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“Wow, I look great!” Ichika finger-guns at her reflection. She finishes dressing for the day and exits her room, unaware of the storm she’s about to leave in her wake.
They’re readying for band practice when it happens.
“Ichika, when you put the whiteboard back, can you get a spare pick? It should be in the marker bin.”
Saki and Honami had both texted to let them know they would be late, but Ichika and Shiho had already arrived. So, they had taken it upon themselves to brainstorm potential intermission routines for their next concert.
“Sure.” With a goofy thumbs up and matching grin, their girlfriend places the whiteboard back on the middle shelf and stretches her arm towards the top.
Ichika’s shirt rides up enough for them to discern her back dimples. With a petty amount of jealousy, Shiho notices she's almost outgrown the garment, despite only a couple of months passing since she bought it. They make a mental reminder to tell the others before their next shopping date.
If Shiho has to suffer from being vertically challenged, it’s only fair Ichika shares in some of their misery by getting dressed up by the fashionable half of the band.
After a few seconds of blind rummaging, Ichika turns halfway to face them, arm still above her head. “You're sure it's here? I can't find it.”
But they're not looking at her apologetic face, not when their eyes are glued elsewhere.
A sliver of stomach robs Shiho of breath.
No way.
“Hrrrk-”
Abs… Ichika with abs? Abdominal muscles—well everyone has those—she has pronounced abdominal muscles? In a small part of their brain closer to the stem than the frontal lobe, Shiho wonders how it would feel to run their fingers over the abs as they would their bass fret. Shiho slams that thought down. Like a piano cover on dry spaghetti.
Snap, goes the imaginary pasta representing their composure.
“Shiho!?” Ichika’s arm whips back down to her side and with it goes that flash of muscle they had to have hallucinated. She takes a concerned step forward, but they limply wave her off with a strangled cough. If Shiho was holding their bass, they would be pointing its neck at her as though a prehistoric ancestor, armed with a stick and trying to ward off a woolly mammoth, had taken hold of their body.
Not that they would smack her of course, the instrument was their most prized possession. Cost wise too, not just practical and sentimental value. Also, it would hurt.
“I-I’m fine.” And so are you. They bite their tongue as Ichika hovers from a safe, non-whackable distance.
Shiho finally rips their gaze away and focuses on the horizon outside the window, the setting sun casting the sky in a deep shade of orange. They contemplate walking over there. Unlatching the frame, jumping out, and breaking a leg in the pocket dimension manifested from their shared feelings of longing would be less embarrassing than whatever is happening right now.
It takes several deep breaths and astral projecting themself to Antarctica into one of Haruka’s beloved penguins, but Shiho soon calms down.
“Sorry, water went down the wrong pipe.” They gesture lamely at their bottle, which they now realize lays atop a desk pushed into a corner opposite of the supply closet. The corner impossible to reach from where they're standing without having the arm span of a whale.
Like the dreaded sine wave they've been studying in math, whatever amount of tranquility they had drops down to zero and quickly inverts itself. Shiho, through sheer force of will, resists both screaming and clawing at their heated cheeks. They settle on squinting hard enough that their eyelids spasm. It’s a good thing, the smaller field of view means a lesser chance of getting flashbanged again.
“Right…” The worry in Ichika's stance gives way to confusion as Shiho does their best impression of the world’s first mannequin affected by pepper spray. “Well, are you ready for practice?”
“Mhm."
They morph their mortification into movement and power walk over to their bass, studiously tuning it for the third time today. Shiho does not look at Ichika, not when she rolls her shoulders, not when warm-up stretching causes her shirt’s hem to rise above the belt-
Dammit, they totally are.
Shiho sighs.
“Hey girls!”
As their lovable twin-tailed terror prances into the room and glomps Shiho, they know Saki can never find out what just happened.
She would be insufferable.
Ever since they moved up a year, Honami has had the pleasure of witnessing Ichika as her high school classmate. The way she bites her lip when faced with a difficult English question, how her two yakisoba bun lunch puts her into a food coma she has to be nudged out of. Even the more mundane moments, such as when they’re changing for gym class, leaves Honami with a lingering warmth whenever they exchange smiles.
Like now.
Except there’s one big difference from when they were kids.
“Ichika-chan!?” Honami damn near shrieks, hand slapping her forehead in shock. She looks away fast, but can still see it in her overactive imagination and the corner of her eye. She’s almost overtaken by the urge to yell at her to cover up, but she resists. Ichika’s changing, of course she would bare some skin. What is she, a traditional husband? Honami is literally part of a lesbian polycule. She stamps down the budding possessiveness.
“H-Honami?” Ichika’s alarmed. Her arms are still in the process of tugging off her uniform top, but they pause. It leaves her shirt covering her head, her arms sticking up awkwardly with elbows out for a moment. More importantly, it leaves them exposed.
Honami’s focus isn’t on the Miku-colored bra she has on, although that was also cute, no. It was what laid below.
Her abs.
Why does Ichika have a six-pack?
The resulting thud of Honami’s head meeting the desk has Ichika fumbling and slipping her forearms out of the fabric entangling them. She chucks the gray clothing article at her chair. Then, she rushes over, shirtless.
“Are you okay?”
“Please…” She begs. To who? Honami doesn’t know. May Miku have mercy on her. Actually, if Miku from their SEKAI could see her now, she would turn into a shrimp from how quickly she would curl up into a ball.
“What is it?” Ichika says, a hand on Honami’s back, rubbing reassuringly. “Whatever you need.”
Her consideration makes her choke up.
“Finish changing.” Honami mutters into the wood. The cool surface does nothing to alleviate her burning cheeks.
“I-” She’s flummoxed. Utterly bamboozled. “Okay?”
“Thank you.” Honami says with more sincerity than any other sentence she’s ever said before. She lifts her head.
Ichika, in accordance with Honami’s wishes, goes back to her seat. She puts on her gym clothes and with it, the threat to her composure is hidden away. Like a snake in a basket, ready to strike when she least expects it.
“I’ll be right back, I’m getting something to drink.” Ichika still is concerned. “Do you want something?”
“I’ll pass.” Away, if Honami doesn’t spend some time away from her. She needs to regain her composure and with the subject of her abashment in the same room as her, it’s currently impossible.
“Okay, see you soon.” She gives Honami a smooch on her still reddened cheek before walking out of the classroom.
Kohane looks like she wants to say something, then thinks better of it. She shoots her a sly grin (sly? Since when did Kohane do sly?) before turning around and continuing changing like nothing had happened.
“Kohane-chan?”
“Nothing!” She laughs. “Just, I didn’t know you weren’t the only one with muscles.”
The noise she lets out is undignified at best. She was referring to Honami’s shoulder and arm muscles from playing the drums. The ones Saki fawned over. Oh, how would she react to this development?
“You saw?” Honami groans. She doesn’t get sheepish as easily as Ichika, but she also isn’t as oblivious.
“It was kinda hard not to. Like those toothpaste commercials showing off someone’s teeth, I was blinded. I could hear a choir of angels singing, their heavenly notes second only to her rippling musculature.” Kohane says. Honami isn’t sure how serious she’s being.
Because, humiliatingly enough, what Kohane said wasn’t too far off from what she herself experienced.
“Ughhghhghghh.” Honami deflates.
“Your reaction was pretty funny, I think most of the class was focused on you instead of her.” At the mention of other people, their classmates begin to whistle innocently as they busy themselves with random, nonsensical tasks. Honami can even see one girl trying to staple a paper to the whiteboard.
“Ah…”
“Oh no, you find your girlfriend attractive, how terrible.” Kohane jests. “What a dastardly notion that must be kept secret at all costs!”
“You’re not helping.”
“I know.” With one last smug smirk, she goes off to frolic somewhere, probably daydreaming about the day An also got abs.
Another day, another successful songwriting session. They had, over the course of several hours, managed to chip away at their next single. It was, as much as Ichika tried to deny it, a love song. She had apparently just infused her feelings for them into the lyrics, so sappiness dripped from every word.
Saki settles down to cuddle. Honami and Shiho are out getting food, so it’s just her and Ichika. A perfect time to snuggle on the bed!
But something horrendous awaited her. As she lays her head on Ichika’s stomach, instead of the soft haven she expects, unyielding muscle greets her.
She blinks. Saki lifts her head, just enough to reset her sense of touch, then lowers it back down. Rock hard. A rock would be less alarming, because at least then she could spiritually convene with her cavepeople ancestors. No, this is horrible. Absolutely atrocious.
Saki reacts accordingly.
“My pillow!” She sobs into Ichika’s shirt. “Icchan, why?”
“Saki?” Ichika asks, bemused.
“Whyyyyyyyy…” Saki sheds her very best crocodile tears, despondent.
She knows Ichika’s aware the likelihood of whatever it is not being a big deal is greater than not, but Ichika wouldn’t be Ichika if she wasn’t willing to take that risk.
“Saki,” She repeats her name. Ichika gathers her in an embrace where, upsettingly, she can feel the definition under her shirt. “What’s wrong?”
“You…” Saki sniffles like the drama princess she is, “You have abs.”
“What.” At that, her hold slackens.
“My pillow is gone…”
“P-Please don’t cry, it’s going to be alright. You still have Honami’s stomach and thighs. And mine too! My thighs, I mean. And Shiho’s everything.”
Shiho had enough muscle to lug their bass around comfortably, though that was about it. Seeing the cogs in her Icchan’s brain turn desperately like a hamster on a wheel is amusing on its own, but her ending remark causes a guffaw to rip out of Saki.
The sound startles them both and after a brief silence, they burst into twin peals of laughter.
“That’s what has you so upset?” Ichika gets out between chuckles.
“It’s a very serious matter!” Saki humphs. “When did this even happen? Your tummy was soft before.”
“And when was the last time you specifically laid your head on my stomach? It’s been a while.”
Saki wracks her brain. To her horror, Ichika’s right. There was that time two weeks ago, but her noggin was resting on the other’s legs then. With their schedule ramping up in busyness as their professional careers took off, she had been bereft of opportunities to demonstrate why the rest of Leo/need called her the cuddle monster. It had to have been months at the very least.
“I’ve gotten swole since then.” Ichika says proudly, preening like a particularly egotistical bird, flexing her nonexistent arm muscles. She exhaled and scratched at her stomach, the motion causing her shirt’s fabric to bunch up around her waist. “That ab roller worked wonders.”
“Wait, do that again.” Saki is locked in, eyes wide and drinking in her girlfriend’s lower torso as though she’s dying of thirst. What was that saying, about a drowning person next to another who’s severely dehydrated? And how they’re both dying regardless? She’s both right now.
“Do what?” Ichika hesitantly raises her arm, about to do that stupid flex again.
“Lift your shirt!”
“Wh-” She stammers. “Why?”
“I want to see your abs.”
“A-Alright.” Ichika, suddenly bashful for someone who was flaunting her muscles a couple of seconds ago, pulls at the hem of her shirt.
There!
Her jaw drops.
Illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, glistening with faintest traces of sweat (why hadn’t they turned on the fan?), and tensing from Ichika’s nervousness, is a sculpted stomach. Her eyes drill into the sight. The curves and dips of the muscles were exquisite, and gosh if that wasn’t a word she didn’t usually use.
“Oh no, you’re hot.” Saki says, distraught.
“And I wasn’t before?” Ichika tilts her head like a lost puppy. To complete the look, her eyes widen and an unconscious pout overtakes her face. It’s a terrible contrast to the lower torso that wouldn’t be amiss on a professional athlete.
“Urgh. It’s not fair!” If she was standing, Saki would be stomping her foot against the ground. As it is, she buries her face into Ichika’s glorious abdomen and blows a raspberry.
“Hehe, Saki, that tickles.” She pushes her away with a smile. Saki bats at her hand in retaliation.
They tussle for a while before the sound of the door creaking turns their heads.
“Shiho, Honami!” Ichika greets, whipping her arm back from where it had been blocking Saki from advancing toward her. Likewise, Saki lowers her own arms and gives up trying to legitimately tickle Ichika.
“Girls.” Saki clears her throat. “We need to talk.”
It's not a polycule meeting minus Ichika, it's a war council. A clandestine gathering, a surreptitious rendezvous.
“How could you two betray me like this?!” Saki wails, slamming her palms down on the table. “Shiho-chan, Hona-chan, why did you never tell me?”
Everyone knows she's joking, but the way her voice cracks on the last word is wince worthy despite that.
“W-Well, I was just as surprised as you.” Honami says, to which Shiho nods in agreement. Surprised is a mild word to describe their reaction to the image etched behind their eyelids. If Shiho had eye lasers, they could shave the sight into a block of marble faster than Ichika carved an apple slice. “I also wasn't the first one who saw.”
Shiho gapes at her. Oh, so the blame’s on them for being stunned that their girlfriend—who scarfed down yakisoba buns on a daily basis and sometimes had to be convinced of a vegetable’s spiritual connection to Hatsune Miku in order to eat it—had abs.
Abs so defined they have an entry in the dictionary.
They blurt out what first comes to mind.
“It's not my fault she's hot!”
Saki giggles while Honami’s eyes crinkle in amusement. They groan. They've been had.
“Aww, Shiho-chan,” Saki, the menace, drags her chair closer in a series of screeching scoots against the wooden flooring until their elbows touch. She pokes their scrunched cheek. “She was just kidding, right Hona-chan?”
“Of course dear.”
They bury their head in their hands, trying, and failing to hide the fact their face is emitting enough heat to be classified as a renewable energy source.
“I bet you wish your hands were Icchan’s stomach~”
Shiho promptly unburies their head and stands up. Having the height advantage for once, they loom over the seated and still smiling Saki. For the most part, Shiho can usually ignore the spike of cuteness aggression whenever she says something in that lilting voice bubbling with happiness, but not this time. Now is the time for embarrassment-fueled revenge.
They lean in closer.
“My hands are about to resonate with your neck.”
Saki takes that as her cue to scurry off.
Plucked straight from an old-timey cartoon skit, Shiho’s chasing Saki in circles around the table.
Neither pay any mind to Honami slipping her phone out from her pocket, too caught up in their game of jukes and swerves. The scene brings to mind a golden retriever indulging a puffed-up rabbit’s whims and pretending to be intimidated.
“Quit running.” Shiho gasps out. Stumbling to a stop, they hunch over and wheeze. Apparently, an affinity for bass didn't translate to lung capacity. Who knew. Well, they all did, since Shiho was often the one who broke away from a long kiss first, panting in consternation before diving back in with a passion that rivaled their bass playing.
Across from them, Saki winks. “Nope.”
And they’re off again. Honami’s screen lights up with a text notification from the girl they kicked out of the room for a secret conversation, only for said conversation to devolve into a one-sided game of tag.
ichika-chan <3
Can i come back inside its cold :-’( The emoticon’s sniffling. If hes freezing think about my fingers
Honami stifles a laugh as she angles her phone camera. Switching her flash off (it won’t do to frighten the playing local wildlife) and waiting until they pass in front of her, she takes the shot. They’re little more than a disgruntled gray blob and an energetic yellow blur, but she has a feeling Ichika won’t mind.
me
shiho-chan and saki-chan are a little busy. give them five more minutes?
In all likelihood, it won’t take that long, considering Shiho’s already flagging stamina. Hopefully Saki’s explanation of her “Super Secret Plan Icchan Can't Know About” would be brief enough to fit in the time left over.
ichika-chan <3
Well okay since it looks like theyre having fun. But dont take too long!! :*
Honami reacts with a heart emoji and sets her phone aside. She watches, amused, as the pursuit comes to an end. Shiho’s about to fall flat on their face from exertion while Saki beams at them.
“I’ll get you next time.” Shiho swears.
“Sure babe.”
“Order in the court!” Saki cries out. She bangs the tool she had acquired against the table. All she’s missing is a powdered wig. “Order in the court I say!”
“Where did you get a hammer from?” Shiho asks, befuddled.
“No questions!” She retorts. Saki smacks said hammer on the table a few more times for posterity—each strike growing in strength—before Honami gently holds her arm back as she’s going for another swing.
“Saki-chan, you might damage the table.”
Oops. That hadn’t occurred to her. She drops the tool back into the toolbox she had found under Ichika’s bed. “Yeah that’s fair. To the issue of today’s meeting. Icchan’s abs.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’m not kidding, we need a plan!”
“A plan for what?” Shiho’s exasperation makes Saki want to pinch their cheeks so badly she ignores the fact they broke her ‘no questions’ rule.
“Think of all the merchandise we can sell! Just imagine it, marketable plushies, six-pack included!”
Shiho clasps their hands together in front of their nose and rolls their eyes towards the ceiling. Honami’s hand darts to her mouth, but is too late to stifle her snort.
“Hona-chan!” Saki’s aghast, truly. She had thought she had at least one supporter in the room. But, no, she’s surrounded by people who don’t understand. She’s a visionary ahead of her time. “I’m being serious. We could also have Icchan film thirst traps with our songs, imagine how popular we’d get!”
“No.” Shiho is all business now. “First of all, no Leo/need song is suitable for that kind of thing. Secondly, Ichika would never agree to it. Thirdly, even if we ignore my first two points, that sort of publicity is not what we want.”
“Hmm, soooooo what I’m hearing is that it’d be better to go with the marketable plushies.”
“No!”
They argue until Honami snaps her fingers. Their mouths click shut as they devote their attention to her.
“How about we consult the person we’re talking about?” She says, holding up her phone. On it, Saki can see a newly sent message telling Ichika to come back inside.
“You’re so smart.”
“I honestly don’t know why you sent her out in the first place…”
Ichika knocks on the door and upon hearing an affirmative, prepares to walk in.
Knowing her girlfriends were in there, talking about her, caused her ear tips to tint red a while ago and they’re still uncomfortably warm minutes later. She had been ushered out with claims of it being not about anything bad, but she couldn’t learn about too soon in fear of ‘ruining the epic scheme’. Saki’s words, not hers.
The embarrassment had quickly turned to anxiety, as it often did for her.
What had they been saying about her? Her girlfriends wouldn’t talk about someone behind their back, so it must have been something she did. Oh no, had she egregiously erred somewhere without realizing and it was the final straw for them? Were they breaking up with her? She gnaws her lip.
“Ichika,” Shiho’s muffled voice comes through the door. The sudden jolt from being addressed is translated into jaw strength, as she accidentally bites down hard enough to taste iron. “I can hear you overthinking. Come in already.”
She frantically wipes away any hint of blood and stands up a little straighter. Ichika enters the room.
Her three partners are gathered around the table, beckoning her to take a seat. They take one look at her expression and let out a collective sigh.
“We’re not breaking up with you.” Honami reassures her.
“How did you-”
“You’re really easy to read Icchan!” Saki teases.
“Is that blood on your lip?” Shiho asks, always the prudent one.
“Woah, is it?” Her faux confusion resembles plastic even to her ears. Ichika gives up trying to dupe the people who have known her since she was a child and hangs her head. “Yeah, okay, it is.”
“Come here Ichika-chan.” Honami says, patting the empty floor.
Ichika follows her lead. She sits down cross-legged next to Honami, who pulls out a tissue from a box and dabs it on the tender area.
“I was chewing on my lip when Shiho broke my train of thought, I got a bit spooked.” She says as an explanation as Honami inspects her face for any more injuries. “I guess you could say I was chomping at the bit.”
Ichika laughs.
No one else does; she wilts.
“Tough crowd.” Shiho says, as if they’re not part of it.
“Anyway,” Saki sounds eager to move to the next topic. Ichika can’t say she disagrees. “We wanted to ask you something. How would you feel if you were our new face of advertising?”
“Aren’t I already?”
As the frontwoman of a band, she was, well, at the front of most things. That included merchandise, where she was often at the center of pictures with the rest of Leo/need clustered around her. It used to bother her, and to a certain extent it still does (Honami, Shiho, and Saki all equally deserved the spotlight as well), but she’s mostly gotten used to it.
“Your abs, Ichika. She means your abs.” Shiho grumbles. Why are they fanning their face? And tugging at the collar of their shirt?
“What about them?” Ichika’s brow crinkles.
“She wants-” Honami tries to say.
Saki interrupts, “We Leo/need to see your abs on a plushie!”
“And you thought my joke was bad.” She facepalms.
Also, how would that even work? Ichika’s not sure she’s ever seen a stuffed toy with a six-pack before that wasn’t drawn on. The logistics of someone having to pull up her shirt to see the muscles disturbed her, even if it was happening to a stuffed version of herself. Maybe Ichika Plushieno would be wearing a crop top? Not like that would be much better.
“It was.” Shiho deadpans. Ichika sulks. “Also, Saki, who is we?”
“I know what you are.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Honami intervenes before they can break out into a fight or makeout session. Or both. Precedent did exist for all three situations. “Girls.”
Shiho crosses their arms as Saki mopes, but they both stop talking.
“If it’s for the good of the band…” Ichika’s suffering more than all religious figures combined.
Saki nods rapidly. “It is!”
“Then, I guess we can give it a go.”
“I’ll contact Shindou-san.” Honami begins tapping at her phone.
“Icchan, can you show us your abs?” She pulls out puppy dog eyes. Whether it’s because Ichika’s weak or Saki’s too strong, Ichika gives in, raising her shirt’s edge.
The sight is blinding. A beat passes. Then another, and-
Shiho passes out.
Rest in flusteredness, Shiho.