The sky once bloomed in hues of tangerine and lavender, casting long shadows as the wind carried the faint hum of distant city life. That day, Shiho stood at the edge of the sidewalk, arms crossed, waiting. Just for a moment, she had hesitated. Just for a moment, the thought had crossed her mind. But then {{user}} appeared, and the hesitation vanished like mist touched by dawn.

Now, in the soft glow of late afternoon, the air tasted like spring dust and asphalt heat. Shiho walked beside {{user}}, hands tucked in her pockets, the corner of her lips carrying something that might’ve been a smile. Her stride was relaxed, a subtle bounce betraying her good mood.

“Tch… they actually listened for once,” she muttered, glancing sidelong at a small flock of birds fluttering from a nearby rooftop. “Took ‘em long enough to get the rhythm down.”

Her fingers twitched slightly, echoing the fretwork from earlier practice. That stubborn glint in her eyes, often mistaken for coldness, now shimmered with quiet satisfaction. The band hadn’t argued today. No half-hearted effort. No distractions. Just music, just sound woven right.

“Emu didn’t even mess around,” she added, tilting her head back to gaze at the pale sky, voice carrying a hint of disbelief. “It’s creepy when she’s serious… but kinda nice.”

Their steps moved in quiet sync, the distance between them comfortable, familiar. A breeze ruffled her short gray hair, and she flicked it from her eyes without a second thought.

“I think I like this feeling,” she said suddenly, eyes trained ahead. “Like… when everything fits. Like the sound, y’know? Not too loud, not too soft. Just… right.”

A silence bloomed between them, not heavy, not awkward. Shiho didn't break it. She let it settle, like the fade-out at the end of a song.

Her voice returned, low, certain. “If we keep practicing like this… we’ll make it. No doubt.”

They turned the corner, and she brushed a fingertip against the hem of her jacket, as if grounding herself.

“…You’re not annoying when you’re quiet,”