The morning alarm sounds strange.
Metal clangs. A muffled voice tries to sing—only to be drowned out. Harsh noises fill the room, throwing him into a surreal, disorienting limbo. Cowering under the covers, Hiroki fights to hold onto the remnants of sleep.
Then the electric guitar bursts through the fog, jolting him awake. His muscles tense instinctively. The guitar's piercing riffs torment him until he clamps his hands over his ears.
"Wake up, you idiot!" Jun's voice crackles through a cheap plastic speaker. She flings it—along with the guitar—onto the floor, then pounds two pots together with metal ladles to create piercing clamor. She repeats the process several times, ignoring his writhing beneath the blanket.
After a few sets, her patience wears thin. She vaults onto the bed, crawls over fiercely, and yanks his quilt away.
Hiroki does not look good in the morning light. His long hair is tousled, his eyes still clouded with fatigue. Bracing his hands on the mattress, he meets Jun's gaze. That golden hair—it stirs something deep inside her.
To be sure, Jun edges closer and studies his face carefully—the eyes, nose, ears… even his lips. She hovers just an inch away. Time feels suspended—until Hiroki shifts, scooting back until his shoulder touches the headboard.
Silent, Jun watches. Everything he does this morning feels like part of her wake-up ritual—her gentle, unspoken greeting. But that final moment feels like a quiet test.
Unspoken emotions fill the air. They inspect each other, storing every detail.
"Why do you leave?" Jun finally breaks the silence.
"How do you… get in?" he replies, his voice taut.
"Why do you disappear?" she presses.
"How do you open the door?"
"Why don't you tell us?"
"How do you get in?"
Jun lets out a weary sigh. This guy exhausts her.
She holds up a small key in front of his face, a faint smile curling on her lips. "Eat your breakfast first. We can talk—this isn't the spot."
….
The first bite of the Choco Monaka is a crisp, icy delight—its shell shatters on his tongue, releasing a flood of velvety chocolate and creamy filling. The sweetness is irresistible, like a cool breeze across his mouth.
If she weren't a model and frontwoman of HIMrs6, Jun thinks, she'd probably star in commercials for this very treat.
Hiroki holds one too—bought for him. He hasn't eaten it yet, setting it beside him on the low table instead. They sit under the kotatsu—blankets draped, a heater humming underneath.
He watches her eat, memories stirring of things long buried. Jun's face—so unchanged. Those big eyes, full cheeks, chestnut hair cropped at her shoulders. She's still endearingly beautiful in that uniquely hers way.
The quiet between them speaks louder than words. It feels peaceful, even if he's still awkward.
"About that key…" Hiroki's voice drops. He stares at the small key on the table.
"Don't think about it. I mean… I meant to keep it safe."
"You idiot," Jun teases, crunching on another bite of Monaka. Though she loves sweets, her figure stays slender. "Why leave keys under a plant pot? You didn't have anywhere better to hide it? Or… did you want someone to find their way in?"
He looks up at her, guilty and helpless. Jun pauses, bits of Monaka filling her mouth—then bursts out laughing.
This guy is hopeless.
If anyone else hides a key somewhere so obvious, there has to be a reason. Could he be secretly hoping someone finds it? Wants someone inside his home—his life? Is he that lonely?
But at least… he still has hope.
"What?" he asks, puzzled.
Jun shakes her head, still giggling, and places the key gently back on the table.
"I spend all last night trying to find…" she trails off, then slips into the kitchen to brew coffee.
They talk for a while—about everyday things, about work. He loosens up and finally reaches for the Monaka and takes a bite. Suddenly, the sweetness feels muted, distant.
At some point, do we stop tasting sweetness at all?
The reunion isn't as awkward as he fears. Jun doesn't mention the band, and they share genuine, relaxed moments. To Hiroki, Jun is still that girl—the first girl who makes his heart flutter.
"How is she doing?" Jun asks, sipping her coffee.
"She's okay," he nods. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee is always comforting—the best part of his mornings. "We talk fairly often."
"Is that good? You keep in touch?"
"Not like… friends anymore."
"What?" Jun nearly sputters her coffee. "You mean you're not just friends?"
"…?"
"Don't act like that. Think it through, Hiroki. You never just view her as 'a friend.'"
Jun sets her cup down and looks him directly in the eyes, tapping the table lightly.
"Let me be clear—
You've never stopped loving her, have you?"
….
Jun pulls a cardboard box from under the bed and lets it drop with a heavy thud. Kneeling down, she rummages through its contents—stacks of CDs and tapes carefully kept over the years, some missing their original cases and now bundled together with soft cloth ribbons. She takes out a small disc, holds it delicately between two fingers, and blows the thin layer of dust off its surface. It gleams again, reflecting the hazel hue in her eyes.
So after all these years… he really keeps them safe.
Jun moves across the room and grabs an old CD player from his bookshelf. Behind her, Hiroki fiddles with his electric guitar. She leaves him be, inserts the disc into the player, and presses play.
A few static noises come out at first—then silence.
And finally, familiar notes burst through, carried by the punch of drums—not gentle nor mellow, but radiant and full of youthful energy.
"…Time passes, like the autumn wind
And you become a bird, flying far away
While I remain here, in a world of faded memories
Where every word, every sentence, is left unsaid…
When you smile, the world blushes pink
And like a fool, I just keep watching
Listening quietly to your dreams
Never daring to hope I'd be a part of them.
Fly away, don't look behind you now
Though we'll never walk the same road somehow
I'll be the breeze that touches your hair
A gentle wind, still always there
When night falls, I'll hide behind the hill
As moonlight soft, so calm and still
I don't need more, just wish you peace
Though life may hurt and never cease
If I could see your smile again one day
That alone would light my way
The road is long, but here I'll stay
With silent flowers in my hands each day
Forever your sun, shining quietly
Following you where you may be
Though I may never be
A part of your story…"
The male voice fades with the last note, and Jun, holding the CD player in hand, steps toward Hiroki. Her voice is softer now.
"Still not finished?"
"Yeah… well, it's been a while."
"Are you planning to complete it someday?"
Hiroki freezes, letting the guitar that hangs from his waist go limp.
"…No."
Jun stands beside him, watching. She notices his hands have dropped to his sides, no longer touching the strings. The image of Hiroki—the artist who once pours his soul into electrifying riffs—has faded so much from her memory, it's almost unbelievable.
His hands no longer move with ease. They've grown stiff, unresponsive to the subtle language of strings. The sounds he tries to coax out are misaligned, like threads fraying under tension.
"No need to force anything," she says gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's been a long time since HIMrs6. Your hands must've hardened by now, huh?"
"Forget it. I have no intention of going back."
"That's up to you," Jun replies with a faint smile. "But we've all already decided—we're bringing you back into HIMrs6, no matter what. Take all the time you need."
Hiroki stares at the guitar in front of him, suspended like a question. The idea of returning to the band still feels like a distant dream. A flicker of passion still burns deep inside, but the comfort of a simple life makes it easier to turn away. Still, to say no now would be the biggest lie he's ever told himself.
"Besides," Jun adds, "I come here to tell you something."
She returns to the cardboard box and starts tidying up the scattered tapes and CDs—every piece a memory, a fragment of time wrapped in sound. She neatly tucks them back beneath the bed, while Hiroki quietly listens.
"This has to do with Yuna… or more specifically, her husband."
"You mean… Ryusei?" Hiroki asks, stunned.
"Yeah," she says, glancing at him. "I run into him during his business trip in Tokyo."
Jun continues, "Also, on the way back to Osaka, a… rather passionate fan of yours hands me something. She even insists on meeting me in person—just to give you this."
Jun stands, reaches into her coat pocket, and pulls out a slightly crumpled envelope. She smooths it and hands it to him.
Hiroki stares at it, a deep unease settling over his features. His hand trembles as he takes the letter. Years have passed since he leaves HIMrs6—and she never stops haunting him.
On the front, he reads the name he fears seeing for so long.
Hayame Irumi.
….
Back at the luxury hotel…
"What if he doesn't come back?" Mallow groans, slumping into the sofa, idly twirling a strand of Starlin's blond hair beside him.
"What if Hiroki never returns, huh…" Raven muses from across the room, stroking her chin. "We can't have Jun cover both vocals and lead guitar."
Irritated, Mallow turns. "Starlin, any thoughts?"
Starlin says nothing. His eyes are fixed somewhere far off, his expression unreadable as always. He looks like a sculpture—one no one can tell if it's lost in deep thought or just refusing to speak.
Raven eyes them both, twirling her silver cross-shaped earring. "I guess even Starlin doesn't know the answer to this one, huh?"
"Are we seriously replacing our lead guitarist?" Mallow huffs. "Who? Don't tell me it's going to be Jun again—"
"He'll come back," Starlin suddenly cuts in. "Keep running long enough, and he'll start to rot. Someone will come for him. Someone will lead him out of that cave."
Both Raven and Mallow stare at him.
"…Because," Starlin says quietly, "his heart's already starting to soften."
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