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It’s the Band’s first out-of-prefecture show. The manager gave them a few pointers on the matter, mainly through a weirdly demeaning speech delivered to her little sister while the rest of the band stood and awkwardly watched. Seika let it be known she wanted Nijika to be more independent, something about her taking the band into her own hands and learning to schedule on her own. They left on Sunday. Hitori and Kita weren’t sure about putting school off for so long, though Ryo appeared not to have a problem with it.
There’s one constant in the universe, and it’s that whenever Bocchi’s around her girlfriends, she’s always nervous in some fashion. Ever since they all started dating, Hitori always had this deep-sated, irrational fear that it’d all come tumbling down. Before this the concept of a polycule was entirely alien to her. This was all despite Hitori being the one to start it, somehow. As the Kessoku Band stepped off the train and into Osaka, Hitori silently reassured herself that everything was going fine, and had been going fine for the year they’d been dating.
“Seika sent me a link to this hotel,” Nijika says as they walk. “Apparently she knows the manager! So kind of her to do us a favor.”
“It’s because bands bring in sales,” Ryo states. “Any hotel owner would kill to have a band stay at their place.”
“Get your mind out of the bank.”
Kita has her head lost in the sights. There’s a restaurant with a big animatronic crab on the sign, all lit up and pretty. Kita gawps and watches it as they pass. Her eyes glitter with the lights of a thousand neon ads hanging boldly from the skyline. “I’ve never been to Osaka before!” she says. “I’ve heard it’s a great place for upcoming rock bands to perform.” She whips out her phone and jumps ahead of the group. “Let’s take a picture! Get in position, everyone!”
Nijika does what feels natural. Hitori stumbles and bumbles but luckily Ryo’s there to wrap an arm around her shoulder and guide her back to earth, to which she gives a weary grin and puts up a peace sign. Ryo deadpans.
“My uncle is from here,” Ryo says.
“Really?”
“He was a comedian. Nobody liked his jokes, so he wanders the streets like a ghost. We don’t acknowledge him as family.”
Nijika bops Ryo on the head. Ryo chuckles darkly.
“Have you been here before, Gotoh-san?”
Hitori is thrust from her little bubble and spits out a rushed “Y-Yeah” in response. To be frank, cities outside the Tokyo Metropolitan Area make her anxious. A lot of things made her anxious, but no matter. Osaka especially, from first she’d seen pictures of it online. Something about all the lights and the culture that struck her as poignantly extrovertesque.
“You holding up?” Ryo asks.
Hitori regards her and fidgets. “I’ve never been this far from home. S-Sorry if I’m being a downer.”
“Aw, it’s no problem, Bocchi-chan,” assures Kita.
“Yeah, don’t sweat it.” Ryo chides Hitori lightly on the arm. That produces a little smile on the guitarist. “None of us have been out this far either, so we’ll be just as culturally insensitive as you.”
“Thanks.”
“The venue said they have a drum set ready to go, so I’m not worried. But thanks for your consideration anyway, Bocchi-chan!” Nijika beams as she struggles with the keycard. The Band piled their luggage by the door. Ryo sits with her back against the wall while Hitori and Kita try to help Nijika.
“Shouldn’t we just go back to the front desk?” Kita wonders.
“N-No! I’m fine!” Nijika says. She taps the card again and it comes back red.
“Is this the wrong room?” Hitori worries.
“The numbers match.” Kita sighs. “Maybe it’s the wrong way?”
“Eh? The wrong way?”
“Mm. Try flipping it around.”
Nijika looks down at the keycard and tightens her lips. She flips it around and gives it another tap.
Bzzrt, click.
“God damn it,” sighs Nijika. Kita giggles and rubs her shoulder. Bocchi breathes a silent sigh of relief.
“Finally,” Ryo grunts, lugging her bass with her as she gets up.
The door slides open. The room’s nothing fancy, but Kita still acts all bewildered as they head inside. To Hitori, it reminds her of her room back home, especially the closet by the TV. There’s some strawberry or peach air conditioner that smells more like hair product, but it’s still nice. Bocchi-chan never considered herself a fan of that new hotel room scent, but now that she’s been exposed to it for the first time she can gladly say she’s at least partial. Nijika throws herself onto the king-sized bed and sighs deeply. Ryo heads straight off to the bathroom. Hitori places her guitar gingerly by one of the chairs and smiles contentedly.
Wait, bed?
“I don’t know if you guys are up to some sight-seeing,” Kita says, “but I’d be up to going out for another walk. Osaka’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I’d love to,” Nijika says, “but I think it would be best if we got some sleep early. We need to be well-rested for our performance!”
“Right.”
Bed? Singular?
Hitori freezes up.
“N-Nijika?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you messed up with the booking.”
“Hm? How’s… Oohh!” Suddenly, her speech takes an off-putting sarcastic turn. Bocchi doesn’t like the sound of it. “Oh dear, it appears there is only one bed! How embarrassing!”
To Hitori’s dismay, both she and Kita start to snicker. “Nijika, how could you!” the singer chides. “Now we’ll be forced to all sleep together as girlfriends!”
Ryo returns from the bathroom and eyes them. “Oh, one bed? Sweet.”
Meanwhile Hitori melts in the corner.
Kita walks over to the bed and falls over next to Nijika. She swings her legs over the edge, resting her head on the drummer’s tummy. “Ah, this is nice, though. I could sleep like this.” Nijika grins and strokes her hair.
A disjointed, atonal tremor is wracked from the depths of Hitori's throat, and it comes out in the form of a disheveled laugh. "O-O-Oh, that's, uh, funny!”
The rest regard her.
“Oh,” Nijika mumbles, “yeah, I didn’t think about that.” Very quickly she grins, sits back up, and claps her hands together. “I-If it really bothers you, Gotoh-san, I’m sure the couch is a rollout and--”
“Oh, no no!” Hitori waves her hands. “I’ll t-totally sleep with you!” She giggles offputtingly.
“... Are you sure?” Kita asks, uplifting her face from the drummer’s stomach. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Yeah,” Ryo says, “want me to help set up the rollout?”
Hitori quivers like an over-caffeinated chihuahua. With limited decorum she attempts to straighten her back, fists tightening by her waist, and with a heavyset gulp, forces her blasting heart back into her chest. “It’s just th-that, you know, I don’t know if you’ll be comfortable with me moving around all night like I usually do, and I-I’ve never… never been this… close… to anyone before.”
Slowly, Nijika, Kita, and Ryo exchange looks. Kita and Nijika are smiling softly but Ryo’s expression appears completely blank. Before either of the bedridden bandmates can say anything, however, Ryo lays down her bass and strides over the Hitori.
Ryo cups her cheek, and Hitori becomes red.
“Bocchi-chan, I’m awfully tired, aren’t you?” She shades her eyes half-mast and tilts her head slightly, deepening her voice to a low husk. The hairs on Bocchi’s next take a stand and her whole body straightens like a plank as Ryo’s caressing fingers hook back around her skull and weave through her hair.
“R-Ryo, I don’t know if--”
“So why don’t I help you set up the rollout couch, hmm?”
“D-- D--? I--- Y-yes, Ryo--? m-m’aam-- I--?”
Nijika warps over and bops Ryo.
Hotel rooms can get stuffy when the lights are out. A thin ambient static masks Hitori’s vision as the deafening buzz of silence rings through her ears, made pink through her anxieties. She keeps her arms as close to her body as she can, but that does nothing to help the creeping warmth she feels from Nijika’s arm wrapped around hers. She’s learned to stop trembling since she was dragged into bed by her bandmates, her head finding a natural resting place on Ryo’s chest as she reclines upright on the backstand, both arms splayed out like she’s hugging all her girls at once. Nijika lays on her back facing the ceiling, much like Hitori, eyes still wide open. On the other side of Ryo’s body, Kita nuzzles against the nape of her senpai’s neck, one hand brushing her hair.
None of them are quite asleep, but Kita’s getting there.
“See? It’s not as bad as you thought,” whispers Nijika, turning to face Hitori through the midnight din. Hitori’s eyes dart away as her blush deepens.
“I just didn’t want to make any of you uncomfortable,” Hitori says.
Nijika chuckles into her hair. “You’re not making me uncomfortable.” She shuts her eyes, breathing softly for a moment. “Having you here is nice, Bocchi-chan. You have a nice scent.”
Hitori is still. Nijika snuggles in, burying her face in Hitori’s shoulder and sighing gracefully. Hitori can’t help but watch her as she settles; how pretty Nijika looks with her hair down, how at peace her smile. “I thought I smelled like mothballs,” Hitori admits, very quietly, very carefully.
Nijika hums into her. “You don’t.” Her speech begins to slur as she surrenders to the abyss. “You’re so nice, Gotoh-san.”
Hitori feels another arm snake around her abdomen and pulls her closer. She’s turned over onto Ryo’s side. Nijika clings onto her back.
Being between her girlfriends is a lot like being in her closet, Hitori decides. It’s warm, claustrophobic, and a lot like the only home she ever knew. This feeling that’s rushing her is a lot like the first time she got a positive comment on one of her first guitar videos, all cooped up in her blanket within the confines of that closet.
“I love you too,” she mouths, and closes her eyes, the delicate embrace of her polycule slowly bringing an end to her shaking.