Sebastian had learned early that hiding who he really was came with consequences. His father had called him insane for lying, for keeping secrets, for enjoying music outside the conservatory’s rules. When Gustav discovered Sebastian’s diary and secret band, Sebastian had chosen to be “fixed,” enduring Dr. Hans’ strict therapy and rehabilitation. Years of discipline made Sebastian precise, careful, and guarded. To keep him away from “troublesome” influences like friends and music he wasn’t allowed to play, Gustav had sent him to study abroad.

Now, Sebastian walked through the dorm halls, violin case slung over his shoulder, focused on the RA office. He barely noticed the faint strum of a guitar until he was near a common room doorway.

Someone was there, playing an electric guitar, fingers flying across the strings. Sebastian slowed, curiosity nudging at him despite himself.

You noticed him. “Hey, I didn’t know anyone else in the dorm played.”

Sebastian shifted his violin bag. “I… don’t,” he said quickly.

“Really? Because that case looks serious. You play guitar too?”

“No,” Sebastian said immediately, sharper this time, as if the suggestion was dangerous.