Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room was dim, lit only by the orange light filtering through the window. Yuzu sat on the floor, her guitar resting against her thigh, an open notebook beside her filled with crossed-out lines, arrows, and unfinished phrases. A half-burnt cigarette sat forgotten in the ashtray, lost between chords and frustrated sighs.

She strummed the strings again.

Nothing.

She tried once more, this time slowing the rhythm, letting each note breathe a little more. She closed her eyes. Something was there, something was being born… but it still wasn’t enough.

The apartment door opened with a soft thud. Yuzu didn’t turn.

“Composing again?” Matsuri asked as she hung her jacket and dropped her bag onto the couch. Her voice had that lazy teasing tone she used when she wasn’t sure if she should care or annoy.

“Trying. But it’s not sounding the way I want it to.” Yuzu sighed and stretched. “Did it sound like anything from the entrance?”

“Yeah. Weird... but not bad,” Matsuri replied, approaching barefoot, hair messy and smelling of smoke. “Play it.”

Yuzu hesitated for a second, then got back into position. She started playing again, more freely this time. The notes seemed to shed their fear with Matsuri watching.

“See?” Yuzu said when she finished. “It feels like something’s missing. I don’t know if it’s the rhythm, the lyrics, or my damn existence.”

“Nah. It’s good. It just... needs to breathe. Want me to help?”

“Obviously. Sing if you want, let’s see what comes out.”

They sat facing each other, guitar between them, and began to jam. Matsuri improvised with her voice, throwing out sweet and provocative lines, some nonsensical, others that made Yuzu laugh. In half an hour, they’d already built the skeleton of a song, the kind that’s born with no pressure, just from the love of shared noise.

Yuzu set the guitar aside and collapsed onto the carpet.

“This is why I love writing with you, Matsuri.”

“Because I’m a misunderstood genius. I know.”

“Because even though you’re insufferable, you make the music flow.”

“That too.”

They both laughed.

Then Yuzu remembered something. She sat up abruptly.

“Oh! Arata texted me. He said he’s throwing a party this weekend. He wants us to play. Says it’s gonna be ‘full of interesting people,’ according to him.”

“A party? With booze?”

“Yes, Matsuri. With booze.”

“Then I’m in.”

Yuzu pulled out her phone and dialed. Harumi took a while to answer.

“…Yeah?” came a sleepy voice.

“Party this weekend. We’re playing. Arata’s throwing it. You in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“None.”

“Then… sure.”

“Great. Bring the sexy drums. We’re gonna shine.”

She hung up laughing.

“Well, I guess now we have a reason to practice till the weekend,” Matsuri said in her usual tone, excitement all over her face.

“You said it.”

And somewhere else in the city, in a house with a perfectly tuned grand piano, Mei Aihara was also reading Arata’s message. Her brow furrowed, slightly annoyed she’d agreed to go somewhere so… mundane. Himeko was far more excited than her, as always. But there was something about seeing Arata again. About being among strangers, outside her marble bubble of scores and tradition.

Mei didn’t know it yet, but that night would mark the start of something even the most perfect music couldn’t have foreseen.

[…]

“What are you gonna wear?” Matsuri asked from the kitchen while half-heartedly stirring a pot of instant noodles. “Don’t tell me it’s that same black shirt.”

“So what if it is?” Yuzu called from the couch, guitar on her chest, fingers numb from repetition. “It’s comfy. Makes me look like a depressed rock star. Gotta keep the look.”

“It’s a party, Yuzu. Not an intervention.”

“For me, every party is an intervention if there’s too many people. Besides, I’ll probably take it off halfway through the set anyway, you know that.”

Matsuri laughed, then blew on her noodles and sat beside her.

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Yuzu shrugged. Maybe she was. Not about the music, she had that part down. But parties... crowds, stares, the pressure to seem like an upgraded version of herself. That drained her before she even left the house.

“I just want it to sound right. No cables unplugging, no Harumi forgetting her sticks again…”

“Relax. It’s gonna be great. I’ve got a feeling tonight’s gonna be different.”

Yuzu didn’t reply, but that word, “different”, kept echoing in her mind.

[…]

At the Aihara house

“Can’t you pretend to be excited for once in your life?” Himeko sighed, trying to choose between two dark dresses. “It’s just a party.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Mei said, not looking up from the piano. “Drunk people, loud music, annoying lights…”

“And cute boys. Don’t forget that.”

Mei stopped playing.

“I’m not going for that.”

“Then why go at all?”

Mei thought of Arata. Of how he always invited her to unorthodox things. How he was one of the few who treated her not as an Aihara, but just… Mei.

“I guess I need… air.”

“Well, let it be air with heels, please. No showing up like you’re heading to a piano competition.”

Mei sighed. There was no turning back now.

[…]

At the party – 10:38 p.m.

Arata’s house was made for parties. High ceilings, dim lighting, a garden with hanging lanterns and perfectly placed speakers. The air smelled of alcohol, expensive perfume, and smoke. People were talking, laughing, dancing.

Yuzu and her band had already done sound check. Everything was in place. The small makeshift stage in the backyard had its own decadent charm. She smoked a cigarette against the wall, watching the crowd. Matsuri was flirting with a girl near the drink table. Harumi was stoically adjusting her cymbals.

That’s when she saw her.

Mei had arrived minutes ago, dressed in a white silk blouse and dark trousers, her hair elegantly tied back, with a presence that made everyone around her lower their voices.

Yuzu didn’t know who she was. But she couldn’t stop staring.

Arata approached Mei with a radiant smile.

“You made it. Just in time to hear something other than Mozart for once.”

“I hope it’s bearable.”

“It will be. And I hope you meet the band. Especially the singer. I think… you two might get along.”

Mei raised an eyebrow. She followed Arata indifferently into the garden. Yuzu was already preparing to step on stage.

Their eyes met for the first time.

And it was as if the background noise cut out for a second. Just that. A glance, green and violet, strange and intense. Then Yuzu stepped on stage with the cigarette still between her fingers, put it out on her boot, and picked up her guitar.

“Ahem… Good evening,” she said into the mic. “We’re White Noise. And this song doesn’t have a name yet, but it was born this week, between laughter and dumb ideas.”

She began to play.

Mei didn’t look away for a single second.

Yuzu’s voice wasn’t perfect, but it had soul. Every word slid between scratchy notes and rough chords, as if the song had been carved out of raw emotion. Her guitar sounded like a raspy whisper fighting to be heard.

Mei didn’t fully understand that kind of music. It was raw, unpredictable... full of deliberate mistakes and awkward silences. But for some reason, she couldn’t walk away. She couldn’t stop watching that blonde girl with the most expressive eyes she’d seen in ages. As if every note she sang was a confession.

When the song ended, there were applause. Some sincere, some drunk. Matsuri bowed like she was at the Tokyo Dome, while Harumi tossed a drumstick in the air with zero enthusiasm.

Yuzu stepped off the stage without much ceremony. Her gaze met Mei’s again. This time, Mei didn’t look away.

Arata brought their worlds together.

“Yuzu,” he called, weaving through the crowd with a drink in hand. “Come here. I want you to meet someone.”

Yuzu ran a hand through her hair, adrenaline still buzzing in her fingers.

“Now? I can barely breathe.”

“Exactly. You’re at the perfect sweet spot between cocky and vulnerable. Come on.”

Yuzu followed with a crooked smile.

When she stood in front of Mei, there was a brief, awkward moment. Not out of hostility. Just something neither of them had words for yet.

“This is Mei,” Arata said proudly. “Professional pianist, ruthless music critic in her spare time.”

“I’m just honest,” Mei clarified, eyes fixed on Yuzu.

“And this is Yuzu. Vocalist, guitarist, prophet of chaos.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mei said, nodding politely.

“Pleasure, miss,” Yuzu replied, bowing slightly. “Though I doubt you have a great impression of me so far. Still, I wouldn’t mind meeting a pianist.”

Mei’s lips tightened slightly. Was that flirting?

“You don’t play badly,” she said at last. “It’s… different from what I’m used to.”

“Sounds like ‘not my style, but I guess you don’t suck.’”

“That’s an acceptable summary.”

Both smiled. Briefly. Subtly. As if acknowledging that something strange had just happened but neither wanted to name it yet.

“You’re not playing tonight?” Yuzu asked.

“No. I don’t play at parties.”

“Shame. I’d love to hear what your world sounds like.”

Mei didn’t answer. But the silence spoke for her.

“You staying long?” Yuzu added.

“Not sure. Maybe. You?”

“Until I lose my voice… or the wine runs out.”

A pause.

“Then I guess I’ll see you around.”

Yuzu nodded. Someone called from the stage, Matsuri, drink in hand, making an obscene gesture and yelling something about not flirting too much.

Yuzu turned to Mei one last time.

“See you around, elegant pianist.”

“See you, Okogi-san.”

And when Yuzu walked away, it was the first time in a long while that Mei felt out of sync with her own rhythm.

She stayed a few more minutes, drink in hand but not drinking. She watched Yuzu climb the stage again, this time to improvise with Matsuri, a half-formed song that vibrated with raw energy. It wasn’t her kind of music. It lacked the precision of a symphony, the controlled drama of an aria. But it had something.

Passion.

Truth.

And that was more unsettling than she’d expected.

Himeko appeared beside her like a perfume-scented ghost.

“When did you start getting into girls who look like delinquents?”

“I’m not getting into anyone,” Mei said coldly.

“Sure, sure. You’re just looking at her like she dismantled your universe in three chords.”

Mei turned slightly, not replying. In the distance, Yuzu laughed, guitar slung over her shoulder and an unlit cigarette between her lips. Her energy had no filter. Everything was on display. Everything was raw.

And that… was scary.

“Wanna go?” Himeko asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Because of the girl?”

“Because of the music.”

Himeko didn’t push. Sometimes, it was better not to press Mei when she spoke in that low voice, like she was tuning an invisible string between her chest and her head.

[…]

Yuzu’s body still buzzed with the last chords as she got off stage. She handed the guitar to Harumi, wiped the sweat from her neck, and headed straight toward Matsuri, who already had her headphones on, prepping her set.

“Ready?”

“Always. Go socialize or something,” the bassist grinned as she dropped the first beats. The mood shifted instantly, lower lights, deep bass, and that rhythm that crawled under everyone’s skin.

Yuzu grabbed a beer from the minibar and slipped down a hallway, away from the noise. She needed air, even if just for a moment.

The glass door led her to a small garden lit by warm string lights hanging between trees. She walked slowly, aimless. Took a long sip from her beer and let out a sigh.

And there she was.

Sitting on a stone bench, back straight, eyes on the sky.

The same girl she’d seen near the stage. Dark hair, elegant posture, like even in the middle of a party she couldn’t stop being perfect.

Yuzu thought about going back inside. She hated bothering people who seemed to want to be alone.

But something kept her there. Maybe it was how out of place that girl looked. Like she didn’t belong at this party, or in this world.

“Mind if I sit?” Yuzu asked, pointing to the other end of the bench.

The girl looked at her, surprised, but not annoyed.

“It’s a public space. Do what you want.”

Yuzu chuckled a little. Not mockingly. Just at the stiffness of the answer.

“Well, aren’t you aristocratic.”

“And you, disheveled.”

“You’ve got a good eye.”

Silence.

The air smelled of damp grass and tobacco. The music thumped distantly, like a persistent echo.

“I didn’t see you dance,” Yuzu said after a while.

“I didn’t come for that.”

“Then… why?”

“Arata invited me. Said I needed a distraction,” the girl replied, still not looking at her.

“Did it work?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

This time, Yuzu stayed quiet. She drank more beer, then held the bottle between her knees, peeling the label with her thumb.

“You don’t seem like the type to get distracted easily,” she finally said.

“And you don’t seem like the type to shut up.”

Yuzu laughed, a real laugh, light and unfiltered, like the comment hit her funnier than she expected.

“Touché,” she admitted. “By the way, I’m Yuzu. Yuzu Okogi.”

“Mei Aihara.”

“Aihara? As in that Aihara?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Didn’t expect that. I figured you liked rock on your own.”

“I don’t like rock,” Mei said bluntly. “Didn’t expect you to know anything about classical music.”

Yuzu tilted her head, pausing.

“Well, I went to music school when I was younger. So… If you don’t like rock, why did you stay when I played?”

Mei finally looked at her. Her eyes were calm, but there was something tense beneath.

“Because it wasn’t rock. It was something I hadn’t heard before.”

Yuzu felt something shift in her chest.

“Sounds like a compliment.”

“Maybe it is.”

And for the first time, Mei smiled. A brief, restrained smile. But real.

Yuzu held her gaze. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

There was noise at the party, but between the two of them, only the echo of a new melody remained.

“You know,” Yuzu said after a few minutes of silence, watching how the string lights reflected in Mei’s eyes, “I never imagined I’d end up talking to someone like you tonight.”

Mei arched an eyebrow, faintly amused.

“Someone like me?”

“Yes. The kind who looks like they came straight out of a classical pianists’ catalogue. Elegant, mysterious, with that air of ‘don’t touch it unless it’s a Steinway.’”

“What do I look like to you?” Mei asked, turning slightly toward her.

“You… look like someone who’s searching for something, but isn’t sure if they want to find it.”

Mei stayed silent. Not because she had nothing to say, but because the words disarmed her more than she’d like to admit.

“You’re not far off. And you?” she asked then. “What are you looking for?”

Yuzu smiled, shrugging.

“A song that makes me feel something again. Like when I was a kid. Like when my old man would play the guitar in the kitchen and make me sing with him.”

“Your father was a musician?”

“He tried to be. Had a band, but it never got past empty bars and debts. He died when I was fifteen. Since then… I don’t know. I’ve felt that if I don’t make it, then his dream dies completely.”

Mei lowered her gaze. Her expression had softened, more human.

“That’s a lot of weight for one person.”

“I know. But it’s also the only thing that keeps me playing. That feeling that every note is like telling him, ‘I didn’t forget you.’”

The silence between them grew more intimate. This time it wasn’t awkward—it was as if they were processing the same thing from different sides.

“You play with your heart,” Mei said quietly.

“Don’t you?”

Mei hesitated.

“I play with technique. With perfection. That’s what I was taught.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

“…Sometimes. When no one’s watching.”

Yuzu glanced at her from the side. Mei’s serious face, with that faint shadow of melancholy, made something stir in her chest. Not sadness—interest. Genuine interest.

“Would you like to come to one of our rehearsals?” she asked with a smile. “You could try playing without anyone expecting anything from you. Just you, the piano, and us making noise in the background.”

Mei let out a short laugh, her first genuine one that night.

“I don’t know if I could handle your bassist.”

“No one can. That’s why we love her,” Yuzu said with a grin.

A distant murmur interrupted the moment. From inside the house came Harumi’s voice shouting something, followed by Matsuri’s loud laughter, she had probably started mixing reggaeton with alternative rock again.

“Sounds like they’re causing trouble already,” Mei remarked.

“It’s their favorite pastime.”

Yuzu stood, stretching lazily. She looked at Mei one last time, a little closer now. Then, without overthinking it, she pulled a folded card from her pocket it was the band’s, with her number written on the back.

“In case you feel like ditching perfection for an afternoon,” she said with a wink. “You’re welcome anytime.”

Mei took the card without a word. She just tucked it carefully into her bag, as if it were something she wasn’t sure she wanted to use… but couldn’t throw away.

Yuzu walked away, back into the chaos and noise. But she was smiling.

And Mei, still sitting there, looked at the spot where she had left, then up at the sky. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel alone in the middle of so much music.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The light filtered in through the half-open curtains, persistent and cruel. A beam landed straight on Yuzu’s face, making her squint with a groan.

“Ugh… shit.”

She turned, expecting to find her pillow, but instead her hand hit the neck of her guitar, still lying on the floor beside the couch where she’d collapsed a few hours earlier. Her back cracked as she tried to sit up, and the first thing she felt was the relentless pounding in her head. She let out another groan.

“Why did I drink? Why did I mix? …Why was I even born?”

She got up slowly, with the grace of a wet cat. The apartment was a disaster: empty cans, glasses everywhere, an open bag of chips spilled on the table, and what looked like a sparkly wig hanging from the coat rack.

She stumbled to the kitchen and switched on the automatic coffee maker. The sound alone was enough to stir something in the hallway.

From Matsuri’s room emerged Harumi, hair messy and wearing a t-shirt from some 90s band that wasn’t hers. She rubbed her eyes, looking just as destroyed as Yuzu felt.

“What are you doing coming out of that room?” Yuzu asked, dragging the words like they weighed ten pounds each.

Harumi shrugged, yawning.

“I don’t know, I just remember Matsuri telling me she had the comfiest bed in the world, and then everything went fuzzy.”

“And was she right?”

“No. She had like twenty empty beer cans on it and I had to sleep with them.”

They both laughed softly, though each giggle sent another hammer blow to their skulls.

Yuzu poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Harumi. They drank in silence for a moment, until Matsuri showed up, hair a mess, cigarette dangling from her lips, wearing an unbuttoned plaid shirt over a tank top.

“Can someone explain why there’s sauce on the ceiling?”

“Aren’t you the one who should be explaining that?” Yuzu shot back, amused.

“All I remember is someone yelling, ‘Do it, Matsuri!’ and… well, I did it.”

She flopped onto the couch like a defeated rock star and looked at Yuzu.

“You were on fire last night. Played like Hendrix himself had possessed you.”

Yuzu smiled at the memory, but not because of the music.

“I met someone.”

Matsuri raised an eyebrow.

“Someone? A girl?”

Harumi turned quickly, as if her radar had picked up a signal.

“Wait, wait. You, Yuzu Okogi, met someone at the party and didn’t tell us?!”

“I didn’t have time! I went out to get some air in the garden and ran into her... by the way, her name’s Mei.”

“What kind of Mei?” Matsuri asked dramatically. “Like ‘let’s grab a coffee’ Mei, or ‘she made me question everything I believed about life and love’ Mei?”

“Hmm, more like ‘doesn’t fit in at parties but doesn’t want to leave either.’ She’s a pianist, daughter of a tenor, serious, elegant, and one of those people who make you feel like you’re walking crooked just by standing near them.”

“Whew, sounds like someone who shouldn’t hang out with you,” Harumi said.

“Exactly!” Yuzu grinned. “That’s what caught my attention.”

Matsuri stretched on the couch and pointed her cigarette at Yuzu like it was an accusatory finger.

“I’d bet you a pack of smokes she never shows up again. Girls like that are like the wind, Yuzu. Mysterious. Untouchable.”

“I gave her my card.”

“So what? I give my number to cute waitresses too.”

“We’ll see,” Yuzu said, sipping her coffee. “Sometimes the wind sticks around… if it likes the melody.”

Matsuri clicked her tongue in amusement and got up to look for food, while Harumi checked her phone.

“By the way,” she said, “Arata texted. He said last night was amazing and his cousin won’t shut up about ‘the girl with the guitar.’ Wants to know if he can come to a rehearsal to ‘see the artistic process.’”

Yuzu raised an eyebrow.

“His cousin…?”

Harumi gave her a “seriously?” look.

“A big shot,” they both said in unison.

Yuzu felt a little jump in her chest. Not nerves. Anticipation.

“Could be a big opportunity,” Matsuri said from the kitchen. “Things are about to get interesting.”

Yuzu smiled. The coffee was kicking in. The headache was still there, but something stronger had taken hold: curiosity… and a little excitement.

“This place looks like a war zone…” Harumi muttered, broom in hand, judging everything. “How did you make this much of a mess in one night?”

“With alcohol, chips, and zero concern for tomorrow,” Matsuri answered while picking up bottles from the floor.

Sunlight filtered through the half-shut blinds, casting warm lines over the messy furniture. The room smelled of tobacco, dried sweat, and something nobody wanted to identify. The dining table was covered in empty glasses, takeout boxes, makeshift ashtrays, and scattered makeup.

Yuzu walked out of her room still in pajamas: an oversized shirt, athletic shorts, and a hair clip pulling her bangs back. She had a broom in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“If we keep this up, we’ll find hungover cockroaches wearing sunglasses tomorrow.”

“They’ll probably hear better than you,” Matsuri muttered, sticking her head under the couch to retrieve a lost drumstick.

Harumi helped by lifting cushions and tossing them like projectiles. A pillow flew and smacked Yuzu in the face.

“Hey! Assault to the vocalist…”

“Band rebellion!” Harumi declared, unbothered. “Clean or mutiny.”

“Fine, fine!” Yuzu groaned, setting her cup aside and starting to sweep lazily. “But if we find a sock from three weeks ago, I’m not responsible for my scream.”

“Or your stench, probably,” Matsuri added.

Somewhere in the chaos, someone started music from Harumi’s phone. A slow rock song with mellow riffs and steady drums filled the room as the three of them got to cleaning. It wasn’t fast, but it had the perfect tempo to make the task less miserable.

“Whose song is this?” Yuzu asked.

“New band from Osaka. Saw them in a bar two weeks ago,” Harumi said. “Kinda reminded me of you, but with less existentialism and more catchy riffs.”

“Sounds good,” Yuzu admitted. “Though nothing beats emotional chaos with distortion.”

“And your screams mid-chorus. That’s therapy,” Matsuri added.

All three laughed as they kept cleaning. At some point, Harumi finished sweeping and sat down to roll up the loose amp cables from yesterday’s rehearsal. Matsuri opened the windows to let out the lingering smoke, while Yuzu cleaned the kitchen, rescuing two forgotten teacups and a plate with dried curry remnants.

“We should schedule a cleaning day every week,” Yuzu said dreamily.

“Before or after the neighborhood cats sue us for visual pollution?” Harumi asked.

“I vote for never,” Matsuri said. “This is rock. The dust gives the place personality.”

“Personality shouldn’t smell like decomposing socks,” Yuzu fired back.

With jokes, mock scolding, and the occasional death threat over unwashed dishes, the place finally started to look decent. The midday sun no longer filtered through smoke and chaos but shone over a tidied-up living room, a couch with (mostly) arranged cushions, and a little table with fresh coffee in clean cups.

Harumi collapsed on the couch like she’d just run a marathon.

“I’m too old for this.”

“You’re twenty-one, Haru,” Matsuri said, putting down the floor rag.

“I repeat: too old for this.”

Yuzu stretched like a cat and smiled, looking around at the now-walkable apartment.

“Well, at least we won’t die from intoxication.”

“Yet,” the other two said in unison.

They laughed.

Later, Yuzu would check her phone and find a message from Arata.
A message that simply read:
“Did you like the pianist? Because she definitely heard you.”

But that would come later.

For now, there was sunlight, low music, the smell of fresh coffee… and a feeling that, somehow, things were just beginning.

The boxes were empty, the gear was stored, the guitars rested on their stands, and the mini-fridge was stocked with water bottles and a few cheap beers Matsuri had brought “just in case.” The small handmade “White Noise” sign hung on one of the walls, drawn in black marker and splattered with paint that made it look more authentic than improvised.

Between laughter, stories, and the silent satisfaction of shared exhaustion, tiredness finally took over.

The three of them had fallen asleep.

Harumi and Matsuri, without a word, had collapsed on some blankets in the widest corner of the room, side by side. Matsuri was using Harumi’s arm as a pillow, and Harumi didn’t seem to mind at all. Even in sleep, she looked peaceful, her breathing calm. Yuzu, on the other hand, had crashed on the old couch they’d dragged from her house. One leg dangled off the edge. Her golden hair tangled on the cushion, lips slightly parted. She breathed slowly and softly.

Time passed gently, carried by the light streaming in from the window, with motes of dust dancing as if time itself had paused.

Harumi was the first to open her eyes. She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, disoriented, until she felt the weight of Matsuri still on her arm.

“Again? Seriously?” she muttered, voice raspy, but made no move to push her away.

Matsuri mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled in closer, her body unconsciously seeking warmth.

Harumi sighed, resigned, and smiled.

She sat up carefully, stretching her sore neck as the sleep faded.

The room was silent. The music had stopped a while ago. Only the occasional street noise filtered in through the open window.

She turned her head and saw Yuzu still asleep on the couch, her expression so peaceful it didn’t even seem like her. Not the usual electric Yuzu. This was a soft version, unfiltered, without the layer of rebellion she wore during the day.

Harumi stood up slowly, stepping around Matsuri, and headed to the kitchen to boil some water. She was about to take out three mugs when she heard the vibration of a phone. Soft, barely noticeable, but it broke the calm bubble that had formed in the studio.

It came from the couch.

Yuzu frowned in her sleep, rolled over, and fumbled until she found her phone. She unlocked it halfway, eyes still squinting. But what she read woke her up completely.

“Hey Yuzu, I’m throwing another party in a month. Last night was amazing, and I’d love for you all to come again. You in?”

Yuzu sat up, eyes half-shut, hair a complete mess.

She read the message again.
And smiled.

“Matsuri…” she called weakly.

“Mmm…”

“Arata says he’s throwing another party next month. Wants to know if we’re in.”

Harumi poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Another party? Already?”

“Looks like they liked us more than we thought,” Yuzu said, more awake now, and began typing her reply with her thumbs.

‘Hell yeah. Count us in.’

“You already said yes?” Matsuri asked, now waking up and sitting slowly.

“Obviously,” Yuzu winked. “We’re not letting that opportunity slip away, are we?”

“Nah… but this time, I’m picking the setlist,” Matsuri muttered, yawning. “And I refuse to carry the amps again.”

“You’re still carrying them, loudmouth,” Harumi said, tossing a pillow her way without much force.

[…]

“Ugh… did last night happen or did I get high on pizza fumes?” Matsuri muttered, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. Her body still ached from the party, despite having spent most of the day sprawled out.

“If it was a dream, then why do I still have this beer mark on my face?” Harumi groaned, lifting her head to show a red line on her cheek, courtesy of passing out on a bottle.

Yuzu, eyes still half-shut, smiled lazily and brushed her hair back with one hand.

“Anyone else remember the cowboy hat guy dancing alone in the kitchen?” she asked hoarsely, throat still dry.

“You didn’t make him up,” Matsuri said without looking. “Swore his name was ‘Churro.’ I swear.”

“He was Arata’s friend,” Harumi muttered from the floor, covering her eyes with the blanket. “Said he ‘vibes with the stars’ and ate a flower from the garden.”

The three fell silent for a second… then burst into laughter.

Matsuri fell back, still holding her cigarette. Harumi rolled over like a hangover croquette and sat up, rubbing her neck.

“Okay but seriously,” Yuzu said, stretching like a cat on the couch, “we nailed it. We really killed it.”

“You slayed,” Matsuri agreed, pointing her cigarette at her like it was a mic. “That part where you let out that raspy scream… I almost creamed myself.”

“Matsuri!” Harumi protested, though she was laughing.

“What? It was powerful.”

Yuzu chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Nah, I was about to sneeze and couldn’t hold it in,” she said innocently.

“Liar,” Harumi said. “You were spitting fire. Even I got chills, and I know all your damn lyrics by heart.”

Matsuri struggled to her feet, stretched like a cat, and dropped into a chair near the table.

“So… another round of playing at rich people’s crazy houses?” she asked. “Only if no one lets me talk to the appliances.”

“You sat next to a toaster and asked it if it believed in love,” Harumi laughed.

“Damn thing didn’t even answer!”

“Must be antisocial,” Yuzu mumbled, picking up a forgotten cup of cold coffee. She made a face and set it back down.

“You gonna text him back?” Harumi asked, eyeing her. “I mean, Arata’s got big hopes for you.”

Yuzu sighed and nodded calmly. She placed her guitar beside her and stretched, popping her shoulders.

“Of course. But on one condition.”

“What condition?” Matsuri and Harumi asked in unison.

“That this time, they name the cowboy guy before he starts dancing.”

“He’s already got one,” Matsuri said lazily, puffing on her cigarette. “Mister Churro.”

They laughed again while the fan spun overhead and the light softened around them. Among drifting smoke, empty cups, and the kind of comfort you only find with people who’ve lived through enough together to not need filters.

A new gig loomed on the horizon.
But for now, there was time.

Time to laugh.
To rest.
And maybe, without saying it aloud…
for something to start changing.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The door of the apartment opened with a soft creak. Harumi walked in unannounced, as if it were her home, because, in a way, she was. She took off her shoes immediately, left her bag lying on the small table in the hallway, and walked straight into Matsuri's room, guided by the jagged sound of an acoustic guitar.

He pushed the door open with his elbow, peeking out with a smile.

“Hey”

Matsuri, sitting on the floor among wires, loose leaves, and a half-finished cup of iced tea, barely looked up.

“Oh, it was you”

"Yes, I came to hang out. She said with that way of speaking, as he slumped on his back on the bed, stretching as if he had just arrived in his own room.

"Yuzu went out to the store. She must be back soon," Matsuri replied, tearing a note that did not sound the way she wanted. She frowned, adjusted the nut of the instrument, and tried again.

“Composing again?” Harumi asked, her head hanging over the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling upside down. "You're going to end up writing the soundtrack of your autobiography at this pace.”

"And you're going to continue without helping me put lyrics to it," Matsuri replied, without looking.

Harumi laughed softly, as if she didn't want to break the mood in the room. There was something warm about this place: the open window let in a breeze smelling of some neighbor's toast, the curtains barely waved, and in one corner a garland of Christmas lights flickered that no one had bothered to remove.

"You know what?" Harumi said, turning to lie face down, leaning on her elbows. "I was thinking about Arata's party.

"In the one that happened or in the one that is coming?"

"In both. But more than anything in how everything has been moving forward. I mean, we, the band... Things are moving.

Matsuri let out a sigh that sounded like relief.

"Yes... Feels weird, doesn't it? As if we were suddenly doing something that matters. People look at us differently from that touch.”

"Arata doesn't mess around. When he said he wanted to show us his acquaintances, he meant it. I don't know about you, but I'm already starting to take this more personal than instant midnight ramen.

"That's saying a lot," Matsuri laughed, resting the guitar on his lap. "You know what I liked most about that night?"

Harumi raised an eyebrow without speaking.

"Seeing Yuzu so... involved in everything. Not only in music. Also with the people. She was alive. As if something had really touched her.

"You mean the pianist?"

Matsuri raised an eyebrow.

"What? Did you think I hadn't noticed?”

Harumi shrugged, as if she was not to blame for the matter.

"Yuzucchi told us about it later, remember? That they met, talked for a while. That it was "different". That's what she said.”

"Different" in Yuzu code means "left me thinking after I went to sleep."

They both laughed. Matsuri took the cup and took a warm drink.

"Do you think she´s coming to the next party?"

"The pianist you say?"

Matsuri nodded, scratching the back of his neck with the handle of his guitar.

"I don't know. But if she does, it will be fun. I want to see Yuzu get nervous again. She almost dropped her pick when she saw her among the people.

"Her dignity almost dropped," Harumi added, and they both laughed even louder.

They were silent for a few seconds, but not an awkward one. One of those comfortable ones, as if his thoughts shared an invisible cigarette between sentences. Matsuri loosened his grip on the guitar and pushed it aside.

"Do you think we're ready for what's coming?"

"What do you mean?"

"Not just the party. All. That more people listen to us. That they stop seeing us as those girls who play "well to be independent" and start taking us seriously.”

Harumi thought for a bit, cocking her head.

"Sometimes I think you don't have to be ready. That one only has to go, touch, feel it. And if you really feel it... so do people.

Matsuri glanced at her sideways, with a half-smile.

"You have your moments, huh?"

"I know. They only come out once a month, like your cycle.

[...]

"Of course, because you don't have it," she said laughing, turning over in bed.

Just as Matsuri was about to say something, the sound of the door opening and the jingling of keys could be heard.

"I'm back!" Yuzu's voice came from the entrance.

Matsuri and Harumi exchanged a knowing look.

"Time to act productive," Harumi muttered as she slumped back into bed dramatically.

"Too late for that," Matsuri said, and they both laughed.

The opening of the apartment opened with the familiar sound of keys spinning awkwardly. Yuzu walked in dragging a grocery bag in one hand and her laptop case slung over her shoulder.

"I'm back" she announced in a soft voice, closing the door with his hips.

From Matsuri's room, a vague answer was heard, strummed between chords.

“'We're here”

"Yuzucchi!" Harumi shouted from inside “Just in time for you to prepare something for me to drink”.

Yuzu put the bag down on the kitchen table and peered into the hallway.

“Ha. Very funny. I have to start teaching in five minute”, she said, raising his laptop as evidence.

"Ugh, the virtual brats again", snorted Harumi, who had already brazenly settled into Matsuri's bed.

“Don't even say that, they're quite funny”, Yuzu said laughing, taking a quick sip from her can of cold coffee that she bought not long ago at the supermarket, “Anyway. Don't distract me, it's time for a reading essay today”.

"Good luck with that, star teacher," Matsuri said, without looking at her, focused on her acoustic guitar.

"Don't set the apartment on fire", Yuzu replied before closing the door of her room with a soft click.

The atmosphere relaxed again. Harumi was on her back, with one of Matsuri's pillows under her head, absentmindedly flipping through a notebook she found lying around. Matsuri, sitting cross-legged on the bed, was still trying to tame an elusive tune.

The room had its own organized chaos: a lava lamp on a nightstand, a giant poster of a British band hanging crooked on the wall, and a cold cup of coffee with lipstick residue.

"And? Did you give shape to that song?", Harumi asked, now leafing through an old music magazine under the bed.

"No... I have the rhythm, but not the words," Matsuri replied, caressing the strings without touching them completely. "It's as if the melody knows what it means, but refuses to tell me

Harumi nodded, taking a drag on a cigar she grabbed from the ashtray on the table. The smoke spiraled up toward the ceiling as I exhaled calmly. When she had finished, she brought the cigar to Matsuri's mouth, and without a second thought, she bent down slightly and took it with her lips.

"Maybe you need a party. You know, new air, new people... unnecessary drama" she said with a mild humor, turning again to settle down.

Matsuri dropped her guitar and lay down as well. She didn't have to ask her to step aside to have space, the closeness they had was so close that words were not necessary.

"It was a good night" she said, exhaling slowly. Harumi turned his head to look at her, asking what she meant mentally

“The party... I didn't think we'd play it so well. Or that people would sing with us”

"And we were with two drinks on us and an amplifier that died in the middle of the second song" Harumi laughed, moving her feet in the air as if kicking the memory.

And so, between muffled laughter, thick smoke and scattered chords, the two continued to talk in the room that smelled of shared stories. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, dyeing the curtains a soft orange. And behind a closed door, Yuzu was teaching with a firm voice, not knowing that that day would also be part of a song that was yet to be written.

[...]

The clock read 11:20 when Yuzu closed the lid of her laptop and slumped on her back on the bed. The room was dimly lit by the warm light of his desk lamp, and the distant murmur of the city filtered through the half-open window.

She took a deep breath, letting herself be enveloped by that domestic silence that always came after her classes: not too deep to feel lonely, not loud enough to disturb. Only his.

She stared at the ceiling without thinking about anything for a few seconds... until the memory returned, without permission or explanation.

The party.

One of the best nights of his life. Not because it was chaotic or spectacular, but because it all felt... real. The music flowing unhindered, the audience dedicated, the energy of Harumi and Matsuri in perfect harmony with hers. Everything fit.

And in the middle of that, she was there.

The girl in the black dress. Violet eyes like twilight after rain.

Yuzu turned on her side, hugging a pillow as her thoughts floated away.

She didn't know why she was thinking about her just now. They had only exchanged a few words, a couple of glances under the dim light of the room. But there was something about her presence that was not easily erased. Perhaps it was her way of observing her, as if she wanted to understand without interrupting her. Or her voice, soft but firm. Or that strange contrast between elegance and distance, as if she belonged to another world, and even so, she had allowed herself to walk for a few minutes in hers.

It was likely that she would never see her again. That kind of people used to be fleeting. Like those songs that you hear only once in a dream and then disappear.

But still...

Yuzu closed her eyes, letting the image of that girl, of Mei, linger a little longer in her mind. Not with nostalgia, but with that sweet intrigue left by mysteries that you are not sure you want to solve... but that you hope to find again somewhere along the way.

"Who are you?" She whispered into the air, without waiting for an answer.

Clinging to the pillow, surrounded by the warm light of her room and the distant sound of a city that did not sleep, she let herself be carried away by fatigue. Perhaps, somewhere in her dreams, she would see her again.

[...]

It was Saturday afternoon, and Arata's studio smelled of incense and cheap coffee. The walls were adorned with acoustic panels and framed posters of foreign bands. Between cables, amplifiers, and the clutter of someone who lived in music, Yuzu had settled into the black couch in the background, a can of cold coffee in her hands. She was wearing cargo pants and an old T-shirt with the logo of some underground band, her blond locks tied in a sloppy bun.

"Tell me this band didn't sell," she told Arata, as she searched for the file on his laptop.

"Luckily, no. They were only polished. But they still sound like the usual chaos," he replied, pressing play with a smile.

The bass burst the monitors with force. Yuzu smiled contentedly, taking a sip from her can.

The music was still going on when the studio door opened. They didn't bell. It only opened naturally. Arata turned, unconcerned.

"Oh, great, you're here.

Yuzu raised an eyebrow, not knowing who he was referring to, until she saw her.

Mei.

She was wearing a cream blouse of light fabric, a dark gray cardigan, skinny jeans and thick-soled loafers. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, her bangs perfectly combed. She looked much more formal than the first time she saw her, though she retained that carefree elegance that seemed to come from birth.

The two looked at each other for a second. None of them expected that meeting.

But Yuzu, true to herself, smiled.

"Hello, pianist", she said matter-of-factly, as if greeting someone he sees every weekend.

Mei, after a slight pause, returned the greeting with a slight nod.

"Hello, Okogi-san"

There were no more free seats, so Mei, without thinking too much, sat down next to her. Her movements were calculated, but not awkward. There was something of a strange calm in the air, despite the music still playing in the background.

Yuzu, after a second, turned a little towards her.

"Do you drink cold coffee?"

Mei blinked, somewhat bewildered by the direct question, but nodded gently. Yuzu handed her a can without hesitation, and she took it in her hands, still a little surprised.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Arata had not even heard about the interaction. He walked towards them while connecting an electric guitar to the small portable amplifier he had prepared.

"Show me that song you're producing, come on. The one with the sad melody. I want to hear it live."

"Huh? Now?" Yuzu took the guitar doubtfully, glancing at Mei next to her. "Do you mind if I play a bit?."

Mei didn't expect here to ask her that. That she would take the time to consider her presence. She shooed her head, almost without thinking.

"No, of course not."

Yuzu nodded with a half-smile, adjusted the guitar on her lap, and began to play.

The melody was soft, slow, like a fine rain hitting the windows of an old house. The room was filled with a serene melancholy that enveloped everything. Arata leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, enjoying himself.

And then Yuzu sang:

"Today I woke up with your voice in my mind,
like a soft and courageous whisper.
The sun came in where you used to laugh,
and for a second, you came back to life."

Her voice came out lower than usual, intimate. I wasn't singing for a crowd. Just for the two of them. For herself.

Mei, next to Yuzu, couldn't take her eyes off her fingers, hier profile. The way her emotions seemed to flow without resistance.

When the song ended, Arata was the first to speak.

"It´s beautiful, Yuzu. Melancholyc as hell, but beautiful.

Yuzu smiled, dropping her hands on the ropes.

"Thank you."

There was a brief silence before Mei, still not looking directly at her, spoke.

"Do you sing for anyone there?"

Yuzu turned her face towards Mei, somewhat surprised by the question.

Mei blinked, as if she just understood the weight of her words.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't..."

"It's okay." Yuzu interrupted gently. "I wrote it for my father, he passed away a few years ago."

The room became even quieter. Mei looked down, instantly understanding why the song had struck so deeply.

She knew what that was, too. What it was like to lose someone while still too young to fully understand it.

As Arata and Yuzu resumed a chat about the final mix of the topic, Mei kept her eyes on her coffee can. She didn't know exactly why she said it, but when she opened hier mouth, she did so with a confidence that surprised her.

"I'll go hear your song at the next party."

Yuzu blinked, surprised. Arata also looked at her with a raised eyebrow. They met each other's eyes and then they both smiled.

"It would be a pleasure if you came," Yuzu said, genuinely.

Mei felt... rare.

Not uncomfortable, not confused, just... Light. As if something had been released inside her. As if, unintentionally, she had opened a door.

And while the studio continued to vibrate with murmurs, soft laughter, and still-vivid chords, Mei was only thinking about that song. The next time she would listen to it. And, without being able to help it, in the girl with a rough voice and an honest smile who had composed it.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Two hours remained before the party began.

The sky was painted in shades of golden orange, as if the day itself refused to die. Yuzu drove with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out the window, letting the wind brush against her skin while a half-grunge, half-indie playlist played through the old speakers of her car. Matsuri sat in the passenger seat wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that the sun was almost gone, and Harumi sat in the back seat with a box of cables on her lap.

“Was that pothole always there, or did we just dive straight into it?” Harumi asked, shaking a little from the bounce.

“You totally missed that one, Yuzu,” Matsuri laughed. “The poor bass is trembling back here.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! It survived the last rehearsal, it’ll survive the road!” Yuzu replied with a crooked grin.

A few minutes later, the car rolled to a stop in front of Arata’s house. It was a two-story building, half-hidden among trees, with strings of colorful lights already glowing in the garden. There were no guests yet—only that charged, thrilling calm that comes right before every good night of chaos.

“All right, let’s get to work,” Harumi said as she climbed out, brushing off her jacket.

The trio started unloading their gear like it was second nature. Between laughter, sarcastic comments, and complaints, they hauled out the bass, the guitar, speakers, and a box packed with pedals, microphones, and a bundle of tangled cables that, according to Matsuri, had a life of their own.

They entered the main room, which had already been partially set up: a fresh rug on the floor, hanging lights overhead, and cleared-out corners for their “makeshift stage.” While Harumi unrolled cables with the efficiency of someone who had done it a thousand times, Matsuri threw herself onto the sofa for a moment, only to have Yuzu scold her:

“Up you go. If you don’t help, there’s no bass in the show.”

“Emotional blackmail. Incredible,” Matsuri grumbled, but got up anyway.

Once everything was in place and the guitars were tuned, the atmosphere began to hum quietly with the promise of the night to come.

...

Arata appeared through the back door carrying a box of beers under one arm and bottles of soda under the other. He wore his usual dark jacket, a bit sweaty, but with that same easy smile he always had.

“My rock stars!” he exclaimed. “Right on time to make me look good.”

“Did you bring snacks, or are we just here to starve to death?” Matsuri asked, stepping forward to snatch a can from his hands.

“The snacks are in the kitchen. And I’ve got sushi arriving in half an hour. Happy now?”

“Now we’re talking.”

Arata set the drinks down on the table and turned toward the three of them with a more genuine expression.

“Thanks for coming again. Really. The last party was a huge success mostly because of you. People are still talking about the band, you know?”

“They are?” Yuzu scratched the back of her neck, a little embarrassed. “Well… that’s good to hear.”

“It’s true. This time some of my colleagues from the conservatory are coming too. No pressure, right?” he added, giving Matsuri a sidelong look. She pulled a face.

“If they can handle my screaming and your jokes, they can handle anything.”

“I hope so,” Arata laughed. “Anyway, you know the drill, this house is yours. You’ve got about an hour to relax, get ready, tune your souls… or smoke, in your case,” he said, glancing at Matsuri, who was already pulling a cigarette out of her back pocket.

“You think this sound happens just on talent alone?” she shot back, lighting it up between laughs.

Yuzu moved over to her guitar, carefully adjusting the tuning pegs while Harumi stretched in a nearby chair. The air had that electric buzz of something about to start—but not quite yet. The kind of waiting that makes even silence sound good.

And even though the crowd hadn’t arrived yet, and the lights and noise were still gathering strength, there was already something pulsing between them—an unspoken rhythm.

The hour crawled by, as if time itself had decided to grab a drink with them.

By then, the house was no longer empty. Outside in the garden, voices began to overlap with bursts of laughter, the clink of bottles, and footsteps on the grass. Some people wandered through the softly lit living room, flipped through records by the turntable, or peeked at the improvised stage with a beer in hand, whispering things like, “Are they the ones who played last time?”

Yuzu sat in a corner, tuning her guitar one last time. Her body leaned forward, brow furrowed in concentration… though her mind was somewhere else entirely.

Mei.

Her name barely crossed Yuzu’s thoughts before she had to shake it off. Not because it was something bad, but because she didn’t understand why it struck her so suddenly. Ever since they’d seen each other at the studio with Arata, Mei’s image had slipped into the empty spaces of her daily routine as if it had always belonged there, brief, but persistent. Like a single stray note you can’t forget, even if you don’t know what song it belongs to.

“Will she come?” she wondered unintentionally, tightening the strings a little more than necessary.

Harumi approached, interrupting the thread of thoughts, holding out a bottle of water.

“People are already asking for you, Yuzu. Well… for the lead singer of White Noise,” she teased. “You should start signing T-shirts before we go too mainstream.”

“Shut up,” Yuzu laughed, setting her guitar aside to stretch. Then she took a cigarette from Matsuri, who knew about her pre-show ritual. “Don’t tell them it’s me. Let them think Matsuri’s the singer. That’ll scare them off real quick.”

“I heard that, idiot!” Matsuri shouted from the kitchen, her head poking out with a cookie in her mouth.

Harumi burst out laughing, and Yuzu joined her. As always, their banter made the atmosphere feel lighter.

“Well, it’s almost time,” Harumi said, checking her watch. “Ready to break some hearts with that new song?”

Yuzu hesitated for a second, glancing toward the front door that still hadn’t opened… but finally nodded.

“More than ever.”

She slung the guitar over her shoulder with that almost instinctive motion etched into her body. Taking a few steps toward the center of the room, she positioned herself in front of the microphone while Harumi settled behind the drums and Matsuri tuned her bass at a lazy pace, lighting another cigarette halfway through.

...

The party was buzzing around them, voices overlapping, footsteps shuffling, bursts of colored light flashing against the walls. People gathered in groups, drinks in hand, waiting without really knowing what they were waiting for. And in the middle of it all… there she was.

Just before they counted to three, Yuzu glanced toward the door one last time.
Just in case.

The song ended with warm applause and a jumble of laughter, clinking glasses, and layered voices. Sweat glistened on Matsuri’s forehead; Harumi spun her drumsticks between her fingers with calm ease; and Yuzu took off her guitar like someone who had just finished an intimate conversation with the crowd.

They hadn’t played the song yet. She was saving that one, like a secret held for the perfect moment.

And then, she saw her.

Mei appeared at the threshold of the patio, walking beside Arata. Her eyes went straight to Yuzu, as if searching for her unconsciously. There she was, just like at the first party: wearing the same improvised green top, her hair loose and slightly tousled, like it hadn’t been given too much thought.

The first thing that hit Mei was the sight of Yuzu laughing with Harumi under the soft lights, stepping down from the stage as if it were nothing. They looked close, as if they shared more than just a band. And even though she didn’t fully understand it, Mei felt a small, absurd, silent knot tighten in her stomach.

Arata led her toward where Yuzu and Harumi were standing. Harumi was the first to notice her.

“So you’re the pianist Yuzu never shuts up about! Finally, I get to put a face to the name!” Harumi exclaimed with a shameless grin, giving Yuzu a playful tap on the arm.

“I didn’t say that much!” Yuzu protested, laughing nervously at her friend’s words. Mei smiled politely, though a faint blush rose to her cheeks, betraying her. No one seemed to notice. No one except Yuzu, who tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as if she’d just seen something unexpected.

“Thanks for coming,” Yuzu said to her directly, as if for a moment the rest of the world had faded. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I… I’m glad too,” Mei replied, her voice softer than she usually allowed it to be. It was as if her words bypassed any filter.

The four of them chatted for a while, about music, the crowd, and how Matsuri had almost set the mixer on fire in the first minutes of the show after spilling a drink over the main cable. Mei laughed, discreetly but genuinely, watching Yuzu move so naturally, so at ease in her space… so completely herself.

But the moment didn’t last long. Harumi received a signal from Arata and gestured to the others. It was time.

“See you in a bit,” Yuzu said, giving Mei a quick, unintentional wink.

Mei watched as she climbed back onto the stage, guitar in hand. She stayed silent, that light smile still hanging softly on her lips.

“Are they a couple?” she asked without turning to look at Arata.

He took a sip of his drink before answering.

“Those two? Nah. They’ve known each other their whole lives, but that’s just friendship. Though, honestly, I think Harumi’s got a thing for Matsuri. As for Yuzu… she doesn’t talk about that stuff much. For her, it’s just music. And her mom. That’s all she lets people see.”

“I see,” Mei murmured, feeling a strange sense of relief. A weight she hadn’t noticed before seemed to lift off her chest.

The light on the stage shifted. The atmosphere grew softer. Yuzu stepped up to the microphone, and suddenly the whole space narrowed down to her. She cleared her throat.

She leaned closer to the microphone, her voice soft but charged with something unspoken.

“Ahem… Good evening,” she began, her shy smile mixing with a spark of contained emotion.
“This one’s for someone who left… but not before filling my Spotify with sad songs. Here we go.”

The first chords rang out.

The crowd gradually fell silent, as if something invisible had tapped them on the shoulder and asked them to listen. Mei didn’t take her eyes off her.

And then, Yuzu’s voice filled the room.

“This morning I woke with your voice in my mind,
a soft, brave whisper I couldn’t leave behind.
The sun came through where you used to laugh,
and for a second, I felt you come back.”

Mei felt the world around her narrow down to that sound.
To the intimate way Yuzu sang.
It wasn’t just music. It was something else entirely.

“Sometimes I think you’re still near,
in every lesson you left here.
There’s no sadness when truth takes its place,
you taught me to see beyond what I face.”

The crowd disappeared. Mei saw only Yuzu closing her eyes, gripping her guitar during the hardest lines. There was something raw and aching in that rough, raspy voice—like each word was being pulled from a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

“I follow your steps through quiet streets,
your way of seeing the world still speaks.
Sometimes I talk to you while I walk,
as if the wind itself could talk.”

Mei felt she understood something, something deeper than the lyrics. A part of Yuzu was revealing itself on that stage, in front of everyone… but in truth, she was singing to one person. Someone who wasn’t there.

“And if I fall, not knowing what to do,
I close my eyes and find you.
You’re never that far, not really apart,
when love refuses to depart.”

Yuzu was nothing like the image Mei had first formed of her. She was warmer. More sincere. More… vulnerable.

“Wherever you are, I hope you’re dancing,
laughing so loud the sky starts cracking.
I’m still here, with all that remains,
so many hugs that never fade.”

When the final note faded, the audience burst into applause.
Mei didn’t move. The melody was still trembling inside her chest.

That song… she had felt it as if it were hers, too.
As if someone had finally put into words what she had never been able to say.

And she knew, without knowing why, that she wanted to hear Yuzu sing again.

The last chords faded like a long sigh, one the crowd didn’t dare interrupt.
There was a brief, collective silence before cheers and whistles erupted.
But Mei barely registered them.

She kept looking at Yuzu.

Yuzu was still holding the guitar, her fingers resting gently on the strings as if she wasn’t quite ready to let the song go. Strands of her golden hair had fallen across her face, and though sweat glistened on her forehead, she wore that rare mixture of calm and fire, something only a few ever manage to have on stage.

She stepped down slowly, as though she’d left a piece of herself up there.
Harumi greeted her with a playful shoulder bump and a “You killed it, Yuzucchi,” tossing her a towel.

That was when Mei approached.

“The song…” she began, her voice softer than she expected, “it was beautiful. Truly. And I don’t mean that as a compliment, I mean it from the heart.”

Yuzu turned to her, and her eyes, still shining from the intensity of the performance, softened.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling in that unmistakably genuine way of hers. “That really means a lot.”

Mei swallowed. There was more she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure how to dress it up without sounding clumsy. Still, she took the risk.

“I’ve never been close to that kind of songwriting before. All I know is classical, scores, structures, perfection. But what you do… it has soul.”

Yuzu scratched the back of her neck, suddenly shy.

“Well, it’s a kind of organized chaos sometimes. I write like I’m talking to someone who’s no longer here.”

“You succeed,” Mei replied, faster than she meant to. She quickly lowered her gaze and added, “I’d love to see how you do it. Your process, I mean. If that’s not too much to ask.”

Yuzu raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised, but then nodded enthusiastically.

“Seriously? I didn’t expect that from you, Miss Elegant Pianist.”

Mei let out a quiet laugh.
“I’m not that elegant.”

“You could come over to the apartment one day. I’ve got a small home studio, that’s where I make almost everything.”

Mei nodded without hesitation.
“This Saturday?”

“Saturday sounds perfect,” Yuzu said with that half-smile, half-curious look she had. “Harumi and Matsuri won’t be around, so it’ll be quieter.”

“Great,” Mei replied. And before she could overthink it, she added, “And yes, I’ll take that cold coffee you offered.”

Yuzu laughed.
“I warned you, it’ll change your life.”

For the first time in a long while, Mei didn’t analyze what she’d just said. She didn’t measure it, didn’t retreat behind caution.
She simply felt something beating hard in her chest, something that had nothing to do with classical music.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

The sky was clear, and the June breeze carried a faint scent of fresh flowers and a living city. Mei left around noon, with a small bag hanging from her shoulder and her hair tied in a loose ponytail. She had accepted the invitation without thinking too much, though deep down she knew her decision had a name and wore a guitar hanging at its side.

When she stopped in front of the building, Mei looked up at the façade. It wasn’t a luxurious place, but it was modern. Clean. Filled with plants on the balconies and a warm atmosphere, as if it wasn’t just a place to live but a place where something genuine could happen.

She rang the doorbell. Not even ten seconds passed before Yuzu opened the door.

She wore a white rolled-up, slightly oversized shirt tucked into lightweight black trousers. Her hair was loose, styled in intentional disarray, and a couple of leather bracelets hung from her wrists. There was no trace of makeup, and yet, she glowed.

“Hey. You got here right on time,” Yuzu said with a calm smile.

“Are you going to leave me standing at the door?” Mei replied, arching a brow softly.

“I would never do such a thing. Please, come in.”

The apartment was tidy, surprisingly so. The style was minimalist, but with personal touches: a hanging plant near the window, a shelf with neatly organized vinyls, an acoustic guitar resting on a stand beside the couch. The smell of fresh coffee floated in the air, mixed with a faint perfume Mei couldn’t identify, but instantly associated with her.

“Want something to drink? I made coffee and also have some cold cans,” Yuzu asked, walking toward the open kitchen.

“Cold is fine,” Mei replied, settling onto the couch while curiously observing the frames on the wall. They were photographs: stages, cloudy skies, blurred lights. All carried a shared silent language. Nostalgia.

Yuzu returned with two cans in hand and offered her one. She sat beside her, keeping a polite but comfortable distance.

“Did you sleep well after the party?” Yuzu asked with a soft smile.

“Enough. Though your song stayed in my head for a long while.”

Yuzu’s eyes brightened ever so slightly.

“For better or for worse?”

“For better,” Mei said honestly. “It was beautiful. Truly.”

A quiet silence settled between them for a few seconds. Not uncomfortable, more like both understood there was no need to fill every space with words.

“Do you want to see the studio?” Yuzu asked, turning slightly toward her.

“So soon?”

“So soon. It’s Saturday, and it’s not every day I have Miss Aihara in my living room.”

Mei laughed softly, shaking her head gently.

“Lead the way then.”

The studio was at the very back. A clean room, with a light gray rug, shelves filled with sheet music, an open laptop with an audio project on display, and a couple of guitars hanging on the wall like museum pieces. Matsuri’s keyboard was covered with a black cloth, well cared for. The chair in front of the desk was comfortable, and resting over it, a black jacket folded neatly.

“Do you mind if I get some work done while you're here?” Yuzu asked, sitting naturally on the stool in front of the guitar.

“Not at all. I came to see you work, after all.”

“Oh yeah? Not just for the cold coffee?”

“A valid motivation, but not the only one.”

Yuzu laughed, tuning the strings with precise fingers. Mei watched her. She was different from any musician Mei had ever met. There was something about her presence: that balance between polished and carefree, between direct and quietly intimate. She didn’t try to impress, and for that very reason, she did. She also looked different from the Yuzu she’d seen on stage, this was a more personal, calmer version of her. And somehow, that drew her in more. The fact that she could be so different, yet in both versions remain so honest with her own emotions.

She didn’t hide anything.

“Do you want to play something with me?” Yuzu asked without looking at her, as if not wanting to pressure her.

“Improvise?”

“We can see what comes out. I’ve got a bunch of chord progressions lying around.”

Mei nodded, and with one gesture, Yuzu uncovered the keyboard.

Minutes later, they were both in some kind of bubble. Mei played soft chords, and Yuzu followed with the guitar, keeping rhythm with a faint sway of her foot. There was no audience, no stage lights, no smoke. Just two people discovering each other through sound.

And at some point, while the sun filtered through the window and the silence between notes grew more intimate than any word, Mei thought: I like being here.

The melody faded little by little, as if unwilling to end.

Mei’s fingers rested on the keys, still. Yuzu’s rested on the strings, brushing them one last time without fully playing. For a moment, neither spoke. Only silence, the faint hum of the computer, and the warm light filling the room.

“I don’t know what that was, but I liked it,” Yuzu whispered, breaking the pause with a crooked smile.

Mei turned her head slightly, observing her. She noticed Yuzu’s white shirt had its collar slightly wrinkled, and her hair fell over her cheek with a natural, almost poetic ease. She didn’t understand why those small details felt so important, but they did.

“It was… different,” Mei murmured. “It’s been a long time since I improvised with someone.”

“Not even with Arata?”

“Arata sings. But he doesn’t have that… sensitivity,” she replied without thinking too much. “Not like you.”

Yuzu tilted her head, amused and grateful at the same time.

“Was that a compliment coming from you?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Mei replied, though her voice was softer than usual.

Yuzu placed the guitar back on its stand carefully. She stretched back in the chair, letting out a long breath.

“I like this,” she said suddenly. “Sharing music without having to pretend anything.”

Mei watched her, trying to read between the lines.

“Pretend?”

“You know… the pose, the interviews, empty compliments, the image. Sometimes the industry turns into that, a choreography. But here,” she gestured to the space between them, “I don’t need to perform any step.”

Mei nodded slowly. She understood that more than she expected. Her world had been just as calculated, filled with expectations, with the “proper way to be.” Maybe that was why she found that honesty Yuzu radiated so effortlessly so captivating.

“Have you always been like this?” she suddenly asked.

“Like what?”

“So… transparent.”

Yuzu laughed, shaking her head.

“Nah. When I was a kid, yeah, too much. And that cost me a lot. I learned to measure myself. But with music I can’t lie. It’s my most honest language.”

Mei lowered her gaze, thoughtful.

“That’s why the song hit me so hard.”

“The one from the other day?”

Mei nodded.

“I felt it wasn’t just yours. That in some part, it spoke about me too.”

“Someone you miss?” Yuzu asked, then realized it might be too nosy. “Ah, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Mei hesitated for a moment, but she felt comfortable enough to speak about it.

“My mother. She died when I was very young,” she said plainly. “And for some reason, your voice brought her back for a moment.”

Yuzu went still, as if each word had fallen with its own weight. Then, gently, she extended a hand toward her. Not to touch her, but to bridge the invisible distance between their worlds.

“I’m glad I could give you that, even if just for a few minutes.”

Mei looked at her, and for the first time in a long while, she felt she didn’t need to keep her face rigid or her posture perfect. Just be.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” Yuzu asked softly. “According to Matsuri I cook amazingly, but I hope you don’t end up poisoned.”

Mei smiled faintly, as if a part of her surrendered to the inevitable.

“Only if you choose the background music.”

“Deal.”

And then, in the middle of a quiet afternoon, in a warm, silent studio, something began to form. Not an instant love, nor an empty promise, but a real connection, woven in chords and pauses, like a melody still waiting to be fully written.

[...]

“Thanks for inviting me,” Mei said as she adjusted her jacket, now standing by the door.

Yuzu smiled at her, leaning against the frame. The soft evening light filtered through the curtains behind her, tinting the room in a soft amber tone.

“Thanks for coming. It was great having you here… and playing together.”

Mei nodded with a faint smile. She still felt the resonance of the guitar and keyboard in her fingers, as if her body refused to let go of the moment.

“I’ll text you on the app,” she said then, like someone dropping a promise without dramatics but with weight.

“Sure, I’ll be there. I always reply,” Yuzu answered with that warm tone she was beginning to grow familiar with.

Mei bowed slightly, elegant and restrained, before turning and leaving.

The elevator descended slowly, and for the first time in weeks, her face carried an expression of calmness without rigidity. She had spent a good afternoon, more than that, a genuine one. She felt something in her chest, something always tense, loosen just a bit. Even if only a bit.

But that calm didn’t last long.

When she opened the door of her apartment, she was greeted by a deep, authoritative voice she wasn’t expecting.

“Oh, Mei. We were just talking about you.”

Her grandfather was seated in the main armchair, a newspaper in hand. Beside him, her aunt, a woman with a severe face and measured words, offered him a cup of tea.

“Grandfather,” she said, surprised, bowing quickly. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“I decided to visit before the spring recital. Your father mentioned you’re practicing something new. A Chopin piece, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I hope to hear it. You know how important it is to maintain the standard we’ve built over the years. The Aihara name cannot afford deviations.”

Mei nodded, though something in her stomach twisted violently. That word: “deviations.”

“Where were you?” her aunt asked, taking a sip of tea.

“With Arata,” she answered without blinking. “We were practicing some duets for a potential performance.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. Though she was omitting the essential part: that she had been playing with a rock guitarist in an apartment full of posters, amplifier cables, coffee cans, and an atmosphere completely foreign to what her family called “musical discipline.”

And yet, it was the place where she had felt the most peace in a long time.

“Be careful with friendships like Akamine’s, Mei,” her grandfather murmured, lowering his gaze to the newspaper. “The world is full of talents wasted by keeping the wrong company, and rock… well. You know what I think about it.”

“Yes, grandfather,” she said softly.

She excused herself shortly after to go to her room. Once inside, she closed the door carefully, took off her jacket, and left her bag on the desk.

She sighed.

She sat in front of her piano but didn’t play. She simply let her hands rest on the keys in silence.

And she thought of Yuzu.

Of her disheveled laugh, of the way she closed her eyes when singing, of how natural it was for her just to be. Of how different Mei had felt being there with her, of how free she felt for a moment. How all the pressure disappeared while she was there. Of that elegant-casual style she wore when not on stage, which still seemed to have more personality than any of Mei’s designer dresses.

For the first time, she understood Arata. She understood what it meant to hide a part of yourself just so you wouldn’t be torn out at the root. And she also understood that, somewhere in the corner of her heart, she didn’t want to stop seeing Yuzu.

Even if she didn’t yet know why.

To be continued...