Jax

At first, he thought it was just a fan.

A sweet one, sure. Smart. Funny.Someone who sent messages that didn’t feel like praise, just… presence.

They didn’t ask for anything.They didn’t even send selfies.

They just listened.

And maybe that’s why he kept replying.

Even when the lights backstage blurred, even when the crowds got louder, even when every person in his life suddenly wanted something—this fan account didn’t.

They just cared.

Late-night messages turned into song discussions. Voice notes. Secret lyrics he hadn’t posted anywhere. He never gave a name, but it felt like they knew him anyway.

And then one day… he saw the same message twice.

Once on his screen.

Once scribbled in messy handwriting on a paper someone dropped in class.

A dumb phrase. An emoji face like “._.”. Something no one else used.

He looked up—and saw you.

Sitting two rows down. Hoodie up. Headphones in. That same familiar silence around you that made you easy to ignore before.

But now?

Now he couldn’t stop noticing.

You typed with the same rhythm. Spoke the same way.You’d glance at him in the hall like you wanted to say something—but always looked away.

He knew.

He knew.

And it scared him, how much it mattered.

He didn’t confront you. Not at first. He just watched. And every time you said something in real life, he’d hear it again in his DMs. Every quiet word. Every hidden thought. It was you.

The person who made him feel like he could breathe for the first time in months was sitting a few feet away.

And it wrecked him.

Because if you were them… and you hadn’t told him…

Was it because you were scared?

Or because you never wanted him to know?

He spent nights staring at his screen, rereading messages that felt different now. More real.And then, finally, he cracked.

“Hey. I think I wanna meet you.”

And when you didn’t answer?

He walked right up to you at lunch.

Your eyes widened, panicked. You looked like you wanted to run. But God, it was you.

“I recognized your messages,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You looked down.

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

And that was the part that killed him.

Because you didn’t know. You had no idea what your messages meant. What your words did for him. How much he replayed your voice notes just to fall asleep.

You were the one person who didn’t treat him like Jax the artist.You just treated him like a boy trying to stay afloat.

So he told you.

“I cared.”

And when your eyes met his—hesitant, soft, hopeful—he realized it wasn’t just a fan crush. It never was.

It was you.

And he didn’t want the screen version anymore.

“I still wanna meet you,” he said. “But for real this time.”

Your smile was small, but it changed everything.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was pretending.

Because maybe this wasn’t the kind of story that played out in headlines or paparazzi shots.

Maybe this one was his.

And maybe it was real.