A woman with the most angelic voice greeted Eiko as soon as she reached the 11th floor. She checked the list, peering down through the rectangular glasses perched on her nose, then offered a bright, reassuring nod. Eiko returned an awkward smile and stepped inside the lounge.

The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and polished wood. Every surface gleamed under the lounge’s warm, low light, especially the grand Steinway in the center of the room. Eiko couldn’t take her eyes off the graceful curve of its lid, or the man in the velvet blazer at the keys, coaxing soft, cool jazz that drifted like smoke through the lounge.

It was mostly empty, save for a few tables scattered with impossibly beautiful people. Some of them were sipping drinks, others were chatting on the leather cushions, all dressed in sweats and hoodies—the kind of casual cool that made Eiko feel a little less ridiculous for not showing up in something flashier.

Eiko slipped into a corner table by the window and hesitated, glancing around. Was she supposed to order at the bar first, or did someone come to the table? She’d definitely have to leave a tip; Yuu-chan had warned her Americans treated tipping like a religion—

"What can I get you, ma’am?" a deep low voice made Eiko jump.

She glanced at a tall blonde waiter with a half-fake smile. "Ah… tea," Eiko blurted, only now realizing how dumb it was to order a tea at 9 PM for someone who was still jet lagged and most likely insomniac.

"Hot or iced?" 

Eiko's mind blanked. Tea was always hot, wasn’t it? She scrambled to remember what Yuu-chan had told her about American menus. "Hot…iced?" she repeated helplessly.

The waiter blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "So…hot or iced?"

Eiko felt heat crawl up her neck. "Uhh." She looked down at the elaborate drinks menu, heart fluttering. "This one," she said, pointing at the first tea she had spotted.

The waiter nodded. "Of course, ma'am." He turned briskly and disappeared toward the bar.

With a long sigh, Eiko sank into her seat and glanced up at the next table. A woman sat there alone, her long, dark ponytail spilling over her shoulders. Eiko couldn’t see her face, but there was something about the way she sat, so tall and confident, that made Eiko certain she was a beauty. But why was she alone? 

A clink of glass jolted Eiko out of her thoughts. "Here you go, ma'am," the waiter said, setting down a tall glass filled with tea and ice.

Eiko thanked with a flustered nod and as soon as the waiter turned around, she took a greedy sip.

Huh. It was… odd. Not bitter exactly, sweet, even, but with a strange aftertaste that tingled faintly on her tongue. Eiko frowned and took another. Still sweet, still cold, but definitely not just tea. Her eyes flicked to the menu beside her, squinting.

Long Island Iced Tea. From the cocktails section.

Oh.

The burn hit the back of her throat like a delayed slap, and Eiko coughed once, then again, harder, the sound ripping from her lungs. Her eyes watered. A few heads turned in her direction, including the long-haired girl, her face—so much more beautiful than Eiko had expected—somewhere between startled and amused.

Mortified, Eiko sank lower in her seat. Great. Choking to death in a room full of beautiful people. She cleared her throat and took another careful sip. If this was American iced tea, she’d just have to survive it, even if it meant she'd have to skip her meds tonight. Eiko set the glass down and tried to compose herself, letting her gaze drift around the lounge. That was when the doors swung open, and two people stepped inside. 

The one in front was a girl with a bright purple mohawk, tattoos snaking down both arms, and sunglasses perched confidently on her nose despite the low lighting and, well, it being night. Maybe that was just an American thing?

Trailing behind her was someone slighter, with a hard-shell guitar case slung over one shoulder and short blond hair tucked behind one ear. It was hard to tell if they were even a girl at all; the oversized hoodie and loose jeans they wore seemed like they could be hiding anything.

Eiko's gaze lingered at the drape of the fabric above the blonde's chest longer than it should have. She imagined tugging at the zipper. Slowly. Just to see. What kind of body waited underneath, flat or curved, soft or lean, what kind of—

Eiko’s thighs pressed together. God. What the hell was she even thinking? No. No, no. That was weird. Way too weird. And absolutely none of her business. Eiko snatched her drink and took several too-big gulps, hoping the rising burn would drown the embarrassment clawing up her throat. She must have been as red as a tomato, both from the alcohol and whatever perverted thoughts had possessed her.

Slowly, the creeping mortification gave way to a warm, dizzy buzz that spread through Eiko's chest. When she glanced back, the two people had settled at a table near the bar. The sunglasses girl lounged with her boots propped up, and the blonde sat with their legs spread wide, the guitar case resting on the nearby chairs.

Eiko narrowed her eyes, focusing on the case. Near the handle, a small metal badge glinted: Gibson Custom Art & Historic. Her heart skipped a beat and before she knew it, Eiko was on her feet. 

She marched forward with a newfound boldness, only now realizing how heavy and wobbly her legs were. The blonde looked up as Eiko approached, didn’t smile, but the sunglasses girl kept grinning wider and wider the closer Eiko got.

Eiko stopped a few feet away, clutching the strap of her tee. "Uh, hi," she said. "Couldn't help but notice the logo on your case."

The blonde tilted her head a little, like trying to decide if Eiko was serious. Most likely a girl, Eiko thought, staring at her beautiful face. She had piercing bluish eyes. Or maybe green. The kind that shifted depending on the light; the kind that made it difficult for Eiko to look away, which was probably so dumb and rude of her to stare, especially for someone who didn't even introduce herself yet—

"Yeah, and?" the blonde said, voice low.

"Jesus, be nice," the sunglasses girl scolded her friend with a cheeky smile on her lips.

Eiko swallowed, throat dry. "I—I was wondering if I could see it?" She pointed at the guitar case.

The blonde girl's eyes darted at Eiko, then at the guitar case, then at Eiko again. "I guess." She shrugged, leaned in, and flipped the three brass latches open—click… click… click—each metallic snapping louder than the soft jazz filling the room. She then eased the lid back just far enough so it wouldn’t bump the table, revealing a beautiful cherry-red Les Paul, its sunburst finish gleaming softly.

"Woah." Eiko’s breath caught. "Can I?"

The blonde nodded. "Go on." She lifted the guitar out with an effortless grace, then held it toward Eiko without breaking eye contact.

Eiko's hands trembled as she accepted it. The weight was solid, familiar, even though it had been ages since she held a guitar that cost as much if not more than her first car. Without thinking, she dropped into the nearest chair and let the opening chords of a love ballad she once wrote for Tomoya slip from her fingertips; a song her fans never got to hear. Too slow, Ibe said. Too depressing. Too her.

When Eiko finally looked up, the blonde girl's face was unreadable, but the sunglasses girl stared, mouth gaping slightly, eyebrows raised with horror.

"What did I do?" Eiko blurted, voice cracking with panic.

"No, nothing," the sunglasses girl chuckled. "It's just, she never lets anyone touch it. Not that I’ve seen." She nudged the blonde’s shoulder lightly, a smirk playing on her lips. "Let alone play it."

"Oh, shut up." The blonde blurted, and Eiko could have sworn she saw her blush. 

Cute. Ridiculously cute. The kind of cute that made Eiko’s stomach flutter in the most inconvenient, embarrassing way. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile like an idiot.

"Eiko?" A familiar voice called out, followed by a gentle tap on her shoulder.

Eiko looked up to find Ibe standing awkwardly beside her, shifting from foot to foot. "Hey," Eiko said, smiling.

"Evening, ladies," Ibe mumbled, voice a pitch higher than normal, before giving a quick, nervous bow. "I'm Ibe." She then shot Eiko a look that was either mad or alarmed, Eiko couldn't tell.

Eiko scrambled to her feet. "Thank you so much," she blurted, carefully handing the guitar back to the blonde. "My manager's here. I should—I need to go."

"Wait," the sunglasses girl called after her. "Maybe you two wanna come to our rehearsal tomorrow?"

Eiko glanced at the blonde, who lounged back in her chair, head tilted, lashes low, that effortless kind of cool Eiko couldn't pull off in a million years. There was something intriguing about her, and Eiko would’ve given anything to see her again, but it would have been rude to—

"We'd love to," Eiko heard Ibe say. What the hell was she thinking?

"Cool. Let’s meet here at five," the sunglasses girl replied with a thumbs up.

The blonde just nodded.

Eiko waved awkwardly, retreating to her table with her cheeks burning. Only then did she realize she never got to introduce herself. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Ibe practically vibrated with panic. "Did we just—did we seriously just get invited to Banana Fish’s rehearsal?" she hissed, eyes wide like she was about to pass out.

"Wait—what?" Eiko blinked, thrown. She knew the band. Everyone knew the band. But that couldn’t have been them. No way. Because why? "Why would Banana Fish be here?"

Ibe froze. 

"Didn’t you say this was a small charity event?" Eiko asked slowly, the realization dawning.

"Yeah, well." Ibe scratched the back of her neck, eyes darting away. "‘Small’ is a… relative term."

Eiko stared at her. "You lied."

"I strategically omitted some things."

Eiko groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "Oh my god. If I knew Banana Fish would be here I would’ve never come."

"But look on the bright side," Ibe said quickly, pointing at her with a mischievous glint. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You held Ashlyn’s guitar. How many people can say that?"

Eiko peeked through her fingers, glancing back toward the two girls they’d just met. "You’re wrong." She shook her head. Ashlyn, the Banana Fishvocalist, was supposed to be all smiles, short skirts, and pure sex appeal. Not… that. "It couldn’t have been her."

"Well," Ibe said with a grin, "It was. Most definitely was."

"But she didn’t look like—" Eiko stopped herself. "She looked like she didn't really care. Like she didn’t even want to be there."

"She probably didn’t—"

"I didn’t even introduce myself," Eiko whispered, horrified. "Did I even say hi? Oh my god. I just—just marched up and asked to see her guitar. Sat down and held it. Like, ‘Hi, I’m Eiko, literal nobody, mind if I touch the sacred instrument of the hottest up-and-coming vocalist in America?’

Ibe burst into a delighted chuckle. "And she let you. That’s insane."

Eiko’s stomach turned. Her ears were ringing. "Oh god."

"Oh yes."

"I need to lie down," Eiko said, voice flat. "Immediately. Possibly forever."