Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“-Origins of the culture derive from the Ghetto Brothers' street parties, where amps for both instruments and speakers would be connected on the street lights of the 163rd Street and Prospect Avenue. It wouldn’t be until DJ Kool Herc, considered as the "father" of hip hop, took this idea that now popular te-”

"Sis, that’s boooriing!"

"Huckgh!" Hitori closed the tab by reflex as her head crashed against the closet’s ceiling, brain working just enough to not slam the laptop’s screen shut on the way down and risk damaging it. 

“Fu-Futari!” she shouted while kneeling, which would have been taken somewhat seriously if it hadn’t come out from a crumpled mouth on the floor, one and a half feet away from her sister like a discarded middle school confession. “Don’t just barge in like that!”

Perhaps it was the half hearted glare that her currently not-lodged-in-the-ceiling eye was giving, or the fact that she was glaring at all, but Futari didn’t add any remarks.

“Dad said dinner time!” Her little sister sang, happily picking up the mouth and sticking where the nose should be. “What were you watching, anyway?”

Hitori picked up the rest of her face before turning away from her sister and arranging it the correct way as the shock faded.  “Ah…hip h–a-a video…”

It hurt her inside that this had happened so many times she no longer needed a mirror; muscle memory was enough. At the same time, she was kind of glad; that meant she could do it fast in case of a social emergency when someone that was not her family tried to talk to her. Even now, Kita or Ryo would sometimes pop out from behind and put her clay skills to the test. She didn’t want a repeat from the sandpaper incident, thank you very much.

“You’ve been funnier than usual lately.” Her sister said from the door on her way out, refusing to even attempt an apology, just as she expected.

And it was true. With a new year and a new class to worry about, Mikakunin Riot, and everything that came with it, the people around her had made sure to make her know how far she had gone as both guitarist and as a person. But there was still a lot to process and another lot to do about it.

Hitori glanced at the laptop. Case in point… 

Tsuguko Sasaki. Aka “Sasaki”. Aka “Sattsu”. Aka “Sasasa-san”. Hitori liked to believe that they got along decently enough. Sasaki even told her that she looked cool during the festival!

...Before she flopped, anyway. 

Probably not a single person present in that awful moment thought she looked cool. The ground was way cooler than her. Hah, temperature pun, maybe she could use that in her next lyrics or next year during introductions…although it would be best to run it through Kita this time before trying.

But Sasaki was one person who –as far as Hitori could tell–  looked up to her. Now, Hitori could say that she had true fans in and out of her concerts! There was Fan #1 (MIA), Fan #2 (MIA), and Sasaki (TBD). 

"More fans…ehehehehe-"

And who knew! Maybe they would introduce her to some famous big boob musician that didn’t mind her sulking in a dark alleyway every once in a while! 

The dynamic duo, Gotou Hitori from Kessoku Band and Haylied Smith from Renaissance, announcing they were a couple on the last performance of their collab tour. Thousands of fans screaming in support and heartbroken stupor. The likes she would get on Isosta…

"-hehehehe-"

"Sis…" Futari stared in absolute disappointment. Jimihen took two steps in and then promptly turned around. Hitori’s left eye was still stuck on the ceiling.

It wouldn't be until her dramatic divorce with two children arc that she came back to the real world, her left eye and the sock thrown at it being silently picked up by Futari.

Another eye in the wrong place. Her sister didn’t even try this time.

--- ---

"Bad day?" her dad asked from the kitchen, Jimihen sitting loyally at his side. 

Hitori hummed a non-committal tune and continued to just poke her food with chopsticks. Futari was much the same, except Hitori noticed the familiar beat of her sister's poking from a night cartoon opening, in contrast to her own, which was the bass of That Band. 

With half a mind to not swallow, she picked up a piece.

Her karaage was on the wrong side of lukewarm by the first bite. 

And how fitting that was, she assumed, munching. One quick glance across the table got her a view of Futari’s increasingly annoyed face at a decreasingly crisp piece. Maybe they could suffer together for once.

“Dad! It’s gone soggy, make more!”

“Right away!”

“Woof!”

Right, she almost forgot that Futari didn’t believe in poetic justice. Her mistake. 

Hitori picked up another piece of soggy karaage, staring at all its out of prime lack of glory. There was a metaphor for her life (or rather, her future) somewhere in there, but she was annoyed and hungry; good enough was more than good enough, so it got eaten along with the others while she and her sister waited for their father to bring better ones.

When he sat down and flicked the TV on, the three ate in relative calm. Her mom had agreed to have dinner with some high school friend after four-ish years of not seeing each other, so she was out for now.

It had been almost two years, but Hitori didn’t remember a single classmate from middle school. She doubted anyone remembered her, either. Haaah, would she ever get someone like that in high school…?

…

… Oh, wait.

“Dad.” she started, putting down her food and using the little pause it took him mimicking her to gather some extra courage. 

She swallowed nothing but air, “Do you know anything about hip-hop?”

Her dad leveled her with a serious expression that left Hitori wondering in a panic if she was about to hit a bad ending this early in life. Game over. Nada. Chau. The legacy of the Gotou’s now rested squarely on Futari’s shoulders.

Three steps away from returning to stardust, her father’s everything relaxed, and even showed somewhat of an elderly understanding. “We’ll support you on everything you want to do.”

Hitori felt safe and fuzzy; she really loved her family. But, at the same time, “Eh?”

“Hm?”

“...”

“Something wrong?”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments.

“Sis is being scarier than usual…”

"Woof…"

“...I…still want to be a rockstar, dad. I was just asking…" 

"Oh," He sounded awkward, "I thought you were looking to switch genres."

"I would never do that!" she clarified, wincing a little at how loud it came out. "I-I just thought that…I don't want rock and bands to be the only things I can talk about."

"You can always talk about space." He said, reminding her of the hours, and hours, and hours sunk into space documentaries, sneaking space related lyrics into everything she could…oh, God, the entirety of If I Could Be a Constellation.

Her dad seemed to consider something in silence as she continued her extra terrestrial flashbacks. 

Two repressed events later, Hitori came back, only to find her sister gone, along with Jimihen. Hitori hoped that the dog wouldn’t get fed something weird, again.

"-to mind?"

"E–huh?" She hadn’t registered her dad's words.

He cleared his throat before asking again, "Someone in specific comes to mind?"

"Ah, yes–waitwhat?"

“I mean…,” he took a sip of his tea, “Why hip-hop, of all things? Pop? Jazz? Metal?”

Only one sentence in, and already caught red-handed, the day was just getting better and better. Hitori wondered if it was just a parent-family thing or if she was that easy to read.

“Is it someone from your band?” her dad asked between bites.

"No." she answered, laying down across the sofa, facing upwards. This position felt oddly familiar, with Futari and Jimihen playing in the background. Like she was back at the beginning and nothing had changed–

But it was different, right? 

Hitori pulled out her phone. The texts from her parents and coupon offers were still there, but there were also her bandmates, her friends , they had a group chat that was constantly filled with photos and music and memes and memories that she never wanted to lose. Kita’s chat was filled with guitar tutorials, and arcade photos, and way too many emojis to count; Nijika’s, with good mornings, and MVs, and pictures of Manager making a fool out of herself; Ryo’s, bursting with lyric brainstorming, and shitposts and empty promises to return borrowed money.

Actually, Hitori wouldn’t mind getting less of that last one.

Another swipe to see her other contacts. Kikuri, whose number one day just showed up and Hitori was too scared to do anything other than accept it, sending some of her drunk performances that usually ended with SICK HACK’s drummer grabbing the bassist’s phone and apologizing on her behalf. Hasegawa of SIDEROS, who’s yet to unblock her. Ohtsuki Yoyoko, trying to coordinate another collab through a string of messages that read a little on the desperate side. And, at the very bottom…

Tsuguko Sasaki, whose chat remained blank and cold. 

Granted, it was just added that morning, but for neither of them to have sent at least a greeting, it was a little frustrating, and their daily conversations didn’t help much.

Ah, her mind was drifting too much to the side; she had forgotten her dad was still there.

“It’s a classmate.” She sat on the sofa upright, “One of Kita-chan’s friends. We talk before class.”

Well, it was more like Hitori would try to isolate herself until class started, get maybe five minutes of peace and quiet, then she’d turn around and Sasaki would just be standing there with a lazy smug like that kind of behavior wasn’t potential grounds for a restriction order. And then, in between mutterings and stutters, they’d chat until it was time to go back.

“And she likes hip-hop, I take it.” 

That was the meat of the issue: what they’d talk about. Hitori felt like it was superficial. 

Sasaki didn’t listen to rock, but respected and looked up to her. They’d both sit and talk about class, about their mornings. Hitori would have one of her moments and Sasaki would whisper a snicker, wait for her to come back, then either switch topic or stay silent until the bell rang, and then she’d grab her by the wrist while both rushed halfway through the school until their classroom, much to Kita’s chagrin.

Just like that, her alone time had changed, and while she was extremely nervous the first thirty-ish times it happened, nowadays it was getting…

…It was getting…

She just wanted to talk about music with her!

“You said that you were into western music, so I thought I’d ask you before messing up and getting blacklisted from the school’s front gate. I-It’s not a problem, though, I can climb the fence!” Maybe she could even convince Kita to convince Sasaki to let her into the classroom through a window!

Her dad, who got worked up in such absurdities as easily as she did, made a swipe of his arm for emphasis, “You’re not climbing the fence–!” 

“--Ah.” They both said as liquid dripped off the table; her dad’s move had flipped his tea cup and spilled its contents all over, including the last piece of karaage.

With how hot her dad liked his tea and how long it had been, Hitori wondered if it tasted better than what she ate earlier.

“I know a thing or two,” he said, ignoring the mess for now, “but hip-hop isn’t one of them. Sorry.”

Hitori shook her head, “It’s okay, I was planning on watching a video about it, anyway.”

"Oh, right," her dad said with a snap of his fingers, "what's her name?"

"Huh?"

"When you played at Mikakunin, a lot of your classmates came to cheer you on.” Her dad picked up the plates. “Some introduced themselves to us, so I thought I could try to remember." 

With the clink of carefully balanced plates getting further away until the kitchen sink, Hitori wondered what kind of impression Sasaki had left on her family. With some luck, a good one. 

Some. Luck.

It was fine, everything was fine, everything was more than fine. Sasaki was normal, right? She was not Kita, who wanted to become a daughter of Ryo, who ate weeds and bummed off Nijika, who saw a guitar as enough of a reason to drag Hitori, who hid in trash cans and dreamed of dropping out. Sasaki was honest, if only a little smug about everything, and held her in high value, like her pet poodle.

“Ah.” Hitori started to sweat buckets. They were all wrong in the head.

Her dad came back with an actual bucket, having fully anticipated to catch his daughter halfway resembling melted ice cream. He asked for a name again.

“Yes, uh…Sasaki-san.” she answered, expecting him to shrug. Instead, her dad froze for a solid second before making a small noise. Hitori could feel her heart run to the laptop, download and boot up Miningcrafts, turn on creative mode and dig straight down with the sole objective of launching itself into the dark, dark void.

"Hitori?"

"heymuybuenasatodosguapísi–AH! Yes!” She returned to solid instantly.

“Sasaki, right?” her dad scratched the back of his head as she nodded.

“Quite the animated one during Mikakunin Riot,” he laughed, “it was impressive how well she managed so many of your classmates during cheers.”

The quadruple knots in Hitori’s stomach relaxed slightly. Yes, she remembered Sasaki showing up, but for her to lead the class, cheering on Kessoku Band like that…it made her feel warm, the same way she felt on the days her parents’ words, to lay down and sleep, went missing, just her and her guitar and the twilight sky coming from the window. 

Maybe she should stop trying to escape whenever they talked. Maybe, just maybe, she could finish watching that hip-hop video and start the conversation tomorrow, or even send a text!

“One of your bandmates is called Kita, right? She was screaming ‘Gooo, Kita!’ and ‘Show them why I put up with you talking my ear off about rock even though I’ve told you numerous times I’m not interested, Kita!’ so loud we had to move to the side for a moment, it sounded more like venting than cheering.” 

Just like that, her enthusiasm was killed and buried in an empty coffin. Right, Sasaki was Kita’s friend first, Hitori’s acquaintance-maybe-fan fourth. She’ll know her place before making the same mistake next time.

“Actually, I think some of your classmates had to carry her to a tent after the fifth time she screamed that last one.” her dad finished, which added ten knots to her stomach and patented a brand new boot design to stomp her head with.

“...”

“But she seemed honest and straightforward. Maybe it’s just my age, but that kind of person doesn’t come around often, so I think it’d be worth trying to…–”

“...”

“...Please lift your head, the table’s still wet...” Hitori did not care.

--- ---

“Aaaaaand, upload.”

Hitori put down the guitar after her latest cover appeared on Guitarhero’s channel. She didn’t finish the hip-hop video. Sasaki’s chat was still empty. It was 1 AM. Her parents were downstairs, trying – and failing – to console Futari after she fed Jimihen something weird again and they had to rush him to the vet.

Honest and straightforward. Hitori kept thinking about that while removing whatever fluff from her sister’s sock was still stuck on her eye.

Maybe they couldn’t talk about more than superficial stuff, after all. Hip-hop wasn’t rock, it wasn’t outer space and it wasn’t a type of fish. Gotou Hitori wasn’t the type of person that could just say whatever was on her mind with no fear of backslash, or someone who lacked a filter despite that fear.

She picked up her phone again, staring at the empty chat. What should she say? What could she say? Why was she putting in this much effort in the first place?

Hitori was a guitarist. A rock guitarist. Her dreams with the band, her dreams with herself , they all relied on making it big, big enough so that Guitarhero wouldn’t be needed, big enough so that she could be inspiring and admired as Gotou Hitori, or Bocchi, or whatever name she chose to perform as. She picked up a guitar and practiced until her legs went numb, until her fingers hardened with calluses and her wrists hurt. All to prove that an introvert like her could shine up there, with Kessoku Band, with rock, the song of the underdog. 

And Sasaki decided to just…skip that. Throw rock out the window just to support and admire her as simply a girl that followed her dream and looked cool while doing so. 

Honest and straightforward. Maybe she could give it a try, too. Just text what she felt like, how she felt like. The stock sound effect of digital keyboard tapping was the only thing inside the closet and her head alike. 

Hitori looked over at her message, thumb right above the ‘send’ button. She reread it several times, each making her less anxious. 

She hit send.

‘See you tomorrow’.

Hitori felt nothing in particular as the read receipt went through all of its phases. Or when she was notified that Sasaki was typing something back.

‘It’s already tomorrow, gotou. cya’

A conversation, one that she could find nothing to regret in or think much about, almost useless kind of banter between friends. A friend.

They would see each other in less than seven hours, at the same place, with the same outcome. Did she really need to do that? Hitori pondered, making her exit from the closet.

As she stretched a hand to open the door, she paused, looking at the wrist.

The wrist that hurt first from guitar practice, the wrist that Sasaki would grab every morning, the wrist that, compared to last time she checked, was showing itself just a little more. A gentle reminder that Hitori was outgrowing her tracksuit.

Just chill out and enjoy yourself!

Did she really need to do that?

If you put the weight of success on your own shoulder all the time, you’ll just make yourself miserable.

Strictly speaking, no, she didn’t. 

It’s important to enjoy the process of making your dream come true.

But she wanted to.

“...I didn’t finish the video.”

Hitori climbed into the futon and took out her phone one last time. Another notification.

‘gn’. Attached to the text was a photo of Sasaki, likely taken moments before if one were to judge by the low lighting and awkward angle. She had her head tilted to the side and semi-closed eyes, hair all over her face. It was blurry, no filters, her eyes weren’t semi-closed but instead caught mid blink. It was…

Honest and straightforward.

A step. A step with nothing certain about it. Nothing except that she wanted to take it.

‘gn’ Hitori texted back with a photo of her own that was hopefully not as awful.

Maybe they couldn’t talk about rock, or about hip-hop, or music in general, but she was willing to try and make it work.

Hitori laid down and dreamed.

Chapter Text

The odd refraction from the east-facing windows marked the end of the early hours.

With the classrooms filled to fifth capacity, most present students’ state could be dumbed down to a mix of walking, dozing off, staring blankly at a phone or wall, and rushing homework that was yet to be done, all accompanied by the ever increasing presence of the lucky lot considered average enough to not worry about such things.

It was at that time that nobody paid any attention as she opposed the cacophony of footsteps with a calm beat of her own.

Her head was balancing from one side to the other like a breeze powered pendulum, which made her eyes overcompensate and, in return, send both legs in confidently incorrect directions that got her face closer to the floor each time.

“Mhmm. Worth it~.”

She leaned into the nearest wall and yawned before going back into pace. Her mom had often compared staying up late with eating too much sweets: It didn’t matter what one felt before or during, because the after always sucked , more so if it was after swearing not to multiple times. However, the feeling of progress in her brain was strong enough to, at long last, convince her limbs to not declare a strike and send her tumbling, which was a particularly good outcome when considering the staircase she was trying to remember how to use.

“Wonder how you’re doing, Gotou…”

Dark, silent, escape route at a moment’s notice. Those were the key conditions for a place to be considered worthy enough to house her newest phone contact. Sadly for the introverted half of their duo, the third condition had been eradicated like an ant under a preschooler's magnifying glass for at least a better part of the last month, but that wasn’t something she troubled herself with.

Sasaki continued to let her memory, both conscious and muscle, guide her throughout the maze of stairs and hallways that led to their usual chatting spot. Not that she minded much, of course. 

Another yawn. Staying up late was one thing, power-marathoning two seasons of an anime she found at the rock bottom of her watch list, from her phone at that, was another one entirely. Sasaki wasn’t exactly sure at what time she managed to fall asleep, but she remembered a bird staring her down from a window as if heralding a fist fight between the Devil, Death, Yujiro Hanma, and whatever was left of her consciousness. Needless to say, she didn’t fancy her chances, and opted to get some sweet shut-eye before the sun showed itself.

Some more walking and almost crashing into some third-year around a corner later, she had arrived at the place. By that point, the only sounds that would accompany her were footsteps, rustling clothes, and some odd shriek from a place hope couldn’t reach. Or, well, that was how it was supposed to be. 

Sasaki tilted her head sideways, reaching for the sliding door. Music, she recognized. Distorted into barely comprehensible blabber by the plastic, wood, and metal, but still music; rap, judging by her years’ worth of self genre-restricted experience.

Her hand did not move, not for a few moments.

One beat, one breath. 

Two beats, two things happened: One, the door being slid open, letting the foreign, sleeping body resting against it to fall backwards into the hallway. Two, said body crashing into Sasaki hard enough to make her notice the cracks in the ceiling’s paint job. 

A thud and an odd shriek came from a place where hope wasn’t really all that needed.

— — — 

"I’msosorrythisuselessbodyofminecouldn’tkeepitseyesopenpleasedon’tbanmefromthefrontgate pleaseatleastletawindowopen –”

“No biggie, no biggie~,” she interrupted what would be yet another dogeza apology, patting Hitori’s shoulder in a way that she wished was soft enough to convey how little she wanted both of them to mind. 

Truth be told, the fall did hurt, but her head was still intact and the pain had long dulled, so she was willing to let her friend off the hook. She would have her revenge later.  

Furthermore, the way Hitori trembled with high pitched noises reminded Sasaki of her poodle's first Christmas: a type of adorable that created both the need to protect and a darker desire to observe that helpless state for just a little longer. Sleep deprived as she was, it took a solid half of her willpower to not imagine something as ridiculous as Gotou Hitori barking while laying on her back. And damn, her willpower was trash, because that mental image was also the funniest thing ever. 

Then again, it was for naught; even the mess that was Hitori would keep enough pride as a human being to not step that low, right?

…Right?

…

Her gaze went straight up in between mutters. “Would she actually…?”

“Eh? Sas–Sasasa-san?”

Speaking of dogs. If Sasaki was being honest, petting Maron was more comfortable for her than it was for the poodle. The feeling of fur on her hands, sometimes up and down and sometimes in circles. It was a great way to relax after whatever the day had thrown at her. Even if that meant cleaning what would inevitably stick to her clothes afterwards, Maron was a sucker for it. Both enjoyed it. What were her favorite spots, again? 

Right. First there was below the chin; just some light scratching.

“Ah…A–ah, eh?, Uuhh!?,Sa–sasa…sasasa-sa–!?” 

She would keep one hand there, then slowly wrap the other around Maron’s neck and sink it until she touched the skin. On some occasions, she twirled one of her fingers around the fur, pulling lightly while her hands rejoined forces to continue their neck assault.

“Sa–sa–Sasasa-sa–eek?! ah, hair, hair...pu…ah–help, haaah…huehe…”

Sasaki liked to keep petting there for a while, saying whatever came to her mind or trying to chat as if her words could be understood.

“You’re so cute, I can’t get mad at you~,” she whispered in a soft tone, increasing the petting speed and starting to switch between the chin and neck. 

“Ahhehehe–’ie…I’m gouht’ die, ehehehehEh…’m cute…”

And then there was her favorite part, where she would relentlessly scratch Maron’s shoulders, chest and belly until the dog gave up. 

“Who’s a good girl? Yes you are~.” 

Sasaki lowered her head, feeling satisfied as Hitori started to melt on her ha– uh?

“Gotou…?”

Sasaki’s face leaped between murder red and ash white. Across the world, the residents of Alpbach, Austria were awoken at 1 AM by a window shattering earthquake of unknown hypocenter that left $568,227.81 in damages over the next week. What they didn’t know was that the earthquake’s origin had been Erwin Schrödinger’s corpse having a massive seizure at yet another quantum superposition case requiring his formula.

She remained frozen until she felt the weight on her left hand increasing, along with faint breathing. Leaning, Hitori was leaning against it. She would have thought about it if she hadn’t needed to almost jump forward, because Hitori was leaning a bit too much, with an expression a bit too relaxed, to be intentional. She was simply falling asleep.

Caught in the moment, she hadn’t noticed. But now, in that peaceful interval, she started taking note of her friend’s state. One glance at Sasaki and one could tell she had stayed up late. One glance at Hitori and one would ask themselves if she ever slept.

“Hey, Gotou,” –she untangled her right hand from Hitori’s hair– “I need my left hand back, ya know?”

No response, just further breathing and leaning. Sasaki was starting to struggle keeping her head stable while questioning herself how little sleep one needed to end up like that, or none at all. 

No shot, then. Plan B.

Face back to the usual smug, right thumb and index finger casting a menacing shadow on her friend’s cheek. 

It was weird, seeing Hitori's face doing…nothing, for the first time. When she fell asleep in class, Sasaki could only see her back, and every other time it was a blend of freezing anxiety, nerves that popped like bubble wrap, and the kind of desperate determination she was sure that, one day, would make its way into proper confidence. 

Seeing it all gone was jarring, to say the least. She found herself not minding the chance at seeing more. More of a Hitori that didn’t fear the world around her.

She chuckled at herself; that was a bit too cringe.

“Wakey wakey~.”

She pinched.

— — —

Hitori managed to rev down enough for her to be led by the wrist to the other side of the door, where they slid it shut, sitting down on the little staircase below. Over the days, she had managed to lasso out the confession that it was the same place a once panicked, maid-cosplaying Hitori had evacuated to on the day of the culture festival. The day before Kessoku Band played. The day before Sasaki knew of that weirdly admirable guitarist's existence.

Or maybe Kita had talked about it and her brain had tuned it out.

“Sure you don’t wanna head back? Your head’s kinda bobbing.” 

“Hm? Ah!” Hitori straightened her back somewhat. “I-It's fine.”

It didn’t look too fine to her, but she ultimately decided to let it slide.

Hitori had stopped making escape attempts for the last couple of days, seemingly having gotten used to their routine, but this was the first time not even her body language –too easy to read, by the way– suggested that she wanted to leave; no glance towards the door, or staring at the space between her shoes like she wanted to shrink and hide there forever. 

She took her gaze off Hitori in favor of the multiple trash cans and brooms around them, not thinking much of anything before stretching with another yawn. Might as well try to jumpstart something while at it.

“Any–”

“Uh, h–”

“Wa-oh, uh–”

“Ah, I–”

“Eh, nono, it’s alri–”

“Sorry, ah–”

“Just…”

They both fell silent again, looking in opposite directions. Bad start.

Without turning, she extended a hand to Hitori’s shoulder, letting it rest there. 

“Come on, don’t let that bum ya’.” 

She started squeezing a bit, grabbing the other’s attention and making them look at each other, something that she didn’t want to force much given Hitori’s nerves. “You’re great. I know I say that a lot, and I mean it, so how about we just relax and try again?”

Not waiting for a response, Sasaki started, “Anyways~” –she lifted an eyebrow– “what were you listening to?”

“...Eh?”

“Before you fell on me,” she continued, trying to ignore the way Hitori’s eyes darkened, “I heard some rap through the door. C’mon, I wanna hear. Knowing you, it’ll be great~.”

“Ah? ah, no–yes, o-one second.”

Sasaki found herself fascinated and concerned in equal measure at how Hitori’s arm was devoured by her tracksuit's pocket until almost the entire forearm was invisible. Did it connect to a different dimension or something? Could she store instruments in there? 

“Phone phone phone  where is it   phonephonephone–got it! ” The phone got pulled out in a spray of victory and days-old fluff, the ear pod wire that came along being a complete, tangled mess that would take ages to tie off, and Sasaki was pretty sure the screen protector had a crack on one of its corners.

“Oh…it cracked.” Suspicion confirmed.

Feeling her own screen related flashbacks surge up like a zombie horde, Sasaki could only offer her friend some brief condolences.

“Uuuhh, and I managed to go a year without a scratch…” Did the protector really mean that much? 

“Heh. A cracked screen is cool for rockers, though. Going to a concert and taking a photo with your fans, them seeing a cracked phone and thinking: ‘Wow, her things are breaking down, and yet she makes space for me, I’ll keep this as a memory forever…’”

“I’ll break the screen with a rock.” Hitori was staring so hard at her phone the crack seemed to start growing, the gears in her head visibly breaking down one by one and being expelled as cold sweat.

“Right~...No, wa–don’t. Give it.” Sasaki moved closer. Hitori was a person of extremes, one that could go from ramming her feet through the accelerator, to slamming the brakes so hard the seat belt broke and got her launched through the windshield. Sasaki wasn’t going to take any chances, not with rap on the line.

One hand, already on Hitori’s shoulder and going beyond due to the change in distance; the other one, gripping her friend’s own to prevent the phone from falling.

The sudden motion sent Hitori recoiling backwards, and Sasaki felt a hand grabbing her sweater’s back. It did not relent, even after Hitori opened her eyes to realize that, no, they had not hit the floor again.

“So~,” Sasaki offered, scrunching her nose ever so slightly at the smell of mothballs, “song now, break phone later?”

Hitori seemed at a loss, rapidly looking from side to side before nodding several times with the same intensity as a military salute. 

Seeing that prevented Sasaki from saying a word about getting slapped by pink hair thrice in four seconds. Even Hitori’s hair smelled a little like mothballs. And her hands were cold. And her chin was soft and what the hell was she thinking .

“Oookay!” She let go, choosing to instead sit at her friend’s right, and refusing to acknowledge the New Years’ Eve of collapsing infrastructure that was her brain firing panic signals as it processed the last twenty seconds.

Nodding to herself, Hitori took out the ear pod wire, which was half disconnected anyway if the music leaking through the door indicated anything. Nevertheless, the screen lit up, showing several robots towering over what appeared to be a futuristic city swallowed in red tones. The video was already at the 3:27 mark, so it had to be rewinded. 

Both of them were focusing on the screen. She took a mental note of the title, ‘Libera Me From Hell’.

Hitori’s finger hesitated over the ‘Play’ button.

“Hm? Something wrong?”

“N-No. It's just…”

“Not sure I’m gonna like it~?”

“Eh? no, uh. It’s just that…I-I’ve wanted to talk about music with you for some time now, Sasasa-san.” She gave an awkward laugh. “So, uh…this counts, right? heh~.” 

Sasaki huffed at that. The gall. “Don’t go stealing my style, Gotou~. It’s patented, that’s copyright infringement, give it back~.”

Hitori’s arm blurred for a second, sinking even deeper into the hammerspace that was the tracksuit, before almost shoving a wallet on her face like it was a young sacrificial lamb to some forgotten god.

“And how much would that b-b-be~?”

“Hey, hey, I don’t want anything, you know–” Whatever she was going to say shriveled up and died when she saw Hitori’s face wearing a Sasaki™ knockoff expression like she pulled a prank on an upperclassman that was only funny to her and nearly got caught. 

“ On second thought ,” she reconsidered. “I know just the thing I want from you, Go-to-oh~.”

Any trace of superiority left Hitori’s face faster than a friendless college student going home after the last lecture of the day. She blinked, and Sasaki had her own phone in hand, swiping through the comments section at speeds expected from someone close to the likes of Ikuyo Kita. 

“Mhmm, a mix of rap and opera, perfect~. Ah, and the opera is all gloomy and existential, I see. Heh.”

Hitori started to shake, residues of dust and fluff making complex patterns on her tracksuit.

“Yeah, I know what we’re doing. So!” Sasaki decided with a finality that made Hitori understand that there was absolutely no way she would be allowed a chance at getting out of it. “We’re singing this.”

She did her best to not laugh at Hitori turning into LEGOs and falling sideways, scattering all over the floor. Yeah, like that would work.  

“Come on, we can’t exactly have a duet with just one person. Do you want to get replaced by Hatsune Miku?”

To her surprise, the pieces screeched to a halt before starting to circle a spot to her right like a loading screen, clicking together with increasing coordination. 

“Hatsune…Miku…”

“Oh~? Gotou with the hot take~?”

“Overused…overrated…” 

Frankly, that was the mild take that anyone could have about a popular piece of media, and it somewhat irked that she expected something different. Even people that bombed their self-introduction and threw themselves off stage and escaped class whenever possible and somehow got her used to being around cleaning supplies and smelled of mothballs…

Alright, nevermind. But even a person as peculiar as Hitori had to possess a 'normal' side.

“...Good enough to get you destroyed online. Anyway, where in your top 10 is Rolling Girl?”

“...eight.”

“Nobody cares like the haters, I see.”

“Ugh!..Uh? Wait.” Hitori reconstructed herself in an instant. “Do you listen to Vocaloid?”

She shrugged, recalling the not very good old days. “Not anymore, really; had to listen to a whole lot of things before deciding that hip-hop was my type of jam.” 

“B-but, there is Vocaloid hip-hop. I can show you an entire playlist if you let me–”

“Nah, I prefer humans.”

“Tutorials! There are tutorials for making your own Vocaloid and getting famous on the internet and–”

“ Gotou~, ” she interrupted with an angelic smile that looked absolutely out of place . “Sorry, but we’re doing it.”

“...pwease.”

“Adorable~, but my poodle has the better puppy eyes.” 

She tapped the button. 

The Opera hit immediately. It was in latin, and the subtitles reflected that; a Japanese person’s attempt at replicating the sounds with no prior knowledge or experience was bound to be hilarious. The rap, bold to the highest degree if not to a fault. Also, it was nice to finally know where the “Row row, fight the power” bit had come from, although her reaction might have been too noticeable given the glance sent her way. Even with the lack of context, she could see the contrast between the two pieces, taking turns jabbing at each other while the instrumental arrangement slowly rose in intensity. Then they started blasting at the same time, and she knew that her sleep for the foreseeable future was screwed . 

8/10. 

“Alllll-right, this is gonna be fun.” She closed the song and started searching for an instrumental version instead, Hitori’s little noises of despair serving her more as background than anything. 

Scrolling through the thumbnails, though, she started to notice a particular item appearing again and again, one that looked suspiciously similar to an upside down piece of origami three meters away that she had failed to notice but felt familiar somehow.

The thought bounced around her mind until it hit a corner and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did you make that?” 

“Uh, what? Make what?”

She pointed at the oversized triangle paper glasses frame. “That.”

Hitori’s dejected confirmation reminded her of the time she proudly set her first ever mix as ringtone over the weekend and forgot to change it back, only for it to blast during English class as a cruel reminder of the constant that was time. The way she deflated on her desk that day wasn’t much different from what the guitarist was doing on the stairs. 

Still, the glasses gave off a certain charm; she wanted to put them on. Even if they didn’t look good, it would be funny to try just for the sake of it. 

“Can I try them?” she asked. The answer she got was a slow node.

Sasaki walked the short distance to pick the pair up, dusting what little had accumulated on them. Up close, the word ‘extra’ surrounded the glasses like the cloak on that one character poster she passed by on her commute. 

She put them on.

They fell off immediately.

“A-ah. Sasasa-san, you need to lean back slightly or they’ll slip…”

She picked them up again. “So they’re for posing?”

“No,” –Hitori slumped further– “I made them wrong.”

“Hm? How so?” Sasaki held the glasses in one hand, the other one busy reverse-searching images for comparison. “They look pretty fine to me.”

“No, they’re not,” Hitori started, “the frame was made to hold red plastic, but there wasn’t any at home, so I had to make a rushed silhouette and stick it with glue; it’s not even origami…”

“Wow, that ba–”

“My ruler slipped and I was too tired to notice it so the left side is slightly longer than the right side; it starts to tilt after a minute. I screwed up the nose bridge, so the wearer has to frown constantly or tilt their head backwards to prevent the glasses from falling. I cut one of the pointy ends on accident and now it’s not pointy at all and– ”

“You’re really passionate about this.” She secured the paper glasses on Hitori’s face, making her look up and interrupt the ramble with a small ‘eh’. 

Sasaki thought for a moment before asking, “Do you like doing stuff like that?”

“‘Stuff like that…?’ Ah! S-so-sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble like that…”

“No, no, not that.” Sasaki started to scratch the back of her head. “I meant stuff like crafts. Didn’t know you were into them. You have a lot of dexterity, that’s awesome.”

She sat on the left side of the staircase, seeing her words play the effect she intended them to. This girl was too easy to please sometimes. Hitori softly slid a thumb over her calluses, no doubt born from…

From…

“Eh, Gotou, for how long have you been playing guitar?”

“Ah…I-I practiced for six hours a day in middle school, but since joining Kessoku Band, I’ve only managed somewhere around three hours, o-outside rehearsals and recording, I mean…Why?”

“Curious, that’s all…” She opened her calculator app and started typing. Six hours a day, for 365 days, for three years in middle school and almost two in high school, but high school years were worth half, so four years… 6*365*4. Result was…

Gulp.

“Sasasa-san…?”

“N-no, it’s nothing bad,” she clarified. “In fact, I think my respect for you has just gone up quite a bit~.”

Hitori relaxed a bit further. “Eh…Ehehehehe, is that so…Well, I’ve been making crafts for longer than I’ve been playing guitar, so…I think I’ve gotten decent. T-They even let me make the decorations for the Christmas concert, hehe.”

Her eyes widened a fair bit in surprise. That was impressive. 

Although, something was not quite fitting correctly. “Did you stay up making them? The glasses, I mean.”

“N-no…” Hitori scratched the side of her face. “I made them pretty quick.”

Sasaki looked again at her friend’s eyebags and general posture, head to toe. “Then what kept you awake for so long? You don’t look like you slept at all.”

“Ah.” Hitori’s high horse stepped on an anti tank mine. Sasaki watched as the strings that connected her friend’s words together decided to rebel and try to strangle their owner with next to no resistance. 

She lifted her hands to cover her face, the glasses getting somewhat in the way. “Slept for one hour…woke up…panicked…forgot to sleep…”

“Why?”

“Well…”

“Trying to impress me~? Nah, no need. We’re friends, and you’re already impressive. Also, the glasses look great on you. Hold up, let me take a photo.”

“Ah. No photos, please.”

“Shame~.” She set her phone down.

Hitori yawned, Sasaki mirrored.

“W-We should probably head back.”

“Probably~,” she admitted, “but I feel like the noise will give us a headache if we go back now, so how about we wait ‘till the bell like always?”

“Aehhh… this slow body of mine would drag you down and then we’d be both late and get expelled!”

“If our school’s the type to do that, then I’ll gladly get expelled with you.”

“S–Sasasa-san…!” 

Sasaki tilted her head with more laziness than usual. “What is i–”

Cold, sweat, shivers, like a ghost holding to its last regret. Her hands were not like that a second ago.

For some reason, even with her eyes wide open, she only saw herself. No, it wasn’t quite right; blue, way too blue, as if she had taken a selfie with a painted sky as background, one that showed both day and night. And, for a moment, before her brain kicked in and realized what was happening… It wasn’t confusing, it wasn’t scary, it wasn’t anything special, it wasn’t anything to think anything about. 

It felt just so right to be there.

The moment left as quickly as it came, courtesy of Hitori taking another deep, unnecessary bow.

“Please…Don’t sacrifice your academic future for me, too!!”

Her eyebrow twitched. Zero or one hundred. A sigh cloaked around a deep breath.

“Don’t worry~, we’ll go to a school where no one knows our dark past…”

“...”

“Stop actually considering it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Relax, it’s nothing to apologize for.” She decided to not say anything about her hands still being held, or about the now missing paper glasses, only feeling a sense of mild disappointment when both were addressed at the same time, with Hitori just stopping to clutch her hands and picking up the glasses, almost slapping them back in one swift, smooth motion. 

Sasaki felt like she had forgotten something.

Hitori’s phone pinged with a LOINE notification, probably Kita or some other member or her band. She opened her own chat. Aside from their mutual goodnights when the two of them didn’t sleep, there was nothing more. That made sense, they were going to meet anyway, so there was no need for any further interaction until then, but even so, it left a sour taste to not send something like a good morning message, if only just to see what Hitori would respond with.

Speaking of. The photo she took? Terrible. The photo she got in response? Hilarious .

A mix between a groan and a sigh reached her ears, causing her to turn in worry. “Did something happen?”

Hitori screeched, with a flurry of limb movements as she backed off, clutching her phone like a mother protecting her child. “I-I-It’s nothing!” 

“Eh~? Now I’m curious~.” She leaned forward.

Hitori fervently shook her head in denial before claiming, “It’s nothing illegal!”

“It would be really scary if it was, ya know.”

“A-ah, No…this…” –her expression took in a semblance of hope– “Band related stuff. Yes, band related stuff, Sasasa-san.” 

Purposely vague. Pressing on would go nowhere. “Okay.”

Now the two of them were more focused on their phones, though she was just scrolling on an app picked at random. 

Did Hitori have a social media presence? She knew that Kessoku Band's accounts were run by Kita, but nothing about Hitori, nor the other members for that matter. Well, at least they had each other on LOINE now.

Hitori’s contact name was ‘Maron 2’.

No, she would not be taking questions.

“Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while–It’s not bad, I promise,” she clarified at her friend’s dooming complexion.

“It’s been almost a year of knowing each other, and you’ve been calling me ‘Sasasa-san’ from pretty much day one. Is it a nickname or do you just stutter when saying my name?” 

The ensuing silence was enough of an answer.

“That 's it, then.” She stood up, scaring Hitori for a brief moment. That moment extended when Sasaki pinned her with a stare. “You’re saying my name correctly before the bell rings.”

She motioned Hitori to also stand up, Sasaki ended up having to almost lift her off the ground. 

“What are we doing…?” Hitori asked as Sasaki simply walked around, stretching a muscle that decided to start feeling sore from her fall again. 

Her response was a thumbs up in her usual manner, if only more energetic than what her hours of sleep might have allowed without later consequences. “Warm-up~”

“Warm…up?”

“Hey, we’re running back to the classroom, anyway. Might as well get ready for it.”

Hitori’s head dropped down, but she pressed the paper glasses against her face with her index finger, preventing them from falling down. 

“...Sorry I’m not athletic enough to keep up with our sprints, Sasa–…” Hitori stopped talking.

Sasaki stopped moving. Then, a nod, so small and quick it would have been missed if they weren’t paying maximum attention to each other.

Sasaki moved her lips without sound, just mouthing, ‘Come on’.

“Sasaki-san.”

Sasaki’s smugness dropped in favor of a more honest smile. “See? Not that hard, was it? Also, I don’t mind running next to you. If anything, I enjoy it.”

“Sasaki-san…”

“Also, the face you make when we take a corner at high speed is pretty funny.”

“Klugh!”

She chuckled. “Gotou has a band that gets to have concerts and fans. I have to get my adrenaline from somewhere, you know? Wait here a second,” she requested, walking under Hitori’s confused stare to a corner, where the suspiciously clean remains of a rather large cardboard box laid on the floor. Sasaki rummaged through them, pulling out several colorful bags. 

Pocky, chocolate, gummies, hard candy, sour candy that she couldn’t help but make a face at, among other sweets. All in all, a buffet charged with enough sugar to keep someone awake for two days then knock them unconscious for a week. She carried it all with both arms, fit with a surprising light step and a satisfied grin on her face. Her bet had paid off, a rather selfish one.

"Catch," she advised before throwing a bag of gummies at her friend, who almost dropped her phone in the attempt.

"Whe-where did all this come from?"

"Emergency pile~," she joked. "No, but really. That box? It’s been there for who knows how long without being cleaned up, and I wanted to see if it was possible to hide something in it. We don't bring our bags over here but, heh, a sweet tooth is a sweet tooth."

"But I've never seen you walk there?"

"Ah? Nah, I did it after class, not while we were both here. Please don’t tell anybody."

Her loyal henchman recognized the bag as the bribe it was, nevertheless still opening it with a guilty expression.

Sasaki sat down with the sweets laid down around her. She always liked to start with mint candy.

Hitori took several gummies of the same flavor and almost shoved them into her mouth in a daring, somewhat eyebrow raising maneuver that made her worry if she was trying to asphyxiate herself.

“Sugar rush, sugar rush. Surge within me and give me strength…!!” And now she was muttering things like it was a demon summoning ritual or something like that. 

Man, demons were cool, demonic powers and everything, or really just the wings. How would a demon corrupt them? For her, she’d fall for an extra day a week to laze around. Kita would gladly offer half of her soul just for a selfie with it, free of tax. As for Hitori…well, Sasaki had been wondering what would happen if someone threw a BL manga in her general direction. For science.

It was these types of hypotheticals that she entertained herself with until Hitori finished chewing, the mint in her mouth having long dissolved. 

“Hey, who said we were done?”

“Eh? Done with what?”

“You called me ‘Sasaki-san’, once. We’re not done yet. Call me that again, until you get used to it.”

“...Sasaki-san.”

“Again.”

“Sasaki-san?”

“Again, now use it in a sentence.”

“Uh…eh?...Ah, ho-how is Sasaki-san today?”

Sasaki did her best imitation of an incorrect buzzer. “Again. Ask me how my day went.”

“Ho-How has your day been, Sasaki-san…?”

“Better. Now tell me my uniform is cute.”

“Wh…Wh–Why?”

“Are you saying it’s not~?”

“No!! Your sweater is very cute, Sasaki-san!”

“Thanks, your hair cubes are too.”

“Eh?!”

“What?” She chuckled. “If you give, expect to receive, Gotou. Anyways, let’s continue. You’re funny to listen to.”

“...Your hair is nice?”

“...”

“...Your hair is nice, Sasaki-san.”

“What can I say? I take care of it. Your tracksuit is cool.”

“Ehehe…thank you.”

“Actually,” –she rested her head on one hand, tilting slightly– “I see you with it most of the time. Do you have multiple of them?”

“...My mom gets a discount if she buys three or more…”

“You don’t buy your own clothes?”

“No…I don’t like most of them, anyways…”

“Not your style?”

“Something like that…'' She started fidgeting. “Ah, but this isn’t the only fit I have. I have…I have…uh–the Kessoku Band shirt available at a 300 yen discount if you buy directlyfromourmerchstoreatwww– Belurgh! ”

“Girl, where did that come from?”

“Ryo-senpai forced us to memorize it…,” she rasped out amidst heavy breathing. “For interviews...”

Sasaki felt a spark of annoyance fly, though she managed to stop it before it twisted her face. “‘Ryo-senpai’ again, huh?” 

“Ah?” Hitori hesitated with herself before asking, “Do you know her?” 

There was an exhausted look to Sasaki’s eyes that complimented the mirthless chuckle she gave, like black to gold. “If by ‘knowing her’ you mean ‘Kita would not shut up about her for hours’, then yeah. Is that what love does to a person?”

Hitori mentally questioned herself if Sasaki knew that Kita initially wanted to become Ryo’s daughter, before blowing up that train of thought from a submarine in that no, it was better for all four of their sakes if she didn’t ask.

“Okay, returning to you. How about we go clothes shopping one of these days?”

“Ah, okay. I-I do have more clothes, though…like a Kucci jacket?”

Sasaki’s eyes widened. “Jeez, how much did that cost?”

Something akin to regret pooled inside her friend’s eyes. The suspicion that the jacket had been a ‘100’ impulse buy started to root itself. 

“Two months worth of revenue…”

“Revenue?”

“Ah.” The regret spilled out. 

Mark her as curious. “Kita told me that your band works at a ‘livehouse-slash-restaurant’. I didn't know you did something on the side. Ohtube?”

“Yes…”

“That's so cool. What’s the name?”

Sasaki's screen filled up with thumbnails. Same tracksuit, same position, although some showed minute variations like a scarf here and there, fingerless gloves and different brands of headphones on the floor, even if in the latter videos the lightbulb had been replaced by a more standard streamer light.

“Guitarhero…”

“Ahhhh… So-sorry, I already know it is a cringy name…”

“Well~.” Sasaki huffed. “Can’t deny that, but now I also can’t really imagine you using another name. Fits like a glove.”

She stopped scrolling, pausing to stare at a recommendation that wasn’t from Guitarhero’s channel.

“Shinjuku Folt collab…?”

“AH–”. Years of experience babysitting Kita had given Sasaki superhuman abilities, ignoring obnoxious, loud noises being one among them. 

“Oh, that’s you, and you’re doing…guitar chord unboxing?”

Her friend’s scream turned into gargoyle noises as she searched the channel and sorted the listed videos by amount of views, the entire bottom 15 being occupied by a woman in pigtails sitting in front of various objects on a table. 

“Mentos cola? Did it become funny again?”

Another notification made Hitori’s phone buzz. Was it the same person as before? If so, ouch, getting ignored by her of all people must not be a pleasant feeling. 

“Not gonna reply anything?”

“Ah, no, I don’t want to do that again, but she’s so persistent..!”

“Say so?”

“But I also don’t want to say no.”

So complicated. “Was it bad?”

“...No, not really, but the things we did were…boring.”

“Like here?” she asked, playing a later part of the video, with the two guitarists just improvising together to a basic beat and basic tempo. Sasaki didn’t have any experience with guitar outside of what Kita told her, which amounted to complaints about several chord sequences more often than not, so she had next to no grounds on which to judge, but it was on the better half of what she’d heard.

“Is she bad at guitar or something? Doesn’t seem like it, though.”

“No, she’s really good.”

“Then why not give it another chance?”

“Ehhh…”

“Just make sure there are no mentos and cola or boxes on sight.” For good measure.

“Uwawawaahh. I can’t. Ohtsuki-san is really intense, I’d get swept…”

“Then, can I go with you?”

Hitori made a sound like a balloon full of kerosene fumes getting lit up next to a shitty microphone, kind of how a certain Hip-Hop album sounded to her when she was a kid.

“I mean, you can also ask one of your bandmates, but I'm curious as to how two guitar experts play together and stuff, sounds entertaining~.”

“Guitar experts…”

“Even if you don’t think it’s interesting, it is to me,” Sasaki continued, pausing the video, “like at your festival concert during first year, that thing, how about you do that?”

“That thing?” Right, weird wording there. Her bad.

“With the sake cup,” she clarified, “when your string broke. Does it have a name? I searched ‘playing guitar with sake cup’ but didn’t find much. That left a big impression on me~.”

“Ah…ehehe, thank you…”

“The dive was funnier, tho.”

“mlugehken.” 

“I think I’m starting to get used to that.”

“Sorry, sasa–ski…san.”

“More practice in order, it seems.” 

Hitori’s posture slouched a bit. Was she resigning herself? “Kidding, just kidding~. That’s good enough for a day.”

Another round of silence, although not as uncomfortable as the ones before. It was rather nice; staying out of the classroom for a while was like being back in her room. Just ambient noise, whatever came out of her phone, and her.

Sasaki looked to her side, seeing a certain someone’s head starting to bob again.

And her.

Most things were really more fun with friends, she’d have to thank Kita for that one, one of these days.

“-’s called ‘slide’.”

Damn, she got distracted. “Say again?”

“That thing with the sake cup,” Hitori clarified, “it’s called ‘slide guitar’.”

“Sounds cool. Where did you learn it?”

“Well…” Hitori scratched her cheek. “I was watching an interview with my dad when I noticed that the guitar on screen was fretless–uh, frets are the horizontal lines you see on the neck…you know what a guitar neck is, right..?”

“Am I supposed to not know?”

“N-No, it’s that Kita-chan thought the neck was for decoration when I asked.”

“Huh…she’s grown a lot since then, in that case. Gotta thank your band for that.” She could probably attend one of their concerts. Even if she wasn’t interested in rock music, maybe it wouldn’t get boring?

Sasaki didn’t say a word as the slide guitar story continued. Of how hard it was at first, of Hitori dropping and almost breaking several cups, of insisting to her father to let her use something plastic and being denied, of the uncomfortable angle her too small hands had to hold the thing at, of her trying to show off to her sister’s friends when they visited and failing miserably –Sasaki was 60% sure Hitori didn’t notice that slip by, but she she was looked too entranced in her own explanation to try breaking her out of it–, of how she started trying out new things with her guitar because of it (teeth playing, what?). Of how glad she was to have picked it up and meet people with it. 

And throughout it all, Sasaki listened.

And listened.

And listened.

It was like a podcast, and she was more than content to just listen for once instead. It was then that she realized that, even if sleep deprived, Hitori felt safe enough to tell her these things, to ramble when she normally didn’t say more than a few words outside of what they were used to.

When she heard the rap through the door, when Hitori tried to hype herself up to talk, when she didn’t as much as look at the hallway. It’d been an effort, a major effort, for her. What had she done in return, then? Not that much.

Respect, admiration, friendship, to help in what little ways she could manage. Sasaki was quite limited in that aspect, with Hitori’s life mostly revolving around music, the one thing they had almost no common ground on, but she knew that she wanted to support this talented…well, now that just sounded wrong; calling it just talent with those crazy hours would be a disservice. Honestly, that hard working, anxious mess of a rockstar. Seeing her develop for the better would be so much fun to watch.

But that could wait until she finished narrating about— and she got lost. They should have slept more.

Sasaki was on the fringe of dozing off when Hitori whirled herself and shoved even more gummies inside her mouth, uncaring of their flavor.

“Sorry!!”

“For what? Listening to the normally quiet you go off like that is interesting, and you seemed very into it, too, so that’s a double win~!”

“Ugh...my dark past…leaked…”

“Hey, we always have a shadow behind us, so focus on the sun for a moment…or something like that.” Kita told her that, and she had immediately retorted that looking at the sun was a very bad idea; her pout was amusing, Kita had probably found it on a shady quote website.

“Looking at the sun would hurt…”

“I know right?” she agreed, putting her candy aside and crossing her arms. “But anyway, have you decided if you want to go?”

“...I think.”

“That’s good, then.”

Sasaki’s curiosity got the better of her and she got closer to take a peek at what was being written in the response text– Dear God.

She could only watch as that thing was sent and the read receipt came instantly. And then…

‘Ohtsuki is typing…’

‘Ohtsuki is typing…’

‘Ohtsuki is typing…’

And then… relief, because those two guitarists were pretty similar if those unhinged walls of texts and emojis were a common occurrence. Would Sasaki eventually be sent one? That was scary.

“Saturday afternoon, around 4 PM.”

“How can you get that from that? ” Kita, Hitori, and now that ‘Ohtsuki’, were all guitarists insane?

“It’s pretty simple…”

“Ow.”

“Ah, you have time, right, Sasaki-san?”

“If I said I didn’t, would you still go?”

“...Yes…I think I would.”

“Then I do. ‘The scream of the soul that shakes the heavens. Come. Let’s grasp the crown of victory. Create a legend, Kessoku Band~’.”

“Why.”

“The class spent hours creating that slogan, I’m not letting it go to waste,” Sasaki insisted. “Actually, you were absent for most of it, right~? It was a disaster~. Kita wanted to make it three times as long, then we spent an hour on whether it should be ‘grasp’ or ‘seize’, then it turned out to be similar to a song from the balkans according to someone in the class group chat. Apparently I did so much they named me representative of the cheerleading committee, we didn’t have a cheerleading committee, so they created one and put me on top. I rubbed that title on Kita’s face for a week straight. Then she rubbed the fact that she was actually part of Kessoku Band on my face for another week. Oh and the shirts, let me tell you about the shirts. You know that…wait, no, I don’t think you follow enough fashion to know. Where should I start…? Right, so if you take a ruler– Ah?”

Hitori didn’t say anything, couldn't say anything.

“...Hey.” Sasaki took out the paper from her friend’s face. “Don’t just fall asleep on my shoulder, ‘s not fair…”

No response. Her uniform would smell like mothballs if it keeped up.

“How can you be so cool up there, but right here you’re warm, it’s not fair…”

She wouldn’t be able to get the candy back under the box. They’d get caught.

They’d topple to the floor like before; she’d have to lean against her. She’d yawn. She’d get sleepy. They’d be late to class. She wouldn’t mind.

Sasaki smiled to herself. They hadn't singed anything in the end. Hitori got one over her.

"It really is...not fair..."

She fell asleep.

They missed the bell.