Akalon’s POV

"Hey, Alden! Wake up! You’re not here for vacation!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, trying to rouse Sleeping Beauty from his precious slumber. He only hummed and rolled over, stubborn as ever.

That’s Alden Vane for you—young master of his family, once surrounded by a loving brother, mother, and father. Or at least, that’s how he used to describe them. Then came that peculiar night when, at just eleven, he bolted from home without a single explanation to anyone—not his brother, not his crush, not even me, his best friend. I was still in a daze when I followed him here.

Now, five years later, he’s sixteen and a far cry from the carefree boy he might’ve been. Instead of exploring who he is, making friends, and enjoying high school like any normal teen, he’s buried in responsibilities, working part-time at Obsidian Dynamics Pvt. Ltd.

The fading sunlight caught in his blonde hair, making it gleam against his soft, pink-tinged skin. Full lips, an elegant waist—he had all the grace of someone on the cusp of maturity, yet no interest in enjoying life. He’d rather battle his daily grind while fangirling over Zarion Noirclaw, his favorite idol.

He’d begged Elysian Heights High for special arrangements—classes Monday to Thursday, work Friday and Saturday, Sundays spent buried in books. It takes a toll; I see it in his tired eyes. Every so often, he tries sneaking out of school for small freedoms, but they never last. Duty always drags him back, and he refuses help from anyone. Especially me.

And then there are the secrets—two of them, heavy as stone. One: why he left his home country in the dead of night. Two: the mysterious boy and the bewitched forest tied to him. I know better than to press, but sometimes I wonder how much longer he can carry it all.

"Aghh, I don’t have time for this," I muttered. My own work pulled me into the field more often than not, but somehow, I still ended up in this daily battle to wake him.

I grabbed the nearest pillow. "I’m gonna beat you today, Alden Vane!" I swung it down on him.

Nothing.

He slept on, peaceful and unbothered, so unlike the storm I knew brewed in his chest—what he liked to call "a thing in my chest."

"Ahh! I give up," I sighed, heading to the common washroom.

Our apartment wasn’t lavish—two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom—but it was comfortable enough. Polished white tiles shone under soft light. One living room wall was sky blue, the others white. A brown modular couch sat on a grey carpet, a lamp casting a warm glow beside it. The balcony overlooked rows of buildings and traffic—not much of a view, unless you were a drying shirt on the washing line.

A flat-screen TV hung opposite the couch. The compact kitchen had a stove, a fridge, and a little dining area for two. The bedrooms were each messy in their own way. The bathroom, however, was spotless—glass shower stall, wide mirror, neat counter, and storage tucked below. If anything in this place had order, it was that bathroom.

After freshening up and slipping into my office clothes, I headed out for work, leaving the sleeping beauty to dream on.

Alden’s POV

An hour later, I finally stirred. My small ottoman bed was comfortable enough, with a dresser to the right, a cupboard stuffed with books on the left, and a round window ahead framing the sunrise. The orange glow slipped in, but never enough to wake me.

My eyes fell on the clock—and panic set in. "What! Hya! Akalon, why didn’t you wake me up?" Silence.

Then I saw it: a note on the dresser. My pulse quickened. I already knew what it meant.

Akalon Shadowmere—5’9”, well-built, strong without being bulky. His fair skin glowed with youth, though his hands bore the texture of hard work. His face was soft, framed by dark hair that always looked perfect, whether tousled or neat. His smile could turn his eyes into crescents, cheeks flushed and warm. There was a depth to him beyond his gentle demeanor—something mysterious.

I’d barely decided to leave my country when he appeared at the airport, ready to follow without a question.

My fingers unfolded the note.

I am leaving for work.
Your breakfast is ready.
GET YOUR ASS HERE RIGHT NOW!
                                                  - Akalon

I read it aloud. The image of an angry Akalon flashed in my mind, sending a chill down my spine.

"Ahh! He must have tried to wake me up," I groaned, ruffling my hair. The boss is going to kill me.

I left my bed a mess, rushed through brushing my teeth, and took the quickest shower possible. A crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, navy blue suit fitting snug across my shoulders, polished loafers—done.

I dashed to the road, grabbed the first cab, and soon enough was at Obsidian Dynamics Pvt. Ltd. A quick bow to colleagues. The atmosphere here was cold, but it was better than going back.

My desk held a laptop, a water bottle, and a framed picture—me, Akalon, Rayen. My family. But my eyes always lingered on Zarion, my favorite idol, my crush. I sighed and forced my focus back to work.

Then—

"Mr. Vane, you’re late again."

Akalon’s voice, sharp as ever. No need to look up to imagine his arms crossed, his gaze drilling into me. I turned slowly, deploying my best puppy-eyed expression. His glare lasted a moment before melting, just like always.

The office seemed to tense under his presence, but for me, the day brightened. He patted my head, asked about breakfast. I shook my head, eyes wide, and he got the hint.

Akalon’s POV

God, he’s late again. I should be focusing on work, yet here I am babysitting him.

Those honey-dipped eyes—my one weakness—made it impossible to stay mad. "Come on, let’s get something to eat," I said, pulling him up. I might be his best friend, but I’m also seven years older, and somehow, still the one making sure he eats.

One glance over my shoulder, and the whole room straightened like soldiers.

Today wasn’t just breakfast. It had been five years of silence, and I was done waiting. I had a gift in my pocket, a plan in my head, and one chance to ask about that night.

He didn’t notice the way my hand brushed my chest where the gift was tucked away. He was too busy watching the street—the rushing office workers, the stray dogs, the little details that lit up his eyes.

For once, he looked his age. Maybe that’s why I kept dragging him out in the mornings. Or maybe… that’s why he never ate the sandwiches I made.