Key Story (1) - Chapter 5
Raxian lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. His room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of his computer screen in the corner. He hadn't played a single game of League since the argument with Fayne. His mind kept replaying the moment over and over again—the words he'd said, and most of all, the look on Fayne's face.
He clenched his fists, feeling the frustration still bubbling under the surface. He was angry—angry at the situation, angry at Fayne for pushing him, but mostly, angry at himself. He didn't fully regret snapping at her, but there was a gnawing guilt creeping in. He tried to shove it down, but it lingered, like a splinter under his skin that wouldn't leave.
Why did she have to push me like that? he thought, his jaw tightening. But then, the guilt sneaked in. She was just trying to help. The conflict inside him grew as he tried to justify his anger, but deep down, he knew he had crossed a line. The memory of Fayne's hurt expression wouldn't leave him.
Raxian shut his eyes, trying to shake off the guilt. It's just a game to her. She'll never understand.
But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't entirely true. His frustration wasn't about the game.
It was about the sense of losing control—over his rank, over his life, over everything. And Fayne, in trying to help, had only made him feel more exposed, more vulnerable.
He wasn't ready to apologize. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to talk to Fayne right now.
But the feeling of guilt—of regret—had started to settle in, even if he wasn't willing to admit it to himself just yet.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Raxian reached for it, expecting something game-related, but instead, he saw a message from Raze:
"Hey man, you good? You've been quiet today."
Raze wasn't the type to pry, but he always knew when something was up with Raxian. The message caught Raxian off guard—he hadn't expected anyone to notice how off he'd been.
Raxian stared at the message for a moment, the frustration bubbling up again. Before he could stop himself, he started typing a response:
"No, I'm not good. Fayne's been on my case about everything, and I just lost it. It's like she thinks she knows what it's like for me, but she doesn't. No one does."
He hit send before he could second-guess himself, his fingers tightening around the phone.
The anger surged up again, but this time it was tinged with something else—something closer to regret.
A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again with Raze's reply:
"I'm sure she didn't mean it like that. Fayne cares, dude. She wouldn't push you if she didn't."
Raxian read the message, a knot forming in his chest. He knew Raze was right, but admitting that would mean confronting the fact that maybe—just maybe—he was wrong. And right now, he wasn't ready to do that.
He tossed the phone onto the bed, pulling the blanket over his head. The frustration was still there, but now so was the guilt. It gnawed at him, even though he tried to push it away. She was just trying to help, he thought again, but the thought only made the guilt worse.
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The soft glow from Fayne's bedside lamp cast long, gentle shadows across her room. It was warm, cozy—an environment that usually made her feel safe, but tonight, it felt far from comforting. The warmth of her room contrasted with the cold, distant place she imagined Raxian must be in, his world filled with darkness and isolation.
She sat on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, phone clutched tightly in her hand.
The soft glow from her bedside lamp wrapped the room in warmth, but she couldn't feel it.
The confrontation with Raxian kept replaying in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more her chest tightened with frustration and confusion.
Why is he so obsessed with this game? It didn't make sense to her—how he could let something like League control his emotions, his friendships. Why can't he see that I'm on his side? she thought, the knot in her stomach growing tighter.
Her thoughts spiraled until she felt too overwhelmed to keep them to herself. She glanced at her phone, her thumb hovering over Milo's name. Normally, she would just text him—it was easier that way, less confrontational. But tonight, it didn't feel like enough. She needed to hear his voice, to know he was there.
She pressed call, her heart pounding as she listened to the phone ring on the other end.
For a moment, she almost hoped he wouldn't pick up, but then she heard the click.
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Milo's eyes flickered to his phone as it buzzed, the familiar sound interrupting the quiet hum of his PC. Fayne was calling him. A call? That was new. His stomach clenched as he reached for the phone, hesitating for a moment before answering.
"Hey... Fayne?" His voice was casual, but the second he heard her on the other end, he knew something was wrong.
"...Hey." Fayne's voice was soft, quieter than usual, but he could hear the strain behind it.
She didn't sound like herself.
Milo's heart sank. "You okay?"
There was a pause, and for a moment, all he could hear was her shaky breath. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. "I just... I really need to talk to you."
Milo sat up straighter in his chair, the usual comfort of his room suddenly feeling stifling.
"What's going on?"
"It's about Raxian," she whispered. "I—... we had a fight, and I don't know what to do."
Her words came out in a rush, her voice trembling. "He just... snapped. I was trying to help him, Milo. But he didn't want to hear it, and now... I don't know. I just need someone right now."
The weight of her words hit him like a ton of bricks. He could hear how upset she was—how much she was holding back, even now. Milo swallowed hard, his first instinct to retreat into the safety of his screen, to offer comfort from a distance. But this was different.
"I'm sorry, Fayne," he said softly, trying to find the right words. "Do you... want to meet up?
Maybe we can talk in person?"
Fayne's voice cracked again. "Yeah, I... I just need someone, Milo. Can I come to your city this weekend? I know it's a lot to ask, but..."
Milo's heart clenched. He hated going out, hated leaving his apartment, but hearing her like this... there was no way he could say no.
"Of course," he said, more firmly than he felt. "Where and when?"
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When Fayne heard his response, a wave of relief washed over her. She hadn't been sure if Milo would agree, knowing how much he disliked going out, but the fact that he was willing to meet her made her chest loosen just a little. She whispered a soft "thank you" before quickly arranging the details.
"Thank you, Milo," she said again, her voice steadying. "I'll come by tomorrow. Let's meet at the usual café."
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Milo hung up the phone, his hand still shaking slightly. The thought of going out tomorrow made his stomach churn, but Fayne needed him. He could still hear the tremor in her voice, the way she had sounded so unlike herself. This is for her, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.
Even though he hated going out, even though everything in him wanted to retreat, he couldn't let her down. Not now. Not when she needed him most.
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Milo woke up to the soft hum of his computer, the only sound that filled his small apartment.
He blinked at the ceiling, the sunlight barely creeping through the half-closed blinds. Why did I agree to this? The thought hit him before he even moved. The idea of going outside twisted in his gut like a knot. His mind had already begun cataloging excuses to back out.
But then, he thought of Fayne.
He sighed, pushing himself to sit up. He had promised her. She needed him. That was the only reason he was dragging himself out of bed. His legs felt heavy as he swung them off the bed, feet touching the cold floor. For a long moment, he just sat there, staring blankly at the room around him.
His apartment was quiet, dim. The kitchen counter was piled with old takeout containers and empty energy drink cans, remnants of nights spent grinding League. His monitors cast a soft glow in the corner, still running from the night before. This was his world—small, dark, and comfortable.
Today, though, he had to leave it behind.
He walked over to his desk, absently scrolling through his messages. No coaching requests. Nothing new. His routine was predictable—wake up, check the game, offer coaching, rinse, repeat. It had been his life for as long as he could remember. League had become his livelihood, the way he survived day to day. It was both his escape and his trap.
But today was different.
He pulled open his closet, staring at the row of hoodies hanging there. It didn't matter which one he picked; they were all the same—oversized, soft, and comforting. His hand hovered over his favorite one before grabbing it and pulling it over his head. The familiar weight settled around his shoulders, but it didn't make him feel any better.
His reflection in the mirror caught his eye for a moment. His messy chestnut hair fell over his forehead, slightly unkempt from tossing and turning in bed, and his expressive hazel eyes stared back at him, clouded with a mix of anxiety and self-consciousness. The hoodie hung loosely on his frame, and despite the oversized fabric, he still felt too small, too skinny. He tugged at the sleeves, trying to shake the gnawing feeling in his chest.
Fayne doesn't care, he reminded himself, his hazel eyes flickering with determination. She just needs me.
Milo glanced at his phone again, his finger hovering over Fayne's contact. He could text her—tell her they could just talk online, like they always did. The idea of stepping out into the world, into a place where people could see him, where the noise and the lights were too much... it was tempting to retreat.
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he deleted the message he had started typing.
No, he thought. She needs me.
With a deep breath, he grabbed his glasses and adjusted his hoodie. The fabric felt like a shield, but it wasn't enough to stop the anxiety swirling in his chest. You can do this, he told himself, though his stomach clenched at the thought of stepping outside.
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The second Milo stepped out of his apartment, the world felt too loud. Too bright. The sky was gray, but to him, it felt blinding. He pulled his hoodie tighter around his head, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to disappear into himself. The familiar, comforting silence of his apartment was gone, replaced by the hum of passing cars and the murmur of distant conversations.
He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the few people he passed. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. His heart raced in his chest, every sound around him amplified. Just focus, he told himself, but the discomfort wouldn't go away.
The walk to the café wasn't far, but it felt like miles. His feet moved mechanically, every step taking him further from his comfort zone, but he couldn't stop now. Fayne needs you, he repeated, the thought his only anchor. He couldn't let her down. Not after hearing how broken she had sounded on the phone.
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Milo pulled out his phone as he neared the café, a flicker of hope rising in his chest that maybe Fayne had canceled. But there was no message. His stomach twisted—part relief, part dread.
He wasn't sure if he was more disappointed or relieved, but either way, there was no turning back now.
He stood outside the café for a moment, his fingers trembling as he checked the time. His hoodie felt too hot, his glasses fogging up from the cold air meeting his breath. You can do this, he reminded himself again, taking a deep breath. The thought of seeing Fayne again, of hearing her voice in person, made the anxiety a little more bearable.
With a final deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warmth of the café enveloping him. He scanned the room, searching for her, his heart racing. This is for Fayne, he told himself. That thought was enough to keep him moving.
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The warmth of the café washed over Milo as he stepped inside, the chill from outside still clinging to his skin. He scanned the room quickly, his hazel eyes searching for a familiar face, and it didn't take long to spot Fayne.
She was already there, sitting in her usual corner, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, steam rising in lazy spirals. Fayne's Outfit caught his eye briefly—she was dressed in a cropped sweater and high-waisted jeans, casual but carrying that unmistakable hint of her usual style. A light jacket draped over the back of her chair, and a few small clips held back her hair, adding that touch of personality she always had. Simple, but distinct, just like her.
But Milo didn't linger on her outfit for long. What drew his attention more was her posture—slouched, shoulders tense, her fingers gripping the cup a little too tightly. She looked tired, emotionally drained, as if the weight of her thoughts was holding her down.
He approached the table quietly and slid into the seat across from her. "Hey," he greeted, his voice soft. They both knew why they were here, no need for small talk.
Fayne glanced up at him, her tired eyes meeting his for a moment. "Hey," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
The silence between them lingered, but Milo could feel the tension, the heaviness that had drawn her here today. He leaned forward slightly, his tone soft but firm as he spoke. "You're still thinking about Raxian, aren't you?"
Fayne nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around the cup as if she was holding on for support. "Yeah... I just don't get why he's acting like this. I was trying to help him, but it's like he didn't even care. He just... snapped."
Milo sighed softly, his chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he watched her. "You don't deserve to be treated like that, Fayne. I know you care about him, but it's not fair for him to put all that weight on you." His voice was steady, more concerned with how much this was hurting Fayne than with Raxian's behavior.
Fayne frowned, her frustration clear. "But what if he doesn't bounce back? What if it's different this time?" Her voice wavered, revealing just how deeply this situation was affecting her.
Milo hesitated, feeling a familiar knot forming in his chest. "I get it, but you can't let this drag you down, Fayne. He's got his own issues, but it's not on you to fix him. You've done what you can."
His voice was gentle, protective, trying to shield her from the emotional strain she was carrying.
Fayne sighed again, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup absentmindedly. "I just feel like I'm making things worse. I thought I could help, but now it feels like I'm pushing him further away."
"You're not making anything worse," Milo said, his voice softening. He held her gaze with his hazel eyes, meeting her blue eyes, normally so focused and steady, now filled with uncertainty. There was something fragile in the way she looked at him, like she was searching for something she couldn't quite grasp. "You were there for him, and that's more than most people would do. But it's not your job to carry all of his weight." He paused for a moment, then added gently, "You matter too, you know?"
Fayne looked down, her lip trembling slightly as she tried to hold back the emotion welling up inside. "You think so?"
Milo nodded, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah. I just don't want to see you get hurt because of this."
Fayne's voice cracked as she stared down at the table. "It just feels like... I don't matter to him," she said, her hands shaking slightly around the cup. "I care about him, but it's like he doesn't care about me at all."
Milo felt a pang in his chest, his protective instincts kicking in. "It's not about whether you matter to him, Fayne. You do. But he's stuck in his own stuff right now, and it's not fair for him to make you feel like this." His voice softened, but there was an unmistakable firmness there—he didn't want to see her carrying the burden of someone else's struggles alone.
Fayne blinked, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. She looked down again, her frustration easing, but the hurt was still lingering. "I guess... but it's still hard."
"I know," Milo said softly, leaning in just a little more. "But don't lose yourself in trying to save him. You're doing your best, and that's enough."
For a moment, the words fell away, replaced by silence. Milo wasn't usually one for physical gestures, but seeing Fayne like this made him hesitate. His hand hovered over the table for a second, as if unsure, before he gently placed it on top of hers. The touch was soft, almost hesitant at first, but steady enough to let her know that he was there—that she wasn't alone in this.
Fayne's gaze drifted down to their hands, her breath catching for a moment. They had never touched before, and the warmth of his hand against hers felt different—comforting, but also surprising in its intimacy. A quiet realization settled in—Milo's support had always been quiet, from a distance, but this touch, however simple, made everything feel a little more real. A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She didn't pull away, and Milo didn't need her to.
The simple gesture said more than words could.
They sat together in silence for a little while longer, the weight of their earlier conversation beginning to lift. Fayne's hand remained still beneath his, the connection calming her in a way she hadn't expected. She felt the tension that had knotted in her chest slowly ease, the warmth of Milo's touch grounding her.
His hand stayed on hers for just a moment longer, a quiet reassurance. He could sense how much she needed this, and though he wasn't used to offering support in this way, it felt right. When he gently pulled his hand back, the calm between them remained, replacing the tension that had been there before.
"Thanks for meeting me," Fayne said after a while, her voice quieter but steadier than it had been at the start. The weight of her earlier turmoil was still there, but the touch had given her something to hold onto—something that felt real.
Milo nodded, his smile soft but genuine. "Anytime, Fayne."
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The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting a soft, golden hue over the city as Fayne made her way to the station. She walked with quiet steps, the echoes of her conversation with Milo still lingering in her mind. The air felt warmer than it had earlier, but there was a slight breeze that cooled her skin as she approached the station.
The train arrived just as she reached the platform. Fayne stepped inside, finding a seat by the window, and the familiar hum of the train's engine filled the air as it began to move. The city passed by in flashes of sunlight and shadow, buildings and streets blurring together as the train made its way toward home.
Fayne leaned her head against the window, the warmth of the sun spilling in through the glass.
The meeting with Milo had left her feeling a little more at ease, though the weight of everything with Raxian still clung to her. She sighed softly, watching the afternoon light shift and flicker across the landscape as they moved.
Milo's touch, as unexpected as it had been, still lingered in her thoughts. It had been small, but it had felt significant—a reminder that she wasn't alone in her concerns. His words echoed in her mind, reassuring her that she had done what she could, that she mattered too. And yet, despite the comfort Milo had offered, the unresolved tension with Raxian gnawed at the edges of her thoughts.
As the train swayed gently beneath her, Fayne couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in after Raxian's outburst. It wasn't just about the game—she knew that much. There was something deeper, something she couldn't quite reach. Her frustration with him lingered, but so did her desire to help. Why couldn't he see that she was on his side?
Fayne's hands rested in her lap, fingers curling slightly as she replayed the moments over and over again in her mind. She cared about him, more than she wanted to admit sometimes. That was why it hurt so much to see him push her away.
The sunlight filtered through the windows, casting long, golden shadows inside the train.
Fayne watched as the world outside moved past, a blur of trees, streets, and buildings.
The warmth of the afternoon sun contrasted with the coolness of the emotions swirling inside her.
For a while, she let herself sink into the quiet of the train ride. The steady hum of the tracks, the soft chatter of passengers around her—it all felt distant, as if she were wrapped in her own little bubble of thought. Tomorrow would bring more questions, but for now, she just needed to let everything settle.
As the train neared her stop, the announcement echoed through the carriage, pulling Fayne from her thoughts. She gathered her things, feeling a little lighter than she had when she first boarded. There was still so much she didn't understand, but Milo's quiet support had given her something to hold onto—a small spark of hope.
Stepping off the train into the warm afternoon air, Fayne took a deep breath. The weight of Raxian's words still hung over her, but there was a sense of calm in knowing that she wasn't alone in dealing with it. She didn't have to fix everything right away.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Fayne headed home, feeling the first hints of peace settling over her.