To Be Done or Not

 "I like you."

 The words slipped from Hiroki's lips before he could stop them, his hands clenched tightly on his knees like he was holding onto the last of his courage.

 "I… I've liked you for a long time. Really."

 His voice trembled, but every word came from deep within his heart.

 Yuna blinked and tilted her head slightly toward him. "Hmm? What did you just say?"

 Hiroki swallowed, throat dry. He repeated the words—this time a little steadier, as though testing the firmness of his resolve.

 "I like you..."

 She leaned in closer, her expression calm to the point of being unnerving. "Sorry, say that again? I didn't quite catch it."

 "I like you… a lot."

 "One more time. Say it again."

 Hiroki's fingers tightened around his coffee cup. He leaned forward slightly, mustering every last ounce of bravery.

 "I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

 A beat of silence. Yuna raised an eyebrow, then laughed softly.

 "Girlfriend, huh? But I already am your girlfriend. You know, a friend who happens to be a girl."

 Hiroki froze.

 "T-That's not what I meant—"

 She kept her eyes on him, still calm, still unreadable. But Hiroki knew. She understood exactly what he meant.

 "I've always been your friend, haven't I, Hiroki?"

 She lifted her juice glass and gently tapped it against his coffee cup, as if sealing her answer in a toast. Hiroki sat frozen, eyes wide, his grip on the cup so tight that the tips of his fingers turned white.

 So this was her way of saying no?

 Subtle. Gentle. As if trying to soften the blow.

 He forced a crooked smile, silently telling himself not to take it to heart. It's fine, I get it. But just then, his trembling hands clenched tighter, and in a clumsy moment, the coffee inside sloshed out, spilling across the table.

 Startled, he fumbled for napkins.

 "Damn it…"

 Thankfully, none had spilled on him.

 Yuna let out a soft laugh, grabbing some napkins to help him clean up. As she carefully wiped the table, Hiroki could only look up at the sky, silently cursing himself.

 She was too kind. Too gentle.

 And that—more than anything—hurt the most. If he couldn't love her, he couldn't bear to lose her either.

 He'd almost lost her just now...

 "There we go, all clean!"

 She beamed, tossing the wet napkins into the trash. Her eyes remained clear, untouched by emotion, as if their conversation had never happened.

 "Anything else you wanted to say?"

 Hiroki tensed. His lips moved, but no words came out. Eventually, he swallowed down everything he'd wanted to say.

 "N-No… I just wanted to ask… how you've been doing lately."

 Yuna scratched her cheek, thinking for a moment, then replied casually:

 "Same as always… I'm heading into my final year of university, but I still feel so behind. Not even sure if I'll graduate on time."

 "If you need any help, just let me know," Hiroki offered, still sounding a little stiff. "I'll help… with your studies."

 She smiled, no guilt in her expression—only warmth. Her rejection had been the gentlest it could be.

 And yet, Hiroki knew this moment would be etched into his memory forever.

….

 The remaining years of college passed. Hiroki balanced band activities and school, eventually graduating with average marks. He'd once considered joining HIMrs6 full-time, but the idea never felt secure—especially since the band was still finding its footing.

 With his diploma in hand, he accepted an office job in Osaka as a temporary solution. To his surprise, Yuna also worked at the same company. These little coincidences always tied them together. But rather than feeling lucky, Hiroki only grew more weighed down. The closer he was to her, the more those invisible daggers pierced his heart.

 Still, Yuna never missed a single HIMrs6 concert. She was always there in the crowd, cheering him on. It made Hiroki wonder—had she ever felt something more for him, even just once?

 They had never crossed the line between friends. That blurry boundary had always lingered, and though he had once tried to step over it, he lacked the strength.

 Maybe… maybe she really didn't see him that way. Maybe her heart still—

 No. Hiroki didn't want to believe that.

 One day, Yuna told him she'd be visiting her hometown. A few days later, Hiroki also decided to return home to see his father.

 The village hadn't changed—peaceful to the point of aching. He wandered the same roads he once walked with her, passed by the same canals and grass bank carved into his memory. The old book-and-coffee shop, once owned by Mr. Takumi, was still buzzing with customers. The smell of aged paper lingered, soft and familiar.

 Hiroki visited his mother's grave with his father. He lit incense for the woman whose face he barely remembered. As his father stood in silence, mourning the wife he had lost, Hiroki wandered off to visit Mr. Takumi's grave. He placed a bouquet of white lilies on the stone, a promise fulfilled to Jun. With his hands together, he whispered:

 "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You taught me so much. On behalf of Jun… I hope you're at peace."

 A breeze swept past, carrying memories with it. As he turned to go, Hiroki realized his father had already walked ahead. But instead of following, his feet took a different turn—down a path he knew too well.

 The road where he once gave her rides on his bicycle.

 Each step stirred unease in his chest, yet he couldn't stop. And then—he saw it.

 The house. The wooden sign that read Ikeda.

 And there, standing on the porch, was Yuna.

She waved at him, her smile as bright as spring sunshine.

 "Hiroki! Hey!"

 He waved back, awkward as ever.

 But from inside the house, a tall young man stepped out. Calm and confident, he gently wrapped his arms around Yuna.

 Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him—something Hiroki had never seen directed at himself. Yuna turned back and smiled.

 "Oh right! Hiroki, this is Takahashi Ryusei! Remember him?"

 Of course he remembered.

 The man wrapped an arm around Yuna's waist, shooting Hiroki a piercing glance.

 Yuna continued, cheerful as ever:

 "He's my fiancé now."

Twenty-two. And what did Hiroki have?

His life was nothing but a thick, impenetrable fog.

He kept telling himself he was fine.

 He was fine—he could drink, he could smoke. He was fine—he could show up to work like a machine, clock in and clock out without thinking. He was fine—he could sleep three, maybe four hours a night, dreamless, numb.

 But every morning, the emptiness grew larger, swallowing him whole.

 Creative sparks, musical passion—everything had vanished like dust in the wind, leaving no trace behind.

 His fingers, once so fluid on the fretboard, had turned stiff, unresponsive. His sound—jagged, off-key, broken.

 During rehearsals with the band, he was constantly corrected, called out for falling out of rhythm. Like he no longer belonged.

 Fine then.

 If he couldn't play, he'd destroy it.

 What did he have left to lose?

 Hiroki grabbed his guitar and tightened his grip.

 A long moment of silence.

 Then—

 CRASH.

 A brutal smash against the floor.

 The sound echoed, harsh and metallic—but inside, all Hiroki heard was silence. A terrifying void.

 He kept going. Smashing it again. And again.

 Until the steel strings snapped, coiled like torn threads. The neck cracked. Metal bent and twisted, shards embedding into the cold floor.

One piece flew upward and grazed the back of his hand, leaving a thin red line.

 But the real pain came from deeper.

 That cut bloomed like an old wound torn open, leaking pain that refused to stop.

 He just stood there, staring at the wreckage in front of him.

 Breathing heavy.

 Like a wounded animal backed into a corner.

 The band couldn't accept it. They protested fiercely—argued, begged, even yelled.

 But how could they understand?

 When just the act of touching a guitar felt like punishment.

 The strings under his fingers weren't music anymore.

 They were barbs—jagged reminders of a hurt he couldn't face.

 Jun was the last to give up. She dragged him to the studio one day, pushed a brand-new electric guitar into his hands.

"Just try once, Hiroki. Just once."

 He looked at it, eyes empty.

Once upon a time, this had been a part of him—his breath, his joy, his light. Now it felt like dead weight. A lifeless object he couldn't even lift.

 Quietly, Hiroki set the guitar down.

 He said nothing.

 Just turned and walked away.

 Leaving Jun standing there—her eyes heavy with disappointment… and something that felt an awful lot like heartbreak.

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