Work Text:
[ ☾ Mitsuki ☾ ]
The plastic bag from the convenience store thwacked against her thigh in a measured beat like a ticking clock. It was a race against time as Mitsuki made her way down the quiet street.
Why was the line in the store back there so terribly, terribly long? Just why? And how come EVERYONE wanted their bento microwaved to such precise temperatures? She almost expected the elderly man in front of her to take out a thermometer.
Usually, this would have been a 10-minute walk towards home. One she was happy to take leisurely.
But, right now?
Her anime started in 6 minutes. Her sacred anime, featuring her favourite character: Yuzuha.
Yuzuha was a punk rock legend on the stage, a drummer-slash-guitarist who once destroyed a Harley Benton MR-Modern against an amp, then seamlessly withdrew a Gibson Les Paul from the realm of shadows in order to unleash a solo so devastating that Mitsuki’s ears still rang from the sonic whiplash.
Yuzuha was so cool. Mysterious, and emotionally complicated in an extremely intriguing way. Mitsuki definitely didn’t have a figurine shrine to her in the corner of her room or anything, right beside the limited-edition Blu-Ray bundle and a custom dakimakura she told herself she only used for lumbar support.
She never once imagined Yuzuha gently wiping sweat off her face with a towel and saying, “You’re the only fan who gets me…” or anything…of course not…
Yuzuha’s new insert song was dropping today. As a true supporter, she needed to see it happen in Real Time, not stream it post-premiere, because then her viewership wouldn’t be counted for the weekly rankings. She couldn’t miss it for the world. Her legs will just have to do double duty to make up for the time difference.
Speed-walking mode: ACTIVATED .
Her legs moved as if she was in a shounen training montage. It was like speed lines were trailing behind her. She suddenly could visualize her upcoming snack station setup: chips, chocolate, the balanced art of sweet-and-salty. She also saw herself situated in front of the screen of the TV. Volume calibrated to exactly loud enough to hear Yuzuha's sultry vocals but not wake her neighbours (which she did once and was forever mortified about).
She whipped out her phone, adjusting her glasses carefully as she peered at the screen. There was a little countdown counter displayed: 4 minutes, 23 seconds.
"I can make it," she panted, imagining Yuzuha's latest music. "I WILL make it. It’s my ninja way—"
THUD.
Mitsuki went down, her convenience store bag bursting in a shower of chips and emergency chocolate. Her glasses flew off her face in a perfect arc, landing with a tiny clink on the pavement.
“Oh no…my... my anime..." she wheezed. She felt like a defeated protagonist as she fumbled for her glasses on the sidewalk, which were thankfully still intact.
As her vision snapped back into HD, Mitsuki saw a girl.
No, not just a girl. A gyaru. An actual, real-life gyaru. Sprawled beneath the light of a vending machine, with long tan legs, pink-blonde hair that curled in a way that defied physics, boots that looked expensive and morally questionable, and, and, (here she wants to cover her eyes) a crop top so flimsy that it was basically almost a suggestion.
The vending machine’s light flickered, mirroring the state of Mitsuki’s life.
The girl’s eyes were closed. She was breathing, barely, face flushed with a dangerous fever-glow.
Mitsuki froze. Time slowed.
Her anime was probably starting. Plus, gyarus were mega scary! They always went like, “Who the hell are you again?” whenever Mitsuki tried to stutter out a greeting, invisible in her oversized glasses and drab as ever in her school uniform.
What about Yuzuha? She might already be punching someone out with a chord progression.
But yet, none of that mattered now.
Because this… this was a damsel in distress.
Thoughts on how to help sped by in her mind. CPR? No, oh no oh no. She needed subtitles for this sort of emergency.
She dropped to her knees, crouching beside the girl. “A-Are you okay? Can you talk?”
The girl stirred, letting out the tiniest little moan, her lashes fluttering.
Mitsuki's heart leapt to her throat. That was... that was actually really cute? Um, and, she’s actually really pretty? Wait, what if she opens her eyes and… they're violet? What if she’s an idol on the run? Or… what if she’s from another world??
Yup, Mitsuki might have been gay as hell, but unfortunately, her only experience with girls were of the 2D variety.
“Um,” Mitsuki breathed, panic setting in, “Can I—sorry—just, I’m gonna touch you—just to—uh—help you sit up—sorry—!”
She slipped an arm under the girl’s shoulder. The contact felt electric. The girl was half-conscious but immediately clung to her, arms wrapping around her neck like a sleepy koala.
Mitsuki’s heart started pounding so loud she was sure the whole block could hear it.
Then the girl’s eyes cracked open. Her eyes, impossibly, were actually pink? Pink like sakura blossoms, rose petals, or strawberry shaved ice.
“Who are you?” The girl murmured. Her voice was hoarse, a little bit sultry, but so sweet, that Mitsuki felt like she was going to get cavities. Nothing like the intimidating gyaru voice she previously feared.
“S-SORRY FOR TOUCHING YOU!” Mitsuki choked out, somehow managing to bow while still supporting the girl. “I just—you were on the ground and I thought—are you okay? I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—” she spiralled helplessly.
But the cherry-blossom-eyed girl just blinked at her with this soft, confused expression. She seemed to be taking in Mitsuki's messy hair, crooked glasses, and flushed face. Oh no. She must be completely creeped out by now.
And in the distance, barely audible, the opening notes of Yuzuha's insert song began to play from someone else’s apartment window.
The girl reached forward and—
[ ☆ Aya ☆ ]
It hit.
Like a bass drop in a Foo Fighters song. As if Dave Grohl himself had personally delivered a reality check straight to her fever-addled brain.
Aya blinked, suddenly way too lucid for her own good. The world snapped into focus with the sharp definition of freshly applied eyeliner.
Who in the world—?
Wait.
This wasn’t a gross sweaty club boy with vape breath and Axe body spray. This person was…
A nerd.
Maybe even the cutest nerd in the entire observable universe.
Soft cheeks that looked like they'd never seen a day of drama. Nervous energy that was somehow insanely endearing? A tiny mole under pale grey eyes that was so perfectly placed it had to be a beauty mark sent from heaven. And this nerd—this ADORABLE disaster of a human—smelled like clean laundry and lavender and felt like the world's softest cashmere sweater.
But also—
Aya's brain, despite running a fever that could melt her favourite FENTY lipstick, made a sudden, life-altering connection:
"Wait.” Aya thought, as the dizziness from hunger hit her again, "Was this my type ALL ALONG?? Why was I wasting time in gross clubs when I should've been haunting Akihabara???"
Her instincts were practically purring. This was premium material. Grade-A energy just waiting to be... appreciated.
Her vision swam. The nerd’s face shimmered like a summer mirage. Something playing in the background, out of someone’s window, sounded like the opening riffs of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit."
For half a second, she almost leaned in for what would definitely be the world's most devastating first kiss.
But instead, Aya smiled—sweet and grateful, and a little touch of smug. “You’re really cute,” she whispered.
Before the poor nerd could respond—or even remember how breathing worked—Aya slumped forward with perfect timing. Her head landed in the exact crook of the nerd's neck, guided by a divine matchmaking GPS.
Before she went fully unconscious, she heard a nervous squeak, and the sound of this distress was as heart-meltingly adorable to her as the one of a hamster, before gentle arms wrapped around her with the care of someone handling vintage vinyl, and then—
Everything went dark.
This had to be the best rescue ever.
[ ☾ Mitsuki ☾ ]
After Mitsuki let out the most embarrassing strangled noise, she somehow managed to pick up the girl.
She could already see her obituary: Local loser dies from trying to rescue hot stranger.
The girl, an unconscious pink-haired angel who was heavier than she looked— had been fireman-carried two entire blocks to Mitsuki’s house while she wheezed like an asthmatic marathon runner.
And now said angel was passed out on her bed.
In her room.
With Yuzuha watching from the posters, searing judgement into her soul.
It was a catastrophe of final-boss-level proportions.
“Oh no,”Mitsuki muttered, yanking open her closet to try and hide the worst of it. I can’t let her see the figures. Not the wall scroll. Not the mini-drum set. Oh no, THE DAKIMAKURA! WHERE DO I EVEN PUT THAT??
But it was too late. The damage was DONE.
The girl's eyes fluttered open from Mitsuki's pillow, half-buried in what was definitely, unmistakably, a Yuzuha-themed blanket. Her fevered gaze slowly toured the room—every sparkly corner packed with plastic girls, collectible merch, and the evidence of Mitsuki's complete and utter chaotic otaku descent into madness.
Then those pink eyes landed back on Mitsuki, who had frozen mid-hide like a glitched NPC during the heroine’s quest.
“Huuuuuh,” The girl made the cutest confused sound, voice still velvety and sleep-drunk. “Are these… idols?”
Mitsuki flushed a colour never before seen in nature. “N-not idols! It’s about music though! She’s in a band! At first it seems like your run-of-the-mill story but it’s actually very artistic and—“
She trailed off, horrified. Now the girl was sure to think she was a freak.
But the girl just kept looking. Wide-eyed. And then—
Absolutely delighted.
"This is the cutest room I've ever seen," she said with such genuine sincerity that Mitsuki's temporarily blue-screened. The girl curled up with the Yuzuha pillow like it was perfectly normal. "I like... I really, really like it."
Mitsuki.exe has stopped working.
"You—you must be sick!”she declared, spinning around like the camera angle of a 90’s dating sim. "Don't move! I shall—I shall make you soup!”
She bolted towards the kitchen like her entire dignity depended on it.
Small problem: she had never made soup before in her life.
/
Fifteen minutes later, Mitsuki stood in her tiny kitchen surveying the results of a dungeon cooking that could only make Senshi weep with trauma. There was a cut on her thumb (bandaged with a Kuromi band-aid), a microwaveable miso pack that she'd somehow managed to burn, and a lumpy mess of overcooked noodles and raw carrot chunks floating sadly in chicken broth.
She stared at her creation, feeling like she'd just committed some unholy act of culinary alchemy that would definitely get her banned from the State Alchemists forever.
"...Okay," she whispered to herself. "This is... this is technically edible. Probably."
/
Back in her room, the girl sat up sluggishly as Mitsuki approached with the tray, looking like a DPS player who'd been forced into the healer role because nobody else was online.
"Oh no, did you hurt yourself?" The girl's voice was soft with genuine concern as she reached for Mitsuki's bandaged finger.
Mitsuki flinched like she'd been dealt critical damage. "IT'S REALLY NOT THAT BAD! It was for a noble cause!"
The girl took the bowl and sniffed it delicately. Her pupils dilated slightly—but not from the food. From something else entirely. She leaned closer, visibly going through... something.
Mitsuki felt panicked. WHAT—do I smell bad?! I shower! I'm not unhygienic!
"You smell amazing," the girl whispered.
Mitsuki was 97% sure she'd heard wrong.
The girl took a brave bite of Mitsuki's culinary disaster. She actually shivered.
"...This is actually good," she lied with the conviction of a saint, then turned fever-bright eyes full of something dangerous toward Mitsuki. "I feel so warm..."
Mitsuki turned pink. "L-LET ME GET YOU A WET CLOTH!"
She runs for the bathroom, and extracted a face towel from the depths of the closet. Fortunately, this one wasn’t Yuzuha-themed. She almost breathed a sigh of relief, and turns the tap as hot as it could go to run the towel under it. Unfortunately, that also meant it scalded her fingers upon contact. “ACKK!”
Hopefully the girl didn’t hear that.
Back in her room, she dabbed the girl's forehead exactly like she'd seen in every anime ever. The girl leaned into the touch like a cat, staring up at her with glossy, unfocused eyes.
"You're really strong," the girl murmured appreciatively.
Mitsuki, mid-panic, could only stutter: “Th-that’s because I work out with resistance bands! A-at home!”
The girl sniffled as if genuinely moved. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
The question hit her like a Yuzuha drum solo.
Mitsuki looked down at her hands, suddenly pensive. "I dunno," she mumbled. "You just... looked like you needed help. Also you kinda… you kinda remind me of my favourite song, I guess."
It was true. But not because this girl looked like Yuzuha, or anything like that. But rather, if Yuzuha’s songs could be personified, Mitsuki felt like it might be something like the person in front of her.
The girl blinked, looking simultaneously woozy and deeply touched. She leaned forward again—closer than any person had ever been to Mitsuki in her entire socially awkward existence.
Mitsuki flailed to her feet. “B-bath! I-I’ll draw you a bath! It’ll help with the fever!!”
The girl purred—actually purred—stretching across the bed. She was a dangerous cat. "It'll only help if you get in with me."
Mitsuki screamed internally. “W-what?!”
“C’mon,” The girl whispered, sitting up gracefully despite her fever. “Don’t you want me to get better?”
She released so much pheromones it felt like Mitsuki was being hit by a very sexy sauna.
The girl reached for Mitsuki with her with hands that seemed to move in slow motion.
Mitsuki backed up so fast she crashed into her desk chair.
The girl stood—swaying, unsteady, but somehow still laser-focused like a heat-seeking missile. "You're so sweet. I feel safe with you." She takes a step forward, her hands finding the hem of Mitsuki's oversized hoodie. "Let's just share the bath. It's not weird. You're just a sweet boy, right?"
Boy.
BOY?!
The girl's fingers caught the fabric. She started to lift—
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no—
[ ☆ Aya ☆ ]
A sports bra.
Record scratch.
Freeze frame.
The nerd froze mid-stutter, shirt half-lifted, revealing what was definitely, unmistakably, 100% a sports bra.
Aya blinked. And blinked again. Her fever-fried brain tried to process this information like an iphone running on one percent battery.
Wait.
Wait wait wait.
Was this—
Aya's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Her instincts, which had been purring contentedly about "sweet innocent boy energy," suddenly screeched to a halt like a Nirvana song cut off mid-chorus.
"Wait," she rasped, voice hoarse from fever and the sudden onset of what could only be described as a panic of epic proportions.
"You're a girl?"
The nerd looked like she was about to combust from pure mortification.
"I—I NEVER SAID I WAS A BOY!" she yelped, yanking her shirt back down like her life depended on it. "YOU JUST—ASSUMED! A-and then you started taking my shirt off and—and—then you—!" She couldn't finish the thought.
[ ☾ Mitsuki ☾ ]
Mitsuki’s soul left her body. Her fight-or-flight instinct triggered so hard it invented a third option: Delete self from the timeline.
This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening.
She’d been trying to do a good deed. She was a good person. She helped a sick stranger! She made soup, for god’s sake—soup that broke several food safety laws and possibly the Geneva Convention, but still.
NO ONE HAD EVER FLIRTED WITH HER THIS HARD IN HER ENTIRE LIFE. Not at school. Not at work. Not on the Discord server where she was only admired for her gacha game pulls. This was uncharted territory, and although a part of her was not ready for it, another part of her was actually thrilled.
But the hot pink fever-dream girl peeling her hoodie off like they were two seconds away from a Studio Deen bathtub scene…
…actually thought she was someone of a completely different gender.
“I—” Mitsuki gasped, trying not to cry. Her back was flush against the desk, hands fisted in the hem of her hoodie. It was the last defense against complete psychological annihilation. “I think you need to lie down again.”
The girl blinked at her—but then she smiled again, and this time, it was slow, heavy, and… dangerously happy? “I do want to lie down,” she said. “But with you.”
[ ☆ Aya ☆ ]
Aya studied the nerd carefully.
Her whole world had just shifted on its axis. All her carefully constructed "innocent boy" fantasies crumbled into dust. This wasn't some sweet, naive guy she could gently corrupt with her charms.
This was a precious girl. A cute, flustered girl who still smelled like heaven and had just been taking care of her with the dedication of a saint.
But somehow, somehow…
"…I do want to lie down," she said faintly.
She collapsed back onto the bed.
The nerd stood there trembling, fistful of shirt clutched protectively, face on fire.
Well, Aya thought distantly, this changes everything.
“I do want lie down, but with you.”
[ ☾ Mitsuki ☾ ]
They had been lying very still next to each other for about four minutes.
Not sleeping. The girl was… just staring at the ceiling like she’d just realized her entire life was a lie.
Mitsuki lay beside her nervously, trying not to stare at the weirdly beautiful girl who had tried to seduce her, almost fainted, and then had an existential crisis—all in the span of ten minutes.
“…Are you okay?” Mitsuki asked. “Um. Say…. say something… please…”
The girl slowly turned her head. She blinked once, then twice, and said in a completely level voice:
“I think I’m gay.”
Mitsuki froze.
The girl sat up, swaying, and continued dreamily, “I always thought I was just a picky eater. All those guys in nightclubs always smelled so awful. I thought I had to force myself. But now I get it. I don’t like boys. I like… you.”
Mitsuki turned bright red. “M-m-m-me?!”
The girl smiled faintly, her fever making her shimmer. “You’re like… the world’s tastiest snack for me. Everything about you is delightful.”
Mitsuki made a sound like a squeaky dog toy.
The girl held out her hand. “I didn’t even ask your name. That was so rude of me. I’m Oosawa.” She tilted her head, then gave a sleepy smile. “But you can call me… Aya.”
Mitsuki gulped but took the hand. “O-okay, Oosawa-san…”
Aya pouted, her voice dropping half an octave:
“No. Call me Aya.”
“N-no!! We barely know each other!”
“But you were okay carrying me to your house? You were okay touching my fevered body? You were okay undressing me…”
“I—I only took off your jacket!!”
Aya leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief and misfired pheromones. “We’re both girls. It’s fine if we bathe together, right?”
Mitsuki felt like she was about to cry again, this time for a completely different reason.
Aya placed Mitsuki’s hand delicately over her chest. “But if you don’t help, I might…I might drown!”
[ ☆ Aya ☆ ]
The nerd made the bath extremely steamy.
She also kept her glasses on. The humidity fogged them immediately, and Aya wondered how she could see. She had brushed her bangs back and tied the bottom of her hair into a tiny low bun like some kind of pre-battle ritual.
Aya was already in the tub, her long pink hair twisted up, her limbs relaxed. The nerd slid in as far from her as possible, back straight, knees clenched, trying to be invisible.
Steam curled around them like a shoujo filter.
Aya sighed, draping her arms over the sides. “You smell even better when you’re warm.”
“Wh—what does that mean?!”
Aya didn’t answer. She leaned back and said, “Take off your glasses.”
“No!”
“C’mon. Just for a second.”
“I—I can’t!”
Aya gave her the most tragic, manipulative eyes ever born. “Please?”
With trembling fingers, The nerd slid her glasses off.
Blinked.
“…Oh thank god,” she breathed. “I can’t see. I’ve never been so glad to have bad eyesight.”
Aya almost gasped again, but stopped herself because she didn’t want her voice to echo in the bathroom.
The nerd was adorable was glasses on, but she was absolutely breathtaking with them off. Aya would be blissed out to just caress the nerd’s face for hours. She doesn’t even think she can even look at the face in front of her for too long without feeling like she was melting.
So to save herself from turning into a puddle of goo, she turned away, her back to the nerd. She tilted her head back. “Do you mind washing my hair?”
There was a pause.
Aya waited.
Very slowly, the nerd inched closer, scooped up the shampoo, and began working it into Aya’s scalp.
Her fingers trembled.
Aya made a small, content sound. “Mmm… You’re really good at this. You’d be a good familiar.”
“W-what?”
Aya hummed but didn’t clarify. “I still don’t know your name.”
The nerd blinked behind the fog. “Oh. Uh. It’s… Koga. Koga Mitsuki.”
Aya turned back slightly, eyes soft.
“Mitsuki,” she echoed, like she was tasting it. “That’s so cute.”
Mitsuki’s beautiful face turned red, as Aya gave her a little peck on the cheek. “I like you, Mitsuki-san.”
[ ☾ Mitsuki ☾]
Aya was still warm with fever, but she’d stopped radiating as much supernatural thirst. Now, she lay curled on Mitsuki’s futon like a content cat, head in Mitsuki’s lap, eyes fluttering open and shut as Mitsuki slowly combed her fingers through that soft, pink hair.
“I think I love your hands,” Aya murmured suddenly, voice half-asleep.
Mitsuki nearly jumped. “M-my—?!”
“Your fingers,” Aya said dreamily. “They’re beautiful. Like a guitarist. So elegant and careful…”
Guitarist?
Mitsuki’s heart skipped a beat. Like Yuzuha-sama?
She glanced at her poster of Love!Beat!, specifically Yuzuha. Yuzuha had been Mitsuki’s bias since middle school.
Aya looked up at her with flushed cheeks and glossy, fever-dazed eyes. “I have a feeling,” she whispered, “that I would never be able to get enough of you…”
Mitsuki opened her mouth to say something, but her brain had once again game-overed.
Aya reached up, brushed her fingers over Mitsuki’s face, and sighed. “You feel like a dream…”
And then—softly, languidly, like it was the most natural thing in the world—she leaned up and kissed Mitsuki, but on the mouth this time.
It wasn’t dramatic or even particularly coordinated. Her lips were warm, and a little clumsy. But Mitsuki froze, eyes wide, as the kiss lingered, so incredibly gentle and strange and so real.
Aya glowed faintly. A low hum vibrated in the air. Something invisible shimmered again. It felt like magic.
When Aya pulled back, she blinked rapidly. She looked dazed, but not feverish anymore. She sat up slowly, touched her lips, and stared at Mitsuki in horror.
“…Did I—did we—?!” Aya’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh my god?!”
Mitsuki, still frozen, nodded once.
Aya clutched her head. “I fed on you?! Oh my god—Koga-san I’m so sorry! I thought you were a delusion—I thought I was dead—I was going to fade into the spirit realm and I thought, well, why not kiss someone perfect first!”
Mitsuki blinked. “Perfect…? Me?”
Aya groaned and rolled off the futon, landing in a pile of blankets. “I’m sorry, I am so going to DIE of embarrassment. AGAIN.”
/
Ten minutes later, Aya had mostly recovered.
She sat on Mitsuki’s desk chair in one of Mitsuki’s oversized hoodies, now looking less like a delirious hallucination and more like a very apologetic student. Her hair was still damp from the bath, and she had wrapped her legs in a fleece blanket covered in chibi mascots from Love!Beat!.
“So… I’m a succubus,” Aya said.
Mitsuki, kneeling on the bed with her phone in hand, nodded. “Okay.”
“And I can feed off emotional and sensual energy. Not just sex. Don’t worry. I don’t need, like, that.”
Mitsuki blushed furiously. “I-I didn’t think you needed that!!”
Aya avoided her eyes. “You were just… really compatible. That’s rare. And you were being so kind. And you smelled so good. And since demons like me can tell when someone had like.. never kissed before, it made your kiss really potent…which is even more rare…”
Mitsuki whimpered. “Please stop describing me.”
Aya handed her a card. “Anyway. This is the app. SuccuCare. It helps human companions manage recovery, feeding intervals, and energy safety. It also has recipes.”
“…Recipes?!”
“For post-feeding snacks,” Aya said, like it was obvious.
Mitsuki downloaded it. The icon was a pink heart with a devil tail. It had five stars. She scrolled through the reviews: “Saved my girlfriend’s life. Try the honey-ginger tea!!”
Aya fidgeted with the sleeve of Mitsuki’s hoodie.
“I’m really sorry for everything,” she said softly. “I was… not in my right mind. I shouldn’t have done any of that without your permission.”
Mitsuki peeked over from behind her Yuzuha pillow. “It’s… it’s okay. You were really sick. It seems you thought I was… imaginary.”
“That’s still not a great excuse.” Aya paused, then bowed a little, voice smaller. “Thank you, Koga-san. For taking care of me. Even when I was a mess.”
Mitsuki’s heart did a strange little somersault.
“…You can still call me Mitsuki,” she whispered.
Aya looked up, eyes wide.
“…Okay, Mitsuki-san.”
Aya didn’t say her name teasingly. She said it quietly, smiling as if it was something precious.
[EPILOGUE]
Aya vanished the next morning.
Mitsuki thought she might leave a note. But there was nothing. Just… gone.
So it was all just a fever dream, one with really soft hair and way too many pheromones.
Mitsuki stared at her empty futon for a long time. Then she looked around at her room: anime posters, unopened blu-rays, her shrine of Love!Beat! figures. Yuzuha-sama stared serenely from her wall, the only constant in this whirlwind of chaos.
Mitsuki sighed.
“I mean,” she muttered, “At least I’m not a kiss virgin anymore.”
She tried to laugh but it came out weird.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of reheated combini bentos, anime rewatching, and deep internal spirals.
Aya hadn’t even told her why she left. Or what the kiss meant. Or anything. Mitsuki told herself it was fine. She’s a succubus. She feeds on people. It probably didn’t mean anything. It’s not like I…
She paused mid-sip of her melon soda.
No. She wasn’t going to finish that thought.
By Friday, something snapped.
Mitsuki walked to Mandarake, with her most prized 1/7 scale Yuzuha figure, and said aloud: “I’m sorry. You deserve a better home.”
She sold her. And the limited edition badges. And the autographed towel from that one collab cafe.
With the money, she walked straight to a music shop in Koenji and bought the cheapest beginner guitar she could find.
Back home, she pulled up a tutorial video and stared at her new, unfamiliar hands.
“If I can’t be like Yuzuha-sama,” she mumbled, “Maybe I can still play like her…”
The first chord sounded like a dying goat.
She tried again.
/
The next Monday, Mitsuki trudged into homeroom with band-aids on her fingers and a guitar pick in her pocket. She was about to open her notebook when the teacher clapped her hands.
“Alright class! We’ve got a new transfer student today. She just moved into the area, so please make her feel welcome!”
Mitsuki looked up.
Pink hair.
Gold earrings.
Those glossy pink eyes.
The girl smiled.
“I’m Oosawa Aya. I hope we can all get along.”
The teacher gestured. “Oosawa-san, you can take the empty seat next to—oh, Koga-san! Perfect.”
Mitsuki dropped her mechanical pencil. It rolled on the floor for a couple of turns before hitting the front of Aya’s indoor school shoes.
Aya bent down to pick it up, and then handed it to Mitsuki, before leaning over with a wicked little grin, and whispered:
“So… Mitsuki-san, I hope we really really get along.”
Mitsuki’s brain exploded.
[End♡]