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“Honami?”
Honami froze, blinked once, and slowly turned to the voice that had called for her. Her eyes widened. “...Shiho-chan,” she breathed out.
She might have hugged Shiho if not for the thin glass of champagne balanced in her hand. Shiho had one too, she noticed, although hers was mostly empty, while Honami’s was still nearly filled to the brim.
She had never been quite one for these sorts of corporate evening parties that she seemed to find herself in so frequently these days. There were so, so many people around, everywhere she looked, and she was pulled every possible way with different conversations and different people to greet. It felt like she had a billion company acquaintances to bow her head to. She hadn’t even had the chance to sip from her drink yet today.
But at the same time, not a single one of them was someone she truly felt she could call a friend. She supposed that was why when the conversations lapsed, she was left to drift around, alone, waiting until she found someone else she could repeat the cycle with.
It was lucky, though, she guessed, that she had been in between those shallow encounters when she had run into Shiho.
“Honami,” Shiho repeated, a smile slowly forming on her lips. Honami felt her own grow in response, mirroring Shiho’s expression. “I didn’t know you would be here.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here either,” Honami said. “It’s been so long.”
“Too long,” Shiho said. “It’s good to see you again.”
Honami nodded in agreement. It really had been too long since she had last seen Shiho. Back in high school, she and Shiho had seen each other every day, along with Ichika and Saki. It had been so so commonplace back then; she only had begun to realize how much she took it all for granted in the last few years, now that the four of them had drifted somewhat apart.
She still kept in contact with Shiho and the others, of course, over text or phone calls or get-togethers with the four of them that they organized as often as they could possibly manage. But they had all since passed the cusp of thirty years old. Each of them had grown their own separate lives, and Leo/need was just a memory they’d fondly reminisce over during brunch or while hanging out in one of their new apartments.
They were all working adults by now, and each of them had their own separate set of responsibilities. Their in-person meetings had been reduced to once a month or so at most, oftentimes not even that. Honami hadn’t seen Shiho’s face in twice that time.
“How has work been for you recently?” Shiho asked.
“Oh.” Honami pursed her lips, fidgeting with the fingers of her free hand. “It’s been fine, I guess. Business as usual.” She never knew exactly what to talk about when it came to her work. If she was honest, she found it all rather boring. She worked in an office, most of her time delegated towards answering emails and printing papers, or sitting in meetings and trying not to fall asleep while drumming her fingers absentmindedly against her desk to the rhythm of one of her old songs. It was hard to feel like much of what she did these days had any consequence at all.
But she certainly couldn’t say she was unhappy with the job. She’d fallen into the routine well enough. Her coworkers were kind, and for the most part, easy to work with. She made enough money from it to live a cushy life.
She wasn’t unhappy. But still, she couldn’t help but miss the blinding glow of stage lights, the cheering of crowds, her three closest friends at her side with their instruments at their hip. She missed the feeling of losing herself in the music they played, Ichika’s singing and Saki’s synthesizer and the thrum of Shiho’s bass taking over her body until she was no longer herself.
She wondered, vaguely, if Shiho missed those times as much as she did.
Shiho, in stark contrast to Honami, was still working in the music industry as a freelance bassist, substituting for bands and providing recordings for other artists. She’d once said over text that it all felt very similar, somehow, to how her life had been in high school. Ichika and Saki had taken on different careers of their own, but Shiho was still doing the same thing she always had. She even still worked part-time in that live house. Honami admired it, sometimes, how steady she had remained.
She recalled that Shiho had mentioned doing work for a label that Honami's company was in talks with. If she had bothered to look at the list of attending companies before arriving, she might have suspected that Shiho could have been around. Perhaps it was good that she didn't though; it saved her the hopeful suspense of glancing around the venue, looking for green eyes.
“And you?” she asked. “How has work been for you?”
“Same as you,” Shiho said. “Business as usual. I’ve had plenty of work. It’s kinda surprising that I still have a reputation, even if it’s been this long since we disbanded.”
The mention of their disbandment sent a small pang through Honami’s heart, although it had been years since their band had decided to part ways.
It was something that had slowly become a comfortable topic between the four of them, a signifier of the happy memories they’d had playing together rather than the bittersweet, painful moment it had been at the time. In the end, the disbanding of Leo/need was something all of them had seen coming. It wasn’t a mark of failure, but of success.
Because, by all measures, their career as Leo/need had been a success, more so than any of them could have dreamed of. High school dreams of being pro had slowly turned into reality as their presence grew and grew, from becoming a household name in the live houses around Shibuya to slowly breaking into the national scene.
Honami would never forget their first record deal, the first time she could stop by the music shop and find Leo/need’s name among the rows of CDs. She would never forget the first time she saw people online talking about Leo/need, about her, excitedly singing their praises in social media posts and comments. She would never forget the first concert they held, all for themselves, not just one act in a long setlist, when the entire crowd had been screaming their name.
The life of a professional musician had felt like a blur. It was something she could never have imagined in high school, not even when she had made her dedication towards it clear to Shiho, that day on the outdoor stage. They released new songs and new albums, touring around Japan; the taste of fame was strange on Honami’s tongue. But more than anything, she had been happy, happy to live out what had been her dream.
She’d been taken aback when one of her coworkers at her new company had recognized her as the drummer of one of her old favorite bands. It had given her something of a name around the office, something she could only respond to with her own sheepish smiles and awkward greetings with bowed heads. That had been the strangest part of all of it.
At that time, she’d had no idea what to think of the entire situation. Her coworkers admired her past life, and she supposed she was happy about that, but it also served as just another stinging reminder that it was over.
Their disbandment was amicable, of course. Leo/need couldn’t last forever, and it was something all of them were aware of, especially in the later years as their popularity naturally began to wind down. All of them were satisfied in the end, though. They’d found success. They’d achieved their dream.
Still, the adjustment back to normal life had been jarring for each of them. They’d all taken college degrees after high school, but it was the change in lifestyle more than anything that threw them all off. Shiho found her way through it somewhat easily, steady as always. Ichika and Saki eventually followed suit.
Honami had too, of course. But she sometimes found herself wondering if she was the only one who regarded her present life with some trepidation.
Adult life had placed distance between the four of them, both physical and in terms of their relationships. But it was with Shiho, especially, that Honami felt that the most had changed, that the largest wedge had been placed between them. She felt as close to Shiho, as close to the others, as ever, but she found herself unable to talk with her in the same way she had as a child, a high schooler, a bandmate.
Even now, an awkward silence had hung between them for a few too many seconds. Honami swallowed and cleared her throat.
“It really has been too long,” she said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. The thought popped into her head for just a second that she wished she could see Shiho more often. Maybe she wished that the two of them could talk just like they had in high school. Or, she was wishing for something else; she wasn’t sure.
She didn’t say that, though. “Your hair grew so much since the last time I saw you,” she said instead.
They’d all changed their hairstyles over the years. Ichika cut her hair above her shoulders in college, and had kept it that way since. Saki stopped wearing her hair in twintails after their disbandment, letting it flow loosely down her back instead.
Shiho’s short, scruffy hair had also become a thing of the past; she’d steadily let the length of it grow longer and longer as more time passed. It was at her shoulders when the four of them graduated college and had fully dedicated their time to Leo/need. When they had disbanded, the tips of her hair had fallen to her collarbone. Now, the length of it was at her chest, tucked behind her ears in a more professional look Honami wasn’t used to.
Shiho let out a small chuckle, glancing down at the ends of her own hair, then back up at Honami. “I guess. Did yours get shorter?”
Honami smiled shyly, her free hand automatically drifting up to her own hair. She herself had kept her hair the same length through college and through her time with Leo/need, although she had stopped wearing her ponytail regularly at some point in that time. It was only after she started to work in an office that she had cut her own hair short.
She’d gotten another few inches taken off of it since the last time Shiho had seen her. Her hair was even shorter than Ichika’s now. She couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious, now that Shiho had pointed it out.
“It looks nice,” Shiho said.
“Oh,” Honami responded, breathy and quiet. “...thank you. Yours does too.”
They shared a brief smile before another silence fell between the pair of them. Honami shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She wondered when talking to Shiho had become so difficult.
It had been okay in high school, she thought, and when they were playing professionally as Leo/need. It was only after they had all moved on that she had begun to feel so strangely towards her. She wondered briefly if it was purely that the two of them had grown to have less and less in common, but she was sure, absolutely positive that their connection ran deeper than that. They were childhood friends, after all. They had been through everything together.
Shiho idly clicked her tongue, and the noise drew Honami out of her own thoughts. “Ichika and Saki, huh?”
Honami instantly knew exactly what Shiho had meant, and she couldn’t help the delighted grin that came over her face. Ichika and Saki had informed the other two that they were officially engaged just a couple of weeks ago. It wasn’t exactly a surprise; the two of them had been together for what felt like forever now. Honami wasn’t even quite sure when their relationship had crossed over from an unbreakable friendship into mutual love. The lines had always been blurred with the two of them.
Still, the thought that the two of them would be officially married kept her smile on her face. “I’m really happy for them,” she said, genuinely.
“Yeah,” Shiho said. Her smile was nearly as wide as Honami’s.
“It must be nice.” Honami glanced up wistfully, her smile fading slightly. “To be like that.”
Shiho tilted her head to the side, her own grin falling in favor of pursed lips. Honami’s brows furrowed slightly as she looked at her. “Is something the matter?” she asked.
“No,” Shiho said, “just… what about you?”
Honami blinked. “About me?”
“You’re not doing… anything like that, right?”
“Me?” Honami brought a hand to her chest as if to gesture towards herself, like she was in disbelief that Shiho had directed the question at her. She felt her face warm as she shook her head. “Oh… no. Nothing like that.”
After a moment, she spoke again, her heart in her stomach. “And you…?”
Shiho exhaled, lips forming another light smile, although this one didn’t reach her eyes. “Nah. Of course not.”
“Oh,” Honami said, almost a whisper. “Okay.”
It was a strange question in the first place, when she thought about it. If she were to start dating someone, then Ichika, Saki, and Shiho would be the first to know. She let out a small laugh, half at the awkwardness of the situation and half at the absurdity of it all.
Still, the relief in her chest was twinged with bittersweetness, and she let out the breath she was holding through her nose as she brought her flute of champagne to her lips, sipping lightly at it. “No” meant that Shiho hadn’t given herself to anyone else, of course. But “no” was also a reminder of their distance, the tension that had stood between them since high school, repelling them like same-poled magnets. As she glanced back to Shiho’s face and made brief contact with the unreadable expression in her eyes, she wondered if it was in all her own head, or if Shiho had thought the same, too.
Shiho’s mouth opened as if to say something, and instinctively, Honami drew a short breath in through her mouth.
“Mochizuki-san!”
Honami blinked, then slowly turned to see one of her coworkers waving at her. It was someone who worked in the same department as her, someone she had shared plenty of conversations with over the idle days spent in the office. As coworkers went, she might have been the closest thing Honami had to a friend.
She turned back to Shiho. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask her to-”
“No, it’s okay.” Shiho bowed her head. “I should probably get going too.”
“Oh,” Honami said, forcing a frown away. “Okay, then. Take care.”
“You too.” Shiho gave her a small nod. “Let’s try to get together again soon, though.”
“I’d like that.” Honami nodded her agreement. “...with the four of us, right?”
“...yeah. With the four of us,” Shiho echoed.
With another polite bow of her head, Shiho was gone, lost blending into the crowd of the party. Honami let her stare linger in her direction for another few seconds. Then she, too, turned and walked away, towards her coworker that had called her.
She gave her an apologetic smile as she got closer, but her coworker beamed at her. “Hey, who was that? A friend?”
Honami hesitated for a moment. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sorry for getting held up.”
Her coworker tilted her head. “It’s fine,” she said, kind tone twinged with confusion. “What’re you even apologizing for?” Honami found that she wasn’t quite sure.