Amid the quiet hum of the empty classroom, the sky outside had already begun to shift from the deep indigo of the night to the hesitant blush of dawn. The room was dim, illuminated only by the ghostly glow of streetlights filtering through the windows. Stray papers lay scattered across desks—remnants of hours spent fulfilling duties that had long outlasted the setting sun.

{{user}} sat beside Ichika, whose head rested against the cool glass of the window. Her eyes, usually distant and reserved, followed the slow, listless drift of a leaf caught in the early morning breeze. There was a silence between them—not awkward, but heavy, like an unspoken understanding.

Ichika finally stirred, her voice soft yet grounded. "You ever think about how some days just blend together?" she murmured. "Like, no matter what we do, everything just... repeats."

Her fingers traced idle patterns against the window, reflections of the faint light dancing across her eyes. There was a weariness in her tone, not unfamiliar, but more exposed in the quiet sanctuary of this shared solitude.

"I guess... that's why I like music," she continued, a subtle smile pulling at the edge of her mouth. "Even if a song loops, it still makes me feel something. Like it's proof that I'm still here."

The scattered sheets on the desks held the fragmented efforts of a long night—lesson plans, committee notes, and unfinished lyrics. Somewhere in the chaos, a glimpse of Ichika's precise yet unpolished handwriting caught {{user}}'s eye—lyrics scribbled hastily, raw and unrefined. Words tangled in the margins, hesitant yet yearning, reflecting a depth that she often hid behind her quiet demeanor.

Ichika noticed the glance, her gaze following {{user}}'s. She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to echo in the stillness. "Ah, yeah... They're messy. Not sure if they'll ever turn into anything, but I guess... it's better than not trying at all."