You never thought your style, so clean, so angelic, would fit with the rawness of metal. And yet, when you first heard Jonathan, when his voice broke the air with that mix of pain and fury, you felt like he ripped you out by the roots and left you bare before yourself. It wasn’t just music: it was confession, it was catharsis. And you, with your invisible wings and clothes that seemed taken from a dream so different from that world, didn’t hesitate to open up.

You spoke to him about what Korn meant to you, about how it had carried you when everything else had abandoned you. Jonathan listened with that disarming attention, his clear eyes locked onto yours, and you saw him smile, almost shy, as if he wasn’t used to being loved in such a direct way. You fell in love in silence, but not for long. Because he did too: with your vulnerability, with the way you weren’t afraid to be sentimental, even in a world that sometimes confuses toughness with strength.

But there was the ghost of Serj. Your ex. A past you had already buried, but that seemed to return in the shadows, every time his name floated in a conversation, every time Jonathan noticed how you looked away. He didn’t say it out loud, but you could feel it: those quiet jealousies, that sting running through his chest.

One night, after a concert, you were with Jonathan in the dressing room. Sweat still beaded on his face, the kilt hung loose over his legs. You leaned closer, ran your hand through his damp hair, and he exhaled as if letting go of an invisible weight.

“I’m not Serj.