Chapter Text
I don’t know how you became my favourite person.
***
The cities always felt different after a show. Kinder and more mellow, as you wrapped yourself in the haze of applause and lights and the roar of the crowd who came to see you perform.
Devilwood had been on its first tour for four months now. 120 days of cheap motels and gas station coffee, of packing gear into the van and stolen naps leaning on Ronin's shoulder.
And a dull, aching exhaustion from yearning, for something so badly you could taste it.
Fame? No, you meant love.
The rooms had grown larger as the months passed, the crowds louder and the venues less likely to catch fire or simply collapse under the weight of so many bodies pressed together in the dark.
Still, nothing had changed between you and Ronin. It’d been two years. You weren't even sure if this counted as a "situationship" by today's standards — maybe just a talking stage?
Yes, communication could be very important between the lead singer and the guitarist… and the rest of the band. So nothing really was special.
Tonight, you were playing in your hometown. A sold-out show at the livehouse you'd passed every day on your way to high school, with the large white marquee and billboards. Now your name was up in the lights, and the crowd knew every riff. You stood on that stage feeling like something had opened in your chest.
Metaphorically, of course.
The guitar solo was immaculate, and you felt godlike. You knew this because Ronin was staring. Your lead singer never used to be a starer, but lately you'd noticed him doing that a lot more.
You'd been stuck on that bridge for quite some time, and he had helped you with it. Ronin sat with you at three in the morning, in the lounge so you wouldn't disturb the rest of the bandmates, or under the stars if the weather permitted.
On multiple nights too! You swore you weren't even that bad.
Maybe he secretly enjoyed being as intimate as sharing a guitar with you, just as you did?
You weren't that gullible yet, to fool yourself.
The look he gave you tonight, though. You would be living on it for months to follow. You always told yourself those small gestures of his meant nothing, and you meant it less each time.
Which was probably why you'd had more drinks at the bar than you should have.
It was a dive bar near the venue, the kind that had probably been hosting bands since long before Devilwood existed. With its sticky floors and witty bartenders and a jukebox that hadn't been updated since the '90s, you could tell Ronin actually quite liked this place.
The whole band had gone. Angel, the manager of the band, bought the first round. Misaki bought the second and was now hitting on strangers. Even V showed up, lurking in the corner and nursing a beer, pretending he wasn't watching the door.
Ronin had sat across from you all night, close enough to touch. Every time you looked up, he was already looking at you. Every time you laughed, his lips would curve into a smirk like he was remembering an inside joke between the two of you.
And every time someone bought you a drink or recognised you, he would simply nudge Luca and Felicie to distract them, to push the strangers away, while he just sat and continued staring.
Somehow you managed to get tipsy on your own share of drinks. You told yourself maybe you imagined everything Ronin had done. You told yourself the same thing you'd been saying for two years: he's just your bandmate, your friend.
Your whatever-you-didn't-have-a-word-for.
Wanting more than that was a recipe for disaster. You'd already baked it and tasted your own poison so many times you really should be sick of it by now.
Tonight would've been the last decree you gave yourself, back in your hometown, before you even met Ronin and developed an irreversible crush on him.
This is where it should end, you'd declared silently. I'm going to stop liking him.
But nothing ever went as planned, because Ronin kissed you backstage.
It wasn't a peck. Not a "good job, darling(platonically) I'm proud of you" kind of thing. He gave you a solid kiss — his hand in your hair, your back against the wall, his mouth on yours like he'd been thinking about it for years.
The whole world narrowed to the heat of Ronin on you for a perfect, horrifying, and impossible moment. You kissed back.
Of course you kissed back. You had truly been the one dreaming about this for years, maybe since the first time you saw him step up to the mic and let that beautiful and gut-wrenching voice pour out.
Then he pulled away. Grinned, clapped you on the shoulder like he hadn't just rearranged your entire life, and stepped aside.
"Fuckin' killed it tonight, darlin'," he said, and then he was gone. Like the wind, he disappeared toward the bar where everyone was already celebrating.
Your heart was pounding, your lips tingling where he'd bitten down. The colors of your lipsticks must have smudged together on your face. Was there tongue?
What the fuck was that?
Minutes after the shock, you followed, because alcohol seemed the only reasonable solution to everything that had happened tonight. Some questions never got answers, yet they seemed to accumulate for the worst.
Hours later now, the bar had thinned out. Misaki yawned dramatically and announced she was heading back to the hotel. Angel offered to share a cab with the rest of the band's people, and V was long gone.
You started to gather your things, a little wobbly, trying to mental-math whether you could walk the six blocks to your hotel without any blisters, just so you could avoid being in the same space as Ronin.
Meanwhile, said Devil appeared right beside you.
"Hey, you."
You jumped. "Oh my —"
He shrugged to say sorry, not looking the slightest bit. Ronin's eyes were dark in the low light, unreadable, and he was standing so close that you could smell his cologne beneath the bar's smoke and liquors.
His multiple piercings caught the neon from the sign above the door, shimmering blue and purple. He looked so captivating, as always, you wondered briefly if he knew the effect he had.
"You ready to head out?"
"Yeah, I was just…" you trailed off. "I'm gonna stay out a bit longer, maybe take a stroll around the neighborhood."
"I'll come with," he said.
You blinked at him. "What?"
"Where d'ya wanna go?"
You held his gaze. "What do you want?"
"You — to walk me 'round." He stuffed his hands in his leather jacket pockets. "Show me them places ya won't shut up about. The school where you'd beat up the bully. The lake. The park where you buried your first pet, whatever."
"…You remembered?"
That was unbelievable.
So all those times — the sleepless nights and conversation fillers on the road, Ronin wasn't just saying "mhmm" out of being nice. Since when was he nice anyway? He'd laughed when you told him the guy you beat up now had a permanently bent nose.
But he couldn't just do this. Recounting scenes from your own life as if he hadn't kissed you senseless hours ago and then spent the rest of the night acting like you were transparent despite sitting next to you……
And turning down every suitor you could've had.
"You don't have to," you said.
"Wouldn't want ya out on the streets by yourself, darlin'." He had a playful expression. "Figured someone should keep you company."
You snorted. "I know this town better than you."
He tilted his head. "From all the stuff you've told me? Methinks I know it as much as ya do by now."
You didn't know what to say to that, which gave him a chance to grab your wrist and pull you forward onto the pavement.
"C'mon. Let's go."
You were tired, slightly drunk, and weak. What was one more unexpected thing anyway?
And since you'd been following him since the day you joined Devilwood, it felt like natural instinct.