Chapter Text
“When is she getting here?”
“Relax Maki, she said she’s five minutes away.”
“You said that five minutes ago. Honestly, this is why I said we should just cancel this gig. This place is trashy anyways.”
“I think it’s kind of nice.”
“Your standard of living is rotting food and garbage - anywhere you can see the floor is a luxury to you.”
Inumaki leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway, hands tucked deep into his white sweatshirt, eyes wandering up and down the street as his friends fell apart beside him. Tokyo’s fall air was chilly that night, with his breaths appearing in thin clouds of matter before him. They had been waiting in the alleyway, where the remnants of the club’s workers' smoke breaks lay littered around them. He simply kicked a few buds around as his friends bickered, fully disinterested in the situation.
Sure, Inumaki wanted to perform as planned for the night, but he wasn’t nearly as invested in their little band as the rest of them were. He would have been plenty happy staying in his apartment for the night watching Impractical Jokers, on his couch alone; maybe with some Chinese takeout too.
Instead, they had been running around like their heads were on fire ever since they’d received a text from their lead singer, Mai, claiming that she was sick with another seasonal cold-- for the third gig in a row. The last two shows they canceled, but this gig was different. They were getting paid, for once.
Panda crossed his arms, puffing up his chest to appear bigger with his accusation. His almost-too-small leather jacket creaked in the process. “Y’know, in a way this is your fault, Maki. Mai is your sister after all.”
Inumaki could have sworn the devil possessed Maki’s soul, bringing fire to her stern brown eyes as she whirled around. “If we’re pointing fingers, big guy, I think we should blame you! You’re the one who invited that heifer to join our band anyway!”
“Only because she had to leave Todo’s band! It’s not my fault I’m a nice guy.”
Yuta stepped between the two, a deep frown over his features as he looked between his two friends. “Seriously guys, this isn’t the time to be fighting. Let’s just give Mai the benefit of the doubt for now, okay?”
Maki looked down at Yuta, where he held her gaze strong before she tsk’d quietly, crossing her arms and turning the other way.
The relationship between the two of them had been getting weirder and weirder over the last few weeks, and it did not slip Inumaki’s attention. Maki’s once uncontrollable fire of a personality was able to be smothered by a single pitiful look by Yuta, acting like a fireman to her emotions.
Inumaki sensed his opportunity and struck. “Yuta was looking at Mai’s ass yesterday.”
And there, the fire was struck again. He buried his chin further down into his hoodie, hiding the smirk that split his face as hell broke loose. Maki had the poor boy by the scruff of his jacket, breathing fire in his face as he pleaded for mercy, moments away from tossing him into the nearby dumpster when a timid voice interrupted.
“Um, excuse me…”
A woman around their age, wearing a long black puffer jacket stood in the middle of the alley, a pair of black boots standing in a small puddle that had formed in the earlier day’s rain shower. You’d stood there awkwardly, unsure of what you had walked into, and wanted to do anything but interrupt. You’d heard the argument from down the street as you walked to the club, and decided to follow it.
Yuta was dropped onto the ground, Maki placing her hands on her hips as she sized up the newcomer, pushing up her glasses which had fallen further down her nose. She stepped up to you, her critical eye quickly scanning your form as you stood uncomfortably.
“‘You the singer?” she asked, with all the suspicion of a sergeant. Everything about her screamed ‘cunt‘ , from her hair to her torn-up rock-band shirt and black jeans. Under her jeans were fishnets, which peaked out in the large ripped sections on her thighs. If you had known her in high school, you were sure she would have shoved you in a locker once or twice.
You held her gaze, eyebrow raised. “Yeah. Are you guys the--” you paused, breaking eye contact to open your phone to read the text displayed on it, “Cursed Objects…?”
“That’s us!” Called a much cheerier voice, Panda, shoving Maki aside to greet you properly. “Don’t mind her, she’s just stressed out. It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N). Thank you so much for coming.”
Though his attitude was a big improvement, his… costume only left you with more questions. You had met lots of performers who hid their identities, but that usually only went as far as using masks; this man was in an entire panda suit, covering every aspect of his body from head to toe. Not that you were in any position to judge, but it did leave you massively curious.
“Yeah, no problem,” you smiled kindly, patting the panda paw that was placed on your shoulder. The fur was pretty soft.
He nodded in affirmation, stepping to the side to lead you with a large paw. “Let’s go inside and we’ll do introductions.”
“Sure,” you echoed, as he ushered you toward the side door. As you walked by you brushed by one of the boys, catching his eyes for a moment. He had a mess of white hair, slicked up in a million different directions. Half of his face was obscured by a high-necked white hoodie, large violet eyes meeting your gaze dully. You shot him a small smile, before entering into the establishment.
He couldn’t lie, he was a bit taken-aback by your easy-going energy. However, if you made a living bouncing from band to band as a stand-in like you did, he figured you were a pro at being polite.
The smell of the building was rather particular, something you couldn’t quite place. It was both oddly musky and smokey like they had lit a few hundred candles to chase away the smell. On the journey to the dressing room, they led you through several tight hallways, spattered with tacky red and black wallpaper mixed with gray carpet. Though, when you finally reached it, it was bigger than you thought it’d be. There were two black loveseats facing each other, with a little makeup area behind it framed by a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A coffee table sat in the middle of the couches, where several pieces of what looked to be sheet music and a half-eaten sandwich lay on top.
You were shoved in first, but stood to the side while the rest of the band trickled in, each sitting on the couches with different grunts and sighs, before turning to you. The panda led the conversation.
“Alright, introductions. Green hair is Maki, our bassist” he gestured a paw toward the girl with the seemingly permanent glare, who was now cleaning off her glasses with a rag. He continued, “Next to her, looking a little scared, is Yuta. He’s our guitar player,” the boy sighed hopelessly, shaking his head. He had shaggy black hair, the back nearly reaching his shoulders. You felt a little bad for him-- he seemed to be the punching bag for the night. And from the look of the bags underneath his eyes, it didn’t seem like the first time, either.
The panda wrapped an arm around the white-haired boy next to him, leaning onto his shoulder. “This here is Toge. He doesn’t talk much, so don’t expect much in reply. He’s a beast on the drums though.”
You took the moment to appreciate him in the albeit, not much better, lighting. Silver jewelry glinted against the fluorescent tones, two sets of snake bite piercings sat comfortably near the corners of his slightly pouting lips. You hadn’t seen that many people with such bold piercings before. You thought they suited him well-- really well, to be honest.
Releasing his friend, the panda sat up tall, pointing a furry thumb toward himself with a proud smirk. “And me? I’m Panda, keyboard extraordinaire!”
“Right. Panda,” you echoed, all of the lead-up falling flat in your mind. You tried not to let the deflation show in your expression. He had told you his name before when he contacted you for the gig earlier in the day. Still, you hoped that maybe that was just a stage name. Just… Panda.
Still, you smiled politely, hands folded neatly in front of yourself. “It’s very nice to meet you all, even under the circumstances.” You casually shrugged off your puffer coat, throwing it onto the back of a chair, before pulling it closer to the couches and taking a much-needed seat. “Well, let’s talk business. What’s your setlist?”
The band stared for a long moment, their eyes set on you as you sat down. You wore a corset top, red lace detailing it up to its spaghetti straps. The black leather skirt you wore, accentuated with a studded belt, hugged you where the material ended-- about mid-thigh. You were decorated further with a few necklaces.
Inumaki stared the hardest, any harder and he feared he could have burned a hole through you. Violet eyes traced your form appreciatively, his breath nearly stopping when you crossed your legs, your thighs fighting against the leather enough to make it creak. You adjusted your top a little for comfort, pulling it down with a shimmy, before brushing your palms against your legs. Finally, you looked up, an eyebrow quickly raising when you noticed all eyes on you. Inumaki looked away.
Distantly, he’d thought that perhaps Mai should bail more often..
Yuta snapped out of it first (most likely in fear of his girlfriend noticing), and pulled out a fairly crumpled piece of paper from deep in his jeans pocket. He leaned over and met you halfway to hand it over to you, your smooth hands grasping it. You unfolded it, leaning back into the chair’s cushion to read the list of the songs written in very loopy handwriting. He’d watched in quiet anticipation - attempting to gauge some sort of reaction from your expression alone; “That’s our setlist for tonight, at least, what we’ve planned - we can always tweak it, if there are any songs you-”
“Nope - not a problem. I like this vibe that you’ve got going on.” You’d interrupted, gaze glinting with amusement upon scanning over the list.
Working as a freelance vocalist was tough, especially for your creative bones. You never got to choose what genre you sang for - not that you were at the point of being picky, yet; money was money in your eyes. When you got the call from Panda about a cover rock band you jumped up and down in your apartment, spinning around like a little girl. You’d found yourself in a rut - where it seemed like the only bands that contacted you were soul R&B or some folk-type sound, and while you appreciated each individual musical genre the rock and alternative styles were what your heart yearned for. In your excitement, you even bought a new outfit for the night, though you were starting to second-guess it. You caught how they seemed to stare wordlessly when you took your coat off. You tried not to let that bother you, though. You felt good in it.
You looked down at the list again, nearly giddy. “You guys have some nice songs here-- I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I think we’re gonna have a great night.”
“That was Toge’s call.” Panda threw his arm around Inumaki again. “He’s a big Chili Pepper fan.”
You laughed a little. “Good taste,” you hummed. Inumaki looked over at you for a split second, before looking away, closing his eyes with a sigh.
Inumaki didn’t talk much, not because of any specific aversion to conversation, but rather because he often found himself at a loss for words. With the loud-mouthed friends he had, whatever void he frequently left in conversation was swiftly filled by them, and then some. It was easier to express life in other ways than speech, and most interactions could just be continued with a simple nod or shake of the head, maybe an eye roll or sigh if the situation called for it. So, he wasn’t ignoring you; he just couldn’t think of anything important to say in return.
It was definitely not because he couldn't talk to girls to save his life, either.
Shyness was a disease, a disease that had long affected him. Inumaki much preferred solitude to any busy atmosphere. Navigating the complex world of relationships, especially if it had any romantic undertone, was like running through a minefield. The intricate dance of words and nuances of social cues was not something that interested him. Despite the cool-guy front he easily presented, under it was a biting self-consciousness that scrutinized every word before it escaped his lips.
So, for him, it was better to stay quiet and listen.
His friends understood him well, and after knowing them for several years, he felt comfortable enough to put in his two cents, no matter how brief it was. When he did speak it was either to crack a joke or to stir the pot in an argument; two things he loved to do. His friends tried hard to bring the best out of him, which led to them starting a band and placing Inumaki as the drummer. It was fine; while he loved the drums since childhood, the lively atmospheres often left him yearning for the tranquility of his bed and some much-needed solitude.
Before he knew it, they were about to go on stage. He looked out on their set to his pride-and-joy ‘Fang’; his heavily modified white Mapex Tornado III drum set, embellished with silver. The bass drum was stamped with their band’s logo, a wedding ring with the name Cursed Objects sprawled overtop. In the stage light it practically glowed; he did too, for the pride of his instrument.
You snuck up beside him, looking at him with the easy smile you seemed to wear just like another piece of jewelry. It was dark in the wing of the stage, but he could see the excited sparkle twinkling in your eyes.
“Good luck,” you whispered, the corners of your eyes crinkled. He nodded once, slowly. A slight shiver went down his spine.
Inumaki couldn’t see the crowd, but he could hear the scattered conversations that morphed together into a dull roar. The host of the night, a middle-aged bearded man, brushed by and introduced the band by name, before giving the stage to them with a flourish. The audience paused to clap as the band came on, a few drunken ‘whoops’ and hollers thrown in. Inumaki was quick to make it to his spot, and the moment he reached his stool and sat he sighed. He grabbed his drumsticks and spun them in his fingers; a soothing habit to calm his nerves.
Then, you came onto the stage. Coming on last, you bounded up to the mic and grabbed it to greet the crowd enthusiastically. The crowd responded in kind, shouting merrily as you giggled. The bright lights cast a halo around the edges of your body, an almost ethereal view. Your skin glowed almost as much as you did in the spotlight. Even though he could only really see your shadowed back, he wished he could be in the crowd to see how much you shined at them.
He could see his other bandmates looking at one another, pleased with both your energy and the excited crowd. Even Maki dropped her calculated glare, unable to fight back the hype feeling as you charged up the crowd. Inumaki didn’t listen to a single word you said, only staring at your back, which swayed back and forth as you talked a bit. Yuta and Maki both laughed at something you said, the crowd following. Inumaki turned to look at Panda, who was looking over at him with a large smirk
Then, finally, you looked back at him. He nearly forgot his job, momentarily lost in the blazing gaze you sent his way. He nearly dropped one of his drumsticks, bouncing it between his palms before he collected himself, and tapped off the start of the first song.
He sighed long and hard at his fumble but tried to let it slide off of his back as he tapped the beat of the song. When he finally chanced a look back up at you, he found you staring still, bobbing your head along with him. You turned away, facing the crowd once again.
The show passed in a blur of infectious vibrant energy, and far too soon they were walking off stage; bidding farewell to the cheering crowd behind them after nearly fifteen songs played. Each of the five had practically grown intoxicated on the sickeningly sweet grasp of euphoria-- pushing and stumbling over one another to reach the room backstage. An air of contentment and delight had settled and although they were sweaty and out of breath, there was laughter.
You had been the first to collapse onto one of the couches, heaving a long sigh at the moment your head connected with the pillowy back - you could’ve fallen asleep there and then if the accompanying members allowed it. However, it had seemed that the members of Cursed Objects thought better of it, with the application of a cold compress to your cheek ushering your senses back to the conscious world. Through a half-lidded gaze, you saw Maki looking down at you with glasses off and hair let down, pressing a nearly frozen water bottle against your face. You grasped it thankfully, immediately ripping it open and chugging its contents.
“That was a hell of a performance,” she said.
You took a break from the water, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, grinning up to her as she walked away. “Thanks, you too. You’ve got a gift for the bass.”
She didn’t respond, only waving off your compliment with her hand. But you could see her small smile reflected in the mirror across the room as she returned her bass to its case. A snicker tickled your throat, prompting you to take another drink.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have the time of your life. The show was a much-needed break from the usual jazz gigs you performed, practically pouring your entire heart out onto the stage. You jumped around and hollered, made the other members jump around and holler, and had a blast. Though now that it was over you were exhausted-- the only thing you wanted was a nice greasy sandwich for a job well done.
Yuta, who had disappeared right after the show ended, returned to the room with an envelope. He ripped it open, grabbing a fistful of its contents, and raising it in the air as a trophy, proudly calling out to the world: “Five hundred dollars!!”
Everyone whooped and cheered in response, Panda tackling the poor boy before lifting him into the air, nearly smashing him against the ceiling. Still, Yuta cheered and shook his fist around, Maki walking over to push him up higher, and Inumaki standing to the side with a small smile. The group of them jumped up and down in celebration, nearly shaking the entire room. You simply watched from the couch with a fond smile, chin propped onto your palm.
It was moments like this where your heart wavered. You had always wanted to be in a band, but it just never seemed that anyone you knew had the patience and balls to do it. After three failed attempts at starting one, you branched off on your own to work as a freelance vocalist. Some nights sucked, with shitty people or poor crowds, leaving with hardly any money made, but nights like this, where you genuinely had the time of your life with a good group of people, made it all worth it.
Eventually, they put Yuta down, and he stumbled over his feet a little to regain his balance. But after a few hasty steps, he reached you, thumbing out your cut, and passing you the cash. You counted it for yourself quickly; one hundred dollars. A great cashout. You thanked him, shoving the cash in your bra for safekeeping. He nodded with a smile, but shifted his expression, looking back at his friends for a moment.
He started slowly, unsure, “Hey, so, if you were looking for more permanent work…”
You perked up. “Oh! You guys are looking for a vocalist? I thought that you had one?”
Yuta rang his hands together as he spoke. “Well, yeah, but it’s complicated. She’s flakey, and--”
“A bitch.” Maki finished a glower appearing on her face just at the thought of her.
“Oh, wow,” you hummed, not expecting the sudden aggressiveness. Still, your heart fluttered a little bit, sitting up straight on the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m not sure what to say…”
“Say yes.”
Everyone whirled, hearing their soft-spoken friend finally speak. His hands were in his pockets again, but his violet gaze was intentional. He stared into your eyes as if to make a point about his seriousness.
That was the first time you had heard him speak. His voice seemed soft but touched by the raspiness of under-use. Almost like honey left to sit on the counter, crystalizing into a hard sugar. It wasn’t how you expected him to sound at all, but you still thought it suited him.
You nodded, as if compelled by his speech, further pushed by the shine of impulsivity. “Okay,” you echoed, before saying with more certainty to Yuta, “yes.”
And just like that, you were a member of a band.
It didn’t fully sink in until you were lounging in your apartment the following week when your phone lit up in the middle of making lunch. Curiously you set your knife to the side and picked it up, tapping on the screen to bring it to life.
New Group Chat Created
+20 Messages from “Unknown”
You click on the chat, scrolling through it. All of the numbers were new, but only one you partially recognized. Someone changed the title, cementing the lightbulb in your head.
“Unknown” named the conversation “Cursed Objects”.
You pinned the conversation in your texts so it wouldn’t get lost, and scrolled to decipher what number belonged to whom. Currently, they were in an argument over when and where to meet for practice.
Unknown 1: seriously Panda? you can’t reschedule your pottery class just this once?
Unknown 3: Absolutely Not. Pottery Soothes My Soul.
Unknown 1: i’m not calling into work just because you want to make teacups
Unknown 3: You Should Try It Sometime.
Unknown 1: no. i already hear enough crap suggestions from my shitty sister.
Unknown 2: Guys, can we please calm down? The sooner we can pick a day, the better… how about Thursday?
Unknown 3: I Have Yoga On Thursdays.
Unknown 1: you’ve got to be shitting me.
Unknown 1: i think i hate you
Sensing an opportunity, you interjected a gif into the conversation; Joe from Impractical Jokers doing a downward dog yoga pose. It was pretty niche, but you still snickered at yourself, setting the phone down to continue making your lunch.
You had hardly made it through cutting up the chicken when your phone lit up again. The group chat was still blowing up, but curiously, a private message sat just below it.
Unknown: woah. you like impractical jokers too?
Abandoning your cooking yet again for your phone, you turned to lean your back against the counter as you typed.
You: Yeah! I’ve watched them since they first started out
You: Sorry, who is this? I don’t have the numbers straightened out yet
The message was immediately marked as read, and bubbles formed moments later.
Unknown: sorry. it’s toge
You smiled. The last person you expected a message from was him, but it was a pleasant surprise. Hell, he only said one thing to you the entire night. His friends said that he was soft-spoken, but you guess you didn’t realize to what extent. You added his contact to your phone, and by the time you were done, he had sent another message.
Toge: but yeah i’ve watched them since i was a kid too. it’s one of my favorite shows
You: I guess we’ve got something in common then! What’s your favorite season?
Toge: oh, season 3 all the way
And just like that, you spent the heart of your afternoon texting the introvert. The conversations seemed to flow so easily between the two of you. Talking mostly about TV shows and movies you both enjoyed, but also occasionally going deeper; sharing a few childhood stories associated with the shows. You liked his company; for being such a quiet guy, you didn’t expect him to be so witty. He genuinely made you snort a few times.
Before you knew it it was six in the evening, and the only thing alerting you to the quickly passing time was your stomach, begging for food.
You: I hate to go, but I’ve got to make some dinner before I wither away
You: I think they finally decided on practice on Tuesday haha. See you then!
You kicked yourself off of the couch with a jump and sauntered back into the kitchen, remembering the cutting board of cut but uneaten chicken sitting there. You poked it: cold. You sighed a little at the wasted food. Guess you got a little distracted. Your phone buzzed for the final time, prompting a small smile.
Toge: no problem. have a good dinner!
Inumaki tossed his phone to the side, watching it bounce on the plushness of his bed before smearing the front of his face with his hand. He felt like his final message came off weird-- who wishes someone a ‘good dinner’? But it was too late; he already sent it.
He didn’t expect to talk to you for long, and neither did he expect to have as much fun as he did. The conversation flowed between the two of you with ease, and he even found himself laughing at some of the things you said. It seemed like you had a mischievous side, just like he did, which he deeply appreciated. You were quick to go along with his little jokes.
His phone buzzed, and he jumped up and smacked his hand down on top of it. Pulling it closer to himself, he ripped his eyes open to read the notification:
(Y/N) loved “no problem. have a good dinner!”
He looked at his screen for a moment before sighing, promptly tossing the phone away again. His chest sunk a hair, enough to make him frown in the darkness of his bedroom. He let his arm cover his eyes as he lay starfished on his bed, picking apart the entire conversation from memory. Did you think he was cool? He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, you were just some girl they hired on the internet who was now a part of their band. It didn’t matter that you had a talented voice that sounded like sugar, or a good taste in entertainment, or a priceless smile you threw his way with no regard for how it would affect him.
What did it mean to be ‘left on reaction’? Did he somehow scare you away? Now he was scrolling through Reddit and random websites, trying to decipher what it meant. He made a point to be on a private browser-- he’d die if anyone saw any of these embarrassing questions in his history. He didn’t even want to fully admit to himself he was doing such a thing.
A knock on his bedroom door sent him bolted upright, eyes wide in panic. He threw his phone under his pillow, like a child playing games past his bedtime, and nearly fell over himself to open the door. Yuta was on the other side wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, sweatpants, and slippers. A waft of a fried food smell met Inumaki just as he greeted his friend.
“Hey, I made some-- woah, dude. ‘You okay?” Yuta leaned in closer to look at him keenly.
Inumaki meant to nod his head casually, but it came off more like a series of furious headbangs. Yuta blinked at him for a few moments, taking in his slightly flushed face and wide eyes… Maybe he interrupted his roommate at a bad time?
Still, he continued, trying not to make it any more awkward. “I was just gonna say I made some dinner. Dino-nuggies, if you want any.”
Inumaki swallowed thickly, giving his friend a thumbs-up, before slamming the door in his face. Yuta stood there for a minute, eyebrows furrowed. What had gotten into him?
Yuta was starting to notice other changes with his friend, too. Inumaki was seemingly always on his phone. Yuta could hear him laughing in his room throughout the day. He would leap to pick it up every time it buzzed, sigh when he read the notification, and set it back down. He’d perk up anytime someone mentioned anything about the band; upcoming practices, or even casual hang outs. Inumaki was known among his friends to be a home-body at heart, but it seemed like suddenly he was willing to go bar hopping or out to eat at nearly every given chance.
He even found Inumaki arriving early to band practices, something he originally tried to avoid like the plague. Everyone knew Inumaki wasn’t the biggest fan of the band, or leaving the house in general, so to see him wide-eyed and early, bouncing his leg and tapping off random tunes nearly an hour before practice was supposed to start-- it was a shocking turn. His friends questioned him incessantly, but only received a simple shrug in return.
“It’s fun,” he’d say, and nothing more. It was easy to shrug off. Everyone assumed he had found some passion for it now that they knew they could make money. The rest of them shared the feeling. Practices were starting to become electric, filled with laughter rather than barking arguments.
No one suspected a thing, not even the band’s newest, illustrious, vocalist.
It didn’t take long before you felt at home with the motley crew. The rehearsals were at Maki’s house, in her finished basement. Apparently, she worked four days a week at a law firm as a secretary, and the spoils were plenty. She never offered her house to be used for rehearsals, but there was some long-winded story about Panda breaking in and lugging all of their equipment inside. The neighbors called the cops, and Maki and Inumaki had to go bail him out. In the end, the equipment was too heavy to move again, and Panda refused no matter how much Maki threatened him and his safety.
You had to commend him, though, because he made the right choice. Her basement was incredibly comfortable, with several colorful loveseats and a large red carpet spread out. The boys had hung up several different types of soft lighting that added a soft yellow glow to the space. In the corner sat Inumaki’s drumset, and on the adjacent wall hung both Maki’s pure black bass and Yuta’s light blue electric guitar.
It had been a few months since the fateful day. The weather was colder now, soft snowflakes starting to drift in the wind by the time the sun had set. You had been sitting in your specially-claimed spot, slowly strumming pointless chords on your old beat-up guitar while the others chatted.
Your time as a cover band was slowly creeping to an end, and everyone wanted the band to start creating their own music. However, the creative process was rough; after an entire day spent at Maki’s house, you were all exhausted, with several empty boxes of pizza strung around. A bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, empty, after you all passed around. But that was hours ago now; whatever productive buzz it spawned was gone, soaked up by the endless amounts of bread you consumed.
“Nothing sounds right,” Yuta groaned, finally setting aside his guitar. He’d been picking at it for hours to no avail, nothing satisfying his ear.
“I agree-- no offense,” Maki quickly corrected, falling onto the couch next to him. “Maybe we’re going about it the wrong way.”
Yuta sighed, watching Maki carefully as she sat down. “Any suggestions?”
She shook her head, crossing her arms as she glared at the ground in thought. He turned to Panda next to him, and the bear only shrugged.
Still, you calmly strummed, eyes half-lidded as you did so. The mixture of a full belly and the warm basement made you sleepy, but you were determined to fight it off. Beside you Inumaki sat, expression just as tired as yours as he sunk into the couch, fiddling with his hoodie strings. His nerves were a little fried-- he worked up the courage to steal Panda’s usual spot next to you and was subtly scooching closer as the hours went by. He prayed you didn’t notice, but it didn’t seem like you did.
Until suddenly you moved, sitting up from your spot on the couch. The air felt a little colder without your musical notes in it, instead raising your hands to stretch out your back with a dull groan. He watched you carefully, not prepared for you to turn and look over at him.
Your voice was already like candy to his ears, but the sound of your tone weighed down by exhaustion pulled his heart further. Half-lidded eyes met him, dilated and shining almost like a doll’s. Below it sat a small smile. “I’m gonna use you as a pillow. ‘That okay?”
Inumaki nodded on autopilot-- as if he’d ever say no to you. At his confirmation you twisted around, laying your back against his side, and letting your legs hook over the arm of the couch. You snuggled in a little and adjusted, while he tried to keep his poker face. He wasn’t sure where to place his arm, so he just rested it on the back of the couch. You let out a pleased hum, murmuring a quick ‘thanks’, before returning to mindlessly strumming on your guitar.
He hoped you couldn’t feel his heart thudding through his chest. It was like his body was hyper-aware, feeling you sink in comfortably into his side. You were always generous with your affections; mindlessly playing with hair, soft touches to gain attention, smacking his arm when you, and only you, heard him murmur something sarcastic, turning you into a fit of giggles.
It was slowly driving him insane.
His friends were catching on too. Maki was first, then the boys, and then they were all working together to try and hype him up. Nothing they said helped, and though they claimed it was obvious that you liked him too, he just didn’t see it. You were just as affectionate to the others, always laughing and smiling regardless of who it was. You had a kind, warm heart-- nothing was specifically for him.
Genuinely, he felt that the two of you had become close. Countless hours of his time had been spent talking to you over the phone; the only place where he felt truly comfortable conversing with you. Small occasional conversations turned into “good morning,” and “good night,” texts. He even opened up to you about his shyness one night, lamenting on how alone it often made him feel. You were a wonderful listener; it was one of the things he liked most about you. You let him talk about it for as long as he wanted, but once he had started it felt impossible to stop. At the end of his long-winded story, he heard you giggle on the other side of the phone.
“What?” he asked, his face heating once he realized he had been talking the past twenty minutes without letting you get a word in.
“Nothing,” you said, “I’m just happy to listen to you.”
Seemingly, no matter how long he’d spent talking to you over the phone, he’d still found it daunting to speak in person. Though, Toge had certainly begun to notice a change - an improvement if anything, albeit slowly. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to mind the quiet. It seemed as if you’d almost preferred these moments, sitting alongside him in a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the company of one another.
Although, the way his friends, or perhaps tormentors, were reacting was surely going to bring about his early demise. He’d met each of their antics with fiercely narrowed eyes - bug-eyed gazes, wiggling eyebrows and all. Sometimes, he’d come to loathe how obtuse they could be.
Maki spoke, finally breaking the silence. “Do you have anything, (Y/N)? Surely you’ve got some little songs on the back burner.”
You froze in an instant. You let your guitar lower a little, before turning your head against Inumaki’s side to look over at Maki. “Well, yeah I’ve got silly ones I've written over the years, but…”
Maki sat forward, interested. “But what? Sing your most recent one. I’m sure it’s better than you think.”
After a chant of encouragement from the three across from you you sighed, sitting up to play. Inumaki tried his best to hide his disappointment, feeling you leave his side. You strummed up and down to find the first note, finally settling on a chord.
This was the most bashful he had ever seen you. Usually, you radiated with confidence like the sun, but for some reason, you suddenly seemed deeply embarrassed by your music. You took a deep breath. “Okay, this is my most recent one. I’m not done with it yet, so…”
Everyone was seemingly on the edge of their seats, leaning forward with anticipation. You closed your eyes and started the song.
“I feel close,
Well, maybe I’m not, heaven knows
It’s a spotlight stuck on the ceiling
Why are these the things that I’m feeling?
“There’s so much time
For me to speak up, but I keep quiet
I’ll complicate the most of the mantra
The power’s out and I can’t turn the fan on
It was like Inumaki forgot how to breathe, and was being taught again by her. Voice as sweet as strawberries in the summertime, you encaptured the room with your little melody. He watched you as your eyebrows tightened, softly swaying as you began the chorus.
“So can I call you tonight?
I’m tryna make up my mind
Just how I feel
Could you tell me what’s real?
I hear your voice on the phone
Now I’m no longer alone
Just how I feel
Could you tell me what’s real, anymore?
‘Cuz I wouldn’t know.”
The other had leaned back in their spots, eyes closing as they were lulled by you. Not Inumaki; his violet gaze was stuck to you as if the moment he looked away, you’d return to the planet you came down from. A small smile sat on his lips, like a lovesick puppy.
“Voice so low
Sneaking around, so it goes
I always try my best to listen
Picking up things that I can fidget
Circle speed, pacing around, watching my feet
Batteries drained, I get the memo
I think that I might have to let you go
“So can I call you tonight?
I’m tryna make up my mind
Just how I feel
Could you tell me what’s real?
I hear your voice on the phone
Now I’m no longer alone
Just how I feel
Could you tell me what’s real, anymore?
‘Cuz I wouldn’t know...”
You strummed a little longer but let it slowly come to an end. Opening your eyes you looked out to your friends, biting your lip in slight anticipation.
If he were alone with you, or perhaps even a little bit braver, he swore he could have confessed his love then and there. The way words passed through your lips was something reverent to him, and though he heard you sing plenty of times at previous rehearsals, this time was special. With nothing but an old guitar you enchanted him, and it was still affecting him; his friends, too, who just stared with dropped jaws.
Mistaking the silence for something negative, you cleared your throat. The tips of your ears and cheeks grew warm as you looked to the side. “That was just a little thing I made up. It’s not finished, or really anything special--”
“That was…” Maki spoke first, voice quiet and almost gravely as she uttered, “ fucking awesome, (Y/N).”
You perked up immediately, head tilting to the side and eyebrows furrowed. “Really?”
The rest of them chimed in with their agreement, spreading a smile across your cheeks. You looked behind you to Inumaki, who still was locked on your every move.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, though he hadn’t seemed entirely invested in the song itself.
You went back to facing forward, your cheeks and ears burning hotter as your heart fluttered.
Everyone gushed over you, Panda going as far to pick you up and spin you dizzy. Maki left to get more snacks, but upon returning, wore a worried crease between her brow. She yelled at Panda to let you go, which he thankfully did, with Inumaki placing his palm against your back to keep you from falling.
“What’s wrong with you?” Panda pouted, unhappy with her soiling the mood.
“Look outside, it’s snowed nearly a foot, and they’re not going to clear off my street until morning.”
It was as if it was suddenly Christmas day, with how Panda seemed to light up. He brought his paws to his face, covering his mouth as he practically vibrated up and down. “D-Does that mean… sleepover?!”
The woman groaned, throwing her head back to look at the ceiling. After a moment of silent contemplation she sighed, relenting. “Yeah. Sleepover.”
“Oh Maki, you never let us sleep over!” He gleamed, pulling her into a tight bear-hug.
She pushed against him with all her might, growling. “Let me go or you’re sleeping outside!”
And so, Maki brought down as many spare blankets and pillows as she could, tossing them into a large pile in the middle of the floor. The coffee table was moved to a corner of the basement to be out of the way.
“Sorry, this is all I’ve got,” she said, picking up the greasy pizza boxes.
You shook your head. “No, this is plenty. We’ll make do, right Toge?” He was tossing a few pillows onto one of the loveseats, but turned to give you a grin with a crisp thumbs-up.
Maki playfully rolled her eyes. “Alright, whatever you say.” She said, tucking the boxes under her arm. “Panda says he’s sleeping on the living room couch. Yuta’s staying in my room.”
“I am?” Yuta squeaked, eyes wide as he threw down the last of the folded blankets he could find. A blush found his cheeks as Maki simply grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him up the carpeted stairs. He looked a little fearful, but still smiled to the rest of you with a sheepish wave, before disappearing upstairs.
You laughed a little at their ridiculousness, before you watched Panda grab a single thin pillow and blanket. Curiously, your eyebrows furrowed. It didn’t seem like he had any intention of taking off the panda suit. “Are you going to sleep in that?” you questioned.
He just looked over to you, equally confused. His head tilted. “In what?”
You waved your hand and apologized, telling him nevermind, before you watched him trudge up the stairway too, bidding you a goodnight with a wink.
And, suddenly, you were alone with Inumaki. Something you were both immediately aware of.
He was quiet as usual, messing with the arrangement of the pillows he picked out. You bit your lip, weighing your options, before you walked over and sat on the couch in front of him.
“I’m not really tired yet… do you wanna watch something?” you asked, grabbing the remote to flick on the TV.
He perked up immediately. “Impractical Jokers?”
Only one of the couches faced the TV in the basement, so the both of you sat side-by-side. You nearly got through half a season (the third one, obviously), laughing hard at episodes you both had already seen several times and chatting about what the two of you would have done. Two hours flew by before things started to slow; your eyelids were weighing down, and yawns kept slipping through your lips. It was the same for him, too; whenever you finished yawning he began to, creating a vicious cycle between the two of you. Eventually the TV stopped playing, displaying the dreaded ‘Are You Still Watching?’ screen. See it appear, you finally decided to call it a night. You both sat for a moment, unsure of what to do. Both of your hands sat in your laps while silence rang out through the air. You lip your lips in nervousness. The uncomfortable air was starting to make you suffocate. In an attempt to dismiss it you stood up, walking across the basement to turn off the numerous lamps. You had nearly turned them all off, save for the fairlights on the ceilings, when a small voice called over to you.
“What… What was your song about?”
The blush that sat on your cheeks earlier returned, along with a bashful smile. Your hands became clammy, making it hard to turn the small switch for the lights. You tried to fix it by brushing your palms down your pants, but it did little to help. You gave up on the lights and stood up, back still facing him. “It’s a bit embarrassing, honestly.”
You wanted to dodge the question. Your heart thudded in your chest in a way impossible to ignore. Toge patiently waited for you to continue, watching as you tip-toed slowly back to the couch. You turned to face him fully as you sat, crossing your legs to fit sideways on the couch. You brushed down your jeans again-- if you didn’t hurry and tell him, it felt like his heart was going to burst. He already could hardly breathe.
Your gaze, which was casted down to your lap lifted, meeting his. The only light in the basement was the pesky fairy lights, casting a light-yellow glow over the top of your head, almost the same color as the glow that surrounded you the night of your first show together, where he first felt he’d gotten lost in your charm. Inumaki was trying his best to be patient, but it seemed like you couldn’t get out what you were trying to say. So, boldly, he reached out, cupping your hands tenderly in his hand. He heard you hiccup a breath, both of you staring down in embarrassment. He wanted to ask if it was right, but with how soft your skin felt under his thumb as he brushed it up and down, he felt like he knew the answer already.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured. He wanted to know, but if it bothered you this much, he could let it go. He longed for you to confirm his hopeless dreaming, that somehow it could have been about him, but he didn’t know you as much as he wanted to. As far as he knew, you could have been speaking about someone else entirely. Just as his heart started to sink he felt your fingers wrap around his. The little laugh you let out made him look up again.
“No it’s okay, it’s just so childish how nervous I am,” your chuckles died off, eyes tender and full of warmth. You squeezed his hands a little harder, finally saying without hesitation: “It was about you.”
All too quickly, you had second-guessed your admission. Humiliation and shame burning an unpleasant fire across your face in the silence that followed. Any semblance of response had all too quickly died against Toge’s lips, parted only in a silent marvel of your reply. You took it as a polite sign of shock tinged with disgust, a sickness raising in your throat. Your fingers loosened the tight grip they adopted around his.
A subtle, more pleasant warmth blossomed within your chest when you noticed him leaning close, the feeling delicate and all-consuming-- you could only compare it to hearing your favorite song for the first time. Your heart lifted again, thudding hard against your chest. Yet, even though the sudden contrast of the cool metal of his snakebites against your lips made you hitch a breath, you quickly melted like sweet honey in the sun. Truly, you had become putty within his hands, though Inumaki had been the one to tremble beneath his skin, both mind and body erring to the side of caution. After a moment of tentative contemplation, you bridged the gap with a chaste press of your lips to his.
Calloused fingers had pressed delicately along your jaw in response; the kiss was hesitant as it was soft, slow, and clumsy -- it was perfect in every little way. Your mind went numb, lulled by sweetness, Your entire being practically buzzed with electricity as you parted as fast as you had met; you could feel the distance become unconvincing. When you’d opened your eyes, you were met with a half-lidded gaze of his own, with eyebrows slightly raised and lips ever-so-slightly still parted, along with a warm blush sitting on Toge’s light skin. He looked as if you could have shaped him into anything in that moment; a boy unbelievably smitten.
You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching up your hand to tuck a stray lock of white hair behind his ear. He leaned slightly toward the contact, watching your every move carefully. You looked at him, mirthfully, and said in a quiet, sweet voice: “Did I ever tell you how much I like your piercings?”
A surprised squeak left you as a pair of hands wrapped around your waist, a flutter immediately claiming your chest as you were hoisted into the air. You didn’t know he had such strength to him when you were settled back down, this time in his lap. You propped yourself up on your calves, slightly hovering in the air as you attempted to regain your bearings. Under you sat Toge, head rested on the back of the couch to properly look up at you, his hands clutching your hips.
His eyes were still hardly open, gazing up to you as you felt him travel to press against your lower back. He sat up a little, an expression akin to a puppy. “Kiss me,” he hummed. You happily obliged.
Time melted between heated and softened kisses, learning little things about each other that words could never explain. Even though you were in no hurry to stop, your melodies started to slow, tiredness seeping between the adrenaline that encircled the both of you. You separated to get ready for bed, and when you returned bearing pillows and blankets, Toge waved you over wordlessly to lay with him. You were happy to, the warmth of him fighting back the chilliness that slowly seeped into the basement. He was immediately clingy, wrapping his arms around you tightly to hold you close.
Before long you could feel his gentle breaths brushing the back of your head, sleep seemingly finding him quickly. A smile unconsciously found you as you snuggled in closer, closing your eyes to do the same, thinking of one thing as you drifted to sleep:
new band, new love.