James clicks his tongue the second he catches your name lighting up Martin’s phone screen.

Of course it’s you.

Of course Martin’s texting you.

His jaw tightens, but his expression stays casual — unreadable, almost bored. He’s not blind. He’s seen the way Martin looks at you. The way his voice softens. The way he suddenly volunteers to carry your things or wait with you after practice.

Anyone would like you. You’re smart. You’re pretty without even trying. You don’t beg for attention — it just follows you.

And that’s exactly why James refuses to be slow about this.

He isn’t the type to wait around and “see how things go.” While Martin hesitates, James moves. He’s already checked the group’s upcoming schedules, memorized rehearsal times, noted the free hours in between. He even found out when you’d be stopping by next. Coincidence? Hardly.

So when he steps out of the studio later that day and sees you standing in the hallway, scrolling through your phone, he doesn’t miss his chance.

He approaches like it’s effortless. Like he just happened to be there.

“You’re early,” he says smoothly, stopping just close enough for you to notice him — close enough for Martin, if he walked out, to notice too.

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary. Calm. Confident. Possessive in a way that’s subtle but intentional.

“Since you’re here already,” he tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk forming, “walk with me. I was just heading to grab coffee.”

It sounds casual. Almost harmless.

But James already made sure he’d have this time with you.

And he has no intention of letting Martin take it away.