Yamada Ryō was someone who liked quiet atmospheres.
Unlike Bocchi-chan, who deep down longed for companions but was held back by crippling social anxiety, Yamada genuinely enjoyed living alone and had a reclusive disposition that didn't welcome others intruding on her space.
After getting to know Ijichi Nijika, she had gradually become less resistant to letting new people enter her life, but habits built over many years were still not something that could be changed overnight.
Nijika, on the other hand, was almost her opposite—she sincerely cared for and looked after everyone around her, like a bright sun that cast warmth and equal attention on all.
Although Yamada would occasionally wonder, "Doesn't that get exhausting?", most of the time she didn't concern herself much with how others chose to live or interact.
That was, until the curly-haired boy—someone she had long since subconsciously marked as part of her own territory—suddenly became one of the lucky people basking in Nijika's sunlight as well. Only then did the usually detached, uncompetitive Yamada find herself unable to stay calm.
It wasn't really a big deal. She had simply realized that she was feeling inexplicably irritated.
Which brought her back to the real question: why was Yamada Ryō—who normally acted indifferent to just about everything—getting so worked up over something like this?
That, in truth, was what troubled her the most.
"Hmm… am I being kind of childish about friendship?"
Even with that restless feeling in her chest, her first instinct was still to dig into why she felt this way. With her head lowered, she wandered over to the vending machine outside the venue, dropped in some coins, pressed the button for canned coffee, and then lightly kicked the machine's body—
With a clatter, the drink she'd selected tumbled down to the pickup slot.
The vending machine outside the venue seemed poorly maintained and sluggish from years of neglect. Sometimes it would even swallow money without dispensing anything at all. This trick was something Narumi had taught her.
As the can popped open with a crisp hiss, Yamada leaned against the wall and took her time savoring the coffee. The familiar taste was deeply reassuring—yet it also reminded her that she'd already had a can back in the rehearsal room earlier.
"At this rate, I'm definitely not sleeping tonight."
She clicked her tongue in mild resignation. Still, being who she was, she didn't dwell on it too much. After all, something else was weighing on her mind right now.
"Feeling down because your friend made other friends… that's probably normal, right? But it feels like something only elementary schoolers would get hung up on."
Yamada pursed her lips. Mostly, she just thought fixating on something like this wasn't cool at all.
She'd already imagined that fiery scene of her and Koumi on stage together, guitar and bass shaking the crowd to its core—and yet she'd already stumbled at the very first step of him integrating into the band.
So what exactly was this baseless, out-of-nowhere frustration?
"Caught you slacking off out here."
While she was still lost in thought, a lazy voice from not far away interrupted her.
The curly-haired boy came walking over from the venue entrance, rubbing the back of his head. He glanced at the vending machine, then shifted his gaze to Yamada, who was leaning against the wall with a can of coffee in hand.
"How many is that now? Careful—you won't be able to sleep tonight."
He smiled and spread his hands, then gave a light shake of his palm.
"Why not leave it to Narumi—your humble servant, who loves coffee dearly—Koumi-san to take care of it?"
"..."
After a brief hesitation, Yamada handed over the still-mostly-full can of coffee.
"Koumi, you just want to freeload my coffee, don't you."
She voiced her conclusion plainly.
"Doesn't matter if you figured it out—either way, I'm taking it."
As if afraid she might change her mind, the boy took the can and gulped down several big mouthfuls. Yamada remained outwardly silent, but in her freewheeling mind, a sudden thought popped up—
"…Does this count as an indirect kiss?"
Seeing that Narumi himself seemed completely unaware, she decided it was best not to say something that would definitely freak him out.
"Koumi, why'd you come out here anyway? Copying me and slacking off?"
Arms crossed, Yamada leaned against the wall. Narumi was one of the rare people who could take advantage of her and still leave her completely unfazed.
"Yeah. Copying you, Yamada—slacking off."
The curly-haired boy polished off the rest of the coffee in just a few swigs, smacked his lips, and admitted it cheerfully.
"Anyway, all my bad habits are things I learned from you. What's the problem?"
His straightforward, unguarded gaze made Yamada—who had things on her mind—feel a little unsettled.
"Not liking to deal with people is one habit you don't need to copy. Forging steel still depends on the metal itself."
Yamada shifted her eyes away, expression flat.
"I enjoy being like this, but someone as fragile as you, Koumi, definitely couldn't handle the trouble that comes with going it alone."
What she was awkwardly trying to say was really: "Don't worry about me—go build your bonds with Nijika and Bocchi." That was her way of caring.
The curly-haired boy blinked, reading between the lines—and instead of tactfully turning back, he stepped over to stand beside her, leaning against the same wall.
No way I'd just leave you alone. I followed you out because I noticed something was off.
But saying that outright would definitely give Yamada ammunition to tease him with something like "Oh? So you care about me that much, Koumi?" So after a brief silence, he softened it into something else.
"Can't help it. I like going solo together with you, Yamada."
Narumi delivered that straight ball with a calm face—it wasn't particularly hard for him to say.
"You were the first person I met, after all. So you'd better be ready to have me sticking to you for a long time."
Those words weren't a calculated move to achieve targets to pursue—they were simply the truth.
When dealing with someone as frank and incapable of lying as Yamada, trading sincerity for sincerity was the most efficient approach.
Sure enough, the blue-haired girl's eyes—previously dull—sparked back to life with a faint glimmer after hearing him.
"So, Koumi… you're not going to start talking about music only with Nijika and Bocchi-chan just because you've gotten closer to them, right?"
"…Why would you even think that?"
Narumi shook his head, half laughing, half baffled. His impression of Yamada Ryō quietly shifted into something new.
That otherworldly, detached Yamada Ryō—turns out she could get worked up over such ordinary things too.
It might have been unnecessary worry, but being able to catch glimpses of these more vivid expressions of hers felt surprisingly fresh to him.
He couldn't help wanting to uncover more sides of her he hadn't seen yet.