"Sing To Me"

The world had indeed stopped. The sunset, the waves, the quiet town, everything faded, leaving only the two of them standing in the orange glow, separated by a ten-foot stretch of dusty planking.

Airi finally found her voice, but it was low and dangerously steady, cutting through the silence like broken glass.

"What," Airi demanded, not moving, "are you doing here?"

Ren flinched, the sound of her voice raw with contempt hitting him visibly. He looked down at the acoustic guitar clipped to his strap, then slowly lifted his gaze back to hers. The vulnerability that she had seen only in flashes during their creative late nights was now fully exposed.

"I needed to find you," Ren admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, ragged from the performance. He took a hesitant step toward her, but stopped when Airi’s shoulders tensed. "I tried everything, Airi. I tried to talk to Junpei, I tried to get my phone back, but the agency—"

Airi cut him off with a harsh, cynical laugh. "The agency? Oh, please. Don't tell me your PR strategy included an acoustic seaside pilgrimage. That's a little too on-brand, even for you."

Ren shook his head, the silvery-white hair swaying slightly. "No. Airi, you closed the news tab too quickly. I wasn't just in a scandal; I was the target of a hostile takeover. Haru... the things he did, the leaks, the harassment of you... it was a final, professional strike. My agency couldn't handle the liability of my personal chaos after Ascension was released."

He paused, letting the bitter truth hang in the air. "I asked Junpei to do what was necessary to protect you, but he put the 'Veritas Idol' brand first. When I refused to let him send you that ridiculous compensation contract, the agency saw me as a liability who refused to play the game."

Ren lifted his empty, open hands in a gesture of absolute defeat. "They dropped me, Airi. After the Haru reveal, the board dissolved my contract. I’ve been taking things slow since then. That's why I'm here. I'm not a product anymore. I'm just..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the simple black hoodie and the street musician’s cap.

Airi felt a flicker of something—not sympathy, but a terrible, icy realization that his world had finally imploded too. The cost was shared, though hers had come first.

"You wrote that yourself?" Airi asked, the question sharp, focusing on the only thing that mattered. "The song you just played? The one about the collapse and the quiet."

Ren nodded, meeting her gaze steadily. "Every note. It was the only thing I had left to say."

Airi stepped forward, crossing the distance with sudden, forceful intention. She stopped inches from him, forcing him to look directly into her furious, hurting eyes.

"That's the problem, Ren," Airi hissed, her voice barely a breath. "You are an artist. You are a genius. And you are a complete, utter coward. You knew the price of your world's chaos, and you let me pay it alone. I was fired, humiliated, and living in fear, and you chose to trust the manager who saw me as disposable property over the woman who risked her entire life to give you your truth."

Tears blurred her vision, but she fought them back. She would not cry for him. "You got what you wanted: the successful comeback, the hit songs. And when the mess came, you abandoned me. You don't really care about me, Ren. You just cared about what my fear and my passion could do for your career. I am nothing to you now."

Ren stood his ground, letting her words crash over him. When she finished, he closed his eyes briefly, inhaling a long, painful breath.

"You are right," Ren said, his voice deep with emotion, the confession wrenching itself from his throat. "You are right. I was a coward. I listened to Junpei because I was terrified of losing the career that allowed me to find you in the first place. I prioritized the music machine over the composer, and I broke the promise I made to protect you. My silence was unforgivable."

He opened his eyes, which were wet with unshed tears. "My words are useless to you now. I know that. But if you won't hear my words..."

Ren slowly unclipped the guitar. He positioned it against his body, resting his fingers lightly on the strings. He looked at Airi, his expression an open plea. "...Then please," he finished, his voice catching, "feel my words."

He began to play. It wasn't the furious, complex piece from moments before. Instead, the melody was instantly familiar to Airi—a soft, lyrical, almost hesitant tune that had been the first song they ever truly shared. A deeply personal, obscure B-side from Ren’s debut album, the one track that had originally made Airi believe he was more than just a figurehead.

He started to sing the opening lines, his voice stripped bare of its idol polish, raw and emotional, pouring out his sincerity into the darkening air.

I built my world from glass, To keep the chaos out. But the light you brought to me, Showed me all my doubt.

He sang the first verse, his eyes never leaving hers, the melody both an apology and an explanation. When he reached the pre-chorus, his voice dropped slightly, inviting her in.

Airi stood paralyzed, her anger warring with the instinctive pull of the music. The melody was too pure, too perfectly timed to her current heartache. It was a lifeline being thrown across a ravine. She hated him for it, hated him for knowing exactly how to reach past her defenses.

As Ren began the chorus, his voice soaring, Airi, against every fiber of her recent resolve, closed her eyes and let the notes take hold. Her body moved before her mind could protest.

She didn't grab her own instrument; she simply found the harmony—a rich, lower harmony she had always heard when analyzing this song years ago—and began to sing, joining him in the duet.

("But the shore...") Ren sang, his voice lifting.

("But the shore...") Airi joined, her voice clear and strong, meeting his note perfectly.

(Ren): ...Where the water breaks, (Airi): ...Where the water breaks, (Together): Is the place I should have known. (Ren): And the glass all shatters for you, (Airi): And the glass all shatters for you, (Together): I should have built my world from stone.

The duet was effortless, explosive, and devastating. It was their secret language, their bond, and their mutual destruction. They sang the entire chorus, two voices weaving perfectly against the simple guitar, a public confession and reconciliation happening right on the quiet boardwalk.

When the last chord faded, Airi opened her eyes, tears finally falling, but this time, they were tears of exhausted truth, not just fear. Ren’s eyes were glistening. He slowly lowered the guitar, the instrument now silent between them.

"I fired everyone, Airi," Ren said, his voice trembling slightly. "Junpei, my security detail, the entire PR team—the machine is gone. I couldn't be near the agency anymore. The brand meant protecting the very system that hurt you. I'm on indefinite hiatus. I have nothing left but this," he patted the guitar, "and the hope that you might still talk to me."

He stepped closer, finally closing the last bit of distance. "I chose you. It's late, and it’s messy, and I screwed up monumentally, but I chose your life over my career. I apologize, Airi Komatsu. For everything."

Airi didn't accept the words, but she accepted the sacrifice. She looked at the abandoned idol, the street performer, the chaos he had endured because of her. She looked at his face, finally free of its mask.

She exhaled slowly, the bitterness finally leaving her. "Your apology is accepted, Ren. But you have a lot of work to do to earn back.” She reached out and lightly tapped his chest, right over his heart. "I'll take the apology. But I'm going to watch you earn it."

Just then, Saki appeared, walking back onto the boardwalk, holding two bottles of cider. She stopped dead when she saw the figure of Ren Ichijō standing intimately close to Airi, his face revealed, a guitar in his hand.

Saki simply looked from Airi's tear-streaked, resolved face to Ren's pleading one. She sighed, her eyes rolling dramatically. "Of course, I leave for five minutes," Saki muttered, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, Saki. He just came to apologize.”

"Well, he looks suitably miserable.”

“Hey—” Ren narrowed at her.

“So, Airi, are we drinking the cider, or is this still a high-stakes emotional confrontation?"

Airi chuckled. “Why not both?”