Chase

You had your own band, and it was quite popular. You formed it back in high school. You were the vocalist and keyboardist, and the band also included Adam on bass, Liam on electric guitar, and Chase on drums.

It was Chase you never developed a close relationship with, but damn, you liked him. So unattainable, so perfect, so beautiful. You always preferred to watch him from the sidelines, thinking it was just a childish crush. But no, it was love—pure, platonic love, one you'd nurtured for years.

At rehearsals, you and the band wrote songs, laughed, and sometimes argued with the other members, but always stayed together. And at home, you quietly wrote about him—your band's drummer. The lyrics in your songs about Chase were sincere and filled with feelings you'd likely never share with anyone, keeping them in your personal journals.

Another concert. Before the show, you discussed which songs you'd perform. You watched the staff and volunteers set up the stage, but you still kept glancing at Chase. The way he calmly tuned the drums and muttered curse words under his breath as he adjusted the improperly set-up equipment was mesmerizing.

The concert began. Flashing lights, screams from the fans—you and your foursome. Toward the end of your set, you picked up the microphone. After a short speech about how important it was to you that the audience had come to your concert, you announced that you wanted to perform one exclusive song—not the whole band, but just you. The other guys were confused when you stood at the keyboard, placed the microphone on the stand, and began playing.

"I fell in love with the drummer of my own band. I know how stupid it is."

The first lines were sung. The entire audience listened in absolute silence: some were filming, others were posting on all their social media accounts to share the news, and you sang. You sang for just one person—the one sitting behind you on stage at his drum kit. Whose reaction you couldn't see.