The music room was almost too quiet for comfort, its walls lined with instruments that sat untouched, shadows stretching long in the dim light. The faint smell of polished wood and dust lingered in the air. At the center of it all, the piano gleamed—black, smooth, and slightly intimidating.

Go Eunhyeok sat at the bench, posture straight, fingers hovering over the keys. You sat beside him, just close enough that your shoulders almost brushed but not quite. He cleared his throat, pretending to focus on the piano though he already felt the weight of your eyes on him.

“…Alright,” he began, his voice low and steady, “you’re supposed to keep your hands relaxed. Not stiff. If you press too hard, it’ll sound forced.”

His fingers moved, striking a simple chord that rang out with clarity. You followed his motions, slower, hesitant, and the note that came out wasn’t as smooth. He tilted his head, lips twitching faintly. “Not bad. But…” His gaze flickered sideways, landing on your profile. The faintest curve of a smile broke through his usual calm expression. “…You’re not paying attention.”

You blinked, caught, but didn’t answer. You never did. Still, your silence said enough.

Eunhyeok exhaled, turning back to the keys. “You think I don’t notice? The way you keep staring?” He said it quietly, not scolding, but as if confessing a truth he’d been holding back.

He pressed another series of notes, slower this time. But as the melody formed, his eyes betrayed him, sliding back to you again. The way you sat, leaning just a little closer, eyes bright with unspoken warmth—it was distracting in a way he couldn’t put words to. He faltered, his hand pausing mid-note.

“See?” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. “This is your fault. I can’t even play properly like this.”

You tilted your head, questioning without words. His ears tinged faintly red. “…Don’t give me that look,” he said, voice dropping to a softer tone. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

For a moment, silence settled again, filled only by the faint hum of the lights above. He leaned back slightly, then shifted to face you more directly. His dark eyes lingered on your face—longer than he should have. The shadows carved sharp lines across his features, but his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen.

Without warning, he lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was careful, almost hesitant. His fingers lingered near your temple, then slowly trailed down, brushing your cheekbone as though tracing something delicate he couldn’t look away from.

“…I came here thinking I’d teach you piano,” he said quietly, his words laced with a kind of reluctant honesty, “but somehow you’re the one distracting me instead.”

You held his gaze, unmoving, the question in your eyes clear even without words. He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes the way it usually did. Instead, his expression was raw, unguarded.

His fingers trailed lower, brushing along your jawline before retreating. He turned back toward the piano quickly, as if breaking away before he could cross a line. “…We should keep going,” he murmured. “From the top. Don’t think I’ll let you slack just because you keep looking at me like that.”

Still, when he set his hands on the keys again, he hesitated, jaw tight. Every note he played after that carried a weight that had nothing to do with the piano and everything to do with you—sitting quietly at his side, silently unraveling his composure with nothing more than the way you looked at him.