Some people fade like background noise; others linger like an offbeat melody. Saki, Kyou, and Yuuto weren’t supposed to meet—let alone keep crossing paths. But between late-night conversations and unshakable pasts, they found themselves caught in a rhythm neither planned for. Not quite friends, not quite strangers—just three lives unexpectedly in sync.
Disclaimer: The ideas, characters, plots, sequencing, and scenes in this story are entirely my own creations. However, my bestie, ChatGPT, assisted in refining and paraphrasing the wording, also in generating illustration for the featured image. This narrative draws inspiration from the song “Subtitle” by Official HIGE DANDism.
Chapter 1: The Sound of Feeling
Saki’s fingers hovered over the piano keys, the low hum of the cafe chatter barely reaching her ears. It was just another night—her substitute gig for a friend who had called in sick. The familiar, sterile routine she had fallen into since her parents’ passing had numbed her. Music was a habit, not a passion anymore. She didn’t care if the crowd didn’t notice; they never did. The jazz band that played before her had already set the tone, but it wasn’t her music they were here for. She could already tell: eyes glazed over, phones out, minds elsewhere. She’d become part of the furniture, just another background sound.
She started with a standard tune—one she could play with her eyes closed. It was safe. It was simple. But then, as the melody flowed from her fingers, a thought crossed her mind. What if I just played something for myself? Something no one’s heard before. Something raw.
She stopped playing, closed her eyes, and allowed the silence to settle around her. Then, with a deep breath, her fingers gently brushed against the piano keys. The melody she began was haunting, delicate, and unsure, as if she were testing the waters. Her mind drifted back to the days when music had meant everything. When she had dreamed of greatness, before life had become a dull blur of survival.
Saki didn’t look up; she didn’t care to see if anyone noticed. The sound was hers and hers alone now, a final piece of herself she could still claim. It wasn’t for the cafe. It wasn’t for anyone else.
* * *
Kyou sat at the back of the cafe, his camera balanced lazily on the table in front of him. He had been hired by a friend, a travel blogger who needed some atmospheric shots for a piece about the place. He had no particular interest in the cafe, but he had always been one to say yes to a job—especially one that got him away from his usual, solitary routine.
His eyes scanned the room, the flicker of artificial lights casting shadows across faces. People who didn’t care, people who were too busy to notice the details—the faces behind the masks they wore. He hated crowds for this reason. The falseness, the distractions. No one looked at each other anymore.
His gaze shifted to the pianist on stage. She was playing an old standard. How typical, he thought. Everyone always plays the same safe tunes.
But then she stopped. For a moment, the room became quieter, the conversations fading into the background. Saki’s fingers lingered above the keys, her next movement deliberate, almost like a breath held too long. She started playing something new, something different. Something unexpected.
Kyou leaned forward, his interest piqued. Her piece wasn’t complex, but it was beautiful in a raw, melancholic way—a melody that stirred something deep inside him. He didn’t know why, but the tune made him emotional. His fingers brushed the edge of his camera, yet his mind wandered, trying to place it.
It was a song unlike any he had heard before—haunting in its simplicity.
A sense of urgency surged through him. He had to capture this moment—this raw version of the music that had lingered in his memory for so long. Without thinking, he grabbed his camera and aimed it at her, snapping a photo before he could second-guess himself.
* * *
Yuuto had just finished setting up his band’s instruments for the upcoming set. The other members were still getting drinks, joking with one another, their excited chatter filling the space around him. He loved moments like this—anticipation crackling in the air before the music began. It was where he felt most alive. But tonight, something felt different. The air seemed heavier, charged with an unseen current.
He sat at the side of the stage, letting the noise of the café wash over him, but his eyes were drawn to the pianist, who was about to wrap up her set. She was good—very good—but there was a quiet intensity in her playing that intrigued him. She had a presence about her, even if she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Her expression, closed off but wistful, felt like it was tied to something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words.
As she finished the standard piece, Yuuto half-expected her to bow and leave, but she didn’t. Instead, she hesitated for a beat, closed her eyes, and then… played something else.
Her fingers glided over the keys with such ease, the melody soft and almost haunting, yet full of emotion. Yuuto tilted his head, his breath catching in his throat. Where had I heard this before? It was a beautiful song, full of longing, yet fragile in its delivery.
He’d never heard her play this before. Had she composed it herself? The thought nagged at him, but before he could dwell on it, a voice cut through his thoughts—sharp, dry, and laced with sarcasm.
Kyou, who had silently approached and was now standing beside him, muttered as if speaking to himself, “She’s good, I guess.”
Yuuto raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Guess? That piece was amazing.”
Kyou shot him a sideways glance—almost as if just now realizing Yuuto was there—but his expression remained unimpressed. Yuuto, however, wasn’t fazed.
“I wonder if she wrote it herself,” Yuuto mused aloud.
Kyou just shrugged, his focus returning to the pianist. “Could be,” he muttered. “She doesn’t look like someone who follows the crowd.”
Yuuto laughed, eyes twinkling. “She definitely doesn’t seem like the typical performer.”
Kyou didn’t respond, but he had noticed the same thing. There was something about the way she played that didn’t feel rehearsed or polished—it was raw, like she was opening up in a way most musicians never dared.
As Saki finished her piece and stood, Yuuto couldn’t help but feel that strange pull again, the connection he often felt with people who had a certain fire in them, even if they were trying to hide it. He stood up, brushing past Kyou.
“Hey, that was incredible,” he called out to her, his voice warm and inviting. “You wrote that, right?”
Saki blinked, startled by the sudden attention. She wasn’t used to this. “Uh, yeah,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual. “Just a little something.”
Kyou, still standing off to the side, watched the interaction with interest. He didn’t say anything, but he had a feeling this wasn’t just a random encounter. They had all been drawn into this moment, and it felt like something had shifted in the air.
Saki was about to walk away when Yuuto added, “We’re up next. If you’re sticking around, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Or—do you want to jam with us?”
“No. I’ve stopped playing music for fun.”
Her answer gave Yuuto pause.
Kyou took a few steps forward, his camera still hanging loosely in his hands. Something in him stirred—an impulse, a quiet urgency. He needed to capture this moment. The vulnerability in her playing, the weight she carried, the way she seemed to shut herself off from the world.
Without a word, he raised his camera and snapped another shot.
This time, the emotion in her posture was impossible to ignore.
Saki turned to him, slightly startled. “What was that for?” Her voice held a trace of curiosity, not annoyance.
Kyou lowered the camera slowly, meeting her eyes for the first time. “Sorry,” he said, his tone gruff. “I… I just felt like it. If you don’t want it, I’ll delete it. I promise.”
Saki studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she gave a small nod. “Fine. Just… don’t make it weird.”
Yuuto grinned, watching the exchange with amusement. “I guess we’re all a little strange tonight.”
Kyou didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe a trace of understanding, or maybe something more.
* * *
Chapter 2: Between the Notes
The air in the jazz café shifted as the house lights dimmed slightly, signaling the next act. Conversations softened, but the café was still lively—noisy in the way that only a crowded night in a warm, familiar space could be. The atmosphere buzzed with an energy that was casual, yet electric with anticipation.
At the corner of the café, Saki wrapped her hands around a steaming cup of coffee. She hadn’t answered Yuuto when he’d asked if she was staying. She hadn’t needed to. She was still here, tucked into the shadows, her presence almost ghostly compared to the liveliness around her. She took a sip, letting the warmth spread through her fingers.
At the table next to her, Kyou was quiet, his camera resting on the wooden surface beside him. He hadn’t planned to stay either. He could’ve left the moment his job was done. And yet, something made him linger. Maybe it was the melody still echoing in his mind, the one Saki had played. He couldn’t place why it had stuck with him so strongly. He was intrigued, but he wasn’t the kind to just walk up and start talking.
Not yet.
Instead, he shifted in his chair, watching as Yuuto took the stage with his band.
From his spot near the mic, Yuuto scanned the room as he adjusted the strap of his guitar. He caught sight of Saki, barely noticeable in the corner. A flicker of a grin crossed his lips. She stayed. He wasn’t sure why that pleased him, but it did. Kyou, too, was still around, though Yuuto got the impression the guy wasn’t here for the music. What’s his deal?
But that thought passed quickly as he turned to his bandmates.
The drummer gave a small nod, the keyboardist cracked his knuckles, and with a quick count-in, they launched into their first song—a lively, intricate rendition of Chick Corea’s “Spain.”
The shift in energy was immediate. Conversations died down as the first notes filled the space, bouncing off the walls with a precision that was both technical and effortless. The café, for all its cozy, intimate ambiance, suddenly felt larger—like a place where things happened, where music wasn’t just background noise but something alive, something felt.
Yuuto’s fingers moved over the fretboard with fluid ease, weaving in and out of the melody. His band had done this piece before, but tonight, it felt sharper, more in sync. Maybe it was the air in the café, or maybe it was the presence of certain unexpected guests.
Saki’s fingers tapped lightly against her coffee cup, almost unconsciously following the rhythm. She wasn’t sure why she was still here. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the way Yuuto had spoken to her—open, warm, unguarded in a way she hadn’t encountered in a long time.
Maybe it was just the music.
Kyou, meanwhile, was still watching. Spain. He recognized the tune immediately. Fast, expressive, full of motion—so different from the melancholic piece Saki had played earlier. It was like two completely different worlds colliding in the same space. He lifted his camera, snapping a few shots of the stage, not for work, but because he felt like it. The way Yuuto played was different from the polished, rehearsed musicians he’d encountered before. There was something raw about it, something felt rather than simply executed.
The song built to its peak, the interplay between instruments seamless, the transitions smooth. The café was alive with it. Some of the regulars were nodding along, others outright clapping in time.
Kyou glanced toward Saki.
She was still there, still quiet, but there was something about her posture that had changed, if only slightly. Her fingers still lingered on her cup, but now they pressed into it just a bit harder, like she was holding something back. He wondered if she wanted to play, if the music made her miss it.
Why did she stop playing for fun?
He caught himself staring and quickly looked away.
The set carried on, weaving through fusion jazz numbers from Spyro Gyra, Yellowjackets, and Casiopea. The groove filled the room—smooth, effortless, the kind of rhythm that made time feel irrelevant.
Yuuto, still riding the energy of the performance, stole another glance at Saki. She was hard to read, her expression unreadable as ever. But she was here.
And that had to mean something. Didn’t it?
As the final song wrapped up, the café broke into applause, the warm, scattered claps of people who had enjoyed the music but were already drifting back into their conversations.
Yuuto gave a small, satisfied bow, grinning as he leaned into the mic. “Thanks for listening, everyone. We’re here every Friday night—unless we get famous before then.” A chuckle rippled through the room.
Saki exhaled slowly, her grip on the coffee easing. She hadn’t realized she’d been so absorbed in it.
And then, before she could slip away unnoticed, Yuuto, stepping off stage, made his way toward her.
“So,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down without asking. “Honest thoughts?”
Saki blinked. “…About what?”
Yuuto smirked. “Don’t play dumb. You were listening. Chick Corea, Spyro Gyra, Yellowjackets—what’s the verdict?”
Saki hesitated. He noticed? “It was…” She searched for the words. “Tight. Clean. You guys know what you’re doing.”
Yuuto leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “That’s the most non-committal compliment I’ve ever heard.”
Saki looked away, unsure how to respond.
Yuuto studied her for a moment, then grinned. “You should play with us sometime.”
Saki choked slightly on her next sip of coffee. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Yuuto tapped the table lightly. “I don’t know why, but I feel like you’d add something. That piece you played earlier? That was real. You’ve got something in you that’s different. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
Saki tensed. Different. She had been different once. That had led nowhere but pain.
“I don’t play anymore,” she said, her voice quieter now.
Yuuto’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he only shrugged, easygoing. “That’s a shame.”
Kyou, who had been listening from the next table, frowned slightly.
The conversation stalled.
Yuuto, not one to push—at least not yet—leaned back. “Well, no pressure. But if you ever change your mind…” He tapped the table again, then stood. “Nice meeting you, Saki.”
Saki’s fingers paused around her coffee cup. She hadn’t told him her name.
Her eyes flickered up to him, just for a second, a barely noticeable crease forming between her brows.
Yuuto caught the shift in expression and grinned, amused. “What? I ask around.”
Saki didn’t reply, but she felt a strange sense of awareness settle over her.
Kyou, still at his table, debated for a moment before speaking.
“That piece,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “The one you played earlier. Where did it come from?”
Saki turned slightly to look at him. He was still watching her, the same way he had watched from across the café earlier. Not judging. Just observing.
She thought about lying. Saying it was nothing.
But for some reason, she didn’t.
“I wrote it,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
Kyou didn’t respond right away. But the way his fingers brushed against his camera told her he was thinking.
“…It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “It has feeling.”
Saki’s breath hitched. Hearing that from a stranger felt… strange. Unsettling, even.
Kyou met her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
And in that moment, Saki had the unsettling sense that she and this unknown stranger shared a quiet understanding.
* * *
Chapter 3: Strange Coincidences
Yuuto wasn’t one for deep thoughts on a weekday afternoon. His mind usually bounced between song lyrics, band practice schedules, and the perpetual struggle of keeping his fridge stocked with actual food. But today, as he grabbed his usual onigiri and bottled cold brew from the convenience store’s fridge, he found himself caught off guard.
At first, it was just a passing glance toward the register, but then—
Wait a second.
The girl behind the counter, lazily scanning items for the customer in front of him, looked… familiar.
Saki.
Yuuto blinked, momentarily thrown off by the complete shift in atmosphere. The last time he’d seen her, she was at the piano, lost in a melody of her own making. Now, under the fluorescent lights of a convenience store, dressed in a simple uniform, she looked almost like a different person.
He stepped forward as the previous customer left, placing his food on the counter. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said casually, watching for her reaction.
Saki looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly before recognition clicked into place. Her hands didn’t stop moving as she scanned his items, but there was the briefest flicker of something—mild surprise? Annoyance?—before she responded.
“…You’re that guy from the café.”
Yuuto smirked. “That guy? Ouch.” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I thought we had a moment.”
Saki sighed, rolling her eyes. “Do you want a bag?”
“Nah.” He grabbed his cold brew and cracked the cap open, taking a sip. “Didn’t peg you for a convenience store worker.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t peg you for someone who eats store-bought onigiri.”
“Hey,” Yuuto protested, pointing at her. “These are high-quality, life-saving meals.”
Saki scanned the last item and gave him his total. “Mmm. Right.”
Yuuto handed over the money but didn’t leave immediately. “You never did give me a real opinion on our set the other night.”
Saki hesitated. She glanced at him, then back at the register screen. “You already know you’re good.”
Yuuto tilted his head. “That’s not an answer.”
Saki sighed, handing him his receipt. “It was fine.”
Yuuto grinned. “Better than ‘tight and clean’?”
A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Saki’s lips, but she quickly pushed it away. “Next customer.”
Yuuto chuckled, stepping aside but still watching her. Saki, the pianist, working a normal job like this… Something about the contrast made him more curious about her. But for now, he took his onigiri and cold brew and left, making a mental note—this wouldn’t be the last time they ran into each other.
* * *
Autumn was a good season for photography. Kyou preferred it over the humid stickiness of summer and the bleak monotony of winter. There was something inherently nostalgic about the way the golden leaves curled along the pavement, the way the afternoon light softened everything into a memory before it was even gone.
Today, he was out in the park, letting his instincts guide his lens. A jogger passing by, a stray cat perched on a bench, the distant laughter of children kicking up leaves—snapshots of moments that might otherwise be forgotten.
Then, just ahead, something caught his eye.
A girl sitting alone on a wooden bench, engrossed in a book. The setting sun painted warm hues around her, the scattered autumn leaves framing the scene like a painting. The way she sat—calm, detached, yet quietly present—was striking. There was something melancholic about it, something still and timeless.
Without thinking, Kyou lifted his camera and took the shot. The click of the shutter was soft, almost imperceptible against the rustling of the leaves.
And then she looked up.
Kyou froze.
That girl from the cafe, the pianist.
For a split second, he debated pretending he hadn’t just taken a photo of her, but the sharpness in her gaze told him it was too late.
“…Are you stalking me?” she asked flatly, closing her book with a quiet thud.
Kyou choked on air. “What—? No.” He lowered his camera, scrambling for words. “I was just—taking pictures. You were in the shot.”
The girl raised an eyebrow. “Convenient.”
Kyou cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes. “It was a nice composition. That’s all.”
Silence.
Then, the girl glanced at his camera. “Let me see.”
Kyou hesitated. Normally, he didn’t show his shots before editing them. But something about the way she asked made him sigh and step forward, tilting the camera so she could see the screen.
She studied the image—herself, sitting against the backdrop of falling leaves, her hair catching the golden light, the moment looking far more poetic than it had felt in real time.
Saki exhaled through her nose. “Not bad.”
Kyou stuffed his free hand in his pocket. “Obviously.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Still sounds like something a stalker would say.”
Kyou groaned. “I’m not—” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t even know it was you until after I took the shot.”
The girl didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, instead of pressing further, she just flipped her book back open and returned to her page.
Kyou was about to take that as his cue to leave when he caught sight of the title.
Kafka on the Shore.
“…Seriously?” he muttered before he could stop himself.
The girl blinked, looking up. “What?”
Kyou gestured toward the book with a half-exasperated expression. “You’re the ‘reading Murakami in a park during autumn’ type?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
Kyou crossed his arms. “It’s just so… expected.”
She stared at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had to read unpredictable books for a guy who takes unsolicited photos of strangers.”
Kyou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not—ugh. Never mind.”
Shei smirked. “What, not a Murakami fan?”
Kyou huffed. “It’s not bad. Just… kind of pretentious.”
She leaned back against the bench, studying him with new amusement. “And you’re not?”
Kyou had no immediate rebuttal for that.
She flipped another page in her book. “Figures.”
Kyou debated walking away, but for some reason, his feet stayed put. He eyed the bench, then—after a brief internal war—sat down at the opposite end of it, keeping his camera in his lap.
They didn’t speak.
For a few moments, only the sound of the breeze and rustling pages filled the space between them.
Then, Kyou glanced sideways. “It’s a good picture,” he muttered, as if needing to justify himself one last time.
The girl hummed noncommittally. “Still sounds like something a stalker would say.”
Kyou groaned.
She smirked behind her book.
And just like that, the strange coincidences between them continued.
* * *
Chapter 4: Under the Same Umbrella
The first raindrop landed silently on the open page of Kafka on the Shore.
Saki frowned, glancing up from her book just as the wind shifted. The sky, once a muted autumn gold, had darkened without warning. Another drop. Then another. The quiet rustling of leaves gave way to the soft patter of rain against pavement.
Kyou sighed beside her. “Great.”
Saki shut her book with a resigned breath. “You didn’t check the forecast?”
Kyou gave her a look. “Did you?”
She ignored that. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a compact umbrella and flicked it open. It was small—barely enough for one person.
Kyou eyed it, then eyed her.
Saki groaned. “Do you want to get soaked or not?”
He hesitated, but as the rain suddenly intensified, turning from a light drizzle into a full downpour, he made his decision.
“Move over,” he muttered, stepping under the umbrella, careful to keep some distance between them.
The rain pounded harder, bouncing off the pavement and turning the world into a blur of gray and gold. The once serene park was quickly emptying, couples and lone joggers sprinting for shelter. Saki and Kyou, sharing a very inadequate amount of coverage, trudged toward the nearest exit.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Kyou asked.
“There’s a cafe just near the park,” Saki replied. “I think.”
Kyou scoffed. “You think?”
“Unless you want to stand in the rain and philosophize about it, I suggest we keep walking.”
The rain was relentless, wind tugging at the umbrella, causing occasional droplets to sneak under. Kyou adjusted his bag, keeping his camera close to his chest like it was a lifeline.
After a few minutes, the warm glow of a small cafe emerged through the rain, its windows fogged up from the heat inside. Without a word, they quickened their pace and slipped in, the bell above the door chiming softly.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wrapped around them instantly, a stark contrast to the chilly dampness outside.
Saki closed her umbrella, shaking off the excess water before looking around. The place was small, cozy, with wooden interiors and a handful of tables occupied by people who had clearly ducked in to escape the rain.
“There’s only one table left,” Kyou noted, nodding toward a tiny corner space.
Saki sighed. “Figures.”
With silent reluctance, they made their way over, settling into the small wooden chairs. The moment they sat, the reality of the situation set in.
This was weird.
Neither spoke immediately. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint jazz playing from the cafe speakers.
A waitress appeared, smiling politely. “What can I get for you two?”
“I’ll take a black coffee,” Kyou said, still slightly damp but looking as composed as ever.
“Same,” Saki muttered.
The waitress scribbled the order and left, leaving them in the quiet once more.
Saki tapped a finger against the table. Kyou stared out the window.
This was so weird.
Finally, Kyou exhaled. “We don’t have to talk.”
Saki raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one making it weird.”
Kyou turned back to her, unimpressed. “How am I making it weird?”
“You keep looking at me like I forced you to be here.”
Kyou scoffed. “You did force me under your umbrella.”
Saki rolled her eyes. “Right. I should’ve let you become one with nature.”
Kyou smirked. “Would’ve made for a good picture.”
Saki huffed a quiet laugh. The tension in the air cracked, just slightly.
The coffees arrived, steam curling into the space between them.
Saki took a slow sip before glancing at him. “So. Photography.”
Kyou lifted an eyebrow. “So. Music.”
Saki hesitated, then leaned back. “Touché.”
A comfortable silence settled, the clinking of cups filling the space.
Then, Kyou tilted his head. “You really don’t play anymore?”
Saki looked down at her coffee. “Not really.”
Kyou studied her for a moment. “Shame.”
Saki’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup. “Why?”
Kyou shrugged, swirling the coffee in his mug. “Because that piece you played—it was real.”
Saki blinked.
Kyou didn’t elaborate. He simply took another sip, his gaze drifting elsewhere.
Saki wasn’t sure why, but the comment sat in her mind longer than it should have.
The rain outside continued to pour, the jazz in the cafe softly filling the space between them.
And for reasons neither could quite explain, neither of them minded the unexpected company anymore.
* * *
Chapter 5: The Line Between Convenience and Chaos
Yuuto exhaled sharply as he pushed open the door of the convenience store, the familiar chime ringing above him. The fluorescent lights cast everything in their usual slightly-too-bright glow, and he headed straight for the refrigerated section without a second thought.
It had been a long day—band practice, a frustrating discussion with his drummer about setlists, and now, this. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he barely had time to pull out a bottle of cold brew before his screen lit up again with a name he was starting to dread seeing.
Mai.
With a sigh, he answered. “Yeah?”
The response was immediate. “So you’re just ignoring my texts now?”
Yuuto shut his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you, I was at practice.”
“That was three hours ago, Yuuto.”
He grabbed an onigiri with one hand while juggling his phone with the other. “Yeah, because practice takes time?”
Mai scoffed on the other end. “You always have time for your music but not for me.”
Yuuto grimaced, stepping toward the register. The store was quiet tonight—just him, the hum of the coolers, and the cashier waiting at the counter. He barely glanced up as he reached into his pocket for his wallet, still half-listening as Mai’s voice edged into something sharper.
“You never call first, you never make plans—are you even taking this seriously?”
Yuuto sighed, setting his items on the counter. “Mai, we’ve talked about this.”
“No, you talked, I listened,” she snapped. “You don’t even try. I’m the one making all the effort.”
He pulled out his wallet, distracted. “That’s not true—”
“Is there someone else?”
Yuuto froze, his grip tightening around his wallet. “What?”
“You’re always busy, always ‘working on music.’ How do I know you’re not just with someone else?”
A sharp clack echoed through the store.
Yuuto blinked, realizing the sound had come from the register counter—more specifically, from Saki setting down a bottle of water with just a little more force than necessary.
Wait.
Saki?
Yuuto looked up properly for the first time since entering the store. There she was, standing behind the counter with an utterly unimpressed expression, arms crossed, watching him argue like he was the worst inconvenience of her shift.
Oh.
Oh no.
Mai was still ranting in his ear, but Yuuto felt a very real sense of secondhand embarrassment sink in.
Saki drummed her fingers against the counter, pointedly glancing at the untouched onigiri and cold brew still waiting to be paid for.
Yuuto cleared his throat, gripping his phone tighter. “Mai, can we—can we talk about this later?”
“Oh, now you want to talk later?” she spat. “Are you serious right now?”
Saki’s eyes narrowed further. Yuuto was certain she was five seconds away from telling him to leave her store if he wasn’t going to move things along.
“I gotta go,” he said quickly, lowering his phone. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Before Mai could respond, he ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket.
The silence that followed was brutal.
Yuuto coughed. “So, uh. Hi.”
Saki didn’t move. “Are you going to buy that or just let it sit there?”
Yuuto winced, pushing the onigiri and drink toward her. “Right. My bad.”
Saki rang up his items with the same energy one might use to process a particularly dull task at work. Which, in fairness, she was.
“So,” she said, voice flat, “that sounded fun.”
Yuuto groaned. “Please don’t.”
Saki scanned his cold brew. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, but I can hear the judgment.”
Saki tapped at the register. “That’ll be 540 yen.”
Yuuto handed over the cash, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but at her.
“So,” Saki continued as she handed him his change, “is there someone else?”
Yuuto choked. “What? No!”
Saki shrugged. “Just checking. You know, since you left the question hanging.”
Yuuto shot her a tired glare. “Thanks for that.”
Saki leaned against the counter, watching him as he stuffed his change into his pocket. “You don’t seem all that into it.”
Yuuto sighed. “Into what?”
“The relationship,” Saki said simply.
Yuuto exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. It just… happened.”
Saki raised an eyebrow. “How does a relationship just happen?”
Yuuto grimaced. “She asked, I said yes.”
Saki blinked. “That’s it?”
He shrugged. “I’m bad at saying no.”
Saki scoffed. “Wow. Inspirational.”
Yuuto let out a half-laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, yeah, I deserve that.” He grabbed his bag of food, shifting awkwardly. “Look, it’s complicated.”
Saki hummed, clearly unimpressed. “Sounds very complicated.”
Yuuto sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “You ever have something in your life that you don’t really care about, but you go along with it because it’s just… easier?”
Saki stilled for half a second.
Something flickered in her eyes, too quick to catch, but Yuuto swore he saw it.
Then she looked away. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess.”
Yuuto studied her for a moment.
There was something about the way she said it—like she wasn’t talking about relationships at all.
The store fell quiet again, the hum of the refrigerators filling the space.
Yuuto exhaled, shaking off the moment. “Well. Sorry for holding up the line.”
Saki gestured vaguely at the empty store. “Yeah. All those other imaginary customers are furious.”
Yuuto smirked. “Right? Gonna get banned for life at this rate.”
Saki tilted her head. “I’d consider it.”
He chuckled, stepping toward the door. “See you around, then.”
Saki didn’t respond immediately.
Then, just as he was about to step out, she spoke.
“Hey.”
He paused, surprised.
Saki looked at him evenly. “If you don’t want to be with her, don’t be with her.”
Yuuto blinked.
For someone who had barely acknowledged him before, that was… oddly direct.
And for some reason, it stuck.
“Right,” he muttered, giving a half-hearted salute before pushing the door open.
The chime rang out again as he stepped into the night.
Saki sighed, leaning her arms against the counter, staring at the register.
She really should’ve just ignored that whole thing.
But she didn’t.
* * *
Chapter 6: Unnecessary Thoughts
The door chimed again as Yuuto stepped out, the night swallowing him along with the awkward energy he had brought into the store.
Saki exhaled, shaking her head. Finally.
She reached for her water bottle and took a sip, expecting the store to return to its usual dull routine. But then—
“Unbelievable, Yuuto!”
The voice, loud and piercing, practically rattled through the glass door as it swung closed behind him.
Saki blinked. Wait, seriously?
Even from inside the store, she could hear the shrill, muffled frustration spilling from Yuuto’s phone speaker. The girl—Mai, right?—was still going at it, her voice escalating with each second.
“You just hang up on me like that?! Are you serious?!”
Saki sighed, resisting the urge to rub her temples. It was like watching a slow-moving train wreck, except she hadn’t signed up for this show.
Still, her fingers unconsciously drummed against the counter as she processed what she had just heard.
Yuuto.
That was his name.
She hadn’t known it before. Not officially. And she certainly hadn’t planned to learn it through someone screaming it through a phone.
For some reason, that fact alone annoyed her.
Saki crossed her arms, staring at the empty space Yuuto had occupied just moments ago. Why do I even care?
Maybe it was the sheer secondhand embarrassment of the situation. Or maybe it was the fact that Saki had felt like a background character in her life up until now—a guy she happened to meet at the jazz café, then again at the store. Someone who should’ve remained a stranger.
Yet somehow, she now knew too much about his personal life.
She took a deep breath, forcing her focus back to her work. There was no point in thinking about it. It wasn’t her problem.
And yet…
Her own words echoed back in her mind.
“If you don’t want to be with her, don’t be with her.”
Why did she say that?
She didn’t know this guy. She didn’t care about his relationships. She wasn’t the type to get involved in other people’s business, much less offer unsolicited advice to some bassist with a messy love life.
And yet she had commented.
Saki sighed, resting her chin in her palm. I really should’ve just ignored that whole thing.
But she didn’t.
And for some reason, that was even more annoying.
* * *
Chapter 7: A Stranger Encounter
Libraries were quiet. That’s what Kyou liked about them. No forced conversations, no unnecessary noise—just the sound of turning pages and the occasional cough from someone too deep into their book to realize they were ruining the atmosphere.
It was a good place to disappear for a while.
He ran his fingers along the spines of books, scanning absentmindedly. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Just something to fill the space between moments.
Then, his hand stopped.
A familiar title. The Stranger.
Classic. Short. Cold. Detached.
Kyou liked books like that—ones that didn’t try too hard to make you feel something.
Just as he was about to pull it from the shelf, another hand reached for it at the same time.
He looked up.
Saki.
She stared at him, her fingers resting on the same book.
Neither of them moved.
“…Seriously?” Kyou muttered.
Saki blinked. “What?”
“This book?” He gestured at The Stranger. “Figures.”
Saki raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kyou gave a half-shrug. “Just… on brand.”
Saki tilted her head slightly. “For me or for you?”
“Both,” he admitted.
A pause.
Neither of them let go of the book.
Kyou narrowed his eyes. “I saw it first.”
Saki scoffed. “I touched it first.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Pretty sure it is.”
Kyou sighed, loosening his grip slightly. “Fine. Take it.”
Saki studied him for a second, then—without breaking eye contact—she let go of the book and pulled another copy from the shelf. Identical.
Kyou stared at it. “…There was another one?”
Saki smirked. “Guess you’re not as observant as you think.”
Kyou exhaled through his nose. “Unbelievable.”
Saki leaned against the bookshelf, flipping through the pages. “You read this before?”
Kyou nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Kyou glanced at her. “So why read it again?”
Saki turned a page. “Why not?”
Kyou huffed a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”
She shrugged. “You started it.”
They both looked down at their copies.
Kyou tapped the cover lightly. “What part got you?”
Saki paused. “Hmm.” She tapped her fingers against the book’s spine. “The part where he doesn’t cry at his mother’s funeral and everyone decides he’s a monster.”
Kyou nodded. “Good part.”
Saki eyed him. “You?”
Kyou thought for a moment. “The end.”
She smirked. “Of course.”
Kyou smirked back. “Fitting, right?”
They stood there, silent, but not uncomfortably so.
Saki eventually exhaled and tucked the book under her arm. “Well. Enjoy your existential crisis.”
Kyou nodded. “You too.”
She turned to leave.
Then—just before stepping away—she hesitated.
“Hey,” she said, not looking at him. “You still got that picture?”
Kyou blinked. “What picture?”
Saki shot him a look.
“…Right,” Kyou muttered. “That one.”
She didn’t say anything. Just waited.
Kyou sighed, digging into his bag and pulling out his camera. He scrolled through a few shots before stopping on that photo—the one from the park. Saki, sitting under autumn leaves, lost in her book.
He turned the camera toward her.
Saki stared at the image, her expression unreadable.
“…It’s not bad,” she admitted.
Kyou snorted. “High praise.”
Saki tilted her head. “Still sounds like something a stalker would say.”
Kyou groaned, lowering the camera. “Are you ever letting that go?”
Saki smirked. “Nope.”
She turned and walked away.
Kyou watched her leave, then glanced back down at The Stranger in his hand.
He wasn’t sure why, but the book felt oddly fitting for the moment.
With a sigh, he tucked it under his arm and headed for the checkout.
* * *
Chapter 8: Unavoidable Encounters
Saki sighed as she leaned against the convenience store counter, pressing her phone to her ear.
“Come on, Saki, just two hours. You barely have to do anything,” Rika’s voice pleaded on the other end.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to do anything.”
“But you can! And you’re good at it!”
That was the problem.
Saki glanced around the near-empty store, exhaling. She didn’t have an excuse. Her shift wouldn’t start until later that night, and her weekend was wide open. She could refuse, but the extra money wouldn’t hurt. And it wasn’t like she had any plans.
She hesitated. “…Isn’t there anyone else?”
Rika scoffed. “You think I’d be calling you if I had other options?”
Saki rolled her eyes. “Wow. Flattering.”
“You know I love you. So? You in?”
She didn’t answer right away.
It wasn’t the playing that bothered her. It was being there.
At that café. Again.
And on a Friday, of all nights.
Her fingers tapped against the counter as she thought about it. Yuuto’s band played Fridays. She hadn’t forgotten. And after the whole Mai situation, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to deal with him again so soon.
Not that she cared about his relationship drama.
But the idea of seeing him—of him seeing her—felt… uncomfortable.
Still.
Money was money.
And he’d probably be too busy with his set to notice her, anyway.
“Fine,” she muttered.
Rika squealed in victory. “I owe you!”
Saki hung up before she could regret it.
She sighed, staring at her phone screen for a long moment.
Two hours. That was all.
She could handle it.
Right?
* * *
Chapter 9: The Unwanted Encore
Yuuto knew something was wrong the moment he stepped backstage.
There was a tension in the air, the kind that made his stomach tighten before his brain had even caught up to the situation.
Aya was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing the kind of expression that meant I refuse to deal with this nonsense. Tetsu was tuning his guitar, pretending not to be paying attention. Riku was… well, Riku—drumming against the nearest table like nothing was happening.
And then there was Mai.
Standing there. In the middle of his night.
Yuuto exhaled sharply, bracing himself. “Mai. What are you doing here?”
She turned, arms folded, her expression a mix of frustration and why haven’t you been answering my texts?
“I came to see you,” she said, as if that wasn’t obvious.
Yuuto pinched the bridge of his nose. “You could’ve mentioned that before showing up.”
Mai ignored the comment and took a step forward, voice dropping. “We need to talk.”
Oh no.
That never meant anything good.
“Mai,” Yuuto lowered his voice, glancing at his bandmates. “Can we not do this right now?”
She narrowed her eyes. “When, then? You’re always too busy.”
Yuuto ran a hand through his hair, trying to stay calm. The last thing he needed was a scene in front of everyone. He already felt Riku shifting uncomfortably, and Aya’s patience wearing thin.
“This isn’t the time,” he said firmly. “I have a set to play.”
Mai scoffed. “Oh, your precious band? I bet you’d drop everything if it was about your music.”
Yuuto clenched his jaw. He could feel the weight of the room pressing in on him. This was not what he needed tonight.
Then, before he could say another word—
A voice cut through the tension.
“If you’re gonna fight, can you do it outside?”
Everyone turned.
Saki.
She was standing near the side door, arms crossed, looking exactly as unimpressed as Aya but somehow even colder.
Yuuto blinked. “You’re still here?”
Saki’s gaze flickered toward him, unreadable. “Unfortunately.”
Mai scoffed, arms tightening around herself. “And who is this?”
Yuuto exhaled, exhausted. “Saki—this is Mai. Mai—this is not your business.”
Saki raised an eyebrow. “It is when it delays your performance.”
Yuuto groaned. Great. Now he was sandwiched between an exasperated pianist and a pissed-off girlfriend. This was not how he pictured tonight going.
Aya, ever the problem-solver, clapped her hands together once, sharply. “Alright, enough.” She turned to Yuuto. “Go handle your mess.”
“What?”
Aya pointed toward the stage. “We can’t play without a bassist, and we have to play.”
Yuuto blinked. “Then what am I supposed to—”
Aya, now ignoring him, turned to Saki.
“You,” she said, arms crossed, “you can play.”
Saki stiffened. “Excuse me?”
Aya jerked her chin toward the stage. “You’re a pianist, right? I need someone to keep the music going while he sorts his drama out.”
Saki blinked. “No.”
Aya blinked back. “Yes.”
Tetsu, clearly amused, grinned. “C’mon, just jam with me. Play anything. We’ll improv.”
Saki turned to Yuuto, as if to say you’re really making me do this?
Yuuto, still half-stunned by how quickly things escalated, held up his hands. “I mean… technically, I didn’t ask.”
Saki exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. She looked at the café floor, then at Aya, then at the stage.
She could walk out. She should.
But something about Aya’s expectant gaze—about Tetsu’s eagerness—made her hesitate.
…Two hours.
She was already here.
She sighed. “Fine. But if I walk out mid-song, don’t be surprised.”
Aya smirked, stepping aside to let her pass. “Duly noted.”
Yuuto was still processing as Saki brushed past him and made her way toward the stage.
He felt weirdly conflicted about this.
On one hand—thank god someone was keeping the music going.
On the other hand—Saki playing with his band?
Yeah.
That was definitely going to be something.
* * *
Chapter 10: New Arrangements
Yuuto sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall outside the café. The cool night air felt grounding—more real than the suffocating tension that had been building with Mai.
She was gone now.
Finally.
It hadn’t been dramatic. No screaming, no drawn-out arguments. Just exhaustion.
The moment he said, Mai, I can’t do this anymore, she had stared at him, eyes flashing with something between frustration and hurt.
“You’re seriously choosing this over me?”
Yuuto had let out a slow breath. “It’s not about choosing. This isn’t working.”
She had scoffed, looked at him like he was nothing, then left without another word.
And now here he was, standing outside a jazz café, where his band was supposed to be playing, and yet—
He wasn’t playing.
Saki was.
That thought hit him all over again, pulling him back to reality.
He straightened, shaking off the remnants of his breakup, and stepped back inside.
The café was alive with music.
Not his band’s usual setlist, but something more fluid, more instinctual. A quiet jazz groove laced with unexpected but deliberate notes.
His gaze found the stage, where Saki sat at the piano, fingers dancing over the keys, weaving in and out of Tetsu’s guitar.
Yuuto blinked.
She wasn’t playing mechanically, the way she had before—just to get through a gig. This was different.
This was real.
Tetsu was completely absorbed, his fingers moving across the fretboard with practiced ease, but Saki—Saki looked almost at ease in a way Yuuto hadn’t seen before.
She was feeling the music.
Yuuto felt something stir inside him, something he couldn’t quite place.
Aya and Riku stood at the side, watching the performance. Aya, arms crossed, had a look of approval—like she’d made the right call. Riku, hands in his pockets, just looked pleasantly surprised.
Yuuto moved toward them, still watching the stage. “How long’s this been going?”
Aya barely glanced at him. “Long enough for me to decide we should’ve done this sooner.”
Yuuto huffed a quiet laugh. “That good, huh?”
Aya smirked. “Better than you.”
Yuuto rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
Tetsu leaned into a smooth solo, and Saki, without missing a beat, built the chords beneath him effortlessly.
Yuuto exhaled, half-amused, half-impressed. Unbelievable.
She wasn’t supposed to still be here.
But somehow, she was.
And for the first time, Yuuto wasn’t sure he minded.
* * *
Chapter 11: A Different Kind of Set
The moment the last note faded, Saki pushed the piano bench back and stood up. The café buzzed with lingering energy, patrons still caught in the afterglow of the impromptu set.
She didn’t wait for applause. Didn’t linger for compliments. She had played, she had done her part, and now—she needed to leave.
She turned to step off stage, but Yuuto was already there.
“Hey,” he said, voice warm but not imposing. “Wait a sec?”
Saki adjusted her bag strap. “Can’t.”
Yuuto blinked. “What? Why?”
“My shift’s starting soon.”
He frowned, as if processing the idea that she had somewhere else to be after this. “You work right after a gig?”
She sighed. “Not usually. Just today.”
Yuuto exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figures.”
Saki glanced toward the exit. “See you.”
She didn’t wait for a response before stepping out the door.
* * *
Yuuto wasn’t sure why he went to the convenience store.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the weird unfinished feeling of the night.
Or maybe it was just because the band hadn’t actually said thank you.
Yeah. Let’s go with that.
The automatic doors slid open with their usual dull chime. The store was mostly empty—quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerators and the occasional rustle of snack packaging as a customer browsed.
Behind the register, Saki looked up, blinking once.
Then, without missing a beat, she said, “If you’re not buying anything, you have no business being here.”
Yuuto grinned. “That’s cold.”
Saki shrugged. “Just a fact.”
Yuuto made a show of scanning the shelves, then grabbed the first things that caught his eye—instant ramen, salmon onigiri and a bottled cold brew. He walked up to the counter and set them down.
Saki rang them up without a word.
As he pulled out his wallet, he leaned on the counter slightly. “So, about earlier.”
Saki didn’t look up. “What about it?”
Yuuto smirked. “The band and I never properly thanked you.”
Saki scanned the barcode on the cold brew. “You just did.”
Yuuto huffed a quiet laugh. “You know what I mean.”
Saki tapped at the register. “That’ll be 850 yen.”
Yuuto handed over the cash. “You were good. Really good.”
Saki bagged his items, pausing slightly before handing them over. “I just played.”
“You improvised,” Yuuto corrected. “With Tetsu, no less. That’s not easy.”
Saki exhaled. “He’s better than he thinks.”
Yuuto chuckled, picking up his bag. “That’s a dangerous thing to say around him.”
Saki gave the smallest smirk. “I figured.”
Instead of leaving, Yuuto glanced at the small seating area in the corner of the store. Without hesitation, he walked over, tore open the ramen packaging, and grabbed some hot water from the dispenser.
Saki watched him from the counter.
“…You’re eating here?”
Yuuto shrugged. “I bought something. I have business being here.”
Saki rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
As the store remained quiet, Yuuto took the opportunity. “You sure you don’t want to play again?”
Saki paused mid-sip of her own drink. “Don’t start.”
Yuuto smirked. “Just saying. You looked like you were actually enjoying it.”
Saki didn’t answer immediately.
She had felt something earlier. But enjoyment? She wasn’t sure.
Instead of responding, she sat back slightly. “You always drink cold brew this late?”
Yuuto glanced at his bottle. “Helps me think.”
Saki huffed. “That’s concerning.”
Yuuto grinned, stirring his ramen. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
And just like that, the night stretched on, the jazz café behind them but the conversation lingering between them.
* * *
Chapter 12: Strange Company
The store was quiet.
Not the eerie kind of quiet, just the too-late-for-crowds, too-early-for-the-night-shift kind.
Yuuto had finished his ramen, lazily stirring the leftover broth with his chopsticks. Saki had expected him to eat and leave, but he hadn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, gaze flickering between his cold brew and the ceiling, as if debating whether to say something.
Saki didn’t care enough to ask.
But, of course, that didn’t stop him from talking anyway.
“So, I broke up with Mai.”
Saki blinked, turning to him. “You say that like I asked.”
Yuuto smirked. “You didn’t.”
Saki exhaled. “Then why tell me?”
He shrugged, popping the cap off his drink. “Dunno. Just feels like you already knew it was coming.”
She considered that. He wasn’t wrong.
Instead of answering, she grabbed a rag from behind the counter and started wiping down an already clean surface.
Yuuto tilted his head. “Not even gonna say ‘congratulations’?”
Saki snorted. “Would you congratulate someone for throwing out expired milk?”
Yuuto laughed. “That’s cold.”
“Just a fact.”
He took a sip of his coffee, letting the conversation lapse into silence. For some reason, neither of them seemed to mind.
The bell above the store door jingled, breaking the moment.
Saki barely looked up—until she heard the familiar sound of someone rummaging through the onigiri section with way too much consideration.
Then, she sighed.
“You’re kidding me.”
Yuuto blinked at her, then followed her gaze toward the guy now standing at the fridge, inspecting a bottled cold brew latte like it held the answers to life.
Kyou.
He had his camera slung over his shoulder, looking completely at ease as if he hadn’t just walked into the same store where she worked.
Yuuto raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”
Saki crossed her arms. “Stalker.”
Kyou, not even glancing up from his selection, replied dryly, “I don’t even know where you work.”
Saki gestured around the store. “And yet, here you are.”
Kyou finally looked up, unimpressed. “This store is on my way home.”
Saki narrowed her eyes. “Convenient.”
Yuuto, watching the exchange, smirked. “This is cute.”
Both Saki and Kyou turned to him at the same time.
Yuuto pointed at his and Kyou’s hands. “We both got onigiri and cold brew.”
Saki looked at Kyou’s hand. Sure enough—onigiri and cold brew latte.
She sighed. “Great. I’m surrounded by unoriginal people.”
Kyou ignored that and walked up to the register, placing his items on the counter. “Are you ringing me up or not?”
Saki rolled her eyes but scanned his items. “That’ll be 580 yen, sir.”
Kyou paid without comment, grabbing his drink and stepping toward the small seating area.
Then, to Saki’s surprise, instead of leaving—he sat down.
Right next to Yuuto.
Yuuto glanced at him, recognizing him properly now. “Wait—you’re that guy from the bar.”
Kyou unscrewed his drink cap. “You’re that guy who wouldn’t shut up.”
Yuuto grinned. “Accurate.”
Saki, watching this, sighed. “You two are really doing this here?”
Yuuto stretched, unfazed. “What, I can’t have dinner, and he can’t have a snack?”
Saki didn’t respond.
Because, honestly, it was kind of weird that they were all sitting here.
Even weirder that none of them minded.
Yuuto leaned forward, stirring his melted ice with a straw. “So, since you’re here—what’s your verdict?”
Kyou looked at him. “On what?”
“Saki’s playing.”
Saki froze mid-wipe of the counter.
Kyou took a slow sip of his drink before answering. “Better than expected.”
Yuuto smirked. “Expected?”
Kyou shrugged. “She doesn’t seem like someone who wants to be good.”
Saki put down the rag. “You’re both assuming I care about your opinions.”
Yuuto chuckled. “She’s right, you know.”
Kyou glanced at Saki. “And yet, you’re listening.”
Saki huffed but didn’t argue.
Yuuto stretched again, cracking his knuckles. “You should play with us again.”
Saki scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
Kyou snorted. “She didn’t even hesitate.”
Yuuto grinned. “We’ll work on that.”
Saki groaned, rubbing her temples.
This was not how she expected her night shift to go.
And yet, for some reason, she didn’t tell them to leave.
* * *
Chapter 13: Three Sides of the Same Moment
Saki
The store was too quiet.
Not in the usual, slow-night way, but in the why-are-these-two-still-here? way.
Yuuto had already finished his ramen. Kyou had already paid for his stuff. And yet, neither of them had moved. They were just there, casually existing in her space, as if this was normal.
It wasn’t normal.
Saki wasn’t used to people lingering. To conversations lasting longer than the time it took for a receipt to print. And yet, here they were—Yuuto making easy conversation, Kyou responding just enough to keep things going.
And somehow, she was still in the middle of it.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t shut it down. Maybe it was because she was bored. Or maybe because, despite herself, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
But that was a dangerous thought.
She focused on stacking some boxes behind the counter, tuning out the low hum of their conversation.
Then—
“You should play with us again,” Yuuto said.
Saki scoffed before she could stop herself. “Absolutely not.”
Next to him, Kyou snorted. “She didn’t even hesitate.”
Yuuto grinned. “We’ll work on that.”
Saki sighed, rubbing her temples. This is my life now.
She should’ve walked away. Should’ve ignored them.
Instead, she stayed, listening.
* * *
Yuuto
Yuuto hadn’t planned to be here.
But now that he was, he wasn’t leaving.
Not yet.
Saki was interesting. Not in the dramatic, attention-seeking way most people were. She was quiet, sharp, and had this habit of saying things like she couldn’t be bothered to care—but she did care. That much was obvious.
And then there was Kyou.
Yuuto had pegged him as the type to keep to himself, but here he was, sitting next to him, occasionally chiming in with dry one-liners.
That was also interesting.
What were the odds?
He stirred his melted ice, watching Saki out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, but she wasn’t telling them to leave.
That meant something.
“You should play with us again,” he said.
Saki’s scoff was immediate. “Absolutely not.”
Yuuto smirked. Predictable.
Next to him, Kyou let out a quiet snort. “She didn’t even hesitate.”
Yuuto leaned back. “We’ll work on that.”
Saki sighed but didn’t argue.
Yuuto took that as a win.
* * *
Kyou
Kyou hadn’t expected to be here.
One minute, he was buying onigiri. The next, he was sitting next to the guy from the bar, eating said onigiri while the pianist from the café wiped down the counter.
Strange.
But strangely not uncomfortable.
He wasn’t one for small talk, but he didn’t mind listening. Yuuto was good at keeping the conversation alive, and Saki—despite her obvious disinterest—was still responding.
And that was interesting.
Kyou wasn’t sure why he stayed. Maybe it was because leaving now would feel too deliberate, like an admission that he cared about the conversation.
Which he didn’t.
Not really.
Probably.
“You should play with us again,” Yuuto said.
Saki scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
Kyou smirked. “She didn’t even hesitate.”
Yuuto chuckled. “We’ll work on that.”
Saki sighed.
Kyou took another bite of his onigiri.
Neither of them told him to leave.
So, he didn’t.
* * *
Chapter 14: The Morning After
Saki stared at the whiteboard.
Or, more accurately, through the whiteboard.
Her professor’s voice droned on in the background, something about Adler’s theory of inferiority complexes and Freud’s endless obsession with childhood trauma. Normally, she’d be at least half-engaged, scribbling down notes out of habit. But today—
Today, she was annoyed.
Not by psychology. Not even by the lack of sleep.
By them.
Two random guys she had no reason to be thinking about.
She tapped her pen against her notebook, willing her brain to focus. You have a quiz next week. You need to pay attention.
But no. Instead of Adler and Freud, her mind kept pulling her back to last night.
To Yuuto, casually eating ramen in her store, acting like they were friends.
To Kyou, sitting next to him, saying barely anything but somehow staying in the conversation.
To herself, not kicking them out like she normally would have.
It was weird.
They were weird.
And yet, the strangest thing was… she hadn’t hated it.
Her fingers tightened around her pen. No. Don’t go there.
She forced herself to look up, catching only the last part of her professor’s explanation.
“—so, in many ways, Freud and Adler differed in their views of personality development. While Freud believed in the subconscious shaping behavior through repressed memories, Adler emphasized a person’s drive to overcome inferiority. Any questions?”
Saki had one: Why the hell am I still thinking about those two?
But she figured that wasn’t relevant to the discussion.
So, she stayed quiet.
* * *
Yuuto cracked open one eye, groaning at the light filtering through his curtains.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
10:13 AM.
For the first time in a while, there were no texts waiting for him. No missed calls. No unread messages from Mai asking where he was, what he was doing, why he hadn’t responded faster.
His notifications felt empty.
And yet… that emptiness felt weirdly freeing.
Yuuto stretched, exhaling as he sat up. His brain was still half-asleep, but fragments of last night slowly pieced themselves together.
The breakup.
Saki and Tetsu’s impromptu set.
The convenience store.
Kyou sitting next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That was the part that stuck out the most—the strange, quiet comfort of it all.
Yuuto wasn’t the kind of person who struggled to connect with people. He had his band, his music, his usual crowd. But what happened last night wasn’t about music, or flirting, or performing for anyone.
It was just… existing.
Three strangers, eating convenience store food, talking about nothing in particular, but somehow feeling like they belonged there.
That shouldn’t have been memorable.
And yet, here he was, remembering it.
Yuuto let out a groan, flopping back onto his bed. “This is weird.”
But he didn’t stop thinking about it.
* * *
The smell of fresh fish hit Kyou the moment he stepped into the market.
Vendors shouted their daily specials, knives clattered against cutting boards, and steam rose from small food stalls tucked into every corner.
Kyou adjusted his camera strap and started moving, weaving through the bustling aisles.
The fish market was a sensory overload in the best way—textures, movement, color, energy. It was the kind of place that demanded to be captured.
And yet.
For some reason, his mind wasn’t fully in it.
Which was annoying.
He should’ve been focused on framing the perfect shot, on catching the contrast between light reflecting off the scales of freshly caught tuna and the dark wood of the vendor’s counters.
But instead, he kept thinking about last night.
About the jazz café.
About the way Saki played, not just mechanically, but like she meant it.
About Yuuto, effortlessly keeping a conversation going, making even the most awkward moments feel natural.
And about himself.
Sitting there, listening, staying—when he could’ve just walked away.
Kyou sighed, raising his camera to his eye.
He framed a shot of an elderly vendor stacking octopus on ice.
Click.
The image came out sharp, perfectly balanced.
And yet, as he looked at it, he realized—
It wasn’t what was actually on his mind.
Kyou lowered the camera, staring off into the market.
“…Tch.”
This was annoying.
And yet.
For some reason, he didn’t hate it.
* * *
Chapter 15: Between Curiosity and Coincidence
Yuuto wasn’t the type to go digging into people’s lives.
But something about Saki nagged at him.
He had met plenty of musicians—some passionate, some ambitious, some just coasting. But Saki was different. She played like someone who had once lived for music but had since buried that part of herself.
And he wanted to know why.
Lying on his bed, phone resting against his chest, he hesitated before typing her name into the search bar. Saki… what was her last name again?
It took a second before it came to him.
He typed it in.
Didn’t expect to find much.
And then—
Winner of the National Piano Competition, three years ago.
Yuuto frowned, tapping the link.
The article was straightforward—some music press coverage about a young prodigy taking first place, complete with a picture. The girl in the photo was definitely her, but younger, wearing something formal, looking almost… alive. There was a quiet confidence in her eyes, not the detached indifference she carried now.
Yuuto scrolled, scanning for any details about what happened after.
Nothing.
No follow-ups. No interviews. Just that one piece of news, like a moment frozen in time.
Yuuto locked his phone and let it rest against his forehead.
Why would someone with that kind of talent just… stop?
And why did he care so much?
He exhaled, staring at the ceiling.
There was something about Saki that felt like a song stuck in his head.
And he had a feeling he wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon.
* * *
Kyou didn’t plan on coming back to the convenience store.
He had just been walking, letting his feet carry him, not really thinking about where he was going. And somehow, before he knew it, he was stepping through the automatic doors, the familiar chime ringing overhead.
Saki was behind the counter.
She looked up.
Paused.
Then, instead of narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she let out a small, amused huff.
“…You do know this makes you look like a stalker, right?”
Kyou exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s a store, not your house.”
Saki smirked. “Still.”
It was different from last time. Lighter.
Kyou grabbed an instant ramen cup, then wordlessly walked over to the hot water dispenser. Saki watched as he filled it up, then carried it to one of the small tables.
“…You’re eating here?”
Kyou shrugged, sitting down.
Saki rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
As he unwrapped the chopsticks, Kyou spoke without looking up. “You’re not going to ask why?”
Saki leaned on the counter. “Why what?”
“Why I’m here.”
Saki smirked slightly. “You don’t seem like the type who’d give an answer even if I did.”
Kyou huffed a quiet laugh. “Fair.”
The store was mostly empty, just the occasional customer coming and going.
Kyou stirred his ramen, then glanced up at her. “You ever get tired of this?”
Saki blinked. “Of what?”
“This,” he gestured vaguely. “Same shift. Same store. Same routine.”
She thought about that for a second. Then shrugged. “Not really.”
Kyou raised an eyebrow.
Saki glanced at him. “You’re waiting for some tragic ‘I hate my life’ monologue?”
Kyou smirked. “Would make sense.”
Saki scoffed. “Not everything has to be dramatic.”
Kyou twirled his chopsticks in the broth. “Guess not.”
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable.
After a moment, Saki spoke. “What about you?”
Kyou tilted his head. “What about me?”
“You do photography, right?”
“Yeah.”
Saki rested her chin on her hand. “So why are you here? Shouldn’t you be out doing that?”
Kyou took a slow bite of ramen. Then, without much thought, answered simply—
“Not everything has to be exciting.”
Saki blinked.
It was such a casual statement, but something about it felt familiar.
Maybe because she had been thinking the same thing about music.
She leaned back slightly, watching him. “So you do get tired of it.”
Kyou didn’t deny it.
He just sipped his broth and said, “Sometimes.”
Neither of them said anything for a while after that.
And yet, the quiet didn’t feel empty.
Just there.
* * *
Chapter 16: Echoes of the Past
Yuuto wasn’t the kind of person to get stuck on things.
But as he walked through the city, earbuds in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his mind kept circling back to that article.
Saki, the winner of a national piano competition.
Three years ago.
and then—nothing.
It didn’t add up.
People didn’t just stop after reaching that kind of level. If anything, that was when things were supposed to start. The big music schools, the scholarships, the performances—he’d seen it happen with other musicians.
But Saki?
She worked at a convenience store, barely played in public, and seemed completely indifferent to music now.
Something had happened.
Yuuto reached for his phone again, debating whether to dig deeper.
Then he stopped himself.
No.
This wasn’t some mystery to solve. She wasn’t some tragic protagonist in a novel.
She was just Saki.
Still, as he turned a corner, a thought crossed his mind—
If she won, does Kyou know?
The guy noticed things. And unlike Yuuto, Kyou didn’t seem like the type to let curiosity linger without getting answers.
Yuuto exhaled.
Maybe he’d find out eventually.
Maybe he wouldn’t.
But somehow, he had a feeling this wasn’t the end of it.
* * *
Saki stretched her arms above her head as she stepped out of the store, the cold air hitting her skin immediately.
Her shift had ended, finally.
The streets were quiet, the late-night city humming in the background. Normally, she liked this time of night—where the world felt like it was winding down, like she could exist without anyone expecting anything from her.
But tonight, her thoughts felt… full.
Kyou showing up again. Their conversation.
It hadn’t been anything big. Just words exchanged over instant ramen. But something about it stuck.
She had learned something about him—small, but real.
And maybe he had learned something about her, too.
Saki sighed, adjusting her bag over her shoulder.
She didn’t like thinking about things too much.
But for some reason, she knew—this wasn’t the last time she’d see either of them.
And that thought, strangely, didn’t bother her as much as it should.
* * *
The city at night was a different world.
Kyou liked it. The way everything slowed down, how the crowds thinned and the streets emptied, leaving only the neon lights and the occasional hum of a passing car.
He lifted his camera and took a shot of the dimly lit alley ahead of him.
Click.
A still moment. Quiet. Untouched.
Just like their conversation earlier.
It hadn’t been anything groundbreaking, but it had been something.
Saki had let down her guard—just a little. And Kyou… well.
Maybe he had, too.
He glanced at his camera screen, the captured image staring back at him.
Then, without thinking, he muttered—
“…Tch. Weird.”
He exhaled, slipping his camera back into his bag.
And kept walking.
* * *
Chapter 17: The Space Between
The problem with coincidences was that they stopped feeling like coincidences after a while.
Saki realized this when she stepped into the café, just planning to grab a coffee before class. She wasn’t looking for anything. Or at least, she told herself she wasn’t.
But then she saw them.
Kyou, sitting near the window, his camera on the table, flipping through his shots with the same quiet focus he always had.
Yuuto, at a different table, scrawling something in his notebook, stirring a half-finished iced coffee absentmindedly.
They weren’t sitting together.
They hadn’t planned to be here.
But they were.
Saki hesitated for half a second.
She could leave.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she ordered her coffee and took a seat—not too close, not too far—where she could exist without being involved.
And yet, somehow, that didn’t work.
Because even though they weren’t sitting together, they still ended up talking.
* * *
At first, it was just random exchanges.
Kyou, glancing up from his camera, muttering something about the lighting in the café being awful today.
Saki, commenting from across the room, “Maybe you just suck at adjusting.”
Yuuto, grinning as he tapped his pen against his notebook. “She’s got a point.”
Then Kyou, without looking up, “You write lyrics or grocery lists?”
Yuuto, smirking. “Both. Gotta eat.”
Saki, dry. “Could’ve fooled me.”
And before he knew it, Yuuto wasn’t even writing anymore—he was talking.
With both of them.
From separate tables.
Which was ridiculous.
So, he just got up.
Without any announcement, he picked up his coffee and walked over to Kyou’s table, sliding into the seat across from him.
Kyou barely raised an eyebrow.
Saki looked unimpressed. “Subtle.”
Yuuto grinned. “I got tired of long-distance communication.”
Kyou exhaled through his nose, amused but saying nothing.
And just like that, they were there.
Again.
Without planning to be.
Without admitting they expected it.
But somehow, it felt like they had.
* * *
Chapter 18: Slipping Through the Cracks
Saki sipped her coffee, watching Yuuto settle into the seat across from Kyou like he belonged there.
Which he didn’t.
Except, somehow, it wasn’t weird.
It should be weird.
It wasn’t.
“So,” Yuuto leaned back, balancing his coffee cup in one hand. “What’s the verdict?”
Kyou flicked his gaze up from his camera. “On what?”
“On me moving over here,” Yuuto grinned. “You didn’t kick me out, so I assume I passed the vibe check.”
Kyou sighed. “I’m too tired to object.”
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”
Saki scoffed. “Take what you can get.”
Yuuto smirked, swirling his drink. “Noted.”
The conversation meandered, slipping between topics the way their meetings did—unplanned, unpredictable, but strangely easy.
Yuuto mentioned a new song idea. Kyou, still distracted by the lighting in the café, grumbled about how every place tries too hard to be aesthetic but fails. Saki, unimpressed, asked if he ever took a photo without complaining about something.
Kyou deadpanned. “No.”
Saki smirked. “Figures.”
Then—somewhere between the usual sarcasm and commentary—something unintentional slipped through.
* * *
It was Yuuto who broke first.
Not in a dramatic way. Just a moment. A shift.
They were talking about music—Yuuto, as usual, bringing it up like it was just a thing and not his whole life.
“Songwriting’s weird,” he mused, tapping his pen against the table. “You think you’re writing about one thing, and then later, you realize it was actually about something else.”
Saki, skeptical, took another sip of her coffee. “That’s just a fancy way of saying you don’t plan ahead.”
Yuuto chuckled. “Maybe.” He shrugged, gaze dropping briefly to his notebook. “Or maybe you just don’t notice things until you’re already in the middle of them.”
Saki paused.
She didn’t know why that hit differently than everything else he had said before.
But it did.
Yuuto must’ve noticed her silence because he smirked again, breaking the moment before it got too real. “What about you? Do you plan ahead?”
Saki exhaled through her nose. “For what?”
“Life. Music. Future.”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Not even a little?”
She looked away. “Nothing ever really goes the way you plan, anyway.”
She didn’t say it bitterly. Just matter-of-factly.
But Yuuto—who heard things differently than most people—didn’t miss the weight behind it.
And for the first time, he didn’t joke about it.
Instead, he just nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”
And for some reason, Saki believed him.
* * *
Kyou hadn’t meant to say anything personal.
But somehow, it just happened.
Maybe it was the conversation drifting. Maybe it was the way Saki and Yuuto had already let things slip, and he had just fallen into rhythm with them.
Or maybe it was just because they weren’t the type to pry, but they noticed anyway.
Saki, stirring her coffee absentmindedly, had been the one to say it.
“You take a lot of pictures, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of you.”
Kyou, mid-sip of his drink, barely reacted. “Because I’m not the subject.”
Yuuto smirked. “Deep.”
Saki didn’t drop it. “I mean, don’t you ever take a self-portrait? Or do you just hate looking at yourself?”
Kyou didn’t even blink. “Doesn’t matter how I look.”
Yuuto raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very specific way of dodging the question.”
Kyou set his cup down, glancing toward the window. “I take pictures because things disappear if you don’t.”
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Saki and Yuuto both stilled for half a second.
Not in a dramatic way. Just—noticing.
Kyou didn’t elaborate.
Didn’t need to.
And neither of them asked.
Which was why he didn’t mind that they heard it.
* * *
By the time the conversation moved on, the weight of what had been said had already settled between them.
Not heavy.
Just there.
And for some reason, Yuuto found himself not filling the silence.
That was the weirdest part.
Normally, he would. Normally, he’d crack a joke, change the subject, keep things light. But for once, he didn’t feel the need to.
Because somehow, this wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was just… them.
Yuuto glanced at his watch, realizing how much time had passed. “Damn. I was supposed to practice an hour ago.”
Saki raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you still here?”
Yuuto smirked. “Good question.”
He stood up, stretching. Kyou didn’t move. Saki leaned back in her chair.
Yuuto grabbed his notebook and his now-empty cup. “Guess I’ll see you guys later.”
Kyou just nodded.
Saki, instead of dismissing him like usual, muttered, “See you.”
And that was new.
Yuuto grinned to himself as he walked out.
Yeah.
He was definitely expecting to see them again.
* * *
Chapter 19: “Random Strangers”
Yuuto wasn’t even thinking when he did it.
It was just instinct. A passing thought that became action before he could second-guess it.
He scrolled through his contacts—Saki (saved as Grumpy Pianist) and Kyou (Silent Camera Guy)—and created a new group chat.
Then, for the name, he typed:
“Random Strangers.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, he sent the first message.
> Yuuto: Since we keep meeting anyway, it’s easier this way. Cheers.
He sat back, grinning at his phone, waiting for the chaos to unfold.
* * *
Saki’s phone buzzed while she was at work.
She glanced down at the screen, expecting a notification from a delivery app or some promo message from the store. Instead, she saw—
New group chat: Random Strangers
Her eyes narrowed.
The message preview showed one name.
Yuuto.
Saki sighed. Of course.
She opened the chat.
> Yuuto: Since we keep meeting anyway, it’s easier this way. Cheers.
Saki exhaled through her nose, already regretting checking.
Then—
Another notification.
> Kyou: Why.
Saki smirked before she could stop herself.
She tapped into the chat and typed:
> Saki: Delete this.
She locked her phone and went back to stocking shelves.
A minute later, another buzz.
> Yuuto: Nope.
She groaned.
But she didn’t leave the chat.
* * *
Kyou saw the notification while he was reviewing photos on his laptop.
He stared at it for a full five seconds.
Then clicked on the message preview.
New group chat: Random Strangers
…Tch.
He opened it.
Yuuto: Since we keep meeting anyway, it’s easier this way. Cheers.
Kyou sighed, rubbing his temple.
Without thinking, he typed:
> Kyou: Why.
A moment later, Saki responded.
> Saki: Delete this.
Then Yuuto, almost too fast:
> Yuuto: Nope.
Kyou stared at the screen.
He could leave. That was an option.
Instead, he just locked his phone and went back to his photos.
They’ll get bored of it eventually.
…Probably.
* * *
Yuuto grinned at his phone.
They hadn’t left.
That was enough for now.
* * *
Diary of A Chaotic Dreamer 
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