Morning came slower than usual for Zane.
For once, there was no loud alarm, no rushing thoughts clawing their way into his mind the second his eyes opened. Just soft sunlight slipping through the thin curtains, landing across his face like a quiet reminder that the world was still moving—even if he wanted to stay right where he was.
He groaned softly, rolling onto his back.
His body ached.
Not the sharp, alarming kind of pain—but the deep, heavy soreness that came after a fight well fought. His shoulder throbbed faintly, a reminder of yesterday's match, of the impact that had nearly thrown him off balance.
But he had won.
And that thought alone made a lazy grin spread across his face.
"Semifinals…" he murmured to himself, voice still thick with sleep.
He pushed himself up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair before stretching his arms above his head. His muscles protested immediately, tight and heavy, but he welcomed it. Pain meant progress. Pain meant he was getting closer.
Closer to the top.
Closer to proving everyone wrong.
Closer to something he couldn't quite name—but somehow felt every time he thought of Adrien.
Zane paused.
Then exhaled, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.
"Focus," he muttered.
Still, he reached for his phone.
No new messages.
For a second, something in his chest dipped—but just as quickly, he brushed it off and stood, heading to the bathroom.
Cold water. Quick shower. Clean clothes.
Routine.
Control.
But even as he got ready, his mind kept drifting.
Back to Adrien.
The gym was already alive when Zane arrived.
The familiar sounds wrapped around him instantly—weights clanging, shoes squeaking against the floor, muffled grunts, low chatter. It grounded him, pulled him back into himself.
This was his world.
No expectations. No pretending.
Just strength. Sweat. Discipline.
He started with stretches, slow and controlled, easing into his routine. Then weights. Heavy. Focused. Each lift steady, precise.
But even then—
His thoughts wandered.
A smirk.
A voice.
Eyes that looked at him like he was something… worth noticing.
Zane scoffed under his breath, shaking it off as he moved to the treadmill.
He ran.
Hard.
Miles blurred together, his breathing steady, controlled. Sweat dripped down his temples, his shirt clinging to his skin—but he didn't slow down.
Not until his legs burned.
Not until his lungs screamed.
Only then did he stop.
By the time he took his break, he was exhausted in the best way possible.
He dropped onto a bench, grabbing his water bottle before reaching for the container his mom had packed.
Salad.
Of course.
He sighed dramatically, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.
Then his phone buzzed.
And just like that—
Everything changed.
Adrien.
Zane's entire expression softened.
He answered immediately.
"Hey," he said, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
On the other side, Adrien was lying on his bed, one arm propped under his head, the other moving across a sketchbook.
"Hi," Adrien replied, voice calm, almost lazy.
Zane leaned back, balancing the phone as he ate.
"What are you doing?"
Adrien tilted the camera slightly.
"Drawing."
Zane's eyes narrowed.
"Drawing what?"
Adrien hummed, not answering directly.
"Nothing important."
Zane snorted. "Liar."
Adrien didn't deny it.
Instead, he just continued sketching, the soft sound of pencil against paper filling the silence between them.
And somehow—
It wasn't awkward.
It was… comfortable.
Zane found himself smiling for no reason.
They talked about everything and nothing.
Training. School. Random complaints. Small jokes.
At some point, Adrien paused, glancing at the screen.
"You're going to win today."
Zane blinked.
"…Yeah?"
Adrien shrugged slightly.
"You always do."
Simple.
Casual.
But it hit harder than anything else.
Zane looked away for a second, scratching the back of his neck.
"…I'll try."
Adrien smirked faintly.
"Try harder."
Zane laughed.
And just like that—
His nerves disappeared.
The arena was loud.
Lights. Cameras. Voices blending into a chaotic buzz.
But Zane didn't hear any of it.
Not really.
He stepped into the ring, rolling his shoulders, bouncing lightly on his feet.
Focused.
Locked in.
Somewhere out there—
Adrien was watching.
And that thought alone sharpened everything.
In his penthouse, Adrien sat cross-legged on his bed.
Laptop open.
Match streaming.
Sketchbook resting on his thigh.
His pencil moved almost unconsciously.
Line after line.
Detail after detail.
He wasn't even thinking about it anymore.
Because he already knew what he was drawing.
Zane.
The way he moved.
The way he fought.
The intensity in his eyes.
Adrien's gaze flickered between the screen and the page.
And for once—
He wasn't thinking about expectations.
Or schedules.
Or perfection.
Just this.
Just… him.
The match didn't last long.
Zane was faster.
Sharper.
Relentless.
Every movement precise, controlled, powerful.
And when it ended—
When the referee raised his hand—
The crowd erupted.
Zane barely registered it.
He just exhaled, running a hand through his hair before pulling his coach into a quick, tight hug.
"Semifinals," his coach said firmly.
Zane nodded.
"Semifinals."
Back in his room, Adrien found himself… clapping.
He paused.
Blinking at his own hands.
Then slowly, a smile spread across his face.
Wide.
Unrestrained.
"…Idiot," he murmured—but there was no heat behind it.
Only something warm.
Something new.
That night—
Zane didn't hesitate.
He just showed up.
Like it was natural.
Like it was expected.
Adrien opened the door—and didn't even look surprised.
"…You're here again."
Zane grinned.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"You're my place of comfort now."
Adrien froze for half a second.
Then rolled his eyes, turning away.
"Don't say weird things."
But the faint color on his cheeks betrayed him.
After a quick shower, Zane dropped onto the couch with a groan.
"My shoulder's killing me."
Adrien glanced at him.
Then sighed.
"Come here."
Zane blinked.
"…What?"
"I said come here."
He didn't need to be told twice.
Zane sat in front of him, and a moment later—
Adrien's hands pressed against his shoulder.
Firm.
Careful.
Warm.
Zane froze.
"…You know how to do this?"
Adrien shrugged.
"I had to learn."
Silence settled between them.
But it wasn't empty.
Zane's eyes drifted shut as Adrien worked out the tension in his muscles.
Slow.
Precise.
And way too distracting.
"…Feels good," Zane muttered.
Adrien huffed softly.
"Obviously."
Later—
Zane wandered around the room while Adrien cleaned up.
That's when he saw it.
The sketchbook.
He hesitated.
Then opened it.
And froze.
It was him.
Perfectly captured.
Every detail.
Every expression.
Every movement.
Zane's breath caught.
"…Adrien."
Adrien looked up.
"What?"
Zane held it up slightly, eyes wide.
"…Can I keep this?"
Adrien blinked.
Then looked away.
"…If you want."
Zane's smile was immediate.
Bright.
Unfiltered.
"I do."
The night stretched on.
Soft conversations.
Quiet laughter.
Moments that felt… dangerously easy.
Too easy.
At some point, Adrien mentioned it casually—
"I have a fencing competition tomorrow."
Zane's head snapped up.
"Can I come?"
Adrien hesitated.
Then sighed.
"…I'll try to get you a pass."
Zane's grin returned instantly.
"Say less."
And when the night finally settled—
When the lights dimmed and the world went quiet—
Zane lay beside him.
Close.
Too close.
Counting.
Freckles.
Moles.
Lashes.
Memorizing.
Like he was afraid this would disappear.
Adrien didn't push him away.
Didn't say anything.
He just… let it happen.
And for the first time in a long time—
Neither of them felt like they had to be anything else.