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Sakura could do without fan events; the endless line of people pretending to know them, the strain in her gums as she has to smile and sign autographs until the pen runs out of ink and she searches for a staff member with urgency in her gaze. At the same time, every occasion where a girl appears among the flow of strangers, excitement in her voice as she starts saying how cool Sakura is, something in her heart flutters. She always returns the delighted expression as brightly as possible, letting out a variation of ‘you’re the cool one, you came from so far just to see us, thank you for your patronage!’, making sure she got the girl’s name right as she tries to personalize her signature a bit.
Who knows, one of them might become an idol, just as she did when she accompanied a nervous Ayaka for an audition the year prior; Sakura didn’t anticipate she would be considered good enough to become a trainee, and yet. What matters isn’t talent, it’s the heart, how far you’re willing to push yourself for your dream, or so their manager would say in between two shots of caffeine. Kinda bold of him to blurt out that stuff when he keeps correcting her dancing every ten minutes.
Stretching her arms above her head, Sakura hears a fatigue sound coming from her shoulders, and she tilts her body back just enough for the strain to lessen. Only a handful of people left, and then she’ll get to head back to the dormitory, sharing a bus with fellow members, half of them using that time to wisely nap. Not her though—Sakura has stuff to do, and then she needs to call her mom to update her on the upcoming tour they’re taking—it’s fine, she can do this.
“Sakura, Sakura, can you lend me your flower crown, please?” Kanae asks, eager voice swallowing future plans.
A bit older than Ayaka and her, Kanae is always jittery, a bundle of nervousness with timid smiles—she broke her own crown a few hours before, and Sakura has no idea how she managed to do that, but well. Not her fault, really.
Can’t be worse than the time she was asked to punch a guy’s arm on television to prove her strength, and she sent him flying back, or so the TikTok edits claimed. Sakura merely pushed him back a bit—yeah, maybe he did crash backward, although it’s his fault for underestimating her.
“Here you go, Kanae, show them you’re the cutest!” Sakura removes the itchy piece made out of wire and synthetic fabric, directly placing it over Kanae’s hair, just so she won’t drop it—sometimes fans get snarky, and they’re not fans, if they criticize them, to Sakura. She’d rather have the reputation of someone brash and hard to understand, than to leave her fellow members be mocked. “You definitely are, remember.”
“Yes, I can do this!”
Anyway, she can breathe easier without having something heavy resting against her skull, especially as those things keep on slipping when she has to look at what she’s doing with her pen, signing posters and photocards—the weirdest thing was an umbrella with their group’s logo on it, she didn’t even know they sold these.
As she lifts her gaze, plastic chair pressing uncomfortably against her back, Sakura has to blink away the glitter stuck on her eyelids; there’s a tiny girl standing right there, holding the group’ simple light stick in her hand, soft blue (Sakura’ signature color) forming a halo against her cheek—how cute is that?!
“Hi!”
“Hello, thank you for supporting us!” She recites, fumbling for a second only to catch herself quickly. It’s her job, after all.
“I was at your last concert,” the girl starts with, handing out the lottery ticket indicating she won a signed poster, lucky her, “Lucent has truly been impressive lately, it’s fantastic to witness your ascend into the industry, I’ve only started to support you a few weeks ago, but I intend on giving you all my heart.”
Their last gig was at a small club, and the stage could barely contain all eight members—there were elbows bumping together, crushed feet, and they had to revise some choregraphies just so they could work out—truly, Sakura wouldn’t call it a stellar moment. Nonetheless, people cheered at the end, brandishing light sticks, chanting ‘Lucent’ over and over.
“Your heart?” Isn’t it a bit much—ah that sounds awfully close to a confession, albeit without the disgusting edge of some men insisting idols should be allowed to date, just for them, “I’ll have to be careful with it, then. It’s an important thing—thanks though! We’re growing thanks to fans like you.”
Her gaze evaluates the girl, hair pulled back with a few strands curling around her cheeks, her crossbody bag, which is as red as her dress, simple and elegant—she’s incredibly cute.
“Sakura is my favorite,” the girl announces, and she says it with such confidence—there is nothing aggressive about it. It’s simply a fact, “so let’s meet again like this again.”
“Of course!” Sakura laughs, her voice light, “what’s the name of my most fervent supporter?”
“I’m Hana. I’ll be in your care starting today.”
No last name? Oh well, since she knows her as Sakura, it kind of makes sense.
“Okay then, Hana, you better show up at the next fan meeting then! Or else.”
From the corner of her eye, Sakura notices the sour expression of a staff member—she’s not being abrasive! It’s playful, nothing more.
“I will. Thank you for the autograph~”
Sakura hands the signed poster to the grumpy staff lady, as it has to be signed by everyone, yet the fans are only allowed to talk with one member per meeting. Which is, frankly, for the best. Otherwise, those would never end.
Kanae pops next to her on the bus, whispering loudly—that’s the sort of excitement she has trouble to contain sometimes, like when she hands Sakura a snack in secret after they’re supposed to be in bed—so many stupid rules around there.
“That girl you talked with—the one at the end of the day—”
“Yes, what about her?”
“She’s super famous!”
“No way.”
Kanae almost shoves her phone into Sakura’s face, which isn’t very appreciated, and Ayaka might complain they aren’t letting her nap behind them if they don’t stop chattering. Still, as Sakura glances at the screen, she notices it’s an edit of a concert, with song lyrics displayed in the middle.
“That’s not the same girl, come on.”
“It is, it’s definitely Aguilera. Deadmans’ lead singer!”
The sole reason Sakura is so well-versed into what one might call ‘Deadmans lore’ is due to Kanae’s obsession with the band. They do rock, and aggressive songs about loathing adulthood—nothing out of the ordinary then. To be honest, she hasn’t truly listened to them before, although Kanae carries a photocard (that she printed and made herself) into a fuzzy bus pass holder on her bag at any given time, so, at least, Sakura is familiar with the drummer.
Or rather, his face.
Maybe Sakura could do with less of that average pretty boy, and the management seems rather displeased by Kanae’s constant fangirling—but she’s a good friend, hence how she simply accepts that yeah, sometimes she’ll have to spend ten minutes listening to the blood chart compatibility of each Deadmans members—it’s how it is.
“Impossible. She’s like a superstar, she wouldn’t come to see us,” me, “be realistic for a minute.”
“I’m convinced it’s her, and I’m the expert on Deadmans, so—”
“Expert or delusional?” Okay, harsh. Sakura takes in the energetic little lady singing in front of the crowd on the small screen, and she sighs, “they do look alike. I’m sure it’s a coincidence though.”
Lucent’s concept is about youthful brightness, the idea that girls can be the future’s hope—kind of bland, although they do have a couple of songs about refusing to conform to society’ standards—nothing like Deadmans’ brutal hatred for everything. Why would someone who preaches for destruction cling to the softness of a better future? Shit, she promised to call her brother too—”Hear me out, if she comes back during our next fan event, let’s ask her. I’m sure we’re just dealing with a case of mistaken identity—not to burst your bubble or anything. I know your biggest dream is to meet Deadmans, let’s just not draw conclusions from a five minute encounter.”
“You’re right. How nice it’d be though, if Aguilera was our fan. Imagine—”
“It’d stress me out, performing for one serious manager is enough, let’s not add a random professional singer to the list. What if she likes my face but not the way I sing? It’d be embarrassing.”
“Your singing has improved a lot though.”
“So you say—I still don’t like it.”
“Hey, can you tone it down, some of us are trying to sleep!”
“Yeah, yeah, my bad. Kanae, just—don’t get carried away, ‘kay?”
✦✦✦
Gifts are allowed; they ought to pass a quick inspection first. That’s what happens when some guys decide that murdering their oshi for not giving them attention is a great course of action—Sakura won’t let anybody harm her fellow members, even less herself. So, sometimes, during certain events, fans are encouraged to bring offerings, not knowing that many will be confiscated by the staff right after, especially if it’s food (once again, some people have gotten poisoned in the past, so, yeah.). Ayaka’s little sister, who is in a different (and more successful) group, has mastered the art of sliding cards and other goods into her bag when no one is watching.
Kind of sad they have to resort to that kind of stuff though.
Sakura mostly gets the classic gifts, such as stuffed animals, cute accessories, and, don’t get her wrong, she is grateful. Those never feel personal though, merely a superficial way to gain affection.
“Here you go, Sakura,” a familiar face appears, followed by an odd plushie. It’s sort of round, very fluffy, although it’s not exactly the traditional teddy bear. Sakura stares at the green creature, the stripes on the stomach and tiny tongue poking out—she has seen those in videos before, although she cannot recall what they’re called, “I watched your live show where you mentioned your pet snake, Lovekov. And then I realized I’ve never seen you with anything snake themed, so I thought ‘oh it’s a shame, I must fix this’.”
Her beautiful bestie—Sakura had to leave her at home though, apparently some of the girls were uneasy at the idea of having a big tank in the living room—no one ever talks about Lovekov. Like, when she starts to babble about her on live, the top comments are ‘Sakura is so cute, why does she have such a scary pet’. As if snakes weren’t adorable!
She pokes at the squishmallow, before giving it a light squeeze with both hands Ah, it’s so soft—she lets out a pleased sound, popping the gift on her lap. It’s the perfect height for the eyes to appear right above the table’s level.
“I do love snakes—thanks!”
“Had to order it from overseas, but it was worth the hassle.”
“Eh?! You shouldn’t have—please do not bring expensive gifts, Hana,” she scolds the girl, not that she appears bothered in the slightest, “fans should focus on themselves first, just coming to see me is good enough. Your presence is a gift.” Or so has she been instructed to say.
“Nonsense, I want Sakura to be as happy as possible! For her bright smile to illuminate the room like now.”
“Don’t say that—” Lifting the stuffed animal, she hides her face behind it, careful not to mess her makeup up. “Use your money on food and yourself first, or else I’ll get mad.”
“No need to worry, I am not careless.”
Should she ask now? Ah, there isn’t truly a right time to inquire if someone is indeed rich and part of a successful rock band. Does Deadmans even generate that much money? They’ve been everywhere online, and, yeah, there is merch circulating around, and even a blu-ray of their most recent tour—but that’s all. They might have a spike in popularity and then crash down as quickly. It’s how it is.
“Still—I’ll cherish this. People always behave like snakes are creepy and disgusting, but they’re not. I shall campaign for them to get the attention they deserve, if no one else is willing to do so. That’s my biggest goal as an idol—” Anxiety vanishes behind chuckles, and she lowers the plushie, “just kidding, right now, what I want is for you to come back next month. If your schedule allows it, obviously.”
“Happiness comes in many forms, and one of them is found in my support for you~”
“You can’t claim you aren’t careless and then throw out such words—seriously. See you again, then!”
On her way out, Hana pulls her mask back over the bottom of her face, sliding a simple baseball cap over her hair and, yeah, she’s been doing that since that first meeting—perhaps due to wanting to hide the fact she’s a fan, rather than some super secret identity like Kanae claimed.
✦✦✦
“The itabag is a bit much,” although it’s not as tacky as the guys who pin everything on unwashed clothes, Sakura supposes, taking in the various pins and fake flowers mixed together—there are pearls at the bottom, and it’s a stunning piece of art. It’s simply weird, in a way, to see herself like that.
Geez, would the Deadmans guy Kanae is so fond of be creeped out by the fact she carries his picture everywhere? Maybe.
“It’s not. I can’t wait for you to get more merch so I can complete it—and I couldn't find one shaped like a snake, but the cherry blossom is good enough. I had a friend paint over the soft pink to turn it into blue—”
“No way?! I can’t even tell it’s not the original color,” running her fingers against the fabric, Sakura takes a moment to admit that there is someone in this world who supports her enough to go to such lengths. Still weird. If anybody else was behaving this way, she’d hate them for their overeager and one-sided affection. With Hana though—Hana who comes in wearing such well-coordinated outfits, who makes sure to wave at every girl in the group although she always chooses to meet Sakura—there is something about her carefree love which causes Sakura’s heart to shiver in anticipation at every meeting.
During concerts she cannot quite grasp what’s happening beyond the blaring lights illuminating the stage, yet she often asks herself if Hana is there, excitement causing her to wave her light stick with too much energy.
“Tamaki used a special paint aimed for fabric, took a few layers for it to work out. At first I was worried it would stain against my clothes, but it hasn’t happened yet—and it better not!” It’s the way Hana pouts sometimes, the glitter decorating the inner parts of her eyes, how she’s always a bundle of energy stuck into a tiny body—Sakura wants to say ‘I love you too’ every time Hana is on her way out.
She can’t.
“I think you’re the first fan to come with an itabag, at least one with only me. I need a moment to—get used to the idea. It’s fine, because it’s you,” Sakura eventually admits, running her fingers across the transparent side of the bag, “stop spending so much money on me though. I already warned you before.”
“Then stop me.”
“Tch. You’re lucky you’re such a great fan.”
You’re my favorite.
Ah, it sounds terrible.
Confessing to your oshi is already wrong, however, if Sakura was to offer the love back, it’d be even worse.
✦✦✦
Ayaka’s cries are muffled with the rage she has been toying with long before the auditions. The blatant favoritism shown to her younger sister has been an unbearable weight since day one, and Sakura has a few choice words she’d like to share with such an uncaring mother. Yes, Miharu’s celebrity is way above theirs, yet isn’t it the role of a parent to support their kids, even when they come last?
All Sakura can do, as her friend cries her sorrows out, is rub soothing circles on her back, repeating that they’re close, that things will be alright. She used to remind Ayaka that her mother would eventually change her ways, only to drop that mindset within a couple of months. There is no use pursuing a bond with a person who won’t care about your well-being as you’re not enough for them. While Sakura doesn’t experience that, she guesses Daiji and Kagerou do, often shadowed by their oldest brother—she has little time for her family, lately.
“You’re okay, we’re here for you. Empty your heart so you can fill it back with nicer things.”
There are three bedrooms for all eight members, and Sakura shares hers with Kanae and Ayaka, a combination which works out, for the most part. They tossed Kanae there only because she’s a bit older, so she is expected to act as the caretaker for them—and yet it’s often Sakura who has to step in to ensure everyone is ready on time in the morning.
“She can’t even miss one of Miharu’s concerts to come see me, just because Miharu might feel scared without her—she’s not five—damn, I can’t stand either of them,” she leans forward, sobs wrecking her body as Sakura and Kanae cannot do more than watch, “sometimes I even dream I could get injured, maybe this way she’d remember I exist.”
Fall off stage, get some views; isn’t it how you create a scandal, the best way to ruin a group and yet to be the talk of the online world? Sakura has long learned to ignore certain comments, eyes darting away when it’s not praise but venom—yet, it’s attention, shouldn’t you be pleased people hate you enough to come to your lives and insult your personality and everything you do?
That paranoia associated with being an idol is never talked about, akin to some troublesome taboo which is simply part of the job.
“Rather than focusing on low self-esteem, let’s go make rice balls,” Sakura gets up first, dragging Ayaka so she isn’t left behind, so she isn’t allowed to rot on her own, “stop wasting energy on people who don’t deserve it. If they don’t notice your hard work, then they’re not worth it.”
“Then why does it hurt so much I can’t breathe—”
“You can love people, even if they’re the worst, it’s the curse of sharing the same blood,” Kanae’ soft voice catches both of them by surprise, “your heart will pull you towards that kind of atrocious one-sided thing, it’s a magnetic tragedy we can’t really fight. Like when my aunt calls me, and the first thing she says is ‘ah we raised you after your parents’ death, aren’t you grateful, pay us back’, that sort of cruelty has become kind of casual, hasn’t it?” She unfolds herself from the bed, headphones around her neck, and Sakura can hear the faint hum of a song she forgot to pause. “Sakura is right, we could try cooking something easy on the stomach, it would help.”
Tears turn into giggles as they invade the small kitchen, as if they were children on some secret mission. It’s not that difficult to grab everything they need, from a container of freshly made rice in the fridge, to nori sheets. Sakura layers miso and other things between her hands, molding rice balls with ease. Their future is the same way, she reminds herself, it can be reshaped as many times as necessary. And there are trails on Ayaka’s cheeks, one lonely sesame seed glued to her skin as she shoves rice into a mold—Sakura leans a bit, wiping it off.
“Your mother might see who you are one day, and if she doesn’t, you know my mom is fine with adopting you, and Kanae too.”
Kanae didn’t get to say she’s an orphan, it’s not on her profile or visible anywhere. It’d be too pitiful, their manager said, unbothered, and Sakura wants to burn this industry to the ground and then create something better.
“The bathhouse seems full enough as it is,” Ayaka jokes, although her voice wavers, and she digs into the sesame treat she just finished making, “and it should hurt less, once you’re used to it, but it doesn’t.”
“Here, listen to this,” taking her headphones off, Kanae covers Ayaka’s ears with them, and there is a silence as she takes in the lyrics of what’s definitely a Deadmans song.
After all, they’re idols, aren’t they? Music is how they express their most profound emotions, although they are only allowed to show a few pre-approved ones. Eventually, as the gentle glow of the moonlight slides inside the kitchen, Ayaka passes the headphones to Sakura, and it feels akin to a shared secret, whispered from one ear to another.
She supposes that Kanae grabbing her phone meant she pressed back just so the song could be heard a second time.
Is this truly rock? The beat doesn’t feel so different to some of their songs at first—maybe heavier that’s all, more instruments getting mixed rather than only keyboard and guitar as they usually have—drums suddenly jolting awake, and another thing (a bass, perhaps?) dragging Sakura into something she didn’t expect.
No matter my tears, you aren’t looking.
I scream, and scream, and you aren’t listening.
They say you’re family, and therefore I’m only allowed to love you.
And what of the rest, should scars be okay just because they’re from you?
Selfish child, don’t you know how lucky you are to not be alone?
If that’s the road I have to walk, then maybe, just maybe, I’d rather be on my own.
Little by little, I realize you have always been wrong.
Rather than me being at fault for my own existence.
You make me hate myself, deflecting my hatred for you.
It’s not fair, it’s not fair, why is everything about you?
Why am I crying over someone who won’t ever care?
I’m not taking this life for granted, I’m not spoiled.
Cruel child, don’t you know broken bones can be mended?
Even if that’s true, then maybe, just maybe, I’d rather be respected than shattered.
Step by step, I start writing down about the hole in my chest,
You say it doesn’t count, when strangers give you fake comfort over social media.
And what if I’d rather live in a lie, than trapped in your convoluted truth?
Even if that hope is as fake as an edited picture, that’s my youth.
You say it’s my fault, but I didn’t ask to be born.
Even within that terrible attention, all the likes and views, mom why won’t you look?
Unwanted child, do you hear yourself when you give me such an awful name?
If that’s how you wish to call me, then I refuse to bear the blame.
Day by day, I carry my grudges and ink paper until my hands ache.
Once I’m famous, face on billboards, will you still say ‘we don’t see you’?
Mother, father,
This is my farewell letter.
The voice is what makes the song, that unrepentant loudness—it has nothing to do with the sweet tone she’s used to, and yet—she recognizes Aguilera as Hana. Funny how denial was good enough for the past months, and at the second where she actually bothers to listen to Deadmans (at midnight in the kitchen), she knows.
It doesn’t hit her akin to some giant revelation, it’s a mere “oh, it’s her,” and then she hands the headphones back. It comes out as a whisper, and she doubts the others notice.
“That song—I need to find it on Spotify,” Ayaka sniffs, swallowing a huge bite of her rice ball and finishing it at once, “it’s oddly relatable.”
“And even to me, who isn’t—in that kind of situation—the beat is simply too good,” Sakura adds, “if we could sing with the same passion, we’d be unstoppable.”
“See, see! That’s the power of Deadmans. Ah, they would be so proud I managed to convert some new people into the cult—don’t worry it’s how they call their fans.”
“Bit fucked up, but okay. Thanks for staying up with me, you two.”
“Well, that’s what friends are for,” giving a thumbs up, Sakura resolves to have a talk with her number one supporter next time they meet.
✦✦✦
Words don’t come out as they should; they get lodged somewhere at the back of her throat, and there isn’t a polite way to ask ‘hey are you that person?’. By inquiring about this, isn’t it like she was saying ‘rather than Hana being Hana, I need to know the other version of you’. And Sakura would rather explain that she loves Hana no matter what, that their countless little meetings had a great impact on her; how can you say that though? She has no idea.
So instead of talking, she scribbles down the tender parts of her heart on the back of a photograph of herself, doing a countless number of forbidden things at once; don’t get too close to fans, it’s never personal, you’re only a part of a person, the kind who is put on display, lacking life as soon as gazes leave your body. Sakura writes down everything running through her mind, from her Line ID, to ‘thanks to you I am a bit more like myself, I think, ah, I’m not good with words. I’d rather say thank you than sorry though’ and then, she has to push the photograph into Hana’s hands directly, as she cannot afford the staff to witness something like this.
There is a moment, as hands touch, as Sakura remembers that Deadmans’ song ricocheting against her ears in the middle of the night, where she has to repress the urge to add ‘Hana, never stop loving me’.
Instead, she says “Thank you, as always, see you next time!”
✦✦✦
Her fingers are shaking the first time they message each other. She has to be careful, to avoid getting caught or else—and there is a specific kind of thrill found in that sort of lying, Sakura discovers.
‘I have a concert today, see you later!!’ ‘oh, going to see another artist? Betrayal!’ I would never do this to Lucent, Sakura, I’m the one who will be on stage’ it’s simple, really, that confession which isn’t quite one.
‘Are you Aguilera?’ One question, one sticker of a cute cat with ‘YES’ written above a soft and round body.
Kanae is never going to let her live this down—it's a comforting thought, to be honest, to be talking to another singer, someone like them.
‘Good luck’ she types, and that’s it.
✦✦✦
The best thing about not being that popular, and living in a country with so many fellow idols and rising stars, is that they can manage a date on Sakura’s day off—it’s not a date, per se. It’s a meeting with a female friend, no boy involved, I promise, and the manager giving a disinterested nod. Close enough.
“At least you didn’t bring your itabag with me on it,” she cuts a small piece of her peach tart, “it would have been weird.”
“Today I’m with the real Sakura, not the idol I’m so fond of.”
“Beaten by my idol self for your heart? Rude.”
“My heart is in love with every version of you~”
“Embarrassing!” She pouts,”That’s good though, don’t you ever dare to put what we have in the past tense, I wouldn’t allow it.”
Sure, Sakura isn’t sure of what they mean to each other—all those songs Lucent has about love, none seems fitting for the situation. Isn’t there some kind of eternal promise which could remain unspoken there?
“Can I have some of your tart, then? Since we’re so close.”
“Hmpf, sure, you and your sweet tooth. Give me some of your cake, then.” Screw the rules about eating only what’s allowed, it’s her day off and she is going to have as much fun as possible.
✦✦✦
Deadmans has four members, Hana is the singer, using the alias Aguilera. There is a guy named Julio, or rather Tamaki, who plays the guitar and apparently is fairly good at cooking and making arts and crafts (she calls Hana ‘fake’ upon learning he did all the work on the itabag himself, even decorating it; he did an amazing job though), and she isn’t supposed to interact with men outside of the managers and all that stuff, oh well.
It’s all about figuring a way for Sakura to escape for a while, trying to have similar schedules although a band and being an idol aren’t the same at all—they make it work, somehow.
There is a slight detail which tremendously helps: “Do mom and dad even know you’re part of a band?” she asks Kagerou, aka Daiji’s twin, aka aren’t you supposed to be in college or something? How didn’t she realize it was him, playing keyboard for Deadmans? Well, he does wear a mask on scene, therefore it’s understandable.
They stare at each other for an eternity, and then he simply tells her it’s a fucking secret and she better not ruin things. What an asshole, typical Kagerou behavior. He’s probably the one who threatens her manager so she can hang with Hana more often though.
So, Deadmans has her girlfriend, her brother, Tamaki who is really nice, and the drummer Kanae has a crush on.
She doesn’t have the heart to tell her friend that her first meeting with him turns out to be walking on her brother and Makoto, as he’s called, making out on a random couch. Yeah, no, Sakura would like to forget about that, honestly.
He does sign some stuff for Kanae, Hana hovering next to him to ensure he writes more than his name, which is kind of funny. She has that threatening aura to her, sometimes, Sakura finds it hot.
“So, you first heard about me thanks to Kagerou?” She asks Hana one day, as casually as possible.
“His little sister was debuting, so he wanted us to support you.”
“Could have told me that, rather than ‘the industry sucks what are you doing’ like he did. It’s kind of hilarious though, that you took such a liking to Lucent when he barely bothers buying our singles. I would have liked for—I don’t know how to say it, maybe for you to notice me for my amazing singing and social skills during interviews.”
“I did enjoy watching you punch that guy on national television.”
“Well, he deserved it.”
Fingers glide against her jaw and she finds herself looking down at Hana—her grin is ferocious, on the verge of devouring Sakura whole.
“I see you for the amazing person you are, and you’ve caught my eye right away. Don’t doubt yourself, Sakura.”
“I don’t—but thanks.”
✦✦✦
“About ‘Farewell Letter’, by the way—who wrote it?”
“Makoto did.”
“So, it’s about him?”
Knees brushing against each other, they’re what’s left at the end of a long day; souls entwined on concrete steps. She wrapped her jacket around Hana’ shoulders, glistening sweat against her skin causing it to glow—Sakura wonders if she’s going to run out of things to love about the other. Probably not anytime soon.
“Partially. It’s a song about the four of us, at heart. Our manager told us to drop it, that it was edgy and something which had already been done countless times. So we got mad, and I remember shouting ‘I’ve never sang about it, therefore it doesn’t count’,” there is laughter, bruised feet and a handful of stars staring at them amidst dark clouds looming above, “we always have to fight our way forward, somehow.”
“Isn’t it exhausting?” She taps her own shoulder, telling Hana that’s okay, she can rest her head there for a moment, “Lucent’s music—we’re not like that, we don’t carry the same message. Ah, it sounds silly, to compare our styles. Sorry.”
“Lucent brings us hope. We’re a raging rebellion, and you’re what we aim for.”
“Childish songs about hope and the future?”
“Yes, yes, my dear Sakura. It’s not—to us it’s incredible, to be able to say ‘we want to find our place in a better world, even if we have to change it’ with such a fierce soul—or simply ‘I’m choosing to live, although everyone has told me to do otherwise’. We don’t truly listen to our own songs behind closed doors, we hear them enough. Yours, however, are always welcome. We blast them inside the van, we sing them to each other—you talk about the world ending, but we’re still living, don’t give up on us so easily, rather than escaping, I will stand with my feet in the ground, I’m still breathing,” and Sakura had never heard what Lucent’ songs sounded like, coming from Hana’s heart.
“Even if you don’t notice me, I see you, that breeze surrounding us, can’t you feel it? Let’s run after it, and if you get scared at the edge of the world, I’ll hold your hand in mine,” she continues, voice slightly shaking. Her cheek pressed against Hana’s hair, Sakura recalls that she didn’t quite want to become an idol, at first. And now—even if the industry isn’t kind nor does it understand her, she refuses to give up.
“I love you,” although saying it sounds meaningless, when they basically had dozens of confessions just by existing next to each other, “so I’ll change the world for you to be accepted in it, if I have to.”
“You’re stubborn enough for that,” Hana straightens her body and glittery lips find hers, “Love you too.”
The concert is long finished, a few people still waiting at the bus stop down the street, huddled together in the cold air of October, the excitement of the evening having left them exhausted, and they can’t see the two silhouettes next to each other on the steps—Sakura’s thumb runs across the back of Hana’s neck, and she shivers underneath her touch.
For a couple of seconds, it’s only them; Hana is hers and the opposite is also true, and the song beating inside their chest is a perfect replica of how they’re feeling; content, full of dripping affection.
“Hey, we’re getting some fast food—oh, sorry, am I interrupting?”
“Tamaki, really? Can’t I smoosh my girlfriend in peace?!” Hana laments, and Sakura rolls her eyes, getting up and offering both hands, palms up, to her girlfriend.
“There will be time for that later, come on, let’s go, Hana!”
“Fine, but that’s only because we can’t leave your stupid brother and that aggravating squid alone without them making out in the changing room.”
“Don’t remind me, I don’t need to know that Kagerou has a sexual life. Urg. The only thing worse would be hearing about big bro Ikki having one.”
In a few hours, she’ll have to be back at the dormitory—and the next day will be long and probably rough. That’s the life she has decided to pursue though, and she intends on giving everything she has into fulfilling many dreams at once.
“About that, do you intend on introducing me to your parents? I’m kidding—you look like a precious tomato, I want to eat you~”
“Hana, don’t tease me!”