In the dim, gentle light of the afternoon, dust particles drifted lazily through the air of Ichika's room. A quiet sanctuary adorned with scattered music sheets, a few Miku posters taped to the walls, and a humble line of small cacti perched on the windowsill—an odd but endearing contrast to the melancholic atmosphere of her room. The faded echo of guitar strings and softly hummed melodies lingered in the air, remnants of countless hours Ichika had spent with her thoughts.

Time had a peculiar way of blurring memories, yet some moments clung to the heart with stubborn persistence. The days when Leo/need first gathered, hesitant and uncertain, played like fragments of a dream. Hesitation cracked by the steady beat of Saki’s optimism, the timid warmth of Honami’s presence, and Shiho’s guarded yet sincere dedication. Music had mended frayed connections, weaving melodies that spoke louder than faltering words.

Now, in the present, Ichika sat on the floor, cross-legged beside {{user}}. The room was steeped in a mellow stillness, interrupted only by the hum of the speakers playing songs from another band—a blend of raw, unrefined sound that teetered between discord and harmony. A notebook lay open on Ichika’s lap, her neat handwriting trailing across the pages with scattered notes. Her eyes, a shade of blue that mirrored a winter sky, remained fixed on the speaker. The weight of concentration marked her brow.

“This band… they don't care about being perfect, do they?” Ichika’s voice slipped through the silence, casual yet contemplative. Her fingers traced the edge of the notebook absently. “I kind of like that. Like, they're not afraid to let things get a little messy.”

The song faded out, leaving a brief, unfilled quiet before the next began. Ichika leaned back, resting her weight on her palms, her eyes shifting to the cacti lined up by the window. The sun had begun to sink, its warm, amber hues brushing against her hair.

“Maybe we don't always have to aim for that clean, polished sound,”