Archive of Our Own

“Shall we start recording the demo?” he said, his eyes glued to the screen as he clicked the mouse to open the recording software.

A question Sera couldn't answer or even hear. Her mind, her ability to reason, was still in the car, still processing the meaning of the song and his words. She responded with a few mumbled phrases, taking Viego's place behind the monitors while he gathered everything he needed before going into the booth.

She heard his voice in the distance, even saw him out of the corner of her eye when he stood in front of her and shook his hand, but in the end, he left her alone and locked himself in the soundproof room. Seraphine stared at the male figure on the other side of the glass. Her inner child saw the place they were in as a control center, where the brave souls on the other side were monitored. And she had done it, putting on her headphones and letting her voice resonate through the system, but it was he who was listening through the speakers, talking about some triviality while she made all the adjustments almost on autopilot.

Had she really come this far? Sera shook her head, running her fingers along the mixing console, barely touching the buttons that modulated her partner's voice, and watched with nostalgia as his voice rippled through the monitor in gentle waves. And the answer was yes. She alone had managed to get this far, through persistence, determination, and enduring—or ignoring—the problems around her because, if they didn't involve her, they weren't her problem. But again, now she would have continued as before, a shy girl afraid to express her ideas and always trying to appear positive. However… she had to get involved in a huge controversy that cost her her "family" in the upper echelons, her real family—who still didn't support her dreams—and almost ended up on the sidelines of the past glories; But the fruit of that act of rebellion opened the doors to a much larger home, with several experienced voices who, unwittingly or involuntarily, treated her like their own daughter.

Viego knocked on the window, banging his knuckles against the glass in a way that startled Sera, lowering her temperature with fright and earning her a nice insult from her. This made them both laugh, though it also prompted Sera to get the equipment set up and ready to record before getting up to help him with the remaining technical details.

They barely exchanged words. He passed her some cables, murmuring where they went, pointing to the corresponding equipment while he tuned his guitar and connected it to one of the speakers. The closeness between them… it had become so intense that Sera couldn't remember when they had started behaving so alike. Although it wasn't awkward, she could laugh with him—that stupid pig-like laugh he loved to make fun of—she could bring up highly questionable topics, and somehow, he'd manage to say something even more offensive. But his earlier confession in the car had caught her completely off guard. And she was overwhelmed now; it had all been so sudden, and he, as always, had slapped her with a mountain of information without giving her a moment to process it before moving on to the next activity. And here she was, with him rushing her to connect the cables and give him the signal.

Honestly, Seraphine thought he was going to take her somewhere else, but to the studio? It was Friday, freezing cold, and this person she both loved and hated in unequal measure—who made her heart flutter—had practically dragged her out of the house and intimidated her in the car. With a small sigh, she put on her headphones too and adjusted the mixing board until his voice took her breath away. Had it always been so raspy? Always… Viego had a beautiful singing voice.

Sera nodded as she listened to his voice resonate through the headphones, admiring how one could create art without tearing one's vocal cords. It wasn't his style, but a little fragility wasn't going to soften him; if anything, it would only bring out the truly caring person he was. The lyrics, the way he sang the verses… the whole song was about change. He was changing.

Both had their moments of reflection, on the things they left behind: people, relationships… in Viego's case, a toxic relationship. Now he's beginning to admit that his actions weren't healthy, which led him to be such a terrible husband to the person who had encouraged him to pursue his dream of becoming a musician. Only now, he no longer sees his flaws as the nails that held him to a huge cross; he sees them as experiences from which he must learn and improve. That's the feeling he has when he's with Seraphine. His Serafín.

Although the first time he saw her he felt pity—like his other colleagues—he soon discovered that she was a broken porcelain doll —very different from his ex— who knew how to set boundaries, manipulated him, but in the end proved to be as human as an ordinary person. Side effects of fame that very few people know how to endure. Then, when he stopped seeing her as a puppet monster, he knew that she was his greatest ally, his partner in crime who struggled to get rid of her old prejudices but who somehow managed to see the real person beneath the gray veil of mourning, managing to pull him out of an abyss he didn't know when or how he had fallen into. She had instructed him with her own hypocrisy, gently reminding him of the painful truth as she offered him that green brew.

You could say it was shock therapy, something he had initially rejected in the worst possible way—throwing a tantrum at his niece, who was almost his own age—and locking himself in his bedroom. Days passed, then weeks, and she still hadn't returned. By the time he mustered the courage to go looking for her, he found a restraining order against him. His heart had never felt so betrayed. How could the person he loved most in the world do this to him? They had spent their teenage years together, overcome very serious issues, and this was how she repaid him? Viego remembered how bitterly he wept that night. He was alone, in every sense of the word. He had distanced himself from his father, renounced his privileged status as a rich kid—though he still received a small pension his niece had set up for him—and was no longer the heir to anything. The crown he wore on stage was a mockery of his false privileged status, a symbol of the shame that would haunt him forever.

Then God — if he existed — blessed him with a companion. Someone he had initially rejected but who, surprisingly, found solace after realizing he no longer wanted to feel sad and tired every day. And only she had the patience to fix it. He owed her everything: the world, the sky, and the stars. He wanted to be her support, the person she could also trust, and, if she allowed it, let him into her heart. That was his goal right now: to be worthy of the affection of his Seraph, his savior who had taught him to be a new man, to smile, and to see life again from the perspective where the sun shines every day.

But how could he confess everything he felt? Ah, right. The song. Viego thought he had hit the jackpot by pouring his heart out the night before, capturing it all in a heavy melody that bordered on obsessive, and then introducing it to his sweet companion without any warning by locking her in a small space with him. But that was his way of loving, wasn't it? He accepted that love was a chaotic feeling and that, in his case, he didn't know how to measure the amounts and unintentionally poured all his affection into the person until he suffocated them… But this time he was going to do it right, he was going to listen to her and take her into account—her opinions, her anger, joys, and sorrows. Everything she gave him—for her, for his Serafín.

Seraphine, on the other hand, was nostalgic. He'd already noticed it when they got out of the car, and, oh my god, how he'd jumped for joy at being able to guide her into the studio, his hand on her lower back. Small gestures that declared how close he was to her. Did she feel the same way? Was he being too impulsive again? Please, tell me something, Serafín.

Viego would do anything to avoid seeing her confused face. He would accept her rejection and dedicate himself to praising her silently, to admiring his adorable friend at rehearsals and, soon, on tour. But in his own way, of course. He would continue to be intense and dedicated… until she stood up to him or yelled at him; he definitely wanted to be the target of Sera's anger. So, as he sang, he couldn't help but suppress that shy smile that curved his lips as he poured his past into the microphone.

Outside the soundproof booth, Sera adjusted the knobs to give her partner's voice a clean, raspy quality when the melody called for it. It was certainly gratifying to see how much he'd improved; she'd met him when he was a renegade, always late to rehearsals, and always the voice that buzzed like an annoying mosquito whenever she spoke. And what made her take him in as her friend? Oh, Thresh had been pulling strings to ensure her magic reached the stubborn vocalist and brought him back to the "right path." A dirty trick that almost cost both of their new singers, but with a stupid t-shirt—which they still keep at the studio in case they "misbehave"—they managed to smooth things over.

But Seraphine was tired of repeating the same story, yes, she had manipulated him and almost fallen into another controversy and blah, blah, blah… The real question was: When did his frequency change? In the early rehearsals, his presence bothered her; his soul resonated erratically and with a lot of distortion, a very unpleasant and oppressive sound that left Sera exhausted at the end of each day. A dissonance she barely noticed when they went out together… Wasn't the studio his safe haven? There she had seen him tear his emotions apart, play the guitar with rage, and grit his teeth when his fingers were too damaged to continue playing. But she and Sona would be there to heal his wounds.

Perhaps… Perhaps she started going out with him more often because she found comfort in his frequency, which had healed without her even realizing it. Besides, he was almost four years older than her, but mentally… he was an adorable fool when he wanted to be. Not to mention that the times Karthus dragged her shopping, she felt bad being next to him. He used to pay her bills and indulge her whims until she received a comment on social media that the members of Pentakill were her "Sugars," which led to a much longer, more detailed, and rather dark thread where she was accused of being a gold digger and much worse within the adult entertainment industry. From then on, she tried to keep her distance and cover her own expenses, which is what her manager paid her for (except for the first few days when he was her personal driver).

Moving forward to the present, Seraphine is grateful that he had given her a slap of reality. She couldn't have survived by imitating other people's personalities; she would have reached the point where she collapsed and become just another forgotten celebrity, if she was even that popular back then. She then received a thorough lesson on not trying to please everyone. She was human and got tired; unfortunately, there couldn't be a Seraphine for everyone. And once he taught her to set boundaries, the internet was abuzz with the emergence of a new diva.

Again, her mind drifted back to the car, to his words: «I don't give a shit what the internet says.» A phrase meant to reach the depths of her subconscious, where her treacherous mind still dwelled on what the rest of the world might say. Was it their relationship? Was Viego her boyfriend? Of course not. He was ready to take her hand, but only when she said the magic words. But… he was still an important person, the heir to a great family legacy—now managed by his niece—but that didn't erase the numerous accusations about his troubled personality and the restraining order.

Seraphine still cared about public opinion, something she hated carrying. But she wasn't that person anymore, was she? She had shed her skin, her scales sharpened—he had sharpened his to reveal his current version, stronger and more determined. That realization made her look up, watching her intense partner pour his emotions and his past into the microphone once more, shifting his vocal tone to sing the song's bridge, to deliver the long-awaited ending. When the notes faded and his voice dropped to static on the screen, Sera removed her headphones and finally dared to meet Viego's gaze. She had an answer for his confession.

The hiss of the soundproof door opening broke the spell of the silence. Viego left the booth, putting his guitar aside, with that mixture of anticipation and shyness that he only showed when they were alone.

Seraphine swiveled in her control chair, crossing her arms. She tried to harden her gaze, resorting to those sharp, stern expressions he himself had taught her to wear, though inside her heart was racing.

“What are we doing here, Viego?” she blurted out, raising an eyebrow.

He blinked, slightly taken aback by the firmness of her tone, though a small, almost imperceptible smile began to form at the corner of his lips.

“What do you mean? We just finished recording the demo of…”

“I mean, it’s Friday, it’s freezing cold, and today’s rehearsal was canceled. And yet, you practically dragged me out of my house to bring me to the studio. The studio? You really couldn’t think of a better place to put us after… after the car incident?”

Sera stared at him, hoping the flush on her cheeks was from the cold and not from the accumulated tension. Viego stopped a couple of steps away from her, putting his hands in his pants pockets. He momentarily lost that air of superiority, suddenly appearing a little more vulnerable, more... himself.

"I didn't know where else to take you, Serafín," he admitted softly, scratching the back of his neck somewhat shyly. "I'm not... I'm not good at planning these things. I didn't want to take you to a noisy restaurant, or for a walk where we'd freeze out there."

"We could have talked at my place. Or yours. Or anywhere that didn't have a mixing console in the way," she retorted, though the tone of her reproach was already softening at his honesty.

Viego took another step, closing the physical distance between them. His green eyes sparkled in the studio's dim light.

“I didn’t want to talk somewhere where anyone could interrupt us. And… to be honest, I was just too excited to see you today. I didn’t want to wait until next week. I just wanted to be with you, and this is the only place where I know the rest of the world stays out.”

The smell of untouched, reheated coffee and the constant hum of the recording studio monitors were the only things that filled the void of silence. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at the mixing console. He didn't know where else to take her; the studio was the only refuge when the outside world became too deafening. Especially after his sudden, indirect confession in the car, where he'd almost ruined their friendship and where he was grateful to have left a very bewildered Seraphine.

As for her, the girl was still sitting in the control chair, arms crossed, still in that defensive posture they'd shared since the days when they hated each other. He sighed, leaning back against the console. He looked at her intently, letting down his defenses.

"I can't keep doing this. I can't pretend that music is the only thing I'm passionate about when you're in the room. I like you. A lot. I have for a long time."

Sera perceived at that time the shape of his frequency as he spoke. A gentle oscillation with occasional peaks, a hint of nervousness, yet a calm pulse, searching for a way to resonate with hers. It was a respectful request, a way for him to intrude on her space—and her daily life—as long as she allowed it. However, what face did she make that made her partner laugh so much? A dry chuckle, half frustrated, half amused, prompting him to take a step forward, toward her. The tug-of-war they'd been playing out seemed to give way to him under the studio's LED lights.

"You think too much, little Serafín," he said, closing the physical distance between them. "I love you."

Before she could offer an excuse or hide again in fear, he gently took her by the nape of her neck. The kiss was the culmination of months of tension: the residue of when they couldn't stand each other, the warmth of the friendship they had built, and the consolation of having survived their worst moments. Sera tensed for a split second, the surprise of the sudden gesture dissolving on her lips, before she tangled her fingers in his shirt and pulled him forward. The kiss tasted like… matcha? Yes, it was her favorite grass flavor, though too sweet for her taste—but sweet enough for him to consume—and like immense relief. Their breaths mingled in the room, finally breaking the silence that had hung between them for days.

When they separated by just inches, their hearts beating in unison, she looked at him, her cheeks flushed and a broken smile on her face. Hadn't she expected him to be so bold? No, wait; had he been reckless to kiss her without listening to her words? Did she even have anything to say?

"Of all places... Did you have to choose work?" she whispered, unable to keep her eyes on his.

He could only laugh and roll his eyes before kissing her again.

The second kiss was slower, without the haste of doubt, but the soap bubble they'd been trapped in burst in the most mundane way possible.

A sharp, rhythmic chime echoed from the mixing console. Then another... and another. Sera's phone kept vibrating against the console, amplified by the emptiness of the room. Viego grunted against her neck, refusing to let go, but the device persisted with a barrage of notifications that seemed endless.

“Just ignore it,” he muttered, his voice even hoarser than usual.

“I can’t…” Sera let out a stifled laugh, trying to wriggle free from his grip to reach out. “It’s the group chat. If I don’t answer, they might call the police thinking we’ve killed each other. Or worse.”

She moved back an inch, her lips still flushed, and reached for the damned phone on the table. The screen illuminated her face, momentarily blinding her, and her worried expression transformed into a grimace of pure disbelief and horror.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

On the screen, the band’s group chat was a hive of notifications. The last message, sent by his mentor, contained a blurry, grayscale screenshot from the security camera in the room. Two figures with their backs to the camera, clearly them, were seen embracing next to the mixing console.

Seraphine felt her body temperature plummet, going from the warmth of the kiss to an icy chill of pure embarrassment. She glanced up at the top corner of the control room, meeting the small red light of the security camera blinking cheerfully.

“They… they’re watching us,” she stammered, covering her face with her hands.

Viego, meanwhile, gritted his teeth with a mixture of comical rage and resignation. He unlocked his phone with a sharp flick of his thumb and began typing furiously.

“I’m going to kill Karthus. I swear on my life I’m going to hang him from the stage rafters.”

Viego continued pounding on his phone screen, muttering death threats worthy of an operatic villain, which caused Sera, despite her burning cheeks, to let out a soft giggle. The initial humiliation was giving way to a strange warmth. Yes, they had been caught live. Yes, Karthus would probably use this to blackmail them for the next three months. But, for the first time in her life, other people's opinions didn't weigh on her chest like a lead anchor.

He slammed his phone down on the console, sighed dramatically, and turned to her. Seeing her laugh, the stiffness in his shoulders completely melted away.

"That's it! We're leaving!" Viego declared, taking a step toward the corner of the control room. With a swift, decisive movement, he flipped the main switch that turned off the monitors and, incidentally, the annoying little red light on the security camera. "Cameras off. Microphones off. I'm not going to feed the morbid curiosity of that bunch of idlers. Tomorrow I'll rip the cables off that camera myself."

The room was plunged into a much more intimate gloom, broken only by the emergency lights in the hallway and the reflection of the sun filtering through the studio's main door. Viego returned to her side. There was no trace of Pentakill's cocky demeanor, nor of the suffocating intensity that sometimes enveloped him. Only the man remained, who, with a shyness Sera would never have imagined in him, extended his hand.

"Shall we go?" he asked softly. "It's too cold in here and... well, I owe you dinner somewhere without cameras. Or at least, somewhere we can talk without Olaf betting on us."

Seraphine looked at his open hand. She remembered the girl who had joined that gang afraid of not fitting in, terrified by online comments and hiding behind a mask of false positivity. Viego had helped her sharpen her edges, yes, but he had also learned to let his guard down for her.

With a smile that this time felt complete, free of doubt, Sera slipped her fingers between his, intertwining them with astonishing ease, as if they had been doing it all their lives. Viego's skin was surprisingly warm compared to the winter raging outside the windows.

"Okay," she agreed, letting him lead the way as he grabbed his jacket. "But you're paying. And I don't want matcha."

Viego let out a hearty laugh, one of those he rarely shared with the world, and gently squeezed her hand before opening the studio door and stepping out into the hallway. For the first time in her life, Seraphine couldn't care less about what tomorrow's gossip would be. The world would keep turning, social media would keep talking, and her family would still be utter chaos. But right now, with their fingers intertwined and the overly sweet taste of her favorite drink lingering on her lips, Seraphine knew that her frequency, the melody of her life, had finally found its true resonance.