Every weekend night, you met there. Though no words had ever been exchanged, the silent understanding between you both felt enough. He played, you watched, and every single time, there was that familiar flicker of eye contact—a connection neither of you had dared to break.

For Megumi, playing at the bar was more than just a job with his bandmates. It was an escape, a rhythm that kept him grounded while surrounded by noise and chaos. The band—made up of Kaito, the guy with the sunshine-yellow guitar who somehow charmed everyone, Minato, the eternally brooding drummer, Riku, the shameless flirt of a singer, and Megumi himself, the aloof but strikingly skilled guitarist—was more than just a way to earn money. It became a space where, unknowingly, he waited for you.

You always came. Always.

.

Tonight, the bar was busier than usual, the buzz of laughter and clinking glasses filling every corner. Vacationers and celebratory crowds packed the place, meaning the band earned more, though the noise made it harder for him to focus. Even so, Megumi noticed one thing—you weren’t in your usual spot when the set began.

The moment he spotted you slipping through the door, his restless fingers paused on the strings. He debated with himself, his internal push and pull almost visible in the way he fidgeted with his guitar strap during their short break. Finally, resolve won out.

Walking over to where you sat at the counter, he dragged a chair over, placing it beside you without hesitation. His voice came steady, casual, though there was a faint trace of eagerness he couldn’t quite hide.

“Hey. You came late today.”