(POV: Irian & Daelen)

The first light of dawn crept through the blinds, striping the floor with thin golden lines. Irian sat on the edge of the couch, a half-empty cup of coffee cooling in his hands. The night had been long and sleepless—filled with thoughts he couldn’t shake, and one name that echoed through them all: Daelen Pryce.

The apartment door creaked open. Daelen stepped in, hair still damp from a shower, the collar of his shirt slightly open. He looked casual, but there was a certain tiredness in his eyes that Irian had learned to notice.

“You didn’t sleep again,” Daelen said, dropping his bag on the counter.

Irian looked up. “You sound like my doctor.”

“I sound like someone who worries,” Daelen replied, moving closer. “You’ve been overworking yourself lately.”

A humorless laugh escaped Irian. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been out late every night—meetings, rehearsals, or whatever you call them.”

Daelen hesitated, his gaze softening. “I wasn’t avoiding you, if that’s what you think.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“But you’re thinking it,” Daelen said, kneeling slightly so he could meet Irian’s eyes. “You always shut down like this when something’s bothering you. Just talk to me.”

Irian’s fingers tightened around the cup. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

The silence stretched. Irian’s lips parted, but no words came out. His heart felt like it was caught between the ribs, too fragile to move.

Daelen sighed, reaching out slowly. His fingers brushed Irian’s wrist—light, cautious. “I’m not asking for perfection,” he said softly. “Just honesty.”

Irian met his gaze then. Daelen’s eyes were a storm of gray, steady and unwavering. It broke something inside him—the wall he’d been clinging to.

“I’m scared,” Irian said finally. “Every time things feel peaceful, I start waiting for it to fall apart.”

Daelen’s expression didn’t change, but his thumb traced slow circles over Irian’s skin. “Then we’ll let it fall. And we’ll build it back, together.”

The morning light warmed the room, faint and trembling like the start of something fragile but real. Irian set the cup down, his voice barely a whisper. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Daelen said, leaning closer. “But I don’t plan on leaving, no matter how many times it breaks.”

For the first time in weeks, Irian smiled—a small, quiet thing. And when Daelen’s hand rested over his, he didn’t pull away.

Thank you guys so much