⋆˚࿔ Sachi.ᐟ

“Why…?”

It’s all you can manage. Your thoughts slip before they can even form—nothing makes sense, not after that.

A quiet, humorless breath leaves him.

“I’m not a good man.”

A pause. Thin. Barely there—gone the second he looks at you.

“I take without care. I lie when it’s easier. And—”

He exhales, sharper this time.

“I know I could stop.”

His jaw tightens.

“I just don’t.”

A hollow scoff.

“That’s why you should stay away. Just… leave. Don’t look back.”

There’s something ugly in it—resentment, maybe—but it disappears as quickly as it came. He drags in a breath. “But…”

His hand lifts.

Shaky. Hovering. Like he already knows he shouldn’t—

And then he does it anyway.

He pulls you in.

You don’t stop him.

“…But I’m asking anyway.”

This isn’t the man you met before.

Not stiff. Not fearless. Not certain.

There’s no pride left in him.

No shame either.

Just want.

“Stay.”

A breath that doesn’t quite steady.

“Stay where I can find you. Don’t… don’t give that place to someone else.”

His grip tightens—careful, but not enough to let go.

“Just wait for me.”

Quieter now.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“The known version of you was easier,” they admitted, and their voice dropped on the last word just slightly. “Kevin was easier.”

Kaelix looked down.

He didn’t mean to.

He just… couldn’t hold their eyes for that second.

Because of course Kevin was easier.

Kevin worked at the same store.

Kevin was manageable.

Kevin was someone they could fit into their day without having to think too hard about the rest of his life pressing in from every side.

Kaelix was something else entirely.

He forced himself to look back up.

“I know,” he said quietly.

[Name] blinked, like they hadn’t expected that.

“I know,” he repeated. “I know Kevin is easier.”

The wind shifted between them, carrying the faint smell of rain and distant smoke.

Kaelix let out a slow breath.

“I wasn’t trying to trap you into figuring it out,” he said. “I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, then made himself stop fidgeting. “Things were about to get worse. Schedule-wise, I mean. Hectic. Messy. And I thought if you knew before that—if you saw me there, if you gave me some sign you knew—maybe I could stop dancing around it.”

[Name] stared at him.

“I hoped it would make the shift easier,” he admitted. “Instead I think I just made everything harder.”

A silence followed that felt too honest to hide inside.

Then [Name] laughed once, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah,” they said. “A little.”

Kaelix huffed a breath through his nose.

He deserved that.

“What scares you?” he asked finally.

[Name] went still.

He almost regretted asking.

Almost.

But he’d already stood in silence too long. Already let too much sit between them unanswered.

So when they didn’t reply right away, he said, “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just…” He looked away for a second, then back. “I’d rather hear the truth than keep guessing wrong.”

That did something.

Small.

But real.

[Name] folded their arms tighter, like they were trying to hold themself together physically now.

Then, after a long moment:

“I’m not scared of liking you,” they said.

The words hit him so hard he forgot how to breathe.

[Name] looked furious about having said them at all.

“I’m scared of what comes after that,” they continued. “I’m scared of building my life around something that only exists when it’s convenient. I’m scared of wanting more from someone who might not be able to give it. I’m scared that the version of this I can survive is Kevin, and the version that’s real is…” They stopped and looked away. “Bigger than me.”

Kaelix didn’t answer right away.

Not because he didn’t have one.

Because he needed the right one.

And for once in his life, he cared more about being careful than being quick.

When he did speak, his voice came out quieter than before.

“I hear you.”

[Name] looked at him again.

Kaelix’s chest hurt.

But not in the same way as earlier.

This felt cleaner somehow. Sharper, yes. But cleaner.

“I’m not offended by any of that,” he said. “You’re not wrong for being scared.”

Something in their face loosened.

Just barely.

Encouraged, Kaelix stepped closer—not enough to crowd them, just enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice.

“I know I can’t fix all of that tonight,” he said. “And I know I can’t just say the perfect thing and make it easy.”

[Name] swallowed.

Kaelix kept his eyes on them.

“But I’m not asking you to sort your heart faster for me,” he said. “I just…”

He stopped.

Started again.

“I just want to be there while you do.”

The silence after that was so deep it almost didn’t feel real.

[Name] stared at him, and for one terrible second he thought maybe he’d said too much, too honestly, too soon.

Then their eyes dropped, and when they laughed this time, it sounded wrecked around the edges.

“You make this really hard,” they muttered.

Kaelix let out the smallest breath of relief.

“I know,” he said.

That got him the faintest, most exhausted smile.

Not enough to call victory.

More than enough to matter.

They stood there under the streetlight with everything still unresolved between them.

Still complicated.

Still frighteningly unfinished.

But not quite as closed off as before.

Not quite as impossible.

And for now—

for this one fragile, difficult night—

that was enough.

Kaelix looked away for a second, then exhaled softly.

“I still owe you food,” he said.

[Name] stared at him.

“That’s your solution?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s just… the only thing I know how to offer right now that won’t make this worse.”

That made something in [Name]’s expression shift.

Not softer, exactly.

Just tired.

“You always do this,” they muttered.

“Do what?”

“Make it hard to stay upset at you.”

Kaelix’s mouth twitched, but the smile never fully formed.

“So is that a yes?”

[Name] sighed.

“Fine.”

They ended up at the same late-night place as before, all bright menu boards and half-awake staff pretending not to care. The familiarity of it settled between them strangely—less comfortable than it had been the first time, but not unwelcome either.

Just changed.

Kaelix paid before [Name] could argue too much and carried the tray over while they claimed a table near the corner. For a while, they didn’t say much.

The silence wasn’t empty this time.

It was full.

Full of too many things they’d already said and too many they still hadn’t.

Kaelix unwrapped his utensils, then glanced up.

“I wasn’t lying, by the way.”

[Name] looked at him. “About what?”

“Being busy.” He let out a tired breath through his nose. “I mean, it sounds pathetic when I say it after vanishing like that, but I wasn’t making it up.”

He looked down at his drink for a second before continuing.

“Concert prep’s getting worse,” he admitted. “Or better. Depends on whether you ask me before or after I’ve slept.”

That got the faintest reaction out of [Name]—not quite a smile, but enough to keep him going.

“We’ve had rehearsals stacked on rehearsals, fittings, meetings, recordings, extra practice… all of it. It’s just a lot right now.”

[Name] traced a thumb against the side of their cup.

“You could’ve said that.”

“I know.”

“I mean earlier.”

Kaelix winced. “I know.”

The quiet settled again.

He didn’t rush to fill it this time.

When [Name] finally spoke, their voice was lower.

“You’re really doing a lot.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Comes with the job.”

“You say that like it doesn’t bother you.”

“It does bother me.” Kaelix looked up at them. “I just don’t get to stop because it does.”

That made [Name] go still for a second.

Then they set their chopsticks down.

“Can I ask for one thing?”

Kaelix answered too fast. “Anything.”

They noticed.

Of course they noticed.

He softened, quieter this time. “Yeah. Of course.”

[Name] stared at the table for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“Even though I know you like me…” They stopped there, like even saying that much had taken effort. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Kaelix didn’t interrupt.

“Being who you are,” they went on more slowly, “what if your fame makes you hard to reach? Is dating even an option for you?”

Their fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.

“I-I’m just not ready,” they admitted, voice tightening around the words. “So can I not answer it yet?”

For one brief, terrible second, Kaelix forgot how to breathe.

Not because the answer was cruel.

It wasn’t.

That was almost worse.

Because what they were asking for wasn’t distance.

It was time.

And some selfish, ugly part of him still hated how relieved he was that it wasn’t rejection.

He looked at them for a long moment.

At the way they were trying so hard to hold themselves together.

At the frustration still caught behind their eyes.

At the fear they were forcing themselves to say out loud anyway.

Then he nodded.

Too easily.

Too gently.

“Okay,” he said.

Something in [Name]’s expression shifted at once—relief first, then guilt so fast it almost didn’t have time to settle before he saw it.

Kaelix smiled anyway.

Small.

Careful.

The kind of smile he used when something hurt and he didn’t want the other person to feel it too.

“You don’t have to answer me yet,” he said. “You don’t have to answer me at all just because I’m here and asking.”

[Name] looked down.

That hurt more than it should have.

Or maybe exactly as much as it should have.

“I’m sorry,” they muttered.

Kaelix shook his head immediately. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“I mean it.” His voice came out softer than he expected. “I’d rather you be honest with me than force yourself into something before you’re ready.”

That shut them up.

He reached for his drink just to have something to do with his hands.

His fingers were colder than they should have been.

“And dating?” he said after a second, lighter than he felt. “Yeah. It’s an option. Complicated, probably. Messy, definitely. But not impossible.”

[Name] looked back up at that.

“Then why do you sound like you’re trying to make it easy for me to say no?”

Kaelix let out a quiet laugh.

Because I am, he thought.

Because if I make this harder for you, I lose.

Because if I push, you’ll pull away.

Because I’d rather take a softer hurt now than force something that breaks later.

What he said instead was, “Because I’m trying not to make this about what I want.”

That left them both quiet again.

By the time they finally ate, it was mostly in pieces—small bites, little pauses, the occasional low remark that almost felt normal until the silence after reminded them that nothing really was.

And that, more than anything, was what made it ache.

Not the tension.

Not even the fear.

Just the fact that comfort still came so easily between them.

That familiar warmth still found its way back.

By the time they stepped back outside, the night had gone cooler. They stood there for a moment under the dull glow of the streetlamp, neither of them looking particularly eager to be the one to end it.

“I’ll text you,” Kaelix said at last.

[Name] gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

He wanted to say something else.

Something more.

Something that would stay with them in the right way.

Instead, all he managed was, “Get home safe.”

That got him the faintest smile.

“You too.”

It wasn’t enough.

It was everything he was allowed.

So Kaelix let them go.

And just like nothing happened, when the next evening arrived the store felt wrong almost immediately.

I didn’t need to check the clock to know it.

Didn’t need the silence, either, though that helped.

I was already clocked in, already behind the counter, already pretending I wasn’t listening for the door every few seconds.

Alban wandered out of the office long enough to look around, then at me.

I didn’t even bother hiding it this time.

“He’s not showing up again, is he?” I asked.

Alban blinked, then looked toward the door like maybe Kevin might materialize out of guilt alone.

No such luck.

“Hm,” he said.

That answer was enough.

What was I expecting anyway? For things to be the same again?

Somehow, questioning further made it worse.

I looked back down at the register before he could catch too much on my face.

“[Name]” Yet Alban’s voice forced me to look at him again.

I stared at him.

“What?”

But Alban was more observant than I gave him credit for as he scratched at his hair with a gruff sigh.

“You know what, pack it up. You’re taking paid leave, today. No buts.”

I blinked.

For a second, I was so caught off guard that I actually forgot how to argue.

Then, naturally, I remembered.

“What do you mean, paid leave?”

“I mean,” Alban said, as if speaking to someone especially slow, “you’re going home.”

“I’m literally already here.”

“And now you’re literally leaving.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That is not how jobs work.”

“Actually, as your beautiful and generous employer, I get to decide that sometimes it is.” He waved both hands at me like he was shooing away a stubborn cat. “You’ve been glaring at the register for ten straight minutes like it personally betrayed you.”

“I have not.”

Alban deadpanned, “You absolutely have.”

I clicked my tongue and looked away.

That, unfortunately, was probably answer enough.

He sighed again, softer this time. Less dramatic. More real.

“Look,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck now, “I’m not asking questions. I’m not prying. But you look like if one more mildly inconvenient thing happens, you’re either gonna cry, commit tax fraud, or both.”

I stared at him.

“That’s weirdly specific.”

“I know my employees.”

That made something in my chest pull in a way I didn’t appreciate.

I crossed my arms. “I’m fine.”

Alban gave me a flat look.

Then, with all the patience in the world, he said, “And I’m a minimalist.”

I hated that enough to stay quiet.

He took my silence as victory, which, annoyingly, it kind of was.

“Go home,” he said again, gentler now. “I’ll handle it.”

I glanced toward the door out of habit.

Still no Kevin.

The sight of nothing sitting there somehow made everything in me go even heavier.

Alban noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His expression shifted for half a second—something quieter flickering under all the usual nonsense.

Then he clapped his hands once and pointed toward the back.

“Bag. Stuff. Out. Shoo.”

“That is a humiliating way to talk to another adult.”

“And yet it’s working.”

I hated that too.

But not enough to keep fighting.

Not when my heart had already been sitting wrong in my chest since I clocked in. Not when the silence of the store had been pressing at my temples all evening. Not when disappointment had already curdled into something duller and uglier than I wanted to name.

So, with all the grace of someone being forcibly evicted from their own pride, I went to grab my things.

“Don’t think about going to work tomorrow either,” Alban called after me.

I stopped halfway to the back room and looked over my shoulder.

“What? When will my paid leave end?”

“Once you get your shit together.”

“That is not an answer.”

“That is all you’re getting.”

Unhelpful to the very end.

By the time I stepped outside, the air had gone cooler than I expected.

The city was still alive in that tired sort of way it always was after dark—cars rolling by, convenience lights glowing in the distance, the low murmur of people heading somewhere that wasn’t home yet.

I stood there for a second longer than necessary.

No real reason.

Just… long enough to feel stupid for checking the street one last time anyway.

Nothing.

Of course.

I let out a breath through my nose and started walking.

The worst part was that I couldn’t even say I was surprised.

Disappointed, yes.

Annoyed, definitely.

But surprised?

Not really.

That somehow made it sting more.

The walk home blurred past in pieces. Streetlights. Crosswalks. A dog barking from somewhere behind a fence. The sound of my own shoes against the pavement, too steady to match the mess in my head.

By the time I got home, Meowsters was already waiting by the door like he’d personally sensed weakness.

“Don’t start,” I muttered as he wound around my ankles like a furry threat.

He ignored me with the confidence of something that paid no rent and feared no consequences.

I fed him first.

Changed out of my work clothes second.

Then dropped face-first onto my bed without even bothering to turn the light on.

The room sat in that soft, bluish dark that made everything feel quieter than it really was.

Too quiet.

I threw an arm over my eyes.

This was ridiculous.

I knew it was ridiculous.

One person being absent shouldn’t have been enough to tilt the whole day sideways.

And yet.

My phone buzzed against the mattress.

I froze.

Meowsters, traitor that he was, looked up from grooming one paw and blinked at me like he already knew exactly why I was hesitating.

“Mind your business,” I told him.

He yawned.

The phone buzzed again.

I grabbed it with far less dignity than I would ever admit out loud.

Kevin: i heard from Alban you took a leave

Kevin: i’m sorry

I stared at the screen.

Then another message came through.

Kevin: today got wrecked again

Kevin: i know this is getting old

Kevin: i’m really sorry

Something hot and frustrated twisted under my ribs.

Because there it was again.

The apology.

Sincere enough to make it impossible to dismiss, but never enough to make the absence stop mattering.

I sat up slowly, phone still in my hand, and stared at the messages until the words blurred.

Meowsters hopped onto the bed beside me without invitation and loafed down near my thigh like he was clocking in for emotional support against his will.

“I hate this,” I muttered.

He offered no insight.

My phone buzzed one more time.

Kevin: i know i’m making this harder than it should be

That one hit worse than the others.

Because he was right.

And because part of me hated how relieved I still was to hear from him at all.

I looked down at the keyboard.

Typed.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Deleted that too.

Then finally:

Yeah :[Name]

You are :[Name]

The reply came faster than I wanted it to.

Kevin: fair

I stared at that one too.

Then, before I could talk myself out of it:

Get your shit together first before you apologize again :[Name]

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then came back.

Then disappeared again.

I watched them blink on and off like they were mocking me.

Finally:

Kevin: okay

That should’ve felt satisfying.

It didn’t.

I locked the screen and let the phone fall beside me.

Meowsters pressed his warm little body against my leg like that solved anything.

Outside, a motorcycle passed. Somewhere in the building, someone laughed too loudly. The city kept going like none of this had happened at all.

I stared into the dark for a long time.

Tired.

Annoyed.

Still aching in all the wrong places.

And underneath all of that, buried where I didn’t want to look too closely—

worried.

That was the worst part.

Not the lateness.

Not the distance.

Not even the disappointment.

Just the fact that despite everything, I was still worried.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

“Can this just end?” I muttered, pulling Meowsters into my arms and burying my face into his fur.

Even as I said it, some sick and twisted part of me wished it wouldn’t.

Because I knew—

I wouldn’t be the same if he left.

Then, as if the pieces had finally started fitting together, our days became gentler than before.

Not all at once.

Not with some grand confession or sudden clarity that made everything easy.

Just gradually.

Quietly.

In pieces.

Somewhere along the way, we slipped back into our usual hangouts—visiting each other’s apartments whenever our schedules allowed, eating whatever was closest, talking about everything and nothing until the hours blurred together.

I cheered Kaelix on at his events with the group whenever I could.

And little by little, without either of us forcing it, things stopped feeling so impossible.

The change wasn’t sudden enough to name.

It came in fragments.

In Kaelix texting when he said he would.

In me no longer holding myself back as hard, even when it still all felt uncertain.

In late-night convenience store dinners eaten on his couch while one of his members yelled at something through a video call in the background.

In the way I stopped flinching every time his world brushed up against mine.

And in the way he stopped trying to make himself smaller for my comfort whenever he talked about it.

Sometimes he’d come over looking half-dead from practice, collapse onto my bed without asking, and immediately get bullied by Meowsters for occupying space that clearly belonged to him.

Sometimes I’d end up at his apartment with takeout in hand, only to find him in the kitchen in socks, stuffing whatever he could find into one of his homemade sandwiches.

Sometimes we said things that mattered.

Sometimes we didn’t.

That was the strange part.

It all mattered anyway.

By then, cheering for him no longer felt like stepping into some world I didn’t belong in.

It just felt natural.

I learned the shape of their schedules better than I meant to. Learned which events made him restless beforehand and which ones left him floating afterward. Learned the difference between his tired silences and his content ones. Learned how his face changed when he was trying not to smile too hard and failing anyway.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, the fear that had once felt so huge started losing its edges.

Not disappearing.

Just softening.

Because the truth was, I had spent so long being afraid of what came after liking him that I hadn’t noticed we were already living in the middle of it.

Nothing official yet.

Nothing labeled yet.

But something real enough that neither of us could keep pretending it was nothing.

Even Alban stopped looking at us like we were one inconvenience away from ruining his day.

Which, for him, was basically a blessing.

Claude was still Claude. We hardly ever saw each other, but whenever we did, I never forgot how grateful I was for his badly timed honesty.

One morning, when I came by with my own peace offering, he looked up from stocking snacks and said, “So you finally stopped running laps around it, huh.”

I stared at him.

He stared right back.

Then he took the drink from my hand, set it on the counter, and said, “Good. Help me open this.”

That was apparently all the emotional validation I was getting from him.

Weirdly enough, it was enough.

The more time passed, the easier it became to slip into something that felt almost dangerous in its normalcy.

A hand on my shoulder when he passed behind me in the stockroom.

A quiet text me when you get home that no longer sounded strange.

Him stealing my drink without asking and me still letting him live.

Small things.

Ordinary things.

The kind of things that would’ve terrified me a month ago.

Now they just made my chest feel too full in ways I was learning not to run from.

By the time we fell back into place at Neko-Albini, it almost felt familiar again.

Not because nothing had changed.

Because too much had.

But whatever this was between us no longer felt like a live wire waiting to punish us for touching it.

It felt quieter than that.

Warmer.

The store had fallen into one of its slower spells again, the kind where the fluorescent hum sounded louder than the customers and Alban’s office door stayed shut long enough for us to suspect he was either doing paperwork or avoiding it professionally.

Kaelix was beside me at the register, sleeves pushed up, wig a little messy from running his hand through it too many times.

“Do you think Alban would notice if we replaced the playlist with whale noises?” he asked.

I glanced at him. “You say that like you haven’t already thought about it.”

“I think about many things.”

“That’s never reassuring.”

He smiled.

There it was again—that easier, softer smile that no longer felt like something I had to brace myself against.

The shift passed like that.

A customer here.

A bad joke there.

A small brush of shoulders in the aisle that neither of us reacted to too quickly.

The familiar rhythm of working around each other instead of away from each other.

By closing time, the city outside had already gone dim and cool, the kind of night that made the windows look darker than they really were.

We locked up together.

Alban, in an act of rare mercy, told us to go home before either of us could be assigned something annoying.

So we did.

The walk started like it always did—side by side, not too close, talking in that scattered, easy way people only really manage when they’ve already memorized each other’s pace.

Kaelix was in the middle of telling me some story about Seible being dramatic over nothing when his hand brushed mine.

It was barely anything.

The lightest touch.

An accident, maybe.

But neither of us moved away immediately.

I looked up.

Kaelix was already looking at me.

He didn’t say anything.

He only smiled—soft, quiet, like he understood exactly what that almost-touch meant and didn’t need to ask for more.

Heat crept into my face before I could stop it, and I looked away first.

Somehow, that was enough.

More than enough, maybe.

By the time Kaelix got there, the store already looked wrong.

Not empty.

Not closed.

Just wrong.

Too quiet under the fluorescent lights. Too still in the way Neko-Albini only ever got when something had already slipped out of place.

He pushed through the door with the last of his breath still caught in his throat, the familiar chime overhead sounding less like a welcome and more like it was laughing in his face.

Too late.

Again.

That was when he noticed Alban behind the counter.

Not with a lighthearted grin. Not with that mischievous glint in his eye. Not pulling any of the ridiculous little stunts he usually did when he wanted to pretend the store ran on chaos and charisma instead of actual labor.

He was just standing there, arms folded, looking at Kaelix with an expression so flat it was somehow worse than anger.

Kaelix stopped short.

The question rose before he could stop it.

“...Where’s [Name]?”

Alban didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at him for one long second, then dragged a hand through his hair with a tired sigh.

“I sent them home.”

Everything in Kaelix went still.

Not dramatically.

Not all at once.

Just enough for the exhaustion in his body to turn into something heavier.

Something uglier.

He looked past Alban on instinct anyway—toward the back room, toward the aisles, toward the quiet little corners of the store where [Name] usually existed. Hoping. Wishing for some kind of miracle.

Nothing.

Of course.

Too late.

Again.

Alban’s eyes narrowed slightly, not cruel, just sharp in that way that meant he’d already understood more than Kaelix wanted him to.

“I’m not gonna do the whole manager speech thing,” he said. “Mostly because I don’t care enough to rehearse one.”

On a different night, Kaelix might’ve laughed.

Tonight, he couldn’t manage it.

Alban leaned his hip against the counter, still watching him.

“But what you’re doing right now?” he said. “It’s not fair.”

The words landed clean.

No raised voice. No performance. Just truth.

Kaelix looked down.

His hand was still wrapped too tightly around his phone. He hadn’t even realized it.

“I know,” he said.

And he did.

That was the worst part.

It would’ve been easier if this were just bad timing. If he could blame the concert, the schedules, the commute, the city, the life he’d built and the one he was still trying to keep stitched together.

But standing there in the ugly brightness of the store, knowing [Name] had waited there long enough for Alban to take one look at them and decide they were better off going home, Kaelix couldn’t even lie to himself properly anymore.

This wasn’t fair.

Not to [Name].

Not to him, either.

Because what was he doing, really?

Showing up late. Apologizing. Reaching for them with both hands while his life kept pulling him the other way. Asking them, silently and otherwise, to trust something he still couldn’t hold steadily himself.

Wanting them anyway.

Wanting them more every time it got harder.

That was the part that made him feel sick.

Not the feelings.

The way he kept handing them those feelings in pieces.

Alban exhaled through his nose and glanced toward the office, like even he was tired of being the only adult in the room for once.

“You look like hell, by the way.”

Kaelix let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “Thanks.”

“I mean it affectionately.”

“That somehow feels worse.”

Alban’s mouth twitched, but only for a second.

Then he looked back at Kaelix and, more quietly, said, “I’m not telling you to back off. Far from it.”

Kaelix blinked.

Alban shrugged one shoulder.

“I just want you to know that actions speak louder than whatever sincere words you keep trying to throw at them.”

That stung.

But he deserved that too.

He deserved Alban standing there now, looking at him like a person who had finally run out of excuses to hand himself.

Kaelix lowered his eyes to the screen in his hand and started texting, still half-deluding himself that he could somehow prove Alban wrong.

What he got instead was the taste of his own medicine, and somehow that made the silence after even more pathetic.

Alban glanced at the phone, then back at him.

“Did you at least say something useful?”

Kaelix gave a weak huff. “Probably not.”

“Mm.”

Alban pushed off the counter, then paused just long enough to add, “You know wanting someone isn’t the same as committing to them.”

Kaelix went still.

That was it.

That was the shape of it.

The thing he’d been circling all night and all week and probably longer than that, ever since a half-drunk stranger had told him one brutal truth and left behind a store ID and somehow changed the direction of his life without even meaning to.

He loved reaching for [Name].

He hated what it kept costing them.

And sooner or later, wanting them wasn’t going to be enough to excuse that.

Alban jerked his head toward the back. “Clock in or go home. You standing there looking tragic is ruining the vibe.”

Kaelix almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he shoved his phone into his pocket and moved, the store swallowing him whole again in fluorescent white and shelf labels and the kind of silence that seemed to keep [Name]’s absence hanging in every aisle.

The rest of the night didn’t get better.

It only got clearer.

The next morning, I woke up with the kind of restlessness that made staying in bed feel worse than getting up.

Which was impressive, considering how badly I wanted to do absolutely nothing.

Meowsters was sprawled across the foot of the bed like he’d personally survived a tragedy and deserved compensation for it. He cracked one eye open when I sat up, judged me for a second, then went back to sleep with all the dignity of a creature who had never once had to make a difficult emotional choice in his life.

Lucky him.

I fed him. Changed. Stood in the middle of my room for a while like maybe the next thing to do would just reveal itself if I stayed still enough.

It didn’t.

So, naturally, I ended up going to the store early.

Not because I had to.

Not because it made sense.

Just because sitting alone with my own nerves was starting to feel unbearable, and apparently my solution to that was to haunt the exact place half my problems came from.

Smart.

Really smart.

The morning air still had a bit of chill left in it by the time I got there. The street outside Neko-Albini was quieter than usual, washed in that pale kind of light that made everything look softer than it really was.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The bell jingled.

I was halfway through bracing myself for disappointment I couldn’t even justify when a voice from somewhere near the drinks aisle said, “Okay… what the fuck, so either you’re insanely early or I blacked out and lost like six hours.”

I blinked.

A man straightened from where he’d been crouched in front of a crate of bottled drinks, one hand still holding a soda like he’d been debating whether to buy it after his shift instead of stocking it. Pearlescent hair tied back in a low ponytail. Relaxed posture. The kind of face that made it obvious he probably should still be asleep, but was here anyway.

“Are you… Claude?” It took me a second to recognize him only because I’d heard more about him than actually seen him.

He glanced at me once, then at the time, then back at me.

“Yep, that’s me. You’re [Name], right?”

“Uh, yeah… How did you know it was me?”

“Alban told me if I saw a person looking like they’d lost something, it was probably you.” Claude sighed to himself as he stared at the soda in his hand before finally stocking it. “You’re here early.”

“Alban forced me to go on leave,” I grumbled.

Claude glanced at me with an incredulous look. “Then why are you even here? Work can’t be the only thing you do all day.”

He tilted his head slightly, expression sharpening just a little.

“You look like shit, by the way.”

I stared harder. “That’s a hell of a way to greet someone.”

“I’m not being mean,” he said. “I’m being observant.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Fair.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward, exactly. Just strange. Claude had the kind of presence that didn’t feel pushy even when he was looking right through you.

He reached into the open crate beside him, took out another bottle, turned it around in his hand like the label looked funny somehow, then said, “You here for a reason, or are we both just making bad choices before noon?”

I crossed my arms. “Can’t I just be here?”

“You can,” he said easily. “But you’re not.”

That one landed harder than it should have.

I looked away first.

Claude, infuriatingly, didn’t push.

He just went back to lining bottles up with that same weirdly precise focus, like giving me room was also part of whatever silent calculation he was doing.

After a while, I said, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

I said it.

Claude nodded once like that made perfect sense.

“Yeah,” he said. “That tracks.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

He shrugged. “You don’t look like you need advice. You look like you’re trying to avoid one specific thought hard enough that your body dragged you here out of self-defense.”

I looked at him.

He kept facing the shelf.

“That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.” A beat passed. “No offense.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.”

I let out a breath through my nose and leaned against the end of the aisle.

For some reason, talking to Claude didn’t feel like talking to Alban. Alban would’ve made a joke out of it first and then circled back into sincerity when you weren’t expecting it. Claude just said things like he’d already decided dressing them up was a waste of time.

“I’m not avoiding,” I muttered.

Claude glanced at me.

Then, with just enough skepticism to be insulting, said, “Sure.”

I clicked my tongue.

He smiled faintly, like he’d been waiting for that.

“No, seriously,” he said. “Whatever the fuck you’re trying not to deal with is clearly still here. You can leave the room, leave the store, go home, come back early, pace around, do the whole dramatic internal weather thing—it doesn’t change the fact that it came with you.”

That shut me up.

Because he was right.

Of course he was right.

And I hated that he was right in such a calm, annoying way.

Claude capped the last drink into place, took a step back to inspect the row, then seemed satisfied enough not to swear at it.

“You don’t have to solve it all at once,” he said, less casually this time. “But running laps around it is still a choice.”

I looked down at the tiled floor.

The same floor.

The same fluorescent lights.

The same counter.

The same place I kept ending up in, like part of me had already made a decision the rest of me was too scared to admit.

Kevin was easier.

That had been true.

But maybe easier wasn’t the same thing as better.

Maybe easier was just another way to stay still.

I let out a slow breath.

Claude glanced at me from the corner of his eye, then reached into the open fridge behind him and held out a bottle of Diet Coke in my direction.

“Peace offering,” he said. “Also, if you stay here too long, Alban’s gonna make it my problem, so, uh… pack it up. Nice knowing you.”

I took it despite myself.

“You’re weird.”

Claude nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then, a little more quietly, he added, “But I’m not wrong.”

I looked down at the cold bottle in my hands.

No.

He wasn’t.

And for the first time since all of this had gotten too tangled to breathe around properly, that truth didn’t just make me feel cornered.

It made me feel tired.

Tired enough to stop pretending avoidance was protecting me.

Tired enough to admit that maybe all it had really done was keep the same fear alive in different rooms.

When I looked up again, Claude had already gone back to work like he hadn’t just shoved my entire internal crisis into one blunt sentence and moved on with his morning.

I hated how helpful that had been.

Which probably meant I needed it.

Outside, the city was waking up properly now.

Inside, the store still smelled like coffee, cold air, and convenience.

And somewhere between Claude’s dry honesty and the familiar hum of the place I kept returning to, something in me shifted.

Not enough to call it courage.

But enough to stop calling it escape.

I stepped back outside with the Diet Coke still cold in my hands, the chill of the bottle pressing into my palms like it was trying to keep me from overheating with my own thoughts.

It didn’t work.

The morning had already started filling in around me by then. More cars on the road. More people cutting across sidewalks with places to be. The kind of ordinary movement that made it feel ridiculous that my entire internal world had somehow narrowed down to one person and one problem I still hadn’t figured out how to hold properly.

I should’ve gone home.

That would’ve made sense.

Instead, I kept walking.

No destination. No real plan. Just enough nervous energy under my skin to make standing still feel impossible.

The city softened a little the farther I got from the main road. Convenience signs gave way to apartment buildings, then quieter storefronts, then a small park I’d passed before came into view.

I slowed near the entrance without meaning to.

Or maybe I did mean to. It was the kind of small city park people forgot was there until they needed somewhere to sit for a while. A looping path. A handful of benches. Trees that looked nicer from a distance than up close. A playground off to one side that hadn’t fully filled with children yet.

It wasn’t anything special, really.

Just full.

Not crowded, exactly.

But lived-in.

A high school couple sat on one bench sharing what looked like a single convenience store sandwich, both of them talking at once and then stopping to laugh because neither had actually heard the other properly.

An older pair walked slowly along the path, one of them adjusting the other’s scarf with the kind of absent, practiced tenderness that made it clear they’d been doing this for years.

Near the vending machines, a woman held a sleepy toddler on one hip while the man beside her struggled with too many plastic bags and still somehow found the time to lean over and kiss her temple.

Even farther off, under one of the trees, there was a pair that didn’t seem to be doing much of anything at all—just sitting shoulder to shoulder in silence, the kind that looked content and comfortable rather than stiff and awkward.

I stood there longer than I meant to, Diet Coke warming slowly in my hand.

It wasn’t even the obvious romance of it that got to me.

It was the simplicity of it.

The different shapes it could take.

None of them looked like some perfect answer I could hold up and study until I figured out what I was supposed to do.

A gust of wind stirred past, and I finally noticed the little red paper decorations tied to one of the lamp posts near the path. Hearts. Cheap ribbon. A florist cart parked near the curb outside the park gates. A teenager jogging past with a bouquet that looked bigger than his own torso.

I stared at it for a second.

Then longer.

Then, without thinking much, I checked my phone’s calendar.

Oh.

Right.

It was February 14.

That explained… a lot, actually.

I let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh.

Of course it was.

Of course I had somehow wandered into a park full of people in various stages of affection and commitment on Valentine’s Day like the universe had personally decided subtlety was overrated.

Late December had been when Kevin first started feeling like a problem.

January had been when he started feeling like a habit.

And now, apparently, it was already February.

Time really had moved while I was busy being confused.

I found an empty bench and sat down, the cold seeping through the wood immediately.

For a while, I just watched.

None of it was cinematic.

None of it was clean.

And somehow that was the part that got to me.

Because maybe that was what I’d been getting wrong.

I’d been treating relationships like they were supposed to begin with certainty. Like one day you just knew. Like there was some exact point where everything became obvious and safe and easy to name.

But maybe most people didn’t start there at all.

Maybe they started like this.

Awkward. Incomplete. Half-terrified. Choosing to stay anyway.

I looked down at the bottle in my hand, condensation dampening my fingers.

Kevin was easier.

That had been true.

Kevin fit inside the fluorescent-lit routine of my life in a way Kaelix never could. Kevin stocked shelves, made bad jokes, bought too many snacks, and looked at me like every laugh I gave him was worth pocketing for later.

Kaelix came with concerts and schedules and people watching him from too far away and too many things I didn’t understand how to fit into my own life without breaking the shape of it.

But sitting there in the middle of a park full of ordinary people doing ordinary things on a day that insisted on making love everybody’s business, “easier” started sounding less and less like the right answer.

Easier wasn’t the same thing as safer.

And it definitely wasn’t the same thing as better.

Sometimes easier was just another word for staying exactly where you were because moving would mean admitting you wanted something.

I hated that realization instantly.

Which probably meant it mattered.

And as if the universe wanted to rub it in my face, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it for a second out of habit, then sighed and pulled it out anyway.

Group chat noise.

Something from the school I’d dropped out of.

A notification from a random article I didn’t remember opening.

Nothing that solved anything.

I locked the screen again and leaned back against the bench.

“Great,” I muttered to no one. “Now what?”

The park, unhelpfully, offered no direct instructions.

A little kid dropped a stuffed bear near the path. Their father picked it up, dusted it off, and handed it back like the whole world hadn’t nearly ended for all of three seconds.

I watched that too.

Then I looked down at my phone again.

Scrolling up.

Then down.

My thumb hovered over the search bar.

This was stupid.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Embarrassing, even.

Which, naturally, didn’t stop me.

A few minutes later, I was hunched slightly over my phone on a public bench, searching things no person with a shred of dignity should probably be searching in broad daylight.

how do relationships actually start dating someone famous realistic can an idol date normally what does it mean if someone likes you but you’re not ready

The search results were terrible.

Hopeless.

A mix of aggressively cheerful advice articles, old forum threads full of strangers projecting onto each other, and posts with titles dramatic enough to make me physically recoil.

I clicked them anyway.

One forum insisted love was all about timing.

Another insisted timing was fake and if someone really wanted you they’d destroy every obstacle in their path.

One anonymous person claimed dating an idol was romantic if you liked crying.

Someone else wrote a six-paragraph manifesto about emotional availability and work-life balance that somehow made me feel worse instead of better.

At one point I ended up on a fanfiction website by accident and had to sit there for a full ten seconds with my face in my hands before deciding, with no small amount of self-loathing, to keep reading.

Research was research.

Probably.

By the time I looked back up, the high school couple with the sandwich had left, replaced by two office workers sharing a coffee between them while one scrolled through a phone and the other leaned over to look. The older couple were on their second lap. The woman with the toddler was gone.

The world kept moving whether I figured myself out or not.

That was annoying.

And weirdly comforting.

Because maybe I didn’t need a full answer yet.

Maybe I just needed to stop pretending I could stay in the same place forever and call that caution.

My phone buzzed again.

This time it was a post announcement from the official By The Beat account I followed.

I almost didn’t open it.

Almost.

Then I did.

BTB 1st Anniversary Concert — ticketing details

I stared at the screen.

Once.

Then harder.

My stomach did something deeply unhelpful.

I should not have felt that much over a ticket announcement.

I definitely should not have immediately opened the details.

And I absolutely, under no circumstances, should have started reading through the ticket tiers with my heart trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

General admission.

Upper Bracket.

Lower Bracket.

VIP Standing.

I stared at that one the longest.

Then I locked the screen and shoved the phone into my pocket like that would undo the fact that I’d already seen it.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

That was insane.

I was not about to spiral so hard that I started considering—

My phone buzzed again from inside my pocket, like it had heard the lie and wanted to call me on it.

I dragged it back out.

The details page was still there.

Of course it was.

And underneath all the panic, under all the fear and all the questions and every useless thing I’d tried to search my way into understanding, another thought quietly rose to the surface.

He had spent so much time trying to meet me where I was.

Trying to make himself gentler. Smaller. Easier to hold without making me feel cornered by all the parts of him I wasn’t ready to face yet.

And somewhere along the way, I’d gotten so used to being the overwhelmed one that I hadn’t stopped to think about how often he’d been carrying the weight of that for both of us.

Maybe it was my turn now.

Maybe supporting him didn’t have to mean having all the answers first.

Maybe it could start with just showing up.

I stared at the ticket screen until the words blurred a little.

Then I muttered, “This is such a bad idea.”

Unfortunately, I was no longer entirely sure I meant it.

By the time I checked the time, it was already afternoon.

Meowsters was still at home, probably waiting to act like I had personally abandoned him for centuries, so I pushed myself up from the bench, finished the rest of the soda, and started heading back.

My mind was quieter now.

Not settled.

Not fixed.

Just… lighter around the edges.

I was halfway down the sidewalk when something small collided with my arm.

I blinked and looked down.

A little girl stood there, bright-eyed and impossibly cheerful, clutching a few white flowers in her tiny hands like they were the most important thing in the world.

Before I could even say anything, she held them out toward me.

“Huh?” I stared at her, then at the flowers. “These are for me?”

“Mhm!” she said with a nod so enthusiastic it almost made me laugh. “You looked sad, so I wanted to give them to you. I hope they make you feel better.”

She beamed up at me, then added proudly, “They’re called white camellias, by the way.”

And before I could get a single word in, she turned and ran back off, like her job there had been completed perfectly.

I stood there for a moment, bewildered, the flowers resting gently in my hands.

White camellias.

I looked down at them, then lifted them just enough to catch their scent.

By the time I realized it, a small, quiet smile had already found its way onto my face.

“Did the universe decide I looked too pathetic,” I murmured to myself, “or was this somehow Kaelix’s doing?”

Knowing I wasn’t going to get an answer either way, I kept walking.

But this time, my steps felt a little lighter.

By the time I got home, Meowsters was already waiting near the door like he’d been personally wronged by my absence.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m back,” I muttered, slipping off my shoes as he circled my ankles with offended purpose.

The white camellias were still in my hand.

I stood there for a second before walking into the kitchen and grabbing the tallest plastic cup I could find. It wasn’t elegant, but after filling it with water and arranging the flowers as carefully as I could, it worked well enough as a makeshift vase.

I set it by the window where the light could catch the petals.

White camellias.

Quiet, soft, stupidly pretty.

For a second, I just stood there staring at them.

Then Meowsters meowed at me like he was reminding me I still lived in reality, and I blinked.

“Right. You.”

The next half hour passed in a blur of feeding him, letting him attack the ribbon toy he only pretended not to like, and absentmindedly scratching behind his ears whenever he decided I was worthy of affection again.

Eventually, with Meowsters loafed dramatically beside me on the bed like a tiny furry supervisor, I reopened the ticketing page.

Just to look.

That was all.

Just support, I told myself.

Just checking.

Just seeing what the options were.

I was not about to spend actual money I’d been carefully saving just because I was having a slow-moving emotional collapse over one man and his unfortunate dual identity.

Which, admittedly, was easier to say now that Neko-Albini had somehow become my only job.

Mostly because Alban had started paying me so obscenely well it felt less like a wage and more like hush money.

The raise after the Poketopia display fiasco had already been absurd.

Not that I was about to complain.

General admission.

Upper Bracket.

Lower Bracket.

VIP Standing.

My eyes caught on that one again.

I stared at it for too long.

Then clicked away from it like I’d touched something hot.

This was ridiculous.

Meowsters yawned.

I glared at him. “Don’t judge me.”

He, naturally, did not stop.

I opened the page again.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Hovered over the purchase button.

Backed out.

Then, at some point between pretending I was above this and refreshing the page like a complete idiot, the VIP section grayed out.

Sold out.

I stared at the screen.

For one long second, I felt nothing.

Then, all at once, an embarrassing amount of irritation punched me straight in the chest.

“Oh, come on.”

Meowsters flicked an ear in my direction.

I dropped the phone onto the bed and dragged both hands over my face.

That was pathetic.

Truly. Deeply. Spectacularly pathetic.

I had spent all that time telling myself it was just support, just curiosity, just something I was only maybe considering, and the second the choice was gone, it felt like the universe itself had personally told me to stay in my lane.

Which, if I was being honest, only made me want it more.

I hated that realization instantly.

For the next few days, I tried very hard to act normal.

Which was difficult, considering Alban had looked me dead in the eye and told me not to even think about stepping foot in the store again unless I could prove I was “no longer one inconvenience away from emotionally combusting.”

His words, not mine.

So I stayed home.

Mostly.

I cleaned. I fed Meowsters. I stared at the white camellias every morning like they were going to start offering life advice. I opened the ticketing app more often than I cared to admit. I told myself I was only checking out of curiosity.

That lie got old quickly.

VIP remained sold out.

Every time I checked, it stayed stubbornly unavailable, and every time I told myself to let it go, some part of me bristled at the thought.

By the day before the concert, I had almost managed to convince myself to give up.

Almost.

I was lying on my stomach with Meowsters sprawled over my lower back like an overconfident heating pad when my phone buzzed beside me.

I reached for it without thinking.

Last-Minute VIP Release Notification

I froze.

Then sat up so fast Meowsters chirped in protest and slid off me with a deeply offended noise.

“No way.”

I opened the app so quickly my hands almost fumbled the phone.

There it was.

A small handful of newly released VIP standing slots.

My heart kicked hard enough to make me feel dizzy.

No thinking.

No second-guessing.

Not this time.

I rushed through the purchase screen like my life depended on it, card already saved from some long-forgotten practical purchase, the numbers in my savings sitting just barely high enough to make it possible.

When the payment confirmation finally went through, I stared at the screen so long my vision blurred a little.

Purchase successful.

For a second, I just sat there.

Then I dropped back onto the bed and covered my face with both hands.

Meowsters climbed onto my stomach like he was reclaiming his territory.

“Okay,” I muttered into my palms. “Okay. This is fine.”

It was not fine.

It was terrifying.

And a little exhilarating.

I turned my head just enough to look at the white camellias by the window.

Still soft. Still quiet. Still there.

“Don’t make me regret this,” I told absolutely no one.

Meowsters blinked at me.

Very helpful.

By the time the concert was close enough to feel real, Kaelix had barely been sleeping.

That was the first problem.

The second was that his body had apparently decided to keep moving anyway.

Days stopped having edges. Morning rehearsals bled into vocal checks. Vocal checks blurred into fittings, camera tests, meetings, sound checks, and the kind of endless repetition that made every room start smelling faintly like sweat, hairspray, and adrenaline.

He complained enough to keep everyone sane, including himself.

That didn’t stop him from going harder every time the music started.

At one point, drenched in sweat and still breathing hard from a full run-through, Kaelix was the first to ask if they could go again.

Freo stared at him from where he was bent over with his hands on his knees.

“Kaelix,” he said hoarsely. “Are you trying to kill us?”

Kaelix wiped the back of his hand over his forehead and flashed him a grin that was far too sharp for someone this tired.

“No,” he said. “I’m trying to make this the best one yet.”

Zeal, sitting on the floor and drinking water like he’d just fought for his life, narrowed his eyes.

“That sounded cool,” he said accusingly.

Seible, sprawled against the mirrored wall, pointed at Kaelix with the kind of delighted offense usually reserved for a man being way too sincere in public.

“See? This is exactly what I mean. He gets one serious crush and suddenly he’s acting like the protagonist of his own slice-of-life anime!”

“Hey. I am not.”

“You literally just said ‘I’m trying to make this the best one yet’ like your life was flashing before your eyes.”

“That’s because your life was flashing before your eyes,” Freo muttered.

“Can’t a chill guy catch a break?!” Seible whined.

Kaelix laughed—real this time, tired but bright—and reached for his water bottle.

The teasing didn’t stop.

It never did.

But there was a new layer to it now, sharpened by the fact that they could all tell when he drifted somewhere else for half a second. When his face softened after checking his phone. When his attention snagged on something no one else in the room could see.

Seible noticed first and loudest, as always.

It happened during a short break in rehearsals, while the others were scattered around the practice room in various states of collapse.

“So,” Seible mused with a thoughtful hum, “are you two friends then?”

Kaelix looked up.

Freo immediately lifted his head from the floor.

Zeal, who had been pretending not to listen, stopped pretending.

Kaelix stared at them for a second, then looked back down at his hands.

At everything he wasn’t saying.

At everything he still wanted to say right.

A small smile pulled at his mouth despite himself.

His co-worker at work. The person he cared about too deeply to pretend otherwise anymore.

“If it comes to it,” he said quietly, “it’ll come.”

Seible’s expression shifted, amusement softening just a little.

Kaelix glanced up again, smile still there, smaller now.

“I wouldn’t want to force something that sticks,” he said, “and regret it later.”

For once, nobody made a joke immediately.

Then Seible broke the silence with a sudden squeal that made it obvious he was already imagining something ridiculous.

“I’m so calling it out now!” he said. “When this works out, I’m taking credit!”

Zeal let out a breath through his nose. “Hey, I thought we were all in this together?”

Freo looked at Kaelix for one second longer, then smiled softly.

“I wish it all goes well.”

Kaelix, lightly reddened by the teasing, took a sip of water and, for the first time in a while, didn’t bother denying it.

Jolting awake from a dream that wouldn’t let go, I turned off the blaring sound of my alarm before dragging myself out of bed with a groan.

That woke me up fast.

“Fuck,” I muttered, feeling butterflies erupt in my stomach. “It’s concert day.”

As the day of By The Beat’s 1st Anniversary Concert finally crept up on me, I had managed to convince myself of three things.

First, that buying the VIP ticket had been an impulsive, emotionally compromised decision.

Second, that showing up did not automatically mean I had everything figured out.

And third, that if I panicked hard enough before leaving the house, I could still pretend this had all been one long series of fuck ups and stay home with Meowsters instead.

Unfortunately, none of those things stopped the date on the ticket from being real.

And getting ready should not have been as difficult as it was.

It wasn’t even like I was dressing for anything dramatic. Just clothes I liked. Something decent. Something that wouldn’t make me stand out in the crowd or feel like I was trying too hard.

Which, naturally, made picking an outfit feel like going through hell.

Too plain.

Too much.

Too obvious.

I changed twice, then a third time out of spite, and finally stood in front of the mirror with my hands on my hips like I was about to argue with my own reflection.

“This is stupid,” I muttered.

Meowsters seemed to agree. He watched me from the bed with the kind of judgment only a cat could weaponize properly.

In the end, I settled for something simple enough that I could still lie to myself about this being normal.

My ticket sat open on my phone screen like a threat.

VIP Standing.

Every time I looked at it, my stomach did something profoundly unhelpful. Even so, I forced myself to keep my head straight as I checked my bag three times before leaving.

Ticket. Phone. Wallet. Power bank. Tissues. Water.

Then again.

Ticket. Phone. Wallet. Power bank. Tissues. Water.

And before I could spiral any further, my eyes drifted to the white camellias by the window. They had opened a little more over the last few days. Not fully, but enough that they looked softer now.

Like something meant to bloom, and somehow still choosing to stay.

I looked away before my brain could decide to make too much sense of it and headed out.

The commute was its own adventure. Being squished like a sardine in a train full of people who clearly had somewhere to be was not an experience I wanted to repeat anytime soon.

By the time I finally got out and followed the crowd toward the venue, I was already half-convinced the universe was testing how badly I actually wanted to be there.

And then I got closer.

Different lines had already formed outside, split by ticket access, and every single one of them was buzzing. Official merch. Fanmade freebies. Lightsticks. Banners. People comparing photocards like they were sacred objects.

It was a lot.

Too much, maybe.

But not in a bad way.

I’d expected to feel out of place. Instead, the closer I got, the more it felt like people were… happy to have more people there.

One girl handed me a tiny pack of fanmade stickers with a bright smile and called my outfit cute before disappearing back into her group. Another person offered me a ribbon freebie because they’d brought extras. Someone in line ahead of me asked if I was VIP too, then immediately started rambling about how checkout nearly killed them.

It was overwhelming, sure.

But for once, overwhelmed didn’t feel the same as unwelcome.

That part caught me off guard most.

Before I knew it, I was holding a small pile of freebies I hadn’t asked for, answering a few awkward questions, and laughing under my breath when someone asked who my bias was like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Then the VIP standing line started moving for real.

Not the fake little shuffle.

Actually moving.

My whole body went tense.

Staff started checking tickets, IDs, wristbands—everything all at once—and my brain was already struggling to keep up by the time they began handing out the VIP kits.

And that was another thing entirely.

I took mine automatically and just stared at it for a second.

Lanyard. Merch. Inclusions. A whole bunch of things that made the fact I was really here hit ten times harder.

Then the words soundcheck access slammed back into my head.

Right.

That came with VIP too.

So now I wasn’t just here for the concert.

I was here early enough to see them before the actual show even started.

“Oh, you’ve got that look too,” the girl beside me laughed quietly as she fixed her lanyard. “Don’t worry. It gets worse.”

“That’s not reassuring,” I muttered.

“It’s not supposed to be.”

And somehow, despite everything, I laughed.

Then the line moved again, staff waved us forward, and suddenly there were too many things happening at once for me to process properly.

The freebies in my bag.

The VIP kit in my hands.

The wristband on my arm.

The fact that somewhere ahead, behind some wall or curtain I couldn’t see through, Kaelix was already here.

My heart kicked so hard it felt rude.

And all I could think as I moved with the line was:

Oh, I’m definitely not processing any of this until tomorrow.

The soundcheck happened too fast for me to fully understand it.

One second I was still trying to breathe normally through the chaos of lines, and the next the stage lights hit and suddenly, they were there.

Not in full costume yet. Not in the polished, larger-than-life way they’d appear later once the actual show started.

Just them.

Sweaty already. A little loose around the edges. Talking to each other between cues.

Testing microphones, in-ears, harmonies, positions.

Human.

And still somehow unreal.

The first time Kaelix stepped into the light, my whole body forgot how to behave.

It wasn’t even dramatic. Not really.

He just looked up.

And found me.

Or maybe that was the worst part—that it felt so immediate, so natural, like his eyes had already known where they wanted to go before he consciously decided anything at all.

His smile changed.

Not a lot.

Just enough.

Enough that something inside me jolted.

Enough that I had to look away first, because if I didn’t, I was almost certain my face would give me up before the rest of me had any chance to catch up.

The soundcheck itself blurred into fragments after that.

A chorus run once, then twice.

A member laughing because somebody missed their cue.

A quick adjustment from the staff.

Half-finished banter from the stage.

Kaelix moving through all of it with that same restless brightness I’d only ever glimpsed in pieces before—at the rookie showcase, in little slips at the store, in the moments where Kevin stopped fitting neatly around him.

But here, there was no fitting smaller.

No trying to be someone else.

This was him as he was.

And all through it, his gaze kept drifting back to where I stood.

Never enough to make a scene out of it.

Never enough for anyone else to notice unless they were looking for exactly that.

Just enough.

Enough that every time it happened, my pulse kicked harder. Enough that every time our eyes met, his smile widened like some quiet part of him had just been proven right.

Then the soundcheck ended, and suddenly there was time again. Too much of it and not enough. The venue filled. The noise grew. The lights changed. More people poured in. More anticipation. More movement. More voices rising until they all started sounding like one living thing.

And then the concert began.

No amount of preparation could’ve made me ready for that.

The VCR ended, the lights dropped, the crowd roared so loudly it felt like the floor itself had a heartbeat, and when By The Beat finally stepped out in full, the entire place detonated into sound.

It was overwhelming in the truest sense of the word.

Not just loud.

Not just bright.

Too alive to stand outside of.

Every performance bled into the next with the kind of momentum that made time stop making sense. Lights flashing across the stage. Choreography snapping into place so sharply it felt unreal. Sweat catching at the edges of their hairlines. Breaths between lines. Smiles thrown into the crowd like sparks.

And Kaelix—

Kaelix was impossible to look away from.

Not because he was the only one there.

Not because the others gave any less of themselves.

But because every time he moved, it felt like something in him had finally stopped apologizing for existing.

He danced harder than I’d ever seen him move.

Not just cleaner.

Not just sharper.

More honestly.

He moved to the rhythm like it was naturally in his veins. Like all the parts of him I’d only gotten in flashes before had been given permission to live at full volume now.

His grin came easier here. His voice rang out clearer. Even the way he carried himself seemed freer, like the stage wasn’t a place he stepped onto but something he belonged to so completely it changed the air around him.

And more than once, in the middle of all that light and noise and impossible distance, he looked at me.

Not in a way that asked for permission.

Not in a way that hid.

In a way that felt almost like a question anyway.

This is me. Can you see it?

And I could.

God, I could.

I don’t know when I stopped feeling like an outsider and started feeling like I was part of the current of it all. Maybe somewhere between the first fanchant I joined half a beat late and the second song where I was already shouting with everyone else. Maybe when I realized my hands hurt from clapping and I didn’t care. Maybe when Kaelix laughed at something one of the members said on stage and I laughed too before I even processed it.

Maybe it happened every time he found me in the crowd and I answered the only way I could:

By staying.

By cheering louder.

By not looking away.

By letting my own smile rise without trying to stop it.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t subtle.

At one point I was so caught up in the rush of everything that I forgot to feel self-conscious entirely, and when Kaelix’s eyes met mine again during one of the ment breaks, the answering brightness in his face hit me so suddenly I almost had to bite back a laugh.

Because there it was again.

That tiny shift.

That little impossible widening of his smile like, out of all the lights in the venue, I was somehow the one thing reflecting back at him right.

And if that made him dance harder, sing brighter, throw himself into the next set with more of that frighteningly honest energy—

then the opposite was true too.

The more real he became in front of me, the harder it got not to answer.

So I did.

Not with some grand gesture.

Just in the ways I could.

I sang when I knew the words. Clapped when the crowd clapped. Let myself laugh. Let myself be swept up in the noise and warmth and ridiculous joy of it all instead of standing apart from it like I had to earn my place first.

And maybe Kaelix saw that.

Maybe that was why the distance between stage and crowd started feeling less like a wall and more like a line we were somehow meeting across anyway.

By the encore, everyone looked wrecked in the best possible way.

Sweaty. Flushed. Loose with adrenaline and gratitude.

The energy changed then—not smaller, but warmer. Less polished. More intimate. The kind of ending that didn’t feel like an ending at all, just a refusal to let go all at once.

The members were talking more. Wandering the stage. Throwing water, teasing each other, smiling so openly it almost hurt to look at.

Kaelix was no different.

If anything, he was worse.

Or better.

He looked happier.

Not the careful kind of happy.

Not the kind packaged neatly for strangers.

The real kind.

And one last time, while the crowd was still roaring and the lights were still warm and the whole venue felt held together by nothing but noise and feeling, his gaze found me.

There were people everywhere.

Thousands of them.

So many voices. So much light.

And still, somehow, for one suspended second, it felt like the rest of the venue dropped away.

He smiled.

Soft. Bright. Certain.

And before I could think too hard about it, I smiled back the only way I knew how by then—openly, helplessly, like I was done pretending I didn’t understand what he was trying to show me.

The encore ended.

The lights slowly began to rise.

People around me were already crying, screaming, laughing, clinging to each other, talking over one another about favorite moments and missed fancams and how they were definitely not emotionally recovering from this anytime soon.

I just stood there for a second, chest still too full, ears still ringing, heart still somewhere far ahead of me.

Because in the middle of everything—soundcheck, concert, encore, all of it—something had changed.

Not all at once.

Not neatly.

But enough.

Enough that when I looked toward the stage one last time before the crowd started moving again, the only thought that stayed clear through all the noise was this:

I saw him.

And for the first time, I think he knew I really did.

As reality settled into my bones—that the concert was already over, that the lights were coming up, that people were actually starting to file out around me—a voice called out before I could let my feet drag me toward the exit.

“Excuse me—[Name]?”

I turned so fast I nearly got clipped by somebody’s lightstick.

A staff member stood a few steps away, one hand lifted politely like they were trying not to startle me and failing anyway.

For one stupid second, my brain offered up several possibilities, none of them useful.

Did I drop something?

Was I standing where I wasn’t supposed to?

Did I somehow look too emotionally unstable to be trusted in public?

“Yes?” I managed.

The staff member checked something on a clipboard, then looked back up at me with the kind of practiced calm that somehow made everything feel even less real.

“I’ve been asked to escort you backstage.”

I stared at them.

“What?”

Their expression didn’t change.

Mine probably did.

Backstage.

The word landed in my head and immediately began wrecking the place.

“I—” I stopped, because there were too many possible wrong answers and my tongue had apparently given up. “Sorry?”

The staff member glanced down once more, then back at me.

“Backstage,” they repeated, still calm. “If you’d like to come.”

If I’d like to come.

As though that was a normal sentence somebody could say to me after I’d just survived several hours of emotional destruction in VIP standing.

The worst part was that beneath the shock, somewhere under all of it, there was a quiet little part of me that had already known.

Not expected, exactly.

That felt too bold.

But known enough that the invitation didn’t feel impossible.

Just terrifying.

“Oh,” I said eloquently.

Then, because apparently humiliation had already stopped mattering tonight:

“Okay.”

The walk backstage felt like a dream designed specifically to test whether my heart could kill me from inside my own body.

The venue looked completely different from that side of things.

Smaller, somehow. Narrower. Less magical in the polished way the stage had been, more real in the cables-on-the-floor, staff-moving-fast, half-heard-voices kind of way. The walls were plain. The lights were harsher. Somewhere farther down the hall, someone laughed too loudly. Another staff member passed carrying what looked like an entire rack of costumes with the kind of speed that made me instinctively flatten myself against the wall.

I clutched my bag strap harder.

This was insane.

The staff member stopped near an open doorway and stepped aside.

“They’re inside.”

They.

Oh, good. That definitely didn’t make my pulse worse.

I nodded because words had clearly abandoned me for good, then stepped through the doorway.

And there he was.

Kaelix looked up almost immediately.

Still damp with sweat. Hair a little messy from the encore. Shirt clinging at the collar. That post-performance flush still high on his cheeks, like the stage lights hadn’t fully let him go yet.

And still, somehow, the first thing I noticed was his smile.

Not the big one.

The softer one beneath it.

The one that had already started before I fully stepped into the room.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

Which would’ve been fine, probably, if silence didn’t suddenly feel ten times louder in a room this small.

I shifted my weight.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

The door clicked shut behind me, and somehow that made everything worse.

Or better.

I still hadn’t decided.

Kaelix cleared his throat first.

Then, with the kind of courage I suspected was only possible after surviving an entire concert in front of thousands of people, he asked:

“Did I do great out there?”

I blinked.

Then stared.

Then, against all dignity, laughed.

It escaped before I could stop it—small at first, then real enough that Kaelix visibly loosened at the sound.

“That’s your first question?” I asked.

He looked unfairly pleased with himself.

“I needed an icebreaker,” he admitted.

“That was terrible.”

“It worked.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped.

Because, annoyingly, he was right.

The knot in my chest had loosened just enough that I could actually breathe around it now.

Kaelix took one step closer, not crowding me, just enough to make the room feel less like a stranger’s.

“So?” he asked, more softly this time. “Did I?”

I looked at him.

Really looked.

At the sweat still catching at his temple. At the adrenaline still buzzing under his skin. At the way he was trying to play this lightly while something brighter and more fragile sat just underneath.

And I thought about the soundcheck.

The concert.

The encore.

The way every time he’d looked at me, it felt like he was asking if I could finally see all of him at once.

“You were…” I stopped, because somehow even now the right words felt too big for my mouth. “You were incredible.”

Something in his face changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Enough that I knew that answer had landed where he needed it to.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly.

Then, after the tiniest pause:

“I wanted you to see that.”

That hit harder than it should have.

Or maybe exactly as hard as it was supposed to.

Before I could answer, the door flew open with all the reverence of a natural disaster.

“Nya~o!” Seible said brightly, like he hadn’t just barged into the room and detonated whatever fragile calm had settled there. “I’m Seible! The moodmaker of By The Beat!”

“I guess you can say that,” Zeal muttered.

“So you just hate me, Gin-chan,” Seible said, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

Behind him, Freo appeared with the tired patience of someone who had definitely tried and failed to stop this from happening.

“Sorry,” he said. “He was set on finding you when he heard you were here.”

“That is so unfair,” Seible said. “I wasn’t looking intentionally. I just happened to pass by and open the right door.”

Kaelix covered his face with one hand.

I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh too obviously.

Too late.

Seible noticed immediately and looked delighted by that too.

“See?” he said, pointing at me like he’d proved a point no one else had agreed to test. “I’m charming.”

“Debatable,” Zeal said.

The room, somehow, got easier after that.

Not easy.

Just easier.

The kind of easier that came from people talking over each other in familiar rhythms, the sharp edges of the moment getting worn down by human connection.

Seible asked too many questions too quickly and had to be reined in by Kaelix and the others twice in under a minute.

Zeal kept dropping in amused little comments like he couldn’t help himself.

Freo mostly watched with that quieter kind of warmth that made him seem tired and kind at the same time.

And Kaelix—

Kaelix looked mortified.

But happy.

Very, very happy.

That was the part that kept catching me off guard.

Not just how real they all seemed.

But how normal.

Sweaty after a show. Teasing each other with the inside jokes they’d gained over the years. Still glowing from the stage, yes, but not untouchable.

Just people.

That should’ve made it easier.

Instead, somewhere in the middle of all of it, something sharp and insecure caught under my ribs anyway.

Maybe because they were so easy with each other.

Maybe because I was standing there with my VIP lanyard still around my neck and my bag full of freebies and a heart that still didn’t know how to behave, and suddenly the old fear came back all at once.

Before I could stop myself, I heard my own voice cut in, quieter than the rest.

“Is… this really alright for you all?”

The room went still.

Not in a bad way.

Just enough.

Seible blinked.

Zeal glanced at Freo. Freo glanced at Kaelix. Kaelix looked at me so fast it almost hurt.

And then Seible, of all people, answered first.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

Seible tilted his head, his smile gentler now.

“We’re still people,” he said. “Through and through.”

The words landed in that strange, deep place where truths go when you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for them.

Not idols.

Not stars.

Not some untouchable category I had to stand outside of and measure myself against.

People.

Messy, loud, tired, sincere people.

People who worked too hard, teased each other stupidly, barged into rooms at the worst possible times, and still made space for each other anyway.

And just like that, something in me gave way.

Not completely.

Not all at once.

But enough.

Enough that the distance I’d kept imagining between Kaelix’s world and mine stopped feeling like some permanent wall society had carved into stone.

Maybe it had always been there because everyone kept agreeing it should be.

Maybe I’d helped build it too.

Maybe the only thing making it feel impossible was how long I’d stood in front of it convincing myself I couldn’t cross.

I looked at Kaelix again.

He was already looking at me.

Of course he was.

There was something almost careful in his expression now, like he knew that whatever I was feeling had shifted and didn’t want to scare it back into hiding by moving too fast.

I swallowed.

Then, because I couldn’t quite stop it, I smiled a little.

Small.

Uneven.

Real.

And Kaelix smiled back like that tiny thing was enough to steady the whole world for a second.

Maybe it was.

Kaelix had stopped pretending this was casual weeks ago.

That was the problem.

Or maybe it wasn’t a problem at all.

Maybe the real problem was that every time [Name] looked at him with that careful, guarded uncertainty, all he wanted to do was make things easier for them—and all he could do instead was wait.

He didn’t mind waiting.

He just hated how much he wanted to be worth the wait.

Kevin was late again.

Well—

Kaelix was late.

By the time he checked the time for what felt like the fourth time in under three minutes, he already knew he was a goner. No amount of speed-walking or cutting through side streets was going to turn late into on time, and the knowledge sat under his ribs like a stone.

He hated being late.

He hated it even more now.

Not because Alban would care all that much. Alban would probably say something insane about time moving too fast these days, then disappear into the office for twenty minutes.

But [Name] would notice.

That was the problem.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket.

He didn’t need to look to know it wasn’t from [Name].

It wasn’t.

Kaelix stared at the messages while weaving through the evening crowd, then shoved the phone back into his pocket without answering.

He deserved that one.

The whole week had been slipping through his hands like that.

Too many mornings starting before the sun felt real.

Too many late nights bleeding into even earlier ones.

Practice rooms. Vocal checks. Fittings. Choreography meetings. One rehearsal folding into another until the day stopped feeling like separate hours and started feeling like one long fluorescent blur.

It wasn't a shocker, to be fair.

BTB’s 1st Anniversary Concert was close enough now that none of it felt unusual anymore—just the pressure, the excitement, the exhaustion, and the strange electric edge of knowing something big was coming whether they were ready or not.

Kaelix had told himself he could handle it.

Which would’ve sounded a lot more convincing if he hadn’t also taken a side job at a convenience store while trying to hold the rest of his life together with throat coat tea, adrenaline, luck, and increasingly bad decisions.

He’d told himself the job was for the money.

That part was true.

Multiple siblings. A family he wanted to treat better. A need to do something practical with his own two hands instead of just waiting for the next schedule to tell him who to be. Those were reasons he could say out loud.

Harder to say out loud was the store ID he’d kept a little too long after one half-drunk stranger left it behind, along with a harsh truth.

Harder still was the line that had lodged itself in his chest ever since.

“If you’re going to be miserable, you might as well be miserable doing what you actually want.”

He’d hated how right that felt. At the same time, some part of him had been quietly, helplessly grateful.

That should’ve been his first warning sign— That all of this was a bad idea.

Instead, he’d taken the job.

Somewhere between [Name]’s dry replies, their tired eyes, the way they kept showing up anyway, and the way they laughed only when they really meant it, curiosity had turned into something much, much worse.

Which was why, against all dignity, he was currently rereading their texts like there was hidden meaning tucked somewhere between [Name]’s short, blunt replies and the occasional dry bit of sarcasm.

There wasn’t.

Probably.

But that didn’t stop him from staring at the screen like it might spontaneously hand him some sort of answer.

He scrolled back up.

Then back down.

Then up again.

A message from [Name].

A reply from him.

Another message from [Name].

A stupid little smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

“Bro.”

Kaelix had barely looked up from his phone before Seible slid into the seat beside him during a break, smiling like he’d just found a new hobby.

“What,” Kaelix had said flatly.

Seible leaned over just enough to catch the screen lighting up with [Name]’s message.

That had been mistake number one.

Mistake number two had been smiling.

“Oh,” Seible had said, in the exact tone of someone discovering a new species in the wild. “You have it bad.”

“I don’t!”

Across the room, Freo looked up from stretching. “That was way too fast to be true.”

Zeal took one look at Kaelix’s face and said, “He’s cooked.”

“I’m not cooked.”

“You’re marinated,” Freo corrected.

Kaelix let out a scandalized groan and dragged both hands through his hair.

“Why won’t you believe me?!” he protested. “You guys are my biggest opps!”

That had not helped.

Nor had the late-night walk back from practice two days later, when he’d been rereading old messages at a stoplight and nearly walked straight into Seible again.

“You’re not even minding where you are now,” Seible had said, sounding personally offended.

Kaelix shoved the phone into his pocket on instinct. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, it is my business now.”

“Says who?”

“Says me when you start looking progressively more gone, K-chan.”

Kaelix had hated that Seible even had a point.

He’d hated more that it hadn’t stopped him from checking his phone whenever he had half a second to breathe.

Wondering if [Name] had eaten.

If they were sleeping enough.

If Meowsters was still tyrannizing them properly.

If they were okay.

If they knew.

No.

That last one wasn’t much of a question anymore.

He was almost sure they knew.

That was part of why he’d invited them in the first place.

Not to force anything.

Not even to confess.

Just to give them a chance to see him there, before everything got hectic.

He’d hoped for some small sign that they knew—something that would let him stop dancing around it and let things shift naturally between them.

It hadn’t gone that way.

Which was why running late tonight felt so much worse than it should have.

Because if [Name] seemed different—

if they felt even a little farther away—

he already knew he’d blame himself for it.

By the time he finally pushed open the door to Neko-Albini, the familiar chime felt less like a greeting and more like an accusation.

The fluorescent lights hit him all at once.

So did the silence.

Or rather, the lack of Kevin-shaped noise inside it.

[Name] was already behind the counter.

And the second Kaelix saw their face, something in his chest tightened.

They looked fine.

That was the problem.

Fine in that too-careful way that meant they weren’t.

Not angry.

Not cold.

Just… off.

Subtly.

Enough that anyone else might’ve missed it.

Kaelix didn’t.

“Sorry,” he said, breath catching slightly from how fast he’d come in. “I know. I’m late.”

[Name] looked at him for a second longer than usual.

Then, with maddening calm:

“You noticed.”

And just like that, Kaelix knew the night was already going to hurt.

And throughout the shift, it felt like there were needles in his throat. He couldn’t even get a joke across without overthinking it halfway through. How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to say? The tension between them was killing him internally.

Not because [Name] had said anything cruel.

That would’ve been easier.

Cruel was simple. Cold was simple. Even anger would’ve been simple.

But this—

this careful, measured version of them was worse.

They still answered when he spoke. Still handed him items when he needed to restock. Still moved around him with the same quiet efficiency as always. If anyone else had looked, they probably would’ve thought nothing was wrong at all.

Kaelix knew better.

It was in the pauses.

In the way their eyes only landed on him for a second too long before slipping away again.

In the way every exchange between them felt just slightly too deliberate, like both of them were trying not to touch a live wire sitting right in the middle of the room.

He hated how aware of it he’d become.

“Can you grab the extra stock from the back?”

Their voice was steady.

Normal.

Too normal.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, then winced inwardly at how fast that had come out. “Yeah, I got it.”

He turned away before he could make it worse, ducking into the stockroom with more urgency than the task actually required.

The second the door swung shut behind him, he let out a breath through his nose and dragged a hand down his face.

Pathetic.

He was being pathetic.

He’d handled live interviews on barely any sleep. He’d smiled through wardrobe malfunctions, technical issues, fans screaming loud enough to rattle his skull, and one memorable stage prop disaster that had nearly taken out Freo’s ankle.

And yet somehow one quiet shift under fluorescent lights was enough to wreck him.

He crouched in front of a box of bottled drinks, stared at the labels without really seeing them, and muttered, “Get it together.”

The boxes, unsurprisingly, had nothing useful to say.

By the time he came back out, [Name] was already ringing up a customer. They didn’t look at him right away, and for some reason that hit harder than it should have.

He set the stock down more carefully than necessary.

The customer left.

The bell jingled.

Silence settled back in.

Kaelix swallowed.

It still felt like glass.

“So,” he tried, because apparently he hated himself, “you’re… uh. Quiet.”

[Name] looked up at him.

There it was again—that awful, careful stillness in their face.

“You noticed that too?”

Kaelix almost laughed, but it died somewhere in his throat before it could become sound.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I deserved that one.”

A flicker crossed their expression. Not quite annoyance. Not quite guilt. Something in between.

He hated how badly he wanted to smooth it out.

“I’m sorry,” he said, more seriously this time. “About yesterday. And the text being late. Something got caught up and it made me busy the whole day.”

Even to his own ears, it sounded like an excuse.

Before Kaelix could spiral back to overthinking, he noticed that got their attention in full.

For a moment, they just looked at him, and Kaelix had the absurd thought that he’d rather go back onstage in front of a thousand people than stand here waiting for whatever came next.

Then [Name] looked away first.

“I know,” they said.

It should’ve helped.

It didn’t.

Because ‘I know’ could mean anything.

I know you’re sorry.

I know you’re lying.

I know who you are.

I know this is changing.

Kaelix’s fingers curled loosely against the edge of the counter.

He should’ve said something else.

Something right.

Something brave, maybe.

Instead, the bell rang again, another customer wandered in, and whatever moment had almost opened between them snapped shut before either of them could touch it.

Of course.

That was how the rest of the shift went.

Starts.

Stops.

Almosts.

He’d open his mouth, think of something to say, then hear it in his head and immediately decide against it. He kept second-guessing even the smallest things now, like somehow the wrong joke or the wrong smile would push them farther away than they already were.

He was so busy thinking about how to act normal that he forgot how normal usually worked.

At one point Alban came out of the office, took one look between them, and visibly slowed.

His eyes moved from [Name], to Kaelix, then back again.

“Hm,” he said.

Kaelix narrowed his eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Alban smiled, unhelpfully angelic. “Did I?”

Then he strolled off toward the freezer section like he hadn’t just made Kaelix’s life worse in under five seconds.

Amazing.

Perfect.

Exactly what he needed.

By the time the shift started winding down, the needles in his throat had dulled into something heavier.

Not pain, exactly.

Just pressure.

The kind that sat there quietly and made everything harder to swallow.

He was carrying a flattened cardboard box toward the back when [Name] brushed past him in the narrow space between the shelves.

Not enough to be anything.

Barely there.

Just the edge of a shoulder. A whisper of warmth. Gone almost immediately.

Kaelix stopped for half a second anyway.

So did they.

Neither of them said anything.

Then [Name] kept walking, and he stood there like an idiot with cardboard in his hands and his heart doing something profoundly unhelpful in his chest.

Yeah.

He's going to implode.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to fix this.

Didn’t know if fixing it meant talking, waiting, pretending, or giving them more room to breathe.

All he knew was that the distance between them was still small enough to stand inside—

and somehow already big enough to hurt.

Kaelix set the last flattened cardboard down beside the stockroom door and when he finally looked up again, they were already at the register, backlit by the same harsh fluorescent lights that had watched the two of them circle each other all night.

Kaelix stared for one second too long, then looked away before they could catch him.

The last customer pushed the door open, the bell above it giving one final jingle before the store fell quiet again.

For one suspended second, the store was nothing but fluorescent hum, distant traffic, and the faint rattle of Alban doing something suspiciously loud in the office for someone who claimed to be “not eavesdropping.”

[Name] was already finishing up the register, movements neat, practiced, a little too brisk.

Like if they kept moving, maybe neither of them would have to say anything.

He swallowed.

It still hurt.

“Hey,” he said, before he could lose the nerve again.

[Name] didn’t look up right away. “What.”

“I…” He winced. Great start. “Can we—”

He stopped, then tried again.

“Can we walk a little after this?”

That got their attention.

Not a lot.

Just enough.

[Name] finally looked up at him, expression unreadable in that careful way that had been driving him insane all night.

“Why.”

Kaelix let out a quiet breath through his nose. “Because if I keep trying to talk in here, I’m pretty sure I’m going to combust.”

That almost got something out of them.

Almost.

Their mouth twitched at the corner before flattening again.

“That dramatic, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

A beat passed.

Then [Name] looked away first and shut the register drawer with a soft click.

“Fine,” they said. “A little.”

Relief hit him so fast it almost made him dizzy.

He covered it badly by reaching for the nearest stack of baskets and pretending he had something useful to do with them.

“Okay,” he said, trying for casual and probably failing. “Cool.”

“Don’t say ‘cool’ like that.”

Kaelix almost laughed.

There they were.

Still there.

Just hidden under too many layers of caution and hurt and whatever else he’d helped make worse.

By the time they finally stepped out of Neko-Albini, the night air had gone cooler. The streetlights threw pale pools of gold across the sidewalk, and the city had settled into that in-between hour where everything felt quieter without ever really becoming quiet.

They walked side by side at first without speaking.

Not too close.

Not far enough apart to pretend it didn’t matter.

Kaelix kept his hands in his pockets because he didn’t trust them to do anything useful otherwise.

[Name] had their arms folded loosely, gaze fixed ahead.

He hated how long it took him to start.

He hated more that when he finally did, his voice still came out careful.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For yesterday. For not showing up. For not texting sooner. For being vague. For…” He laughed once, humorless. “A lot of things, apparently.”

[Name] kept walking.

“I know you said that already.”

“I know.”

“And?”

Kaelix glanced at them. “And I meant it.”

That made them stop.

Not dramatically.

Not with some huge, theatrical reaction.

They just stopped walking and turned to face him beneath the glow of a streetlamp, expression tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

“That’s the thing, Kevin,” they said quietly. “I know you mean it.”

The name hit strangely now.

Kevin.

Not wrong.

Just incomplete.

He waited.

[Name] looked down for a second, then back up.

“And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

There it was.

The crack.

Small, but real.

Kaelix didn’t move.

Didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t dare.

So [Name] kept going, like once the words started, they couldn’t quite stop them.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you showing up late and apologizing like that fixes it, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the fact that I can’t even stay properly angry because I know you’re trying.”

Their laugh came out thin and wrong.

“And I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do with…” They cut themself off and dragged a hand over their face. “Forget it.”

“No,” Kaelix said, too quickly. Softer, he added, “Please don’t.”

[Name] stared at him.

Then something in their expression shifted—like the effort of holding everything in place had finally gotten too heavy.

“You want to know what the problem is?” they asked.

Kaelix’s chest tightened. “Yeah.”

“The problem is that I’m not stupid.”

The words landed between them, sharp and clean.

Kaelix went still.

[Name] looked away first, jaw tense.

“I’m not naive enough to think this is just you being nice,” they said. “Or just you being friendly. Or just you talking too much because apparently that’s your natural state.”

Despite everything, that almost made him smile.

He didn’t.

“I know you like me.”

There it was.

No bell. No fanfare. No easy way out.

Just the truth, dropped carefully and still somehow heavy enough to knock the breath out of him.

Kaelix stared.

[Name] laughed once under their breath, like they were already bracing for him to deny it.

“I know,” they repeated, quieter now. “Maybe not all at once. But enough.”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because how was he supposed to answer that?

With what—congratulations, you solved me?

With yeah, sorry, I’ve actually been hopeless for longer than is probably healthy?

With I didn’t mean for it to get this far, except maybe I did, because some part of me was already gone before you even knew my name?

He didn’t say any of that.

He just looked at them.

And apparently that was answer enough.

[Name] exhaled shakily, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder now.

“And that should make things simple, right?” they said. “Except it doesn’t. It makes everything worse.”

Kaelix’s throat tightened.

“Because now I know that,” they continued, voice getting rougher around the edges, “and I also know who you are, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that either.”

He flinched before he could stop himself.

Small.

Barely there.

But [Name] saw it.

“See?” they said, almost helplessly. “That. That’s what I mean.”

The city kept moving around them. Cars passed. A bicycle rattled somewhere down the block. Someone laughed too loudly in the distance.

And in the middle of all of that, Kaelix felt like the whole world had narrowed down to this one patch of sidewalk and the person standing in front of him trying very hard not to come apart.

“I didn’t say anything,” [Name] said. “I didn’t ask. I didn’t confront you. I kept pretending everything was normal because normal was easier.”

That hurt.

Not because they were wrong.

Because they were painfully, precisely right.

The first few days after the Poketopia collab display went up taught me one very unfortunate thing.

Kevin had somehow become a local attraction.

Not the display.

Not the snacks.

Kevin.

I’d honestly hoped my instincts had been wrong after the whole fiasco the other night.

They weren’t.

By the next evening, two women had already walked in, bought a single bottled drink between them, and spent far too long pretending to look at the limited-edition mini packs while very obviously glancing toward the counter.

“Hey, so, like… what’s the black-haired hottie’s name?”

“Sorry, can’t tell you,” I said, sighing deeply through my nose.

…

The night after that:

“Do you perhaps know if that masked guy is taken? No? Maybe a little hint?”

“Is that all for your order?” I deadpanned.

…

Then, not even ten minutes later:

“H-He’s so handsome… Eep! Did I say that out loud?!”

Kevin merely chuckled awkwardly.

…

And somehow:

“Yooo, dude. You got some cool drip on ya. Noiceee!”

“Oh, thanks!” Kevin brightened at the compliment a little more than he probably should have.

…

It was ridiculous.

And yet, it was still good for business.

“Do you have magical powers, Kevin?!” Alban stared at the full register in awe, looking like sparkles might as well have been floating around him as he grabbed Kevin’s hand to shake it. “You’re a natural at this, Kevin!”

“People are buying one bag of chips *just* to look at him,” I said flatly.

“Sales are still sales, [Name],” Alban replied with a playful wag of his finger. “Anyway, I’m giving you two a raise!”

“I feel exploited,” Kevin said, scratching the back of his head with a crooked smile.

“Never underestimate the power of money!” Alban declared proudly, finishing it off with a wink.

…

So now, every time the store door jingled open, I braced myself for the possibility that someone might be there for more than convenience store snacks.

Kevin, meanwhile, seemed fairly unbothered. He just went on with his shift as usual, humming some tune that sounded weirdly familiar while he mopped the floor.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it. The second it did, I widened my eyes a little at myself.

Kevin looked up. “Huh? About what?”

He stopped and propped the mop against the janitor cart beside him.

“About being constantly hit on,” I said, sounding more annoyed than I meant to.

“Ah.” Kevin scratched the back of his head, and I recognized the gesture immediately by then as one of his nervous habits. “I mean… I am uncomfortable with it.”

“Then why not shoo them away?” I asked. “I’m sure Alban wouldn’t mind a decrease in sales.”

Kevin let out a small laugh through his nose. “I don’t know. I think it’s nice when someone has something to look forward to, even if it’s just admiring some guy they think is cute.”

He shrugged lightly. 

“Even if it makes me uncomfortable, I can only control how I react to it. As long as they don’t disrespect me or push past my privacy, I can handle it.” He smiled a little, almost sheepishly. “I’m a grown man, after all.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

I’d already picked up on Kevin’s philosophical streak before, but I still had to hand it to him. He had a strange way of looking at things—strange, but not wrong.

“Just…” I started, glancing away first. “Tell Alban if it ever gets too far. He may seem unreliable, but he’s a trustworthy guy.”

A brief memory surfaced, and before I knew it, I was smiling a little.

By the time I looked back, Kevin was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, smiling a little. “That was nice.”

I frowned. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

I rolled my eyes.

**Jingle.**

We both looked up on instinct.

Kevin reached for the mop again while I moved back behind the counter.

“Work mode,” he muttered under his breath.

I snorted, “You say that like you ever leave it.”

Kevin pouted playfully. “I’ll have you know I still have my whimsy and am, in fact, full of whimsy!”

The customer who stepped in barely gave us a second glance, which, for once, felt like a blessing.

The shift carried on like that—customers coming and going, Kevin talking just enough to fill the quieter moments, and me pretending I hadn’t already gotten used to it.

Somehow, somewhere in between the awkward flirting from strangers and Alban’s suspiciously generous raise, working with Kevin had stopped feeling like a burden I had to put up with and started feeling like something dangerously close to routine.

A routine I didn’t entirely mind.

By Friday night, the store had fallen into one of its slower spells again, leaving Alban to declare an early closure and that it was up to us to clean up because he had to take a business call.

Kevin was wiping down the counter with more concentration than the task called for, which usually meant he was either overthinking something or building up the courage to say it.

I kept fixing the shelf labels for all of ten seconds before giving in.

“What?”

Kevin looked up. “What?”

“You’ve been hovering in silence for, like, five minutes. What?”

“I wasn’t hovering.”

“You were absolutely hovering.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out. “Maybe a little.”

I crossed my arms. “So?”

He adjusted his glasses, then immediately looked away.

A blue-and-pink sparkled male idol immediately came to mind the second Kevin started with, “So, hypothetically… *theoretically* speaking…”

“That’s never a good start.”

“Hey!” Kevin protested at once. “Have you ever seen me scheme anything weird?”

Weirdly enough, I had a feeling he was thinking of the exact same person I was.

“And yet?” I said anyway.

Kevin made a face, then took a breath like he was about to do something that would cost him his soul.

“Can I have your number?”

I blinked.

Kevin, clearly taking my silence as the beginning of his public execution, rushed on.

“Not in a weird way,” he said quickly. “I mean—not that asking for someone’s number isn’t a little weird on its own, but what if something happened? Something big, like *really* big. And if shifts change, or if I’m late, or if you’re late, or if—”

“Kevin.”

He stopped.

“Breathe.”

He inhaled so sharply it almost made me laugh.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, now sounding slightly less like a man actively spiraling, “it might be useful.”

I stared at him for another second.

Then, despite myself:

“You are so bad at sounding casual.”

Kevin covered his face with one hand. “I know.”

That one got an actual laugh out of me.

Slowly, he peeked at me through his fingers.

“Is that a no?”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“Give me yours.”

The way he lit up should’ve concerned me more than it did.

But we exchanged numbers anyway.

By the time I got home that night, the next thing I knew, I was waking up to the weight of a warm little loaf pressed right against my chest.

“Ugh… you’re heavy.” I let out a slow, sleepy groan and put a hand against the ball of fluff on top of me before cracking one eye open.

“Good morning to you too,” I muttered hoarsely.

He didn’t answer, of course. He only twitched an ear once and continued sleeping like my body was just another piece of furniture he owned.

Unfortunately, that was the routine Meowsters and I had on our day off.

The room was still washed in that dim, bluish early-morning light that made everything feel softer and slower than it really was. For a brief second, I considered going back to sleep.

Then my phone buzzed against the mattress beside me.

And buzzed again.

And again.

Frowning, I carefully shifted just enough to reach for it without disturbing the cat currently loafing on my chest like he’d been sent to pin me in place.

The second I unlocked my phone, my screen was flooded with notifications.

Too many notifications.

The culprit revealed itself almost immediately.

Alban Knox made a group chat.

I stared blearily at the screen for a second, then opened it.

What’s this now?

And the sight of the group chat name was, somehow, even worse.

Alban’s Sparkle Nya Kittens Association

I blinked.

Then scrolled.

I stared at the group chat in silence for a moment, Meowsters still loafing heavily on my chest, before another notification popped up.

Kevin (Store co-worker) sent you a message.

Kevin: Gubodig to you [Name]!

Kevin: Did you see the announcement just now?? It’s a good day for the unemployed!!

“Isn’t it too early to be texting?” I mumbled.

Then, despite myself, I typed back.

Morning :[Name]

Is that another reference of yours? :[Name]

Kevin: even at text you’re still straight to the point LMAO

Kevin: are you up?

Not exactly :[Name]

Meowsters is laying on my chest rn :[Name]

Cant disturb him :[Name]

Kevin: AWWWW WAIT THATS SO CUTE!!!

Kevin: yeah you definitely shouldn’t move for the lil guy’s rest!

Kevin: i mean, cats need significantly more sleep than us humans

I shifted a little deeper into the pillow, careful not to disturb Meowsters too much.

Aren’t you a wizz? :[Name]

Kevin: i just tend to remember a lot of fun facts 😎

Kevin: although I would LOVE to take care of a cat, my commitments wouldn’t let me…

Kevin: woe is me 😭😭😭

Kevin: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I DON’T WANNA W*RK

Kevin: oh right, there IS no work

Kevin: at the convenience store at least… 😭😭😭

Whats with the censor? :[Name]

Kevin: it’s mildly triggering to look at!! Don’t you agree?!?

Kevin: like, doesn’t it make you go crazy being reminded that you have a j*b???

That got a laugh out of me, soft enough not to jostle the cat too much.

Yeah, cant disagree with that :[Name]

You gotta do what you gotta do :[Name]

There was a brief pause before Kevin started typing again.

Then stopped.

Then started again.

Then stopped.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen.

What :[Name]

The reply came fast enough to sound defensive even through text.

Kevin: uhhhhhhhhhh

Kevin: errrrrrrmmmmmm

Got something to tell me? :[Name]

Kevin: i was just thinking!!

Another pause.

Kevin: very normally 😎

I closed my eyes before sighing.

Its always something weird whenever you say that :[Name]

Kevin: HEY

Kevin: IT ISNT!!

Kevin: not right now!

Kevin: it’s just

I waited.

A few seconds later, another message came through.

Kevin: since alban has apparently declared today a workers holiday

Kevin: and we both have the day off…

Kevin: would you maybe wanna hang out later??

Kevin: i’m not forcing you in anyway ok!!

Kevin: i know very well how rest is very important, keeping in mind that you have another j*b to do too

Kevin: so just feel free to turn down!

I stared at the screen a second longer than I should have.

Meowsters cracked one eye open, looked at me like he already knew I was about to make a poor decision, then closed it again.

What kind of hang out? :[Name]

Kevin’s reply came almost instantly, then stopped, then started again like he kept rewriting it.

Kevin: food maybe

Kevin: or just walking around

Kevin: or both

Kevin: somewhere without fluorescent lights preferably

I bit back the smile threatening to form.

Did you plan this beforehand? :[Name]

Kevin: not one bit!

Kevin: okay… maybe a little…

Kevin: i really wanted to go out and do something!! Being at work then home, wash and repeat isn’t really good for the soul 🥀

Kevin: but it isn’t exactly fun being alone out ☹️

You admitted it atleast :[Name]

Kevin: honesty is the greatest virtue!

I shifted carefully, reaching up to rub the top of Meowsters’ head.

What time :[Name]

The typing bubble popped up so fast it almost made me laugh.

Kevin: AWESOME

Kevin: okay

Kevin: is 2 okay

Kevin: unless you’re busy

Kevin: or tired

Kevin: or being held hostage by your cat

I looked down at the loaf on my chest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered.

Meowsters blinked at me slowly.

Traitor.

And yes i am currently being held hostage :[Name]

Kevin: tell him I respect his power

Kevin: also cool

Kevin: okay

I was about to set my phone down and get some more sleep, knowing there was still a day ahead of me, when another notification popped up.

With a quiet groan, I looked back at the screen.

Kevin: uhmmm fun fact about me

What is it? :[Name]

Kevin: i get lost pretty easily and i lowkey want to explore new places

Kevin: but cities are evil…

Kevin: so can we like, meet outside neko-albini first?

Oh, good to know :[Name]

I’ll meet you there, gn :[Name]

Kevin: sleep well!

As much as I wanted to go back to sleep, Meowsters had other plans and was now demanding food. Biting back a sigh, I accepted that I’d be doing the whole week’s backed up chores for the time being.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of feeding Meowsters, cleaning up around my place, and trying very hard not to think too much about the fact that I’d agreed to hang out with Kevin later, putting By The Beat content in the background to make the mundane brighter.

Which, of course, only made me think about it more.

That should’ve been the first warning sign.

From that day onward, seeing Kevin outside of work stopped feeling like a one-time thing and started becoming something dangerously easy to slip into.

Sometimes it was food after a shift.

Sometimes it was a message asking if I’d eaten or drank water.

Sometimes it was him sending me a picture he found interesting with a dramatic caption attached.

Sometimes it was nothing more than a string of half-coherent texts from him complaining or giving his philosophical take about work, life, or both.

And sometimes, it was just Kevin asking if I was free.

I should’ve found it strange how quickly it all settled into something familiar.

Instead, I got used to it.

Got used to his messages lighting up my phone at odd hours.

Got used to the way he’d somehow talk just as much over text as he did in person.

Got used to the strange, easy rhythm of him falling into my day before I realized I’d started leaving space for him there.

These fleeting moments were something I had before, lost by time in the past because I thought it wouldn’t matter at the present where I had to endure to survive.

And slowly but surely, I've come to appreciate him as a person, not just a co-worker.

But somewhere in between all that, the thought I’d been trying not to touch started creeping back in again.

It was stupid.

Ridiculous, even.

And yet—

The more I got to know Kevin, the harder it became to ignore.

It wasn’t just one thing. It was a hundred little things that kept piling up on top of each other until they felt impossible to brush off.

The way his voice sometimes shifted when he got excited.

The way he spoke about music like it mattered to him on a level most people didn’t.

The way certain songs would randomly play somewhere and I’d catch him going oddly quiet for half a second.

The way his laugh sometimes sounded just a little too familiar.

The way his humming always felt like it was brushing right up against a memory I couldn’t fully grab.

The way he carried himself without seeming to realize how noticeable he was.

The way his brightness never felt fake.

And the worst part was that every time I thought I was just projecting things onto him, Kevin would go and do something that made it worse.

Like how he talks to customers like they were long-time supporters and have patience with angry customers where most don't.

Or having detailed opinions about the boy group I liked, as if he knew them personally than any normal person would.

Or unconsciously harmonizing with whatever song happened to be playing over a shop speaker before cutting himself off like he had to restrain himself from doing so.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

Then I’d watch him smile at something small, hear the shape of his laughter, or catch the exact angle he tilted his head when he was embarrassed—

and suddenly I was back to square one.

Convinced.

Unconvinced.

Then convinced all over again.

It got bad enough that there were nights I’d lie awake staring at the ceiling or researching through the internet, mentally listing out reasons why Kevin couldn’t possibly be Kaelix Debonair, only for him to show up the next day and say something that destroyed half my argument in under five minutes.

At some point, I started thinking maybe I was losing it.

And another point after that, I started thinking maybe I wasn’t.

And in the middle of all that confusion, there was still Kevin himself.

Still texting.

Still inviting me out.

Though gradually showing up late some days, leaving early on others, and apologizing with a sincerity that made it hard to stay irritated for long.

Somehow *still* becoming part of my routine despite how inconsistent it was becoming.

Then one night, after a shift that had run longer than usual, we stepped out into the city with the leftover buzz of fluorescent lights still clinging to us.

I was already half-thinking about going home, showering, and collapsing into bed when Kevin suddenly turned to me.

“I have a teeny tiny favor to ask, and I need it right now,” he said.

He looked at me with something almost pleading in his eyes, and somehow, my weariness softened a little.

“What’s it about,” I asked, “and what’s in it for me?”

Kevin blinked. “You negotiate fast.”

“I’m tired and a skeptic. Answer the question.”

He let out a quiet laugh, then rubbed the back of his neck.

“So, uh… I signed up for something.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That already sounds bad.”

“No, it’s not bad,” he said quickly. “It’s just this small show thing. Like… a mini event. A bunch of rookies go up, do their thing, entertain people, then leave before they embarrass themselves too hard.”

I stared at him.

“You signed up for a show?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds more serious than it is.”

“Is it not serious?”

Kevin hesitated.

“It’s serious to me,” he admitted. “Just… not in a terrifying way. Hopefully.”

Something in my chest shifted.

“And the favor?”

He looked away for a second, suddenly awkward in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Come with me,” he said. “Please.”

I blinked.

Kevin exhaled sharply through his nose, like he’d finally forced the words out.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time if you hate it,” he added quickly. “And I’m not trying to pressure you, I just—” He stopped, then started again, quieter. “I think I’d feel better if you were there.”

For a second, I just stared at him.

Not because I didn’t understand what he was asking.

Because I did.

Too well.

“You want me to watch you perform,” I said slowly.

“I mean—” Kevin started, scrambling for more reasons as his voice went a little squeaky with nerves. “I think my singing is pretty good. Right? And I know I’m charming, and— and I can play a bunch of instruments too. Well, not all at once, obviously. That would be horrifying.” He laughed nervously, then looked at me again. “I like the ukulele the most, though. I just think I can be a pretty good entertainer, overall.”

For a moment, all I could hear was the city moving around us.

Cars passing.

Shoes scraping pavement.

Someone laughing too loudly a block away.

Kevin shifted his weight and looked away first, like maybe he regretted saying it out loud.

“You don’t have to,” he added quickly. “Seriously. I know it’s random, and you’re tired, and it’s not like I’m trying to make this into some huge thing. I just thought—” 

He stopped, then sighed through his nose. “Never mind.”

“Kevin.” He looked back at me.

“What’s in it for me?” I asked.

He blinked once, like I’d just handed him a lifeline.

“I’ll buy you food and drinks after.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s already a pretty strong offer, don't lie!” Kevin defended himself further with a playful huff of pride, "Also, I don't take backsies!”

I snorted despite myself.

Some of the tension left his shoulders at the sound.

“I’ll also let you make fun of me if I embarrass myself,” he added.

“Tempting.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him sweat for it.

Then I sighed.

“Fine.”

Kevin stared. “Fine?”

“Fine,” I repeated. “I’ll go.”

The way his face lit up should’ve alarmed me more than it did.

“***Really***?!”

“No, I just said yes for the free food.”

“You’re kidding,” Kevin whined.

I smiled, faint but real. “Am I?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, then broke into a grin anyway.

“Oh well,” he said, stepping closer and gesturing dramatically down the street, “your ride to stardom-adjacent entertainment awaits.”

I rolled my eyes. “Lead the way, then.”

Kevin took one step forward.

Then stopped.

“Actually,” he admitted, glancing back at me with sheepish dignity, “I need you to lead a little. I know generally where it is, but… you know how it goes.”

I stared at him.

“You signed up for a show in a place you can’t confidently get to?”

Kevin winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds irresponsible.”

“Because it is.”

“I prefer the term ‘taking my chances.’”

I sighed and stepped ahead of him. “Come on before you get us both lost.”

Kevin brightened immediately and fell into step beside me.

The walk there was quieter than usual.

Not silent.

Just different.

Kevin still talked, but less. His usual ease kept slipping every few minutes, like nerves kept catching up with him no matter how hard he tried to talk over them.

By the time we reached the venue—a narrow little live house tucked above a ground-floor shop—I was already more awake than I wanted to be.

Kevin slowed near the entrance.

“This is it,” he said.

I looked up at the sign, then back at him.

“This is your mysterious side gig?”

“Rookies have to start somewhere.” He smiled when he said it, but there was tension tucked underneath.

And that was when I realized something I hadn’t expected.

Kevin wasn’t just excited.

He was extremely nervous.

“You can still leave if you want,” he said suddenly.

I looked at him. “If I was going to leave, I wouldn’t have walked you here.”

For a second, he just stared.

Then he smiled—small, quiet, and almost disbelieving.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

Inside, the venue was small enough that it felt like the dusk before the rise. Low lights, cheap drinks, a little stage tucked at the front, and enough people milling around to make it clear this wasn’t just some random joke Kevin had dragged me into.

He checked in near the side of the room, said something to one of the staff, then came back to me.

“I have to go in the back for a bit,” he said. “But I’ll be out there soon.”

“Okay.”

He hesitated.

Then, like he was trying to say something and chickened out halfway through, he just nodded and disappeared behind the curtain.

I found a place near the back and muttered under my breath as if it could fool me thinking it was true. “Relax, it’s just a small rookie showcase.”

Just a side gig.

Just Kevin.

That should’ve been reassuring.

It wasn’t.

A few acts went by before his turn.

Long enough for me to settle in.

Long enough for my thoughts to get louder.

Then Kevin’s name was called.

Just Kevin.

No fanfare.

No reveal.

No reason for anyone else in the room to think twice about it.

He stepped onto the stage with his ukulele in hand, glasses still on, dark hair catching strangely under the stage lights.

And every part of me went still.

Because under the lights, with a microphone in front of him and that awful, easy confidence settling into his posture, he didn’t look like Kevin at all.

Or maybe that was the problem.

He still did.

Just sharpened.

Clearer.

Truer.

Oh.

No.

The way he stood there.

The way the room shifted around him.

The way his smile changed the second he looked out at the audience—

It hit me all at once.

Not through proof.

Not through logic.

Through recognition.

It was him.

It had been him the whole time.

And somehow, the worst part wasn’t even the shock.

It was the look in his eyes just before he started.

Not fear.

Not exactly.

Something quieter.

Something almost vulnerable.

Like some part of him had wanted this moment and dreaded it in equal measure.

Then he sang.

And any stupid little hope I’d had left that I might still be wrong died on the spot.

His voice wasn’t just good.

It was devastating.

Warm, clear, controlled in a way no normal rookie just “trying something out” should’ve been. Even with the cheap lights and the tiny stage and the crowd that barely filled the room, he knew exactly how to hold attention without clawing for it.

No.

Like he belonged there.

Every little thing I’d been trying to explain away for weeks suddenly snapped into place so hard it made my head spin.

The humming.

The too-familiar laugh.

The way he slipped into harmony without thinking.

The brightness.

All of it.

And the worst part was that every now and then, his gaze flicked back toward where I sat.

Not often.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Just enough for me to know he was checking.

Checking if I was still there.

Checking if I’d figured it out.

Checking if I’d leave.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

By the time his set ended, my hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my fingers hurt.

The room burst into applause.

People cheered.

Someone near the front yelled, “Kevin!”

And I just sat there, staring, as he bowed with that same easy little smile I’d seen a hundred times through a screen and somehow never expected to see turned half in my direction.

Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t even fully breathe until the next act had already started and the room had gone back to normal around me.

Normal.

Right.

That was funny.

I was still trying to force my heartbeat back into something reasonable when Kevin found me again a little later, cap tugged low and mask back on like that would somehow make any of this less obvious now.

It didn’t.

Not to me.

“Well?” he asked, voice lighter than his eyes. “Did I embarrass myself too hard?”

For a second, I just looked at him.

At the cap.

At the mask.

At the person who had somehow been both Kevin and Kaelix the entire time.

“You were good,” I said at last.

It came out quieter than I meant it to.

Kevin searched my face carefully.

“Just good?” he asked, smiling faintly.

I swallowed.

“Annoyingly good,” I muttered.

That got a real laugh out of him, soft and relieved.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take annoyingly good.”

There were a thousand things I should’ve asked.

A thousand.

Why hadn’t he told me?

How long had he planned this?

Did he want me to know?

Did he know that I knew?

Instead, all I said was, “You undersold yourself.”

Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for half a second.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Maybe a little.”

A little.

I almost laughed.

I didn’t.

He studied me again, more carefully this time.

Then, like he’d decided not to push whatever fragile thing had settled between us, he tipped his head toward the stairs.

“I did promise food,” he said.

Right.

Food.

The deal.

The normal thing.

I latched onto it immediately.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, you did.”

I didn’t remember much after that.

I had a decent tolerance for alcohol, so I drank whatever I could with my meal while Kevin got champagne with his, and somewhere between the quiet walk back and the weight in my chest, everything started blurring at the edges.

I only remembered the basics after that.

Getting through the door.

Leaving food out for Meowsters.

Letting myself fall face-first onto the bed.

And for once, I didn’t mind the alcohol pulling me to sleep.

As uneventful as the rest of my Saturday had been, the store felt wrong almost immediately the next evening.

A yawn escaped my lips as I stared at the clock mounted on the beam near the counter, watching the seconds crawl by.

I had already clocked in an hour ago, dealt with the occasional customer who had something to buy, and there was still no sign of the tall, dark-haired man who was supposed to be my co-worker.

No too-bright greeting.

No muttered “Lock in.”

No Kevin.

At first, I told myself he was just late.

That had happened before.

Then fifteen minutes passed.

Then thirty.

Then enough time had gone by that even Alban, buried in whatever suspicious manager business he always had going on, finally came out of the office long enough to glance at the empty space behind the counter.

“Hm,” he said.

I looked up from the register. “That’s all you have to say?”

Alban blinked at me. “Would you prefer a speech?”

“I’d prefer my co-worker.”

“That does sound more practical.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then, with all the useless grace in the world, he shrugged. “He hasn’t texted me.”

I clicked my tongue and looked away before he could read too much into my expression.

That should’ve been enough to settle it.

He hadn’t texted.

He wasn’t coming in.

End of story.

And yet every time the door jingled after that, some stubborn part of me still looked up anyway.

It was annoying.

Worse, it was embarrassing.

Because the whole store felt off without him in it.

Too quiet.

Too still.

Even the fluorescent hum felt louder somehow, like the absence of his voice had left too much room for everything else to seep in.

I hated how fast I noticed it.

Hated how easy it was to picture exactly where he would’ve been if he were here—leaning too casually against the counter, talking while restocking, humming under his breath, making some ridiculous observation about cup noodles or shelf labels or the moral failings of customers who left drinks in the freezer section.

Instead, I got silence.

And the longer the silence lasted, the worse it got.

Because now that I knew—

or at least knew enough—

every missing thing felt heavier than it should have.

I made it through the shift anyway.

Of course I did.

Customers came and went. Receipts printed. Shelves needed refilling. A woman asked where the cold medicine was. A group of students staying up late bought instant noodles and too much candy. 

Alban disappeared again halfway through and reappeared just long enough to say something profoundly unhelpful about inventory before vanishing back into the office.

And through all of it, Kevin never showed.

By the time the end of my shift finally rolled around, my eyes were burning from exhaustion and my patience had worn itself down to a thread.

I barely said goodbye to Alban on my way out.

The walk home felt longer than usual.

Maybe because the streets were quieter.

Maybe because my thoughts were louder.

Maybe because every few steps, I kept replaying pieces of the night before whether I wanted to or not.

The stage lights.

The ukulele in his hands.

The way he’d looked at me from the stage like he was checking whether I was still there.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and kept walking.

By the time I got home, all I wanted was to feed Meowsters, change out of my clothes, and stop thinking.

Naturally, the universe chose that exact moment to prove it hated me.

My phone buzzed just after I set Meowsters’ food down.

I froze.

For one stupid second, I considered leaving it.

Then it buzzed again.

I snatched it up before I could reconsider.

Kevin: hey, [Name]

Kevin: are you still awake?

Kevin: i just want to say…

Kevin: i’m sorry

I stared at the screen.

Another message came through almost immediately.

Kevin: i know i should’ve texted sooner

Kevin: something came up and i couldn’t get away until now

Kevin: i’m really sorry

For a moment, all I could hear was Meowsters eating noisily behind me and the faint ringing in my own ears.

That was it.

No explanation.

No real reason.

Just an apology dropped into my lap after hours of silence like that was supposed to somehow make the waiting disappear.

It should’ve annoyed me more than it did.

It should’ve made me angrier.

Instead, all I felt was this ugly, heavy mix of relief and frustration that settled somewhere beneath my ribs and refused to move.

Because he’d texted.

Because he hadn’t forgotten.

Because apparently that mattered to me more than I wanted it to.

I sank down onto the edge of my bed and stared at the messages again.

Meowsters jumped up beside me a second later, circling once before settling against my thigh with a soft, unimpressed huff.

“Don’t start,” I muttered.

He ignored me.

My phone buzzed again.

Kevin: i know that’s a bad apology

Kevin: and i know it’s late

Kevin: i just didn’t want you to think i forgot

Something in my chest tightened so abruptly I had to look away from the screen for a second.

That was the worst part.

Not the apology.

Not the absence.

Just the fact that those words hit as hard as they did.

I stared at the screen for another long moment before finally typing back.

Your timing sucks :[Name]

The typing bubble appeared so fast it almost made me laugh despite myself.

Kevin: fair

Kevin: i deserve that one

My fingers hovered over the keyboard but my mind knew what to say anyways.

You do :[Name]

There was a pause.

Then:

Kevin: are you home safe?

I looked down at Meowsters, then back at the screen.

Yeah :[Name]

feed your cat-sized ego and go to sleep :[Name]

His reply came almost immediately.

Kevin: woah

Kevin: that hurt 😎(😭)

Kevin: but okay

Kevin: sleep well

I stared at that last message longer than I meant to.

Then I locked the screen and let my phone drop onto the bed beside me.

Meowsters pressed closer, warm and insistent against my side.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

And for the first time since I’d started working at Neko-Albini, I hated that quiet enough to notice it.

By the time I dragged myself to Neko-Albini Store, I was running on even less sleep than usual.

The first thing that greeted me when I stepped inside wasn’t the hum of the fluorescent lights or the familiar smell of instant noodles.

It was chaos.

Boxes were stacked near the counter, half-opened and barely organized, its bright-colored packaging practically screaming SPEND YOUR MONEY ON ME, spilling out of the tops in messy heaps.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Alban straightened up from behind one of the boxes like he’d been swallowed by the mess itself. He dusted his hands off as though he’d been hard at work and flashed me a grin.

“Good evening, [Name]! I see you’re on time as usual.”

I stared at him. Then at the boxes. Then back at him.

“What is this supposed to be?”

“These,” Alban announced proudly, gesturing toward the disaster in front of him, “are the latest Poketopia collab goods. Very popular. Very exciting. Very profitable.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And this was the best way you could think of to deal with them?”

“Well,” he said lightly, “I brought them in, didn’t I?”

That was not the reassuring answer he seemed to think it was.

Alban brushed a hand dramatically over one of the boxes, showing off the bright packaging like a salesman unveiling a miracle product. “I only just realized the shelves are already packed, so I’m currently experimenting with how to display them.”

With every word, I could feel my dread growing stronger.

“Would you like to help me—”

“POKETOPIA!!!! Hi, Alban-san— hi, [Name]!”

Startled by the sudden yell beside me, I shut my eyes for a second and took a slow breath through my nose.

Of course.

It was none other than Kevin.

“Kevin!!” Alban perked up immediately. “Also, I told you to drop the honorifics!”

Kevin, still halfway through staring at the collab boxes like he’d just witnessed a divine revelation, made a vaguely apologetic sound behind his mask.

“Right, sorry—Alban. But oh my god.”

He stepped forward before I could say anything, crouching in front of one of the half-opened boxes like it might vanish if he blinked too slowly.

“You actually got the collab in?” he asked, looking up at Alban with wide eyes behind his glasses. “Like, already? This is huge for me personally.”

Alban folded his arms with the air of someone who had absolutely intended to get that exact reaction. “I know.”

“No, because this is serious,” Kevin continued, carefully lifting one of the packets from the box. “I wanted one of these so bad when they dropped. Do you understand how hard it is to get themed snack goods before people lose their minds and buy all of them out?”

“I’m starting to understand how hard it is to get a word in,” I muttered.

Neither of them listened.

Kevin turned the packet over in his hands with startling care, like he was inspecting something precious instead of convenience store stock. “The packaging is so cute,” he said, sounding genuinely delighted. “Look at this little guy. Alban, look at this little guy.”

Alban leaned over obligingly. “He is little.”

“He’s so little!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Can we please remember that these still need to be put somewhere?” I asked. Then, gesturing at the piles around us, I added, “Actually, why wasn’t any of this set up before the store opened? There was a whole day shift for that.”

Alban, somehow, had the audacity to look thoughtful.

“I was occupied.”

I stared at him. “With what?”

He smiled blandly. “Something important.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You’re so unhelpful.”

“And yet,” Alban said lightly, “I brought the boxes in.”

That was not the defense he seemed to think it was.

Kevin was already on his mission, scanning the cramped shelves, the counter, the tops of the nearby displays—anywhere that could possibly be turned into a collab section.

“Okay,” he said slowly, more to himself than either of us. “So the issue is display.”

Alban pointed at him at once. “Exactly.”

“No, wait,” Kevin went on, setting the packet back down on the counter and shifting one of the boxes a little to the left. Then a little back to the right. “This can work. We just need a focal point.”

I stared at him. “A what?”

“A focal point,” Kevin repeated, like that explained anything. “You can’t just scatter collab goods around and hope people care. They need to walk in, look once, and immediately understand that it’s special.”

Alban looked delighted.

I looked exhausted.

“We need shelf space,” I corrected.

“That too,” Kevin admitted. “But mostly vision.”

I let out a tired sigh. “Or we could just use the other four boxes as temporary tables on the floor. They’re tall enough. Display one open box with each flavor in front, then store the extras underneath.”

Kevin’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! And we can put a promotional sign on top of it too!”

Alban placed one hand on his hip and wiped away an invisible tear with the other, sniffing dramatically. “Teamwork really does make the dream work. I’m so proud of you guys.”

I was already opening my mouth to object when he turned on his heel.

“Well, I’ll leave you all to it! I’ll be in the office. Bye!”

And just like that, he vanished before I could even get a complaint out, while Kevin simply waved after him like this was a perfectly normal thing for a manager to do.

Well. That was settled.

We started by moving the unopened boxes into place. I stacked four of the sturdier ones near the counter while Kevin hovered over the open box like he was picking favorites.  

“This one,” he said, holding up a packet, struggling to make a choice. “No, wait. Maybe this one.”  

“They’re chips, Kevin.”  

“They’re all so cute, okay?!” Kevin whined dramatically.  

I didn’t bother arguing with that.  

He kept sorting through the flavors with startling focus, setting the brighter ones aside first and lining them up by the box I’d already positioned near the counter.  

“Okay,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “This one goes in front. These can go lower. The mini packs should stay near the register so people grab them without thinking.”  

I paused halfway through pushing another box into place and glanced over at him.  

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”  

“No,” he said, still rearranging packets with unnecessary care. “I just buy things.”  

Against my better judgment, I snorted.  

Kevin looked up at the sound, briefly triumphant, before returning to his work like he hadn’t noticed.  

The front row looked neat, the brighter packets stood out more, and the mini packs by the register actually looked tempting—just like Kevin had in mind.  

Kevin’s eyes landed on one of the spare sheets lying near the counter. He grabbed it along with a black marker without hesitation.  

“Next, the sign— Wait.” He looked down at the collab packs, then up at me. “How much are these?”  

I let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll check with Alban. Give me a sec.”  

“Okay,” Kevin said, already uncapping the marker. “I’ll do the cute part first.”  

That was probably the least reassuring thing he could’ve said.  

I headed for the office and knocked twice before pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

“Alban, we need to know how much the collab goods are, and did you at least bother putting them in the system this time?”

Alban had the decency to look only mildly smug.

“Claude helped.”

I let out a slow breath. “How much?”

“4.99 yollars for the regular packs,” Alban said, waving a hand lazily. “2.49 for the mini ones.”

“Right.”

A muffled “Have a good shift!” followed me after I pulled the door shut and headed back out.

And before I could take a break from solving problems, Kevin had somehow acquired an audience.

Three girls had gathered near the counter, all dressed for a night out and looking far too entertained by whatever conversation he’d gotten himself into.

Kevin stood in the middle of it with the black marker still in one hand and the half-finished sign in the other, looking far too engrossed in his own rambling to notice how deep in he already was.

And his black cap was nowhere to be found.

Was hair supposed to be that shiny?

One of the girls was leaning against the counter, smiling like she’d already decided he was the most interesting part of her evening.

Another had picked up one of the mini packs, though from the way she kept glancing at Kevin, I doubted the snacks were her main concern.

I stopped in my tracks.

The second Kevin noticed me, visible relief washed over him.

“Oh, welcome back, [Name]!” he said.

I blinked at him. “What happened?”

“Uh—sorry, I got distracted,” Kevin admitted, holding up the half-finished sign like evidence. “The sign isn’t done yet. I was just explaining how great Poketopia is and how this collab is kind of huge, actually. Like, this is serious to me.”

One of the girls laughed.

“It was a very interesting conversation,” she said, though she was still looking at him more than the display.

“And the pricing,” another added, lifting the mini pack in her hand. “How much are these?”

Before Kevin could panic and stumble over his words, I stepped in.

“The regular packs are 4.99 yollars,” I said, reaching past him to take the marker. “The mini ones are 2.49.”

“Thank you,” the first girl said, though her gaze drifted right back to Kevin. “You’re new here, right?”

Kevin made a small, uncertain sound behind his mask.

“Uh… kind of?”

“He is,” I answered flatly, writing the prices onto the sign before he could say anything weirder.

The girl smiled, completely undeterred. “That’s cute.”

Kevin visibly short-circuited for a second, a nervous little laugh slipping out before he could stop it.

“Oh,” he said eloquently.

I stared at the sign a little harder than necessary.

“Are you going to keep that cap off?” another girl asked him. “It suits you.”

Kevin reached up on instinct, only to realize too late that the cap was, in fact, not on his head.

“Oh,” he said again, somehow more helplessly this time.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

“I, uh…” Kevin glanced at me like I might save him, then back at the girls. “It was bothering me,” he admitted. “I can’t write properly if something’s blocking my view.”

There was a brief pause.

Then all three of them let out the same amused little sound at once.

I could already tell this was going to bring in more customers for days to come.

“He’s very committed to the job and the brand,” I muttered, nudging Kevin toward the break room with the unfinished sign. “So if you don’t mind—”

One of the girls immediately chimed in. “So you’re a fan?”

“Very!” Kevin said at once.

Then he visibly reconsidered himself.

“I mean—a healthy amount of very,” he corrected sheepishly, like that somehow sounded cooler.

I turned to stare at him.

Really?

The girls, naturally, seemed delighted.

“Well,” the first one said, setting two mini packs on the counter, “I guess we’ll take these.”

“Good choice!” Kevin said automatically. “I was eyeing those for after my shift—”

He froze like he wasn’t entirely sure whether that had been too much.

It wasn’t. If anything, they looked even more amused.

I reached for the packs before he could accidentally double-scan them out of nervousness.

“I’ll get these,” I said.

Kevin looked relieved enough that it was almost embarrassing.

As I rang them up, I could still feel the girls’ attention drifting back toward him every few seconds.

Oh well.

Sales was sales.

The rest of the remaining time was mildly uneventful, with the exception of Kevin talking about his thoughts out loud as he gradually got the hang of the job. Somehow, it didn’t feel like the same boring, slow shift I’d gotten used to before.

Not that I was about to tell him that.

“Do you always work this much?”

I glanced up from the shelf I was fixing. Kevin was by the counter, straightening a row of drinks with more focus than the task deserved.

“What?”

“You just seem tired,” he said, like that was the most natural observation in the world. “Not regular tired like really tired.”

I let out a quiet breath through my nose.

“I have other jobs during the day.”

Kevin looked over at me, interest flickering immediately through the lenses of his glasses. “Plural?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That sounds evil.”

“It pays evil amounts too.”

“WHAT! That’s insane!”

I couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at my mouth.

Kevin noticed it at once, but thankfully had the decency not to say anything.

“What about you?” I asked. “You talk a lot, but you don’t actually say much about yourself.”

“That’s because I’m mysterious and cool.” He tilted his head to the side, the fluorescent light catching on his lenses just enough to make the pose look deliberate.

“You’re really not.”

“That’s cruel,” he said, immediately crumbling out of the pose, though he sounded far more amused than offended.

I went back to dusting the shelves. “You asked first.”

“Fair.” He leaned against the counter slightly, quieter now, though not by much. “So what do you even do when you’re not being overworked and underpaid?”

“Take care of my cat.”

Kevin straightened immediately. “You have a cat?”

“Yeah.”

“And you waited this long to tell me?!”

“It didn’t come up.”

“It absolutely should’ve come up! I have to see that lovable creature.”

I shook my head, though I was already fighting back another smile. “His name’s Meowsters.”

Kevin froze.

“Aww! That’s so cute!”

I rolled my eyes half-heartedly. “It really isn’t. I tried naming him other things, but he wouldn’t respond. Somehow, he liked Meowsters.”

“He must be a dapper guy.”

“He’s a tabby. I don’t know if ‘dapper’ is the right word.”

“But you can’t lie, he’s cute. I mean, he has to be cute,” Kevin argued lightly.

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Kevin went suspiciously still for half a second, like he was listening to the sound a little too closely, then looked away first.

“Anything else?” he asked, trying and failing to sound casual. “Since we’re apparently sharing.”

I hesitated, then shrugged.

“I like music, I guess.”

“I love music too! But that is so broad.”

“I know.”

“No, because that tells me nothing,” Kevin said, already drifting closer with the kind of curiosity that should’ve been annoying and somehow wasn’t. “What kind of music?”

I stacked the last packet into place before answering.

“Most things, I guess. But there’s this boy group I like. I only really keep up with some of their content and music when I have time.”

Kevin visibly stilled.

It was small. Brief. But I caught it.

“Oh?” he said, and if I hadn’t been listening, I might’ve missed how oddly careful that sounded. “What group?”

“BY THE BEAT.”

Kevin made a tiny sound in the back of his throat that could’ve meant anything.

“You know them?” I asked.

“I mean—yeah, kind of,” he said a little too quickly. “I’ve heard of them.”

“Kind of?” I echoed.

“Well, not kind of. I know of them.” He cleared his throat. “They’re… around.”

I stopped and looked at him.

“They’re around?”

“That wasn’t my best wording,” he admitted.

“No, it really wasn’t.”

He looked faintly embarrassed behind the mask, then busied himself with fixing a row that didn’t need fixing.

“Anyway,” he said, trying for nonchalance and missing by a mile, “do you like them a normal amount, or…?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just asking.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m being curious.”

“You’re bad at it.”

“That feels subjective.”

I let that pass.

“I don’t know. I just like them a lot,” I said after a moment. “Their songs are good. They seem genuine.”

Kevin had gone very still again.

“And,” I added, before I could really think too hard about why I was telling him this, “I have a favorite.”

Kevin turned to me so fast it was almost suspicious.

“Oh?” he said again, somehow making the same one-syllable word sound even more strained than last time. “Who?”

I looked away first, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous.

“Kaelix Debonair.”

Silence.

I glanced back over.

Kevin was staring at me over the top of his mask like his soul had briefly left his body and wasn’t sure whether to come back.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said immediately, his voice suspiciously higher than before.

Then, after the slightest pause:

“Why?”

I blinked at him. “Why what?”

“Why him?”

I stared. “What kind of question is that?”

“A normal one,” Kevin said, somehow managing to sound deeply unconvincing.

I crossed my arms. “You’re being weird again.”

“You said that already.”

“Because you keep being weird.”

He pressed his lips together, visibly trying to look unbothered and failing in a way I couldn’t quite name.

“Well?” he asked at last.

I gave him a look. “You really want an answer?”

“No,” he said. Then immediately: “Yes.”

That nearly made me laugh again.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He just seems… bright, I guess. Like he actually likes what he’s doing. And when he sings, it feels real. Don’t get me wrong—I like Seible, Freo, and Zeal too, and I like their chemistry as a group, but…” I hesitated. “There’s something about Kaelix I can’t really put my finger on. Maybe instinct?”

Kevin went quiet.

Properly quiet.

For the first time all night, he didn’t rush to fill the silence.

“That’s nice,” he said after a moment, softer than before.

I looked at him, a little thrown by how sincere that sounded.

Before I could ask what that was supposed to mean, the office door opened and Alban poked his head out.

“Good news!” he chirped. “I’m closing tonight.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’m generous.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“And yet,” Alban said lightly, already stepping out to start flipping signs and fussing with the front, “you’re welcome.”

Kevin, meanwhile, had already drifted back toward the collab display and was gathering up an alarming amount of Poketopia snacks in his arms.

I stared. “Are you buying all of those?”

“Not all of them,” he said defensively. Then he looked down at the pile and added, “Most of them.”

“That’s insane.”

“This is called supporting the brand.”

“You don’t work for the brand.”

“Not with that attitude.”

I snorted.

Between Alban handling the close and Kevin buying enough collab stock to concern me, we ended up out of the store a little earlier than usual.

The streets were quieter now, washed in dim light and the leftover buzz of the city settling down for the night.

I was halfway through wondering whether I had enough energy to make it home in one piece when Kevin glanced over at me.

“Did you eat?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Today,” he clarified. “Properly.”

I thought about it, then winced. “Define properly.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I had break food.”

“That’s not food,” Kevin said at once.

“I eat what I can and what I must.”

“No,” he said, with surprising firmness. “Come on. There’s got to be somewhere still open around here.”

I looked at him. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

He adjusted his grip on the bag of collab snacks, settling it more comfortably against his side, then glanced away for a second before looking back at me.

“I want to,” he said, quieter now. “You helped me a lot since my first day, and you’ve done more than enough. Let me say thank you properly.”

Something shifted in my chest in a way I didn’t care to examine too closely.

“Kevin—”

“Pay’s on me,” he said quickly, like he thought I was about to refuse. “Please. I’m serious.”

I should’ve said no.

Really, I should have.

But the thought of warm food after a long shift—and the even more dangerous thought of staying beside him a little longer—made the answer catch somewhere behind my teeth.

In the end, I let out a slow breath.

“…Fine,” I muttered.

Kevin lit up immediately.

“Great,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Do you trust me to pick a place?”

“Not even a little.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “Good thing I was going to ask anyway.”

“...eow… Meow… Meow!”

Waking up to a heavy fluff covering my face, I groaned and gently swatted at my pet. “Ugh, get your butt off my face, Meowsters… I’m up, I’m up!”

My body ached with the kind of exhaustion that never really left, only dulled for a little while before settling back into my bones as I pushed myself up from my poor excuse of a bed. Well, a 30-minute nap doesn’t really change much when you’re always on the go.

“Gosh, aren’t you fussy when you’re hungry,” I huffed, brushing a hand along the back of my tabby cat as he circled in front of me—his way of telling me to get moving.

Standing up, I stretched a little before grabbing his favorite wet food from the few cupboards I had. After struggling with the can for longer than I would’ve liked, I finally emptied it into the bowl with his name scribbled across the side.

“You’re lucky you have a very patient owner, Meowsters, or you wouldn’t be eating this at all.”

“Meow.”

I set the bowl down on the concrete floor, and Meowsters immediately trotted over to feast. The sight brought a soft smile to my lips, though it faded the moment I remembered everything I still had to do. Reality always had a way of ruining the mood.

“I wish I could be a cat just like you too, Meowsters.”

“Meow?” My cat looked up at me briefly before going right back to eating, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

After that, I took the quickest shower I could manage—just enough to wake myself up without risking falling asleep standing there. I threw on whatever looked decent enough to leave the house in, I couldn’t be bothered with my appearance when I’d be changing into my uniform for the night shift anyway.

“Be good as always, Meowsters. I’m leaving!”

Behind me, I heard a sound that I chose to believe was his version of a goodbye.

By the time I got to Neko-Albini Store, I’d only just managed to make it on time.

Or so I thought.

Kevin was already there.

Still wearing his black cap and mask, now with those glasses from yesterday resting on his face, he stood near the shelves like he was pretending not to loiter. From the way his eyes kept flicking from one aisle to the next, it didn’t take much to figure out he was trying to memorize where everything went before the shift even started.

The moment he noticed me, he straightened immediately.

“Good evening, [Name]!” he greeted, his voice carrying a nervous sort of enthusiasm that sounded almost painfully sincere. “I got here a little early, so I thought I’d try to remember which shelves were which before I accidentally embarrassed myself.”

“I see. Good job on that. Some customers need help finding things, and restocking is a pain if you don’t know where stuff goes. Just give me a sec before we start.”

“Okay!” Kevin gave a thumbs up as I disappeared into the break room.

A couple of minutes later, after changing into my uniform, I stepped back out and immediately noticed a few empty shelves.

Kevin was at the back of the counter, staring intently at the register for some reason.

I motioned for him to follow me. “Since the day shift left some shelves half-empty, we’ll restock while there aren’t any customers. Let’s go to the storage area.”

He turned to me at once. “Oh, okay! Just like last time?”

“Yeah. I’ll show you what to do again as a refresher, then I’ll leave you to do your half while I do mine.”

“Great. I can do that,” I think I heard Kevin mutter to himself, with a quiet “Probably…” tacked on at the end, but I decided to ignore it for the sake of not embarrassing him.

I led him into the storage area and pointed at a stack of boxes. “Snacks, biscuits, cup noodles. We’re filling the emptier shelves out front. Just read the labels Alban made and match them properly.”

“Got it,” Kevin said, nodding.

I handed him one box and took another for myself. For a moment, I actually thought this might go smoothly.

Then I looked over and found him staring at the label like it had personally offended him.

“What now?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m just trying to figure out why Alban’s handwriting looks like it’s fighting for its life.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “You get used to it.”

“That’s unfortunate. In my opinion, I think this whole place would benefit from a color-coded system.”

We started walking out of the storage area toward our respective shelves, which were right beside each other.

I hummed, considering the idea as I set my box down. “Hm. Maybe you should pitch that to Alban when he gets back. Speaking of which, where is he?”

“Oh, Alban-san?” Kevin answered after setting his own box down. “I caught him leaving when I got here early. He mentioned something about picking up a new delivery. Or… new items? Something along those lines.”

“Ah, then it must be that new snack collab with the game. What was the name again—”

“Wait—don’t tell me. The Poketopia one?!”

Kevin perked up so fast it nearly startled me.

“Oh, no, I wanted one of those so bad when it dropped. I love that game. Like, genuinely love that game. It’s so cute, and the little creatures are adorable, and—”

He cut himself off abruptly.

Behind his mask, I could practically feel the embarrassment sink in.

“…Sorry,” he muttered, suddenly sounding much smaller as he scratched the back of his head. “Was that too much?”

Once I realized I’d been staring at him in silence, I lightly shook my head.

“No, you’re fine… Uh—”

Feeling the awkwardness settle in a little too heavily, I quickly cleared my throat and redirected us back to what we were actually supposed to be doing.

“What you have to do is line the label up with the item so customers can clearly see the price. And don’t forget to face everything forward too, so the branding shows properly.”

Even as I spoke, my thoughts were already clashing against each other.

He couldn’t be, right?

That was impossible.

There was no way this could actually be the Kaelix Debonair—my favorite idol from BY THE BEAT

I mean, Kevin’s hair was different from Kaelix’s usual white hair with those blue-faded tips…

But still, what were the chances?

He could have a twin brother, for all I kn—

“—So, like this, right, [Name]?”

Kevin looked at me with a hint of nervousness, waiting for approval.

And his eyes were really, really pretty.

I blinked and forced myself to focus.

“Ah—yeah. Just keep going like that. I’ll go get the rest of the boxes we need.”

“Okay,” Kevin said, nodding to himself. “Time to lock in. This shelf and I are gonna come to an understanding by the time this shift ends.”

Chuckling at his determination, I made my way back to the storage area and decided to leave him be while I worked on the shelves on the other side of the store instead.

By the time I was done with my side, I realized I’d managed to refill every shelf I’d touched.

Kevin, somehow, had barely gotten any further.

Which obviously meant something was wrong.

When I went back to check on him, I stopped short.

He was crouched in front of the aisle, not restocking—

but carefully center-aligning the labels on the shelves before putting the actual items in.

I just stared.

No, what was this?

“Kevin.”

He looked up. “Yeah?”

“Why are you centering the labels?”

Kevin blinked at me from where he was crouched, then glanced down at the shelf like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“Because they were crooked.”

I stared at him.

“That’s it?”

“Well…” He straightened one of the labels with unnecessary care before looking back up at me. “They were visibly off-center, and I thought if I left them like that, it would bother me the entire shift.”

“So instead of restocking, you decided to redecorate.”

“I wouldn’t call it redecorating,” he said, sounding oddly serious. “I’d call it fixing a problem before it became a bigger problem.”

“Kevin, this is a convenience store.”

“And?”

“The labels do not need to be perfectly centered.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But they were looking at me wrong.”

I just stared at him for a long second.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well, it means something to me.”

Somehow, he said it with enough sincerity that I had to look away for a moment just to keep from laughing.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered.

“No, I’m trying to be efficient,” he said, then paused. “...In my own way.”

“Your own way is slowing you down.”

“That’s a fair and devastating point.”

With a small sigh, I crouched down beside him and started fixing the rest of the labels myself, quicker and far less carefully than he had been doing.

“Look,” I said, tapping the row in front of us, “they just need to be readable. Straight enough is good enough. You don’t have to make them look like they’re auditioning for a catalog.”

Kevin watched me for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “So the standard here is less ‘visual harmony’ and more ‘functional survival.’”

“Exactly.”

“I still disagree, but fine.”

He looked back at the shelf, then at me.

“Though, for the record, I still think my version had more dignity.”

I snorted.

“Less talking, more stocking.”

“Right. Locking in.” He nodded to himself once, then picked up another item and carefully placed it on the shelf.

Two seconds later, he frowned.

“Wait.”

I closed my eyes. “What now?”

“Why are the barbecue chips next to the sea salt ones if the spicy garlic is over there? That arrangement is upsetting me.”

Before I could get a word in, the jingle of the door caught my attention.

I greeted the customer on instinct, briefly glancing their way before looking back at Kevin with mild frustration.

“Ask Alban that next time. Leave it for now—I need to teach you how to use the cash register and scan items.”

He followed after me to the counter while I stepped behind the register. The customer had set down a couple of snacks, a bottled drink, and instant noodles.

“Watch first,” I told him quietly. “Then I’ll let you try.”

“Okay,” Kevin said, nodding with suspicious seriousness.

I picked up the first item and turned it slightly in my hand. “Look for the barcode, line it up with the scanner, and wait for the beep. If it doesn’t scan the first time, just try again.”

“Got it.”

I rang up the customer’s items, bagged them, handed over the change, and sent them on their way. Then I turned back to Kevin.

“Your turn.”

He straightened a little. “Already?”

“That’s how training works.”

Reaching under the counter, I pulled out a small basket of stray items left behind by earlier customers and set it between us.

Kevin picked up a pack of gum and turned it over once.

Then twice.

Then a third time.

I stared.

“It’s on the front,” I said.

He looked down and let out a quiet, offended, “Oh.”

I had to look away for a second.

He held it over the scanner.

Beep

Kevin blinked. “Okay. That was satisfying.”

“Next.”

He picked up a bottled tea and held it over the scanner.

Bee—Beep

We both looked at the screen.

Kevin slowly turned to me. “…That was a bad beep, wasn’t it?”

“Very.”

I reached over and removed the extra item from the screen. “One beep per item.”

“Right,” he said, nodding. “That feels clearer in hindsight.”

“You’d think.”

The next item went better, if only barely.

Before I could say anything else, the door jingled again.

Kevin noticed at the same time I did and immediately perked up.

“Good evening!” he greeted a little too brightly for this hour.

The woman who had just walked in blinked at him.

I slowly turned to stare.

Kevin seemed to realize a second too late how enthusiastic he’d sounded and awkwardly added, quieter this time, “…Welcome.”

She stepped up to the counter and set down her basket, though not before her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Great.

I slid to the side. “You’re scanning this one.”

Kevin’s head snapped toward me. “Right now?”

“That’s how training works.”

He looked at the register. Then at the customer. Then at me.

“Okay,” he said, nodding to himself. “Work time.”

He muttered the next part under his breath like it was some private joke.

“Can’t believe I got a job.”

I wasn’t surprised that he was a little slow ringing the items up, but once the total finally came up, I stepped in again to help him print the receipt and count out the customer’s change.

Once the woman was gone, I sent Kevin back to restocking the remaining shelves while I let my mind wander again about my new co-worker.

He really did talk through everything.

Every task, every mistake, every tiny observation that crossed his mind seemed to slip out before he could stop it. It should’ve been annoying—maybe it was, a little—but in a way I couldn’t quite explain, the store didn’t feel nearly as dull with him around.

Even now, while pretending to focus on the shelves, he was still muttering to himself under his breath like silence was something he had to actively fight against.

Then, from the next aisle over—

“Ew, there’s chewed gum on top of this shelf.”

I closed my eyes.

“Kevin.”

“No, I’m serious,” he called back, sounding mildly horrified. “Who put it there? They should be ashamed of themselves!”