Work Text:
"If you keep staring at that cake, it’s actually going to start sliding off the table,” Ryo said, her voice flat.
The cake was a tower of strawberry shortcake. It sat in the center of the rehearsal studio, sorrunded by a chaotic perimeter of infolded party steamers and half inflated balloons.
The air smelled of ozone from the amplifier, and the sugary scent of cheap icing. It was a scene of organized chaos, a frantic attempt at a surprise that felt less like a celebration and more like a heist.
Hitori stood on the periphery, her oversized pink tracksuit blending into the wall.
Nijika had handled the logistics with the precision of a military general, and Ryo had provided the aesthetic direction. Hitori had spent three hours in the mall staring at a display of scented candles, only to realize that choosing a scent was essentially a personality test she wasn't qualified to take.
She shifted her weight, her fingers twitching against the strap of her guitar case. In there, sat a crumpled piece of paper with a sequence of chords that didn't quite resolve where they should.
It wasn't a "Guitarhero" composition—there were no sweeping solos or complex layering to hide behind. It was something small, a fragile little melody that mirrored the way her heart hammered against her ribs whenever Kita smiled at her..
"If we don't get the balloons taped to the ceiling in the next five minutes, the surprise is just going to be us standing in a room with a leaning cake," Nijika called out, her voice straining as she balanced on a stool.
Hitori felt her soul begin to vibrate. The sheer volume of the room—the laughter, the shouting, the frantic energy of Kita's friends who had been let in early—felt like a physical weight.
As the door clicked shut and the lights dimmed, the room erupted into a coordinated chaos of "SURPRISE!" and confetti. Kita froze in the doorway, her expression shifting from confusion to absolute radiance in a millisecond. She was a whirlwind of red hair and gold eyes, hugging everyone and laughing with a luminosity that made Hitori feel like a small, damp pebble beside a sun.
Hitori felt her soul begin to vibrate. The sheer volume of the room—the laughter, the shouting, the frantic energy or Kitas friends who had been let in early—felt like a physical weight.
She retreated further into the collar of her tracksuit, her thoughts spiraling into a void of self-doubt. She had the music, yes, but the act of performing it—not as the untouchable, anonymous 'guitarhero' behind a screen, but as Hitori, the girl who sometimes forgot how to breathe in a conversation—felt like trying to breathe with both your nose and mouth blocked..
When the noise finally settled and the cake was distributed (despite Ryo’s insistence that the lean gave it "character"), Hitori felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. Kita was looking at her, her eyes shimmering.
“Hitori-chan! You’re shaking!” Kita beamed, the observation delivered with the kind of effortless brightness that usually made Hitori want to phase through the floorboards.
She didn't pull away, though; instead, she stepped closer, her presence a warm front of floral perfume and genuine excitement that pushed back the cold wall of Hitori’s anxiety.
Hitori’s throat felt like it had been lined with sandpaper. She looked at the crowd—the energy of Kita’s school friends and the amused, expectant gaze of Nijika—and felt her internal circuitry begin to flicker. She reached into her bag, her fingers brushing the crumpled staff paper.
“I… I have something,” Hitori managed, her voice barely audible. She didn't wait for a response, knowing that if she paused for more than a second, she would simply dissolve into a puddle of pink fabric. She scrambled toward her amplifier, her movements jerky and frantic.
As she plugged in her guitar, the room fell into a curious silence. Ryo leaned against the wall, her half-lidded eyes tracking Hitori with a rare, supportive curiosity. Hitori didn’t look at them. She stared intently at the fretboard, her vision blurring slightly as she focused on the first chord. She struck the string—a soft, resonant C-major that trembled just a little.
The melody didn't soar; it hovered. Hitori kept her eyes locked on her guitar, her bangs acting as a curtain between her and the world. This wasn't the polished brilliance of "guitarhero"—no—there were no flashing light or buzzing energy in here. Instead, she played with a clean tone, the chords shifting in a slow, hesitant dance. It was a song about the small things: the way Kita’s laughter could fill a room, the terrifyingly sweet feeling of a hand brushing against hers, and the quiet realization that for the first time in her life, Hitori didn’t want to be invisible.
Hitori reached the bridge, the melody shifting from a tentative question into a soft, melodic confession. The notes climbed slightly higher, mirroring the fragile hope that had kept Hitori awake at three in the morning while scribbling these chords. It was an imperfect piece of music—the timing was a bit rushed in places, and the composition was simple—but it was an unfiltered map of Hitori’s heart. As the first chorus began to swell, a fragile, soaring harmony that felt like a long-awaited exhale, Hitori heard a sharp, hitching gasp.
As the music drifted, the chatter of Kitas friends and her bandmates faded into a heavy silence. Hitori’s fingers trembled on the strings, and she nearly missed a transition, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She felt the urge to simply evaporate into a cloud of pink steam and leave the room behind. But then she caught a glimpse of Kita in the periphery. Kita wasn't cheering or beaming with her usual high-voltage energy; she was absolutely still, her hands pressed to her chest, her golden eyes wide and shimmering.
She looked up just in time to see a single tear track down Kita’s cheek. Kita wasn’t just happy; she looked devastated by the sincerity of it. The realization that Hitori—the girl who viewed a simple "hello" as a boss fight—had spent hours meticulously crafting a melody just for her was more than Kita could handle.
By the time the chorus reached its peak, Kita was openly sobbing, though she was smiling through the tears, her shoulders shaking as she looked at Hitori with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.