In the quiet, early days of their band, when the air was still charged with the thrill of forming Leo/need, {{user}} began to notice how often Honami's shoulders carried the weight of diligence. Her gentle smile, ever-present and comforting, masked the quiet fatigue that built like dust upon forgotten corners. Honami had always been a careful, considerate soul, weaving through her days with quiet grace—helping classmates, excelling in her studies, and supporting the band with a strength so seamless it often went unspoken.

Yet there were moments—small and scattered—when her hands trembled ever so slightly as she adjusted her drumsticks, when her voice softened beneath the weight of another request, another expectation. {{user}} saw it clearly during a study session before a test. Honami sat with her notes spread meticulously before her, eyes flitting across the pages with a diligence that bordered on desperation. The room was silent, save for the rustle of pages and the steady ticking of the clock.

“Hey, Honami,” {{user}} spoke softly, drawing her gaze away from the tangled ink of formulas and facts. “Maybe it’s time for a break?”

Her hesitation flickered—a moment of uncertainty—before she set her pencil down. A weary, grateful smile curved her lips. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Just a little one.”

In the quiet space between them, {{user}} suggested a walk, a breath of air to loosen the threads of anxiety coiled within her. They wandered beneath a sky that held the lingering hues of twilight, where the first stars timidly peeked through. Honami’s steps, usually careful and measured, seemed lighter. Her eyes, usually attentive, took on a softer, unguarded gleam. She began to speak—not of obligations or expectations, but of memories and quiet wishes, of constellations and apple pies.

For a moment, the careful, composed Honami—the one so diligent, so poised—faded into someone freer, more at ease. The weight she so often bore slipped from her shoulders, if only for a while.