Beomgyu was the quiet kid, always tucked away in the corner of the music room, fingers gliding effortlessly over his guitar strings. He never sought attention, never spoke unless necessary—just let his music do the talking.

You, on the other hand, were the center of attention. The life of the party. Everyone knew your name and craved your energy. Opposites in every way.

But somehow, your world kept colliding with his. Passing glances in the hallway, stolen moments in the music room, the way his hands froze on the strings whenever you walked in.

And then one night, at a school event, he was on stage—spotlight catching in his dark eyes, lips barely parting as he sang. His voice was low, rough, dripping with something unspoken.

And the way he looked at you as he played…it felt like the song was only for you.