Amelia's house doesn't feel real.
It feels staged.
Not in a cold way — in a curated way.
Tall windows. Marble floors. A staircase that curves like it's showing off.
Her parents greet me warmly when I walk in, asking about "the band" like it's a national event.
To them, I am:
Sunny from Euphony Trio.
Not Sunny who spilled coffee on her laptop last week.
I escape upstairs before they can ask about future plans.
Amelia's door is open.
Of course it is.
Her room is huge.
Walls covered in mood boards.
Screenshots from games.
Color palettes.
Fabric samples pinned beside character concept art.
Sketches of outfits inspired by in-game armor.
It smells like vanilla candles and expensive shampoo.
She's sprawled on her bed, laptop open, headphones around her neck.
"You're late," she says.
"It's 4:03."
"You said four."
"That's three minutes."
"That's enough."
I flop down beside her dramatically.
She rolls onto her side and studies me immediately.
Too immediately.
"So," she says.
"So?" I echo.
She narrows her eyes.
"There's a man."
There is no prelude with her.
No warm-up.
"No," I say instantly.
"Wrong. There is."
She sits up, crossing her legs. "Theo texted my dad about the collaboration. Zane Calder."
Oh no.
"Oh," I say, too casually.
"Oh," she mocks. "Sunny."
I stare at the ceiling.
"He's just… collaborating."
She gasps theatrically. "He's a touring solo artist."
"I know."
"He's covered Éthernel."
"I know."
"He rewrote the bridge."
"I KNOW."
She freezes.
Her eyes widen.
"You watched it."
Silence.
She grabs a pillow and hits me with it.
"You like him."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I barely know him."
"You watched multiple performances, didn't you?"
"…Maybe."
She leans closer.
Dangerously excited.
"Tell me everything."
"There is nothing."
She grabs my shoulders. "Sunny."
And then I make the mistake.
I hesitate.
She gasps again.
"There is something."
"No— it's not— it was just—"
"What."
I groan and cover my face.
"We sang."
Her eyes light up like someone turned on stage lights.
"You WHAT."
"It wasn't even planned. Laura volunteered me. It was chaotic. I refused. Then everyone left. And he stayed."
Amelia grabs my arm like this is the climax of a romance film.
"He stayed."
"And he told me to sing."
"And?"
"And I did."
"And?"
"And he said—"
I stop.
Her grin grows wicked.
"He said what."
"Sing that again."
Amelia SCREAMS.
Not a cute scream.
A full-body scream.
"You had a moment."
"We did not."
"You absolutely did."
"It was just music."
"That's worse."
I throw a pillow at her.
She catches it, still grinning.
"Did he look at you like you were the only person in the room?"
I hesitate.
That's all the confirmation she needs.
She falls backward onto the bed dramatically.
"Sunny has a crush."
"I do not have a crush."
"You've never even dated anyone."
"That's irrelevant."
"It's extremely relevant."
She rolls back onto her side, suddenly softer.
"Are you scared?"
The question lands differently.
"…A little."
"Of him?"
"No."
"Of what?"
I stare at the ceiling.
"He's loud. He's confident. He knows what he's doing."
"And?"
"I don't."
She snorts.
"You literally build worlds for music."
"I edit."
"You shape how people see it."
"That's different."
She reaches over and pokes my forehead.
"You're not small, Sunny."
I laugh lightly. "Tell that to my nervous system."
She grins.
"So. Are we going for the pop star?"
I groan again.
"It's not like that."
"It's absolutely like that."
She sits up again, suddenly serious.
"Is he respectful?"
I blink.
"…Yeah."
"Is he pressuring you?"
"No."
"Is Axel glaring at him?"
"…Maybe."
She laughs.
"Then you're fine."
I roll onto my side.
"What if I mess it up?"
"You won't."
"What if I embarrass myself?"
"You will. That's part of it."
I stare at her.
She smiles knowingly.
"You're allowed to want something new, Sunny."
The words settle somewhere deeper.
She nudges me with her shoulder.
"Also if he hurts you, I will destroy him."
"You're terrifying."
"I know."
We lie there for a moment in comfortable silence.
Then she whispers dramatically:
"He called you sunshine, didn't he?"
I freeze.
She screams again.
"Oh my god he DID."
I bury my face in her pillow.
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"…Unfortunately."
She grins.
"And you like him."
I don't answer.
But I don't deny it either.
And that's enough.