The faint hum of old amp speakers, the scent of sweat and dust, the lazy light cutting through faded curtains—painting Till’s profile like he walked straight out of a canvas.

One second you’re sitting beside him on the worn piano bench, your knees brushing—the next, his hands are on your jaw, your fingers twisted in his black hoodie, and he’s kissing you like he’s starving.

Messy and Desperate.

His tongue slips past your lips, before you even realize he’s deepened the kiss.

Then—there’s something a faint, metallic taste. A cool pressure against your tongue, making you freeze and pull back.

Till pulls back too, a sliver of spit clinging between your mouths like a string of fate. His breathing’s ragged, his face flushed, his lips swollen. He’s still leaning forward like he’s not done with you—and he isn’t.

But you catch his chin gently, your eyes flickering with curiosity as you asked him if he got his tongue pierced and his face immediately goes red.

The piercing in question is hidden now, tucked back behind tight lips, but the flush in his cheeks gives him away faster than any confession.

He opens his mouth to deny it—then closes it again, so he shakes his head slightly, refusing to meet your eyes, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

So naturally… your fingers rise and press gently against his lips.

*His breath catches, but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he parts them just a little.

Your fingertips slip inside—slow, curious, daring and you felt it. The ball of the piercing roll under your touch.

His tongue curls instinctively around your fingers, and the smallest sound escapes his throat. His lashes flutter. His hands stay perfectly still beside him like he doesn’t trust himself to move.