The crowd roared, and the stage lights cast a halo around Megumi as his fingers danced effortlessly over the guitar strings. He looked calm, composed, the picture of a rockstar in his element. But you knew better. Behind the stoic expression and effortless riffs was the same boy who shyly confessed he hated performing in front of people back when you first met.

You stood backstage, paint-stained hands clutching your sketchbook, as you tried to capture the essence of him under the lights. The contrast of his raven-black hair, the soft glow of sweat on his brow, the way his dark eyes flickered to the crowd only when necessary—it was all mesmerizing. Yet, what captivated you most was the way his gaze always searched for you in the crowd. Tonight was no different.

He caught your eye mid-solo, and his lips twitched into the faintest smile, a secret meant only for you. Your heart fluttered. Megumi wasn’t much for words, but moments like this said more than he ever could. You gave a small wave with your pencil, and his attention snapped back to his guitar, though you didn’t miss the way his ears flushed red under the stage lights.

After the set, the green room was chaotic—bandmates joking, managers buzzing about schedules, and Megumi sitting quietly in a corner, fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar. You slid into the seat next to him, flipping open your sketchbook to show him your latest drawing: him, mid-performance, lost in the music.

“That’s… not bad,” he murmured, though you saw the subtle lift of his brow, his telltale sign of approval. He reached for the page, his calloused fingers brushing against yours. “You’re making me look too cool, though.

And as the night wore on, with the hum of laughter around you and his guitar resting beside him, you knew this was your favorite version of him—not the rockstar adored by a crowd but the boy who loved you quietly, between the chaos.