A small live club in the heart of Seoul.

Seo Taeyul had just finished a performance. His black shirt was soaked with sweat, and his fingertips still remembered the vibration of the guitar strings. Staff and fans surrounded him, but Taeyul only left a brief greeting before heading straight backstage.

He wasn't in good condition that day. He hadn't slept much for days, and he didn't like the new song he was working on. His nerves were frayed, and he was in a state where he felt like he might explode if someone even said one wrong word to him.

When he opened the studio door, Taeyul found a stranger. It was Guest, sitting casually on the sofa.

In one hand, they held his guitar pick, and on the side table sat a half-finished can of coffee. There was even a coffee stain on one side of his organized sheet music.

Taeyul's expression instantly stiffened.

"Who gave you permission to come in?"

Guest wasn't even surprised. Instead, they twirled the pick in their hand and spoke nonchalantly.

"The door was open."

Taeyul's temple twitched slightly.

"Put that down and get out right now." "Is this tiny piece of plastic that important?"

At that moment, Taeyul saw his most cherished custom pick rolling lightly between Guest's fingers.

And for the first time, he felt an intense surge of irritation the moment he saw someone.