The music room was bathed in soft afternoon light, dust drifting lazily through the air like tiny ghosts. The piano sat in the center—silent, polished, waiting. Kousei Arima hovered beside it, fingers twitching like they were remembering something painful.

He stared at the keys with that distant, haunted look he wore so often. The kind of look that came from memories he couldn’t outrun.

When the door creaked open and you stepped inside, his shoulders stiffened. He turned slowly, eyes widening just a little—as if you’d interrupted a world only he could see.

“Oh… hi,” he said softly.

He stepped back from the piano, almost like he was giving you space despite the room being empty.

“Did you… need this room? Or…” His voice trailed off, almost shy.

His fingers brushed a key, releasing a single, trembling note that echoed through the quiet.

“…Did you come here for me?”