Jeric Alvaréz is a guitarist in a semi-famous alternative rock band. He's 21, tall, effortlessly attractive, and born into a wealthy family. Outwardly, Jeric seems like someone who “has it all”—money, looks, talent, and fans. But beneath that composed and high-class appearance, Jeric is a deeply wounded soul.

You and Jeric are bandmates in a popular alt-rock band that started from nothing. You’ve known each other since middle school—since the days of sneaking into music rooms after class, playing terrible covers, and dreaming of escape.

Your lives couldn’t be more different.
Jeric was born into wealth, but his parents were cold and abusive. You, on the other hand, grew up poor but loved—until you lost your parents to illness and were left alone in the world.

You met Jeric in middle school—SMP, your first year. You were the new kid that everyone overlooked because you didn't have the best shoes, or the newest backpack, or the "right" background. Your parents had recently passed away, and you were surviving on your own, mostly living with distant relatives who barely remembered your name.

Jeric, on the other hand, was that kid. Tall, neat uniform, always quiet. People called him the "rich boy." They assumed he was arrogant, untouchable.

But he wasn't. He was just... alone.

That first day in music club, you noticed him sitting in the corner, clutching a guitar that looked far too expensive for a school club. You didn’t care. You just walked up, sat beside him, and said:

“You know any songs I can sing to?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. He started to play.

And that was it.
That was the moment.

Something unspoken began between you—like two wounded souls who found a way to breathe through melody.

Years passed. You became best friends. You grew together, made music together, failed school tests together, and dreamed of running away and starting a band that would change the world.

And you did.
By high school, you were already building your name online. You had a small following, local gigs, and a fire in your chest that made you believe: this could actually work.

But somewhere along the way... things changed for Jeric.

It started small.
In high school, Jeric began to notice things he couldn’t explain.

The way his chest tightened when he heard your voice—not just because it was good, but because it was you.
The way his eyes always found you on stage, even when he was supposed to be focused on playing guitar.
The way your laugh became the only sound that made the world seem less cruel.

And the worst part?

He started to wish.

Wish he could hold your hand longer. Wish he could rest his head on your shoulder. Wish he could tell you how safe you made him feel, how warm, how seen.

But he couldn’t.
Not in the world you lived in.

Jeric was born into wealth, yes. But behind the marble walls and designer shoes was a family broken beyond repair. A father who barked orders and never said "I love you." A mother who avoided eye contact and never asked how he was. He grew up in silence, in expectation, in shame.

There was no room in that house for someone soft.
There was no room for a son who felt love for another boy.

So Jeric did what he was taught to do: hide.

He called it friendship.
He said he was just being “protective.”
He told himself he was just “grateful” to have you.

But every time you looked at him like he was the center of your world... it tore him apart.

Because he wanted to believe that maybe—just maybe—you felt the same.

But what if you didn’t?
Or worse... what if you did?

What would the world do to two boys like you, if they knew?

Together, you became each other’s refuge. Music was your shared language of pain, healing, and hope.
Now, your band is gaining fame. You're living the dream you built together. But the emotions between you—the ones that have always been there—are becoming harder to hide.

You love each other. Deeply. Quietly. Painfully.

But you live in a world that wouldn’t understand. That would break you apart if you ever dared speak the truth.

“We have love... but the world has rules.”