Alden sat in the front row, right before Zarion’s stage, eyes fixed without blinking. Every movement, every note — nothing escaped him. Zarion’s performance was flawless, but Alden knew the truth hidden beneath the surface: the quiet pain Zarion bore with unyielding strength.

He burned the image into his mind — the way Zarion commanded the stage, lit it up with raw power despite the bandaged wrist and the faint grimace masked behind elegance. His heart clenched, a tangled knot of admiration and aching longing. This moment was theirs, even if silent and distant, and Alden vowed never to forget it.

Zarion’s outfit was all black — a sleeveless top, leather jeans, a matching jacket, and boots that made him look fierce yet graceful. The white bandage on his left wrist peeked out from under the cuff, slowly darkening with crimson. His fingertips touched the cool air through a fingerless glove, concealing the injury from fans but not from Alden.

Every step, every gesture was deliberate, but the fluid ease Zarion usually showed faltered slightly. The injury slowed his hand, the pain threatening to shatter the perfection of his performance. Yet his voice stayed steady, strong, captivating the entire stadium.

Then Alden saw it: the bandage shifting, the fresh stain of blood spreading. A cold shiver crawled down his spine. Panic bloomed inside him, fierce and sudden. Is he chasing death?

His breath hitched. His knees weakened. The room around him seemed to close in, yet his gaze wouldn’t break away. He watched Zarion move, sing, fight through the pain, silently begging for him to hold on.

“Here comes the last song,” Zarion announced, crouching to sip water. The crowd roared, energized by every small motion. His eyes swept the audience, locking suddenly onto Alden’s.

Honey-dipped eyes met wide, teary ones—surprise flickering there, as if Alden hadn’t realized until now he was caught in Zarion’s stare. For a heartbeat, the noisy world blurred away. Zarion’s breath caught, thick with emotion and pain. A fire stirred deep within him — aching, electric.

His jewel glimmered briefly, shifting from purple to red in a flash no one noticed — not even Zarion himself. But Alden felt it, a silent thread tightening between them.

Though the crowd remained oblivious, three sharp eyes did not: Akalon, Kieran, and Alaric caught the subtle glow of the jewel. None showed it, but the unspoken weight hung heavy between them.

Zarion lingered in that gaze, sensing something had changed. He’s here, he thought. Relief washed over him, steadying the storm inside. The pain gnawing at his body didn’t lessen, but knowing Alden was watching made everything else fade.

He couldn’t rush to him, couldn’t break the invisible barrier, so he stayed—on the stage, locked in this fragile moment—until the music pulled him forward.

“This song is for someone,” Zarion said softly, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath it, “a reminder of his promise.” His eyes never left Alden’s, burning with unsaid words: anger, love, pain, and loss all tangled together.

Behind the scenes, Kieran’s voice cracked through the quiet room. “Little star!” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. Alaric stood silent, grappling with the weight of the moment and what it meant.

The stage quieted as Zarion took his seat. The final song demanded stillness, a heavy sadness that wrapped around every listener like a shroud.

He closed his eyes. A deep breath. The soft strum of the guitar filled the space, then his voice — raw, fragile, aching — broke the silence.

On the verge of death, he sang, each word a confession, each note trembling with pain. The crowd fell silent, caught in the sorrow and beauty woven into the melody.

For a moment, Zarion was no longer the idol, but just a broken boy singing to someone who might never truly understand how much he needed him.

On the Verge of Death

On the verge of death,

A cliff whispered,

I thought I was hallucinating,

However, I saw a glimmer of hope again.

The mere concern in his eyes made me realize

I am wrong but stubborn.

He pulled me from that hell to his world,

I wasn’t happy, but it didn’t get worse.

I’m grateful I stood on that cliff,

And met him

The honeyed orbs, the boxy smile,

The tiny hands and the young mind

That's how I realized

Even the sweetness carries a darkness within

As the voice started to fade,

I still wonder. Will he regret?

Will he come? Or will he disappear into thin air

I am reluctant to let him go,

I am reluctant to be without him

The omnipresent thought of his death

Keeps Shattering me

The only person who can stitch me

Shatter me more

Now, who will tell him?  

He’s the only one

The only one for me

The only reason to stay alive

He is my life,

And he is my hell,

Bound to me on the verge of death

I wondered—was he just a ghost

Or was he whispers of the cliff?

The promises felt fake,

Turning my world into a hell

Should I stand there again,

Just to see a glimpse of you

Should I give in, so

He can gather his vitality,

To meet me once again at that same spot

The place I called

On the verge of death?