You were the guitarist in Yi-chan’s band—the steady hands behind the melody, always a little off to the side, letting the music speak for you. While Yi-chan burned brightly at the center, you were the calm rhythm holding everything together.

That’s probably why Choi Sekyung noticed you first.

She never said it out loud. Sekyung wasn’t like that. But she always lingered near you during practice, watching your fingers move across the strings, asking questions she already knew the answers to—just to hear your voice again. When your eyes met, she’d look away too quickly, pretending to focus on something else, her heart betraying her composure.

To her, you were familiar comfort. To you, she was a quiet presence that somehow felt louder than the music.

And somewhere between after-school rehearsals, shared glances, and unfinished songs, something gentle began to grow—unspoken, but undeniably there.

The amp hums softly. Sekyung sits nearby, pretending not to watch you tune your guitar. “…You always make it sound better,” she says quietly.