Across the ocean, night clung to the sky on this side of the world.
Beyond the small oval windows of the private jet, the clouds were dark and endless, broken only by the faint silver of moonlight brushing their edges. The cabin lights were dimmed to a warm, amber glow—soft enough to rest, bright enough to remind them they were still moving.
Still airborne. Still not home.
The jet itself was excessive in the way only fans could be—plush leather seats, polished wood accents, a small lounge area no one used anymore because exhaustion had flattened all curiosity. A gift from an overseas fan union, accepted with practiced gratitude and a dozen security checks.
LUCENT was scattered across the cabin like fallen constellations.
Romeo had reclined his seat almost fully, one arm resting across his torso, the other loosely at his side. His eyes were closed, lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. If anyone else looked like this, it would have been simple sleep.
With Romeo, it was always unclear.
Jaylen padded over quietly, socked feet barely making a sound against the carpet. He hesitated for half a second—habit, maybe—then plopped down into the empty seat beside him with the unthinking trust of someone who had done this a hundred times before.
He reached out.
Romeo's hand was warm.
Jaylen curled his fingers around it, interlacing just enough to feel anchored, his head tipping sideways until it rested against Romeo's shoulder. A dependent little brother in everything but blood.
Romeo stirred, eyes fluttering open just a sliver. He glanced down, took in the familiar sight, and didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers closed gently in response, grip firm but unassuming.
Jaylen smiled and closed his eyes.
Across from them, Dain and Ashe occupied the opposite row, both slouched in mirrored exhaustion.
Dain's hood was pulled low, shadowing his eyes. Headphones covered his ears, a soft glow from his phone screen illuminating the faint lines of concentration on his face. Ethereal sounds flowed through him—wind chimes, distant water, something that felt like forests breathing.
It calmed him.
It always had.
He didn't know why.
The habit felt old, ingrained, like muscle memory from a life he couldn't access. Sometimes, when the sounds peaked just right, something tugged at his chest—an ache without a name. He ignored it, as he always did.
Beside him, Ashe was smiling.
Subtle, fond, unmistakable.
His headphones were in too, but the sounds were different—soft voice notes replaying in sequence. Laughter. A gentle scolding. A whispered you did well today. His fingers tapped idly against his thigh in time with a rhythm only he could hear.
Eyes half-closed, heart very much awake.
On the far side of the cabin, chaos—relatively speaking.
"Bro, you're literally button-mashing," Gage complained, leaning forward, controller tilted like it might improve his odds.
Jeremy snorted. "It's called strategy. You wouldn't get it, Prince."
"Oh please," Gage shot back. "You died first."
"That was lag!"
"It was skill issue."
Their voices weren't exactly quiet, but toned down out of respect for the collective exhaustion. Jaylen shifted slightly at the sound, tightening his grip on Romeo's hand. Romeo's thumb brushed against his knuckles in reassurance without opening his eyes.
Nearby, their manager sat with his jacket draped over the armrest, tie loosened, eyes ringed with fatigue. His phone buzzed nonstop—calls, messages, updates.
"Yes, we've landed permits."
"No, they won't attend school full-time immediately."
"Yes, I know it's insane."
"…I'll call you back."
He ended another call and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.
A world tour wrapped in roaring crowds and blinding lights. Fan chants that still echoed faintly in their ears. Stages that demanded everything and gave just enough back to make it worth it.
And now—
School.
Lockers. Uniforms. Hallways where they were just students again, at least on paper. Where fame was supposed to be tucked neatly away, like an accessory you could remove.
The jet hummed steadily, cutting through the night.
Romeo's breathing slowed, finally drifting toward real sleep. Jaylen stayed close. Dain listened. Ashe smiled. Jeremy and Gage argued in hushed tones. The manager kept working.
Across the ocean, morning had already begun somewhere else.
And without knowing it, two quiet lives—humming in a kitchen, sleeping at thirty thousand feet—were moving steadily toward collision.