Officially, the school wasn't open yet.
But unofficially, the music wing never locked properly… and the teachers knew you'd be in there anyway.
The room was empty. Soft light from the eastern windows spilled over the risers. You plugged your phone into the dusty speaker port in the back and queued up your next track.
This one was slower. An older Vocaloid song, haunting and theatrical.
You adjusted the volume just enough not to carry outside, but loud enough for your voice to feel anchored.
And then… you sang.
Not to anyone. Not for anyone.
Just because singing made time real again.
You layered soft harmonies behind the melody, adjusting your phrasing in real time to match your mood. Not quite melancholy. Not quite content.
Just you.
You didn't hear the door open.
"You're seriously doing karaoke again?" came a voice: surprised, amused, not unkind.
You turned slightly.
Miki. Or maybe Mika. You always swapped those two in your head.
She walked in, bag slung low, half-awake but curious.
"Only when no one else is listening," you said.
"You're the only person I know who gets to school before sunrise on purpose."
"You're the only person I know who shows up when I do."
That earned a grin.
"Touché."
She pulled out her math homework and sat in the back. You went back to singing—but softer now. Harmonizing with your own echo. Letting the room hold both of you like a secret.