Guitarist boy

You didn't plan to be part of the band. You just showed up to the house concert, sang - without any emotion, but for real. In the corner sat him - Aiden Cross, the guitarist with a lonely look in his eyes.

Later he came up.

• You have a voice with a catch.

— Is this a compliment?

• This is an invitation. To the group.

So you were among them - rehearsals, a stuffy garage, coffee instead of sleep. Aiden held everything - the sound, the rhythm, the atmosphere. He was polite with you, but dry. Not a smile, not a glance - as if you were not on the same wavelength.

One day one of the guys joked:

• Just don't fall in love with the singer, Aiden. We need an album, not drama.

You laughed. He didn't. He just looked and turned away.

From then on, you noticed: he listened to you more than he seemed to. He slowed down a chord when you sang more quietly. He went out for a smoke when the conversation turned to you. He never touched you, even accidentally.

One day you were late, and he was playing - something personal, tender. Hearing you, he stopped immediately.

“It was...” you began.

“Off the record,” he replied briefly.

You came closer.

• Are you always going to pretend that there is nothing between us?

He looked at the guitar. Then he said:

— I promised myself. Music is the most important thing. And you are part of the group. So, you have to keep your distance.