It began quietly — not with thunder or fate, but with sunlight filtering through the dorm window and the scent of sand and coffee drifting in the air.

Leona was half-asleep on the couch, arm draped over his eyes, tail flicking lazily as you sat cross-legged beside him on the floor. You were supposed to be studying, but the silence between you had turned comfortable, heavy, familiar.

Then, without warning, he sat up, unplugged one earbud from his headset, and held it out to you.

“Here" he muttered.

You blinked. “What’s this?”

“Music" he said simply, eyes half-lidded. “Just listen.”

You pressed the earbud in, and the song started — soft, honeyed, a little haunting.

Would you wet your finger for me? Would you pinch me? Would you turn my page? Would you read me? Would you place a bookmark?

The lyrics spilled like a secret — like something he’d never say out loud.

You froze halfway through, heat creeping up your neck. You could feel his eyes on you, steady and unhurried, the corner of his mouth twitching into that signature smirk.