Asher Akatsu!

The text message from Caleb hit my phone at exactly 7:00 AM on a Saturday, a day I was supposed to be completely off-duty.

“Emergency at the penthouse. Are you awake?”

Panic spiked my adrenaline. I didn't even change out of my oversized sweatpants and faded graphic tee. I threw my hair into a messy bun, grabbed my keys, and sprinted across town, bracing myself for the worst. Had Rafayel’s fever returned? Had Sylus finally thrown an executive off the balcony?

When I jammed my key into the penthouse lock and threw the door open, panting for breath, I froze.

The six most famous idols in the country were sitting in a tight circle on the living room rug. They weren't in stage outfits or designer labels. They were in mismatched hoodies, flannel pajama pants, and slides. Complete silence hung over the room until Caleb slowly looked up.

"We have a problem," Caleb said, his voice deadly serious.

"What is it? Did someone get hurt?" I asked, clutching my chest.

"Worse," Rafayel groaned, dramatically flopping backward onto a floor cushion. "Management cleared our schedule for the next twenty-four hours. A mandatory mental health day. No cameras. No practice. No vocal coaches. Nothing."

I blinked, lowering my hands. "Okay.. and that's a crisis because..?"

"Because we don't know what to do." Valko admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his amber eyes wide with genuine confusion. "We wanted to do something normal. Like, regular-people normal. But the moment we suggested going out, our security team threatened to resign."

"We are trapped in a golden cage of our own making." Sylus said from his spot on the couch, though the dry amusement in his voice couldn't hide the fact that he looked incredibly bored. He flicked a stray piece of lint off his black sweatpants. "The boys want an 'ordinary experience,' kitten. But apparently, when your face is on every billboard in the city, buying a cheap hotdog at a convenience store requires a tactical military operation."

"I suggested we stay in, but I was outvoted." Zayne murmured, adjusting his glasses without looking up from his book.

Xavier, who was hugging a giant plush pillow to his chest, looked up at me with big, hopeful eyes. "You're as close to a normal person that we know of, so help us, please?"

I stood in the doorway, staring at the multi-million-dollar powerhouse idol group looking at me like I held the secrets to the universe. 

“Uhm.. alright.. but can’t you guys just go out in disguises or something?” I said, scratching the back of my neck.

All the boys practically winced as if you brought up a bad memory.

“Well.. we tried that once.” Caleb began, “But someone,” He glares at Sylus, “Thought that he didn’t need anything but a hat and mask.”

Sylus scoffs, “You all are dramatic, it wasn’t that bad-“ Xavier cuts him off, “We were chased out of a mall, Sylus.” Sylus clears his throat and looks away. “My point still stands. I refuse to wear scratchy wigs and irritating contacts.” He said.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head at Sylus’s utter lack of subtlety. "Of course you tried to blend in by doing absolutely nothing. A six-foot-three man with silver hair, bright red eyes, and the aura of a mob boss doesn't just disappear under a baseball cap, Sylus."

Sylus merely smirked, leaning his head back against the sofa cushions. "I gave the public what they wanted, kitten. I'm generous like that."

"Right, well, your generosity almost got us trampled," Caleb sighed, rubbing his temples. "So, public spaces are out. Any other brilliant ideas?”

I tapped my chin, thinking back to my university days when the stress of exams became too much to handle. A memory flashed in my mind: neon lights, the smell of dust and old plastic, and the mechanical hum of outdated machinery.

"Actually... I do have an idea," I said, a small grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "It’s a bit unconventional, but it’s completely under the radar. Back in my college days, my friends and I used to go to this old, practically abandoned retro arcade on the edge of the industrial district."

Six pairs of eyes immediately locked onto me.

"An arcade?" Valko leaned forward, his amber eyes sparking with sudden interest. "Like, with the old-school joystick cabinets and crane games?"

"Exactly," I nodded, crossing my arms. "The owner is this sweet, half-deaf old man named Mr. Ji who honestly doesn't care who comes through the door as long as they drop a few quarters into the machines. It’s usually completely empty, especially nowadays. No cameras, no influencers, and absolutely no corporate executives."

"An establishment that time forgot," Rafayel murmured, sitting up slightly and tossing his purple hair out of his eyes. "It sounds tragically poetic. A graveyard of dead pixels and forgotten youth. I suppose it has a certain aesthetic charm."

"It has Pac-Man and air hockey, Rafayel, not an art gallery.” Sylus corrected dryly, before turning to Xavier, who was already practically vibrating with excitement. I smiled, "And they have a whole row of retro fighting games."

Xavier’s eyes widened, the plush pillow squeezed tightly against his chest. "Can we go? Please?"

Caleb looked at Zayne, silently checking for the leader's approval. Zayne closed his book, adjusting his glasses with a faint, resigned sigh. "Alright."

The boys cheered in triumph. “Everyone go get changed.” Zayne looked at me, “Wait here, okay?” I couldn’t help but melt at his voice, the flutter in my chest prominent. “Y-Yeah..”

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

When they finally filed back out into the foyer, it was clear that none of them shared a single definition of what "looking like a normal citizen" actually meant.

Caleb wore a clean, well-fitted olive green bomber jacket over a plain white tee, the ultimate boy-next-door look that somehow still screamed high-end catalog. Valko leaned hard into his street-dancer roots with an oversized black graphic sleeveless hoodie (that perfectly showed off his muscular arms), baggy cargo pants, and a neon teal-trimmed beanie pulled down tight over his fiery red hair.

Then came the others. Rafayel looked like he had stepped off a runway in a loose, flowing pastel knit sweater that slipped off one shoulder, complete with a designer scarf wrapped meticulously around his neck.

"Rafayel," I deadpanned, looking at the scarf. "It's eighty degrees outside."

"Okay, and?" he posed, adjusting a pair of oversized, wire-rimmed glasses that did absolutely nothing to disguise his face. "An artist does not compromise fashion for climate."

Xavier looked like a walking cloud in a fluffy, cream-colored fleece zip-up, looking so soft and sleepy. I half-expected him to lie down on the rug again. Zayne, true to form, looked incredibly sharp and intimidatingly handsome in a charcoal trench coat over a dark turtleneck, less like a pop star and more like a high-end corporate CEO on a casual winter holiday.

And Sylus? Sylus just wore a heavy, dark leather jacket over a black shirt, a silver chain glinting against his collar. He hadn't changed at all.

"A baseball cap, Sylus. Please." Caleb pleaded, shoving a plain black cap into the older man's hands.

Sylus scoffed but tossed the cap on backward, a dark, dangerous smirk playing on his lips as he looked down at me. "Satisfied, kitten? I’m practically invisible."

"You look like a bodyguard who's about to initiate a hostile takeover," I muttered, shaking my head. "But it'll have to do. Let's go before someone changes their mind."

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

The drive to the edge of the industrial district was remarkably quiet, the boys squeezed into a large, tinted SUV that Infold kept off the public registration records. When we finally pulled up to the weathered, faded neon sign that read Ji’s Retro Arcade, the boys stared through the dark windows.

The building was a low, concrete structure with peeling paint and dust-coated windows. To anyone else, it looked abandoned. Yet, it was the perfect fortress.

I led the way, pushing open the heavy glass door. A little bell chimed weakly above us. The interior was pitch black, smelling faintly of old carpet, dust, and ozone. 

"Uh... is it supposed to be this dark?" Valko asked, his voice echoing in the vast, silent room.

"The main breakers must have short circuited," I said, frowning as I looked across the rows of silent, dark cabinet machines. "Mr. Ji probably doesn’t even come check. I think the breaker box is in the back storage room, but I don't really know how to flip the main lines without blowing a fuse."

"Step aside, clear the way," Rafayel sighed, waving a hand dramatically. "I shall use my dazzling personality to light our—"

"I'll look at it," Caleb interrupted with a warm, grounded chuckle, stepping past him.

"I'm coming too," Valko chirped, instantly dropping his hoodie's hood and cracking his knuckles. "It’s been awhile since I’ve worked with wires."

I guided the two of them past the rows of dead Pac-Man and Time Crisis cabinets into a cramped, dusty back room. Caleb pulled out his phone, switching on the flashlight and illuminating a massive, rusted gray electrical box on the wall.

"Whoa," I said, taking a step back from the daunting mess of thick wires and heavy metal switches. "Maybe we should just call someone? I don't want you guys getting electrocuted before the tour."

"Relax," Caleb said smoothly, his voice carrying that steady, calming energy. He shone the light across the schematic pasted inside the metal door, his ultraviolet eyes scanning the fading text with an ease that caught me completely off guard. "It's just a standard three-phase system. The auxiliary compressor for the old AC unit probably overloaded the secondary bus."

Valko leaned over his shoulder, pointing a finger at a thick copper wire. "Look at the terminal balance here, Caleb. If we throw the main toggle without isolating the cabinet grids first, we're going to fry the logic boards on those old fighting games."

"Good catch, Val," Caleb murmured, reaching out and confidently flipping three smaller switches in a precise, rhythmic sequence before gripping the massive iron lever on the side of the box. "Alright. Stand back, just in case."

With a firm, heavy CLANK, Caleb threw the master switch.

A deep, mechanical thrum vibrated through the floorboards. A second later, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered to life, buzzing loudly before stabilizing. Through the open door of the storage room, a sudden symphony of electronic chirps, synthetic chimes, and retro theme music erupted as dozens of arcade machines booted up all at once.

I stood there, blinking in sheer amazement at the two of them. They hadn't hesitated for a single second.

"Okay, hold on." I said, looking back and forth between Caleb and Valko. "How on earth did you two just fix a thirty-year-old industrial power grid in under two minutes? Is that an Infold idol training requirement now?"

Valko let out a bright, contagious laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his amber eyes crinkled with amusement. "Man, I wish. No, I’ve been doing this since before I got scouted. My family owns a technology company so I was also working there. They made me learn the structural maintenance side of the business from the ground up. It was a fun time when you could actually just lose yourself in the tech."

Caleb chuckles, “Ever heard of EonCore Tech?” You raised an eyebrow. “Uh yeah? Who hasn’t? They practically make everything electronic these days.”

He grins and points at Valko, “Val over here is the chairman, wouldn’t you know it.” You proceed to process the information Caleb just gave you. My jaw drops and I look at Valko, who’s scratching the back of his neck.

Wait.. Valko’s.. Chairman?- WHAT?! 

Valko flushes red and shoves Caleb out of embarrassment, Caleb grins and they begin to wrestle playfully.

"Okay, okay. Break it up you two. Now what about you?" I turned to Caleb, completely fascinated.

Caleb smiled, the steady warmth in his eyes returning in full force as he wiped a smudge of dust off his thumb. "I spent two years studying aerospace engineering. I wanted to be a pilot, so I spent a lot of time buried in mechanical schematics and structural engine blueprints. Flipping a couple of old breakers isn't exactly rocket science, literally. I guess life had different plans because now I’m here." He chuckles, but it sounded slightly hollow.

"An engineer and a tech-whiz," I murmured, a soft laugh escaping me as we walked back out into the bright, neon-lit arcade floor. "You guys are full of surprises, aren't you?"

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

The transition from the dusty storage room back to the main floor was like stepping directly into a neon time capsule. The arcade hummed with life: the electronic warbles of Galaga, the rhythmic thuds of a dance machine, and the sharp blowing of air via a air hockey table.

"See? An absolute masterpiece of nostalgia," Rafayel proclaimed, though he was already hovering skeptically near a claw machine filled with slightly lopsided plush fish. "Though I question the artistic integrity of these stuffed marine specimens. They look deeply distressed."

"They're prizes, Raf, not an exhibition to analyze with fancy words." Sylus chuckled, leaning against a nearby cabinet with his arms crossed. He tossed a bag of quarters into the air and caught them effortlessly. "If you want one, I can always just break the glass."

"Do not break the glass, Sylus," Caleb warned, coming out of the back room while still dusting off his bomber jacket. "We are trying to be normal people, remember?"

Within twenty minutes, the initial awkwardness completely dissolved, and the boys split off into their natural elements.

⭐️🐺⭐️🐺⭐️🐺

Xavier and Valko immediately locked eyes over a vintage head-to-head fighting game cabinet. Xavier, still looking soft and unassuming in his fluffy cream fleece, sat down on the stool and cracked his knuckles with a quiet, terrifying intensity.

"Don't hold back, newbie.” Xavier murmured, his striking blue eyes reflecting the flashing screen.

"Oh, it's on!" Valko grinned, his eyes bright with competitive energy as he took the opposite seat.

For the next few minutes, the corner of the arcade was filled with the rapid-fire clack-clack-clack of joysticks and plastic buttons. To Valko's absolute shock, Xavier was a ruthless savant. Every time Valko initiated a high-tier combo, Xavier flawlessly countered it with a sleepy, rhythmic precision.

"How are you doing that?!" Valko groaned as his character was knocked out for the fourth time. "You aren't even looking at the controller!"

"Muscle memory," Xavier said softly, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips as he reached for another quarter. "I used to stay up late playing."

🍎🐟🍎🐟🍎🐟

Meanwhile, Caleb and Rafayel were engaged in a fiercely dramatic match of air hockey. Rafayel was treating the plastic mallet like a fencing foil, lunging forward with every strike.

"Ha! Watch my unstoppable defense!" Rafayel cheered as the puck zoomed across the table.

Caleb simply laughed, his ultraviolet eyes warm with genuine amusement as he casually blocked the shot and sent it snapping right back into Rafayel’s goal with an eerie precision.

"Hey! That was a fluke!" Rafayel complained, throwing his hands up dramatically. "The air pressure on your side is clearly better!"

"Sure it is, Raf," Caleb teased, resetting the puck. "Just keep your eye on the target."

🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

As I stood near the prize counter, watching Sylus effortlessly clear out a shooting gallery game while mocking the machine's outdated graphics. I giggled at his comments.

“Frustrated, Sylus? At a video game?” He smirks at me with an unreadable expression. “Not a word, kitten.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

I was sitting on a table, scanning the room. My ears ringing with the laughter and joy from the members. But in my scan, I realized the room was missing someone. I scanned the neon-lit aisles and finally spotted him.

Zayne was standing near the far wall, completely removed from the chaos. His charcoal trench coat was still buttoned up, and his hands were folded neatly behind his back. He was staring at a vintage racing game cabinet, his sharp hazel eyes unreadable behind his glasses. He hadn't touched a single machine, nor had he traded a single bill for quarters.

I grabbed a small plastic cup filled with leftover tokens and walked over, my heart doing a familiar, nervous flutter as I approached his stoic aura.

"You know, you should go play too, Zayne." I said softly, stepping up beside him. "And who knows when you’ll get the day off like this."

Zayne didn't startle. He simply shifted his gaze down to me, his expression calm and clinical, though his eyes seemed to soften just a fraction. "I am simply observing."

"You're not observing, you're brooding." I countered gently, offering him the cup of tokens. "Everyone else is enjoying themselves, and you're standing here looking like you're not allowed to breathe near Pac-Man."

Zayne let out a short, quiet breath that was the closest he ever got to a laugh. "You don’t understand.” I noticed him fidgeting with his sleeve and I rest my hand on his arm in attempt to ground him. “Then let me understand.” I say.

Zayne looked down at my hand resting on his arm, his eyes lingering on the small gesture for a long beat before he shifted his gaze back to the glowing screen of the racing cabinet. The neon lights cast a blue and pink hue over his sharp jawline, making his usual stoic expression look incredibly poignant.

He let out a slow, quiet breath, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch as the rigid, professional barrier finally cracked.

"When I was a child," Zayne began, his deep voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur that was easily swallowed by the surrounding arcade noise, keeping the conversation entirely between us. "My peers spent their weekends in places exactly like this. They collected tickets, traded tokens, and made mistakes. I, however, had a different trajectory mapped out for me."

He adjusted his glasses, his hazel eyes clouded with the weight of memories he rarely shared. "I was expected to be a straight-A student. Every hour was accounted for. Studying, advanced placements, preparing for a medical career that felt entirely inevitable. While other kids were learning how to play, I was learning how to anticipate failure so I could prevent it. I was never expected to simply act like a child my own age."

I looked up at him, my heart breaking a little for the young boy who had been forced to grow up far too fast. "So you never got to just be reckless? Or have fun without a purpose?"

"No," Zayne replied flatly, though there wasn't bitterness in his tone, only a deep, clinical acceptance of his past. "And that structure followed me into adulthood. It is the precise reason Infold chosen me as the leader of LADS. I am the responsible one. I am the one who calculates the risks, enforces the recovery schedules, and ensures the others do not collapse under corporate demands."

He turned his head to look across the room, watching where Sylus, Caleb, and Valko were now cheering as Xavier apparently achieved a win over Rafayel.

"Even now, on a mandatory mental health day, I cannot simply disable that part of my mind." Zayne admitted, his voice carrying a raw, heavy sincerity. "If I relax, if I abandon my post as the responsible one, who ensures their safety? Who makes sure we stay together? Freedom is a luxury I cannot afford when the well-being of the entire group rests on my ability to remain vigilant."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, keeping my hand steady against his arm, offering a silent, grounding warmth. "Zayne.. being the leader doesn't mean you have to be made of stone. Look at them." I gestured to the guys, who were completely lost in their own worlds of unbothered joy. "They aren't just safe right now, they're happy. And they're happy because you got them here. You did your job. You continue to do your job, not just for them but for the fans too. I’ve seen the clips of you stopping sets for a fan in need.” The tips of his ears go red.

“You may be the leader, and you may have to look after these guys, but you also need to learn that it’s okay to lose control. It’s okay to lose track of time. You can learn to share your burden with them. You don’t have to be just the responsible one, because from where I’m standing, you’re much more than that clinical robot you make yourself out to be.” I smile at him. “Plus you wouldn’t have chosen to become an idol if you didn’t feel something more beneath that icy surface of yours.”

He looks at me and for a moment, he holds my gaze before sighing. Not out of annoyance, but like someone who just let go of a heavy weight on their shoulders.

I picked up two tokens from the plastic cup and held them out, pressing them gently against his palm.

"For the next few hours, you aren't the leader of the biggest group in the country, and you aren’t going to keep lurking. You're just a guy at an arcade with his friends. Let the kid who never got to play finally have a turn."

Zayne looked from the tokens in his hand up to my face, his sharp eyes searching mine, parsing the complete lack of expectations or demands in my expression. A heavy silence stretched between us, until finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

"I’ve always wanted to play a racing game," he murmured, his tone shifting into something softer, a little lighter. "Strictly to analyze the operational limits of this machine's turning radius."

"Right. Strictly scientific." I agreed, a massive grin breaking across my face as the stoic leader of LADS finally took a seat at the steering wheel, letting the child in him slip in tokens into the slot.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

For the next hour, the impossible happened: Zayne actually played. He didn't just play either, he completely dominated the high-score leaderboard, earning a rare, triumphant smirk. It was almost scary how good he was at it.

Eventually, the rest of the boys caught on to the anomaly.

"Nice cornering, Zaynie!" Caleb cheered, leaning over the seat with a massive, proud grin.

Even Sylus sauntered over, inserting a coin into the adjacent cabinet to challenge him. The competitive banter that followed was loud, chaotic, and entirely human. For a few beautiful hours, the heavy weight of the idol world completely ceased to exist.

But time, as it always does when you're having fun, caught up to us. The neon lights of the arcade suddenly felt a little dimmer as the digital clock on the wall crept past midnight. The mandatory twenty-four-hour mental health day was officially coming to a close.

Caleb was the first to check his phone, his face falling slightly into that familiar, grounded look of responsibility. "Hey, guys, I don’t mean to be that guy but.. look at the time. We've got a 7:00 AM call time for the vocal run-throughs tomorrow."

A collective, theatrical groan echoed through the arcade.

"Ugh!" Rafayel cried, dramatically dropping his head onto Caleb's shoulder. "C’mon, I was just about to be Xavi in Street Fighter!"

Xavier gave him an unimpressed look, “You literally lost five times in a row-“  Rafayel covers his mouth with his hand. “Shush.”

Caleb laughed gently, though his own eyes carried a trace of bittersweet reluctance. "Back to reality."

Valko sighed, pulling his neon beanie lower over his face, though a warm smile remained on his lips. "It was worth it, though. Best day off ever."

Xavier sat quietly at the fighting game cabinet, his thumb tracing the joystick one last time before slipping his hands back into his fluffy fleece pockets. "Yeah. It was nice."

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

The drive back to the luxury complex was quiet, but it wasn't the suffocating, tense silence from before. It was the peaceful, heavy-lidded quiet of a group of friends who had played hard and left everything on the arcade floor.

When the penthouse elevator doors chimed open, we all stepped back into the sleek, pristine foyer. The transition back into their reality felt sudden, but the atmosphere inside the apartment was noticeably lighter now.

Sylus tossed his backward baseball cap onto the console table and ran a hand through his silver hair. He looked down at me, his red eyes glinting with lazy amusement. "Thanks for today, kitten."

"Get some rest, Sylus," I smiled.

"Thanks for helping us on our day off," Valko said warmly, giving me a quick, energetic wave as he headed toward the stairs. "See you tomorrow!"

"Goodnight," Xavier murmured sleepily, already practically drifting toward his bedroom like a ghost.

Rafayel smiled at me and with a hint of his natural voice coming through, he spoke. “Night, cutie. Rest up well.” And he walked off.

Caleb offered his own quiet, grateful goodnight before dispersing down the hallway, leaving the foyer settled in a tranquil, dim ambiance.

I turned toward the door, gripping the strap of my bag, but paused when I realized Zayne hadn't walked away yet.

He stood near the edge of the foyer, his charcoal trench coat still looking impeccably sharp, though his posture was entirely devoid of the rigid tension he had carried that morning. He adjusted his glasses, his sharp hazel eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly still.

There were no cameras, no managers, and no corporate rules standing between us in that quiet second. Just a profound, unspoken understanding.

"Thank you," Zayne said softly, his deep voice carrying a raw, gentle sincerity that resonated straight to my core. "For.. listening and.. not expecting."

I felt a warm blush creep up my neck, but I held his gaze, offering a soft, genuine smile. "Anytime, Zayne. Just remember to share the burden next time."

Zayne gave a slow, measured nod, the ghost of that tiny, exclusive smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I will take it under advisement. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I whispered.

I turned and stepped through the penthouse door, the heavy lock clicking securely behind me. As I waited for the elevator, my heart was hammering against my ribs, an unstoppable smile stretching across my face.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

Inside the foyer, Zayne remained still for a moment, staring at the closed door before turning back toward the hallway to his room, a smile on his face.

Leaning against the kitchen island with his arms crossed, Sylus silently watched the entire exchange play out. 

He didn't say a single word. He simply let out a low, private chuckle, “She really is becoming a problem.”

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

End of Chapter 3

When I let myself into the penthouse on Thursday morning, the silence inside was heavy, almost suffocating. Usually, there was at least the faint hum of Xavier’s keyboard or the sound of bickering. Today, the air tasted only of stale coffee and collective exhaustion.

As I moved into the living area, the signs of their crumbling work-life balance were everywhere. In the kitchen, the marble island was buried under an avalanche of half-empty energy drink cans, vitamin bottles, and untouched, cold meal-prep containers. In the living room, Rafayel’s expensive mirrors and sketchbooks lay scattered haphazardly across the floor, some pages wrinkled as if they had been dropped in a frantic rush. Over in Xavier’s cozy corner, his digital keyboard was still switched on, its little red power light glowing dimly in the shadows, surrounded by dozens of crumpled lyric sheets.

"They didn't even sleep in their beds last night," I whispered to myself, glancing at the pristine guest bedrooms upstairs before heading back down to the main floor.

A faint rustle from the balcony caught my attention. Peeking through the glass, I spotted Sylus slumped in one of the outdoor chairs, his silver hair windswept as he stared blankly at the early morning city skyline. His signature black jacket was draped over the back of the seat, and his eyes, usually so sharp and mocking, were heavily bloodshot.

He didn't smirk when he noticed me. He simply closed his eyes in a slow, tired acknowledgment of my presence before rubbing his face with both hands. The sheer pressure of their schedule and navigating corporate demands was visibly fracturing even his ironclad composure.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

By mid-afternoon, the front door chimed. I expected their usual grand entrance, but the boys practically dragged themselves across the threshold like ghosts.

"I can't do the choreo for the remix version," Rafayel rasped, collapsing onto the hardwood floor of the foyer without even bothering to take off his shoes. His vibrant purple hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. "My center of gravity is gone. I am a sinking ship."

"You missed the count because you're sleep-deprived, Rafayel," Zayne said. His voice lacked its usual sharp edge, sounding hollow instead as he leaned heavily against the wall with his eyes closed. "Your reflex times are dangerously delayed. If you keep this up, you will tear a ligament."

"Look who's talking," Caleb muttered, dropping a massive crate of promotional wardrobe options onto the floor with a heavy, metallic rattle. The ultimate rock of the group looked like he was carrying the weight of the world, his ultraviolet eyes completely dull. "Zayne, you haven't slept more than two hours a night this week. You can't keep balancing interviews, tour prep, and us. Management is already breathing down our necks about live vocal stability."

Xavier stumbled past them without a word, his expression entirely blank. Looking incredibly small in his oversized hoodie, he held his notebook to his chest like a shield. Without glancing at anyone, he walked straight to his keyboard, slid on his headphones, and began playing furiously.

"Xavier, eat something first." Valko pleaded softly, walking in last.

Valko looked the worst of all. The fiery red hair that usually stood out so vibrantly looked dull, and a dark purple bruise was forming on his left wrist, likely from a botched stunt transition during dance practice. The online hate hadn't stopped, and it was clear he was overcompensating, trying to prove his worth by practicing until his body broke.

"I'm fine," Xavier's voice drifted out, cold and distant, completely uncharacteristic of his usual gentle nature. "The producers said the second verse lacks impact. I have to rewrite it before the midnight deadline."

Standing by the kitchen island with my dust cloth, my heart ached for them. 

As a fan, I want to see them shine.

And as a human being standing in their living room, I just wanted to tell them to stop.

But I remembered that I had to uphold professional boundaries. I was the cleaner. I wasn't their friend, their manager, or their therapist. If I overstepped, I could lose this job, or worse, cause more stress in an already volatile environment.

So, I did the only thing I legally and professionally could do: I cleaned.

I quietly navigated around the tension, becoming as invisible as possible. I cleared away the mountain of energy drinks, replacing them with structured rows of the electrolyte waters Zayne usually approved of. I picked up Rafayel's scattered sketchbooks, organizing them neatly by date on his side table without disturbing the open pages. Finally, I slipped a fresh, warm mug of chamomile tea near Xavier's keyboard, placing it far enough from his electronics but close enough for him to reach without looking.

As I was wiping down the kitchen counters, Valko approached the island to grab an ice pack for his wrist. He looked up, his amber eyes meeting mine. For a second, the guard he kept up dropped. He looked incredibly young, incredibly tired, and deeply lonely.

“So, dropping the professionalism for a moment... you’re a fan, right?”

I was caught off guard, but I couldn't help but respond honestly. “Yeah, I am.”

"Do you think it ever gets easier?" he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper so the others wouldn't hear. "The pressure? Balancing who you were with who they want you to be?"

I paused, gripping the microfiber cloth tightly. I knew the corporate rules. I knew I shouldn't engage. But seeing him look so defeated broke something in me.

"I don't know if it gets easier," I said softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the counter to maintain some semblance of distance. "But... the people who truly care about the music can see how hard you're working. The real fans notice the dedication. Don't let the noise drown out why you started street dancing in the first place." I give him a genuine smile, a soft one. Then I walked off, continuing my cleaning.

Valko blinked, a small spark of genuine warmth returning to his amber eyes. He squeezed the ice pack against his bruised wrist and gave a tiny, grateful nod. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

By 8:00 PM, my shift was over. The penthouse was immaculate once again. A pristine, minimalist sanctuary contrasting sharply with the internal chaos of its residents.

Caleb was in the kitchen, his shoulders hunched as he silently plated nutritional meals. Rafayel hadn't moved from the couch, staring blankly at a canvas he had set up days ago but hadn't touched. In the hallway, Sylus was on the phone, his voice low, sharp, and argumentative with an Infold executive.

They were balancing on a razor's edge, keeping up the illusion of a perfect, flawless six-member powerhouse while their personal lives and physical health were being ground into dust.

I looked around at them. They were all exhausted, barely eating or sleeping.

I shouldn’t say anything. I’m just a fan and their worker. I am a professional.. I think I am at least..

"Screw it."

I turned around fully, gripping the strap of my cleaning bag like a shield. "Alright, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but this is pathetic to look at. You guys look like corpses, quite honestly, worse than corpses."

The living room went dead quiet. Caleb froze, his spatula hovering over a container of bland chicken breast. Rafayel slowly raised his head from the couch, his purple hair falling out of his eyes as he blinked in sheer disbelief. Even Xavier’s fingers paused over his digital keyboard, though he didn't take off his headphones.

"So forgive me for overstepping," I continued, adrenaline pounding in my ears and drowning out the voice of the corporate HR handbook screaming in my head. "But your schedules are cleared for the rest of the night, and I’ll be taking care of you all. Starting with cleaning up your messy selves."

"Cleared?" Sylus’s low voice cut through the room as he stepped back inside from the balcony, sliding his phone into his pocket. A dangerous, amused glint flickered in his bloodshot eyes. "And who exactly authorized that, kitten? Infold executives aren't known for their flexibility."

"I don't care about the executives right now," I said, my voice bolder than I actually felt. "I care about the fact that if you all collapse, there won't be a tour to manage anyway. Caleb, step away from the meal prep. That stuff looks like cardboard, and none of you are going to eat it."

Caleb stared at me for a second, his ultraviolet eyes wide. Then, the tension in his broad shoulders suddenly broke, and a faint, exhausted laugh escaped his lips. "Fine. Fine, I hear you." He set the spatula down and leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, I didn't have the energy to season it anyway."

"Finally! A voice of reason in this prison!" Rafayel dramatically draped an arm over his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. "I demand real food. Something that doesn't taste like vitamin powder and corporate despair."

"You'll get actual food once you move to the dining table," I countered, pointing a finger at him. "And Zayne, please stop leaning against the wall before you fall asleep standing up. Sit down."

Zayne let out a quiet sigh, his usual stern composure giving way to pure fatigue. He didn't argue. He simply moved to the nearest armchair and sank into it, closing his eyes. "I suppose a temporary cessation of activity is medically advisable."

I walked over to Xavier's corner. He was still staring at his notebook, his shoulders tense. Without asking, I reached over and gently pulled one side of his headphones away from his ear.

"The second verse can wait until tomorrow, Xavier," I said softly, softening my tone. "A tired brain doesn't write hits. It just writes circles."

Xavier looked up at me, his blank expression slowly thawing. He glanced down at the mug of chamomile tea I had left him earlier, it was completely empty. Giving a small, barely perceptible nod, he closed his laptop, stood up, and dragged his oversized hoodie with him toward the kitchen island.

Valko, still sitting by the island with the ice pack pressed tightly to his wrist, caught my eye. He offered a tiny, lopsided smile, a silent thank you for breaking the oppressive atmosphere in the room.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

For the next two hours, the professional boundary line didn't just blur; it was completely erased.

I raided the back of the pantry, ignoring the pre-packaged diet plans to find actual ingredients. Then I started on a massive pot of comfort food that simmered on the stove, filling the stale apartment air with the rich, warm scent of garlic, broth, and spices. 

I went to work acting as a temporary babysitter for my favorite six exhausted idols. I’m so getting fired.

I retrieved a fresh compression wrap from the medical kit Zayne always kept in the hall. Under Zayne's quiet, watchful instruction from the armchair, I helped Valko properly secure his wrist to reduce the swelling. Next, I confiscated Rafayel’s scattered mirrors, stacking them safely on a high shelf where he couldn't mindlessly obsess over them in his sleep-deprived haze. “You can worry about looks some other time.” I told him.

Finally, I handed Sylus a heavy glass of ice water and pointed toward a dining chair. "Sit. No business calls, no checking emails. If your phone buzzes, I'm throwing it off the balcony." He let out a dark, quiet chuckle but complied, sliding the device face-down across the table.

When the food was ready, I served them right there at the island and dining table. At first, they ate in silence, the sheer physical relief of a warm, home-cooked meal settling over the room. But slowly, the heavy, suffocating atmosphere began to lift.

Sylus and Zayne were chatting about something. Caleb started talking to Valko about vocals, his voice much lighter than before. Rafayel actually finished an entire plate without complaining once about the presentation. Xavier sat quietly, color slowly returning to his cheeks as he ate.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

By 10:30 PM, the kitchen counters were spotless once more, the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, and a profound, peaceful quiet had settled over the penthouse. It wasn't the heavy, tense silence from this morning, it was the quiet of a house finally at rest. 

I gathered my things and moved toward the front door, slipping my jacket on.

"Hey," Caleb called out, walking over from the living room. The dullness in his eyes was gone, replaced by the steady, grounded warmth he usually carried. "We... we really appreciate this. You didn't have to do any of it. It definitely wasn't in your job description."

"Consider it an investment," I said with a slight smile, adjusting my bag. "The fans need the performers to actually be conscious on stage."

"We'll make sure of it," he promised, giving me a genuine smile.

As I opened the door, Sylus looked up from the couch where he was finally relaxing, his long legs stretched out. "Don't think you're completely off the hook for threatening my phone, kitten," he called out, a hint of his signature mocking smirk finally returning to his face. "But... the soup wasn't terrible."

"High praise, coming from you." I laughed.

I stepped out into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind me. Walking toward the elevator, my heart was still beating a little fast from the sheer recklessness of what I had done. 

Tomorrow, I might have to face an angry email from Infold Corp or a strict lecture about boundaries.

But looking back at the peaceful penthouse, I knew I wouldn't change a single thing.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

When the door closed, Caleb looked over at Sylus. “What happened to ‘idols can’t get attached to fans’?”

Sylus let out a low, dry chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the sofa. The bloodshot tension in his eyes had finally melted into lazy amusement.

"I believe the exact wording in the corporate mandate was 'maintain strict professional distance to avoid complications’." Sylus corrected smoothly, his voice returning to its usual deep, resonant gravel. He glanced toward the closed door, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. 

"She isn't just any fan, though," Valko murmured from the couch, carefully flexing his newly wrapped wrist. The compression bandage was tight and secure, a physical reminder of the quiet care that had just filled the room. "She didn't ask for autographs or photos. She just... saw us. Really saw us."

"Seeing us is one thing, newbie, but knowing us? Without all this.. idol shit?" A scoff leaves his throat. “That’s something different entirely.” Rafayel complained, he’s not sure where the defensiveness came from. ‘I’m just tired.’ He thinks. He had migrated from the floor to the plush cushions of the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a look of exhaustion. "I’m going to my room." He gets up and walks off.

The hallway fell silent for a brief moment as the sound of Rafayel’s door clicking shut echoed down the corridor. His uncharacteristic defensiveness hung in the air, a stark reminder that while a hot meal and a few stern words had broken the ice, the deep-seated pressure of their lives hadn't magically vanished overnight.

Caleb let out a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Valko’s right about one thing, though. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at us and saw actual people instead of a product line or a brand to manage." He looked over at the empty bowls on the counter, a faint smile touching his lips. "Even if she did call us pathetic."

"She wasn't entirely inaccurate," Zayne noted dryly. He stood up from the armchair, his posture still weary but noticeably less rigid than it had been hours prior. 

Xavier didn't say anything immediately. He remained seated at the kitchen island, his fingers tracing the rim of the empty mug that had held the chamomile tea. His eyes, usually clouded with the heavy fog of sleep deprivation and creative block, seemed focused.

"The second verse," Xavier murmured softly, breaking his silence. He looked up at the remaining boys, a rare, genuine spark returning to his gaze. "I know how to fix it now. It doesn't need to be loud or high-impact like the producers wanted. It just needs to be honest."

Sylus let out a low, approving hum, finally standing up from the sofa. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flipping it over in his hand. The screen lit up with dozens of missed notifications and urgent emails from Infold Corp executives demanding updates on the track list and marketing schedules.

Without a hint of hesitation, he swiped the device into do-not-disturb mode and tossed it casually back onto the coffee table.

"For now, the kitten ordered us to sleep. And I highly doubt any of you want to explain to her tomorrow why you disobeyed a direct command."

A collective, quiet laugh rippled through the remaining members, a sound that hadn't been heard inside the penthouse walls in weeks. One by one, the boys began to disperse toward their respective rooms, the heavy, suffocating weight that had threatened to break them finally lifted, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

 Even if only for a little while.

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

The following Monday rolled around far quicker than my racing thoughts could handle. I spent the entire weekend staring at my phone, half-expecting a scathing email from Infold Corp termination HR. But when the notification finally popped up, it was just my standard shift confirmation. Relief washed over me and I head to the penthouse.

When I let myself in at 6:00 PM, the silence that greeted me wasn't the heavy, suffocating exhaustion of last week, it was just... silent. The lights were dimmed, and the air smelled faintly of peppermint and expensive oil paint.

As I grabbed my cleaning bag and walked into the kitchen, a loud, theatrical sneeze echoed from the living room.

I paused, gripping my spray bottle. I crept around the corner and blinked.

Rafayel was sprawled across the plush sofa, looking like a tragic painting of a fallen prince. He was wrapped in a massive, fluffy white duvet, a silk sleep mask pushed up into his messy, vibrant purple hair. His nose was pink, his eyes were watery, and a mountain of crumpled tissues was already accumulating on the floor.

"Rafayel?" I asked, dropping my professional guard instantly. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the studio?"

The second he realized he had an audience, his posture shifted. He dramatically flung a pale hand over his forehead, letting out a weak, raspy sigh that sounded like a dying Victorian poet.

"Ah. The keeper of the sanctuary returns," Rafayel murmured, his voice thick and congested, though he tried to lace it with his usual theatrical flair. "Do not mind me. I am simply a masterpiece left out in the rain. A fading canvas. Go about your duties while I slowly dissolve into the cushions."

I walked closer, crossing my arms. "You're sick."

"Sick? Me? Never," he scoffed, though the effect was entirely ruined when he immediately sneezed into a fresh tissue. He winced, muttering under his breath about the universe conspiring against his flawless vocal cords, before looking up at me with a pout. "It is merely a minor creative block that manifested physically. The producers wanted 'raw emotion,' so my body decided to produce a raw fever. I am perfectly fine. In fact, I am flourishing."

"You're burning up, Rafayel. I can feel the heat from here," I said, stepping closer to touch his forehead, but he quickly ducked under the duvet like a stubborn child.

"A true artist is always burning with passion," his muffled voice came from beneath the blanket. "Don’t look at me right now. I am practicing my lines for the next music video. A tragic, reclusive genius who needs no assistance."

"Right. A genius who can't even reach the tissue box without groaning," I countered, pulling the duvet back just enough to look him in the eye. "Where are the others?"

Rafayel rolled his eyes dramatically, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Vocal Rehearsal til 9.” He sighed, "Zayne locked me out of the van and told management I was a biohazard. Can you believe the audacity? Sylus practically carried me up here and threatened to tie me to the bed if I followed them to the studio. They think they can manage without their center. Hmph." He sniffled, looking entirely miserable despite his best efforts to look aloof. "I told them I could hit the high notes in my sleep. But fine. Let them suffer the mediocrity of a five-member track."

"They're trying to keep you from collapsing, you stubborn boy." I sighed, a fond but exasperated smile breaking through my serious expression. "And you are absolutely staying right there."

"I am a grown man and an international idol. I am not going to take orders from the cleaning staff." Rafayel huffed, crossing his arms and turning his face away, though he couldn't stop the shiver that racked his shoulders.

"You did last week," I reminded him gently, setting my cleaning supplies aside. "And right now, the 'cleaning staff' is going to make you some ginger tea.” I put my hand on his forehead softly, seeing the hesitation in his eyes.

“You know, you can drop the act, Rafayel. You don't have to be this flawless idol when you're literally drowning in tissues."

He peeked out from under his bangs, his watery purple eyes tracking me as I moved toward the kitchen. For a fraction of a second, the dramatic walls he built up seemed to waver. He scoffs and sits up.

"You don’t even know me, all you fans see is “Rafayel! The amazing entertainment prodigy since birth!” And you assume based everything off of what you see on a screen." He can’t stop the bitter laugh that comes from him. 

“All you will ever see and ever know is that version of Rafayel. The smiley, dramatic, perfect visual mask I wear on stage.” He pulls his knees to his chest.

I froze, the kettle halfway to the sink. The playful banter that usually defined our interactions had evaporated, leaving behind a raw, heavy silence that felt entirely too real for the pristine walls of the penthouse.

Turning around slowly, I set the kettle down and looked at him. He was sitting up now, the massive white duvet pooled around his waist. Without the stage lights, the perfect styling, and the effortless confidence, he just looked incredibly fragile, just a young guy shivering with a fever, crushed under the weight of his own persona.

"You're right," I said softly, stepping back over to the edge of the living room. "I don't know everything. I don't know what it feels like to have millions of people projecting their expectations onto you, or how exhausting it must be to keep that mask from slipping even for a second."

I walked over and knelt down by the coffee table, right in front of him, keeping a respectful distance but refusing to look away from his watery, frustrated eyes.

"But I know what I see right now," I continued, my voice steady and gentle. "I don't see a perfect visual mask, and I'm not looking at an entertainment prodigy. I just see a boy named Rafayel. And he is exhausted, sick, and running on empty because he cares too much to let his team down."

Rafayel blinked, his breath hitching slightly. He opened his mouth to offer another sharp, defensive retort, but the words seemed to fail him. 

"You guys treat your own well-being like it's a distraction from your job," I said, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. "But you can't pour from an empty cup. If you won't take care of yourself for your own sake, then let me do it. Not because I'm a fan, and not because it's my job description, but because you're human, and you shouldn't have to carry all of this alone."

For a long moment, the only sound in the penthouse was the faint hum of the refrigerator. Rafayel stared down at his hands, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric of the duvet. Finally, a long, shaky exhale escaped his lips. The defensive wall didn't just crack; it completely crumbled.

"It's just... so loud. It’s always been so bright, having the spotlight glaring into your face since childhood." he whispered, his voice losing all of its theatrical cadence, sounding completely stripped bare. "The noise. The schedule. If I let this persona drop, I feel like I'm going to let everyone down. Caleb, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Valko.. the fans... everyone."

"You won't," I promised quietly. "They want you healthy. We want you healthy. And even if that persona stays on the outside, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s someone worth knowing on the inside.”

His eyes widen as he looks at me, really looks at me. A tiny, genuine puff of laughter escaped Rafayel’s nose. 

He sank back down into the plush cushions of the couch, pulling the duvet right up to his chin. “Whatever you say, cutie. Just don’t go regretting your words.”

I blush, taken aback slightly from the nickname, and stand up. Immediately composing myself, I give him a small, encouraging nod. "Now, stay wrapped up. I'm going to make that ginger tea, and then I'm finding some actual soup ingredients. And if you try to get up, I'm calling Zayne to report a biohazard containment breach."

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

He watched her walk off to continue caring for him. Replaying the words she had just spoken to him.

“Someone worth knowing, huh?” He said softly to himself. And finally the smallest, genuine smile, free from cameras, appeared on his face.

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

End of Chapter 2

hi again! Have I been writing all day? Yes. Do I regret it? Nope! I hope you all enjoyed the second chapter and my interpretation of the boys so far. Feel free to leave a comment! and yes, i will be opening a taglist! Love you guys and see you in the next one!

The bold text on the screen seemed to dance. Finally, I was going to see them in person. And from the front row, no less! A breathless laugh escaped my throat as I flopped backward onto my mattress, tightly hugging the familiar, soft stuffed snowman nestled against my pillows, my little chibi representation of Zayne.

I had been utterly obsessed with LADS ever since their debut. Honestly, how could anyone resist? They started as five undeniably gorgeous guys, which expanded into a six-member powerhouse just last month. As I lay there, my mind cycled through the lineup like a familiar, comforting playlist:

Xavier: At 23, he’s the youngest of the group, featuring soft ashy-blond hair and striking blue eyes. He has this gentle, melodic voice that can lull you to sleep but completely hold your attention the next second. Beyond his visuals, he’s an absolute genius lyricist who makes their music feel alive.

Zayne: God, Zayne. If I’m being completely honest, he might just be my bias, slightly a bit more than the others. With his perfect hair and sharp hazel eyes, he commands attention. He’s the leader, the second oldest at 27, and carries himself with the stoic, mature professionalism of a stone-cold doctor. It’s incredibly endearing.

Rafayel: He’s pretty in the most breathtakingly handsome way possible. At 24, his signature vibrant purple hair and matching eyes have become a household staple. He's been in the spotlight since his childhood acting days, dominating everything from theatrical stages to the silver screen. As the main visual of LADS, his stage presence is so immersive you can't look away.

Sylus: The resident bad boy. His "devil-may-care" attitude has won over millions. At 28, standing at a towering 6'2" with striking silver hair and piercing red eyes, his looks are devastating. He serves as the main rapper, and even though fans practically beg him to sing on every track, he playfully denies us every single time.

Caleb: The ultimate golden retriever of the group. With warm brown hair and unique ultraviolet eyes, he radiates incredible "big brother energy" on stage. At 25, he is the main vocalist and the absolute rock of LADS, always looking out for the other members and holding their foundation together.

Valko: The newest addition as of last month. At 26, he brings a fresh energy with his fiery red hair and bright amber eyes. He shares Caleb's warmth but has a completely distinct, playful personality. His laugh in recent livestreams is totally contagious, and it’s obvious he’s a total sweetheart.

A massive grin stretched across my face as I looked up at my ceiling. “I can’t wait,” I whispered aloud. That night, I drifted off to sleep feeling more content than I had in months.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

The next day, I found myself humming their latest track as I went through my morning routine. Xavier's incredible talent for composition always stuck in my head. While brushing my teeth, I mindlessly scrolled through my phone and noticed a new update from Infold Corp showcasing the boys in their brand-new concert outfits.

The outfits looked incredible! There was subtle tinsel woven through their hair and sleek jackets customized to match each of their signature core colors. My eyes lingered on Valko's profile. I knew a lot of people had been hesitant about a sixth member, but Infold had been dropping hints for a while, and his background as a street dancer made him a perfect fit in my book. He seemed to vibe perfectly with the rest of the guys.

Curiosity got the better of me and I tapped on the comment section. I instantly regretted it.

A heavy sigh escaped me as I scrolled through the negativity. Even though I thought Valko was a great addition, a loud portion of the fandom was clearly still throwing a tantrum about the change:

"He’s just a worse mix of Sylus and Caleb. It’s redundant and unnecessary."

"Oh come on Infold! We want more focus on the original members! Why throw someone else in when the line distribution is already packed?"

"They need to put him on hiatus or something to phase him out."

“Jesus... these people really need to calm down,” I muttered to myself, rinsing my mouth out.

Just as I was finishing up, my phone started buzzing on the counter. The caller ID flashed: Anne 💞 Calling. I smiled and picked it up on the first ring.

“Hey! I was just about to head out the door for work. Are you already at the office?” I asked, balancing the phone as I tied up my shoes and grabbed my keys.

“Yeah, I just got to my desk!” Anne’s voice buzzed through the speaker, accompanied by the familiar, rapid clicking of her keyboard. “Listen, apparently Mrs. Mary’s daughter finally went into labor last night! She called in super early and asked if you could cover her client until she gets back.”

My eyes widened in excitement. “Really?! Oh, that's amazing news, I know she’s been waiting for this day! And yeah, absolutely. My contract with my last client just wrapped up yesterday, so my schedule is completely clear. Where’s the address?”

I headed out to my car, tossing my bag into the passenger seat and syncing my phone to the dashboard console.

“Perfect, you're a lifesaver! Let me ping the address over to your GPS right now,” Anne said.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

Stepping out of my car, I shielded my eyes as I looked all the way up to the top floor of the towering luxury complex. My jaw practically hit the pavement. Mrs. Mary had always mentioned she worked with high-profile clients, but seeing this place in person was a completely different story. The architecture was sleek, modern, and completely screamed "unbelievably wealthy."

"Alright," I muttered to myself, grabbing my bag from the passenger seat and taking a deep breath to calm the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach. "You're a professional. Just a normal, everyday client who happens to live in a literal palace in the sky."

I walked through the pristine glass double doors of the lobby, where a concierge in a tailored suit greeted me. After I explained who I was and that I was covering for Mrs. Mary, he checked his tablet, gave me a polite nod, and swiped a security card to grant me access to the private penthouse elevator.

When the doors finally chimed and slid open, they led directly into a massive, sun-drenched foyer.

"Hello?" I called out softly, stepping onto the polished hardwood floors. "Is anyone home? I'm here from the cleaning agency to cover for Mary."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from down a long hallway. A voice ringed out, bright and instantly familiar.

"Oh, awesome! Over here! Sorry, we're kind of in the middle of a chaotic morning."

A young man rounded the corner, running a hand through his vibrant red hair, his amber eyes crinkling with a warm, apologetic smile. He was wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, looking completely relaxed, yet completely unmistakable.

My breath caught in my throat. My mind short-circuited as the realization hit me like a tidal wave.

It was Valko. 

There’s no way this is happening.

"Hey there," Valko said, offering a friendly wave, completely oblivious to the internal meltdown I was currently experiencing. "Thanks for coming on short notice. Come on in, the guys and I are just trying to sort through our schedule before rehearsal."

I stood there, frozen, my hands gripping my bag tightly. I had bought front-row tickets to see them on stage last night, and now, by some absolute miracle of a scheduling twist, I was standing right inside their living room.

No way, No way, No way, No way, nope, no. I thought. This isn’t happening!!!

Valko blinked, his amber eyes shifting from a warm smile to a look of mild concern as he noticed my wide-eyed, completely frozen posture.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked softly, tilting his head. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I'm fine!" The words flew out of my mouth a little too fast and a little too high-pitched. I cleared my throat, desperately trying to summon every single ounce of professionalism I possessed. "Perfectly fine. Just.. aha.. ready to get to work."

"Awesome. Follow me," Valko said, turning to lead the way down the expansive hallway.

As I stepped forward, my legs felt like lead. My mind was racing at a million miles an hour. Keep it together, I told myself. You are a professional. Do not scream. Do not bring up the front-row tickets. Do not mention the Zayne plushie sitting on your bed right now.

The hallway opened up into a massive, open-concept living area and kitchen that looked even more spectacular than the foyer. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a space that was currently a whirlwind of morning activity.

"I told you, if you touch my coffee, I will not let you buy anymore model airplanes." a calm, firm voice resonated from the kitchen counter.

Sitting there, staring intently at a laptop screen with a steaming mug in hand, was Zayne. He looked exactly like he did in his official photos: sharp, composed, and effortlessly striking with his hair slightly messy from sleep. He wore a simple dark gray sweater, but he still carried that intense, stoic aura that made my heart do a dangerous flip.

"Aw, come on Zaynie, sharing is caring!" a cheerful voice chimed in.

Caleb walked out of the kitchen pantry, holding a box of cereal. His unique ultraviolet eyes lit up the moment he spotted me. True to his reputation, he immediately flashed a warm, golden-retriever-like smile that instantly made the room feel ten times cozier.

"Oh, hey! You must be Mary's backup," Caleb said, setting the cereal down and walking over. "Thanks for swinging by so quickly. We're a bit of a mess today with the concert rehearsals coming up."

"It's no problem at all," I managed to say, my voice steadying slightly under his welcoming demeanor.

Suddenly, a loud chord resonated from the far corner of the living room. Seated at a sleek digital keyboard with a pair of headphones resting around his neck was Xavier. His soft, fluffy hair caught the sunlight as he looked up from his composition. He gave a quiet, polite nod before turning back to scribble something down on a notepad.

"Don’t mind the total chaos." a deep, rich voice chuckled from the balcony doorway.

Sylus stepped inside, sliding a pair of sunglasses into his pocket. Standing at his full height, his looks were absolutely wrecking in person. He wore a fitted black t-shirt that made his broad shoulders impossible to ignore. He leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at me. "Don't let it scare you off. We actually know how to clean up after ourselves. Most of the time."

"Speak for yourself, Sylus." Rafayel’s voice drifted down from the floating staircase.

Even in casual loungewear, Rafayel looked like a walking piece of art. His signature vibrant purple hair was perfectly styled, and his eyes sparkled with playful drama. He groaned softly, leaning against the banister. "Someone woke me up three hours too early. I expect a full breakfast or I am going on strike for today's choreography."

"You're always on strike, Raf," Valko laughed, dodging a playfully thrown sofa pillow from Rafayel.

Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by all six members of the biggest group in the world, I held onto my cleaning supply bag like it was a life raft. It was completely surreal. Just yesterday, I was buying their merchandise, and now I was standing in their kitchen.

Zayne closed his laptop with a soft click and stood up, his sharp hazel eyes locking onto mine with a calm, professional focus. "Alright, let's let her do her job. We have to leave for the venue in an hour anyway. Where would you like to start?"

"The kitchen," I blurted out, perhaps a bit too quickly. I pointed a slightly trembling finger toward the island where Zayne’s laptop had just been resting. "Kitchens are always a good baseline. High-traffic area, you know? Good to knock out first."

Zayne gave a slow, measured nod, his sharp hazel eyes scanning my face for a split second before he picked up his coffee mug. "Understood. We'll clear out of your way." He turned his attention to the rest of the room, his natural leadership taking over. "Everyone, gather your things. We need to be in the van in forty-five minutes, not an hour. Don't make the manager wait."

"Forty-five minutes?!" Rafayel dramatically threw his hands in the air, his vibrant purple hair shifting as he practically melted onto the bottom step of the staircase. "That is an actual tragedy. I haven't even chosen my shoes for rehearsal yet. Caleb, tell him he's being a tyrant."

Caleb just laughed, walking over to slap a comforting hand on Rafayel’s shoulder. "No can do, Raf. If we're late again, the choreographers are going to make us run the intro sequence until our legs fall off. Come on, up you go." With the effortless energy of the group's anchor, Caleb began herding the members toward the hallway, picking up a stray jacket from the sofa along the way.

As the living room began to clear, Valko lingered behind for a moment near the kitchen island. He flashed a quick, sympathetic grin. "Sorry about the whirlwind. If you need anything, there's extra trash bags in the lower pantry cabinet. Don't hesitate to yell if these guys left a massive disaster somewhere."

"I think I can handle it," I said, offering a genuine smile. "Thanks, Valko."

His amber eyes brightened at the reassurance, and with a cheerful wave, he jogged up the stairs to join the chaos of the upper floor.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

Once the apartment fell completely silent, the heavy weight of the reality set in. I was alone in this penthouse. THEIR penthouse.

I took a deep, centering breath, unzipped my cleaning supply bag, and set to work. True to Sylus's word, they weren't terribly messy. It was mostly just the typical clutter of six busy guys living together. There were empty protein shake bottles to recycle, sheet music lyric drafts neatly stacked near Xavier's keyboard, and a stray sketching pencil left behind by Rafayel on the coffee table, which I carefully placed next to, what I presume to be, his sketchbook.

I pulled out my microfiber cloth and multi-surface spray, focusing entirely on the sleek, dark marble countertops of the kitchen. Focusing on the physical labor helped ground my racing thoughts. Spray, wipe, repeat. I repeated the mantra in my head, deliberately blocking out the memory of the concert tickets currently sitting in my email inbox.

Twenty minutes flew by in a blur of productivity. I had just finished sanitizing the kitchen island and was moving toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows to spot-clean a few smudges when a soft sound caught my attention.

I turned around to see Xavier standing in the archway of the living room.

He had changed into a simple, oversized white hoodie and a pair of dark cargo pants. His hair looked slightly damp, as if he had just rushed through a quick morning shower routine. He wasn't wearing his headphones anymore, and his striking eyes looked incredibly bright in the morning sun.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Xavier said softly, his melodic voice even gentler in person than it sounded in recordings.

"No, you're fine!" I said, holding my microfiber cloth like a shield. "Did you forget something?"

"Just my notebook," he replied, pointing a finger toward the digital keyboard in the corner. He walked over with quiet, deliberate steps, picking up the small leather-bound journal I had carefully avoided moving earlier. He flipped through a few pages, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips. "Thanks for not moving it."

"Of course," I said, keeping my tone as professional as humanly possible. "I try to leave workspaces exactly how I find them."

Xavier closed the notebook and tilted his head, studying me for a brief moment. There was an innate, quiet intelligence in his gaze that felt incredibly observant. "You're doing a really thorough job. Mary usually skips the high glass panels because she says her shoulders hurt."

"Well, I've got a bit of a height advantage on Mary," I joked lightly, feeling the tension finally leave my shoulders.

He let out a soft, genuine chuckle that made my inner fangirl do a silent backflip. "I guess so.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I should probably get downstairs before Zayne comes looking for me. Good luck with the rest of the place."

"Thanks." I called out as he turned to leave.

As his footsteps faded down the hall, I looked down at the polished surface of the counter, a massive, unstoppable smile breaking across my face.

“Best. Shift. Ever.”

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

Hours flew by as I kept my head down, channeling all my nervous energy into making the penthouse absolutely spotless. I vacuumed the expansive living room, meticulously dusted the shelves, and ensured the massive windows were completely crystal clear. By the time I was putting the finishing touches on the living area, the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the city below in a blanket of glittering twilight.

Just as I was packing the last of my cleaning sprays back into my bag, the heavy front door chimed and clicked open.

The lively, chaotic energy from this morning was entirely gone. Instead, a heavy, collective sigh echoed through the foyer as the boys practically stumbled inside, looking completely drained from a grueling day of choreography and vocal runs.

Rafayel was the first to appear, dragging his feet as if his designer sneakers weighed a hundred pounds each. His vibrant purple hair was disheveled, and he immediately collapsed face-first onto the nearest plush sofa with a dramatic, muffled groan. "I am deceased," he muttered into the cushions. "My legs have ceased to exist."

"Stop exaggerating, Raf," Zayne’s voice drifted in, though even his usual crisp, authoritative tone sounded worn thin. He walked past the couch, his shoulders slumped as he loosened his collar, his sharp eyes showing dark circles of fatigue. He gave me a brief, tired nod of acknowledgment before heading straight to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

Caleb entered next, carrying two heavy duffel bags that looked like they belonged to Rafayel and Xavier. The usual retriever energy was entirely wiped out; he offered me a weak, exhausted smile, his ultraviolet eyes half-lidded. "Hey... thanks for staying so late," he rasped, his throat clearly raw from hours of main vocal practice. He dropped the bags with a heavy thud and rubbed the back of his neck.

Sylus strode in behind him, looking slightly less battered but visibly fatigued nonetheless. The silver hair that usually looked perfectly styled was messy, damp with sweat, and his black jacket hung loosely off one shoulder. He didn't even crack a joke. He just muttered a low "Good evening" and headed straight toward the balcony for some fresh air, running a tired hand over his face.

Xavier was practically leaning on Valko for support as they closed the door. The youngest looked like a walking zombie, his eyes barely open as he clutched his leather-bound lyric notebook to his chest. Valko, despite his known stamina, looked equally spent. His fiery red hair was plastered to his forehead, and his bright amber eyes were dim with exhaustion.

"We survived," Valko whispered, offering a faint, sleepy grin as he gently guided Xavier toward the armchair. Xavier sank into the fabric, instantly curling up into a ball and closing his eyes. "The choreographers didn't spare us at all today."

The pristine, freshly cleaned penthouse was now filled with the quiet, heavy breathing of six utterly exhausted idols. Seeing them like this, stripped of their glamorous stage personas and completely wiped out from their hard work, made me worry. 

“A-Are you all alright..? You guys don’t look too good.” I ask nervously, scared of overstepping.

Caleb was the first to lift his head, letting out a soft, raspy chuckle that turned into a quiet cough. He cleared his throat and gave a reassuring shake of his head. "We're okay, just completely spent. It always gets like this right before a major tour kicks off."

Zayne leaned against the kitchen counter, holding his glass of water. Even in his exhausted state, his medical background seemed to kick in automatically. "It's just severe muscle fatigue and mild dehydration," he said, his voice low and clinical, though his eyes softened slightly as he looked across the room. "We pushed past our recommended limits today. I've already told the manager we need a structured recovery schedule tomorrow."

"A recovery schedule won't bring my joints back to life," Rafayel mumbled, his voice still completely muffled by the sofa cushion. He rolled over onto his back, staring dramatically at the ceiling. "I feel like a discarded marionette. My hands are too tired to even pick up a mic."

Sylus looks from the balcony, sliding his hands into his pockets. His eyes tired. "If you're dead, Rafayel, at least do it quietly. Some of us are trying to enjoy the silence." He looked over at me, his piercing red eyes assessing the spotless room. "You did an incredible job with the place, by the way. It hasn't looked this clean since we moved in."

"Seriously, it looks amazing," Valko added, sitting down on the arm of the chair where Xavier was already fast asleep. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around at the sparkling countertops and pristine floors. "Thanks for sticking around so late to finish up. We really appreciate it."

"It's really no problem at all," I said, feeling a warm rush of relief clear away my lingering nervousness. "I just wanted to make sure everything was ready for you guys to actually relax when you got home."

Caleb smiled warmly, the classic "big brother" energy returning to him. "Well, you definitely accomplished that. Go ahead and log your hours with the agency, we'll make sure Infold approves a hefty bonus for covering on such short notice."

"Thank you, Caleb. I'll let you all get some rest," I said, gathering my cleaning bag and heading toward the foyer.

Before I reached the door, Valko called out with a bright, sleepy wave. "Get home safe! And thanks again!"

"Goodnight, everyone," I called back.

Stepping out into the quiet hallway and waiting for the penthouse elevator, I let out a long, breathless sigh. My hands were tired from hours of scrubbing, but my heart was racing. I couldn't help but smile as I pulled out my phone and looked at the digital concert tickets waiting in my inbox. Seeing the immense, exhausting dedication they put into their work behind the scenes only made me more excited.

Front row was going to be absolutely unforgettable.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

Once the door closes behind her, the boys collapse entirely, their facades crumbling.

“Fuck, I can’t with today.” Caleb groans into his hands, his usual smile completely gone, replaced with a heavy frown. He drops back onto the sectional, letting his head fall against the headrest with a dull thud.

The polite, professional boundary they had maintained for the cleaning backup evaporates instantly.

Sylus glares at Caleb. “You’re the one who insisted we run the bridge choreography three extra times. Isn’t that right, Leader? Don’t start complaining now, Xia.”

“Because Valko kept missing the cue on the third beat,” Zayne says flatly. He walks over to the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk and pouring a glass with precise, practiced movements. His eyes look at the new member. “And because your stamina levels are fluctuating wildly, Valko. You need to pace yourself better during the opening sequence.”

Valko, who is currently slumped on the floor with his back against Xavier's armchair, buries his face in his knees. His fiery red hair is completely damp. “I know, I know... I’m sorry. The stage blocking is completely different from street dancing. It feels like I’m re-learning how to walk.”

Caleb lifted his head, his frown softening as he looked at the newest member. “It’s not on you. Infold rushed the integration, and we all know it. We're all feeling the crunch.”

Xavier didn't even open his eyes, but his knuckles tightened around his leather-bound lyric notebook. “The transitions are too crowded,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but carrying a sharp edge of frustration. “I told the producers the arrangement needed to be adjusted for six voices, but they wanted to keep the old hook. It’s messy.” He pulled his notebook tighter against his chest like a shield. “They cut two of the bridge lines from the title track,” he mumbled, his voice sounding hollow and defeated. “They said the pacing was too slow for the live show. I spent three weeks arranging those harmonies.”

Sylus, still leaning against the balcony doorframe, let out a dark, cynical chuckle. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and closed in a rhythmic, metallic snap that mirrored his restless energy. “Management doesn’t care about the art, Xavier. They care about the ticket sales and whether we can survive the two-hour set without fainting on the live broadcast.” His piercing red eyes swept over the group. “But if they think they’re pushing us this hard through the entire tour, they’ve got another thing coming.”

Zayne set his milk glass down with a precise, quiet click against the newly polished marble counter. He massaged his temples, looking over to the heap of exhausted idols in his living room. "Complaining won't restore our glycogen levels. Everyone needs to eat something high in protein and go straight to bed. No staying up to paint, Rafayel. No late-night rewriting, Xavier."

A soft, indistinct mumble came from the armchair. Xavier shifted, burying his face deeper into his hoodie, but didn't open his eyes. He was already halfway to dreamland, his leather notebook still gripped tightly like a security blanket.

Rafayel finally rolled over, hanging his arm dramatically off the edge of the couch. "Eat? With what energy? I can't even lift my fingers to order takeout. Valko, you're the new guy. Use your youth and vibrant spirit to feed us."

Valko, who was currently laying flat on the floor against Xavier's chair, let out a breathless, exhausted laugh. "Hey, my 'youth' just spent six hours doing high-intensity street choreography variations because someone kept missing the mark on the second chorus transition."

"It was an artistic interpretation of space!" Rafayel shot back weakly, though there was no real bite to it.

"It was a tripping hazard," Zayne corrected flatly. He walked over to the fridge, pulling out a pre-prepared tray of healthy meal-prep containers. "Fortunately, the nutrition team planned ahead. Grab a box, heat it up, and get upstairs. We have a 6:00 AM call time for wardrobe fittings tomorrow."

A collective groan echoed through the spotless penthouse.

Sylus opened one piercing red eye, glancing toward the door the cleaning girl had just exited. despite his exhaustion, a small, subtle smirk played at the corner of his lips. "At least the place is quiet now. And clean.”

“She was nice,” Valko said quietly, his voice thick with sleep as he carefully shifted so he wouldn't wake Xavier, who was still dead to the world in the armchair. Valko rested his chin on his knees, his amber eyes reflecting the dim ambient light of the living room. “She actually looked at me like I belonged here. Didn’t feel like she was judging the new guy.”

“But she was obviously a fan, thank god she was professional. Still, you can’t just go attaching yourself to her like a puppy, Val. You’ll end up hurt or worse.” Sylus says.

The room went entirely silent at Sylus’s blunt warning, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound cutting through the tension. Valko flinched slightly, his amber eyes dropping back to his knees. He knew Sylus wasn't trying to be cruel. He was just realistic. In their line of work, a fan's affection was a double-edged sword, and as the newest member, Valko was currently walking on the thinnest ice.

“Sylus is right,” Zayne said, his voice dropping into that familiar, unyielding tone he used when delivering hard medical truths. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Professional boundaries exist for a reason. If management or the media catches wind of any undue familiarity, the blowback will fall squarely on you, Valko. And right now, you can’t afford any more negative press.”

Caleb let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his brown hair. He hated when the mood turned this clinical, but as the anchor, he couldn't dispute the facts. “We just need to focus on the tour. Once the fans see the chemistry on stage during the opening night, the internet chatter will die down. It always does.”

From the depths of the sofa, Rafayel finally pushed himself up into a sitting position, his vibrant purple hair a chaotic mess. The dramatic flair was gone, replaced by a rare, quiet sincerity. “Just don't take the comments to heart, Val. When I was a child, people said I was nothing but a pretty face who couldn’t carry a scene. You just have to let the work speak for itself.”

Valko looked up, offering a small, grateful nod to the older members. “I get it. Thanks, guys. I’m just... ready to prove I earned my spot.”

In the armchair, Xavier stirred slightly, letting out a soft, sleepy mumble as he shifted his weight. His grip on his lyric notebook finally loosened, the leather-bound journal slipping from his fingers. Caleb caught it before it hit the floor, carefully setting it on the side table.

“Alright, look at us, we’re practically falling apart,” Caleb said, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Zayne’s right. Let’s get some food in our systems and call it a night. We’ve got a massive day tomorrow.”

One by one, the members begrudgingly moved toward the kitchen island to grab their meal-prep containers. Even Sylus finally abandoned his spot by the balcony door, grabbing a container with a low grunt before heading toward the hallway.

As the penthouse finally emptied out and the lights dimmed section by section, the spotless living room fell completely dark. Down in the city below, the streetlights and billboards painted the sky in shades of neon, a quiet reminder of the massive world waiting for them. They were exhausted, bruised, and under immense pressure, but they were a unit now.

⭐️❄️🐟🐦‍⬛🍎🐺

‘I want to be able to reach up there to the stars.’

‘Can I really keep them all together, even when I, myself, can’t?’

‘Just play the part, read the lines. That’s all you need to do.’

‘Don’t get attached. Don’t hope for anything more.’

‘I’m so tired, just keep smiling. Smile..’

‘I’m not good enough.’

End of Chapter 1