Euphony Trio: Encore

The apartment was pristine — floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, expensive furniture in sleek monochrome, the kind of place that appeared in magazines under "minimalist luxury."

But none of it felt like his.

Zane stepped through the door, letting it click shut behind him. No one to greet. No messy coffee cups left from yesterday. No guitar leaning against the couch. Just stillness — perfectly curated and utterly soulless.

He dropped his bag at the door, kicked off his shoes without bothering to align them, and wandered into the main room. The silence pressed against him. At first, when the label offered this place, he'd been stunned. A full executive suite, complimentary for artists under the platinum program. "It's where your next era begins," they'd said.

At the time, he believed them.

He'd said yes, moved in, and for the first few weeks — yeah, it felt exciting. Parties. Invites. Rooftop gatherings with champagne flutes and flashing cameras. He met other soloists, influencers, producers, people who lived in the future and never looked back.

He kept up. Smiled. Laughed. Made memories he couldn't quite remember.

But now?

He barely made it to the bedroom before collapsing on top of the covers, face-first, still in jeans and a hoodie. His body ached from the long recording day. His throat was sore. He didn't even care.

He reached for his phone, lying beside him. The screen lit up.

📱Group Chat: "STAGE BEASTS 🐾🔥"

Ryn: yo rooftop tonight? kento's set starts at 10Kento: 😎😎 bring ur entourageAlia: wear something shiny plsRyn: zane u in? u ghosted last time

Zane stared at the messages. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. Then paused.

A few months ago, he might've gone. Before Sunny. Before Euphony. Before he knew what it meant to come home to someone who actually listened to the quiet parts of him — the ones no one else noticed.

He hadn't told anyone here about her. Not really.

He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. One of the recessed lights flickered faintly — the only imperfection in the room.

He typed a reply:

Zane: sorry. not tonight. voice shot.

And that was that.

He let the phone slide from his hand, arm draped over his eyes.

He missed her. More than ever.

Not just her laugh or her voice or the way she kissed him goodnight — but the way she grounded him. Made all the noise bearable. Gave the silence meaning.

But this contract — it locked him in. Twelve months. Studio obligations. Brand appearances. Travel.

He couldn't go back. Not yet.

He didn't even know if she wanted him back.

He turned to the side and closed his eyes. The city sparkled outside the window, reflected on the walls.

High ceilings. Hollow nights.

He'd asked for this. He just hadn't expected it to feel so empty.

---

Zane sat at the edge of the bed, legs dangling, the city glowing silently outside the glass. It was late — almost 9 p.m. — but not that late. Not for them. They used to talk past midnight, sometimes till dawn. Especially that last night... before she kissed him goodbye on the station platform, sunlight barely rising behind her.

God, he would've done anything to relive that moment. Just one more hour with her. Just one more kiss.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Zane wasn't the type to hesitate. He wasn't indecisive, or slow to act — that had never been his style. But Sunny… she made him second-guess everything. Not because she asked him to, but because she mattered. Because he didn't want to mess it up again.

He had already made her feel neglected. A full month of silence — just one brief call, two weeks ago, barely five minutes long. No texts. No updates. Just… distance.

The quiet between them wasn't quiet anymore. It was loud. Heavy. The kind of silence that echoed back at him whenever he looked at her name in his phone and did nothing.

Still…

He picked up his phone.

Scrolled through the long, exhausting list of contacts — managers, producers, stylists, collaborators, people he barely remembered meeting.

And then there she was.

His Sunshine.

He smiled, just a little. The name still made his chest ache.

No. He wouldn't overthink this. Not tonight.

He pressed Call.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

A third time. He almost prepared for voicemail, for disappointment tightening in his throat — but then:

"Zane?"

Her voice.

Soft. Muffled. Tired.

He froze for a second, the sudden relief flooding his chest almost too much to handle. "Hey," he said quietly. "Did I… wake you up?"

There was a small pause. A rustle, maybe from her turning over in bed. "I was dozing," she mumbled. "Didn't expect you to call."

Her voice sounded smaller than he remembered. Like the space between them had stretched her thin.

He swallowed. "I wasn't sure if I should."

She didn't respond right away.

He closed his eyes. "I just… I missed your voice."

Another silence — but this time, warmer. Not angry. Just… tired.

Finally, she exhaled, and said, almost whispering:"…I missed you too."

And for the first time in weeks, Zane let himself breathe.

---

He had so many things to tell her.

Where did he even start?The long days in the studio.The nights that felt colder, even in luxury sheets.The half-eaten dinners, the fake smiles, the parties that felt like performances.

But all of it paled next to the one thing that ached the loudest—how much he missed her.

Everything about her.

The way she snorted when she laughed too hard.The way her voice dipped when she got sleepy.How she always added two exclamation marks when she texted something excited.

He had never experienced a love this strong. Not before her. Not even close.

He thought back to that night before the concert—when they laid in bed, tangled together, and she cried. Quietly. Not wanting him to leave.

Now?God. Now he wished he hadn't.

The silence on the other end of the call was gentle, like she was waiting.

Zane finally spoke, voice softer than he meant it to be."How... have you been?"

A pause.

Then Sunny answered, her voice fragile and a little hoarse from sleep."…Tired."

And just like that—he felt everything again.

---

The silence between them lingered — not hostile, just… cautious. Worn.It was the kind of silence that comes when two people want to say a thousand things but aren't sure if they're still allowed to.

It was awkward. Understandably so.They hadn't really talked — not truly — since he boarded that train.

Zane stared at the ceiling, phone pressed to his ear, breath shallow.Part of him wanted to apologize right away. Another part… didn't think he had the right.

Surprisingly, Sunny broke the silence first.

"Zane," she mumbled, hesitant, her voice barely above a whisper.There was a pause — like she wasn't sure if she should continue.

But then:"…It's been a month."

He closed his eyes. "I… I know."He hated how small his voice sounded.

"I've only heard from you once," she continued, quieter now. "Two weeks ago. A five-minute call."

"I know," he repeated, helplessly. "I'm sorry."

Another pause. Then her voice again — softer, but steady."Your life's been hectic… hasn't it?"

Zane swallowed. "Yeah. That's… that's not an excuse though."

Sunny didn't answer that. She just breathed, and for a second, he thought maybe the call had dropped.

But then:"I guess you finally got some time for yourself?"She didn't say it bitterly. Just… truthfully. Gently."And you decided to…"A breath. A pause."…call me."

Zane's chest ached. She wasn't angry. Not really.And somehow, that was worse.She had every right to be.

"Sunny, I—"But she cut in, not harshly. Just asking.

"How are you feeling?"

That stunned him.Of all the things she could've asked — she chose that?

Not why did you ignore me.Not did you forget about me.Not are we still… us?

But how are you feeling?

Zane sat there in the dark, blinking hard.She was too good. Too kind. Too understanding.

"…I don't know," he said, truthfully.His voice cracked just a little. "I miss you."

A long silence followed. But this one felt different.Like something buried was slowly surfacing.

---

That silence again. Not empty — just full of unsaid things.And then, in a breath so quiet he almost didn't catch it:

"…I miss you too."

Zane's throat tightened.

She didn't cry. But he could hear the shift in her voice.The way it softened at the edges. How it caught ever so slightly — like her eyes had gone glossy, like she was holding something back to stay steady.

And then she added, gently:"Zane… did you… read my messages?"

He froze.

He'd seen them. Notifications piling up in the corner of his screen.Short check-ins. Pictures from her day. One longer one — the one he still hadn't dared to open.

"I…" he began, guilt hitting like a wave. "No. Not properly."He sighed, closing his eyes. "I saw them. I wanted to — I just… I couldn't."

"Why?"

Not accusatory. Just curious. Barely above a whisper.

Zane swallowed."Because I was scared that if I read them… it would make me miss you more than I already do."A pause. "And it already hurts. A lot."

He let the confession hang there.No pretenses. No polished words. Just raw. Just real.

---

Zane blinked.

A pause. Just long enough for him to think the conversation was over.And then —

"…Can we… video call?"

He sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake."Now?"

"Yeah," she said, almost shyly. "I mean… if you're okay with it."

He wasn't expecting that. Not from her. Not tonight. But somehow, that made it feel even more sincere.

She continued softly, "I know we haven't really… talked. But I think hearing your voice made me realize I just… I miss your face. Just for a bit. We don't have to say anything. I just… want to see you."

Zane's chest ached — in that quiet, beautiful way only she could cause.He smiled, small and tired. "Yeah. Okay. Give me a sec."

He turned on a lamp, ran a hand through his messy hair, didn't bother fixing the creases in his clothes. She wouldn't care. She never did.

When the call connected, the screen took a moment to focus. And then — there she was.

Sunny.

Hair slightly tousled from sleep. Hoodie too big for her shoulders. Eyes still a little puffy from whatever emotion she hadn't let spill earlier.

"Hey," she whispered.

Zane exhaled. The tension in his shoulders eased just from looking at her."Hey."

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. But the silence didn't feel awkward anymore.

It felt like home.

---

Seeing each other… did something to both of them.

The moment their eyes met through the screen, something shifted — like a heavy door quietly creaking open after being shut for too long. Neither of them said it, but they both felt it. That aching, unspoken fear — what if we can't find our way back — began to unravel, thread by thread.

And before they even realized it, they were talking.

Not just surface-level updates, not the polite check-ins Sunny had defaulted to. They talked about everything. The label. The pressure. How isolating it felt to be surrounded by people and still feel alone. Sunny told him about Amber — how strange it was, having a sister, how she didn't quite know how to feel. Zane listened. Really listened.

Then he opened up, too — more than he'd allowed himself to in weeks. He talked about the parties, the fake smiles, the way the walls of his new apartment echoed with a kind of emptiness money couldn't decorate.

Sunny asked gentle questions. Zane answered without thinking. And when she laughed at something small he said — a real laugh — he realized just how long it had been since he'd heard it.

They talked for what felt like hours.

The call stayed on as they shifted in their beds, voices growing sleepier but hearts more awake. The background lights dimmed. The silence between sentences grew longer — but warmer, easier.

There was still so much they needed to figure out. But for tonight, this was enough.

The screen flickered softly. Two tired faces, half-lit, still talking.

Still reaching.

Still trying.

---

They ended up falling asleep together that night, still connected through the video call — her phone tucked against her pillow, his propped beside him on the blanket. The screens stayed on, casting a soft glow across their sleeping faces, breaths slow and even, synced across distance.

And when the morning light crept in, they were both still there.

Sunny stirred first. Her hair was a bit messy, her voice low and scratchy as she blinked against the brightness. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, then turned toward the screen with a sleepy smile. Zane was already awake, quietly watching her — like he hadn't slept at all, or had woken just to make sure she was still there.

"If only I could feel you…" she mumbled, still not fully awake, her voice slurred with sleep. "But… I guess this is… the next best… thing…"

She didn't realize what she'd said. Not really. Not until the silence that followed.

Zane's expression shifted. Just slightly — but it was enough. Something cracked in his eyes, something she hadn't seen in a long time. He looked… raw. Vulnerable. Almost broken.

"Zane?" she murmured, now more alert, concern sharpening her tone.

He shook his head quickly, as if shaking the emotion away. She could tell he was trying to swallow it down, trying not to let it show. He had never cried in front of her before — not once — and he wasn't going to start now. Not when he was the one who left. Not when the guilt still clung to him like smoke.

Instead, he forced a small smile. "Thank you for still being here, Sunny. Thank you for your patience."

There was a beat of quiet. Then he added, softer — hesitant, but with effort behind every word:

"This contract will last for… a year. But… we'll make it, right? I'll find some way to visit you. I promise. No matter what it takes."

She sat up a little straighter, pulling her blanket around her shoulders as she stared at the screen. A whole year. It hit her like a slow wave. No countdowns. No knowing when. Just… waiting. Uncertainty.

She didn't answer right away.

She didn't have to. Her eyes met his through the screen — wide, soft, exposed — and that silence said everything. The longing. The ache. The fear. The part of her that wanted to believe him, and the part that wasn't sure her heart could take another stretch of silence.

Zane saw all of it.

And still… she stayed.

She didn't hang up. Didn't turn away. She just watched him — as he did the same — connected not by proximity, but by something quieter. Something deeper.

And that was enough — for now.

---

That's when Zane's alarm went off — a soft, rhythmic beep that broke through the delicate stillness between them like a cold breeze through an open window.

He flinched, just slightly. Despite being a morning person, he always set an alarm — just in case. But this morning… he had hoped, somehow, that time might pause. That this quiet, fleeting bubble between them might stretch just a little longer.

The sound gutted him more than he expected.

Because it meant he had to go. Get up. Get ready. Step back into the life that had taken him so far away from her.

He didn't have to explain — Sunny already knew. She saw it in the way his eyes dropped, in the way he lingered with his thumb near the screen but didn't press the button yet. She didn't try to stop him. She just watched with quiet understanding.

"I'll call you again soon," Zane said quickly, almost too quickly — like saying it fast might make it more true.

He forced a smile — not fake, just fragile. Then softer, almost under his breath, he added,"I love you, Sunshine."

And just like that… the call ended. The screen went dark.

Sunny stared at the empty display for a long moment, her chest tight.

On the other side, Zane sat frozen for a beat, phone still in hand, hand still trembling. He had said he'd call again. Promised it.

But as he stood up to face another day of packed schedules, meetings, rewrites, and performances… he didn't know when — or if — that next call would really come.

And that scared him more than anything.

---

Amber was a deep sleeper — the kind who could snooze through alarms, passing cars, even Amelia's occasional screechy voice messages. Mornings weren't really her domain; she preferred the slow warmth of sleep, the weight of blankets, the hush before the day demanded anything of her.

But over the past few weeks, she'd adapted — at least somewhat — to the rhythm of Sunny's home. Sunny always woke up first. She'd move quietly around the apartment, make breakfast, then settle onto the couch next to the fold-out bed Amber was still curled up in. The sound of cereal crunching or kettle boiling had become her unofficial wake-up call.

But this morning… the silence was louder than usual.

Amber blinked, bleary-eyed, rubbing sleep from her face. Her hair was a wild mess — a tangled crown of curls and flattened waves from one too many rolls across the pillow. She yawned, stretched one arm toward the ceiling, and then frowned.

No scent of toast. No humming kettle. No movement.

That wasn't like Sunny.

She swung her legs over the side of the fold-out, wincing at the cold floor. She glanced down at the silky lavender camisole and shorts she was wearing — not her usual sleepwear. Honestly, she hadn't even packed proper pajamas when she first came to town. She hadn't expected to stay more than a few nights.

---

It was a late afternoon. Amelia had dragged them all into a small boutique tucked between a plant shop and a café. "You're not wearing that again, Amber," she'd said, with a playful jab at Amber's oversized hoodie. "At least pretend to own sleepwear."

Nico had just laughed, arms full of grocery bags. Sunny had tried to defend her half-sister — "It's fine, we're just lounging"— but then she'd spotted a pastel rack near the dressing room and blinked. "Wait… that one's cute."

Amber rolled her eyes at all of them but allowed herself to be shoved into the fitting room with an armful of silky things. She ended up picking a soft lavender set — comfortable, a little luxe, but nothing too flashy.

"I sleep in style now," she'd declared that night, sprawled on the fold-out couch with popcorn in hand. Amelia raised an eyebrow. "You copied Sunny."

Amber smirked. "Sue me."

---

She padded through the apartment, knocking gently on Sunny's bedroom door. "Sunny?"

No answer.

She frowned. Maybe Sunny was just deep in sleep… but even then, she usually stirred. Amber hesitated a moment longer, then slowly opened the door.

And there she was.

Curled up in bed, knees tucked close, clutching her pillow like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Tears streaked her cheeks. Her eyes were open, but unfocused — red-rimmed, glassy. She didn't flinch when Amber stepped inside.

"Sunny…?" Amber's voice dropped to a hush. Concern pushed the sleepiness from her chest.

Sunny blinked slowly — finally noticing her. Her mouth moved like she was about to say something, but nothing came out. She just… looked lost.

Amber moved closer, crouching at the edge of the bed. She didn't touch her yet. Just watched.

"Did something happen?"

Sunny swallowed hard. "We… called. Last night. Zane."

Amber's brows lifted — then softened as the pieces clicked.

The silence earlier. The swollen eyes now.

"Did he say something?"

Sunny nodded. "He said… he missed me. That he'd try to visit. That we'd… make it. But…" Her voice cracked. "A year is a long time."

Amber's throat tightened.

She didn't say anything, not at first. Just slowly, carefully, climbed onto the bed beside her. She didn't hug her outright — Sunny wasn't always a fan of sudden closeness — but she sat close, their shoulders brushing. A quiet gesture of presence.

And then, gently:"Hey… I've got you."

Sunny finally leaned into her. The tears started again — slower this time, quieter. But real.

Amber didn't try to fix it. She just stayed there. Warm, steady, real.

Even if she didn't have all the answers, she knew what it felt like to want something so badly and fear you might lose it anyway.