Chapter Text
It’s not often I go home this way.
As bright as Shibuya is this time of day, it’s almost therapeutic how the faint noise is to the ears. Like a quiet blanket settling over the atmosphere.
I’ve finished another recital at… god, I can’t even remember the name. I’ve been to so many venues they all started to converge in my mind at some point.
I don’t really notice where I am until I turn a corner, expecting to be met with a crosswalk–only to bump into a brick wall.
I step back and look up, now surrounded by an explosion of colors and rough serenades. I know immediately where I am, now turning my head only to not recognize the path I took.
Oh, no.
I try to backtrack, but to no avail. The warm chill of dusk sweeps over me, and I look up once more. The sun is setting.
I’m stuck on Vivid Street.
I’ve actually been here once before–during my second year of junior high. I was singing my lungs out on the very street I’m standing across from right now. But that was nearly a decade ago. There’s no way anyone would recognize me now, unless they took in my hair’s unnatural color split.
Father always tells me to stay away from these people. That their composition of music is nothing more than a twisted blunder of ignominy. That their music isn’t “real” music.
But… music is music, isn’t it?
I hesitate for a moment like a stranded bird unable to land. It’s only a split second before my feet, almost as if against my will, begin moving down the streets.
At first glance, Vivid Street looks like any other little town. Retail shops, cafés, and mischievous teens scurrying about. But there’s something about it that sets it apart from all others.
Everywhere you look, you can see just how deep their so-called “ignominy” runs.
From a small clothing store, I hear classic rock spilling from the speakers. Just across the street, some sort of soft pop reverberates from a cozy flower shop. I take a peek inside, spotting vibrant hues of petals of every kind under the sun imaginable.
And, for some reason…
“... huh.”
… I feel at ease.
I know it’s wrong. I know it’s against everything I’ve ever been taught. But yet, I find myself thinking that it’s not too bad.
I actually… like it.
It’s wild, sure. It’s loud. Untraditional. But that has its own charm in itself.
I wonder if I could ever–
“Ah! Look out!”
Someone crashes into my side, and we both tumble to the ground. I can hear the distant clatters of boxes hitting the sidewalk, but all I can focus on is the man cursing on top of me.
“Ow…” His hands pin me to the pavement, and he stays like that for a moment before scrambling off. He dusts his knees, now red underneath the ripped fabric. What catches my attention is his shock of orange hair, bright and aggressive like a flame. It reminds me of certain species of animals–those that have adapted to be vibrant in color, a warning to stay away.
“Dammit, Shiraishi’s gonna beat the shit out of me…” I hear him grumble as he inspects the mess before turning to me. He runs a calloused hand through his sharp bangs–which I didn't realize until later, have a strand of bold yellow dyed in–while giving me space to breathe. He must’ve rammed into me pretty hard, for him to practically knock the air out of me.
The redhead extends a hand, and I take it gratefully. His palm is warm, radiating heat from the center, and I can feel various blisters along his fingertips. He has an expanse of rings on both hands with several accessories on his wrists as well, making me tilt my head.
I don’t read into it, but he stares at me for a good moment, and he almost seems to freeze up.
“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, and I meet his olive eyes warily as he pulls away quickly. I can’t tell if he’s apologizing for bumping into me or staring. He seems about my age, maybe a little younger, with a sharpness to his face that compliments his lean figure. He doesn’t leave a bad impression, I admit. “I didn’t see you there.”
I find myself chuckling at this. Most people find it hard to ignore me, whether because of my height or my hair. “It’s alright. You seem to be in a hurry, though.”
He perks back up, his demeanor comparable to a dog who’d realized that they were in for a lecture.
“Crap, you’re right!” He dives to his feet, grabbing at the boxes. We both hear some sort of clinking inside, and we wince simultaneously. He appears pretty anxious, which in turn, makes me, too.
“Well, nothing we can do about it now…” A frustrated sigh escapes his chapped lips. I open my mouth to apologize as well, but it seems he’s predicted it. He cuts me off before I can even speak, waving a hand. “It’s fine. These can always be fixed.”
“... unlike relationships,” I hear him mutter lowly afterwards. I don’t bring that part up, since it seems like a touchy subject. He hauls the boxes and gives me one last “sorry” before running off to wherever he needed to be.
“O-oh. Alright, then…” I wave, blinking as his silhouette grows small. Wow, he’s fast… I wonder why he’s so frantic, and who this “Shiraishi” person was.
I then realized that I didn’t get his name. A shame, really…
“Huh?” I shuffle my feet, seeing a rectangular object sitting innocuously where the man had stood back up. I reach down to grab it, seeing that it’s a phone.
I press the screen, then try the power button. No dice.
I turn back to where he ran off. He’s gone, disappeared already, much to my disappointment.
He seems almost…
“... familiar…”