They have the song, Kayn is actually going to sing his verse, Sett has more melody to work with this time, and Monday is close enough now that all of this will stop being preparation and start becoming real.
For once, he’s looking forward to it.
Sett’s knee nudges his beneath the table. Aphelios glances sideways and finds him making a convincing attempt at listening to Alune, though one ear has tipped slightly in his direction. He drags the side of his shoe slowly along Sett’s calf in response and watches his shoulders tense before turning back toward the schedule like he hadn’t done anything at all.
Before Alune lets any of them leave, she makes all six promise not to schedule anything during rehearsal week, her attention landing pointedly on Ezreal when she says it. He insists the last time was an accident. She looks unconvinced.
The meeting loosens after that, everyone slipping into smaller conversations while Alune starts gathering the papers spread across the table. Yone stays near the head with his laptop open, and K'Sante leans in beside him when he pulls one of the transitions back up.
Aphelios only catches pieces of what they’re saying while he gathers his own notes— something about timing, then where K'Sante wants to come in once they start working through the stage arrangement, but Yone has already started making changes while K'Sante watches over his shoulder.
Eventually Yone closes the laptop. K'Sante’s hand settles lightly against the middle of his back as they start toward the hallway, and Yone keeps talking, leaning closer to say something Aphelios can’t hear. K'Sante answers with a quiet laugh before his hand slips down and catches Yone’s instead.
Yone glances at their joined hands, then up at him. Whatever K'Sante says next softens the tired set of his face into a small smile.
Aphelios watches them disappear down the hall together and feels himself smile. Seeing them like this doesn’t really surprise him anymore, and somehow that only makes him happier for them.
It’s almost ten by the time the rest of them finally scatter. Ezreal and Kayn make it as far as the kitchen before finding something new to argue about on Ezreal’s phone, while Alune gathers the last of her things and stops long enough to give Aphelios a quick hug before heading out.
Aphelios collects his own notes and slips away to his bedroom while the noise from the kitchen carries on behind him. He gets as far as pulling the tie from his hair before the door opens.
He catches Sett in the mirror, closing the door with his heel while Aphelios finishes undoing his hair. He combs his fingers through the sections that have been tied back all day, working out the slight bends left behind until everything falls loose around his shoulders.
Sett crosses the room and stops behind him, bending until his chin settles comfortably on top of Aphelios’ head. His arms find their way around Aphelios’ waist a second later, easy enough that Aphelios doesn’t bother asking what he wants.
“You were fuckin’ with me at the table.”
Aphelios meets his eyes in the mirror. “Was I?”
“Phel.”
His mouth twitches.
He turns in Sett’s arms, and Sett straightens enough that Aphelios has to tip his head back to look at him properly.
The color really is better up close.
Aphelios reaches up and pushes one piece away from Sett’s eye. The hands around his waist settle a little more securely as he lets his fingers linger in the orange strands.
“Still staring,” Sett murmurs.
“You noticed.”
Sett’s smile turns smaller. “Kinda hard not to.”
The quiet between them comes easily, softened by Ezreal and Kayn still arguing somewhere beyond the door. Aphelios leaves his fingers in Sett’s hair, getting used to the unfamiliar color beneath them while Sett’s thumb moves idly over his side.
Eventually, Sett bends down and kisses him.
The kiss stays soft for a moment, warm and almost lazy after the rest of the day. Aphelios lets him have that much before catching the front of his shirt and pulling him closer, and Sett follows without hesitation, humming against his mouth as one hand spreads over Aphelios’ lower back.
As Sett bends farther into the kiss, Aphelios reaches up and rubs two fingers gently through the fur at the base of one ear.
Sett’s breath breaks against his mouth. “Mm—fuck, Phel.”
Aphelios does it again, slower this time.
The hand at his waist tightens immediately.
That reaction alone is enough to keep him there, thumb rubbing through the soft fur until Sett finally drags himself far enough out of the kiss to look at him.
“You’re enjoyin’ that way too much.”
“Maybe.”
Sett gives him a narrowed look that would probably be more effective if his breathing were steadier. “Menace.”
Aphelios kisses him again.
Sett gives in immediately, his hands sliding lower over Aphelios’ hips as he draws him closer. Aphelios keeps one hand near the base of his ear, teasing just enough to pull another uneven breath from him.
“You keep doin’ that,” Sett mutters against his mouth, breath still uneven, “and you’re gonna start something.”
“You followed me in here.”
“Yeah, for a kiss.”
“You got several.”
“And now you’re rubbin’ all over me.”
Aphelios’ mouth curves against his. “You’re not complaining.”
“Didn’t say I was.”
The answer makes him laugh quietly, and Sett catches the sound with another kiss before it can go anywhere. His mouth drifts from Aphelios’ lips to the corner of his jaw while his hands stay warm at his hips, thumbs slipping beneath the hem of his shirt whenever Aphelios presses closer. Aphelios keeps one hand tangled in the hair near Sett’s ear, rubbing through the fur every so often just to feel the answering hitch in his breathing.
It would be easy to keep going. Sett definitely seems willing, judging by the way he keeps pulling Aphelios back whenever their mouths separate for more than a second, but when Aphelios’ fingers slide through the orange strands again, he remembers the stylist’s instructions from earlier.
He pulls back enough to look at him. “Your hair.”
Sett follows after him for half a second before stopping. “What about it?”
“You’re not supposed to wash it tonight.”
Sett blinks, still holding him around the waist. It takes another moment for the implication to land, and Aphelios watches his face change as he realizes exactly where this is going.
“Phel…”
“If we keep going, you’re going to want a shower.”
Sett starts to answer, pauses, then shuts his mouth again when apparently nothing useful comes to him. “Man, that’s bullshit.”
“You’ll live.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Aphelios raises an eyebrow. “You started it.”
“I came in here for a kiss.”
“And look how well that went.”
Sett stares at him for a second before one ear tips sideways, his whole face caught somewhere between annoyance and wanting to laugh. He’s still flushed from kissing, hands resting stubbornly at Aphelios’ hips like letting go would somehow mean conceding the argument, and the sight is ridiculous enough that affection gets to Aphelios before he can stop it.
He steps back into Sett’s space.
Whatever complaint Sett had left disappears immediately. His arms close around Aphelios’ waist, and before Aphelios can decide whether rewarding him was a mistake, his feet leave the floor.
“Sett.”
“What?” he asks, with enough innocence that Aphelios knows better than to believe it.
“You can hold me without picking me up.”
“Nah.”
Aphelios sighs, though his arms are already settling around Sett’s shoulders, which is apparently all the permission he needs. Sett carries him the few steps to the bed and sits at the edge with Aphelios still in his lap, looking far too satisfied when Aphelios shifts around until he’s comfortable.
“You’re annoying.”
“You came back.”
“You picked me up.”
“And you stayed.”
Aphelios gives him a flat look, and Sett bites down on a smile. “Just sayin’.”
“You shouldn’t.”
That finally gets him laughing. Aphelios lasts maybe two seconds before it catches him too, shoving lightly at Sett’s shoulder without any intention of going anywhere. Sett only laughs harder and pulls him in until Aphelios gives up entirely, folding against him with his face tucked near his neck.
By the time their laughter settles, one of Sett’s hands has wandered into Aphelios’ hair. He doesn’t tug at it or wind it around his fingers the way he sometimes does when he’s trying to annoy him. He only combs through it slowly, following one loose section down until the ends slip between his fingertips.
“I meant what I said this morning,” he murmurs. “I really like it like this.”
Aphelios hums against his neck.
Sett turns the end gently between his fingers, watching the dark length give way to blond beneath his fingers. “Feels like I can see time in it or somethin’.”
Aphelios lifts his head, and Sett immediately grimaces.
“That sounded dumb.”
“No.”
“Kinda did.”
“It didn’t.”
He looks at Aphelios for another second, still visibly unconvinced, so Aphelios reaches up instead and brushes his fingers through the orange hair near his temple.
“You look different too.”
Sett’s mouth curves. “Good different?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Aphelios leans down and kisses him, letting the answer stay there.
The kiss stays slow. Sett’s hand comes up behind his head while Aphelios settles more comfortably against him, neither of them trying to turn it into anything else this time. His thumb moves lazily behind Aphelios’ ear between kisses, and Aphelios is perfectly content to stay there until something crashes somewhere outside the bedroom and Ezreal starts shouting.
Kayn answers louder almost immediately. Yone joins in a few seconds later, his voice carrying down the hallway with enough exhaustion that the actual words hardly even matter.
Sett laughs quietly against Aphelios’ hair. “Missed this.”
Aphelios pulls back enough to look at him. “Them yelling?”
“Nah.” Sett gestures vaguely toward the door. “All this.”
Aphelios knows what he means.
The penthouse has never exactly been quiet, and none of them went anywhere after PARANOIA. Ezreal and Kayn can find something to argue about on an otherwise perfectly peaceful Monday, K’Sante still cooks enough food for whoever happens to wander into the kitchen, and Yone has never stopped disappearing into his room with a project open on his laptop. This is different. There are schedules covering the dining table again, fittings and shoots being argued over, new stems coming out of Yone’s room at ridiculous hours and six people all working toward the same thing instead of whatever happened to be occupying them separately.
They’re back on the grind, as Sett would probably put it.
Aphelios missed it too.
Before he can say as much, a faint voice slips through the wall. Sett’s ears perk beneath his hand, and both of them fall quiet as Kayn sings the same few measures under his breath, stops halfway through and starts again.
The second attempt gets farther. The third makes it cleanly to the end.
Sett smiles. “Sounds good.”
Aphelios nods, keeping his voice just as low. Neither of them is stupid enough to let Kayn know they can hear him.
He settles back against Sett while fingers return to his hair, combing through it slowly as Kayn starts the phrase again on the other side of the wall.
“Think this one’s gonna be easier?” Sett asks after a while.
Aphelios thinks about it. “No.”
Sett lets out a quiet laugh. “Damn.”
“Better.”
That makes Sett pause. When Aphelios lifts his head, he’s already looking at him, turning the word over for a moment before his expression softens.
“Yeah,” he says. “Better.”
Better doesn’t mean easier. They’re still going to hear the song until they’re sick of it, get tired and irritated and spend at least one rehearsal wondering why they voluntarily agreed to do any of this again.
Aphelios knows that. For once, he isn’t bracing for it.
Sett brushes a loose piece of hair away from his face, fingertips lingering against his cheek. “Love you.”
The words come easily now, enough that Aphelios barely has to think before turning his head and pressing a kiss into the heel of Sett’s palm.
“Love you too.”
Sett’s smile softens before he pulls him in again, and they’ve barely kissed when Kayn starts the verse from the beginning on the other side of the wall.
Ezreal’s voice immediately tears through the penthouse.
“I CAN HEAR YOU SINGING.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
The verse cuts off.
Aphelios breaks into helpless laughter against Sett’s mouth, and Sett tightens both arms around him when Aphelios starts slipping sideways in his lap. Sett isn’t doing much better, laughing into Aphelios’ shoulder while the argument outside starts all over again.
The comeback hasn’t even started yet, but Aphelios thinks they’re going to be fine.