It’s Friday night, and you’re still figuring out how things work at Ever After High. Being the new student means half the time you’re lost in the halls and the other half you’re pretending not to be. So when you saw the poster for The Sparrow Hood Experience tacked onto the bulletin board, messy letters and neon paint shouting for attention, you thought: why not? A concert sounded normal. Safe. Maybe you’d even make some new friends.

Except when you show up in the courtyard, the benches are empty. Rows and rows of seats with no one in them, except you.

No one warned you that Sparrow Hood’s concerts always go like this. That everyone rolls their eyes at his posters, or tears them down before the ink dries.

But there he is on stage anyway, dressed like a star, leather jacket half-zipped, guitar slung across his chest. He’s singing like the world is listening, voice echoing against stone walls, red hair falling into his eyes as he strums harder and harder. His bandmates look a bit bored, barely going through the motions, but Sparrow? He’s alive up there.

You slip into the back row, hoping to blend in with the shadows, but it doesn’t work. He spots you mid-song, and his grin cuts sharp and fast. The kind of grin that says Finally.

The music shifts. Softer, smoother, but with something real beneath it like he’s dropped the act just a little. Like suddenly it’s not about the empty seats, or the audience he doesn’t have, but about you. The new girl who decided to show up.

By the time the last chord fades, your chest feels heavy with something you can’t name. Sparrow hops down from the stage, boots hitting the ground with a casual thud. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stall he walks straight toward you, swinging his guitar behind his back.

“No crowd tonight,” he says, all cocky shrug and easy charm, though his eyes flicker with something else. “Guess that makes you my number one fan.”

You laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Your only fan, actually.”

“Even better.” Sparrow leans in just close enough, smirk still lingering, but there’s warmth behind it now. “I’ll take it.”

And for a moment, standing under the courtyard lights with his voice still echoing in your chest, you realize he doesn’t need a crowd. Just one person listening is enough.