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“I’m thinking, well, I’m suggesting that maybe we should follow a more methodological approach.” You declare, hyper aware that you’ve been brooding for far too long since you stepped into Starry with Nijika in tow. You draw two huge circles on your empty lyrics sheet, a linear mindmap, because you don’t know how to further convey this, or maybe you can't, but it matters no more.
They look over at you over the pile of chocolates on the table, most of it Nijika’s (much to Kita’s surprise), quiet and unwilling to address the elephant in the room (it’s you, you feel like you’re going to explode).
“What ever do you mean?” Hitori says finally, after a silence that is almost too awkward.
“We’re having trouble writing a love song.” You point to your sheet, as if explaining bass to newbies, and clicks your fingers in their faces.
“Because we have no experience-”
You wonder if there’s a chocolate for you this year, tucked somewhere into the far corner of Nijika’s school bag. Surely it exists, you think to yourself; there is some comfort in knowing that at least you already have Kita’s chocolate.
“Exactly Bocchi. And so, I think we should all try kissing Nijika.” You say those words as casually as you can, heart beating on your chest so vehemently you feel sick.
There’s a loud gasp from Kita, who goes so red she almost matches her hair colour, and Hitori is on the floor, chair flipped over and in the greatest state of despair yet. It almost makes you laugh, if not for the roar in your ears, your limbs freezing despite how much you want to run.
“Ryo,” Nijika says your name and you startle, “a love song isn’t quite our genre, is it not?” She continues, quieter than usual. Her ribbon is undone, sleeves rolled up, the exact image of someone who has had a rough day. And you want to believe you know why, except you don’t, and doesn’t want to know why.
“No, but a break up song is.” You force the words out and enjoy how Nijika’s eyes widen; there is a sick rush of triumph that feels vicious, so you turn around, lest you start feeling guilty.
“You gotta experience love first I think,” You mutter, and somewhere behind you Kita is agreeing, things go according to plan, somehow. You don’t feel anymore relieved than when the day first started.
Nijika splutters for a few minutes, and you watch her attempt to revive Hitori from the floor; Kita is eying you thoughtfully, and you smile at her.
“Ijichi-senpai does deserve it,” Kita starts, and you notice how her brows furrow just so slightly; she is looking at you through the corner of her eye, and then you feel that gentle unnerving wave of kindness. “All the kisses from people who love her.”
“And we do.” Kita pulls Hitori back onto the chair, giving her a good pat, before settling Nijika onto her own. Her hands linger on Nijika’s shoulder, thumb lightly messaging her back, and you think they all kind of look good together. A good picture with or without you.
“Well…” Hitori starts speaking, and you clench your fist just a little, “S-She smells good, she is kind. Reliable too. Also super good at drums. Doesn’t make me do the speeches. Best curry ever. I-I mean I-I do love her.”
You smile despite everything, from the bottom of your heart, because Nijika looks as if she is about to cry, and you wish to gather all of them and play a song.
“I-I don’t know if this works but I, uh,” Hitori stands up and begins the slowest walk ever, and kneels, like the guitar hero she is. You feel your heart giving out just a little, and then you’re embroiled in a tangle of emotions again.
She reaches for Nijika’s fingers, holding them like she is going to put a ring through them, before bending down and kissing the back of her hand.
Nijika gasps, and so does everyone; you notice the faint pink on Nijika’s cheeks, and thinks you could never beat it. That is a killer move and a good one.
“Bocchi-chan…” Nijika whispers, and your chest ache with all things unlovable, but it does not pain you so, “Wa-”
“I just thought that was cool…” Hitori mutters sheepishly, going for another kiss on Nijika’s fingers, and then another.
Something is changing in the air and you think, maybe you can be saved, just maybe.
“I do too!” Kita chirps, “I love you so very much.” She says with brutal honesty you could never muster.
“Like you’re so cute, I can see why you’re so popular.” Her hand is on Nijika’s cheek now, thumbs wiping the tears your best friend shed; she is combing her bangs with her fingers, touching her ears as she tucks the hair behind her ears. You realize abruptly how easily Ikuyo could also take your place.
“Kita-” Nijika mouths, looking as if she is about to implode from all the attention. “Wait…”
“You make me want to kiss you too,” Kita mutters, just enough volume so you could hear it, “If you look at me like that.” She bends over and gives a peck on Nijika’s cheek, and you watch on; Nijika is so dumbfounded that she is rendered speechless.
“Like that.” Kita giggles, laughing for the whole room and soon Nijika is chuckling, smiling the widest you’ve ever seen her today. You feel strangely grateful, Nijika should be smiling on a day like this.
“And now,” Kita looks at you, too expectantly and too cheerful, “the person who suggests it in the first place.”
You drag a hand through your bangs, like a child caught stealing candy; you’re sure your face is red now with how hot it feels, but you walk towards them nonetheless, dragging your feet just a little.
They make space for you, till all that is left is Nijika looking at you, eyes full of emotions you can’t tell, won’t tell.
“Nijika.” You say, and her eyes stop darting around. “Close your eyes?”
You hear Kita gasp, and Nijika is so flustered she is shaking a little.
“Silly.” You say, and she closes her eyes anyway when you lean in. You leave her a kiss on her forehead, and then her temple, and the top of her head. You spare a glance at her lips, and wonders if you could ever kiss them.
“That’s what love feels like I think.” You whisper.
“I got you chocolates.” You say quietly, standing in her doorway, holding the little box behind you like a bouquet of flowers. Your brain is running miles per hour, and you’re in cold sweat. The manager is away, you know this because the lights to the living room is off again and Nijika is looking at you like you shouldn’t be here.
“You came back to give me chocolates?” Nijika asks. You notice she is still in her school clothes, even though practice ended hours ago.
“Yeah even though you’ve got so many.” You say, biting back the last few words before it leaves your throat.
“Can I come in?” You ask, even though you almost never ask.
She moves to the side and taps the light switch, closing the door behind you as you settle in. The pile of chocolates is on the table, untouched, cards unread and letters unopened. You look at each other in the eyes, and soon the corners of her eyes soften; you know you’re being forgiven even though you shouldn’t be, and you shatter into a million pieces.
“I got you some too.” Nijika says, finally, as she walks into the kitchen. “I tried to make some this year.” She says and you understand the degree of your crime, how much you misunderstood.
“Ah- Have you taste tested? Am I the guinea pig?” You say, “If you poison me now you’ll have to look for a bassist in two days.”
“If you don’t want it I’ll keep it!” She yells from the kitchen, and you smile, a field of flowers in your chest. You drag a chair out for her when she makes her way over, a tray of chocolate and cookies in her hand.
“I forgot. To bring to school.” Nijika says, a little indignant. And you could feel a sniffle incoming so you walk over and takes the tray, putting it on the table before you hug her, wishing you could speak words of comfort but you are never good at these. You pat her back, and then her head, before you start leaving soft kisses on her temple.
“Can I stay over?” You ask, even though you almost never ask.
“If you want.” She replies, eyes wet and she burrows her face into your shoulder, muttering things too muffled for your ears.
“What?” You ask, freeing her hair from the hair tie. Your fingers comb through her hair with practiced ease; they’re so frizzled today, dry on your hand and it only makes you want to soften them out more.
“You’re so stupid.” Nijika says, “Stupid Ryo. Stupid stupid.” She hugs you tighter, and you let her.
“Smart enough to be your bassist.” You say, rubbing her back. “I love you Nijika.”
It slips out like any other day, but Nijika jerks in your hug and you start to panic.
“Um-”
“Ryo.” She says your name and you don’t think you’ve heard anyone say it like that, like it is the sweetest and most precious thing ever to exist. She takes a breath, and you know what she is going to say before she speaks.
“I love you too.” She says, plainly and simply. A truck hits you nonetheless, and you think you must be going crazy.
“Now what?” You smile, stupidly you’re sure; you cup her cheeks in your palms, and you really want to kiss her. Ikuyo was right the entire time.
“Can I kiss you?” You ask, even though you almost never ask.
And when she says yes, you think you found a place where you only want to be.