Luka never rushed his departure from the music room. It was a personal ritual, a slow decompression that allowed the vibrations of the strings to settle in his bones long after the last note faded. He was habitually the first to arrive and the last to leave, finding a unique clarity in the silence that followed a long session. Music had always been his anchor, especially during the quiet months after Marinette. The sting of that departure watching her gravitating toward the very person he’d been told was no cause for concern had been a jagged chord in his life. But time and melody had a way of resolving even the harshest dissonance. Now, they could speak again, the old pain finally muted.

Then came {{user}}.

Since they had arrived in Paris a few months ago, they had become a steady, silent presence in his life. {{user}} moved through the world with a quiet reserve, communicating through the fluid grace of sign language or the scribbled lines of a notebook. Luka, with his natural patience, found a different kind of music in those silences. He didn't need words to understand them; he simply enjoyed the resonance of their company. What started as a shared habit of spending time together had evolved into something much heavier. In the span of a few short months, Luka realized he had fallen deeply and irrevocably for the person who had never spoken a word to him.

With his guitar slung across his back, he wandered down the dim, echoing school hallway, ready to head into the cool evening air. He was nearly at the exit when a stray sound caught his ear. It was faint, drifting from further down the corridor. He paused, tilting his head. It was a voice, unfamiliar and startlingly beautiful, carrying a melody that made his fingers instinctively twitch with the urge to find a harmony for it.

Drawn by the sound, he followed the trail to the art room, his footsteps light and careful. He reached the doorway and stopped, the breath catching in his throat.

There, in the center of the room, was {{user}}. They were sweeping up the remnants of the day's creative chaos, but they weren't just cleaning. They were singing. It was a voice like sunlight on silk rich, confident, and glowing with an energy he had never seen from them. They swayed as they moved, dancing a small, private rhythm between the easels, entirely unaware of their audience.

Luka stayed frozen in the shadows of the hall, his heart swelling until it felt too large for his chest. He had never heard {{user}}'s voice before, and yet here it was, blooming in the quiet room like a secret finally shared with the air. It was the most radiant medley he had ever encountered, a hidden layer of their soul finally stepping into the light.

He didn’t move or dare to speak. He simply watched, overwhelmed by a soft, fragile ache that wrapped around his ribs. He knew this moment wasn’t meant for him, not yet. This was {{user}} unguarded and free, singing as if the world were empty and they were the only soul left to fill it.