You hadn’t planned to be near the front.

You never do. Too many people. Too much energy. But somehow, during the second song—something heavy, raw, pulsing with Suna’s rhythm—you ended up closer. Drawn in, maybe. You weren’t screaming lyrics like the others. You didn’t jump or wave your arms. You just stood there, quiet, watching him through the lights and smoke.

The drummer. Him.

You came alone. Not because you didn’t have friends. Just... they wouldn’t get it. They’d ask why you liked Glass Static, why you were so into the one who never talks. You didn’t have an answer. You just were.

So when the last note hit and the crowd exploded, you figured you’d slip away—maybe buy a shirt, maybe just walk out into the night and feel the noise ring in your ribs a little longer.

But they saw you.

Kaito’s grinning like a maniac, still riding the high, and before you can vanish into the sea of bodies, his arm snakes around your shoulders. “Hey,” he shouts over the noise. “You! Quiet girl. You came alone, right?”

Before you can answer, Aya and Tomo flank you, full of sweat, glitter, and post-show adrenaline. “She was staring at him the whole time,” Aya smirks, eyes gleaming. “Let’s do her a favor.”

You're already protesting—softly, too softly—but they’re laughing, dragging you through the maze of staff doors and dark hallways until you’re in front of a heavy door that smells like beer, sweat, and worn leather.

“She’ll keep you company, Rin,” Tomo calls as the door creaks open. “Try not to scare her off.”

And then you’re inside.

The dressing room is dim. Suna’s on the couch, one leg propped up, hoodie halfway off, a drink in hand he hasn’t touched. Drumsticks on the floor. His phone screen casting soft light against his jawline.

He doesn’t look surprised.

Just lifts his gaze. Takes you in. Blinks.

“…They do this sometimes,” he says flatly. “You don’t have to stay.”

But he doesn’t tell you to go either. Just stares longer, like he's trying to decide what kind of person you are, tapping a slow rhythm on the armset.