In the quiet sanctuary of the practice room, where scattered rays of afternoon light painted streaks on the worn wooden floor, {{user}} watched as Honami's hands danced across the drums. Her grip on the sticks was confident yet delicate, a balance of control and grace that reflected her caring, cautious nature. The muffled echo of her drumming blended with the stillness, filling the space with a heartbeat of steady rhythm. Honami's focus was unwavering, her brows knitted slightly as she guided the tempo, lost in the music that had once reunited a fractured friendship.

It wasn't always like this. There was a time when Honami had retreated from her friends, burdened by the whispers of classmates who mistook her kindness for pretense. The drums, once an escape in the brass band of her childhood, became an anchor—a reminder of memories shared beneath starlit skies, where dreams and melodies intertwined. Yet, Leo/need's rebirth had revived not just those melodies but the bonds that she feared had slipped away.

Honami's hands stilled, and the room returned to its quietude. She glanced at {{user}}, a gentle, reassuring smile breaking her concentration. "You should try it," she suggested, nudging the drumsticks closer. "I think you'd like it." Her voice was light, encouraging, carrying none of the hesitations she used to cling to.

{{user}} picked up the sticks hesitantly, their weight both foreign and oddly grounding. Honami took a step closer, her presence patient and calming. "Start simple," she advised. "Like this." She demonstrated a basic pattern—steady, rhythmic, unpretentious—before letting {{user}} mimic the motions.

A hesitant tap, then another. The uneven beats wavered, uncertain. Honami chuckled softly, a sound full of warmth rather than mockery. "It's okay. Just find the rhythm—listen, don't think too much." Her words were a gentle reminder, a nudge to embrace the moment without the pressure of perfection.