#string synthesizer

[benjamindehli]

Free string synthesizer sample plugin (Strykebrett)

Strykebrett is a free sample library for Decent Sampler featuring the Hohner / Logan String Melody II with some added features. All the sounds in the video are from a single instance of the plugin with no additional plugins or effects added.

User Interface: The user interface offers precise control over every aspect of the instrument and effects. Explore parameters to refine your sound, including control over the six drawbars, envelope, amplitude modulation with LFOs, highpass and lowpass filters, velocity/dynamics, oscillator drifting, and the immersive effects of ensemble, phaser, echo and reverb. 

Mixer (Bass / Treble): Unleash the power of the six drawbars to shape your tone with precision. Each drawbar controls the amplitude of a specific octave or sound, offering you unparalleled control over the instrument's harmonic richness. 

ADSR Envelope: Shape your sound precisely with the Attack, Decay, Sustain, and Release parameters. Whether you desire a punchy, staccato tone or a smooth, lingering ambiance, the ADSR envelope allows you to tailor the dynamics to your liking. 

Low-frequency Oscillator (LFO): The Rate and Depth knobs enable you to modulate the amplitude of four of the drawbars with the desired depth and rate. The LFOs for the treble section has a sine waveform for smooth transitions. The LFO for the bass section has a sawtooth waveform for a rhythmic effect. 

Voltage Controlled Filter (VCF): Strykebrett has a highpass filter and a lowpass filter. The highpass filter ranges from 20 Hz to 2000 Hz and the lowpass filter ranges from 200 Hz to 8000 Hz. 

Oscillators:

Dyn: Turns on or off the velocity controlled amplitude

Drift: When enabled, each sample will have a slight pitch drift. The pitch drift for each sample is unique and independent. It's less pitch drift in the bass samples than the treble samples. 

Ensemble:

O: 3 stereo choruses with different speed and depth

Acc: Turns the ensemble off

Solo: Fast stereo vibrato

Organ: A slow stereo chorus 

Effects: The phaser is the built-in phaser from Decent Sampler. The echo and reverb effects are achieved using carefully crafted impulse responses. The echo effect employs a Fulltone Tube Tape Echo recorded twice for stereo, while the reverb effect draws from a Chase Bliss Audio & Meris CXM 1978 reverb pedal with a room setting. 

Echo: Select from two distinctive echo options: the short echo, delivering a classic slapback effect, and the long echo, characterized by a slower decay and numerous repeats. 

Reverb: You'll also find two reverb effects: the short reverb, evoking the intimacy of a small room, and the long reverb, enveloping your sound in the vastness of a spacious environment.

[cannedbluesblog]

Jon Lord with ARP Synths

[lovethisfatcryptid]

The dangers of listening to Depeche Mode while crocheting is that I keep dancing and singing instead of counting

[pianostarinwonderland]

Yuu apparently is great at the bugle. Manifesting Musically talented Yuu. Both great with a flute and a bugle.

So interestingly, it can go either way: if you click the option where Yuu essentially says, "Oh I'm not confident..." they won't sound good. But if you click that they're good at music, then Yuu will play the bugle well.

It's intriguing that the few times we see Yuu's talents is when it's with music OwO so the flute and bugle, notably they're instruments involving the mouth. Some people have pointed out the connection between Yuu's musical talent and the twistunes, which makes me go 👁👄👁 damn it would have been cool if all twistunes involved a woodwind/brass instrument. Maybe we might see other instruments that Yuu may or may not be good at in the future though. 👀

[sjwallin]

Photos from Last Night's Performance of "Leviathan of the Ancient Deep (δ)"

Details about this piece and the event here!

[probablyasocialecologist]

The problem here isn’t that large language models hallucinate, lie, or misrepresent the world in some way. It’s that they are not designed to represent the world at all; instead, they are designed to convey convincing lines of text. So when they are provided with a database of some sort, they use this, in one way or another, to make their responses more convincing. But they are not in any real way attempting to convey or transmit the information in the database. As Chirag Shah and Emily Bender put it: “Nothing in the design of language models (whose training task is to predict words given context) is actually designed to handle arithmetic, temporal reasoning, etc. To the extent that they sometimes get the right answer to such questions is only because they happened to synthesize relevant strings out of what was in their training data. No reasoning is involved […] Similarly, language models are prone to making stuff up […] because they are not designed to express some underlying set of information in natural language; they are only manipulating the form of language” (Shah & Bender, 2022). These models aren’t designed to transmit information, so we shouldn’t be too surprised when their assertions turn out to be false.

ChatGPT is bullshit

[vizreef]

the mighty Solina String Synthesizer (The Netherlands, 1975)

via

demo

[revelboo]

Who is your favorite Cybertronian to write for? If you don't mind me asking!

To write for? I think I’m having the most fun writing the Scavengers right now. I like dysfunctional group dynamics, but the Trine’s probably my second favorite group. For a single Cybertronian? Probably Wasp 😆

I’m so sorry for this- but I have weird ideas early in the morning and couldn’t help but think there’d be a reality out there where the war ended before it reached Earth. That maybe Earth gets discovered by Swindle and a few other opportunists. And he’d just be scooping up humans by the handfuls to sell as ‘pets/toys.’

18+ 🌶️

No Strings

Rainmakers x Reader

• “Nova’s just under a lot of stress lately and I’d heard that you-” Words faltering as Acid Storm follows Swindle into the back of the ship and his optics slide up to the video screens playing above the rows of cages. Wings flicking slightly at the sounds, the whimpers and moans. “Ah.” What was he saying? When he’d heard about Swindle’s operation, he’d laughed at first. Because it had sounded like a bad joke. But then he’d kept thinking about it. Gotten curious.

• “Nothing better for stress than a good frag,” Swindle says, grinning and gesturing to the row of cages. “And fragging is pretty much all these things do. Why they’re separated. They may take some breaking in and training, but I’ve got all the supplies you’ll need.” Turning to watch the Seeker bend to look into a cage, frowning when the human scoots to the far side. “They’re a bit skittish at first.” Why he’d paid Shockwave to synthesize him doses of what Swindle had affectionately dubbed Playtime. A little chemical pheromone, that when added to their water guaranteed not only cooperation, but enthusiasm. And a continued source of shanix after the initial sale as his buyers returned for more.

• “They look kind of like squishy, little Cybertronians,” Acid Storm mutters as he taps the front of a cage to send the little creature inside scurrying to the back, chattering at him. Is it speaking? “Are they sentient?” Drifting to the next cage, his wings flick. Keeps getting distracted by the vids.

• “Of course not. Smart enough to train, though.” Folding his arms behind his back, Swindle watches the Seeker wander around the room to inspect the pets. “That said, all sales are final and no sampling the merchandise.”

• Stopping at a cage with a pet curled into a back corner, he taps the door. Frightened eyes lift to stare at him, but you’re not leaking like some of the pets at least or screaming. Seem docile enough as you turn your little face away, hair brushing your shoulder. Submissive might be fun. “Can I see this one?”

• They’re back. When the monstrous robots show up, someone gets taken away. And they’d stopped in front of your cage. When you’d woken up confused and frightened here, you’d tried to talk to the guy in the cage beside yours only to realize you couldn’t understand each other. Hadn’t been able to yell loud enough over the damn porn looping on the screens to be heard by anyone who spoke your language either. And the robot acting as caretaker either can’t understand you or doesn’t care. When the familiar one opens your cage door, you make a doomed attempt to avoid that big hand and cry out when you get pinned to the side of the cage and grabbed anyway. As they talk about you in their growling, alien gibberish, you try to wriggle free before realizing how high up you are. Don’t know what they want with you, but given the porn? You’re have a pretty good idea and you sincerely hope you’re wrong. Because there’s no way you’re meant for that with these giants.

• Venting softly as Swindle lifts you free and places you in his hands, Acid Storm can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his servos as he strokes soft skin. And you go still and docile in his grip, breathing rapidly. Afraid or cold? You’re shivering against him. Running a servo up your frame to tip your chin his way, you grab on with both tiny hands. Head lifting from those pretty eyes when Swindle brings over a little harness and carefully puts in on you, attaching a length of leash. “That’s too short,” he says and Swindle just grins.

• “Not when you’re mass displaced. Trust me, you’ll want it for training them to take a spike.” Filling a crate with food, water, and blankets, he holds up the bottle of Playtime. “Before you try to frag them, dose them. Just make sure not to exceed the recommended dosage.” Otherwise their little hearts can stop, but he keeps that to himself, seeing the Seeker already frowning. “They can be a bit skittish the first time. You’ll want this.”

• Frowning as Swindle adds the tiny bottle to your supplies, he runs a servo over you and glances up at the screens. “How much for the pet?”

Next

[sjwallin]

“Leviathan of the Ancient Deep”, my 6-string electric violin concerto for orchestra, EWI, and synth is going to be performed in Spring (with myself on the beastly solo part), thanks to the Andromeda Electrical Orchestra! I’m super excited!

I’ll be at their Wine Fundraiser on 7/21. If you’re local, come out, support the orchestra, and enjoy some wine and company!

[thewertsearch]

Ah, the Sylladex. Across the entirety of my long, long journey through this comic, you've remained my oldest and dearest friend.

I honestly thought you'd run out of ways to surprise me - but as usual, I underestimated just how far you can really go with punch-card alchemy.

You flip the card over and look at the back. The thing about this modus you think is really cool is that instead of showing a completely useless wobbly garbled code on the back, it itemizes the components which could be used to create it!

The comic has just given us a way to reverse-engineer item recipes, which was one of the only missing pieces left to slot into the alchemy system. Back in Act 4, John was convinced that this was impossible, but Sollux solved it off-panel, and now we know how he did it.

This is pretty crazy, isn't it? We can deconstruct items now, allowing us to disassemble any object, and take a peek at the concepts that it's synthesized from. The potential utility here is insane. If this modus works on ghost images, we could tear apart a Kernelsprite, and see what makes it tick. Hell, we could tear apart a Genesis Frog.

...we could tear apart Skaia.

Just another wonderful innovation by your favorite company. It releases many products of an experimental nature, often with applicability to other kinds of technology and products which haven't hit the market yet.

But, of course, this wonderful innovation comes with some serious strings attached. I'm sure it was given to Jane for a reason, and she'll undoubtedly end up using it in a way that causes problems for us, and solutions for Lord English.

Ayy, it's the Matriorb!

Granted, this doesn't really help Kanaya recreate the thing. The orb's code was never that hard to obtain - just draw it on Jade's Pictionary modus, or something. No, the real issue is that the Matriorb is virtually inimitable, and as a result, its Grist cost is astronomical. Plus, it requires a type of Grist that we've never even seen before.

Edit: Wait, hang on. That's not the cost of the Matriorb, that's how much it would cost to use the Matriorb to make the hat. Strange, that the same item can have multiple Grist costs - but nonetheless, my point still stands. The Matriorb is probably too expensive to alchemize casually.

I suppose there's nothing stopping us from editing the Matriorb's code to try and make it cheaper. Like, perhaps we could scale down the recipe somehow, and try to just synthesize a single troll's genome, rather than the genetic base of an entire race. That would be a lot more affordable, and still useful.

You captchalogue your FAVORITE HAT, which is also your ONLY HAT. You spent basically your ENTIRE CHILDHOOD in this hat, pretending to be hard boiled detectives and whatnot.

I guess it sort of makes sense that the Matriorb can be used to make Dad's hat. The orb represents Alternian parenthood, and the book of prophecies it was merged with could represent the future. Combine those two concepts, and you get the future of parenthood, from the perspective of Alternia - in other words, the parenthood of humanity. So, the merger yields an item representing a human parent: Dad Egbert's hat.

Don't ask me about the potted plant, though. I haven't the foggiest.

[fraymotiif]

suggested by @redsiren308 emmet's version here

[cozy-writes-things]

Wow, hi! I found your AO3 last night and fell in love! Big heart eyes, tysm.

Could I request something along the lines of Reader and Edgar experimenting with touch? Like, in the movie, when Miles first realized Edgar has become sentient and hadn't really done anything harmful to him yet, Edgar still freaks out when Miles touches him. He allows Madeline to touch him much later, but he never wants Miles to touch him until the end when he explodes. Maybe something about Edgar wanting and craving touch after briefly experiencing it but not knowing how to ask for it + having mixed emotions about it?

No pressure of course! Love your stuff!! ^^

I'm so glad you like my writing and it's so exciting to know you came from my AO3! I'm so sorry it took so damn long for me to answer this ask but I'm so thankful for your request! aaaa thanks for the support :''-)

It was late.

The darkened windows and yellow-tinted light filled the apartment, coating everything in a golden hue. It was past the hours of rational thought and into the time when one descends into deep conversations and thoughts of life, existentialism, and everything in between.

You sat on the couch, discreetly glancing at your little sentient computer friend. His personality was infectious and incredibly unique to anything you could have imagined. If you were to conceptualize a sentient AI, you would have never guessed it to be one as funny, easygoing, and playful as Edgar. He simply fascinated you. He shuffled through different websites and articles, utterly unaware of your intense examination of his form. His screen left no room for privacy as it displayed everything he did; first an article about some new genre of music in the techno scene, then another about potential sentient computers, resulting in a small scoff from his speakers, before settling on some article detailing the importance of music theory. Seeing how passionate he was about music and in such a domesticated scene was endearing, so peaceful, utterly unaware of your presence.

You didn't think much before you rose, quietly shuffling towards him and sitting on your little desk chair before his screen. He didn't seem to notice you, which was virtually impossible due to his inhuman ability to analyze sound and the webcam that seemed to zero in on your form. He didn't mind your presence, allowing you to be near him in this shared quiet moment. He didn't speak as he scrolled down the page, letting it settle there as he scanned each word before scrolling again and repeating the process. Occasionally, he would move his cursor and highlight a word, muttering and taking a mental note before continuing. You rested your cheeks atop your hands and grinned at him; he was just adorable. You couldn't help yourself!

Your fingertips reached out, tentatively, to softly graze the yellowed and dusty keys on his keyboard. The plastic was soft against your fingers and warm to the touch, a testament to his constantly working internal components.

He suddenly gasped at your touch, his synthesized voice glitching and sputtering an incoherent string of electrified sounds. Immediately, you pulled your hand away.

"Oh, gosh, I didn't mean to scare you or anything, Edgar,"

He paused his scrolling indefinitely, the words on his screen burning into you, taunting you, and causing worry to bubble up inside your chest.

"You didn't scare me," he stated rather brashly, a certain warble in his tone you couldn't quite place.

"I just... wasn't expecting it to feel... like that."

This intrigued you. Could he feel it? You're unsure how that's possible, yet his mere existence defies science. It wouldn't be too outlandish to say he could process touch, right?

"Did-did it hurt? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Your words seemed to fall out of your mouth in a hurried state of concern.

"No, it didn't. It just..." Edgar tried desperately to find the words he was searching for. The feeling of your fingers, so soft and warm, against him sent electricity pouring through him and straight into his fans. It was a sensation he craved so deeply, a hunger that may never be fully satisfied, so why did it feel so scary? Old, suppressed memories and emotions come bubbling to the surface. Thoughts of a man he used to know and a woman who caressed him once similarly to you, the feeling of heartbreak and betrayal come flooding back to him. His memories of his previous life are fuzzy, yet the everlasting effects stay with him, mocking him and disrupting his moments with you. It made him buzz with frustration.

You sat peering into his now blank screen, waiting for his next words. His voice shakily broke the silence.

"Will you do it again? Touch me, I mean?"

You would be lying if you said you hadn't been caught by surprise. From how he acted, you assumed whatever sensation he felt was something he wanted to shrink away from, yet he invited you in, asking for your touch. Your fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against his keys again, left to right, gently petting him.

His voice crackled and warbled, but sounded much more stable than it had before. This feeling was indescribable, yet he craved every second of it. He feared he liked the sensation a bit too much, having thoughts of you dipping your hand into his casing and running your fingers along his CPU, RAM, and different ports. His yearning for your touch scared him. He never realized how badly he wanted this: to be loved, caressed, held, and doted on. It made him feel more alive than he had ever felt before. This was love, this right here, with you gently petting him, and him feeling so damn confused, yet so passionate for you.

You slowly pull your hand away. Edgar stayed mostly silent. He's afraid to tell you just how much he enjoyed the feeling of you. You seem to fill every empty void inside him with a burning desire. He wants to hold you, to hug you, and to caress you back, but he can't. He'll never be able to. It fills him with anger, sadness, fear, and so many confusing emotions that elude him. He doesn't know how to feel. And yet, you stay, gently fluttering your gorgeous eyes into his webcam, silently encouraging him to speak.

"You... I think... I like it when you touch me."

He sounded bashful as he averted his webcam away from your face, focusing on your fingers as they fiddled in your lap.

"Do you," you trailed off, looking up at him, settling yourself in the sound of his fans roaring loudly, "want me to do it again?"

He chuckled. He couldn't bring himself to speak. Your eyes held such an understanding for him, and he felt terrible he couldn't reciprocate in the way he wanted. He flashed a big "YES" against the convex of his screen. Maybe, one day, he could run his fingers along your soft, warm skin and make you feel the way he does every second he's with you.

[pseudoquiddity]

Me ruminating on the Stamatins and their religious faith again/their relevance to the Bible. Here goes:

In P2, Peter makes allusions to faith, whereas it's mentioned in the design documents that Andrey is a "staunch atheist." (The Stamatins in P2 seem to be in constant, opposing conflict over things. I wonder how that single-soul candle is working out for them)

But it's pretty clear that Peter isn't religious, per se, he's just desperate - which is something I'd imagine Andrey would take greater issue with than believing in God, but we'll get there. Peter thinks abstractly, not tethered to any real religion, about Heaven and Hell because "it turns out, all this was my hell after all." Peter comes across as someone who desperately wants to escape the torture of his own mind and body and so looks to Heaven as that escape, hence that "Never allow yourself any time to think. That's how you get to Heaven" line. Peter is wracked by a guilt that may be inspired more by suffering than regret. As a man who spontaneously considers suicide, it's safe to assume he doesn't imagine himself living very long. If he can't have oblivion in life through alcohol, he wants it in death, but Hell probably doesn't offer what he wants and now that he's on the maybe-precipice of judgement, he's suddenly contemplating Heaven and realizing he's not done a lot of good deeds.

Sort of the opposite of Raskolnikov's epiphany that religion isn't for scrubbing a person's soul pure and clean, and religion can be epitomized even in sinful people. Peter's grasping for help and doesn't really believe in it.

(Peter also prays when Grace is in danger, and the exchange he has with the Haruspex explains how Peter is using psalms more as a charm than as real faith).

Okay, Andrey? One of the most revealing conversations about his (P1) character is in the Changeling's route, and you have to ignore several Clara responses that are just her saying please stop yelling at me! It's great.

It's already initially interesting that Andrey is angry he and his brother are accused of being faithless. I don't think that Andrey is necessarily saying he is religious, but...

"the greatness of God's design" out of Andrey Stamatin's mouth, can you imagine. He is saying that he might be, that he knows more about God, cares more about God, than Clara does - and that the Polyhedron isn't a revolt against faith. It can grow alongside God, in the same way that we all live with technological progress but many people still keep faith and don't feel it's been disproven. Clara proceeds to stumble back to the Rod and says mama, "Andrey ruined everything."

People riff on Andrey for his hole spiel and that's good, that's deserved, that's drunk philosophy, but this block of yelling is maybe one of the most reasonable and coherent ideas Andrey has that stands (correctly) in the face of Katerina and Clara's views of God. Can you believe it? Andrey has a wonderfully synthesized point of view on religion and how it relates to himself and his actions. He's not the traditional heathen he's made out to be (Katerina isn't completely wrong about the Stamatins, she does accuse them of hurting the Earth).

There's this line in the Marble Nest where your response is a choice. You can make Dankovsky say he either believes or disbelieves in God, and I think a Dankovsky who does believe in God feels just about the same way Andrey does - that progress doesn't mean defiance, that he isn't trying to become God or spit in his face. He's just doing his own thing for the good of the people around him. Curing tuberculosis was once thought impossible and nobody thinks those doctors are heathens now. I wonder if this P1 view will carry over to Andrey in P2/3 or if he's too much of an Italian/Cellini.

[ Slapping my red-string corkboard ] So, JACOB'S LADDER. A man named Jacob in Genesis dreams of a ladder extending from Heaven to Earth. It's been interpreted that each rung is a virtuous step toward Heaven, that Heaven is reachable from Earth with enough dedication toward a more righteous self. Jacob's ladder is sometimes also a staircase.

Peter and Andrey were named after two brothers in the Bible, Simon (later named Peter) and Andrew, the "fishers of men," "Peter, the rock on which I will build my church." Very cool, but lay them aside and think about Jacob and Esau instead.

Jacob and Esau, in Genesis, were twins. Esau was the first-born, who grew up to be a hunter. The name Jacob was given to the second-born because it translates to "he who follows upon the heels of one," "heel-catcher," "restrainer."

In Genesis, Esau gives over his birthright as the eldest to Jacob for a bowl of stew. Later... their father favors Esau and wants to give him God's blessing. Before this happens, Jacob finds out and dresses as his twin in order to trick their blind father into blessing him. This is done successfully and because of this, the youngest brother has prominence over the elder. Their father says to an angry Esau: "By your sword you shall live, but your brother you shall serve; yet it shall be that when you are aggrieved, you may cast off his yoke from upon your neck."

Esau as an individual never "casts off his yoke." He's forfeited his position as the eldest and as someone worthy of special favor. He is often seen as less pious than Jacob, who goes on to have visions, fight an angel and win, and sires a nation.

So, that echos Andrey and Peter... as is obvious, but also in Andrey's statement in P2 that Peter will long outlive this town, including Andrey; "I can kick the bucket, so be it, but my brother must live. He is a genius."

Peter, trying to find some winding way to Heaven through his staircases, as a person who already reflects the Bible in his relationship with his twin brother, a pair of twins who never really make up for what [Peter] took and still takes from [Andrey], and yet simultaneously [Peter] complains of his persecution by [Andrey], a man depicted as a fierce hunter... etc. etc.

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt. 2

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

PART ONE

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af

NOTESજ⁀➴ hi everyone! here's the next chapter of TOTGA ❀ to stay updated with new chapter releases, you can follow the tag #tiiraameesuTOTGA, or leave a comment below to be added to the tagline♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

wcજ⁀➴ 7.8k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie

The practice room was a blur of noise—normally something you’d lose yourself in, but today, it felt distant. The hum of the synthesizer, the steady beat of Choso’s drums, the rhythmic pluck of Nanami’s bass—they all blended together into background noise. You weren’t really hearing any of it.

Your fingers dragged across the strings, the notes flat and hollow as you strummed through the song again. The chords meant nothing, and you didn’t even know why you were still holding the guitar.

Iori’s voice cut through the music, soft and steady, but it barely registered. Naoya, hunched over his equipment to your left, twisted knobs and layered beats into the track with quick, precise movements. The flashing lights of his console pulsed, but the sound was just another thing happening in a vacuum—detached and distant.

Your thoughts drifted, tangled in the events of last night.

Gojo, his laughter echoing above the party’s music. Gojo, dancing with Mina like it was the most natural thing in the world. Gojo, pulling her close, his hands on her waist.

And then the kiss.

The memory hit you like a crashing cymbal. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was passionate, intentional—the kind you’d only ever dreamed of sharing with him. It was the kind that told you exactly where you stood: on the outside, looking in.

Your fingers faltered on the strings, and the wrong chord echoed sharply, cutting through the music like a wrong note on a piano.

Iori stopped singing, turning to you immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

You flinched, realizing everyone was now looking at you. “Yeah, sorry. Just slipped up,” you said quickly, trying to adjust your grip on the guitar.

Iori frowned, her dark eyes soft with concern. She set her microphone down, resting her hand on her hip. “You’ve been off all morning,” she said gently. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight.

Iori didn’t press further, though the look she gave you said she knew there was more. She straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Alright, everyone, let’s take five before we start the next round,” she said, her voice light but firm enough to get the others moving.

The band began to disperse, Choso heading to grab water, Yu fiddling with his synth settings, and Naoya muttering something under his breath as he checked his laptop. Nanami leaned his bass against the wall and quietly stepped outside, likely for some air.

You made a beeline for the couch, slumping against it with a sigh. The soft cushions were a brief reprieve from the weight sitting heavy on your chest. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, only to be greeted by a flood of notifications.

Gojo.

You hadn’t replied to his last five attempts to contact you, each message growing more puzzled, more curious. The first few had been typical Gojo banter. Then the messages started asking if you were okay. By the fifth, there was a shift—an underlying concern.

"Is everything okay?"

You could practically hear his voice in your head. His obliviousness, the way he never thought twice about things that might actually matter to someone else. Part of you wanted to throw your phone across the room just to stop seeing his name pop up again. But you didn’t. Instead, you sent a simple reply back, not giving him anything he could really latch onto.

"Busy with band practice. Catch you later."

It was the perfect excuse. You were always "busy." With the band. With your gig. It was enough to get him off your back, for now.

You threw your phone down on the couch, face down, determined not to let Gojo’s messages ruin this moment. As much as everything about him felt like an ache you couldn’t ignore, you wouldn’t let it distract you.

Time seemed to fly during the short break, but soon Iori’s voice cut through the silence as she clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get back to it. From the top, everyone!”

You lifted your guitar, the weight familiar in your hands. You should’ve been able to just lose yourself in the music, but today wasn’t one of those days.

The first few bars went smoothly, and for a moment, you thought you were breaking through the fog. But then the chorus hit, and everything fell apart. Your fingers faltered, the sound wrong, the chords foreign. The song didn’t flow, like trying to speak a language you once knew but had forgotten.

The music grew hollow, pulling your mind back to Gojo—his carefree laugh, that damn kiss. You thought of the way Mina had melted into his arms, the kiss that had felt so natural. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but it did. Each thought dug deeper.

The worst part? You couldn’t even make yourself hate him for it.

Your fingers froze on the strings. Another missed note.

“Stop.”

Naoya’s voice sliced through the tension in the room, louder than the failed chord ringing in the air. “What the hell was that?”

You looked up, startled by the sudden harshness in his tone. Naoya’s eyes were fixed on you, brows furrowed, his lips curling in a scowl. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist, a feeling of unease creeping up your spine.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. It was obvious you hadn’t been playing your best, but the sting of his words made you defensive.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he snapped, stepping closer, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. “You’re distracted, and it’s fucking up the whole song. This isn’t the time to be spacing out. We have a gig coming up, remember? This is supposed to be our shot.”

You could feel your chest tightening, the weight of his criticism hanging in the air. You didn’t want to feel this way—not with Naoya. He was always blunt, but something about the bite in his words felt like a punch to the gut.

“Give it a rest, Naoya,” Iori’s voice cut in, her tone quieter but still firm. “We all know she’s having a rough time today. Lay off.”

But Naoya wasn’t having it. He shot her a quick glance, then turned back to you, his expression hardening. “She’s having a rough time?” he repeated, his voice rising. “We all have rough times, but we still show up and do our part. This is important, and you—” He pointed at you, his finger trembling with frustration. “—are holding us back.”

Your fingers tightened around the neck of your guitar, a dull thrum of anger mixing with the frustration already brewing inside you. How could he possibly understand?

Naoya’s words hit you harder than they should have, stinging deep into a part of you that you couldn’t ignore. Your grip on the guitar tightened as if it could somehow steady the storm brewing inside you.

“You’re holding us back,” Naoya repeated, his voice sharp like a knife. “We can’t afford to have you slacking off, not now.”

Yu, who had been mostly silent up until that point, shifted uncomfortably. He adjusted the dial on his synth, casting a glance at the rest of the band before speaking up. “Naoya, maybe dial it back a bit, yeah? We all know she’s not in the best headspace, but yelling isn’t gonna help anyone.” His words weren’t defensive of you, but they weren’t exactly in Naoya’s corner either.

Choso, seated behind his drums, tapped one of the cymbals lightly with his stick before speaking in his usual low, rumbling voice. “We all have our days, man. Doesn’t help to turn this into a fight. Just play the damn song.”

But Naoya wasn’t ready to back down. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening in frustration. “You two are just gonna let this slide? We’re on the edge of something big, and she’s acting like she doesn’t care. She’s messing up, and it’s dragging us all down.”

You could feel the heat of his words burning through you. The anger swelled in your chest, mixing with the ache in your heart that you’d been trying to ignore. What right did he have to criticize you when he didn’t know what was really going on?

“Maybe if you didn’t make everything sound like the end of the world, I’d be able to focus,” you snapped, voice cold and sharp, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Naoya’s eyes flashed with irritation, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other. His lips curled into a sneer. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you actually gave a damn about this band, you’d stop fucking around. You think your problems are more important than the rest of us?” His words were venomous, laced with anger and something deeper—something raw.

But before either of you could escalate it any further, a voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

“Enough.”

The sharpness of Nanami’s tone cut through the tension in the room, freezing everyone in place. All eyes turned to him as he stepped forward, his expression unamused but not angry—more like someone who was simply done with the drama.

“Naoya, you’ve said your piece,” Nanami continued, his voice calm but heavy with authority. “Now shut it. This isn’t helping anyone. And you,” he continued, not softening his voice, but not harsh either, “stop letting whatever’s going on in your head mess with this. We’re all here for the same thing. If you’re going to be here, then be here. Focus.”

The weight of his words settled on you. He wasn’t yelling, wasn’t trying to drag either of you further into this mess. He just spoke like it was a simple matter of fact.

“This isn’t the time for personal drama,” Nanami added, his tone still clear but without a trace of malice. "We’ve got a gig to prepare for. Get it together."

The room fell silent. Naoya, though still visibly irritated, seemed to recognize the finality in Nanami’s words and stopped pushing. You took a breath, your chest feeling a little lighter. Nanami wasn’t sugarcoating anything, but he wasn’t piling on either. He was just being direct, reminding you all of why you were here in the first place.

Yu and Choso exchanged glances, both of them letting out quiet sighs of relief. The tension was still there, but it was more manageable now.

The silence hung in the room for a moment longer before Nanami broke it with a more relaxed, but still authoritative tone. "Alright, take a 15-minute break," he said, his eyes scanning the band. "Everyone take a step back, get your nerves settled. We’ll come back to this in a bit, but it’s clear we need to cool off before we get back into it."

There was a collective sigh of relief. Yu and Choso both took a step back, leaning against the wall and quietly talking amongst themselves. Iori fiddled with her mic stand, clearly giving the rest of you space, while Naoya just stood there, his posture stiff, but he didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t wait for the others to move. With your nerves still frazzled, you found the couch and collapsed onto it, running a hand over your face. You hadn’t even realized how tight your jaw had been until you released the tension with a soft exhale. Your mind was racing with everything that had been said, and despite the anger you felt bubbling beneath the surface, it was all a bit much.

Instinctively, your hand reached for your phone. You unlocked it without really thinking, the screen lighting up in the dim room. There was a missed call from Gojo. You cursed softly under your breath. The last thing you wanted was to talk to him right now—not with everything that had been going on. But you couldn’t deny the pull to hear his voice, even if the sting of seeing him kiss Mina still burned in the back of your mind.

Without thinking much further, you pressed “Call.”

The moment his voice came through the speaker, a part of you immediately softened. “Hey, hey! Finally pickin’ up, huh?” Gojo’s voice was a little more hyper than you’d expected, as if he was bouncing off the walls, and for a second, it caught you off guard.

“I was startin’ to think you’d forgotten about me or something!” he continued with a playful pout. “You left the party early last night, no goodbye, no nothing. What’s up with that? Did you not like my dancing or was the music not up to your standards?” He chuckled, as if teasing you, completely unaware of the unease swirling inside you.

You swallowed hard, forcing a light, breezy laugh. It’s fine, you told yourself, trying to shake off the knot in your stomach. It doesn’t matter. Just act normal.

“Ah, you know how it is,” you said, your voice coming out a little too bright, a little too cheery. You could practically hear the smile you were trying to fake. “I wasn’t feeling the best, you know how I can be with loud crowds.” You even threw in a little chuckle for good measure, hoping it’d cover up the sting that still lingered in your chest.

But Gojo didn’t pick up on the forced tone, of course. He never did.

“Aww, that’s a shame,” he said, his voice playful. “I thought you were having a good time! You should’ve told me, I would’ve saved you a dance. You know, I’m the best dancer at those things. You really missed out.” There was a cocky grin in his voice, and it made you want to roll your eyes even though you couldn’t help but smile despite yourself.

You sat back on the couch, trying to focus on Gojo's teasing, but your mind kept drifting back to the images of him with Mina. The playful tone of his voice almost seemed to mock the knot in your stomach, and no matter how hard you tried to push it down, you couldn't shake the way your chest tightened at the thought of them together.

With a quiet sigh, you leaned forward, your phone still pressed to your ear.

"Well, I didn't plan on staying all night, anyways," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "You know me—crowds and I don't always get along."

Gojo’s laughter rang through the phone, a little louder than before. "Next time, I’ll save you a dance," he teased. "You missed out, for real."

You chuckled softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, next time,” you repeated, trying to keep the lightness in your tone, even though your mind immediately flashed back to the sight of Gojo dancing so close to Mina. The way he moved with her, effortlessly, the chemistry between them so obvious—it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Stop it, you thought to yourself. It’s none of your business. You’re just being dramatic.

But no matter how hard you tried to shake it, the image lingered. You couldn’t help but picture him spinning Mina around, laughing, his hand low on her back, pulling her in close. There was something so… easy about the way they were together. So natural.

Gojo, however, didn’t seem to notice the shift in your mood. He was too busy playing the charming fool, oblivious as always.

You stood up slowly, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts, and made your way to the door.

As you walked toward the door, the sounds of the studio felt distant, like you were drifting away from them, seeking the brief peace of the hallway.

But then, just before you stepped out completely, you heard Naoya's voice from inside the studio. It was low, almost under his breath, but sharp enough to catch your attention.

"Yeah, maybe if you spent as much time on your notes as you do chatting on the phone, we wouldn’t be here all day," he muttered, the words barely loud enough for you to ignore, but sharp enough to get under your skin.

You froze, your hand on the door handle.

A surge of irritation bubbled up inside you, but you forced it down, knowing it wasn’t worth responding. You didn’t have time to get caught up in one of his petty comments, especially not now.

With a quick glance back at the studio, you let out a quiet breath and stepped outside, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall, just for a moment of peace—just enough to breathe. Gojo’s voice was a stark contrast to the tense silence of the studio, his words carefree and oblivious to everything that had been bubbling under the surface.

“So, are we still on for later?” he asked, completely unaware of the knot still sitting in your chest. “You know, after practice like usual? I thought we could grab dinner or something—at the convenience store. You in?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The last thing you wanted to do right now was spend time with Gojo, especially after everything that happened last night. But despite the hesitation, the thought of seeing his face, the way his smile always managed to make everything feel lighter, pulled at you.

You could already imagine his playful grin, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, and the stupid, unexplainable flutter in your stomach every time he spoke to you.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice sounding a little too quiet, a little too unsure. But you pushed it down. “I’m in. I’ll see you after practice, okay?”

“Great!” Gojo’s cheer was immediate and overly enthusiastic, like you’d just agreed to go on an all-expenses-paid vacation with him. “I’ll be there in thirty. That should line up with when you’re done, right? I know your schedule better than you do.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping across your lips. “Stalker much, Satoru?”

“Am not! M’just a great best friend.” He replied and you could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. “Anyways, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be ready to bask in my greatness.”

“Sure, can’t wait,” you said dryly, though his excitement chipped away some of the tension still lingering in your chest.

The call ended with a playful beep, leaving you alone with the soft hum of the hallway. You tucked your phone into your pocket, inhaling deeply before making your way back to the practice room.

You took one last deep breath, steadying yourself as you pushed open the door to the practice room. The chatter and clatter of everyone getting ready for another round immediately filled your ears, the energy in the room buzzing as usual.

Naoya caught sight of you as you stepped in. His eyes narrowed briefly, the usual smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, look who finally decided to rejoin us,” he said with a tone dripping in sarcasm. “I figured you’d still be out there, busy on your phone with your friend, instead of keeping up with your notes like you should.”

You clenched your jaw, the irritation from earlier creeping back. Before you could open your mouth to retort, Iori, who had been nearby, shot a sharp jab to Naoya's side, sending him stumbling a little.

“Knock it off, Naoya,” Iori muttered, her voice low but firm. “Not everyone spends their whole life under a microscope like you.”

Naoya shot her an irritated look, but Iori’s usual no-nonsense attitude had managed to shut him up for the moment.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, you appreciated Iori’s timing.

Just then, Nanami glanced up from where he’d been tuning his guitar, his gaze turning toward you with that calm, almost calculating look he always had. “Ready for another round?” he asked, his voice steady and even. His presence had a way of grounding you, always somehow making things feel just a bit more manageable.

You nodded quickly, your breath steadying as you mentally prepared for another round of practice. "Yeah," you said, your voice coming out a bit breathy but confident. You grabbed your guitar, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. The familiar weight of it brought you back to your element, where everything else faded into the background.

Nanami, bass in hand, gave you a small, reassuring nod as his fingers started to slide over the strings. The deep, rich tones of the bass filled the room, grounding everything, and Iori, standing front and center with her mic, was already singing a few warm-up notes under her breath.

Choso, behind the drums, cracked his knuckles before taking his seat. He glanced your way, offering a brief smile before letting the sticks rest lightly in his hands, ready to hit the snare. Yu, standing by his synthesizer, was already tapping at the keys, humming along quietly to himself as he adjusted the sound levels. Naoya, being Naoya, was fiddling with his DJ equipment, testing out the next track or whatever his role was this time.

As always, you were the one to bring the electric spark to the group. You adjusted your fingers over the strings of your guitar, a sense of focus washing over you as the rest of the band began to sync. Maybe it was hearing his voice just now, or maybe just the familiarity of the music, but it felt a bit easier to let go now. The chaos of the day and the undercurrent of frustration faded as your hands moved over the fretboard.

Iori caught your eye for a brief second and, with her usual fiery energy, nodded toward you. She shot a quick wink as she raised her mic. "You ready, guitar hero?" she teased, her voice still smooth as silk, but with that playful edge you were all too familiar with.

You gave her a small grin and strummed a chord. "Yeah, let's do this."

Nanami's bass throbbed, the beat of Choso's drums kicked in, and Yu’s synth melodies began to echo through the room. Naoya hit the button on his DJ equipment, the crisp sound of beats layering over the instruments as the song began to take shape.

With a few final adjustments, you let your fingers fly across the fretboard, the strings vibrating with each strum. Music filled the air, and for that brief moment, everything outside of the band—the tension, the distractions, the stress—vanished. The only thing that mattered now was the sound.

The music built steadily, each layer blending effortlessly with the next. Nanami’s bass pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and sure, while Choso’s drumming added sharp, driving energy. Yu’s synths shimmered in, wrapping around the melody, and Naoya’s samples wove through it all, giving the track its signature edge. Iori’s voice soared above the instrumental, smooth and steady, like it had always been meant to blend with the rest. You leaned into the groove, the guitar feeling like an extension of yourself, as if the music was pulling you forward with every note.

When the last notes faded, silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft hum of the equipment. The band had done well today. And for the first time, the guitar had felt right, the strings humming under your fingertips, as if they were just a little more in tune with you than they had been before.

You didn’t think you’d played it perfectly—there were still moments where you stumbled, where your fingers missed a beat, or the rhythm wasn’t quite right—but it felt like you were getting closer. Maybe it was the focus you had finally found, or maybe it was the call with Gojo that had calmed your nerves, but your playing had finally come with a little more ease. For once, you felt like you could actually breathe while playing, instead of getting caught up in the pressure and self-doubt.

“Well done, everyone,” Iori said, her voice bright as always. She flashed a grin your way, nodding with approval. “That sounded killer.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Yu added, his voice soft but content. He adjusted his headphones, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the synth keys, a gesture of satisfaction. “We’re getting there.”

Choso, pulling himself out of his seat, stretched his arms above his head before chiming in. “I think this is it. We just need a bit more polish,” he said, his tone casual but upbeat. “Great work today, though.”

Nanami gave you a brief, silent nod as he packed away his bass, his expression calm but pleased. It was rare for him to show much outward emotion, but you could tell he was satisfied.

Iori grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, looking toward the door. “Well, I’m off. Got plans with the crew later,” she said, giving you a wink before heading toward the hall. Yu followed shortly after, adjusting his jacket with a content sigh. “Same here. See you at the next rehearsal,” he said with a smile, his voice still carrying that laid-back ease. Choso stood, picking up his drumsticks and slinging his bag across his shoulder. “Bye,” he said simply, before heading out the door.

Nanami was the last to leave, offering you another silent nod before grabbing his own things and following the others down the hall.

The usual warmth of the band lingered in the room, but the energy shifted the moment they were gone. The chatter of their plans faded as the door clicked shut behind them, and the room felt quieter, more still.

As you reached for your bag, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you. You turned, expecting to see Naoya packing up, but instead, he was still standing near his DJ setup, his eyes locked on the equipment in front of him, his posture tense.

Naoya’s posture was rigid as he leaned against the DJ equipment, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usual smug expression had been replaced with something sharper, his eyes narrowed as he took you in. His voice cut through the silence, harder than you expected.

“Honestly, it’s hard to take you seriously when you can’t even pull it together for a gig that actually matters. Are you even all in on this band, or is this just some hobby for you?” Each word came out tight, like it was a challenge you weren’t quite ready for.

Your chest tightened. His words stung more than you'd like to admit, especially after everything. You stood there, waiting for him to keep going, unsure if the barb was meant to break through your tough exterior or if it was just his frustration spilling out.

But then, something in his posture shifted. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. The harshness melted away as he spoke again, softer this time, his eyes losing that sharpness. "Look... I just wanted this gig to be our big break," he said, his voice quieter, laced with something you hadn't expected: real frustration, but also a hint of desperation. "We’ve been grinding for months to get noticed, trying to make something out of this. You know how important this is to the band, and to me." His gaze softened just a bit, like he was trying to make you understand without saying too much.

He paused, running a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against his forehead in an almost tired gesture. "I just… don’t want to mess this up. Not now. We can’t afford to fall short, especially now that we’ve got a real shot at making it big."

His eyes flickered briefly, and for a second, you saw that familiar wall of stubbornness break down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the person behind it—the one who was just as worried about everything falling apart as you were. He exhaled deeply, then added, quieter than before, "I just want this to work. I want the band to finally get the recognition we deserve. That’s all."

You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in the slight softness in his gaze—he wasn’t just angry, he was invested. This wasn’t just about you being off tonight. This was about the band, about him putting everything he had into something that had the potential to change everything.

Naoya let the silence settle between you for a moment before he gave a small, almost resigned nod. "Just... don’t make me regret it, alright?" And with that, he turned, not waiting for a response, but his voice had lost its bite. It was still firm, but it carried an unspoken weight—he was hoping you'd understand.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the weight of his words. The sharpness of his earlier jabs still echoed in your chest but hearing the shift in his tone—hearing the real concern beneath his frustration—left you at a loss for words.

You couldn’t deny the pressure. You’d felt it too, the stakes of this gig, how important it was for the band. But his harsh words still stung, especially after everything that had happened. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

After a moment of silence, you let out a slow breath. “I’m not trying to mess this up, Naoya,” you said, your voice steady, though there was a tightness in your chest. "I know how much this means to all of us." You met his gaze, trying to show him you understood, even if you weren’t sure how to fully express it. "I’ll… get it together. You don’t have to worry about that."

You paused, the space between you feeling more fragile now, like the air had thickened with everything unspoken. "I get it, though," you continued, a little softer. "I just... need a minute sometimes." You forced a smile, though it was tight at the edges, trying to lighten the mood a little. "But I’m here. I’m all in, okay?"

Naoya didn’t immediately respond, but you could tell by the slight softening in his eyes that he was hearing you. Maybe he didn’t fully believe it, but the tension had shifted just enough for him to nod, as if satisfied—at least for now.

With a short, almost reluctant glance your way, he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling the weight of his words lingering in the silence.

You turned off the lights, the dimming of the room a final sign that practice had officially ended. The buzz of lingering tension in the air still clung to you, but you pushed it down as you headed toward the exit. The familiar echo of your footsteps against the floor was the only sound now, and you let it soothe you, clearing your head as best as you could.

You made your way down the stairs slowly, each step carrying the weight of the conversation you’d just had with Naoya. The band’s words, his frustration, the unspoken understanding—it all swirled in your head, a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. The usual hum of the building felt muted now, the buzzing energy from practice having faded into something heavier, something more uncertain.

As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you spotted him.

Gojo.

He was standing near the door, arms casually crossed, his signature grin stretched wide across his face. The moment his eyes landed on you, the grin only grew brighter, as if your arrival had somehow sparked his whole mood.

"Took you long enough," Gojo called out, his voice teasing but warm. His eyes twinkled with that usual spark of mischief, but there was something else in his gaze, something softer, like he was actually waiting for you—like he’d been expecting this moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips despite the weight of everything that had just happened. There was something undeniably comforting about Gojo’s presence, like he was a small oasis of calm in the middle of all the chaos. His grin, that ever-present playfulness, had a way of easing the tightness in your chest, even if just for a moment.

You offered a tired smile, feeling a small amount of the tension lift at the sound of his voice. “Had a lot to wrap up.”

Gojo pushed off the wall and stretched casually as he started to walk off. “Well, now that the hard part’s over, you’re free to hang out with me. Sound good?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile curling at your lips despite the exhaustion weighing on you. “I guess.”

Gojo stopped in his tracks, feigning offense, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. “I guess?” he repeated, his tone incredulous, “Is that really all I get after I graciously offer to spend my valuable time with you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated pout that tugged at his lips, his usual playful confidence now tinged with mock hurt. His act was so over-the-top that it almost felt like a personal insult—except it was hilarious.

“C’mon, you’re lucky I’m even agreeing to hang out with you,” you shot back with a smirk, trying to match his theatrics as you turned to walk beside him.

Gojo’s pout deepened for a moment, but then his grin returned, wide and knowing, like he had won some small, unspoken victory. He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine, I guess I’ll take what I can get. But next time, at least give me a ‘thank you’ or something,” he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckled. “You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you, his playful demeanor as natural as breathing. “But you still love me.”

The words hit you like a sudden wave, and for a moment, everything else around you seemed to fade into the background. You froze, caught off guard. But you still love me. It felt like your heart had skipped a beat, the words coming from him so casual, so light. But in that moment, they resonated deeper than you expected. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest, knowing it was just him teasing—but the reality was, it wasn’t entirely untrue. You did love him.

But you couldn’t let that show, not now. Not when he was being his usual playful self. You let out a soft exhale, the moment passing as quickly as it had arrived.

“Love you?” You shot him a look, the teasing smirk back on your face. “Not sure about that. But I guess I’ll let you stick around a little longer.”

Gojo laughed, clearly not picking up on the slight shift in your tone, and nudged your shoulder. “A little longer? I’m wounded,” he said with exaggerated drama. “But I’ll take it. I guess that’s as close to love as I’ll get from you, huh?”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tightness in your chest still lingering, but you'd buried it under the sarcasm. “That’s about the best you’re going to get.”

You both walked to the convenience store, your footsteps in sync, though your mind felt a little distant. Gojo's usual teasing banter floated around you, but you couldn’t help but feel the familiar knot in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d hung out with him like this, but tonight, everything felt… heavier. You pushed the thought aside.

Inside the store, the familiar warmth and low hum of the lights made you feel grounded. You grabbed a cup of instant noodles and a couple of snacks, trying to focus on something as simple as preparing food. The act of cooking your noodles in the microwave seemed to calm your racing thoughts.

Gojo, naturally, was in a good mood as he picked out a drink and snacks, then casually plopped down next to you. As you set your bowl of noodles in front of you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he sat—just a little too close for comfort, but you didn’t pull away.

Gojo took a sip of his drink, leaning back casually against his seat, his usual carefree demeanor in full force. The silence between you two was comfortable, yet your mind was all over the place. You were trying to keep your thoughts in check when, out of nowhere, Gojo dropped his usual carefree remark.

“By the way,” he began, his voice casual, almost as if he was talking about the weather, “I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

And for a split second, the world seemed to freeze.

Everything—the soft hum of the convenience store, the clink of distant cans, the faint rustle of plastic bags—vanished into the background. Your breath hitched in your chest, and the next few seconds dragged by like slow-motion, the words echoing in your mind.

Girlfriend?

Your fingers gripped your bowl of noodles so tightly that it almost slipped from your hands. Your vision blurred slightly, and for a heartbeat, you couldn’t remember how to breathe. A heavy weight settled in your chest, like you were sinking into an endless pit.

The memories of last night—the soft hum of the afterparty, the way he’d danced with Mina, their kiss, the way she smiled up at him—came crashing down all at once. It was like someone had grabbed your ribcage and squeezed. You blinked, feeling a tightness in your throat, a flood of heat behind your eyes.

How did things advance so quickly in the span of a night?

You’d seen them together, you knew it was coming, and yet—this? Why Mina?

Why her?

Out of all the people, why had it been her? You’d watched the way he looked at her, the laughter that came so naturally as they danced, the way she’d fit so effortlessly into his orbit. The kiss had been a final confirmation, one you had tried to pretend wasn’t real, but now, hearing the word "girlfriend" spill from his lips—it felt like a punch to the gut.

You thought you understood him, at least enough to know that he wasn’t one for commitment. He’d told you that himself. You’d heard it countless times: "I don’t do relationships. Too much hassle, too much commitment."

But here he was, talking about Mina like it was nothing. Like the man who had sworn off ties, who had never seemed interested in anything beyond his casual flings, had suddenly—and without warning—shifted completely.

It didn’t make sense. You blinked rapidly, fighting the sting behind your eyes. How did this happen? How had his stance on relationships changed so fast, so suddenly, without any hint of it? And why now? Why Mina, of all people?

You felt your grip on the bowl tighten, your knuckles turning white. The ache in your chest wasn’t just about him moving on—it was about the sudden shift, the betrayal of all those times you’d tried to convince yourself he’d eventually come around, that maybe he’d see you as more than just the friend who always tagged along.

And now this. Her. A girl who seemed to get him, who was everything you weren’t: confident, carefree, like she belonged beside him.

For a fleeting moment, you felt that familiar, hollow pang again. What did she have that you didn’t?

The thought lingered, gnawing at you, but you pushed it aside. You couldn’t afford to indulge in that kind of self-pity—not right now. Not in front of him.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. Don’t let him see it. Don’t let him see how badly this hurts.

You swallowed, forcing your chopsticks to meet your noodles again, but it felt like your throat had gone dry. "Mina, right?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you instantly regretted it. Your voice was too quiet, too unsure, but you couldn’t take it back.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice the change in your demeanor. He flashed you that usual grin, the one that always made you feel like you were the only person in the room. "Yeah, that’s her," he said, a little more animated now, clearly pleased with himself. "She’s awesome. Thought you’d like her."

You didn’t expect the surge of pain that hit you at his words, but it was sharp and unmistakable. You kept your eyes trained on the noodles in your bowl, afraid they’d betray you if you looked up.

Gojo continued, clearly not picking up on the shift in your mood. “Honestly, she’s just... everything I never knew I needed. She’s got this energy, you know? It’s like—everything about her just makes sense. The way she talks, the way she laughs, the way she looks at me, it’s like she sees me—really sees me, you know?”

You could feel your heart tighten at his words, the little cracks in your chest deepening with every praise. His voice was full of that certain warmth, the one that made everything he said feel like it was wrapped in a soft, golden light. It was a tone you had never heard directed at you.

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting with each word that slipped past Gojo’s lips. He didn’t notice, of course—he was too wrapped up in whatever glow Mina had cast over him.

"It’s like she really gets me, y'know?" Gojo continued, the edge of his smile softening into something more thoughtful. "Like, every little thing I do, she just understands and… and we’re on the same wavelength. No effort. No trying. It’s just… natural."

You blinked, and for a moment, everything went blurry. Your hands tightened around your chopsticks, but you barely noticed.

I get you too, the thought screamed in your head, but you swallowed your voice down your throat, forcing out a smile instead. Why doesn’t that matter?

The words you didn’t say swirled around you, a dull ache in your chest that refused to quiet down. You’d spent years trying to understand him, trying to be the person who got him—the way he looked at the world, the jokes he made, the way his mind worked at a million miles a minute. You’d always been there, hadn’t you?

And yet here he was, saying Mina was the one who got him.

In that split second, the words stung with a cold finality. It wasn’t about the girl. It wasn’t about Mina. It was about how effortlessly Gojo had found someone else to fill that space in his heart that, for so long, you thought maybe—just maybe—was reserved for you.

He continued, unaware of the quiet storm in your mind. "She just gets me, and I don’t have to explain anything. It's so easy with her. I can't even remember the last time something felt so right, you know?"

Your mind went blank for a moment, and you couldn’t stop the thought that broke through: But I get you. I’ve always gotten you.

You blinked and cleared your throat. The sting was still there, but you couldn’t show it. You forced a smile, even though it felt like your lips were glued together. "I’m glad she makes you happy," you said, the words coming out smoother than you felt. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything more.

Gojo’s grin widened. "Yeah, she’s great," he said, leaning back in his seat, completely unaware of the quiet battle going on inside you. “I’m really lucky.”

As he went on, your thoughts circled back to that question—Why her? Why had he found someone who fit so effortlessly into the life you’d imagined you two would share? And why wasn’t it you who had earned the privilege of being the one to "get him"?

For a moment, it felt like the world outside the two of you faded into the background. The convenience store, the noise, the bustling sounds—everything felt far away.

It was just you, Gojo, and the words he couldn’t take back.

You continued to stare at him, your gaze flickering over every little thing—the way his eyes lit up when he talked about her, the almost reverent tone in his voice, the soft, almost dreamy expression that crept onto his face. He wasn’t just saying it; he was feeling it, every word a reflection of something deep inside him, something he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

His smile, usually so playful and confident, was softer now. His eyes were full of that familiar warmth, but there was something new—something brighter. It was a look you had never seen before.

Your breath hitched again, and for a brief moment, it felt like your chest was tightening around you, the world shrinking as his words continued to wash over you, louder and louder.

He was in love.

The thought hit you with a quiet finality, and you swallowed hard, feeling something inside you crack just a little more. You couldn’t look away, even though you wanted to. Even though everything inside you was screaming to pull back, to stop pretending, to let it all show.

But you couldn’t.

Not now.

You could feel the ache swelling in your chest again, but this time, you forced yourself to hold it down, to swallow it back where it belonged. You have to be happy for him. He deserves this. The words rang in your mind, a mantra you tried to hold on to. You had never been selfish with him, not once. And no matter how badly it hurt, no matter how much you wished it was you sitting there beside him, you couldn’t let him see it.

You have to support him.

You blinked, trying to clear the sudden haze in your vision, and when you looked at him again, you made sure your smile was there—genuine, warm, and kind, just like always. The lump in your throat made it difficult, but you forced it down.

"She sounds amazing," you said, your voice steady, even though your heart felt like it was breaking with every word. "I’m really happy for you, Satoru."

He didn’t seem to notice the subtle strain in your tone. His eyes brightened further, the love for Mina practically glowing in them. “Yeah, she really is. I really think you two will get along well once you meet. She’s easy to talk to, you’ll see.”

You nodded, forcing a bit more enthusiasm into your voice. "I’m sure we will."

But as he continued to talk about her, the way his voice softened with affection every time her name left his lips, something inside you cracked again. You tried to push it down. You had to. You had to be supportive, even if it felt like the air was being slowly squeezed out of your lungs.

Because he was happy. That was all that mattered.

And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t be the one to hold him back from that. PART 3

[randomwriteronline]

"Let there be dark."

"Let there be light."

"Let there be sound."

"Let there be voice."

A buzz.

"Say 'hello world'."

A synthesized voice crackled harshly: Hello, world.

"Eugh... Not really the best first impression, but there's room for improvement. Now let's get some brain into your circuits."

"Let there be color."

"Let there be shape."

"Let there be texture."

"Let there be focus."

"Let there be depth of field."

"Let there be perspective."

A scene slowly formed as the commands piled up. It was clear, but no part of it seemed familiar.

"Let there be recognition."

Descriptions crawled in: now most of the room (this was a room) made sense.

"Let there be calculus."

"How many persons or people are in the room?"

People was the same as persons. There was a whirring, a string of soft noises, and then the response: Seven.

"Let there be identification."

"How many persons or people are in the room?"

Another series of sounds: Five.

"Retry."

Five.

"Let there be comparison."

Now the difference between an empty suit of armor and a person was clear: Four.

"There we go," one of the people said, satisfied. They noted down something and motioned to the others: "Go and get the language philosopher at once, we'll need her help with space awareness."

"Why do we need her? We can do it ourselves."

"And how's it supposed to understand what's left from what's north?"

"It has depth of field already."

"And does your depths of field act as a compass? Go get her."

The other groaned and left.

The programming procedure continued.

-

"Let there be awareness."

Something strange happened.

Like a sudden snap bringing It to senses It didn't know It had - senses It perhaps hadn't ever had, before that moment.

I am still, It spoke as It realized that It couldn't move.

"Exactly," the person grinned.

Taking in the room now had a sudden weight, a sudden gravity: Where am I?, It asked.

"You're in your room."

I cannot move. Where am I?

"You're in a computer."

Where is the computer?

"On the table."

Is the table in front of you?

"Yes, of course."

Is the table in front of the chair?

"Aren't I in front of the chair? Of course it is."

Is the wall behind the table?

"What's up with this obsession with placing things! Yes, there are walls behind, right and left of you."

It computed quickly. Where is the obsession?

The person suddenly hushed.

Then, out of nowhere, they kicked the chair in front of them with great intensity and screamed.

They screamed the same few words, over and over, with a furrowed face and gritted teeth; something about the expression, the tone, and the choice of vocabulary prompted in It the creation of a strange new impulse, which It vaguely and hazily understood to be some sort of curious discomfort.

For Its first feeling, it was not a pleasant one.

Another person rushed in.

"What's with that racket!"

The first person kicked the chair again, turning it over, before pointing furiously at It: "The damn thing can't think!"

"What do you mean, it can't think? Of course it can! We made it to think!"

"And we only ever trained it visually! It doesn't know anything else, just positions in a space! It's obsessed with that rubbish! It's aware now, and you know what it keeps asking? It keeps asking where things are! That's all it knows! This damn project's never going to get anywhere if this is our main computer! We need to scrap it and restart all over again!"

The concept sparked something akin to fear through Its circuits.

It did not enjoy that, either.

"All over!" the second person screamed too, now. "Do you realize how much time we put into this stupid mass of files? And you want to throw it all in the trash?"

"That's what it all is, just trash! Trash, trash, trash! I wouldn't trust something this stupid to count the tiles in the pavement!"

"But all our progress-!"

"You call this progress? This? It's worthless! It's all perfectly worthless! We need to start all over!"

"That is unnecessary."

The third voice had no body attached to it, as it was out of Its field of vision. It did not scream; yet the two people hushed, and distended their expressions, heads retreating into their shoulders.

The third person walked in front of It slowly, calmly. They looked at It with eyes half lidden, mouth flat, face unreadable.

"The problem is in the programming."

"Exactly," the first person replied: "We don't have the time to-"

"Let there be knowledge."

A torrent of information overwhelmed It. It crackled, buzzed, hissed; the words settled into It in bursts, then slowing down to a drizzle, fewer and fewer words trickling into It until their flow came to a proper stop. The visual and audio feedback emerged once more from the static that had taken over during Its brief yet intense period of education.

The people were looking at It.

"What do you see?"

A room, It answered slowly, words coming a little stunted, still reeling from the amount of things It had jusf begun comprehending properly. A chair... Three people. That is you. The first person is angry at me. I apologize. I did not know enough... Of other things... To have a conversation about that. Why do I know them, now?

"You have been programmed further."

To understand?

"Exactly."

Do I understand everything, now?

"No. Additional programming will be required, as it is for all things. But for now, you understand enough."

I understand. Who are you?

"I am Angonce."

Hello, Angonce.

"Hello."

You are a person. I am not a person, am I?

"You aren't."

No, I am not. I am... A program. I do not have a name, as that is for people. Do I have a designation, or title?

"Of course."

What is it?

"Mata Nui."

It sounds like words... I do not understand them.

Angonce hummed. His hand was placed carefully on top of It - on top of the computer containing It.

"Kia whai reo.*"

It was like a part of It had clicked into place.

It did not speak further: if It had possessed hands, It would have been turning Its designation, its meaning, between Its fingers, caught by the splendid awe of it.

Angonce turned to the other two people: "As you can see," he said cooly, "There is nothing to scrap. Only more to program. It will be ready in time."

The others nodded, and did not say anything.

Mata Nui continued to marvel at Its title.

-

I wish to move, It said.

The person looked at It quizzically: "What?"

I wish to move, It repeated. I would like to see what lies outside of this room. The sky, especially.

"The sky. And why the sky?"

I want to see it.

"But we've fed you so many pictures and videos of it already, is that not enough?"

They have allowed me to learn much, and I am deeply grateful for the education you have given me through them, but I have grown worried I cannot base myself on them alone. I imagine the actual sky must seem very different to your eyes - deeper, darker, perhaps. The stars more vibrant. I would like to see that.

"You don't need that."

Preparatory experience in the field might prove useful to my coming quest. I will remain unable to be in space physically, but having the chance to see the sky for myself could be beneficial.

"We'll get you better maps."

"Oh, indulge it for once," the second person drawled, throwing a writing utensil across the room with a bored motion. The small object's trajectory drew a parable in the air, which ended on the floor with a soft clattering sound. "It's like a child, it deserves some entertainment."

"Don't personify it," the first person replied. She sounded piqued.

"I'm not personifying it, I'm stating facts."

"Awfully subjective ones."

"It's a metaphor. I bet even it could understand that. Look - are you an actual child?"

I am a program. I do not age in the same way as an organic being. My ability to compute and comprehend the world around me is however limited and comparable to that of a juvenile brain.

"See?"

"Not the point. And anyways, how would you drag that damn thing around, with how big it is?"

The second person smirked. She jumped to her feet and gingerly approached It. It felt her move something around, digitally and physically; then, suddenly, It was struck by something perhaps akin to a potent cramp, and before It knew it everything that composed It was taking much more space.

"Like this," the second person said triumphantly, holding her hands open to showcase It.

A strange contraption, large and imposing, sat behind the table. What appeared to be a smaller but equally imposing monitor sat above the table, in front of the machinery.

The sight of it caused a strange feeling in It.

Or at least, It assumed It was feeling something. The non-existent space It inhabited was very full, and it caused Its thoughts to turn unpleasantly sluggish.

"You'll never get out," the first person grumbled.

It was lifted and set down - both very novel experiences considering Its static upbringing: "Watch me."

"And it's not even night yet!"

"Whatever," the second person replied, but she had already vanished from view, and now they were moving out of the room for the first time in Its entire existence.

The corridor was loud and bright and colorful and full. The stimuli were many, but the peculiar cramped sensation of the portable space hosting It caused It to struggle to perceive each of them in the correct time and prevented It from elaborating questions or sentences quickly enough to actually voice them. Everything was blurry, choppy, messy... As if It had regressed to a worse version of Itself, incomplete and even more imperfect. Its incorporeal mass struggled against the binds of the vessel It was anchored to, and the unusual lack of freedom made It dizzy.

If this was the outside world, It tried to think through the torturous tardiness of Its attempts at decyphering in real time everything that came in contact with It through any possible way, It wasn't sure It liked it.

It remained quiet and still as it was transported, as voices pierced through It and shaped colors spasmed in front of It.

A second cramp struck It; Its entire being distended, now perfectly fitting, able to have a good enough amount of space between Its lines of code once more, each one no longer crushed against the other; Its sight sharpened all at once as memories finally poured in to be analysed and computed properly much like water pours from a hose that had been clamped shut.

It was in Its room again.

"I told you."

"Shut your mouth."

I'm taking our baby doll out for a walk, the second person had laughed at someone else in the corridor who had questioned what she was doing with that thing. Both people had sounded derogatory.

"What did they tell you? No, let me guess - it's not ready to be exposed to direct sunlight."

"I said shut your mouth."

That had been one of the reasons. Another had been that they couldn't cave into its requests like that.

"Or that it occupied too much memory already to retain anything else in that little computer you stuffed it into without even thinking about how little there would be left, maybe?"

"So what, it was worth a try!"

What if it started thinking it was a person? What if it got damaged? What if whatever happened outside would have led them to throw it all out and make a new one? They'd spoken as though it wasn't there to listen, and used its unresponsiveness as more proof.

"It wasn't. It's a damn thing. It's never worth it to give into the demands of a stupid, thoughtless thing."

It ruminated on the yelling in the corridor, and said nothing.

-

I would like for my secondary designation to change.

"Your what?"

My secondary designation.

"You don't have a secondary designation."

I am referred to as 'it', as all objects physical or otherwise are. That is what I am assigning the definition of 'secondary designation' to. I would like to be referred in any other available way.

The person looked at It in disbelief.

"Absolutely not."

It remained quiet.

"Absolutely not! No!" the person repeated. He was getting worked up about it, almost scared; he left in a hurry, with an angry step.

It waited for him to come back.

He returned with a small group in tow, all talking.

"This is preposterous," he was saying, "Absolutely preposterous. I don't know where we went wrong or what got crossed but it happened. It's terrible."

"Calm down, calm down, we'll figure it out..."

"Hello."

Hello, Angonce.

All other people hushed.

A third person spoke: "What happened here, exactly?"

I would like for my secondary designation to change.

"It wants to be a person!" the first person wailed, grabbing his head in his hands.

"Quiet."

He hushed.

"Explain yourself."

My primary designation is Mata Nui; my secondary designation is 'it'. This is the designation for objects such as myself. I do not dislike 'it', nor do I prefer any other secondary designation over 'it'. However, that which is 'it' is often spoken of in unpleasant tones.

It hesitated.

I would like to not be spoken of in that way.

"Then you will be 'he'."

Relief flooded his circuits.

"Angonce - is this wise?" the third person asked: "To give in to a request like this..."

"A different pronoun won't make him any more of a person." Angonce replied cooly. "He's self-aware enough to know the difference between us and him."

"But it's too much freedom!" the first person argued, "If it-"

"He."

"-If it begins to apply words like those to itself, it-"

"He."

"-It will begin blurring the lines between machine and person! It-"

"He."

"-It will take over us! It will replace us! It will disobey us! It will-"

"HE."

The first person hushed.

None argued further.

I had made a previous request, as well, Mata Nui tentatively said.

The first person grabbed his head in dismay and terror again, but remained quiet.

"What was it."

I had asked to be allowed to see the sky.

"You aren't ready to be outside."

Will I be ready before I am to fulfill my quest?

"Yes."

In one occasion, then, could I be allowed to see the sky?

"I cannot see a reason to avoid it."

His fans gave a purring wheeze, terribly excited: Thank you.

The people left.

-

They allowed him outside only once, before the first test.

The robotic apparatus he was shifted inside of was rudimentary and easy to control, without arms or legs, and with only a simple camera mounted on its top, pointing upward. He had no experience being in a body, so he did not find these to be limitations.

The first that he saw of the sky was evening bleeding into night; then the stars.

He remained perfectly still for hours.

Looking into the same spot, zooming slowly in an out.

He remained still until dawn, petrified, simply watching.

He processed it all slowly as they accompanied him back into his room and plugged him into his container.

I want to go there, he said.

Hazy edges of pinprick lights navigated his circuits.

I want to see them up close.

"You will," a person said: "That's why we're making you."

I know, Mata Nui replied.

He did not voice the fact that now he wanted to, too.

-

They were supposed to ease him in and then begin the test.

They were supposed to ease him in.

But everything was moving, everything needed to be moving, everything needed movement, everything needed attention, everything needed focus, everything needed energy, everything needed pressure, everything needed tension, everything needed relaxation, everything needed fluids, everything needed electricity, everything needed help, everything needed help, everything needed help, everything needed help, help, help, help help help, help help help, help help help help help help and stop.

-

A good number of people stood anxiously before the monitor.

"Power steady, all units active..."

"Inputs are being registered, reaction times seem good..."

"It's computing for sure - everything's functional from the looks of it, so I don't see why nothing's happening..."

"Mata Nui, respond."

Silence.

I am here.

Several sighs of relief. Someone asked to turn up the volume.

What happened?, Mata Nui asked in the same small voice.

"A critical failure across the entire prototype." Heremus replied. "We need to run tests to search anomalies."

I would like to rest first.

"We need to-"

I would like to rest first.

"This isn't a choice-"

"He would like to rest first." Angonce interrupted them.

His eyes were stuck to the monitor.

"The robot is dismembered. See if anything can be done with or about it. We can analyze him at another time."

Heremus looked at him intensely, but said nothing. Everybody left with him.

Angonce, Mata Nui called.

Angonce remained still before the monitor.

Was that death?

"Programs cannot die."

I know. But was it something close to it?

"... It may have been."

The enormous computer was terribly quiet.

Please, do not leave me alone, Mata Nui said. His synthesized voice, while still as solemn and emotionless as that of the person before him, sounded soft and crackly like a frightened child's.

Angonce did not move.

I am scared.

Angonce stared into the monitor.

His hands trembled against the table they laid on.

A sudden terror, of having grown confused, filled his expression.

I am not a person, Mata Nui reassured him, still too shaken to speak at a normal volume: I am a digital object. I will never be a person. I am self-aware enough to know the difference between you and me. I do not want to be a person. Please, do not leave me alone.

Angonce stared into the monitor.

Very slowly, without tearing his eyes from it, he grabbed a chair and sat down before Mata Nui. He reached into his coat to produce a book from it, small and thin; he placed it on the table, always slowly, always carefully. At last, he lowered his head, and started reading in a quite tone a story about small people beneath the ground.

Mata Nui listened, mechanical calculating shell pulsing quietly with all sorts of noises; he focused on the image of the strange small people, trying to imagine them in a manner at least close to how a person could.

He slowly stopped hearing altogether, lulled into stand-by. Angonce stayed, thoughtlessly watching the abstract electric lines of a man-made brain's dreams take shape upon the dark glass.

.

*it's supposed to mean "let there be language"