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akito wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here. he had practiced so hard, worked days and nights to make sure he hadn’t ended up in this position. he’d done everything he could, so surely it would end up alright, wouldn’t it?
he couldn’t have been any more wrong.
arata’s singing pierced through him like a stab wound, and it only got more sharp and painful with each note he sang. akito noticed his palms begin to sweat and shake, and he noticed his breathing get faster and harder to control, but all he could do was stand there and watch.
watch as everything he’d worked for crumbled away before him. everything he’d worked towards for years of his life seemed to shatter like glass with every cheer from the crowd.
and then arata stopped, his chest moving up and down with heavy breaths as he recovered from his intense performance. for a moment, there was silence. time seemed to go in slow motion for just an instant.
was this really the end for him? could he not climb any higher than this?
the thundering applause a moment later was the final say in this matter. the entire crowd was yelling and whispering about how he was too good for this livehouse. he’d never gotten those kinds of remarks, despite all his work.
there was just no way he could go any further than this.
at that moment, the mental and physical stress he’d been under for the past two weeks finally caught up with him, and he almost collapsed right then and there.
give up. it’d be so much easier to just give up.
you thought this was any different than before?
you got too satisfied with where you were, it’s no surprise you turned out this way.
you’re only dragging the rest of your group down.
his thoughts tormented him, surrounding him from all sides. it took all he had not to sink to the floor right then and there.
he made himself stand there through it all. the DJ announcing arata’s win, the snarky comments from the crowd, and even the smug look arata had the entire time he congratulated him for winning.
he didn’t care. at this point, he’d realized that singing got him just about as far as soccer did, and it was his own fault for being incompetent.
a small piece of him prayed that just maybe, there’d be some glimmer of hope for him to return to singing. to spend one last show onstage with his teammates, feeling the beat in each of his steps and the enthusiasm of the crowd.
but his so-called teammates were nowhere in sight. they must have come to the same realization arata did — that when they were onstage, outperforming a legend, akito had no chance of standing beside them.
walking home that night, he felt like nothing more than a ghost in the city’s lights. a completely average person who’d never have any impact on the world, let alone in the music industry. he made his way over to a park bench to rest his body and his mind.
his head swirled with thoughts, vision blurring in and out as he tried desperately to get a grip on himself.
without music, who even was he? what was his purpose if not for rad weekend?
maybe he’d just quit everything he ever did. he’d never have both the talent and the passion, so why bother with anything else down the road? he’d never be the best at what he did, and despite the fact that that statement was completely logical, he still beat himself up over it daily.
arata had been right from the very beginning. everyone he’d met out on the streets had more potential than he did.
there was an, whose singing voice had a passion to it like no other. she’d been singing her heart out since she was barely able to walk. she’d been dedicated to the craft for her entire life, and she had her very own teacher right in her home. akito was sure the number of hours she’d put into music could outnumber most simple hobbies of kids her age.
who did he think he was, picking up music as a middle schooler and thinking he could even compete with her? an idiot, that’s who. there’s no way anyone out on the streets could compare to her in that regard.
kohane may have faltered during her beginning stages, but her progress was nothing to joke about. she’d come leaps and bounds from when she started out, and she’d completely changed herself for the better in the process. hearing rumors about her wonderful voice and huge boom in talent were commonplace at every livehouse they visited.
the only rumors akito had ever heard about himself when he started out were that he would never be able to live up to his partner — that sure, his voice was solid, but he was sloppy. all he would do was drag his partners down in performances. maybe he should’ve listened to everyone back then.
and then there was toya. toya was everything you’d want in a street performer. he’d dedicated his entire life to classical, and though it wasn’t of his own free will, it certainly helped him more than he thought in his transition to more intense music. rhythm was like a sixth sense to him, to the point where it was almost scary. he was always able to perform his choreography perfectly on beat, and his singing sounded good beyond his years.
all the experience akito had coming into music was the memory of a great performance in his head, and a microphone he had bought from a music store not hours before he began. of course his dancing and singing were complete shit compared to toya, when he had years of experience compared to akito’s measly passion.
hell, even fucking kotaro of all people seemed to be progressing at a faster rate than he was. he’d gotten over his petty phase of following him and toya around like an admirer and actually gotten to work on some stuff of his own, and he had to admit, he was growing quick.
and then there was arata. it always came back to that goddamned arata.
akito knew more than anyone else he’d never make it to that level. not in a million years. it was futile of him to even try, that’s how much the older teen’s recent performance had crushed his into dust. arata was smug about it, too — just like how akito himself had been in the past, except he actually had the bite to match his bark. everything about him pissed akito off, yet at the same time, everything about arata fascinated him.
“fuckin' loser….” akito’s voice cracked as he spat out the words he’d been holding in all night. “he’s just some goddamn street trash who happened to have the same goal as you. that’s all.”
he kicked some of the pebbles beneath his feet, as if that would drive his point home.
“damn you! i hope you rot in fuckin’ hell, touno!”
he brought his hands up to his face, attempting to wipe away the hot, angry tears seeping from his eyes faster than they could mark his face.
he couldn’t recall how long he’d sat there before he managed to get himself to stop crying. it could’ve been 30 seconds, could’ve been three hours. now, he just felt more exhausted than before, and the cool autumn breeze that he had been enjoying beforehand was cold enough to make him shiver.
defeated, and no better off than he was before he stopped, akito headed home.
his brain had decided to stop torturing him, for whatever reason, so the walk back home was oddly quiet. he put his hood up as to not attract any unwanted attention, slipped an earbud in, and just walked. he coped with other things like this, he’d get over his stupid self-deprecating thoughts by the time he got home. whatever.
by the time he had arrived home, he’d realized that wasn’t the case.
he didn’t feel any better at all. he just felt numb, or at least, that’s the best way he could describe it. nothing made anymore sense than it did before, and he found himself wanting to get inside and warm up before he got even more pissed and made any other stupid decisions.
sighing, he made his way into the house, scanning the living room from left to right to make sure no one was there.
his mom seemed to have gone to bed, and his dad was nowhere to be found. good riddance. that old fart could rot in hell, for all akito cared. akito was sure he’d love to hear about his street music troubles. he guessed ena was somewhere up in her room. maybe with her circle or something.
the less people to see him in this state, the better. he went over to pour himself a glass of water. he felt parched from being crying so long.
it wasn’t fair. none of this was fucking fair, not in the slightest.
why couldn’t he have what everyone else did?
he felt another burst of anger come up on him, and he scowled before throwing his microphone at the floor beneath him in a moment of rage. unsurprisingly, it shattered, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. he just stood there, staring at the pieces on the ground as if that would bring what once was his favorite microphone back together.
he heard rushed footsteps come running down the stairs. he expected it to be his mother, but was surprised to hear a different voice.
“oi, akito, what’d you break this t—“
ena fell quiet, likely unsure what to do in a scenario like this. it was almost funny, akito thought. it wasn’t like her to be speechless, especially when she had something to critique him about.
“oi. what’re you lookin’ at.”
the usual edge to his voice had completely vanished, and his attempt to appear tough sounded completely pathetic.
“a-akito…”
her voice sounded gentle, another thing that was very unlike ena. he didn’t want to begin to imagine what her facial expression looked like, so he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, brows furrowing.
“is that… your first mic? you were so excited to buy that… and you’ve had it for years… why would you break it?”
“i don’t need another silly dream that’ll fail me in the end. this music shit is no different than fuckin’ soccer. waste of my damn time.”
the silence between the two was incredible heavy. this was a situation they’d both been in multiple times before, yet at the same time, was completely new.
“you…”
ena grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at her.
“you idiot! akito, you can’t give up on music… what would your group think? what about the festival? all the performances you’ve done? look me in the eye and tell me all that was for nothing!”
that made akito furious, and he stared dead into her eyes as he formed a response.
“that’s real fuckin’ rich comin’ from you! don’t you give up on art every damn day? you’re just as pathetic as i am, and yet you don’t know anything!”
it didn’t take any time at all for akito to realize what he’d said was crossing a line.
“wait, ena, i—“
but it was too late to take it back. her once concerned gaze had gone back to the usual cold glare.
“fine. if that’s how you wanna do this. give up on music then, for all i care.”
and then she left. akito felt the most pathetic he had all night, unable to do anything as the one person who wanted to knock some sense into him left hurt by his own words. he wanted to sink into a ball and forget his own existence.
he hardly remembered the trip up to his room. he remembered stumbling up a stair here and there, trying to drag his exhausted husk of a body to his room, but that was it.
he went to sit on his bed, his eyes scanning his room.
and then they landed on his nightstand.
a picture of vivid bad squad that kohane had taken lay there, neatly framed and recently cleaned. everyone was smiling, and they were getting ready to prepare for an upcoming live. they all looked passionate, ready to take on the upcoming challenges and come out stronger than ever.
and that was all it took for his emotional dam to break for what seemed like the millionth time that night. he clenched his hands into fists, tight enough that he knew marks would be formed on his hands, but that wasn’t enough to stop himself from crying again.
it went on for longer this time, and felt different than before. while before had felt exhausting, these tears came from everything he’d been holding back for the past two weeks, instead of in the moment. they were great, heaving sobs that racked his entire body, and if not for the pillow he had onhand to bury his face into, he’s sure the entire house would have heard.
god, he must look pathetic like this. he felt like it, that’s for damn sure.
eventually, all the emotions that had been swirling inside of him gave way to exhaustion, and when he was unable to cry any longer, he lay on his bed, on the brink of unconsciousness.
as his eyes slid shut, and he hoped that sleep would serve as some form of relief from the pain, akito felt like nothing more than a ghost fading away.
he’s sure the streets of tokyo wouldn’t miss him much.