Chapter Text
Loneliness was a feeling that Hitori Gotoh knew quite intimately. She was not much of a girl, a failure even in her five-year-old sister’s eyes, and this was because of a simple, devastating fact: in her ten years of schooling, Hitori had never made a friend. Never.
When playing hide-and-seek as a child she had always been the last to be found. At the school picnics — the ones most remembered so fondly, cherished memories from their childhood — Hitori had sat alone, relying on the mercy of a kindly old teacher for her only company. Soon even those moments of pity had faded, and now, here she was, sitting alone in her closet after the first day of her second high-school year, having failed once again to speak to a single person.
I can’t believe nobody talked to me. I even had my guitar…
Hitori strummed softly. The sound of feedback buzzed from her desktop amplifier. Gentle chords echoed around the closet, ringing in her ears.
“Is there nothing that can be done for me?” she sang softly. “Can I never make a friend? Will I be alone until… in-fi-ni-ty?”
It sounded pitiful even to her.
“Onee-chan, Mama’s saying to quiet down, it’s past midnight!”
Futari stood beside the open door, Jimihen barking by her side. Hitori sighed. “Close the door and you won’t hear a thing.”
“Onee-chan looks sad. Why are you sad?”
Hitori tried to smile. “I’m not sad, I’m just… I’m just tired, okay? Tell Mama I’ll be quiet. Anyway, shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“I woke up!” Futari exclaimed, far too cheerfully. “I woke up and now I can’t go back to sleep.”
Hitori sighed. “Close the door, Futari-chan.”
Futari obliged, but not without a singsonged cry: “I’ll just have to stay up till morning!”
Already Hitori could hear her mother’s scampering footsteps chasing behind Futari and Jimihen. Her little sister’s energy mystified her — she wondered if somehow, Futari had stolen the allotment of liveliness and extrovertedness meant to have been shared between the two Gotoh sisters. Perhaps there was some conspiracy against her; how else could she have failed, yet again, to draw any attention with the guitar on her back?
“It can’t be helped,” she mumbled, “Another year of sitting alone, then. I should’ve known… after how my first year went…”
Her first year had been quiet. At least, she had been quiet. She’d spent her time at the back of classrooms, completely overlooked — even her pink tracksuit was never commented on. Whether that was because of a loosely enforced dress code or because Hitori had simply been overlooked all year, she did not know. The latter was certainly true, regardless of whether or not it was the reason for her choice of attire never being questioned.
There was one thing that Hitori could always take pride in, though, and that was the treasure trove of appreciation hidden away on her laptop — her OhTube channel, with the hundred thousand faceless subscribers that watched her videos, the ones that commented the kindest words on her covers, the ones that believed the identity that she had created. For Hitori had created quite an identity for herself. According to her descriptions, she had hundreds of friends who invited her to more parties than she could handle, plenty of appreciation in her school’s music club, a band that was doing quite well for itself, and, most importantly, she was dating her school’s basketball captain.
She wondered often if there was any real value in inventing such stories. Her fans, for the most part, ignored her descriptions entirely. This had led Hitori to believe that they either did not read her lies, or (worse yet) that they did not believe her. Could an introvert’s aura permeate through a screen? She hoped not.
She clicked on her latest video. Guns N’ Roses always seemed to serve her well: her rendition of the solos from “November Rain” remained one of her most viewed videos, with over seven million (seven million!) views, and her latest cover (“Sweet Child O’ Mine,” on this occasion) was racing on toward a hundred thousand views within its first two days. The comments, as ever, had been so, so lovely.
You’re so talented!
Your guitar is so pretty, how much was it?
I wish I could play as well as you!
Where can I find guitarists like this? My band’s guitarist ran away…
“I’d probably run away too…” Hitori mumbled. “Luckily they don’t have to know that.”
She plugged in her guitar to her audio interface and fiddled with the dials, turning down the volume slightly. It was late, after all, and she did have to wake up early the next morning… still, she could record another video. The burst of encouragement would do her good the next evening.
“Something Western again, or should I play a Japanese song this time? Something popular… my 90s covers have been doing well lately, maybe I should stick with that? This person’s cover of Pantera did well… maybe that would work.”
A few moments later, she had herself the tabs for “This Love.” She turned her computer screen to catch the moonlight from her window, leaving the closet door open just a crack. She liked playing on nights like these — soft silver rays on her back, strands of pink hair glimmering in her eyes. On these nights even her mundane closet looked like the subject of some old painting; the way her hands cast a subtle shadow over the shining black gloss of her guitar, the way her fingers left little white streaks in their wake — it was all magical to Hitori.
And her nighttime videos seemed to do better than her daytime ones. That too.
She changed her position once again to catch the moonlight once again. She was facing a different direction than she usually did for her videos, but what difference could it make? Her closet looked about the same from all sides, anyway. She squinted at the tabs and began playing, the melody vibrating low and powerful beneath her fingertips.
She felt the music take over her, as it often did. Her body moved on its own, long hair whipping across this way and that. She could hardly ever tell what she was doing; she was rarely in control of herself when she played. But her motions, quirky as they were, looked wonderful on a camera — her viewers often told her just that. I love how real she is, one would write, she doesn’t fake it. She just gets into the music.
The nearest thing to a cure for loneliness that Hitori had ever found was music. How could she be lonely playing the same song that so many others had played before her? How could she be lonely when her fingers were flying across the fretboard and her head was moving back and forth and her hair was flying around as though she were some kind of party animal? She was singing into the guitar, in a way. She was singing her pain, the way that nobody had noticed her that day — not a single person, how could she be so unlucky?
It was a few minutes to two when she stopped playing, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She pushed through, editing rapidly before she nodded off. The motions were mechanical by now, anyway. She fought off sleep for a few moments longer and posted her video. Then she flopped back onto the soft cushion of her mattress and fell asleep.
She had forgotten about the video by the next morning. This was not an uncommon occurrence — Hitori usually only checked on her channel in the dead of night, when the loneliness clawed away at her chest, when the day’s events chased her into the sweet refuge of her closet.
As she went off to school she did not feel that anything had changed. She had not taken her guitar today — there was no point. Nobody was going to notice her either way, were they? She was insignificant, nothing more than a plankton or a wallflower. As she sat in her assigned seat (in the back row, but not the corner — the perfect place for an introvert, she had discovered) and pretended to listen to the teacher’s lesson, she was thinking only of the loneliness she had consigned herself to over the course of the next nine months. For a moment, she could even delude herself into believing that she was making a conscious choice, that she preferred loneliness. How very rock of you, she could hear the voice in her head saying… it sounded a lot like Jimihen.
Not the guitarist. Her dog. Who could not, in fact, speak.
Maybe she was going crazy. Loneliness did have its tolls, after all.She was walking down the hallway moments after the bell rang for the end of the school day when she was nearly killed. She had been lost in thought, walking with her head down and her back hunched. She would not have cut a particularly imposing figure, and perhaps that was why she was not noticed by the barrage of bodies that slammed into her, knocking her right to the floor. She did not know what had happened, all she knew was that one moment she had been looking at the floor and the next moment she was looking at the fluorescent lighting on the ceiling and an amp seeming to be screeching feedback right into her ears.
Am I dead?
Then she saw something else — an unusual sight. She had to blink twice, thrice, four times to believe that it was there, real, not a hallucination. Because standing above her (towering above her, really) with an arm extended was the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen in her life.
If she had been thinking straight, Hitori would have remembered seeing this girl in the past. She would have remembered that this was one of the popular girls, one of the ones who sat at a lunch table with an array of friends fawning over her, one of the girls that Hitori would never dare to be in the presence of, much less touch or speak to. The hit to her head — and the girl’s disarming appearance — had made her forget all that, though, so she didn’t hesitate to take the offered hand.
And that was when she learned her second piece of information about the girl: apart from being unfairly gorgeous, she was also very strong. Hitori wasn’t helped up, she was pulled up. Violently, although the girl didn’t seem to think much of it, as she was lifting Hitori up casually with one (rather muscular) arm.
Hitori had never thought of herself as one to develop crushes easily. But when she was confronted by a redhead with a pair of yellow-green eyes that drew her in like swirling hypnotic spirals… well, what exactly was she meant to do?
“Hey, are you all right?”
Oh, she was dead. She was hearing voices from the clouds.
“I think she’s hurt… Sattsu, help me get her to the nurse! Hey, are you okay? I’m so sorry!”
As Hitori’s senses came back to her, she came to the slow realization that the voice was not that of an angel (although, she thought, it sounded pretty enough to belong to one). It was the voice of the girl who she had seen just a moment ago — only she couldn’t see the girl’s face anymore, not until she craned her head upward. The girl was towering over her, looking down at her with a look of deep concern, touching her head gingerly. It was almost enough to make Hitori melt. Almost.
“Um… I-I’m okay… sorry…”
The girl hadn’t let go of her. Hitori was acutely aware of the hands gripping her shoulders — calloused, much like hers, but on the palms, not the fingers. The combination of that and the girl’s height made it abundantly clear that she was on the school’s basketball team, which meant that Hitori currently being fussed over by Shuka High royalty.
Hitori melted.
“Oh! Sattsu, help! She’s collapsing again… I think I hit her too hard! Oh, I’m so sorry…”
A green-haired girl, presumably Sattsu, emerged from the midst of the throng. She slung an arm around Hitori’s shoulder’s and helped her up, allowing her a moment to breathe and rearrange her features into something that vaguely resembled normalcy. “You okay?”
“Y-Yes,” Hitori mumbled, “Sorry…”
The redhead tapped her shoulder. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I’m so sorry! You’re all right, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m f-fine…” Hitori said, looking down at her shoes. The floor does look very interesting right now, doesn’t it? Anything to avoid eye contact, she’d probably melt all over again and nobody would pick her up this time around.
“She’s got a lump on her head,” Sattsu pointed out, “Probably nothing much, but we should still get her to the nurse. Nene-chan, if you don’t mind —”
“Yes, senpai!”
Now the girl that had her arm around Hitori’s shoulders was considerably shorter. Shorter than Hitori, in fact — were they really a basketball team? Hitori looked around — barring the girl next to her, everyone was considerably taller than her. Definitely the basketball team, then…
“I will get you to the nurse!” the girl exclaimed. “Come with me.”
As it turned out, Hitori didn’t have a choice. The girl bounded off, dragging her along. It took all the balance that Hitori had (or didn’t have, really) to try to keep herself upright, because this girl was rushing her over — “Slow down!” someone called, but the girl seemed to pay the warning no mind, because she kept dragging Hitori along. The ordeal was worse than being knocked over. The soles of my shoes are tearing from skidding along the ground…
She was deposited outside the nurse’s office with a grunt of exertion from the girl. Hitori panted along with her. “Um… th-thank you…”
“It is no problem! Come in!”
The girl went to open the door, and somehow, Hitori found her voice. “No need… I’m all right…”
It was a mistake. The girl froze and turned around to face Hitori, wide-eyed. “Sasaki-senpai said to take you to the nurse’s office! I cannot disobey my seniors on the team!”
"Even if you’re a first-year —”
“I am Ohyama Nene! First-year! Basketball player!”
This girl was beginning to give Hitori a migraine.
“Gotoh Hitori, second year… p-pleased to meet you…”
“Gotoh-san, please enter the office!”
Hitori did not have the energy nor the capacity to argue further. She resigned herself to her fate and entered the nurse’s office. It’s probably worth checking my head anyway…
It was quiet in the closet. Not that it was ever particularly loud, but it felt especially silent today — not a single sound seemed to come from the outside world, not the sound of construction from two blocks away nor the piercing clang of the train whistle. Not even the cold breeze could pierce Hitori’s bubble of solace today. She was in her own world, at peace.
That was a bit of a lie. She was in her own world, yes, but it was a restless evening. Every time she closed her eyes, intending to strum away at her guitar, all she could think of was the girl she had bumped into. She could still feel echoes of the girl’s rough hands on the thin fabric of her tracksuit. And those eyes — the ones she had been forced to tilt her head upward to meet — haunted her still. They had been so warm… so caring, even toward a loner like her.
Snap out of it, snap out of it! She wouldn’t think of a piece of dirt like you for even a second!
Hitori was no stranger to momentary infatuations. She had suffered a fair few over the years — they had taken anywhere from a few days and a few weeks to fade away, usually erased by playing guitar at double the usual intensity. Satisfied with this remedy, Hitori began to do just that — playing so hard that her forearm ached after only a few minutes, or at least what felt like just a few minutes. But it wasn’t; it must have been hours. Futari was at her door, calling for her, telling her it was time for dinner.
She could feel the pain spreading as she set the guitar down — it would give way to numbness soon, and that Hitori could handle. She didn’t really need her right arm to study anyway.
I should probably get some schoolwork done, shouldn’t I? Well… dinner first.
“Hitori-chan, how’s your second year been so far?” her mother asked. Hitori gulped.
“Um… all right…”
“Onee-chan still doesn’t have any friends!” Futari crowed gleefully. There was no real malice behind it, but the words stung Hitori nonetheless. She wheeled on Futari, glaring at her.
“I may not talk about them, but I have lots of friends at school,” Hitori lied. Futari opened her mouth once again, no doubt having seen right through her lie (was it really that easy to do?), but Hitori silenced her with a sharp look. “In fact, I had a run-in with the basketball team today. One of the players even insisted that I walk with her around the school, you know? They’re very popular girls.”
Futari’s eyes widened. “Onee-chan has popular friends now?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hitori could see her parents exchange a look that said look at our daughter, lying again. She turned her glare to them. “Yes, Futari-chan,” she said pointedly, “I even know the basketball captain. She’s very friendly… and tall…”
Her father raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve been around the girls’ basketball team?”
“Ah… yes…”
“Aren’t you a bit short for that?”
“M-maybe…”
"Well, are you going to try out?"
"Uh… w-well…"
She was grateful that he dropped the subject quickly. She didn’t want Futari to lose what little respect she had for her.
The moon was high in the sky, but sleep eluded Hitori. She didn't usually go to bed this early, but her wrist and forearms still hurt from her violent session in the evening, so she had allowed herself a rare break from practice. It was strange how punctual she was when adhering to her solo practice schedule. It was a rather simple schedule — three hours before dinner, three hours after — but she had kept at it for years, and playing guitar until the clock ticked over to the new day was a feeling she still couldn’t replicate anywhere else.
“It’s no use,” she mumbled to nobody in particular, “I can’t sleep.”
Maybe I should find a popular song to cover…
She turned on her computer and went right to Issta, preparing for a long night of “research,” or, as most people would call it, endless doomscrolling. She swiped through reels, occasionally pausing to look up a song. If it seemed to be popular, she noted down the name and kept going with her idle scrolling, onwards and onwards through an endless stream of content, enough to last her the entire night. As it turned out she only stayed on her phone until about two in the morning — after all those hours of tireless research, she’d found herself a grand total of three songs that she had deemed worth covering.
Oh, didn’t I upload yesterday? I wonder how the Pantera did… I guess they’re a bit less popular than Guns N’ Roses… oh no, should I have done a Japanese song instead?
Hitori navigated to her OhTube channel and looked at the stats for her latest video. It was doing all right, a bit below average, maybe, but nothing to be concerned about — and anyway, a few nice comments would make up for the low viewership. She clicked on the video and scrolled down to the comments, idly watching the loading circle spin around on her screen.
She looked at the top comment.
omg! i can’t believe guitarhero-san goes to the same high school as me!
Hitori’s blood ran cold.
They couldn’t know, could they? How would they? She hadn’t revealed anything…
Her heart was pounding at an alarming pace as she hovered over the reply chain with a shaky hand. She clicked on it, once, twice. On her third attempt the cursor finally steadied over the black button. She drew a few deep breaths, then read the top reply.
she has a flyer on her table for the culture festival at shuka high! isn’t that in shimokita? her guitar skills are starting to make more sense now lol
So that had been her undoing. She could still see the offending flyer, strewn haphazardly across the table in the closet, a garish burst of color against the dark wood. It was shocking that Hitori had not noticed it when she’d posted the video — even half-asleep, she should’ve been able to notice the vibrant yellow of the poster in her otherwise dull room. How had she missed it?
Oh no. Oh no no no no.
“This can’t be happening…”
Hitori began to hyperventilate. Her breathing came out choppy and shallow, half-breaths that caused her to fall back onto her mattress. She clutched at the bedsheets, holding on for dear life as the panic took over her completely. Her throat was closing up. A sharp pain shot through her stomach. A sharp pain, throbbing like a knife in her gut, a sharp pain in her chest now, and was she going to die like this, on her back, alone in her room? It would be a fitting end for her. She would not have to live to see the unraveling of her web of lies, she would not have to live with the shame of losing all of her viewers and subscribers, she would die right there and be mourned by her family and her OhTube community; with any luck they wouldn’t remember a thing about her supposed school life. Nobody read the descriptions of her videos anyway, did they?
Wait… if nobody reads them… I might still have a chance… maybe they didn't see my lies!
The thought revived her just long enough to read the next comment in the thread:
wait, didn’t she say she was the basketball captain’s girlfriend? this isn’t kato-san’s girlfriend, she definitely doesn’t have pink hair.
Her throat closed up again. She resumed failing to breathe.
I’m done for!
She thrashed around on her mattress for a few more moments before surrendering to the sweet embrace of death. And that was how Hitori Gotoh passed away, alone and quiet in the dead of night.
Eh? I’m still alive…
That was a problem. She now had a serious dilemma on her hands — would fleeing to Thailand suffice, or would she have to go as far as Brazil? The middle of the Sahara Desert probably didn’t have an extradition treaty with Japan, so that was another viable option. Hitori was spoiled for choice.
Her mouse was hovering over the “reply” button, dangerously close to clicking on it. What would she even say? Would she apologize? Would she reveal that she was no more significant than a piece of seaweed or an invisible plankton on the sea floor? She could feel her fingers moving, typing some response, an apology, no doubt. She had formed the first part of it in her mind: I lied about having a boyfriend. I’m sorry. Then the phrase cut off in her mind. Her train of thought was obscured by fog, but she could still make out the hazy edges of the words that she had just typed and posted — and posted??
She blinked a few times to clear her bleary eyes. Then she squinted at the computer screen and choked on her own spit
I lied about having a boyfriend. I’m sorry. I’m actually dating the girls’ basketball captain.
Posted out in the open for everyone to see.
She scrambled to delete her ridiculous response, but as her hands raced over the mousepad, the computer screen went black.
Dead.
OH NOOOOO!!!
Breathing was futile now. Hitori tumbled off her mattress onto the hard ground, staring right up at the ceiling as she accepted her fate.
She wished that she could’ve died with a view of the moon, but, well… it served her right. Her web of lies was strangling her now, and there was nothing that could be done about it.
“Onee-chan, why are you making so much noise? Mama’s awake now and she looks maaad.”
Hitori gasped, clawing at the wooden floorboards. She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t — it felt as though a mountain had been placed on her chest. All she could do was lie there until Futari got concerned enough to call over their mother, which was going to happen any second now. Hitori counted down — 5, 4, 3 —
“Maaaa! Onee-chan’s dying!”
She could hear her mother’s footsteps drawing closer. She heard her mother’s faint cry — “Hitori-chan!” — but before she could respond, the world went black.