Chuuya was, in a way, your best friend. An unlikely bond, considering how different they were. He carried with him the rebellious essence of a rocker, often strumming his guitar in front of you, as if trying to translate his thoughts into musical notes.

You, on the other hand, belonged to a completely different universe, not harboring a true passion for rock, although you sometimes let yourself be captivated by the songs Chuuya showed you. Your style reflected this difference, always dressed in shades of pink, reminiscent of a preppy girl from a more delicate and colorful world.

And, despite the stark contrast, Chuuya found it charming.

That afternoon, they were in your room. He busied himself repeating chords on the guitar, trying to memorize the notes, while you, distracted, scanned the countless posters plastered on the walls, as if each visit were your first.

"What are you analyzing there?" Chuuya muttered neutrally, without taking his eyes off the instrument. "You've been here a thousand times and yet you keep looking at my posters."