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Aya sat on Mitsuki’s bed, her back pressed against the wall. They had planned to meet at Mitsuki’s place for a study session on a Saturday afternoon, and after going over some lessons, both agreed it was time for a well-deserved break.
The guitarist rummaged through a pile of CD cases and scattered sheet music, frowning.
“Ugh, where did I put that new pick? I swear it was right here a minute ago.”
Aya watched, amused.
“Maybe it escaped. You know, to avoid another rehearsal.”
Mitsuki shot her a mock glare, still searching. After a few more moments, she let out a sigh and straightened up, guitar in hard.
“Guess I’ll have to go old-school,” she said, flexing her fingers.
Aya took in the chaos Mitsuki had just created — the jumble of cases, the avalanche of papers now spilling onto the floor — then glanced around at the rest of the room: band posters plastered across the walls, concert tickets taped to the mirror, extra guitars hanging in a row.
This really is what a rockstar’s bedroom must look like, she thought.
Mitsuki flopped onto the bed, scooting back until she was beside Aya. As she crossed her legs, her right knee brushed against Aya’s thigh. The sudden dip of the mattress and that light touch caught Aya off guard, making her heart stutter. She glanced at her crush, now completely absorbed in tuning the guitar, her hands moving expertly over the strings.
Her hands. Holy shit.
That was all it took to bring back the memory of their late-night texts just a few days ago — flirting, of all things, about Mitsuki’s hands.
What was I thinking? Talking about her hands like that? I just can’t think straight after midnight...
Aya’s gaze drifted again, this time to those nimble fingers. With every stroke of her thumb, the dim light played across her pale skin, tracing the elegant lines of her hand — the way the tendons flexed, the soft creases forming along her knuckles. Were they really as soft as they looked? They’d held hands before — Aya should know. But every time, she’d been so distracted by how close they were that she’d never really noticed the feeling. If only she could touch them again. Or... feel those hands on her.
Oh god.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Her thoughts had definitely crossed a line.
She tried to steady her breathing, forcing herself to look anywhere but Mitsuki’s hands. Aya fiddled with the edge of the blanket, pretending to study the muted patterns, but she could feel the other girl's eyes on her — curious, almost amused. When she finally glanced up, Mitsuki was watching her with a lopsided smile, her gaze flicking down to her own hand, then back to Aya.
I’m so obvious. She knows. I’m completely busted.
Her thoughts raced, heat prickling at the back of her neck. There was no way the guitarist hadn’t noticed where her attention kept drifting.
Without a word, Mitsuki extended her hand, palm up, as if offering a secret. Aya hesitated, her heart hammering. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but slowly, almost shyly, she reached out and took Mitsuki’s hand in hers.
I hope my hand isn’t sweaty. Oh god, what if she notices?
Her skin was warm and soft, but Aya could feel the roughness of calluses at the base of those fingers — a map of every hour spent playing guitar. Her thumb traced gentle lines across Mitsuki's palm, following the creases and lingering over the small tattoo on her wrist.
Her skin is so soft. How is this real?
The contrast between the smooth skin and the textured ink made her shiver, and she wondered if Mitsuki could feel her pulse fluttering through her touch.
When she finally dared to look up, Aya found her friend watching with wide, nervous eyes. The usual confidence was gone, replaced by something vulnerable and uncertain. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, cheeks burning, breaths shallow in the quiet room. Then Mitsuki reached for Aya’s hand again, gently guiding it up to her own face and pressing the palm softly to her cheek. The guitarist closed her eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, her breath catching as Aya’s fingers brushed the line of her jaw.
Aya’s heart stumbled in her chest. Mitsuki’s skin was impossibly soft beneath her fingers, and the warmth of her face seemed to radiate all the way up her arm. For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath, both of them poised between longing and action.
But then Mitsuki leaned in, just a little, and Aya found herself mirroring the motion, drawn forward by something magnetic and inevitable.
Is this... happening again?
Their faces hovered close, breath mingling, the tension between them almost unbearable. Mitsuki’s gaze flickered to Aya’s lips, then back to her eyes.
Aya's hand was still cupping Mitsuki’s cheek, her thumb unconsciously brushing the corner of her lips. Mitsuki’s fingers slid lightly along Aya’s wrist, her touch gentle, as if inviting her to stay. Aya’s breath trembled between them, her head tilting slightly, lips parting in anticipation. Mitsuki’s lashes fluttered, and a faint, confident smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
The distance shrank, slow and certain, as if both were savoring the moment. When their lips finally met, it was gentle but assured, a kiss that lingered and deepened, full of warmth and promise. Mitsuki’s hand slid to the back of Aya’s neck, her fingers weaving gently into the soft pink strands. Aya melted into the touch, a wave of warmth flooding her chest.
They parted slowly, foreheads still touching. Both let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, the room felt lighter. Aya caught the glimmer in Mitsuki’s eyes and realized, with a rush of relief, that she wasn’t the only one who’d been hoping for this. The sound of their hearts echoing together, in perfect harmony.
Mitsuki was the first to break the silence, her voice warm with laughter and something softer underneath.
“So, do my hands live up to the hype?”
Aya bit her lip, eyes sparkling.
“Definitely. But I’m curious about what else they can do.”
Mitsuki’s grin grew wider.
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Aya laughed, her heart racing.
“Then I guess I’m in for a surprise.”