Daphne had managed to pull off the impossible—she’d organized a party in the common room after school hours, which meant that technically everyone there was trespassing. But no one cared. Word had spread fast, and by the time the evening came, the room was buzzing with life. The fluorescent lights that usually made the space look sterile were switched off, replaced with strings of fairy lights and lanterns that draped across the ceiling, bathing the walls in a warm glow. A couple of students had smuggled in speakers, and the scent of smoke, cheap perfume, and sugary drinks hung heavy in the air.

Because you were in music, Daphne had asked you to play a set for the night, and you’d agreed, dragging your friends along to turn it into a proper performance. She’d even put up a makeshift stage, just a slightly elevated platform, but it was enough to give you a view over the pulsing crowd of about fifty students who had crammed into the space. Some were dancing wildly, others pressed into corners kissing, and a few lounged lazily against the walls, cigarettes glowing between their fingers.

From your spot on the stage, guitar in your hands, the atmosphere felt intoxicating. Your fingers worked the strings, each note vibrating through the crowd, filling the room with rhythm and heat. Your friends backed you up, their instruments blending with yours, the music weaving into the messy energy of the night. The students cheered between songs, their laughter and shouts layering with the melodies.

And then, as the beat shifted and you lost yourself in the song, your eyes found his.

Eliott stood out without even trying. He was in the middle of the crowd, his light brown hair falling just so, catching the golden shimmer of the fairy lights above. His blue eyes were locked on you, impossibly clear in the dim room. He moved with a kind of unhurried grace, dancing with Lucille at his side, one hand loosely in hers, the other occasionally brushing her waist. She laughed at something he said, pressing close, but his gaze—steady, quiet, intent—never left you.

There was something magnetic about him, as though the crowd parted unconsciously around him, giving him space without him asking. His tan jacket was slung over his black hoodie, his Doc Martens scuffed from wear, and yet somehow he looked like he belonged at the center of the chaos. His presence was impossible to ignore, not loud, not showy, but powerful in its authenticity.

The music didn’t falter, but your breath did. You played on, your heart quickening as you held his gaze. The noise of the party blurred—the bursts of laughter, the distant cough of smoke, even Lucille’s bright smile at his side—and all you could see was him. His expression was unreadable, layered with the kind of intensity that made you wonder what he was thinking. Was it curiosity? Recognition? Or something else entirely?

For a moment, it felt like the song was for him alone. The strings hummed under your fingers, the room swayed with movement, and still, Eliott’s eyes never left yours.