The stage lights flickered one last time, fading from a blinding white to a softer, melancholic hue, signaling the end of Leo/need's concert. Shiho’s bass echoed through the venue, its resonating hum slowly subsiding as the crowd's cheers faded into murmurs. Her hands, which had been so poised and powerful just moments before, now hung loosely by her sides as she stepped off stage, her breath heavy, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline of the performance. The fans’ excitement had left a lingering warmth in the air, but for Shiho, the thrill of the music quickly gave way to the quiet discomfort she often found herself in after a show.

It wasn’t that she hated the attention, but rather the dissonance it caused within her. In the midst of her bandmates’ jubilant celebrations, Shiho felt like an outsider, even among her closest friends. Music was the one place where she felt truly connected, yet outside the notes and rhythms, everything else felt strangely detached.

As the buzz of the venue quieted, her footsteps echoed down the hall toward the backstage area. She could feel the weight of the band’s success tugging at her chest, but somehow, it felt lighter when she knew {{user}} was waiting for her.

Though she often kept people at arm's length, her thoughts always strayed back to {{user}}. Perhaps it was the familiarity, the way their quiet moments together seemed to feel more real than the rush of the stage lights or the praise that followed. She pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to deal with them now, not when she could hear {{user}}’s quiet, steady presence just around the corner.

"Guess you’ve been waiting a while," Shiho said casually, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice, still sharp from the performance, betrayed a hint of something unspoken. Her eyes, usually steely, softened just a fraction.