“Fallout”

Airi lay stretched out on her narrow single bed, the soft, worn comforter cocooning her. The room was small and cluttered with the ghosts of her teenage years: stacks of dusty manga, half-finished science fair projects shoved under the desk, and a guitar case that hadn't been opened in years. It smelled like fabric softener and the comforting scent of her mother's cooking, a profound contrast to the lingering scent of stale office paper and fear that had clung to her apartment.

Three days. It had been three days since she was publicly fired, since the paparazzi broke her window, and since she had lashed out at Saki. Her life, once organized and predictable, had been violently upended, forcing her back into the temporary, awkward sanctuary of her parents’ home.

And honestly? Her life was trash.

The shame of being fired for a public scandal still burned, the anxiety over the continuous paparazzi harassment outside her empty apartment was exhausting, and the silence from her friend Saki was deafening. Every time her phone chimed, she hoped for an apology or at least a reaction from Saki, only to find another forwarded message from her mother about the importance of not looking up the latest tabloid articles.

But in this tiny, familiar room, with the weight of her adult responsibilities temporarily lifted, there was a strange, fragile peace. Neko, the sole constant in the storm, was curled up squarely on Airi’s chest, a warm, heavy anchor. The cat’s deep, resonant purr vibrated through

Airi’s ribs, a continuous, low-frequency hum of pure contentment. Airi gently stroked the black fur, closing her eyes and breathing slowly. This was the exact rhythm she craved.

The truth was, she was completely depleted. She had the luxury of a roof over her head, her mother's meticulous care (which mainly manifested as endless, quiet plates of fruit), and her father's supportive, non-interfering presence. But her reserves of energy, emotional and creative, were empty.

A pile of folders sat on her desk—the "chaotic fire" Ren had promised her. It contained notes for two new tracks Junpei had sent to her parents’ house, along with a stern, formal note about the "absolute necessity of meeting the composition deadlines, regardless of current circumstances."

Current circumstances. The gentle, rolling purr of the cat and the silent, unchanging ceiling were the only "current circumstances" Airi wanted to acknowledge. She knew she needed to get back to the music, to channel the betrayal and the fury into the next wave of songs. That was the professional expectation now. She was a full-time composer, whether she liked the chaotic salary or not.

But for now, she just wanted to lie there, listening to the purr, feeling the nostalgia wash over her. It reminded her of her safe life as a teenage girl, a time before deadlines, before promotions, before global scandals, and before complicated, famous boys. Back then, her biggest worry was the math test and whether her favorite manga would be released on time.

She opened her eyes and glanced at her phone, which was lying face-up on the pillow next to her. The screen was dark, reflecting the white ceiling. The silence was the problem.

For three days, since the story broke, since she was fired, and since she was chased out of her home by paparazzi, Ren had not once returned a call or a text.

Not a text asking if she was safe. Not a text apologizing for the intrusion into her life. Not a call confirming where she was staying. Not even a simple, professional message asking about the "Defiant Pulse" bridge they had just finished. Nothing. Complete, radio-silent abandonment.

The initial shock of being fired had been replaced by a slow, simmering, deeply personal fury directed entirely at Ren Ichijō.

Such a jerk behavior of him, Airi thought, the bitterness sharp and pure. She had risked everything for him. She had sacrificed her stability, lost her career, alienated her best friend, and had her home violated—all for a collaboration he insisted on, and a kiss he initiated.

And now that the consequences were here, where was the idol who championed honesty and defiance? He was probably holed up in his own luxury apartment, surrounded by security, letting Junpei deal with the PR fallout, and acting like the whole thing: Airi’s sudden unemployment, the humiliation, the sheer terror of one of his crazy fans break-in into her apartment was merely a fleeting news cycle to be managed.

She imagined him, cool and composed, sipping herbal tea and reviewing his next photo shoot schedule, completely insulated from the debris field he had created in her life. The contrast between Ren’s chaotic, demanding presence and his current, calculated absence was a betrayal that cut deeper than any tabloid headline. He had told her to follow her heart, promised her that he would justify the chaos, yet the moment the chaos became real and messy, he vanished.

She carefully moved her arm, careful not to disturb Neko, and reached for her phone. She didn't want to call him—she wasn't even sure what she would say, but she felt a desperate need to know if he was even aware of the magnitude of her sacrifice.

She unlocked the screen. Still nothing. No missed calls, no unread texts from Ren. The last communication was from four days ago: a single, confident "GOOD." confirming she would attend the comeback party.

The purring cat pressed heavier on her chest, a physical reminder of the life she now had to protect alone. Airi let out a long, shuddering sigh. She didn't have the energy to argue, or even to demand an explanation. She only had the energy for resentment.

But the silence, the utter silence, gave her clarity. If Ren was going to treat her like a disposable problem now that the cameras were aimed at her, then their relationship—professional or otherwise—needed to be redefined. She was not just a collaborator; she was a partner who had just paid the highest price.

Airi looked back at the ceiling, then down at the daunting pile of music folders. The music was the only power she had left. She had been fired for that kiss, but she couldn't be fired from writing songs.

She pushed Neko gently off her chest, ignoring the cat's offended grunt. The moment of nostalgic peace was over. It was time to get to work and prove that her defiance was more than just a lyric, even if she had to write the most bitter, angry songs of her career.