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Jirou’s fingers moved slowly over the fretboard of her acoustic guitar, the melody of a Sufjan Stevens song her friend had recommended. It wasn’t her preferred genre, but Jirou needed some kind of mental release after her Music and Acoustic Design Course. Even with a solid background in music performance and education from her parents and high school, she’d found herself constantly challenged by the curriculum at Osaka University of the Arts.
So, Sufjan it was to calm her nerves. Kaminari had surprised her with the album, as he wasn’t usually the type to recommend something so soft and not eardrum splintering. The performance room she was using was filled with the sound of a song about a man wishing to connect with his dying mother. It was poetic and heart-wrenching all at the same time, but Jirou Just smile though her playing.
The room fell silent after her second playthrough. “Enough messing around, I guess,” she mumbled to herself. It was time to get back to her dorm, after all. There was studying and laundry and a possible show with her band...it was all piling up so early.
Kyoka’s parents had been over the moon when she was accepted to Osaka University. They were alumni with respected careers in the music industry. There was totally no pressure, none at all, felt by Jirou to be an absolute powerhouse of creation when her teachers figured out who her parents were. She huffed as she got her guitar back in its’ case and dragged her feet down the hall, past more performance rooms. Most were empty, seeing as it was almost 18:00. Night classes were less popular for students, because they messed with work and study schedules.
She was near the end of the hall when a voice caught her attention. No; not just caught. That voice held her hostage.
A high soprano tone is right behind the door of the performance room to her left. Damn, if Jirou wasn’t an absolute sucker for a well-trained voice. The background music sounded familiar, something operatic. Jirou didn’t listen to much of the genre, so she walked closer to the door to listen, and maybe glimpse the singer inside.
“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle
Que nul ne peut apprivoiser
Et c’est bien in vain qu’on l’appelle
S’il lui convient de refuser,”
The voice sang with confidence and a bit of flirtation. Jirou registered the language as French. Ah, French. The language of, well, the French. Jirou laughed at her own thought. She was delirious from sleep deprivation. Slumping against the wall, she listened to the heavenly voice. Nothing in the world appealed to the girl like putting her face against the cool concrete of the wall and falling asleep to this aria. She hadn’t seen the singer yet, but maybe that didn’t matter so much.
The aria ended, and Jirou thought she would leave, go flop down in her bed, but someone caught her eye. A young woman, about her age, in the performance room. Her thick black hair was pulled up in a sleek ponytail, all to show off her serene, bemused face. She was walking to the door, saying goodbye to someone. Jirou could only see her face and neck through the tiny window, but it’s more than enough. The girl is looking at Jirou now, her mouth in a small ‘o’. Her eyes are large, somewhat catlike in their upward slant. She has the same dark brown irises Jirou had and loathed on herself; yet this girl looked alluring with the same eyes. Jirou noted the straight, pretty nose, and the plush lips. There was an aristocratic look to the young woman, but Jirou wasn’t going to stay and contemplate it.
She turned, booked it down the hall, and to her dorm. She’d been caught checking out a pretty opera student and her lesbian panic was in full swing. No other work could be done that night.
*************
The Habanera from Carmen was one of the more demanding arias Momo Yaoyorozu had attempted in her opera career. Evoking Carmen’s flirtatious, confident nature wasn’t hard, but Momo never felt particularly coquettish. The music helped take her to the beautiful place in the opera where Carmen sang of love as a gypsy’s child, love as a rebellious bird. All of that delicious speech was what helped the young woman push herself vocally and emotionally. Her professor, Nemuri Kayama, was a woman with a sturdy background in performance and a deep understanding of opera. She’d performed in several countries. Momo remembered when she saw the video of her teacher sing the Queen of the Night aria from Die Zauberflöte. It was the kind of spectacular performance Momo wanted to give herself, someday.
She still had a lot of improving to do.
Fortunately, she made it through the aria with only a little hiccup (literally), and Professor Nemuri was ecstatic. “Young lady, it’s exquisite. You’re doing so well. Maybe you could perform this in class at week’s end?”. Momo gave her a nod and a chipper “Of course, Professor! It would be my absolute pleasure.” They said their goodbyes, and Momo headed for the performance room door, only to notice something…or someone.
The student staring in was actively staring at her. It made Yaoyorozu stop for a second. “Oh,” she gasped. Had that girl been listening to her sing? The idea made her blush a bit. The girl on the other side of the door had the prettiest violet colored hair, cut in a jagged bob that complimented her sharp face. She looked to have little red triangles drawn under her eyes, possibly with eyeliner. They were just staring at each other, and Momo took a second to admire the face in front of her. Her eyes were this deep coffee brown, soothing and gentle, aside from the clear surprise in her expression. A pert little button nose, and small, shiny pink lips. She was beyond cute. This girl was the most beautiful person Momo had seen since coming here.
As Momo had gone to reach for the handle, say hello to the student, the other girl ran away, full speed, away from the door.
Why had she done that?
Momo took a slow walk back to her dorm, enjoying the crisp fall air. The sky was filled with stars, and Momo thought about how that girl had looked dreamily at her, as if caught in a spell.
*********
“She made eye contact with you, and you RAN AWAY?!” Bakugou exclaimed, hands gesticulating wildly. Jirou knew she was about to be berated for her lesbian panic. Her friend wasn’t wrong; she’d reacted a bit poorly to making eye contact with that pretty opera singer. Once Jirou had gotten back to her dorm and done a suitable bit of yelling into her pillow, she’d known how silly she’d been. The girl she’d been watching had looked so stunned on the other side of the door.
Like she was surprised someone was listening to her sing.
That was hard to believe, considering that divine soprano the girl was blessed with. Hearing her singing was like a spiritual awakening. Jirou wanted to hear her all the time.
“I seem to remember you insulting your crush the first time you met him. At least
I avoided that.”
Kyoka asserted while Bakugou cleaned his drum set. He was rolling his eyes, knowing she was right. He’d called Eijirou “Shitty Hair”, and then yelled in his pillows the first day he’d met the guy. By Jirou’s estimation, she’d avoided insulting her crush at all. Really, she’d avoided her altogether.
Jirou tuned her bass guitar, while Bakugou decided to give some solid advice. Her friend was a little gruff, sometimes lacking the delicacy that accompanied advice-giving, but Bakugou knew what he was talking about in this moment.
“I think you should find her again, and ask her the hell out. If she says yeah, that’s great. If not, it’s not the end of the world, you dig?” Jirou was plucking out a simple bassline now, trying her best to see it his way. There was just one little problem.
“Bakugou, I don’t even know her name.”
He laughed, a bit mockingly. “Then you go to that performance room, same time, and you ask her. Before you run away.”
Jirou knew she had to just do it, and stop being so worried about embarrassing herself. She was shy with a lot of things in life, even her musical talents. It was time to stop avoiding risks, even small ones.
She decided that come next week, she’d look for the opera singer again.
*****
Momo took initiative the night after she’d seen that girl with the violet bobbed haircut in the performance room window. She simply had to know who and where she was. Her professors seemed to think it might have been one of the Musicology students, noting a girl with similar hair in an Acoustic Design class.
Momo was lucky enough to know one of the students in that department; one Kendou Itsuka.
Over a cup of coffee, Yaoyorozu was getting her answers and collecting information to further her investigation into the case of “Performance Room Girl.” Even if it led to absolutely nothing, Momo would be happy to find out who that girl was.
“Violet hair, little red triangles under her eyes, was hanging in the performance hall clearly listening to you sing. That’s all pretty specific stuff, and I may know who that is, but Yaomomo, why didn’t you just ask her her name?” Kendou asked, genuinely confused as to why the other girl didn’t follow through.
Momo sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “She ran away literally as I was about to open the door to leave. I didn’t even get a chance to say hello!” Likely, the girl had been embarrassed to be caught listening in. Kendou was sympathetic in her response, enjoying this meet cute scenario her friend had found herself in.
“There’s one girl that I think matches the description. Her name’s Kyoka Jirou. I’m not close with her, but she’s in my Music and Acoustic Design course. Plays the bass and guitar, has a killer singing voice. How about you come by the end of my class next time and I introduce you? That way no one’s running away!”
The pair shared a laugh over their coffees, glad to have a plan that might end with Momo meeting someone terribly beautiful and elusive.
******
Jirou was ninety-five percent certain she was going to go try to find the girl in the performance room today. As a matter of fact, she was going to find the girl, get her number, and promptly ask her out. Absolutely no running away this time the minute they made eye contact!
She kind of had no choice after Bakugou had sent her four texts telling her to boss up and talk to the girl. Jirou’s friend was more than a little abrupt with her about her love life. “Kyoka, sometimes you’ve gotta do the thing that scares you. If I didn’t do shit that scared me, I’d never get anywhere.” It was a little annoying how right Bakugou Katsuki could be when it comes to relationship advice, even if he was an insufferable gremlin.
Now she just had to get through this Acoustic Design class, no matter how tedious and slow everything felt. Focusing on the lecture, a discussion of the difference in sound created by different percussion systems, Jirou was able to stop thinking about the girl for a little while. Steel drums, cymbals, kickdrums, xylophones; the percussion family flooded through Kyoka’s mind. Nothing complicated about thinking about these instruments. A steel drum didn’t have eyes the color of dark chocolate and didn’t sing French opera. It just rang with chipper, island sound.
Jirou wanted everything in life to be so simple.
She’d come out in high school, to mixed reactions. Her parents had been very accepting, willing to unlearn behaviors that might make her feel uncomfortable, and were doing their best to support Jirou. Some people at school had been less than kind. “You haven’t met the right guy yet!”, “That’s gross.”, and “You don’t look gay.” As if any of those things had to do with being a lesbian, as if those comments had any truth to them.
College had been the place where few people criticized her for anything she couldn’t change, and that had been the solace Jirou needed after those awkward years.
Class commenced with an assignment to read a chapter from their technical manual. Easy enough. Jirou gathered her things, readying herself to find that girl from the performance room. The shaking in her hands was just going to have to subside before she came face to face with the opera singer.
Jirou was just about to the door when her classmate, Kendou Itsuka, hopped up in front of her with a chipper grin. “Kyoka, do you have a minute?” The ginger-haired girl was peering at her innocently, making a nod towards the door to the classroom.
She sighed. “Ah, sure, I guess? I’m kind of trying to go do something.” The day she finally gets some courage to follow through on something and now Jirou was being presented with an obstacle. Not that she disliked Kendou, Jirou really thought she was alright, but whatever she wanted was taking up time.
“There’s someone I want you to meet!” the other girl said with a sly grin on her face. What did she know that Kyoya didn’t? Now she was just irked, even as Kendou led her to the door of the classroom and towards whoever the person was that she insisted Jirou meet.
You know that funny little cliche movies seem to have when ‘soulmates’ meet for the first time, and it’s in slow motion, or time stops altogether? Jirou Kyoka had never in her short life thought that she’d feel her real world slow down like that, until it does, outside of her Acoustic Design class, where a girl who sings opera stands in a pale blue dress and tan trench coat and heels and oh.
Oh.
She’s very, very smitten.
“Jirou Kyoka, this is Momo Yaoyorozu. Momo, this is Jirou. This is the girl you were asking me about.” Kendou introduces them, standing off to the side while the two young women stare at each other like they’re the only people in the hallway. Momo moves forward a bit to extend her hand, which Jirou tries to meet halfway. Then they’re just standing there, not shaking hands, but holding instead.
“Jirou, didn’t you have somewhere to be?” Kendou asks, looking at her classmate with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, ah, I was...it’s funny actually, I was going to look for you! You, I mean, Momo.” Now she was just speaking to the other girl, laughing at the funny coincidence. Yaoyorozu’s hand was so soft in Jirou’s, and the guitarist was immediately self-conscious about the callouses on her hands from playing guitar and bass.
“Alright, I’ll let you two get to know each other a bit better. Jirou, don’t forget the chapter for next week. Momo, text me later, alright?”. Kendou Itsuka looked pleased with herself, and whether she knew it or not, Jirou Kyoka was already eternally grateful for her meddling.
******
Momo and Jirou made sure to get to know each other well, without the barrier of a classroom door between them. There was a delicate dance going on between the women, one of flirtation, friendship, and the excitement that comes with mixing two creative energies together. Jirou found out that Momo Yaoyorozu planned to advance herself at the New National Theater to really master opera as her art. Momo told her all about her past learning to play harp and violin as well, but that opera was her first artistic love. Jirou loves that she also knows that Momo loves peach tea, warm sweaters, walks through botanical gardens and listening to heavy metal when she’s really, really angry.
Yaoyorozu is taken with Jirou just the same. Her crush and now friend plays the guitar, bass, drums, and piano, although the drums and piano are not her immediate choices if she is performing. The two are cuddled close together on the beanbag chairs in Jirou’s dorm when Momo learns more about the other girl.
Jirou Kyoka loves folk and punk music, but she has a fondness for classical, too. She ran track in high school, loves going to the park to watch the ducks on the lake and practice for school, hates being pushed aside. She struggles to stand in the limelight but her teachers push her. Jirou’s even a very talented singer.
For several weeks, they just get together to eat in each other’s dorms, practice music, study, and get to know each other. Their meetings are dates without the label, and it works well. Nothing feels uncomfortable or forced about their dynamic, and Jirou mentally thanks whatever deity is out there that Momo is still around. Usually, she feels like she bores people, doesn’t have enough charisma to have anyone pay much attention. Much to her surprise, Yaoyorozu notes something about Kyoka that she’ll never forget.
“Jirou, exciting is fine, but it’s not the only thing to be. You’re thoughtful, and insightful. You don’t do things without intention. You’re filled with purpose. I think that’s beautiful.”
Momo thought at least part of her was beautiful.
They’d been sitting in Momo’s room, quietly studying, little conversation passing between them, when Kyoka finally worked up the courage to be able to ask her something. “The next time you practice, I want to come listen. I don’t know much about opera, but I want to learn. Plus, you sound...divine, that’s the right word.” She usually didn’t use such flowery language, but Jirou knew that Momo deserved words that matched her aura.
A smile spread slow and warm across Momo’s face, like she was putting together another piece of a puzzle that included Jirou’s feelings and wants.
“Kyoka,” she said tenderly, reaching out to hold Jirou’s hand, “I’d love nothing more.”
Their pulses beat in their palms, like competing basslines.
*******
The Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde is hands down one of the most commanding portions of the opera. Momo knew that much, as she had been practicing for weeks, still struggling to get into the role of Isolde. Her professor had constantly told her that it was a role that took everything out of you and could almost remake a singer by the end of the performance.
Of course, Momo was going to try her best to sing this for Jirou Kyoka, who was waiting so patiently in one of the seats in the performance room, while Momo fiddled with the audio equipment. “So what is this opera about? Tristan and Isolde?” Jirou asked, a brow raised. She was holding a little pamphlet which showed the original German lyrics for the Liebestod and the Japanese translation, something Momo needed to give her because otherwise, how would she know what the song was about?
“It’s a story about an Irish princess, a knight named Isolde, and the forbidden love they shared. Isolde was promised to a king in marriage and Tristan was meant to deliver her. It’s beautiful, magical, and sad, as many love stories are.” Yaoyorozu mused, finally connecting the audio together. Behind her, there was a dreamy “Ah!”.
Jirou looked like she was interested, whether that be in the actual story or in anticipation of Momo’s performance. It was obvious now to the opera student that her friend and crush felt affection toward her. Often, she wondered if Kyoka was going to make the first move, to take this all into the next realm of possibility.
Then the moment would pass and Yaoyorozu would internally pout at the missed opportunity. It was likely time for her to take matters into her own hands and make the point to Kyoka.
They didn’t speak further. Momo brought herself to stand in the middle of the open space in the performance room, taking a few small breathes before the aria started. She needed to embody the desperation, longing, and magic in that singular role of Isolde; she wanted Jirou to see and feel all that up close.
Jirou knew Momo was a superb singer, one of the prized students in her program.
There is an immediate change in mood and expression in Yaoyorozu; she embodies Isolde’s longing, pain, love, the joy of seeing her lover revived. Her eyes are glistening, staring off into some unknown distance. Momo’s hands are reaching out like she sees something intangible, and it calls to her.
“Fühlt und seht ihr's nicht?
Hör ich nur diese Weise,
die so wundervoll und leise,”
She sings of a song, of a lover that only Isolde can see and feel and hear. Her voice seems to rise above all other things; the music, the hum of the audio system, the fluorescent lighting. Kyoka has a few songs she plays that make her feel like that, like the only thing there is in that moment is the music and how it makes her feel. The Liebestod makes her feel hopeful, alive, exhilarated. Hearing Momo sing it makes her feel like she’s falling.
Jirou is in love with Yaoyorozu, and she can’t run away from the feeling. It’s better just to let herself fall.
******
They walk to the late night coffee shop, hands brushing together but not interlacing. It makes Yaoyorozu think that she’s made an assumption. Possibly, Jirou doesn’t have a crush, and now Momo just put herself out on the line. The Redhorse Osaka Wheel is putting on its’ nightly light show, so they stop to watch for a bit. Jirou is adjusting the strap for her guitar case when she speaks again. “Do you want to go on? Tickets are discounted for students? It’s a nice ride.”
Yaoyorozu nods, wanting nothing more than to sit in the little ferris wheel car with the pretty musician. She wants to ask her about her feelings. Is she interested at all in Momo in the romantic sense? It had seemed they were close to that, but maybe not.
On the ferris wheel, Kyoka opens the guitar case. “Sometimes it stops at the top. I wanted to play something for you.” Jirou sounds confident, which is a new look on her. Momo always noticed her downward cast gaze, the way she fidgeted when she was nervous, her uncertainty. The Osaka night felt like it held promise, all those lights twinkling below them. “Your aria was beautiful. I mean...beautiful is an understatement, because I don’t think there’s a word in existence that can describe how it made me feel. Lately, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you how I feel. Music lets me do that. Found this song, and I hope you’ll understand.”
“
I wish I could do better by you
'Cause that's what you deserve
You sacrifice so much of your life
In order for this to work.”
The song made Momo tear up next to Kyoka, who played and sang soulfully. The song paints a picture of a musician playing for a girl they love, appreciating her simplistic love, the purity of their relationship. Momo loves the song. Kyoka told her the song helped her describe how she feels. The wheel has stopped at the top, and Jirou’s song is tearing at the other girl’s heartstrings.
It ends gently as it started, and Jirou sets down her guitar in her lap. “I know it isn’t perfect, but when I heard this song, I thought of you. I thought about how you deserve more. Had this little day dream that we’d be in love and have our careers but stick with each other, and --” Momo doesn’t give her a chance to finish, because she leans over to kiss Kyoka, fierce and harder than expected. At first, Jirou doesn’t press back.
Yaoyorozu can’t see that the other’s eyes are wide open, shocked by the kiss. It’s an eventual melting into the contact, hands settling against Momo’s waist. It’s heated, passionate, and the kind of first kiss that Jirou didn’t think she would have. There’s hands in her hair, slender and loving.
When they break apart, the wheel has started moving again and Jirou’s guitar is pressing uncomfortably into her stomach. “Kyoka, that moved me. And I thought I’d been too obvious with my aria.” Two pairs of pretty brown eyes reflect back at each other in the night.
“Mo, you had me in the palm of your hand forever ago. The aria was just what made me feel ready to do something. Didn’t think you liked me. Like that, you know.” Jirou was pressing kisses to Momo’s temple, warm and soft.
“And I thought you didn’t like me, at least beyond friendship. God, we were both clueless.” Yaoyorozu chuckled, thinking how she was kind of a fool. They’d taken quite a while to get to the climax.
Their evening at the coffee shop was the first real date Jirou ever had, and the best one Momo had ever been on. Something about the entire night had them feeling like this was going to outlast a normal college romance.
****
“I know you’re going to do so well. This is your dream, Mo.” Jirou was seeing her girlfriend perform in the New National Theatre’s production of “La bohème”. Yaoyorozu had auditioned for the part of Mimi, landing it with ease. Over the years, the women had both built up success from their programs. Kyoka had landed a job at an indie label, fulfilling her own dream. It made life a little busy, but they’d rectified the issue, moving in together in Japan so that Momo could attend the New National Theatre for opera.
“You’ll be watching, I just want you to love it.” Momo pressed about a thousand kisses to her girlfriend’s lips before heading off backstage. Sitting in the reserved box seats for special guests, Jirou fiddled with a small velvet box in her pocket. She’d wait until after the performance to pop that little question. They’d made it this far on their love and effort and beautiful songs, and Jirou was certain that it was time to take another big leap.
The curtains pulled open with flare and expectation, and there might have been a thousand people in that room, but the only person she could hear was Momo, singing, emoting. That’s what mattered to the pair: them and their music.