Chapter Text
The big stage, lights that could blind you, a crowd cheering your name... Everyone wants it, right? Well, that's what Mao Isara wants. Upon walking into the local coffee shop, he doesn't even have to look to know who's serving him.
"Ritsu, Ritsu! I have a gig for tonight booked at the bar over.. There!" he points in an inconsistent direction, but there's only a few bars nearby, so Ritsu knows which one he's talking about.
"Mm? You seem happy. I'm happy that you're happy." a small smile plays on his face, he immediately begins making Mao's usual drink, not having to ask what he'd like.
"I am happy! This is the first gig I've had for months! I was starting to think of just giving up, if no one wants me.." Mao swiftly takes the drink and pays. This has become muscle memory at this point.
"What about open mic nights?" Ritsu places the redhead's change on the counter separating them.
"Ah, well i'm kinda scared of them... I'm always aware that someone else could be up there instead of me, someone more skilled and more experienced." he takes the change and shoves it haphazardly into his pocket.
"Mm. Maa-kun.. Could you come over this afternoon, before your... gig?"
"Hm? Ah, sorry Ritsu.. I don't think I can, I wanna practice for the gig to make it the best one yet!"
Ritsu is starting to get bored of the word 'gig' coming out of Mao's mouth. He's heard it so many times that it's starting to lose the meaning... Ritsu is so caught up in his thoughts that he forgets to reply.
"Ritsu? You tired? You can't sleep when you're on a shift!" Mao chuckles slightly at his own words.
"Mm. I'm not that tired."
"You're being quieter than normal. I'm here if you need me, y'know."
"I know." he mumbles.
Mao is slightly concerned, or maybe confused is a better descriptor. "okay..." Mao clumsily checks his phone.. "Ah! I'll be off then.." and before Ritsu knows it, he's out the door.
"Idiot." he mumbles under his breath. Ritsu never thought he could hate Mao, and he's right, he couldn't. But he's shocked to feel even slightly negatively towards him..
Mao spent the entire afternoon practicing until his already calloused fingers were covered in even more callouses.
"Damn it!" he says, messing up on the same part of the same song he's been playing for ages... Why did he write the bridge like this? He's close to breaking down, what if he messes up at the bar? Y'know how embarrassing it would be?
Mao can usually stay composed, but for some reason, he's so stressed... Should he message Ritsu? That might make him feel better... Is he still working? It's worth a try anyway...
"ritsuuuuu" Mao sends a simple text, and waits for a response... And waits... And... Waits...
"maakunnnn" Ritsu replies after fifteen minutes. But by this time, Mao had to leave if he didn't want to be late.
"ahhh not now ritsu i'm sorry i have the gig" he sends quickly before shoving his phone in his jacket pocket. He rushes out the door, guitar on his back, a light rain showering the town. Damn it, this jacket doesn't have a hood, his hair'll get messed up.
He doesn't run, in fear of looking weird, instead he fast-walks. As he walks, he takes in every detail of the town around him, the flower beds, the graffiti art on the flower beds, the shops, the posters, everything. The trip is quick, and he timed it perfectly for not being late, in fact, he was a few minutes early. He could've been even earlier due to the fact that the time he spent styling his hair was put to waste.
As he enters the bar, he's met with the smell of alcohol, and no more than 10 people, and that's including the workers. Christ, this is underwhelming.
"Ah! Mr. Isara! We've been waiting~" a guy who looks to be in his mid-forties tells him. Probably a bartender.
"A-ah.. Yeah... Yeah I'll set up! I'll.. I'll be setting up now.." for some reason, being called 'Mr. Isara' flusters Mao. It's not like he's never been called that, but it's still unusual to hear, especially from someone of that age group. "and you can just call me Mao.."
"Aha! Mao it is then. Just over there, that's the stage.." the man points to his left, causing Mao's head to turn and look at... The 'stage'. Well, calling it that was definitely... A choice. It's just an area of slightly elevated ground with a flimsy microphone. It's not elegant or anything.
Mao doesn't say anything as he walks over to what the man called a stage. He discovers that the microphone is positioned too tall for him. Well, that's embarrassing. He twists the microphone down... Now it's too low. He twists it back up, being hyper aware of what height it's at. It doesn't help that his hands are shaking.
After a good while of messing about, he finally gets the microphone to the right height. His breathing is vaguely unsteady, and his hands only shake more with time. He takes the guitar off his back, opens the case and takes the guitar out. He strums once only to realise how horrifically out of tune it is... He tuned it before he got here, how is it already out of tune?
He slowly tunes the strings... He doesn't have a tuner or anything of the sort, he only has his ears and his hands, and he doesn't have perfect pitch at all... It's fine if it's a little off, right? But they expect the best, they expect Mao to be perfect. At least that's what he keeps telling himself.
"Get this girl off the stage!" some drunk guy laughs, and a few of his peers laugh with him... Get this girl off the stage... Did that guy genuinely think Mao was a girl or did he know? It's surprising he even heard the comment over his heavy breathing and fast heartbeat...
He sticks with the slightly off tuning.. It sounds okay, right? He reaches up to the microphone. Damn it! He thought he made it the perfect height, it's still too tall... No, he can't stumble about for any longer... He can't have any more comments from the crowd...
He can't bring himself to speak... He's done this all before, why is it so stressful now? Because of some drunkard in the crowd who's praying on his downfall? Mao looks over at the bartender with a subtle wetness clouding his vision... Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. He blinks away the tears, but he knows they're still there.
"I... I'm... Isara Mao... And... This..." God, he can't keep speaking with a space between every word, speak like a normal person, Mao. "this is my song.. A song I wrote.. It- uh.. It doesn't have a name but.. I'll just play.." the song definitely had a name, but he can't find himself remembering it... The chords are muscle memory at this point, but the mistake he kept playing is muscle memory as well... Damn it.
He strums the first chord, letting his fingers take over... He closes his eyes and imagines a better place, a more lively crowd, screaming his name... And not calling him a girl. He reaches the end of the intro and the start of the verse... He starts singing... His voice is shaky, very shaky, but the crowd in his head is cheering him on, and singing along... It makes him feel better, but it doesn't stop his shaking hands.
Verse, chorus, verse... Bridge... The part he kept messing up on... And... He can't even remember the lyrics... He searches his head far and wide... Nothing. Something, anything, come on... His playing slows down ever so slightly... Was that a conscious choice? Even with this slower pace, he's gonna have to play the bridge eventually... It'd sound weird if he just played a random instrumental that wasn't prepared at all. He finds his fingers playing the mistake. The mistake he kept making at the start of the bridge... He has to sing now... Before he knows it, his mouth replaced the lyrics he spent days writing with random humming and scatting.. It works.. But it's so pathetic...
He sped through the rest of the song... Finally opening his eyes... Revealing such an underwhelming crowd, laughing amongst themselves, unchanged by his performance...
"Thank you..." he says, his voice hasn't stopped shaking... He stumbles around, sloppily putting the barely tuned guitar back in the case. As soon as it looks vaguely like it'll stay in the case he shoves it on his back and runs out, not bothering to listen to anything else coming from the bar. The bartender, the drunkards in the crowd, none of it.
He finds himself running, in his head he's begging himself not to cry... He stumbles into the coffee shop, only to be met with an unfamiliar face... Well, not unfamiliar exactly, but not Ritsu. He wipes his eyes. There are no tears, but he has to wipe them, just to make sure. He walks up to the counter, he's met this employee before, but they only talked for a moment until Ritsu barged in and served him instead.
"Can I get... water... and... No, just water, thank you.." he doesn't usually order just water, but for some reason, he feels inclined to. His voice has gotten less shaky upon entering the coffee shop.
"Is that tap water?" the employee asks. Mao nods in response.
They leave for a second, only to come back with a cup of water. Free of charge, since it's just tap water. The shop isn't busy at this time, just before closing hours.
"You look a mess." they say suddenly. Maybe slightly uncalled for, but true.
"Yeah." Mao takes a sip from the water.
"...Do you wanna talk about it? Your boyfriend isn't-"
"Boyfriend? Ritsu? He isn't.. We aren't.." he interrupts.
"Hm? My apologies, it does seem like it from how he talks about you." the employee chuckles to themself. "But would you like to talk about what happened? I heard you had a gig, but not much else. I doubt we'll have many more customers so I have time."
"How he talks about me..?" he mumbles, unaware he said that out loud... He processes the other words before giving an actual response. "Ah.. It's... Nothing too serious or anything, I just messed up a few times.."
"Hm? Well, that's normal, right? Don't most musicians mess up on stage? And the crowd doesn't even notice.."
"...I know that... It's... Well, some guy in the crowd... he called me a girl..." telling someone that feels like a weight is being lifted off his shoulders, but he still wishes he was speaking to Ritsu. He doesn't even know if this random employee knows the meaning behind his words.
"Mm.. That's just a common insult, yes? Being called the opposite gender." they say, trying to ease his tension.
"Well.. I guess.. But it's... Uh.." Mao stumbles on his words, wondering if he should tell them the certain detail about himself that might make that insult mean more.
"Ahh.." they whisper slightly, seemingly catching on. "If it makes you feel better, I didn't notice."
"...yeah." Those words mean nothing to him. He takes another few sips, eventually finishing the cup.
"Would you like a refill?"
"Ah.. No thanks.. It's alright... Do you know where Ritsu is?"
"He left early. He's at home, I'd assume."
Mao checks his phone, Ritsu had left him on read. "He's... being weird."
"Hm? How come?"
"He's... Never mind, I'm probably overthinking it." he subtly laughs it off. "I should go, it's getting late.."
"Okay.. I'll see you later, if Ritsu doesn't steal you from me again.." the employee teases.
"Hah.. Yeah." there's an odd bitterness in Mao's tone... It seems to go unnoticed by the employee.
He seems to take a lot longer walking home than usual. He's always believed there's beauty in everything, from a pretty sunset to the dirt on the ground. Why does everything seem so... dull?