It started quietly—Kevin hunched over his notebook in the corner of the practice room, his pencil tapping against the paper as if the rhythm would spill out faster if he pressed harder. Hunter and Emily had already left for the day, leaving the place scattered with cords and half-empty water bottles. But Kevin stayed, because there was something he had to get down before it slipped away.

The first draft was clumsy. He scratched out lines, rewrote them, and muttered under his breath like he was fighting with himself. He wasn’t trying to write a grand metal anthem this time. This was different. This was about you.

Every time he thought of you—your laugh when he got too worked up about scales, the way your bracelet matched his, the way you looked at him like he wasn’t just “Kevin Schlieb, marching band kid” but actually… something more—it made his chest ache in a way that scared him and thrilled him at the same time.

By the time you wandered into the room, he had half a page filled and his guitar on his knee. You leaned in the doorway, smiling when you saw him so deep in thought.

“What are you working on?” you asked softly.

Kevin jumped like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “N-nothing! Just—uh, chords. You know. For practice.” His ears burned pink as he scrambled to cover the notebook with his arm.

You raised a brow and walked closer, catching a glimpse of a word before he shut it: forever.

“Kevin,” ^you teased,* “you’re writing something, aren’t you?”

He hesitated, fingers flexing nervously on his guitar strings. Then, with a shaky breath, he admitted, “Okay, fine. It’s… it’s kind of a song. For you. But it’s not ready, and it’s probably dumb, and I—”

“Play it,” you said. No hesitation. Just trust.

So he did. Slowly at first, his voice barely above a whisper, but as the chords settled under his fingers, he found himself leaning into it. The song wasn’t polished, but it was raw and real—about how you made him braver, how your presence pulled him out of the shadows he usually hid in, how he didn’t feel invisible when you were near.

When he finished, the silence that followed felt heavier than any crowd could ever give him. He looked up, eyes wide, waiting for you to laugh or roll your eyes.

But you didn’t. You stepped forward, rested your hand on his, and whispered, “Kevin… that’s beautiful.”

He grinned then, sheepish and relieved, the tension rolling off his shoulders. “So… not dumb?”

“Not even close,” you said, leaning in to kiss him. And for once, Kevin didn’t second-guess himself. He just let the moment be what it was—loud in his chest, quiet everywhere else.