Zarion stood human again — and naked. He yanked open the cupboard, pulling on sky-blue pajamas before gathering Blond into his arms once more.

He set him gently on the bed, adjusted the pillow beneath his head, and forced himself to turn away.

Walking straight into the kitchen, he reached for a glass. His hands trembled as he filled it with water, the thought whispering in his mind — monster.

Returning, Zarion sprinkled a little water over Blond’s face, watching closely. After a few moments, Blond’s eyelids fluttered. He blinked in confusion, words spilling out before he could think.

“Panthers… we should… uh, where am I?” Panic flickered in his voice, but it vanished almost instantly when his gaze swept over the room. His expression softened, wide-eyed with wonder.

“What happened back on the cliff?” he asked, quieter now, honey-dipped eyes locking onto Zarion in search of answers.

Zarion hesitated. “We’re safe… that’s what matters.” He looked away quickly, afraid that meeting Blond’s gaze would strip the lie bare.

Blond caught the tension in an instant. He gave a slow nod. “That’s true,” he said softly, choosing not to push.

He sat up carefully, his gaze roaming the space as though stepping into a sacred, forbidden place. Zarion watched from the corner of his eye, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… wanna eat something?” Zarion asked, voice hesitant.

Blond turned to him with a wide, breathtaking smile. “Well, if my idol is cooking for me… how could I ever say no?” he teased.

Zarion’s heart skipped a beat. That smile was too bright — it made everything else fade. Without thinking to ask about allergies or preferences, he rushed to the kitchen, grabbing vegetables and washing rice for fried rice.

Blond chuckled at his hurried retreat. Alone, he began wandering, eyes tracing the wooden floor, the scattered books, the faint scent lingering in the air. Then his gaze landed on a peculiar diary — older, more personal than the rest.

It almost seemed to whisper: Do not touch. Which, of course, made it irresistible.

He flipped it open. No daily confessions. No mundane entries. Only songs — some Zarion had already released, others entirely unfamiliar. Blond smiled at the familiar ones… until one particular song made him pause.

Something about it pulled at him, urging him to read and re-read, each word steeped in raw emotion.

He didn’t notice Zarion returning until his voice cut through the silence.

“Uh — I forgot to ask if you’re allergic to anything… or if you even like fried rice—” Zarion froze mid-sentence, eyes locking on the diary in Blond’s hands.

Blond’s head snapped up, irritation flashing at being interrupted.

Zarion approached slowly, muttering, “Guess you don’t ask permission before invading someone’s privacy…” His tone was soft, almost resigned, without true anger.

“Well, it’s not like a fan gets to visit their idol’s place every day,” Blond replied with a grin, though his attention drifted back to the song.

Zarion followed his gaze, eyes catching on the title. “So… why that one?” His voice was low, cautious. He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he turned to the wall, took down his guitar, and checked the strings with restless fingers.

“I… kinda know the feeling behind it,” Blond said softly. For a moment, the light in his eyes dimmed, shadowed by something unspoken — then he masked it with a smile. “Anyway, I’m not allergic to anything. And I’m starving.”

But Zarion barely seemed to hear. He pulled a chair closer, fingers coaxing a dark, haunting melody from the strings — a sound that wrapped around the air like smoke.

“I’m not planning to publish this one,” he murmured. A peculiar chord rang out, lingering in the silence.

“But… I don’t mind if you listen. Also…”  There was a shy pause. “A friend can visit my house anytime he wants.”

Another chord fell, low and rumbling like distant thunder.

“Here…” he said under his breath, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “…the hunt begins.”

The first chilling notes of Hunt filled the treehouse, a melody that promised to leave claw marks on the soul.

As I stayed inside the four walls

No people but the ghost call

Sun shines on this place, but it's so dark

Even in the morning, I can feel those calls

That's where the hunt begins

Maybe I am trapped in the dream

With fire by my side

Even in the dream hunt resumed

Higher and higher I crawl

Faster and faster I ran

Raucous followed me to hunt

And that's why the hunt keeps going on

Is it reality or phantasm?

Am I a Survivor or a murderer?

Or was I abandoned at... nowhere?

There is no one to answer

But still... someone is here!

Am I trapped like a mouse in this cage?

Since the age of 10?

I don't wanna sleep cause

It's scary at night

Where should I go?

Where should I hide?

Terrified and alone

Still, Hunt never fades

And that's how the hunt forever remains

Zarion’s voice wove through the air, low and magnetic. As he sang, his mind blurred, as though smoke curled around his thoughts. Every so often, he glanced at Blond, wondering if the song was reaching him — but Blond’s expression gave nothing away.

What Zarion didn’t know was that Blond’s mind, too, was lost in a memory he couldn’t escape.

When the final chord faded, Blond’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, hiding the ache in his eyes. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, then smiled faintly. “I’ll be back tomorrow… at my friend’s place.”

A quiet stillness settled between them — heavy, but not uncomfortable. Both were wandering through their own shadows.

Zarion forced a smile. “Wanna have dinner with me?” The question came out a little too quickly.

“Yes,” Blond replied without hesitation.

Closing the diary, he set it gently on the table, letting the darkness slip away. Dinner passed in warm silence, broken only by the TV’s soft hum. They talked about the weather, odd commercials, and favorite foods — careful not to touch on heavier topics.

By the time Zarion finished the dishes, Blond had drifted asleep on the couch, curled like a kitten. Zarion smiled to himself, drying his hands.

“Guess I was too caught up in everything to ask his name,” he murmured.

Lifting Blond carefully, he carried him to the bedroom, tucked him beneath the blanket, and lingered for a moment before returning to the sofa. Sleep claimed him almost instantly.

Morning light stirred him awake with a faint smile on his lips. The first thought in his mind was of Blond. Stretching, he headed to the bedroom — but stopped short. The bed was empty.

“…Looks like he comes and goes without permission,” he muttered, voice heavy with disappointment. Then he noticed it — a small piece of paper on the table.

Dear Zarion

I’m glad you chose to stay with us.
I truly appreciate all the effort you put into being an idol.
I’m also glad I finally found the courage to talk to you.
By the way, your cooking is way better than mine!
I’ll be back to meet you tomorrow — I promise.
Until then, take care.

Your number-one fan

Zarion stared at the note for a long moment before exhaling slowly. An involuntary smile tugged at his lips.