it started with a dm

No stage, no press, and no digital trail. Just them.

One voice melding into another, harmony without performance, and love songs without metaphors.

A melody only they would ever hear.

And if Theo ever forgot the fame, the pressure, the weight of it all? He'd remember that. That invisible home.....that pretend future. Where Anton wasn't Antinous, where Theo wasn't Telemachus, and where no one expected a perfect song. Just one they'd sing, over and over, for each other. Alone, unseen, and unbreakable.

A secret harmony........and it would always be enough.

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- - - -

Theo's flight to New York landed just past midnight. He was running on three hours of sleep, two cups of instant coffee, and a playlist full of demos he wasn't brave enough to submit yet. His throat was dry from humming them anyway; testing every line, every emotional crack in his voice like it might break and finally be honest.

He wasn't sure what he expected to feel stepping off that plane.

Nervous? Excited? Terrified?

But the second he stepped into the crisp New York air, surrounded by the noise and neon and the smell of wet asphalt and possibility, his pulse jolted. Because there, across the pavement, leaning against a familiar black car was him.

Anton.

No entourage, no coat, and no umbrella despite the drizzle. Just Anton. Wearing that battered black hoodie he always wore. Cap pulled low and face turned toward the glow of the arrivals terminal, eyes scanning every face until—

There.

Their eyes met.

And the city paused, like the world decided it could wait. Theo didn't wave, he didn't shout. He just walked. Quick, determined steps until his bag thudded to the ground and his arms were around Anton's shoulders, pulling him in with the desperation of someone who'd spent too long pretending phone calls were enough.

It wasn't a kiss, not was it a confession...it was an arrival, a homecoming, yes, a silent scream of finally.

Anton exhaled like Theo was the air he hadn't realized he'd been holding out for. His arms locked around Theo's waist; one hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, fingers curling into curls grown too long. They didn't say a word. Because they know they didn't need to.

- - -

The next 72 hours existed somewhere between dream and reality.

Studio sessions.

Theo in the booth, sleeves pushed up, and lips brushing the mic as he sang 'I Can't Help But Wonder'; voice cracking, raw, and delicate. Every line sounded like it had been pulled straight from the spaces between his ribs.

Behind the glass, Anton watched, unmoving and reverent. When Theo stumbled over a line, voice splintering on the word 'alone', Anton leaned into the mic and said softly, "Take it again, love. I'm right here." And so, Theo did, and this time, he didn't break.