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In Mitsuki’s defense, she was really close to perfecting the song.
Unfortunately, Aya didn’t see this as a good enough reason for Mitsuki’s entire right hand to be bleeding. Her face had dropped when she’d seen Mitsuki, covered in cuts and scrapes, looking like some guitar-wielding serial killer. Blood had smudged against her guitar’s white pickguard, deep red dripping from its strings. The scene was straight out of a slasher film.
Now, Aya sat beside her on their living room couch, chastising her misled attempt to write a song with a fast-paced chorus that would eventually be the cause for her bloody hand. Mitsuki sat resignedly, bearing the brunt of her girlfriend’s rightful criticisms. Her guitar leaned limply against the couch, the smell of iron emanating from its body. On the opposite wall, even the musician’s face on The Gits poster looked disappointed at her. Unwilling to bear its scrutiny too, she refocused her attention on Aya.
“Mitsuki, you should’ve stopped sooner! It sounded like you were playing really hard,” Aya frowned, dabbing a quickly reddening tissue against Mitsuki’s hand.
Well aware of this, Mitsuki shrunk in her seat. If she was honest, the pain in her fingers felt good— not that she was a masochist, but it was proof of her hard work at getting better. Getting closer to being able to play the music she had to if this was really going to work out for her.
When she played, she was only focused on one thing— progress. Dreams of being a musician swirled in her head, taunting her when she so much as took a break. So, she needed to make quick progress specifically, if she wanted to realize her dreams at all. She pushed herself hard some days, trying to quell the nervous feeling inside of her that she wasn’t good enough, or that she wouldn’t make it.
“I promise I was just about to stop,” Mitsuki protested, the semi-lie lingering in the air, not good enough for Aya to miss it.
Aya plucked another tissue from the box. Her hand wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, but Aya took the opportunity to wipe around the cuts, careful not to irritate them. She paused, sighing.
“Don’t do the thing you always do.”
Mitsuki raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
Mitsuki’s posture shrank as Aya squinted her eyes, assessing whether she was playing dumb or not. Because Aya knew her. Knew that she fidgeted when she lied, made up nervous excuses when she was exposed. So, she could only sit quietly as Aya continued to stare at her, hands frozen in her lap and meeting her suspicious gaze.
After a few moments of careful examination, Mitsuki swore her heart skipped a beat when Aya shook her head and sighed quietly. Which, decidedly, was scarier than her expressing her disapproval outright. She isn’t angry, Mitsuki thought, but worse— disappointed.
“You know what I’m talking about! When you say that you’ll stop, and that everything is fine, and then something happens like this,” Aya insisted, raising Mitsuki’s bloody hand up and shaking it around like some grotesque puppet.
“That time when one of your callouses burst? You’d been playing for six hours.”
Unfortunately for Mitsuki, this was true. And she had told Aya she would stop sooner, but…
“That’s a perfectly reasonable amount of time. And I told you, I was just about to get the chorus down—”
“—until I heard you scream all the way from the kitchen. Mitsuki, I was so worried,” Aya pouted, looking down at their hands, still entangled as the red eroded to bronze. A silence fell over them, putting Mitsuki on edge. She was hesitant to speak.
For better or for worse, Mitsuki’s mind supplied the memory for her: right hand ripping through the verse, her fingers carelessly catching in between the strings. The yelp of pain she’d let out, steel splitting her skin and spilling her blood. A heavy feeling twisted in her chest as she dropped her gaze too, watching her bloodied hand against Aya’s clean one.
“I’ll get a towel and bandages for you,” Aya said, voice uncharacteristically flat. Aya’s hand slipped away from hers. Looking up, Mitsuki could see the way her expression became too restrained, monotonous, trying and failing to conceal her emotion as her lower lip quivered.
“Be right back.”
She got up and took long strides to the other end of the room, as if she couldn’t wait to get out. Mitsuki watched her figure recede, bright flash of pink hair bobbing up and down before it disappeared behind the corner.
The room suddenly felt too big, too empty. Aya’s absence felt cold and unfamiliar. All of Mitsuki’s thoughts were directed towards it, and what she had done to deserve it.
The truth was, sometimes her dreams felt too large to bear. Like a part of the sky that was unknowably far-off, they felt like an infinite oblivion only reachable to other people. It was the reason she’d come close to losing her passion for music, almost quitting guitar as a whole.
Would she make it? She didn’t know. The uncertainty always lingered with her, a blunt ache in the shape of her heart. But sometimes it spiked, turned into something sharp and awful. Like being cut by guitar strings. Mitsuki scoffed at the irony, flexing her fingers and feeling the burn of her wounds.
But Aya, as always, was right. She didn’t know when to stop. Didn’t know where the line between being hardworking and working too hard was. Surely, this was it— the blood on her hands, Aya’s quiet anger. Who was really hurt, though?
Minutes felt like hours before Aya stepped back in, holding a roll of gauze, a few towels, and ointment. Mitsuki wasn’t sure if she was glad that she was back. The emptiness didn’t disappear, it only became worse, the silence sharpening. She averted her eyes from Mitsuki as sat back on the couch, which made the twisting in her chest become unbearable.
Without saying a word, Aya took Mitsuki’s hand, wiping the blood off with a wet towel. She watched her girlfriend work, her view only of long eyelashes and the top of her lip which pursed as she tried not to use so much pressure. Still, Mitsuki noticed the sheen of pink lipgloss she’d worn since highschool, and oddly, it felt like a welcome glimpse of normalcy.
Mitsuki could almost taste it in her mouth as she stared, the phantom flavour of strawberry dragging her back to days when they didn’t fight. Luckily, her good memories were abundant.
When she’d noticed Aya’s lipgloss in high school, years ago, not even daring to dream of being with her. When they’d listened to music for the first time together, earbuds tugging them closer than they’d ever been before, Everlong drifting far into the background as she snuck glances at Aya’s face, wondering what it would be like to get even closer. The first time she’d kissed Aya. The first time Aya kissed her. What it would be like, to kiss her now, their argument an afterthought they could afford?
However, they weren’t teenagers anymore— “kiss and make up” no longer applied literally. It was better that way. Aya deserved a real apology, and with that they could return to normalcy, where pink lipgloss could just be pink lipgloss.
“Does it hurt?” Aya asked, snapping Mitsuki out of her thoughts. Blinking, she focused again, seeing the top of Aya’s head. Her gaze remained on Mitsuki’s hand, purposely not looking at her.
“No, I’m okay.” Mitsuki replied, too quickly. She was relieved that the silence had been broken, but was still recovering from her resurfacing into reality. A sting of pain shot through her hand as Aya dabbed antibiotic on the worst of her cuts. She hissed, slightly jerking her hand away. Aya reacted quickly.
“Sorry,” she apologized, finally looking up at Mitsuki. She looked genuinely concerned, yet her voice was still distant. “This part always hurts.”
Mitsuki nodded, wincing again as it was applied to another cut. Maybe she wanted a distraction from the pain, maybe she wanted everything to return to normal between the two of them again, but she was compelled to speak.
“Sometimes I want it so bad, it hurts,” Mitsuki blurted, surprising herself and Aya.
Aya slowly made eye contact with her again, pausing her treatment. Mitsuki went on, something possessing her to continue.
“Have you ever wanted something so bad, you can feel it in your chest? It's not a bad or good feeling, it's just there. Waiting for you to do something about it.” Mitsuki rambled, out of breath. Surely, she’d never spoken this much at a time in her life. “It’s scary. Wanting something that bad, you know?”
“That’s how I feel about music. About guitar. I just want to be something.”
Aya looked to the side for a second, contemplating as she reached for the roll of gauze in her lap. She started to unroll it as she spoke.
“Do you know what the last thing I wanted that bad was?”
Aya stared at her intensely. Mitsuki’s brows furrowed, her response catching her off guard. She thought about it for a moment, but couldn’t come up with an answer. Going to a live concert? Getting into university? Guilt festered in her chest in response to her ignorance.
“No… no, I don't.”
Aya bit her lip, hesitating before she spoke.
“You, Mitsuki,” she said, quietly, as if that made the words have less impact. She let it sink in for a beat, twisting the strip of gauze nervously in her hands. “Ever since I saw you at the record store, under false pretenses or not. So yes, I know what it feels like.”
Everything hit Mitsuki at once. How could she be so stupid?
Music wasn’t the only thing she had ever dreamed about, it was Aya. Aya beside her in class with her pink lipgloss and pretty smile. Aya falling asleep on her shoulder on the bus back from the grocery store. Aya, who bandaged her cuts when she didn’t deserve her kindness in the first place.
Aya understood her want, because they shared it. And her insistence to push herself was so futile, because, after all—
“But I never rushed anything. I knew that all of those days hanging out at the store, at school, were for something. Even if I was unsure of it, or it seemed so out of reach at the time. Because, look at us now,” a small smile formed on her lips as she squeezed Mitsuki’s uninjured hand gently, “I got what I wanted.”
Heat rushed to Mitsuki’s cheeks. She wanted to reply, but she could tell that Aya had more to say. Aya took Mitsuki’s right hand and began to wrap the gauze around it.
“You can’t brute force your way into making it, okay? The whole ‘she played until her fingers bled’ thing makes for a great story, but sometimes that's all it is. Right?” she suggested, looking up quickly before she continued to work with the gauze. Mitsuki watched as her hand slowly began to look more mummified.
She nodded. “I never thought about it like that. With us… it felt easier, I guess. Everything kept snowballing, and eventually, I knew that something would happen. Like the universe was rooting for us,” Mitsuki thought out loud, missing the way Aya momentarily stopped wrapping her hand before continuing.
“But when I’m thinking about my music, it’s like— the stars have to be perfectly aligned for this to work out. It’s hard. Am I making any sense?” Mitsuki said, looking sheepish.
Aya finished wrapping her hand, mummification complete. “Thank you,” Mitsuki added gratefully, her hand stiff when she tried to curl it into a fist.
“Yeah, I get it. But everything that’s good is hard… you just need to chip away at it piece by piece,” Aya supplied. “I don't think that Brian May became a legend all in one day,” she chuckled.
Mitsuki smiled, leaning closer to her girlfriend. “You think I can be like Brian May one day?”
Aya blushed, Mitsuki’s face inches away from hers. “Hah, I never said that. I just…” she cut herself off as Mitsuki encroached on her space even more. She placed a palm beside her thigh, angling herself over Aya’s body so that the other girl had to lean back ever so slightly.
“What was that?” Mitsuki teased, smirking as Aya became even more flustered. Her face was so close now, the pink of Aya’s lipgloss revealing itself to have coral undertones. Like grapefruit, Mitsuki thought, not strawberries.
“Well, for starters…” Aya began, avoiding Mitsuki’s gaze as the tips of her ears pinkened, matching her hair. “Maybe stop using your guitar as a paper shredder.”
Mitsuki snorted. “If I promise, will you forgive me?”
Mitsuki watched as a small smile formed on Aya’s face, but she caught the undertone of mischief that shifted in her eyes.
“Hmmm…” Aya hummed, tapping her chin in mock consideration as her smile spread. “That’s a big ask.”
“Oh, the suspense,” Mitsuki groaned. She spread her bandaged hand across Aya’s bare thigh, an unconscious motion. Aya faltered, gaze snapping to the touch. Before Mitsuki could tease her about it, she realized, narrowing her eyes at her girlfriend.
“Say that you’re sorry.” Aya demanded, seriousness undermined by her playful smile. Mitsuki sighed dramatically in response, but was happy to oblige. She caressed Aya’s skin with her thumb in broad strokes, this time on purpose. Aya shifted under her touch, trying and failing to mask the thinly-veiled pleasure on her face. Satisfied at the reaction she earned, Mitsuki spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said, real apology seeping into her tone. Aya nodded, signalling for her to continue. “For not knowing when to stop. For making you worry. Really,” she added, when Aya raised an eyebrow in suspicion.
Mitsuki went on. “I promise that I won’t push myself so hard anymore. Okay?”
Aya seemed to take a moment to consider, and satisfied, she said, “Good enough, I guess. You better keep that promise.”
Mitsuki laughed. “Any more demands?”
“No,” Aya said. She blushed. “Just… come here. You’re teasing me,” she mumbled, tugging the hand beside her thigh towards her.
Mitsuki, greedy, took in the sight of Aya at this angle before she moved. Blush high on her cheeks, neediness rounding the corners of her eyes, and her pink-coral lipgloss put on display in a pout, bottom lip prominent. She smiled, admiring her girlfriend. Seeing Aya in this way, one no one had before, was her original dream. Music only tied them together.
“Okay,” she breathed, simple and easy. If she was honest, she was glad Aya had asked, unable to take any more of her own teasing too. She began to crawl over Aya, and, following her lead, Aya backed to the end of the couch. Mitsuki’s legs bracketed her thighs as she overlooked her.
Aya giggled as her head hit the pillow, reaching up to tangle her hands in Mitsuki’s hair. Mitsuki noted the stark difference in the texture of her hands as opposed to her own. Aya’s were softer, unlike her rough, calloused fingers from years of playing guitar. Her manicured nails scraped the nape of her neck, not digging in, just enough pressure to know that she was there.
Mitsuki cupped Aya’s cheek with her good hand, feeling her girlfriend lean into the touch. Letting out a whine of complaint, Aya brought Mitsuki’s face closer to her own. Mitsuki’s face grew hot staring at her lips, the sheen of her lipgloss irresistible. Tracing her jawline with a calloused finger, Mitsuki tipped her chin as she leaned in.
The kiss started slowly as they eased into it. Mitsuki tasted the familiar strawberry flavour once again, sweet relief flooding her senses as the taste grounded her to Aya. Their lips moved together easily, a practiced motion that turned more frantic as it went on. Mitsuki felt almost shy. Somehow, it always felt like she was at the start, kissing Aya for the very first time. Her heart raced, all nerves and excitement, like she hadn’t done this a thousand times before. Lowering herself onto Aya’s chest, Mitsuki angled her mouth and exerted gentle pressure, deepening the kiss.
Aya laughed softly when their teeth clashed, unexpected. They kissed the same: no better than the teenagers they used to be, clumsy and inexperienced. Mitsuki smiled against Aya’s lips, swearing quietly into her mouth before leaning in again.
She thought about how Aya and her dreams of becoming a musician were inherently tangled up in each other, inseparable. Music had allowed them to connect— what was obscure taste to others became their unique way to bond. But it was Aya who had driven her to perform on the stage for the first time, write her very first songs. Aya who she fell in love with. Her two loves for music and Aya fed each other, the cycle enduring. To honour both, she had to stop setting the bar too high for herself.
Pulling away and giving her one last kiss on the cheek, Mitsuki flopped beside Aya on the couch. Their hair was splayed in a mix of black and pink as they caught their breaths. Sighing, Aya turned towards her, a huge grin plastered on her face, cheeks flushed and lipgloss partly smudged.
“You still kiss like a teenager,” she teased, playing with Mitsuki’s hair. She twisted her dark locks around her finger, before they sprung back to their usual wave.
Mitsuki scoffed, flushing. “It takes two to kiss,” she corrected, earning a laugh from Aya.
“So you’re saying that we should practice?” Aya smirked, black strands slipping out of the loops she’d made. Mitsuki felt the sting of her wounds again as she took Aya’s hand in hers, a literal painful reminder of what they’d just gone through.
“I’ll need something to pass the time with before I can play guitar again.”