2:07 a.m.
Eira stared at the words glowing back at her.
"You feel like the part of the song I never thought anyone would hear."
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Not really.
Because somehow, this didn't feel like just a reply.
It felt like a beginning.
Her fingers twitched over her screen, heart sprinting. She whispered into the quiet air, "Is it even legal for words to feel like that?"
And then—against all better judgment—she typed.
Eira: That's not fair. You don't get to say something that beautiful and leave me here giggling like a middle schooler with a crush.
She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.
Ares saw the notification immediately.
His lips curled, slow and fond.
It felt strange—this bubbling laugh threatening to slip from his throat. He hadn't giggled in years. Not really.
He typed back.
Ares: You giggled? Confirmed: my night is now 78% better.
Eira: Just 78? Wow. Rude.
Ares: I'm saving 22% for if you send a voice note. Because then I'll know for sure.
Eira: Oh no. Not happening. My voice is aggressively un-special. You'll log off and revoke your metaphor.
Ares: Impossible. You could sound like a sleepy frog and I'd still want to hear you say words like "giggle" again.
Eira gasped dramatically at the screen. "This man is dangerous," she muttered, cheeks warm, smile creeping to full bloom.
Then came hesitation.
A pause in their thread. Just long enough for both of them to feel it.
That gentle reminder humming beneath the surface:
'He's him. You're… not.'
And maybe that's what made her type this next part a little slower.
Eira: This is weird, right? I mean… you're you. And I'm… someone who bought instant noodles based on the vibe of the packaging today.
Ares didn't reply for a beat.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he read that three times. He saw through it. The nerves underneath the joke. The unspoken fear of not being enough.
So he answered with the kind of honesty he never gave to interviewers.
Ares: Can I tell you something that might ruin my image?
Eira: I'm listening, Oh Mysterious Rockstar.
Ares: I once cried because my assistant accidentally threw away a keychain I got from a vending machine. It was cheap plastic. But it reminded me of someone who made me feel safe.
Eira: That's not ruining your image. That's… Okay, that's actually kind of heartbreakingly soft.
Ares: I think I've forgotten what soft feels like.
There. That was the real thing. Not a lyric. Not a rehearsed vulnerability for PR.
Just raw truth.
Eira stared at the screen, her chest tightening.
She didn't send a joke this time.
Eira: I don't know if I'm soft. But I care. And I'm not afraid of your silences. So if you ever need a place to land… I can be that.
Ares swallowed.
He rubbed his thumb across the edge of the phone like her words were something he could hold.
He typed slowly this time.
Ares: I don't even know what you look like. But I feel like I've known your voice forever. Is that weird?
Eira: Only if you promise not to disappear.
There was a pause. A long one.
Ares closed his eyes, letting that line wash over him like a song he'd forgotten how to hum.
He whispered to himself before typing, "I won't."
And then—
Ares: What color are your thoughts right now?
Eira: Soft honey. With little bits of sleepy pink.
Ares: Mine are warm grey. Like the sky before a snowstorm. Kind of quiet. Kind of heavy. But… peaceful.
Eira: You speak in colors like I speak in half-finished poems.
Ares: Maybe we're different chapters of the same book.
They both paused again.
But this time, it wasn't hesitation.
It was awe.
Because something was happening here—something rare and unplanned. Not fan and idol. Not follower and verified account.
Just… two people.
Somewhere between the hours. Somewhere between heartbeats.
Eira: Hey… can I ask you something random?
Ares: Always.
Eira: If we were two coffee cups on a shelf, what would yours look like?
Ares: Oh, I like a game.
Ares: Mine would be chipped on the rim. Black, matte. Simple. But inside? There'd be gold paint hidden at the bottom. You'd only see it if you stayed till the last sip.
Eira's throat tightened. She smiled with her whole heart.
Eira: You'd be my favorite cup. The kind I never let guests use.
Ares: Your turn.
Eira: Mine would be mismatched. Blue with stars drawn in white paint marker. And a crack I glued back together with too much love.
Ares: Sounds like it would smell like cinnamon and stubborn hope.
She couldn't stop the little giggle that burst out of her. Alone, in her bed. At 2:36 a.m.
And on the other side of the world, Ares smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache.
Ares: Eira.
Eira: Hmm?
Ares: This is going to sound insane. But I think I'm really, really glad you exist.
Her heart stuttered.
Eira: Not more insane than me wishing I could hand you a blanket and tell you to rest without the weight of the world tonight.
Ares: I think I just did. And it had stars on it.
Silence stretched.
But not the scary kind.
The kind where two people breathe at the same time. Where something invisible threads itself between them and pulls tight.
Then, gently:
Ares: Stay?
Eira: Always.
And maybe that's how it started.
Not with grand confessions. But with colors and coffee cups. With quiet 2 a.m. softness and hearts unfolding like paper cranes.
In a world of noise, they found each other in the quiet.
And for the first time…
It didn't matter who was on stage, and who was in the crowd.
Because their story?
Had nothing to do with lights.
And everything to do with light.