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If you could put 'sleeping' on a resume, it wouldn’t have been at the top of Sett’s listed talents, but it certainly would have made the first paragraph. Hell, he had the evidence to prove it, with plenty of embarrassing photos in the group chat of himself falling asleep in unlikely places – some funny, some humiliating, all of them fairly impressive.
But right now, that skill was failing him.
Sett groaned. Blinked blearily. 3:26, the clock declared, red digits flickering feebly. There was a fist-sized dent in the approximate area of the snooze button, an accumulation of a few too many mornings that had come a little too quickly, and a sleepy, meaty hand that had come down with a little too much force. Sett made a mental note to get a new alarm clock. Something sturdier.
He was a stubborn guy, but even he knew when the battle was lost. Rubbing his eyes, he cracked open the door. Maybe some water would help. Or a midnight snack. Or a walk? Or maybe he’d call it an early morning – few more hours, and Yone would be up anyway.
Sett chuckled under his breath as he heard the faint snores echoing down the hallway. Even asleep, Kayn managed to be loud.
He cursed his massive feet as he made his way downstairs, praying that his steps wouldn’t wake the others. Last thing he wanted at this hour was a hissy fit from Ez, ever the diva, whining something about messing with his beauty sleep.
A rustling in the living room made him stop. His ears pricked; he turned, saw him: red hoodie, slouched spine.
He grinned. He wasn’t the only one awake after all.
“Hey. Still up?”
No answer. But he didn’t expect one – Aphelios never spoke unless necessary, and it was more greeting than question anyway. The way he shifted over on the couch was answer enough. Sett took the invitation gladly, yawning as he flopped down.
“It’s getting late, y’know. Didn’t Alune say we’ve got an interview tomorrow morning?”
That earned him a snarky eyeroll. You think I need reminding? the look said plainly.
Of course – orderly, responsible, perfect Aphelios, with his calendars and notebooks, appointments jotted in blue, lyrics jotted in black, doodles littering the margins. Rehearsals, writing, recording, and still time for a good prank here and there in between; it blew Sett’s mind that he could do all of that on so little sleep.
“Look, all I’m sayin’ is maybe you should get some rest, eh?”
Aphelios made a noise that was half cough, half grumble. “Now you sound like Yone.”
“Hey – I ain’t that old yet.” Sett punched his shoulder lightly. “Respect your elders, kid.”
“Oh please.” He scoffed, but the trace of a smile touched his lips. “What are you doing up anyway?”
“Woke up. Couldn’t fall asleep again.”
“Kayn’s snoring?”
“Ha. Yeah, but that wasn’t what woke me.” He sighed, scratching his ear. “Guess I’m just… restless.”
Aphelios gave a sympathetic grunt. His fingertips tapped a rhythm against his mug, something nervous and quick, the chipped polish of his nails clinking against porcelain.
“Tea?”
“Yujacha, actually.”
“For your throat?”
Aphelios nodded, looking away. His brows met into an anxious knot beneath his bangs as he took a slow, measured sip.
Some things he didn’t have to say aloud. Like how interviews made him nervous, even if no one forced him to speak. Or the quiet envy as the rest of them laughed and shouted and sang so easily, taking something as powerful as having a voice for granted. The surgeries might have given him his voice back, but it would never be the same. There was a roughness to it, and sometimes the syllables would break like a string pulled too tight. Scar tissue was a real bitch alright.
Sett understood, or at least he tried to, because that was a kind of grief he’d never known personally - the grief of losing a real, tangible part of yourself. It was the kind of thing over which you could drown yourself in a lifetime of self-pity, but Aphelios had come back braver and stronger. And maybe his voice made him self-conscious, but Sett didn’t mind it. Liked it, even. Even if it was raspy and hardly a whisper at times, soft enough that you had to lean in to catch the words, it belonged to Phel, and that was all that mattered.
But it seemed there was something else on his mind, too. Sett waited patiently.
“I saw some comments,” Aphelios spoke finally. “Some of them were nice.” A lot of them weren’t, was the unspoken second half.
The first night after a new release was always the worst. There was the excitement of course, but there was also the itching urge to stay glued to social media and hoover up every scrap of validation and venom, come what may. And Sett knew it all too well; even with a thick skin, sometimes the inevitable negativity would poke its way through, dredging up all the self-doubt that lurked beneath the dopamine bubble.
Aphelios sighed. “Do you think it was a mistake?” he wondered aloud. “The… direction we took.”
“Who the fuck cares?” Sett huffed. “Look, Phel, when all of us started this project, we promised we’d be in it for the right reasons. We ain’t makin’ music to please everyone.
“And so what if we changed things up? We’re tryin’ something new. And you said it yourself - something softer, more authentic. That was the whole vision, and I think it was a good call.”
Phel didn’t look convinced. He didn’t protest though, as Sett slung a thick arm around his shoulders.
“Some of what we do is gonna be a success,” he continued, feeling a tad like he was back in the boxing ring, trying to hype himself up. “Some ain’t. But art is about takin' risks - we just gotta roll with the punches and stay true to ourselves.”
“Sounds corny as hell.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Sett shrugged. “Corny shit or not, I stand by it. Gotta stay positive, mooncake.”
“Well, it’s not exactly easy,” Aphelios snapped. He sighed. “Sorry,” he added a beat later. “It’s just getting to me. That, and the nicotine cravings.”
“S’alright,” Sett chuckled. “But maybe you gotta take a step back from the socials. We all could. Let Alune handle media for a bit? Or Ez, that guy’s ego could use some taming.”
Aphelios closed his eyes, leaning his head against the crook of Sett’s arm.
“Yeah. I feel guilty, though. Leaving all our fans hanging like that.” He exhaled slowly, voice dropping to a whisper. “I just hate… feeling like I disappointed people.”
“You ain’t a disappointment, Phel,” Sett growled. “Not to our fans, not to the rest of the gang, and especially not to me.”
“Thanks.”
Besides,” he added teasingly, “we got our whole career ahead of ourselves. And I know you’ve got an entire notebook of very edgy anthems we could churn out.”
The blush that spread over his face was nothing short of adorable. Sett’s heart might have skipped a beat or two.
“Shut up! You weren’t supposed to know about that,” he mumbled.
Sett laughed softly, dodging the half-hearted swipes of his hands. There would be likely be revenge waiting for him in the near future, in the form of some kind of clever prank. Still, it was worth it, if only to see the pink on his cheeks, the cute way his brows scrunched up.
The couch was soft and the night was quiet, his arm was half-numb beneath the warm weight of Aphelios’ head, and his heart was full.
“You did good, Phel.”
“We did good,” he corrected, lips curving. “Crazy-ass team that we are, we pulled it off, somehow.” He set down the mug with a gentle tap. ‘TREBLE MAKER,’ it boasted in bright comic sans font – all caps, obviously. Phel had wrinkled his nose at the gift back then, declaring that puns were the lowest form of humour, but somehow it made its way into his hands every evening. “We drive each other insane sometimes, but I also think it’s exactly what we need.”
Sett chuckled in agreement. Crazy was a good word for it. Living here meant that sometimes you woke to find the entire living room rearranged for an impromptu photoshoot, or to the beeping of the smoke alarm and an unidentified charred mess in the toaster oven. Sometimes you woke to a new hole punched in the wall, and upon questioning someone would simply shrug and say “Kayn,” which was explanation enough in itself.
One thing was for certain: they totally weren’t getting that rental deposit back.
They were a ragtag team of colliding forces, a family of misfits and troublemakers manufacturing their own special brand of chaos at the cost of property damage - and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“And, uh. Sorry again, about your guitar,” Sett said sheepishly.
“Hm.”
“C’mon! I think we patched it pretty good… it still plays alright, don’t it?”
“Yup,” Aphelios deadpanned. “Good as new.”
To his credit, he kept composure for a solid minute before the smirk slipped through.
Sett groaned, ears flattening.
“… It’ll never be the same again, will it.”
Aphelios snorted. “Not a chance, no. But… it’s alright. It was kind of a beater guitar anyway.” He paused. “Made for good footage.”
Beater or not, it didn’t lessen the guilt by much. Sett buried his face in his hands. He could still feel the snap of the wood beneath his foot, the crunch of it as terrifying as a broken bone, Stupid, stupid, clumsy brute.
“I’ll get you a new one,” he vowed.
Another grin, this one wide enough to show the gap between his front teeth. “Already added to Yone’s budget.”
“Heh. Cheeky.”
“Always.”
They fell into a comfortable silence.
With Aphelios, the quiet never felt like something that needed to be filled, and Sett was thankful for it. The world felt slower, his body felt lighter, his tensions flowing out like a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
A golden warmth buzzed behind his ribs as he listened to the rise and fall of their chests.
“God, I want a cigarette,” Aphelios mumbled. “The thing they don’t tell you when you quit is that you have to quit all over again every single day.” A candy wrapper crinkled between his fingers.
Cute.
The thought rushed in before he could stop it.
The clicking of hard candy against his molars. The flash of his tongue, pretty and pink as it wandered over his lower lip, worrying at the metal ring that ran through.
Sett wondered how it would feel pressed against his lips.
“What are you thinking right now?” Aphelios asked quietly.
It was hardly a fair question. Not when he was sitting so close, his thigh nearly touching Sett’s, those boring, dorky, incredibly sexy glasses slipping down his nose. And certainly not when he was looking so goddamn pretty. And Sett did the thing he wasn’t supposed to do – the thing that happened anyway in the little moments: balcony naps between rehearsals, furtive grins and inside jokes, touches here and there that lingered slightly too long –
– He noticed him. Really noticed him – from his wrinkly too-big pajama pants rolled up twice to his too-small shirt, riding up on his waist in a way that should be criminal; from the wiry, firm muscle of his limbs to the soft fringe of the bangs creeping past his brow.
Sett noticed him and looked at him and thought of him in all the ways he wasn’t supposed to, in the ways that slipped out during showers and empty afternoons and heated dreams after one too many beers, and he was smooth and soft and pretty and sharp and dangerous and all the other contradictory adjectives that a more poetic mind might dream up. But dangerous was what he settled upon: his pale face half-lit by moonlight, but close enough he could see his smudged eyeliner, close enough he could count the tiny moles beneath his eye. Close enough to…
Sett swallowed.
“… Nothing. Just, um, mentally planning my, uh, workout routine for the week.”
Aphelios cocked an eyebrow.
“Fine, don’t tell me.”
Oh – that fucking smile of his. Soft and delicate, like a secret. It could topple empires, of that Sett was certain.
Sleep was the last thing on his mind now; he crossed his legs uncomfortably, willing the thoughts back into the silent void they came from.
Aphelios was his friend. He admired him. Cared about him. Of course he loved the rest of ’em too – Princess Ez and Kayn the edgelord, K’sante with his smiling sun of a personality and clucking, fretting mother hen that was Yone. But with Aphelios… it felt different. Somewhere along the line, things had started to blur, and now his goddamned heart was reaching for more than it was allowed to take.
Or maybe he was just a cheesy sucker who’d watched one too many rom-coms.
“I was thinkin’,” he gulped loudly. “I kinda want to… kiss you.”
Aphelios blinked. His lips parted, but no words came out.
Ah shit, Sett cringed. I fucked up. His cheeks burned. Maybe with someone else he could backtrack it a bit more elegantly, spin it into some sort of joke, but not with Phel.
“I–I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”
“Sett…”
“I know, I know. Professionalism, business, don’t shit where you eat, and all that.”
“Sett – ”
“And I don’t wanna fuck up our friendship, Phel. It means the world to me, it really does. I won’t – ”
The last syllable died in his throat.
Because suddenly, Phel was straddling him, calloused fingertips pressing against his cheek.
Sett had learned early on that pretty boys were trouble. That was a fact - and try as he might to deny it, from their first meeting that big, tough, take-no-shit vastayan had been in trouble, big time.
“Shut the fuck up, Sett,” he whispered, dark eyes looking very pretty, and full of trouble indeed.
Sett closed his mouth. He shut the fuck up.
It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed.
The first had been in a backstage corner, fresh off the stage with the roaring of the crowd still ringing in their ears, sweat-fueled and high off the sweet sparks of success.
The second had tasted of cheap beer and cheaper vodka, at the tail end of a party at an old dive bar. They’d tumbled together in the alleyway, with the moon as their witness and the alcohol thrumming through their veins, in a sloppy, drunken tango between their mouths that was more teeth than tongue.
Then they'd set boundaries. And that had stopped them from sharing a third.
Until now.
Now there was no adrenaline buzz or boozed-up haze to hide behind as they collided. It was surprisingly tender, just the softest pressing of their lips together, and yet it sent him reeling – because this one was raw and real and free from excuses, all desires laid bare.
The tiniest whimper leaked from his throat.
Every touch was slow and intentional, a gentle invitation for more. They were crossing a line together and they would go gently, every tiptoed step a moment to be savoured. Phel trembled against him, the cool metal of his piercing a stark contrast to the burning velvet of his lips.
It made him shiver, in a good way.
“W-wait,” he protested, as a hand glided beneath his shirt, even though every inch of his skin was screaming for him to continue. There was something else he had to say. Because this couldn’t just be another fling, not for him anyway. He was in far too deep.
He had to know.
“I…” He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “I like you, Phel. Not just physically, I mean. I really, really like you.” Not much of a confession, but it would have to do.
The corners of Aphelios’ mouth twitched.
“Then kiss me again.” The whispered demand was all it took to light the spark in his gut to a roaring rage. Sett was powerless, his body all too eager to comply. Their lips melted together, and this time it was desperate and all-devouring, tongues tangling and suckling in a way that was filthily feral. Sett’s mind went blissfully blank as he tasted Aphelios, lapping the sugar from his tongue. Artificial peach – the kind that tasted sour and sweet, like fluorescent pink perfume.
Sett moaned into the slick, wet heat of his mouth as long fingers twined through his hair, tickling the base of his twitching ears.
It was better than anything his brain could have dreamed up.
It was messy and glorious, drool leaking down their chins, their breaths drowned out beneath the music of their grinding bodies.
It was Aphelios who pulled back first, gasping for air, his lips flushed and puffy from where Sett’s fangs had nibbled, his chin reddened, from where Sett’s stubble had chafed against delicate skin.
Sett’s heart thumped. God, he looked so fucking tasty.
His body certainly agreed.
It didn’t escape Aphelios’ notice. Sett couldn’t tell if he looked more pleased or embarrassed.
“Um. Sorry.”
“So much for keeping things professional,” Aphelios mumbled beneath the frayed mess of his indigo bangs.
“Oh please,” he snorted. “Since when were any of us professional?”
“Hm. Barring Yone, point taken.”
Sett snickered, despite himself. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure Yone and –”
“Stop!” Aphelios’ thighs tensed around him. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“All I’m saying is that maybe a little fraternizing ain’t such a bad thing.”
Aphelios inhaled shakily as thick fingers brushed his cheek, sweeping up a stray lock and tucking it behind his ear.
Sett understood the look in his eyes. After all, he had the same doubts, the same hesitations. Maybe it would end awfully. Then he’d lose more than just a friend – he’d lose everything they’d ever worked for together, the family they’d built in these last few years, the dream they all chased.
But… maybe it was worth the risk.
“So is that what we’re doing?” Aphelios asked softly. “Fraternizing?”
“Only if you want to.”
Aphelios did not answer. Not with words.
Because some things were better said in silent ways, through the brush of a hand or a subtle nod or the gentle press of lips on lips.
His hips moved as hungrily as his mouth as he sank back into Sett’s waiting embrace. It was both a declaration and a command - for him to follow, to kiss him again and claim him for his own.
Sett’s heart pounded.
He obeyed.