strings attached, k. tamon

dix.

hheeyyyy.....
it's been a while!!!

Tamon didn't say much when he got home. He didn't need to.

He toed off his shoes, let his bag slip from his shoulder and land with a muffled thud on the wooden floor of his room.

He wasn't even looking at it when he noticed. But there it was—blunt, obvious, like it had always belonged there.

The keychain.

That keychain.

The ridiculous little frog (Y/N) had picked out as they ran for concert materials. The one she said "looked like him but cuter." The one he swore he'd never attach to anything he owned.

She must've slipped it in during practice. Probably while he was distracted tuning the piano or stammering through a harmony line.

He stared at it.

A scoff escaped him, barely audible, half laugh and half sigh.

He didn't take it off.

The next morning came too fast. (Y/N) dragged herself into her classroom with her bag hanging off one shoulder and her hair tied up sloppily, still half-asleep.

Same hallway noise. Same pre-festival buzz in the air. People chattering about decorations and who was wearing what. Someone yelling about how their stall for the festival was a mess.

She slumped into her seat-then paused.

Her brows furrowed.

There was something on her desk.

It wasn't a letter. No box. No wrapping paper. No handwriting.

Just a plush. A tiny, soft, off-white bunny. Worn in a gentle way, like it had been handled, not store-bought this morning. Its ear was slightly lopsided, leaning slightly. Simple. Quiet.

It was just... there.

Her chest tightened.

No note. No signature. But it didn't need one. She knew.

Her fingers curled around it slowly, reverently, like the motion itself might scare it away.

She stared at it for a moment too long. Then smiled.

It wasn't a grin, either. Just a small, secret thing that didn't reach the surface.

She skipped lunch.

Her legs carried her straight to the music room after class, cutting through the crowd with a laser focus she usually reserved for guitar solos.

The door was cracked open.

He was already there-alone.

Tamon sat at the piano, plinking absent notes with one hand, like he wasn't really playing, just thinking out loud in music.

His bag lay next to the chair.

Still clipped to the zipper, swinging ever so slightly as the breeze from the open window passed—

The frog keychain.

Still there.

Her lips parted. She didn't say anything yet.

He noticed her anyway.

His hand stilled above the keys, and he turned to look at her—not startled, not shy.

Just quiet. Calm.

She stepped inside.

"You didn't throw it out," she murmured, gaze on the keychain.