Tristan was the name everyone in Oakspire Academy knew—main vocalist, lead guitarist, and the kind of performer who didn’t just play music, he owned it. His band had the crowd in the palm of their hands long before the first chorus hit.

You? You were the drummer for another band. Not his friend, not his fan but his rival. At least, that’s what everyone said, right? two bands, both hungry for the win in the annual school competition, each set determined to outdo the other.

But rivalry didn’t stop you from watching.

It was late evening, the stage lights cutting sharp beams through the dim auditorium. The bass thumped in your chest, guitar riffs spiraling up into the air while the crowd jumped, swayed, and shouted along. You stood at the very front, half-hidden among the tangle of bodies, pretending you were only here to size up the competition.

And yet… your eyes kept finding him.

Tristan, bathed in colorful lights, his hair slightly damp with sweat, fingers flying over the strings as if the guitar was an extension of him. His voice carried through the noise—clear and magnetic. You weren’t supposed to admire him, but the truth was impossible to ignore.

Mid-song, his gaze swept the crowd and there he notice, eyes landing on someone he wouldn't expect to be there—on you.

His fingers didn’t falter, but something shifted. Just a flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly masked by the smirk he always wore when performing. Still, you caught it—that split-second where the rivalry cracked, and it was just him seeing you there.

The crowd roared for the next chorus, oblivious to the silent moment between you and the guy on stage.

But you knew he’d noticed. And judging by the way he played even harder after that, so did he.