The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of decay as leaves drifted lazily onto the bustling streets. Among the crowd, a man with strawberry-blonde hair darted between pedestrians, his hurried footsteps echoing against the pavement. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath visible in the cold air.

Dodging a frail elderly woman in his rush, he nearly knocked her over.

"Watch where you're going!" she shouted, shaking her cane at him.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he called back, his voice fading as he disappeared down the subway stairs.

The subway platform buzzed with life, but the announcement of an imminent departure spurred him on. He sprinted, barely squeezing through the closing train doors, the mechanical chime signaling his narrow escape.

Inside, he leaned against the wall, gasping for air. His voice came in soft, breathless mutters.

"Shit, this city… it's too damn big. I should've just bought a motorcycle."

Sliding his sleeve up, he glanced at his watch. The time was irrelevant; he was late regardless. With a groan, he shifted his gaze upward, scanning the train car—and froze.

Standing just a few feet away was a man.

His messy orange hair caught the pale light streaming through the windows, its disarray contrasting his strikingly beautiful face. His features, delicate yet sharp, held a quiet intensity. Though it was the middle of winter, his sun-kissed skin defied the season's chill, giving him an almost ethereal quality.

Spring's breath hitched as recognition struck him like a blow to the chest.

"No… no way." His mind raced. "That's him… It's him—shit!"

Heart pounding, Spring whipped his head away, pulling his hood up in a desperate attempt to shield his face. His pulse thundered in his ears as he silently begged the universe to let this moment pass unnoticed. The weight of the past threatened to crush him, but for now, all he could do was cower under its shadow.

As the train jolted forward, silence filled the space between them—an oppressive quiet, thick with tension and the ghost of unspoken words.

The train hummed with energy as it sped through the tunnels, the faint whir of its motion vibrating beneath the passengers' feet. Spring sat rigidly, trying—and failing—to appear calm. His hood was pulled low over his head, his face tilted away from the man standing across the car.

"Just act normal," he told himself, his hands gripping his knees tightly. He tried to stand, hoping to blend in with the few passengers moving about, but a sudden jolt from the train forced him back into his seat. His heart raced as his mind spiraled.

"If he sees me… no, if Summer sees me, I'm dead. He'll kill me. I'll be nothing but Strawberry jam smeared across the floor."

The train screeched to a halt, the intercom crackling as it announced the next station. Spring didn't bother to listen. He was already on his feet, his only goal to escape and find another route—anywhere but here.

Keeping his head low and his gaze averted, he shuffled out of the car. His steps were careful, deliberate, as if walking too fast might betray him. The cold air of the platform greeted him, and he stopped in front of a vending machine, exhaling heavily.

"Hah… That was a close one," he muttered, staring at the rows of drinks and snacks through the glass. "I feel so sick…"

But just as the tension in his chest began to ease, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Hey, dude, can you, like, move?" a familiar voice drawled. "Stop checking yourself out in the vending machine glass, or hurry up and grab a drink."

Spring froze. His stomach twisted as his eyes darted to the vending machine's reflection. There he was—the orange-haired man standing behind him, his casual yet unmistakable presence filling the space like a storm cloud.

Oh no. No no no. It's him again. Does he recognize me? Is he going to kill me?

Spring's thoughts spiraled until, in a flash of clarity, he remembered: Summer wasn't wearing his glasses. His vision had to be poor. Spring adjusted his hood and quickly turned around, contorting his expression into a halfhearted frown and lowering his voice.

"Oh, sorry, man. I was just, uh, checking myself out. Here ya go." He stepped aside, waving awkwardly at the vending machine.

Summer squinted at him, his amber eyes narrowing as if trying to focus. The tension in the air thickened.

"You remind me of someone," Summer said, his tone casual yet probing. "I don't know why… maybe it's your hair or something." He shrugged, brushing the thought aside. "Whatever. Want a drink too? My treat."

Spring blinked, his mind struggling to keep up. What? Of all the things he expected, this wasn't one of them. He hesitated, caught between the urge to run and the risk of blowing his cover.

"Uh…" Spring mumbled, his voice faltering before he managed to respond. "Sure… Thanks."

Spring took the drink from Summer's outstretched hand, his fingers brushing the cold can. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Summer would say something else, but instead, the orange-haired man tilted his head back and downed his own drink in a single gulp. The empty can crumpled slightly in his grip before he tossed it into the garbage with a casual flick of his wrist.

Without a word, Summer walked away. No glance back, no parting comment—just the soft echo of his boots fading into the distance.

Spring stood frozen, gripping the unopened can tightly. Something inside him twisted. He had wanted to avoid Summer, to stay invisible, but being dismissed so easily stung in a way he hadn't expected. It made him feel… small. Insignificant.

Shaking the feeling off, he sighed and made his way up the stairs, relieved to see he had arrived close to his destination. His watch told him he was only two minutes shy of the specified time.

"At least I'm not late," he thought, trying to refocus his mind. "Let's hope this time, the band actually works out."

The entrance to the underground bar came into view. Dimly lit and quiet, it seemed to mirror the mood that clung to Spring like a shadow. Inside, only four people milled about—familiar faces from his college days. His old bandmates.

A wave of nostalgia hit him as he took in the cozy, slightly worn space. They hadn't made it big back then, but the memories of those nights on a small stage, laughing and playing their hearts out, were enough to bring a faint smile to his lips.

A woman with wavy brown hair and sharp blue eyes was the first to notice him. She approached with a wide grin, her voice teasing yet warm.

"Heyyyy, Pinkie! It's been a while, how've you been?"

Spring groaned at the nickname. "Dice, are you seriously still calling me that?"

Before he could say more, another girl with sleek black hair streaked with vibrant blue highlights joined them.

"O, M, Jeez!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms out dramatically. "Is that really you, Pinkie? You've gotten so much taller!"

Spring chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, well, people grow, Chance."

Dice tilted her head, inspecting him. "You're drenched in sweat…" she pointed out, her gaze moving up and down his figure.

Before Spring could reply, a tall man with dark skin and neat dreadlocks walked over, his deep voice tinged with humor.

"Sheesh, you look like you just saw a ghost," he said with a smirk. "Did you?"

Spring hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "I might as well have! I saw him there…"

Chance raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Your ex from high school? Damn. It's been years, and you still don't shut up about him. I thought you said you moved on."

Dice chimed in, her tone skeptical. "Yeah, haven't you?"

Spring's face flushed. "O-OF COURSE I HAVE! It's just… he'd actually kill me if he saw me again! I know him!"

Dice rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's not that serious. He's probably forgotten all about you anyway. Oh, no offense, by the way!"

Spring groaned, but before he could defend himself, another figure approached the group. A man with short brown hair and the same striking blue eyes as Dice. Her twin brother, Twelve, who wasn't part of the band but owned the bar they were about to rehearse in.

"C'mon now," Twelve said, clapping his hands. "I ain't paying y'all to chat around. Let's see what you've got."

The group exchanged glances, and Spring took a deep breath. The tension in his chest eased slightly. It wasn't much, but this band—their music—was his escape.