She was three when she first touched piano keys — not out of curiosity, but because they were placed in front of her.
Her tutor, a rigid woman with perfectly styled hair and no patience for wasted time, tapped the metronome twice and said, "Begin."
Laura did.
Not because she wanted to, but because her mother stood in the corner, arms crossed. Watching. Always watching.
She didn't kick or cry like other children. She didn't ask why. She sat, listened, played. When the other kids ran wild on the playground, Laura stood near the edge of the sandbox, silently watching. But not too long — if her parents found her staring, they'd ask, "Why aren't you focusing?"
She learned early how to disappear into expectations. Her hands became vessels. Her face, a mask of composure.
She learned how to mimic what was wanted — how to smile when praised, how to bow when clapped for. At recitals, her performances were flawless, but when her parents drove home in silence, she knew: "flawless" wasn't the same as "enough."
That word — enough — had no definition in her household. It was a moving target. A concept tied to conditional approval. A perfect score wasn't celebrated. It was expected.
And over time, the piano stopped sounding like music. It just became noise with rules.
But ever since forming Euphony Trio, she had started to relearn what music could be.
It didn't have to be flawless. It didn't have to be practiced to the point of sterility.Music could be wild. Messy. Imperfect.It could carry emotion. It could breathe.
With Zane, it was untamed confidence — bold and shameless, like a solo that dared the world to listen. Loud, sometimes too loud, but never hollow.With Sunny, music was a quiet kind of courage. Hesitant at first — like her fingers were learning to trust the sound — but always honest, always blooming.With Axel, it was foundation. Structure without confinement. A steady rhythm that grounded them all, even when everything else felt uncertain.
And in their sound — layered, messy, sometimes brilliant — Laura had started to hear something she hadn't in years.
Not perfection.
But feeling.
---
Morning light streamed faintly through the curtains.Soft. Pale. Unintrusive — like it knew not to make too much of itself.
Laura stirred first.
She was lying on her side, the warmth of Axel's sleeping form just behind her. His breathing was steady, arm relaxed across the pillow they had shared. His presence was gentle. Respectful. As it had been the night before.
She blinked up at the ceiling, her thoughts swimming in silence.
Last night… she had surprised even herself. The kiss. The way her fingers had sought his. The way she'd invited him in — not just physically, but emotionally. Bolder than she expected herself to be. Braver than she usually allowed.
And yet…
Even now, hours later, with the evidence of that vulnerability still lingering in the room, she wasn't sure what she felt.
Warmth, maybe. Or comfort.
But not what she thought it might feel like. Not the sharp breathlessness she'd read about. Not the swelling ache of being seen. Not even relief.
She remembered how she had cried after their first kiss — quietly, without meaning to. Not because she regretted it. Not because it was wrong. But because it felt like she was reaching for something she didn't know how to grasp.
And she hadn't cried during what followed.Not from sadness. Not from joy.Not at all.
It had quieted her. Soothed her into sleep, perhaps. But it hadn't moved her.
Not the way she longed for.
She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. Her bare feet touched the cool floor. Her fingers curled lightly in the fabric of the blanket for a moment.
The doctor had said she wasn't broken. That she could rebuild that connection — to herself, to what she loved.
But what would it take?
How long had she lived like this — convincing herself that numbness was normal?
She didn't feel ashamed. Or angry.Just… distant from herself. Again.
She looked over at Axel, still sleeping.
He had given her everything she'd asked for. With care. With kindness.
But even that — even him — wasn't enough to break through the fog inside her.
And that realization stung more than anything.
Still, she reached over and gently touched his hand — not to wake him. Just to hold onto something.
Just to remember she was still here.
Even if she wasn't sure who she was yet.
---
Laura didn't usually eat breakfast.She didn't eat much at all, if she was honest with herself. Most mornings were a routine of motion, not nourishment — going through the steps because she was supposed to. Because it filled time.
Today was no different.
She stood in the small kitchen, her fingers hovering over the familiar ceramic jar. The label had long since peeled off, but she didn't need it. Inside were the same herbal tea bags she always used. The same kind she always reached for.
She stared at them now, unmoving.
This was all she drank. Aside from water. Anything else… tasted like nothing. Or worse, like the memory of what it should taste like. Her taste buds felt dulled, broken, like keys on a piano that no longer played in tune.
Behind her, she heard the quiet shuffle of fabric. Axel stirred from the bedroom. When he realized she wasn't beside him, he rose, pulling on his pants and quietly stepping into the doorway.
He didn't speak right away. Just leaned against the doorframe and watched her — watched the way she stared into that jar like it held answers.
"I was thinking," he said gently, voice still drowsy, "do you have any sugar? Or… honey, maybe?"
Laura blinked, glancing back at him.
He shrugged, pushing away from the frame to join her by the counter. "Not much. Just… something to try. Start small. Honey's not bad."
She hesitated, then opened a nearby cabinet. "I think I have some. Somewhere."
She passed him a half-used jar, the label faded and sticky at the rim. He took it without comment.
"I used to pour sugar into lemon water," she admitted, her voice low. "Just to see if I could taste it."
Axel smiled a little at that. "Did it work?"
"No."
"Well." He popped the lid off the jar and retrieved a clean spoon. "Let's try something new."
They made the tea together. He poured hot water over the bag, then added a modest drizzle of honey and a dash of milk — not enough to cloud the color completely, just enough to change it.
She lifted the cup. Held it beneath her nose. No scent, of course.Still, she sipped.
And paused.
It was faint. Barely there.But… maybe…
"Did you taste it?" he asked, watching her carefully.
She looked into the cup. The warmth spread down her chest, and something — something — lingered on her tongue. She couldn't be sure if it was real or imagined.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But… maybe."
Axel didn't push. He just stood beside her, silently sipping his own cup, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
But for her… maybe it wasn't.
Maybe this was what progress looked like.
Not a breakthrough.Just the faintest hint of sweetness.
---
Axel eventually got dressed. He had plans that afternoon — a studio session to lay down a new instrumental for a client, part of a side gig composing tracks for smaller artists. He didn't mind the work. It kept his skills sharp and helped pay the bills. And besides, crafting soundscapes for other voices let him experiment in ways he couldn't always do with Euphony Trio.
But as he slipped his hoodie on and double-checked his bag, something tugged at him.
He moved to the door, hesitating with one hand on the knob.
Laura sat at the table still, staring down into her tea like it might whisper something back.
He turned to face her. "Hey."
She looked up.
"I've got a session this afternoon. Just a freelance thing — putting together a track for a client." He paused, then shrugged lightly. "Didn't want to just… leave."
Her lips parted, like she might say something, but instead she gave a small nod. "You don't have to explain."
"Yeah. I know." He offered a faint smile. "Still felt like I should."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — just delicate. Careful.
He took a breath. "I'll text you later, okay?"
Laura nodded, her fingers lightly brushing the ceramic of her mug. "Okay."
Then, softer: "Thanks… for staying."
His smile deepened, eyes warm. "Of course."
He turned to go, but before he opened the door, he stopped again. Glanced over his shoulder.
"You matter, Laura. Okay?"
She didn't answer right away. Just met his eyes.
And that was enough.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Laura stayed at the table a while longer. Her tea had cooled again — but this time, she took a sip anyway.
---
After wrapping up his studio session, Axel met up with Zane, Sunny, Amelia, and a few of their mutual friends on the rooftop of one of their favorite downtown cafés. It wasn't exactly private, but it had fairy lights strung overhead, a half-decent view of the skyline, and just enough space for a low table, beanbags, and someone's Bluetooth speaker blaring a nostalgic playlist from a shared high school folder.
Amelia had brought snacks. Sunny had brought tarot cards — mostly for fun, not fortune. Zane had brought his usual energy, lounging on a beanbag like he owned the place, laughing a little too loud as he reenacted a ridiculous moment from rehearsal earlier that week.
Axel arrived with his usual quiet presence, slumping down beside Sunny with a soft grunt.
"Studio?" she asked, passing him a canned drink from the cooler.
"Yeah," he said, popping the tab. "Client wanted something lo-fi and romantic. Sent me ten reference tracks and a poem about raindrops."
Amelia snorted. "You're too nice. I would've quit at 'poem.'"
Zane raised a brow. "Hey, don't knock it. Maybe it'll be a viral hit in six months. 'Lo-fi Rain' by DJ Axel."
They laughed. The mood was light. Comfortable.
But at some point, Zane nudged Axel gently. "You good?"
Axel hesitated, sipping his drink. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"Laura?" Sunny guessed softly, almost too gently for anyone else to hear.
Axel didn't answer right away. Just nodded once.
---
Later That Evening — On the quieter end of the rooftop
Most of the others had trickled out, leaving behind empty cans, cookie crumbs, and the last song looping quietly in the background. Axel, Sunny, and Zane lingered at the far corner of the rooftop, leaning against the railing as the city buzzed below.
Zane glanced over, his voice lower now. "So… you stayed with her last night?"
Axel didn't look at either of them right away. He just nodded, sipping what was left of his drink. "She couldn't sleep. Called me."
Sunny's gaze softened. "Is she okay?"
"I don't know," Axel admitted. "I mean, she said she was. But you know Laura… Sometimes she says things to make you stop asking."
Zane looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.
Axel continued, more cautiously now. "She didn't tell me much. Just that she was… overwhelmed. And maybe… lonely."
He didn't go into detail about the kiss. Or what came after. Those moments weren't theirs to know. But the look Sunny gave Zane — quiet, pointed — said everything.
"You knew something, didn't you?" Axel asked, glancing between them.
Zane exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "We talked. Yesterday. After rehearsal."
Sunny added, "She was… upset. Said it felt like she wasn't leading the group anymore. That she felt like a background character in her own project."
Axel's brows furrowed, his grip tightening slightly around his can.
"I didn't mean to take over," Zane said quickly. "I swear. I've been trying to stay in my lane, but it's like… no matter what I do, the attention just ends up on me."
There was a long silence.
Then Zane asked quietly, "Was it a mistake? Me joining?"
Sunny shook her head firmly. "No. Absolutely not."
Axel took a moment. But then he, too, shook his head — slower, more thoughtful. "It wasn't a mistake," he said. "You were the breath of air this project needed. And she knows that, even if she can't say it out loud."
"She invited you," Sunny reminded gently. "Don't forget that. Laura doesn't do anything she doesn't mean."
Zane didn't look fully convinced, but he gave a faint nod.
Axel glanced down at the lights below. "She's… going through something. And she's trying to make sense of it. That's all."
The group stood in silence a little while longer.
Then Sunny whispered, "We'll help her through it. The way she helped us."
Zane nodded. "Together."
Axel didn't say anything. But the look in his eyes — the quiet weight of it — said enough.
They would be there for her.
Even if she didn't always ask.
---
That evening, Axel leaned against his kitchen counter, phone pressed to his ear.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
No answer.
He lowered the phone slowly, the call screen fading to black.
At first, he didn't think much of it. Maybe she was out. Maybe she was busy. Or maybe she just didn't feel like talking — not uncommon for Laura.
Still… usually, she replied. Even if it was just a short "busy, later."
An hour passed.
Then another.
No message. No returned call.
Axel tapped his phone against the side of his leg, staring blankly out the window. The sky had turned that soft purplish blue of early evening. Lights flickered on across the city.
He told himself not to overthink it. She was probably just tired. Needed space. After all, last night had been… intense. He'd half-expected some distance. She was sorting through a lot.
Still.
His thumb hovered over her name on his contacts list again.
He didn't press it.
Instead, he set the phone down and crossed the room, switching on the lamp beside the couch. The warm glow did little to quiet the knot forming in his chest.
Maybe she just needed time.
But that didn't stop him from leaving the lamp on.
Just in case.
---
He remembered a night, maybe a year ago now — or longer — when she'd shown up at his place unannounced. No warning, no text. Just a knock on the door. She hadn't said much back then either. Just stood there, tense, guarded. Her eyes distant, like she was somewhere else entirely. But he'd let her in, and they'd spent the evening saying almost nothing at all. Just existing. Quietly.
Tonight felt the same.
He was just about to head to bed when he heard it — a soft knock. Not urgent. Not loud. But there.
Axel stilled, heart skipping.
He crossed the room, unlocked the door, and pulled it open.
And there she was.
Laura.
Same as back then.
Her hair slightly wind-tousled. Her coat still buttoned. Her expression unreadable — but her eyes… they held that same softness. The kind that only showed up when she was trying not to fall apart.
She didn't say anything right away. Just stood there, hands tucked into her sleeves.
He stepped aside wordlessly, holding the door open.
She entered like a ghost slipping past him.
He closed the door behind her. The lock clicked into place.
They didn't speak for a moment. She stood in the entryway, then slowly took off her coat and shoes, like she'd done it a hundred times before.
Axel watched her carefully. Not pressuring. Not assuming.
Eventually, she looked at him.
"I didn't know where else to go," she said quietly.
He softened. "You're always welcome here. You know that."
She gave the smallest nod. Then looked away, like the weight of the day was finally catching up with her.
---
Back then, he hadn't known.
Not really.
He'd sensed something — of course he had — but he never guessed how much she was holding, how long she'd been holding it. The quietness, the withdrawn expressions, the rehearsed smiles… it had always just been Laura. Mysterious. Composed. Hard to read.
But now… he knew better.
He knew about the tasteless food. The hollow sleep. The mechanical way she navigated life like she was playing a role she didn't audition for.
And seeing her here — again, like this — only made his heart ache more for her.
She wasn't dramatic. She didn't break easily. If she was here, it meant she needed it.
So he didn't ask questions.
He just guided her to the couch and sat beside her — not too close, not too far. Letting her breathe.
She didn't speak, but she leaned just slightly toward him, and that was enough.
Maybe she didn't need comfort. Maybe she just needed to not be alone.
So he stayed.
Letting her know — silently — that she didn't have to carry everything alone anymore.
Not tonight.
Not with him.
---
They sat like that for a while — the soft buzz of the lamp the only sound between them.
Then, Laura spoke.
"I went to see a doctor."
Axel turned his head slightly, surprised. Not at what she said exactly, but that she was telling him. She wasn't one to open conversations like that. But he didn't interrupt. Just let her keep going, even if her voice was barely above a whisper.
"They think it might be anhedonia," she continued, her eyes fixed somewhere past the coffee table. "It's… when you can't feel pleasure. Or enjoyment. Usually because of burnout, or… depression."
There it was. Said out loud. Like it made it more real — and heavier somehow.
She exhaled shakily. "Just saying it feels strange."
Axel didn't jump in with comfort or platitudes. He processed it. Quietly. Thoughtfully.
But deep down, it made sense. The signs. Her detachment. The way she'd said she wanted to feel something the night before. How food had no taste. Music sometimes felt like noise. Her laughter — when it came — always sounded like it was remembering what laughter was supposed to be.
And still… it hurt. To hear it confirmed. To know that this person he cared about had been navigating so much darkness alone.
He looked at her — really looked at her — and then nodded.
"I'm glad you went," he said softly. "That's… a hard thing to do. Most people don't. But you did."
Laura's hands trembled slightly in her lap. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."
"You don't have to know yet," he replied. "That's what the next steps are for. Figuring it out — piece by piece."
She looked at him then. Just briefly. And something in her eyes flickered — not quite light, but not quite hollow either.
Maybe it was enough, for tonight.
---
Axel leaned back slightly, elbows resting on his knees, still facing her. The air between them had settled into a fragile sort of stillness — like a snow globe just beginning to resettle after a shake.
"I saw Zane and Sunny earlier," he said after a pause. His voice was gentle — not confrontational, not even curious. Just open. "We talked a bit."
Laura didn't respond, but her gaze drifted toward him.
"They mentioned… the conversation you had with Zane. About feeling like he was taking over. That maybe the trio was becoming background noise." He glanced over at her. "Is that really how you feel?"
Laura was quiet. Not because she didn't know the answer — but because saying it felt like admitting something too big, too raw.
"Not exactly," she said finally. Her voice was slow, cautious. "It's not about Zane. Or the spotlight."
Axel waited. He knew her enough to let her find the words in her own time.
"It's just…" she sighed, staring down at her hands. "This was supposed to be ours. This band. This project. Our space to breathe — to make music without all the pressure. But when Zane came in, it started feeling like… like something else. Not worse, just… different."
She hesitated. "And I guess I didn't know how to adapt to that. I didn't know what role I had anymore. I didn't even know what I was contributing."
Axel's brows furrowed, gently. "Laura… you're the one who started all of this."
"I know," she said. "But sometimes it doesn't feel like it."
There was a pause.
"I'm not mad at him," she added quietly. "He's good for us. He brings energy, excitement. The fans love him. Sunny lights up when he's around." She offered a small, wry smile. "You kind of do, too."
Axel chuckled softly, but didn't deny it.
"I just… haven't figured out where I fit in anymore. And when everything already feels so far away from me… it's hard not to feel like I'm slipping out of it too."
Axel looked at her — not with pity, but with steady warmth. "You haven't slipped out of anything."
She met his gaze. "But what if I already did?"
He reached over then, not to take her hand, but just to rest his fingers beside hers — a quiet invitation, not a demand.
"Then we'll find the way back," he said. "Together."
---
They sat in silence for a while. The kind that didn't need filling. Just the hum of the city outside the window, and the steady breath between them.
Laura shifted slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can I stay here tonight?"
Axel glanced at her, but didn't look surprised. Maybe he'd been hoping she would ask.
"You don't feel like going home?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "Not really."
There was no drama in her answer. Just honesty. A quiet fatigue.
Axel gave a small nod. "Yeah. Of course. You can stay as long as you need."
She didn't thank him. Not with words. Just gave a tiny nod in return and leaned back into the couch — not quite touching him, but close enough to share his warmth.
And that was enough.
---
Later, when they moved to his room, she didn't say anything when he handed her a spare shirt to sleep in. She took it, changed in the bathroom, and returned quietly, hair tied up, sleeves too long.
Axel glanced over as Laura returned from the bathroom. She'd tied her hair up into a high ponytail — not quite as polished as she used to wear it, but still neat. Familiar.
He smiled softly. "You haven't worn your hair like that in a while."
She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the long strands without thinking. "Used to be my signature," she murmured.
"Yeah," Axel said. "Back when you did all those competitions. You always had that sharp, focused look… that tight ponytail. Like nothing could touch you."
Laura didn't respond at first. She kept her eyes on her lap. Then, quietly, she said, "Mom used to brush my hair."
Axel looked at her, surprised — not by the words, but by how fragile they sounded.
"That was one of the few times she was gentle with me," Laura continued. "It felt like... maybe she actually cared."
It was the first time she'd ever shared that. Not just the memory, but the weight of it — the longing threaded through something so simple.
Axel didn't speak. He just waited.
She reached up, tugging the elastic free, letting her long hair fall over her shoulders again. "Purple hair runs in our family," she said, a faint note of something like pride — or maybe resignation. "Not dyed. Everyone thinks it is, but... it's natural. Been that way for generations. A family of pianoists. It was... expected."
Her fingers brushed the ends of her hair. "Growing it long. Wearing it high. That was tradition. That was legacy."
"And when I cut it…" She paused, eyes distant. "She was furious. Even though it still reached my waist, she said I was throwing everything away."
Axel's voice was quiet. "You were trying to break free."
Laura nodded slowly. "I think part of me wanted to find out if I could exist... outside of what she'd shaped."
He reached over, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "You do. You already are."
She didn't answer.
But this time, when she lay down beside him, it wasn't guarded. Her head rested closer. Her breathing softer.
She was still trying.
And Axel — gently, silently — stayed right there with her.
They didn't say much.
But at some point, as the room dimmed and their breaths fell into rhythm, Laura turned slightly toward him. Her gaze met his — uncertain, searching.
And then they kissed again.
Soft. Unrushed. Like a quiet agreement between them.
And for a moment — fleeting and delicate — she imagined that she might have felt it.
Warmth. Pressure. A flicker of something real brushing past the numbness.
It might have been hope. Or just a trick of her tired mind. But it was enough to keep her there, lips still against his, eyes fluttering closed.
Just in case.