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Chapter Text

Mizi and Ivan had a rhythm. Not just on stage, where their harmonies melted into each other like honey in tea, but offstage too—where they shared inside jokes, traded snacks, and texted each other memes at absurd hours. They were the kind of best friends who didn’t need to say “best friends.” It was obvious.

Too obvious.

Sua watched them from across the practice room, her fingers tightening around her water bottle as Mizi laughed at something Ivan whispered. It was the kind of laugh that made Sua’s stomach twist, because she wanted to be the one making Mizi laugh like that. She wanted to be the one Mizi leaned into, the one she trusted with her unfiltered joy.

Till wasn’t much better. He sat on the edge of the stage, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes kept flicking up to Ivan. Ivan, who was currently draped across Mizi’s lap like a lazy cat, humming some nonsense melody while she braided a tiny section of his hair. It was infuriating. Not because Till didn’t like Mizi—he did, she was great—but because Ivan was right there, so close, so unaware.

The rumors didn’t help. Fans shipped them. The comments were full of “Mivan” edits and “they’re so obviously in love” takes. Even Luka and Hyuna had started teasing them. Ivan just laughed it off. Mizi rolled her eyes. Neither of them seemed to notice the way Sua’s smile faltered every time someone made a joke, or how Till’s jaw clenched just a little tighter.

One night, after a long rehearsal, Mizi found Sua alone in the hallway, staring at the vending machine like it had personally offended her.

“Hey,” Mizi said, nudging her gently. “You okay?”

Sua hesitated. “Do you… like Ivan?”

Mizi blinked. “Ivan? No. I mean, I love him, but not like that. He’s my person, but not my person, you know?”

Sua didn’t know. Not really. But she nodded anyway.

Later, Till cornered Ivan in the green room, voice low and awkward. “You and Mizi… are you a thing?”

Ivan looked up from his lyric notebook, confused. “What? No. She’s like my sister. Why?”

Till shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just wondering.”

Ivan smiled, soft and a little shy. “You’re weird sometimes, you know that?”

Till didn’t say it, but he thought: only around you.

The next performance was electric. Mizi and Ivan lit up the stage, their chemistry undeniable. But this time, when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, Mizi walked offstage and looped her arm through Sua’s. Ivan found Till by the water cooler and handed him a bottle without a word, their fingers brushing just a little too long.

Everyone thought Mizi and Ivan were in love.

Everyone was wrong.

Chapter Text

The practice room smelled like coffee and cables again. It always did by the end of the week—someone (Ivan) left half-empty cups on the amp, and the hot studio lights baked the smell into the floorboards. Mizi didn’t mind it, though. It smelled like them, like something real they were building together.

“Okay,” Luka said from the couch, scribbling something in his lyrics notebook, “I think we keep the intro stripped. Till, can you make your riff a little grittier? More distortion, less echo.”

Till nodded, his hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t look up as he adjusted the pedalboard. Ivan was tuning his bass next to him, humming just under his breath—probably the same melody Mizi had been singing five minutes ago. It made Till want to throw his pick across the room.

Instead, he just hit another chord. Sharp. Loud. Luka winced. Ivan laughed.

“Man, warn us next time,” Ivan said, teasing. His grin was lopsided, familiar, and too fond.

“Maybe don’t sit right next to the amp next time,” Till shot back, but it came out softer than it should have.

Mizi giggled from her mic stand. “Yeah, Ivan. You’re gonna lose your hearing before thirty.”

“As long as I go out listening to your angelic voice,” Ivan replied, ever the flirt—but it wasn’t for Mizi this time. It was for the room. For the bit. He never meant it when it counted, and Till knew that.

Still, his heart pinged, traitorously.

Across the room, Sua was adjusting her earpiece, pretending not to notice how Mizi smiled at Ivan after that. The tiny smile of someone who didn’t realize how easily she made people fall in love with her.

“Alright, let’s take it from the bridge,” Hyuna called from behind her drums, tapping out the rhythm quietly as a count-in. “And Ivan, try to stay in key this time?”

“Wow, harsh. I thought we were friends,” he said.

“We are. That’s why I can say that.”

The music started: heavy bassline, jagged guitar, then the rise of twin harmonies—Mizi’s clear, crystalline tone woven perfectly with Sua’s steadier, richer one. When they blended, it was something that made Hyunwoo, who was visiting to check scheduling, pause mid-scroll on his phone.

They were good. Too good to be messing around in small clubs forever.

When the last note faded, everyone stood there for a beat, the kind of silence that felt like accomplishment. Mizi turned to Sua first, smiling, reaching out to bump her shoulder. “You sound amazing. Like, seriously, that last chorus hit hard.”

Sua’s heart wasn’t built for that kind of casual affection. “You too,” she managed.

Luka looked smug. “Okay, I think we’ve got something.”

Hyuna started dismantling her sticks, clattering noises filling the space again. Ivan set his bass down, rolling his shoulders, and said, “Break? If I don’t get food soon, I’m gonna perish.”

“Go eat,” Hyunwoo said, pocketing his phone. “You’ve earned it. But remind me to tell you guys about that gig offer in Incheon.”

Till perked up. “A festival?”

“Local first. But if it goes well…” Hyunwoo left it hanging.

Ivan threw an arm around Till’s shoulders as they walked out, casual, easy, suffocating. Till could smell his cologne, faint but warm, and he knew he’d be replaying that five-second contact for hours. Maybe days.

Behind them, Mizi and Sua lingered to pack up lyrics sheets. Mizi hummed under her breath—something not from their setlist, something she’d made up on the spot. It was soft and strange and lovely.

“You always hum when you’re happy,” Sua said before she could stop herself.

Mizi blinked, then laughed. “You noticed?”

“Kind of hard not to.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. There was a hum of amp feedback in the background, the quiet after noise. And something else, too—something that lingered unspoken.

Outside, the city was loud and glittering. Till and Ivan walked side by side, shadows brushing. Inside, Mizi and Sua packed up the leftover sheet music, hands brushing once, twice. They didn’t pull away fast enough.

Chapter Text

The early spring night after rehearsal was an alien kind of cold—sharp, then gentle, as if the city couldn’t decide what season it wanted to be. Still, the group spilled out of the practice complex, laughter bouncing between them, voices weaving over traffic and neon.

Hyuna tugged on Luka’s sleeve as they crossed the street, her smile half-hidden under her beanie. He grinned back and tried to look casual, but even Sua knew he’d walk through fire for Hyuna if she asked. Instead, she just stole part of his scarf.

“Can you all just walk?” Till snapped when Ivan, lagging behind, accidentally bumped into him twice. Ivan offered a dopey smile and looped an arm around Till’s shoulders, hanging off him with dramatic weight.

Till shrugged hard enough Ivan almost stumbled. “Seriously?”

Ivan leaned in, voice low for dramatic effect: “C’mon, join the cuddle train. You need it. You’re like a little angsty bear today.”

“Shut up.” But Till’s cheeks flared red, a blush sheepish enough to be seen even in the stuttering glow of streetlights.

Sua trailed just behind Mizi, hands crammed deep in her jacket pockets, letting herself watch how Mizi moved—loose, unhurried, her laugh crisp and airy. Dewey and Isaac, heads together, were debating band hashtag strategies. Occasionally, Dewey barked out a meme concept and Isaac cringed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.

Hyunwoo announced, “The Incheon gig is confirmed. Two sets. We’ve got an hour to fill—Luka, I sent you the contacts. Acorn’s coming too, by the way.”

Acorn, always a bit left out of the music talk, brightened instantly. “I’ll bring snacks!” he vowed, clutching Hyunwoo’s hand like it was the only tether he had.

“Sticky rice balls,” Hyuna begged, squeezing Luka’s arm.

“Anything for you,” Luka replied. Hyuna rolled her eyes but didn’t let go.

Mizi glanced at Sua, lowering her voice. “You okay with the travel? You get carsick sometimes.”

Sua’s heart stuttered. “I’ll bring ginger chews,” she promised.

“Good,” Mizi said, half-smiling and tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “Wouldn’t be the same without you in the harmonies.”

They reached the subway, where Ivan launched himself onto a plastic seat, sprawling like a king. Till sat as far away as possible, glowering at his phone. Ivan, ever the menace, stretched his legs dramatically across the aisle, blocking Till’s escape.

Luka leaned close to Hyuna, whispering something that made her laugh so hard she nearly dropped her drum bag. Isaac recorded a quick video, narrating: “Alien Stage in the wild. Luka simps, Ivan annoys, Till glowers, and Hyuna is legally too cool to respond.”

It was all so normal and strange. Ivan pulled a face that made Acorn snort and nearly choke on his juice. Dewey announced, “This is all going on the story, sorry not sorry,” and everyone groaned but didn’t protest.

Later, as the train rattled toward home, Ivan swung his phone between them, grinning at Till. “Want to play Flappy Bird?”

Till raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That ancient game?”

“It’s a classic,” Ivan said, waggling his finger. “You aren’t scared, right?”

Till took the bait, snatching the phone. “Watch and learn.”

Ivan pressed his thigh against Till’s, watching the tiny bird crash spectacularly at three points, then cackled so loud half the car turned to stare. It should have been mortifying. Instead, it made Till relax, his scowl loosening into something softer, almost shy.

Across from them, Sua edged closer to Mizi. Their knees brushed. Mizi cleared her throat gently—not nervously, just aware of the tiny space between them.

“Are you nervous for Incheon?” Sua asked in a murmur.

Mizi twisted her lips, thinking. “A little. Not about the stage, though. I just want us all to do well. You, me. Ivan, even. You sing great. When you let yourself.”

Sua risked a smile. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Mizi replied, beaming.

The train rolled on toward home, and practice felt decades away. There was music in the hum of the wheels, the laughter, the warmth of knees pressed together. No one dared say it: best friends, crushes, jealousy, worry. It was all there, unspoken, thick in the cold spring air.

They belonged together, even with the tangled feelings and teasing and scowls. Even with everything left unsaid, that was enough tonight.

Chapter Text

Hyunwoo’s text about the Incheon gig sat stubbornly on Mizi’s phone screen as she lay back on her bed, the ceiling fan humming softly above her. It should have made her excited, but instead, a tight coil of nerves twisted in her stomach. This was the kind of thing bands dreamed about—an actual gig with a crowd, not just their cramped practice space or late-night live streams. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting. Something... subtle.

Downstairs, Till sat cross-legged on the living room floor, Freddie—a sunburst electric guitar with a few worn edges, his favorite and fiercely named—resting in his lap. He strummed absently, the strings vibrating with a lazy twang that sounded melancholy even when the chords weren’t. He glanced up when Ivan appeared, leaning against the doorframe with that mischievous grin that made Till’s scowl deepen.

“Practice’s permanent resident grump,” Ivan teased, nudging Till’s shoulder.

“I’m not grumpy,” Till grumbled, then added, “I’m just focused.”

Ivan sidled closer, lowering his voice like they were sharing a scandalous secret. “Sure. Focused on annoying everyone with that face.”

Till blinked, surprised at how much he noticed Ivan’s teasing but didn’t snap back like usual. Instead, he plucked a slow riff—soft, but with an edge.

“Freddie doesn’t like to be ignored,” Ivan said, grinning as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Till rolled his eyes but smiled just a little. “He’s my best friend, what can I say?”

Ivan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “So, you’ve officially named a guitar. That’s… endearing.”

Their easy teasing was interrupted by Mizi’s knock at the door.

“You guys practicing here, or tripping over each other again?” she called.

Till straightened, strumming a closing chord. “We’re done for tonight.”

Mizi stepped in, her eyes bright. “Good. Sua and I wanted to talk about the setlist. Maybe try some harmonies that build more… tension? Something unexpected.”

Ivan perked up. “Oooh, tension. You mean like, 'make ‘em sweat' tension or 'will these two ever confess' tension?”

Mizi rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. “Both, maybe. It’s a slow burn band, not just a fast track.”

Sua appeared behind her, quietly joining the conversation. “I’m willing to try anything new. Just don’t let Ivan steal the spotlight,” she teased.

“Hey!” Ivan feigned offense, hands on his chest. “I am the spotlight.”

Till laughed, shaking his head, then caught Mizi’s eye. His gaze softened when their eyes met—no teasing, just something honest lurking beneath.

Outside, Acorn and Hyunwoo crossed paths. Acorn held a bag of snacks, looking excited but nervous.

“This is going to be good,” Hyunwoo assured him. “You ready for the trip?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Acorn said, glancing back toward the practice space. He didn’t belong on stage, but he belonged here—with them.

The night wound down with whispered plans, playful bickering, and the unspoken promise of what was to come. The Incheon gig wasn’t just a performance—it was a chance for them to write the next chapter of their story.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen when Sua’s phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a message from Mizi: “Meet me at the studio early? Need to bounce some melody ideas off you.” Sua smiled despite the fog of sleep still clinging to her and stuffed her phone in her jacket pocket, grabbing a quick breakfast on her way out.

When she arrived, the practice room smelled faintly of lavender and coffee—Mizi’s handiwork from the night before. Mizi herself was already there, sprawled on the couch with her guitar case open beside her, humming a melody that felt like sunlight wrapped around a secret.

“Morning,” Mizi greeted, eyes bright. “I was thinking—what if we layered the chorus differently? Something that creeps in, not hits you all at once.”

Sua sank onto the floor, stretching her legs out. “I like that. Like a slow bloom.”

Mizi laughed softly and strummed a tentative chord progression. “Exactly.”

The door creaked open, and Ivan slipped in with his usual nonchalance, tossing a binder of lyrics onto the amp. “Planning world domination or just making beautiful noises?”

Sua raised a brow. “Both?”

Ivan grinned, heading toward the bass guitar resting on its stand. “Sounds about right.”

Till arrived a moment later, his footsteps heavy, clutching Freddie by the neck. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular but settled next to Ivan, tuning his guitar almost aggressively.

“You look pissed,” Ivan noted, eyes twinkling with that teasing light. “Bad mornin’?”

Till scowled. “You just missed my alarm. Thought I was gonna die.”

Ivan shook his head, stepping closer. “Dramatic as always.”

Mizi and Sua exchanged a glance, the easy, familiar banter weaving around them like a warm blanket. Yet, beneath it all hummed something quieter—things unsaid, glances that lingered a bit too long, the way Till’s jaw clenched when Ivan playfully bumped into him.

As they launched into rehearsal, the music rose and fell in waves—sometimes sweet, sometimes jagged. Ivan teased Till mercilessly between riffs, pushing buttons Till tried to guard. Till fired back with a growl and a grin that betrayed just how much he enjoyed the challenge.

After a few runs through the new song, Hyuna burst in, cheeks flushed from a morning jog. “You guys sound ready to blow a few speakers. We still on for band dinner later? Hyunwoo’s got a last-minute gig request to talk through.”

“Count me in,” Mizi said.

“I’m there,” Sua added.

Till sighed, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll survive.”

Ivan smirked, nudging Till with his hip. “Survive? Come on, I’m practically your life support.”

Till’s scowl deepened, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re a nightmare.”

“Admit it, you like my brand of nightmare.” Ivan strummed his bass like a challenge.

The rest of the morning passed in a mix of music and low teasing, but at the edges, Sua caught the tweaked notes—the tension and the tenderness folded together in a way only two people who knew each other inside and out could make.

By the time they packed up, the promise of what was coming—to stages, to friendships, to maybe something more—was written softly between them all. Yet in the quiet spaces, beneath the laughter and late-night memes, a slow storm was gathering.

But for now, they had their band, their music, and their rhythms—imperfect, tangled, and real.

Chapter Text

The smell of burnt toast was not how Ivan imagined starting his morning, but there it was—wafting through the cramped kitchen that Dewey insisted was "album art-worthy" if only they cleaned it more often. Ivan, still half-asleep, scowled at the singed edges of what was probably the last slice of bread.

“You really should set timers,” Dewey said from behind a mountain of tangled charger cables, not looking up from his phone.

Ivan grabbed the bread, silently plotting revenge in the form of a perfectly timed prank — preferably involving Hyuna’s beloved drumsticks.

The sound of the practice room door slamming made them all jump. Till stormed in, his hair wild, Freddie slung over his shoulder.

“Guess who got snarled in traffic because someone decided the morning was a good time to test their brakes on a bridge?” Till grumbled, tossing his guitar case roughly to the floor.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, dangerous grin already forming. “Freddie’s still in one piece, I hope? Wouldn’t want to report a crime scene before breakfast.”

Till didn’t respond; instead, he shot a look somewhere between glare and challenge.

Mizi appeared behind him, clipboard in hand, ready to mediate.

“Alright, team, no one is allowed to kill each other today or ruin any equipment. We’ve got a lot to polish for Incheon, and I mean a lot,” she said, voice sharp but kind.

Sua popped in next, holding two sodas like peace offerings. “Negotiator status: Activated.”

The tension crackled as they dug into their setlist, but it wasn’t just the usual frustrations. Till’s hands trembled slightly on his strings at one point; Ivan caught it and smirked.

“You okay, grumpy bear? Or should I start writing your eulogy?”

Till shot him a look, but then, unexpectedly, chuckled. “Sarcasm’s your armor, huh?”

Ivan shrugged, plucking a lazy note. “Better than being Mr. Perpetual Frown.”

Hyuna’s drumsticks clicked erratically as she tapped out a rhythm while eyeing Luka, who was more focused than ever on a lyric sheet that looked suspiciously like a love letter disguised as a song.

“So when are you confessing?” she teased.

Luka didn’t look up but smirked. “Right after I finish making you my muse.”

They all groaned, but the edge of a smile tugged at Hyuna’s lips.

Later, during a break, Acorn wandered in, snacks in tow, looking more like a lost mascot than part of the group.

“Seriously, you could do better than sweat-soaked T-shirts and bad coffee,” Ivan said, tossing him a granola bar.

Acorn grinned, unbothered. “I’m the band’s snack overlord. It’s an important job.”

Till finally sat down with Freddie resting across his lap, the earlier tension nowhere to be found. For now.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon light sliced through the studio windows in long, jagged shards, catching dust motes that floated lazily in the stale air. Mizi was the first to arrive, clutching her laptop and an oversized coffee that seemed to be her lifeline today. She dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the couch, swiping at the screen without really looking.

Sua followed a few minutes later, balancing a small stack of lyric sheets and a wary smile. “You look like you’ve been here all night,” she teased gently.

“Close,” Mizi sighed. “Luka sent me half the new setlist last night, and I’ve been trying to figure out the harmonies. This one part—it's like a puzzle missing a piece.”

Before Sua could answer, Ivan burst through the door, bass case dragging behind him with an almost theatrical clatter. His grin was wide, eyes sparkling with something between excitement and mischief.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said ironically, dropping his case beside the amp. “Ready to ruin my perfect bassline with your off-key harmonies?”

Till arrived last, cradling Freddie like a lifeline. His expression was a tight mix of exhaustion and determination, which faded just enough when he spotted Ivan. Ivan caught the look, and his smirk deepened.

“Showtime, grouch?” he teased, already tuning his bass strings.

Till didn’t respond but set Freddie on the stand and cracked his knuckles instead.

Hyunwoo and Acorn slipped into the studio quietly, Hyunwoo with a schedule in hand and Acorn carrying the sacred shrine of snacks, much to everyone’s relief.

Hyuna arrived moments later, holding her beloved drumsticks like they were priceless relics. Luka trailed behind, shuffling papers and muttering something about “getting the words right before that gig kills me.”

“Get ready for chaos,” Hyuna announced, settling behind the drums. “Because that new song’s rhythm needs serious work.”

The rehearsal began with all the controlled mess the band had become known for—disjointed beats, off-key vocals, laughter mixing with frustration. Ivan’s usual teasing targeted Till especially, poking at the way the guitarist’s foot tapped too loudly or his grimace when the bass didn’t line up.

Till snapped once, but the glare he shot Ivan was more tired than angry.

Luka hummed a melody from the sidelines, nodding slowly. “It’s getting there.”

As the session dragged on, Mizi and Sua huddled near the keyboard, fingers tracing notes as they argued lightly over the best harmony.

At one point, Ivan caught Sua’s glance aimed at Till—there was something in it, a flicker of hope or maybe just curiosity. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, choosing instead to ramp up the silly antics that made Till scowl deeper.

Minutes before packing up, Ivan leaned in during a break and whispered loud enough for Till to hear, “Bet I can make you laugh before practice ends.”

Till’s lips twitched, but he held his ground. “Not a chance.”

The studio echoed with the sound of Ivan’s failed attempts to break Till’s focus, but no one else seemed to mind. It was another day, another rehearsal closer to the gig—and yet, under the surface, everyone knew the real story was just starting to stir.

Chapter Text

The cramped café near the studio was buzzing with the low hum of afternoon chatter, but the Alien Stage crew managed to carve out their usual corner table, cluttered with half-finished drinks and a jumble of notebooks and phones. Ivan was stretched out, slouching comfortably, his bass case resting against his chair like a loyal companion. Across from him, Mizi leaned in to show a lyric sheet to Sua, who squinted at it, brows furrowed.

“You totally need to cut the second verse,” Sua said, tapping the paper decisively. “It drags the energy down.”

“Yeah, but that verse has the killer line,” Mizi argued, grinning. “You want tension? There it is.”

Till and Hyuna showed up a few minutes later, the former still carrying Freddie with that stubborn grip, the latter wielding her drumsticks like weapons of rhythm. Till flopped onto the bench, shooting Ivan a look that was somewhere between exasperated and fond.

“Are you just going to sit there and make my life difficult all day?” Till asked, voice teasing but sharp-edged.

Ivan smirked. “Me? Never. You’re the one who looks ready to strangle me.”

Mizi snorted, nudging Ivan playfully. “You two are like an ongoing sitcom. I swear, if you ever actually fight, the entire fandom will implode.”

Ivan shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s not give them that much drama yet. Spoilers.”

Sua glanced between the two boys, catching the subtle shifts—the quick glances, the half-smiles, the way Ivan’s leg subtly brushed Till’s under the table. It was like watching a slow-burning fuse, except no one wanted the explosion—at least not yet.

Just then, Dewey and Isaac popped by with an armful of phone chargers and an updated social media plan. Dewey winked at Mizi. “By the way, ‘Mivan’ rumors are officially out of control. You two might have to start a ‘family-friendly’ denial campaign.”

Mizi threw up her hands dramatically. “Oh, don’t even start. If one more person asks if we’re dating, I’m going to lose it.”

Ivan leaned forward, voice dripping with mock horror. “Ew, as if. Date Mizi? Gross. She’s like my annoying little sister.”

Mizi groaned, joining in. “And Ivan? Please. The thought of dating him? Disgusting.”

They both laughed, perfectly in sync—their mess of platonic affection and sibling-like teasing cutting through any rumor like a knife.

Till groaned from the side, but the light caught on the corner of his mouth, curved just so. “Can you two at least pretend to be mysterious for your fans? It’s exhausting…”

Ivan rolled his eyes but smirked again. “No promises, grumpy bear.”

The afternoon stretched on with easy banter, music talk, and the sort of closeness that made the band feel less like coworkers and more like a complicated family—messy, loud, but deeply intertwined.

And whatever the fans whispered, Mizi and Ivan would always be, first and foremost, exactly who they were: best friends who’d never, ever date.

Not even close.

Chapter Text

The late evening had settled around the studio, casting long shadows over the scattered music sheets and empty water bottles. Till sat alone on the worn couch, fingers absently drumming a slow rhythm on his knees while Freddie leaned beside him like an old companion. The day's practice had been vigorous—longer than usual—and the exhaustion clung to him, dulling the edges of his usual sharp moods.

Ivan appeared quietly in the doorway, holding his bass with that teasing grin that never quite left his face. He closed the door softly behind him and slid into the seat next to Till without a word.

Till’s eyes flicked up, eyebrows tense, but he didn't push Ivan away. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was something they had mastered over the years.

"You tired?" Ivan asked, voice low and casual.

Till nodded. "Yeah. Feels like... everything's speeding up. The gig, the setlist, the rehearsals."

Ivan smirked, sensing the tension clawing beneath the surface. "We’ll handle it. Like we always do. Besides, I think you secretly like all the hype."

Till gave him a side glance, lips twitching despite himself. "Don't joke."

Ivan’s grin softened, and he leaned over, flicking a stray strand of hair from Till’s face. "You’re impossible."

They sat in the quiet hum of the studio, the kind of quiet filled with unspoken words. Slowly, Ivan's fingers found Till’s hand, gripping just enough to stop the restless tapping.

Till didn’t pull away.

“Still haven’t figured out how to tell you that your basslines are the best thing about this band,” Ivan murmured, voice barely above the breeze.

Till’s jaw tightened. “Don’t say it like it’s a surprise.”

Ivan chuckled softly, brushing his thumb along the back of Till’s hand. “You’re stubborn. But that’s why I’m relentless.”

For a moment, the walls of teasing and deflection fell away. There were no jokes, no barbs—just the quiet truth in shared space and held hands.

Then the moment slipped, replaced by the distant sound of Mizi humming in the hallway, and the weight of what could be and what was still unspoken.

Till pulled his hand back, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Not now."

Ivan nodded, smooth and understanding, but the spark in his eyes didn’t dull. "Soon."

Till looked over, managing a faint smile. “Don’t push me.”

Ivan laughed quietly. “Always.”

They sat back, letting the silence stretch between them—a promise and a challenge waiting quietly in the dim light.

Chapter Text

The city lights stretched in ribbons as the band’s van rolled toward Incheon, the windows fogged slightly from the cool night air and the buzz of anticipation inside. Hyunwoo was at the wheel, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes to check on the bandmates sprawled across seats and slouched on the floor.

Mizi and Sua sat side by side near the back, heads bowed together over lyric sheets, murmuring quietly but occasionally breaking into soft laughter. Ivan and Till exchanged glances across the aisle—quiet, measured, the unspoken tension rolling like a low wave beneath the surface.

Till tapped lightly on Freddie’s case, the worn leather scuffed just enough to tell its story. Ivan caught the motion and gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile.

The journey felt endless and too short all at once.

When the van pulled up behind the modest venue, Hyunwoo jumped out first, briefing everyone about the setup. Acorn immediately sprang to the door with a bag of snacks, rallying for morale.

Inside the cramped green room, the band shook out nerves—strings tuned, drumheads tightened, a few last-minute vocal warm-ups. Luka paced, humming fragmented lyrics, while Hyuna juggled drumsticks like a pro, her focus razor-sharp.

“Ivan, you ready to make some noise?” Mizi asked, sidling up with her usual confident grin.

Ivan shrugged, plucking an absent chord. “Born ready. You sure you want to share the stage with me tonight?”

Mizi gave a deadpan glare. “Dating you? No thanks.”

Ivan laughed, the sound easy and warm. “Good. Don’t want to ruin our sibling vibes.”

Till moved closer, tapping his guitar case and adding low, teasing, “Yeah, the paparazzi can handle your ‘disgusting dating rumors’ drama.”

They all laughed, the moment light but electric.

As the stage lights flickered on and the crowd began to murmur, Hyunwoo gave the sign. From the first note, the band ignited—the rhythms sharp, the harmonies tight, the energy raw and alive.

Behind the scenes, in the chaos of music and applause, Ivan felt Till’s hand brush his arm for just a second—brief but enough.

The night blurred into music, heat, and adrenaline, the slow burn of everything unspoken kindling in quiet corners of the heart.

And somewhere deep in the noise, a story was beginning to write itself.

Chapter Text

The air backstage was thick with the afterglow of the performance—sweat, adrenaline, and the sharp tang of victory. Ivan leaned against the wall, bass slung loosely, watching as Mizi laughed with Sua off to one side. Their easy, inherent closeness drew a few curious glances from the crew but nothing new. The rumors were always swirling, always wrong.

Till approached slowly, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes tired but flickering with something Ivan hadn’t quite pinned down yet. The sharp edge from rehearsals softened into something more wearied, more real.

“You did good out there,” Till said quietly, voice rough with exhaustion but sincere.

Ivan shrugged, brushing a loose tendril of hair from his forehead. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Till’s scowl threatened to return, but instead, he offered a slow half-smile. “Flatterer.”

A flicker of tension passed between them—words unsaid, emotions held tight behind walls of teasing and light jabs.

Mizi and Sua’s laughter drifted closer as Mizi spotted them. “You two gonna fight or are we gonna celebrate?”

Ivan threw an arm around Till’s shoulders, pulling him slightly closer with a grin. “We’re too tired for that nonsense.”

Till rolled his eyes but didn’t resist.

Mizi’s gaze narrowed playfully. “Don’t think this gets you out of carrying my gear back, Ivan.”

“Worth it,” he muttered, stepping away just enough to keep Till guessing.

As the crowd’s distant hum settled and the venue lights dimmed, the band gathered gear, bundled up the night’s energy, and filed out.

Outside, under the chill of the streetlamps, Ivan and Till’s quiet connection held space on the edges of everything. Not yet spoken aloud, but no less real.

And somewhere just out of reach, a shift was coming.

Chapter Text

The morning after the Incheon gig was mercilessly bright, slanting harsh shafts of sunlight through the studio’s grimy windows. Mornings were never easy, especially after nights like the one before—when the energy had pulsed so loud it still throbbed in their bones. Acorn was the first to arrive, already bustling around with an impossibly large thermos of coffee and a fresh batch of breakfast pastries, despite his usual low-key role.

“Fuel of champions,” he announced, setting everything down with the proud flourish of someone who genuinely believed in carbs as a solution to all life's problems.

Mizi appeared next, rubbing her eyes but smiling. She slid onto the couch beside Sua, who arrived seconds later, humming softly as she laid out lyric sheets.

Ivan and Till made their entrance last—drained but restless. Till carried Freddie carefully, his fingers still aching from the night’s performance, while Ivan flopped into a chair, tossing his bass case aside.

“Not ready to stop,” Ivan admitted, stretching his arms above his head.

Till laughed quietly, dark eyes meeting Ivan’s. “We’ll rest when the world ends. Or when Hyuna tells us to.”

The conversation drifted between setlists, gif exchanges on phones, and plans for upcoming shows. But beneath the surface was something quieter—the remnants of shared glances, brief touches that lingered just long enough, and a growing awareness that the easy rhythms of friendship were starting to slip into something more.

Mizi caught Ivan’s eye, her expression warm but firm. “So, about those ‘Mivan’ rumors…” she began, voice light but steady.

Ivan made a disgusted face, immediately jumping in. “Absolutely not. Nightmare fuel.”

Mizi laughed, shaking her head. “You’re disgusting, Ivan. Like a brother.”

Sua smirked, enjoying the spectacle. “Sibling goals, honestly.”

Till watched them with a faint smile, fingers tightening reflexively around the neck of his guitar. There was space between them not just of proximity, but something unspoken—with Ivan. With Mizi. With everything else.

The slow burn wasn’t just about what happened on stage.

It was what they avoided saying in moments like this.

Chapter Text

The tension in the studio was palpable, thick enough to cut through like a blade. The day’s rehearsal had dragged on longer than expected, nerves fraying at the edges of patience and professionalism. Songs that once felt easy now stumbled over clumsy notes and missed cues.

Till’s frustration was the loudest. He slammed Freddie’s guitar down harder than necessary after a particularly rough take, the sound echoing off the walls. Ivan flinched but stood his ground, eyes sharp.

“What? You think you’re the only one trying?” Ivan snapped, stepping closer with that glint of challenge in his eyes.

Till’s jaw clenched. “Don’t pretend you’re not pushing me.”

Ivan’s laugh was bitter, a low, harsh sound. “Maybe because you deserve it.”

Their voices rose—a sharp clash of grievances and raw emotions that had been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. Neither backing down, neither conceding ground.

Mizi and Sua froze in the doorway, exchanging worried looks. Hyuna’s drumsticks stilled midair.

“This isn’t just about the gig anymore,” Till said through clenched teeth. “You treat me like I’m some project you have to fix.”

Ivan’s grin twisted. “And you act like you’re too good for the band. Always holding back.”

The room held its breath. The fight, when it came, was ugly—words sharp and cutting, accusations laid bare. It was the kind of argument that didn’t just shake the room but threatened to shake the foundation of everything they’d built.

Then, just as suddenly, silence crashed down. Ivan’s shoulders slumped, the fire in his eyes dimming to something slower, heavier.

“Maybe… maybe we’re both too stubborn,” he admitted quietly, voice raw.

Till looked away first, the hardness fading just enough. “Yeah. Maybe.”

But something had shifted, and it wasn’t clear if it could be fixed with music or words.

The band’s rhythm was broken, and no one knew how long it would take to find the beat again.

Chapter Text

The cramped hallway outside the studio buzzed with echoes of the argument that had just shattered the room. Till’s breaths came fast and ragged, chest heaving as his fingers curled into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Ivan stood a few feet away, the fire in his eyes dimming to something raw and haunted. The weight of what had been said hung between them like a storm cloud ready to break.

“You think this is easy for me?” Ivan spat, voice cracking with bitterness. “You act like I’m the problem, but maybe you’re just scared—scared to be the first to admit you care.”

Till’s scowl twisted into something darker. “Fuck you,” he snarled, voice shaking. “I am not scared of anything. Especially not you.”

Ivan took a shaky step forward, his own defenses unraveling. “You’re not as tough as you pretend, Till. I see the cracks. I see the way you flinch when I look at you.”

Till’s eyes flashed with pain and fury. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“That’s exactly it,” Ivan said, voice dropping low. “I don’t know you. Because you keep pushing me away. Because you’re terrified that if you let me in, you’ll break.”

Till blinked, the world tilting suddenly as the anger cracked open. The dam holding back years of pain collapsed in a flood—shaky breaths turning into broken sobs, silent tears tracing lines through the dust on his cheeks.

“Fuck,” he choked out, voice fragile. “You don’t get to say that.”

Ivan moved closer, voice soft but fierce. “No, Till. I do. Because you’re not alone. Not unless you want to be.”

The raw, unfiltered moment hung between them—a fragile thread stretched taut by years of silence and unspoken feelings.

Till let the tears fall, and for the first time, Ivan didn’t look away.

Chapter Text

Ivan’s breath hitched on the cold air outside the studio, the weight of what he’d said to Till pressing down like a physical burden. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he pushed open the door to find Mizi waiting among the scattered lyric sheets and climbing vines in the dimly lit practice room.

Before Mizi could say a word, Ivan fell forward, tears streaming as he crumpled into her arms. “I can’t believe I hurt Till like that,” he whispered, voice breaking as sobs shook his frame. “I never wanted to be the one to make him feel so small.”

Mizi held him tightly, her own emotions raw but steady. “Sometimes the people we love the most are the ones we hurt without meaning to,” she said softly. “But what matters now is what you do with that hurt.”

Ivan pulled back slightly, searching her face, desperate for guidance. “How do I fix this? How do I reach him when I’ve pushed him away?”

Mizi’s eyes softened as she brushed his hair back, steady and sure. “You don’t fix it in a day, Ivan. But you start by being honest. No more hiding behind jokes or silence. Just show him you’re there.”

The room was quiet except for their breathing, the small ripple of hope threading through the weighty darkness.

Ivan wiped his tears, nodding. “Thank you, Mizi. I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t,” Mizi promised, “not if you fight for it.”

Chapter Text

The studio was quiet when Ivan returned—empty except for the fading echo of the last song they’d played and the low hum of the air conditioner. He stepped inside, heart hammering with a mix of fear and hope.

Till was there, sitting against the wall, head bowed. His guitar lay beside him, strings vibrating faintly from a restless hand that strummed on silent chords.

Ivan’s voice was almost nothing. “Till.”

Till didn’t look up at first. The tension hung thick, like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

Ivan moved closer, carefully, the weight of the moments between them making every step feel heavy.

“I’m sorry,” Ivan said, voice breaking but steady. “For everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Till’s jaw tightened; the hard lines of anger still evident but cracked by the raw honesty.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to shut you out,” Till admitted, voice low. “But hearing you say that... maybe there’s a way back.”

Ivan reached out, fingers brushing Till’s knuckles—tentative, fragile.

“If you want me.”

Till’s breath hitched, his eyes glistening. “I want you,” he said, words barely a whisper.

The silence between them held something new—a trembling, fragile thread weaving for the first time into something like hope.

Chapter Text

Ivan hadn’t expected forgiveness to feel so quiet. The days after their confrontation and fragile reconciliation were filled with this odd weightlessness—like walking on a thin wire stretched between hope and fear, where every glance and every word could shift the balance.

Till was there, always just a little distant, his usual sharpness softened but replaced by a guarded silence that sometimes smoldered just beneath the surface. Ivan noticed the way Till’s smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes, how his hands occasionally trembled when he thought no one was watching. There were moments during practice when Ivan caught him staring at Freddie’s worn fretboard as if searching for answers that didn’t come.

One evening, long after the others had drifted away, Ivan found Till sitting alone in the empty studio, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. The light from the city spilled in through the windows, casting angular shadows across the floorboards.

Ivan approached slowly, careful not to break the fragile bubble of space Till seemed to be in.

“Hey,” Ivan said softly.

Till looked up, tired eyes meeting his. “Hey.”

They sat side by side on the worn couch, neither speaking. The hum of distant traffic was the only sound between them.

“I hate this,” Till finally admitted, voice rough. “I hate how much it hurts. I hate that it’s you.”

Ivan swallowed. “I don’t want to be the one who hurt you.”

“You did,” Till whispered, fingers trembling over the strings of Freddie. “And now it’s all tangled up—music, friendship, everything. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Ivan reached out, brushing a finger along Till’s wrist, a tentative connection. “We’ll take it one day at a time. No rush.”

Till gave a bitter laugh. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one trying not to fall apart every minute.”

For a long moment, they just sat there—two halves not quite whole, wrapped in silence that was both healing and haunting.

Ivan’s voice was low when he spoke again. “I’m here. Even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t want me.”

Till’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I don’t want to lose this. Not us.”

Ivan nodded, heart pounding. “Then we don’t.”

It was messy, uncertain, and painfully slow—but it was theirs, fragile and fiercely real.

Chapter Text

The quiet hum of the studio late at night wrapped around Ivan and Till like a protective cocoon. Outside, the city was shuttering itself down, but inside, two hearts unclenched, tentative and raw, thawing after the storm.

Ivan stood first, taking a breath heavy with hope and fear. “Till, I’m sorry. For everything. For the words, the fights, for hurting you. I… I never wanted to make you feel small.”

Till’s eyes shimmered with fatigue and lingering pain, but also something softer—consideration, maybe even healing. “I’m sorry, too. For pushing you away, for not trusting you enough to let you in before it exploded.”

There was a long pause, the weight between them shifting just enough to let something new fill the space.

Ivan stepped closer, voice low and sincere. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I want to be with you. Not just in the band, or as friends — but more. Till, I love you.”

Till’s breath hitched, the honesty striking deeper than any fight. “Ivan... I love you too. It hurts so much. I want that too. But it’s scary.”

Ivan nodded, a small smile breaking through, grabbing Till's shaking hand. “Scary things are worth the risk.”

Their hands found each other, fingers interlacing in a quiet promise.

“I’m ready to try,” Till whispered.

Ivan leaned down slowly, a soft brush of lips that was more a beginning than an end.

In that moment, everything untangled—the anger, the hurt, the unsaid. There was just them, a fragile new start in the darkened studio light.

Chapter Text

The studio was alive in the golden haze of the afternoon light, the usual buzz of music and laughter wrapping around the band like a warm, familiar blanket. Years of friendship, struggles, and victories had finally woven into a tapestry stronger than anyone could have imagined.

Luka sat nervously on the edge of a chair, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on his knee. The usual bravado was gone, replaced by vulnerability as he glanced at Hyuna, who was adjusting her drum kit nearby.

“I need to say something,” Luka began, voice breaking the comfortable hum. “Hyuna... I’ve been carrying this for a long time. I’m in love with you.”

The room quieted, everyone turning in their seats, breaths held tight. Hyuna’s eyes met his, wide and shimmering with surprise.

Luka’s heart hammered as he waited, fear mingled with hope.

Hyuna smiled softly, the tension easing. “Luka... I’m glad you told me. I've been waiting forever for you to say that. I love you too.”

Their hands found each other across the space, fingers intertwining with a promise and a spark that spoke of new beginnings.

Nearby, Mizi and Sua exchanged looks, a delicate understanding passing between them. Later, seated together on the worn couch, they shared a quiet moment away from the noise, hands lacing together naturally.

“We should stop hiding,” Mizi whispered.

Sua nodded, eyes bright. “Let’s be official. Together.”

Their smiles bloomed like light breaking through clouds—a promise held gently but fiercely.

Across the studio, Ivan and Till stood side by side, the slow burn of their journey finally glowing steady and warm.

Hyuna adjusted her drumsticks with a victorious grin. “Our band is so much better without the tension.”

Acorn and Dewey laughed, Isaac updated their social feeds, and the future stretched out in bright, endless possibilities.

“We started as friends,” Mizi said softly, voice carrying the weight of everything, “and became so much more. Together, we’ll grow this band and become huge!”

The studio echoed with music and love, messy and beautiful, a perfect harmony of lives intertwined.

Chapter Text

Hyunwoo and Acorn lingered after everyone else had left, their laughter echoing softly through the empty halls. The world outside was just waking up, but inside, time seemed to slow, wrapped in the warmth of a moment just for them.

Hyunwoo reached out, fingers brushing a stray lock of Acorn’s hair back behind his ear with a tenderness that made Acorn’s breath catch. “You’re impossible sometimes,” Hyunwoo murmured with a playful smile.

“Isn't that my charm though?” Acorn joked back, his eyes sparkling with affection.

Their grins melted into something softer as Hyunwoo stepped closer, hands resting lightly on Acorn’s waist. Acorn tilted his head up, closing the gap between them until their lips met in a tender, lingering kiss. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of comfort and trust, of promises made without words.

When they finally pulled apart, resting foreheads together, Acorn laughed quietly. “This… this is exactly where I want to be.”

Hyunwoo’s smile deepened, fingers weaving with Acorn’s. “Me too.”

They sat down on the floor, wrapped around each other like a secret no one else knew, their quiet happiness filling the empty studio with light.

Outside, the city was waking, but inside, in their little corner of the world, everything was perfect.