The shop settled into a comfortable rhythm after the initial flurry. Naomi had pulled out a basket of sample products — nail polishes, temporary tattoos, glitter gels — and spread them across the counter where she and Raul were testing colors on their hands like scientists conducting very important research.
The Fighter had migrated to one of the pastel couches near the window, sinking into the plush cushions. The pink star clip still glinted in his hair. He watched them work, half-listening to their banter, the shop's soft J-pop filling the spaces between conversation.
"Okay, this one's too orange," Naomi declared, holding up her pinky finger. "It's giving construction cone, not 'cute autumn vibes.'"
Raul laughed, comparing his own hand.
"I dunno, I kinda like it. Very 'caution: punk zone ahead.'"
The Fighter's eyes drifted to the window, watching people pass by on the street. No one looked in. No one recognized him. The anonymity felt like a blanket.
Naomi glanced over, catching him zoning out.
"Hey, you okay over there? Want me to bring the samples to you? I've got this really good lavender shade—"
"I'm good," The Fighter said, voice quiet but not unfriendly. He shifted on the couch, pulling his knees up slightly. "Just listening."
Naomi smiled, going back to her nail polish comparisons. Then, after a beat, she looked up again.
"Random question — what kind of shows did you love watching as a kid?"
The Fighter blinked, pulled from his thoughts.
"Shows?"
"Yeah, like TV shows. Cartoons, whatever. What were you into?"
He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then, unexpectedly:
"Big Time Rush."
Raul's head snapped up.
"Wait, seriously?"
The Fighter nodded, a faint hint of something lighter crossing his face.
"Yeah. I still listen to their music sometimes. They're an amazing band."
Naomi froze mid-brush-stroke, staring at him like he'd just spoken in an alien language.
"WHAT?? THEY WERE A REAL BAND???"
"Yeah? They made albums. Tours. The whole thing."
"I thought it was just, like, TV music!" Naomi set down the nail polish, hands gesturing wildly. "Like, fake band music for the show! You're telling me they were *real*?"
Raul burst out laughing, nearly knocking over a bottle of glitter gel.
"Oh my god, Naomi, how did you not know this?"
"I DON'T KNOW! I thought it was like... you know, manufactured for Nickelodeon or whatever!" She turned to The Fighter, eyes wide. "They actually performed? Like, real concerts?"
The Fighter nodded, something close to amusement flickering in his tired eyes.
"Yeah. I saw them live once. Chicago, 2011. My sister took me."
Naomi sat back, mind visibly blown.
"This is a lot to process. So you're telling me 'Boyfriend' was a real song? Like, on the radio?"
"It charted," The Fighter said simply. "They had multiple albums. Worldwide was probably their best one."
Raul was still laughing, wiping his eyes.
"Dude, I can't believe you were a BTR fan. That's so wholesome."
The Fighter shrugged, a slight defensiveness creeping in.
"Their music's good. Catchy. Made me feel... I don't know. Less heavy."
Naomi's expression softened immediately.
"No, no, I'm not judging! That's actually really sweet. I just genuinely thought they were a fictional band this whole time." She paused, thinking. "Wait, do you still have their songs on your phone?"
The Fighter hesitated, then nodded.
"Can I hear one? Please? I need to experience real Big Time Rush music with this new context."
The Fighter pulled out his phone, scrolling through his music library. He found "Worldwide" and hit play, setting the phone on the couch beside him. The opening chords filled the shop, upbeat and earnest and exactly the kind of pop-rock that didn't ask anything of you except to feel good.
Naomi listened, head bobbing slightly, a grin spreading across her face.
"Okay, this is actually a bop. Why did no one tell me?"
"It's a good song," The Fighter said quietly, watching the phone screen. "They have a lot of good songs."
Raul leaned against the counter, arms crossed, smiling.
"You know what? Respect. Anyone who can admit they listen to Big Time Rush as an adult has my respect."
The Fighter's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. The song played on, filling the pastel-soaked boutique with its bright, uncomplicated energy.
Naomi went back to her nail polish, humming along now, then paused.
"You know, this whole 'liking what you like' thing? That's basically the gyaru philosophy."
The Fighter looked up.
"Gyaru?"
"Yeah!" Naomi gestured to herself — the platinum hair, the pastel ribbons, the layers of accessories. "It's a Japanese street fashion subculture. Started in the 90s, kind of as rebellion against traditional Japanese beauty standards. You know — dark hair, pale skin, being quiet and modest. Gyaru was like... the opposite. Bleached hair, tanned skin, loud makeup, platform shoes. Being *visible*."
Raul nodded.
"Naomi's the real deal. Not the costume version."
"Exactly!" Naomi's hands moved animatedly as she spoke, bracelets clinking. "A lot of people in the West think gyaru is just an aesthetic you can put on, but it's deeper than that. It's about rejecting what society says you should be. About making yourself into art. About community, too — we had our magazines, our meet-ups, our crews."
She picked up one of the hair clips, turning it over.
"I grew up in Shibuya. My mom *hated* it when I started getting into gyaru. Thought I was ruining my future, that no one would take me seriously. But the girls I met? They were some of the most genuine people I've ever known. We looked out for each other."
The Fighter listened, quiet but attentive.
"When I moved here, people kept asking me to tone it down. 'Professional' settings, you know? But this—" she gestured around the shop, "—this is me staying true to it. The colors, the accessories, the whole vibe. It's not just cute stuff. It's resistance. It's saying 'I exist loudly, and that's okay.'"
She looked at The Fighter, something knowing in her eyes.
"Kind of like you still listening to Big Time Rush even though people might judge. You like what you like. That's gyaru energy."
The Fighter was quiet for a moment, then:
"Your mom... did she come around?"
Naomi's smile faltered slightly.
"Not really. We don't talk much anymore. She wanted me to be something I wasn't." She shrugged, but the gesture didn't quite hide the weight. "But I found my people. That's what matters."
Raul reached over, squeezing her shoulder.
"And you built this place. That's pretty fucking cool."
"Yeah." Naomi's smile returned, genuine. "Yeah, I did." She held up a bottle of holographic nail polish. "And now I get to make other people sparkle. Can't complain about that."
The song faded out. The shop fell into a comfortable silence, just the soft hum of the city outside and the faint buzz of the overhead lights.
The Fighter spoke quietly:
"I think Elena would like you."
Naomi's eyes lit up.
"Your sister? The artist?"
He nodded.
"She's... loud in her own way. Different, but similar. Doesn't apologize for it."
"Then she sounds amazing." Naomi started putting away the nail polish samples. "You should bring her by sometime. I'd love to meet her."
The Fighter didn't respond, but he touched the pink star clip in his hair again, like a talisman.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside, three people existed in a pastel-soaked corner of the world, each carrying their own weight, each finding small ways to make it lighter.
And for now, that was enough.
> Chapter complete. Continue to next chapter? [Y/N] █