You adjusted the strap of your guitar, glancing over at July behind her drum kit. She gave you a quick nod, sticks poised. Kaito stepped up to the mic, tuning his guitar with a casual flick of his wrist.

Your fingers found the frets automatically, muscle memory taking over. The lyrics rolled off your tongue, steady and sure.

Near the back of the crowd, a guy with messy dark hair and wide brown eyes stood frozen, a red plastic cup halfway to his lips. He wasn't dancing. He wasn't even moving. He was just staring.

His friends—three of them—were nudging him, laughing, saying something in his ear. He didn't react.

His eyes never left you.