Ten Minutes Later — The Door Opens
Eira opened the bedroom door with a quiet creak, she is still warm because Ares had held her briefly, just moments ago. The hallway beyond was dimly lit by the soft glow of the old sconces, and there — sitting against the wall with one leg stretched out and the other pulled close — was Jun.
Still there.
Phone in hand. But not really using it.
"Oh," Eira blinked, startled. "You're... still here?"
Jun looked up, as if he hadn't realized he was waiting. "What? Yeah. I mean, I figured you two would emerge eventually."
Ares appeared behind Eira, his shoulder just brushing hers. "You could've gone downstairs."
Jun gave him a look — unreadable, too blank to be casual. "And miss the rom-com soundtrack coming through the walls?"
Eira chuckled lightly, then tilted her head. "Well... since you've waited this long — coffee?"
Jun stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. "If it gets me away from all this emotional humidity, sure."
She smiled. "I'll let you two catch up. I make excellent awkward silence coffee." She winked, heading downstairs.
As soon as her footsteps faded into the soft creak of old wooden stairs, silence crept back in — this time heavier.
Jun leaned against the opposite wall from Ares, hands in his pockets.
"Can I say something?" Jun said finally, his voice lower than usual, quieter. It lacked his usual smirk — replaced by something else. Something older. Tired, maybe.
Ares gave a half-nod. "Yeah."
Jun hesitated, and for the first time, it looked like his words cost him something to hold back.
"It's just… watching you with her," he began, eyes fixed on a crack in the hallway floorboard, "it's like watching someone open a door I never had the courage to knock on."
Ares's brow furrowed.
Jun didn't stop. He couldn't now.
"She brings out this version of you that's... softer. Lighter. You don't show that to the world, but you show it to her. And I'm happy for you, man, really. But—" He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. "I think I've spent a long time standing in your light."
Ares's voice was barely above a whisper. "Jun, what are you..."
"I'm not saying this to make things weird," Jun added quickly, pushing off the wall like he couldn't bear to stay still another second. "I just' and then he murmered behind his breath 'I needed to say it out loud. Once.'
He turned toward the stairs. "Forget I said anything. Carry on, lovebirds."
And just like that, he was gone.
--------------
Ares stood alone now, confused and hesitant.
The hallway quiet but echoing with all the things left unsaid.
His fingers brushed the doorway where Eira had just been, as if her presence still lingered in the wood.
He leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly thinking about her.
She's so much more than I imagined. More real. More beautiful.
He looked down at his hands — the same hands that had written songs for empty stadiums, strummed heartbreak into chords, gripped microphones like lifelines.
What if I'm not enough?
Not enough for someone so soft, so steady in her silence. Someone who saw him not as the persona, but the person.
But then — her laugh echoed faintly from the kitchen below.
And the memory of her smile, that shy sparkle in her eyes, flickered behind his ribs like a secret starburst.
Maybe… maybe enough is just enough.
He closed his eyes, letting the thought take root.
Maybe this is the kind of magic that doesn't need stage lights. The kind that blooms in quiet corners.
And for the first time in months, Ares felt... still.
Downstairs — In the Kitchen, kettle clicked off with a soft pop, steam rising in slow curls. Eira stood by the window, waiting for the coffee to brew, absently stirring sugar into two mismatched mugs. Her fingers moved, but her mind was upstairs — still in the soft lights of her room, still wrapped around the way Ares had looked at her like she was something precious.
Then she heard it.
A door, slamming. Intentional. Like a full stop at the end of a sentence.
She froze, mug halfway to the counter. Then set it down slowly and moved toward the hall.
Peeking through the curtains, she caught sight of Jun stepping outside the house. But the look he shot her through the window — cold, sharp, and unreadable — made her flinch.
It wasn't playful anymore.
Eira blinked, startled. By the time she opened the door, he was already halfway down the garden path, his back to her. She opened her mouth — but said nothing.
He didn't look back.
She stood there for a moment, confused, the evening air brushing cool against her skin. Then she closed the door gently behind her, locking it out of habit — and maybe a little to block out the weirdness settling in her chest.
---
Eira carried two mugs carefully in her hands as she padded back upstairs. Her heartbeat felt uneven — not in a romantic way this time. More in the way a wrong note hums under a perfect song.
She nudged the door open with her shoulder. Ares was still leaning against the wall, looking somewhere far away in his head.
"Hey," she said softly. "Two coffees. As promised. One dangerously sweet, one just tragic."
He smiled, but not as easily this time. "Let me guess... I'm the tragic one?"
"Obviously," she teased, handing him the darker mug.
He took it with a nod of thanks, but his eyes didn't quite meet hers.
Eira settled beside him on the edge of the bed, warming her hands on her cup.
"So," she said, keeping her voice light, "what was that? With Jun?"
Ares didn't answer immediately. He stared into his cup like it held more than coffee — like it might give him a script for this part.
"He just... needed to say something," he said finally.
Eira tilted her head. "Something bad?"
"No," he replied too quickly. "Not bad. Just... heavy."
She looked at him, concerned now. "Is everything okay?"
Ares glanced at her, hesitant — like he wanted to hand her the full truth but didn't know how to wrap it without cutting his own fingers.
Then he leaned forward slightly, reaching to set his mug down on the floor, and exhaled.
"Forget about it," he murmured, voice softer now. "Please. Not tonight. I just want to be here. With you. Not the rest of the world."
Eira studied his face. Something in it flickered — sadness, maybe. Or maybe guilt.
But she didn't press. She nodded and scooted a little closer, offering him a faint smile.
"Okay," she whispered. "Just us."
And when Ares looked at her — really looked — it was like the tension broke and melted into something gentler. Something safe.
They clinked their mugs together in a quiet toast to right now. And let the rest hang in the silence between sips.