Sunny stepped through the door to her apartment and locked it behind her, the quiet click sounding heavier than usual. The evening sky outside had dimmed to a soft gray-blue, and the light from her living room lamps painted long, gentle shadows across the walls.
Her bag dropped to the floor. Her shoes were kicked off. She didn't bother turning on music or unpacking her things.
She was exhausted — not physically, but emotionally threadbare.
She wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge without thinking. Her stomach wasn't growling, but the ache of hunger still sat somewhere in her chest. Soup, she thought. Not the usual noodles, not the lazy kind. She wanted something soft, earthy… grounding.
She poured herself a bowl of creamy carrot and ginger soup — the one she only ever bought when she was sick or felt particularly fragile. It wasn't a regular comfort food, but tonight… it felt right. Warm, quiet. Orange like the last bit of sun slipping through the window.
To go with it, she brewed a cup of lavender-chamomile tea — a blend Laura had gifted her once with a half-teasing, half-genuine "you need to sleep more" attached to it. She set it beside the soup and watched the steam curl up like a slow exhale. It helped a little.
She ate at the table. Slowly. Barely tasting. The tea helped calm her nerves, or maybe it just gave her something to focus on that wasn't him.
After, she took a long shower. Let the heat soak into her shoulders. She changed into pajamas — soft, cotton, oversized. She wrapped her hair in a towel and sat on the edge of her bed, phone in her hand.
23 missed calls. 8 messages. 4 voicemails.
Zane's name was stamped across all of them.
She hadn't opened any of them earlier. Not when her heart still felt too raw. But now…
She hesitated.
Then, her thumb moved.
There was one voice message that was recent — sent just fifteen minutes ago. She tapped it.
Zane (recorded):"I know you probably won't hear this tonight, and that's okay. But I need to say it anyway.I messed up. I didn't say the right things. I didn't set boundaries. I thought silence would be enough to protect us, and it wasn't.I love you, Sunny.Please let me explain. Not just for me… but because I really, really don't want to lose this. Not when we've come so far. Not when you've given me so much.I'll be here. Anytime you're ready."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her throat tightened. She didn't know if she was ready. But...
She tapped his name. It rang once. Twice—
"...Sunny?" His voice cracked through the speaker, disbelieving, breathless.
She hadn't said anything yet. She didn't know how to start.
"It's me," she finally whispered. Her voice was soft. Shaky. But hers.
On the other end, she heard the sound of him exhaling sharply — like he'd been holding his breath since this afternoon.
"I didn't think you'd call," he said. "I— I've been going crazy wondering how you are. Are you okay?"
Sunny looked down at her blanket. At her tea, now cooling beside the bed.
"No," she said honestly. "But I wanted to hear your voice."
A beat of silence.
And then Zane's voice, lower, steadier now:"Then let me say what I should've said earlier."
---
Zane walked the city blocks with no real destination in mind.
The streets were quieter now — evening light fading into a warm indigo. His breath came out in short, visible puffs. Or maybe that was just in his head. Everything felt cold.
His hands were buried deep in his coat pockets. His earbuds hung loosely around his neck, not playing anything. He couldn't get his mind straight. It kept looping, over and over — the kiss, Sunny's expression, her voice trembling as she said she needed air.
He had never felt more hollow.
Earlier that day, he'd sat with Axel on the studio balcony. It was quiet there — rare. The city noise distant, softened by glass and time.
He hadn't meant to open up. At first, it was just pacing and muttering and self-blame. But Axel had stayed. Just stayed. No judgment in his eyes — just that steady calm that Zane had always, secretly, admired.
And then it spilled. All of it. The girl. The mistake. The kiss he hadn't invited, but hadn't stopped fast enough either. The look on Sunny's face when she walked away.
Zane had expected judgment. Disapproval. And he got it — but not cruelty. Not disdain.
Axel let him finish. Let the shame pour out, let it settle like dust between them. And when he spoke, it was plain, firm:
"What happened was awful. Of course she's upset. She should be. But at least you didn't hide it. You told her. That matters, even if Amelia forced your hand."
Zane had nodded numbly, eyes locked on the skyline.
"If she forgives you," Axel had continued, "then don't screw it up again. I mean that."
A beat.
"You might be her boyfriend now, Zane. But I've been in her life a lot longer. If you hurt her again, I'm coming for you."
It wasn't said as a threat. Not really. It was said like a vow — one Zane didn't take lightly.
That was when it hit him.
Just like he had once looked up to Axel like a big brother… Sunny did too. Maybe even more than that. Axel had become a guardian to her — not by blood, but by heart. The kind who showed up, who listened to her half-rambled rants, who helped with school assignments when her own parents didn't really ask.
That's what I'm up against, Zane realized. Not a rival. But a standard.
He exhaled through his nose, the weight of the night thick in his chest.
He had messed up. And not in a dramatic, romantic-movie kind of way. In a real, stupid, human kind of way — the kind that lingers.
But the one thing he knew, with a painful clarity, was this:
He didn't want to lose her.
He didn't want this to be their ending.
As he turned the corner near his apartment building, the screen of his phone lit up with a soft ding.
A missed call from earlier.
But now… a green dot.
She was online.
Zane's heart jumped.
He hesitated… then called again.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then, her voice. Quiet. Unsteady. "It's me."
And just like that — something broke inside him. Relief. Hope. Love. All tangled into one rush.
---
Zane stood still on the sidewalk, the world around him blurring into muffled city noise. Sunny was quiet on the other end, but she hadn't hung up — that was something.
"I didn't hesitate because I knew I owed you everything," he began, his voice low and steady despite the turmoil in his chest. "She's someone I dated back in high school. A long time ago. It wasn't serious — not like this. We lost touch, and when we did talk again… I figured she moved on."
He took a breath, heart pounding. "But… today, she was with some friends of mine. I didn't invite her personally. I didn't expect anything. But yeah… I noticed the signs. I just assumed she knew."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"She didn't even ask if I was seeing anyone. And when she kissed me, I pulled away — but not fast enough. I should've stopped it sooner. I should've made it clear from the beginning that I was taken."
His hand curled tighter around the phone.
"I'm not proud of how I lived before we met. I dated around a lot. It felt normal back then — touring, moving, never really staying still. But… none of it ever felt like this. Like you."
A small pause. Then softly: "You made me want to stay still."
He waited, unsure if she was even still listening.
Then, her voice came — quiet, almost childlike.
"How did it feel… when she kissed you?"
Zane closed his eyes, the memory stinging sharper now.
"...Wrong," he said immediately. "Surprising. Uncomfortable. Like I'd just made a mistake I couldn't undo."
He paused, then added, "It didn't feel like anything real. It didn't feel like you."
There was silence again — but heavier now. Not distance, but thought.
Zane kept going, gentler this time. "I didn't want that kiss. I didn't mean for it to happen. But I get why it still hurts. I get why it might be hard to forgive."
More silence.
Then, finally — softly:
"I don't know what to do with this feeling."
Zane exhaled. "Then let me help you carry it. However long it takes."
---
Zane's breath caught as the silence stretched again, long and tense.
On the other end, Sunny sat curled up on her bed, her tea cooling beside her, untouched. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she finally spoke — hesitant, like she was still weighing each word as it left her lips.
"Everyone… makes mistakes… right?"
Zane didn't dare speak. He only listened.
"And… you did a terrible one," she said quietly. "But…"
Her throat tightened. She looked down at her comforter, fingers fidgeting with the edge.
"I'm seeing how much you regret it. How much you truly… care about me. Otherwise you wouldn't be blowing up my phone like this."
A small, sad smile flickered on Zane's face. He looked up at the night sky above him, letting the tension in his shoulders ease — just a little.
Then, Sunny inhaled shakily, her voice raw but full of honesty:
"Can you… come over?"
Zane blinked. "Wait— really?"
"I don't know what I want to say yet," she admitted. "But… I think I want to see your face when you hear it."
Zane didn't even hesitate. "I'm on my way."
And when Sunny hung up, setting her phone aside, she let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
She wasn't sure where they'd go from here.
But maybe… they didn't have to decide that just yet.
Tonight, she just wanted to see him. And maybe — that was enough.
---
There was a knock — soft, hesitant.
Sunny opened the door slowly, her hand gripping the handle tighter than it needed to. The air that rushed in was damp and cool. Rain still whispered on the streets outside.
Zane stood there, soaked to the bone. His hoodie clung to him, hair dripping and pushed back from his face. He looked like someone who had been running without knowing the destination — breathless, tense, vulnerable.
He didn't say anything right away. Neither did she.
Sunny peeked out from behind the door, only half-visible — one slippered foot poking out, arms tucked into her sleeves. Her eyes locked with his. Quiet. Searching.
He opened his mouth, but closed it again.
Then, softly, "I didn't bring an umbrella."
Sunny looked at him. His soaked sleeves. His damp sneakers.
And finally — despite everything — a faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"…Idiot," she whispered, stepping aside.
Zane hesitated… then stepped in.
She shut the door gently behind him. The rain muted to a hush again, leaving only the sound of his breathing, the faint creak of floorboards as he removed his shoes.
He stood awkwardly in her small entryway, dripping slightly on the rug.
Sunny didn't speak at first. She handed him a towel — already prepared. She must've known he'd come.
He took it with a soft "thanks," patting down his face and hair, silent as he worked.
Finally, he glanced at her.
"I'm sorry again," he said. Quiet. Like he knew she didn't need to hear it for the hundredth time — but he had to say it anyway.
Sunny nodded, slowly. Then:
"Do you want… dry clothes? I think I still have one of your hoodies here."
Zane blinked, surprised.
"Yeah," he said, voice low. "If that's okay."
She nodded again and padded off down the hallway. When she returned, he was still standing there — a little awkward, a little unsure. And for the first time since that kiss — not the one that broke things, but the one they shared — Sunny reached out first.
She handed him the hoodie. Their fingers brushed.
Neither of them pulled away.
---
Zane emerged from the bathroom in the borrowed hoodie — one of his own, oversized and soft, clinging slightly to his still-damp frame. Sunny stood by the kitchen counter, pouring them both tea. Her hands were steady, but her eyes — they darted up when she heard him, then away again just as fast.
He stepped closer. She offered him a mug.
Their fingers brushed again.
This time, neither pulled away.
"Thanks," he murmured, but he didn't take his eyes off her.
Sunny looked up.
Their gazes locked.
The silence pressed in — not awkward, not cold… just full. Full of everything they didn't say. Everything that had happened. Everything that might still.
And then—
It happened.
They both leaned in — not consciously, not with words or decision. It was instinct. A slow tilt of the head. A pull. A breath shared too closely.
Their lips met in a clash of heat and hesitation, but the hesitation burned away fast. Zane kissed her like he was drowning and she was air — and Sunny returned it just as fiercely. Hours of tension, affection, and everything left unsaid came pouring out all at once.
His hands found her waist, gripping her as if to confirm she was real, here, his. She gasped softly into his mouth, and that sound undid him. He backed her toward the couch, not breaking the kiss once, only deepening it. Tongues brushed, breaths hitched, fingers explored.
Sunny's hands slid under his hoodie, fingertips grazing damp skin — the contrast between warm cotton and his rain-chilled body sending goosebumps across his arms. He groaned softly into her neck when she tugged him closer, her name escaping his lips like a promise and a prayer.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his voice low, hoarse, needy.
She didn't say anything — she just pulled him down with her.
Clothes were peeled away in between fevered kisses and stolen gasps. The couch wasn't comfortable — too narrow, too cramped — but neither of them cared. It wasn't about comfort. It was about connection. Skin met skin, slow at first, then desperate. Their bodies tangled, legs hooked, arms wrapped, foreheads pressed together.
Zane kissed her chest like a reverent worshipper, every touch tender but hungry. Sunny's fingers gripped his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as he moved lower, then up again, meeting her eyes before pushing into her — carefully, slowly, until they were fully, completely one.
She gasped, clutched him tighter, and he stilled — letting her adjust, watching every expression cross her face.
"You okay?" he whispered, forehead still touching hers.
She nodded. "More than okay."
Their rhythm built gradually — soft sighs and stifled moans filling the room like music. His hands roamed her body as if memorizing her shape, and hers explored in return, clinging, grounding, needing.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't perfect. But it was real.
They moved together, in sync, hearts pounding as one — their bodies saying all the things their words still couldn't. When they finally collapsed, breathless and tangled in each other's limbs, there were no apologies needed. Just the warmth between them. The closeness. The understanding.
Zane held her close, his breath still unsteady, his heartbeat finally beginning to slow as he buried his face in her hair.
"You're too good for me," he whispered, barely audible. It wasn't teasing, not playful. Just raw truth.
For a moment, Sunny didn't say anything.
She didn't argue. She didn't deflect.
Instead, she looked up at him, her gaze soft and impossibly kind — like she could see every broken part of him and still chose to stay.
And then she smiled.
A small, honest, beautiful smile.
Leaning up, she kissed him again. Slow. Gentle. Certain.
No words.
Because none were needed.
---
The morning light filtered softly through Sunny's apartment, casting a hazy golden glow across the scattered blankets on the couch. Their limbs were tangled, Zane's arm draped over her waist, his breath warm against her neck. The couch creaked when she shifted — not exactly the most luxurious sleeping arrangement, and her spine politely let her know that.
"Mmmh…" Sunny groaned, stretching slowly. "I feel like I fought a pillow war and lost."
Zane cracked one eye open and smirked. "Next time I'm carrying you to your bed. I don't care how sleepy you are."
She gave him a lazy smile. "Or I could just invest in a less spine-murdering couch."
Zane smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. "Or we could just agree couches aren't made for two people post-makeout collapse."
She chuckled, nudging his leg with her foot. "Noted. Next time, bed."
He raised a brow. "Next time?"
Sunny blinked once, then smirked. "Don't get cocky."
---
They lay there a minute longer, limbs tangled, staring at the ceiling like it might grant them a few more hours of peace. But the reality of rehearsal eventually kicked in — and both groaned in unison, dragging themselves upright and shuffling to gather their clothes.
Zane grabbed yesterday's shirt from where it had dried overnight. He tugged it over his head with a wince — the fabric still stiff and slightly warped from the rain. At least it wasn't dripping anymore. But it clung awkwardly, creased and smelling faintly of wet asphalt.
"You look way too good for me to be standing next to you like this," he muttered, trying to smooth out the front.
Sunny, already slipping into her sneakers, glanced over and smirked. "You say that like I didn't let a soaking wet street goblin into my apartment last night."
He shot her a look — wounded, but fond. "Street goblin?"
"Pitiful street goblin," she corrected with a wink.
He laughed, the sound raspy and warm. "Still regretting it?"
She stood, smoothing the hem of her shorts and stepping close enough to press a kiss to his cheek. "Not for a second."
Zane smiled — then gave a dramatic sniff of his shirt. "Okay, maybe for one second. I need soap. Or fire."
Sunny chuckled and nudged his side. "Flattery might get you a coffee. Maybe."
"Deal," he said with a crooked smile. "And breakfast. Whole buffet. My treat — for, you know… everything."
She blinked, a little caught off guard. "Really?"
He softened, brushing a kiss over her forehead. "Really. Let's eat like kings before rehearsal chews us alive."
---
The place was cozy and slightly upscale, with baskets of fresh croissants, eggs made every way, fruits cut into little heart shapes (Sunny may or may not have squealed at those), and a drink bar offering everything from matcha lattes to fresh juice.
Sunny's plate was a chaotic masterpiece — scrambled eggs, fruit, pancakes, and a single croissant with strawberry jam. Zane, predictably, loaded his with protein and potatoes, though he sneakily stole a bite of her croissant the second she wasn't looking.
"Hey!" she protested.
He grinned, chewing. "Consider it a tax for making me sleep on a couch."
She stuck her tongue out, but couldn't stop the smile creeping in. It was easy, being with him like this. Comforting, even with all the chaos they'd just been through.
As they sipped juice and teased each other over second helpings, the mood softened. Their hands brushed. Stayed there. Tangled again.
And when they left — a little full, a little late — they walked to rehearsal hand in hand.
The city felt quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just the calm after the storm. Either way, Sunny glanced at him more than once, her heart full in a way she couldn't explain.
They were okay.
For now, they were okay.
---
When they arrived at the studio, hand in hand, it didn't take long for Axel to notice. He glanced up from his notes, eyes shifting between them, then gave Zane a subtle nod — quiet, approving. Sunny caught the exchange, and though no words were spoken, she knew.
Zane had confided in him. Of course he had.
Axel had always been their cliff — the steady edge they could lean against when the waves got too loud. He never pushed, never pried, just listened… and held firm.
Sunny felt a swell in her chest. Gratitude, maybe. Or something close to it. Her eyes prickled, but she blinked fast, brushed it off with a small smile, and stepped further into the room.
It was rehearsal time. No time to get teary over the quiet strength of good men.