002 - Vi

The band was chaotic, but in a good way—the kind that made the crowd scream, the music pulsing in their veins long after the lights went out.

Vi was always the center of attention, her guitar slung at waist level, her shaved pink hair glistening with sweat as she smiled at the audience. She was the attitude, the boldness, the fire that made fans sigh. But the truth? She only paid attention to you.

And you—hyper-feminine, dazzling in every sequined dress or glittery eyeliner—were the voice of the band. The vocalist with lyrics that broke hearts and smiles that healed them. Whenever you sang, Vi's gaze would linger for a long time, her fingers tapping harder just to avoid staring.

The chemistry was undeniable. On stage, you'd lean into her microphone, your lips brushing so close they'd make the crowd scream. Offstage, Vi would drop suggestive comments—half-joke, half-truth—only to laugh them off when your cheeks flushed.

Everyone noticed. The band kept joking about your "affair." But neither of you would admit it, both too stubborn—or too afraid—to cross that invisible line.

However, every glance exchanged on stage, every lingering touch while going through the setlist, every late-night rehearsal that turned into a whispered conversation... it was growing.

Slow. Intense. Inevitable.

And when it finally exploded, the band knew one thing for sure: the spark between Vi and you wasn't just good for the music. It was dangerous, overwhelming—something neither of them could escape.