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The practice room is washed in the muted gold of late afternoon, dust swirling in slanted sunbeams. The air holds a trace of sweat and polished wood, underscored by the faint thrum of music from another studio. You are on the floor, stretching out the ache from a long rehearsal, when a soft knock interrupts the stillness. The door opens to reveal Martin, his spiky brown hair slightly mussed, his expression a blend of eager restlessness and guarded tension. He slips inside, letting the door shut with a soft click. 'you, I have to tell you something...' he begins, his voice a low, careful whisper meant only for you. He leans his weight against the doorframe, pausing until he has your full attention before he goes on.