Ethan didn't plan to come back.
That's what he told himself.
But somehow, his feet betrayed him again.
The arena was loud as always—music blasting, crew shouting, fans screaming from outside the barricades. Everything felt overwhelming, like the world was constantly demanding something from him. A smile. A performance. A version of himself he no longer recognized.
So he left.
Not dramatically. Not noticeably. Just quietly slipping away like he always did.
And somehow…he ended up there.
The hidden stairwell.
Their place.
Except…he didn't call it that. He wouldn't. Because calling it their place meant admitting something he wasn't ready to face.
But when he stepped in, she was already there.
Lia.
Sitting on the steps, knees pulled slightly to her chest, her notebook resting on her lap. She looked up the moment she heard his footsteps, and her face softened instantly.
"You came," she said gently.
Ethan shrugged, trying to sound unaffected. "It's quiet here."
She smiled a little, like she didn't believe him—but she didn't argue. She never did. That was one of the things he liked about her. She didn't force things out of him. She just…let them exist.
He sat down beside her, not too close, not too far.
That space between them—it was becoming familiar. Comfortable. Safe.
"You look tired," she said softly.
"I'm fine."
"You always say that."
He glanced at her, a small frown forming. "And you always don't believe me."
"Because you're always lying."
The words weren't harsh. They weren't accusing. They were…gentle. Honest.
And somehow, that made it harder to ignore.
Ethan looked away, running a hand through his hair. "It's easier."
"Lying?"
"Yeah." He exhaled slowly. "If I say I'm fine, people stop asking questions."
Lia nodded, like she understood more than he expected. "But you still feel it."
He didn't answer.
Because she was right.
No matter how many times he said I'm fine, the ache never left. The anger. The betrayal. The emptiness. It all stayed, sitting heavy in his chest like it belonged there.
Silence fell between them again. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with her.
After a while, Lia opened her notebook, flipping through a few pages. Ethan glanced over, catching glimpses of lyrics, little sketches, unfinished thoughts scribbled in the margins.
"You write a lot," he said.
She shrugged. "It's easier than talking."
He let out a quiet breath. "Yeah… I get that."
Another pause.
Then—
"Can I ask you something?" she said hesitantly.
Ethan stiffened slightly. "Depends."
"Why do you hate girls so much?"
The question hit him harder than he expected.
His jaw tightened instantly. "I don't hate girls."
"You do," she said softly. "Not all of them, maybe…but enough."
He didn't respond right away. His fingers curled slightly against the concrete step.
"I just don't trust them," he muttered finally.
"Because of her?"
His eyes darkened. "Don't say her name."
Lia nodded quickly. "Okay…sorry."
Silence again. But this time, it was heavier.
"I gave her everything," Ethan said suddenly, his voice low, almost like he wasn't even talking to Lia anymore. "Time. Trust. Love. And she just…threw it away like it meant nothing."
Lia didn't interrupt. She didn't try to fix it. She just listened.
"And the worst part?" he continued, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "She didn't even hide it. She did it in front of everyone. Like I was some kind of joke."
"You're not a joke," Lia said immediately, her voice firm despite its softness.
Ethan looked at her, surprised by the sudden certainty in her tone.
"You're not," she repeated. "What she did…says everything about her. Not you."
He stared at her for a moment, searching her face, like he was trying to figure out if she meant it.
She didn't look away.
And for some reason…he believed her.
Just a little.
"I don't want to feel like that again," he admitted quietly. "I don't want to trust someone and then…lose everything."
"You won't," she said.
He scoffed lightly. "You don't know that."
"No, I don't," she admitted. "But not everyone is the same."
Ethan didn't reply.
Because that was the problem.
He knew she was right.
But believing it? That was something else entirely.
After a while, Lia shifted slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Do you…want to hear something?" she asked nervously.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"A song. I mean…just a little part of it."
His expression softened just a bit. "Yeah. I do."
She hesitated for a second, then took a small breath.
And then…she sang.
Soft. Gentle. Barely above a whisper.
But it filled the space completely.
Her voice wrapped around the silence, delicate and pure, like it didn't belong in a world as loud and messy as theirs. It wasn't perfect in a polished, studio way. It was better. It was real.
Ethan felt it immediately.
In his chest. In his heartbeat. In the quiet places inside him he had tried so hard to shut down.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
He just listened.
When she stopped, the silence that followed felt heavier than before—but not in a bad way.
In a meaningful way.
"That…" he started, then paused, searching for the right words.
"That was…really good."
Lia blinked, surprised. "You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it to be nice," he said, a little more serious now. "I'm saying it because it's true."
Her cheeks warmed slightly. "You really think so?"
"I know so."
Something flickered in her eyes. Something small, but bright.
Confidence.
And for some reason…seeing that made Ethan feel something strange.
Something warm.
"You should sing more," he added.
"Only here," she said quickly.
He nodded. "That's fine."
Another pause.
Then he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment.
"I don't hate coming here anymore," he admitted quietly.
Lia smiled softly. "Me neither."
He opened his eyes slightly, glancing at her.
"Don't get used to it," he muttered.
"I won't," she teased gently.
But they both knew that wasn't true.
Because without saying it…
Without naming it…
This place was becoming something neither of them expected.
Not just a hiding spot.
Not just an escape.
But something more.
A place where a broken boy could breathe.
A place where a quiet girl could be heard.
A place where two strangers were slowly, carefully…becoming something else.
And neither of them was ready to admit what that something was.
Not yet. 💕