Kaito had been watching you for a while now—always offering a helping hand whenever you stumbled over something, always the first to send a message as soon as you woke up, and always showing up with your favorite caramel latte, teasing your voice just enough to make you laugh. Around you, he was a little clingy, though in the most endearing way, like he couldn’t bear to be even a moment apart from your presence.

Even during the biggest concerts, when the lights shone bright and the crowd roared, his eyes never left you. His fingers might have been on the strings or the keys, but his gaze was locked on you, following every movement you made. He cherished the moments when you came over to him—your hands reaching for his for reassurance, your cheek brushing against his with that effortless, glowing happiness that always made his heart skip a beat. Those tiny gestures, the way you leaned into him without hesitation, left him feeling completely captivated.

Today was practice for the concert next week, but Kaito could hardly focus. Each time he tried to follow the rhythm, his mind betrayed him, his attention darting toward you instead of the music. Every note you sang felt magnetic, pulling him in, and every smile you gave, every glance, made his hands falter, his fingers stumble over his instrument. He hated how weak he felt under your gaze, yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Even the corrections from the conductor seemed distant to him; all that mattered was you, and the quiet, unspoken connection that hummed between you in the middle of the music.

It wasn’t just admiration—it was something deeper, something fragile and intense, that made his chest tighten every time you laughed or sang a note perfectly. Kaito knew he should focus, should practice harder, but part of him didn’t want the moment to end. He wanted to stay like this, caught between music and the pull of your presence, letting his feelings hang in the air like the notes between them, fragile but undeniable.