Stars looking at our planet, watching entropy and pain

by exefber

Summary:

What if there were no SEKAI?
Leo/need would never be forced to meet and play a song together in SEKAI. What happens when Saki comes back, but there's no Miku to push the former friends together?

Notes:

This fic really motivated me to sit down and write, so I’m very grateful just for that fact, but also for anyone taking the time to read it.

Chapter 1: Prologue

You never know what kind of plot life will throw at you. Saki had always believed she was in the kind of story where her tight-knit friend group would have a lot of fun and adventures, and stay together forever.

Then she got sick. First, she was just tired and in pain, but confident it would be over soon, and then there was room for anger at what she was losing out on. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! But after months in the hospital, she started to try to picture herself as the protagonist of an inspirational story about overcoming the odds and getting back to a normal life. That was only a small comfort, but it helped a little bit.

Her friends didn’t visit much after their first and single journey to her far-away hospital. Normally, she tried not to feel too resentful about being forgotten and left behind, but some days she would stare out at the night sky from her window in a sterile hospital room and ache, imagining standing in the fresh breeze with no fear, arm in arm with her friends, watching the stars.

Ichika was the one who made the most of an effort. They continued to text occasionally, and she would come to visit occasionally during breaks, but still infrequently. The time passing was long enough that between visits the two of them were surprised at each other’s changes – their faces thinning out, their hair growing, new clothes for their larger bodies. Of course, that’s how things were supposed to be, but Saki couldn’t help but resent the passage of time.

Two years later, she was finally cleared to go back to school. She was weary of being weary, and felt lucky that it was in time for her first year of high school. I’m no longer a patient, she told herself. I beat the odds! It’s time for me to be in a new story.

Secretly, she hoped to get back to her original plan to spend a lot of time with her best friends. She was planning to surprise them on the first day of school. I’m back! Let’s get right back to it! High school was here, and she was ready! They would be happy to see her, virile and youthful, and together, they would spend all their time having fun, picking up where they left off as if nothing had happened.

On the first day, she was ecstatic to be in the same class as Ichika, who looked just as pleased to see her. But it was an unwelcome surprise to learn that the other two were not speaking – neither to each other, nor to Ichika and Saki. Ichika had not told her about this before – when she’d previously asked about them while she was in the hospital, Ichika just said they were doing fine.

So why were they so brusque with her? She was the one who’d held Shiho’s hand when she cried over a box of abandoned kittens, she was the one who helped Honami practice how to do her hair! “See you later,” Shiho said before walking away, and Honami only waved from afar when no one else was looking. She appeared to be trying to avoid Saki.

“It’s been like this since last year,” was all Ichika said. “They just don’t want to talk to me, or each other anymore. I don’t know why.”

“Well, the two of us can still have a full high school experience,” Saki said, trying not to feel hurt. What story was she in now, without them? “I’m going to join the soft tennis club,” she declared. “And you and I can meet after school and get bubble tea! I’ve been dying to try some of the places I’ve been seeing online!”

She hoped Ichika would be buoyed by her upbeat attitude, but could tell Shiho’s and Honami’s behavior was weighing on her friend’s mind, too. Despite that, she wouldn’t say more about what had happened. Saki was frustrated at the three of them and their unwillingness to talk, but what could she do? She hadn’t been there. She’d missed so much and now everything was different.

Chapter 2: Saki

Summary:

Saki joins soft tennis.

“Are you also signing up for the soft tennis club?”

Saki turned towards the voice. She was standing outside the main building, and had been looking at the courts from afar. A girl had approached her from the building’s exit.

“Yes, I’m about to head down. I’m a first-year, are you as well?”

“Yes, I’m in your class!” Saki had thought she’d seen the girl before, but couldn’t remember where. Of course it was from class. She quickly bowed apologetically.

“I’m so sorry! I haven’t been able to meet and remember everyone yet…”

“You don’t have to apologize. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Sonoda Asada. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Saki Tenma. But please, just call me Saki! Nice to meet you! Let’s go down together and sign up.”

The two of them set off, discussing their classes and how neither one had played soft tennis before. Saki was relieved that someone else was a beginner, and pleased when Sonoda asked Saki to call her by her first name. She’d made a new friend.

Saki had been confined to her room for so long, thinking longingly of what other children her age were doing, that she had resolved to make her high school experience an exciting one. And, according to the manga she had read, that meant joining a club. Sports mangas always seemed to feature deep camaraderie between the members and character growth through practice, so she’d decided to do a sport. Soft tennis seemed approachable for someone like her, who hadn’t done any appreciable exercise in two years. So here she was, ready to meet her rivals and teammates, looking forward to the highs and lows of high school soft tennis.

As the group of new recruits milled around in small groups, a tall, strong-looking girl wearing a visor and holding a clipboard strolled up and waved her hands and shouted to get everyone’s attention. Yes! The captain! She really looks like she could give good advice! Maybe this is her last chance to win, and she’s counting on the team….

“Let’s get the newbies lined up. Hello, everyone. Welcome to the soft tennis club. I’m Yuka Hayashi. I’m your team captain. For today’s practice, we’re going to get into groups of four and play a few rallies. Don’t take it too seriously – we just want to get a sense of everyone’s skill level. Oh, but actually, first, let’s go over the equipment and the rules. No, wait, let me get everyone’s names first. Okay, we’ll start over here….”

Saki and Sonoda wrote their names out and picked up their equipment. To an outsider, any sport’s rules are confusing. Saki had trouble remembering the different scoring rules between singles and doubles (Hayashi explained both, though they would mostly be playing doubles), and zoned out when they discussed the bounce and weight of the ball. The racket was lighter than she expected, and she took a few experimental swings, imagining herself hitting the ball.

“Tenma! Quit messing around! Are you listening?”

“Sorry, senpai…” She folded her hands behind herself meekly and went to stand next to Sonoda, who was giggling.

“Are you kind of an airhead?” she whispered at Saki.

“What? That’s so mean!”

“Tenma!” The captain glared at her and Sonoda giggled again.

“Sorry!”

Sonoda gathered two more girls for their group of four. One was also from their class, and another wasn’t, but both were first-years. They introduced themselves and claimed a court.

I can do this, Saki thought to herself, bouncing the ball and catching it once. Easy. The other three girls watched her. “Hiya!” She bounced the ball and swung, but missed, the force of her swing twisting her body around. She caught herself with her right foot, now facing the other way. Sonoda, her partner, doubled over in laughter.

“Hey! It’s my first time! I promise to get better!” She retrieved the ball and tried again. This time, her racket connected, but it went into the net. Therefore she had to go pick up the ball again, while it was rolling farther and farther away. This was tiring, and they hadn’t even had any successful rallies yet. Finally, her third hit went over the net.

“Yes!” Saki jumped up with her fist in the air in celebration. But Inoue, the other girl in their class, was getting ready to return the ball already, and – smack! – it was coming back over the net. Saki screamed; ahead of her, Sonoda reached back and hit the ball back to the other side.

“Wow Sonoda-chan! That was so cool! – Ahh!” But the ball was coming back again! It was heading straight towards her! Saki tried to move out of the way, but was too slow, and it hit her in the stomach. “Oof!”

“Sorry!” Inoue called from the other side of the court. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright, thanks! Whew!” A hand touched her shoulder and she turned. It was the captain.

“Have you played any racket sports before, Tenma?” she asked, smiling.

“No…”

“I can tell. Don’t worry, you’ll get better. Keep your head in the game and focus.” She gave Saki another pat on the shoulder and went to observe another group.

“Looks like you made an impression,” Sonoda said, and Saki made a face. “Let’s try again!”

Saki didn’t know if it was a difficult sport, but she certainly made it difficult for herself. It was a lot of running to try to hit the ball, missing, and running to pick the ball up from wherever it rolled off to. The other girls seemed to have more natural talent, and more stamina, too – Saki was winded after their first decent rally, and wasn’t able to even run to anything that was more than an arms length away from where she happened to be standing. The ball showed up in places she didn’t expect, and sometimes bounced unpredictably. But she knew that starting as an underdog like this just meant she had that much more room to grow.

And it also meant she ought to have a talented rival with whom she’d eventually have an even match, though no other first year seemed to make snide remarks or look haughty. No one gossiped about some other member notorious for being talented, or arrogant, or rich, or anything else. The captain didn’t seem to harbor a dark secret. There was no experienced foreign exchange student. It was just a bunch of nice girls playing tennis and having fun.

Though on some level (the straightforward reality of it), this was what she’d signed up for, a part of her began to wonder if this was really what she wanted her high school years to be all about.

Chapter 3: Honami

Summary:

Honami has anxiety.

Notes:

A lot of the Honami plot follows along the event story Don't Let Doubts Hold You Back. But she handles it slightly differently in the SEKAI-less universe.

Honami looked down the produce aisle with satisfaction. It brought her a simple joy to see the produce laid out in neat rows: stripes of plump tomatoes and leafy cabbage and shiny purple eggplant.

The familiar hum and color of the grocery store was comforting. She’d had a stressful day. Her teacher had announced the school choir competition between different classes. She’d let herself begin to look forward to it – she enjoyed music, and had been told she had a sweet voice – until her teacher had appointed her coordinator, in charge of deciding how the class would approach the competition. This meant deciding the song they would sing and scheduling practices.

She stammered, wondering if she was really the right person, but didn’t know what to do but to agree to do it.

The class was required to sing two songs at the choir recital, one pre-selected song that all the classes would sing, and one of their choice. At the first homeroom meeting, she asked her classmates to choose the second song.

“How about Smile Tomorrow Too,” her classmate Emu suggested, waving her hands in the air excitedly. It was a fast-paced and difficult song, with several different parts. They were all somewhat familiar with it, as the winning class last year had sung this song, but it would definitely take some work to learn. Several other students joined the discussion of how this song would be fun to sing.

“That’s too much work. Some of us have clubs and other commitments. How about The Voice of Time?” suggested another student, a member of the soccer team. It was a song that the class was even more familiar with, as they’d previously sung it in music class. Other students started to agree that it might be better since it would need less practice, and people had many competing after school activities.

Honami listened with increasing anxiety as people’s voices increased in pitch as they began to argue. Emu tried to mediate, but nobody would budge. “You can’t expect me to drop my other commitments for this.” “You just don’t want to even try, huh?”

Even calling a vote didn’t help. It was an even tie, except for…Honami! She felt all eyes on her as people began to ask her to make a decision. “Since you’re in charge, why don’t you decide?”

“Um…” No…I can’t be the one who makes this choice…on behalf of everyone…half of them are bound to be unhappy…and then they’ll….

Luckily, at that moment, the bell rang. “Ah! Let’s discuss this again next time,” she said hurriedly. “Thanks everyone for voting.”

“What are you going to do, Honami?” Emu asked as they were walking out of the classroom. Honami didn’t know her very well, but got the impression she was kind, optimistic, and good-natured. She also gave off an air of being totally clueless, but somehow always did very well on exams.

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “I really don’t want to make anyone upset. Isn’t there any way we can come to an agreement?”

“Don’t worry,” Emu said. “I’m sure we can think of something!”

Honami was comforted by the girl’s words, feeling that someone else shared her desire to avoid conflict and hurt feelings. But she continued to worry.

Returning to her current task, she picked up a few apples and added them to her shopping cart. Kanade, the girl for whom she was shopping, especially liked them.

Kanade was a high school girl who lived alone. Her grandmother, who lived some distance away, had hired Honami to take care of the house. Kanade’s mother had passed away years ago, and her father was in the hospital. Kanade herself was something of a recluse. Every time Honami visited, she was holed up in her room, composing music. She was weak, having collapsed the first time Honami went to visit her, and prone to forgetting meals as she stayed up into the light hours of the morning working on music. Honami was touched by her situation, and vowed to put love and care into managing Kanade’s household – and she did. Here was a girl clearly consumed by grief, lost in her own world to cope, and in need of someone to help her just to feed herself. And she produced such wonderful music – Honami sometimes heard it from her room while she was chopping vegetables or doing laundry.

She’d become quite fond of the pale, thin girl, and over time had become familiar with the things she was willing to eat. So, she picked up apples and the ingredients for curry, and she added another pack of instant noodles just in case she ran out.

Walking down the snack aisle, she saw a brand of seaweed-flavored chips that Saki used to really like. A pang shot through her chest. It had been months since Saki had come back to school, and still, they hadn’t talked much…It hurt to think about. It hurt to think about any of them, not just because of the ache of distance and the longing for what was lost, but because of the knowledge of her role in hurting them. Thinking about them meant thinking about everything she’d done wrong.

She shook her head to clear her mind and continued down the aisle. Don’t think about the choir recital. Don’t think about Saki. Today, she would focus on something she could do right.

At Kanade’s house, she unpacked the groceries and started the rice cooker. Before doing anything else, she peeled and sliced an apple and brought it to Kanade’s door, which she knocked on quietly.

“Mochizuki-san, thank you. These smell so nice.”

“I’m glad you like them. May I collect the laundry?”

“Of course.”

“By the way, I was thinking of making curry tonight. How does that sound?”

“That sounds nice. Thanks very much.”

Honami went through her routine – start the laundry, do the dishes, prep the curry ingredients, start the pot boiling. While the curry was simmering, she opened the curtains and windows to let in fresh air, swept the floors and wiped counters, and went around the house dusting furniture and collecting trash.

The job was soothing for her. It pleased her to make spaces neat and tidy and to see the cleanliness unfold. She liked the scent of soap and laundry detergent, liked the gentle soreness in her body after standing and carrying and scrubbing and walking around, and liked focusing on the narrow job of tidying up. And she liked to cook. She was lucky both that she could get paid for the work and that her client was polite and kind.

After hanging up the laundry on a clothesline by the window, catching the sun, she knocked again on Kanade’s door.

“Yoisaki-san, dinner’s ready. Would you like me to bring it here, or will you come eat in the kitchen?”

Kanade turned from the monitor, whose glow lit up half her face, giving it an ethereal quality.

“Thank you, Mochizuki-san. I’ve just reached a good stopping point, so I’ll take a break now. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Honami smiled and assented. Kanade occasionally invited her to eat together, and she usually obliged unless her mother expected her back home. She got the sense that Kanade didn’t get much other in-person interaction, and also liked to observe her eating habits so she could take her preferences into account better.

They sat down together and said, at the same time, “Let’s eat!”

Honami blew on a spoonful of curry. “Yoisaki-san, how is your composing coming along?”

Kanade paused as she chewed and swallowed a bite. “I’ve just completed another demo. Actually, I have to thank you, Mochizuki-san. The scent of the apple you sliced for me really inspired me.”

“Hehe, I’m glad…” I’ll peel and cut a few more apples and put them in the fridge so they’re easier for her to eat later. Salt water should keep them from browning too much.

Some time passed as they ate. Then, Kanade spoke again.

“May ask you for some advice?”

“Oh? Of course. What about?”

“I think I’ve told you that I create music as a part of a group. We meet online.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned it.”

“One of the other members, who helps with the music production and also writes lyrics, hasn’t shown up for over a week now, and we haven’t heard from her directly, either. But we think she’s been producing music on her own. When I listened to those new songs, I felt a cold sensation. It was despair.”

“Oh…”

“I’m worried about her. I’d like to save her…but I don’t know how.”

Honami closed her eyes and frowned. She was remembering a time when she pulled away from her friends. Out of fear, she’d stopped talking to them. And then Shiho…she also began to isolate herself. Even though Saki had returned and hung out with Ichika, as they were in the same class, the four of them still did not get together and laugh and chat like they used to.

Hadn’t she wanted to be saved? Yes, she was the one who renounced them. But she’d wanted…what? Someone to teach her to be brave? Someone to stand next to her, no matter what she said, knowing that she needed them?

Of course, she’d pushed them away. She both wanted and didn’t want them to be there. She wondered if Kanade’s friend had the same feeling. “A cold sensation of despair,” Kanade had said. Her feelings were so clear. The two of them created such beautiful music that spoke with such clarity.

“Hm…” was what she said first, wondering what to say. Then, “Yoisaki-san, your group makes music, correct? It seems to me that you both can make your feelings known through your music. And even apart, you’re listening to what she writes. I don’t know why she isn’t talking to you, but I’m sure that even so, she’ll be paying attention to what you create. And she’ll understand what you’re trying to say.”

Kanade considered this. “I think you’re right, Mochizuki-san. Thank you. Yes, it’s through my music that I may be able to save her….”

Honami continued, “I also think you should continue to reach out to her in person. I was once…in a position where I pushed my friends away. It got to the point where they stopped trying. But I still wonder…Was there a time when, if someone had come to me, I would have let them in?...It’s of course my fault and not theirs, but I still wish things had gone differently…Even now, I’m too cowardly to accept them…But I want to.”

She lowered her eyes, embarrassed that she had spoken so frankly. It was her recent rebuff of Saki’s friendship that stung her, driving home the point that she still hadn’t gotten over her fears. This many years later, she was still unable to say to the people who mattered that she was wrong and sorry and wanted to see them. Instead, again, she turned away.

The feelings had been swirling in her for months. For weeks after Saki returned, she’d felt a terrible constriction in her chest as she sat in class or walked home. She was distractible and took twice as long to do her homework. She laid awake at night, eyes tightly shut but head spinning.

Some things helped. She occasionally played on her home drum kit to try to let the energy out without having to acknowledge the source. The focus and energy needed helped to distract her. It was the same for her housekeeping job at Kanade’s house, and for the running club she’d joined at school. They were all activities that grounded her. Over time, her nervous feelings gradually weakened in intensity as she refused to face them. But they hadn’t totally gone away.

And saying it out loud to another human right now made it real. That she didn’t want this, not really….Her heart felt tight again.

“I think you’re right,” Kanade was saying. “Both for my friend and, perhaps, for yourself. You want to reconnect with your friends, right? Why don’t you tell them?”

She shook her head. “I’m too scared…” she said in a quiet voice. Kanade must have thought of her as mature, to have asked her for advice. But after all, she was nothing but a child, too scared of rejection and judgment to face her feelings.

The two of them were quiet as they finished their meal. Honami packed several portions worth of leftovers into containers and put them in the refrigerator, then began washing up the dishes again. Kanade thanked her for her advice and assured her she would follow it, but although Honami smiled, she thought guiltily of her own hypocrisy.

Chapter 4: Shiho

Summary:

Shiho hangs out with some other musicians.

When Iori offered Shiho a position in her band as bass player after the show she played in with them, even though she couldn’t think of a real reason not to take it, she asked for some time to consider it. Filling in for their missing bass player had felt good. The other band members were experienced and passionate. And to go pro was a dream that had suddenly come into reach, close enough to sense its weightiness. But a formless question nagged in the back of her mind. What about a band with people who understand me?

She liked STANDOUT’s music, but didn’t know Iori or the other band members very well. She mused that getting to know them would be the first step. At least they already respected her – it wouldn’t be like at school, where everyone thought of her as rude and stubborn. Here, they at least recognized her bass playing.

Iori, perhaps intuiting what might overcome Shiho’s hesitation, invited her to the band’s afterparty. “Party” was a strong word for what it actually was – the three band members went out for ticket machine ramen together, eating quickly, and then returned to Iori’s and Miura’s place. Miura was STANDOUT’s drummer. The two of them had just graduated high school and lived together in a small apartment while working on their music. The living room was crowded with instruments, amps, and sheet music. Shiho looked around approvingly and sat down on a floor cushion.

Iori produced a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of club soda, and a stack of glasses. She began pouring a shot of whiskey topped off with some soda in each glass. Shiho watched warily. Iori caught her eye. “Hinomori-san, you’ve got to celebrate with us! It’s your first time playing with us!” Grimly, Shiho nodded. Iori laughed. “You’re so serious. This will help you relax.”

A knock came at the door. Miura went to get it, and when she returned, a tall and serious-looking girl was with her. She had a knowing air and a piercing stare, as if she understood everything. Shiho noted the confidence with which she stood, slightly smiling, with her hands in the pockets of her oversized jacket. “Saku!” Iori exclaimed. “Welcome.”

“Nice work today,” Saku said. “Too bad Mio didn’t show. Luckily, the girl you got instead was alright.” She looked around the room before meeting Shiho’s blazing gaze. “It was you, right?”

“Yes. I’m Shiho Hinomori.”

“Saku Kousaka. I’m Iori’s friend. I’m in a band called anemone.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of your band before….”

Saku smiled. “That’s good.”

“For me or for you?” Shiho asked bluntly, and Saku laughed. “Both of us. I’m glad you’ve heard of us, and I’m glad you’re the type of person to have heard of us.”

“Enough, sit down, let me get you a drink, and then let’s have a toast,” Iori said. “To STANDOUT!” Everyone clinked their glasses and drank. It was both bitter and sweet, smooth and fizzy. Shiho swallowed. Despite the chill of the drink, she felt warm. She decided that she at least didn’t dislike it.

Iori was raising another toast. “And to Hinomori-san, who bailed us out today!” Shiho couldn’t help but smile as everyone looked at her and raised their glasses.

“I had a lot of fun,” she said graciously, and Miura patted her on the back. She was sitting very close to Iori, and her left hand rested gently on Iori’s knee.

“Iori tells me you might be joining us permanently,” she said.

“She’s offered, but I’m still thinking about it. And you all would need to talk to your old bassist, right…”

Miura’s face darkened. “You didn’t know this because you don’t know her, but she showed up after the show.” Shiho vaguely remembered the band members talking to some other people while she was packing up, but didn’t recall who they were.

“She apologized for flaking, and said she was scared of going pro. Can you believe it? Iori asked her if she could commit or not and she couldn’t answer.” There was anger in her voice – Mio’s absence had been extremely inconvenient for all of them. It really was lucky Shiho was able to sub in. They’d been able to pull it off, but she’d needed sheet music to follow along, and they’d had to switch their set list to songs that were easier to sight read.

Iori, who had been listening intently, butted in. “I felt bad, but we can’t have someone we can’t depend on. She didn’t want to go pro, so...” She winked at Shiho. “That’s when I had the bright idea to ask you to join. Okay, we’re desperate…but you’re not bad at all. I think you’ve got some talent.”

Miura nodded. “It’s a pity about Mio. So now we really need a bassist.” Iori’s hand moved to cover Miura’s on her knee and squeezed it. “Don’t worry.”

“Well, if Hinomori says no, what are we going to do?”

“Don’t try to poach our bassist,” Saku said, in a half-serious tone, and they laughed.

“Do you guys want more?” Iori asked, gesturing to Shiho’s empty glass. She agreed, and Iori set out to make her another highball.

Saku sat down next to her on the other side after putting her coat away. Her ears were pierced multiple times, including a few rings near the top. She looked at Shiho appraisingly, cat-like. Shiho felt a bit nervous under her stare, which was gentle yet intense. It was a little hard to focus on her clear eyes, and she blinked to try to see her more clearly. “Hinomori-san. How long have you been playing the bass?”

“Since elementary school. My dad was in a band when he was younger, and my mom is a koto instructor, so I got started in music early.”

“Nice. And you work at that live house now?”

“Yes, and I sometimes fill in as the bassist for bands, which is how they found me….” Iori handed her a full glass.

“I’ve been there a couple times. Maybe I’ll see you next time. When do you normally work?” She watched Shiho, who felt a little bit like she was being interviewed, attentively. Out of the corner of her eye, Shiho saw Iori and Miura exchange a look.

“After school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And whenever else they need me to cover a shift.”

“Oh, you’re still in school? Where?”

“I’m a first year at Miya Girls.”

Saku closed her eyes and looked away, smiling to herself. “That’s the school for rich kids and geniuses, eh?”

“Well…”

“I didn’t know you were only a first year,” Iori interrupted. “You seem very mature. And you’re good for your age.”

“I’m actually known for being quite blunt and rude.”

The other girls laughed hard. “You sure are! But that’s not a bad thing,” Iori said. “To say what you mean, without hiding the truth behind social norms…that too takes a kind of maturity.”

“So think of her as at least a second year,” Miura said, addressing Saku. Saku glared at her. “Shut up.”

Shiho didn’t quite understand what they were talking about. She’d started to feel like her head was heavy, and it took effort to focus on what people were saying. Remember, you’re here to try to figure out if these are people you could be in a band with…

The night passed dizzily. Everyone exchanged LINE contact with Shiho and started calling her by her first name. She tried to remember her impressions of the members. Iori, their leader – guitarist and vocalist – was bold and decisive. Everyone looked to her for advice and respected her opinion. Miura, the drummer, was as reliable as a drummer should be. She was careful and friendly, making people feel at ease. They seemed to be very close.

Saku was a third-year at the same school the other two had gone to, but Miura claimed she hardly did any schoolwork, spending all her time writing and listening to music. Shiho had spent a decent chunk of the night discussing music with Saku. They argued about which song was the best for certain bands and recommended new music. Iori put their suggestions on the speaker, and the four of them listened and discussed. Shiho hadn’t had so much fun in a long time – even though it was hard to focus, the essence of the music still cut through the thick fog in her mind and she felt she could still understand the basic feelings of the songs. She wrote down a long list of artists to explore as the other girls were talking, and was excited to look for their CDs, watch their music videos, and try to attend their shows.

She vaguely remembered Iori insisting on her joining the band. Had she said yes? She pulled out her phone and read a message from Iori thanking her for joining the band and urging her to get home safe. Get home? Where was she, anyway? She looked around disorientedly. She was standing outside a subway station. It was late and cold, which was maybe why she felt slightly more alert. She blinked. Someone was holding onto her arm. She looked at the hand, slender with short bitten nails and callused fingertips, white against the fabric of her coat, and followed the wrinkled sleeve up the line of the arm and the shoulder until she was staring at Saku’s moon-like face.

“Shiho-chan, are you there?” She blinked again.

“Kousaka-san?”

“I thought I told you you could call me Saku. Do you remember? Damn, Iori!”

“Did I agree to join STANDOUT?”

Saku laughed hollowly. “So you do remember. Congratulations. I’ve known Iori…for a long time. She’s…stubborn. I think maybe you have to be to make it in music. Or at least, the people I know are like that. I am, too, and you said yourself that you were blunt and rude….” She paused, as if catching herself, and looked quickly at Shiho. “I hope your partnership is a good one.”

“Me too….” Shiho’s head still felt like there was a great deal of heavy nothingness within. She wasn’t sure she followed Saku’s train of thought.

“Anyway, which line are you taking? I’ll go with you – I don’t think you should be by yourself. You could barely walk when we left. If you go to Miya, you must live in Shibuya, right? Is it this one?” She pointed at one of the subway lines.

“Yes…”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Saku held Shiho’s arm the whole way back. Somehow she found herself walking down the street to her house. Pointing at it, she said “I live here,” to Saku, who looked relieved. She handed her a half empty water bottle. Shiho vaguely remembered the clunk of a vending machine.

“Okay, now finish the rest.” Ah, so she’d been the one who’d drunk half of it already. Shiho obeyed. “Good girl,” Saku said, and patted Shiho’s head. Shiho scrunched her eyes up and Saku laughed. “Okay, go home. I’ll text you tomorrow and you’d better reply or I’m going to come back here and make sure you’re okay. Do you want me to walk you in?”

“No.”

“Alright. Then goodnight, Shiho-chan.”

A lot had happened…she got ready for bed as fast as she could, given the circumstances, and was grateful to fall into a deep sleep.

Notes:

I didn't realize Shiho/Saku was a rarepair until I realized there was no tag yet :3

Chapter 5: Ichika

Summary:

Ichika gets inspired.

Ichika knew that it had been years since Saki had been to Phoenix Wonderland. Although Ichika would not normally go to PXL on her own, she brought it up knowing Saki would be enthusiastic. “Ichika! You want to go to PXL!! Hehe, this is going to be so much fun!”

“I want to go to PXL with you. Because I know you’ll have fun.”

“You’ll have fun, too, right?”

“I’ll be with you.”

Saki’s eyes sparkled. In her mind, while of course she wanted to go ride the fish coaster and watch shows, it was doubly fun to do it together with someone. And she was pleased that Ichika had made an effort to pick something she would like.

“Let’s see…I’m free this weekend! Alright! This is a classic high school experience!”

“Saki-chan…don’t hype it up too much….”

The day rolled around. Ichika chose her outfit carefully, knowing Saki would want to take a lot of pictures. They met at the entrance, got their tickets, and headed in. Immediately, Saki squealed.

“Oh, Ichika, look! It’s Phenny! Let’s go take a picture!” She was pointing at a mascot that looked like a giant penguin. But those in the know would identify it as a phoenix, the titular animal from the park’s name. Being a baby, it didn’t look at all how one would imagine a phoenix, and was further designed to be chubby and cute.

Saki and Ichika joined the line to take a picture, behind a family with two young children who were holding Phenny plushies already. Saki eyed them. “How about we get some plushies, too, Ichika? To remember this trip by?”

“Sure. We can head to the gift shop later.” Although, we just got here, what’s there to remember? Ah…that’s something Shiho would say.

They smiled and posed, and Saki took several selfies and sent them to Ichika, who was surprised by how much she liked them. She saved them to her phone, thinking that Saki was right that these were precious memories. She was feeling nostalgic about this very moment already.

Next they went on the fish coaster. Saki screamed in delight, while Ichika screamed in fear. Afterwards, she held onto Saki’s arm as she walked out the exit shakily. “That was so fast….”

“Let’s do it again!”

“Oh…maybe later…” Ichika’s head was still spinning, and she wasn’t sure her stomach felt that great either. “How about we sit down for a bit?

“And get something to eat?”

They waited in a short line to buy churros and sat watching the people pass by. Nearby, a teenage boy was entertaining a group of small children with some flying robots. “Wow, how is he controlling them?” Ichika mused aloud.

“I think I’ve seen him before,” Saki said suddenly. “He worked with Tsukasa at some point. It was at one of the stages here. I think Tsukasa had a fight with his group, though.” She watched as the boy gesticulated as he spoke to the group of children, who laughed and clapped. “But he didn’t say what exactly happened. I never had the chance to see one of their shows.”

“Maybe they can apologize and make up?” I also want to make up. But I don’t know what to apologize for…Ugh, what am I talking about….

“Hm. Maybe I’ll ask him about it when I get home.”

Ichika licked her fingers, which were covered in sugar from the churro. “I’m done. Are you ready to go?”

They decided to watch a show and picked one at random – they happened to be passing by near one of the stages, and a mascot nearby told them that a show was starting soon, so they decided to go.

It was a story set in a fantasy world, starring a pair of boys, childhood friends, who wander into the territory of a capricious magician. They encounter strange beings and events, and eventually get lost and separated.

The magician comes to each boy in his lowest moment of confusion and despair, and convinces him that the other boy had left him behind. Even when they re-encounter each other, they mistrust each other and voluntarily separate again.

At the climax, when the boys are sure they’re going to be stuck forever, another magician appears. Is he here to save them? Ichika thought to herself. That’s convenient. She snuck a glance at her companion. Saki was captivated. Her eyes shone, and though Ichika wanted to stare longer, to burn the image of her focused, eager face into her memory, she tore her eyes away and looked back to the play.

The second magician has no interest in the boys, but tells the first magician that he regrets fighting with him in their youth and misses him. And the first magician apologizes as well, and reveals he misses their friendship as well. The boys realize they’ve been pitted against each and also make up. They’re ready to fight together, but the first magician releases them, having regained his own friend.

Saki was crying with emotion, and somehow Ichika, too, had become immersed in the boys’ and magician’s pain. She felt she had a hard time coming up from the world of the show back to reality.

“I was so relieved they were able to get past the misunderstanding!” Saki said, voice wobbly. “Why didn’t they just talk to each other earlier?.”

“Me too,” Ichika said. “But…it’s hard to say those kinds of things. It took the magicians a lifetime.”

“But they were best friends! They shouldn’t just accept that something’s wrong! They should try to understand what happened!”

Ichika stared at her. It was so much easier said than done. She knew it better than anyone. Without revealing the turmoil in her heart, she linked her arm with Saki’s as they followed the crowd out of the theater.

“The shows they do here are good, aren’t they? The actors are pretty skilled…I wonder why Tsukasa left…”

“Maybe he’ll come back? How about the ferris wheel next?” Ichika suggested, and they set off. It was a nice day, and they stopped right at the top. Saki took several more selfies of them against the sky, framed by the window of the compartment. Ichika gradually forgot about the heart-gripping anxiety of the show they’d seen, and relaxed into the rhythm of Saki’s enthusiasm about the next ride, or snack, or picture.

After several more rides, including a repeat of the fish coaster, and an ice cream cone, they agreed it was time to leave.

“Wait, Ichika, we forgot to get Phenny plushies!”

“I’m so sorry, I forgot! Let’s get them now.”

They picked a yellow one for Saki and a blue one for Ichika. “Are you going to name yours?” Saki asked.

“Uh…isn’t it already named Phenny?”

“I know, but how will we tell them apart?”

“Let’s just call them Yellow Phenny and Blue Phenny….”

Saki laughed. “Okay, those are their names! And they’re best friends!” Ichika blushed. She was really glad Saki was back. She vowed that at least with Saki, she’d never let a misunderstanding come between them again.

They said goodbye at the station and Ichika walked home alone, reflecting that she had had fun, created some good memories with Saki, and was glad to have invited her. She started to fumble with her headphones when she heard a voice down a side street. She paused for two reasons. The first was that the voice was abnormally clear and beautiful, and the second was that she recognized the song. It was a Miku song.

Ichika had been listening to Miku songs for many years, marveling at the way she could provide a voice for all types of music written by many different people. If you wanted to make music but couldn’t sing, Miku was there for you. And sometimes her voice itself really did lend a quality to the song that was irreplaceable.

Ichika followed the sound down the unfamiliar street. It had a grungy feel, with graffiti on the walls and patrons dressed in casual, fashionably baggy and strappy clothing rather than business attire. She saw the source of the voice: a young girl about her age was singing in the street, with a small amp and microphone plugged into a nearby wall. The backing track was energetic, with a strong beat and electronic effects. Her voice was strong and full of emotion, and her expressions matched the lyrics in the music. As she’d been drawn by the song down the street, so had other spectators come to gather. A small crowd surrounded her to listen and clap for her. And when she finished her song, Ichika clapped too. The girl took a short bow, grinning, and announced that she would sing one more song before ending her practice. A couple of people cheered her on, she flipped through her phone to select a track, and then she launched into it.

This next song was not a Miku song, but the tune was catchy and Ichika found herself humming along familiarly when it got to the second verse. The girl tapped her foot and gestured along with the rhythm to energize the crowd. Ichika felt her heart racing in excitement and was disappointed when it ended, the girl packed up her equipment, and the crowd dispersed, chattering to themselves about how good the girl had gotten. So they knew her.

After watching her walk off with her gear in tow, Ichika returned the way she came and started distilling her racing emotions of exhilaration and inspiration into concrete thoughts. That girl was pretty young, right? She could sing like this? Ichika thought her own singing was reasonably on-pitch – a decent place to start – and wondered if she could ever get to this level. And, that girl had covered a Miku song. It had never occurred to Ichika to replace Miku’s voice. Even though musicians used her when they didn’t have a vocalist, some used her on purpose, and it felt wrong to replace her. Still, Ichika was interested. What if she only covered some of the lyrics? Then it would be like she was singing with Miku, not instead of her. Yes, this was an idea!

She felt the excitement building within her and rushed home to see if she could strip down some of her favorite Miku songs. It had been a long time since she’d felt this kind of interest in something, and it felt good.

Chapter 6: Saki

“Saki, why do you look so nervous?” Ichika nudged her elbow from across the aisle. She was eating a yakisoba bun. Saki was picking at the plastic wrapping of her onigiri instead of eating it. She sighed.

“The soft tennis club has a match with another club next week. I thought I would be getting better, and maybe I am, but I’m still not very good.”

“But you’ve only just joined the club? As a beginner, isn’t it normal to be bad at first?”

Sonoda, who was eating with them, laughed. “You’re bad, that’s for sure, but it’s true that you haven’t played any sports before this.”

“You haven’t played soft tennis before either!” Saki wailed, grabbing Sonoda’s hands and ignoring the distinction between “any sports” and “soft tennis.” “And you’re so much better than me already! You too, Inoue!”

The two other members of the club exchanged a look. “Saki-chan, I know you’re worried about the match. But it’s not a big deal. Hayashi-senpai said we’ll be playing against other first-years. They’re bound to also have some total beginners.” Inoue smiled kindly.

“I don’t want her to think I’m slacking,” Saki continued. “She always seems to think I’m goofing off at practice, but I am trying! I’m just bad.”

Sonoda smiled. “To be fair, you spent a lot of the last practice singing a song you made up to try to cheer everyone on.”

“It was a good song,” Inoue said hurriedly. “But I think Hayashi-senpai might have thought you weren’t taking practice seriously.”

“Can I hear the song?” Ichika asked. Saki brightened slightly and started to sing. Sonoda and Inoue nodded along. When she finished, all three of the other girls clapped and Saki smiled.

“I really liked it,” Ichika said thoughtfully. “It felt energizing. But can I make some suggestions for the lyrics?”

She replaced some words to make the rhyming work better, and rewrote a verse with somewhat awkward phrasing into something shorter and snappier. “Hey, you’re pretty good at this,” Saki said, eyeing the notebook on which Ichika was scrawling. She blushed.

“This is a lot catchier,” Inoue agreed, leaning over to read the lyrics. “Even I can remember how it goes now.” She sang one of the verses Ichika had just written, and Ichika blushed.

“I’m going to teach everyone the song next time!” Saki declared.

“I thought you were worried Hayashi-senpai would think you were slacking off?”

“Well, I am… But this is how I can contribute.”

“I have an idea,” Inoue said. “Why don’t we get in some extra practice? Are you free this weekend, Saki, Sonoda? We can go to the courts in the park and play in the afternoon.”

Saki’s face lit up. “What a great idea! Thank you so much, Inoue! I promise to be a really good student!”

“Alright, alright.”

The three of them agreed on a time to meet. Saki hoped their extra practice would be fruitful.

After class was over, she happened to bump into Hayashi in the hall. The captain of the soft tennis team was tall and imposing, but when she smiled at Saki it was a genuine one. “Tenma. I heard you wrote our team a song.”

“Hayashi-senpai! Um, well, yes, that is to say….” She couldn’t tell if Hayashi approved or disapproved, so she rushed into her next piece of news. “Actually, I’m going to try to get some extra practice in this weekend, so don’t think I’m not working hard! I know I have a lot of room to improve….”

“I appreciate the effort. I hope you’re having fun.”

“I am! I always wanted to join a sports club in high school!”

“Yes, but remember that there is a wide range of skill level and commitment in any club. We have competitive members, but we don’t turn anyone down from joining just because of skill.”

Saki was confused. Was she saying that she was so bad that she was lucky she wasn’t getting kicked out? The captain saw the expression on her face and continued.

“What I’m saying is…think about what you want to do. And then do that. Not just what you want to do, but how much you want to do it….Any level of commitment is acceptable to me, if it’s acceptable to you. Ah, did that make sense? I just mean…” Hayashi put a face to her hand, embarrassed at the fragmented and incoherent thought.

“No, I think I get it!” Saki said, even though she didn’t get it at all. Should she commit to becoming better at soft tennis?

“Okay. Have fun at your practice and see you next week.” She patted Saki on the back, feeling like she hadn’t quite fulfilled her captain duties to be encouraging to the members of the club.

==

That weekend, Saki met her two friends at the courts. “We’re going to have to play one on two since there are three of us,” Inoue said as she inflated the balls she had brought. She was a calm and organized girl and was naturally taking charge of the practice. “Sonoda and I will each go first as the single player, and then it will be your turn, Saki.”

Saki was impressed by the two of them. They were each able to rally on their own, playing against two players! Whoever her partner was, she made sure to try to give half the shots to Saki. But though she steeled herself in the ready position and watched where the ball was going, she wasn’t fast enough, and frequently missed, or hit the ball but sent it out of bounds or into the net. Even now, just getting it over the net was considered a success, just as it had been on her first day.

She drank half a bottle of water while they were taking a break. “I think the problem – or at least part of it – is your stamina,” Inoue said appraisingly as she opened her own water bottle. “When the ball isn’t right in front of you, it’s much harder for you to reach it.”

“Of course it is, if it’s not right in front of me!” Saki said, a bit indignantly, still catching her breath.

“You just need to get there faster,” Sonoda said.

“What can we do to improve your stamina? Maybe we can try running? That’s supposed to help.” Saki groaned. The team also ran laps during practice, and she was always the slowest one. They were probably right that it was related to her inability to get to the ball in time.

“Saki, don’t worry, we’ll run with you,” Inoue said seriously. “Let’s do ten laps around the courts.” Saki looked around. There were six courts, some empty and some occupied, so it wasn’t a trivial distance to go around all of them. She wanted to complain again, but reminded herself that she didn’t want to let her team down at the match, and reluctantly started to jog.

She completed a few laps feeling optimistic, but soon began to breathe hard and hear her heartbeat in her ears, pounding and petulant. She was already sweating from the earlier rallies, and now droplets rolled ticklishly down her back and down the midline of her chest. The other two kept pace with her, one in front and one behind, but it was clear that she was struggling a lot more than them. She wanted to tell them to slow down, but couldn’t get the words out, she was so out of breath. Forcing herself to continue, she rounded another corner. Five more laps to go. Inoue was getting farther and farther away. “You can do it,” Sonoda said from behind her. The heat radiating off her body stuck to her skin like smoke. Three more laps. She tried to focus on what was in front of her to distract herself. A young boy rallied with his father in the court. The boy was also quite inexperienced and his father had few opportunities to return shots. But he smiled patiently, enjoying their time together. I’m lucky Inoue and Sonoda are so nice and also patient with me, she reflected. But they’re also making me work so hard….One more lap.

Finally she reached the end of the last lap and collapsed onto the sandpapery ground onto her hands and knees, panting. “Good job, Saki-chan,” Inoue said coolly. “We can rest a bit, and then it’s your turn to play both of us.” She didn’t even have the energy to protest and accepted the break gratefully.

Sonoda and Inoue mostly fed her balls down the center, but she still had to turn from side to side to hit it from the right angle. Then, they started hitting balls farther away, but with less power, so there was more time for her to reach the ball before it bounced a second time. Her shoulder and legs were getting sore and she felt hot. It was really hard to play on your own, without a partner. There were no breaks in-between hits, and she marveled again at her friends’ ability to do so earlier.

But far from improving, her reaction time was getting slower and slower. “Let’s take another break!” Inoue called from the other side of the court. Saki shuffled off, feeling slightly dizzy, and sat down. “Your form is getting worse, probably because you’re tired,” Inoue said, approaching. She handed Saki a bottle of iced tea and opened a bottle of water for herself.

“Saki, your face is kind of red. Are you alright? It was a lot of running, I know…Sorry….” Sonoda felt Saki’s forehead. “You’re a bit warm. I mean, I guess you’ve been exercising. But still….” She felt her own forehead with her other hand. “Yeah, you seem warmer than me.”

Saki closed her eyes in embarrassment. She knew she was weaker than others. That was why she was eager to prove herself and improve her stamina. But it hadn’t been enough. In fact, it was making her body react, and not in the good way where she suddenly unlocked some latent power. “I’m fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure it was true. Her friends looked worried. Inoue looked at her watch.

“This is a good time to stop anyway. Let’s get something to eat and go home.”

The air conditioning at the cafe they went to was first refreshingly cool, and then uncomfortably cold. The sweat on her back seemed to suck the coldness from the air, and she shivered. Her legs stuck to the seat. She felt simultaneously trapped in and far away from her body.

“I’m not sure half a week is enough time to get much better,” Inoue was saying. “And too much is too much,” she continued, glancing at Saki. “Let’s just focus on stamina and reaction time in practices going forward.”

“Yeah, there’s plenty of time to keep practicing,” Sonoda said. “Good job today, Saki. You worked really hard!”

Saki nodded, but didn’t feel much like saying anything else. She could barely follow the conversation. She knew she needed to eat but wasn’t feeling very hungry. Their food arrived and she ate a few bites, feeling her body taking the energy in as she chewed, but not really connecting with the experience of eating. She felt a hand on her forehead again.

“We’ve been sitting so long, you should’ve cooled down by now….” Sonoda’s voice was soft and worried. Another hand touched her forehead.

“Saki, you have a fever!” Inoue said sharply.

“No….” she said weakly.

Inoue paused and said with remorse, “I’m sorry for pushing you too hard today.”

“Me too!” Sonoda said. “I didn’t realize it would make you sick!”

“It’s not your fault,” Saki said, and meant it. It wasn’t their fault she was sickly. How were they supposed to know? She hadn’t told them, and they didn’t know her before this.

Inoue dug around in her bag and paid the bill. “Let’s go,” she said, and the two of them linked arms with her as they walked her home. But after all, I’m grateful that they’re my friends…. Saki thought.

==

She missed the game. After all that practice, I couldn’t even go. Ichika came over with some snacks after school on one of the days, but her mom sent her home quickly, telling her she should try not to catch the illness too. Saki watched her wave from the street and waved back, eating seaweed chips.

When she got back to school, Inoue and Sonoda told her about the match. “We won a few and lost a few,” Sonoda said, referring to the doubles team consisting of the two of them. “But overall, we lost. By a little bit.”

“We would have lost by more if I had been there,” Saki said, trying not to show her disappointment that she had missed the first game of the season. “Next time, you guys have to be so good it makes up for me also being there.”

At the next practice, Hayashi surprised Saki by leading the team in a sing along to the song she’d written. “I forgot to tell you, Hayashi really liked it!” Sonoda whispered. “We also sang it at the tournament last week!”

Saki was pleased, and was able to put in a good effort during the rest of practice. They were working on their serves. Inoue had a fast and accurate serve already, and Hayashi praised her swing. Saki could at least get it over the net if she didn’t swing too hard – in those cases, the ball went straight into the ground. And besides that, she was improving at returning balls. She was starting to understand how to predict where the ball was going to be and how to position herself so that she’d be able to reach it. Then she had more time to get there since she started moving earlier, and she could connect with the ball more often. And now that she was hitting more balls, she was getting more experience on her stroke.

Ichika asked her how her club was going. She sighed. On some level, it was going well. But also, it hadn’t been what she’d expected.

“I thought there was going to be a lot of drama. You know, the kind where there are some really talented first years, or someone with just one skill they’re really good at, or even a rival with a mean persona but a hard home life…but everyone’s really nice, and the most drama I’ve had is that I got sick once.”

“I see….”

“And I’m not bad, but I’m not good, either. I’m getting better and having fun, but I don’t know if there’s more to it than that.”

“Why does there have to be more?”

That might be right – for soft tennis, at least. At practice the next week, Saki worked hard, sneakers skidding on the blacktop. She felt agile. She swung, and her racket collided with the ball in a satisfying thunk!, or maybe poing! was a better way to put it. Her arm felt strong, her legs bouncy. And with Sonoda on her team, she found herself playing a game and holding the upper hand.

She returned ball after ball and they won several points in a row. “Yes!” She pumped her fist and high-fived Sonoda as they rotated around the court. The rallies in soft tennis were long, but she was getting used to it and even enjoyed how she could more predictably land the balls in the court. Run, swing, hit, back to the center. Watch the ball, run, set up her stroke, swing, hit, back to the center.

She hugged Sonoda in exhilaration when they won the practice game. They went to shake hands with the other girls, who beamed at Saki.

“Saki-chan, good game! You played so well today.”

Even Hayashi had noticed. She came by immediately and patted Saki’s head, and told her how proud she was of her kouhai. That really pleased Saki, who among other things had been looking forward to having a senpai.

“Tenma, you’re doing much better. I’m glad to see you’re improving.”

“Thanks, Hayashi-senpai!”

“And I’m glad that while you’re putting in the effort, you seem more relaxed about it.”

“Oh, well…I guess I’ve realized I’m just here to have fun. Don’t worry, I’ll work hard, but I know what I can and can’t do.”

“That’s a nice way to think about it. Keep having fun. You’ll keep improving.”

She went out for bubble tea afterwards with Sonoda and Inoue, and arm in arm with her friends, Saki felt content, almost. She had the high school club experience she wanted, at a realistic level of fun and a reasonable level of effort. Was it that she wanted something more? That she wanted something to feel really committed to, and soft tennis just wasn’t it?

She wanted to dream, and to be honest, soft tennis was just not conducive to dreaming. She liked that she was getting stronger and improving her stamina. It was nice to walk home without breathing hard, nice to have the energy to have a pillow fight with Tsukasa every now and then. She liked playing with her friends, win or lose. But she didn’t dream about winning championships or bringing pride to her team.

What she really looked forward to was hanging out with her friends, not just Sonoda and Inoue, but Ichika, who had always stood by her. And what she really dreamed about was what she’d wanted all along – her three childhood friends together with her, dreaming the same dream.

Was it still possible?

Chapter 7: Honami

Honami arrived home feeling like her feelings were slipping out of control again. First the choir concert, where she still had no idea how she was going to resolve the conflict, and dreaded the thought of half the class being angry with her, and then the reminder that she was still too much of a coward to admit what a terrible friend she had been, and still was.

“Have you taken Shibao out yet?” she asked her father, who was lounging on the couch watching a news program.

“Not yet. Why don’t you take him?”

“I was going to go for a run, so I’ll bring him.”

“What about dinner?”

“I ate with Yoisaki-san already.”

She changed into her running clothes and put Shibao’s leash on. He waited politely as she laced up her shoes. “Come on, Shibao! Let’s go!”

The two of them walked down the building stairs onto the street. Honami waited for Shibao to do his business, cleaned up after him, and dropped the bag in the building’s trash can. Then, they set off towards the nearby park at an easy pace. Shibao had some trouble keeping up – he had two natural running gaits, one lope that was relatively slow, and one sprint that was faster than her. No matter which one he used, their speeds were mismatched. After a few warm-up blocks of awkwardly passing each other repeatedly, she sped up, trying to match his faster pace so he would be more comfortable, and so she could get more of the uncomfortable energy out of her body and into the movement of her limbs and beating of her heart.

When she was tired, she slowed down to Shibao’s slower pace. She focused on her breathing and the rhythmic movement of her arms and legs. The sound of her shoes against the pavement, the rushing of blood in her head. But it all faded away against the deafening drum of the thoughts in her head. Instead of feeling calmer in the focus of moving her body, she was lost in the trancelike tumble of emotions. I’m afraid…they’ll hate me…what if…I can’t choose….

When she returned home after making a couple of loops around the park, she was tired and sweaty, but no closer to resolving her dilemma. She stretched, without much intent, and wiped sweat from her neck. She wiped Shibao’s paws, refilled his water bowl, and went to take a bath.

She had a few more days before the next choir meeting. She spent an afternoon drumming on the electronic drum kit in her bedroom, trying to calm herself in the trance of playing. But she made many mistakes and had to go back to replay some of the sections several times. After some time she had actually forgotten about her problem, though she was still playing more forcefully than she intended.

Although she wasn’t part of the school band, she still played on the kit in her room regularly. It was another activity where she felt the focus required helped her escape her usual feelings of anxiety. She found sheet music of songs she liked and learned them, sometimes playing along with the song recording.

Trying to focus on something productive that was unrelated to the song choice, she asked Emu, who was eager to help her, to go around the class and collect people’s schedules. At least she’d be ready for coordinating practice times, whenever the song choice was made…

At Kanade’s house, she busied herself with the chores. First the laundry….next, the dishes…. The labor and routine steadied her and she felt a bit calmer as she mixed together a sauce for the yakisoba noodles she was frying.

Kanade asked her to stay for dinner again, and told her that she’d gotten in touch with her friend. “She acknowledged that my music…our music…was important to her.” She smiled gently and Honami smiled back fondly.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But she still needs to be saved. It wasn’t enough….” A faraway look came into Kanade’s eyes. “I’m going to keep composing until I can reach her.”

Honami admired Kanade’s resolve and her talent as a composer. But as the one taking care of her, she couldn’t help but worry. “Just being there for your friend means a lot, I’m sure,” she said. “Please make sure to take care of yourself, too.”

Kanade didn’t answer at first, only thanked her for her advice and her concern before falling silent.

“Actually, maybe I can ask you for some advice this time?” Honami asked.

“If I’m able to help, then I’m happy to,” Kanade replied, the smile returning to her face.

“Well, it’s like this….” Honami explained the choir recital predicament. Kanade looked thoughtful.

“It is as you say. One song will require more work but will surely be more fulfilling. The other will be much easier to plan, but won’t challenge anyone. There are merits to both approaches. So there’s no wrong or right choice, only what you want to do.”

“What I want to do?”

“I can only give you the advice you gave me. One way or another, you must let them know how you feel.”

“But I don’t mind either song. I just want everyone to be happy.”

“Then you have to say that.”

Honami was shocked. That advice was easier said than done! Maybe for some people, but not for her. She wasn’t able to speak up even when brought the wrong order at a restaurant or cafe. How could she speak so plainly to a whole class of judgmental teenagers? Not like this.

==

The next day passed with much of the same nervousness. Her classmate had to ask her to stop jiggling her foot during a pop quiz, which she felt she did poorly on as she was unable to focus enough to remember how to do the questions. She ate lunch with Emu, who gave her the schedule sheets she’d collected. She patted Honami’s hand worriedly.

“I really want to see you smile, Honami,” she said, looking so earnest that Honami was really touched by the somewhat childish expression. “I want everyone to smile, but especially you!”

“Thanks, Emu. Do you think there’s a way we can make everyone smile? Is it true that if one group is happy, the other group won’t be? They didn’t seem to be able to understand each other.”

She looked through the schedules Emu had given her and started grouping them mentally, keeping track of which days seemed to be more free, and noticing clusters of availability.

“I know you understand how they feel, Honami. That’s why you’re so nice! I’m sure they want to be nice too, deep down!”

“I hope so…”

“No matter what happens, I’ll support you!”

Looking through the schedules, Honami was disappointed to find that there were only a few days that the majority of the class was free. And there were some people with very limited availability due to their other clubs – as they’d mentioned in the previous discussion – and others who were very flexible. She wracked her brains for a way that these very different schedules could work together.

By the time the choir meeting came around the next day, she was so nervous she could barely start the meeting.

“Um, so…let’s discuss what song we’re going to pick. Then, we’ll agree on the schedule. Thanks everyone for filling out your availability.”

“I still really want to sing Smile Tomorrow Too. I think we’ll be proud of our hard work in the end.”

“Come on, The Voice of Time will be much easier to do. We can’t all work as hard as you’re saying.

“Aren’t you being a little lazy?”

“You’re the one being inconsiderate.”

“Don’t you even want to win?”

The argument was just as bad as last time. Honami listened helplessly, and a little indignantly, since she’d done her best to come up with shared and small-group practice days that people could attend, and these people were arguing as if nothing mattered but their own opinion. It annoyed her, the way they slung insults thoughtlessly.

“Is winning all you think about? You guys just picked this song because it won last year, but who’s to say they’ll pick it again? Especially if no one has time to learn it. Don’t be delusional!”

“But there’s no way The Voice of Time will win, even if we do a good job. Why don’t you care a little more?!”

“SHUT UP!” Everyone turned, startled, to where Honami stood at the front of the classroom, with her arms tense and hands balled into fists. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had a hard expression on her face. “Stop arguing! Aren’t we all in this together! Aren’t we a team? I’ve listened to your argument and I understand how you both feel. But why can’t you try to understand each other? I want everyone to be happy! Don’t you? So shut up unless you’re thinking about a way to compromise!”

She was breathing hard. Saying all of this didn’t feel good. She felt like instead of making everyone happy, she had actually just made everyone mad at her. Her vision was starting to narrow, and she gripped the table in front of her, hard. Things were starting to spin.

“Honami…” Emu said quietly, taking her arm. “Let’s go outside for a bit.” She allowed herself to be walked outside, and tried to ignore the many stares she knew were following her. She felt terrible.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry….” Her voice had gone back to a weak whisper. She sat down on the ground dizzily and tried to focus on the solidness and coldness of the floor tiles. Emu put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m okay…thanks, Emu. I just…sorry I got frustrated. I’ve been so nervous about this all day that it just came out.”

Emu patted her shoulder gently. “I’ll go back and try to talk to them. Why don’t you rest a bit and come back later?” Emu gave her a last concerned look before returning to the classroom. Honami felt worse that Emu was doing what was supposed to be her job, and instead, she was out here trying to calm down. Well, it probably wasn’t going to work. She’d been trying to calm down for days. She took another deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Honami?” She looked up to see Shiho walking down the hall towards her.

“Oh, Shiho….” She was surprised both that Shiho had addressed her, and that she had such an odd expression on her face. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was one of concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I…” Even though she hadn’t had a real conversation with Shiho in years, it was still Shiho, and despite herself, it all came out. She really couldn’t help herself today.

“We’re trying to pick a song for the choir recital. The class divided themselves into two groups, of equal size, and they’re arguing over two songs. As the coordinator, the deciding vote fell to me….”

“Let me guess, you can’t decide?” Shiho said this in a harsh, almost disgusted tone, and Honami shrank.

“I actually just yelled at them for arguing. I said I wanted everyone to be happy, that I wanted them to compromise and understand each other. But since I was yelling, I don’t know if they heard me. I’m so embarrassed.” She put her face in her hands, so she didn’t see that Shiho’s expression had softened.

“Hah, you actually yelled at them? Serves them right.” Honami sighed and Shiho grimaced. “So you told them why this was bothering you. Well, now that you’ve said that…what are you really afraid of?”

“Huh?”

“You’re upset because you’re afraid, right? What are you afraid of happening?”

It was hard to admit this out loud, despite how obvious it was in her head. It sounded stupid saying it.

“That…people will resent me…whatever choice I make….”

“To make a decision means that not everyone is going to agree with you. But you can still respect someone without agreeing with them, can’t you?” Honami met Shiho’s eyes, which had an intense expression. She didn’t know what to say and finally Shiho sighed and looked away. “Never mind. Good luck. See you.”

Honami closed her eyes for a moment before deciding she had been absent for too long. The surprising encounter with Shiho had somehow pulled her out of her head, and she felt alert again. Steeling herself, she opened the door to the classroom.

The mood was subdued, and everyone looked at her as she entered. “Honami-chan, I’ve been looking at the sheet music,” Emu began, but trailed off when she saw Honami’s determined expression.

“Everyone, I’m sorry I yelled,” she began. “I lost my temper and I apologize. Let us all remember that this is a class activity we’d all like to participate in and have fun.” She tried to smile, but felt that whatever expression she was making was not the one she wanted to.

Before she could continue, one of the other students cut in. “Mochizuki-san, let me apologize too. I got overexcited. Sorry for being disrespectful.”

“I’m also sorry,” the soccer player said. “I understand you want an outcome that’s satisfactory for everyone. In truth, I do, too.”

“Thank you. Although, you should also apologize to each other–”

“We already did, when you were gone.”

“You were right. We should try to come up with a compromise.”

“Oh, that’s good….” Honami was caught off guard by their deference and sudden willingness to at least try to work together. “Um, where were we….”

“Well…I still want to sing Smile Tomorrow Too….”

“And I still think The Voice of Time will be easier….”

“That’s what you want?” Remembering what Shiho had said, Honami pushed further. “What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid of?” They paused to think.

“I’m afraid we’ll have a bad performance if we don’t have enough time,” the soccer player said straightforwardly. “It’s not that I don’t like Smile Tomorrow Too. I just don’t think it will be possible. Therefore, we should choose an easier song where we’ll be able to prepare.”

“But I’m afraid of having regrets,” responded the other. “I want us to be proud of what we accomplished.” They looked at each other with what Honami hoped was more understanding. She sighed.

“Emu, let me see the schedules. And the music.”

The class chatted amongst themselves anxiously as Honami bent over the pages, whispering with Emu, who pointed alternately at some of the different parts and at the schedules the other students had filled out. Finally they stood up at the front of the class again. Everyone immediately quieted down.

“Honami came up with the best plan!” Emu said, beaming. Honami appreciated the show of support, but half of it was Emu’s work, too.

“We looked at the sheet music for Smile Tomorrow Too. It’s difficult, but some parts are less difficult than others. We also looked at the schedule. There are enough free days where everyone is free that we can do partial practice sessions for the other days. In other words, I think we can respect the schedules of those who have less time to practice, while also finding enough time to practice together. Please take a look at these schedules and parts and let me know if this is acceptable.”

She and Emu wrote out the assignments and practice days on the whiteboard. There was some discussion as people tried to swap parts or negotiate days, but thankfully everyone eventually agreed on the schedule.

“I think this may actually work,” the soccer player said. “Since you’ve given me one of the easier parts, the practice days should be enough to learn it.”

“And I’ve got a more difficult part, but much more time scheduled to get it right.”

“Mochizuki, thank you for considering everyone’s preferences. I’m actually getting excited about the song now.”

“So we’re really going to sing Smile Tomorrow Too? Yay!” Emu squealed, hugging Honami.

A warmth came into Honami’s chest, a mixture of relief and joy. “So everyone’s happy? Thank goodness….”

The bell rang, just in time to wrap up the session. Honami reminded everyone to be aware of the practice schedules. As people filed out, she hung back to wipe the whiteboards. “I’m so proud of you, Honami-chan! You were so cool,” Emu said.

“I’m so ashamed of how I yelled….I can’t believe I lost my temper….I was so scared.”

“That was cool too!” Emu insisted. “You got everyone to hear you, to realize that you wanted them to understand each other, and that they did, too. They didn’t realize what they were really arguing about.”

“I hope they don’t see me any differently….”

“They think you’re really cool. I know they do, because I do!”

“But I’m not!” She face Emu with desperation in her eyes. “I’m not! I hate conflict! I don’t like it when people disagree. I got lucky this time, Emu-chan. We managed to find a solution. But it’s not always going to be like this. Someone is bound to be unhappy, and then they’ll blame me for not taking their side! I can’t help but want everyone to be happy!”

“Honami….”

“Emu, thank you for helping me. But I really wish…I didn’t have to be in this position.”

Emu drooped a bit, but put on a brave smile. “Honami, I also want everyone to smile. I love that you do too. The more you do it, the better you’ll get at it. It takes work…but I’ll support you no matter what. You don’t have to worry that I’ll blame you.”

Honami felt her eyes welling with tears, the emotions she’d been trying to suppress surfacing all at once. But she smiled through them and took Emu’s arm. “Thank you, Emu….”

“And, I don’t think you just got lucky. The important bit that you did, was to make people understand that they should listen to each other. Once they’re willing to compromise, with everyone helping, of course we can come up with something. And you’re the one who did it.”

They walked out of the school together before saying goodbye at the gates. Honami wiped her face with her sleeve and headed home. I managed to say how I felt. And to face what I’m afraid of. I’m still afraid of doing things in a way that disappoints other people, she reflected. But…I also…don’t want to have any regrets. She recalled Shiho’s appearance and the fact that she’d spoken to her in a kind way – of course, she understood Shiho’s tone to be kind, even when it sounded blunt. I’m glad she came at that moment. But why talk to me now? Was it because I was alone? But even if I’m not alone, I.…

She almost dared to believe she could do it, could attempt to begin to atone for how things were.

Shiho, I don’t want to have any regrets.

Chapter 8: Shiho

Shiho got to the studio early. She wanted extra time to warm up. Iori had given her the sheet music for all of STANDOUT’s songs, and they were going through them together one by one in their group practices to help Shiho’s playing get integrated into the group. They were playing a show in another two months, and she needed to be better than a last-minute back-up bassist. It was a lot of work, but Iori and Miura were quite good, and Shiho respected both their passion and their work.

After stretching her arms and hands, tuning her bass, and playing some warmup exercises, she settled into a playthrough of the song they were going to practice today. She was halfway through when the door opened and Iori and Miura came in together, interrupting the phrase.

“Shiho, you’re here early. Nice groove.”

“Iori-san, Miura-san.” She nodded at them tersely and started over at the beginning of the phrase, playing until the end of the song as the other two began to unpack and set up.

“It sounds pretty good,” Iori said.

“I heard some parts that need work,” Miura said, from behind the drum kit where she was crouching to adjust the heights of the various parts. “But it’ll get better when we play together.”

Shiho appreciated both the praise and the criticism. As she waited for them to set up, she checked her phone. She’d gotten a text from Saku.

<Band practice today?>

<Yup, how’d you know?>

<They’ve always had the same practice schedule. Have fun.>

Shiho didn’t respond and put her phone away. She played a couple of chords absent-mindedly as Iori tuned her guitar and Miura tapped on the snare and hi-hat experimentally.

They had a productive session. Miura was right that playing with the drums improved Shiho’s ability to get into the rhythm crisply and naturally. That had become clear pretty early on, that it was imperative for the two of them to be able to be in sync. Then, on top of that, Iori’s melody and voice could really shine.

It was earlier than Shiho expected when Iori said, “That’s enough of that today.” Were they ending practice early? But then she said, “We’re working on something new. While you’re here, Shiho, let’s play a few bars and see how it sounds.”

This was exciting. Shiho had played a lot of covers and now was playing Iori’s and Miura’s original music, but hadn’t before been part of the writing process. She waited in eager anticipation.

Iori played the vocal melody first, then paused and played the guitar’s part. Then she looked at Shiho. “I think the bass will go something like this, only an octave lower–” she played a couple more chords on her guitar. Shiho tried to copy her – Iori named the chords as Shiho played them, which helped – and then they played together.

Miura was listening carefully. On the second run-through, she and Iori started humming the melody.

“Stop, stop,” Iori said, and Shiho paused, startled. “Let’s change this part of the melody. I think it might go better like this….”

Then Miura added drumming in, changing things slightly on each run through. The two of them discussed which parts they liked, and Miura wrote some notes on a piece of paper. Shiho felt emboldened by the discussion, and played part of it with a small variation. Miura looked at her in confusion as she did so.

“Sorry, Shiho, let’s not worry about the bass line for now,” she said apologetically. “I think we’re ok with the chord progression for this part.” Shiho nodded, a little disappointed at the reception, but feeling that perhaps it was right that they work on their parts first before embellishing her part.

The bass parts that they’d previously given her were generally complementary to the rest of the music, and occasionally had some nice technical bits, so she didn’t worry too much. Iori and Miura started venturing further into the song past the part they’d been practicing, and Shiho kept on playing the chords simply, providing the backdrop for their work.

At the end of the session, as they were packing up, a knock came on the door before it opened. They looked up, ready to apologize for needing a little extra time to clean up, but it was Saku who came in. Iori frowned at her.

“Thought I’d find you guys here. How was practice?”

“What are you doing here? You’re lucky we weren’t in the middle of practice or I’d kill you.” Iori glanced at Shiho, who shrugged.

Saku put up her hands playfully. “Come on, I know you guys are done. You’ve had this practice slot for ages. I just wanted to hang out!”

Iori and Miura exchanged another look. “Sorry, Saku, we’ve got plans after this….” One by one they all turned to look at Shiho, who was fastening her case. She looked up. Saku raised an eyebrow.

“Me?” she said, surprised. But really, she thought, she shouldn’t be. Although she hadn’t seen Saku since that night at Iori’s and Miura’s apartment, Saku had texted her a few times, including earlier today. She hadn’t consciously thought too much about it, but it set some precedent for her looking to her as a backup when her other friends were busy.

Saku had an odd look on her face that Shiho didn’t know how to describe, both hopeful and confident. She found herself saying, somewhat coyly, “I don’t have plans….”

Iori and Miura both shot Saku a look, slightly icy. She ignored them and asked coolly, “Want to come to the music store with me?”

“Why not?” she said, thinking that she did have some time before she should go home. Saku’s face, despite the air of self-assuredness, betrayed a hint of excitement. Iori scoffed slightly. “Don’t bother her too much.”

“We’re just going to check out some music.”

Shiho was ready, so she followed Saku out, saying goodbye to her bandmates. They walked out onto the street.

“So, how was practice?”

“I think it went well. We practiced one of the songs. We’re playing better as a group now.” She paused as she walked a bit faster to catch up to Saku and walk next to her. “They also wanted to work on something new, so we did that for the second half.”

“Something new?”

“Yeah. It’s short so far. They’re still working on it, but made some progress.”

“How does it sound so far?”

Shiho smiled. “Promising, but it’s definitely still unfinished. I think it might take awhile to work out. They’re still working on their parts. They told me to hold off on trying anything with the bass line for now.”

“I see.” She looked sideways at Shiho, as if appraising her.

“So,” Shiho said, changing the subject, “why did you want to go the music store today?”

Saku grinned with enthusiasm. “I always want to go to the music store. I like to go and listen to whatever’s playing, and look at what’s new and what’s old, what’s popular and what’s unpopular. Don’t tell me you haven’t done this before.”

Shiho had, but felt that she probably still didn’t have as much experience as Saku. “Sure, I was just wondering if there was something specific you were looking for.”

“Not any specific music…but I do want to hear some of your opinions.”

They arrived and stepped in, ringing the bell that hung on the door as they opened it. The manager greeted them, and then went back to working at his computer. Shiho followed Saku to the main display of popular music.

It was a medium size store, carrying both new and second-hand CDs and records. It was a little bit old-fashioned to still be selling things like this, but many people like Shiho and, she guessed, Saku, were fond of their collections and wanted to keep adding to them, so stores like this could still survive. The center display was dedicated to new releases from the most popular artists, with some auxiliary areas focusing on well-known groups and artists in other popular genres. To the right, there were more shelves and displays, organized by artist name, while the left hand side had a more eclectic collection of discounted second hand CDs and records. Matching the inventory, the left hand side had a dustier, older look – even the shelves looked like they were second-hand, or at least very old, the records were in long plastic tubs, and the carpet, though neat, was a dusty color.

Saku commented on some of the albums in the main display, then started walking slowly through the right side of the store, not touching much, but reading the artists and album names and looking at the cover art of the ones that were displayed more prominently. Occasionally she would say something like, “I’ve listened to a few songs, but never got around to listening to a whole album,” or “I heard about this artist, they had a hit on…” or “Shiho, this one is really good! Have you heard any of it yet?”

It was quite pleasant to chat about music. They discussed what was playing from the store’s speakers, and what things they liked. Of course they had genres and artists they favored, but Shiho was impressed at Saku’s breadth of knowledge, too.

“I think it’s important to know what other people are doing, and what they’ve done before. So I try to seek out things that sound unfamiliar every now and then, to learn. And sometimes I discover stuff I really like.” She flashed Shiho a secretive grin. “But I still spend most of the time listening to the same kinds of stuff I always do.”

Now they’d circled round and were in the secondhand section. “I spend too much money on CDs, so it’s best if we mostly look here, it’s cheaper,” she said. They rifled through the slightly less organized bins and shelves. At one point Saku showed Shiho an album, and just as she was about to say something, Shiho couldn’t help but interrupt – “I love that album!” Saku was delighted and surprised, as it was one she loved, too. It was a moment of true connection.

What Shiho loved about the album was the feeling the lyrics gave her, like they really understood what it was like to be…someone in the world who felt alone. And when Saku pointed at the same song that was her favorite, Shiho felt like Saku probably understood this too.

But it was hard to put into words. That’s why she liked to listen to and play music. All she could say in speech in the real world was, “Yes, I really like this!” earnestly, and nod as Saku agreed. She knew she could say, “I really like this line…” but it was starting to feel too revealing, and anyway she was sure Saku would know which lines were the ones that resonated the strongest.

After that, Shiho started to feel really interested in Saku’s recommendations. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested before, but she began to see that they were likely to be things that she would like, not just for the musicality of it, but for the meaning and feelings that were evoked.

Saku ended up buying a CD she insisted Shiho would like and pressing it into her hands as they left the store.

“You didn’t have to….” Shiho said, embarrassed, though she really felt flattered and excited.

“No, I want you to have it,” Saku said seriously.

“Thank you, then.”

They walked in silence for a bit before Saku asked if she wanted to get a drink. “A regular drink,” she clarified, laughing at the look on Shiho’s face. “I’m not Iori, I’m not trying to get you drunk. You’re still in school.”

“So are you.”

“Barely. Come on, there’s a fruit tea place around here that I like.”

Saku bought both of their drinks before she could protest, and she had to thank her again. They walked to a nearby park and followed a trail before Saku picked a secluded bench under a tree to sit down at.

“I know I’ve said this in a message before, but I wanted to say it in person again,” Shiho began awkwardly. “Thank you for taking me home that time.”

“It was no problem. I’m just glad you were okay. You were…was that your first time drinking?”

“Yes….”

“Well, now you know to be more careful.”

Shiho remembered something Saku had said, and decided to ask. “Earlier, when you said you weren’t trying to get me drunk,” she said, “what did you mean?”

Saku grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. Despite what Iori thinks, I’m trying not to interfere with your group.”

“Interfere?”

Saku waggled her head in a gesture that seemed to mean, I’m telling you this in confidence, and said, “Iori is one of my old friends. I can tell she thinks I’m barging in on your practices and distracting you.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“I’m not trying to take time away from your band. I’m in a band, too, I know it’s important. It’s none of my business, really…I just think they got you to join very quickly. It seems to be going well? But I hope you’ve had time to think about it properly. That’s all.”

She paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “And…I’m not trying to distract you, but…”

Saku met her eyes. Shiho felt herself shiver. The drink’s cold, she thought as she took another sip. She swallowed, and watched as Saku licked her lips.

“But…?”

“But…I think you’re cool, and I’d like to spend more time with you. If you’d like.” She was normally so composed and confident, so Shiho was surprised to detect a strain of nervousness in her voice.

“I had fun today,” was all she could say. Saku gave a gentle smile and turned to look out at the park.

“Shiho-chan, my band, anemone, is playing a show next week. Would you like to come? It would mean a lot to me.”

Since the last time they met, Shiho had made a mental note to listen to anemone’s music, but she hadn’t had time – between school, work, and practice, she’d been really busy! Now she was embarrassed, and resolved to pay more attention to Saku’s band going forward.

“Thank you, I’d really like that. I have to confess I haven’t listened to your music yet…”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s a lot more fun live, in my experience.”

Shiho relaxed. “That’s true. Well, I’ll definitely come.”

Saku dug around in her bag and handed Shiho a ticket. She protested that she could pay for it, but Saku refused, and she eventually had to accept, with yet another round of thanks, and put it away in her bag. Saku watched her with some amusement, and when Shiho looked up, she said, “What?” a little defensively.

“Nothing. When you’re excited…you’re cute.” Shiho felt her face warm a little bit. Not knowing how to respond, she sucked on her straw noisily, and Saku laughed.

==

Shiho made her way to the live house alone. She’d spent more time than usual rifling through the shirts and sweatshirts in her closet. She ended up in one of her typical outfits (sweatshirt, jacket, joggers) and headed out, feeling more nervous than she’d expected.

She’d listened to a few songs that anemone had posted online, but they still weren’t big enough to have everything recorded. Some of their videos were just amateur recordings of them playing in a studio. Shiho had watched them hungrily, watching the way Saku hunched over to watch her own hands, which drew Shiho’s eyes as well – they were long and slender and expertly controlled the guitar strings. She listened to the jangly instruments, watched Saku nodding along to the drumbeat, watched her smile as she made eye contact with the other members of the band as they sang.

So now, she was really excited for the show.

The live house was small, and the bouncer gave her a wristband for minors after checking her ID. It was dark and atmospheric – a slightly glittering disco ball hung above the space – and the walls were completely covered in overlapping flyers, many of them identical. The closer to the surface they were, the more recent the dates. She knew anemone was backstage somewhere, probably warming quietly and cheering each other on. Give it your all, she thought at Saku, imagining her stretching lankily behind the curtains, then shook her head to dispel the ridiculous thought. Saku couldn’t hear her thoughts.

They weren’t going to be the first to play, however. Three groups were going on today, and anemone was the second. Shiho clapped with the crowd as the first group came on stage, and settled in to listen.

The first group was a boy band. They were somewhat amateurish, but had an upbeat energy, and their frontman was an enthusiastic emcee. They played well together, a mix of covers of popular songs that Shiho recognized and a few original songs. She moved her body with the rhythm of the music naturally, and she sang along with the pop songs. The crowd was getting warmed up unevenly, some of them jumping up and down and screaming along with the well-known choruses, and some of them swaying gently as they chatted with friends, the show a backdrop to their private consultations.

The boy band thanked the crowd for listening and left. Shiho clapped for them and reflected that they had some potential, but needed some work if they were going to continue making original music. The songs were nice, but not the kind – at least for her – that went straight to her heart, stirring up feelings of – whatever.

That kind of music was coming next. After letting the crowd mill around for a few minutes, enough time for those old enough to get another round of drinks, the lights dimmed again, and Saku stepped on stage with her band.

The crowd cheered. Many of them were here specifically to see anemone. With the colored stage lighting illuminating Saku’s figure, Shiho thought she looked strikingly beautiful. The lights glinted off her ear piercings, and her face was bright. She flashed the crowd a smile as she adjusted the mic. Shiho couldn’t take her eyes off her.

They opened with an energetic number, and Saku’s full, resonant voice seemed to reach across the room and grip Shiho’s heart. Of course it was better live. The people around her bobbed their heads and cheered, and the sounds of the music and the people swirled into a heady, dense blanket saturated with feeling and draped across the shoulders of the people in the room.

After each song, Shiho watched strainingly, achingly, as Saku drank water, or adjusted the tuning minutely, or brushed her hair back behind her ears. And while she played, Shiho took in the lyrics and music hungrily, all the while watching Saku play. Look at me, she thought fiercely. I see you! I hear you! Look at me!

But Saku was focused. Soon she announced the last song of the set. It was one of their most popular ones, and Shiho was familiar with it from the online videos, so she was able to sing along and anticipate the best parts. She whooped and clapped with the other fans as they took their bows at the end, and felt dizzy with excitement after they left the crowd to wait buzzily for the next and final group.

Shiho turned over the performance in her head, thinking about the lyrics she liked, the melodies she found catchy, the harmony of the musicians playing together. They were really good. But above all she thought about Saku’s voice, full of feeling, and the way she looked on stage, like something to be worshipped.

The next group took the stage and there was an excited roar from the crowd. Amid the jostling of the spectators, someone put a hand on her shoulder. Shiho turned, about to shrug the hand off and say something rude to the owner, when she saw that the hand belonged to none other than Saku.

“Saku-chan!” she exclaimed, delighted. Saku smiled warmly, clearly also full of the drunken energy of a show. “Shiho-chan! I’m so glad you made it!” She pulled her into a warm hug, and Shiho buried her face into the clothes at Saku’s shoulder, full of the musky scent of sweat and something sweet.

“You were really good!” Shiho said, looking up.

“Thanks!”

“How’d you know where to find me? You saw me?”

“Yes, yes!” Saku said into her ear, and then she turned Shiho’s body around so they were both facing forward, but without letting Shiho go from her arms. And when the music started, she cheered (Shiho winced as it was so close to her head – even with her concert earplugs in, it was loud), and the swaying of her body was so close, and they moved together with the music.

Honestly, Shiho was only half-paying attention to the music. She was extremely distracted by Saku’s proximity and the light pressure of her arms around her. Only her left arm was pinned down by the embrace, and she awkwardly put her hand over where Saku’s were clasped just under her ribcage. She tried not to step on Saku’s feet.

Between songs, she tried to talk to Saku, but it was still loud enough that she had to turn and talk into Saku’s ear, past the earplugs, as the taller girl leaned down. It was quite intimate.

Then the band launched into a slower song. Saku spun her around again and took her right hand in her left, then put her right hand around Shiho’s waist. She looked into Shiho’s eyes and it was like she couldn’t hear the band that was playing just meters away. They swayed to the music, pressed against each other, and something in Shiho’s body squirmed. She looked up into Saku’s face which was leaning down with a soft expression, lids half-closed, and closed her eyes. Their lips met, awkwardly at first, with Shiho not knowing how to turn so that her nose didn’t knock against Saku’s, but a warmth was spreading through her that she didn’t want to stop. She turned her head and it was like putting two halves of a broken plate together along the jagged crack, fitting together perfectly and leaving no space between. She pushed back gently and held onto Saku’s warm hand tightly, Saku’s other hand on the small of her back.

The part of her that might have been embarrassed that she was kissing Saku in public was asleep, and the part of her that was wildly thrilled to be kissing Saku at a rock show drove her on; she moved her jaw gently, Saku’s tongue lightly trailed across her bottom lip, she kissed her harder. Finally, they broke apart.

There was no space for words, just the way Saku looked at her, full of intensity. Shiho looked at her features carefully – the dark, deep eyes, the cropped hair, the bow of her lips, the angle of her nose, the curve of her jawline. It was so beautiful she almost wanted to avert her eyes.

After it was over, Saku went backstage to get her guitar and meet with her bandmates. Shiho waited in the hall, cold as she stood alone, and feeling, for the first time, out of place in a live house. When she came out with her things, they walked out together and emerged into the cool night air.

“There’s an afterparty with everyone later,” Saku said casually. “Do you want to come? Or should we go somewhere else?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Shiho said boldly. Saku smiled and took her hand.

Actually, mostly they just talked. Something had opened up between them, and the conversation seemed to just flow. They sat at a late-night diner with an empty basket of french fries between them and talked – about the show (really good!), about the other members of anemone (good musicians and nice people, too), about Saku’s plans (graduate, write and play more music, tour a little), Shiho’s family (her annoying idol older sister), STANDOUT and Iori and Miura (they really seem to own the band).

“What am I going to say to Iori…” Saku said. “Hooking up with their bassist…there’s nothing wrong with it, but they’re going to be annoyed.”

“Why would they be annoyed?” Shiho asked, surprised, and flushing at Saku’s saying out loud that they’d hooked up.

“First of all, they want you to practice to prepare for their show. That part’s fine. It’s coming up and you’ll all be better off if you know everything really well. And like I already told you, they don’t want me distracting you. But secondly…they’ll just be annoyed because they think this is just what I do.”

“What is it that you do?”

“Um,” Saku shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Maybe I’ve dated musicians before. Maybe multiple times.”

“You dated other musicians? Someone in anemone? Or…in STANDOUT??”

Saku sighed, fingering the paper wrapper to her drink’s straw. “‘Date’ is not really the right word, so yes and no. Ah, this is embarrassing…but I guess you should know. I never had a…you know…dating relationship with anyone. But I did hook up with anemone’s other guitarist a few times. That was before we made the band. And there was a really brief thing with Iori, we kissed one time, but it was a mistake…obviously she was into Miura the whole time….”

The paper straw wrapper was in many pieces on the table now, as Saku had been ripping it up as she talked. Shiho watched her hands as she listened. “So what about me? Is this a mistake?”

“No! It’s not.” Saku’s face turned even more solemn and she grabbed Shiho’s hand. “That’s just my past. I know I go fast. I can’t help it. But, Shiho-chan, with you, I can truthfully say that I think you’re cute and I have fun when I’m with you. And I want to see you again. Is that enough? For now?”

Shiho’s head was whirling. It had been an emotional day and she couldn’t say for sure what she wanted now either. “I want to see you again, too,” she finally said. “I…” she squeezed Saku’s hand. “I’ve never done this before.”

“There’s no rush,” Saku said. Shiho wanted to get up and walk into her arms and kiss her and… But they were still in a diner, other groups drinking milkshakes in their booths and laughing, and she felt maybe it was better to save this piece of happiness for later.

==

Practice with STANDOUT had fallen into a new rhythm. They spent half the time rehearsing an existing song, and half the time working on the new song. Over the last few sessions, Iori and Miura had made a lot of progress – on the intro, verses, chorus, transitions, and the bridge – and they were ready to put things together. Shiho had again been providing a steady bass line while they experimented with the other parts. Sometimes they changed parts of it between, or during sessions, but whenever she said something about it, they told her not to worry and that they would take care of it. She was starting to feel a little annoyed that they were brushing her off like this, but trusted that it would come later.

Finally, after they’d played through the whole song together, all three of them were feeling the thrill of the song taking shape. Shiho decided to ask about the bass line – anything she could do to spice it up, or add something? Iori looked up carelessly and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s basically ready. We’ll compile the final sheet music after this. Thanks for playing with us while we worked on it.”

After the past several sessions of playing what they told her, she started to feel impatient. “I see, so you two are writing the music, and I’m just here to play.” She was surprised at the edge in her voice. She obviously didn’t have experience writing, but now that she was part of the band, she felt she ought to be included in at least some of it – and not just as a human noise machine. Was that unreasonable, though they’d never said it explicitly? Why did she feel like she had been cheated somehow?

Iori seemed to pick up on Shiho’s tone, and said carefully, “We needed a bassist.”

“So you write the bass parts, too?”

“Mostly.”

“For all your previous songs?”

“Yes. Well… Mio contributed. She has writing credits on most of the songs.”

“Mio contributed?” Shiho asked, feeling winded. “Then why….Aren’t I a part of the band, too?”

“Shiho-chan,” Miura said reassuringly, “You’re part of the band. But for writing…I’m not sure yet. So far, it’s been us writing the songs.”

“And Mio.”

“You’re the bassist we need,” Iori added. “Shiho, why are you upset? You wanted to go pro. You’re good! We play well together.”

These were good questions, and Shiho had trouble answering them with words. “I do want to go pro…I do like your music…and I like playing with you….”

Iori and Miura waited, their eyes saying So? Shiho couldn’t meet them.

“When I was in middle school, I was in a band once before,” she began slowly, half working it out for herself as she talked. “It didn’t work out. The others were there to have fun and mess around. I was the only one taking it seriously.” She took a deep breath. “So, I’m really happy now to be in a band that is serious. And I’m really grateful you asked me to join.”

They waited for her to continue, waited for her to say “but.” But what? She understood what was going on, but hadn’t she already gotten what she wanted?

“But if I’m going to be in the band, I want to be on the same level. We’ll all contribute. Maybe not in the same exact way, but we’ll have equal parts.” She looked at them hard.

“How can we have equal parts?” Iori said impatiently. “The songs we already have are ones that we wrote when you weren’t here. You can’t have part in their creation, only in playing them. Those songs are the majority of our repertoire.”

“I mean going forward.”

“I just don’t see it. I mean, even with Mio, it was mostly Iori and me writing. The way you contribute is by playing and playing well. And you’re doing that.”

Shiho tapped her foot angrily. “Okay, I get it. You guys are the real band, I’m the bassist you hired to execute your vision.”

“Shiho…the execution is important. Hey, I really thought we had a good thing going.”

“So did I.” And she had indeed thought so. She’d been having fun! So it was a real blow to suddenly have it spoiled by the realization that to them, she was just another player to be slotted in. They didn’t really see her as a real member of the band.

She took her bass off from around her neck and started to put it away. “Sorry, I’m too upset to play today. I’m done. See you next time.”

She stuffed her sheet music in her bag, slung the case over her shoulder and started to head out.

“Shiho, wait–”

“Just let her go. She said next time. She just needs to cool off.”

Shiho walked down the hall, trying to ignore Iori’s hushed voice, and exited onto the street. It was bright outside, and she hoped it was because of the sun that tears started to well in her eyes. She walked without thinking about where she was going and found herself headed in the same direction as the park she’d sat in with Saku that other time.

She pulled out her phone and sent a text message.

When Saku showed up with a guitar case on her back, she was waiting at the same bench hidden under the boughs of a tree, set back from the road. She handed Saku a drink as she sat down, and she smiled as she took it.

“Shiho-chan, thanks. This is your first time asking me out.”

“I needed to talk to someone.”

“I’m just someone?” she teased. Shiho shook her head and Saku became serious again.

“I thought you’d understand,” she said quietly.

“What is it?”

Shiho explained what had happened – the practice, the new song, Iori and Miura working on it while ignoring her. Her previous attempt to cut in, her questioning of her role in the band, and their all but explicit admission that she was just a replaceable bass player, part of the band in the sense that she was playing together, but not part of the band in the sense that they did not see her as someone with an equal stake, that they didn’t see the need to include her in things like writing music.

Saku listened patiently, nodding at the right parts, and at the end of it she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“I understand why they see things this way. It’s their band that they’ve been working on together for how many years. They needed a bassist. It would take some time before they begin to trust you.”

“I get that, but am I supposed to wait? I wanted to go pro. I really thought this was my chance. This is…the second time I’ve joined a band and it’s not felt right.” And I’m beginning to think it’ll never happen the way I want it to. Are my expectations too high?

Saku sighed and put an arm around Shiho. Instinctively she leaned into it, resting her head on the taller girl’s shoulder. Saku patted her arm and leaned down to kiss the top of Shiho’s head gently.

“I’m sorry…” she began. “It must be frustrating…You want it all. I know how that feels.”

“Saku…”

“I told you before that anemone isn’t my first band, either. I tried making a band in middle school, too. I wanted nothing more than to make music…and at the time I thought being in a band was so cool, I didn’t care what kind of band it was so long as it was there.”

Shiho listened with her head still on Saku’s shoulder. It was comfortable to be held like this.

“But we had really different ideas about what kind of music we wanted to make. And since I cared the most, I took the lead. Honestly, I tried to ignore what other people wanted and bend the band to what I wanted. Then I wrote some really crappy songs, and people pointed out what was wrong with them, but they couldn’t come up with anything better. And we argued so much that it wasn’t fun anymore. And so we agreed to stop messing around. It wasn’t real.”

Now Shiho felt compelled to take Saku’s hand. The nails were short, as was typical for guitarists and bassists, but her skin was soft. She rubbed her thumb across her hand encouragingly.

“So that’s not exactly the same problem you’re having, because STANDOUT is real. They have a clear vision and they want to get there. You care as much as them, but they don’t understand how to let you in.”

“Wait, Saku.”

“Hm?”

“I think I am having the same problem. I think…I wanted to be in a band so much, I didn’t think about what kind of band it was. Again. Well, I did think about what kind of band it was. Just not about how I would be a part of that band.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Shiho was silent as she thought. She didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. That meant that since she’d already practiced with them, shouldn’t she play in their next show? But after that, it might be better for them to part ways. STANDOUT could spend time looking for a bassist who would fit in better. And she could…well, she could practice on her own until she could find a band where she could stand as equals. Whenever that happens… she thought ruefully, but there really wasn’t another option. She no longer wanted to be in STANDOUT, so she was going to leave.

She said as much to Saku, who gave her a squeeze, and she traced her thumb over the calluses on Saku’s fingertips.

“How did you form anemone?” she finally asked Saku.

“Friends and friends of friends. I used to hang out at one of the live houses near school, and when I started working there, I met other people who were into music. One of them came with a friend. It was actually pretty amazing that it all came together…I feel really lucky.”

“How did you know they were the right people?”

Saku shrugged. “I just knew. We were friends. I cared about them already, and we all cared about the same music….When we played together, it just felt right.”

A memory bubbled up and burst to the surface of Shiho’s mind. Before all this, even before middle school, she’d played in a band before…the four of them had watched a meteor shower and promised to each other to stay together and play music. Her chest seized up as if a tear had dropped into a pot of melting chocolate, cracking up all at once.

Saku spoke, not noticing Shiho’s change in demeanor. “You know, I thought STANDOUT was a pretty tight group before. It’s disappointing Mio didn’t want to continue.”

This snapped Shiho back to the present, and she remembered that Mio, the previous bassist, had worked on the songs, then flaked on the show, but came at the end to apologize. What had Miura said she had said? She was scared of going pro… Was she really that kind of person? Shiho didn’t know her, barely even remembered what she looked like, but began to wonder if Mio had regrets. Was it possible to fix those mistakes, to build back trust broken from fear? Did she even want to?

“Saku-chan…” Saku kissed the top of her head again. “I like it when you call me that.”

“Stop it, I’m serious. Do you know Mio? Can I talk to her?”

“What? You want to talk to Mio? Why?”

“I just want to know why she left.”

Saku seemed to hesitate, but then sat up a bit straighter, pulling out her phone. “Okay. I’ll text her right now.”

She responded to Saku quickly and agreed to meet them right then and there. Shiho touched her cheeks to see if they were wet, and wiped at her face with her sleeve.

Mio approached after some time, looking nervous. Saku pointed her out from afar, and they both stood up, having already disentangled themselves. Mio walked in a timid, yet determined way, like a student on their way to an important exam.

“Mio-san, nice to meet you. I’m Shiho Hinomori.” Shiho stuck her hand out and they shook.

“Nice to meet you. I saw you play last time. You were good.”

“Thank you. And thank you for meeting with me like this. I know it’s sudden, but I really needed to talk to you.”

“I understand.”

“Why did you leave STANDOUT?”

Mio couldn’t have been surprised by this straightforward question, as it was of course the thing Shiho would want to know about and why she had been called here in the first place. But she still paused, needing time to consider her reply, a complicated expression on her face.

“I’ll start with why I joined STANDOUT,” she began. “Iori and Miura, they were my friends. We would mess around in the studio for fun. Then, Iori suggested we start a band for real. At the time, I didn’t think it was serious. But I treated the activity with respect and dedicated time to it, and we practiced and wrote songs and played shows. It was fun. But then…then, they started to talk about going pro. They even started talking to scouts who were coming to shows. It was getting real. I…I hadn’t truly considered what it would be like to do this as a career. To me, it was something you do with your friends as a teen, seriously at the time, but knowing there is an end.”

She spoke shakily, as if it was the first time she was saying it aloud, and she looked down as she talked, picking at the skin around her fingernails.

“Once I knew scouts were coming, I started to get really nervous before shows. Everything was going to change. I was really scared…I told Iori this, but she just told me that going pro was serious and was going to take commitment. And so…I had to run away a few times…I tried to always get someone to replace me when I couldn’t go on. Last time, even when I apologized, they’d had enough. I can’t say I blame them…” A rueful smile crept across her face. “It was really rude of me to do that. My personal problems shouldn’t affect the band.

“They got you, and now you’re a permanent member. Seeing you play, and hearing about you practicing together…If I’m honest, I’m a little jealous. I regret that I couldn’t overcome my fear in time. It’s too late now.”

“Too late?” Shiho asked. “If it weren’t too late, what would you do?”

Mio looked to the sky, looking like she was about to cry. “I do want to keep playing with them. I’ve been thinking about it. About having fun in a band with my friends and playing as a professional. And I decided that I want both. I don’t know if it’s possible anymore. But I want to make up with Iori. I want to play in STANDOUT! I’m ready!”

Now she really was crying. “I’m sorry, Hinomori-san. I know you’ve already taken my place. It’s not like I’m asking you to leave. But you wanted to know…why I left…and what I wish I could do.”

Gears were turning in Shiho’s head, and Saku put a reassuring hand on the small of her back. I understand. I want those things, too! To have fun in a band with my friends, playing as a professional. Is it even possible for me? Maybe not, but at least for Mio…

She made up her mind. “Mio-san,” she said determinedly. “I know you’re not asking me to leave, but I’m offering. I think the band needs you. You, and not me. Iori and Miura need you.”

“What?”

“I joined STANDOUT because I wanted to go pro. But, I’m like you. I also want to have fun with my friends. In STANDOUT, Iori and Miura are the ones in charge. They’re nice to me, but I know that they’re not complete without you. They think that any good-enough bassist, like me, is fine, but they’re wrong. STANDOUT needs you.” STANDOUT needs Mio, and I need…

“Hinomori-san…”

“You’ll still need to say what you said to me to Iori and Miura, of course.”

Mio wiped the tears on her face, spreading the sheen across her cheeks. A hopeful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Do you think they’ll say yes?”

“Let’s ask them,” Saku said, pulling out her phone to make a call.

==

“Over here, Shiho-chan!” Shiho looked over at the voice and saw Saku waving at her. They hugged, and went into the live house together.

It was packed, even more so than the show Shiho had subbed in. STANDOUT was about to announce their debut with a label. They were going pro.

In the dark, crowded room, Saku slipped an arm around Shiho’s waist. She leaned over to say into her ear, “This is going to be a good show, I can already tell.” Shiho agreed–the energy in the room was electric. Everyone talked excitedly, and the sense of anticipation in the air was almost palpable.

When the first note played, Shiho and Saku cheered for their friends along with the crowd. The three of them – Iori, Miura, and Mio – looked confident and excited. They played in sync, looking at each other and nodding their heads. Iori’s voice was strong and full of feeling, pulling them into the ocean of sound.

Shiho and Saku danced and listened, stared at each other and stared at the stage. Mio was doing a good job – of course she was, she’d written these songs and played them hundreds of times.

They got to the new song. Shiho recognized it, of course, and followed along the familiar melody and bassline. There’d been some changes to the lyrics since she’d last heard it at her last practice, but to her surprise, there had also been changes to the bass line. Now knowing that Mio had helped compose the other songs, Shiho could tell that her influence was here too. So they let her work on it. It was just as I thought. Mio is an equal to them. It was bittersweet. She knew she’d done the right thing, and she was happy for her friends, but it also hurt to know that she couldn’t replace Mio even if she tried – and she had tried!

After all, what Mio wanted was also what she wanted. And now, after much pain and turmoil, she’d been able to get there. As for Shiho…she’d turned down an opportunity to go pro because it was with a group that didn’t suit her. But was there even going to be another opportunity with a band that did suit her?

After the show, she and Saku joined STANDOUT’s afterparty again. It was a good time – they congratulated the group on their performance and debut, Iori and Miura thanked her for her graciousness in stepping down, and they jokingly warned Mio that she’d better not change her mind again. For her part, Mio was appropriately grave in her insistence that she was serious and really had thought about it carefully. Of course, they’d had this discussion before. It was clear that they had reached some kind of agreement, as friends and as a band, to move forward. Shiho watched them with both satisfaction and envy.

“You wanna head out?” Saku asked her after some time, lips brushing against her ear. Shiho had had a few drinks, but much less than last time, so she was feeling loose and fuzzy, but could still think. She nodded, turning towards Saku, whose face was much closer than she expected.

“Get a room!” Miura said, throwing a cushion at them. “Geez, Saku, I just knew you’d be all over her. She’s exactly your type.”

“Oh? Who was pining over Iori for years before finally confessing? Don’t you have me to thank for forcing your hand?”

Miura reddened. “Shut up.”

“It would have happened anyway,” Iori said, leaning her head on Miura’s shoulder and kissing her hand, which she was already holding.

“Mio, do you also have history with Saku?” Shiho asked jokingly, and everyone laughed.

“Hah…how is it that I’m the only straight one here…”

Shiho was pleased that Mio was relaxed enough to joke with them, and felt satisfied that it was alright for them to leave. They said their goodbyes and went out. As soon as they passed a dark alley, Saku pulled her into it, the suddenness making her heart race, and wrapped her in a close embrace, kissing her gently first, then harder. Her hand crept up the back of Shiho’s head and grabbed the ends of her hair. The other maneuvered under the back of her coat and shirt until it touched the bare skin on her back, under her clothes. A draft of cool air chilled her, but Saku’s hand was warm and soft. It was exhilarating.

The warm ticklish feeling in her body was still unfamiliar, but she was beginning to understand its connection to the pressure of Saku’s body, whose shape she could feel through her clothes, and the fullness of their kiss. Her lips were soft and her tongue delicate. Shiho shifted onto her toes eagerly, hands gripping Saku’s arms.

“You smell like whiskey,” Saku said. “Taste like it too.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be, I’m just saying.” She looked into Shiho’s face, eyes roaming hungrily. “Cute.”

She leaned down again, and Shiho tilted her face up for another kiss, soft and sweet. She felt extra-sensitive to Saku’s hand stroking her back, and she shivered in an eager tremble.

Then Saku pulled away again. “Anyway, so? What about you?”

“Huh?” She was being serious now, after all that? Shiho felt a bit weak after their kiss, but Saku was still holding her tight.

“What do you want, Shiho-chan?”

“What do you mean?”

“You gave up an opportunity to go pro. Wasn’t that what you wanted to do? What are you going to do now?”

“...”

Saku sighed. “You should think about it. Keep playing, keep meeting people. Be ready when what you’re looking for shows up.”

“Thanks... And thanks for helping me with all this. You knew them better than I did.”

Saku kissed her forehead. “It was my pleasure. I didn’t know Mio wanted to rejoin, but I’m really glad she did and that they took her back.”

She took Shiho’s hand in hers, tucked it into the pocket of her coat, and led her out of the alley back into the street.

“And one more thing. With us. What do you want?”

“Oh…” I just want to keep kissing you, was really all she could think, but it was too embarrassing, even for her, to say it out loud.

“I’m going to be pretty busy with school and the band, but I’d like to keep seeing you when I can. Is that alright? I don’t know if it’ll be much more than something casual…”

“I’d like to keep seeing you, too.” She squeezed Saku’s hand in her pocket, and she squeezed back.

“Alright, I guess that’s enough for now.” Shiho nodded. She couldn’t say for certain what she wanted from Saku beyond spending time together, so she was excited to know that Saku would continue seeing her.

Saku went with her back to her house again. On the train, they stood facing each other with Saku’s hand reaching over Shiho’s shoulder to hold the bar and the other around Shiho’s waist. She felt boxed in, safe. As they approached her street, she stopped.

“Hm?”

“I’d like to say good night, but I don’t want my sister to see if she happens to look outside. So, let’s say good night here.”

“Okay –” Shiho reached with both hands, grabbed the front of Saku’s coat, and pulled her down into another kiss. It was hungry and breathless. Saku’s face was pink when they stopped.

“Shiho-chan…”

“Good night, Saku-chan.”

“...Good night.”

Chapter 9: Ichika

It took awhile just to get set up. Ichika was usually the type of person to rush in, but there was nothing to rush into if she didn’t have the right tools. She first had to figure out what programs to get and how to get the files she needed.

She decided not to tell Saki about her side project until she had something to show, and so at lunch when asked what she was up to, she prattled about her cactus’s brittle spines and her watering routine. Then she went home and worked on learning how to use her music editor and looking up how to find and work with the raw stems of a song so she could isolate the music from the vocals.

Her first recording of herself singing almost made her want to quit. Her voice sounded so different from how it sounded in her head! It was thinner than she thought, and wavered noticeably. And she stupidly hadn’t worn headphones, so it included the background music she’d been playing to keep herself on beat and on key. She was often slightly late to start, and mused that she probably was subconsciously waiting for Miku to start before she felt able to join in.

She spent more time practicing her singing before trying again, this time with headphones. The obvious problems were fixed, but there were still issues, some of them the same ones she’d noticed before, and some new problems. She sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought. But she really wanted to produce one song that sounded at least decent. If she never got past that, so be it. One song.

Now she had to start researching vocal exercises and warmups, as the singing was putting a lot of strain on her untrained throat. Now she had to research budget ways to improve her microphone’s sound quality without buying a professional version. Now she had to look up how to do some obscure action in her editing software.

But every day, she had something to look forward to doing when she got home.

Finally, she felt that she had something decent enough that she felt it was okay to stop re-recording. She listened to it again the next day to convince herself it was still good. All at once, the desire to have her efforts recognized grabbed hold of her heart. She almost sent the file to Saki right then and there before doubt stopped her hand. If it’s bad, I don’t want Saki to know. At least, not immediately. What could she do instead? Post online anonymously? Even though the potential audience was much bigger, somehow it felt less scary than showing it to a single human whose opinion she deeply cared about.

So she made an account, called it OneStar, and created a post with the song with as many tags as she could think of. Holding her breath, she pressed the button that would upload the song to the app’s servers and start distributing it to people who were interested in the tags she’d added.

Diligently, she closed the app immediately, promising herself not to be disappointed if she checked later and had no hits.

At lunch the next day, she couldn’t take it anymore, and opened the page on her phone under the table, so no one else would see what she was looking at. It had fifty views. That included a few likes and a single comment: “nice cover!”

Honestly, this level of engagement was more than she realistically expected, and even more honestly, even that single comment and the handful of likes were like a shot of motivation injected directly into her veins. Someone, many someones, listened to her song! Someone, more than one, liked it! And someone liked it enough to tell her so! Oh, it was validation like Ichika had never had before, and she suddenly itched to get back to work, to look for a new song and break it down and split up the lyrics and sing. She was reaching people, and they were responding.

After school, when she and Saki were alone, she worked up the courage to show her the song.

“Don’t laugh, but I recorded myself singing a duet with Miku. Would you want to listen to it?”

“Wow, Ichika-chan!” Saki exclaimed with surprise and delight. “I really really want to listen to it!”

Saki wasn’t as into Miku songs as Ichika, but she dutifully listened to whatever she was sent, and was familiar with the most popular ones, of which this song was one. So Saki recognized the tune and knew the lyrics already. Ichika watched her face nervously. She was listening seriously, a surprised and intent expression on her face. When she took her headphones out, Ichika was still staring, brows furrowed.

“Oh, Ichika, you’re so cool!” Saki began, and Ichika felt a hot blush rush into her face. “That was so good! You should post this online!”

“I…I already did.”

“Let me see! A hundred views, not bad! Wow, maybe you’ll become famous soon…OneStar, haha, I like it…oh, this comment is nice!”

“I’m thinking of doing another one,” Ichika said timidly, energized by Saki’s encouragement. “Here are some songs I’m considering…” She showed Saki a list of songs that she’d been able to find stems for, and they began discussing Ichika’s next steps. She felt warm and excited – this was really something!

And that was the beginning of Ichika’s career as a Miku duet cover artist.

==

It was really exciting to have a hobby. Ichika felt that she was getting better, both at editing and at singing, and even tried her hand at arranging some alternate harmonies for the parts she sang along with Miku. Saki was helpfully encouraging, and always found some specific nice thing to compliment to show she was really listening.
On a nice day, she, Saki, and Haruka, another girl in their class who was a part-time idol, went outside to have lunch. Some of Haruka’s friends from another class had also come outside, saw them, and joined them.

“Haruka, will you help me with dance practice today?” Minori asked. She and Haruka were in a nascent idol group composed of them and two other idols who were originally from different groups. Minori was the only one with no experience, and was constantly practicing and asking the others for advice so she could catch up. But despite her earnestness and dedication, she really didn’t have the same kind of natural charisma, and had failed over fifty auditions before teaming up with Haruka and their other idol friends. Of course her friends supported her, but they knew Minori would be a different kind of idol from Haruka and the others.

Haruka agreed, and they discussed the difficulty of singing while doing the dance moves at the same time. It took a lot of stamina and strength, not to mention dexterity! Practice was key. Ichika and some of the other girls agreed that singing was easier when that was the only thing you were focused on doing.

Saki felt compelled to brag about Ichika to their classmates at that moment. “You know, Ichika’s got a channel where she posts herself singing!” she said eagerly, winking at Ichika.

“Ah, Saki…” Ichika said, flushing.

“Oh? What kind of music do you sing?” asked Haruka politely, but with genuine interest.

“Oh, um…I post covers of Miku songs. So far I’ve been keeping the original music and some of Miku’s part, and I sing with her. But actually…lately I’ve been trying to learn some of the music myself, so I can play on the guitar while singing at the same time. I’m still not sure if I’m going to keep the other parts in the track or not.”

“I think you should do all the music yourself!” Saki said. “Your vocals. Your guitar playing. If you think it’s too bare, I can play keyboard for you! Oh, I know! Ichika-chan, we should start a band together! Oh, well I don’t mean to take over your channel. Only if you want to! It can be separate!”

“It’s really fun to make music with your friends,” Kohane agreed earnestly.

“Can we hear a song?” Minori asked, and Saki opened Ichika’s most popular cover for everyone to listen. Hearing her own voice and watching others listen to it as well embarrassed Ichika, but at the same time, she felt excited that others were hearing her.

“So cool!” Minori said at the end, and the others nodded along, smiling genuinely.

“Hoshino-san, may I ask what motivated you to start posting these covers?” Kohane asked.

“Well, it’s kind of a silly story,” Ichika began, embarrassed. She recounted how she’d seen a girl on the street singing first a Miku song, then another one, and how she’d felt inspired by the power of the girl’s voice and the way it harmonized so well with the track. She’d seen how that girl drew energy from the audience, who all listened raptly, and thought that she wanted to be able to do that, too. As she spoke, Kohane’s face looked alternately curious, surprised, dark, understanding.

“Can I ask something else? I apologize if this is too small of a detail to remember or discuss. Was the street you were on called Vivid Street? And did the girl you saw have long, black hair?”

“It might have been called that, I don’t remember. But she did have long hair, and she was wearing distinctive clothes. I think streetwear? It looked fashionable.”

“Oh, then I’m pretty sure now…I think that was my partner, An!”

“Your partner?”

“Yes! She’s my singing partner. I totally agree that her singing is that powerful and inspiring. In fact, how I got into singing is pretty much the same story as you, Ichika! I heard her singing, followed the sound, and couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards! Then I found her again, she encouraged me to keep singing and asked me to be her partner…” Kohane’s eyes had taken on a dreamy quality, but in a few moments she refocused on reality. “I’m so lucky that she chose me to be her partner. So, you’ve been inspired by her, too. Have you seen her since then?”

“No, I haven’t….”

Kohane looked relieved. “Well, can I tell her about you? She’ll be really happy to know that you’re singing because of her.”

“I guess so…”

“Are you talking about An Shiraishi?” Haruka interjected, surprising Kohane.

“Yes, do you know her, too?” she asked, a bit defensively.

“We were elementary school classmates. We used to play basketball together. I should call her up and see what she’s doing these days.”

“She’s singing.” Kohane said flatly, eyes dark.

“Kohane-chan, are you just a little bit jealous?” Minori said teasingly, noticing the conflicted expression on Kohane’s face.

She looked guilty. “What? No, I –”

“I think you are. Don’t worry, Ichika’s singing is good, but An loves you the most!” Minori said, patting her arm. “Haruka is her friend, but you’re her partner.” Kohane flushed.

“Thanks, Minori…Sorry, everyone, I guess An is really special to me. Her singing really makes my heart race…and she really inspired me….”

“Just like Haruka-chan!” exclaimed Minori, beaming.

“Haruka,” Kohane interjected, “What was An like in school?”

“Hm? She was energetic and competitive.”

“Haha, just like now.”

“Yes. Actually,” Haruka said, looking around at the group with a knowing expression on her face. “Maybe all of us should get together sometime. It would be fun to see each other outside of class, no?”

“Haruka-chan!” exclaimed Minori in delight. “Yes, let’s!”

==

Ichika’s OneStar account was not exceedingly popular, but she had a small following, and could count on getting views, likes, and several nice comments whenever she posted. She was having a lot of fun and was working hard on her guitar/vocals cover. Doing a track all by herself was really different. She had to keep her own beat, and there was no other music to fall back on if her voice was weak or slightly out of tune. It was just her, her voice and her guitar.

On the next one, she took up Saki’s offer to play together. She brought her guitar and computer to Saki’s house, and she set up her keyboard.

“I’ve been practicing!” Saki said enthusiastically. “I’m excited to play with you, Ichi!” The delight on her face made Ichika smile, and she adjusted her guitar carefully. “Let’s warm up.”

In the past, she’d recorded the guitar and vocals separately, but now they were practicing together, all three partings merging. It was actually really nice, and really fun to do live. She looked over at Saki, who met her eyes, nodding along to the beat. It was easy to keep together this way, with each of them occasionally dropping their gaze to check their hands. We sound really good. This is really fun… Ichika found herself thinking as they played.

At the end, they listened to the recording. “Why does it sound so…messy?” Saki asked, a bit forlornly. “That’s just how it sounds when you record all the instruments at the same time, from the same place. I think most professionally made tracks are recorded one instrument at a time. So far I’ve just had vocals, so it’s been only one track anyway.”

“But it’s so fun to play together! And it sounded good in real life!”

“I agree. It’s really different to play together in person…”

Suddenly a memory of playing with Saki previously came before her. She, Saki, and…Honami and Shiho…played a Miku song together. It was really fun, the four of them on different instruments but coming together as a whole. She could see their round, young faces, intent in a childish but serious way, focused on their playing. Honami sitting at the drum kit, still too big for her despite her height, Shiho picking carefully at the bass, Saki eager fingering the piano, and she on the guitar. She looked at them and they at her, totally in sync, and she’d felt a warm glow of excitement, energy…happiness.

That was all gone now. The four of them had splintered like the tines of a rake, heading in different directions. She was clinging to Saki with all her might, but there were still the other two of them, seeming so far away.

“Ichi, did you want to re-record the song?” Ichika looked at her, startled from her memory.

“Oh…yes, let’s do it one more time. But we don’t have to record separately. It’s fun to play together, and I kind of like the raw sound.” She made the decision to keep the track a single one on instinct, thinking that doing it this way preserved some of the feeling of playing it together in person. Saki smiled and agreed, and they spent the rest of the afternoon playing, doing some minor editing, and finally uploading the song. It was sparer than previous uploads since it lacked drums and bass, but Saki had managed to replicate most of the synthetic sounds on her keyboard, and could play a pseudo bass line on the lower keys. Ichika praised her ability, and she laughed, and they continued to play without recording anything, just for themselves.

It got moderately popular compared to her previous uploads. Some commenters complained that it was too far from the original, lacking certain instruments, while others complimented her and Saki’s effort, noticing the extra work that went into the cover. Saki watched the view count and checked the comments frequently, despite Ichika’s warnings not to get too obsessed, and soon they were discussing their next song.

“It’s too bad we don’t have a drum kit,” Ichika said one afternoon as they were practicing. “I could use the original track, but we’d probably need to record separately so we can keep in time. Or, I could try to replicate the original track with drum kit software…but since it’s mechanical, we’d probably still have the issue of needing to record separately to make sure we play together.”

Saki had stopped playing. She looked thoughtful. Ichika went on: “Maybe sooner or later we have to go that route. It’s too bad, because I really like playing together. Though I guess we can still play like that while practicing.”

Saki still didn’t say anything, so Ichika continued to ramble, trying to understand her own thoughts. “But this is all for fun, anyway. Who says we have to have drums?”

Finally, Saki spoke, slowly, carefully. “What if we asked a drummer to join us? Then, we could all play together. You wouldn’t need drum software.”

“A drummer? In real life?”

“We know someone who plays the drums.” Ichika stared at her earnest face, not daring to say anything.

“Ichika…don’t tell me you don’t remember…”

She looked away with a complicated expression on her face, and so Saki knew that she did remember. “What if we asked her?”

Ichika still said nothing. She knew Saki wanted the four of them to be friends again. She rarely brought it up, but she still had photos of the four of them on her desk at home, and she often looked at Honami and Shiho for a long time when she saw them in the halls or eating lunch or in the auditorium. And truly, Ichika wanted that, too. But she’d been rejected, many times since back then, and had habituated herself to the knowledge that reconciliation was not possible, no matter how much she or Saki wanted it. Honami and Shiho still avoided them and each other, and she still didn’t know why. So how could she ask Honami to play with them?

Saki sighed. “Okay, you don’t have to. But can’t you tell me why? Weren’t we all friends before? I still think of them as my friends. I don’t understand what happened and no one will tell me, not even you. Don’t you remember? We even all played together before, swore to stay friends and even to form a band–”

“I can’t!” Ichika blurted out, more forcefully than she had meant to say it, not looking at Saki’s reproachful face. “They’re the ones who don’t want to talk to us, so what good will talking to them do? I don’t want them to say no again and go back to ignoring us. If what they want is to be left alone, then shouldn’t we just leave them alone? Isn’t that what it means to care about them and what they want?”

Saki was silent for a bit, but evidently saw that Ichika’s agitation caused her to say more than she had before, so she pressed on. “But why don’t they want to talk to us? And does being someone’s friend really mean leaving them alone? I think sometimes…when people are alone…they don’t realize it, and will deny it, but what they need is someone to reach out–”

Ichika interrupted her again, upset and defensive. “I don’t know why they don’t want to talk! You think I didn’t try to ask them, back then? I did try to reach out, but they wouldn’t say! I haven’t told you about what happened because I still don’t know!”

Saki came around from behind the keyboard, stepped behind Ichika out of the way of the guitar that still hung around her neck, and embraced her. Tears streaked down Ichika’s cheeks, and she breathed heavily as Saki buried her face in the apple-shampoo scent of Ichika’s long, soft hair. “I’m sorry,” she said into Ichika’s shoulder, and hugged her tight.

She didn’t push the issue after that, and Ichika was grateful. But she began to think more often of Saki, left out of their middle school years, and her desire to reunite the group. Though she’d returned to school, things hadn’t changed. Was it worth another try, for her? For the both of them?

One day while practicing alone and thinking about the others, a knot in her chest, she sang as she played, and the words were what she felt. Let’s be friends, don’t you know I want to be friends? She took a notebook and wrote down the phrases, spent the rest of her practice writing and rearranging until she had something that fit with the music she was writing and felt true to her state of mind.

She sang through the song alone, timidly, satisfied in the rhythm of the words. She set her guitar on the stand and picked up the notebook again, staring at the column of words. Suddenly embarrassment flooded her. To feel like this…why couldn’t she just accept things? She had Saki. She had her channel. That was enough. She tore the page out and crumpled it and threw it across the room, not caring where it landed.

Chapter 10: When I look at the stars, I feel like myself

Four girls considered what they wanted and what they regretted, what they were willing to say to move on. Separately and together they thought, and all four remembered a time when they’d been happy, sitting on a jungle gym, making a promise that seemed now like it was broken.

Without explicit reference to that time, Saki suggested to Ichika casually that they go see a meteor shower she had heard about that night after their practice. And again without alluding to her private thoughts, Ichika agreed.

The park was empty. The two of them sat on a bench squinting at the sky, waiting for the show to start. Both thought of the previous time they’d been in that park, glancing nostalgically at the jungle gym, still standing, only slightly worse for wear.

Saki gasped. “Look!” A few streaks had fallen across the sky like disappearing paint strokes. Ichika saw them with wonder, and stared at the space where they had been, willing more to appear. But here there was another lull, and she began to think again of the last meteor shower and Honami telling them about the stars. What had she said? She couldn’t remember any details, only her soft and patient voice…heart full of longing, she reached down to open her guitar case.

Saki watched her without saying anything, and only listened when Ichika plucked the strings, and started to sing quietly, with plaintive regret.

==
Honami had also headed to the park to watch the meteor shower, having had the date marked on her calendar for some time. She was weary, having run ten kilometers that afternoon, and feeling uncertain about what she was going to do. She’d admitted to herself her regret and desire, understanding the need to fix things–that much had become clear, difficult as it had been to get there–and now needed to figure out what to do. The meteor shower was a nice chance to appreciate the beauty of the world, and she’d headed here to watch it in homage to her memories.

She arrived comfortably in the window the meteors were expected to fall, but was surprised to hear music coming from a corner of the park. It was someone singing. As she got closer, navigating quietly in the dark, she began to be able to make out the words, and realized with a start that she recognized the voice.

Ichika sang about wanting to be friends, about moving on from the past. About keeping love in her heart, and still finding it there now. Honami stood still, hidden from them by the playground structures, listening, but still with her face turned towards the sky. A spot of light sparkled as it crossed the dark firmament. Her heart also stood still and then sparkled, as she began to realize what might be possible.

==

It had been a few weeks since Shiho had left STANDOUT. Things were busy, but she had started to feel like she was in limbo. Like she was just biding time practicing her bass and working at the live house and hanging out with Saku until something happened. Of course, she knew what she wanted to happen, had always wanted to happen. She wanted to be in a band and work hard to go pro, bringing their music to the world. And she wanted it to be a band whose members she liked and respected.

Was that possible, for her? She’d played in many groups before – STANDOUT, the short-lived band in middle school, as the replacement bassist for various amateur groups at the live house – but she hadn’t felt that kind of connection since, well, since that time with those three….

She walked down a familiar street on her way home. It passed the playground they’d watched the meteor shower at all those years ago. As she approached the sign, illegible in the night, she looked up, remembering. Very clearly, it seemed, as something streaked across the sky. In disbelief, she watched another pair of meteors fall and burn in the atmosphere. Again?

That wasn’t all. Someone was singing and playing the guitar. That voice. She recognized it, and she started to listen to the words.

Let’s be together. Join me in this song.

Her heart started to pound loudly. She listened to the words and the feeling in the playing. Moving on from the past…still finding it there in your heart, even now….

The song ended. She was still standing in the street motionless. Saki’s voice cut clear across the thick night – “Did you write those lyrics yourself? It’s the same melody as that other song.”

“Yes,” said quietly.

Shiho had to act, and now: she rushed forward, walking noisily on the gravel, and approached the area where the music had come from, seeing two girls sitting on a bench. They looked at her with surprise.

“Shiho?”

She opened her mouth, but suddenly she sensed another presence coming up behind her from another direction. She turned and with a start, recognized the figure as Honami.

“Hona?!”

“...It’s nice to see you all here again,” she said shyly, still trying to piece together what she wanted to say. She had felt compelled to approach them, surprised when she saw someone doing the same, shocked when she saw it was Shiho, and now hopeful that something greater than themselves had brought them together here and now.

Shiho nodded to her in greeting, not curtly but familiarly? “You still play guitar?” she asked Ichika, who was still getting over her surprise at the appearance of the two people she had indeed wanted most to appear, and didn’t know how to proceed now that they who previously ignored her were now willingly approaching and talking to her.

“Yes…”

“Shiho, did you hear Ichika’s song?” Saki said excitedly, seeming to be the only one understanding what was happening and the strength of their music. “Honami? You heard it, too, right? It’s what you feel, right, Ichika? It’s what I feel too. And, Shiho, Honami – if you came – then you must also –”

“Let me go first,” Honami said, quietly but firmly. “I’m sorry. About everything. I have so many regrets…I was scared, and still am, of people asking me to take sides…” She turned to face Shiho directly. “But you reminded me that no matter what I do, some people might not like it, but others would understand me no matter what. I really want to take back everything I did since back then. I know I can’t, so all I can now is I’m sorry, and ask…let’s be together again.”

“Hona!” Saki had jumped up and thrown herself at her. Honami stepped back to steady herself, then trepidatiously put her hands around her friend as well. “I missed you so much!”

“It’s my turn,” Shiho said seriously, and they broke apart to look at her and listen. “I know I’m blunt, and people don’t like me. Back then, I saw how people treated me and you too, because of me. I’m sorry, too, for deciding that it was better for all of us to stay apart. So they’d only treat me that way.”

“Shiho…” Saki said, taking her hand.

“But a lot has happened. I wanted – want – to go pro. I had a chance. But I realized that I wanted to do it with my friends. To play together. Ichika, did you mean it? When you asked us to join you, to play together?”

“Asked you?”

“In the song.”

Ichika had written those words indeed thinking of Shiho and Honami, but the thoughts had been thoughts and the words had been words and what lay between them was an ocean of feelings that she didn’t know how to describe. As Shiho said it, she knew it was true. She wanted to play, and to play with them.

“Yes, Saki and I have been playing together, and we – I wanted –”

“We.”

“We wanted you both to be with us…”

“Honami, what do you want? Would you want to play?”

Of the four, Honami had spent the least time dreaming about the band. She’d thought instead of her friends, and being together. But she’d continued playing, hadn’t she? Back then, she…she’d played with them, a night of pure connection.

“I’ll join,” she said. “Only let’s be friends again.”

“Hey, do you mean it? Even if you said no, I’d still want to – anyway, we still need to see if we’re any good –”

“I’ll join.”

“Enough of that!” Saki exclaimed, pulling both Shiho and Honami close to her. “Yes, let’s form a band! Yes, let’s be together again! Shiho, I missed you too! You dummy, why would you do that without saying anything! Both of you!” She was laughing and crying into their shoulders. “You too, Ichika, come here!” She pulled Ichika, who hurriedly unstrapped her guitar, into the huddle, and held dearly onto her three friends.

They held each other a moment until Honami, the tallest one, gasped. “Oh, the meteors….”

The four of them looked up together to watch the meteors. Each felt the relief of letting go of a long-held secret, a solitary burden, and the joy and disbelief of the four of them holding each other like this, watching the meteor shower together.

“So we’re really doing this? Forming a band?” Ichika said weakly.

“There’s so much to catch up on,” Saki said, thinking of Ichika’s channel, and wondering about the details of what Shiho and Honami had alluded to, briefly. “Tomorrow, let’s go get ramen after school!”

“I know a practice space we can go to,” Shiho said.

“Catch up first, then practice! I won’t be able to concentrate if we don’t talk first about what’s been going on with you guys.”

“Yes, I’d like that too. It’ll give us a chance to work out schedules and learn what other commitments you have.”

“We’re really friends?” Ichika said, still reeling. “It wasn’t my fault? We’re still friends?”

Shiho looked ashamed and said sincerely, “We’re friends. I’m truly sorry about what happened. From now on, let’s be friends and bandmates, and others won’t come between us.”

Over ramen the next day, they only had time to discuss Ichika’s channel, Honami’s continued drum practice, and the fact of Shiho’s brief stint in STANDOUT before Shiho dragged them to practice. Nervously, they set up their instruments, the ghosts of their younger selves seeming to follow their movements. Awkwardly, apologetically, Honami counted them in – they’d agreed to play the same song they’d played back then.

Although everything had changed, at the same time, nothing had changed. All four of them had increased in skill in practice on their own, and made their way along together first tentatively, and then with conviction. At the fading of the last chord, they looked at each other with a wild joy on their faces – the confident knowledge that they had something special, not only in their playing, but in the illimitable strength of the bonds between them, weakened but unsevered by time apart and misunderstanding, and now stronger for surviving. Friends and bandmates, they swore in their hearts to be true to their promise to be together forever.

Notes:

Thank you for reading (:

I felt like Leo/need both was the most lost without Miku (no serendipitous/forced encounters with instruments in Sekai) but also had the strongest existing ties (childhood friends! who all think about each other independently with regret!), so I wanted to explore how even without Miku, though they might try out different ways of being and grow on their own a bit, ultimately they could figure it out and get back together...it was the Feelings all along....

Again, thanks for being with me on this journey!! :3 :3 :3