Flashback: The Rooftop

The rooftop of their high school smelled like sun-warmed asphalt and stale lunch bento. Tomogi leaned back against the railing, his sketchbook open, scribbled chords and half-formed lyrics spilling across the page. Suki perched beside him, legs swinging, headphones draped around her neck. She hummed a melody absentmindedly, brushing her hair from her eyes with a nervous laugh.

“You always make it sound… alive,” she said softly, tapping his chords on the page like they were a secret only she could hear.

Tomogi shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s just music.”

Suki’s eyes narrowed in mock offense. “Just music? It’s everything. You don’t get it.”

He grinned, leaning closer, catching her small smirk. When they played together, it was always different: he opened a door in her, she pushed open a door in him. They made music in ways that words could never touch.

Aoto looks at the chords and tries to strum them out, “Like this Tomo?” Aoto looked over and noticed how close Suki and Tomogi had become, she put her hand next to Tomogi’s ear and whispered something to Tomogi.

Tomogi and Suki began giggling.

Aoto, sitting opposed to them with his guitar, fingers hesitating over the strings. The chord didn’t matter anymore—not when Suki leaned into Tomogi like gravity had made a special exception for the two of them. Something in Aoto’s chest tightened, too hot, too sharp. He dragged his gaze back to the guitar, expression blank, resigned, distant, but aching underneath.

Neji lingered near the stairwell, quiet, observing the scene with a faint smile. Not much for intervention, just contemplating in this moment that felt larger than the small school rooftop.

Walking Home & Songwriting

After school, Tomogi offered Suki his jacket. “You’re freezing,” he said, shrugging it over her shoulders. She shivered, not from cold, but from some mixture of nerves and excitement that he could feel even from a half-step away.

Inside her small house, the air smelled of tatami and old ink, of lunches reheated and shelves lined with textbooks and sheet music. They sat on the floor with guitars and a notebook spread between them, humming ideas back and forth, laughing at awkward riffs, teasing at bad lyrics.

When they paused, Suki looked up, eyes bright. “You make me… braver.”

Tomogi smirked, ducking his head. “You’re braver than you think.”

They leaned in, just for a second—a small, innocent kiss, the kind that promises something without knowing the shape of the future. Then Tomogi left, jacket in hand, walking back toward the narrow streets with a lightness he hadn’t felt all day.

The Idol Contest

The next day, Tomogi found Suki outside the school gates, her satchel dangling carelessly from her shoulder. He held up a poster, corners curling: “Tokyo Idol Contest—Apply Now!”

“Think about it,” he said. “We could enter together. Your voice, my music. You’d win. You could totally win.”

Her gaze faltered. “Tomogi…” Her voice was small, trembling, but firm. “Do you really think we should do this?”

He frowned, heart sinking. “Why not? We make songs together. We’re… good at this.”

Her eyes glistened with hope as she looked away. 

Later during lunch, Tomogi and Suki would practice in the music room, “Here, I think if you use this song and we just update it so my parts make sense for you as well, you can win.” Tomogi was sitting at the piano, pulling the sheet music and lyrics out of his bag. “Wha- When did you finish this, we just started this song yesterday?” Suki asked.

Tomogi just started playing the chords on Piano, explaining when she should come in and that he jumped at the chance when he saw the poster when he left her house the night before. 

“You really think we can win?” Suki asks, her eyes warm but questioning.

“I think you can do anything.” Tomogi replies.

“Tomogi…” Suki’s voice thinned to a thread. “If this works… everything changes.”

The lunch bell rings and you hear footsteps begin accumulating in the hallway. 

“You guys coming?” Neji asks as he passes the Music room.

“Coming” Suki replies, “Come on” she grabs Tomogi’s arm and pulls him up, “Alright, alright.” Tomogi fumbles with the sheet music trying to get it all back in his bag. 

As the two of them walk out and Tomogi goes to turn off the light, he notices Aoto’s Guitar is leaning against the wall below the light switch, and Tomogi paused for a moment. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if Aoto had been inside it the whole time.

After The Idol Contest

TV broadcast

“And this year's winner of the Yata Co. Idol Contest is Suki Yara!!” 

Tomogi was at home watching the broadcast live, and immediately began celebrating.

“YES! I knew you could do it. I knew you could do it Suki! YES! I need to call her, i can’t call her, she’s still on TV.” 

Tomogi began hyperventilating and had to lay down and fell asleep.

The next day, Suki wasn’t at school. When Tomogi asked about Neji, he was gone too. Tomogi went to Suki’s house and tried to talk to her but the family had moved and no longer lived there.

Later Tomogi got a letter from Suki's Parents.

Dear Tomogi Sanogawa,

You are to stop all attempts to contact Suki Yara.

Any further attempts to contact her, or any defamatory claims against her artistry,

will be taken seriously and will be taken to court in the appropriate jurisdictions.

Mr. and Mrs. Yara

P.S.

You said we should try.

- Suki

Present Day: The Green Room

The bright lights of the green room couldn’t touch her expression. Suki, now Jade, sat perched on a director’s chair, guitar case beside her, perfectly composed yet a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She was polished, distant, professional—but nothing had erased the ghost of the girl who once clung to Tomogi’s side.

Her eyes scanned the room, and then, sharp as a blade, landed on him.

“Hello, Tomogi,” she said smoothly. “I haven’t seen your face in years.”

The weight of their shared past settled over the room like a shadow. Aoto shifted slightly, sensing the electric tension, but Jade’s gaze locked on Tomogi alone. The rivalry, the unresolved emotions, the old music—everything from that rooftop and those stolen afternoons—was about to crash back into the present.