By the time they returned to the hotel, Eiko had declared at least four times that Ibe should go to the Banana Fish's rehearsal alone; half in seriousness, half in hope Ibe might miraculously agree.

But she didn’t. "Feeling alright?" Ibe had asked, and when Eiko didn't deny it, Ibe dragged her out the door. 

And that's how Eiko ended up sitting stiffly next to Ibe in the back of a sleek black van—its floors resembling hardwood and its seats softer than her futon—across from Ashlyn and Shorter.

The trip had been pretty quiet besides an occasional car beep that always made Eiko jump, and Shorter humming. Maybe if Eiko acted normal enough, she could blend into the casual atmosphere too.

But first, she had to apologize.

Eiko peeked at Ibe, who quickly caught her glance and gave her a reassuring nod; the same nod she used to give her before big interviews. Okay. She had this. Eiko cleared her throat and bowed her head slightly. "I’m sorry," she blurted, voice slightly higher than she anticipated it to be. "For not recognizing either of you. Yesterday."

Shorter twisted in her seat in front of Eiko. "Are you kidding?" she said, grinning. "That was a breath of fresh air. We don’t get that. Like—ever." Her face didn't betray any irony or bite. Quite the contrary. She looked happy, and Eiko believed her.

Still, Eiko’s stomach refused to unknot. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. "I also didn’t introduce myself properly," she added, trying to sound brave. "I’m Eiko Okumura."

Ashlyn briefly turned around, glancing back at Eiko. Her eyes were even more piercing than from the magazine cover. "We know," she said.

We know. The words echoed in Eiko's mind. "Wait, what?" she said before she formed a proper thought. Why would the Banana Fish members know some foreign fossil?

Ashlyn’s lips curled slightly at the corner, but she didn’t answer. Was she joking? She had to be; and it would be actually funny, if it wasn't pathetic.

"Dino makes us study the band rosters before these events," Shorter said, slumping in her seat. She then jumped, facing Eiko again, and shook her hands erratically, face slightly flushed. "But—I mean—not that we didn't know you before—not as much." She fixed her sunglasses, a wide smile back on her lips. "That song you did. What was it? Something about roses? It was Ashlyn's fave."

Ashlyn didn’t correct her, just shot Shorter a look that screamed 'I'll end you'.

Eiko blinked. She wasn't sure whether she heard Shorter right. Did she say her song was Ashlyn's favorite? As in favorite song in general? 

She glanced at Ashlyn again, but the girl was now looking out the window, face buried in her oversized hoodie as if she couldn't care less if Eiko was here. Only her fingers moved, drumming lightly on the leather.

Eiko pressed her hands between her knees. How dumb could she be? Shorter obviously meant the favorite song of Eiko's. It was a hit, after all. Because why would a rock star like Ashlyn even listen to any j-pop, if not for her producer, or whoever that Dino was. He was probably so strict, he made them analyze various international vocalists. That's how Ashlyn came across one of Eiko's songs. It didn't mean anything.

Still… Eiko could feel her pulse behind her ears.

While Shorter and Ibe got into a heated discussion over what is classified as a burger in America, Eiko sneaked one more glance at Ashlyn’s reflection. Her jaw. Her neck. The slope of her shoulder beneath that hoodie. 

She didn’t look as intimidating now. Not like she did in the headlines, posed in short skirts and eyeliner, spun into something volatile and dangerous by people who clearly didn’t know her. Not that Eiko knew her, of course. But something about the way those tabloids twisted Ashlyn into a cautionary tale… it made Eiko’s heart ache for a girl she barely knew.

Ibe patted Eiko on the shoulder, still talking to Shorter. "…nobody knew, but she used to only wear wigs on-stage. Even the long black one—yep it was all fake." Ibe yapped.

Eiko's eyes went wide. Ibe would either stay dead quiet or over-share when nervous, there was no in-between. And it seems, today, it was the latter. "Are you talking about me?" Eiko asked, digging her nails into the seat.

Ibe nodded, then turned back to Shorter. "She also used to perform all over the place. South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, Hon—"

"Ibe!" Eiko hissed quietly, nudging her with an elbow. Her cheeks were heating up.

Ibe chuckled. "What?"

Eiko whispered in Japanese: "Please, don't talk about me. With them of all people. It's so embarrassing. I'll die."

Ibe crossed her arms, still grinning. "I'm just telling the truth."

Ashlyn’s reflection in the window shifted slightly. There it was again. That half-smile. Eiko felt her head buzzing. Was she being made fun of? She was, right? Or did Ashlyn understand Japanese? Oh god—what if she did.

"We're almost here," Shorter suddenly yelped, eyes glued to the window. "Wait till you meet the others."

The van slowed in front of a tall, wrought-iron gate before easing into a narrow road that led them into a parking lot. The building ahead was nothing like Eiko had imagined. It wasn't some high-rise studio with marble floors, nor was it one of those soulless modern boxes. The brick facade was softened by ivy along the side, and the small glass windows glowed amber in the evening sun. It looked like it had many stories to tell.

The worn sign above the door read: Angel Eyes Studios.