Chapter Text
i remember how your hands felt on mine
♬
chuuya ; 15
you ; 14
the sky was stained violet. it was one of those long and slow sunsets that turned everything gold before going grey. the rooftop of an old karaoke bar cracked beneath their sneakers, old beaten up converse sported by two young teens. it was tar-patched and sun-warped, but it was their place. nobody climbed this high except for the bored, the reckless, or the ones like them who were too full of noise to sit still.
you sat cross-legged on a flattened milk crate, a half-eaten bag of spicy chips resting between your knees. your black hoodie sleeves were pushed up, revealing faded sharpie scrawls on your arm; lyrics, band names, maybe some spells if you were feeling mysterious. you were always writing on yourself like you were afraid the ideas might escape if you didn't trap them fast enough.
across from you, a strawberry blonde with hints of red tuned the beat-up red guitar they'd "borrowed" from a thrift store a year ago. his fingers were quick, precise, and his playing had a kind of violence to it like the strings owed him something. the wind pushed his copper hair into his eyes, but he didn't bother moving it.
"tell me again, chuuya," you said, voice lazy but sharp at the edges. you leaned back on one arm, squinting at him through the orange haze. "what are we gonna do?"
the boy named chuuya smirked, not looking up from the guitar. "we're gonna start a band."
"yeah, but not just a band," you continued, reaching into your hoodie pocket. you pulled out a small plastic water bottle and took a sip, wincing. "the band. the kind that makes the world stop."
he glanced up at you, his grin widening. "right. stadiums are gonna be sold out, chaos will ensure, and groupies will show up with tattoos of your eyeliner."
you snorted. "you wish someone would tattoo your broody little face on them."
he simply shrugged. "you'd be first."
you threw a chip at him, but he didn't dodge. there was a beat of quiet between you two, filled only by the soft buzz of cicadas and the click of chuuya's pick against the strings. you spoke up again, quieter now. "but seriously. you're not gonna flake on me, right?"
chuuya's head lifted again, but this time his expression was serious, too serious for a fifteen year old. that was the thing about him though. the world had pressed something heavy into him early, and you knew that weight. you felt it in yourself too. "no flaking," he said. "we go all the way, and it's gonna be you and me no matter what."
you nodded, like you were trying to believe him hard enough to make it real. from your back pocket of your jeans, you pulled out an old cracked guitar pick. it was purple and worn, nearly snapped in half. you had found it at the same thrift shop the two of you found the guitar at. gingerly, you held it up like an offering. "our version of a blood oath?"
he rolled his eyes but reached out anyway. your fingers touched around the pick, and your hand was colder than he expected. you began the oath. "i promise, if one of us makes it then we both do. no solos, not in this." your gaze was locked with his.
chuuya's jaw tightened. "swear it."
"sworn."
he didn't smile this time, and instead nodded and let the pick drop between the two of you. it hit the rooftop with a tiny sound that still echoed like thunder with the weight of the promise. the two of you stayed there until the sky turned black, playing pieces of songs you hadn't finished and arguing over band names.
neither of you noticed how close the stars felt, or how far everything else was already pulling.
the two of you had decided to go your own separate ways for the night, the street lamps flickering on indicating that it was time to head back home. before officially splitting up, the two of you locked hands and pulled down before snapping, the ritual of a handshake imprinted in your memory.
"see you tomorrow, chuu," you grinned. he looked back with the same glint in his azure eyes.
"don't fall over on the way home," he replied with his nickname for you.
you simply rolled your eyes before flipping him off as you turned around to start your trek home. you heard him scoff behind you which caused you to snicker.
arriving, the hallway to your apartment always smelled like old ramen and smoke. not the cool, incense kind of smoke either. it was the kind that clung to your clothes and made your pillow smell like exhaustion. you kicked off your converse at the door, keys jingling against your thigh like a little warning bell.
"home," you muttered to no one.
the living room was dark except for the blue flicker of the TV, turned low. a rerun of a game show nobody watched was playing on a loop. your mom's shift at the gas station wouldn't end until 2 a.m., maybe later. the silence felt bigger without chuuya beside you.
you stepped around the scattered junk mail and the box of your sister's old records you still hadn't unpacked. you didn't like touching them. it felt like trying to hold onto smoke.
your bedroom was a nest of tangled cables, thrift-store jackets, and half-filled notebooks. the walls were covered in layers upon layers of band posters. modern baseball, paramore, and bring me the horizon all decorated your walls, taped up like armor. little drawings from past memories sparkled in between all of it, adding the final touch.
you dropped your bag by the door and crawled onto your mattress, still in your hoodie. a single speaker buzzed faintly on your desk and you reached over and turned it up, letting the demo track you and chuuya had been working on fill the room.
his guitar came in first. your voice followed. it wasn't finished, and yet it didn't need to be. you stared up at the ceiling and whispered, "you better not leave me behind."
even though you already felt it, something shifting and pulling.
chuuya let the door shut quietly behind him. the hallway light was flickering again. it was the third time this month.
he didn't bother flipping the switch in his room, just took off his shoes and threw his hoodie on the desk. dazai was asleep on the couch, again.
the older boy's cigarette burned low in the ashtray, balancing on the armrest like a bad habit never fully kicked. chuuya didn't wake him, he never did. instead, he went to the far corner of his room where his amp sat, scarred and scuffed like it had lived through something.
he plugged in the red guitar.
his fingers found the melody you had hummed earlier. chuuya played it twice, and then a third time again but slower, letting the song burn in his calluses.
he thought about the way your eyes had narrowed when they had made the pact, and how you had never broke eye contact unflinching. he didn't say it out loud, but he felt it.
if something were to happen and i leave first... i'll come back for her.
a dog barked somewhere from outside, prompting him to turn the volume down to keep playing. a promise on a rooftop didn't sound like much, but to him it was louder than anything else in the world.
→♩♫♩←
chuuya ; 18
you ; 17
the corner of natsume street and 4th smelled like engine oil, burnt sugar, and cheap perfume - the city's way of reminding everyone it was still alive even if it didn't particularly care about you.
you sat on the curb in front of reverb records, the faded awning above you flapping like it might give out, and your converse were scuffed from kicking gravel. you had one headphone in, one out, bobbing your head to a scratchy beat you'd looped on your busted phone. your signature black hoodie was once again rolled to before your elbows, paired with torn blue jeans.
"nice of you to show up," you said without looking up.
chuuya dropped his bike onto the sidewalk beside you. his jacket was slung over one shoulder, and his collar was popped like he was trying to pick a fight with the wind. "morning to you too, sunshine."
you pulled out the other headphone. "you're late."
"you're always early."
"i respect time."
"i respect sleep."
you rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. "we still hitting the backroom today?"
he gave a lazy nod. "ranpo said we've got it until four. just don't let poe steal our cables again."
you stood, cracking your back. "only if you don't let dazai talk you into another 'experimental jazz-core' collab."
"hey," chuuya said, mock offended. "that track was art."
"that track gave me a migraine."
the two of you pushed through the door into reverb records, greeted by the familiar creak of warped floorboards and the low hum of a guitar string left mid-vibration. the shop was cluttered but warm. vinyl crates, scribbled zine flyers, and a glittering drum kit in the corner was situated like a promise.
behind the counter, a boy around your age named kunikida glanced up from a notebook filled with highlighter streaked budgeting nightmares. "try not to blow out the amps this time," he casually dropped.
"no promises," chuuya said with a salute.
the soundproof room in the back was barely bigger than a walk-in closet, but it was your closet. two amps, one mic stand, sticky notes on the walls with half-written lyrics, and a dent in the drywall from that one time you kicked it mid-verse. chuuya plugged in, strumming something aggressive and fast. you tested the mic, your voice echoing rough and authentic through the small space.
then you locked eyes.
it was always like this. no countdown, no signal. just instinct.
you played for hours mixed with loops, riffs, and messy choruses. your voice was smoky with edges laced over chuuya's guitar like gasoline waiting for a spark. you argued about tempo, rewrote a verse, fought, laughed, fought again.
at one point, ranpo opened the door holding two cans of melon soda and a snack bag of chips. "break time, children," he chimed despite only being a year older. "also, you do know about the town talent show in a week, right?"
you flopped onto the floor, sweat sticking to your hair and to your cheek. "not our scene."
"definitely not," chuuya agreed, pulling his hair into a loose tie. "unless..."
you both glanced at each other. ranpo squinted. "don't do the creepy telepathy thing again. it's unsettling."
you just smirked. "you thinking what i'm thinking?"
chuuya kicked a pedal, sending feedback squealing through the amp. "time to show this lame town who's boss."
the two of you sat side by side on the rusted fire escape outside of your room, legs dangling over the edge as you both watched the sky smear into bruising colors.
you passed chuuya a jelly drink from your backpack. "you know, if we do the show, people are gonna stare."
chuuya cracked the seal. "good. let them."
"even if we don't win?"
"we don't need to win."
you looked over. "then why do it?"
the red head leaned back against the wall. "because we're better than pretending we don't exist. the world deserves to hear our sound and all of our hard work."
you sat in silence for awhile, letting it settle in comfortably. the city buzzed below you two; cars, cicadas, someone yelling two blocks over could all be heard.
"okay," you spoke after awhile "let's set it on fire then."
the week had passed by in a flash, the days consisting of you and chuuya practicing nearly everyday to get the hums of instruments just right. it also consisted of bright laughter and teasing between the small group you had found in the small town on the edge of yokohama. you had also noticed however, the phone calls that chuuya had been pretending to ignore.
it was no surprise to you that your best friend had been getting calls, it's been happening now for the past year ever since he posted a video of himself playing guitar on the internet.
you told yourself it would be fine, and that you already had plans with the red haired boy, the pact you made two years ago still fresh in your mind as if you had done it that very day. still, you couldn't shake the odd feeling of nerves that would settle in your stomach whenever you thought about chuuya getting a call.
it was nearly midnight, and the town had finally shut up after a long day.
the streetlights buzzed in that lonely way they did when no one else was around to hear them. somewhere far off, a dog barked twice, and then silence again. it was thick and warm, like the air right before a thunderstorm.
you sat on the edge of the old playground slide, knees pulled up to your chest and hoodie zipped all the way up. your breath came out in faint clouds, even though it was early fall. your phone screen lit your face in that sterile blue light as you scrolled through the old demo clips you and chuuya had made, volume low enough to be secret.
footsteps appeared behind you. you didn't turn to know who it was. "i knew you'd show."
chuuya dropped into the slide next to you without a word, setting a warm can of coffee between the two of you like an offering. the rusted slide groaned under the extra weight and neither of you spoke for awhile.
"remember the first time we played in front of people?" you finally asked, eyes still on the screen. "the beachside thing at that weird ramen shack?"
"you forgot the name again?" he chided with a look that said, seriously?
"i repress trauma."
the strawberry blonde chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb against a callus on his index finger. "you forgot the lyrics."
"you broke a string."
"we were a mess."
"but they clapped," you said, smiling now. "all six of them."
"and the old guy with the fishing rod," chuuya added. you laughed, "what a legend."
another pause. the wind stirred the leaves in the gutter, lifting one and spinning it midair like it was trying to dance. you picked up the coffee, turning it in your hands but not drinking. "are you nervous about tomorrow?"
chuuya leaned back on his palms, exhaling through his nose. "not about the playing."
you hesitated a moment before replying back to your friend. "about him?"
chuuya's jaw ticked which made you give a sharp laugh. "i saw you, you know. on the phone with the scout from that indie label. do you think i'm stupid?" he didn't answer at first, then, "i didn't want to say anything until it meant something."
"well," you said, head tilting, "guess it means something now, huh?"
chuuya looked at you, really looked at you. "it's not what you think."
"no? then tell me."
silence stretched between the both of you, the wind picking up again.
"i don't want this to end," chuuya said quietly. "whatever happens after tomorrow... i don't want to lose this - us. hell, we even made our version of a blood oath to stick together."
your expression softened just a little before reaching out your hand. "you promise you won't leave me?"
chuuya reached out his hand, bringing yours down before snapping. "i promise."
there was a strength in the boy's voice that comforted you, and suddenly you thought you may have been going crazy about the whole thing. you smiled at where he let go of your hand before finishing the coffee. "don't hold back tomorrow, chuu."
a pause.
"i never do," he replied in confidence, ending with your nickname. with that, you gave him a mock salute before disappearing down the street. chuuya sat there for a long time after, listening to the silence, the wind, and the hum of the town he grew up in. he hated how he felt like he was already leaving you behind.
→♩♫♩←
the auditorium smelled like hairspray, sweat, and those too-yellow stage lights that made everyone look slightly dead blinded you. folding chairs lined the aisles in rigid rows while parents in windbreakers shuffled in, middle schoolers whispered too loud, and somewhere backstage someone was crying about a missing baton.
you watched it all from the wings, chewing the inside of your cheek. "who let us agree to this?" you muttered, adjusting the mic stand for the sixth time. chuuya tugged at the collar of his black button-up, half-untucked on purpose and his red hair wild like he'd run his fingers through it one too many times. "you. you let us agree to this."
you shot him a sideways look. "you didn't stop me."
he shrugged. "i never do."
breaking your conversation suddenly, your names were announced with a pause, like even the emcee wasn't sure how to pronounce the band name you'd scribbled onto the signup sheet at the last minute.
"next up... uh... damage control?" their voice rang out.
chuuya grinned as you walked onstage. "nice and ominous."
you rolled your shoulders and faced the crowd while the stage lights snapped on. suddenly, everything else vanished. the parents, the judges, your friends' smiling faces, and the scout chuuya had mentioned the other night. you stepped up to the microphone. there was no intro and no banter. you just closed your eyes and started singing.
it started with chuuya's guitar, low and growling with a mood. a riff like something dangerous sneaking up behind you was conjured from the instrument. then the synth kicked in, drowning in distortion as your voice broke, sharp and ghostly above it all.
♫ in my room i play pretend, like i'm not drowning in the silence... ♫
you moved like the song was a possession - shoulders tight and lips curled around each syllable with a kind of aching venom. your voice cracked, then soared, the influence of artists you like clear in the way you made vulnerability sound like a weapon.
chuuya backed you up, harmonies slipping in like shadows. his guitar shrieked during the chorus, echoing the drama of his own influences smudged with chaos. he stomped his pedal, letting the distortion kick in hard, feedback spiraling.
the crowd wasn't breathing.
you weren't polished. you weren't pretty. but you were real, angry, and raw as the two of you pulsed with something everyone else in that auditorium had forgotten they still had.
a beat.
a dream.
each other.
then the bridge hit, and you broke it wide open. you stepped forward, microphone clenched in both hands.
♫ you don't know the version of me that stays up screaming into synth lines. you only know the echo. the afterburn. but i'm still here. ♫
you let the last word crack like glass, and chuuya stepped up beside you without missing a beat. you didn't look at each other, but your voices locked into something that wasn't quite harmony, but wasn't quite war. it was everything you were and everything you couldn't say.
the last note hit like a heartbeat giving up.
silence.
then...
applause. slow, then rolling. the scout in the back didn't clap, but he didn't blink either.
you collapsed into the floor-length curtain, chest heaving. your hands trembled around the mic. "tell me we didn't bomb," you heaved out, looking at the red head for comfort.
chuuya took a water bottle from someone's outstretched hand and passed it to you. "we didn't bomb," he laughed.
you sipped, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. "you think he saw?"
chuuya didn't need to ask who. "yeah," he said softly. then he hesitated, "i think he saw everything."
your smile was crooked and tired. "then i hope he chokes on it."
you both laughed, too hard and too long. neither of you noticed dazai sitting amongst your group of peers in your joyous fit, eyes narrowed, already sensing the storm coming. the one who had been with chuuya and you these past years already knowing how he lives his life, and what he plans to do with it.
you leaned against the brick wall of reverb records, a cigarette burning low between your fingers even though you didn't really smoke. you blamed your mother for the habit if you were being honest, during one night when you were especially angry with your skills as a musician. she had offered you one, promising to take your mind off of what was frustrating you. you reflected at the memory and cringed. you were definitely dumb back then. it was mostly to give you something to do with your hands, anything other than texting chuuya for the third time and deleting it. he had gone off quickly once your show was over at the talent show, and worry started to prick at the edge of your thoughts. the alley was empty except for the hum of a busted neon sign overhead and the far-off whine of a police siren. inside the record store your friends gathered in celebration of your performance.
you exhaled, bitter and restless. "they loved us," you said to no in particular, mostly to yourself.
from the shadows near the dumpster, ranpo spoke. "they did. but that's not what's bothering you."
you startled slightly. "jesus. you gotta stop doing that."
he sauntered into the light, already halfway through a bag of chips. "sorry. i didn't want to interrupt your brooding."
"i'm not brooding," you muttered.
"you're brooding with smoke. that's extra brooding."
you knew nothing ever got past ranpo. his intelligence honestly scared you sometimes despite his silly persona.
you flicked ash onto the pavement. "did you see the way he looked at that scout after we came offstage?"
ranpo's chewing slowed. "nakahara?"
"yeah."
there was a pause, then gently, "you knew he was gonna leave someday." your heart felt as if it stopped for a second. moments of your sister flashed in your mind, an all too familiar feeling overtaking you. you knew deep in your mind that the pact you had made with chuuya might not even come true, and ranpo was aware of that fact as well.
however, a part of you also didn't listen to the reasonable side of yourself. you grasped and clutched at the strings that held your bond together.
"i didn't think it would be this soon."
ranpo looked at you before sighing, leading you back inside the backroom where everyone else was located by grabbing your hand.
the air was thick with leftover applause and cheap incense someone lit in celebration. atsushi was grinning like a proud dad, waving his phone. "i recorded the whole thing. it's already got like 60 shares."
"of course it does," akutagawa muttered, arms crossed. "chuuya was on fire."
yosano popped a cherry lollipop into her mouth and tossed her boots onto the edge of the couch. "both of them were," she spoke your name in admiration, "she carved her soul out on that stage, and chuuya lit it on fire. those two were made to be on a stage together."
tanizaki looked up from the corner where he'd been quietly editing the footage on his laptop, naomi leaning against his shoulder. "did anyone else notice that scout? the one who looked like he hadn't slept for years?"
"yeah," yosano said without looking up. "i heard him talking to chuuya after. said something about 'real potential.' she glanced toward the door hesitantly. "just chuuya though."
that hung in the air, and you had walked in just in time to hear it.
you froze. your mind raced to come up with a response, but all you could think of was, "i thought we were all going to celebrate," you said, voice thin around the edges. everyone fell quiet again, eyes flickering between you and the empty space beside you where chuuya should have been.
zoning a bit, you felt a heaviness weigh on your shoulders. you knew yosano meant no harm, she was just stating what had happened. however, what had happened ended up being one of the few things you wish you could ignore.
your thoughts were interrupted abruptly however when your phone buzzed. quickly, you pulled it out with excitement thinking it was chuuya. it instead, was the last message you expected to recieve.
to: yournamemusic.official
subject: loved your sound
heard you at the talent show tonight. the boy's good, but you're something else with your voice. do you ever think about going solo?
strawberry blonde hair blew in the breeze as chuuya sat on the edge of a rooftop, letting his legs dangle over the side. the city blinked below, neon reflections stretching like veins across the asphalt. beside him, dazai reclined against a metal vent, picking at the label on a glass bottle of ramune. "you're quiet."
"i usually am after a show."
"you're quieter."
chuuya didn't answer right away. his hands were still buzzing from the strings, or maybe from what came after. the scout, mori, was some representative for a label in tokyo, and had cornered him near the bathrooms. he said the usual "raw energy," "a real edge," "need to polish you up, but you've got it."
but not once had he said "you two." it was always just chuuya. dazai tilted his head, curious but also knowing. "so, did he offer it?"
"yeah."
"and?"
chuuya stared down at his fingers. "i didn't say yes."
a breath passed.
"you didn't say no either," dazai chimed back, and with that, the brunette took his leave. the silence that followed was heavy with something more than just unspoken answers. sighing, the red head pulled out his phone in annoyance, the light glowing in his palm.
he typed out:
did you get home okay?
backspace. delete. close screen.
the red head had no idea how to bring this up to you without worry.
he leaned back against the concrete, rubbing the heal of his palm into his eyes. they'd won tonight, so why did it feel like they were already losing?
deep down however, he already knew the answer.
→♩♫♩←
the events of the next week had happened so fast you weren't sure if what you experienced was real. to much was going on too quickly, your mind barely able to keep up with the emotional turmoil that wrecked so suddenly like a storm to a ship. yet, part of you kept telling yourself that this is what would have happened eventually.
day one
you didn't check your phone until the next morning. it buzzed twice, once with a group chat meme from atsushi, and once with a half-typed message from chuuya that never finished sending. he'd written:
you were incredible last night.
he'd erased it and typed something colder.
we should talk.
he deleted that too. instead, he posted a story. it was a clip of the performance with no tags and no caption. just the guitar screaming over your voice - pure, raw, and breathtaking. you saw it, replayed it twice, and didn't react.
you spent the day rearranging patches in recorded songs you didn't like and deleting lyrics that sounded too much like him.
you also pretended that his lack of communication didn't sting.
day two
you found yourself outside of the both of yours usual coffee spot, sage tea. all green walls and vinyl stools whispered comfort to you inviting you in, but you didn't and decided against it. chuuya was already there.
he was sitting by the window with dazai, fingers drumming an empty espresso cup, foot bouncing too fast. he looked tired. his hair was tied back messily, hoodie too big on him, and the guitar case leaned against the wall like it weighed a thousand pounds.
you stayed across the street, hidden behind your sunglasses. you stared long enough to wonder if he was waiting for you. dazai said something, but chuuya didn't smile and instead just shook his head. then, he stood up and walked out the door, and you turned around and vanished around the corner like you'd never been there at all.
you would soon come to realize that this would have been your greatest mistake.
day three
you finally ran into each other in the practice space. it was supposed to be more of a hangout, but akutagawa and tanizaki "got sick" and yosano had "accidentally" double-booked herself for a poetry reading.
you walked in holding your bass case like a shield. chuuya was already tuning up when you arrived.
neither of you spoke for a full minute. then-
"you've been avoiding me," he said, low.
"i've been busy," you shot back, setting your gear down harder than necessary. you didn't mean to snap.
"with the band or with that message from the label?"
you froze.
"yosano told me," chuuya added, not quite meeting your eyes. "someone offered you something too."
you let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "oh, so you do know how that feels."
"that's not fair," he frowned.
"no, what's not fair is that you were already halfway out the door before we even finished the damn song."
"i haven't said yes to anything," chuuya's voice became more urgent, tinged with annoyance.
"but you didn't say no either," your voice cracked around the edges. "you didn't even tell me, chuu."
he looked at you then, really looked like he wanted to say something deeper and more true. but instead, he snapped, "neither did you."
the silence that followed wasn't loud. it was worse, it was disappointed.
you slung your bag over your shoulder. "don't worry," you began as you walked toward the door. "if you're so desperate to go solo, i won't get in your way. but you should know how i feel about this."
chuuya flinched like it physically hurt and he called out your name.
but the door slammed behind you before he could finish.
this was your second biggest mistake.
day four
with the rift between you and chuuya, the group seemed to go quiet as well.
atsushi and yosano tried to play neutral. akutagawa took chuuya's side by not taking his side, which, in his language, meant loyalty. ranpo sent a gif of a raccoon eating trash, but no one responded.
day five
it was early morning when the video went viral.
not explosive viral, but enough. 18k retweets, and a popular tokyo music blog reposting it. comments flooded in, half praising the "red-haired guitar god," and the other half losing their minds over your ghost-silk voice.
then came the headline from a random online journalism site.
"rising stars nakahara chuuya and - steal the spotlight- but how long before one breaks off solo?" your name was next to his.
you read it in bed, phone glowing cold against your cheek before school.
chuuya saw it while getting on the train. he didn't even finish reading, just stared out the window at his reflection while the city bled past him in streaks.
the train moaned under its own weight as it curved through the outskirts of the city, the world outisde bathed in the pale haze of an early spring morning. raindrops freckled the windows, rolling slowly down the glass like the sky itself hadn't decided whether or not to cry.
chuuya sat by the window, jaw tight, and fists balled in the pockets of his jacket. his scarf, yours once, was wrapped loose around his neck, the fringe frayed from too many nights of gigs and fights and winter wind.
his guitar case was wedged between his knees, its surface scarred with stickers and chipped paint. one of the corners still had the glitter from the night you played at reverb records for the first time. you'd thrown it at him, laughing, spinning, wild, and he'd let it stay, like a bruise he didn't want to heal.
he should've told you. he planned on telling you he told himself.
but he didn't know how.
dazai's voice echoed in his mind over and over again from the night before. "you'll tell her," he had said, "or you'll spend the rest of your life writing songs about the moment you didn't."
every second the train dragged forward, it got harder to breathe. his chest was tight, not with nerves about the label, but with something worse.
grief for someone still alive.
someone who used to finish his sentences, crash his chords with synth and bass like lightning and thunder, pull him into the song and make him feel like the world could break open and it still wouldn't touch you.
he hadn't told you - not because he didn't care, but because he cared so much that it scared the hell out of him.
this was his biggest mistake.
the hallway buzzed with the morning rush. backpacks slammed into lockers, shoes squeaked against polished floors, and someone was blasting music from their phone until a teacher barked at them to cut it out.
you didn't hear any of it.
you were frozen in front of your locker, keys dangling in your hand, eyes locked with ranpo like you weren't quite sure you'd heard him right.
"he what?"
ranpo winced. "he took a train to tokyo early this morning, like sunrise early."
the silence between the two of you pulsed.
"you're lying," you gritted out.
"i'm not. i wouldn't lie about this. i mean, i might tease, but not about this specifically."
you stared at him, then past him, and then down the hallway like maybe this was a dream and the walls would glitch and break and chuuya would come striding down around the corner, cocky smirk in place, hands in his pockets, and saying something dumb like, "you really think i'd leave without saying goodbye?"
but he didn't.
you were left again.
it was just lockers. just bells. just the echo of your own breath in your chest, ragged and shallow.
ranpo stepped back slowly, like he'd just witnessed something sacred and didn't want to breathe too loud. "i thought he told you," he said again, quieter this time. "i thought he had to."
rain tapped softly against the windowpane. the world outside was muted, dulled to greys and silvers, like someone had drained the color out of everything except you.
you sat on the floor, legs folded beneath yourself and spine against the bedframe. your room looked like someone had torn through it, half-finished lyrics on the desk, coffee gone cold, a hoodie tossed carelessly on the back of a chair.
it was chuuya's you noticed.
it still smelled like bergamot and stage lights and whatever cologne he'd started wearing this year that made you irrationally dizzy. you pressed your forehead to your knees, breathing it in like you could drag him back through the scent alone. your laptop sat open on the bed, screen glowing with an old audio file.
"demo_01_you&chuuya_finalfinal.mp3"
you hit play. all that played at first was static before it continued.
"okay, wait wait, start again. you came in early," your voice zoned in with a giggle.
your laugh. god, your laugh. you sounded younger, looser. you could hear the smile in your voice.
"you didn't signal me!" his voice chimed in with mock anger.
"i always signal you."
a beat, and then his guitar strumming once.
"i thought we were past needing signals."
you'd forgotten that part. you hugged yourself tighter, the sound filling the room like a ghost. his chords were rough and your voice a little too breathy, but it didn't matter. they'd been stupid and hopeful and in love with the music. maybe more.
maybe too much more.
the song built to the final chorus, messy and imperfect, but yours. when it ended, neither of you spoke, just laughter, breath, and the way his voice softened when he said, "we're gonna make it," your nickname was said with so much fondness it made you sick. "you and me."
you didn't realize you were crying until a drop fell onto the trackpad. breathing in roughly, you looked down to your pair of converse you were still wearing, chuuya's writing scribbled messily on the left shoe which read, your band mate, chuu ✩
an email notification pinged without warning on your laptop, causing you to flinch.
from: kirako.haruno @ adaentertainment.jp
subject: we saw your set – let's talk
you've got an incredible sound that's raw and emotional. have ever thought about signing with a label? reach out if you're interested and we can help you reach your dream.
you stared at the screen. your heart felt like it had been pulled in two directions so hard it didn't know how to beat anymore. you didn't reply.
instead you stood, pulled chuuya's hoodie on like armor, and crossed the room to your synth. for a long time, you didn't move and instead just stood there staring at the keys like they might answer a question you hadn't dared to ask.
then you sat and opened a blank session and did what you knew how to do. make music.
new project name: iem
track 01: exit
fingers trembling, you struck the first note. it was minor, haunting, and unresolved. then you struck another. then you added the drum line.
then the bass joined in that cracked like a heart splitting open. you sang softly, barely louder than a whisper at first.
♫ you didn't say goodbye, so i wrote the ending for you. and i made it hurt, so maybe you'd feel it too. ♫
the synth rose like a storm behind you, heavy and sharp that imitated a digital scream that bled straight into silence.
the track echoed back at you, empty and perfect. it sounded nothing like chuuya.
it sounded like yourself.
and that hurt more than anything else.
✩ ── ⋆⋅♬⋅⋆ ── ✩