The laundry basket wasn't heavy, just awkwardly shaped.
Plastic handles biting into my forearms, socks threatening to spill over the top with every step. The kind of load that looked manageable until you carried it three blocks and it started to feel like you were dragging the whole week behind you.
The sun had already dipped behind the buildings, and Tokyo's sky was smeared with that dull gray-violet hue. Not quite night, not really evening either. Like the whole city was waiting for the day to officially end, but no one wanted to call it. Streetlights flickered to life in staggered intervals, casting dull halos on the pavement. The breeze wasn't cold, but it carried that kind of leftover chill that made you realize just how fast a week had gone by.
And what a week it had been.
I adjusted the basket, arms aching a little, and let the silence between my thoughts stretch out.
When I first thought of making a club, I was kinda just hoping to get lucky, maybe find one person who liked what I liked.
I wasn't planning for a crowd.
But somehow, I ended up surrounded by a whirlwind of people I didn't expect. A sharp-tongued honor student who made silence feel like conversation, the School's Student Council President who burns bright and refuses to play anything safe, and Naru…
Naru, who barged in like a storm and never really left. Loud, unpredictable, impossible to pin down, but for some reason, I didn't mind. Or maybe it's the way she makes every problem seem just small enough to laugh about.
The party was a mess. Chaotic, unfiltered, full of arguments and weird inside jokes I didn't always understand. I couldn't tell if it was working or if we were all just holding it together out of stubbornness.
But we hadn't fallen apart.
Yet.
I rounded the corner, the quiet hum of machines hitting before the neon did. A sign buzzed lazily above the laundromat door, its katakana peeling slightly at the corners. The light from inside spilled across the sidewalk like warm soda: faintly sticky and too yellow to be comforting.
The laundromat smelled like soap and static. One light near the far dryer flickered in and out, casting sharp shadows across the floor. The low hum of spinning washers filled the room, interrupted now and then by a sudden clunk or groan like the whole place was exhaling.
Someone had left a half-full detergent cup on the folding bench, and I couldn't tell if it was fresh or fossilised.
I dropped the basket beside the nearest open unit and stared at it for a second.
Not sure what I expected. Maybe for it to sort itself out. I reached in and started peeling shirts away from each other. My hands moved on autopilot, but my brain refused to stop picking at everything else.
If I could talk to myself from a week ago, I'd say: you did it.
Not only did you build a club, you found three people who actually care about your game.
And the kicker? They're not just club members.
They're… something else entirely.
They're all… beautiful.
Not just in how they look though… yeah, that's definitely part of it but in the way they are.
Each of them stands out in their own way. One speaks like she's carving her words in stone, one moves like every sentence is a song, and one just storms across the page like she owns it.
Being around them feels like reading a book you weren't ready for. Except every word is underlined, italicised, or bold.
No lines left normal.
I don't think I've had a full, uninterrupted thought since I accidentally offered my toothbrush to Rika. The day it all started.
I keep telling myself I'm cruising. That I've got this. But the truth is… I wasn't prepared.
Not for the conversations. Not for the silences.
Not for how loud it all feels when you actually start to care.
I built this world so people could come in and play.
I didn't think I'd get attached to the players.
And now, every time they laugh, or bicker, or just show up, it hits harder than I know what to do with.
It's like I got everything I wanted…
But somehow, it feels like I'm stuck in this endless loop of trying to hold myself together while being around them.
Not because they're doing anything wrong.
It's just… it's like… imagine being someone who never knew the right words to say to anyone, so they just kept to themselves their whole life.
Now imagine that same person being hurled into the role of the main character of an overused anime slice-of-life plotline.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
And even with everything spinning… the thought of losing it, these feelings I'm still trying to figure out… scares me more than I want to admit.
The showcase is in five days.
And we haven't really started preparing.
We had a plan, sure. The kind that sounds simple when you're riding the high of a good day. Just do what we always do, but on stage. Same characters. Same story. Just… in front of everyone.
But there's this worry.
Quiet, persistent, like holding something delicate and knowing you might drop it.
That maybe it won't work out.
And if it doesn't… what then?
"You're not actually gonna cry at a coin laundry, are you?"
I sighed. I really should stop ignoring her.
"You really should stop ignoring me," she said, not even looking up from where she was flicking lint off her hoodie.
"I'm sorry, I just… you had your earphones in."
"Yeah, because you've looked emotionally constipated since we left the apartment."
I let her words hang in the air for a bit.
"Yeah…" I exhaled.
She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, quit it, will you? For once, can I not find you in crisis? You're not the only one with shit going on."
"Okay, okay… I'm sorry. You're right. I was being selfish," I said, raising my hands slightly. "How was your week?"
She blinked. "Ew. I did not give you permission to act like a stranger."
"Noted."
"Anyway," she said, sighing, "the same guy asked me out again."
"The guy in your class? Top knot, or the one with tape on his glasses?"
"Glasses."
"So… did you say yes?"
"I doubt he'd take no for an answer again, so I gave him a shot."
"Oh?"
"What, you jealous?" She bumped her shoulder against mine, grinning like she already knew the answer.
"No. I don't care."
"Liar." She smirked. "He's tall. Kind of dorky, but he's doing a PhD in computational law. If I were you, I'd be begging me not to go on a date with this guy."
"I'm not jealous," I frowned.
She gave me a look. The kind that sees straight through you.
Then, quietly, she held out her hand.
I blinked, hesitated... and placed mine on top of hers. Intertwining our fing—
"No! You idiot. Coin, please."
"Oh. Right."
I looked down.
I'd been holding the same shirt for so long it was practically warm.
I reached into my pocket and handed her the coin meant to ensure us clean clothes until next week.
She started her machine with a soft clunk and a hum.
I followed.
The silence returned for a beat, quiet, rhythmic, just the soft spin of the machines.
"You'll survive," she said, casually. "Since you literally have two girls practically drooling over you. I'm just going on one date, not getting engaged."
"It's three girls," I muttered. "And no, they're not drooling. None of them are. They're just… friends."
"Right. And you didn't make a move on any of them?"
"No."
"Did any of them make a move on you?"
I paused.
Not because I was thinking but because I had a mental flashback to about three different emotional disasters in soft lighting.
Pages 119, 147, and 158. Roughly.
"I'll take that silence as a yes to all three," she said, sitting down on the bench across from the machines. She zipped up her jacket like she was either bracing for a therapy session, or because the evening air had finally caught up to her.
"It's not like that," I said, weakly.
"Don't worry. You don't have to brain-fart on me now. I know it's a lot, even for a guy like you. So instead, you're just bottling it all up. Because that's easier. Less messy."
"Yeah… I guess you're right."
I leaned against the machine, letting it whirl behind me as I watched her.
"I feel like I'm stuck in a fog. I don't know how I really feel. And at the same time, I don't entirely know how they feel either."
"You're acting like you haven't been in this situation before," she smirked.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, just… dirty laundry," she says looking away.
I paused. Letting the machine hum against my back filling in the silence with background static.
I didn't let the moment wash over me.
"I'm scared I'll lose them."
"Oh? I thought you said you hadn't made a move on any of them. If you keep that up, you should be fine… unless they want you to do the opposite. Then you're screwed."
"No, I mean—"
I exhaled. "We have to showcase our club to the student body. If we don't show something good, we might get disbanded."
"Yeah, but… a club shouldn't be the only reason you guys are friends. Right?"
I didn't say anything right away.
I knew she was right. That didn't make it easier to believe.
"But what if they stop wanting to be," I said quietly, "if we can't keep playing the game?"
She looked at me for a long moment.
"You're an idiot."
"What?"
"When are you gonna stop acting like you're the worthless piece of shit you think you are?"
"Harsh."
"But true."
She looked over at me. "You should stop thinking that all you are is your game. That the second it gets taken away, there's nothing left."
"That's all I know."
"No, it's not. I couldn't care less about your game. Not because it's bad, it's just not something I'd ever get myself into."
I frowned.
"When do I start feeling better again?"
"All I'm saying is… I'm still here.
And I like you. With or without the game."
The words weren't complicated.
They weren't new.
But somehow, they landed deeper than they had any right to.
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it again.
There was so much I wanted to say.
But the words kept folding in on themselves.
"You too," I said.
It didn't sound like enough.
But it felt like a start.
The machines stopped humming one by one.
Neither of us said much after that. Just the quiet rustle of folding, the soft clack of coins and zippers, and the low whir of someone else's dryer finishing across the room.
She stood.
She didn't say anything. Just stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and started toward the stairwell tucked in the corner near the vending machines.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
She didn't stop walking.
"Up. I'm tired of all the detergent and how this place feels like a vacuum for emotional baggage."
The rooftop was on the fourth floor. A flat slab of cracked concrete and rusted railing, probably meant for maintenance access.
But it was open.
And quiet.
And when we reached it, the city had already changed colours.
The sky had gone gold at the edges, the kind of orange that looked too soft to last. Buildings cut into it like teeth, but the light slipped through anyway, touching everything like it had one last job to do before the dark.
She didn't say anything at first.
She just sat.
Cross-legged, back against the railing, hair catching the wind like it had its own opinion.
I sat beside her.
"You know… you don't have to figure everything out straight away," she said, eyes on the horizon.
I didn't say anything.
"You already know you have something beautiful," she continued. "And instead of keeping it all in your head, just remind yourself that they see it too. Right now.
So show them. Show them how much this club means to you.
How much they mean to you.
Stop waiting for someone else to figure everything out for you."
I turned from the view and looked at her.
She was still facing forward, eyes calm, lit by the last streaks of gold like someone watching something fade, not sad, just… accepting.
"Just don't let them down.
For me, okay?"
I looked down.
I knew what she meant when she said that.
And she was right.
If this club really means something—
If they really mean something—
Then I can't just sit back and let it all unfold on its own.
This is my story.
And I'll end it how I want it to end.
🦊 IROHA — 8:06 PM
Can we all agree that if we're doing a stage version.
We open with fog.
Spotlight
Rika descends from the ceiling like an arcane goddess.
📚 RIKA — 8:07 PM
That sounds dangerous, logistically unfeasible, and also no.
Please consider something within school guidelines.
🥪 NARU — 8:07 PM
SKY ENTRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 🐉🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
rika gets wings or stilts or both
can i have a cape
📚 RIKA — 8:08 PM
Your character doesn't wear a cape.
🎲 RANJIRO — 8:08 PM
okay okay
what if
we don't fly anyone this time
🦊 IROHA — 8:08 PM
Boring. 😤
🥪 NARU — 8:09 PM
i have glitter
we can throw glitter
from above
📚 RIKA — 8:09 PM
Glitter is banned in the gymnasium. It's in the school handbook. Section 4.3.
🦊 IROHA — 8:09 PM
Oh my god you read the handbook?
Like on purpose.
📚 RIKA — 8:10 PM
Yes. Shouldn't you be the one enforcing it?
🦊 IROHA — 8:10 PM
😜🖕
🎲 RANJIRO — 8:10 PM
what if we do it like a tavern scene
just to start
we set the tone
and then spiral it into the fight
🦊 IROHA — 8:10 PM
That's actually not bad.
🥪 NARU — 8:10 PM
i want to be drunk
📚 RIKA — 8:11 PM
You already act inebriated. Please refrain from method acting.
🎲 RANJIRO — 8:11 PM
if we pull this off
no fire
no glitter
no falling from the ceiling
but we make it feel real
i think we can do this
just need everyone to focus
🦊 IROHA — 8:11 PM
👀 who is this responsible man and what did you do with dungeon boy
🎲 RANJIRO — 8:12 PM
same guy
🥪 NARU — 8:12 PM
OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH 🎮🎮🎮🎮
level upppp
📚 RIKA — 8:12 PM
For the record, I am still against any fire-based effects.
And I refuse to participate if there is a fog machine.
🦊 IROHA — 8:12 PM
She says that now.
But wait til she sees the boots I ordered us.
🎲 RANJIRO — 8:13 PM
okay
let's all write down what scenes we want
we meet tomorrow after school
we build this out
together
🥪 NARU — 8:13 PM
im bringin snacks
and my cat plush
he will be in the show
📚 RIKA — 8:14 PM
Please keep the plush out of my radius.
🦊 IROHA — 8:14 PM
Dungeon Boy gets final say. He is the club president.
Everyone okay with that?
🥪 NARU — 8:14 PM
AYE AYE CAPTAIN 🫡
📚 RIKA — 8:14 PM
Agreed.
🎲 RANJIRO — 8:15 PM
cool
let's give them a show they'll remember