Archive of Our Own

That was what Tetia had told her as she abruptly kicked the door of Agott's dorm and pulled her away from the comforts of her bed without even giving her the chance to fully wake up from her nap.

Agott had to kick her legs and wrestle Tetia on the floor just to get herself changed.

Now here she was, in front of the entrance. The neon sign above the venue entrance flickered with a buzz, mirroring the thrum of bass vibrating through the pavement. Agott pulled her coat tighter, her expression a mask of practiced “nonchalance” that barely concealed her irritation.

“I still don't understand why this was mandatory for the student council,” she muttered, dodging a group of rowdy freshmen spilling out of the doorway.

“Oh, lighten up, Agott!” Tetia beamed, hooking her arm through Agott’s while Richeh nudged her from the other side, practically dragging her into the dimly lit, smoke-hazed interior. “It’s a showcase of local college bands! You need to branch out, get some inspiration,”

“And stop living in the library like a Victorian child,” Richeh comments, earning a glare from Agott.

“I am perfectly capable of living in the library, thank you very much” Agott countered, though she allowed herself to be maneuvered toward the back of the crowded room.

The venue was cavernous, smelling of stale beer and expensive cologne. On stage, a lackluster acoustic duo was finishing their set, and the audience was restless. It looked less than a bunch of students and more of a sea of shifting shadows waiting for the next act, or just doing whatever. Agott leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, mentally calculating how much longer she had to endure this before she could perform an exit once atetia and Richeh looked away.

Then, the stage lights shifted.

A familiar figure stepped into the spotlight, adjusting the strap of a worn Fender Stratocaster. Coco looked different out of her usual uniform. She was wearing an oversized, clearly thrifted hoodie and a smirk that Agott had never seen before.

‘This... Isn't this- isn't this the same girl that-’

“Wait is that Coco?? The girl who apologized to me for accidentally touching my arm?” Richeh comments, her eyes narrowing as she analyzes the scene in front of her.

Tetia beamed. "I didn't know she played!"

Behind her, Tartah settled behind the bass with a focused expression, while Custas took his place at the electric guitar, his fingers already dancing over the frets as he did a quick, melodic sound check.

Agott froze. The air suddenly felt very thin.

Coco stepped up to the microphone, her presence commanding the space with an ease that made Agott’s breath hitch. She leaned in, her voice low and resonant as she spoke to the sound tech. Then, without warning, the band erupted.

The opening riff of Cicada sliced through the noise of the crowd, sharp and exhilarating. Agott’s pulse hammered in her ears. It was one of her secret playlists. The one she played on repeat when the pressure of her studies felt like it might crush her. Hearing it live, played with such raw, kinetic energy, felt like an electric shock.

“You're everything I'm thinking of, from time to time, and dust to dust...”

Agott felt the blood drain from her face. Her mind slammed into a vivid flashback of the music video she had watched a dozen times alone in her dorm room.

“Oh God, no,” her internal monologue screamed. “This is just like the music video. I am so fucked.”

Coco was a different person entirely. Unlike the usually shy student that walked down the hallway, completely quiet unless spoken to, here on the stage she was confident, vibrant, and completely captivating. She wasn't just the soft spoken classmate which Agott had a one-sided rivalry with. She wasn't the girl that Agott saw in their lectures.

Agott couldn’t look away. Her fingers gripped the edge of her drink so hard her knuckles turned white. She watched the way Coco’s dyed green-blonde hair caught the light, the way her hand moved across the guitar neck, the way she closed her eyes for a split second to feel the bridge of the song. It was devastatingly brilliant and beautiful.

“Woah,” Agott breathed, the word slipping out before she could catch it.

Beside her, the atmosphere shifted. She felt two pairs of eyes zeroing in on her.

“Oh?” Tetia’s voice was teasing, dripping with a sugary, knowing sweetness. “Is someone having a little... crush?”

Richeh leaned in, her grin wide and teasing. “Look at those eyes. Agotta hutch that our friend has such a soft spot for the lead singer… if I'm Ri-correct,”

Agott felt the heat rush to her face, a tide of crimson that she was certain could be seen from the back of the room. She whirled around, her composure fracturing entirely.

“What? No! Absolutely not,” she hissed, her voice rising in defensive panic. “That-that is our classmate! We share a history seminar! It’s just... The- t-the music is objectively competent, that is all. Why would you even suggest that? That’s disgusting!”

“You're turning pink, Agott,” Richeh pointed out, stifling a laugh. “It's as pink as Tetia's hair.”

“I am doing no such thing! I’m just... I-It’s the lighting! This venue has... Has- has bad- terrible, absolutely terrible lighting!” she stammered, frantically waving a hand as if to shoo away the accusation. “You're all delusional!”

“Sure,” Richeh said, leaning back with a smug expression. “Whatever you say.”

Agott turned back to the stage, desperately trying to focus on the technical composition of the drum beat, but her eyes kept drifting right back to the girl in the spotlight.

On stage, Coco executed a flawless transition into the chorus. Agott stood there, caught between the weight of her own denial and the overwhelming urge to watch every second of the performance, her heart doing a traitorous dance in her chest. She's convinced she was suffering from a heart attack.

“Wake me! I'll love you tomorrow," Coco sang, her voice rich and resonant, carrying over the driving bass line.

“Wait. Stop. What the fuck is this?” Agott’s internal monologue was spiraling into a full-blown crisis. “Why does she sound like that? Why is she looking at the audience like that?”

“You leave me breathless and hollow,”

“No no no no shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up don't.” Agott's mind snarled, her fingers unconsciously gripping on her clothes. She knows that she looked as if she was personally fighting her inner demons. “Holy fuck. I didn't know there were gay demons too. Wait–what the fuck am I thinking?!”

“Lately! A tough pill to swallow,” Coco continued, and Agott felt the air leave her lungs. “But I'll try to compose...”

“This gay panic shit is not a medical condition I can study my way out of,” she thought, her mind spiraling. “Why is she looking at the crowd like that? Why is she looking at me? Is she looking at me? No, she’s looking at the back wall. Probably. Please let her be looking at the back wall.”

Agott could vaguely remember the words that Tetia told her one time.

Agott felt a cold shiver trace its way down her spine. Her heart was currently performing a chaotic, uneven rhythm that felt suspiciously like a technical malfunction, and her brain was entirely incapable of formulating a coherent sentence.

“Oh fuck,” Agott thought, the realization settling in with terrifying clarity as she watched Coco laugh at something Custas said on stage. “Maybe that AO3 shit is real.”

"I could be, I suppose, someone you should get to know,” Coco crooned, her gaze sweeping across the room. When those eyes lingered on their booth for a fraction of a second, Agott felt like her soul had been briefly evicted from her body.

“Agott?” Richeh asked, peering at her with a knowing, mischievous glint in her eyes. “Earth to Agott. You look like you've just seen a ghost. Or a revelation.”

“Or both!” Tetia chirped.

Agott gripped her glass, her knuckles turning white. “I,” she started, then stopped, her throat feeling suddenly, inexplicably tight. She didn't want to admit it. She couldn't admit it.

“I need...” Agott whispered, her voice barely audible over the chatter of the crowd, “to... go sit in a very dark, and very quiet room for approximately three to five business days...”

Monday morning felt less like the start of a new week and more like a punishment for Agott’s sins. She didn't know what sins she did to make life say “fuck you” and throw an atomic bomb at her.

Maybe it was because she stole Tetia's Barbie doll out of pure spite when they were in Kindergarten. Tetia never knew she stole it.

The lecture hall was filled with the usual morning stuff. The scraping of chairs, the low murmur of students complaining about assignments, and the smell of coffee. Agott sat at her usual desk, her posture as straight as a ruler, staring unblinkingly at the blank page of her notebook.

Her mind, however, was miles away, stuck in a loop of the previous night.

“Someone you should get to know.”

The lyric echoed in her brain for the thousandth time, accompanied by the vivid, high-definition memory of the stage lights hitting Coco’s hair. Every time Agott tried to focus on the professor’s introduction to historical textile preservation, her thoughts immediately veered off a cliff.

“It wasn’t just the music,” she reasoned, trying to analyze the situation like a lab report. “It was... the environment. The lighting, the acoustics, the–”

“Agott?”

She jumped, nearly knocking her ink pot over. She turned, her heart doing a frantic, traitorous flip in her chest.

Coco was standing right there in the aisle, looking impossibly casual in a slightly oversized hoodie, her green-blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was holding a stack of worksheets with a familiar grin on her face.

“Hey! You were at The Inkwell last night, right?” Coco asked, her voice bright and unbothered. “I thought I saw you near the front! I’m sorry if we were too loud, we were just testing out a new setlist.”

Agott felt her face go from its usual pale to a shade of red that surely violated several campus safety codes.

“She saw me,” Agott thought, her internal monologue spiraling into a scream. “She saw me staring. She knows. She definitely knows.”

“I- I uh, yes,” Agott managed to choke out, forcing her voice to remain steady. She picked up her pen, gripping it like a weapon. “The... um, the volume was within acceptable decibel ranges for a performance venue... It was... efficient.”

Coco blinked, then laughed. It was a light, genuine sound that made Agott want to vanish into the floorboards. “Efficient? That’s a new review! I’ll take it.”

As Coco moved toward her own seat, Agott slumped forward, resting her forehead against the cool, smooth wood of the desk.

“Efficient?” she berated herself, her brain hitting the imaginary "panic" button for the tenth time that morning. “That’s what you said to her? What the fuck are you trying to be, William Shakespeare's daughter? You are an absolute foolish idiot.”

She glanced up just in time to see Tetia and Richeh sitting two rows back, watching the entire exchange with knowing, shit eating grins. Tetia caught her eye and gave a subtle, mocking thumbs-up.

Agott groaned, burying her face further into her arms. She really, really needed that quiet room for those three to five business days.

When the lecture finally ended, the walk to Art Club felt like stepping into a trap she had set for herself. Agott, Tetia, and Richeh were gathered in the back corner of the studio, surrounded by half-finished sketches and jars of dried brushes.

Agott was busy meticulously organizing her charcoal pencils, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that she was currently spiraling because a classmate had played a song she liked.

“You know,” Tetia said, her voice bright and deceptively casual as she painted a vibrant pink streak across her canvas. “Since our next performance is coming up and we're looking to expand our sound, we really need a new creative perspective.”

Agott didn't look up, though her hand stalled mid-stroke. “We have enough members, Tetia. Focus on your composition.”

“Actually,” Tetia continued, completely ignoring the warning, “I saw Coco walking down the hall, and she’s already a multi-instrumentalist. It would be a waste not to have her contribute to our upcoming projects!”

Before Agott could formulate a protest, Tetia had already flagged down the girl in question. Coco walked over, her casual grin lighting up the workspace, looking entirely too comfortable in the environment.

“Hey, guys!” Coco chirped, dropping a heavy bag of sheet music onto the table. “What’s up?”

“We were just talking about our band,” Tetia said, flashing a conspiratorial look at Richeh, who was suppressing a laugh. “We're looking for someone to collaborate with, and we thought of you. You've got that natural stage presence, and we could really use another guitarist. Or just your vocals, honestly.”

Agott felt the air vanish from the room. Her internal monologue, which had been struggling to maintain a facade of academic indifference, completely shattered.

“What.”

The word echoed in her mind like a scream, her vision narrowing to the smug, delighted expressions on Tetia and Richeh’s faces.

“Oh, that sounds awesome!” Coco said, her eyes widening in genuine excitement. She turned to Agott, her expression softening into something warmer. “What do you think, Agott? You’re the one who really knows the technical side of the arrangements. You’d be, like, the brains of the whole thing.”

Agott sat frozen, her hand still gripping a charcoal pencil so tightly it threatened to snap. She looked from Coco’s expectant, bright-eyed face to Tetia’s mischievous smirk, and then back to the notebook she had been using to document her own internal panic earlier that morning. The irony was almost suffocating.

“I...” Agott’s voice failed her, cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched squeak. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity, but her face was rapidly turning a shade of crimson that rivaled the paint on Tetia's palette. “I am... currently occupied with my own research. I don't know if that's... advisable.”

“Oh, come on!” Coco laughed, nudging Agott’s shoulder with her own. “It'll be fun! We can practice at the studio, and you can tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong with my technique. You're the best at that, right?”

Agott felt like she was trapped in a fanfiction nightmare of her own making, and the worst part was that she couldn't find a single logical reason to say no. Her brain was screaming abort, abort, abort, but her heart—that traitorous, stupid thing that doesn’t know how to keep itself grounded—was already wondering what it would be like to spend hours in a practice room, listening to that voice up close, without the barrier of a stage or a crowd.

She stared at the blank page of her sketchbook, the silence in the room stretching into an eternity. “Fine,” she finally whispered, the word barely audible. “But only if you promise to actually pay attention to the tempo this time.”

Coco’s grin widened, and for a split second, the entire art studio felt like the stage at The Inkwell, leaving Agott entirely breathless once more.

The following Saturday, Tetia’s garage had been transformed into a sanctuary of sound and disarray. Cables snaked across the concrete floor like tangled vines, and the scent of energy drinks and ozone hung heavy in the air.

Agott stood by the workbench, clutching her bass as if it were a shield, while she tried—and failed—to ignore the sheer domesticity of the scene.

“Okay, so, run the intro again?” Coco asked, her fingers dancing idly over the strings of her guitar. “I want to see if we can get that transition cleaner.”

“It’s not the transition, it’s the timing,” Agott replied, her voice clipped as she stepped forward to plug in her bass. She kept her eyes glued to her fretboard, avoiding Coco’s gaze at all costs. “If you rush the bridge, the rhythm section–” she gestured vaguely toward Tartah and Custas, whose matching black-and-orange hair streaks really made them look like lovers “–it throws everything off balance. It’s basic physics of sound, really.”

“Agott, chill,” Richeh called out from behind her drum kit, her hair swaying as she tightened a wingnut on her snare. “We’re just jamming, not dissecting a cadaver.”

Agott felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She could feel Coco watching her, that familiar, lopsided grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“She’s right, though,” Coco said, her tone unexpectedly gentle, which only made Agott’s heart perform a treacherous, erratic leap. "I want it to be perfect. Especially if you’re the one listening, Agott."

The air in the garage suddenly felt very thin. Agott’s internal monologue descended into a familiar, screeching panic. She looked over at Tetia, who was busy tuning her lead guitar, her pink hair pulled into a high ponytail. Tetia caught her eye and gave a subtle, knowing wink, confirming that the entire situation was exactly the kind of cliché she lived for.

“I... I don't care about perfection,” Agott lied, her voice dropping an octave as she adjusted her volume knob. “I care about not sounding like a disaster.”

“Then let's be a controlled disaster,” Coco laughed, stepping closer to the center of the room. She turned to the rest of the band, her posture shifting from casual to focused.

“Okay, let's run through the intro again,” Coco repeated, her green-blonde ponytail swaying as she adjusted her amp settings. She looked up and caught Agott’s eye, flashing that lopsided, effortless grin. “You ready, Agott? You're the backbone of this rhythm section.”

Agott felt a familiar, frantic heat surge beneath her collar. “I'm always ready,” she said, her voice sounding a bit more clipped than she intended. “Unlike some people who seem to think 'tempo' is just a suggestion.”

“That's because we're distracted by your flustered mess!” Richeh shouted from behind her drum kit, her light blue hair vibrating as she gave her snare a sharp and playful crack.

“I am not–”

“Look at her, Tetia! The mask is cracking!”

“I don't have a mask?!” Agott yells, before darting her eyes to Tetia. “Tetia, tell her!”

Tetia, still busy tuning her lead guitar, just giggled, her pink hair shimmering in the harsh garage lighting. “Give her a break, Richeh. She’s just focusing on the complex musicality of our dear lead singer.”

Agott felt the blood rush to her face, her confidence immediately shattering. She turned back to her bass, her fingers finding the strings with a frantic precision. “I... We're here to rehearse, not to engage in an idle, baseless speculation,” she muttered, though her resolve was weakening by the second.

Tartah, sitting on a stool nearby with his ginger hair and distinct black streak matching Custas’s own, chuckled softly. “Just play, Agott. If you keep staring at her like that, you're going to miss your entry.”

Agott’s heart did a traitorous, stuttering flip. She didn't look at them, but she felt the weight of Coco’s gaze on her. It was a strange, terrifying, and exhilarating feeling, being the "backbone" for someone who made her feel so completely unmoored.

“Okay, one, two,” Coco counted in, her voice grounding and steady, cutting through the garage’s thick atmosphere. “Three, four.”

As they slammed into the opening chords, the noise was a perfect, messy collision of sound that filled the small space.

For a moment, the world outside was gone. The library, her academic schedule, the persistent, nagging feeling that she was losing her mind, all of them ceased to exist.

She was just Agott, the girl with the bass, locked into a rhythm with a girl who had green-blonde hair, a contagious laugh, and a way of singing that made every nerve ending in Agott’s body stand on edge.

Agott played harder, her eyes fixed on the fretboard, trying to channel the sheer, overwhelming thrill of it all into the music.

It was nearly 9:00 PM. Tetia and Richeh had bailed an hour ago under the guise of an "emergency boba run," while Tartah and Custas had quietly packed up their gear, exchanging a quiet glance before slipping out the heavy soundproof door.

That left Agott and Coco alone in a room that suddenly felt five sizes too small.

Agott stood near her amp, rigidly tuning her bass for what was objectively the fourth time in twenty minutes. Her thumb swept across the E string. A fraction of a Hertz flat. She adjusted the peg with extreme, unnecessary precision.

“You're going to snap that string if you keep tightening it, you know,” Coco’s voice floated over from the corner.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her worn electric guitar resting across her lap. She had pulled off her hoodie, leaving her in a faded vintage graphic tee, her collarbone exposed in a way that Agott was actively trying not to register.

“It is simply out of tune,” Agott said coldly, refusing to look up from her fretboard. “Precision matters, Coco. If the bassline wavers even slightly, the entire harmonic structure of the bridge falls apart.”

“Agott.”

“What?”

“You've been tuning the exact same string since Richeh closed the door.”

Agott froze. Her cheeks flared with an immediate, traitorous heat. She snapped her eyes up, ready to deliver a scathing rebuttal, but the words died in her throat. Coco wasn't smirking like Tetia or judging like Richeh. She was just sitting there, looking up at Agott with those soft, golden-brown eyes, a mild, curious tilt to her head.

“I am simply maintaining my equipment,” Agott muttered, though the sharpness in her voice lacked its usual bite. She leaned her bass against its stand and sat down on a nearby folding chair, crossing her arms defensively. “Besides, your timing on the second verse was entirely loose. You were playing by feel instead of following the metronome.”

Coco let out a quiet, breathy laugh, leaning her head back against the padded wall. “Music is supposed to be felt, Agott. If I wanted everything to be mathematically perfect, I’d just let a computer play the guitar line.”

“A computer wouldn't miss the chord shift on count four,” Agott countered, though her fingers unconsciously tugged at the hem of her cardigan.

“Maybe,” Coco murmured, resting her chin on the body of her guitar, her fingers idly plucking a soft, unamplified sequence of notes. “But a computer wouldn't feel the way the room shifts when the chord changes either.” She stopped plucking and looked directly at Agott. “You play like you're trying to prove you belong here.”

Agott’s breath caught. The defensive walls she had spent years building in academic halls felt suddenly paper-thin. “I.. I don't need to prove anything–”

"Wait–No I–I didn't mean it as an insult!” Coco said quickly, her voice softening into something terribly gentle after realizing her wording. She set her guitar aside and shifted forward on the floor, resting her elbows on her knees. “I used to feel like that too. Like if I wasn't useful, or if I didn't do everything right, people would just... look past me. So when I play, I just want to make enough noise that nobody can ignore it.”

Agott swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. She looked at Coco and realized with a feeling that this wasn't just a loud, effortless girl on a stage. Coco was observant. Devastatingly so.

“You're not invisible,” Agott whispered before her brain could filter the thought.

Coco blinked, caught off guard. A faint, genuine blush dusted across her nose and cheeks, catching the pale glare of the overhead light. “Neither are you, Agott. Even when you try to hide behind your textbooks.”

Before Agott could process the terrifying weight of that sentence, the heavy door clicked open. Tetia slid into the room, holding two empty boba cups like maracas, with Richeh trailing behind her looking thoroughly unbothered.

“We're back!” Tetia announced loudly, her eyes darting between Agott’s crimson face and Coco’s sudden interest in her guitar picks. Tetia’s grin widened by several inches. “Oh, did we interrupt a very serious, technical discussion about... timing?”

“And we are done for the night,” Agott said instantly, standing up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum. She grabbed her bass case with frantic haste. “I have Professor Olruggio's lecture tomorrow morning and I refuse to be unprepared.”

As Agott practically bolted out the door, she heard Richeh’s low chuckle and Tetia’s whispered, “I told you she was red!” lingering in the hallway behind her.

The next morning, the air in Professor Olruggio’s lecture hall was thick with the scent of cheap filter coffee and late-stage academic despair.

Agott sat in her usual front-row seat, her notebook open, pen held at a precise forty-five-degree angle. She was the picture of scholarly focus. Or at least, she would have been, if her mind weren't replaying the exact timbre of Coco’s voice saying “Neither are you, Agott” on an endless loop.

“As you can see from the diagram,” Olruggio’s dry, low drawl echoed from the front of the room as he tapped a piece of chalk against the blackboard, “the propagation of sound waves through a medium relies entirely on density and elasticity. If the medium is too rigid, the wave distorts.”

He paused, lowering his chalk, his tired eyes scanning the front row until they landed dead-center on Agott.

“Which brings me to my next point,” Olruggio continued, leaning against his podium with a faint, knowing smirk. “Some of us seem to be experiencing a severe distortion today. Agott. You’ve been staring at the exact same blank page for fifteen minutes without writing a single letter.”

A wave of quiet snickers rippled through the hall.

Agott’s spine snapped instantly straight, her knuckles turning white around her pen. “I am merely reflecting on the theoretical implications of wave interference, Professor.”

“Right,” Olruggio said dryly, turning back to the board. “Well, reflect a little quieter. Your internal crisis is distracting the back row.”

Two rows behind her, Tetia muffed a snort into her sleeve, while Richeh tapped her pen against her desk in a steady, mocking rhythm. Agott resisted the overwhelming urge to vanish into a pocket dimension.

Later that afternoon, the studio room in the art building was flooded with dusty golden light. Professor Qifrey strolled between the easels, his light coat swaying as he inspected his students' progress.

“Remember,” Qifrey called out, his tone airy and encouraging, “our upcoming collaborative showcase isn't just about accuracy. It’s about contrast. Light and shadow. Firmness and fluidity. How two opposing forces interact on the canvas.”

He stopped right beside Agott’s easel, looking down at her charcoal sketch. It was a perfectly rendered, precise drawing of a violin string mid-vibration—sharp, clean, and lifeless.

“Technically flawless, Agott,” Qifrey mused, resting his chin in his hand. “But where is the movement? Where is the warmth?”

Before Agott could defend her artistic choices, Qifrey turned toward the doorway where Coco was standing, holding a guitar case and looking slightly lost.

“Ah, perfect timing, Coco!” Qifrey beamed, clapping his hands together. “Agott was just looking for a partner to help bring some dynamic energy to her project. You two will be working together on the movement study.”

“Wait–what?” Agott’s head snapped up. “Professor, I worked independently on the preliminary outline–”

“And it’s very impressive,” Qifrey interrupted smoothly, giving her a mild, untroubled smile that made Agott suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. “Which is why partnering with someone whose medium is pure performance will do wonders for your perspective. Class dismissed!”

Coco walked over, dropping her bag onto the stool next to Agott with a soft laugh. “Looks like you’re stuck with me again, Agott.”

Agott stared at the charcoal smudges on her fingers, her heart doing something completely illogical. Something started to flourish against her ribs.

“It seems,” she muttered, trying to ignore how close Coco’s shoulder was to hers, “that the universe is determined to ruin my GPA.”

“Hey!” Coco chuckles, leaning in slightly, her eyes bright with that same effortless warmth that always threw Agott off balance. “I would make a great study partner. We can work at your place tonight. I’ll even bring snacks.”

Agott opened her mouth to formulate a rational, structured refusal, but looking at the soft curve of Coco’s smile, her brain completely short-circuited.

“Fine,” Agott managed, her voice barely a whisper. “But no crumbs on my desk.”

“Deal” Coco giggles.

The apartment was suffocatingly quiet before the doorbell rang. Agott had spent forty-five minutes straightening the already immaculate living room, aligning books on the shelf by height and subject matter, and aggressively wiping down a kitchen counter that was already sterile.

When the chime rang, Agott froze, her heart instantly slamming against her ribs.

“I’ve got it,” a calm voice called out from the kitchen.

Adina stepped into the hallway, drying her hands on a linen towel. Agott’s mother possessed an effortless, sharp elegance that Agott had spent her entire life trying to replicate, though usually with far more anxiety.

“Mother, wait–” Agott started, rushing toward the foyer, but Adina had already swung the front door open.

Coco stood on the welcome mat, an overstuffed yellow tote bag slung over her shoulder and a box of fresh pastries balanced in one hand. She wore her faded oversized denim jacket over a dark shirt, her green-blonde hair tossed into a casual, slightly messy topknot.

“Hi! You must be Agott’s mom,” Coco beamed, offering a warm, entirely unbothered smile. “I’m Coco! We share art and history seminars. I brought cinnamon rolls from the bakery near the quad.”

Adina paused, her sharp gaze sweeping over Coco. From her comfortable, thrifty aesthetic down to the scuffed sneakers, she analyzes her before a soft, amused expression softened her features. “A guest who brings pastries is always welcome in this house. Come in, Coco.”

Agott hovered behind her mother, her face burning with a faint crimson hue. “Mother, we are here strictly to complete Professor Qifrey’s dynamic movement assignment. We will be in the study.”

“Of course,” Adina said smoothly, stepping aside to let Coco in. As Coco slipped past her to set the box on the entry table, Adina caught Agott’s eye. She didn't say a word, but the subtle, knowing arch of one eyebrow sent a wave of utter panic straight to Agott’s core. Adina knew. Adina always knew when Agott was unnerved, and right now, Agott looked like a cat bristling at a laser pointer.

They retreated to Agott’s room, which was predictable in its neatness—scaffolded shelves of classical history volumes, neatly organized charcoal sets, and an acoustic bass resting in a corner stand.

Coco set her notebook on the desk, looking around with genuine awe. “Your room looks like a museum, Agott. It’s so cool.”

“It is organized,” Agott corrected stiffly, taking a seat at the far end of the wide wooden desk. “Chaos in one’s workspace leads to chaos in one’s execution. Now, regarding Qifrey’s prompt...”

For the next two hours, they worked. Or rather, Agott attempted to work while Coco completely disrupted her train of thought simply by existing in the same square footage. Coco sat on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed with a sketchpad propped on her knees, humming under her breath as she drafted rough, fluid gesture lines.

“Look at this,” Coco said suddenly, shifting closer and turning her pad toward Agott.

Agott leaned over, her shoulder brushing lightly against Coco’s jacket. Her breath hitched. On the page was a rapid, charcoal motion capture of a hand gripping a bass neck—sharp, dark angles fading into soft, sweeping curves of motion. It was undeniably Agott’s hand.

“It’s… imprecise,” Agott stammered, her gaze fixed on the paper, though her mind was entirely focused on the warmth radiating from Coco’s shoulder. “The proportion of the third knuckle is slightly skewed.”

“It’s not about the knuckle, Agott,” Coco whispered softly, turning her head to look at her. They were close. Far too close. The faint scent of rain and cinnamon lingered around Coco, entirely undoing Agott’s carefully maintained defenses. “It’s about how much tension you hold when you play. You’re always holding on so tight, like if you loosen up even a little bit, everything will break.”

Agott swallowed, her throat tight. She wanted to argue. She wanted to pull out a textbook and explain why control was the fundamental basis of all technical mastery. But looking into Coco’s wide, golden-brown eyes, the arguments dissolved into dust.

“If I don’t keep control...” Agott murmured, her voice dropping into a rare, vulnerable murmur, “things do break.”

Coco smiled, a small, devastatingly gentle expression that made Agott’s heart perform a dangerous acrobatic maneuver. “Not everything. Some things just get better when you let go.”

A quiet knock at the door broke the quiet between the two girls.

Adina stepped into the doorway holding two mugs of tea. She glanced at the tiny distance between the two girls on the floor, her eyes lingering on the way Agott’s hands were trembling slightly against her knees.

“Just bringing some tea for the scholars,” Adina said smoothly, placing the mugs on the desk. She looked at Coco with a warm, approving smile. “Coco, you are welcome to stay for dinner if you’d like. Agott rarely brings home friends who manage to make her forget her schedule.”

“Mother!” Agott squeaked, her face flushing a deep shade of red.

Coco laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled every corner of the quiet room. “I’d love to, Mrs. Arklaum. As long as Agott promises not to grade my table manners.”

“I do not grade people!” Agott protested loudly, burying her face in her hands as Coco and Adina shared a quiet, conspiratorial laugh at her expense.

Sitting on the floor of her perfectly organized room, surrounded by charcoal dust and the scent of tea, Agott realized with a sense of quiet dread that her life was slipping completely out of her control—and traitorously, part of her didn't want it back.

The smell of roasted vegetables and seasoned rice drifted into the hallway, cutting through the usual sterile calm of the apartment.

Dinner was an agonizing test of endurance for Agott.

She sat stiffly at the dining table, her fork aligned at a precise right angle to her plate, while Coco sat opposite her, chatting with Adina like they had known each other for years.

“So, Coco,” Adina said, taking a quiet sip of water, her dark eyes sparkling with subtle amusement. “Agott tells me you’re in a band together. She doesn’t usually participate in... extracurricular noise.”

“Mother, it is a structured ensemble,” Agott interjected immediately, her voice rising half an octave. “We are studying performance dynamics and tempo control.”

“It’s a rock band, Mrs. Adina,” Coco grinned, completely ignoring Agott’s frantic glare, and ignoring the formality that Agott was trying to build. “And Agott’s actually incredible on the bass. She acts like she’s just doing math on the fretboard, but when she plays, she locks down the whole room. We’d be a mess without her.”

Agott felt the heat surge up her neck, instantly painting her ears a bright, telltale pink. She hastily picked up her glass, taking a long drink to avoid speaking.

Adina tilted her head, watching the way Coco’s eyes lingered on Agott with an unmistakable, soft warmth before turning back to her meal. “Is that so? Agott has always been very... dedicated... to things she cares about. Even if she refuses to admit she cares.”

“Mother!” Agott choked, setting her glass down with a sharp clack. “That is entirely irrelevant to our academic coursework!”

Coco let out a chuckle, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s okay, Agott. I think it’s cute.”

The word hung in the air like a live wire.

Agott’s mind slammed into an immediate, catastrophic halt.

“Cute. She called me cute. In front of my mother. In my own dining room.”

Her internal monologue degenerated into a high-pitched, unintelligible screech. She stared down at her plate, her knuckles white around her fork, utterly incapable of formulating a coherent sentence.

Adina quietly took a bite of her salad, hiding a knowing, triumphant smile behind her napkin.

An hour later, the front door clicked shut behind Coco as she headed back to her dorm, leaving the apartment echoing with sudden, heavy silence.

Agott stood in the entryway, staring at the closed door as if expecting Coco to reappear. Her chest felt tight, her pulse hammering out that same frantic rhythm it had been playing all evening.

“She’s lovely,” Adina’s voice broke the quiet.

Agott whirled around, instantly dropping into a posture of extreme defense. “She is an influence on my schedule, Mother. She lacks rigor, her sense of timing is dangerously fluid, and she brings high-calorie baked goods into a clean space.”

Adina leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, folding her arms, her gaze terribly gentle. “Agott.”

“What?”

“Your hands were shaking the entire time she was standing near you.”

Agott froze. She looked down at her hands, which were indeed clenching the fabric of her cardigan so tightly her fingers ached.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Agott whispered, though the argument lacked any real conviction.

“You look at her the way your father used to look at rare classical manuscripts,” Adina said softly, a faint, nostalgic smile touching her lips. “Like you’re terrified to touch it, but you can’t look away either. You don’t have to analyze everything until it dies, sweetheart. Sometimes you’re allowed to just like someone.”

Agott swallowed hard, her throat feeling suddenly tight. She turned without a word and retreated into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

She walked over to her desk, where Coco’s rough charcoal sketch still lay beside her own hyper-precise drawing. The dark, fluid motion of her own hand on the bass strings seemed to jump off the page. Beneath the sketch, in tiny, messy handwriting, Coco had left a small note on the corner of the paper:

“Practice again tomorrow? Just the two of us?”

Agott collapsed onto her bed, pulling a pillow over her face to muffle a frustrated, helpless groan.

Tetia was right. She might as well be in an AO3 fanfic.

“Where is everyone?” Agott demanded, her voice tight as she paced the narrow hallway. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her bass for the fourth time in five minutes, her fingers clenching the leather. “Soundcheck starts shortly. Tetia? Richeh?”

Coco was leaning lazily against a stack of amplifier crates, idly picking out a warm acoustic melody on her Fender Stratocaster. She looked infuriatingly composed in her oversized denim jacket, her green-blonde hair pulled back into a loose knot.

“Tetia said something about needing spare drumsticks,” Coco offered, looking up with a gentle, lopsided smile. “And Tartah and Custas went to track down some water.”

In reality, two hallways over, Tetia, Richeh, Tartah, and Custas were crushed together behind a heavy metal fire exit door.

“Is this too obvious?” Tartah whispered, squinting through the narrow reinforced glass window.

“Do I look like I'm kidding?” Richeh snorted quietly, crossing her arms with an immensely self-satisfied grin. “It’s peak engineering. If we stay out here, they’re forced to speak like actual humans instead of Agott using us as a defensive barricade.”

“She’s going to murder us all,” Custas noted dryly, though he didn't make a move to open the door.

“She’ll send us thank-you cards later,” Tetia declared with absolute conviction, her pink hair swaying as she gave an authoritative nod. “Now quiet, they’re talking.”

Back in the corridor, the silence between Agott and Coco grew thick and heavy, punctuated only by the low, muffled roar of the crowd gathering in the main hall.

“You’re nervous,” Coco said softly, setting her guitar down on its stand and taking a step closer.

“I am not nervous,” Agott countered instantly, her posture snapping into a posture of rigid academic defense. “I am simply reviewing the order of our setlist to ensure proper execution.”

“Agott,” Coco murmured, stopping just a foot away. The warm amber lighting of the hallway caught the light in her eyes, softening her features. “Look at me.”

Agott hesitated, but her gaze traitorously drifted up. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“You don’t have to carry the whole set on your shoulders,” Coco said, her tone disarmingly soft. She reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing against the back of Agott’s hand where it gripped the neck of her bass. A sharp, electric warmth shot straight up Agott’s arm. “We’re out there together. I’ve got your back.”

Agott swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. “I... I know.”

Before her internal monologue could spiral into total disarray, the stage manager shoved open the door at the end of the hall. “Two minutes out! Let’s go, people!”

Right on cue, Tetia and the rest of the band materialized from down the corridor, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

“Oh good! We made it back just in time!” Tetia chirped, flashing a blinding, utterly fraudulent smile at Agott. “Let’s go smash this set!”

Agott shot them a look of lethal suspicion, but there was no time for an interrogation. The heavy stage curtain pulled back, the blinding blue and gold spotlights hit them, and the crowd’s roar washed over the room.

The performance was a whirlwind of energy, driving basslines, and percussion.

Every time Agott looked up from her fretboard to check her technique, her eyes instinctively landed on Coco. On stage, Coco was pure, effortless magic. Vibrant, completely commanding, and captivating. But every few measures, Coco would glance back over her shoulder, throwing Agott a private, knowing smile that made Agott’s heart perform faster than her fingers on her guitar.

As the final chord echoed through the hall and the audience erupted into deafening cheers, Tetia stepped up to her microphone, her pink hair glowing under the front lights.

“Thank you, everyone!” Tetia shouted into the mic, her eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated mischief. “We’ve had an incredible night, and we’ll see you all next time!”

The band bowed together under the harsh glare of the stage lights, the noise of the crowd vibrating straight through the floorboards under Agott’s boots.

As the others finally waved and began retreating into the dark safety of the wings, Agott stood frozen, clutching her bass as Coco stepped up beside her, an acoustic guitar strapped over her shoulders. Coco looked over, her golden-brown eyes soft and steady, silently asking for permission. Agott swallowed her panic, took a deep breath, and gave a tiny nod.

Coco struck the first gentle chord. Agott’s fingers instinctively found the fretboard, laying down a warm, grounding bassline that wove around the melody.

Coco turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto Agott’s. Agott’s heart did an erratic flip, but she held her ground, matching the tempo with practiced precision.

As they moved into the chorus, Coco’s voice swelled, and Agott joined in on the harmony, their voices blending effortlessly into the room:

On the second verse, Coco took a small step closer, her fingers gliding over the guitar neck as she sang with a tender, unhurried warmth:

Agott felt the blood rush to her face, but for once, she didn't try to hide or pull away. She stepped right up to her microphone, singing the build-up with a clear, unwavering voice that matched Coco’s step for step:

Together, they hit the chorus again, the energy between them electric, pulling every eye in the room directly toward the center of the stage:

Coco leaned into her mic, her eyes fixed entirely on Agott, repeating the line like a gentle confession:

Looking into Coco's eyes, for the time, Agott felt as if she were the center of Coco's life. Underneath the stage lights, she didn't feel trapped. Not when Coco had her eyes entirely on her.

Agott’s fingers played the final rising bass notes as they built up to the peak of the song. They both leaned into the final, soaring iteration of the chorus, their voices trading off line by line:

The acoustic guitar slowed to a quiet, lingering strum. Coco sang the lead line, her voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper:

“I could be, I suppose, someone you should get to know...”

Right on cue, Agott leaned toward Coco’s microphone:

“(I could be, I don't know, someone you should get to know)...”

Coco let out a soft breath, singing while stepping completely out of the microphone’s reach, coming to stand right in front of Agott:

“Oh, I could be, I suppose, someone you should get to know...”

As the very last chord hummed in the air, Coco sang the final words directly to Agott, away from the mic, her voice barely audible over the ring of the guitar:

“Someone you should get to know—”

Before the last note completely faded into the room, Agott closed the tiny distance remaining between them. Setting all her rigid control aside, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Coco’s.

The kiss was gentle, sweet, a perfect end to the song that left both of their hearts hammering as the room erupted into wild applause.

The venue exploded into a deafening wall of sound. Cheers, whistles, and the stomping of feet echoing off the ceiling. But inside the golden circle of the spotlight, the rest of the world felt miles away.

When they finally pulled back, Coco was beaming, her dark eyes sparkling with a mix of awe and pure, unfiltered joy. A bright crimson flush dusted her cheeks, matching the intense heat still burning across Agott’s face.

“That...” Coco breathed, her voice barely carrying over the roar of the crowd, “was definitely not in the setlist.”

Agott blinked, suddenly realizing where she was, who was watching, and the fact that her hands were still trembling against her bass. Her mind tried to scramble back toward its usual rigid defenses, but looking at Coco’s brilliant smile, the panic simply refused to take root.

“It was... an improvised performance,” Agott stammered, attempting to adjust her collar with a trembling hand to salvage whatever scrap of academic dignity she had left. “Technically speaking, it was... appropriate for the resolution of the piece.”

Coco let out a bright, clear laugh that rang louder in Agott’s ears than the entire applause of the venue. She stepped closer, sliding her hand down to lightly intertwine her fingers with Agott’s. “Appropriate, huh? You really are impossible, Agott.”

From the stage wings, Tetia was practically vibrating, grabbing Richeh’s shoulders and shaking her wildly. “I called it! I called it!”

Richeh just shook her head with a fond, exasperated smirk, tossing a fresh towel toward them. Tartah and Custas stepped back out to reclaim their instruments, both of them flashing subtle, supportive grins as they passed.

As the house lights slowly faded back to normal and the crowd began to filter toward the exit, Coco leaned in close to Agott’s ear, her breath warm against her skin.

“So,” Coco murmured, her thumb gently tracing the back of Agott’s hand. “Are you going to need some business days in a dark room after this, or can I buy you a coffee tomorrow?”

Agott looked down at their joined hands, feeling the traitorous, rapid beat of her heart finally settling into a steady, comfortable rhythm. A small, genuine smile touched the corners of her lips.

“Two business days,” Agott replied softly, raising her eyes to meet Coco’s. “And only if we can study the physics of sound waves together afterward.”

Coco’s smile widened, soft and completely warm. “It’s a date.”