Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Playing guitar was easy.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. It took Hitori more than five years of obsessive practice just to reach the point where her fingers could move freely without tripping over themselves. And endless amounts of blisters that healed and reformed. And it put a huge toll on her shoulders (as if she didn’t have that already). 

But all of that was nothing. Hitori Gotou, the self-proclaimed GuitarHero, could manage such simple things in her sleep (in fact, sometimes she did, in her dreams). 

Loving someone was not easy. 

For an introvert who melted and exploded at the slightest bit of what she called “extrovert aura”, Hitori was the worst person to be shot with cupid’s arrow. No, that’s not a metaphor. Discovering she was in love was like being shot with an arrow. 

And that arrow had a name.

Ikuyo Kita.

Yes, that Ikuyo Kita. The girl who everyone adored. The girl who shined so brightly she could blind you just by turning her head. The girl who captured you with her words alone. The girl whose very existence was entirely antithetical to Hitori Gotou’s own existence.   

Hitori loved her. But every time she thought that, her heart exploded, then reformed itself, then exploded again after the thought reached her a few seconds after resurrection. 

At first she didn’t understand what was happening. She wondered whether she was being overtaken by the attention-seeking monster, compelled to crazy thoughts as a result of the band’s recent festival success. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it was something far scarier. 

Her heart beat faster whenever Kita smiled at her. Her chest tightened when Kita praised her playing or invited her to hang out. 

She’d catch herself daydreaming about holding Kita’s hand or taking her home to spend the night… writing new songs for the band, of course. What else?

In hindsight, Hitori should have known she was doomed the first time she heard that voice call her name.

“Gotoh-san! Your playing was amazing!”

Then she started noticing small things. How Kita’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. How she always leaned in just a little too close when she was excited. How she remembered tiny, stupid facts—about all of her friends, no less.

And the more Hitori noticed, the more she spiraled.

She began asking herself questions. Extremely dangerous questions.

“What is love?”
“Am I an extrovert if I feel love?”
“If a water flea incapable of romantic thought falls in love with the embodiment of the sun, does it spontaneously combust?”
“And if so, is there any way to stop it?”

Hitori, being the lyrical genius (?) she was, could conjure up any number of metaphors to represent how she felt:

Kita was the sunrise and she was the last streetlamp flickering in a Tokyo alleyway.

Kita was a warm drink on a winter morning, and she was the cup, cracked, scalding, trembling in her firm grip.

Kita was the sound of applause, and she was the girl hiding behind her amp.

Kita was joy.

And Hitori? Hitori was terrified.

It was clear that her feelings went beyond friendship. They were more than admiration. 

It was a selfish kind of love.

The kind that made her feel unworthy even for thinking it. The kind that a closet-dwelling, socially hopeless loner like her was never supposed to feel for someone like Ikuyo Kita.

And so began the war of thoughts.

“No, I’m not in love.”
“But maybe… just maybe…”
“No! No way.”
“Though, when I consider that moment…”
“ARGH.”
“I'm just going insane.”
“...Yet, what if…”

Consider that this was just a small snippet of an inner conversation that went on for at least two weeks. This was the most Hitori Gotou had ever thought about anything. 

And as a result, her life was completely disrupted by the endless back and forth.  

At school, she began to fumble her words more than usual around Kita. Her attempts to maintain eye contact failed more spectacularly. Her already pathetic social skills devolved into an embarrassing mess whenever Kita so much as leaned too close to show her a video or ask about a specific playing technique. 

Was this really love?

Hitori wouldn’t dare say so explicitly. 

Love was something reserved for anime protagonists, for normal girls who wore lip gloss and knew how to flirt. 

Love was not something reserved for Hitori Gotou—not for a reclusive guitarist who practiced in her closet and preferred to communicate through her video channel rather than having actual conversation.

But the more she denied it, the more obvious it became, until she simply sighed and said to herself: “I love…”

Of course, her heart exploded before she could finish the sentence, but the point was made nonetheless. 

She couldn’t act normal anymore. 

If her words were fumbled before, her words were gibberish now. It took the full extent of her own restraint to hide everything that was plaguing her to Kita. When considering how much time they spent together, that was a tremendous achievement (if you ignore the part where she threw up in the bathroom as soon as their practice sessions were finished).

To Kita’s credit, she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she was too polite to comment. But other people noticed.

And that’s when it happened.

One seemingly normal spring afternoon, Hitori was packing her books into her bag when she heard a voice behind her.

“Gotou-san, we’d like to have a talk with you.”

She turned to see a group of girls, faces cautious, expressions strangely serious.

“Ah—um—okay?”

To Hitori, whose primary experiences were from movies and entertainment, it seemed as if she was about to be killed by some of Kita’s loyal fans. Naturally, she could only follow like an inmate being led to an execution chamber. 

They met in an empty classroom. The other girls shared looks that Hitori couldn’t quite understand. But she didn’t care to understand. As far as she knew, she was about to be dead. 

“Have… have I done something? I— I’m sorry for whatever I did, so please forgive—”

“That’s not it, Gotoh-san. We called you because… we’re worried about you.”

“Worried?”

“We saw your performance during the school festival. It was amazing, but… we noticed how close you are to Kita-chan. We wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?” Her voice cracked. “W-why?”

“Don’t fall in love with her.”

The room spun. Hitori blinked.

“What…? I don’t understand…?”

The girls shifted awkwardly in place. “...don’t fall in love with Kita-chan. It’ll only hurt you.”

“What? How would she hurt me? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we too fell in love with Kita-chan at some point in our lives. And she rejected all of us.”

Hitori’s heart stopped. “All of you?”

“Kita-chan leads you on. She doesn’t do it on purpose. She’s not cruel. But she doesn’t notice when people fall for her. The worst part is, she acts like she was unaware of your feelings.”

“I… I didn’t think…” Her throat tightened. “She’s so nice to me.”

“She’s like that with everyone. You just haven’t gotten let down yet.”

There was a long silence. Only the soft hum of classroom lights buzzed overhead.

“We’re not trying to scare you,” one of the girls said. “We just don’t want you to be hurt like we were. You’re a good person, Gotou-san. Kita-chan has helped us see that now. But please… don’t fall in love with her.”

Hitori stood there, hands shaking.

It was already too late.

But she couldn’t tell them that.

She couldn’t even admit it to herself.

Not yet.

Not when it hurt so much just to breathe.

Chapter Text

If Hitori had a choice of specters, she would rather be haunted by ghosts than be haunted by words.

Especially when those words were ones that never left her, crushed her, and left her second guessing herself at every turn.

Don’t fall in love with Kita-chan.

They clung to the walls of her mind, making themselves known every time she so much as glanced in Kita’s direction. Each time Kita laughed, each time she reached out and touched Hitori’s arm with that same easy brightness, the words echoed again.

How do you not fall in love with a person when you’ve already fallen in love with that person?

Hitori’s walk home that day was more of a lazy glide than a journey. She just might have been a ghost herself. The streets, the glowing lamps, and the blur of passing cars all melted into smudges of color she hardly noticed in the midst of her own inner turmoil. She hadn’t even realized she’d arrived home, until she found herself collapsing into her closet without even taking off her guitar case.

The claustrophobic walls had never looked so judgmental.

It wasn’t just that she had been warned by those girls. It was the fact that everything they said made perfect sense. That awful kind of sense that you don’t want to admit because it means you’ve been lying to yourself the whole time. 

Kita was that kind of person. Friendly to everyone, bright and joyful without a care in the world. She found happiness in the smallest things, brightening up anyone who simply existed within her line of sight. Of course she would be nice to Hitori. That didn’t mean she liked her. Not in that way.

Still, it hurt to hear it from others. And it hurt even more that they had noticed. The very thing she thought she’d hidden so carefully, behind subtle glances and nervous actions, was dissected by those who had already walked the same path.

And they had been crushed.

Was that going to be her fate too?

Hitori turned over, pulling her pillow over her head. Her thoughts began spinning again, scenes flashing like cuts from an overdramatic anime montage. She loved it when Kita laughed at her poor attempts at jokes. She loved it when Kita chose to walk next to her even when there were easier routes through the crowd. She loved hearing Kita say her name in that soft, playful tone…

“Hitori-chan~” 

She loved how warm Kita’s voice sounded. 

She loved… loved… Kita. 

Her phone buzzed. 

Speak of the devil. There couldn’t be worse timing:

Kita-chan: “Hey hey! A new bubble tea shop just opened up! Want to try it this weekend? My treat~”

Hitori’s heart did that stupid implosion again. The kind where it collapsed into a black hole of emotion and then shot waves of panic through her bones.

She didn’t reply right away.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She read the message ten times, trying to interpret the subtext. Was this a date? No, no, of course it wasn’t, stupid! Kita-chan would send the same message to anyone!  

But… would she? Was this a mass invitation? Or something just for her?

Her stomach twisted.

Even if it was for her…

Did she send personal invites like these to those other girls? Is that why they came to like her? 

Hitori threw her phone onto the bed and screamed silently into her pillow.

This wasn’t fair.

It wasn't fair to feel this way about someone so blindingly kind. Someone who could wrap anyone in the warmth of her attention and make them believe that they were special, just for a moment. 

And maybe that was Kita’s curse as much as it was Hitori’s. The curse of being loved too easily for things you didn’t intend. For smiles you didn’t mean as promises. For kindnesses that were just kindness, and nothing more.

Hitori often wished she could stop time. 

If only she could prevent certain days from arriving, then she wouldn’t have to go out. She could stay inside, rotting away in the comfort of her closet. But that was the old Hitori. 

The new Hitori hadn’t had such thoughts since before she joined Kessoku Band.

However, in the face of her growing feelings, those thoughts resurfaced. 

She wished Saturday never came. She wished and wished and wished and…

Nothing happened. 

It was Saturday, and she sat in a bubble tea shop. Not too bad as far as introvert death traps go, but still far outside of Hitori’s comfort zone. 

She didn’t know why she came.

Maybe because not coming would have felt like surrender. But more likely…

Hitori glanced at Kita, who was eagerly snapping photos of the shop with a bright, blinding smile.

“This place is so cute! I’m so glad I found it!”

Right. More likely, she just wanted to see that smile. Even if it almost killed her in the process. 

“So,” Kita said, her voice softening, “how have you been doing lately, Hitori-chan?”

Hitori’s fingers tensed on the cup. “I’m… okay.”

Kita leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You sure? You’ve been a little quiet lately. I mean, more than usual.”

Hitori’s heart gave a weak lurch.

Don't fall in love with Kita-chan.

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly.

Kita tilted her head. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

A silence passed between them, heavy with unsaid words. Hitori wanted to shrink into her hoodie, disappear into the folds of herself. But Kita’s gaze was steady, not demanding—just there. Patient.

“I just… I think I’m overthinking stuff,” Hitori mumbled.

Kita nodded gently. “That makes sense. I do that too, sometimes. It’s hard when your brain won’t let you rest.”

That struck a chord. Hitori looked up in surprise. “You do?”

“Sure. Especially about people. I always wonder if I’m saying the wrong thing, or if I’m just… you know, being too much.” Kita laughed softly, though her words weren’t really funny at all. “Sometimes I try so hard to be kind that I forget to notice if I’m being real.”

Hitori blinked again. “But… you’re always so confident.”

“I’m really not,” Kita said, smiling with a shrug. “I just fake it better than most.”

That made Hitori smile, just a little. “I guess I fake it worse than most.”

“No,” Kita said at once. “You’re honest. And thoughtful. I admire that about you, Hitori-chan.”

That made the blood rise in Hitori’s cheeks like a tide. She turned to her tea again, wishing she could shrink into the porcelain. 

When you say things like that so shamelessly… how am I supposed to view it?

Kita sipped hers and glanced out the window, her tone turning casual again. “You’ve written anything new yet? Our next performance is coming up soon, isn’t it?”

Hitori swallowed. “I’ve been distracted… but I’ll finish something soon… I think.”

“I’d love to hear it when you do,” Kita said, her voice warm. “Your lyrics are always heartfelt.”

Hitori went still. Her fingers trembled slightly.

Kita-chan… you have no idea… how your words make me feel…

Don't fall in love with Kita-chan.

But how? That's just... impossible.

Don't fall in love with Kita-chan.

It's no use. I already have.

They talked a little more, about school, about the song setlist for the upcoming showcase, and about other random topics that Hitori could barely follow. She simply resigned herself to her fate. She had to accept that Kita was... Kita. 

And the words she says... they have no other meaning to them. 

But as much as she accepted that, she didn't want to believe it.

As they were finishing their tea, Kita stood to go pay the bill. “My treat,” she said, beaming.

“No—you don’t have to—!” Hitori protested weakly.

“I want to,” Kita said. “Besides, next time it can be your turn. Let’s come again sometime, okay?”

Next time.

Hitori sighed.

Every moment spent with Kita made her feel closer to something impossible. Like she was climbing a stairway to a place she would never reach, deluding herself at every step, until it all fizzled into nothing.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the girls from before.

How many of them had sat across from Kita feeling just as special? How many of them had gone home thinking maybe it meant something more?

And how many had been wrong?

Chapter Text

Hitori did not want to believe it. 

She had tried to train herself to look past the warmth in Kita’s words, to remind herself again and again that they didn’t mean anything more than simple kindness. But no matter how often she repeated that truth, no matter how fiercely she clung to logic, her heart refused to listen.

And the more she struggled with this, the more distracted she ended up being. It seemed she was distracted a lot lately. So many chaotic thoughts, so many turbulent feelings and questions. 

She tried to hide this, of course. But to everyone at Club Starry, it was incredibly obvious that something was bothering her. 

Her fingers fumbled along the fretboard, missing notes she’d practiced a hundred times. During their opening warm-up, she entered the bridge too early. Then she slipped into the wrong chord progression entirely during one of Ryo’s new songs. A rogue note echoed through the room, stark and out-of-place with the subtlety of an alarm bell.

She winced.

“Uh… Let’s try that part again?” Nijika suggested gently, tapping her drumsticks against her knees with an air of casual patience. But there was a note of concern in her voice too.

Ryo glanced up from her bass and raised a brow. “Did you forget how to play guitar, Bocchi?”

“U-uh, s-sorry! I just… I’ll get it next time!” Hitori stammered, gripping her guitar tightly, her eyes wide with panic.

Kita, seated beside her, leaned over. “Are you okay, Hitori-chan?” she asked, softly, kindly.

There it was again. That voice. That look. Kita’s eyes, filled with genuine worry, not romantic, just friendly, just nice , and that was the problem. That was always the problem. It was never anything more, and yet Hitori couldn’t stop hoping.

Her stomach flipped.

She nodded too quickly. “I-I’m fine!”

She wasn’t.

They tried the song again. Hitori lasted a few verses this time before she slipped up again, her strumming a half-beat too slow, her fingers sliding to the wrong octave. Again. And again.

It didn’t hurt because the music was bad. It hurt because she was the one ruining it.

“Bocchi,” Ryo said, pausing to set her bass down with a sigh. “What are you doing?”

“I…”

“You’ve never messed up like this before.” Her tone was sharper now, frustration creeping in. “If something’s bothering you, get it together. This is seriously disorienting.”

“I… I’m sorry…”

Nijika placed a calming hand on Ryo’s arm. “Let’s take five, okay? Maybe she just needs a breather.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” Nijika cut in firmly, then turned toward Hitori with a small smile. “Go on. Get some air, Bocchi-chan. We’ll be here.”

Hitori nodded numbly. She placed her guitar down and quietly slipped through the door of the club. Cool air greeted her, the wind brushing against her flushed face. She climbed the steps leading to the street above and sat down, hugging her knees to her chest.

Her breath trembled as she sighed. “What do I do…?” 

No one answered.

Her fingers ached, not just from playing, but from tension. From holding back. From trying to be normal. 

From trying not to love Ikuyo Kita.

The door behind her creaked open. She turned slightly and saw Nijika step outside, her expression unreadable.

“You’ve been acting weird, Bocchi-chan,” Nijika said bluntly, hopping up the steps before plopping down beside her. “Even Ryo noticed, and she doesn’t notice anything.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Hitori mumbled.

“Don’t apologize.” Nijika shook her head. “Just tell me what’s up.”

Hitori looked away.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nijika was quiet for a moment. Then, gently, she placed a hand over Hitori’s.

“Bocchi-chan, we may be bandmates, but before that, we’re friends. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Hitori hesitated.

The words were caught in her throat, half-formed. But Nijika’s hand was warm, steady.

“…Do you think,” she whispered, “it’s wrong to fall in love with someone who might not love you back?”

Nijika blinked. “You… like someone?”

Hitori paused, then nodded numbly.

For a second, Nijika’s expression shifted. Something quick and indecipherable flickered in her eyes. It could have been surprise. It could have been sadness. But it was gone before Hitori could name it.

“I see,” Nijika said, her voice gentle. “Love… it can be a painful thing. It’s not wrong to fall for someone. No matter who that someone is. What matters is how you act on those feelings.”

“…I don’t know if she likes me,” Hitori admitted.

“I don’t think many people would hate you, Bocchi-chan.”

“But… what if I’m misunderstanding everything? What if she makes everyone feel special, not just me? And I’m just… reading into it too much. Like an idiot.”

Nijika stayed silent for a moment. Then, softly: “Is this about Kita-chan?”

Hitori froze.

She didn’t need to answer. Her eyes said everything.

“…Yeah.”

Nijika exhaled slowly. She leaned back on her palms, staring up at the pink-orange clouds like they might offer guidance.

“I kind of figured,” she said, smiling faintly. “The way you look at her. The way you get all jittery whenever she says your name. You think we wouldn’t notice?”

“I thought I was hiding it,” Hitori muttered.

“You were trying,” Nijika said. “But you’re not as invisible as you think.”

Hitori didn’t respond.

“I get it,” Nijika continued, voice softer now. “Kita-chan is… easy to love. She’s bright. She makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world when she’s talking to you. It’s dangerous.”

“She’s too kind,” Hitori whispered. “I don’t know what’s real. What’s just her being nice.”

Nijika turned toward her, then. “Then maybe… don’t ask her.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask. Show.” Nijika smiled gently. “Find a way to show her how you feel, Bocchi-chan. Not with words. Not with a dramatic confession. But with something that’s you. Something only you can do.”

“…Like a song?”

Nijika nodded. “That’s one way. You’re not great at saying things, but you’re amazing at playing them. So play. Show her what she means to you. If she’s paying attention… she’ll understand.”

The wind brushed past them, gentle and cool.

And for the first time that day, Hitori felt a small flicker of calm. A whisper of clarity.

“Thanks, Nijika-chan…”

Nijika stood, brushing off her skirt. “Anytime. But seriously, try not to bomb the next rehearsal. Ryo might actually combust.”

“I’ll… try to focus,” Hitori mumbled, managing a small smile.

Nijika then turned to her with a thoughtful look. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Loving someone.”

“Yeah,” Hitori admitted.

Nijika seemed lost in thought for a moment, her expression unreadable again. Before Hitori could ask what she was thinking, she turned toward the club entrance and motioned for her to follow.

“Let’s go back in. They’re probably waiting.”

Hitori nodded and stood, brushing herself off. But she lingered for a second, her eyes fixed on the streaks of pink and gold in the sky.

She had to do something.

Something true to her. Something only she could express.

Something Ikuyo Kita would understand.

But what would that be?

Chapter Text

GuitarHero writing a love song?

It was, by every conceivable metric, ridiculous.

All of Hitori’s old songs had been edgy, distortion-heavy rock anthems. The kind of tracks that screamed into the void with a furious snarl and a blistering solo. 

But now? Now, she was about to write something she had spent her entire life avoiding.

A love song.

A sappy love song.

She couldn’t believe it herself. Sitting on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, guitar balanced precariously against her blankets, Hitori stared at the blank page in her lyric notebook with a deep grimace. For someone who prided herself on raw emotional honesty, the idea of writing something tender and vulnerable made her skin crawl.

Yet here she was, fingers itching to play something softer, something that trembled rather than shouted.

Sap.
Pure, unmitigated, stomach-churning sap.

It was her worst enemy. Her nemesis. The one genre she never respected. To Hitori, romantic ballads always sounded like unattainable fantasies, written for people who belonged in the world of mutual affection and gentle eye contact. 

Not for someone like her. Not for a girl who could barely survive social interaction without metaphorically (and occasionally literally) curling into a ball.

The only exceptions to her strict anti-sap rule had always been two things: views and money. Hitori was unabashedly a musical trend chaser, on youtube specifically. She would play any currently popular song, as long as she could benefit from it. Of course, that didn’t stop her from cringing at every chord, or physically muting the lyrics so she wouldn’t have to suffer through them. 

But now Hitori Gotou was about to write her own unattainable fantasy. A fantasy about a small little worm attempting to court a massive, faraway, glowing dragon. 

This wasn’t for the algorithm. This wasn’t for the views. This was for her .

Her, and… Kita.

Kita, with her ridiculous sparkle. Kita, with her effortless affection. Kita, who tolerated her introverted ways without judgement and with simple kindness. 

It didn’t feel like an act of courage, nor did it feel like some grand romantic gesture. It felt like walking into a bonfire in slow motion.

But Hitori didn’t stop.

Instead, she did what she always did when overwhelmed: she researched .

Of course, researching for love song lyrics wasn’t as simple as opening up a dictionary or Googling romantic phrases. That would be far too inorganic, too impersonal. She needed to feel it. And to do that, she needed a source of genuine inspiration.

So, naturally, she opened her phone.

Specifically, her chat history with Kita.

She scrolled slowly, eyes tracing each message with a twinge of embarrassment.

“Hey hey! A new bubble tea shop just opened up! Want to try it this weekend? My treat~”

Sent three days ago. It had been the final push, the moment she realized she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. 

“Get better soon, Hitori-chan! Here’s a song I sang for you: [foryou.mp3]”

Sent a few months ago, during a particularly bad cold. Kita had recorded her own cover of a light pop song and attached it with no explanation. But that was just like her, after all. 

So thoughtful. So spontaneous. 

Hitori had replayed that message a dozen times. The lyrics were meaningless pop fluff that made her cringe, but the thoughtfulness lingered.

She kept scrolling.

“You looked really cool on stage today, you know?”
“Do you want to come over after school sometime? I’ll make snacks!”
“I’m really glad we’re friends, Hitori-chan!”

Each message was harmless on its own, with that same sickeningly sweet friendliness Kita always displayed. But stacked together, they became something else. A constellation of warmth. A quiet comfort that encircled her life without fanfare.

And somehow, impossibly, it had become everything.

No wonder people fell for her , Hitori thought. She’s just so...

Hitori made a small smile. Some lyrics just came to her at that moment. They were awkward and clumsy and far too sweet. But she didn’t fight them. Not this time.

She scribbled them down quickly, afraid she’d lose the courage if she hesitated.

“You burn so bright I have to squint,
But I’d rather go blind than look away.
You touch my hand, and the static clings,
Like stars that forgot they belonged to the sky.”

God, it was so awfully sentimental . But it was also true. And for once, Hitori let herself live in that truth, no matter how embarrassing it felt. She began to write once more.

“Yet with everyone you show this kindness,
And I feel rather inadequate by compare.
When you show me your smiles, am I mistaken?
Or am I simply misunderstanding in my bliss?”

Her lyrics had shifted now, growing darker at the edges, the sweetness tinged with a familiar ache of insecurity. Of course it did. Even in a fantasy, Hitori couldn’t stop the doubt from creeping in. 

She hated how real it was. How honest. Even if she didn’t want to, she was writing her true feelings onto a song for all to hear—but for only one to understand.

She picked up her guitar.

The melody came slower than usual. Not because she was blocked, but because every note required vulnerability. Hitori didn’t know if she had ever put in so much effort for a song before. But this one was worth it. 

The chords were soft and restrained, unlike her usual style. She struggled with every one, not knowing if her feelings shown through, and feeling sick with all the sap she was accumulating. 

Her fingers trembled.

Her heart beat too fast.

She was supposed to sing, but she wouldn’t dare. She couldn’t handle hearing her own voice say those things out loud. Not in a thousand years.

Kita would sound better singing this kind of song anyway. She could carry the sweetness without irony.

So instead, she recorded the melody as an instrumental. Then, using her editing software, she added the lyrics as on-screen captions. 

It wasn’t flashy.

It wasn’t complex.

Just a simple acoustic demo, uploaded to her “GuitarHero” channel like any of her other work. But unlike her other work, this one wasn’t meant to impress. It was a confession in disguise, a silent cry folded into melody.

She titled it: “For Someone Who’ll Never Know”

And she hit upload.

That night, Hitori didn’t check the view count. She didn’t read the comments. She didn’t even tell anyone she’d posted something new.

Because she didn’t need to say anything.

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since Hitori uploaded her song.

Three days of pretending she was fine.

Three days of chewing her lunch slowly, nodding along to conversations without hearing a word, and checking her phone every thirty seconds to see if anyone—specifically one person—had left a comment or said anything.

And… nothing.

No reply. No cryptic messages. No indirect questions. Nothing unusual at all from Kita. It was as if the song had vanished into the void.

Which, for someone like Hitori Gotou, might have been a blessing.

Except it didn’t feel like one.

Every time they met for practice under the stairs, it felt like she was just waiting for everything to come crashing down. It was like she was waiting for something that would never come. 

Kita didn’t seem to notice her conflicted thoughts, but she also didn’t seem to know Hitori had even written a new song in the first place.

Was that a relief? Or was it a wound?

If Kita had seen it, Hitori would’ve been mortified. She would have melted into a pink smear on the floor and dripped through the cracks in the wood. But if she hadn’t seen it, if she’d scrolled right past that trembling little piece of Hitori’s heart, then that would somehow be worse.

It meant Hitori hadn’t even made a dent.

Three days later, when practice time rolled around and the band gathered in Club Starry’s cramped studio, Hitori was back in her usual state: anxious, sweaty-palmed, mildly dissociating, and desperately hoping the ground would open and swallow her guitar, her body, and every piece of her digital existence.

She kept her eyes down as she set up, plugging in cables, tuning her guitar, adjusting her amp knob with trembling fingers. Nijika was drumming her sticks absentmindedly, Ryo was eating snacks, and Kita was…

Late?

That was unusual. Kita was usually the first to show up, sometimes even beating the staff to unlock the door. Hitori didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. Maybe she wouldn’t come today. Maybe she—

The door slammed open so hard the handle dented the wall.

“Hitori-chan!”

Oh no.

Kita skidded into the room like a comet of unfiltered sunshine, eyes wide and glimmering, one hand holding her phone out with crazed excitement.

“Did you make this?!” she cried, beaming so hard her cheeks actually glowed.

Hitori blinked.

On the screen of Kita’s phone, still playing even as the battery dipped to 12%, was her song. The one she had uploaded in the dead of night, with the naive hope that it might go quietly unnoticed by the world. The video was paused at the final lyric, stark white on a color background:

“But when I see your smile, it’s truly clear to me,
That I’m not misunderstanding, I’m simply in love.”

Hitori nearly turned to dust.

“I—” she croaked, but the word stuck in her throat. Her hands gripped the edge of her amp with a force that could probably crush aluminum.

“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” Kita gushed, skipping over to her, phone still thrust forward like she needed witnesses. “The chords were so tender and sad, and the melody gave me chills! It’s just so romantic and heartfelt. I listened to it like... fifteen times in a row this morning!”

“You’re late,” Ryo said blandly, finishing the rest of her snacks.

“I had to be late,” Kita said, entirely unbothered. “I was editing a clip of the song to match it with one of my posts—don’t worry, I won’t upload it unless you say yes, Hitori-chan! But seriously—where did this come from? I didn’t even know you wrote stuff like this!”

Hitori felt like she wanted to die. 

She wanted to vanish. She wanted to zip herself into her gig bag and yeet herself into the nearest river.

And worse still, Nijika and Ryo were looking at her.

Not just looking. Knowing.

Ryo raised an eyebrow, her lip twitching. “So… heartfelt, huh?”

Nijika gave her the most exaggerated wink in human history and whispered, “That wasn’t even a little subtle.”

“I didn’t think she’d see it,” Hitori hissed, hugging her guitar like it might absorb her shame.

Kita, oblivious to all of this, was now turning to Ryo. “Can we please add this song to our setlist? I know it’s not our usual tempo, but it’d be so good for contrast, right? We can do a soft lighting section and—”

Hitori popped like a balloon.

“Wait—what?” she gasped, rebuilding herself.

Kita blinked at her innocently. “I mean, it’s such a good song, Hitori-chan. It deserves to be heard! Why don’t we perform it at our next show? The audience will love it.”

“No, no, no, no, no, noooo—” Hitori started hyperventilating, her rapid denials sounding like a song in and of itself.

“But why not?” Kita pouted. “It’s so good! And it shows such a different side of you! Plus, if you’re too shy to sing it, I could try—”

“AAAAAUGH—”

Hitori nearly keeled over.

Nijika had to catch her by the shoulder. “Okay, okay, let’s slow down,” she said, laughing nervously. “Maybe we can consider it, but we still have to rehearse it properly, and Bocchi-chan might not be ready yet.”

“She already wrote and recorded the whole thing,” Ryo said dryly. “You’re saying she’s not ready?”

“Being ready and being ready is not the same thing,” Hitori whispered, eyes blank.

“It literally is the same thing,” Ryo snapped, not amused.

“Still,” Nijika added, elbowing her again with a wink that felt more like a jab, “maybe you should be honest and tell Kita-chan what the song’s really about?”

“No,” Hitori muttered, her voice hoarse. “Never. That’s why I wrote it.”

Kita, still radiant and unaware, leaned over and smiled at her. “Bocchi-chan, seriously. Thank you for writing that. It made my whole week.”

Hitori flinched at the sincerity. That smile. That sweet, devastating smile.

Stop smiling like that, Kita-chan. Stop making me fall for you again.

She stared down at her guitar strings, wishing she could tie them into a net and catch all the feelings spilling out of her chest.

She hadn’t expected Kita to find that stupid song. Let alone love it. But what was worse was that she seemed to have no idea what it meant. It didn’t even register that the song was about her. That every note had been carved out of Hitori’s yearning.

It was infuriating.

The song hadn’t reached her at all.

It was just another moment. Another melody. One she liked but didn’t understand.

When they practiced it later, after much pleading and persuasion, and Hitori found herself standing in the center of the room, playing the very song she had written as a confession in disguise, she felt like she was being skinned alive.

Every time Kita’s voice danced over her melody, sweet and unaware, Hitori died a little more inside.

Because it wasn’t a performance anymore.

It was a post-mortem.

And every lyric she couldn’t say aloud was now being sung, unwittingly, by the very person she had written them for.

Every time they played it, it hurt more.

But she kept playing anyway.

Because somehow… she wanted Kita to hear it again.

Chapter Text

Hitori was barely breathing.

She stood in a corner of the prep room, her guitar strapped across her body, heart thudding hard. Hitori was never a fan of performing in front of audiences, but this was worse. 

They were minutes away from walking out. From stepping into the lights and playing the song.

Her song.

The one she had written alone, in the dark, full of her personal confessions and insecurities. The one she hoped wouldn’t be heard, but now was going to be played on a public stage. 

Not just in a room, but on a stage.

To strangers. To friends. To her.

Just as Hitori was contemplating whether she could fake a twisted ankle or spontaneous combustion, she heard the softest voice beside her.

“Hitori-chan,” said Kita.

Hitori turned, startled. Kita was standing a little too close, her hands clasped before her, shoulders tucked in, eyes unsure. There was something so rare and quiet in her expression that it took Hitori a full second to register what she was seeing.

It wasn’t Kita the extrovert.

It wasn’t Kita, the embodiment of the sun, or the class idol, or even the sparkling performer.

It was just Ikuyo Kita.

“I know you wrote it for me,” she said, her voice soft. “The song. It was obvious from the lyrics.”

Hitori’s breath caught.

She opened her mouth, but words were lost on her. No excuses, no denials. Just the roar of fear in her ears.

Kita didn’t wait for a reply.

“I… really liked it,” she said, flushed. “It made me cry. A little.”

Something fragile cracked inside Hitori.

“You did?” she whispered.

Kita smiled, small and sad. “I played it over and over. Every time I thought maybe I was reading too much into it, there’d be a line that made me sure. Like that part—‘ if I stay quiet, maybe she’ll stay near. ’” She looked down. “That line… felt like you.”

Hitori stared at her shoes. Her face was burning, her vision wobbling. She couldn’t look her in the eyes. “I… I didn’t know how to say it. I’m not good at… talking. I thought maybe the song would—”

“Say it for you?”

Hitori nodded.

Kita stepped closer. “It did.”

They stood there, the two of them, hearts bare and bodies trembling.

“You’re always so quiet, Hitori-chan,” Kita said. “And sometimes… I wasn’t sure if you liked me. Or if I was annoying you. But when I heard the song, I realized…”

She trailed off.

Hitori looked up at her, barely able to breathe. “Realized…?”

Kita smiled again, eyes glossy. “That you’ve always been listening. That you see me more clearly than anyone else does. And that maybe… I haven’t been paying close enough attention to you.”

Hitori’s throat felt tight. She gripped her guitar harder.

“I didn’t want to make things weird,” she murmured. “I didn’t even know if it was okay to feel this way. I kept wondering if I was just projecting, or if I’d misunderstood you, or—”

“I do that too,” Kita interrupted, her voice low but steady. “I smile a lot, but it doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing. I try to be kind to everyone because I’m scared of disappointing people. But it means I don’t always know how to be honest.”

“You’re always honest,” Hitori said quietly.

Kita looked at her with a tender kind of regret. “Not always. Not with my own feelings.”

She reached out, brushing her fingers over Hitori’s hand where it clutched the guitar strap.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say something. I think… part of me knew. But I didn’t know what to do with it. And even now, I still don’t. But I want to understand. I want to hear more of your songs. I want to stay by your side.”

Hitori could hardly believe this was real. Her legs wobbled like jelly. Her lungs refused to cooperate. She wanted to say something. Anything.

But her voice was gone.

So she nodded.

A tiny, fragile nod.

Kita smiled, her eyes shimmering with something softer than sunlight. “Then let’s go play it. Together.”

From a distance, Nijika had been watching, arms folded, lips curled into something between affection and envy. Her gaze softened when Kita reached for Hitori’s hand. But the moment was shattered when Ryo leaned in, her usual deadpan expression broken only by the faintest smirk.

“Jealous?” she asked.

“No! Of course not!” she snapped, flicking Ryo on the forehead with a little more force than necessary.

Ryo stepped back as she rubbed the spot with exaggerated offense. “Ow. Geez. Violent much? I was just making conversation.”

“Then go make it with your bass,” Nijika shot back, arms crossed, trying her best to look stern even though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her.

Ryo shrugged lazily. “Sure, sure. Don’t come crying to me later when those two start writing songs about each other and leave us in the dust.”

Nijika whipped her head toward her with a glare, eyes wide. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re easy to rile up,” Ryo said, grinning as she turned on her heel, seeming satisfied, amused, and entirely unrepentant.

Left alone again, Nijika exhaled slowly and glanced back toward the two on the other side of the room.

They were still smiling together.

And despite herself, Nijika smiled again—just a little softer this time. A little lonelier.

The stage lights didn’t seem so harsh this time.

Not when Kita stood beside her, eyes shining in the dark.

Not when Nijika winked at her from behind the drum kit, grinning like a proud sister.

Not when Ryo tilted her head and gave her the faintest thumbs up, her way of saying Don’t mess up, but if you do, I’ll cover you.

The audience blurred into mist beyond the lights. Hitori could barely see faces, just the faint movement of a crowd waiting, watching. Her knees trembled as the count-in began.

One… two… three…

Then she started to play.

Her nerves shook as they transitioned through each song in the setlist, anticipating the moment when her most personal song would be played for all to hear. 

The same song she wrote alone in her room, holding back tears.

The same melody she recorded in a whisper.

And then, there it was. It flowed from her guitar like a secret set free. The melody was the same, but something had changed. It wasn’t a solo cry anymore, but a connection between the two of them. A message they both understood. 

Hitori glanced at Kita and found herself smiling. 

Kita, who always sparkled like something effortlessly bright, now shimmered in a way that felt otherworldly. Her voice, already beautiful, now rang with a clarity and conviction that seemed to fill every corner of the stage. 

Kita looked back at her and couldn’t look away.

She had always admired Hitori, though she hadn’t always known what to call that feeling. Admired the way she played with a kind of trembling bravery, how she poured her entire soul into every note. Even now, cloaked in nerves and self-doubt, Hitori was breathtaking. Striking in a way that made Kita’s heart stutter.

She makes me tremble, both of them thought, caught in the same whirlwind of emotion.

Hitori and Kita were now staring at each other, grinning amidst the atmosphere, feeling the energy of the entire room. But to them, they were the only ones in the world, playing to each other, for each other, with each other. 

As the song came to a close with its final lyrics, their guitars played in perfect rhythm. They smiled, becoming completely in-sync like never before. 

Then in a complete surprise, Hitori sang the final lines along with Kita, in a spontaneous duet that caught everyone off guard. Her voice was rough, but her emotion was real. 

“Yet with everyone you show this kindness,
And I feel rather inadequate by compare.”

Kita's breath hitched. Her eyes shimmered, wide and astonished, but then softened.

Together, with a final glance, they sang in tandem.

“But when I see your smile, it’s truly clear to me,
That I’m not misunderstanding, I’m simply in love.”

By the end, the room had gone still.

The final notes faded like smoke.

Hitori stood there, stunned, not from the crowd’s reaction, but from the warmth blooming in her chest. She had done it. She had confessed. She had played her heart.

Now she had to survive the aftermath.

But somehow, with Kita smiling beside her, Hitori felt like maybe, just maybe, she could.

Chapter Text

Sipping a bottle of ice-cold water, Hitori felt like a stranger to herself. 

Not only had she made another successful band performance in front a large audience, but she even had the girl of her dreams. The girl who always smiled at her without judgement. The girl who showed her kindness in the worst of times. The girl who showed her an extroverted world she would have never dreamed of entering. 

The girl she was not supposed to fall in love with. 

Those who warned her had meant well, Hitori was sure. They had been burned by the same kindness that warmed her soul, and so they feared for her. But they hadn’t known. They hadn’t seen what Hitori saw. They hadn’t been there on those quiet walks home, or during the late-night texts filled with nervous laughter, or in the silences when Kita looked at her with something unspoken but unmistakably present.

It was strange, really, the way love crept in. Slowly, not suddenly, filling every gap, until you woke one day to realize you were already surrounded. Already inside it.

She had already fallen for Kita long before anyone warned her.

Long before those classmates cornered her with their stories, their cautions, their broken hearts and worried eyes.

Long before Nijika had gently nudged her to express how she felt.

Long before her hands trembled over her guitar strings in the dark of her room, pulling notes from the deep ethers of her mind.

The truth was simple:

She had always been falling.

And now she had finally landed in Kita’s arms.

“Hey.”

Hitori blinked, startled from her thoughts. Kita had slipped beside her, clutching a towel in one hand, her cheeks pink with post-performance heat.

“You looked like you were in another world,” Kita teased, gently nudging her shoulder.

“I… was thinking,” Hitori admitted softly.

“About?”

“…you, Kita-chan,” she murmured, eyes lowering to the floor.

Kita froze mid-step, her eyes going wide, her face going pinker with each heartbeat. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. Then, in a move that closely resembled many of Hitori’s past meltdowns, Kita seemed to collapse inward, letting out a tiny squeak before sliding down to her knees and hiding her face.

“Hitori-chan…”

Meanwhile, Hitori stood shaking, her own face turning a violent shade of red. Her knees felt like gelatin and her grip on her guitar tightened, being the only thing keeping her upright.

From the other side of the club stage, Nijika, who had witnessed the entire exchange in amused disbelief, strolled over and placed a warm hand on Hitori’s shoulder, trying very hard not to laugh.

“I think you broke her, Bocchi-chan,” she whispered.

“Aaaah!” Kita squeaked from the floor, covering her flushed face with her hands. “Hitori-chan, since when were you so…”

“Charismatic? Charming? Sexy?” Ryo offered lazily from behind a stack of amps, her expression unreadable as always.

Nijika gave her a pointed look. “Really, Ryo?”

“Yes!” Kita cried, peeking through her fingers. “I don’t know what to make of this.”

Hitori sputtered. “I-I didn’t mean to—I just—Kita-chan, I—”

“It’s okay!” Kita said quickly, waving her hands, the towel now dangling from one wrist. “It’s just—you surprised me. You’re always so—so—”

“Weird?” Ryo chimed again, earning a swift flick on the arm from Nijika.

“No! I mean yes, but in a good way!” Kita flailed. “It’s just—I didn’t know you could say something like that so directly.”

“I didn’t either,” Hitori admitted. “It kind of… escaped.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, basking in the aftermath of a confession not loud, but real. Honest.

Then Kita stood, brushing dust from her knees. She stepped closer, eyes soft.

“I’m glad it did,” she said, her voice steady even as her cheeks betrayed her.

Hitori’s breath caught.

Kita reached out, hesitant at first, then with more certainty, and took Hitori’s hand in hers. Their fingers curled together, awkward at first, but fitting just right.

“I really like you,” Kita whispered, and the world faded around them, as if they were the only ones left. 

“Kita-chan…” Hitori’s voice cracked. She couldn’t say what she felt, not in words, but maybe she didn’t have to.

They just looked at each other. And that was enough.

A few minutes passed like that, in a deep comforting silence. It was warm, and Hitori realized she hadn’t felt that level of ease with someone before. Not really. Not like this.

Then, as if summoned by fate, Ryo ambled over, slinging her bass over one shoulder. “So… are you two dating now, or what?”

“Ryo!” Nijika hissed from across the room, her head whipping around. “Don’t ruin the mood!”

“I’m just asking,” Ryo replied, nonplussed. “You were thinking it too.”

Hitori’s ears turned pink again, and Kita looked as if she might spontaneously combust.

“I-It’s not that simple,” Hitori stammered. “We haven’t really… talked about labels or anything, so—”

“We’re figuring it out,” Kita interjected, cheeks flushed but voice steady. “But… yes. I want to date Hitori-chan. I mean, if she wants to date me too.”

“I do!” Hitori replied so quickly it startled even her. “I-I mean, yes. I want to date you too.”

Ryo gave a little shrug. “Cool. Just don’t make it weird during rehearsals.”

“It’s already weird during rehearsals,” Nijika muttered, grinning as she packed up her drumsticks.

Hitori could barely believe this was happening. Everything about today felt like a song, one of those unattainable fantasy songs she detested because of how unrealistic they sounded. But she had reached her fantasy. She was living it, marinating in its warmth. 

Maybe there was a layer of truth to those cringy ballads after all?

Or maybe not. 

Hitori still didn’t like them. But at least she now understood them. 

Later that night, she walked home beneath a sky heavy with stars, feeling something unfamiliar bloom in her chest.

Not anxiety. Not dread.

Pure, unadulterated, love.

It made her stomach hurt in the strangest way.

But she didn’t mind.

Because only one person made her feel like that.

And perhaps that made it just a little bearable.