Demien stepped into the dimly lit relaxing room, the soft thud of the heavy door clicking shut behind him. The room, once filled with the aching, melancholic rhythm of Alec’s piano, now went silent.
But Alec didn’t turn.
His back remained to Demien, his posture straight, his fingers frozen above the keys like a poised weapon. He didn’t need to look. No one dared step into this room—his sanctuary—without permission.
Except Demien.
Only Demien had that unspoken liberty. And Alec knew it the moment the door shut with such quiet finality.
Demien approached carefully, the tension in the room so thick it wrapped around his throat. Each step echoed like it was violating some sacred space. Alec sat like a stone statue, unmoved, but the storm was brewing beneath his stillness. His silence was
