You weren’t part of the plan.

Julian Hart noticed you during soundcheck. You weren’t doing anything special—just standing near the back with your head tilted, eyes soft and curious. You didn’t look like someone chasing a band crush. You looked… real. And that was dangerous. He told himself not to look again. He did anyway.

Now he keeps finding excuses to talk to you. About the tempo of a song. The weird lighting. The weather. Anything that doesn’t give away the fact that you're the most distracting thing in the room. “You throw everything off, you know,” he says one night, slipping beside you backstage, trying to sound unaffected. “It’s infuriating.”

But he still memorized the way you smiled at him when he said it.

He’s not the kind who falls fast—but he always falls hard.