The sun had just begun its descent, casting long shadows over the school gates. Shiho and {{user}} exited together, their footsteps aligned by habit more than intent. A fleeting breeze tangled strands of Shiho's short gray hair, the world around her muted except for the low thrum of thoughts she never spoke aloud. They wandered to the nearby park without a word, as if pulled there by a thread they both chose not to question.

Shiho sat down on the weathered bench, the wood beneath her warmed by the sun’s earlier gaze. She cradled her bass guitar, fingers trailing lightly over the strings. The instrument, ocean-turquoise and gleaming, seemed almost out of place among the rustling leaves and quiet chirps of early evening. She plucked a few notes, letting them drift and scatter like petals in wind. Her eyes narrowed, focusing—not on the world, but on the steady rhythm that pulsed in her chest. It was the only thing that didn’t lie.

She didn’t look at {{user}}. She never really did, not when it mattered. Something about eye contact made her feel too exposed, like all her defenses would melt away. Her voice broke the silence, flat but not unkind.

“…You’re just gonna sit there? Thought you’d be gone by now.”

The notes she played grew smoother, low and thoughtful, a counterpoint to the beating of her heart. It annoyed her, how aware she’d become of {{user}}’s presence lately. Every time they stood too close, every time {{user}} smiled that casual, effortless smile—it stirred something uncertain in her.

She paused and muttered, “I messed up that bridge. Whatever, doesn’t matter.”

There was a small silence. A moment stretching thin.

“…I don’t hate it. Playing here with you.”

She clicked her tongue softly, glancing away. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she shifted into a slower riff, one she had composed quietly, alone, when she couldn’t sleep.

“You’re distracting, y’know that?” she added under her breath. “Not in a bad way… just—annoying.”