The scratching of pencils against paper was the only sound in the Studio for the next hour. Writing a song was one thing, but writing a piece of one's soul was proving to be an exhausting endeavor. Haru stared at the word Peace until the letters began to blur.
How did one translate the feeling of a dragon's scales and the clouds into a pop melody?
A shadow fell across the page. Haru instinctively moved his hand to cover the tiny script, his heart skipping a beat.
Haru looked up, meeting Aoki's gaze. For a split second, the professional distance between them wavered. Haru saw the dragon's ember-glow deep in Aoki's eyes, and he wondered if Aoki could see the reflection of the clouds in his own.
"I don't have any good ideas..." Haru whispered, so softly that even Ren, sitting two feet away, couldn't hear.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the edge of Haru's notebook. "Stay behind after the others leave."
Haru nodded, with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.
When the clock struck nine, the rest of the group gathered their belongings.
"My brain is fried," Daiki groaned, stretching his arms until his joints popped. "I'm going to go eat my weight in convenience store kimbap. You coming, Haru?"
"I have other things to do." Haru said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.
Ren shot Haru a knowing, feline smirk, winking broadly as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "Don't work too hard."
Ryu, who had popped his head in to walk back with Ren, let out a muffled snicker. Shiro simply adjusted his beanie and gave Haru a lingering, contemplative look before following the others out.
The door clicked shut, leaving the studio suddenly, overwhelmingly quiet.
Aoki didn't move from the piano bench where he had seated himself. He played a soft, melancholy chord that hung in the air like mist. "They're starting to notice."
Haru walked over, sitting on the edge of the stage near the piano. "Ren and Ryu? They're just teasing. They don't know about... last night."
"They can see you looking at me differently." Aoki said, turning to look straight at Harus amethyst eyes. "They know I look at you differently too."
Haru didnt know where to put hands as he shuffled "Um.."
Aoki stood up, closing the distance between them in three long strides. He stopped right in front of Haru, his presence towering but no longer intimidating. He reached out, his hand finally finding its way to the top of Haru's head, his long fingers gently stroking through his hair.
"I am trying to be a mentor," Aoki murmured, his voice dropping the professional mask entirely. "But every time I look at you, I remember last night and.. It makes it very difficult to talk about chord progressions and media training when I am left wondering if you are starting to like me just a bit more."
Haru leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. "I keep thinking about it, too. I can't focus. Every time I try to write a lyric, it just turns into... you."
Aoki's felt his heart warm at Haru's indirect confession his hand slipped down to cup Haru's cheek. His thumb traced the line of Haru's jaw, the touch warm and slightly rough. " You've found a piece of yourself that feels safe with me. Now you have to decide if you're brave enough to sing about that peace without naming it."
Haru opened his eyes. "You mean... sing about the feeling of being with you?"
"Sing about the feeling of being understood," Aoki corrected softly. "The audience doesn't need to know it's a dragon and a rabbit. They only need to feel the peace of two souls finding a home in each other."
He leaned down, his face inches from Haru's. "Now, show me what you wrote."
Haru blushed furiously but opened his notebook, revealing the tiny, cramped script: The sky
Aoki read the words, and a genuine, rare smile broke across his face—the kind of smile that had once made millions of fans scream, but now it was only for Haru.
"...Its a starting point" Aoki whispered not wanting to diminish the little words Haru had wrote. "Let's include this into the song."
They spent the next hour actually working, their heads bent together over the manuscript paper. For the first time, Haru didn't feel like he was performing. And as he watched Aoki's profile under the harsh fluorescent lights, he realized that "Homecoming" wasn't about the countryside cottage or the rolling fields.
Home was right here, in a cold practice room, with a dragon who made Haru feel warm.