Work Text:
“Ugh, this client’s pissing me off!”
Ryou Yamada angrily closed her laptop, storming away from the kitchen island deeper into the house towards a side room.
Exasperated, she groaned, slowly opening the door.
“Bocchi, I’m coming in.”
In the room, in front of a triple screen setup, sitting cross-legged, was a sleep-deprived girl wearing headphones who, hearing the door unlock, quickly turned around.
“Ah, Ryou-senpai, h-hey. What… What’s got you so annoyed?”
Ryou, feeling defeated, lied down on the tatami floor, arms outstretched, tired eyes affixed to the blank ceiling, save for a cheap, turned off hanging lamp.
“Five drafts. Five. And none of them are to his liking. ‘Too much bass,’ ‘not enough low tones;’ make up your damn mind! You keep asking for changes and then reverting them.”
“Ah, yes, well… I’m really sorry, that... that sounds like a real pain. Well, I, uh… You can rest up here, I’m just trying to edit a backlog for the channel so, uh… If you’ll excuse me, s-senpai.”
A wave of new exhaustion washed over Ryou, who ran her fingers down her face, dragging the skin under her eyes alongside them.
A long, drawn-out sigh escaped her lips, not one of frustration but of pure, unadulterated weariness.
It wasn't just the five rejected drafts that had drained her; it was the quiet, anxious presence in the room, the way Bocchi’s voice still held that distant, formal reverence.
It was the constant, subtle reminder of the walls that Hitori still instinctively put up, even after years of sharing a life and a home.
“Bocchi. We’ve been pretty much married for years. Can you finally drop the senpai act.”
“Ah, r-right, sorry, Ryou-sen…”
A sharp, cold glare and an annoyed sigh made Bocchi yelp and curl up into a ball, her head hiding between her knees. A thump on the floor got her to peek out and glance over to the bed.
“Sorry, Ryou.”
“It’s… fine. Just try your best.”
The two of them sat in silence for a while, settling into quiet comfort, save for an occasional tapping on the phone screen coming down from the floor, or the click of a mouse and clacking of the keyboard coming from the desk.
Ryou’s eyes, previously affixed to the ceiling, drifted to her phone’s screen. Every now and then she’d smile at something she scrolled through, sometimes tiredly stifling a laugh, all the more striking for how drained she’d been just a few moments before.
Hitori paid attention from the corner of her eye; however, her gaze was still mostly affixed to the computer screen.
She slowly eased up, her shoulders relaxing, tension releasing.
With how Ryou stormed in, she was worried that her presence would be boiling, angry, annoyed; but in actuality, having Ryou here was comforting.
The tension that filled the space in the room quickly dissipated and became just that, space.
A quiet room and a workstation, shared by two people who had built a life in it.
The screens in front of Hitori were a blur of colors and lines, various recording scenes, sound tracks, and effects applied to parts of the project. Every so often, the low hum of the computer, mouse clicks and keyboard taps followed like hesitant percussion, irregular yet purposeful.
And beneath it all: Ryou’s breathing, slow, deliberate, feeling almost like a soft lullaby, making its way through the mechanical noise.
Together they wove a fragile, accidental symphony: the heartbeat of a machine, a tired artist’s sighs, and the presence of someone you love simply by existing nearby.
The screen in front of Ryou, on the other hand, glowed like a cheap neon sign in the dark, awkward animal clips and memes flickering by, as well as the occasional song thrown onto the screen by the arcane algorithm of the internet.
The phone’s glow washed her tired face in a pale light, asking nothing of her, and offering a small private universe.
Bocchi’s quiet company allowed her to anchor herself, turning the day’s edge into distant, dull shapes.
The troubles of today and tomorrow receded into the fog of mind, far away from where her conscious self resided at the moment.
Then, without a warning, a photo: a baby, just a few months, maybe a year and some old, shy and small-eyed, trying to hide away as if the world itself startled it. The tenderness of it almost cracked her open, and she nearly laughed, nearly cried.
“Hey, Bocchi. Check this out.”
She turned her phone towards Hitori, crawling closer to the work station.
With a creak of the chair, the other one turned around, leaning forward to get a closer look, her eyes narrowing and focusing on the zoomed-in image.
“Oh, that’s what Himari would’ve done.”
A soft, affectionate smile tugged at Bocchi’s lips as her thoughts drifted towards Nijika and their bundle of joy, their little miracle.
She pictured the two of them sleeping soundly in the darkness of another room, or perhaps fighting a losing battle against a midnight wail. Before, she thought the prospect was terrifying; the very idea of holding someone so fragile had terrified her.
But now that she could enjoy the little one’s presence in her life, remembering Himari’s small weight against her chest, hearing the tiny heartbeat and slow, small breaths, that fear dissolved into something gentler.
She realized that she can be a steady support for someone else, that she could offer a source of quiet comfort for those she loves, and be loved in return.
Seeing that, Ryou’s face softened, she felt a burden leave her shoulders, as warmth spread through her weary body.
She reached a hand out, gently touching the screen where the tiny, shy face was frozen in a moment of quiet fear. A low, contended sigh escaped her lips.
All the day’s troubles felt insignificant in comparison to the sight of Bocchi, leaning into her, and the thought of Kita, Umeko, Yuki, Nijika, and Himari sleeping soundly down the hall was all she needed.
She knew that all the hardships were worth it, for all their sakes, and she didn’t have to say a single word; the comfort was in this shared, quiet presence, and the distant thought of the life they made for each other.
“Uh, R-Ryou, could you actually, um, help me out with something?” Hitori shyly stuttered out, quickly turning away and preparing to get scolded like a little child that got too bold. But instead, all she heard was a calm and composed:
“Sure. What’s the matter?”
“Ah, well, you see, I’m trying to figure out the transition in this part. It’s right between two important, uh… points? Of the lesson. But I can’t find something that makes it flow naturally.”
“Okay. Let’s see.”
Ryou gathered her remaining strength and pushed herself up with a grunt, her bones aching and begging for the comfort of the floor. Yet, she pushed past that, dragging herself towards the desk and looking at the project, taking in all of Hitori’s efforts so far.
A proud smile formed on her face and she patted Bocchi’s head a little bit, before looking back at the project editor. She let out a thoughtful hum, clicked through several menus, checking out her options, and trying a few of them out for size. None of them felt quite right, none of them were perfect, and she started to mutter under her breath “Wrong, wrong, wrong, it’s all wrong.”
Hitori got worried and gently placed her hand on Ryou’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, but she was afraid to say a word. She didn’t know how to stop Ryou from trying again and again, and guilt started to wash over her, seeing how much effort was being put into trying to make this one segment work.
And she saw a few options that didn’t suck completely, transitions that were clumsy, but serviceable. She hovered over the edge of speaking, words rolling onto her tongue and being swallowed back down, her throat tightening.
Pointing them out might make Ryou frown, or even worse, close herself off with that silent, cutting kind of self-disappointment. Just thinking about putting Ryou through that made her stomach coil in a knot of guilt. She never should’ve asked, how dumb of her; it wasn’t about the edit anymore, it was about the fragile balance between them, the unspoken hope that she could be enough.
She looked through the project timeline again, the elements being added and deleted over and over again, little flickers of light on the screen.
It made her realize that imperfections were sometimes all they had to work with, and that was good enough, at least for tonight. Her fingers dug a bit harder and deeper into Ryou’s shoulder, as if the gesture could hold them both steady. And before she could lose her nerve, she drew a shaky breath, tumbling out a few fast, fragile, but certain words, all at once:
“It’s okay. I think this one works.”
Ryou was initially in disbelief, confused, as if taken out of a trance. She wordlessly blinked a few times, her tired eyes darting between the project file and Bocchi, then back to the computer screen, and then back to the weird, loving pink creature.
And she smiled. A thankful, glad smile, nodding her head and pirouetting down to the floor again, letting her body rest once more.
While she fell into the pit of perfectionism, Hitori reminded her that perfect is the enemy of good. Bocchi certainly wasn’t perfect, but she was good enough, and her efforts were all Ryou needed at the moment, all she wanted, and it reminded her that even if she herself wasn’t perfect, she was still good enough for at least one… no, three people. Because they would never throw her away, no matter what.
She pulled out her phone again, scrolling mindlessly through her feed once more, occasionally sneaking a glance at Hitori, hunched over and fully focused on her project.
And she couldn’t help but smile.
Bocchi came such a long way from how she was when they met, and Ryou was happy as a fool to have someone so wonderful, so deeply caring, so passionate and dedicated to the craft as her in her life.
Watching Hitori grow really made her feel proud, and she was thankful that she had the chance to be an important part of that growth.
Bocchi tried to focus on getting the guitarhero video done and ready for posting, but every now and then, she sneaked a glance at Ryou lying on the floor, and she was occasionally greeted by the phone screen turned towards her, showing off a sick riff, or a cool lick, or the worst meme possible that still made her snicker quietly.
Being able to share a space like this with someone so endlessly dedicated to the art of music, unwilling to compromise on their ideals, and yet being so full of creativity was wonderful. She knew the two of them didn’t need many words to understand each other, and was glad she had someone who shared so many of her own experiences.
And both of them could also take comfort in their love for Nijika and Kita. It was scary initially; what if they forget her? What if they leave her behind, what if her love wasn’t enough or they can’t spare any for her?
But that never came, and with time, Hitori finally realized that she was more than enough for her loved ones, and that they would always support her. They weren’t worldwide stars, but they built something more important, a family and a life together, and that was enough.
“Ah, Ryou, could you—”
Bocchi spun around on her chair, only to see her partner out cold on the floor, contorted and drooling. She giggled to herself softly, got off her chair and, being careful not to make a sound, made her way over.
With the tenderness of a mother cradling her child, Bocchi eased her way around the desk and over to Ryou, delicately turning her onto the futon and pulling the covers over her, making sure she was comfortable and snug.
Content with her efforts, a loving smile crept onto her face, before she leaned down and placed a kiss on Ryou’s forehead.
Hitori could swear she heard a soft mumbled plea as Ryou shifted around under the duvet, and she fondly kept watch as she backed away to her workstation, pouring over which transition worked for the segment of the video.
She made sure to keep one ear exposed, just in case Ryou might make a cute sound, or begin to have a night terror; but eventually, as the night grew older, even she unknowingly succumbed to the weariness and with a warm blanket wrapped around her, rested on the desk with a big content smile on her face, knowing she could feel safe with one of the loves of her life.