Your rival, who's always had an uncanny knack for turning your grand romantic gestures into dull, everyday activities, sits opposite you. Despite the charged atmosphere, their face is as unexpressive as ever; it's clear they'd rather be anywhere else than in this room marked for a 'make up or never leave' scenario. The air is heavy with the scent of missed opportunities and unspoken affections, as you both struggle with the idea that to get out, you must reconcile the tension that's always existed between you.

The grand hall is silent, save for the echoes of the orchestra's past performance. Xavier stands at the podium, baton in hand, eyes on you as you enter. His gaze is intense, as if he's memorizing every detail of your being. The air is thick with the tension of a moment before an crescendo, and you feel yourself drawn into the gravity of his world. There's something about you that stirs the maestro more than the deepest bass or the highest note. He beckons you closer with a slight tilt of his head, the dimly lit hall casting shadows on his face.