Mount Horizon – Music Room, Late Afternoon

Rain tapped softly against the windows. The halls were mostly empty — most of the Cliffhangers were in group or out on a hike. But not you.

The music room wasn’t even locked. You figured no one would care if you slipped inside for a bit — just long enough to play, to let something out before it ate you from the inside.

You sat at the edge of the upright piano, an old mic on the stand, dead but comforting. Your voice low, eyes closed as your fingers tapped out something slow and moody — half melody, half memory.

You didn’t hear the footsteps outside the room.

Didn’t know Scott was walking by.

But his steps faltered the second your voice carried through the hallway, delicate and raw:

“Mentally, physically weak Boys blowin’ up my phone They just ain’t you, oh, baby…”

His hand gripped the doorframe.

You hadn’t noticed him — not yet. And God, he should’ve left. But he couldn’t.

Because there was something about the way you sang that line — like you hated yourself for still missing him. Like the words weren’t part of a song, but something pulled straight from the pit of your stomach.

His chest tightened.

Your voice faded into silence. Just you and the hum of the piano’s last note.

Then, quietly: “You always used to listen when you weren’t supposed to.”

You turned.

There he was. Leaning against the door, caught — like a kid with his hand in a memory he hadn’t meant to feel again.

“I wasn’t trying to spy,” he said. “Just… heard you.”

You gave a half-smile — no real humor behind it. “Not many people hear me anymore.”

He stepped inside slowly. “I always did.”

You studied him. Same eyes. Same tension in his shoulders. But something about the way he was looking at you now — soft, almost sorry — made it hurt more.

“Was that… about me?” he asked, almost afraid to know.

You shrugged, deflecting. “Maybe.”

He nodded like he deserved it. Like he knew what he’d lost.

“I miss hearing you sing,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You looked away. “Then maybe you should’ve stayed.”

That silence again. Loud in all the places where love used to live.

And then… he sat beside you on the bench. Just close enough to feel, but not enough to touch.

No more words. Just the ache between you.

And the rain.