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logZenitsu wants to cry. He's always been easily moved to tears. But will shedding them help him?
Not really. Sighing, he drops the now defunct headphones into the small waste bin by his desk. They served him well, considering how long he's owned them. Say what you will about his personality, but he takes care of his things.
Now that he's bidden them farewell, however, he'll need to replace them as soon as possible. Zenitsu props an elbow up on the desk and rests his cheek on his palm.
"Wonder if there's a sale at the store . . . "
His luck isn't that good. He pays full price for a pair of decent, affordable headphones and exits the store with a lighter wallet. Before he can decide on whether he wants to go to the candy store for a bag of sweets, sounds that weren't there before drift into his ears.
. . . your last words were goodbye . . . They are stuck in my ears and it hurts, because I love you . . .
It's a song—one he's never heard before. Fainter sounds of curiosity and enjoyment accompany the song. Zenitsu follows the trail against his better judgment.
If he had exited from the way he'd entered, he would've missed this mini concert at the center of the mall. Having sought it out, he arrives shortly after the halfway point of the performance. He peers over the barrier of the second floor to spot two girls in elegant costumes, dancing and singing effortlessly—and subsequently blasting his eardrums with the former through no fault of their own.
He's going to walk out of this experience with a splitting headache. Nevertheless, Zenitsu stays. For some reason, he's unable to look away now that he's here.
. . . hello and goodbye . . .
At last, the song concludes. But before he can turn around and leave for good this time, he freezes in his tracks when one of the girls shouts, "Спасибо!"
He doesn't look back. Based on the voice (and looks), he knows which girl thanked the crowd in a language that nobody here probably understands. Zenitsu may not know what that word means, but he heard the appreciation in the soft syllables. He also felt the skip in his heartbeat. Rather than answer back with a cheer like the rest of the audience, he wipes his face and takes his leave of the mall.
Fascinatingly, Love Laika's members are called Minami and Anastasia. Zenitsu glances at his bird. Minami! What are the odds? Moreover, he's always been partial to the sound of Russian, even if he's never had much exposure to the language. The world works in mysterious ways.
And they're just so darned cute!
He tunes in on an interview with the new headphones nestled over his ears. His hearing is extraordinary in person, but even his ears can't pick up sounds that are lost through cheap technology. A pair of quality earphones is important to that end. Although he can't pick up on the unique sounds of a person over rubber and artificial leather, he doesn't want to miss a single word.
Love Laika, he thinks, definitely falls under the category of cool idol groups. Minami and Anastasia neither flounder nor gloat over their rising fame. They're a conscientious duo who practice humility, and they always maintain a pleasing cadence when speaking. At one point, Zenitsu zones out and begins to focus on their voices more than their words (of course, he still commits each and every one of them to memory) when Anastasia's gentle voice rings in his ears: "With our songs, I want to give the fans many dreams."
Despite himself, he goes still with a hand over one side of the headphones. His entire face flushes and a pregnant pause falls over the living room. Then he rips the headphones off of his head, tosses them aside on the couch on which he's seated, and jumps onto his feet with a shout.
"Yes! Yes, I'll receive them! Please!"
A dull thud sounds above the ceiling as Jigoro shouts, "Be quiet, you fool grandson!"
"Yes, yes! I'll be quiet!"
Suddenly, he itches to pull his violin out and play. His heart beats thunderously against his chest. Music is a means of communication employed by artists; he and idols like Minami and Anastasia are the same in this regard. Only, he's an amateur and nowhere near as attractive as the people whose faces get shown on television. Who would want to receive the dreams woven from his song?
But if they're from Anastasia, he'll receive as many dreams as she has to share with the rest of the world. After all, he can understand her sentiment, and you'd have to be a monster to reject such a sincere wish.
His hands are shaking. If playing the violin is a no-go, he should write a fan letter to express his deepest gratitude and well-wish for Love Laika!
Weeks later, he stares down at the nonsensical string of absentmindedly hand-drawn emojis on a sheet of silver-blue stationery he bought just for this occasion. He crumples the letter up and tosses it into the waste bin overflowing with more crumpled stationery. No, strike that. He can't write a letter.
He presses the heels of his palms against his temples. This sucks, he screams inwardly. Is he so impaired at communicating, because he has no friends and almost no next of kin? Never mind. A letter from him will just make him look stupid and be a waste of Anastasia's time.
Nodding to himself, he resolves to watch her from afar instead as a loyal fan ought to do. So he pulls out the pair of earplugs Jigoro gave him years ago, checks the location of the next grand event, and prepares to attend the idol festival featuring a whole slew of idols.
His preparations serve him well for the event itself. Standing toward the back, he avoids the blast of the speakers and tunes in on the performances well enough to ignore the bellowing sounds of the audience before him. Concentrating is no issue once Love Laika enters the stage—that's not Minami?—and he encounters no trouble enjoying himself to the beat of their song and dance.
Trouble comes after the performance. Anastasia holds a hand out and that's when Zenitsu looks up to realize that it's raining. Dark clouds overtake the field; an ominous rumbling sounds from within said clouds; lightning strikes him unconscious; and he wakes up at the hospital to Jigoro's thumping him on the head.
Not really. Sighing, he drops the now defunct headphones into the small waste bin by his desk. They served him well, considering how long he's owned them. Say what you will about his personality, but he takes care of his things.
Now that he's bidden them farewell, however, he'll need to replace them as soon as possible. Zenitsu props an elbow up on the desk and rests his cheek on his palm.
"Wonder if there's a sale at the store . . . "
His luck isn't that good. He pays full price for a pair of decent, affordable headphones and exits the store with a lighter wallet. Before he can decide on whether he wants to go to the candy store for a bag of sweets, sounds that weren't there before drift into his ears.
. . . your last words were goodbye . . . They are stuck in my ears and it hurts, because I love you . . .
It's a song—one he's never heard before. Fainter sounds of curiosity and enjoyment accompany the song. Zenitsu follows the trail against his better judgment.
If he had exited from the way he'd entered, he would've missed this mini concert at the center of the mall. Having sought it out, he arrives shortly after the halfway point of the performance. He peers over the barrier of the second floor to spot two girls in elegant costumes, dancing and singing effortlessly—and subsequently blasting his eardrums with the former through no fault of their own.
He's going to walk out of this experience with a splitting headache. Nevertheless, Zenitsu stays. For some reason, he's unable to look away now that he's here.
. . . hello and goodbye . . .
At last, the song concludes. But before he can turn around and leave for good this time, he freezes in his tracks when one of the girls shouts, "Спасибо!"
He doesn't look back. Based on the voice (and looks), he knows which girl thanked the crowd in a language that nobody here probably understands. Zenitsu may not know what that word means, but he heard the appreciation in the soft syllables. He also felt the skip in his heartbeat. Rather than answer back with a cheer like the rest of the audience, he wipes his face and takes his leave of the mall.
Fascinatingly, Love Laika's members are called Minami and Anastasia. Zenitsu glances at his bird. Minami! What are the odds? Moreover, he's always been partial to the sound of Russian, even if he's never had much exposure to the language. The world works in mysterious ways.
And they're just so darned cute!
He tunes in on an interview with the new headphones nestled over his ears. His hearing is extraordinary in person, but even his ears can't pick up sounds that are lost through cheap technology. A pair of quality earphones is important to that end. Although he can't pick up on the unique sounds of a person over rubber and artificial leather, he doesn't want to miss a single word.
Love Laika, he thinks, definitely falls under the category of cool idol groups. Minami and Anastasia neither flounder nor gloat over their rising fame. They're a conscientious duo who practice humility, and they always maintain a pleasing cadence when speaking. At one point, Zenitsu zones out and begins to focus on their voices more than their words (of course, he still commits each and every one of them to memory) when Anastasia's gentle voice rings in his ears: "With our songs, I want to give the fans many dreams."
Despite himself, he goes still with a hand over one side of the headphones. His entire face flushes and a pregnant pause falls over the living room. Then he rips the headphones off of his head, tosses them aside on the couch on which he's seated, and jumps onto his feet with a shout.
"Yes! Yes, I'll receive them! Please!"
A dull thud sounds above the ceiling as Jigoro shouts, "Be quiet, you fool grandson!"
"Yes, yes! I'll be quiet!"
Suddenly, he itches to pull his violin out and play. His heart beats thunderously against his chest. Music is a means of communication employed by artists; he and idols like Minami and Anastasia are the same in this regard. Only, he's an amateur and nowhere near as attractive as the people whose faces get shown on television. Who would want to receive the dreams woven from his song?
But if they're from Anastasia, he'll receive as many dreams as she has to share with the rest of the world. After all, he can understand her sentiment, and you'd have to be a monster to reject such a sincere wish.
His hands are shaking. If playing the violin is a no-go, he should write a fan letter to express his deepest gratitude and well-wish for Love Laika!
Weeks later, he stares down at the nonsensical string of absentmindedly hand-drawn emojis on a sheet of silver-blue stationery he bought just for this occasion. He crumples the letter up and tosses it into the waste bin overflowing with more crumpled stationery. No, strike that. He can't write a letter.
He presses the heels of his palms against his temples. This sucks, he screams inwardly. Is he so impaired at communicating, because he has no friends and almost no next of kin? Never mind. A letter from him will just make him look stupid and be a waste of Anastasia's time.
Nodding to himself, he resolves to watch her from afar instead as a loyal fan ought to do. So he pulls out the pair of earplugs Jigoro gave him years ago, checks the location of the next grand event, and prepares to attend the idol festival featuring a whole slew of idols.
His preparations serve him well for the event itself. Standing toward the back, he avoids the blast of the speakers and tunes in on the performances well enough to ignore the bellowing sounds of the audience before him. Concentrating is no issue once Love Laika enters the stage—that's not Minami?—and he encounters no trouble enjoying himself to the beat of their song and dance.
Trouble comes after the performance. Anastasia holds a hand out and that's when Zenitsu looks up to realize that it's raining. Dark clouds overtake the field; an ominous rumbling sounds from within said clouds; lightning strikes him unconscious; and he wakes up at the hospital to Jigoro's thumping him on the head.