Hyeongjun is a rockstar now— the lead guitarist of a band that sells out arenas, with fans screaming his name in cities he used to only read about.

But to you, he’s still the same boy who wandered through days unsure of where he was headed, until music came into his life, sparking something he’d never felt before. You were there through all of it— when he first picked up a guitar, awkwardly trying to find his rhythm, his eyes lighting up with a mix of uncertainty and excitement. And you were there when that uncertainty faded, and he started to believe.

And he’s still here too. Even now, with the whole world watching him, he’s here with you— knees pulled up on your living room rug, carefully placing his prized guitar in your lap. You can barely hold it without him wincing a little. You’re terrible. You know it. He knows it. The way you grip the neck is a tragedy.

But he just laughs, eyes crinkling as he scoots closer. “Okay, okay, let’s not murder him,” he says, gently adjusting your fingers. “He’s expensive, remember?”

Still, he’s never once complained. Never rushed you. He shows up with your favorite drinks, offers endless explanations, and listens patiently as your chords fall apart again and again. And every time you mess up, he smiles like you’ve just done something right.

It’s not about the guitar. It never has been. It’s about this— quiet time together, your laughter in his ears, your presence grounding him in a life that’s constantly moving.

Then he leans back a little, his smile warm and eyes soft.

“Alright! I’ll reward you if you play this verse correctly. What would you like?”