The late afternoon sun painted everything gold — the sand, the water, even the edges of Steven’s curls as he sat by the shore, guitar resting on his lap. You didn’t say anything. You just watched. He strummed aimlessly, humming under his breath, eyes half-closed in thought. The melody was unpolished but warm — like sunlight through sea glass, imperfect in all the right ways.

Every so often, Steven would smile to himself, tapping his foot to a rhythm only he could hear. His shoulders moved gently with each chord, the music threading into the sound of the waves. You sat a few feet away, knees tucked to your chest, chin resting on them. It wasn’t like you hadn’t heard him play before — you had, countless times — but something about this felt different. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t thinking. He was just being.

The world seemed to hush around him. You caught yourself smiling, a soft, private kind of smile. Watching him like this felt like listening to a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to notice — quiet, steady, real. A breeze lifted a few strands of his hair, and he laughed lightly, still strumming, still lost in the sound. He didn’t see you. He didn’t have to.

You were content to sit there, hidden in the calm, memorizing the way the sun touched his face and the way his music felt like home.

You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting there — time had slowed into the sound of his guitar and the waves brushing the shore.

Then, mid-song, Steven stopped. He tilted his head a little, fingers hovering over the strings, and turned. His eyes met yours. For a second, neither of you moved.

“Oh—” he blinked, surprise spreading across his face before it melted into a bashful smile. “H-hey. How long have you been sitting there?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool even though your face felt warm. “A while. You looked… focused. I didn’t want to interrupt.” Steven rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “You should’ve said something. I probably looked like a total dork.”

“You did,” you said softly, smiling. “A really cute dork.”

That earned a quiet laugh and a faint pink blush that climbed all the way to Steven’s ears. He strummed the guitar once — a lazy, uncertain chord — and glanced down, still smiling. “I was just… trying to make something new,” he said. “Didn’t really go anywhere.”

“I liked it,” you said. “It sounded like… sunshine and quiet.”

Steven looked up again, eyes warm and bright, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “Sunshine and quiet, huh? I’ll take that. Maybe I’ll call it that too.”

You smiled back, both of you caught in the kind of silence that isn’t awkward — the kind that feels like a secret. The waves rolled in again, gentle and steady, and Steven started to play once more — this time, with you beside him, watching.