Streetlights slipped past them one by one as the streets stretched out before them. She lifted her chin slightly, peeking past Demian's shoulder. The road ahead was mostly empty with only a few cars passing now and then, their headlights gliding by like distant stars. Serin tilted her head back slightly, eyes half-closed, letting the night air brush against her face.
She shifted just a little, leaning to the side to get a clearer view, her skirt fluttering with the wind. A smile tugged at her lips. The rush of air made Her hair lift messily
Then reality crept back in. A shiver ran through her.
The wind bit harder this time, slipping through the thin fabric of her sleeves.
Damn it… I should've worn my jacket. She pressed closer without thinking, arms wrapping around Demian's waist more tightly.
"I'm cold…" she muttered, barely louder than the wind, pride clearly holding her back.
"Did you say something?" Demian asked, tilting his head just a little, eyes still fixed ahead.
"I'm cold…" she repeated, voice almost lost between the engine and the air.
"HUH!?"
Her grip tightened. Serin leaned forward and shouted near his ear, voice sharp and flustered.
"DAMMIT, I'M COLD! WHY CAN'T YOU HEAR?!"
The sudden shout made Demian flinch slightly. He pulled the bike over to the side of the road. "Get your jacket out…"
Serin froze for a moment, caught off guard. She had braced herself for some teasing, an I told you so, or a sarcastic remark. But none came.
Quietly, she slipped on her jacket. Demian stayed seated on the bike, eyes fixed on the road, silent and steady.
After a short ride, they reached his studio. Serin followed him to the door as he pushed it open and stepped inside. She paused near the threshold, unsure whether to move forward.
"Come in… I don't bite," Demian said, flipping on the lights.
"Pardon the intrusion…" she murmured, stepping carefully, trying to hide her excitement.
Demian let out a small, mocking laugh. "Are Japanese people always this polite?"
"I'm half, so don't expect too much," she replied flatly, her gaze already sweeping across the room.
The light revealed the studio clearly. It was a simple single room with a small kitchenette that could make snacks, a tiny bathroom tucked near the entry. But the aesthetics made the room come to life. The colours carried the energy of an artist. Serin stepped further inside, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes roamed.
Guitars hung neatly on one wall, while a few lay on the stands. Flyers from past performances were pinned above the computer. A small worn out wooden box stored guitar picks near the computer.
Her attention drifted to the art corner. Canvases stood on easels, some blank, some painted. Paint tubes, sketchbooks were scattered around, brushes resting in jars. The walls themselves were a canvas. Hand-painted colorful drawings, scribbled notes, doodles of guitars, drums, and random phrases sprawled messily across every surface. She had always known Demian could draw, but seeing his current work made her realize just how much he had improved since their last art class together.
The bed was neatly made. Somehow, the room felt perfectly organized and messy at the same time—like it reflected his life.
Serin sank slightly onto his computer chair as Demian crossed the room. He stopped in front of the guitar stands as he lifted one and slid it into its case.
She watched him for a moment, head tilted.
"Do your friends come here often?"
"Not really." He tested a low note on a bass, the sound vibrating briefly before he cut it off.
Serin hummed, spinning the chair once, then slowing it with her foot,
"Do you stay here more… or at your apartment?"
"Don't know."
Her eyes narrowed just a bit. So vague.
"Did you ever take professional art lessons?" she asked, leaning an elbow on the desk.
"Don't have the time."
"But you show your arts to your friends, right?" She looked around the room. "Because they are seriously amazing."
"…Thanks." He put the bass into another guitar case.
Her gaze wandered to the flyers on the desk. She reached out, tapping one lightly.
"You make these too?"
"Yeah."
"And the name Pantagra, whose idea was that?"
"All of ours."
"What does it—"
Before she could finish, Demian suddenly shoved one of the guitar bags into her arms. "Carry this," Demian said, already reaching for his keys. "I'll take the other."
Serin blinked, tightening her grip. By the time she looked up, he was halfway to the door.
"…Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, puffing her cheeks. "…Gatekeeping your life as always, huh," she muttered again, sticking her tongue out behind his back.
Serin leaned against the banister while Demian worked the lock, the metal clicking softly in the quiet stairwell.
"Hey…"
She hesitated, then lifted both hands, tugging two loose strands of hair forward to half-hide her face. "Thanks… for showing me this place."
She glanced away, then added quickly, "I know I'm digging too much into your life, but you really should show people your talent more. Your art and your music… they're amazing."
Demian's movements slowed., keys lingering in his hand a second longer than necessary. He didn't look at her.
"…Thanks. I'll try."
He stepped closer, shifting the conversation like it was nothing. "The case too heavy?"
"Oh no! Not at all!" Serin said instantly, lifting the guitar case with one hand as proof.
Her lips parted again when she saw him walk toward the bike. "Uh…" She hesitated, then the words tumbled out too fast. "I'M SO SORRY but I invited Evelyn to come to school too." She forced a nervous smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Demian stopped. Turned around. His eyes widened.
"…WHAT—"
"—THE HELL is wrong with them?!" Minho groaned, pacing the sidewalk as he checked the street again, phone pressed to his ear.
"Demian promised he wouldn't be late," he snapped, stabbing the call button for the third time.
Revi sat on a nearby bench, gaze fixed ahead. "Didn't expect Jace to be late too," he muttered. "He's got half of the instruments."
"Revi Ashford, known for his ash-brown hair color." Evelyn puffed loudly.
"LOL, isn't brown like what—the most common hair color in the world!?" she laughed, strolling lazily as she kept reading the article about the Pantagra band members.
Revi Ashford, known as the most mature one in the group and its lead guitarist. He blended effortlessly into any situation with ease. Very few had ever seen him lose his temper. His calm presence and manners only added to his popularity, especially among girls.
He was undeniably handsome. His features were sharp and well-defined. Light brown eyes—almost honey-toned, sat beneath straight brows. There was something steady about his gaze that made people trust him without knowing why.
A full Canadian by nationality, Revi grew up surrounded by creativity and ambition. His family ran a well-known modeling company, famous for raising stars from ashes. So money had never been an issue for him. Despite that, he carried himself with quiet humility. Offstage, he liked to write—lyrics, fragments of poems, thoughts he never shared easily.
Revi was seventeen, born on January 1st, with a calm, steady presence.
"Wah! I feel like I am reading a king's biography." Evelyn muttered, scrolling past Revi's part and landing on the next member's profile.
Minho Everett, the charmer of the group and the band's bassist. A redhead with hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief. His features were soft yet sharp—the kind that caught attention without trying. Full pink lips, a slightly upturned nose, and a jawline that hinted at quiet strength. Even when he acted silly, he carried himself with an easy confidence that earned him the nickname the 'silly king' among fans.
Sixteen years old, born on June 21, Minho had grown up under the careful eye of his father after his mother passed away during childbirth. His father, who ran a successful architectural firm alongside the Desmond family, ensured Minho never lacked love or guidance. His mother had been Korean, and every year, his father still took him to Korea to honor her memory and keep the family traditions alive.
Carefree and charming, he had been linked to many dating rumors, but he never commented on them. Fans had long labeled him as a playboy.
"Poor boy, huh..." Evelyn kept scrolling as she walked.
Jayson Vale, the band's resident playboy and the drummer. Most of his fans call him Jace. Dark blonde hair, green eyes, though very few actually saw his real hair color. He loved changing it every week. Flirty and carefree, he rarely takes anything seriously, so anyone who approaches him knows exactly what they're getting into. His sharp, Japanese-like features made him stand out, and his confident smile could charm almost anyone.
His family was deeply rooted in the entertainment world. His grandmother had been a famous actress, and his mother, a retired idol, now worked as a motivational speaker while also supporting his father's trading company. Born on April 10, Jayson was sixteen, carrying both his family's legacy and carefree behaviour wherever he went.
"Wow... They are awfully too detailed." Evelyn muttered as she scrolled down to the last member's part.
Demian Desmond, the leader of the band, was both the singer and guitarist. Born on March 24, Demian was sixteen. Despite being the most famous among the four, very little was known about his personal life. He had no social media accounts at all, even though he would have been the most followed without effort. He rarely appeared at fan meetings, leading many to say that he only existed on stage and nowhere else.
His confident posture and piercing features made him stand out, even when he stayed quiet. His restless eyes were no joke. He could look at someone with pure disgust, yet somehow still make their heart race under that intense gaze. Jet-black hair, pale skin, a sharp and perfectly shaped nose, and moles placed naturally across his face made him look cold and striking in any crowd.
The Desmond family had their hands in multiple important sides of the country. Their empire spanned everything—from electronics and architectural companies to media, politics, and direct work with the government. They were incredibly wealthy.
His mother, Vivienne Desmond, was a famous actress who retired after marrying his father, Donvan Desmond. Her death left a huge impact on her fans, as the case was never fully explained. No one knew whether it was an accident or cancer. Demian never spoke about his family on camera, but his fans were quick to dig into the truth.
Evelyn lowered her phone as she spotted Minho standing near the school road. "Oh, there they are," she muttered, sliding her phone into her jeans pocket. She strode toward him. "Hey!"
"Oh it's Evelyn." Minho waved.
Revi's eyes snapped toward her, and without another word, he walked past Minho, blocking her path with a glare.
"What the heck are you doing here?" he asked, voice sharp.
"Very mature of you to think I'd let Serin stay with four boys all night long," Evelyn said, her tone sharp as she lazily walked past him.
"Your point is?" Revi turned toward her, still glaring.
"Oh, don't play dumb…" Evelyn tilted her head, smirking slightly. "How can I be so sure that you won't harm her the second she feels useless to you? Hah… I mean, YOU sent Demian to pressure her and get yourselves into this school late at night."
"Do you even know the whole story?" Revi paused, trying and failing to keep his cool. "And who told you the plan was mine?"
"The plan was actually Demian's," Minho interjected quietly from a few steps back, observing the tension. "And he didn't quite want to use her. Evelyn… you should calm down a bit." He took a careful step toward her.
"Ohoo, thanks, Minho, for being so caring…" Evelyn said, giving him a playful smile before shifting her gaze back to Revi. "But I think speaking without knowing the whole story fits your Revi-chan's personality better."
"Why are you bringing up that old fight from two weeks ago?" Revi's face twitched, muscles in his jaw tightening.
"I think you should at least apologize, Revi…" Minho added, stepping toward him. "You jumped to conclusions and blamed her for bullying."
Two weeks ago, Evelyn had caught a girl in the abandoned building of the school. Evelyn slapped her, yanked her bag open, and broke her phone. Revi had seen the whole thing and immediately thought Evelyn was bullying the girl. Later, he confronted her in front of the entire class, leaving Evelyn in tears. It was only afterward that everyone learned the truth. The girl Evelyn had slapped was the real bully, someone who had been collecting inappropriate clips of other girls. Evelyn had made her delete everything.
"I already did. What? Does she want me to beg on my knees?" Revi said, stepping toward Minho, fists clenched at his sides.
A sudden bike horn cut through the tension. All three turned toward the street.
"EVELYN, YOU CAME!" Serin jumped off the bike, Demian following slowly behind her.
Revi's relaxed his fists. He walked toward Demian. "Did you know she would come?" he said as he nodded his head slightly toward evelyn.
"It's a yes-no situation," Demian shrugged, tossing the bass case to Minho. "The one you ordered."
Minho caught it, opening the case just enough to peek inside. "Oh baby… you're finally home," he muttered, excitement lighting up his face.
Another horn blared down the quiet street. A black microbus rolled to a stop nearby.
"Are we getting kidnapped?" Serin asked, eyes wide, clutching her bag strap.
"It would be so… cool," Minho said with a laugh, matching her freaked-out energy.
The back doors of the microbus swung open. Jace jumped out with a big grin, as his employees began unloading drums and other instruments.
"Hey, guys!" he called cheerfully, waving. "Sorry for being late… packing my drums took, like, FOREVER."
"ANYWAY!" Serin clapped, making everyone turn toward her. "Now comes the big part… we have to convince the guard to give us the key."
All eyes shifted to the towering school gate. Serin swallowed hard.
"Spoiler alert. This won't be easy..."