All I want

Past

By the time our last class ends, Rie and I are already half-jogging through the station. My backpack bounces against my spine as we squeeze onto the rush-hour train to Shibuya. The car smells of damp umbrellas and tired commuters. Rie sticks close to my side like static, her short black hair brushing my shoulder whenever the train sways around a curve.

“We are late again,” she says with a dramatic sigh, checking her phone. “Abby is going to give us that judgmental model stare.”

“He does that even when we are on time,” I say, shifting to make room for a businessman. “I think that is just his normal face.”

She laughs so brightly that a few people glance at us. Her laugh always feels like a spark in my ribs. Bright. Sudden. Warm.

The old building waits for us the same way it always does. High ceilings. Fading posters from forgotten performances peeling off the brick. Dust motes dancing in the dim corners.

When we push open the heavy practice room door, Haru and Abby are already inside.

Haru sits on the floor, surrounded by tangled cables. He is tuning the speaker wires with the focus of someone repairing a spaceship. Abby leans against the mirrored wall, his long legs stretched out. He taps his phone screen with bored elegance.

“There you are,” Abby says without looking up. “So. What song? What genre? What vibe are we committing to before I lose my mind?”

His tone is lazy, but the tension in the room is real. Choosing a performance piece is a bigger deal than we pretend. It defines us as a team.

We sit in a circle on the scuffed wooden floor. We toss song suggestions back and forth like we are playing cards. Rie’s eyes shine the moment her pick comes up. It is upbeat with a touch of theatrical drama. Perfect for group choreography.

Haru listens quietly. He nods slightly to the rhythm, like he is analyzing the math behind the beat.

“I like it,” he says in his soft, steady voice. “The transitions will be clean.”

Abby shrugs, finally pocketing his phone. “If Rie likes it, we are all doomed. But fine. It works.”

Rie sticks her tongue out at him. Abby smirks.

I cannot help smiling. These moments always make me feel less alone in this massive city.

We start practicing. The room quickly fills with the sound of sneakers squeaking and heavy breathing. Rie guides my vocals. Haru explains where to place my breath, his manner gentle and patient. Abby teaches the choreography with sharp, exacting control. He watches my steps carefully. Whenever I miss a beat, he tilts his head in that silent way of his.

Not angry. Just judging me like a disappointed cat.

“I know. I know,” I mumble at him, wiping sweat from my forehead. “I missed it.”

“Your feet know,” Abby says. “You just do not listen to them.”

He says it like a joke, but I try again. And again. And again. Until finally, he nods once.

It feels like winning a small war.

Hours pass without us noticing. The windows turn pitch black. Rie’s alarm vibrates through the room, a shrill reminder cutting through the music.

“It is nine,” she pants, hands on her knees. “We need to leave if we want sleep before class tomorrow.”

Haru stands and stretches, his shirt lifting slightly. “We can continue tomorrow. Everyone practiced well.”

“Fine,” Abby says. “But do not slack off on your own time.”

We start packing our bags.

That is when everything goes black.

The overhead lights cut out with a soft, ominous pop.

The music dies. The hum of the air conditioner vanishes. The entire building falls into a thick, unnatural silence.

Rie turns on her phone flashlight immediately. The tiny circle of light shakes in her hand, casting long, warped shadows against the mirrors. Abby and Haru’s screens glow faintly in the dark.

Something cold crawls up my spine.

“The door,” I blurt out. “Check the door.”

Rie grabs my hand without hesitation. We run into the hallway, our footsteps punching through the quiet. The sound echoes so loudly that it feels like something is chasing us from behind.

The hall is pitch black. It smells like stale dust and old wood. My breath sticks in my throat.

“Why is it this dark?” Rie whispers.

I lift her phone to see her face. Her eyes are wide and frightened, but she tries to force a smile for me.

“We are fine,” she says, although her voice is thin. “Probably.”

We creep toward the electronic exit. The keypad is dead. I push the bar. It does not move.

“We are locked in,” I whisper.

Rie squeezes my hand tighter. Her fingers tremble against my palm.

“We should go back to the others,” she says.

Back in the practice room, Abby sits cross-legged on the floor as if this blackout is a mild inconvenience designed specifically to annoy him. Haru stands by the window, looking out at the streetlights far below.

“It is probably the breaker,” Haru says, turning to face us. “Old buildings like this have issues.”

Abby looks at us. “Did you two run down the hall like a horror movie duo?”

“Yes,” Rie says without shame. 

I sit down, trying to calm my racing heartbeat. The adrenaline fades, leaving me hollow. Rie leans close and whispers, “I am hungry.”

I quietly unzip my bag. The crinkle of the wrapper sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room.

We share snacks. Potato chips and chocolate. Our hands brush in the dark. Warmth flickers in my chest.

Soon the others join in. Four people huddled in a dark room, laughing over vending machine chips. It feels strangely intimate. Haru tells dry jokes that end up being funnier because he never changes his expression. Rie reenacts our hallway sprint with exaggerated terror, using her flashlight as a spotlight. Abby pretends to critique our snack choices like a food critic in a crisis.

The room feels less frightening now.

Time melts without us noticing.

My body sinks into the wooden floor. The warmth of their laughter softens the edges of my exhaustion.

At some point, the conversation slows. Abby lies down with one arm thrown over his eyes. Rie curls beside me, her head resting heavy against my shoulder. Haru sits against the wall with his legs stretched out, his eyelids drooping despite his best efforts to stay alert.

One by one, they drift off.

I remain awake.

The glow of Rie’s phone light fades as the battery finally dies. The darkness settles gently now. It does not feel like a threat anymore. It feels like a blanket.

I look at them in the shadows.

Rie with her soft, rhythmic breathing.

Abby with his relaxed jaw that makes him look younger, less guarded.

Haru with his calm posture, as if he is guarding us even in sleep.

Being here with them. Close enough to hear their breathing. Close enough to feel something warm and unfamiliar grow inside me.

I lie back and stare at the invisible ceiling.

The old building creaks softly, settling for the night. Someone shifts in their sleep. My eyelids grow heavy.

I let myself drift down slowly, Before sleep finally takes me, I think one last thing.

I want this night to stay with me.