Off-Key Therapy

Airi Komatsu was having what experts in emotional disasters might call a tragically stupid day. First, she missed her subway because some salaryman decided that the ticket gate was the perfect place to have an existential crisis. Then her boss, who looked like a human stress ball in a tie, decided she was the day’s punching bag because she accidentally printed the sales report in color. Heaven forbid the quarterly charts be in blue instead of black.

And just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, she had a clumsy elbow, and drowned her songbook. The one where she’d scribbled half-finished lyrics, and her most vulnerable poetic thoughts.

Airi found herself at Karaoke Galaxy, a hole-in-the-wall establishment tucked between a ramen shop and a suspiciously quiet manga café. The glowing sign flickered like it had given up halfway through “galaxy,” so now it just read Kara Ga Y.

She signed into the quiet space, and grabbed a mic, and claimed one of the smaller open booths—a cozy space with a sticky table, a squeaky couch, and an aura of crushed dreams. She loved it instantly. Scrolling through the touchscreen catalog, she told herself she was just here to blow off steam, not to “practice” or “chase her delusional dream of being an idol.” Because, clearly, she wasn’t that girl.

That girl could sing on pitch. That girl didn’t get cold matcha stains on her only notebook of lyrics. That girl didn’t hyperventilate at the idea of being looked at. No, Airi was the other kind of girl. The one who still danced to idol choreography alone in her apartment and immediately regretted existing afterward.

She picked a song she liked: “Eternal Light,” the heartbreak ballad everyone on the internet used for breakup. Sure, it was way out of her vocal range, but she was emotionally unhinged enough to try. As the opening notes filled the tiny room, she clutched the microphone and began to sing or, to be accurate, she made sounds resembling singing. Her voice cracked halfway through the first verse. Her timing was off. The backing track was winning the fight by a landslide. But for once, she didn’t care. She just wanted to feel something other than the humiliation of her bland life.

So she kept going, singing louder and messier without a care in the world. The chorus hit, and she raised her voice to meet it. The words came out wrong, the notes missed their targets, but her heart was right there in it, bleeding and ridiculous.

She closed her eyes as the world disappeared around her in this song. The missed train, her boss’s lecture, the matcha massacre, everything. It was just her, the song, and the vague hope that maybe this time she’d hit the right notes and get inspiration for new songs.

Her voice trembled on the first line, but she pushed through, however a voice joined her. It was a deep smooth, steady type of voice that feels like warm honey, yet familiar with the hug of your mother. It was gentle at first, just brushing against her melody like a breeze, but then it grew stronger, surer, taking over the harmonies she hadn’t even managed to reach.

Her eyes opened slowly and there, standing a few feet away near the door, was a man she definitely hadn’t invited in. He was tall, lean, dressed in a dark hoodie pulled low over his face like some mysterious street fashion model who took a wrong turn into her emotional crisis. And yet… he looked ridiculously handsome despite his face being covered by a face mask.

White-blond hair spilled out from under his hood, catching the neon lights. His eyes are striking, unnatural purple shimmered beneath the shadow of the brim. Probably colored contacts, she thought. Probably illegal levels of attractiveness, too.

She took notice of the silver star pattern on his mask that moved when was literally singing through a mask, and he still sounded better than her. Way better. Airi should have been weirded out. A random stranger had just materialized mid-song in her booth and started singing at her.

Instead of being startled, all she could do was stare because something about his mesmerizing made her want to keep singing. It wasn’t that he overpowered her. He guided her. Each note he sang seemed to wrap around hers, pulling her along like a lullaby coaxing her out of her shell.

Her pulse quickened. His gaze caught hers, deep and steady, like he could see every thought she was trying to hide behind her mismatched melody. And somehow, instead of freezing up like she always did, Airi sang louder.

She matched his rhythm, found her footing, even dared a small smile mid-chorus. For those fleeting seconds, it didn’t matter that she wasn’t perfect because he was, and he made her feel like that was enough.

When the last note faded, the silence that followed was deafening. Her heart hammered against her ribs.The stranger set his microphone down with careful precision, the soft clink echoing in the small room. He looked at her and though half his face was hidden, his eyes smiled.

“You saved my song,” he said softly.

Airi blinked. “Wh—what?”

He chuckled — low, warm, unfairly beautiful. “You sang it like it mattered. That’s rare around here.”

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I’d say you saved my song.”

His eyes curved in amusement. “You sounded fine.”

“Fine?” she echoed. “You’re just being nice.”

He tilted his head, the silver star on his mask glinting in the dim light. “Then I guess I’ll have to prove I mean it. How about another song?”

Airi opened her mouth to say yes, obviously, because what normal person would turn down a duet with a man who sounded like an angel, but before she could answer, a sharp burst of noise came from the hallway.

The man glanced toward the door, his expression tightening. Whatever calm he’d worn before slipped, replaced by something careful, almost sad.

“I have to go,” he murmured.

Before Airi could get a scent of his name, or ask why he had joined her for a duet, the strange man vanished from the karaoke bar. Airi stood frozen, staring at the empty space he’d left behind, wondering if she’d just hallucinated an entire duet. The only proof he’d been there was the lingering echo of his voice, soft and golden, still looping in her head.