Backstage was a blur of quiet excitement and half-whispered nerves. The dressing room glowed under warm bulbs, the air filled with the scent of hairspray and anticipation. The Music Club was scattered across the space, tuning instruments, adjusting outfits, murmuring through last-minute checks.

Melanie sat in front of the mirror, her reflection soft and glowing. One of the girls was finishing the last curl in her hair, the strands falling in gentle waves around her shoulders. Her makeup was light—barely there, just enough to bring out the spark in her eyes. She looked calm on the outside, but her fingers tapped a quiet rhythm on her lap.

Behind her, Matt lingered, guitar slung across his shoulder. His gaze kept drifting toward her before flicking away just as quickly, like he was trying not to get caught thinking too much.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat softly.

“Hey… Livi,” he said, using the nickname only he ever did. It had started as a joke months ago—something playful, casual—but now it was something else. Softer. Familiar.

Melanie glanced up in the mirror at the sound of it. Her lips curved just barely, the corners tugging up.

Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Think we could add a song to the setlist?”

Livi—Melanie—turned a little in her seat. “Which one?”

He hesitated for a beat, then gave a quiet shrug. “That one we played… music room. Just acoustic. Nothing big. I thought maybe…” He trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

But he didn’t have to.

She remembered.

Her blush came before her answer, a soft pink that bloomed across her cheeks. “Okay,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. Brief. Charged. And then, like magnets pushed apart, they both looked away.

“Hey, Melanie—” came a voice from behind. It was Rick, pausing on his way out with his drumsticks tucked under his arm. He looked between them, then grinned like he’d just stumbled on a secret.

“Do you guys like each other or something?”

“HUH?!” they both blurted, at the same time, voices sharp with panic.

Rick just laughed, walking off without waiting for an answer. “Knew it. Anyway, thirty minutes, backstage.”

Silence settled behind him, awkward and warm all at once.

Melanie turned back to the mirror. Matt looked down at his guitar.

The sky had fallen into a dusky lavender, the last traces of sunlight giving way to strings of fairy lights that flickered above the stage like captured stars. The crowd had gathered, their voices a low murmur of excitement, eyes drawn to the glowing centerpiece of the festival.

And then, slowly, the murmurs faded. Matt and Melanie stepped into the light.

The final night of the school festival.

They stood side by side on the wooden platform, the soft hum of the amp warming beneath Matt’s fingertips. Melanie held the mic loosely, her fingers curled around it like it was something fragile. They didn’t look at the crowd. Not at first.

There was a quiet between them—not silence, but a stillness. The kind that hums with unsaid things.

Matt adjusted the strap of his guitar and nodded once. Just enough.

Then he began to play.

The first strum was soft, almost hesitant, but it held a warmth that settled into the space like a familiar breath. His fingers moved with instinct, steady and sure. And though he faced forward, his gaze flicked toward Melanie—just for a heartbeat. She saw it.

Then she sang.

‘’When I look into your eyes, it’s like watching the night sky, or a beautiful sunrise, well there’s so much they hold—‘’

Her voice rose gently into the evening air—delicate, clear, and full of something unspoken. The crowd fell completely silent. It wasn’t just the melody that caught them. It was her. It was them.

Their music was more than a performance.

 It was a conversation.

Each note Matt played met each word Melanie sang like they were answering each other, filling the space between them with something real. 

Something just the two of them only understand.

And in that brief, golden moment under the fairy lights, they weren’t just two students on a school stage. They were two in sync, with Melanie only trusting on Matt’s cues.

Everyone watching could feel it—even if they didn’t know why.

And maybe neither did Matt or Melanie.

Not yet.

But the song had begun.

The duet between Melanie and Matt was flawless. Their voices blended perfectly as they sang "I Won’t Give Up" by Jason Mraz, with Matt’s guitar playing adding a tender depth to the performance. The crowd fell silent, caught in the magic of the moment.

From the side of the stage, Knox stood frozen, watching them. His gaze locked onto Melanie, then flickered to Matt, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. For a brief moment, a shadow of something darker crossed his face—jealousy, longing, regret, or maybe all three. But then, as the music swelled around him, the hardness in his features melted away. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

How had it happened?

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and he quickly turned away to hide it. The last thing he wanted to do was show it, especially now. But the realization was overwhelming. How had he missed it? All the signs were there, every glance, every half-second of hesitation.

They’d been through so much together—shared so many moments.

 But somewhere, in the weeks leading up to now, it had all slipped through his fingers. And as much as he tried to deny it, as much as he told himself to move on, to accept that things had changed, it didn’t matter. The truth was undeniable.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture sharp with the frustration he’d been trying to hide. Under his breath, he muttered, “Guess I’m late, huh?”

Once the song ended, Melanie and Matt smiled at each other. Something only they could understand perhaps. Then turning to their bandmates.

 Knox made his way backstage, waiting for them to arrive. As they stepped offstage, he walked over, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Could I borrow you for a sec?" he asked, holding out a bouquet of bright sunflowers toward Melanie.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? You didn’t have to, geez," she stammered, touched by the gesture, he knew her favorite flowers.

Knox chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, you guys were amazing back there. Anyway... you're my chaperone for senior’s night, okay?"

Melanie raised an eyebrow, the teasing tone creeping into her voice. "Whoa, are you asking me on a date, Knox?"

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Sure," he replied with a half-smile. "You know I got no one."

"Liar—" Melanie started, but then smirked. "You said you were the handsomest boy of all. Where did all of that bragging go?"

Knox smiled back, but there was something behind his eyes that made her pause. His gaze was distant, like he was holding something back. "Just come with me, okay? Treat it as a gift for me."

Melanie studied him for a moment, then nodded, her teasing tone softening. "Alright, fine. For you."

The band was set and ready to go for the night at the restaurant. In the quiet of the music club room, I made my way back toward Matt. We were alone now, the soft clatter of instruments being stored filling the air as he carefully placed his guitar in the storage area. His gaze flicked to mine, curiosity glinting in his eyes.

“I’M BAAACK!” Melanie called out, her voice bubbling with playful triumph as she twirled into the room—maybe it was the thrill of finally dressing up for Knox’s senior night, or the bouquet he’d handed her with that crooked smile, or maybe, just maybe, it was still the adrenaline from the duet she and Matt had absolutely nailed tonight.

"What were you two talking about?" he asked, his tone casual, yet there was something else beneath it—something unreadable.

I shrugged. "Oh, he was just asking me to be there for his Senior Night."

Matt’s expression shifted. His brows knitted together, his hands pausing over the instrument case. "You know he likes you, right?"

I froze mid-step, my face contorting into a meme-worthy expression of shock. "Huh? You're kidding, right?"

But Matt didn’t laugh. His serious gaze pinned me in place, and an unfamiliar weight settled in my chest.

"He's my childhood friend," I argued, crossing my arms. "I see him like an older brother."

Matt exhaled, shaking his head as if he knew something I didn’t. "But I don’t think Knox sees you that way." His voice was quieter now, laced with something I couldn’t quite place—concern? Frustration?

I scoffed, waving him off. "Nah, you're just imagining things. We're just close."

The words left my lips easily enough, I DO see him like an older brother.

Matt's face darkened, his usual easygoing expression replaced by something more serious. A flicker of concern stirred in my chest. An awkward situation with just the both of us in the room.

"Come on, Matt. Let's go," I said, turning towards the door.

Before I could take a step, his hand wrapped around mine, stopping me in place. His grip was firm but hesitant, as if he was debating whether to say something or let it go.

I turned back to him, my brows furrowing. "What's wrong?"

His fingers tightened just slightly before he exhaled, his eyes searching mine. Whatever was on his mind, it was something he couldn't ignore.

Matt’s expression darkened further, his voice carrying a sharp edge of annoyance.

"Yeah, close enough to give you flowers," he muttered, his eyes locked onto mine as he leaned in.

I stiffened. "I… uh… uhm…" My words tangled on my tongue. Never mind what he said—he was getting closer!

His voice dropped lower, teasing yet laced with something deeper. "Yeah, right. I'm also your friend. The one you like to hang out with, just like this. Only the two of us. Alone. In this club room."

I barely had time to react before I felt the warmth of his other hand rest lightly against my waist.

"Hey, wait—" My pulse quickened as I instinctively placed my hand against his chest, trying to keep some distance between us.

Matt stopped, then let out a dry chuckle—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. His lips curled into something between amusement and frustration.

He turned away and walked towards the door. "Come on, let's go. Everyone's waiting."

I stood frozen, my fingers still tingling from where they'd brushed against him, as if the heat of the contact had ignited a storm within me. His actions left me flustered, my mind spinning with questions I didn't know how to answer. I could feel the words—the words—clawing at my throat, demanding to be spoken, but I was afraid to let them go. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if everything changed, and I lost the fragile connection we had?  

"Why?" The question came out almost as a whisper.

I ran after him and hugged him from behind, the warmth of his body so close that it sent a shockwave of clarity through me. "The one I like is you, Matt," I blurted out, breathless.

The words slipped past my lips before I could think twice—Wait, that wasn’t what I was supposed to say.

Matt’s body stiffened, and I could hear him shift, trying to turn around. His voice was low, controlled. “What...?”

“No, don't you dare move." I tightened my hold on him, refusing to let him slip away. My heart was beating too fast, my thoughts a mess of confusion and fear. "Whose decision was it that we’d be seatmates? Or why did you even talk to me? Why are we in the same club, Matt? Why go with me to lunch, huh? Why wait for me to walk me home after school? Why give me that bracelet you made? Why—”

I could feel the tension in his muscles as he finally turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching mine, as if he was trying to understand the mess of words I was throwing at him. And then, like everything fell into place, he raised his hand to my cheek. His touch was gentle, warm, almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe it was real, or whether he had any right to feel this way.

And then, he kissed me.

Awkward, unpracticed, like two hearts fumbling through an unspoken song. His lips were tentative, as though testing the weight of a moment neither of us had been ready for. It was fragile, like glass, like if either of us moved wrong, the whole thing would crumble into nothing. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen, for everything to either fall into place or shatter completely.

But when he pulled away, his eyes still locked onto mine, I was left breathless, my heart thundering in my chest, too fast, too wild, as though it had never known a rhythm until now. The moment hung between us, suspended in time, and for a fleeting second, nothing else mattered.

I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine, and for the first time, everything seemed to make sense. It wasn’t just a kiss— It was mine. 

Our first kiss.

Be still, my heart.