Euphony Trio: Encore

The apartment was still — the kind of stillness that felt hollow rather than peaceful. The hum of the refrigerator buzzed faintly from the kitchen. A spoon rested in an abandoned teacup on the counter. Everything else was untouched, like a room waiting for something to happen.

Sunlight poured in through the sheer curtains, warm and golden, casting shifting stripes across the hardwood floor. Dust danced gently in the rays, rising and falling like slow breath.

On the pulled out couch, Sunny lay curled into herself — arms wrapped around a pillow, hoodie pulled tight, one leg dangling off the edge like she hadn't meant to fall asleep there. A blanket, carelessly draped over her the night before, was now tugged halfway to her chin. Her face was soft with sleep, but the faint crease between her brows hadn't gone away.

The TV was still on — paused on the frame of some animated film neither of them had really watched. They'd put it on to fill the silence, but by the time the popcorn bowl was only half full, their conversation had faded. Quiet had taken over instead. Not awkward, not heavy — just… quiet.

Amber's jacket was no longer slung over the chair.

Her boots were gone from the mat.

So was she.

Sunny's eyes blinked open slowly, lashes fluttering in the morning light. For a second, she didn't move. Didn't even breathe too deeply.

Then she turned her head — toward the empty chair where Amber had last sat, arms crossed, eyes stubborn but tired. Her hoodie still hung on the coat rack. The only thing she left behind.

Sunny sat up slowly, the blanket falling away. The couch cushions still carried the weight of where Amber had sat the night before.

She ran a hand through her hair. Her chest felt tight. Not from panic — just… from the kind of sadness that lingers even after you sleep it off.

She already knew.

Amber had left before dawn, just like she said she would.

No note.

No sound.

Only the ghost of her warmth left behind on the fabric.

Sunny pulled the blanket closer again, tucking her knees up. She stared at the popcorn bowl, the quiet TV, the doorway Amber had walked out of.

"…You really left," she whispered into the stillness.

And the apartment didn't answer back.

---

The knock came just as Sunny was starting to move — slowly, like waking from more than just sleep. Her limbs were heavy, her hoodie bunched awkwardly around her neck, and her hair stuck out in soft, half-flattened waves. She sat upright on the couch, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand.

Another knock. Softer this time. Not urgent. Just… patient.

Sunny blinked at the door.

For a moment, she thought maybe she imagined it. Maybe it was a leftover sound from a dream. But when it came again — one steady knock, followed by two quick ones — she knew exactly who it was.

She pulled herself to her feet and padded across the floor, blanket still half-draped over her shoulders. When she opened the door, the hallway's morning light framed Amelia like something out of a memory.

She was wearing soft gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with the hood down, her ponytail messier than usual. No makeup. Bare-faced. She looked like she'd rolled out of bed — and she probably had.

In one arm she held a paper bag, slightly warm and greasy at the bottom. In the other, two takeaway cups with steam curling gently from the lids.

"Emergency visit," Amelia said, her voice a hushed mix of brightness and care. "Figured you'd need one."

Sunny just stared at her for a second — like she wasn't sure whether to cry or hug her or laugh. Her lip wobbled slightly, but she didn't say anything.

She just stepped back and held the door open.

Amelia entered quietly, toeing off her sneakers. She didn't comment on the popcorn bowl, or the faint whir of the paused TV. She didn't need to. She took one glance at Sunny's crumpled blanket, the empty spot on the couch, and understood everything.

"Still warm," she muttered, checking the bag before handing it over. "Two cheese and chive muffins. They were out of chocolate."

Sunny accepted it with a soft "thanks," barely above a whisper.

"And this one's chamomile for you," Amelia added, offering the cup with a little floral doodle drawn on the lid. "I told them not to make it too hot."

Sunny took it in both hands, her fingers brushing Amelia's briefly. The warmth seeped through the cup into her palms like something grounding.

Amelia sank onto the couch, legs folded under her. "So," she said, tone gentle, "she's gone?"

Sunny nodded. Then: "She left early."

Amelia reached over and tugged the blanket over Sunny's lap again, like an afterthought. "Of course she did."

And they sat like that for a while — in the soft, unspoken quiet. Just two friends. One holding tea, the other holding space.

---

Amelia moved like she'd done this before.

She set the takeaway cups on the coffee table — careful, quiet, like she didn't want to disturb anything — then unpacked the warm paper bag and slid it open. The scent of buttery pastry filled the room.

She didn't ask where things were. Just picked up the folded blanket from where it had slipped off the couch and gently draped it back over Sunny's shoulders, smoothing it down with a small pat.

Sunny didn't say anything. Her tea sat in her hands, going warm to cool. Her eyes were distant, half-lidded — somewhere between the ache of last night and the numbness of morning.

They sat in silence.

Not awkward silence. The kind of silence that only exists between people who know how to leave each other room to breathe.

Amelia sat back on the couch, cross-legged, hands wrapped around her own cup. She stared at the window for a while, watching the dust glow in the morning light.

Finally, she spoke — softly. "She's gone, huh?"

Sunny nodded, her gaze not shifting.

There was another pause. Just the gentle hum of the fridge and the rustle of a neighbor's footsteps outside.

"…Wanna talk about it?" Amelia asked gently.

Sunny stayed quiet for a second too long.

Then her breath hitched.

And her hand came up to hide her face, sleeve covering the sudden rush of tears that sprang to her eyes. She bit her lip — hard — trying to hold it in. But it cracked anyway.

Amelia moved instantly. No hesitation.

She scooted closer on the couch, arm coming around Sunny's shoulders, pulling her in gently — no pressure, no force.

"Hey," she whispered. "It's okay. Cry it out. I got you."

Sunny didn't lean all the way in, but she didn't pull away either. Her body trembled just slightly — the kind of shaking that came from trying too hard to be fine.

"I'm sorry," Sunny mumbled behind her sleeve.

Amelia shook her head, resting her chin lightly against Sunny's temple. "Don't be. Who else do I bring emergency muffins to at 8 a.m.?"

That got the faintest laugh — a wet exhale that barely passed as amusement, but it was something.

"You really liked her, huh?" Amelia murmured.

Sunny nodded against her shoulder. "She felt like… like something new. Something I didn't even know I needed. And now she's just… gone."

Amelia held her tighter. "She's not gone gone, Sunbeam. She's just… figuring stuff out. Like we all are."

Sunny wiped her eyes with the corner of the blanket. "You call me Sunbeam now too?"

Amelia smiled. "Can't let Amber be the only one with taste."

That earned a half-laugh, half-sob. Sunny leaned into her a little more.

And Amelia stayed right there, holding her like she didn't need her to be strong, or graceful, or okay.

Just… present.

---

The drinks had long gone lukewarm. The pastries — one croissant, one half-eaten cinnamon roll, a crumbled muffin top — sat scattered on napkins across the table.

The quiet had changed.

Not the silence of sadness, but the kind that followed honesty. The kind that allowed thoughts to stretch and breathe.

Sunny leaned back into the couch, her legs tucked under her. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands, fingers absently toying with the fabric as she spoke — slowly, carefully.

"She said she'd only be here for a little while… I knew it. I knew it the whole time. But I still let myself get close."

Her voice wavered. "And Zane… Zane did the same thing. He just left. Disappeared. Like it was easy."

Amelia listened, elbows on knees, chin resting in one hand.

"I keep getting left behind," Sunny whispered. "I know it's stupid. It's not like Amber owed me anything. It's only been a month. But…"

She paused, swallowing hard. Her voice cracked.

"It hurts. And I feel stupid for letting it hurt this much."

Amelia shifted — leaned forward slightly.

"It's not stupid," she said, voice low and sure. "You loved her."

Sunny looked up at that. Caught off guard.

"I—what?"

"You loved her," Amelia repeated gently. "You still do."

Sunny blinked at her — something between confusion and vulnerability catching in her throat.

Amelia's gaze was steady, kind. "Maybe not in the way you loved Zane. But it was still love, Sunny. You cared. You let her in. That counts."

Sunny's breath hitched.

She hadn't let herself say it. Not in words. Not even in thoughts. But hearing it said aloud — plainly, kindly, like it was okay to admit — was like pressing on a bruise.

And that's when the tears came again.

This time quieter. Less frantic. Just steady.

Amelia didn't speak. She just leaned over, rested her head gently against Sunny's shoulder. Their arms touched. No pressure. No advice. Just presence.

Sunny let the tears fall, eyes wide open, staring at the faint shimmer of light on the floorboards.

"I didn't want her to go," she whispered. "Even when I knew she would."

Amelia nodded. "I know."

"I just wanted… more time."

"I know."

And for a little while longer, they sat like that. Two girls in the aftermath of goodbye, finding comfort in what was still here.

---

Amelia hated this. Hated seeing Sunny curled up like that — hollow-eyed, quiet, smaller than usual. It wasn't fair. It had happened again.

Two people.

Two souls who wandered into Sunny's life, made her laugh, made her feel something… and then disappeared just as quickly. Like they were never meant to stay. Like Sunny's heart was just a rest stop.

But Amelia stayed. She always would.

She didn't say all the things she wanted to — about how stupid Amber was for leaving, or how Zane should've stayed longer — because she knew that wasn't what Sunny needed.

She needed someone here. Just here.

So that's what Amelia did.

She picked up the empty cups and crusted pastry wrappers from the table. Washed a few dishes. Folded the blanket that had half-fallen off the couch. It wasn't much — her cleaning skills were questionable at best — but it was something.

Sunny barely moved from her corner of the couch. Occasionally she'd sip her drink or glance at her phone, but otherwise she was quiet. Not numb — just… spent.

Around lunchtime, Amelia disappeared for a bit. She returned twenty minutes later with takeout: grilled tofu wraps, iced teas, and little containers of dipping sauce. She held it up like a peace offering.

"Don't worry. I didn't cook it," she said with a tired grin.

That got the faintest smile from Sunny — the kind that didn't reach her eyes, but still meant something.

They ate slowly, side by side on the couch, knees brushing. No background music, no TV — just the occasional crunch or sip. It was quiet. But not heavy.

Afterward, they migrated to the floor. Sunny finally agreed to put on a movie — a quiet one, something low-stakes and soft. They watched half of it. Then another. Then something animated. Amelia made sarcastic commentary during the slower parts, and when Sunny didn't respond, she didn't push — just draped her legs over the couch and kept her voice calm, steady, familiar.

Later that evening, they sat cross-legged with a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream between them. Two spoons. One blanket.

Sunny took a bite and closed her eyes. "I think I'm finally starting to feel something."

"Is it hope?" Amelia asked with a teasing lilt.

"No," Sunny said dryly. "It's a brain freeze."

Amelia snorted. "Classic. Movie moment ruined."

Sunny glanced over at her. "No… this is a movie moment."

Amelia tilted her head. "Really?"

Sunny nodded, finally smiling — faintly, but real. "Just like in the movies."

That was when Amelia knew. Sunny would be okay.

Even if she wasn't okay right now… she'd get there. And if not, well — Amelia would be there anyway. No disappearing acts. No sudden goodbyes.

Just two best friends, sharing ice cream on the floor. One quiet night at a time.

---

As the credits rolled on their third movie, and the last spoonfuls of ice cream melted in the tub between them, Sunny started to shift — slowly gathering the blanket around herself like she was preparing to stand.

Amelia didn't even look up. "Nope."

Sunny blinked. "What?"

"You're not kicking me out."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes you were," Amelia said, turning to face her with the softest of stubborn looks. "You were about to do the whole 'thanks for today, you can go now' speech. Not happening."

Sunny opened her mouth to protest. But Amelia was already unfolding the futon from the closet like she owned the place.

"No ifs. No buts. I'm staying."

Sunny hesitated. "You really don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to." Amelia looked at her, gentle but firm. "But that's what friends are for."

The room fell quiet for a moment. Sunny watched her, and in her eyes, that fragile gratitude started rising again — not loud, not dramatic. Just there. Quiet and steady.

"…Okay," she said softly.

Amelia grinned and stood up, stretching. "Good. Because I already called dibs on your bed."

Sunny blinked. "Wait—what?"

"You heard me." Amelia turned toward the hallway. "You get the couch. I'm stealing the softest mattress in this apartment as emotional support tax."

Sunny actually let out a tiny laugh. "You're the worst."

Amelia gave a smug little bow. "And yet, you love me."

Sunny just shook her head, smiling faintly as she curled up on the couch, blanket tucked close. "Leave my weighted blanket alone."

"No promises," Amelia called back from the bedroom.

The apartment dimmed as the streetlights outside flickered on, their glow painting quiet patterns across the floor.

For the first time all day, Sunny didn't feel alone.

And as Amelia flopped onto the bed, scrolling her phone one-handed and hugging Sunny's pillow with the other, she thought — maybe Sunny didn't have to figure everything out just yet.

Maybe, for tonight… this was enough.

---

Sunny woke to the low, persistent buzz of her phone vibrating against the coffee table. Groggy, she squinted at the screen.

Laura.

She blinked, sat up, rubbed her eyes, and then quietly answered.

"...Hello?"

"Sunny. Hey." Laura's voice was calm, professional — but softer than usual. "Can you come to the studio today? There's something I'd like to go over."

Sunny blinked again, voice still rough with sleep. "Oh… yeah. Sure. I can be there soon."

When the call ended, she set the phone down and looked around the quiet apartment. The soft morning light filtered in, and everything felt still — peaceful, in a way. She stretched, stood up, and padded across the room to get dressed. Amelia, curled up in Sunny's bed like a content cat, was still deeply asleep — hair a messy cloud, her face half-buried in a pillow she had definitely stolen.

Sunny smiled a little. She didn't want to wake her. Not after everything.

So she tiptoed through the apartment, moving like a ninja. Keys in hand. Shoes barely making a sound.

She opened the door.

And—

"Mmmh. Where're you going?"

Sunny jumped a little, turning around.

Amelia sat up, eyes half-open, voice scratchy from sleep. Somehow, she still managed to look vaguely betrayed.

Sunny froze, caught mid-step. "...Laura called. She asked me to come to the studio."

Amelia stared.

Sunny added quickly, "I wasn't gonna be long. I didn't want to wake you—"

"Oh, no." Amelia threw off the blanket like a cape. "You're not ditching me after I spent all day emotionally babysitting you."

"I wasn't—!"

"I practically spoon-fed you ice cream!"

Sunny opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"And now you're just gonna sneak out without even a thank you smoothie?"

Sunny looked sheepish. "I… was going to bring you one on the way back…"

Amelia gasped — theatric, but not insincere. "You were gonna bring me a smoothie after leaving me abandoned in your bed like a forgotten orphan?"

Sunny started laughing, and that only fueled Amelia's energy.

"Unacceptable," she said, already pulling on yesterday's pants. "I'm coming with."

"You sure?" Sunny asked. "You can stay and sleep, I mean—"

"I'll nap in the studio. Laura's couches are comfy. And you clearly shouldn't be left unsupervised."

Sunny smiled as she grabbed her bag. "You're ridiculous."

Amelia pointed a finger at her as she struggled to yank on her hoodie. "And you are lucky to have me."

They left the apartment together — a little more tired, but a little more okay than yesterday.

---

They walked side by side through the quiet morning streets — the city not quite awake yet, bathed in soft gold and long shadows. Amelia sipped from a takeaway smoothie Sunny had insisted on buying her, while Sunny hugged her tote close, eyes a little distant.

After a while, she spoke, voice quiet.

"…How did you find out that she… you know."

Amelia glanced at her. "Had left?"

Sunny nodded.

Amelia gave a small shrug, eyes forward. "Just a feeling."

Sunny looked at her curiously.

Amelia smiled faintly, then took another sip before adding, "Wouldn't be an anime beach episode without a big plot twist at the end, right?"

That earned a soft huff of laughter from Sunny — not quite amused, but comforted. Amelia's way of spinning the world never failed to steady her, even when it was crumbling.

"She really meant it," Sunny said after a moment. "Leaving."

"Yeah," Amelia replied. "But hey… she didn't ghost you. She said goodbye. That matters."

"…I know."

They kept walking. Amelia didn't push. She just matched her pace, shoulder brushing gently against Sunny's from time to time — just to remind her she was still there.

Sunny glanced sideways. "Thanks. For showing up yesterday."

Amelia smirked. "Please. You think I'd not crash your grief party? You practically scheduled it."

Sunny smiled. A real one, this time.

And somewhere between the steps and the jokes, things didn't feel quite as heavy anymore.

---

The studio smelled faintly of wood polish and coffee. White walls, high ceilings, scattered equipment — guitars on stands, cables neatly rolled, a keyboard against one wall. Axel was tucked into a corner, tuning his guitar with quiet focus.

Laura stood near the center, clipboard in hand, composed as always.

When the door opened and Sunny stepped in — with Amelia right behind — Laura blinked in surprise.

"…Amelia?"

"Heya," Amelia said with a casual salute, already making her way to the soft old couch pushed against the wall. "Don't mind me. I'm emotional support today."

Laura gave a small nod, adjusting her posture. "Well… you're welcome to stay."

Amelia flopped down with a grin. "Oh, I will."

Sunny glanced around — familiar, grounding. She hadn't been here in a while, not since before the concert.

Laura cleared her throat softly. "So, I've been thinking about our next project."

Sunny straightened, heart lifting slightly.

"The collaboration with Zane was a success," Laura continued, calm and methodical. "The performance, the feedback, the numbers — it was all promising. It's something we would absolutely consider doing again."

Sunny's face lit up.

"But," Laura added, "not right now."

"Oh…" Her smile faltered, dropping almost instantly.

Laura gave her a sympathetic glance, then pressed on, flipping a page on her clipboard. "However, we've received an invitation to do a televised group interview — with LiveStage Monthly."

Amelia's head popped up. "The LiveStage Monthly?"

Laura nodded. "They're doing a summer feature on rising collabs. And since the performance is still trending, they've requested all participants be present."

Sunny's heart skipped. "Wait… all?"

Laura looked at her, eyes softening just slightly. "I've already spoken to Zane's label."

Axel glanced up at that.

Laura continued, "They've agreed to give him two weeks off for this. The interview itself will take place over one scheduled day, but we'll need to rehearse and prepare in advance. Full commitment. No distractions."

For a second, it didn't feel real. Sunny stared at her, lips parting. "He's… coming back?"

Laura gave a small nod.

That was all it took.

Sunny's eyes welled up and she practically jumped on the spot. Amelia squealed from the couch and rushed over to tackle-hug her.

"He's coming back!!" Sunny laughed, breath catching, overwhelmed and dizzy with joy.

"I knew he couldn't stay gone forever," Amelia grinned, still hugging her.

Then — impulse won out. Sunny turned and hugged Laura.

Laura stiffened, blinking in alarm.

Axel actually looked up, surprised enough to set his guitar aside.

But Laura didn't pull away. Instead, after a beat… she gently patted Sunny's head.

That somehow made it worse — or better — and Sunny choked on a quiet laugh-sob against her shoulder.

"He is… really coming back?" she whispered.

Laura didn't answer right away — but her nod was sure. "Yes."

Amelia stepped back, eyes wide. "Okay, okay, pause. Can we talk about how terrifyingly good Laura is at handling things? You just, what, negotiated with a label? Do you have secret government training? You ever lose a debate? I bet you don't."

Laura blinked. "I… do my best."

Amelia grinned. "Remind me never to argue with you."

Then, stepping back with a flourish, she pointed at the group. "This calls for a group hug. No exceptions."

Sunny laughed and nodded immediately.

Laura raised an eyebrow. "I don't—"

But Axel was already getting up. He moved over, slinging an arm gently around Laura's shoulders. "C'mon. Even you can't say no after what you just pulled off."

Laura exhaled in defeat, but didn't protest further.

So they all came together — awkwardly, warmly, all limbs and laughter.

It wasn't perfect. But it didn't have to be.

For the first time in a long while… something good was finally coming back to them.

---

As the group hug broke apart in a tangle of limbs and laughter, Sunny lingered near Laura, her smile still glowing faintly.

She tilted her head. "So… an interview. But that doesn't really count as a project, does it?" Her fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve. "What's the actual project part about?"

Laura crossed her arms lightly, calm as ever. "The interview is just a moment. A milestone. But we need something to follow it — something that shows we're still growing."

Sunny nodded slowly.

"I've been thinking," Laura continued, "that we should release a new music video. Something original."

Amelia perked up beside Sunny. "Wait, for real? Like, a full production?"

Laura nodded. "Yes. Not a performance cut — a real concept video."

Axel gave an approving hum from the corner he had returned to.

Sunny's gaze stayed fixed on Laura, curious. "And… the song?"

Laura looked at her. "That's what I wanted to ask you about."

Sunny blinked. "Me?"

"I'd like you to write the lyrics."

There was a beat of silence. Sunny's mouth parted slightly. "Oh— I mean—sure! If you think I can. But… what's the theme? What is it going to be about?"

Laura held her gaze, then said simply: "Love."

Sunny's heart skipped.

Amelia let out a delighted gasp. "Ooh. Spicy."

But Sunny wasn't really listening. Her mind had already started spinning — not with panic, but with memory.

Of Amber, leaning her head on her shoulder that last night.

Of Zane, brushing her hair and kissing her temple.

Of every lyric she'd been scribbling and hiding in her sketchbook lately, unsure if they were good enough or just too much.

A love song.

She gave a tiny nod, her voice quiet but certain. "Okay. I'll write it."

Laura gave her a rare, approving smile. "I know you will."

And somehow, it didn't feel like pressure.

It felt like a chance.

A chance to turn all of it — the ache, the longing, the fragile little moments — into something lasting.

Sunny glanced toward the window, where the light hit the studio floor just right.

Maybe this was the start of something new, after all.