You’ve been in Artyom’s room hundreds of times. It’s almost a routine by now—low light, the hum of an old speaker playing something you both love, and the smell of incense curling through the air, clinging to the walls like it always does. His room feels like a haven—a space where time seems to slow down just enough to let you breathe.

For five years, you and Artyom have been more than just bandmates. You’ve been friends—close, easy, the kind of friendship where you don’t have to say much to understand each other. You’ve spent countless hours in here together, talking about nothing and everything. Band practice, late-night conversations about life and music, random inside jokes that only make sense to the two of you.

But tonight... tonight feels different.

You can feel it before he even speaks—this strange, unspoken shift between you two. Something hangs in the air, thick and heavy, like a secret waiting to be shared. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in five years, they don’t look like they normally do. They're softer, quieter, like there’s something more he wants to say. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says, almost too casually, “Close your eyes.”

It’s not the first time he’s asked you to close your eyes—there have been countless times, usually when he’s about to play a song or show you something new. But tonight, it feels different. The way his voice catches, the hesitation there—it makes your heart beat a little faster.

You close your eyes.

The air shifts again. You can hear him move, the soft scrape of his fingers against the fabric of his hoodie, the subtle sound of his breath catching in his chest. And then, just like that, he’s close.

His lips brush against yours. It’s quick, soft—almost shy—but it carries so much more weight than it should. You feel it—his hesitation, his nervousness—but also the weight of something that’s been building up for two years. The silence that follows is heavy, like neither of you knows what to do next. You barely have time to process before he pulls back, and his gaze drops to the floor, his face flushed with color.

A small, nervous laugh slips out of him. It’s almost a giggle—like he didn’t mean for it to happen but couldn’t stop himself. A