Present Day – The Studio
The sun dipped low over Tokyo, casting a gentle amber haze through the narrow studio windows. Dust danced in the slanted beams of light, catching on the edges of old posters tacked to the walls—flyers from tiny venues, half-forgotten open mic nights, and one still curling at the edge from a summer festival three years ago. Beneath them, surrounded by cords and coffee cups and a battered amp someone kept forgetting to fix, the trio sat in quiet harmony.
---
Laura's fingers hovered over the piano keys, pressing softly into a scale. The notes were feather-light, barely louder than breath. She wasn't really practicing—just feeling. Each note lingered a second longer than needed, as if she was listening for something only she could hear.
Across from her, Axel sat with one leg propped up on a stool, guitar resting on his knee, a string of soft metallic plinks escaping as he adjusted the tuning pegs. His gray hair was even messier than usual, and the sleeves of his hoodie were pushed to his elbows, revealing a bracelet Laura had never seen him take off.
On the couch near the window, Sunny lay sideways, a sketchpad balanced on her stomach. Her pencil scratched lightly against the page, her legs swinging lazily in the air as she hummed to herself—something between a melody and a memory.
Laura stopped playing. Her gaze drifted to Axel.
"Still nothing on the guest performer slot?" she asked, her voice low, even, but lined with that familiar edge of practicality.
Axel didn't look up right away. One last adjustment to the tuning peg, a soft strum, then finally—he glanced over, lips curling into a lopsided smirk.
"Actually... I might have someone."
---
Seven Years Ago – High School Graduation
The courtyard of the prestigious Shirogane Academy echoed with applause and camera shutters. Sunlight glinted off the marble pillars and clean navy uniforms as clusters of students hugged, laughed, and cried beneath a shower of silver streamers. Families gathered in tightly knit circles, their pride spilling into every word and gesture.
---
Laura stood just off to the side of the grand steps, her diploma clutched in one hand, the other hanging stiffly at her side. Her lavender hair had been styled neatly by her mother that morning, though stray strands had slipped free in the humid June air. She wasn't smiling.
From where she stood, she could see her parents near the exit arch—her mother nodding along as her father discussed internship placements with another suit-clad parent. Neither had noticed she wasn't with them anymore.
She watched as a classmate squealed, running into the arms of their older sibling. Another burst into tears as a friend handed over a bouquet. The warmth around her felt distant, as though the celebration were happening behind glass.
She lowered her gaze to the diploma. Her name was written in gold foil, elegant and precise. "Laura Aihara," it read. Top of her class. Offers from two conservatories. Already an assistant instructor for the academy's junior piano program.
She had everything she was supposed to want.
And yet—
She remembered something else. Not from today, but from a few weeks earlier.
---
It had been a muggy spring night. The kind where the streetlights glowed soft and golden, and the city felt half-asleep. Laura had ducked into a small community center after spotting a hand-painted sign:"Yume Fest: Local Talent Night – Free Entry."
---
Inside, a mismatched crowd filled the foldable chairs—parents with toddlers, students in uniforms, a man with two dogs, and a few teens fiddling with their phones.
That's when she saw him.
Messy gray hair, scuffed sneakers, and a guitar that looked like it had seen one too many rainy days. The strap was patched with duct tape. He adjusted the mic with a grin, eyes glinting with something reckless and real.
"This one's for the kids who couldn't get into music school," he said, and the crowd chuckled.
Then he played.
It wasn't perfect. His voice cracked in places, the guitar slipped slightly out of tune halfway through—but none of that mattered. The song was raw. It was stitched from memory and heartache and something fiercely hopeful. His fingers danced over the strings like they knew exactly where to go, even when his voice trembled.
Laura didn't realize she'd leaned forward until the last chord rang out and the room erupted into applause.
---
Afterward, outside the venue, the night air was thick with summer. The boy stood by the vending machine, sipping from a can of melon soda, sweat clinging to his collar.
"Hey," Laura said, stepping beside him. "That song... you wrote it?"
He turned to her, surprised—but not in the way that made things awkward. His eyes lit up, not just at the recognition, but at the interest.
"Yeah. Kinda threw it together last-minute," he admitted. "Guitar almost gave up halfway, but we made it."
She smiled faintly. "It was good."
"You're not just saying that because I looked pitiful up there, right?"
"No," she said, and meant it.
He tilted his head, then stuck out a hand. "Axel."
"Laura."
A beat.
Then he grinned. "Wouldn't it be cool if we just... started a group or something? You on piano, me on this beat-up thing?" He gestured to his guitar.
Laura laughed. Not the polite kind she gave to teachers or the strained one she gave her parents. This one was different—softer, startled out of her before she could think.
Something flickered behind her eyes. A thought she hadn't let herself consider. A spark that had never been lit at home.
Maybe music didn't have to be about prestige.
Maybe it could be about people.
---
Two Years Later – Formation of the Trio
The tiny classroom echoed with the sound of small hands striking piano keys—some tentative, some too loud, none in tune. Laura moved gently between the rows of children, her steps measured, her smile fixed. She nodded encouragement, adjusted posture, and softly tapped rhythm against the edge of a wooden desk.
"You're doing great, Hana. Try holding the note just a second longer, okay?"
The little girl beamed, unaware of the shadow that passed over Laura's face as she turned away.
When the final chime rang and the students filed out—laughing, dragging oversized backpacks behind them—the warmth in the room left with them.
Laura remained standing by the piano, watching the door close. The silence settled like dust on her shoulders. Then she sat. Pressed the first key.
A G. Then D. Her hands wandered across the keyboard, absentmindedly stringing chords together, fingers slipping into old muscle memory. But it felt... empty. Every note was clean, polished—sterile.
She played through an entire song she once loved. When it ended, the echo didn't linger.
---
That night, long after the institute had gone dark and only the vending machine buzzed outside the hallway, her phone lit up.
AXEL"Still down for that band idea?"
She stared at the message for a full minute. Then she smiled—small, cautious.
And typed:"Sure. Let's try."
What followed wasn't clean or magical. It was chaotic.
---
There were nights crammed in half-rented rehearsal rooms that smelled like spilled soda and dust. Axel would burst in with a new riff, Laura would scoff at his timing, and the argument would spiral into laughter—until it didn't.
There were long stretches of silence where they couldn't agree on tone, where demos were scrapped, where Axel threw down his guitar in frustration and Laura stared holes into sheet music she'd rewritten for the third time.
But slowly, something formed.
Not just music, but them. A rhythm that was messy and human, not perfect—but real.
---
One night, while Laura was asleep and the city outside buzzed with passing trains, Axel sat on his bed, scrolling on his phone. Headphones half-on, hair a chaotic mess.
He paused.
A low-effort video had appeared on his feed: a remix of a familiar J-pop track, layered with dreamy synth and glitchy harmonies. The visuals were hand-drawn—crooked cityscapes that shimmered like melting neon. It was rough. Unrefined.
But there was something raw in it. Something true.
He clicked through to the user.
sunbeam_sketches"just experimenting :3 ♡ thanks for listening!!"
Axel grinned and hit share.
AXEL"You gotta see this."
---
Meeting Sunny
Laura sat stiffly in front of the laptop screen, arms crossed as Axel fiddled with the webcam.
Then, it connected.
A girl with soft brown hair, a galaxy-printed hoodie, and wide, anxious eyes popped onto the screen. She looked like she might bolt from the frame at any second.
"Hi—oh my god, wait—am I in frame? Is my mic working??"
"You're good," Axel chuckled. "Relax."
Sunny adjusted her cap nervously. "Sorry, this is, uh… wild. I've been following Lavendre since your piano performance from that one street show... I didn't think—"
Laura, who had been silent, leaned forward slightly. Her gaze wasn't skeptical—it was curious. "You made that remix?"
Sunny nodded, cheeks flushing. "It was just for fun... I'm not really, like, trained or anything. I don't know what I'm doing half the time."
Axel raised a brow. "Could've fooled me."
Sunny laughed nervously, but Laura's voice cut gently through.
"You want to learn?"
She blinked. "What?"
Laura's smile was soft now. Warmer than it had been in years.
"Then let's learn together."
---
Present Day – Back to the Studio
The afternoon light bled gently through the high windows of their studio. Dust danced lazily in the air, caught in the golden beams that slanted across the posters on the walls—old fliers from their first gigs, faded polaroids, and one laminated newspaper clipping of their breakout performance in Osaka.
Sunny sat cross-legged on the floor, her sketchpad balanced on her knees. A soft hum escaped her lips as her pencil moved in loops and lines. Laura, nearby at the piano, played a simple scale—barely more than a whisper.
She leaned over to glance at Sunny's page. A soft smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was a drawing of the three of them—barefoot, laughing, sitting on the studio floor with coffee cups and sheet music scattered around.
Before she could speak, Axel burst through the door, nearly tripping over a stray amp cord.
"Guess what?!"
Laura raised an eyebrow. "If it's another weird merch idea, I swear—"
"No, no. Better. You remember Zane?"
The name landed like a dropped metronome.
Laura's fingers froze above the keys. "You mean that Zane?"
Sunny glanced up from her sketchpad, blinking. "Who's Zane?"
Axel grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Let's just say… he might be our fourth member."
Laura didn't respond.
Her eyes had gone distant, searching something just past the horizon of memory.
Outside the window, the sun dipped low, casting their studio in a warm orange hue.
And from the piano, a soft note rang out—just one—as the room fell quiet around her unreadable expression.