Chapter Text
Yone has been working in his office for most of the afternoon. The Pomodoro timer he set up was 3 minutes short of going off to signal the start of his last break, yet he already struggled to keep his posture in check, shoulders sagging naturally and the urgent need to either cross his legs or at least sit on one of them was gnawing at his bones. It felt like someone leaned on him from above, heavy and steady, his body trying to find a way to release the pressure by breaking the straightness of his posture, looking for a distortion. He sighed, took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulder back, followed by a gentle roll of his neck. The long ponytail he always wore swished gently, following the movement.
The timer went off. It was almost 7 pm. Yone picked up his coffee cup covered in condensation and diluted by thawed ice.
That’s not drinkable
, he sighed.
Next time ask for low on ice
, he noted to himself, closing his eyes for a second to commit the information to his mind.
The drinking time to thawing time ratio is off for a Grande
. His brows furrowed, fingers tapping the table rhythmically.
But I usually get a Venti. They surely put more ice in a Venti, right? - does it throw the ratio off, or do I keep standard ice? Warm iced coffee tastes wrong, but so does diluted one - one tastes like depression, the other like disappointment. If my Venti gets diluted and I don’t finish it, is it not just an expensive Grande? - Unless Grande with less ice actually holds longer. No, that doesn’t sound right.
The timer went off again. Yone’s eyes snapped open and he immediately resumed his work, not paying his diluted coffee any more attention.
A few minutes in, his phone lit up and started flashing. Caller’s ID - Ezreal. The vibrations were turned off - it was the first thing Yone always did when he set up a new phone. When he was in his office, the phone was always on Do Not Disturb, except for a few contacts. Aphelios, Yasuo, Alune and Ezreal.
Aphelios, because he would never call Yone unless absolutely necessary. Yasuo, because even if Yasuo hasn't texted or called in over a year, Yone kept the door open 24/7. Alune for the HEARTSTEEL work, and Ezreal… Ezreal because he was Yone’s favourite, and since Yasuo wasn’t interested in keeping in touch, Yone relayed his older brother's love on the youngest band member. In a way, he relayed it on all of his band mates, accepting his role as a mother hen (even if begrudgingly).
With a sigh, Yone picked up the phone and swiped to accept the call. He missed the swipe button at first, cursing under his breath and shaking his fingers violently to release tension. Then he managed to pick up. Stupid technology .
“Ezreal?”
“YONE.” Ezreal sounded out of breath. Not a good sign. “When are you comin’ home? Not like anything is wrong, you know, we are not cooking or anything-” at that exact moment, Yone could hear Kayn swearing and the clutter of pans in the background, “-but if you could tell us the EXACT time you’re coming home, the kitchen will 100% be in great shape, promise, scout’s honour and Kayn’s too.”
“Is K’Sante not home?” Yone asked, voice clipped. He hoped the answer was no, because if K’Sante, most of the time quite reliable, allowed whateverwashappeninginthatkitchen to happen, Yone would lose his last lifeline in that cursed flat.
“No it’s just me and Kayn, so like, obviously, super safe environment,” Ezreal answered with a slight delay, his voice weirdly muffled.
Yone pressed his lips together, fingers tapping the table again.
“7:30.”
“73 of what?”
“I will be home at 7:30. I’m leaving in five.”
The only thing that came as a response was a high pitch shriek, then the call dropped.
For the third time that evening, Yone sighed.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
When Yone entered the flat, his body immediately engaged in a quick observation. Nothing smelled weird, except for about 2 too many drops of essential oil in the aroma diffuser. Nothing looked strange, Kayn and Ezreal were peacefully lounging on the sofa, playing Mario Kart against each other. Nothing unusual to be heard, either.
Yone exhaled and hung his keys on the designated peg by the door - the middle one in a row of 5, one for each band member (except for Kayn, Kayn kept his keys in whatever pants he just happened to wear and hoped for the best). Next came the coat, long and black, so elegant that Kayn called it borderline feminine. As he fumbled with the front knot, he could hear soft thuds behind him, followed by a warm presence, close, but not close enough to crowd.
“Let me help,” K’Sante said in his warm accent, hands hovering above Yone’s shoulders to help him take the coat off, waiting for approval. Yone gave a too-fast half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and let K’Sante ease the heavy coat of his shoulders, the smile dropping instantly as he turned away from the other man. Instead, he gave him a nod of thanks without meeting his eyes. K’Sante, a saint, hung the coat, brushing off a speck of dust as Yone already headed towards his room to take a shower and change.
He didn’t feel the pressure of the deep auburn eyes on his back, nor did he feel the silent question that hung between him and the other man. He never did - K’Sante already picked up on that. But lord, K’Sante was doing his best.
Showered and with brushed hair tied in a bun for simplicity, Yone laid down on his bed, eyes closed. Recalibrate . Recharge . He took a couple of deep breaths, hands planted on his ribs to feel the raise of his ribcage, grounding himself in the sensation. The silence of the room gently rustled in his ears, the kind of silence that didn’t require anything from him. In this flat, there was always something required of him - dishes, cooking, cleaning, helping Ezreal unstuck his glued fingers, taking care of sick Kayn whose diet consisted of RedBull mixed with a Monster. These moments in his room were one of the most valuable of his day.
He turned on his side, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. Just a few minutes of scrolling - cooking videos, ASMR, cat videos, DIYs. It made his brain silent, too busy with the overload of information, colours and motion. The thing was, he hated it - it was such a waste of time. But once he started, he became a captive of his own brain, scrolling until he had to physically remove himself from the situation, usually by rubbing his face.
So that’s what he did, and tossed the phone on the far side of the bed, as if he wouldn’t pick it up 30 seconds later to take it with him to the kitchen.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The flat was shared by 6 chaotic gay men, which meant that they very rarely all sat down for dinner at the same time. Today wasn’t an exception. Yone found himself sitting at the bar stool with a steaming hot miso soup in front of him. His favourite spoon, a shallow ramen type made out of porcelain, fit exactly one perfectly symmetrical cube of silk tofu. The little delights.
“May I join?”
Yone looked up at K’Sante lowering himself on the chair opposite to Yone, his own dinner plate in hand - chicken, broccoli and rice. Must be a cut season , Yone thought. Yone brought another careful spoon of soup to his mouth instead of answering. Or maybe the answer stayed in his head - either way, K’Sante was seated and eating, so no harm done.
K’Sante chewed thoughtfully, occasionally stealing glances at the white haired man in front of him.
“How was your day?” He broke the silence casually, a brave effort to strike up a conversation.
Yone looked up briefly.
“Good.”
K’Sante held his gaze until Yone looked away. A beat of silence.
“Okay.”
Jesus Yone, you’re supposed to ask back,
Yone remembered his brother’s words from years ago. He’d always forget.
Always ask back, show you care. - That information has no value for me. - You have to! Don’t be rude.
“Yours?” He asked, awkwardly late. K’Sante smiled anyway.
“Pretty good. Hit the weights with Sett, had an amazing lunch - there’s a new bistro downtown, they have quite a bit of vegetarian stuff that looked to die for.” K’Sante’s voice dropped to a softer tone. “Thought maybe we could check it out together sometime.”
Yone hummed, thoughtful. “I don’t have much business downtown and half of this band won’t touch vegetables,” he replied eventually, focused on fishing out another piece of tofu. A good vegetarian bistro sounded great, nothing worse than having to order a sad garden salad. But Yone figured he can always get anything with tofu slapped on it.
K’Sante was silent for a beat. “I see.”
Yone gave K’Sante an awkward smile - the one that barely qualifies as a smile and says something like well, bummer - and got up to wash his dishes.
With Yone out of the way, K’Sante’s gaze fixed directly at Aphelios, who was giving him a lazy thumbs up from behind the back of the couch. Soon enough, Aphelios’ trusty whiteboard appeared. You’re doing amazing sweetie.
K’Sante sighed softly and gave him an exasperated smile.
Maybe he shouldn’t have confided his interest in their producer to the biggest troller in the group.