The morning was quiet, the kind Laura had started to appreciate more and more. Not for its silence — but for the space it gave her to listen. To herself, mostly. To thoughts that used to get drowned out by expectations.
She sat cross-legged on the futon, the sunlight peeking through the slatted blinds, painting pale stripes across her open notebook. Her pen hovered for a moment… then moved again.
"He waited. He always waits. For me to say yes, or no. For me to be ready. He never asks, never insists. Just stays."
Axel was still asleep, half-curled around the pillow like a stray cat that had never really been a stray — not here. This had always been his place. His home.
She hadn't told him everything about the notebook. Not really. He knew she kept one — knew her therapist had encouraged it. "Moments that move you," the therapist had said. "Even if you don't feel joy yet. Just notice what you notice." But Axel didn't ask to read it. He never pressed. He just gave her the space to write… and let her share what she wanted, when she was ready.
So far, Axel had filled several pages.
The way he listened when she didn't know how to say what was wrong.The way he made sure her tea never went cold.The way he never tried to fix her.Just held space. Waited. Stayed.
He never pressured her. Not for her to open up. Not even for intimacy. Even during the nights they spent together — Axel simply laid beside her, warm and steady. Sometimes he'd rest a hand over hers, their fingers brushing. But that was it. Until she gave him a sign. Until she felt safe enough to close the distance.
He was, in every possible sense… her safe space.
But it wasn't just Axel anymore.
Laura's fingers slowed on the page as her thoughts wandered. To them.
Sunny.
She had always kept Sunny at a distance — not because she didn't like her, but because it felt like… kindness would hurt more than indifference. That if Sunny saw the real Laura, the Laura underneath the polish, she might flinch.
But she hadn't.
Not even once.
Not after the confession, not after the realization, not after Zane came back and everything began shifting again. Sunny had looked at her the same way. With patience. With warmth. With that bright, gentle steadiness she carried like a second skin.
Admittedly, she was a bit more cautious now. More tentative around Laura. But their bond hadn't changed. If anything, it had deepened.
And then — there was that message. From someone she had never expected.
Amelia.
They hadn't really spoken beyond group pleasantries. But a few days ago, out of the blue, Laura had opened her phone to find a quiet, thoughtful message waiting for her:
"I don't know if anyone's said this yet, but… thank you. For helping bring them back together. I think you knew what Sunny needed before the rest of us did. And I know that couldn't have been easy."
It was simple. Not overdone. But it had made Laura sit down for a long while, just holding her phone in her lap.
That was… the first personal message she had ever received from Amelia.
And it meant more than she could put into words.
So she didn't try to explain it. She just wrote it down.
A soft page, in a growing notebook.
Axel stirred behind her, and she turned just slightly, glancing back. The way he blinked up at her, smile sleepy and unguarded, made her lips twitch in return.
She set the pen down.
"Morning," she whispered.
He reached for her hand, eyes half-lidded. "Mornin'. You're up early."
She nodded, scooting closer. "Just writing."
He didn't ask what. He never did.
Instead, he squeezed her fingers and pulled her gently back down into the covers. His arms circled around her, easy, familiar.
And Laura — without hesitation — let herself fall into him.
Maybe, she thought, the world didn't feel bright yet.
But this?
This was enough light to start the day.
---
Laura had started eating breakfast again — just small things. A few bites of toast. A little yogurt. Sometimes fruit, if Axel remembered to slice it just right. It wasn't much, but it was something. A quiet, steady step in the right direction. And today was no different.
They were headed to the library, her idea.
Laura liked the library. She liked the hush of it, the way the morning light filtered through tall windows, the faint scent of paper and old wood. It was calm there. Safe. Like time slowed down just enough for her to breathe.
Axel didn't mind. He wasn't much of a book guy — not at first. Early on, while she read, he usually brought his headphones and a laptop, working on freelance edits or tweaking melodies for fun. He liked having her beside him, liked the way her presence grounded him even when they weren't speaking.
But one afternoon, not too long ago, she'd turned to him and quietly asked,"Would you… want to read with me?"
He hadn't hesitated."Sure."
She'd chosen a fairytale. Not one of those cheerful, glittering ones. This one was more… haunting. A story about a girl who lost her sense of self and had to journey through forgotten places to find it again — piece by piece. The prose was lyrical, aching in places. It was the kind of story that echoed somewhere deeper if you let it.
At first, neither of them read out loud. They sat shoulder to shoulder, silently flipping pages, exchanging soft glances when something struck them. But then — gently, unexpectedly — Laura had started reading. Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. But clear. Steady. After a while, Axel joined in, taking over the next paragraph when she paused. It became a rhythm. A new kind of conversation.
Now it was something they looked forward to. A ritual they didn't need to name.
As they walked the quiet street toward the library that morning, Axel slipped his hand into hers. Laura didn't say anything — she just squeezed back, her lips curving faintly.
The notebook was tucked in her bag, the fairytale in hers.
And Axel, as always, carried nothing — just the willingness to follow her wherever she needed to go.
---
The library was quiet in the late morning — not empty, but soft-spoken. A scattering of students murmured over laptops, and someone flipped pages in a nearby aisle. Laura and Axel settled into their usual spot: a cushioned nook tucked beside a tall window where the sunlight spilled in like watercolor.
They curled up together, knees nearly touching, the fairytale book resting open between them.
Since Laura had finished the last chapter, it was Axel's turn to begin. He cleared his throat lightly, brushing his fingers over the page, and started to read.
His voice was gentle — low and calming — but also animated. As he read, he used his hands without even realizing it, subtly mimicking the gestures in the story: a hand raised to mimic a trembling flame, fingers flicking to paint the image of falling rain. And his face… Laura couldn't help but watch it. He moved through emotions like a musician through chords — shifting tone and expression with the rhythm of the story.
He didn't just read it. He lived it.
Laura found herself staring. Not with amusement, but something quieter. Softer. She'd never expected Axel — her easygoing, street-smart Axel — to be this drawn into storytelling. But then again… maybe it made perfect sense.
As a kid, he didn't have much. No real instruments. No proper tools. Just a pair of old pencils he'd drummed on the back of cereal boxes. Rubber bands strung across shoebox lids to mimic guitar strings. When he spoke about music, he always did so with that same spark — like the world opened wider when he created something inside it.
She watched now as he turned the page with reverence. As if the book itself was sacred.
He made this story — this broken fairytale about a lost girl — feel like something precious.
Her heart ached in the gentlest way.
Before she even realized it, her body leaned sideways, and her head came to rest on his shoulder. Axel didn't pause. He simply smiled — just a little — and kept reading.
And then… somewhere between his voice and the sun warming the windowpane, Laura's eyes slipped shut. Her breath slowed. The world softened into that place between waking and dreaming.
She drifted off beside him.
Axel noticed, eventually — mid-sentence. He glanced down and saw her sleeping, her lips parted slightly, lashes still against her cheek. His heart swelled.
He closed the book softly and stayed still, careful not to wake her.
If she was safe enough to sleep here… that meant everything.
So he just sat there, letting her lean into him, the story still glowing quietly inside him — and now, in her too.
---
Laura didn't stir until the soft buzz of Axel's phone broke the stillness.
A short vibration — followed by the chime of a message. It came from their group chat. Axel instinctively pulled out his phone, the light briefly reflecting in his eyes. Laura shifted, her lashes fluttering as she blinked herself slowly back to consciousness.
The message preview was already visible.
Zane:🎉 Homecoming party tonight at mine. Penthouse, 7 PM. Drinks, dumb games, good company. Be there or be emotionally unavailable ✌️
Axel exhaled through his nose. "Classic."
Laura let out a slow breath too, eyes barely open as she nestled a little closer against his arm. "Let me guess," she murmured, voice thick with sleep. "Zane throwing a party again?"
"Winner," Axel said, glancing down at her with a crooked smile. "Back in town three days and he's already planning a declaration of existence."
Laura hummed, too tired to laugh properly. Her limbs still felt heavy with sleep. Her eyes drifted shut again.
"Sorry I woke you," Axel said gently.
She shifted, trying to sit up, but Axel caught her with a warm hand and guided her back down — this time resting her head softly on his lap.
"Shhh. Don't move," he said, brushing his fingers tenderly through her hair. "It's still early. The party's not 'til later. Just… rest a bit longer."
Laura didn't argue. The quiet rhythm of his fingers through her hair was soothing. Familiar. Safe. She felt the tension ease again — as though nothing had truly interrupted their peace. Just a ripple. Just Zane being Zane.
"I'll wake you when the world needs you," Axel added, voice low and teasing.
That earned the faintest smile from her.
The sunlight moved just slightly across the floor. And for now, they remained like that — tucked away in the quiet corner of the library, where stories lived and time didn't rush them.
---
Zane tapped the last message on his phone with a smirk, then set it down on the kitchen counter beside his half-empty mug.
The invitation was sent. Group chat notified. Damage — pending.
He leaned back against the counter and looked toward the living room, where Sunny was curled up with her tea and a blanket, legs tucked underneath her. The morning sunlight hit her in that perfect, honeyed way, and for a moment he forgot all about the message. All about the party.
She caught his gaze and gave him that subtle little smile — the one that always managed to knock the wind out of him, no matter how many times he saw it.
Like somehow, just looking at her reminded him why he came back in the first place.
Butterflies and all.
"So," she said, playful, "you're really doing it?"
He grinned. "What, me? Throw a party just for the drama of returning to Tokyo? Never."
Sunny raised a brow. "Mhm."
He walked over, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. "Fine. Maybe a little. But this time I actually… curated the list. I'm evolving."
She tilted her head, amused. "Curated, huh?"
"I was careful, okay?" he said, plopping down next to her. "No random execs. No agents. Just us. Our people. No weird flexing suits trying to flirt with you just to mess with me."
Sunny snorted into her tea. "You mean the guys from last time? That was just sad."
"Sad, but annoying," Zane muttered, leaning into the couch cushion. "They were like sharks circling. If I'd blinked they'd have asked you to dance just to spite me."
She nudged his arm. "You really think I'd say yes?"
He looked at her, softer now. "Doesn't matter. I shouldn't have put you in that position in the first place."
Sunny's expression shifted — just slightly — surprised by the rare moment of accountability. "Hey… that's not on you. You didn't know they were gonna pull that."
"Still." Zane glanced at his phone. "Tonight's just for us. Our group. Friends we actually want around. No press, no strangers, no one trying to 'network' over shots."
He paused, then added with a smirk, "And definitely no sleazy industry guys hitting on my girlfriend."
Sunny smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Sounds perfect."
He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and grinned. "And maybe a dumb game or two."
She laughed. "Of course."
His thumb brushed along her fingers.It wasn't just about the party. Not really.It was about showing up differently this time. About making space for joy — theirs — and holding it with a little more care.
This time, no one would steal that.
---
Little did Zane know… word spread faster — and further — than he had anticipated.
He thought he'd been careful. Thought narrowing down the list meant controlling the vibe. But Zane had a massive contact list, and even after trimming it, he forgot one key detail: celebrities talk. And so do assistants, stylists, choreographers, backup dancers, and studio techs.
Someone must've mentioned it offhand — probably in some flashy greenroom in Osaka, where Zane was contracted with the label. The same city where he'd made new connections, smiled through networking events, and even bonded with a few fellow artists over late-night drinks.
Back then, it had all felt casual. Friendly. Easy smiles over studio coffee. Clinking glasses at rooftop mixers. Sharing playlists and swapping stories in late-night lounges with panoramic views.
At first, Zane thought it was cool — flattering, even. Being surrounded by people who knew his name, who called him "talented," who said they "loved his energy."
But the novelty wore off fast.
It started to feel exhausting. Performed. Forced.
Every laugh had a pitch to it. Every compliment felt like bait for a collab. Every conversation seemed one breath away from "Let's do something together — I'll DM you."
Zane wasn't stupid. He knew how the game worked. But somewhere along the way, he realized that these people didn't really know him. They knew of him. And they wanted to know what he could do for them.
That was the moment it started to feel… lonely.
Which was why this party tonight wasn't supposed to be about that. Not another scene. Not another performance.
Just friends. His people.
At least… that had been the plan.
But fame had a way of blurring lines. And now, whispers about "Zane's return party" had somehow made it all the way from Tokyo to Osaka, hopping through inboxes and Instagram stories like wildfire.
And in that crowd?
Famous faces. Model-slash-DJs. Up-and-coming producers. People who lived for rooftop views, clout-chasing, and curated photo ops.
He had not invited them.
But now, they knew.
And Zane was about to learn — the hard way — that even when you're trying to keep it small…
...Rumours grow big.
---
Zane might've called it fashionably late, but Laura preferred fashionably early — a quiet ten-minute window where everything was calm, composed, predictable. Controlled.
Axel knew that. That's why they timed it just right. He even wore a button-down shirt for once, and offered his arm like a proper gentleman as they stepped off the elevator and into the hall outside Zane's penthouse.
Only… it wasn't quiet.
Not even close.
The doors were already open — music thumped from within, low and luxurious. Lights pulsed just subtly enough to suggest some kind of mood lighting or LED installation. And there were people. Not a handful. Not the "inner circle." A crowd.
Laura blinked. Axel stopped mid-step.
"Is that…?" she started.
"Yup," Axel muttered, jaw tightening.
Because they weren't just people. They were names. Faces Laura had only seen on screens or in industry showcases. Pop idols. Viral models. A couple foreign actors. Someone who'd just done a feature in Rolling Stone Japan.
Laura's posture stiffened instantly.
And it didn't stop there.
As if summoned by some ridiculous fate, a murmur swept through the room, followed by a burst of phone flashes — and then came the whoosh of wind as a helicopter descended onto the rooftop above.
They looked at each other, eyes wide.
Axel was the first to speak.
"Okay. Did we just walk into the red carpet pre-party?"
Laura pressed her lips into a tight line. "I thought this was supposed to be a small homecoming."
"It was," Axel muttered, reaching to gently guide her through the crowd. "Guess the definition of 'small' got lost in translation."
She nodded slowly, gaze trailing across the glamorous chaos.
"Or maybe… this is what happens when you forget Zane's contact list is half the entertainment industry."
Axel let out a breath through his nose. "Should've seen this coming the moment he typed 'just a casual night.'"
---
In the middle of the crowd — just past a ring of models gathered around the drink table, and a pop-rock band casually performing in the lounge corner — they spotted him. Zane.
He was mid-conversation with someone vaguely familiar from a fashion campaign, trying to look composed. But the moment his eyes caught Axel and Laura walking in, something shifted in his expression. A flash of real, unscripted relief tugged at his features. His shoulders dropped slightly. His exhale was visible even in the low light.
Because clearly, he was not in control.
He broke away from the circle and crossed the room toward them, dodging a dancer in heels and someone holding a ring light. By the time he reached Axel and Laura, he was already apologizing with his eyes.
"Okay," he began, voice low and tight. "Before you say anything—this is not what I planned."
Laura raised a brow. "You sure? Because it looks like you planned a scene from Tokyo Celebrity Week."
Zane dragged a hand through his hair. "I swear, I only invited a few people. Like, closer friends. I even double-checked my message list this morning. Twice."
Axel crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Then how the hell did we just pass someone who did a collab with Blackpink?"
Zane winced. "Apparently… someone in the guest list posted a 'hype story' — you know, the kind with 'private party @Zane's place 🔥✨' and geotags — and it went viral on some underground celebrity group chat. There's even a Discord, I found out. A Discord."
Laura just blinked. "You're telling me we walked into a party that was... advertised on Discord?"
"I didn't even know influencers used Discord," Axel muttered.
Zane looked genuinely helpless. "Neither did I. And now there's a helicopter on my roof."
"Which you didn't order," Laura deadpanned.
"Obviously not," Zane whispered, glancing toward the ceiling like it might collapse under the weight of his dread. "I just wanted to throw a small homecoming. Music, drinks, friends. You know—our group. Maybe a few extras. Not... this."
And now, he was trying his damned best to hold it together — jaw tense, eyes scanning the room every five seconds for any signs of spilled drinks near the vinyl player, reckless dancing near the glass coffee table, or god forbid someone even looking at the fireplace controls.
It wasn't that Zane was new to parties. Hell, these past weeks had been full of them — late-night invites from studio execs, rooftop toasts, impromptu acoustic sets at afterparties.
But this? This was different.
Because this time, he was the host. He was responsible if someone knocked over an antique lamp or tried to crowd-surf off the minibar. And this wasn't just some random venue — it was his agency-funded penthouse. Meaning if anything got damaged, he'd have to answer for it. With paperwork. Possibly fines. Maybe even a Very Stern Meeting.
Zane took a shaky sip from his drink. "I'm just… hoping no one lights anything on fire."
Laura glanced around.
"...Yet."
Axel patted Zane on the shoulder. "Buckle up, superstar."
---
Sunny stood at the entrance to the penthouse, grocery bag still looped over one arm, the chill of early evening clinging to her hoodie. But inside… it looked like a different world.
The soft lighting she and Zane had set earlier was drowned in flickering strobes. Music pulsed from somewhere deeper in the apartment — louder than it should've been for a casual homecoming. Bodies swayed to the beat in every corner. Coats draped over the sleek furniture. Someone was already dancing on the edge of the marble coffee table. Champagne popped somewhere, too close to the record player.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Did we step into an alternate timeline?" Amelia murmured beside her, hand tightening around her iced tea can like it might protect her.
"Where did all of these people come from?" she added, slower now.
Nico stood just behind them, eyebrows raised and bag of spicy chips tucked under one arm. "You were gone twenty minutes," he said. "Maybe thirty tops. Did he hire a flash mob?"
Sunny didn't answer. She was too busy scanning the room, her stomach dropping like a deflating balloon. She knew most of Zane's inner circle. She didn't recognize half of these faces. These weren't just friends — these were names with Wikipedia pages. A girl in platform heels strutted past in a dress she'd definitely seen on the cover of a fashion magazine.
This wasn't what they planned.
---
Sunny had just stepped out of the corner store, paper bag in hand and sleeves tugged halfway over her fingers. The summer air nipped at her legs — she hadn't expected it to be this chilly. Her hoodie was oversized, borrowed from Zane's closet, and smelled faintly of his cologne and laundry soap. She hadn't planned to dress up yet — just wanted to grab snacks and head back to his place to change.
The bag crinkled as she adjusted it in her arms: pocky sticks, sour gummies, shrimp chips, strawberry soda — the usual suspects. A comfort combo. Zane would roll his eyes and swipe the chips anyway. She smiled at the thought.
That's when she spotted them: Amelia and Nico crossing the street toward her, talking animatedly, the kind of energy that only came from music, caffeine, or pre-party adrenaline.
"Sunny!" Amelia waved, high heels clicking against the sidewalk.
She looked stunning — hair curled, makeup sharp, a soft blue satin jacket thrown over a black mini-dress. Next to her, Nico looked equally polished in a structured jacket and ripped jeans.
Sunny blinked. "Wait. Are you guys heading to—?"
"Zane's, yeah," Amelia said, smiling. "We just finished getting ready. I wanted to show up early to scope out the crowd. You?"
Sunny glanced down at herself — hoodie, leggings, sneakers. "I was gonna change. I just came out to grab snacks."
Nico gave her a once-over and grinned. "Zane's hoodie, huh?"
Sunny blushed. "It's just temporary!"
"Oh, don't worry," Amelia teased, looping her arm with Sunny's. "Honestly, you're the only one who could walk into a party like that and still get compliments. Come with us?"
"I was gonna—" Sunny started, then faltered. Amelia and Nico looked so effortlessly cool. She didn't feel underdressed exactly, but… underprepared, maybe. Still, it felt nice to walk with them. Familiar.
She glanced toward the direction of the penthouse. It wasn't far. "Sure," she relented. "But I'm still changing when I get there."
"Of course," Amelia said. "We'll stall the cameras for you."
Sunny laughed. "There better not be cameras."
"Knowing Zane?" Nico raised an eyebrow. "There might be a drone."
They all groaned at the same time.
So they walked the rest of the way together, chatting about Amelia's fashion portfolio — she'd just wrapped a shoot with a vintage theme — and Nico's latest UX project for a new music streaming app. Amelia showed off the shimmery rings she'd picked out, and Nico admitted he'd tried on five jackets before deciding on this one. Sunny told them about how she couldn't find the right flavor of shrimp chips and had to settle for the spicy version — "Zane's weirdly obsessed with those."
---
Sunny stepped forward carefully, dodging a guy carrying an enormous LED ring light, and nearly collided with someone rounding the corner with a martini glass.
"Oh my god—sorry!" she gasped.
The man blinked at her through oversized sunglasses — indoors — and gave her a lazy smirk.
"Wait... you're that girl from the Atelier," he said, trying to place her.
She didn't stay long enough for him to figure it out.
"Zane," she muttered, ducking through the crowd like it might swallow her whole.
Finally, she spotted him — by the kitchen island, shoulders stiff, a barely-touched drink in his hand. He wasn't talking to anyone. He looked like he was trying to solve a crisis with his mind alone.
His gaze swept up and found hers.
And his whole expression shifted. Relief. Guilt. Something close to panic all at once.
She made her way over, stopping just long enough to slide the grocery bag onto the counter next to him.
"Spicy chips," she said flatly. "And pocky."
Zane exhaled like she'd just pulled him from the ocean.
"I have no idea how this happened," he admitted before she could say anything. "I swear I only invited a small list. I even triple-checked. But someone—probably that DJ guy I met at the rooftop shoot—screenshotted my invite and posted it to his story."
She stared at him. He looked so genuinely horrified it almost wasn't funny.
"…Someone flew in on a helicopter."
Zane groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "I know."
"Zane."
"I know."
She opened the bag, took out a pocky stick, and shoved it into his mouth. "You're lucky I love you."
He bit down. "…I really am."
She shook her head and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist while chaos swirled around them.
Behind them, Nico's voice could be heard from across the room.
"Is that a fog machine?!"
Sunny didn't even turn around.
She just sighed. "Next time, I'm sending the invites."
---
Sunny pushed the door open with her elbow, still balancing a bag of snacks against her hip. She had a change of clothes tucked under one arm — her plan had been simple: slip into Zane's room, change out of her hoodie, and maybe take a moment to breathe.
What she hadn't expected was the soft sound of muffled giggling. Then the unmistakable sight of two people tangled together on the edge of Zane's bed — arms wrapped, lips locked, shoes carelessly kicked off like they owned the place.
Sunny froze in the doorway, cheeks flaring scarlet."Oh—! Uh—sorry, I didn't—!"
The couple barely registered her, too wrapped up in each other to notice her panicked retreat. She was about to back out and pretend this never happened when Amelia appeared behind her, dressed to impress and radiating Big Sister Energy.
Amelia took one glance past Sunny, raised an eyebrow, and stepped in like she was kicking down a door.
"Okay, break it up, you two!" she clapped her hands loudly, startling them apart. "This is not your hotel room, and unless either of you are named Zane or Sunny, you've got about five seconds to clear out before I start throwing shoes."
The couple scrambled like guilty teenagers, mumbling apologies as they gathered their things and scurried past them out the door.
Amelia crossed her arms, watching them go. "Unbelievable."
Sunny, still flustered, glanced at her. "Thanks… I didn't really know how to—"
"Girl, you ask me before you walk into a room at one of Zane's parties." She turned, waving a hand toward the now-empty room. "Go change before someone else tries to set up shop."
Sunny couldn't help but laugh, the tension slipping from her shoulders as she stepped inside. "Remind me to get you a whistle next time."
"Please do. I'll blow it at the next couple making out on the couch too."
"Deal."
---
A little while later, Sunny stepped out of Zane's room — finally changed.
Nothing too fancy. A cropped cardigan over a sleek camisole, high-waisted jeans, a touch of shimmer on her eyelids. Still casual. Still her. But definitely better than the hoodie she'd rolled in with earlier.After all, this was supposed to be a small gathering. Small. She sighed at the memory of how she'd underestimated Zane's definition of that word.
The second she rounded the corner into the living room, the noise hit her again — music, chatter, laughter. And then her eyes landed on the first thing she wasn't expecting:
Nico.Balancing a cookie on his forehead.
She blinked.
He was surrounded by a half-circle of amused partygoers — apparently mid-challenge — trying to get the cookie from his forehead to his mouth without using his hands. He leaned back, scrunching his face and contorting like a man possessed, the cookie slipping dangerously toward his eye.
"What is he doing?" Sunny whispered to herself.
Someone shouted, "Come on, Nico! You're so close!"Another voice added, "Winner gets the last can of matcha soda!"
Sunny tried not to laugh but failed spectacularly when the cookie finally slid off and landed on the floor.
Nico groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch. "I was robbed," he declared to the heavens.
Shaking her head, Sunny scanned the room again until she found Amelia, standing near the kitchen island with a small group of effortlessly fashionable people — likely models or influencers, judging by their perfectly curated looks.
Amelia, of course, fit right in.
She had her phone out, flipping through photos of her latest fashion portfolio. The models leaned in, genuinely impressed.
"This one's from my recent shoot — urban daywear with a soft-light contrast," Amelia explained, tapping on a shot of a flowy trench coat against a graffiti wall.
"Wait, you designed this?" one of them asked.
Amelia nodded, cool as ever. "All of it."
"Okay but this silhouette? I need this in my closet."
Sunny smiled softly to herself and approached, quietly sliding in beside her friend.
"Just in time," Amelia said without looking up, sensing her presence. "Tell them how I rescued you from the Makeout Monsters."
Sunny smirked. "She's not exaggerating."
A couple of the models chuckled. "This party's already wild," one said.
Sunny took a sip from her drink, watching the scene unfold — Nico trying again with a new cookie, Amelia charming an entire crowd, and the low thrum of bass vibrating beneath their feet.
So much for a quiet night.
---
This had gotten a little too much for Laura.
She had braced herself for a minor gathering — something intimate. Familiar. Instead, the penthouse buzzed like a festival. The air was thick with perfume, chatter, camera flashes, and music that pulsed just a little too loudly. Faces blurred together in the warm glow of the ceiling lights — people she didn't know, couldn't place, and didn't want to impress.
It was overwhelming.
So she quietly slipped onto one of the couches along the far wall, letting her shoulders fall. Just for a moment. Axel noticed immediately.
"I'll grab us drinks," he said, gently brushing her shoulder. "Be back in a sec."
She nodded, grateful, and rested her arms in her lap. Deep breaths. In. Out.
That's when two guys sat down beside her — just casual enough to seem harmless. They looked vaguely familiar. Industry types, maybe.
"Hey," one of them said, all charm and white teeth. "You're Euphony Trio's frontwoman, right?"
Laura blinked. "Um… yeah."
"Laura, was it?" the other added, swirling a drink in his hand.
She gave a small nod. "That's right."
They exchanged a glance. "Knew it. You've got that energy. We saw your last stage set — good stuff. Really tight work."
"Oh, thanks…" She forced a polite smile, keeping her posture poised — trying to be what was expected of her in a place like this.
"We're creative consultants," the first one explained. "Event curators, really. We've worked with some of the big names — lighting, sound, even choreography direction."
Laura nodded, still polite but inching subtly back in her seat.
"But you?" one of them said, his voice dipping just slightly. "You've got presence. That thing. I don't even know what to call it."He chuckled, leaning closer.
Laura stiffened.
And then—A hand. On her thigh.
It wasn't forceful, not overtly — but it was there, casual and entitled, as if it belonged. As if this was okay.
Her breath hitched. She froze. Too many voices, too much noise — she couldn't even form the words.
But Axel saw.
From across the room, just returning with their drinks in hand, his gaze locked instantly onto her. He noticed the way Laura sat motionless, her smile hollowed out, and then the man beside her — the way his hand rested where it absolutely shouldn't have.
Axel didn't even hesitate.
He set the cups down hard on the nearest table and strode through the crowd."Hey." His voice was low, sharp.
The men glanced up just as Axel stopped in front of them. His eyes were steady, expression unreadable — but his presence was loud.
"Everything okay here?" he asked Laura directly, but his tone was icy.
Laura glanced at him — not with fear, but something like quiet relief.
One of the guys, sensing the shift, raised his hands like it was no big deal. "Whoa, we were just talking—"
Axel didn't look at him. Not even once."Laura?" he said again, softer now.
She stood. Quietly. Stepping beside Axel, brushing against his arm.
"We're good," she said, but her voice was faint.
Axel turned, gently guiding her away without another word — but not before giving one last, pointed look back at the couch.
And this time, the message was clear: don't try that again.
---
Axel handed her the drink… then paused.
His fingers lingered just a second too long on the rim of the cup. Something in the back of his mind tugged — a quiet instinct sharpened by too many crowded parties, too many unfamiliar faces. He looked down at the drink, then around the room.
He had set the cups down for maybe a minute. And in a place like this? That was enough.
No one had been watching. But that was the point.
Without a word, Axel stepped past her and emptied both drinks into the sink behind the minibar. Laura blinked, confused — but didn't stop him. He rinsed the glasses, refilled them both from the unopened bottle he had kept nearby, and returned with a fresh pair.
He wasn't paranoid. Just careful. Especially tonight.
She accepted the cup with a soft "Thanks," but didn't drink. Instead, she stared into it for a long moment, watching the way the light caught in the liquid. The music thumped from the next room, laughter echoing too loudly.
But Laura wasn't listening to any of it.
Her body ached. Her mind buzzed. And beneath it all, a soft exhaustion pressed at the edges of her thoughts. It wasn't just the party — it was everything. The crowd, the attention, the unspoken expectations. She didn't feel thirsty. She felt like she was floating outside herself, untethered.
She glanced at Axel.
And he already knew.
His eyes met hers — calm, grounding. Not questioning. Just there.
Laura didn't need to speak. She just shifted slightly closer, and that was enough.
Axel reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. Then he leaned in, brushing his lips to her temple.
"Let's get out of here," he said softly, voice low against the noise.
And Laura exhaled — as if she had been holding her breath all night. She nodded.
She didn't care where they went. As long as it was away. As long as it was with him.
---
Before they left, Axel and Laura made their way through the throng of partygoers, weaving between circles of conversation and the occasional tipsy shout. The lights were low, the bass pulsing through the floor, but Axel's grip on Laura's hand stayed steady. Protective. Sure.
They found the others near the back balcony — Zane, Sunny, Amelia, and Nico gathered in a loose circle. Zane was halfway through telling some story, drink in hand, eyes animated.
"—so then he actually jumped into the koi pond—"
"Hey," Axel cut in gently.
Zane turned, flashing a grin. "Heading home already?"
But then he saw Laura.
The shadows under her eyes. The way she leaned slightly into Axel, not just tired, but drained. She didn't look upset — just… worn thin. Fragile in a way that quieted everything.
The teasing smile faded from Zane's face. He didn't say anything else. He just gave a small, understanding nod.
Sunny stepped forward, slipping between them. Her eyes softened as she reached for Laura's wrist, rubbing it gently with her thumb. "Thanks for coming," she said, voice warm and quiet. "I know it's a lot."
Laura offered a faint smile, barely more than a breath. "It was good to see everyone."
Amelia stayed a step back, arms crossed lightly over her chest. She didn't say much — didn't have to. She just gave Laura a small, meaningful glance. The kind that said I see you. And maybe I get it.
Then there was Nico.
He tilted his head, brows subtly pinched. "Everything okay?" he asked, glancing between them. His tone wasn't prying — just uncertain, unfamiliar with Laura's quieter rhythms, unsure why the whole group suddenly shifted their energy.
Sunny gave him a soft look and answered for her. "She's just had enough for one night."
"Oh," Nico said, still blinking a bit. "Right. Makes sense."
Axel gave them a small wave, guiding Laura gently past. "We'll catch up tomorrow."
"Yeah," Zane murmured. "Get home safe."
As they disappeared into the elevator, Sunny watched them go, her arms folding over her chest. She leaned against Zane's side.
"They're good for each other," she said.
Zane just nodded, his arm curling around her shoulders.
"I know."
---
The streets were quieter now.
Tokyo's electric glow still shimmered in the distance, but here — between blocks of slumbering apartments and dim storefronts — everything had quieted down to a hush. Their footsteps were soft against the pavement. Laura held onto Axel's arm, walking just a little slower than usual, the echo of the party still humming faintly in her ears.
"I'm sorry," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Axel looked down at her. "For what?"
"For making us leave early." She kept her eyes forward, watching the sidewalk more than him. "We were only there for two hours, and… I know Zane planned it. I know you were probably having a good time too, and I just…" Her words trailed off.
There was a pause.
Then Axel exhaled through his nose — that soft, slightly amused sound he made when she was being too hard on herself.
"You think I care more about the party than you?"
She didn't answer. Her silence was answer enough.
Axel gently tugged her a little closer, tucking her against his side as they walked. "Laura," he said, voice steady, "you come first. Always. If you need to leave, we leave. That's not something I'll ever be upset about. That's not something you ever need to apologize for."
She didn't look up. But after a moment, she let herself lean against his shoulder — fully this time. Trustingly.
She didn't say thank you.
She didn't need to.
Her silence was its own kind of gratitude. And Axel understood it completely.
---
Back at the party, Amelia stepped out of the restroom, pausing by the hallway mirror to smooth her dress. A quick fix to her lipstick, a pat to her hair, and she was back in the swirl of music and laughter — only to spot her brother standing a short distance away, talking to Sunny.
She slowed.
They stood near the windows, bathed in the cool light from the city skyline. Nico's posture was relaxed — casual even — hands in the pockets of his slacks, head tilted slightly as Sunny spoke. He wasn't leaning in too close. He wasn't being pushy. Just… present. And listening.
It wasn't strange on the surface. After all, this was Zane's place. And Sunny was dating Zane. Her brother wasn't crossing any lines. But Amelia had known Nico her whole life — all his tells, even the ones he thought he hid well.
She'd seen the look earlier — fleeting, barely there, but unmistakable.
When Sunny had wrapped her arms around Zane when they first arrived. When Zane had kissed her temple and pulled her close on the balcony. Nico had turned his head just slightly, but not before Amelia caught the flicker of something in his eyes. Something like longing. Something like envy.
He'd never say anything. He wasn't that kind of person. And Sunny was never his to begin with — Amelia knew that, and Nico knew that even better.
But watching him now, the way his gaze softened every time Sunny laughed… the way he seemed more grounded just being around her… it stung a little, and not because Amelia was angry.
It was pity.
Her brother had never been loud about the things he wanted. And now, standing there in a room full of glitter and lights, next to someone who would never really be his, Amelia realized just how used to losing quietly he was.
She sighed to herself, folding her arms loosely as she watched from a distance.
"Poor idiot," she murmured under her breath. "You really had to fall for the girl dating the popstar."
---
And then… Amelia's gaze wandered across the room — past the clinking glasses, the sway of slow-dancing couples, the murmur of a hundred different conversations — until it landed on someone else watching.
Zane.
He stood on the opposite end of the room, near the edge of the balcony door, a drink in his hand but long forgotten. His posture was still, deceptively relaxed, but his eyes gave him away. They were fixed on Sunny and Nico, steady and unreadable, but unmistakably watching.
Amelia knew that look. She'd seen it in movies — that flicker of something just sharp enough to be jealousy, just soft enough to be uncertainty. She'd never truly felt it herself, not since high school, but she recognized it instantly.
Of course he was thinking about it.
Sunny had been spending a lot of time with Nico lately — on Amelia's accord, but still. They'd hung out, gone swimming. Amelia didn't know if she'd mentioned all that to Zane, but she could guess as much. Especially with how he tensed just slightly whenever Nico came up. Not possessive, not angry… just uneasy. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and in moments like this, the tension clung to him — subtle, but there.
Amelia sighed through her nose and weaved through the crowd.
She bumped her shoulder lightly against his, breaking his trance. "If you stare any harder, you're going to burn holes in their clothes."
Zane blinked, then glanced down at her with a sheepish, crooked grin. "Was I that obvious?"
"Please," she scoffed. "You looked like a Bond villain plotting a slow-motion revenge arc."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not like that. I trust Sunny. It's just…"
"Nico's quiet. And close. And not an idiot," Amelia finished for him, folding her arms. "Yeah, I get it."
Zane nodded, his gaze drifting back briefly. "She says they're just friends."
"They are," Amelia said simply. "But that doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel weird about it."
He glanced sideways at her, surprised by the softness in her tone.
"I've known my brother my whole life," Amelia went on. "He doesn't fall for people easily. But when he does… he falls quietly. And deep."
Zane's jaw tightened just slightly.
"I'm not saying he'd ever act on it," she added quickly. "But don't pretend you don't see it. And don't pretend it wouldn't eat at you if you tried."
Zane was quiet for a long beat. Then finally, he murmured, "She chose me."
Amelia looked up at him. "Then don't forget that."
And with that, she nudged him again and turned to walk away — leaving him to sort out the knot of feelings only he could untangle.
---
That morning, after all the guests had finally dipped — heels clicking down the hallway, elevator doors closing, music long faded — Zane's penthouse had fallen quiet. The once-buzzing space was now littered with empty glasses, abandoned jackets, and snack crumbs scattered like confetti on the floor. At least nothing was broken.
Zane stood beside Sunny near the tall window, watching the last of his so-called "Osaka crowd" disappear down the street below. She let out a slow breath, one she'd been holding since the night began.
"I know this was a Zane party," she said lightly, her arms folded as she leaned on the glass, "but I didn't expect you to bring your Osaka crowd."
Zane groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "Hey, it was a mistake. We've been over this."
Sunny gave a shrug that wasn't quite a shrug. "Sure, sure," she muttered. Then, after a beat, her voice softened — faltered. "Or maybe… you just missed the Osaka life."
She didn't look at him as she said it.
Zane froze for half a second. That wasn't fair. But before he could say anything sharp, she followed it with something gentler — something that hurt more.
"You don't think that… Tokyo is enough?"
His throat tightened. Why would she say that?
Without thinking, he stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, holding her close. "Sunny… that's not why I left. You know I love it here. I love you."
She didn't respond right away. Her hands hovered in the air for a moment before finally resting over his. "You mean that, right?"
"Of course I do," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Why would you even question it?"
She leaned back against him then, letting out another breath — this one deeper, heavier. "Because… you're always chasing the next big thing," she murmured, her voice trembling just enough to betray the feeling beneath. "Without realizing what you… left behind."
The words spilled out before she could stop them. It wasn't meant to be a guilt trip — just the truth, raw and exposed. The party had made it all too clear. The laughter, the inside jokes she didn't understand, the people who knew a version of him she hadn't met.
Zane held her tighter, saying nothing.
Sunny shut her eyes. "I just… sometimes I wonder if I'm part of your future… or just another stop on the way there."
She had even seen the way some of the girls lingered too close to Zane that night — laughing just a little too loudly at his jokes, brushing past him with just enough intent to make it noticeable. He didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just ignored it. But Sunny noticed. And it brought back memories she hadn't meant to revisit.
That kiss.
The one with his ex — the one Amelia had seen, back when things between her and Zane were still new and uncertain. It had been awkward, confusing, and painful in all the quiet ways that sneak up later. Zane had confessed eventually — not because Sunny had confronted him, but because Amelia had.
He told her everything. How his ex had caught him off guard. How she kissed him without warning. How he hadn't kissed her back.
Sunny had believed him. She never blamed him — not truly. She knew his heart, or at least she thought she did. She'd even shown sympathy, softening when she saw the guilt in his eyes. She wanted to be the kind of partner who trusted, who didn't punish him for things out of his control.
But sometimes… like now, when the memory resurfaced uninvited… she wondered. Wondered how faithful Zane could really be. Wondered if temptation would ever wear him down. Wondered if their relationship — delicate and real and still finding its footing — could actually last through the gravity of everything Zane's life pulled in.
It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. It was fear. The quiet kind that blooms slowly in the chest and never really leaves.
---
Later they cleaned up — or tried to. Stacking empty glasses, tossing out half-eaten leftovers, dragging trash bags toward the door with the sluggish rhythm of two people running on no sleep and too many emotions. They didn't say much. The silence wasn't angry, just heavy — full of unspoken things neither of them had the energy to unpack.
Eventually, they collapsed into bed, still in their clothes. They laid on opposite sides, backs half-turned, the space between them feeling wider than it should have. Guilt lingered like smoke. Jealousy, too — not loud or dramatic, but quiet, like something lodged in the throat.
Zane stared at the ceiling for a long while, listening to the faint hum of the city outside. He was about to close his eyes when he heard it — soft, strained, muffled by a pillow. Sunny was crying.
He rolled over immediately, his heart twisting at the sound. But he didn't reach for her. Didn't speak. He didn't know if he was allowed to.
But then — she moved. Slowly, she turned, crossed the space between them, and tucked herself into his chest without a word. Her arms slid around him as if they were muscle memory. Her face buried into his shirt.
He exhaled. His own arms wrapped around her instinctively, gently.
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of her breathing — uneven, quiet.
Then, in the hush between heartbeats, she whispered it.
"I don't want to lose you."
Zane closed his eyes and held her tighter, not because he had the perfect words, but because he didn't. Because sometimes holding someone was the only answer that mattered.