Work Text:
The venue reeked of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled soda. Concrete floors stuck to shoes, slick with a thousand stomping feet. Fans pressed against one another, voices rising in a collective roar as the lights dimmed. Hikaru Shindou tugged Touya Akira through the throng, weaving past flailing arms and bouncing backpacks, the bass thumping in their chests like a heartbeat.
“Tell me again why you had to drag me to this?” Touya muttered, scarf slightly askew.
“Because it’s my cousin’s band,” Hikaru shot back, grinning. “And he’s amazing. You’ll love it.”
Touya arched a brow. “Amazing, huh? I wonder. Mediocre nonsense with loud guitars.”
Hikaru snorted. “Mediocre? Touya, please. Shuichi’s vocals could make you forget your last hundred games of Go.”
A twitch of curiosity betrayed him. “Yeah, well, I don’t forget when people waste my time.”
“I’m already having my time wasted,” Mitani groaned behind them. “I’m only here because you forced me to come after beating me at Go.”
“Don’t pretend you’re not having fun,” Hikaru called back.
“…Fun? Maybe if there were snacks.”
Bringing up the rear, Kaga smirked at Tsutsui, who hovered close, already wilting. “Crowds… why…”
“Five minutes,” Kaga murmured. “That’s all it’ll take before you melt. Besides these guys are pretty good. Good enough for me to come out with Touya.”
The lights dropped.
Smoke curled across the stage as Bad Luck struck the first chord. The sound hit immediately—physical, bright, relentless. The crowd screamed as one.
Shuichi Shindou burst into the light, pink-red hair plastered to his forehead, mic already in hand. He prowled the front of the stage like he owned it. Hiro Nakano’s guitar tore through the haze, cocky and sharp; Suguru Fujisaki’s keys cut clean, crystalline lines beneath it.
Shuichi opened his mouth, and the room ignited.
Obieta mezuki de iradatsu omoi
uwaki na kaze ni hakisutete
Hibiwareta rojou ni toketa SHIGUNARU
wa kizuato dake nokoshite iku
The words hit harder than Touya expected—sharp, precise, impossible to ignore.
The floor shook as fans stomped and shouted along.
Hikaru leaned closer to Touya, fingers brushing his hand. “Hear that? Every line hits like a storm.”
Touya’s arms were crossed, posture rigid. “…He’s,” he paused, “…good.”
Hikaru grinned. “Bet you can’t resist dancing.”
Touya stiffened, forcing stillness—then his foot tapped once. Then again.
This wasn’t discipline. This was something else.
“…Quiet,” he muttered. “…Just listen.”
Onstage, Shuichi tore into the next section—the words snapping sharp as the crowd hurled them back at him. Hiro’s guitar screamed above the surge; Fujisaki punctuated with precise, almost smug flourishes. The music pulled the room forward as one living mass.
To the left, Kaga had maneuvered Tsutsui backward until he hit the barricade.
Tsutsui’s glasses sat crooked, cheeks flushed. “K-Kaga—”
Kaga leaned in, deliberate. He removed Tsutsui’s glasses and pressed a brief kiss to his mouth. Tsutsui froze—then softened, fingers clutching at the back of Kaga’s jacket.
Mitani spotted it and groaned. “I think I saw a love hotel up the street.”
Touya glanced sideways despite himself. “…Some people,” he said slowly, “…were just born to inflict suffering.”
Hikaru laughed and pressed a teasing kiss to Touya’s jaw. “Still not complaining?”
Touya inhaled sharply. “…Quiet,” he said again. “…Just listen.”
Shuichi hit the bridge, voice snarling, emotion stripped raw. Strobes cut white through smoke; hands flew into the air as the band moved like a single living storm.
When the final chord slammed down, the venue erupted.
They were swept along with the crowd, adrenaline buzzing, funneled into a smaller side space. A crooked sign taped to the wall read: MEET & GREET.
Tsutsui clung to Kaga’s arm without realizing it, posture entirely changed. As they slowed, Tsutsui leaned in and whispered, fierce and certain, “You’re my new boyfriend now.”
Kaga froze.
Not until they were moving again—out of the crush, into cooler air—did it hit him.
Boyfriend.
Kaga swallowed, adjusting his collar like it might fix something. Tsutsui was still there, fingers hooked into his sleeve with quiet certainty.
…This was going to be a problem.
Later, courtesy of Hikaru’s shameless cousin privileges, they had passes for a backstage meet and greet. They crowded into the lounge area, nearly getting separated in the scrum that surrounded the band’s table.
At the table, Shuichi was flushed and grinning, still vibrating with leftover energy. When he spotted Hikaru, his face lit up.
“Hikaru!”
Security barely reacted before Shuichi leaned across the table and dragged him into a crushing hug. “You came!”
“Of course I did!” Hikaru laughed. “You were amazing!”
“I know,” Shuichi said smugly.
Hiro smiled from behind him. “Good to see you, kid.”
Fujisaki eyed the group. “This your cousin you mentioned? The Go player?”
Off to the side, a tall blond man leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression dark and unimpressed. He watched the room like he was enduring it rather than participating.
“Who’s that?” Mitani asked.
The man noticed Mitani staring at him and scowled.
“Oh, that’s Eiri Yuki,” Hikaru said casually. “The romance novelist. Shuichi’s boyfriend.”
Hikaru nudged Touya forward. “This is Touya Akira.”
Shuichi’s eyes widened. “The Touya Akira?”
Touya inclined his head. “…Your performance was impressive.”
Shuichi beamed like he’d won a title match.
As they stepped aside, Hikaru glanced at Touya, who was still watching the stage, foot tapping faintly in the echoing quiet.
“…Progress,” Hikaru murmured.
Touya didn’t argue.
Outside, the crowd had thinned. The street smelled of asphalt and faint fried food. Hikaru was still buzzing, talking a mile a minute about riffs, solos, and stage moves. Touya, however, moved deliberately, catching Hikaru’s sleeve.
Before Hikaru could speak, Touya leaned in and kissed him.
Quick. Barely there. A claim, not a question.
Hikaru froze for a moment, then laughed softly, breath catching. “Wow. Was that permission, or—”
“I had fun,” Touya said quietly. “Thanks for dragging me.”
Hikaru grinned, eyes bright. He didn’t chase it. He let it stand.
Touya stepped back before it could demand more. This wasn’t discipline. This was something else.
⸻
Kaga and Tsutsui found themselves on the train platform, cooler air settling in after the adrenaline of the night.
Kaga finally exhaled, leaning against a pillar, rubbing a hand through his hair like it might reset him.
Tsutsui stood close, not touching. Waiting.
“…So,” Kaga said. “You meant that?”
“Which part?” Tsutsui asked, tilting his head.
Kaga groaned. “God. Okay. The… dating part. Not the shouting part.”
Tsutsui smiled, soft now. “Yeah. I meant it.”
Kaga nodded slowly, letting the moment catch him. He laughed lightly. “Okay. Okay. Just—maybe next time give me thirty seconds’ warning?”
Tsutsui’s grin turned fond. “No promises.”
The train roared in, and Kaga stepped forward anyway.
Mitani, at the far end of the platform, watched the doors slide shut. The noise of the city and distant traffic had replaced the roar of the crowd. He hadn’t expected to enjoy any of it—not the music, not the chaos, certainly not Shuichi’s reckless joy—but it lingered anyway, low in his chest, like a note that refused to resolve.
He adjusted his bag, stepping onto his train as the chime sounded.
Some nights rearrange you. This one doesn’t ask permission.