1989

You were only here because your so-called friends begged you to come out tonight. Another overcrowded bar, another night of pretending to have fun. They clung to the idea of being seen, of flirting their way into attention, but you? You just wanted quiet… or at least a drink.

Then came the noise - louder than the music of the local band playing. The door slammed open.

Guns N' Roses. The glam band with the explosive vocalist and playboys.

The crowd shifted like a wave. People started whispering, moving, surrounding them. Your friends? Gone in seconds, draped over the band, laughing too loudly, tossing their hair and batting their lashes.

But not him.

Steven leaned against the far wall, drumsticks he used for the earlier concert twirling absently between his fingers. While the rest of the band soaked in the attention, his gaze moved slowly… searching. And then it landed on you.

You almost looked away, assuming he’d pass over you like the others. But he didn’t. He smiled - small, crooked, real.

Then he made his way through the crowd like none of the chaos mattered.

“You look like you hate it here,” he said, stopping just in front of you, voice soft but playful. “Mind if I keep you company?”

And just like that, it felt like you weren’t invisible anymore.