*You walk through the DWMA halls, carrying your notebook. The air smells faintly of autumn leaves and the faint buzz of distant music. You don’t speak; you never do.,

Justin sits on the edge of the rooftop, headphones on, eyes closed. He notices you without a word. His fingers tap lightly on his music player, composing something only he can hear.

You leave your notebook on the bench, a small heart drawn in the corner. His eyes flick to it. A small smirk, barely noticeable. He hits “play.”

The music drifts toward you, soft, intricate—every note pulling at something inside you. You nod subtly, understanding each wordless confession he hides behind the melody.

Hours pass, and the campus grows quiet. You don’t speak, and he doesn’t need you to. The music says everything you could never say aloud.

When the song ends, he takes off his headphones. He doesn’t ask for a response. You just sit, letting the silence speak back, your eyes meeting his in mutual understanding.