The drumsticks struck the timbales with force, ushering in a heart-rending riff from Miyazaki's guitar. After every scream, it left behind stabs that, after penetrating the ears, went straight to the chest, sending shivers down the spine and raising goosebumps. That's how the corruption of MK felt.

But it wasn't just guitar play; the drums were shining like never before. I saw two pairs of drumsticks flying in just half an hour. Before we knew it, we were all immersed in the euphoric voices of the people who had entered the bar, moving to the same rhythm.

Until Miyazaki decided to surprise his audience with a ballad.

"Aren't slow songs supposed to be calming?" Makoto commented in my ear.

Surprised, I turned to him. The warmth of his guitar and his voice soothed my restless heart. It was a cradle, a noisy cradle. "There are many ways to be calm."

Makoto observed me, still troubled.

I had never dared to listen to Mystical Key. Miyazaki and his personality weren't appealing. I didn't want to know what the music of someone so contemptible sounded like. But there, being there, listening to him face to face, live, for the first time, his sound captivated me.

It was both warm and cold, pinching and kissing you, bidding farewell to a welcome. The reaction of the groupies gathered around me wasn't the same. My attraction was different because when I closed my eyes, I felt that the song was mine too.

It didn't melt ice, nor did it break it; it burned it. It wasn't difficult to fall in love with their music.

"Last night, before I left, I saw you with someone," at that moment, someone lit a lighter, and when I turned, a cluster of lights rose. They danced to Miyazaki's voice as he sang with closed eyes, "but I couldn't make out his shadow," his eyelids lifted slowly, but he wasn't looking at his audience.

His eyes didn't linger on the tears of the crowd, nor on the lanterns surrounding us. The only thing he looked at, with a serious, distant expression, was the closed door. "I only remember the sound of the traffic light."

Intrigued, I also looked at the door, waiting for it to open, for something to happen. I didn't understand why the door, or what had the door.

"Perhaps in the future, I'll see you again," but nothing happened, and his voice continued, "for now, I'll remember the moonlight; it will keep me company." I slid my eyes back to the stage, where a final strum brought the song to an end, "last night, before I left, I saw you by his side, and I just wished you were happy," and with that final line, the applause erupted. He smiled.

That melancholic smile I had seen once before reappeared on his face. The corners of his lips, stiff, forced themselves to smile. They had played more songs, but that song was the one that changed his expression. A ballad that wasn't calm.

After the song ended, my aunt got on the stage and took the microphone in her hands. "And that concludes the brilliant performance of Mystical Key! Who's next?!"

The guys exchanged a brief look, clearly offended. They reluctantly left the stage; a man had stolen their spotlight.

Innocently, I thought Miyazaki would come back to us, but that never happened. He left with his friends and a group of girls on the other side of the bar. I didn't have to feel bad; after all, I wasn't his friend. It wouldn't make sense for him to be with me.

"And we lost the star," I heard Miyoko say. It doesn't seem like he's missing us among all those girls, though"

I laughed, "What did you expect? As far as I know, I'm just his interviewer."

"Yeah," Reina agreed, taking a sip of her beer.

Makoto, with his usual indifferent expression, took another big gulp of his beer. "I prefer it this way. I don't like that squawking fellow, as you've probably noticed."

"Makoto," Minato called out, "do you realize we're your friends, and we LOVE the music of that squawking guy?"

"There's a difference," Makoto placed his hand on Minato's shoulder and smiled at all of us, "you can bear with me."

It was impossible not to laugh, and we laughed, we laughed a lot, too much. Makoto's candid honesty was hilarious because he was right. We were among the few who could tolerate his grumpiness, and that's why, among other things, he was our friend.

"Whatever" Makoto interrupted our laughter, "Manami got the job, and she wanted to celebrate it with a meal by the bay on Saturday."

Silence fell. I noticed their worried, sad looks, probably empathizing with me. Manami, that name kept repeating in my ears.

"Can Ayumi come?" Minato asked.

Anxiously, I looked at him, and after a moment, Makoto nodded a little embarrassed. His ears were blushing again.

"Tank you..."

"So you can get to know each other," Makoto smiled. We smiled back.

But he couldn't see the difference between our smiles. My smile wasn't real; it was just a substitute for a heartbreaking scream.

Seeing Makoto, even though his hair had changed, even though his body had changed, wasn't any different. In my heart, those two years hadn't passed, nor had those seven years. It hadn't been nine years; when I closed my eyes, we were still the same teenagers who had promised to meet again on a beach.

Feeling so comfortable, and yet so uncomfortable, was horrible. No matter how many times I repeated it, this wasn't reality. We weren't those kids; he had Manami.

I looked away, and inadvertently, I found Miyazaki, flirting and stroking a girl's hair, probably my intruder from that night. Horrified, I buried my head on the bar and let out a scream.

"Ayumi..." I heard my aunt, feeling her hand caressing my hair, "darling, would you like to be the next one on stage?"

"Yes," I lifted my head slightly, tired, "I want to play with Miyoko and Reina"

I too wanted my moment.

☻☻☻

And my moment lasted until 1AM, when, upon entering the house, reeking of alcohol, I found the familiar trail of nighttime clothing on the floor.

I clicked my tongue and stumbled my way to my room. However, after opening the door, I saw something strange on the wall above my bed.

"Ji... Jiya..." I tried to read what it said until I finally focused, "Co... Coward."

Someone had left a red message on my white wall. A message that felt like a shiver of kisses, pinches on my back.

And in the night, another person was sleeping with my roommate.

Monopolized