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Isagi Yoichi is starting to doubt if this was a good idea.
He had never really struggled with fitting into the grand scheme of things, regardless of his situation. He was the kid teachers stuck the problem child with to see if he could calm them down. He was never popular per se, but he’s done a pretty good job being just about everyone’s acquaintance. He doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb, and that’s something he takes at least a little pride in, even if it’s nothing necessarily special.
But right now, as he clings to the fabric of Bachira’s sweater while people clad in leather and studded boots push past them, he’s no better than a puzzle piece shoved into the wrong space.
Maybe he’s overreacting just a bit, but Isagi’s pretty sure he’s giving the impression that he got lost and happened to wander into the venue. Bachira had insisted that it would be fun, lowkey, and overall a good time and Isagi had blindly trusted him like the fool he is.
“Aren’t they a soft rock band?” Isagi lets out an exasperated sigh, practically gluing himself against Bachira’s side. Bachira chuckles, rocking back and forth on his heels. Isagi doesn’t really see what's so funny, but he lets his weight rise and fall with Bachira’s own.
“They are!” Bachira flicks the side of Isagi’s bicep and Isagi can’t find any bite in him to retaliate. “Don’t judge people ‘cause of how they dress, Isagi.” Bachira hums, blissful and ignorant to the distress Isagi’s dealing with.
“I'm not judging!” Isagi’s eyes shift around the room, scanning everyone in his proximity. He accidentally locks eyes with a blond, who raises an eyebrow at him, clearly irritated by Isagi even looking his way. There's a man at his side with pink dyed tips who notices, glances in his direction, and smiles. Isagi feels anything but reassured. He furrows his brow in response, hoping it’ll discourage Blondie and his little sidekick. Maybe it’s a gig thing, or maybe these guys are just assholes and Isagi’s at the wrong place at the wrong time. If he had to bet, he’d place it on the latter.
“You seem like you’re judging.” Bachira bumps their shoulders together, jostling Isagi slightly. “Just hold out a little longer, the bands’ gonna come on soon.”
Isagi doesn’t doubt him, he can make out the sound of a muffled drum getting its cymbals crashed in some other room in the venue and some guy is tapping on the mic repeatedly to see if the sound resonates. He’s not entirely sure that he’s ready for whatever band managed to attract the average clientele of every hot topic he’s ever been to, but at least it’ll provide some distraction; for both him and the duo that seems to have taken a dislike to him. He keeps his eyes locked on the stage in a desperate attempt not to crack and meet the gaze of the guy from earlier, who’s practically boring a hole into the side of his skull. Isagi’s eye twitches, shuffling closer to Bachira so he can act as a makeshift, fleshy shield.
‘What did I even do?’ He purses his lips together, sparing a brief glance to his left. ‘I literally just got here…’
“They’re on!”
A decent chunk of the audience starts to applaud, a mix of whooping and cheering cutting through the claps. Isagi doesn’t see anyone on stage yet, but he assumes there must be some way to tell if everyone’s already cheering. He joins in: partly out of genuine support, partly out of slight fear that if he doesn’t clap someone will send him flying across the fancy bar.
Then he blinks, and there's three people walking onto the stage.
The crowd grows in volume and Isagi claps a little harder to match the energy. One member of the trio on stage blows a kiss at the crowd, waving wildly. The other two trail behind him, both acting as if the crowd’s roars aren’t directed at them.
They’re about what Isagi expected, for the most part. The guy in front is decked out in chains hanging from his belt loops, his shoes adding to his already absurd height. Isagi can vaguely make out some piercings from where he stands, the stage lights glaring off of the metal. His hair is a stark blonde with hot pink focused on the tips. The crowd and him seem to be feeding off of each other, their claps being rewarded with him sending a wink their way. His grin is all teeth. Isagi doesn’t know anything about him, but the word ‘frontman’ comes to mind.
The guy who follows behind him is a complete 180. There’s nothing visually shocking about his appearance, besides his haircut which looks just a little like it was an accident. His hair is a reddish-brown and it’s hard to make out whether or not it’s dyed or natural. He doesn’t have any accessories on from what Isagi can tell, besides a bracelet fixed around his left wrist. His outfit is casual, almost resembling Bachira’s. His stare stays fixed ahead of him the entire time. Not once does he turn to the crowd and give them some indication that he’s encouraged by their cheers.
‘He seems…bored,’ Isagi determines, turning his attention to the last member in the line.
He’s covered in black from head to toe, literally. His hair is stark, with no sign of any discoloration at his roots. Natural. He looks less dressed for a concert gig and more dressed for a night sitting at a table at a coffee shop, a turtleneck fixed around his neck. No accessories from what Isagi can tell. Isagi lets his eyes drift back to the second member, pursing his lips. They look alike. Really alike. Their noses are the same, sloping into a downward point. Their walk and posture seem to be the same too, both striding with their shoulders hunched slightly forward.
Isagi turns, tapping Bachira’s shoulder, but before he can get a syllable out Bachira nods, jutting his head out at the two.
“Brothers,” he confirms. “Just the two.”
Isagi hums in response, turning his attention back towards the band, who seem to have all matched with their respective instruments. The energetic blond turns out to be center stage, a mic fixed near his lips and a bass hanging low on its strap around his shoulder. Bachira giggles through a joke about him being like an American singer he knows. Isagi doesn’t get it.
For a second Isagi expects the redhead to grab the white electric guitar propped on a stand to the singer's left, but then he changes his path, curving off to the back and taking a seat at the drum set in the back. There’s a logo plastered on the kick drum. Isagi watches as the final member strides in front of the mic, makes his way to the guitar, and snatches it up from the neck. He tosses the strap over his shoulder and the crowd thunders impossibly louder in Isagi’s ears.
Then he locks eyes with the dark-haired brother, their eyes meeting just for a moment. It wasn't intentional, and the fixed stare the boy gives him proves that but Isagi still finds himself tensing as he takes in his glare. Then he blinks, he’s no longer getting stared down and absorbed in phthalo, and he finds himself feeling honest to God disappointed.
“Shit,” he mutters. More to himself than to Bachira. It’s not like Bachira’s listening anyway; it looks to Isagi like he’s already fixated on the music that’s soon to come.
The crowd dies down, the only noise being the occasional yell of encouragement from the back of the bar. There’s a sense of growing anticipation as the singer gets close to the mic, tapping it with a painted fingernail. Bachira nudges him quickly, pointing.
“Singer’s name is Shidou.” He switches his focus, pointing at the drums in the back. “Bangs back there is Sae Itoshi.”
“And him?” Isagi’s mind betrays him and he’s asking before Bachira even gets the chance to finish.
“Rin Itoshi!” Bachira’s grin grows wide, sending a wink Isagi’s way. “I know him.”
Isagi’s sure if he were walking he would’ve skidded to a halt right then and there. Maybe he would’ve stumbled or even fallen altogether. Point is, he stands like a deer in headlights staring at Bachira like he just dropped a bomb, while Bachira nods at the stage, ignoring Isagi’s position.
Just when he plans to question him, a guitar riff cuts through Isagi’s ears, muffles everything else out and his attention is back on stage before he can process it.
The lead singer, Shidou, had a far softer voice than Isagi expected. There’s a soft rasp to it, but there's no outward aggressiveness in his tone. Despite this, he grins sharply throughout the entirety of his singing, an odd display of focus. His hands grip the mic with a vice grip, pulling the mic stand closer to him as he serenades a random member of the crowd. Even the drums seem calming, the crashes and bangs never overpower Shidou’s voice. They blend together, not seamlessly, but with a contrast that never makes them clash. They’re like a wave crashing on shore, sweeping up everything in its path.
These are all details Isagi would have noticed if he had actually been paying attention to them, and not just staring at Itoshi Rin.
He’s almost overwhelmed by it all. Rin has a striking presence when he performs. His fingers move precisely across the fingerboard, tapping with a striking amount of pressure. Isagi’s sure that if the guitar weren’t plugged in you would be able to hear the smack of the pad of his finger against the string. He’s positive. There are occasional rises and falls in the song, where it seems like Rin might be pushing back against the other two, trying to suit his own needs. But then Sae will strike the snare drum a bit harsher than he usually does, and Shidou’s voice will rise in volume and Rin backs down again. His gaze will soften, just for a moment, and his brow will furrow and his tongue will dart outside of his mouth to wet his lips and Isagi thinks he might be drowning.
The crowd loves it, eating it up with undivided attention. They’re reaching and grabbing, pointing at Shidou when he hits a particular note or clapping along with Sae’s steady beat. They’re showstoppers. They’re flashy. They’re the types that make people turn their heads when they walk past. But Isagi isn’t worried about Sae or Shidou; he’s worried about Rin.
Rin, who as he tucks the pick closer to his thumb to bring his index to the bottom of the fingerboard, sets the crowd with a non-indulgent glare that has people whistling in response. His foot taps against the floor and Isagi notes it’s in time with the kick drum. In time with his brother.
Isagi doesn’t look away for a second and Shidou keeps waxing poetic about something romantic and something about paradise.
Then, as soon as it started it stops. Rin forcefully strums the last note as Sae bangs a tom with a little more intensity than the others; Shidou’s voice draws out with a slight scratch. The crowd erupts into sporadic applause and Isagi steps forward a bit, cheering like he was compelled to. Rin stands, shoulders quickly rising and falling with his heavy breaths and Isagi locks eyes with him again. Cobalt meets Pthlalo. Isagi has some sense to smile this time, hoping it reads.
If Rin notices, it goes unacknowledged. He just turns away, swishing his hair out of his eyes as he does.
His face must’ve fallen into something less excited and more rejected because Bachira smacks his back to get his attention, waving his free hand in dismissal.
“He’s just like that,” Bachira reassures. “Don’t take it personally!”
Isagi knows he shouldn’t, if he took a shot someone smiled at someone during a set and didn’t get a smile back he’d die in a heap because of his liver giving out on him. It’d be stupid to take it so personally when everybody else in the bar is probably accidentally locking eyes with all three of them, grinning because they like the music and not because they have some sort of fantasy version of them made up in their heads based only on the way they walk and play the damn guitar.
‘All over a damn guitar.’
The set is effectively both the longest experience of Isagi’s life and something that went by far too quickly. Lyrics are a blur to him, but he does remember Rin and his fingers on the guitar. He takes in the detail of the pick Rin uses to strum the guitar being green. He remembers chord progressions and riffs that go in one ear and out the other. He also remembers Shidou swinging the microphone around and narrowly missing Rin’s head, but that’s not as important.
Before he knows it, they’re walking off the stage and off to what Isagi can only assume is some sort of van for their equipment. It feels somewhat anticlimactic; to spend thirty minutes basically imprinting someone’s features into your retinas just to watch them walk away in a crowd of people and blend in with the crowd. But hey, it’s not all disappointing. The concert was actually entertaining, even if he didn’t remember a single lyric Shidou belted out, and the bar was starting to feel less like uncharted territory.
He’s glad Bachira brought him after all.
Speaking of Bachira, Isagi is suddenly bombarded by him hopping onto his back, dropping his weight on him like he weighs nothing at all. Isagi yelps, lurching forward to keep from stumbling to the ground and Bachira’s laughter fills his ears. He secures Bachira behind him with a hand under his knee; after being friends with him for so long he’s learned to adapt to Bachira’s outbursts.
“Go! Go!” Bachira points towards the door, grinning like a madman. Isagi tries to turn his head to look at him, but he only manages to get his forehead smacked by Bachira’s forearm.
“What are you talking about?” Isagi stands fully, Bachira sagging down his back. “You wanna leave already?”
Bachira giggles like he’s giddy, shaking his head no frantically.
“We’re gonna go talk to the band! Duh!”
Oh.
Somehow in the middle of all of this Isagi had forgotten that Bachira knows Rin.
“I-” Isagi stutters, scrambling for words. “We shouldn’t. They just got done and-”
“Do you not want to?”
Bachira drops his arms from around Isagi’s shoulders, ungracefully dropping back onto the ground. He steps forward to get in Isagi’s line of sight, eyes darting to the door.
“I know him,” Bachira reiterates his statement from earlier in the night, smiling knowingly. Way too knowingly for Isagi’s comfort.
He opens his mouth, racking his brain for some sort of response that doesn’t give away all of his intentions, but he’s not given a chance to answer. Bachira’s already grabbing his arm and marching towards the doors, dragging Isagi behind him.
Isagi doesn’t resist as much as he’d like to admit.
Bachira kicks the door open despite having a hand free. They step outside, the cold air hitting Isagi head-on as Bachira wastes no time glancing left and right to catch sight of them. Isagi squints, scans over the lot a few times, and then sees black hair and his throat constricts against his will. He couldn’t miss him even if he tried.
“Meguru!” A raspy voice cuts through the silence of the lot along with a pair of heavy footsteps.
“Ryu!”
Bachira lets him go without warning, immediately bouncing up and jumping into the arms of Shidou for a hug. By the looks of it, the band was looking for Bachira as much as Bachira was looking for them. Isagi shuffles his feet on the concrete, unsure of how to proceed.
“Did you like it? It was good, right? Total crowd pleaser,” Shidou rambles. His tone here is a far cry from the calm melodies he had performed on stage. He talks frantically as if he’s running out of time. Probably adrenaline from the show. Or he’s another Bachira type…
Isagi taps his fingers against his side patiently. Does he just say hi or…?
“My personal favorite part was when I swung the mic,” Shidou’s voice has an air of smugness to it, dripping with amusement despite him almost taking out his bandmate. Bachira nods insistently, agreeing with every word Shidou says.
“Microphones are for singing, not for swinging, demon.”
Isagi startles, leaning over slightly to see the approaching figure of Itoshi Sae. His hands are in his pockets and he fixes himself next to Shidou. Isagi raises a hand as a subtle greeting. Sae stares at him, giving a slight head nod in return, but he doesn’t look particularly pleased to be seeing him. Isagi lowers his hand, shifting his weight.
“Oh come on! It was good! Right, new guy?”
Shidous grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares at Isagi.
Isagi promptly looks over his left shoulder.
Shidou lets out a violent cackle in response, Sae narrowing his eyes at him. Shidou snorts, placing down Bachira to point at Isagi. Isagi raises a brow.
“You! I mean you!”
Isagi lets out a huff of laughter, a bit overwhelmed by Shidou’s simultaneously friendly but threatening aura. “It was,” he agrees, “but you almost hit Ri-” he stops himself, “the guitarist.”
Shidou’s expression sours, grin disappearing as he scoffs, waving a hand. “He was fine!” He’s insistent, swiveling around to face Sae. “He’d be fine.”
Sae sighs, sounding incredibly exasperated. Isagi starts to question if this was really a good time to try to chat with them, but Bachira seems relaxed as ever, so he shakes it off. “He would,” Sae finally chimes in, voice flat.
“Who are we talking to?”
Isagi still couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but the process of elimination leaves him with only one option.
Rin steps into his view like seeing a sunset on the horizon. He’s scowling and Isagi feels the urge to soothe the furrow in his brow. He shoves his hands in his pockets to combat it.
Rin’s eyes flicker from Isagi to Shidou and Bachira, not sparing his brother a glance. He finally settles on eyeing Isagi, irises far more oppressive up close than they were on stage. He straightens his back, a fierce heat settling on the nape of his neck.
“Isagi. Isagi Yoichi,” he smiles, pleading to all the Gods that may exist out there that it’s less shaky than it feels. “Nice to meet you.”
Rins only response is a noncommittal hum, turning away from him without a second thought. Isagi keeps his smile plastered on, gripping the lining of his pockets. Bachira tsks, shaking his head and making an X with his arms, aiming it at Rin.
“Be nicer, Rin-chan,” Bachira teases, causing Rin’s scowl to grow even deeper. “He’s a big fan!”
Isagi should’ve known Bachira would try to pull something like this, but he still finds his eyes widening at the declaration. Rin raises a brow, turning back to face him.
“Really?”
It dawns on Isagi very quickly that he’s not only being watched by Rin, but also by the other two band members who are slinking closer to Bachira. He’s under a microscope and these guys are the ones observing him, deciding if he’s worth it or not.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel as high-strung as he expects to. Shidous grinning, Sae looks like he…well…like he exists, and if Isagi isn’t making eye contact with Rin the tightness in his chest dies down a tiny bit and his stomach stops pooling with an anxious warmth. So he smiles, easy and friendly like he’s always smiled at people, and nods.
“It was really good. The first song was incredible.” He watches as Shidou pumps a fist in the air, nodding along with what he says.
“You got good taste!” He turns to Sae, who gives a slight nod in response, which is honestly more than Isagi expected from him.
For a brief moment, he feels an actual lapse of comfortable companionship in these guys. Here they are, talking to him like he’s one of them. Of course, the conversation is minimal, but still better than them brushing him off their shoulder like dust.
All but Rin.
He rolls his eyes and Isagi’s not sure who it’s directed at. He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. The crawling feeling in Isagi’s stomach is back with a vengeance.
“It was lukewarm at best.” He sends a sharp look at his bandmates, pointing a finger at Shidou. “Because of that one especially.”
Shidou rolls his eyes so hard Isagi thinks they’ll get stuck behind his skull. He steps forward, shoving a finger in Rin’s face. “Are you serious? What issues did I even have? You were the one who kept on trying to change shit up!” He turns back to Sae, looking for confirmation. Sae steels him with a look, raising a brow.
“You were throwing equipment around like it’s cheap, damn beast,” his words are sharp, but his tone lacks any actual bite. Shidou still throws a hand over his heart like he’s been stabbed in the back, draping himself over Sae.
“I was performing! I have to make sure the crowd keeps their eyes on me, Sae-chan,” He muses playfully. Sae steps forward, complaining about Shidou messing up his spine alignment.
“Yeah, Sae! He was doing what he had to,” Bachira chimes in, patting Shidou on the shoulder blade harshly. Shidou chuckles, letting more of his weight go on Sae. Despite Sae’s complaining, he doesn’t seem to be struggling. He huffs a breath, then mumbles something quietly that Bachira seems to catch because he’s sticking his tongue out in a teasing manner and shrugging his shoulders. Then he starts speaking what Isagi recognizes as Spanish, and Sae responds to him, sending a glare with no real malice Shidou’s way. Shidou groans, throwing his head back dramatically, crying about how he can’t understand them and how he wants to be included. Their bickering stays between just them, none of them seemingly giving Isagi or Rin any mind.
And then there were two.
Isagi glances to his left, where Rin scrolls on his phone, pointedly trying to avoid whatever is going on with the trio. The wind picks up a tad. Isagi draws his arms closer to himself. Rin’s hair rustles with the breeze.
“What do you mean by lukewarm?”
The question leaves Isagi’s mouth before he has the chance to think it through. The playful arguing in the background from the other three manages to provide some break in the tense atmosphere.
Rin looks up from his phone, looking what Isagi can only describe as unamused. He sighs, presumably exiting out of whatever app he was scrolling through and pocketing his phone.
“Lackluster,” he clarifies, voice matter-of-fact. “It was mediocre.”
Isagi can’t help the wave of confusion that washes over him, mouth parting slightly. If Isagi hadn’t seen his earlier accusation to Shidou he would’ve assumed he was joking. He stands stunned for a moment, taking it in. “Well I thought it was good,” He says. As if it would hold any real substance to the guy who probably lives and breathes these songs.
Rin pauses for a moment, before shaking his head. “You don’t know music,” he decides. He nods his head at the three still bickering. “It’ll be better though. Those two are just stepping stones.”
If Isagi was presented with a million dollars and the person who showed him declared that the only thing he needed to do to take it was to guess what Itoshi Rin was going to say in response to a compliment, he would’ve gone home empty-handed. It seemed so bizarre, to see him blatantly discredit two people who he blends so well with, at least on stage. Hell, one was his literal brother. It was egotistical and nasty, and Isagi should’ve been repulsed. The prickling in his ribcage and ramming of his heart should’ve halted and he should’ve scooted near the other three to join them in conversation instead of listening to Rin. But he wasn’t repulsed. He was intrigued. Intrigued by Rin and his motivations and he knows he’s utterly fucked.
“They are?” He can’t help the slight smile that makes its way to his lips. “You sounded good with them.”
Rin rolls his eyes and Isagi wonders if no one in this band was ever told that their eyes would get stuck like that as a kid. “I can do better without.”
A laugh bubbles its way into his throat. Odd. “I thought you were perfect up there as is.” He shrugs, forcing himself to ignore the slight flirtatious implication that has. He’ll be fine; Rin seems like he wouldn’t pick up on it.
Rin pauses, lips pursing in consideration. There’s a slight glint cutting through his eye, sharper than before, but Isagi doesn’t mind. There’s a quick popping sound from Rin clacking the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head once again. “I already told you. You don’t get it,” his voice drips with agitation, “it’s different than you think.”
Isagi pauses for a second. What the hell was he talking about? Was he not allowed to compliment him? Was he so insecure about what he was doing that he didn't even want to be entertained with the thought of being good? Every possibility makes Isagi clench his jaw, raising a brow at Rin.
“I don't,” he hesitates for a moment, contemplating if this really was a good thing to say, “I don’t really care.”
Rin’s look already wasn’t good, but now he glares at Isagi. That’s about what Isagi expected. What Isagi doesn’t expect is for Rin to step forward, getting right into his space.
“What?” Rin’s voice rasps at the edges and Isagi doesn’t step back. He holds eye contact, ignoring the burn spreading across the highs of his cheeks.
Rin is interesting and Isagi’s intoxicated, so he still grins, nodding and sticking to his previous statement.
“I don’t care that I don’t know anything about music.” He surveys Rin’s face, waiting for any shift in his expression. Nothing changes, so he keeps going. “I think you did great. I don’t know what kind of mentality you have,” he reaches a hand up and sticks his index finger right against Rin’s chest, accusatorily, “but I think you’re good. And I’m not gonna take it back no matter how much you want me to. That’s fucking weird.” He drops his hand, tilting his head in hopes of catching his expression better.
That apparently does it, because Rin blinks and his cold gaze is now wide eyes and raised brows. Isagi takes the opportunity to step back, anguishing the space now put between them. Rin knits his brows together, but his previous irritation is replaced by confusion. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, then opens it again. He sighs, stammering out broken syllables until he steels himself, looking at Isagi head-on.
“You’re lukewarm,” is all he says, and Isagi can’t help but laugh.
He shuts his eyes, tears pricking at the corners of them in pure disbelief. He feels giddy, breath stuttering as he snickers. He can’t believe it! Who says things like that? His tears are wiped with the back of his sleeve, his laughter dying down with raggedy laughs and giggles. He can make out the vague shape of Rin standing in front of him with his arms crossed, and the thought of him being angry about this reaction makes him laugh harder.
He calms down just in time to hear Sae calling to Rin and announcing that they’re leaving.
Rin follows after him with not so much as a last glance at Isagi. Isagi gives a slightly nervy chuckle, raising a hand even though he knows Rin isn’t looking.
“Bye, Rin.”
He could swear that he saw Rin’s head rear around for a brief moment, stopping right before he would’ve seen Isagi. That’s good enough for him.
When Isagi turns away he finds Bachira wearing the cockiest smirk known to mankind, and that’s a giant feat considering Shidou was just here.
“Are you ready to go, loverboy?”
Isagi sputters, heat working its way to his neck. “What are you talking about,” he feigns ignorance. Bachira doesn’t argue back, instead just whistling low and shrugging.
“Let’s go to the station,” Bachira says. Isagi nods, walking next to him in tandem.
The walk feels eerily quiet for a walk with Bachira. The only noise filling Isagi’s ears being the occasional howl of the wind and traffic in the street. He’s not complaining though, because his mind is filled to the brim with Itoshi Rin.
It’s so stupid. To be obsessing over a guitarist he had one conversation that was basically all insults with. But his brain does him no favors: replaying the way Rin struggled for words, his insistence and stubbornness, and how he tends to purse his lips when he focuses. Soon enough, every image of Rin on stage is getting blurred and drowned out by something far less interesting, but Isagi finds himself more thrilled about it than he thinks he ever will be about a guitar riff.
It’s a shame he couldn’t get his number though.
All of the sudden, there’s the thundering of footsteps on the pavement. It’s eerily similar to how it had sounded when Shidou spotted Bachira outside of the bar.
“Wait! Hold on!”
Scratch that, it was the sound of Shidou running after them.
Both he and Bachira halt in their tracks, swiveling around to see Shidou waving them down as he runs, a small slip of paper clutched in his left fist. It takes him practically no time at all to catch up to them, skidding to a halt and practically chucking the number at Isagi’s face. He shoots his hand out blindly to snatch it from the air before the wind manages to blow it away.
“Here,” Shidou pats Isagi’s shoulder. Bachira joins in, most likely just wanting to be involved.
Isagi turns the slip of paper over in his palm, squinting at the small text scrawled in the middle.
It’s a number. A phone number.
“Oh,” Isagi chuckles nervously, clutching the paper in a closed fist. His cheeks are tinged pink, blood rushing to them. “I’m flattered but-”
He’s cut off by Shidou spitting in his face from holding back a laugh. He grimaces, backing away and using his sleeve to wipe his face off. Shidou shakes his head frantically, wiping away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.
“Unfortunately it’s not from me, it’s from Rin-Rin. Tough luck!” Shidou pulls his hand back from Isagi’s shoulder, shooting him a thumbs up.
Isagi freezes, immediately opening his hand up to inspect the number again.
From who?
He’s pretty sure he’s as red as a tomato and his eyes are bulging out of his head considering the snickers he hears from the two around him. He can’t find it in him to scold them, instead just staring at the ten digits. He feels an embarrassing urge to jump for joy. Maybe to hop on Bachira’s back like how he does to Isagi whenever he gets excited. He resists though, instead just pursing his lips together to hide a humiliating grin. He knows he’s not fooling anyone.
“He seemed real interested,” Shidou affirms as he walks backward, clearly intent on making his way back to the other two. “He’s just a little emotionally stunted!”
Isagi exhales a laugh. That’s about what he had figured. He still calls out a thank you, sliding the slip of paper into his pocket and holding it close against him, wrapping it around his finger like a ring.
He doesn’t take his hand out of his pocket the rest of the night.
—
Isagi Yoichi: 1:34 AM
You had to get someone else to give me your number?
Were you nervous?
Itoshi Rin: 1:39 AM
I’ll block you right now.
I was just busy.
Isagi Yoichi: 1:43 AM
Aw
Doing what
Your show was over
A minute passes. Then another. Isagi watches with amusement as the ellipses appear to show Rin typing, then disappear, then reappear again. He wears a comfortable smile, turning over as his phone finally buzzes in his hand.
Itoshi Rin: 1:50 AM
Did you want my number or not?
Rin has some nerve acting like he would just up and block or delete Isagi’s number after sending his bandmate off to deliver his number to Isagi like a messenger pigeon. Even more nerve considering the fact that a night hasn’t even passed and they’re chatting after barely two hours from their initial meeting. Isagi chuckles, tapping his fingers quickly across the screen to reply.
Isagi Yoichi: 1:51 AM
Wasn’t it obvious?
His phone buzzes quicker than it has all night, hardly a few seconds after his message is delivered. He scans over Rin’s message, letting out a stunned laugh. A pang of fondness settles in his chest and spreads over his entire body, consuming him whole.
Itoshi Rin: 1:51 AM
It was.
It really, really was.