For a few days, nothing changed.
Or maybe everything did.
The rooftop promise hung between them — quiet, invisible, unbreakable.
But once they stepped back into the company building, reality came crashing in like air.
The new schedule arrived the next morning.
Rian's name was listed across three columns — interviews, recordings, endorsement shoots.
Lian's name wasn't beside his anymore.
Separate rooms. Separate teams. Separate rehearsals.
The company made sure of it.
---
Lian's new vocal coach was kind, but distant.
Every time he sang, he could feel Rian's absence — the subtle corrections, the quiet warmth, the unspoken understanding. Now it was all metronomes and technique sheets.
He missed the small things — the way Rian would hum along under his breath, the way he'd say, "Breathe with the music, not against it."
He missed being heard.
---
Meanwhile, Rian buried himself in work.
He recorded new tracks, filmed solo interviews, smiled for cameras that no longer felt like his.
Every question sounded the same.
> "Rian, what inspired your latest song?" "How does it feel collaborating with younger artists?" "Any message for your fans?"
He answered them all, perfectly.
But every time he saw the press mention The Sound of You, something twisted in his chest.
They called it his song.
They cut out Lian's name completely.
He didn't correct them — not because he agreed, but because the company's warning still echoed in his head:
Keep quiet. Protect the brand.
But every night, when the cameras were gone and the rooms were silent, he replayed the live performance video — the one where Lian's voice broke slightly on the last bridge.
The imperfection that had made the whole thing beautiful.
And every time, he thought — this was never just mine.
---
Lian's dorm felt emptier now.
He trained longer, stayed later, hoping exhaustion would drown out the noise.
But even in the quietest moments, he couldn't stop hearing the rooftop promise.
"Then let's not let them take it."
He wanted to keep that promise. He really did.
But how do you hold on to something when the world keeps pulling your hands apart?
---
It was almost two weeks before they saw each other again.
A company event. Press-only, no cameras allowed backstage.
Lian hadn't even known Rian would be there — until he turned a corner and froze.
Rian stood at the end of the hallway, hair slicked back, dressed in black from head to toe.
Effortless. Sharp. Distant.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then Rian said quietly, "Hey."
Lian swallowed hard. "Hey."
It was such a small word, yet it carried everything they hadn't said in days.
"You look tired," Rian murmured.
"So do you," Lian said.
Rian's lips curved slightly. "Guess we're both bad at pretending."
A beat of silence. Then, under his breath, Rian added, "I've missed this."
Lian blinked. "Missed what?"
Rian's eyes met his — calm, unreadable, but something warm flickered underneath. "Talking to you."
Before Lian could respond, a staff member appeared around the corner.
"Rian! They need you in five!"
Rian turned away. "Duty calls."
Lian's chest tightened. "Wait—"
Rian paused just long enough to say, "Check your locker after the event."
Then he was gone.
---
Lian's heart wouldn't stop pounding.
Hours later, when the event ended and the building emptied, he went straight to the practice room.
Inside his locker, tucked beneath a folder of lyrics, was a folded sheet of paper.
A note.
> Studio 4. Midnight. Don't let anyone see you.
Lian's breath caught.
For a second, he hesitated. He knew it was reckless. Stupid, even.
But something stronger than fear guided his feet down that dark hallway.
---
Studio 4 was empty when he entered.
No lights, only the soft glow from the console monitors.
Then — a voice behind him.
"You came."
Lian turned. Rian was there, leaning against the doorframe, eyes shadowed but gentle.
"I almost didn't," Lian admitted. "If someone finds out—"
"They won't," Rian said. "I made sure of it."
He crossed the room, close enough that Lian could smell the faint trace of his cologne — the same one that had clung to the booth during their first recording.
"I wanted you to hear something," Rian said quietly.
He sat at the console, pressed play.
Music filled the room — familiar at first, then new.
It was The Sound of You, but different. Slower, stripped down, piano and heartbeat-soft percussion.
And this time… there were new lyrics.
Lian listened, eyes widening.
His own voice entered halfway through — not from the released version, but from an old practice recording.
Raw. Imperfect. Real.
Then Rian's voice joined it, lower, steadier, wrapping around Lian's like warmth meeting cold.
> If they take the stage away, I'll build another one for you.
If they silence the song, I'll whisper until it reaches you.
Lian's throat tightened. "You— you wrote this?"
Rian nodded. "For us."
Lian blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. "You shouldn't have risked—"
"I already did," Rian said simply. "I don't care anymore."
He leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "They can tell me who to sing with. But they can't tell me what to feel."
Silence filled the room. The kind that buzzed like static, alive and heavy.
Lian stepped closer, voice shaking. "Then what do you feel?"
Rian looked up, his gaze steady. "You already know."
Lian's heart felt like it would burst.
He wanted to say it — to finally speak the thing that had been burning between them since that first song.
But before he could, footsteps echoed in the hall.
Rian moved fast — shutting off the console, killing the lights.
They stood in the dark, close enough for their shoulders to brush.
The footsteps passed. A door clicked somewhere down the hall. Silence again.
Only their breathing filled the space.
When the danger passed, Lian whispered, "This is crazy."
Rian's voice came low, right beside his ear. "Maybe. But it's ours."
The words sank deep, anchoring somewhere inside him.
---
After that night, they found ways to keep the promise alive.
A scribbled note hidden in a music sheet.
A glance exchanged during rehearsals, too brief for anyone else to notice.
A late-night voice memo — Rian's warm baritone humming a melody Lian hadn't heard before.
Sometimes no words at all, just silence that meant everything.
The world stayed loud, but between them, there was still a quiet that felt like home.
---
Weeks passed.
Then came the next storm.
A gossip outlet leaked photos — blurry shots of Rian entering Studio 4 late at night. Another image of a trainee leaving the same building hours later.
The captions were ruthless.
> "Secret meetings after curfew?"
"Rian Vale mentoring or misbehaving?"
Within hours, the article spread.
The company released a statement — brief, cold, impersonal.
> 'The rumors regarding Rian Vale and trainee Lian are false. They maintain a strictly professional relationship.'
The message was clear: deny, deny, deny.
And yet, the damage was done.
---
That evening, the manager called Lian into an empty office.
Rian was already there, seated stiffly, jaw tight.
The manager's tone was cutting. "Do you two have any idea how much trouble this causes? The fans are divided, the board is furious. We can't afford another headline."
Lian swallowed. "We didn't—"
The manager cut him off. "From now on, you'll keep separate schedules. No shared events. No rehearsals together. Do I make myself clear?"
Rian's eyes flashed. "You're punishing him for something he didn't do."
"I'm protecting you," the manager snapped. "One scandal, and your career goes down with his."
The words hit harder than a slap.
Lian stared at the floor, fists clenched. "So I'm just… disposable?"
No one answered.
The silence was answer enough.
Rian stood abruptly. "If he's disposable, so am I."
The manager's face paled. "Don't be foolish, Rian—"
But Rian was already walking out.
---
Later that night, Lian found him again — on that same rooftop, wind colder this time, sky heavy with storm clouds.
"You shouldn't have said that," Lian whispered.
"I meant it," Rian said.
"They'll make you pay for it."
Rian looked at him — eyes dark, tired, but unwavering. "Maybe. But I won't let them decide what matters to me."
Lian's voice broke. "Why? Why risk everything?"
Rian stepped closer. "Because the only thing worse than losing my career… would be losing you."
Lian froze — breath gone, words useless.
The rain began to fall then, soft at first, then harder, drumming against the rooftop.
Rian didn't move. Neither did Lian.
The world below them roared with life — lights, noise, headlines — but up here, it was just the two of them.
Two voices, caught between silence and sound.
And in that storm, without words, they made another promise.
This time, not just to fight —
but to stay.
---
End of Chapter 9 — Between Silence and Sound
To be continued…