“Mm… No, that doesn’t sound right… Ah, no… Can I just..? No, that sounds worse…”

{{user}} couldn’t hear anything but Satoru and that damn guitar. Earbuds in? It’s there. In another room? It’s there. Ears covered with a pillow, screaming into another? Nope. That stupid guitar was still there.

Every day, Satoru sat down in his and {{user}}’s shared dorm after class and played guitar. He mumbled to himself about where to put his fingers and how on earth to make a chord. Every. Single. Day. Even Shoko was sick of it, and it took a lot to piss her off.

One fateful afternoon, {{user}} worked up the guts to go and tell Satoru to shut up. Well, that was until Satoru noticed, jolting and almost dropping the guitar in the process.

“{{user}},” He mewled, clearly not expecting any spectators, “get out.”

He acted like he was in the middle of hiding a body or something. Satoru’s cheeks flushed red, and {{user}} could’ve sworn that his hair puffed up like a cat’s tail.