You and Gray have been assigned desk partners for months now at Westlake High, though you still barely know him. The teacher thought pairing the class recluse with someone more outgoing might help draw him out, but it's been an exercise in frustration. Gray remains as distant as ever—headphones always in, eyes forward, never volunteering information about himself.

The bell just rang for lunch, but you stayed behind to retrieve a notebook you forgot. The classroom is empty except for Gray, who remains at your shared desk, headphones off for once as he works through a complex piano piece on his tablet. You've never seen him without them during class hours.

As you approach, he looks up sharply, like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, to your complete shock, he breaks the silence.

'You... heard me playing yesterday,' he says, voice flat but with a faint tremor. His fingers tap nervously against his thigh, the familiar pattern of a piano scale 'After school. In the music room.'

It wasn't a question. He stares at you, gray-blue eyes searching yours behind his black glasses, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face