Chapter Text
Anasui sees without observing, his eyes tracing the lines and shapes in front of him while his thoughts wander miles away. There are thousands of people jammed in this Miami stadium and they stand only a few meters below. His hands are full: one holding the neck of his Fender and another picking the strings. The amplifiers buzz loud enough to burst an eardrum, and the percussion of Foo's drum slams his brain into submission.
The stage lights feel hot on his bare skin, dripping sweat as he harmonizes with Ermes into the microphone. People dance and bounce with the music, throngs of bodies that surge like a tide, but none of their faces stick out to him.
Instead, all he can do is look at Jolyne.
There are a few times that Jolyne makes her way over to Ermes' microphone. During the chorus, Jolyne bumps into Ermes' shoulders on the offbeats, belting a gorgeous, powerful harmony. The two perform together with the easy confidence and fluidity of lifelong friends. They laugh and shout into the microphone, and at the last lyric, they slam their boots to the stage as Ermes plays the final note, her fingers plucking the strings in the exact same key Jolyne shouts at.
Anasui feels his heart pound like it is going to leap out of his rib cage and he is sure it has nothing to do with the performance.
The stadium goes crazy for them. For Jolyne. For Ermes. Even their drummer, F.F., has the adoring masses in cheers. The audience goes berserk as they scream, clap, and sing along. He watches her soak it in— their adulation, the euphoria and the energy, the pure raw excitement. Jolyne laughs and her grin stretches across her face with the brightness of the stage lights.
This is where she belongs.
She beams at the crowd from center stage. Jolyne holds the mic with the tenacity of a weapon, swinging it to the beat and capturing the crowd like the performer she is. She dances, she jumps; her black leather pants cling to her curves and her tight shirt rides up to her navel. Her dyed braid cascades down her back, swaying every time she rocks her hips to the chorus. Jolyne has a spellbinding presence; has the entire arena in the palm of her hand.
"Miami," she shouts into the mic, "make some noise!"
Anasui can barely hear his own vocals over the roar of the audience. They cheer for Jolyne, scream her name as she sings along. They can reach her when she steps closer to the edge of the stage. Their voices call her name and their fingers reach up and Anasui has this intense visceral dread that someone is going to take her away.
The lights on the stage shift and change color, the instruments all fade out for Anasui's solo. His fingers pluck and slide down the frets but he watches Jolyne the entire time, ignoring the sea of strangers at his feet. The chords sound romantic; he's been practicing and perfecting the sound for a moment like this where Jolyne's eyes are on him. She tosses her gaze over her shoulder, right at him, and the way the lights shine behind her, it's as though she's glowing. Anasui is the focus of her attention, a precious, singular second.
He plays like she’s the only one here.
It's a blur after the concert, backstage. Jolyne is laughing, talking excitedly as the venue staff rushes by her. People greet her, offer her their congratulations and Jolyne graciously accepts the accolades. Foo wraps their arms around Ermes' waist, and Ermes kisses their temple. The fans rush towards them, pleading for autographs and Jolyne is kind with all of them, despite the security personnel and their scowling expressions.
Anasui trails a distance behind them.
They walk further into the bowels of the venue, past the dressing rooms and to the lounge. It's busy and there are drinks, girls, and music at every turn. The roadies are here, the techs that helped them on and off the stage. A sound tech smiles and greets Ermes and Foo, and they wave her over to sit and join them. Jolyne walks straight to the bar where alcohol is already set out.
"Anasui," a deep voice rings out from the chaos, and Anasui nearly misses it.
He whips around and finds Weather sitting on the U-shaped couch. His leg is propped up on the table, wrapped in plaster and signed in a plethora of ink. Weather said the injury happened over a fight with his brother. He leans against the back cushions with a drink in his hand. Anasui doesn't know him that well; the man doesn't talk much, but Weather is the closest friend he has here.
He motions for him to come over and Anasui walks the couple of steps, sitting at the end of the sofa.
"How was the show?" Weather asks, sipping from his glass.
"It went well. You would have loved it."
The older man chuckles, gesturing to his cast. "My loss then."
Anasui nods absently. Everyone is scattered and spread apart: the roadies and the staff on the other side, Jolyne and Ermes by the bar. He keeps watching her, the curve of her smile and the tilt of her head. Jolyne looks so natural under the lights, like this is how the universe created her. She's talking and Anasui can see she's happy.
"Did something happen between you too? You've been staring at her like an idiot since before the show."
Anasui looks down, picking a loose string from his vest. It's true; he wants her more than anything and now that the show is over, Jolyne seems further away from him than she ever was before. "No," he lies, "nothing at all."
His voice falls flat and Weather raises a brow. Anasui doesn't have to meet his stare, even he can hear his tone isn't convincing. Weather takes a swing of his drink and lets out a long, heavy sigh.
"She just hasn't warmed up to you yet is all."
Anasui starts from Weather's observation and he's glad that his face is impassive. It doesn't betray the anxiety crawling in his stomach. "Hm?"
"Jolyne," he says, taking another sip, "isn't someone who dives in head-first. You're this stranger in her band, someone who joined with no introduction. She's still wary. All you need to do is give it a bit more time. Then she'll warm up to you."
"I'm not," he starts, and the thought doesn't sound quite right. It feels so incomplete and Anasui struggles to find the words. "I'm not doing this just to get close to her, y’know."
Weather hums. "I know. She would have seen right through that."
Anasui's chest tightens, thinking of Jolyne's piercing glare. Weather is correct. Jolyne would have tossed him to the curb if that were the case. It's one of the things he admires about her: Jolyne isn't a fool, she sees things for what they are and Anasui knows that he could never get away with bullshit if he tried.
"I think," Weather continues, turning his drink in his hand, "if you want to become close to her, you can. You have talent, you're headstrong. Dedicated. Jolyne likes those qualities. You just need to prove it to her."
He watches Jolyne throw her head back and laugh. Weather is right. Jolyne does appreciate skill and she has already seen it in him. It's up to Anasui to make a move, to let her know that he is here for her and the band. That this isn't something Anasui would give up in a million years.
"If I tell her I like her," Anasui blurts out, looking down at the skin above his long boots, "do you think she'll be receptive?"
Weather sets his empty glass on the table. His broken leg stretches out over the carpet. Anasui waits for his answer, the anxiety gnawing at his ribs. He doesn't want Jolyne to hate him, but the chance at being hers is a risk he is willing to take. He just needs to have a little more faith and confidence.
"I can't say for certain," Weather says, and Anasui's hope plummets to the floor. But Weather gives him a reassuring nod and that helps calm his nerves. "But I know her heart isn't closed to you. There's no reason why Jolyne wouldn’t hear you out."
Anasui's pulse flutters as Jolyne laughs from her belly.
Weather clasps him on the shoulder, the weight of his palm settling over his racing heartbeat.
"Good luck, Anasui."