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If Hoshino Ichika wasn’t careful, she could find herself breaking out into a sprint.
It was the nervous energy in her system, coursing through her veins and arteries and keeping her brain wide awake and alert. All it would take was the slightest pull of a trigger and her feet would take off with one foot in front of the other, all her thoughts racing through her mind and right alongside her, and if that happened, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop. It was silly, this nervous excitement keeping her up longer than she should be. She was acting like a kid the night before a school field trip, and nothing like the 18-year-old high school graduate that she was in reality.
She checked the time on her phone—just a little past midnight at a solid 12:25 AM—before holding the device close to her chest.
Saki was knocked out beside Ichika, slowly tugging more of the blanket closer and bundling herself up. Honami and Shiho shared the other bed. It was just like any one of the many sleepovers they’d had over the years. This time, though, they were doing it on tour as a band. This time, their graduation trip doubled as a road trip to their first venue.
A good sales pitch, that was what one of the businessmen in suits called it. He said that recent high school graduates and childhood friends taking a chance on a dream made for a good sales pitch. Ichika was glad that Shiho’s dad was there to oversee the meeting. She only read a few parts, only managed to remember the highlighted words in the contract. It felt weird, how much of a contrast she felt between being boxed in as an underdog story, versus the weightless, airy adrenaline that made her want to run into the night. A box was too small for the everything and anything she was feeling.
At this point in the night, she gave up on half-dozing, half-staring-at-the-ceiling-hopelessly, so when she sat up in the darkness of the hotel room and found Honami sleeping alone, it didn’t take long for her to also slip away and step outside to find the missing girl.
The summer night humidity clung to her skin when she found her in the passenger seat of their dark blue Mazda van, shoes propped up on the dashboard, headphones plugged in and her favorite bass cradled in her arms.
Shiho glanced up when a shadow crossed over her.
Ichika raised an arm in greeting, and Shiho acknowledged her with a small smile, beckoning with a nudge of her head to get inside. She accepted the invitation readily. A quick maneuver around the front of the van and soon enough she was slipping into the driver’s seat. The headphones were off Shiho’s head and on her shoulders by the time Ichika shut the car door closed behind her.
“How are the other two?” Shiho asked as if they were picking up the middle of a conversation. Her fingers were still absentmindedly pressing into the strings.
“Asleep. Honami must be tired after driving all day.”
“And you?”
“The complete opposite, I think. I’m wide awake,” she confessed, a quiet laugh bubbling out of her. All that energy, all that nervousness and anticipation, it needed a different outlet if she wasn’t going to expend it running in circles around the parking lot. Shiho’s amused scoff caused a grin to spread across Ichika’s face. “I feel like I’ve never been more awake than I am right now, Shiho. I could run to our first venue and get there before Saki wakes up in the morning.”
“You do know how early Saki wakes up, right?” Shiho murmured. She reached out a hand to place it on Ichika’s knee, and it was only at the warmth of her touch did Ichika realize that she’d been bouncing her leg. “You’re way too excited.”
“I am,” her words came out as a whisper as her fingers brushed over Shiho’s. Leo/need’s bassist—Hinomori Shiho, childhood friend, the steady bass filling in the harmony to her melody—turned her palm over so they could interlace their hands. Ichika lifted their handhold so she could press her lips to the back of Shiho’s hand. She spoke against her skin, “It’s our first tour . Aren’t you?”
Shiho’s cheeks reddened at the contact, pressing her lips into a small pout. It made Ichika excited in a different way to see that she could affect the girl like this.
“Obviously. Why do you think I’m awake right now too?” she replied, her eyes staring at their handhold.
“You’ve always been more of a night owl.”
“Only out of necessity, anyway. Less people awake to distract me.”
Ichika angled their hands to the side so she could lean her cheek against them. It was good, talking to Shiho. Easy. It grounded her, like a stray balloon being pulled by its string before floating too far into the sky. Suddenly she didn’t feel like she was running around aimlessly anymore so much as she was running toward something with purpose. She felt her grin ease into a gentler smile as Shiho broke eye contact to focus on her bass. “I’m sorry if I ended up being one of those distractions tonight.”
“I don’t mind it—you, I mean. I don’t mind if it’s you,” Shiho’s words stumbled over themselves, and she sighed and closed her eyes, knowing she couldn’t hide anything from her. Her face was burning from embarrassment. It filled Ichika’s stomach with butterflies. “Ichika, can I please have my hand back?”
“I guess you can, since you asked,” she loosened her hold and felt Shiho slowly withdraw her hand. They weren’t dating, hadn’t talked about what was going on between them, but it was fun. It came easily to them, just like talking or playing in a band together. They had all the time to figure it out, Ichika reasoned, so she wasn’t in any rush.
In a quieter voice, she asked again, to make sure, “I’m really not bothering you?”
“Yeah, really. And I’m worried you might actually run away if I don’t keep you in here now,” Shiho rolled her eyes as she reclined the passenger chair, reaching an arm back to the equipment they stowed away in the back rows.
“You’re probably right about that,” she accepted the accusation openly.
She was about to ask Shiho to grab her guitar too when she noticed a single notification lighting up her phone screen. 12:53 AM. An email from one Yoisaki Kanade.
Ichika straightened her back and unlocked her phone as quickly as she could, listening to Shiho drag the portable amp behind their seats, before she plugged in her bass and began messing with its knobs. The kind of working relationship she had with Kanade was sort of an enigma. Kanade wasn’t someone who often met with others in-person casually, and Ichika found messaging on Nightcord to be too informal. For some reason or another, though, emails struck the right balance for them.
“Kanade-san?” Shiho guessed, getting comfortable in her seat again. The rest of Leo/need knew about the emails, of course. The first few times they exchanged emails like pen pals, Ichika was so happy that she would read their messages aloud. She didn’t do that anymore—at least, not every message.
“She said she’ll be at our Shibuya show,” she read over the words eagerly, revealing that Kanade’s music circle friends would tag along with her.
“Our last stop, huh? I like it.”
“Me too. How did Saki put it…?” Ichika looked up from her phone as Shiho gently plucked at her bass.
“Our homecoming performance.”
“Right, that. That’s got to be the best way to wrap up a tour.”
“Mm,” Shiho agreed, fingers sliding up the bass neck. With just a few notes Ichika recognized it as the bridge for “From Tokyo”. She smiled at that, returning her attention back to the email.
There was a paragraph discussing the work she was up to with her own music circle, another section mentioning that she’d attach some samples and that she would be interested to hear her thoughts on them. She linked a song that she thought Ichika would like. She was excited to listen and respond to all of it once she retrieved her headphones back in the hotel room, but the part of the email she wanted to read the most was at the end.
And about the question you asked , Kanade had written. I don’t think I have any advice that will solve your problem, but it’s not a bad thing to have managers who focus on the hard numbers. Sometimes you need someone who will. And because of that, you’re going on tour now. Your music is going to reach even more people, and you’re going to see it happen live, right in front of your eyes. That’s an amazing opportunity. So, I guess what I want to say is… you should go ahead and enjoy yourself, Ichika. If you can hold onto that feeling, you won’t lose sight of what makes L/N’s music special.
As always, I’ll be happy to give any input on songs you’re working on. It’s nice to hear from you.
- K
She allowed herself to soak in the words. She let them wash over her, like Kanade had managed to send a wave of emotions with her email, and it struck Ichika at waist-level, threatening to push her over. What was washed away instead was a soggy cardboard box, the kind that wanted to pack Leo/need into a digestible story. What was left behind was Ichika, somehow feeling even lighter than she was just an hour ago.
Ichika struck out an arm and grabbed Shiho by the hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” she raised her request. Shiho didn’t say anything other than blinking at her in confusion. She offered a bit more, hoping it’d be enough to convince her, “Let’s find somewhere to play together, tonight, right now. I want to go together. Can we?”
They stared at each other. It was as if Shiho peered directly into the message behind her words, beyond guessing what Kanade’s email might have said and into the worries and excitement that lay beneath all of it. She could tell her and the rest of the band over breakfast, or as they started driving the final stretch of their road trip. But right now, at this very moment, she wanted to play her guitar.
Shiho shook her head. A defeated smile was already on her lips. With feigned annoyance, she submitted to her whims with, “It’s really hard to say no when you ask like that.”
If they were dating, Ichika might have leaned forward to kiss that smile.
…
A thought nagged Shiho in the back of her mind, and it was a fear of waking up and realizing this was all a dream.
She had no idea how Ichika found a karaoke bar just from wandering around the downtown area, or what the other girl said to the employee to allow them to step up onto the mini stage. The air was warm and a little stuffy; the floodlights weren’t as bright and blinding as the ones used in live houses; and the stage itself wasn’t anything fancy, just a slightly elevated floor with some AV equipment. She remembered sliding the bass guitar case off her shoulder and the sound of Ichika’s guitar being tuned. She could feel the anticipation of the crowd before an impromptu performance, its hushed conversations mixed in with the occasional cheer that rallied everyone together.
Yet it all felt like it was happening to someone else, while Hinomori Shiho played spectator. If she was completely, entirely honest—and that was something she was working on—it was because it felt too good to be true. Going on tour with her best friends, sneaking out at night to perform because they couldn’t contain themselves, there was a time where she wouldn’t have believed she could ever be this happy.
Ichika pulled her in closer by the shoulders, turning themselves away from their audience for a thin veil of privacy. Their heads pressed together, and Ichika was smiling, her eyes wide with exhilaration at the prospect of performing in front of a crowd.
It took Shiho staring into dark blue eyes to feel like she was in her own body. They were looking at no one else but each other. They were onstage together, and not anyone else.
“You’ve got my back?” Ichika asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“Always.”
“And I’ll have yours.”
“I know,” Shiho whispered, scared of her own heart that was too full of love that she didn’t convey nearly often enough. This was what she meant. Something like this was the kind of future she could only dream about, and any moment now she would wake up as a first-year in high school once more, with nothing but her bass to fill her empty days.
“Then let’s do this.” Leo/need’s leading guitar and main vocalist was blinding.
The arm thrown over her shoulders squeezed her in one final tight side-hug, before Ichika let her go and they turned to the bar’s patrons. A staff member must have dimmed the lights while they were turned away. There was some applause as they realized the show was starting.
Ichika gave her one glance, two syllables (“ Roki! ”), and without introduction, they broke out into song. Shiho sensed the air of the bar shift as people recognized what they were performing. Ichika raised her voice at the chorus, stirring some of the more inebriated customers to join in with her. At the sound of Shiho’s bass, people started clapping along, filling in as a substitute for Honami’s drums. They were nowhere near as reliable as Honami and they were soon clapping on the wrong beat, but it was fun. It was a different atmosphere than performing at an established live house.
She wasn’t sure how long they played for. One man hollered a song suggestion at one point—another Vocaloid song, as if everyone had already figured out the singer’s weakness—and the bar took on a new mood altogether. Ichika sang songs that they’d never performed together. Her guitar found the melodies based on memory alone, and Shiho followed through on instinct.
It was disorganized, messy, and on any other night she would have had a list of criticisms about their performance to review, but just for tonight, Shiho wanted to lose herself in the sound.
Their audience’s energy was infectious. Some sang along to their requested songs, more shouting the lyrics than anything else, while others reacted with excited claps and impressed nods as Ichika’s guitar opened space for Shiho to step up with her bass.
It was funny, she thought to herself. The people watching them didn’t know their names or where they came from. They didn’t know that standing in front of them was Hoshino Ichika, Leo/need’s frontrunner who wrote lyrics like she wore her heart on her sleeve. They didn’t know that Ichika was her childhood friend that grew into herself, quiet yet steadfast. They had no way of knowing Ichika was an 18-year-old with stars in her eyes, relearning how to lean into the excited impulsiveness that she had as a kid.
Shiho had half a mind to grab the microphone and introduce them, figuring that Ichika had probably forgotten in their rush to find a stage and perform. The only reason she didn’t was because she didn’t want to come off like she was boasting. In this bar, she was the one closest to Ichika. It was hard not to relish in the honor.
With the end of one song came the steady hum of low notes as they interacted with the crowd. The voices blended, conversation creating its own kind of music. Somewhere among the chatter a song name caught Shiho’s attention and she played the first few notes. Her partner on stage followed up instantly, falling in step as they synchronized, and together they guided the audience into their performance.
Four minutes and a couple seconds was all they needed to live in the moment. Sharing it with everyone in the bar was amazing. Sharing it with Ichika was something she’d never forget.
Eventually, the energy wound down as some patrons left for the night, and the ones who stayed were beginning to run on fumes. Shiho couldn’t say at what point they’d given up on vocals. She sat down on one of the stools that a bar employee pulled up for them. Ichika was playing another song that she didn’t recognize. Or was that a new melody altogether? She closed her eyes and listened to the guitar solo. The long, drawn-out notes, the slowly ascending chords. It was new, but warm and familiar, like the sound of coming home to someone you loved.
Shiho opened her eyes to see Ichika swaying with her guitar, repeating a phrase as she worked it out. When they made eye contact, the guitarist smiled, and played to her directly. Shiho felt something else as she strummed her guitar.
It was hard to translate music into words, but if she had to, it sounded like Ichika was saying she wasn’t going anywhere. She was going to stand right next to Shiho, for as long as she let her.
They were hundreds of miles away from home, performing unrehearsed in a bar where no one recognized them, and somehow, some way, Ichika was still finding ways to reach out through her music. Shiho let the sounds of the guitar seep into her. Damn it , she thought as she felt her eyes brim with tears. She thanked every religious deity she could think of that the lights were dimmed and Ichika couldn’t see her cry.
Was she allowed to be this happy? This girl was determined to chase their dreams unflinchingly, and it made Shiho want to keep dreaming of larger venues, higher ambitions. Anything to keep her by her side.
If this turned out to be a dream, she wanted to make sure she experienced all of it before waking up.
…
They were walking back to the hotel when the first ray of sunlight broke into the morning sky.
“Who do you think will be angrier?” Ichika laughed, bumping their shoulders together as they watched the sun envelop more of the city in its light, before finally reaching them.
The sun warmed Shiho’s weary bones. It made her aware of how quiet the rest of the world was, as the late night ended and the early morning had not yet begun. It felt like a figurative breath of fresh air. No worries about the future, or about staying on schedule, or any calls from managers and worried parents. Feeling warm both inside and out, Shiho leaned her head against Ichika’s shoulder. She was just the right height for it. “I’m betting on Honami,” she guessed. “Saki should’ve already seen the sticky note I left behind.”
“Saki doesn’t like being left out of these kinds of things though.” Ichika rested her head atop of Shiho’s, looping their arms together loosely.
“And Honami is the type of person to worry if you don’t let her know what’s going on.”
“You’re not wrong about that.”
It came easily to them, joking about themselves and their friends. Before any reservations could stop her, she found herself admitting, “I’m a little glad you didn’t. I wanted some time alone with you, anyway.”
“You did?”
“I did.” Shiho couldn’t see Ichika’s expression at this angle even if she wanted to. She directed her words outward instead of directly to the recipient, asking nonchalantly, “Is that okay with you…?”
“Yeah. Yes! Absolutely. I’m more than okay with it. It’s just nice when you’re honest. I like it.” She felt Ichika’s arm wrap around her waist, laying a hand on her hip. She was bringing her in for an even closer embrace. They eventually came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Ichika… We’ll be late for checkout if we don’t keep walking.”
Shiho pulled out of her grasp just enough to look at her.
The other girl’s face was flushed red. Her eyes were clenched shut, and she pressed her face into Shiho’s shoulder in embarrassment. And it was then that she realized Ichika was considering talking about the things they had left up in the air, simply because they had all the time in the world for it. She felt her own face grow warm, becoming aware of Ichika’s arm still around her.
“Do you know what I was thinking about tonight, when I was messing around on the guitar?” Her voice was muffled as she spoke into her shoulder.
In the quiet of a city at sunrise, though, Shiho heard the question loud and clear. She released a breath. She thought about the kind of love Ichika must feel to want to promise things like staying by her side or chasing after dreams together. Selfless, straightforward, and overflowing—that was the kind of love that Ichika was offering to someone like her. Even without the girl saying it herself, she knew that was what she wanted to convey, because from the start and many times over, she had always, always been upfront about herself. That was one thing that would never change about her.
She felt like she didn’t deserve any of this. The band, going on tour, Ichika. Her emotions were riding on a high while her thoughts were constantly preparing for a crash, or for anything to pull the rug out from under her. It was easier to imagine this was all an ideal dream she’d soon wake up from, than a reality that could change at any notice.
“I think I might, but tell me anyway,” Shiho said aloud. It spoke against every fiber of her being. Every part of her was telling her to take back her words. This dream wouldn’t last forever. She was opening herself up to be vulnerable, she was going to get hurt, and it scared her.
But if Ichika was going to say what they were both thinking, then Shiho wanted to take the chance.
“Our lives are changing so quickly. Every day it feels like we see something new. So, I was thinking, last night…” Ichika lifted her head and peeked at Shiho through squinted eyes. When she saw that they were looking at each other, she blinked her eyes a couple times to adjust to the brightening world around them. Her voice was surprisingly steady as she continued, “even if everything changes around us, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to be anywhere else but right next to each other. Saki and Honami too, of course, but this is different. I feel like I can be so much more because I know you’ll match me every step of the way. And I, uh… I hope you feel the same way.”
None of it came as a surprise to Shiho. Really, Ichika was just putting words to something they had both felt for a long time now, but even then, nothing could have prepared her for the surge of emotion that crashed into her. All the anxiety and nervousness went hand-in-hand with how much love Ichika had for her. It was both the easiest and hardest thing to respond to.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?” she asked, pulling Ichika back in for a proper hug. Their arms were around each other immediately. It felt like they were right where they were supposed to be.
“I hope not. I don’t know if I can bring myself to confess twice,” Ichika sighed in relief, resting her head on Shiho’s shoulder again.
“I’m just making sure.” She cradled a hand on the back of Ichika’s neck. The girl in her arms was real, just as real as their band and their first tour, and everything that it took to get to this point. Oh god. Any god. This was real. It all felt like nothing would change and that everything was already changing, all at once. It felt like she was seeing Ichika for the first time, when she’d been watching her for as long as she could remember. She hugged Ichika tighter if that was somehow possible.
Ichika laughed at the gesture, nervous and excited and airy. “T-This is a good thing, right? I need some words before my heart jumps out of my chest.”
“Promise me you won’t turn what happened tonight into a love song,” she couldn’t help but tease.
“What— hey …” she stammered, shoving her away gently. They stepped out of their hug, but her hand traced Shiho’s arm, until they caught each other in a handhold. “They’re lyrics, not my diary! And it’s not like you can’t blame me. I’m really happy right now.”
“You can be happy without letting the rest of the world know, you know. Tonight, it stays between us.”
“I’m not promising anything, but I can try.”
Shiho started moving forward again, tugging Ichika along with her.
Now that she was facing away, she felt like she could afford to be more honest. She watched the morning sun, not too bright yet that she couldn’t appreciate its glow, and her words felt less like a confession and more like a declaration. “I feel the same, by the way. I honestly find it a little scary. Opening myself up, letting someone in, trusting them with your hopes and dreams… but if I think about it, we’ve been doing it for years now. And when it’s with you,” Shiho looked back at Ichika, wanting to commit this specific moment to memory. “I think I start to look forward to things like this. Taking a chance on love, I mean.”
“You mean that?” Ichika stepped forward so they stood side-by-side.
“All of it.”
They smiled at each other, cheeks flushed and a little awkward, because they didn’t know what else to do. Shiho was the first to shake off the nerves. They started walking, before laughter got the best of them, and soon they were running, sprinting down the sidewalk with their hands clasped together. She was exhausted from spending a night out, and yet it felt like she still had more energy left to spare.
Ichika was breathless, keeping pace as she planned conspiringly, “This is going to be the best love song I’ve written.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“What if I said I’m doing it for the band?”
“How does that change anything?”
“It means you’re going to help me write it!”
They outran everything, from their overnight worries to their confessions at sunrise, and they continued to run until they saw Saki and Honami waiting by the band van. Even as Saki pouted at them, saying Ichika should have known she would have wanted to come too, and Honami quietly entered the conversation to ask if they were alright, Shiho still felt like running. For just a little bit, she understood what Ichika was feeling. This jovial, airy feeling that made her feet feel light and her heart feel like it was soaring.
In the middle of Ichika’s second apology, they made eye contact. It didn’t mean anything and it meant the world at the same time. For Shiho, it meant she was more than happy.
She was here, right alongside Ichika and the rest of Leo/need.