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Late morning on a Monday in April.
The air wasn’t too hot yet, but the sunlight was strong enough to make the road in front of the university shimmer faintly.
Bachira Meguru rode his beloved jet-black motorcycle and parked it beneath a rain tree, its fallen leaves scattered across the ground. He steered the bike with one hand, while the other held a piece of toast already bitten halfway through. Meguru lifted his wrist to check the time.
“Figures. I really am late,” he muttered, sounding more amused than upset.
[Group – Where are we going tonight? [3]]
Bachira: Running late. Not going to class. Cover for me.
Isagi: On purpose, huh.
Chigiri: Typical.
Bachira: Yeah, yeah. Take attendance, write down the assignments. See you at noon.
Meguru locked his screen and slipped his phone into his pocket, completely at ease. His friends might complain, but they’d handle everything in the end anyway. No worries there.
He walked off, whistling cheerfully.
Today he wore a white button-down shirt, the top two buttons undone. One side of the hem had slipped out of his trousers without him noticing. His slightly long, wavy black hair—streaked with vivid yellow highlights—was loosely tied back with a bright red hair tie, looking less like a deliberate style choice and more like someone who forgot to comb his hair.
Strangely enough, it suited him perfectly.
As he wandered along, Meguru thought about the riverside pavilion behind the building. Quiet, shaded, comfortable. A perfect place to nap without anyone bothering him.
But the moment he arrived, disappointment hit him square in the face.
Someone was already there, sprawled out with their face buried against the surface.
Who the hell…?
Meguru cursed under his breath, irritated, and turned as if to leave—
—at the exact moment the person lifted their head.
Everything around them slowed to a crawl, like a slow-motion shot from a love-song music video.
For the first time in his life, Bachira Meguru met someone who made his heart crash and thunder inside his chest.
Light filtered through the gaps in the pavilion roof, falling across the other person’s pale silver hair, as if reflecting light every time he moved. Meguru couldn’t tell whether it was the hair’s actual color or just a trick of the light—but one thing was certain.
It stole his breath away.
As if sensing someone staring, the other person looked up—meeting Meguru’s eyes directly.
Light-colored eyes caught the sunlight and sparkled. Those eyes fixed on Meguru for a moment before the person tilted his head slightly, like a curious child.
That alone made Meguru stiffen without realizing it.
This was the first time he had ever felt nervous.
He didn’t know what to do. Everything suddenly felt awkward, all wrong. Meguru cleared his throat, forcing himself back to his senses, deliberately looked away, and started walking off.
“…Damn it.”
Meguru didn’t tell anyone about the person he had met—the one who felt like someone straight out of his dreams. He kept that racing heartbeat to himself. The feeling lingered all day, stretching into the night. He tried to look up information about the mysterious man and eventually found it: Nagi Seishiro, a student in the Faculty of Communication Arts, Film major. A good student—fairly outstanding, by most standards.
The next morning, Meguru rushed to shower, scrubbing himself clean until he smelled fresh. He picked out a fitted black shirt, tearing off the price tag just moments ago. He grabbed a pair of intentionally ripped jeans he hadn’t worn in a long time, along with a silver necklace he’d forgotten to take off the night before. This was his new look—one he was sure would be cool enough for someone to remember him. Meguru turned this way and that in front of the mirror, trying to style his hair to look as cool as possible, standing in a room cluttered with shoe boxes, piles of clothes, and old rock band posters on the walls. After checking himself for what felt like the millionth time, it was finally time to leave.
The moment he stepped outside, he locked eyes with his mother, who was staring at him wide-eyed.
“Mom, don’t tease me,” Meguru cut in first.
Bachira Yuu chuckled softly. She was clearly surprised by her son’s behavior, but she didn’t say anything.
[Group – Where are we going tonight? [3]]
Isagi: Where the hell did you disappear to last night, @Bachira?
Bachira: Am I your kid or something?
Isagi: Seriously, asshole. We waited forever. If you weren’t coming, you could’ve said so.
Bachira: Yeah, yeah, my bad. Had something important to take care of.
Chigiri: What kind of thing?
Bachira: Personal stuff. Ever heard of it?
Chigiri: You’re such a pain.
Meguru shut off the screen and stuffed his phone into his pocket carelessly before starting his beloved motorcycle. His mind was filled with Seishiro’s face—the pale-colored eyes, the silver hair fluttering in the wind, that dazed expression like a sleepy cat. Meguru swore that in all his years at university, up until his third year, he had never seen the guy before. That meant yesterday had to be fate.
And since destiny had led him to Nagi Seishiro, he hoped—no, prayed—that it would also grant Bachira Meguru his wish.
Several weeks passed.
By now, Meguru had become someone who arrived at class early every single day—no matter how early the morning was. The reason? Well, it was obvious. He wanted to see Seishiro’s face before class. Seishiro usually came to campus early, too, and often sneaked off to nap in various corners—spots Meguru had already mentally marked. After watching him sleep to his heart’s content, Meguru would take those cute images—those soft, chubby cheeks—and carry them back with him, daydreaming through lectures. His gaze drifted out the window, over the blank sheet of paper on his desk, a pencil spinning idly between his fingers.
He’s so cute… How the hell am I supposed to go up and get to know him?
Day by day, Bachira Meguru was starting to act more and more like a stalker. No one knew why he came to class so early yet absorbed nothing. As soon as classes ended, he’d slip away from his friends, cut off all social plans, and whenever anyone asked, he’d answer curtly, “Not telling.”
There he is.
Nagi Seishiro shuffled along like someone running out of energy, head down, completely absorbed in a game on his phone, oblivious to the world around him. After classes, he often stopped by the library—not to read, but to nap or play games. Meguru had wanted to go up and talk to him so many times, but every time Seishiro looked his way, his legs locked up, his jaw froze, and no words came out. He’d followed Seishiro long enough to learn that he stopped by the game center almost every evening.
Meguru wasn’t sure if Seishiro had started noticing him yet—but if he had, Meguru was terrified Seishiro might think he was some kind of creep. And then he’d never dare talk to him at all.
Seishiro kept walking, turning toward the back of the music building.
Meguru didn’t hesitate. He quietly followed after him. He saw Seishiro slip into a club music practice room, and faint sounds of instruments drifted out through the slightly open door. Meguru passed by, then stole a glance inside. Seishiro was sitting in front of the stage, a tote bag resting on his lap, those gray eyes fixed on the band with clear interest.
Meguru’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst—just like the first time he’d seen him.
He leaned against the wall beside the door, watching the scene in silence.
“So you like musicians, huh?” Meguru murmured to himself, then let out a low laugh.
“Perfect.”
That evening, Meguru got home earlier than usual. He greeted his mother like always, then immediately ran to the storage room. He rummaged through it until dust filled the air, forcing him to raise his sleeve to cover his nose as he coughed softly. Eventually, he found a box tucked under the bed.
Inside was a jet-black electric guitar—one whose sound he’d known since childhood, back when his father was still around. Meguru lifted it up and brushed off the dust. The old wood creaked faintly, some of the strings were snapped, the volume knob loose—but he grinned wide, like he’d just found a priceless treasure.
He grabbed his phone and called his best friend, his other hand still stroking the body of the guitar as if he didn’t want to let go.
“Isagi, do you know a good guitar repair shop? I need it fixed—fast,” Meguru asked, the guitar strap clenched between his teeth as if he didn’t have enough hands.
“Huh? What are you fixing it for?” Isagi’s voice came through just as Meguru kicked the storage room door shut with a loud bang.
“What do you think—sending laundry? I’m gonna practice, dumbass.”
“Okay, sorry I asked. But seriously—since when do you play guitar?”
Meguru scratched the back of his neck, staring at the ceiling like he was looking for an excuse, even as his cheeks flushed without him realizing it.
“Just hurry up and send me the address.”
“Yeah, yeah. Got it.”
Meguru hung up quickly and let out a long breath, his eyes still fixed on the guitar in his hands. He ran his fingers lightly along it, smiling—half shy, half excited, half filled with some vague expectation, like a kid who’d just gotten a new toy. Meguru had never played guitar before. But he’d seen his father play, and figured it probably wasn’t that hard…
I mean—if Nagi Seishiro liked musicians.
Then Bachira Meguru would become one himself.
He laughed softly, embarrassed by his own thoughts—but he couldn’t stop smiling.
After the guitar was repaired, it was time for Meguru to actually learn how to play. At first, he planned to practice on his own using YouTube—but the moment he tried his first chord, it felt like he was about to sigh straight out of his lungs. It was way harder than he’d expected.
So in the end, he stormed Isagi’s house on a Saturday morning—hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, three fingers wrapped in bandages. Before the door was even fully open, he raised the guitar neck high without a shred of shame.
“Teach me!”
Isagi let out a long sigh but stepped aside to let him in, complaining nonstop about how Meguru had randomly shown up at his place on a day off—when a normal human being should’ve been sleeping in. And then, once the lesson actually started…
Disaster struck almost immediately.
TWANG!!!
The off-key sound slammed into the walls so hard even Isagi’s cat ran for its life.
“I told you to press the C chord properly! Your fingers aren’t covering the strings—it’s gonna sound like shit!” Isagi pressed a hand to his forehead, irritation creeping into his voice.
“Asshole, my fingers hurt! I’m bleeding right now!” Meguru shoved his fingertips up for inspection, half angry, half pitiful.
Isagi collapsed back against the couch, shaking his head in disbelief, then grabbed a cloth and handed it over. After patching Meguru up, the idiot still insisted on practicing. Isagi could only slap his own forehead again and again while listening to the completely incoherent mess his best friend called music.
“So what the hell made you want to play guitar anyway?” Isagi asked—the same question he’d already asked countless times.
“Because music suits cool guys like me,” Meguru waggled his eyebrows—then winced because his injured fingers made the motion awkward.
Isagi rolled his eyes. “Be serious.”
“You’re practicing to pick up a girl, aren’t you?”
Meguru froze for a second, then scratched his neck lightly before answering evasively.
“…Not a girl.”
“…A guy?”
Isagi nearly shot upright, his face screaming a giant question mark in 72-point font.
Meguru nodded again, cheeks burning.
“WHO?”
“You don’t need to know, asshole. You guys will just tease me.”
He hugged the guitar tight like a shield against his own embarrassment.
“I won’t tease you,” Isagi said—though the curiosity written all over his face made Meguru not want to say a damn thing. Isagi propped his elbows on his knees and leaned back onto the carpet, utterly drained, then pointed the pen he’d been using to jot chords straight at Meguru’s face.
“So let me get this straight. You’ve been disappearing every evening, ditching all our plans, coming to class early, zoning out like an idiot—all because of this guy?”
He sighed hard, eyebrow twitching the way it always did when he’d caught someone red-handed.
“And what—he said he likes musicians or something? So you decided to learn guitar?”
Isagi kept talking, jabbing the pen through the air like he was solving a crime, squinting in disbelief.
Meguru pressed his lips together, scratching his neck harder, eyes sliding away like he didn’t want to be exposed any further.
“…I—I haven’t even talked to him yet.”
“Huh!? Then how do you know he likes musicians?”
Isagi looked more confused than when he bombed an exam.
“I don’t. I just saw him hanging around the music practice room,” Meguru muttered so softly Isagi barely caught it.
Silence filled the room.
Isagi processed what he’d just heard.
“WHAAAAAT!?”
“So you just assumed he likes them!?”
“Why are you yelling!?”
“How can I not!? You’ve never been like this—where the hell did all your confidence go!?”
Meguru didn’t answer. He just stared at his fingers awkwardly. Isagi frowned deeply, stood up from his cross-legged seat, then dropped back down in frustration—annoyed by his best friend’s sudden, reckless crush.
“Jesus, I’ve seen you flirt with everyone—shameless as hell. Why this one!?”
He grabbed the guitar from Meguru’s lap and flipped it around irritably, tapping its body with his fingers like he wanted to bash his friend’s head with it instead. Meguru kept his head down, gripping the hem of his jeans.
Isagi stopped mid-rant.
Meguru looked more serious than he’d expected.
“…It’s just—this time doesn’t feel the same,” Meguru said quietly, almost like a breath.
“I’ve tried, but every time I see him, I can’t speak. What am I supposed to do?”
Isagi ran both hands through his hair until it stuck up wildly—the move he always made when he was beyond stressed.
“You suddenly got hit with puppy love out of nowhere—you’re unbelievable…”
He pointed accusingly at Meguru, like saying you’re the problem, but when Meguru gave a weak, defeated smile—the kind that admitted he’d already lost to his own feelings—Isagi let out a long, tired sigh.
He moved closer, placed a hand on Meguru’s shoulder, and softened his voice.
“Look, it’s your life. But think about this—are you forcing yourself to be someone you’re not?”
Meguru froze.
Isagi added quietly, but sharp enough to split his friend’s heart in two.
“I’m asking you this—if he really does like you… are you sure he likes you, and not the version of you you’re trying to build?”
Meguru didn’t answer.
He just looked down at the old guitar in his hands. The bandaged fingers curled slowly before brushing the strings. A faint sound rang out—slightly trembling, heavy with hesitation.
Meguru laughed softly.
And Isagi could only let out a long breath, too exhausted to scold him anymore.
Some things… you just have to let your friend figure out on his own.
Meguru carried the guitar on his back, exhaustion weighing him down. A feeling he couldn’t quite explain flooded over him—like exhaust fumes trailing a bus in the afternoon heat. Isagi’s words kept looping in his head.
“He has to like you for who you really are.”
For the first time in his life, Meguru realized that… he wanted someone to see him this badly. And because that feeling was so overwhelming, he wasn’t even sure anymore whether he was still being himself.
He walked along the scorching sidewalk, ducked into a convenience store, and bought an ice-cold drink—fogged over with condensation—to cool both the heat and the chaos in his mind. But the moment he stepped back outside, his eyes caught on a familiar silhouette, and his heart jolted hard.
Nagi Seishiro.
He was sitting cross-legged on a bus stop bench. The breeze lifted the hem of his light-colored long-sleeved shirt, silver hair leaning with the wind like silk threads. His gaze was locked onto the game on his phone—fully immersed, completely cut off from the world.
Meguru froze for a moment.
…Like the world had hit pause.
No one else was around. No other eyes were watching. And still, Meguru couldn’t bring himself to approach.
Damn it. Seishiro didn’t have to do anything. Just sitting there, breathing, was enough to make Bachira Meguru—who prided himself on being effortlessly cool at all times—turn into a nervous middle schooler under the gaze of someone he liked.
Holding his breath, Meguru walked closer, then deliberately chose a seat two spots away—carefully calculated. Not too close. But close enough to clearly see the other’s expression.
“Ah… died again,” Seishiro muttered flatly.
He sighed softly, slipped his phone into the pocket of his hoodie, then looked up.
For a split second, their eyes met.
Meguru’s heart slammed—thud!—painfully loud. The air vanished. Seishiro’s gaze dropped to the guitar case on Meguru’s back.
Meguru’s heart stopped for the second time.
“You play guitar?”
The tone was calm—but it absolutely killed Meguru in one hit.
HOLY SH—FIRST CONVERSATION—!!!
“Uh—yeah, yeah!”
Damn it, why am I stammering like an idiot right now?!
Seishiro studied his face for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, genuinely listening—and delivered the second fatal blow.
“That’s pretty cool.”
I’m dead. I’m shocked. I’m collapsing. Can I just melt into the pavement right here?!
“D–do you… uh… like people who play music?”
“Mm.”
Seishiro answered easily, then added,
“I kinda want to learn too, but I’m lazy. People who can play music either have talent or insane dedication—and I don’t have either.”
He laughed softly at himself.
So damn cute.
“So… how long have you been playing guitar?”
Today. Literally today.
“Oh, um… a while.”
Lie number one. Necessary for dignity.
“So what do you like most? Playing-wise?”
This was it. A life-or-death question.
Please, Seishiro… please say you like—
“Hmmm… guitarists are cool.”
Meguru’s heart: I PASSED!! I DID IT!!
“But drummers are my favorite.”
………
……
FOR FUCK’S SAKEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
Meguru felt like his entire world had just collapsed. He wasn’t even in Seishiro’s line of sight, was he? He berated himself internally as silence fell between them.
And then Seishiro asked something—something Meguru never thought he’d actually hear.
“So… what’s your name?”
“Me?”
“Yeah!”
This was it.
The golden moment.
Meguru was about to exist in Seishiro’s world.
“My name is—”
HONK!
Reality slapped him square in the face.
The horn of a luxury European car blared as it pulled up and braked right in front of Seishiro. A purple-haired young man stepped out—the refined, rich-guy aura Meguru had seen before in the music practice room. Handsome, wealthy, polished. Completely different from Meguru.
Seishiro looked up at him.
“Reo. You’re late.”
“Sorry. Did you wait long?”
“Finished three rounds already.”
“I’ll treat you to dinner to make up for it.”
“Okay.”
“Hop in.”
Seishiro stood and got into the car without hesitation. Before closing the door, he glanced back at Meguru.
“See you.”
The words were short.
But to Meguru, they echoed like something breaking inside his chest.
He sat there watching the car drive away, wind whipping against his face. His hair stirred in the breeze—or maybe that was his heart.
Meguru stayed still for a moment… then let out a soundless laugh.
So damn crushed.
“My name is… Bachira Meguru.”
The name he wanted to introduce—loud and proud—to that silver-haired boy.
The name he wanted to say with a wide, confident grin.
But now, it hung alone in the air—
with no one there to hear it.
After that day, Meguru stopped following Seishiro.
For the first time in his life, someone as ridiculously confident as him felt… defeated—like his heart had something pressing down on it all day. Everything he’d poured into it—practicing guitar until his fingertips turned red, changing his style, tailing Seishiro to different places—ended up feeling more “wasted” than anything he’d ever felt before.
No matter how hard he tried, every time he looked at Seishiro, Meguru felt like he… had never existed in the other guy’s eyes at all.
In the faculty common room, the two friends who were always by his side noticed first. Meguru sat slumped on the couch, collapsed over the table like his battery had died, eyes unfocused as he stared at the wood grain in front of him. Chigiri rested his chin on the back of the chair and whispered to Isagi—without even trying to keep his voice down.
“Lately he’s been depressed as hell. What’s wrong with your friend, Isagi?”
Isagi sighed. “Heartbroken, I guess. Look at him.”
Chigiri’s mouth fell open. “Heartbroken? Don’t be stupid. Him? Heartbroken?”
“You don’t know the story, Chigiri.”
“Know what? The hell—did I miss something? Isagi, why didn’t you tell me?”
Meguru lifted his head in irritation. His deep voice had lost most of its life.
“You little shits. If you’re gonna gossip about me, go do it somewhere far away.”
Chigiri put on a shameless face like he felt zero guilt. “Gossip about what? I’m asking because I care, okay?”
“Mind your business.”
Isagi laughed, thoroughly entertained. “But seriously—are you actually heartbroken?”
And instead of the usual snap-back, there was an abnormal silence.
Chigiri’s eyes immediately widened and lit up.
“Who is it!?”
“Don’t fucking pry. I’m not talking to you assholes.” Meguru sprang up from the couch and slung his bag on messily.
“Where are you going?”
“None of your business.”
He replied curtly and walked out without looking back at either of them. His shirt fluttered in the wind as the door swung open—like someone desperately trying to escape his own feelings.
He wandered through campus with no destination, stepping through his own long shadow stretched over the sidewalk… until his eyes caught a patch of white, motionless, at the pavilion near the lawn.
Seishiro…
Face-down on his bag like a sleepy kid, breathing steady—like he had nothing in the world to worry about.
Meguru stopped walking. It felt like someone had a fist around his heart.
All his effort came rushing back at once: hiding behind pillars to follow Seishiro everywhere, remembering the way Seishiro pouted when he lost a game, practicing guitar until his nails nearly came off just to look good in someone else’s eyes—
And it ended like this… too easily.
So easily it hurt.
Meguru stood there staring at him like he wanted to burn every detail into memory—because he wasn’t sure if he should step forward… or turn around and leave.
But before he could decide, a small whiny sound drifted out.
“Mmmnnnnghh…”
Seishiro shifted a little.
Meguru flinched like he’d been caught spying. He quickly lifted a hand to scratch his head, trying to play it off.
Seishiro blinked rapidly, like he was adjusting his focus.
“You…?”
Meguru pressed his lips together, not knowing what to say. He turned his body as if to run—
But a voice called after him immediately.
“Huh? Why are you leaving so fast?”
Seishiro sat up straight and shouted at full volume.
“Hey! You!”
Meguru froze. Then turned back.
Seishiro pointed at him slightly.
“You. You wanna talk to me?”
Seishiro blinked, confused—then nodded hard, like that was the only possible answer.
“Yeah! Because that day, I still didn’t even know what your name was.”
“You remember?”
“Of course I remember. I’ve wanted to know you for a long time, you know. I kept seeing you in the same places as me all the time, but lately I haven’t seen you. Oh—actually, I’ve seen you at the game center too. What games do you like?”
Seishiro asked, eyes sparkling like a kid’s.
Meguru froze, swallowed.
He didn’t even like games.
“I don’t have a favorite game…”
Seishiro tilted his head like a confused kitten. “Really? Then why do you go so often?”
Meguru sucked in a huge breath.
This—this was the moment he’d been running from.
But it was time to say it.
“Because you go there… so I went too.”
Seishiro blinked again. “Because of me?”
“Yeah. Because of you. I followed you because I wanted to know what you like doing.”
“Why?”
Meguru bit his lower lip. “I don’t know. Because I wanted to know you more… before actually getting to know you, I guess.”
Seishiro went quiet, looking at him steadily. No teasing. No annoyance. Just genuine interest.
Meguru took a deep breath—then spoke all at once, like he was afraid he’d swallow his words and run again.
“Then why did you make it so complicated? You could’ve just… come talk to me directly. That would’ve been enough.”
“I can't…” Meguru cut in.
Seishiro tilted his head, confused. Meguru sighed, then explained.
“If I went up and introduced myself to you first… you’d definitely hate me.”
“How do you know?”
That’s right. How the hell did he know?
“Answer me. How do you know… that I wouldn’t like you?”
Seishiro pressed for an answer—one Meguru didn’t have.
Because the truth was… he’d assumed everything. He’d convinced himself Seishiro would dislike him, and tried to reshape himself into someone Seishiro would notice.
“You just made it up in your head, didn’t you.”
Seishiro said it—his voice carrying the faintest sting of hurt.
It made Meguru’s chest ache.
“Yeah. I made it up.”
Meguru confessed. He let out a hard sigh, then continued.
“Because I thought who I am wasn’t good enough. I wanted you to be impressed… The truth is, I don’t like going to the library. I don’t play games. I don’t even want to play music. But because I thought those were things you’d like and be interested in, I tried like hell to get into your line of sight. And I forgot that the first—and only—thing I should’ve done a long time ago was to walk up to you and tell you straight that…”
Meguru pressed his lips tight, then forced the words out—his voice trembling a little.
“I like you, Nagi Seishiro.”
The wind around the pavilion seemed to stop for a moment.
Seishiro stared at him quietly.
Then his lips curved into a faint smile—like he’d known all along.
“So you finally admitted it.”
Meguru’s eyes went wide. “You knew!?”
“Yeah. At first I just thought it was kinda weird… until I had to go ask Reo…”
Seishiro shrugged lightly.
“But I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, you know?”
Meguru felt like a mountain had been lifted off his chest.
Seishiro glanced down at the ground for a moment, then looked up and met his eyes directly.
“Honestly, you didn’t have to try at all. Because I noticed you from the start. And I also thought you were the coolest person… without having to try anything at all.”
“Then…?” Seishiro left the opening, his voice soft enough that Meguru’s heart started pounding harder and harder.
Meguru inhaled, filling his lungs.
“Seishiro… will you be my boyfriend?”
Seishiro smiled.
A smile that made Bachira Meguru want to see it forever—and never share it with anyone else.
“Of course. I’ve been wanting a boyfriend as cool as you too, Meguru.”