The first mistake was the noise.
The practice wing of St. Jude's Academy usually smelled of floor wax and old wood, but today, it smelled like salt.
Ren's fingers were raw.
He had been playing the same Bach suite for four hours, seeking a technical perfection that felt just out of reach.
In the sterile white room, he was the "Golden Boy"—the legacy student whose name was already etched into the school's trophy cases.
Then, the floor shook.
Not an earthquake.
A kick drum.
Thump-chick. Thump-thump-chick.
Ren's bow screeched across the strings—not from lack of skill, but from distraction.
His jaw tightened.
The sound came again.
Loud. Aggressive. Deliberate.
Four hours.
He had been practicing for four hours, chasing perfection—and now this.
Another beat hit.
Harder.
Room 4B.
Ren set his bow down carefully, like it might shatter under anything less than control, and walked out.
He didn't knock.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, chaos.
A battered white drum kit. Sweat. Noise.
And at the center of it—
A boy.
Dark curls, damp shirt, a grin that didn't belong in a place like this.
Jace.
He had seen Ren coming in the reflection of the window. He'd been waiting.
"Flat."
Ren blinked.
"I beg your pardon?"
Jace twirled a drumstick lazily. "Technically perfect. Still flat. No soul."
Silence stretched.
"I'm Jace," he added. "You must be the prince everyone's crying about."
Ren's grip tightened around his bow.
"And you must be the reason this academy lowered its standards."
Jace laughed.
"This is a conservatory," Ren continued coldly. "Not a basement in the suburbs. There's a reason for soundproofing—though clearly it wasn't designed for whatever that was."
Jace leaned back on his stool. "It's called a polyrhythm, Your Highness. But I guess they don't teach that in the 1700s."
"It's noise."
Ren stepped closer.
"And I have a placement exam. If I hear one more kick—"
The stool hit the floor with a crack.
Jace stood.
Too close.
Sweat. Citrus. Heat.
"Tell you what," Jace said softly. "I'll stop on one condition."
Ren didn't move.
"Play with me. One minute. Follow my lead."
A pause.
"If you keep up… I walk away."
Ren should have left.
He didn't.
"One minute," he said quietly. "And when you lose, you stay out of my sight."
Jace grinned. "Deal."
They played.
Not a duet.
A fight.
Jace pushed. Faster. Harder.
Ren followed—barely.
Control slipping.
Breath tightening.
Then—
Silence.
Jace's hand slammed against the neck of the cello.
Ren froze.
Too close again.
Too close.
Jace's fingers slid from the wood to Ren's jaw.
Warm.
Intentional.
"You're shaking," Jace murmured.
"I'm... annoyed," Ren lied, though his body was humming with an electricity he didn't understand.
Jace leaned in, close enough for Ren to feel his breath.
"Is that what this is?" he whispered. "Because your heart is too loud."
Ren didn't move.
Couldn't.
Jace smiled.
"Make me leave."