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i.
One of the first times Kayn is hyper aware of Ezreal touching him is during a movie marathon, one night. The whole band has been granted a day of rest and respite, allowed to relax and lounge about as they pleased. He can’t quite remember who suggested it (probably Ezreal or Aphelios or both, considering the movie choice for the night - Lord of the Rings), yet they all still ended up piled on one another in the spacious living room, lights dimmed, tables filled with snacks and drinks and sweets. Sett and Aphelios wrapped around each other in a chair together, blanket over the both of them, drinks forgotten next to an empty popcorn bowl; K’Sante seated on a floor cushion, tucked back against Yone’s legs at the other end of the couch; and them, Kayn and Ezreal, smooshed together with Kayn leaning against the armrest despite the yawning chasm between Ezreal and Yone.
Kayn briefly wonders how he got himself into this scenario. Ezreal practically draped over him, thighs pressed together, legs folded to the side, leaning into the rapper’s space and preventing him from moving his arm too much. While they’ve been close before, Kayn can’t help but think this is almost suffocating. He can feel Ezreal’s warmth in each point of contact, the line of his thigh incredibly tantalizing and tempting to grab. Somehow, he manages to keep his hands to himself.
See, it took a lot of control to keep Kayn in check. He was like a pathetically whipped dog around Ezreal, would probably bend to most of his whims no matter the trouble it could potentially cause. How they ended up in the kitchen, earlier – the popcorn rotating circles in the microwave as they waited for another bag to finish popping, the rest of the band getting ready for their movie marathon in the other room, Ezreal leaning against the counter munching on a handful of popcorn that he’d teased Kayn into feeding to him while Kayn hovered above, Rhaast an evil cackle at the back of his mind. He itched to take off his eyepatch, to see Ezreal with unobscured vision and confirm that yes, he really had just been conned into feeding him by hand and did it with little resistance. Awful, how down bad he was.
Which is why he isn’t allowed to complain throughout the movie, Ezreal scooting millimeter by millimeter closer as the hours drag on. It keeps Kayn alert, forces him to sit still as to not disturb the other. After all, Ezreal occasionally whispers one thing or another to him about a scene that he enjoys, giggles under his breath and behind a hand at cheesy effects, genuinely gasps at parts he had forgotten that are just so good. And Kayn eats up each and every one of these micro-reactions, cataloging them in his mind. He only becomes suspicious when Ezreal quiets, when he looks over and realizes that he’s nodded off against Kayn’s shoulder with no hint of him waking.
He looks soft, like this. Bathed in the faux moonlight of the television, scenes still flashing across the screen. The other members of their band are wholly absorbed in the movie while Kayn only has eyes for Ezreal. He feels the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, tries to quash it down. It takes awhile for him to be able to focus back on the movie, lulled into peace by the gentle breathing against his shoulder. The rise and fall of Ezreal’s chest is rhythmic enough that he begins to feel himself nod off.
When they wake in the morning, covered in blankets and uncomfortably tangled around each other, neither of them say anything and treat it as if it was any other day. Kayn isn’t too sure if he wants Ezreal to say something, isn’t too sure if he’d like someone else to say something, make mention that they looked awfully close to point them towards becoming something more. He swallows it, eyelids still sleep heavy as he slides into a chair at the dining table to have breakfast around everyone else. Impossible, he thinks, stealing glimpses of sunshine across from him. Rhaast grins cruelly in his mind’s eye, making fun of him for growing so soft.
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ii.
The second time Kayn is acutely aware of making contact with Ezreal, they’re at the beach. You know, one of those stereotypical team bonding exercises that they’re expected to participate in. Something that Yone organizes with encouragement from Sett. Says it’ll be fun if they play some beach volleyball, swim, and enjoy their time under the sun. After all, it’s the perfect time of year to be out. Early summer when it isn’t necessarily unbearable yet still warm enough to dunk under the water, smell the brine in the air. Kayn was never one for the beach, yet he had few options when it came to saying no. A disapproving look from Yone, encouragement from K’Sante, an insistent presence from Ezreal in his room asking what he’s wearing and if he wants to snag snow cones on the pier when it gets too hot.
And it definitely does. Despite the cooler, early summer breeze blowing off of crashing waves, the sun beating down is still sweltering. He’s lounging in the minimal shade the bar provides, sipping some fruity concoction with a silly curly straw and neon green umbrella, watching his bandmates occupied on the beach. K’Sante and Sett are chasing each other up and down the coast, laughing loudly and racing through sinking sands. Aphelios is tucked under an umbrella, book in his lap that he scribbles what Kayn can only assume are lyric ideas in the pages. Yone and Ezreal are swimming, the latter splashing water into the air. Kayn knows the sound of his giggles, the ones that shake his shoulders and crease his eyes into crescents and make his cheeks flush with laughter induced exertion. He isn’t close enough to hear them, yet they still ring clear in his ears. He finishes his drink, turns to order another.
Keeping his back to the other, he listens to the conversations around him, sinks back into his mind where Rhaast is talking about some song idea or another. Kayn tells him he’s happy to borrow his voice and his words, reminds him that a part of it will still be his own. Rhaast grumbles unhappily, yet concedes, possibly understanding the hint that Kayn will remain in control regardless of how badly the demon wants to take over.
He’s shocked out of his stupor when damp hands land on his shoulders, melodic voice drawing him back to the present.
“Kayn, come on! Come swimming with us!” Ezreal laughs, shaking him a bit, causing him to look over his shoulder. Ezreal pauses, then, hands squeezing where they still rest. “Jeez, you’ve been sitting over here in the shade but you’re kinda red. Did you even put sunscreen on your back?”
Kayn has to think on it for a moment, remembering that he covered whatever he could reach with the barest of SPF sunscreen. So he shrugs, turning in his seat and abandoning another finished drink at the counter with a generous tip. He looks Ezreal over, noting the tips of his hair that are wet and drooping, the glistening water on flawless skin that has yet to dry in the sunny heat. He’s flushed a healthy colour, brow raised in Kayn’s direction, golden hues questioning.
“Well..?”
Kayn shrugs again, glancing off to the side.
“Maybe?”
“That’s so a no.”
Kayn looks back, raising his own brow in turn.
“I got what I could. So what?”
“You’re going to burn into a crisp,” Ezreal states, reaching for his wrist. Kayn allows him to take it and tug him along towards their laid out towels. Such a simple touch is enough to light him on fire. Instead, he focuses on the scorching sands underneath his bare feet. “Come on. I’m making sure that you’re not going to be scolded by Yone later when you have to be slathered in aloe because you can’t move and you start to peel like a shedding snake. Sooo gross.”
“Not that gross,” he snips back, willingly plopping down onto Ezreal’s towel with minimal encouragement. He watches the flex in Ezreal’s back as he kneels down and hunches over, digging through the beach bag for the sunblock now buried at the bottom. When found, Ezreal yanks it out with a victorious crow before settling behind Kayn.
“Totally gross. You want to look like a snake?”
“You’d still love me if I was a snake,” he snarks, snaps his teeth shut with enough force to rattle his thoughts when he realizes what he just said.
Ezreal gives a noncommittal hum, opening the bottle of sunscreen with a ‘snick’. Kayn’s tuned into the sound of him squeezing some out, the squelch it makes when Ezreal runs it between his hands to warm up and spread around. Even mentally preparing himself, he can’t help but jump and tense his shoulders when Ezreal lays hands on him and pauses.
“Are you okay?” he asks innocently, sweetly. Kayn can tell he’s trying not to push too many boundaries.
Kayn just nods, focuses on relaxing the muscles down the length of his spine until he’s sagging into Ezreal’s hands. It’s almost reverent, the way Ezreal’s gentle touches slide across his back, over his shoulders, along his sides. He feels the sunblock liberally spread and thoroughly massaged into his skin, cool in contrast with Ezreal’s warmth. Unconsciously, he sinks into the touch, feeling akin to a cat basking in a sunny spot.
Ezreal eventually finishes though doesn’t pull away, fingers beginning to trace the outlines of the tattoos along his back, the asymmetrical ones that curve over his shoulders. He sits up a little more straight with the contact, peeking back over his shoulder, once more.
“You need something?” he questions, voice lower than intended.
Blinking up through long lashes, Ezreal smiles shyly.
“No. Just wondering how much any of these hurt. They don’t look like they’d be fun, but they do look nice.”
Kayn tucks the compliment away for later as they devolve into a conversation about his tattoos, as they soak in the sun’s rays, as he finally allows himself to be pulled into and dunked under clear waters, the smell of sea salt and bright citrus in his lungs as Ezreal laughs in his hold.
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iii.
Surprisingly, K’Sante has the bright idea to host a dance workshop, inviting a pair of his friends that happen to teach classes. Says it’ll be better for the group, as a team, to pair up and go through the aforementioned workshop to solidify dance skills and see where everyone is in terms of experience. Reiterates that it really is no big deal, these friends do this all the time, it’s a favour for him and their newfound success after the release of Paranoia. Eventually they’ll all have to go on stage again, will have to be able to dance through parts of their setlist. Kayn isn’t too worried, recalling the way he was able to show off during the filming of their first video. He knows his moves aren’t too fancy, aren’t overly showy, but at least they’re solid. Regardless of appearances, he’s actually looking forward to the dancing part of the workshop. The partner aspect? A little less.
Kayn’s seated on the ground of the dance studio, lacing up clean tennies and stretching when Ezreal casually drapes himself over broad shoulders. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, breath ghosting unintentionally against Kayn’s neck as he talks into his ear.
“You’re totally going to be my partner, right?” he asks, smooshing his cheek up against Kayn’s insistently. “You aren’t allowed to tell me no. I’ll die if I have to dance with anyone else. Have you seen how K’Sante moves? Yone will also kill me if I step on his toes. And you know Phel won’t dance with anyone else except Sett if he gets roped into participating. Pleaaaase.”
Kayn turns his head as much as possible, looking at Ezreal from the corner of his eye. It’s a little alarming how close they are, red dusting across his cheeks and heat slipping down his spine where Ezreal is pressed flat to him, chest-to-back. His brows raise as Ezreal’s cheek is pressed more into his own.
“Don’t tell me no, Kayn,” he whines, giving him a shake.
Rolling his eyes, Kayn somehow manages to peel away from Ezreal. He’s like an octopus, the way he’s wrapped around Kayn. It would be funny, if the others weren’t shooting them looks and throwing jokes between them. Aphelios whispering into K’Sante’s ear is especially suspicious. Kayn just shoots them a brief glare before turning his attention back to Ezreal.
“Whatever. I’ll be your partner.”
His agreement is reluctant, though for many reasons. He’s not sure how much he’ll be able to concentrate on the workshop being in Ezreal’s space, especially considering they haven’t seen the dance they’re going to be learning. It gnaws at him, makes his stomach fill with fluttery butterflies.
They sit side-by-side while they wait, scrolling aimlessly through social media. Kayn makes a post and Ezreal immediately likes it, quote retweets it with his own quip, makes mention that he’s soooo lucky that Kayn is his partner for the day and ‘did you see his dance moves in paranoia?’. He’s not sure where the compliments are coming from but pretends he doesn’t see them, for now. Considers if he should even indulge Ezreal and reply later while under the blankets of his bed and fitfully resting because he can’t stop thinking about Ezreal’s hands, his smile, the genuine energy he gave that day.
When the instructors come in, they greet K’Sante with an enthusiastic welcome and the other members of the band with equal sincerity. They explain the purpose of the workshop and their history, play the song they’ll be dancing to, and demonstrate the almost two minutes of choreography they’re going to cover in the next hour. It’s easy to note the sheer amount of touching and contact they’re all going to have with their partner, no matter the role they play in the dance.
So they spend the next hour learning piece by piece, slowly putting it together before dancing it at the end. There are plenty of moments when Ezreal ends up with his hands on Kayn, gaze almost shy when it flickers up to him. Kayn has to correct him several times, in turn, instructing him where to place his foot or how to adjust his hands or body. Ezreal rolls his hips into Kayn’s at one point of the dance, back arched sinuously. He thinks all the blood rushes from his head, breath and soul leaving his body in a split second. It takes extreme amounts of willpower to not just grab him and drag him from the room, push him up against the wall and kiss him senseless like he’s wanted to for months. Kayn’s dizzy with the thought of it, faltering in his step and knocking into Ezreal.
Ezreal startles, reaching up and grabbing onto Kayn’s shoulders. He has to wrap an arm around Ezreal’s waist to prevent them both from crashing to the ground, now chest to chest as they stare at each other. Kayn swallows, eyes wide. The tension is broken by an awkward laugh tumbling from smiling lips, prompts Kayn to swing Ezreal back up into a standing position while their instructors suggest it’s time for a break. Kayn can’t help but agree, grabbing his water and escaping from the room. He’s a little hot under the collar and desperately needs a walk to cool off.
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vi.
They’re all stuck in, one night, rain pouring outside and thunder rattling the windows of their shared home. It’s probably the worst deluge they’ve had all spring, like the sky is uncontrollably weeping. Kayn isn’t sure what everyone else is up to, too busy minding his own business and feeling just as melancholy as the weather. He’s attempting to enjoy the peace the patter of rain brings, focuses on the texture of guitar strings under his fingers, taps his foot to the sound coming through his headphones as he plays. Anything to ease whatever knot decided to work itself into his chest. Rhaast is suspiciously quiet after Kayn snapped at him, earlier, unable to tolerate the biting remarks for one night.
He’s been sufficiently cooped up, door shut and minimally interactive with anyone else. While he’s heard the comings and goings of everyone, he’s managed to stay on the periphery and just out of sight. He’s eaten some, filled his water bottle up a few times, dodged a bullet getting scolded by Yone for the dishes when the kicked puppy look he was sporting was spotted. Kind of funny, he can’t help but think. That it takes him looking so rarely put upon for people to finally give him space and stay out of his business. Even though he’s a social creature and has come to enjoy the presence and livelihood of these people in his life, he still needs his alone time.
He’s so focused on the noise sounding through his headphones and the rhythm of fingers dancing across frets that he doesn’t hear when Ezreal knocks, doesn’t realize when his door opens and he enters, doesn’t catch when he’s asking Kayn questions. Kayn’s startled when a tentative hand lays on his shoulder to get his attention, causing him to jump and rip off his headphones. Though surprised, he’s just as quick to settle when he realizes who it is.
He hasn’t seen Ezreal all day, when he thinks about it. Begins to wonder just how he’s been faring in the gloomy weather. Ezreal is always like a sunny day, a balm to the cold and dreary, someone who warms him from the inside and makes him feel oddly happy. Yet he knows that Ezreal does not enjoy the rain in the same way others do, prefers a warm and bright day. Kayn doesn’t even notice the bag thrown over Ezreal’s shoulder, too focused on the golden gaze bearing down on him.
Eventually, he snaps out of it, setting his guitar back on the stand before he’s twisting in his chair to face Ezreal fully. He tilts his head, cheek meeting the edge of the headphones hanging around his neck. Kayn’s got a brow raised, expression quizzical.
“What’s up?” he asks when Ezreal doesn’t move or speak further, sticking a foot out to nudge the other’s.
Ezreal gives him a wan smile, a little faded around the edges. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, alerting Kayn, throwing him on edge. He doesn’t move further, though, and waits for Ezreal to make the first move. That bag is eventually extended between them, shown to Kayn almost like a peace offering.
“It’s raining. Stay in self-care night? I have an extra face mask and thought maybe it’s a good time for us to repaint our nails too,” Ezreal offers, shifting his feet. Kayn thinks he almost looks nervous, like he’s expecting a ‘no’ in response.
So Kayn just nods, standing and stretching.
“You wanna stay in here or go somewhere else?”
“Can we stay in here?” he asks, voice small.
“Sure thing, little prince.”
Ezreal’s smile grows a shade warmer, sunlight beginning to peek through the clouds.
“Go wash your face, then! We can’t put masks on dirty faces.”
Which is how Kayn ends up listening with little complaint, scrubbing soap across his skin and patting it dry. He’s got his hair pulled back with the fluffy pink headband that Ezreal handed him. After, he’s seated on his bed cross legged, mirroring Ezreal’s position. His eyes have closed, discretely leaning into the touch against his face. Ezreal’s nothing but determined and methodical as he lays the sheet mask across Kayn’s face, scolding him to stay still and don’t move, you’ll mess this up. So he listens, keeps his hands folded in his lap, posture slouched, nose briefly scrunching at the cool feeling against his skin. When Ezreal’s done smoothing it over his skin, making sure each edge is stuck down with serum, he backs up with a chipper, “All done!”.
Kayn blinks his eyes open, noting that Ezreal’s also got his own mask on. He doesn’t quite see why he wasn’t allowed to put his on, in turn, but chalk it up to Ezreal thinking he would accidentally crumple it up and put it on incorrectly. Regardless of the reasoning, Ezreal’s thawing further, posture unfurling like a particularly lazy flower, looking more content and comfortable.
He holds his hands out when instructed, next. Ezreal dutifully cleans the severely chipped polish off of his nails, a smattering of black and green and pink. Makes him give up one hand at a time so he can repaint them in similar colours, just from his own meager collection. He’s already got his own nails cleaned of polish, Kayn notes. Briefly wonders if he’s going to be allowed to paint Ezreal’s nails to return the kind gesture. He wants to, he thinks, wondering just how soft Ezreal’s hands feel under his own touch, how they would fit in his own if they were to truly hold hands. It threatens a blush to rise to his cheeks, ears heating.
“Done!” Ezreal chirps when he’s finished Kayn’s second hand, allowing him to take both back. “Now don’t touch anything. I’m going to take off your mask aaaand…” he trails off, beginning to dig his extensive skin care routine out from his bag. “... then put all of this on your face, ok?”
“Do I have to?” Kayn sarcastically intones.
“Duh!” And he’s scooting closer, knees knocking into Kayn’s. “I told you, self care day. Can you just indulge me a little and go along with it?”
Kayn laughs under his breath, giving a nod and closing his eyes again.
“Go ahead, sweetheart.”
If Kayn didn’t have his eyes closed, he would have seen the furious rush of red blazing across Ezreal’s face, would have seen the way his hands froze in mid-air while holding a toner pad in one hand and was closing the container with the other. The pause is short, however, before delicate fingers are making quick work of taking care of Kayn. Toner pad spread, serums applied, and moisturizer thoroughly rubbed in. There’s no lack of care with each sweep of Ezreal’s touch, causes Kayn to luxuriate in it and wonder if he could possibly have something like this every night. Seems like wishful thinking, but he’ll tuck away the memory for later on lonely nights in his bed just to imagine what it would be like to spend regular nights in together. He notes the way Ezreal lingers with featherlight fingertips against his cheekbone before pulling away with a certain kind of finality.
“Ok, you’re all good. Will you… paint my nails now?” he asks, almost bashful, a bottle of yellow polish now clutched in his hand.
Kayn reaches out, takes the polish from him.
“Here. Let me see your hand,” he says simply, holding out a wide palm.
Ezreal sets his hand in Kayn’s, and Kayn guides it closer to him. He’s unscrewing the bottle single handedly with the other, gripping it in a way that allows him to hold onto it while painting. Ezreal’s oddly quiet while Kayn works, allowing him to paint cheery yellow to both hands once, then a second coat without more than a few words. Normally he’s more chatty, engages with Kayn and incites banter between them. However, he’s said little, causing Kayn to glance up when finished.
“You good, Ez?”
The fond nickname slips off his tongue before he can catch it, the worry in his bones throttling him into recklessness.
Ezreal blinks at him, tilts his head in consideration like he’s wondering why the soft tone, the concern, the rare genuine question in the air.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just over the rainy weather, I guess.”
Kayn hums, doubting the brevity of the statement, decides not to press further.
“If you say so,” he huffs, reaching for the toner he'd seen grabbed previously. He gives it a small shake, drawing Ezreal’s attention to it. “Want to tell me what to do?”
Ezreal brightens further, grin finally spreading as he peels off his facemask to toss in the trash.
“So first…” Ezreal begins to explain.
And Kayn does as he’s told, both of them isolated in the dim, warm bubble of his room, snug between the blankets and pillows, enjoying time that is only theirs while the rain continues to pour outside.
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v.
They’re done, actually done, show completed and setlist rocked and gods, Kayn is high from it. Can’t remember the last time he enjoyed himself so much on stage aside from the first time they performed. There’s something about having more songs under your belt, being with some of your favourite people in the world, an enthusiastic crowd singing every lyric back to you, with you. He’s smiling, cackling, crushed into a hug with K’Sante, slapping out a Heartsteel Only handshake with Sett, getting his hair ruffled by Yone. He exchanges enough pleasantries and whoops of cheer with everyone else before he’s making eye contact with Ezreal who’s standing there, a sweet and dazzling smile on his face when Kayn finally notices him.
There’s something about the way they’re drawn together, the way they gravitate towards each other even in such a crowded space. It doesn’t matter that there’s still a crowd cheering in the background, the noise of bandmates and crew backstage talking over one another, others shouting back and forth. They still find each other. Ezreal still finds him, still squeezes his way through everyone to grab at Kayn’s hand. He’s lacing their fingers together, tugging him away through the crowds. Kayn is helpless to follow, listening to the slap of their sneakers against the concrete floors.
Eventually, they make it outside. Ezreal drags him through some back entrance even Kayn didn’t know about, around the corner from the vehicles they came to the venue in. It’s secluded, quiet compared to how it was indoors. The stars are sparkling overhead, winking at them through the light pollution. They’re still holding hands, intrinsically linked together. Kayn isn’t sure he’d give this for the world. Performing with his found family, breathing in cool night air with the boy of his dreams. Ezreal tugs him down to sit on the steps they’ve stopped on, leans into him, rests his cheek against his shoulder where they’ve made a temporary home.
“Something on your mind?” Kayn asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them. He feels the way Ezreal shakes his head against his shoulder, looks at him the best he can from the corner of his eye.
“Not really. Just thinking about how glad I am.”
“For the show?”
Ezreal hums, as if thinking about what he wants to divulge. Something about their shared bubble encourages honesty, vulnerability.
“For the show, for having this band.” He pauses, turning his gaze up towards Kayn. “For getting to spend time with you.”
Kayn cracks a smile, squeezing Ezreal’s hand, leaning back into him, in kind.
“I guess I could say the same thing.”
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+i.
Kayn doesn’t know what possesses him, that night. Maybe the fact that Ezreal’s been gone, away for the last two weeks halfway across the country with very little communication because he’s been kept so busy by a fashion campaign with multiple photoshoots. Logically, he knows that Ezreal is crashing in his room every night tired, worn out, drained from the interviews and keeping up his dazzling persona in front of the cameras and at dinners. It’s a lot of interaction even for someone who thrives in the spotlight. Logically, he also knows this is important exposure for Heartsteel and the sponsorship this is landing them for their next music video. That doesn’t stop him from being resentful and gods forbid that he admit it, but he misses Ezreal. Rhaast laughs at him while he sulks around their shared house, becomes giddy when Kayn begins jotting down furious, love-sick lyrics. His bandmates either give him a wide berth or rib him for being so quiet without someone to annoy.
It’s awful.
Actually, horribly awful.
So when Kayn hears that Ezreal is home, that his flight has arrived, he’s eager. More than eager. Like mentioned, a man possessed. Something has crawled up his spine and taken hold at the base of his brain, encouraging him to pour his everything into reuniting with Ezreal. It seems dramatic, when Kayn really thinks about it, how sick he is with longing. He didn’t realize how much of a constant Ezreal had become in his life until he’d been gone for an extended period of time. Confirms that this isn’t something he wants to happen again.
He barges into Ezreal’s room, causing the other to jump where he’s just finished changing into comfortable clothes. His urgency earns a worried look, dark brows furrowed over muted ochre. Kayn notes that he looks tired, wonders if he even got to sleep on the flight or much the night before. He wouldn’t know; his phone has only pinged with the barest of texts. He’s not mad about it, no. Not with Ezreal in front of him, living, breathing.
He steps towards him, pulled by a string like a puppet or like the ribbon of fate connecting them. Kayn figures he shouldn’t deny it, any more, shouldn’t hold himself back because what good is it going to do, in the end? He wants this, wants Ezreal, wants anything that he’s allowed to have.
Reaching up, he slides hands over Ezreal’s cheeks, taking in the spark in his gaze, the barest parting of his lips, the blush and smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. I might love him, Kayn thinks, and the thought isn’t half as scary anymore. Not when he’s leaning in to kiss Ezreal, not when Ezreal’s giving him the brightest smile, not when he’s tackled back to the bed and smothered in kisses in return.
He thinks this just might be alright.