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DABI | TODOROKI TOUYA ✰ RESONANCE

SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.

PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT. 13k+

CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!

“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”

Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”

“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”

Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.

The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”

Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.

Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.

“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else.

It was with him.

-

Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.

He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.

So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.

“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.

You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.

“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.

You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”

He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”

“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”

The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”

You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”

“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”

Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.

“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”

“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”

Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”

Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head.

“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”

“I—”

He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”

“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.

“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.

Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.

And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into?

What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?

“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”

There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.

Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?

But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.

“One practice,” he muttered finally.

“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.

“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”

He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.

Then again, it might be.

-

The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.

And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.

Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.

The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.

At the center of it all was you.

You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.

Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.

“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line.

Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.

“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.

“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”

It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“[Name]!”

The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.

“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”

“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”

Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you.

“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.

You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”

Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”

“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.

Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”

“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”

“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”

Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.

“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.

Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.

-

The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title.

The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.

Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.

“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”

“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.

Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”

One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”

“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.

The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.

As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.

You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”

Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.

The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.

But something felt off.

The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.

It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.

You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.

“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.

“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.

“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.

You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.

Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”

“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.

He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.

As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.

But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.

“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.

With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.

Or so you told yourself.

-

The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.

The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.

“I thought she said they had a bassist?”

“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”

“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”

You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.

You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Now you seem like a liar.

And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.

It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.

So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.

The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.

You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.

The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”

You forced yourself to stay calm.

“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”

One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”

Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”

The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Disband? Just like that?

Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”

“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”

Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.

You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.

One month. That was all you had.

Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You already had the right person for the job.

You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.

But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.

The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You didn’t say anything.

Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”

Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”

“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.

You had no answer.

Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.

Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.

Kaito sighed.

“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”

You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.

One month.

One month to fix this.

One month to… figure things out for better or worse.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.

And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.

But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.

-

It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.

Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.

But then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”

You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.

“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”

Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.

Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.

Took her long enough.

He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.

“I know.”

Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.

“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”

Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”

Touya didn’t respond.

Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”

He had heard.

He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.

A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.

A joke.

The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.

Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”

Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

Then, finally, you straightened.

“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”

Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.

“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”

Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.

“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”

Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.

You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.

Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.

-

The house was silent when he got home.

It always was.

Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.

His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.

The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.

His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.

Touya wasn’t in most of them.

Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?

His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.

At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.

His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.

They were proof of what he had once been.

A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.

Someone who had been going somewhere.

But none of it had mattered.

His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.

It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.

But it had been years since he actually played.

Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.

Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.

At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.

And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.

His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.

But then his younger siblings had grown up.

And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.

His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.

You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.

So he had stopped playing.

What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?

Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.

Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.

But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.

You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.

His jaw clenched.

You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him.

To reach something that could never be reached.

And for what?

Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?

Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t entitled to his skills.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

None of it mattered.

Not anymore.

And yet—

Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.

-

Dinner was quiet that night.

Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent.

He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.

Touya barely touched his food.

Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.

He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.

And for a while, he had been a part of that.

For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.

The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.

And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.

Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.

Until he didn’t.

Until his siblings started excelling at everything else.

Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.

Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.

And Shouto—

Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.

And Touya?

Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.

One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.

And Touya knew then.

Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.

He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.

The silence in the room was unbearable.

So he broke it.

“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”

Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”

Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”

That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

“Watch your tone,” he warned.

“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”

Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.

Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”

Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.

Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.

And that had killed something in him.

“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”

Enji was silent.

Of course, he was.

Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.

But Enji was as quiet as ever.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.

“Forget it.”

He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.

And Enji—

Enji didn’t stop him.

Touya didn’t look back.

Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?

But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.

-

“We need to talk.”

Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.

But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.

Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”

“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.

“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”

“Throwing a tantrum.”

“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.

Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”

Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.

Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”

Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”

“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”

His gaze burned, unrelenting.

“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”

Enji didn’t deny it.

“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”

Silence.

Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”

His eyes burned.

“Business administration.”

Enji’s face hardened.

“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”

Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”

“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”

He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.

“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”

He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”

“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.

“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”

His throat tightened.

“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

“Touya, you needed direction.”

“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”

Silence.

“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change.

“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”

Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”

Touya’s fists clenched.

“I should’ve known better.”

Enji remained silent.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

And so, it did.

-

What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.

You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.

Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.

It was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.

You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?

Now they were just scraps of paper.

You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.

A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”

No one disagreed.

Because it was true.

You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left.

The absolute blueprint.

But now?

Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.

Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”

And for a while, it had.

For a while, it had felt invincible.

Until it wasn’t.

Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.

You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.

It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.

That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.

“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”

No one argued.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

So you worked.

Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.

-

Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.

But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.

The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.

“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”

The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”

Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”

“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”

That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”

The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”

Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.

But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.

He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Touya nodded.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”

“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”

She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”

Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”

The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”

-

The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.

It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.

“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“I was going to play.”

The words were soft. Too soft for him.

Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.

Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.

“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”

Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.

And your priorities lie elsewhere.

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”

His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.

“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”

You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.

“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”

He got a bit closer to where you sat.

“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.

“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”

You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.

They were just… open.

You swallowed and looked back down.

“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.

Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.

But…

You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.

That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.

But maybe—

Maybe it meant something.

His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.

But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.

He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.

“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”

He was serious.

There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.

For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.

“And if I say no?”

Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”

You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.

God, you hated him.

You hated how genuine he was being.

But more than anything—

You hated that you wanted to believe him.

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.

“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”

You couldn’t tell him.

Because the truth was, you believed him.

And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?

“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”

Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?

“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.

Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”

That stopped you cold.

This made you realize—

This wasn’t easy for him, either.

The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—

He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.

He was waiting for you to tell him no.

Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.

To leave you alone.

And you should.

God, you should.

But then there was the way he looked at you—

Not with pity. Not with indifference.

But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.

And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.

-

Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.

Really good.

It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.

And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.

“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”

Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”

Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”

“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”

“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”

…

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”

You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.

Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”

Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”

Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.

Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”

Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”

You glanced up. “Huh?”

Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”

Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”

Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”

“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”

Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”

“This is dumb,” you laughed.

Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”

Touya hesitated.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.

But now?

He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”

Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”

Touya snorted. “You wish.”

You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”

Touya smirked. “No promises.”

You gave him a knowing look.

Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”

And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—

Touya actually felt like he was home.

-

With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.

And it all started as whispers.

Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.

You ignored them.

You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.

You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.

“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”

“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”

“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”

“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

Your steps faltered, just for a second.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.

Touya, though—he did stop.

You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.

“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”

The students stiffened. “What?”

“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”

One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”

You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.

It wasn’t a friendly laugh.

It was sharp and unimpressed.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”

The students shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”

No one said anything.

He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”

One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”

Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.

You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself.

Which was fine.

Because he would.

“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp.

“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”

The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.

“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”

With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.

They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.

But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.

“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.

“Obviously.”

-

“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”

Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance.

“I already apologized.”

Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked.

Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”

Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”

Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.

Writing a song.

It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.

He was conflicted.

Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”

Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”

Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”

-

The first problem?

Touya had no idea where to start.

Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’

The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.

Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.

Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.

Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.

Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.

It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.

But eventually, they had something.

Something undeniably theirs.

Now all that was left was playing it for her.

-

Practice started like any other day.

You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.

Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.

It wasn’t his place to introduce this.

It had to be them. All of them.

And, sure enough—

“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”

“If this is another one of your pranks—”

“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”

Touya smiled. “Noted.”

And then they started playing.

The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.

Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.

The song had movement.

Had feeling.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was a promise.

By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.

Not in shock, not in disbelief—

But something Touya couldn’t quite name.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze.

“Well?”

“…You wrote this?” you asked.

Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.

But then—

“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”

Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”

“Wait, really?:

“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”

Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”

Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”

Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”

Yeah.

Looked like it was.

-

The venue was packed.

Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.

You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.

Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.

“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.

Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:

“Next up—give it up for—”

The crowd erupted.

Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.

And then, it was just them.

-

If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.

(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…

You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)

He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.

(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…

But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)

He would’ve told you that he had better things to do.

But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.

Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.

Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.

And that’s when he came in.

(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…

But damn, you still play me like a note…)

His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.

And then—

The chorus hit.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten.

You were fire; he was smoke.

Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.

(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—

But I hear it in the way you breathe…

Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—

But somehow, you still look at me…)

Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.

The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.

(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…

Not after leaving me behind…

You play ghosts, I play fire…

But even flames need something to burn inside…)

The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.

Then—

The build.

Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—

And then everything crashed into the final chorus.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

It was undeniable. It was everything.

As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

The deafening eruption.

Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.

You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.

Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.

This was it.

For the first time in a long time, he felt it.

Not just the music. Not just the stage.

But the want.

The need.

The need to keep playing.

You had done it.

Done this to him.

And it was only the beginning.

-

Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”

“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”

Touya barely registered the words.

Because across the room, you were glowing.

To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.

Touya swallowed.

There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

“Hey—Touya, what—?”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—

And he kissed you.

It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.

You went rigid.

For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—

But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.

And that was all it took.

Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.

The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.

Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.

You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“Huh..?”

Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.

“But I think I wanna do it again.”