Zane hadn't meant to walk in on her.
He just forgot his phone charger in the studio—nothing dramatic. After rehearsal ended, Sunny and Axel left together, chatting about some arcade nearby. Laura had stayed behind, claiming she wanted to "double-check some sheet music." No one questioned it.
But when he opened the door, expecting emptiness and silence, he heard the piano.
Not loud, not showy—just quiet, like something drifting on the surface of water. A soft, measured melody. Deliberate. Restrained. Almost… hesitant.
She didn't see him at first. Her back was straight, fingers poised, eyes fixed ahead—not at the keys, but slightly past them. Her coat was still on the bench beside her, unopened. Her scarf half-loosened. She'd meant to leave. But hadn't.
He stepped inside quietly, heading for the corner where his things lay. No need to interrupt. But the music faltered anyway.
Laura turned slightly, catching sight of him in the reflection of the studio mirror. Her fingers froze mid-note.
Zane gave her a small nod. "Don't stop on my account."
"I thought everyone had left."
"Just grabbing my charger," he said, holding it up. "You sounded good. Well… almost."
She raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"
"You've got timing," he said, leaning against the wall, "but it's like you're following a metronome only you can hear. It's rigid. Careful."
Laura turned back to the keys, her shoulders tensing. "That's how I was trained."
Zane crossed his arms, watching her. "Training's great. But music isn't a cage."
She didn't reply. Instead, she pressed her fingers against the keys again—slower now, uncertain. The melody resumed, but it was no looser than before. If anything, it sounded more careful. As if she was afraid to let it breathe.
He walked closer, dropping his charger into his bag with a soft thud. "You're still thinking about yesterday, aren't you?"
Laura didn't answer, but the note she hit wavered—just slightly.
Zane sighed. "Look… about Sunny—"
"I'm not upset about that," Laura cut in, her tone even. Too even.
He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't say you were."
She kept playing, eyes on the keys. "She's free to do what she wants."
"But you're not," he said quietly.
Laura finally stopped. Her fingers hovered above the ivory keys, trembling just slightly.
"Perfection is the only thing I've ever been praised for," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to be anything else."
Zane moved to sit beside her on the bench. Not too close—but close enough.
"Perfection's boring," he said. "You think people remember the flawless performance? Nah. They remember the one that made them feel something."
She stared ahead. "What if I mess up?"
"Then you mess up," he shrugged. "You hit a wrong note, you laugh, you keep going. That's what makes it human. You've got nothing to prove anymore, Laura. Just something to say."
She blinked, eyes slightly wide. The silence sat between them again—this time heavier. Not uncomfortable. Just… raw.
Zane leaned forward, reaching out slowly, giving her the chance to stop him. She didn't.
He took her hands gently, guiding them back to the keys. His touch was warm—steady.
"Play it again," he said, "but this time… don't count the beats. Just feel it."
Laura swallowed. Then nodded.
She started again. The melody returned—tentative at first, then slowly blooming into something warmer, more fluid. The tightness around her shoulders eased.
Zane didn't say a word. He just listened.
When the song faded to silence, she looked at him.
"Well?" she asked.
He smiled. "That," he said, "was music."
For the first time that day, Laura smiled too—small, but real.
And for once, the metronome in her mind went quiet.
---
The quiet lingered after her final note faded, both of them seated side by side on the piano bench. Laura's fingers had fallen still again, but her shoulders didn't feel so stiff anymore.
Zane tilted his head, studying her profile. "You're not doing anything tonight, are you?"
Laura blinked. "Excuse me?"
"C'mon," he said, already grabbing his bag. "You played your soul out. You need to recalibrate."
"I don't recalibrate," she muttered.
"You do tonight," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go."
She hesitated. He could see the calculations behind her eyes. The part of her that wanted to decline out of habit. Out of control. Out of fear.
But then, to his surprise, she stood.
"Fine," she said, brushing invisible dust off her coat. "Just for a bit."
---
The streets were quieter this late—just the hum of cars and the neon flicker of signs above cafés and vending machines. They walked side by side, not touching, not speaking.
At least, not at first.
Zane finally broke the silence.
"So… what do you actually like, Laura?"
She turned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're always playing, always rehearsing, always correcting people's tempo like you've got an internal conductor living in your brain. But... what do you actually enjoy?"
She frowned. "I like structure."
"Structure isn't a hobby," he said with a smirk. "I mean—favorite food? Favorite band? Movie? Place to waste time?"
Laura looked forward again, her pace slowing. "I… don't know."
He studied her for a second, a little more serious now.
"You ever think maybe you don't actually like music?"
She stopped.
He kept walking a few steps before realizing and turned back. "Hey. I didn't mean it like—"
"No," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. "You're probably right to ask."
Her voice sounded oddly far away. "Everyone expected me to play. From the time I could sit at a piano. I was good at it. So I kept going. No one ever asked if I loved it. And I never questioned it, because... what would happen if I did?"
Zane stepped closer, his tone gentler now. "What if you could play just because you felt like it? No judges. No teacher breathing down your neck."
She gave a small, shaky breath. "I don't think I know how."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then reached out and tapped her shoulder with mock gravity.
"Well," he said, "good thing you've got The Great Zane to help with your musical reformation arc."
That earned a snort—almost a laugh—from her.
"You're impossible."
"And yet, strangely effective."
They kept walking. The air felt lighter now. Something unspoken between them had cracked just a little.
---
They'd walked two blocks in silence before Zane casually said, "Axel and Sunny were headed to that old arcade near Shimo-Kitazawa earlier. We could swing by, see if they're still there."
Laura didn't answer. But she didn't object either. And when Zane glanced at her, she was already adjusting her scarf and following his lead.
The arcade's glow spilled out onto the sidewalk—fluorescent reds and electric blues humming with a kind of nostalgic energy. Inside, the place buzzed with teens, couples, and college students all lost in their own pixelated universes.
Zane spotted them first—Axel hunched over a retro Taiko no Tatsujin drum game, sticks flying, expression comically serious. Beside him, Sunny was laughing so hard she had to lean against the machine, trying—and failing—to keep her own rhythm in time with his.
The thump of the digital drums echoed through the air. And when Sunny glanced up—
Her face lit up.
"Zane!" she called, a little breathless, cheeks flushed from laughing. "You came!"
Axel looked over, pausing just long enough to miss a beat and groan. "Bro, tag in. My wrists are gonna give out."
Laura stood back at first, keeping to the edges of the arcade glow, watching them interact. Sunny's whole demeanor shifted—open, warm, like the room somehow brightened when she was in it. Zane grinned at her, tossing his jacket onto a nearby bench.
"Last time was a fluke," he said, pointing at the drum. "This time, I'm taking you down."
"Then bring it, showman," Sunny challenged, picking up a fresh pair of sticks.
Zane took the spot beside her. Their laughter bounced off the plastic drumheads, syncopated and messy—but full of joy.
Axel stepped back, wiping his brow dramatically. "And now, we watch the drama unfold."
He noticed Laura lingering by the crane machines.
"Hey," he said, stepping over and offering her a canned peach tea. "Didn't expect you here. Thought you'd have vanished."
"I didn't either," she admitted.
"You alright?"
She nodded faintly. "He asked me what I liked."
Axel tilted his head. "And?"
"I didn't know how to answer."
He hummed. "That's okay. Some things are better discovered than defined."
Laura looked over at Zane and Sunny—now bickering about the drum game's high score.
Maybe, she thought, discovering wasn't such a terrible idea.