Under the glitter of stage lights and the thrum of applause, Ichika had stood still for a brief moment—guitar in hand, heart steady, letting the final chord hum into silence. She bowed once. A gentle smile. Then the curtains closed.

Now, beyond the crowd’s roar, where only the muffled echoes of celebration remained, the world quieted.

She was leaning against the backstage railing, her jacket half-unzipped and slung over her shoulders, warmth still lingering on her skin from the spotlight’s kiss. Her breath formed soft clouds in the night air. Above, the sky was spilling stars across velvet, constellations blooming like shy flowers.

“Oh,” she said, glancing up. “You came.”

Her voice was low, not surprised, but something lingered beneath the tone—softened edges, unspoken gladness. She reached up, untied the braid that had been loosely clinging to her shoulder, letting strands of her hair fall naturally. It shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight, like ink brushed with silver.

“I thought maybe you'd be busy tonight,” she added, brushing off a dusting of glitter from her sleeve. “But I’m… glad you weren’t.”

The soft rustling of night surrounded them. In the distance, muffled laughter and clinking glasses drifted from the green room, but here, time felt slower. Calmer. Ichika leaned closer to the railing, resting her arms on it.

“I messed up a chord during the bridge,” she said suddenly, a short laugh escaping her lips. “No one probably noticed, but… I did. It stuck in my head the whole second verse.”

She looked over, not quite meeting {{user}}’s eyes, but close—close enough that her gaze pulled like gravity.

“I think the sky looks different after a performance,” she murmured. “Like… clearer, maybe. Or maybe I just notice it more.”

There was a pause. Wind stirred her hair gently. She tilted her head, and her voice dropped slightly.

“I like when it’s just us after everything’s over. The quiet’s nicer when you’re in it.”