Sunny and Axel had already left. The studio lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the muffled hum of traffic filled the space between Laura and Zane. Laura stood by the piano, arms crossed, her back rigid.
Zane noticed it immediately — that stillness. Not composed. Coiled.
"You're staying late again?" he asked, lightly.
She didn't answer at first. Then:
"Zane."
He turned, brows raised. "Hm?"
"You're not the leader of this group."
That made him blink. "Whoa—what?"
"I'm not trying to start anything," Laura said quickly. Her tone was measured, but her eyes didn't waver. "I just… want to remind you. This isn't your show."
Zane shifted his weight, lips parting — then closing. "Okay… where is this coming from?"
"You've become the center of everything. The teaser. The visuals. The social media push. Even Sunny seems to orbit around you lately."
Zane's smile faltered. "Laura, I'm not trying to take over anything. I'm just doing what I've always done. Showing up. Being myself."
"And people flock to it. I know." She sighed, glancing at the floor. "That's not your fault."
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's not about the attention," she said, softer now. "It's the fact that… it used to be about us. And lately, it feels like we're background characters in your rise."
There was a beat of silence. Zane ran a hand through his hair.
"I didn't ask for that spotlight, Laura."
"No. But you bask in it."
His expression stiffened.
"And you," he said slowly, "you're always so… controlling."
Laura blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You think if you don't micromanage every tempo and transition, the whole thing will fall apart. You don't trust people to be messy — to be human."
She flinched — not visibly, but internally. "Maybe because someone has to make sure it works."
"Yeah? And maybe someone needs to breathe once in a while."
That's when Sunny walked back in — she had forgotten her phone.
She paused, catching the tension in the air.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
Neither answered.
Zane stepped back, jaw tight. "You know what? I'm done for the night."
He turned, brushing past Sunny.
"Zane—" Sunny called, reaching out to him.
"I'm fine," he said, but his voice was low and edged.
Laura stood frozen. She hadn't expected it to spiral. She hadn't meant to hurt anyone. But the words had come out anyway.
Sunny, torn between them, looked between the two — then slowly walked out too, quietly murmuring, "I just wanted this to work…"
Her voice cracked.
The door closed behind her.
And Laura was left alone, in the echo.
---
The air was cooler now, dusk giving way to neon shopfronts and distant sirens. Zane sat on the curb, hoodie pulled over his head, sipping from a lukewarm can of soda he barely remembered buying.
Footsteps.
He looked up.
Sunny stood there, holding a small plastic bag in one hand — candy and canned peach tea peeking through the translucent white. She gave a little smile.
"You disappeared," she said.
Zane exhaled, not quite a sigh. "Wasn't really in the mood to hang around."
"Mind if I join you?"
He shrugged. "It's a free curb."
Sunny sat, pulling her knees up, the hem of her skirt brushing the sidewalk. They sat in silence for a few beats, the world soft around them.
Finally, Zane spoke.
"She thinks I've taken over the group."
Sunny turned to him slowly.
"Laura."
He nodded. "Said it feels like she, you, Axel… are all background characters. That it's becoming my thing."
Sunny looked down at the unopened candy bag in her lap. "Do you think she's right?"
"I don't know." Zane rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe? Not on purpose. I just… show up, post when I'm asked, be myself. People respond to it."
"People do," she said gently.
He gave her a side glance. "You do too."
Her cheeks flushed. "I mean… yeah."
He smiled faintly, but it didn't hold.
"I didn't come here to take over. I joined because it looked fun. Because Axel asked. Because I liked singing with you guys. But now I'm wondering if I ruined the balance."
Sunny shook her head slowly. "I think Laura's scared."
Zane raised an eyebrow.
"She's been holding this group together for so long. Keeping it running, keeping everyone focused. And now… someone new shows up, people get excited, and suddenly the formula changes. That's hard to adjust to — especially if you already feel like you're losing control of things."
Zane was quiet, letting her words settle.
"She's still upset," Zane said after a while, staring out across the street. "Not just about the spotlight thing. It's deeper."
Sunny nodded slowly. "I know."
"She told me she doesn't taste food anymore. That she doesn't even know what she likes." He glanced at her. "I told you that already, right?"
"You did," Sunny said, voice soft. "But it still hurts to think about."
Zane ran a hand through his hair. "She's not cold, you know."
"I never thought she was," Sunny replied. "Just… tired. From carrying too much for too long."
He sighed, leaning back on his hands. "I don't want to be the reason she breaks."
"You're not," she said, after a pause. "But maybe you're the reason she's finally letting herself feel it."
They sat in silence for a while.
Then, Sunny rustled the plastic bag in her lap and pulled out a piece of candy. "Want one?"
Zane raised an eyebrow. "Only if it's grape."
She smirked. "It is."
---
That night, Laura couldn't sleep.
It was unusual for her. Sleep usually came without effort, like flipping off a light switch. No matter what lingered in her mind, her body eventually shut down — efficient, dependable. But tonight, her thoughts refused to dim.
The rehearsal.The conversation with Zane.Sunny's tears.The gnawing question in her chest: Was I wrong?
She turned on her side. Then her back. Then back again. Still wide awake.
Eventually, she gave up.
She slipped on a light jacket and stepped outside into the cool night. The air was crisp, the sky an ink-washed canvas above her. Normally, this kind of quiet brought her calm — she could walk in silence and let the noise in her head dull out into background static. But not tonight. The breeze didn't clear her mind. If anything, it just made her feel smaller inside it all.
After several blocks of wandering, she stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, thumb hovering over her phone.
Then she called Axel.
He picked up on the third ring, his voice groggy but present. "Hey... everything okay?"
"I couldn't sleep," she said. Her voice was almost too steady, like a line rehearsed out of habit. "Were you awake?"
"Yeah. Kind of. I was... playing a game." A pause. "Did something happen?"
Laura didn't answer right away. There were a hundred ways to frame it. To make it neat, explainable. But she couldn't find the words.
Instead: "Could we meet up?"
Axel hesitated. "Right now?"
"I'm already out walking," she said softly. "I don't really know where I'm going."
Silence lingered on the line.
Then, gently, he asked, "Are you okay?"
Her grip on the phone tightened. "I'm not sure."
That was enough for him.
"I'll meet you," he said, without asking why or how late it was. "Just tell me where you are."
---
They agreed on a place — though Axel didn't realize the weight of it until she said the name.
"There's this bench… by the hill behind the old train tracks."
He blinked. "You remember that?"
Of course she did.
---
Seven years ago, back when they were just casual friends — before any talk of forming a band, before their futures had even begun to take shape — Axel had taken her there. It wasn't anything formal. Just one of those quiet afternoons where neither of them felt like going home. He'd told her it was his thinking spot, a place he visited when the noise of life got too much. He hadn't said it like it was important, but Laura had remembered anyway.
She didn't say much back then. She rarely did.
But she listened. She always listened.
And somehow, over the years, that unassuming little hill behind the old train tracks became sacred to her too — not because of what he'd said, but because of what it meant to her. A space away from performance. From expectations. From needing to be anyone.
She hadn't returned often. But she had never forgotten it.
---
He arrived first. Or maybe she let him arrive first on purpose.
Either way, when Laura approached the familiar bench — worn wood, quiet view of the dim city lights in the distance — Axel was already seated, elbows on his knees, his phone tucked away. He looked up when he heard her footsteps, and didn't say anything right away.
She sat down beside him.
It was quiet for a moment. Just like it had been back then.
"I didn't know you still came here," he said softly.
"I don't," she replied. "Not often. But I never forgot it."
He nodded, accepting that.
They sat there for a while, letting the silence be what it needed to be — not uncomfortable, not heavy. Just... there.
Eventually, Laura spoke. "I'm sorry for calling so late."
"Don't be," Axel said. "I'm glad you did."
"I thought I could handle all of this on my own," she admitted, her voice low. "But I think... I've been pretending for a long time."
Axel looked over, his expression unreadable but present. "Pretending to be okay?"
She nodded slowly. "Pretending to feel... more than I do. Pretending to be in control. To be enough."
A breeze passed through, cool and fleeting. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her jacket, eyes cast forward toward the sleepy city.
"I think I forgot how to want things for myself," she said. "I've been living by habit. Scripts. Expectations. I don't even know what's underneath it anymore."
Axel didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"I used to think that made me strong," she added. "Now I'm not so sure."
A long pause followed.
Then Axel, quiet as ever, offered something simple: "You're not alone, Laura."
She turned her head slightly, brows drawn in question.
He gave a faint, sheepish smile. "And... maybe it's okay if you don't have all the answers right now."
She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
Then, almost in a whisper: "I don't want to be cold."
"You're not," he said. "You've just been... surviving."
Laura looked at him. Really looked at him.
And, maybe for the first time in a long while, she felt something shift.
Not a breakthrough. Not clarity.
But something.
A warmth in the quiet.
And that was enough for tonight.
---
She had been surviving all this time.
But as she sat beside Axel now, beneath the soft hum of the city's distant lights, she realized — hadn't he been doing the same?
The memory came unbidden, sharp in its clarity: a visit to Axel's house years ago, before either of them really knew what they were doing with their lives. His parents had gotten home while she was there. No greetings. No questions. Not even a glance in their direction. Just the sound of shoes being kicked off, cabinet doors closing, the low murmur of a TV.
She remembered how Axel didn't react. How he just kept the conversation going like nothing had happened.
It was only later that she learned the truth — that Axel had been an only child, and an unwanted one at that. His parents hadn't planned for him. Hadn't really seen him.
And maybe that's why, over the years, his chosen connections meant more to him than most people realized. Euphony Trio. Zane. Friends he picked up along the way and kept close, even if he didn't always say much.
Maybe especially her.
She'd been the one who first believed in the idea of a group — who helped make that old garage-band dream into something real. She wasn't loud about it. She never had been. But Axel had noticed. Of course he had.
He cherished that.
He cherished her.
But she wasn't sure she'd ever let herself feel that truth until now.
---
They sat quietly, the way they always did. No need to fill the air. Just being there was enough.
Eventually, she spoke — barely a whisper.
"Did you ever wonder if we just learned how to perform at surviving?"
Axel tilted his head, glanced at her. Then, softly: "Yeah. All the time."
And for once, she didn't have to explain what she meant.
He already knew.
---
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was... full. Like the kind of silence that only exists between two people who've seen each other at their lowest and stayed.
Laura's gaze dropped to her hands, then to the ground, then back to Axel. The question she wanted to ask hovered on her lips — something like "Why did you stay?" or "Did I matter to you?" — but instead, what left her mouth was simpler.
"Thank you."
Axel blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.
"For what?"
"For always seeing me. Even when I couldn't see myself."
His expression shifted — something quiet and vulnerable flickering behind his eyes."You always mattered, Laura," he said. "Even when you didn't know how to say it back."
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Not without unraveling.
Instead, she leaned in — cautiously, as if testing the weight of the moment. Axel didn't move. His breath hitched, and his eyes softened.
That was enough.
Her lips met his — gently, hesitantly. A slow, delicate kiss that barely lasted a second.
But when she pulled back… nothing.
No warmth.No electricity.No flutter in her chest.
Just the echo of something she wanted to feel.
She blinked, confused. Then her throat tightened. Her stomach dropped in that subtle, sickening way that precedes a wave of emotion. She looked at him — that kind smile still there — and it shattered her.
"Axel," she whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't feel anything."
Tears welled up without warning. Real, raw tears — not from pain, but from emptiness. From the quiet horror of realizing she might be too far gone to even feel love.
Axel didn't flinch. He didn't ask questions. He didn't retreat.
He just pulled her in, arms wrapping around her shoulders as she finally, quietly cried.
"It's okay," he murmured, resting his chin gently on her head. "You don't have to feel it now."
Her fingers clutched his jacket. She didn't speak.
"You're still here," he added. "That's enough for me."
And in that moment — though the kiss hadn't landed, though the ache still lived inside her — she let herself be held. Not because it solved anything.
But because for the first time in a long while... she didn't have to hold herself together alone.
---
Eventually, the silence between them settled. Not heavy. Just... full.
When they finally rose from the bench, Axel stretched slightly, then glanced at her. "Want me to walk you back?"
Laura hesitated — but only for a second. Then she nodded. "Yeah."
---
They didn't say much as they walked. The streets were quiet, washed in the soft amber glow of late-night lamps. A breeze stirred Laura's coat. She adjusted her scarf, more out of habit than discomfort.
Axel stayed close, not too near, not too far. Just there — like he always had been.
And then, as they turned a corner, their hands brushed. Barely. A fleeting touch.
Neither pulled away.
The next time it happened, the touch lingered.
Laura glanced sideways, unsure if it had been her… or him… or both. Axel's expression didn't give anything away. It was calm. Still.
And then — slowly, wordlessly — their fingers slid together.
Neither said a word.
They just walked like that, hand in hand, all the way to her apartment.
---
When they reached her door, Laura stopped.
She looked down at their joined hands. Then up at him.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Axel gave a quiet smile, but this time… there was something heavier behind it. He was about to let go of her hand — but paused.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she opened the door.
And looked at him again.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked, barely above a whisper. Not nervous. Not flirtatious. Just open.
Axel hesitated.
His eyes searched hers — for any trace of uncertainty. Any flicker that she didn't mean it.
"You don't have to," she added quickly. "I just—""I know," he said. "I know."
She stepped inside. He followed.
Her apartment was quiet. Dim. The city lights filtered through the curtains in soft, pale shapes across the walls.
She took off her coat slowly. He followed suit, quietly. She didn't rush. Neither did he.
Laura didn't know how this would go. But she wanted to try.She wanted to feel something real — something that wasn't rehearsed or muted or buried.
She stepped closer to him, her hands uncertain at first — one resting against his chest, feeling the faint rhythm underneath.
Axel's breath hitched.
She looked up at him — not cold, not unreadable — just open.
He touched her cheek gently. "Are you sure?"
She nodded.
"I want to feel," she said. "Just… let me try."
His heart ached at those words.
She didn't say I want you.
She said I want to feel.
And that made him pause.
Because he knew what it was like — to be touched but not seen, kissed but not cared for. He'd been with other girls before, back in high school and even after. He was attractive enough, talented enough, easy to be around. But none of it ever lasted. None of it ever felt like this.
They weren't Laura.
And maybe, deep down, some part of him had always been waiting. For her to meet him halfway. To choose him.
And now — she was here. The kiss, the handholding, now this. It should've felt like a dream come true. But the ache in his chest told a more complicated story.
Was this desperation?
Was this just her trying to escape whatever numbness had taken root?
He searched her eyes — really looked at her. Not the Laura the fans saw. Not the bandleader. Just… the girl he'd known for years. The one who sat beside him in old cafés with cold tea, who always carried herself with quiet poise even when she was clearly falling apart inside.
And yet… he couldn't pull away.
Even if he questioned it — even if part of him feared he was stepping into something fragile, too fragile — another part of him trusted her. Respected her.
But still, he hesitated.
Not because he didn't want her — he did. He always had. But because he knew this wasn't a simple moment. It carried weight. And he didn't want to mistake longing for consent, or silence for certainty.
Her fingers brushed the hem of his sleeve. Her eyes never left his.
But even so—he gently pulled back, just enough to meet her gaze fully.
"Laura," he said softly. "We don't have to do this. Not tonight. Not like this."
She didn't look surprised. Only quiet. Thoughtful. Her brows drew together slightly, like she was weighing her answer before offering it.
"I know," she said. "But I want to. I want to try. And I want it to be with you."
Still, he lingered. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
She said it with no dramatics. No trembling whisper. Just honesty. Steady and fragile all at once.
Axel exhaled, the tightness in his chest loosening slightly. He still didn't move too quickly. He reached out and ran his fingers down her arm — just to feel her. To make sure she didn't flinch. To let her change her mind.
She didn't.
If anything, she leaned closer.
So when he kissed her again, it was slower. Reverent. Not with hunger or need, but with care. With something more sacred than lust — something quieter.
He touched her like she was something precious.
And when they finally lay together in the soft aftermath, her head resting on his shoulder, breath steady, and his hand gently finding hers...
She didn't cry.
He didn't ask her to explain.
But his mind still swam with thoughts — of all the times she'd pulled away, all the times he'd told himself not to push. And now... this. This beautiful, aching moment, raw and tender and impossibly real.
He didn't know what it meant — not yet. Whether it would bloom into something lasting, or remain a quiet secret between them. But he knew one thing:
He hadn't taken anything.
She had chosen.
And he had simply stayed — because that was what she needed.
Because maybe this wasn't about desire or even love.Maybe it was about presence.
And he would give her that. For as long as she wanted.