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Bright balloons bobbed to the beat, the multicolored spotlights swaying back and forth through the small area. They transitioned from baby blues to innocent pinks, lavender hues blinking into existence before vanishing for the ways of sea foam greens. Machines lined at the corners produced an array of bubbles that reflected the rainbows of the area, as well as the numbers of underwater representation decorating the perimeter.
Speakers vibrated as the instrumental tracks boomed everywhere, and Osomatsu could feel the impact of the base inside his chest. As he gave a slight tug on one of the seahorse cutouts resting against a pile of glittering “seaweed” streamers, he sighed, using the floor to carry his weight as he propped himself upright.
Wiping his brow, he noticed the rest of his brothers resuming with their duties, arranging props, and taking charge of the technical requirements.
That was Todomatsu who was tackling the buttons of one of the spotlights, his free hand against an earpiece as he nodded amidst his work. Behind the burgundy curtains Ichimatsu and Karamatsu shared the computer by the neighboring table, the latter giving brief instructions as Ichimatsu obediently obliged, adjusting the quality of the music. Jyushimatsu mingled by the edge of the room as he energetically rearranged a table of merchandise and snacks, and Choromatsu loitered close by with a few extra microphones that he studied with the assistance of a handbook. The rest of the room which was dimmed into incomprehensible brightness opted for the third oldest boy to squint, nose scrunched at all the extra effort.
Sighing again, Osomatsu stretched. “Welp, I’m done,” he lazily muttered to himself, and soon after resumed towards the backstage and its deep, navy blue shadows. “Hey, Ichimacchan. Karamatsu.”
Neither Ichimatsu nor Karamatsu gave him any sort of notice as they kept mashing through the control settings, the headset of Ichimatsu halfway covering his ear, the other free for Karamatsu’s instructions. For once, there was no war visible between the two brothers, collaboration overwhelming them as they sought to complete the preparation’s procedure.
Osomatsu chose not to interrupt anymore. He excused himself quietly towards the dressing room of the performance’s main star, and cleared his throat before tapping his knuckles against the door. “Hey, Totoko-chan~! Are you ready? It’s almost showtime.”
A beat of silence followed suit, and it took a moment before he heard the door unlock before her purple-brown eyes greeted him. His grin automatically went towards a falter at the serious tone indulged with her stone expression, light missing from the gaze that was normally brighter than the performance’s flashing arena.
“Ah, Osomatsu-kun,” she said, just as lamely. “May I help you?”
“Just wanted to see if you were ready,” he informed, then buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Are you okay?”
She grunted, rolling her eyes. The obvious, voided mood contrasted her bright, fish-inspired attire, exposing her lies. “I’m good. See you later, Osomatsu—” she attempted to close the door—
—but he blocked it with an elbow, leaving surprise etched on her face and her rounded lips. When he detached his skin from the doorframe, she didn’t try redoing her action. “Nah, that doesn’t sound right,” he contradicted. “I could tell something’s up. Mind telling me? If you want I won’t even tell the others.” He gestured back the way he came, and as if on cue they could identify the angry yell of Choromatsu as he marched up to the purple-and-blue combo in charge of their sound system.
Crossing her arms, Totoko rested her right shoulder against the door, the fins of her headdress flattening between her head and the vertical surface. “Well, it’s nothing much, honestly, not even a secret,” she dully said, shrugging. “It’s just that this is the first performance I’ll be having after…I dunno. It’s been a while. So I’m kinda, er…”
“Nervous?” Osomatsu provided.
She scowled. “Ugh, no. Nervous is for lame-ass idols like Nyaa-chan and Wan-chan,” she barked with hostility. “But whatever. Something feels wrong. I can sense it but have no idea what it is. It’s not that big of a deal.” She motioned away from the frame, her boots kicking against the carpet as she faced herself in the mirror. She started arranging her bangs, gently straightening her stray chocolate strands with a hollowed grimace.
Osomatsu gave her reply some thought. “Honestly, even if something was ever wrong I think you’ve handled all your performances professionally and flawlessly,” he disclosed with a positive dip of his chin. “Like, even if there were days with a smaller crowd and everything, you’ve always given your all, right? If something ever went wrong it’s probably because the universe was pissed off and wanted to take its anger out elsewhere. Otherwise, all your performances so far have been pretty epic.”
Her eyes met his from the mirror, her jaw tightening.
“So what makes this any different?” he continued. “If ever something does happen it wouldn’t be an issue. As long as you did your best, I think the performance will be another victory for all of us to celebrate, right?” He offered her a grin, a small snicker rocking his posture as he brushed the underside of his nose. “I swear. I’m an idiot eldest most of the time but I swear this time I’m right.”
A smirk lifted the corners of her glossy lips, and Totoko pivoted her heels, sashaying towards his position. His stance went rigid at how close they were when she stopped, her chest only inches away from his as the sparkles in her irises studied him carefully. A darker shade of red than his jacket submerged his complexion, but he held his position and refused to look away from her pretty, analytical face.
“Promise?” she initiated.
He lifted a hand, all his fingers folded save for his pinky in which he wiggled playfully. “Promise!” he stated.
Her lashes lowered slightly, then she hummed in belief. Then before he could comprehend her motions he felt her own pinky abruptly as it hooked against his, her pristine finger wrapping his skin tightly. A squawk lodged itself in his esophagus as his shoulders hitched from the unexpected movement, and the time in which she kept their fingers like this–her clean, pinkish skin rubbing against the dust caught up between his fingerprints. Normally she would consider the action distasteful, but the way she acknowledged him held a wolfish, entertained superiority.
“If ever you end up being wrong, I’ll be killing you first,” she swore.
He nodded robotically. “Y-Yeah! Absolutely.”
“Good.” She released his hand, examining her own before exhaling. “Okay, so I’ve gotta wash this now, you smell terrible. But I’ll take your word for it, all right?” She buried the doorknob in her hold, a sincere smile finally lighting her face as the door slowly interrupted their conversation. “See you later, Osomatsu-kun. And tell Choromatsu-kun that I’ll be using the glittering red microphone for my first song, understand?”
“Got it.” He lifted a thumbs up.
She smirked, then let the door conclude their exchange.
As he listened to her footsteps fade, he huffed a laugh, bending his pinky in and out of his fist gleefully. Totoko Yowai had done more than just slam her fist against his gut this time, but also miraculously finished their conversation with a lighthearted chuckle. For sure, he was now bestowed with a responsibility and vow to take his word to the extreme, and prepare the concert to shine with all the fortune and fantastic fate as he had promised her. Hell, he pinky- promised it to her, of all things. And the last thing he wanted was to wake up in the hospital again to take another tiring journey of physical recovery, courtesy of her anger.
But first, he had to rub it in on his brothers, how much his pinky glowed with a goddess touch. They were gonna shove his ass all the way to the ninth circle of hell, but he’d be down for it just as long as they knew their Osomatsu-niisan had a point against them tonight.