Chapter Text
Shigeo is used to performing in front of a crowd, but talking to one and signing his autograph? That’s a completely different story. But his brother and Shou are convinced that this was a great idea, after they made a lot of money from their t-shirt sales. That, combined with a discounted booth offer from a small music convention, is why he's here now: in a large room, behind a booth, waiting to be terrified by an incoming throng of fans.
“I’m sorry, Shige,” his brother whispers from next to him, concerned eyes searching his face, “but this is too good to pass up. If you get overwhelmed, there’s a breakroom that you can calm down in. It's where we put our bags.”
Shigeo breathes a sigh of relief, At least now he knows that there’s escape, if he needs it. And maybe their booth won’t get that much attention– there’s a few others around them, with bands that are just as popular, if not more so.
The reality overshoots his expectations by a lot. As soon as the door opens, they have a line that’s almost as long as the convention hall– which isn’t very large itself, but it’s the perspective that matters. Shigeo gulps, brow sweaty under his helmet, just like his palms which are gasping helplessly against his torn, denim pants.
Five minutes pass, and he thinks he’s on the brink of what he can handle, even though he hasn’t had to personally sign anything; after another ten minutes, his heart feels like it’s about to burst.
“I– I need to go.” Shigeo mumbles out hurriedly in the direction of his brother, not checking if he hears him or not. Ritsu should understand his departure either way.
He stumbles through the crowd. People are trying to talk to him, but he can barely wave back. It’s just too much. If he were his brother, he might chat with these fans who view him so highly, but Shigeo is just a background player. He likes that this band is successful because it makes his brother so happy, but no matter how proud Shigeo is, he’ll always have trouble handling all of the attention.
He reaches the wall, and it has fewer people. Thankfully, the faculty breakroom is clearly labeled and unlocked. He slips inside, rips off his helmet, and gasps for breath. Finally, some fresh– or fresher– air. His hair sticks up, so he shakes his head out like a dog to flatten it out.
The room is empty. There’s a long desk on one side of the room with a line of mirrors above it and chairs sitting displaced in front of it. In the corner sits a small fridge. Suddenly, he realizes that he's thirsty. He checks inside the mini fridge, and there’s a few bottled waters inside and an assortment of lunches. Ritsu didn’t say if they were allowed to take the snack or not, but Shigeo nabs a bottle; he’s sure they’ll forgive him, given the situation.
After a few minutes, the storm in his chest and head have calmed down to only an anxious hum… but he doesn’t want to go back out there. His brother and Shou can handle the crowd by themselves.
Shigeo grabs his backpack and takes a hoodie out of it. It’s black, so it should blend him in with the crowd seamlessly. He's never shown his face to anyone outside of his brother and Shou, so by hiding his helmet in his bag and covering his shirt, no one will recognize him and he'll be left alone.
Before he leaves, he grabs his earplugs from his pocket.
The crowd is much more manageable now that they don’t know who he is. The earbuds help, too, by muffling the noise. It only takes a minute to move through the room to where Ritsu can see him. He gives him a brisk wave, and his brother frowns but waves him to leave anyway. He takes the backdoor.
Outside, he shivers as the wind brushes through in his sweaty hair.
“Hey.” A voice makes him jump with an embarrassing squeak.
The voice laughs, and Shigeo slowly turns to his right. It’s– it’s The Guy. The one who he keeps seeing at his shows. The one Shigeo hasn’t forgotten, even a week later, and sometimes thinks about at school or while trying to sleep.
He almost doesn’t recognize him, with the normalcy of his outfit. Overlapping his dark blue, baggy denim jeans is his band’s t-shirt, half tucked into the waistline, showing off a studded belt. His jewlery is different than Shigeo's seen on him, too; his earrings are fuzzy and a bright blue, matching his intense eyes, and he has about 4 necklaces on, all silver but with different charms hanging off of them— how much jewelry does this guy own?
“Hi.” Shigeo mumbles after taking his earplugs out.
He wants to say more, but the space around them has already fallen into a stunted silence, and he’s looked away from Shigeo which probably means that he doesn’t want to talk, and if Shigeo bothers him, he’ll never get another chance to speak to him, to ask him why he makes him feel so strange. Any words he thinks of trip and fall flat on their face in his head.
“Do you have a light?” The man asks. He’s holding a cigarette, extending it with his question.
Shigeo doesn’t smoke, hasn’t even considered it, but Ritsu has him prepared for anything. For years, his brother has made sure he has everything he needs to survive in any situation in his bag, like a multi-tool pocket knife, a small first-aid kit, and varying bills in case he can’t access his debit card. Shigeo doesn’t mind carrying it around, since it puts Ritsu’s mind at ease, especially with what happened when they were younger, and it doesn’t take up too much space in his bag. He finds a matchbox after a bit of shuffling.
The man blinks at it. “Wha– why do you have matches on you?” He giggles, covering his mouth with a hand.
Shigeo’s face heats in embarrassment.
“Emergencies?” He’s still holding it out like an idiot. Of course this man would laugh at him– he was probably expecting a lighter, like a normal person, and now Shigeo’s humiliated himself in front of someone he wants to talk to. The only movement he can manage is looking down at his feet.
The man stops laughing after a few seconds and takes the match. He looks up at him. Shigeo’s eyebrows shift in confusion when the man bites down on the cigarette. Then, he grabs Shigeo’s wrist holding the matchbox; his hands are starkly warmer than the chill around it. He holds Shigeo’s arm steady as he tries to light the match. It takes two, three strikes until the match finds its spark and he, unfortunately, lets go of Shigeo’s arm. The cold washing back over his wrist, but he can still feel the imprint of his hand.
“I’m Teruki, by the way.” Teruki’s voice cuts through the fog around Shigeo’s head.
“I’m–I’m Shigeo.”
“That’s a cute name.” Teruki grins, and Shigeo can’t excuse the redness of his face as the cold or lingering embarrassment. The smoke wraps around his face, framing it like a portrait, and like he’s in a gallery with a famous painting, Shigeo can’t look away
“What, uh, what are you doing here?”
Teruki tilts his head and glances at the signs around them advertising the event inside.
“I’m here for the meet-and-greet.” Shigeo shrinks under his gaze. He’s much closer now, and it’s so intense. “Except I didn’t exactly get a ticket…” The man mumbles looking off to the side solemnly. “They sold out before I could. Ugh, this sucks. I was really hoping to meet Mob.”
“You were?” His eyes widen when he hears his stage-name. He thought most of the band’s fans favored Ritsu, since he’s so talented, or Shou, since he has an explosive but captivating personality– or so he’s heard. Shigeo falls in their shadows, especially with his instrument only there to support theirs. So the fact that he has a fan comes as a surprise.
“I mean, the way he plays– it’s like he’s one with his bass, or something. It’s kinda hot.” Teruki shrugs, holding his cigarette between two fingers.
Shigeo’s face bursts into flame. Warmth spreads from his cheeks and down his chest.
“I–” His mouth moves faster than his brain. “I could get you in there.”
The man quickly turns his head to him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “Really?”
“Mhm.” Shigeo nods. “I… know the singer.”
“Holy shit! Oh, that’d be awesome!” Teruki grabs Shigeo’s hands, bringing them up tightly to his chest– close enough that Shigeo can feel his breath warming his knuckles. Teruki’s cigarette is forgotten, stomped out on the ground. His hands are so warm. The cold air whips at him even through his sleeves, but his hands are like a beacon of light on a foggy day.
Their faces are only inches apart, but it doesn’t seem like Teruki even notices or is bothered by it, because his eyes shine like north stars. His lips look soft.
Shigeo’s hands tighten.
If it’s for a fan, surely he can handle a few more minutes in that room.
As they walk to the front entrance to the convention hall, Teruki trails behind him. The person out front guarding the doors wears a suit and looks much more serious than Shigeo thinks his job requires. They look very kind, though, when he shows them his identification badge. He explains Teruki’s presence as a plus-one.
“Thanks a lot, Shigeo.” Teruki whispers, leaning down close to his ear to be heard over the crowd. The skin that his breath touches, on his neck and behind his ear, feels as warm as Teruki’s hands were, and it's probably red to match. His hand holds onto Shigeo’s shoulder. “Hey, can I have your number?”
“Huh!?” Shigeo looks up at Teruki with wide eyes.
“You know, so we can hang out later, or something.” Teruki shrugs like he’s said nothing important, like he’s not one of the first people to ask Shigeo for his number– like he’s not one of the first people to want to spend time with him. He takes his hand off of Shigeo and grabs his phone, as decorated as the rest of him with charms, from his pocket, holding it loosely in one hand.
“You want to hang out with me?”
Teruki rubs the back of his neck with his empty hand, his cheeks light pink. “Yeah. You’re cool.”
Cool?!
“Oh, um, yes, I’d like that…” Shigeo mumbles more to the ground than to Teruki. In a daze, he takes Teruki’s unlocked phone and types in his number. The device feels scorching in his hands. “Here.” He pushes it back into Teruki’s grasp before he even puts in a name for his contact.
Teruki smiles as he types something.
“I need to go, now.” Shigeo mumbles. If Teruki wants to meet Mob, Shigeo has to go and dress for the part. Teruki frowns slightly but nods, and he takes that as his opening to rush away in a completely calm and collected manner.
When he gets back to the staff room after half a minute of shuffling through the crowd, he shoves pff his hoodie and brings his helmet out of his bag quickly. He can’t help that it takes him another half-minute to get back to his brother’s booth, though.
Ritsu looks at him, confused, when he sits back in his chair.
“Hey, he’s back!” Shou exclaims. The fan whose paper he was signing looks over with frustration, Shou’s signature only half finished.
“I thought you left.” Ritsu's brow furrows.
“No.” That’s what he was planning to do before he ran into Teruki, but his brother doesn’t need to know about that. “I just needed a break."
Ritsu hums.
Shigeo leans back in his seat to look over the heads of the people at the beginning of the line. He spots Teruki’s bright blonde hair, closer than he thought he'd be, because the line has shortened in the time that he was gone. However, it'll be a few minutes before he reaches the front, Shigeo realizes with disappointment: he’ll have to manage the stress of people for longer than he'd like.
When he relaxes in his chair, he can see Ritsu looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He squirms under his brother’s thoughtful gaze.
Why is he back? Why did he feel so compelled to meet Teruki, to make him happy? Is it because he's a fan? The question that swirls in his mind the most is why, every time Teruki looks at him, he feels a warm sensation invading his chest.
His attention stops drifting when a figure steps forward, in front of him instead of his brother or Shou. He looks up. The convention hall shrinks down to the space between them.
"Hi." Teruki squeaks. His voice is much quieter, a higher pitch, than before— because he's nervous to meet me, Shigeo thinks with a blush.
"Hey." Shigeo's voice comes through the helmet muffled, but if Teruki's back straightening further is anything to go off of, he hears him.
"I-I love your playing." Teruki gulps heavily. "Like, it's the best bass I've ever heard— the best music I've ever heard!" His words rush out quickly. With each compliment, Shigeo's face heats further and further until he's tempted to take his helmet off t escape the heat.
"Thank you." Shigeo hands twist together, picking at his nails as he struggles to not drop his head to the floor. "I like your, um, outfits."
"Huh?" Suddenly, Teruki's face is less nervous and more shocked. Shigeo pauses, too, and then realizes that it's probably strange that he noticed him in the crowd multiple times. Oh gosh, he worries his lip between his teeth. Is that weird? Does he think that's weird?
"You noticed me, huh?" Teruki smiles and rubs the back of his neck.
"Mm." Shigeo hums.
The few feet between them is silent as they both think, faces a matching red, until Ritsu interrupts.
"Do you want anything signed?" He asks diplomatically. His brother always knows what to say and how to say it, something Shigeo's always appreciated, especially now when his words are trapped at the back of his throat.
"Oh— yeah!" Teruki rummages in his bag. It's more of a purse than a bag, and its black fabric looks stylish next to the rest of his outfit; a keychain hanging off it's zipper catches his eye— a cute, sitting, white cat. Shigeo looks at his face while he's occupied. He doesn't stare in a weird way, but the same way someone appreciates a work of art. Teruki's face is… nice to look at.
Teruki groans and moves his hand faster. "I… didn't bring my CD… or my shirt." His brows furrow and his lips frown into a pout. He looks down, then pauses. "Ah, but this works!"
Shigeo watches as he unclips the keychain from his bag and hands it to him. He gingerly holds it. Now that it's in his hand, he can't help but but brush his fingers against the fabric, much softer than he thought it was. When he realizes that he's been staring at it too long, he looks up. Teruki is blushing with his hand in front of his mouth.
It only takes five seconds to sign his stage-name on the plushie with his sharpie, but with Teruki's gaze heavy on him, it feels like ages.
"Thanks!" Teruki smiles, bright as a star, when Shigeo hangs it back to him. Their hands brush breifly, but it's enough contact to make his hand feel warm.
"See you at your next show!" He exclaims as he walks away, waving.
Shigeo hand moves in a much smaller wave. He hopes Teruki sees it.
The convention hall is empty, now. The only people left are the vendors who're cleaning up and a spare few fans who are still hovering. It feels like a pressure has eased up on his chest, finally letting him take in a deep breath, despite the barrier around his head.
"Shige…" Irritation blooms in his chest at the nickname. He looks over to Shou, who's grinning mischievously.
"You have your first fan! I can't believe this!" Shou laughs, leaning across Ritsu's lap to shake his shoulder.
"Of course he has a fan." Ritsu smiles at him. His face switches completely when he looks to his left, glaring at Shou. "I'm more suprised that you have fan, with your ugly-ass hair."
"What!?" Shou squawks, protectively flattening some of his liberty red spikes with his hand. "You said you liked my hair yesterday!"
Ritsu shrugs. "A momentary lapse in judgement."
"C'mon, you know you love me!" The spikes bounce comically when Shou abandons covering his hair in favor of plastering himself all over his brother and makes fake kissing noises. Shigeo grimaces and looks away.
A fan standing in front of their booth, who must've made their way over here just now, looks conflicted between dissapointment and intrigue. Shigeo looks away from them, too.
He hears a slap, and then a yelp.
"Can you be any more gross!? We're in public!" Shou's cackle makes Shigeo grit his teeth. Shou really gets on his nerves, sometimes.
"I'm so sorry about that." Ritsu apologizes to the fan profusely, quickly signing the CD in their hand.
When the fan leaves Ritsu finally leans back in his chair and signs, Shigeo knows it's time to pack up.
–
Shigeo groans and rolls onto his back. His bedside clock tells him that it's much too late for him to be awake— especially on a Sunday night, when he has school and a test the next day— but he can't help it. Every time he closes his eyes, brilliant blue and yellow bursts behind his eyelids. His mind replays the day's excitement, him meeting Teruki, and he just can't relax enough to sleep.
The side of his neck still feels the warmth on his breath; he rubs his thumb on the back of his hand where Teruki had brushed him; his eyes flicker back open.
"Teruki…" He whispers the name into quiet air. His fan's name is Teruki, and he has his number.
Shigeo twists back around, bringing his knees up to his chest, and tries again to fall asleep.