Chapter Text
Shigeo doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being in a band. The thunderous roar from the shifting crowd always makes his body shake with each cord. Even now, backstage, waves of nausea crash against his stomach. The only things that help are having his brother by his side when he’s on stage and having a helmet covering his face the entire time.
This band is the creation of his little brother, Ritsu, to rebel against his parents, school, and the expectations they held. Shigeo had no idea, at the time, until he stumbled across Ritsu leaving the house in eyeshadow. He’d questioned him, which led to a fight. Shigeo learned that his brother resented him for his simpler life with less pressure.
But they had made up. After a long conversation filled with tears and a few hugs, Ritsu invited him to join his band.
And then Ritsu introduced him to Shou. Shou is… fine. His brother likes him, so Shigeo should too, but his loud nature and tendency to invade Ritsu’s personal space always gets on his nerves. Still, Shigeo wants to support his brother. So they get along fine. At least, they try.
Their band makes rock music– or punk music, as Shou calls it– so it’s expected for them to wear unusual clothes.
Shigeo wears an old motorcycle helmet that Shou gave him, red and shiny. His outfit, in contrast, is all black and tattered. The first time Ritsu gave him the torn pants, Shigeo looked at him like he was crazy. Now he understands that the whole ripped look is a part of the “scene”. His shift is a clean white button up shirt, with long ripped sleeves.
Ritsu wears his old school shirt and tie contrasted by his matching ripped pants, piercings, and edgy makeup. His electric guitar is a cool blue. Shou wears a suit he’d bought for cheap and otherwise looks fairly normal, except for his hair which is styled to be “liberty spikes”. Shigeo can admit that they look pretty cool, and fit Shou well.
Shou groans, leaning back against the wall, interrupting his conversation with his brother “Why are you guys talking about school at a time like this? We’re about to go on stage!”
Ritsu elbows him in the side, wringing out a yelp. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“What? How am I being a jerk?” Shou squawks.
“Talking helps Shige’s nerves, asshole.” It’s true. A way he’s learned to calm down right before a show is talking to his brother about everything and anything, like they aren’t about to perform in front of a crowd.
“Well, it’s boring. We should be focusing on the show.” Shou mutters and pouts. Ritsu elbows him again. Shigeo looks down at the bass in his arms while they bicker. When Shigeo first stepped into a music store, he’d been drawn to the simple blue bass. When he picked it up, its weight felt right in his hands. Its low and subtle tones enamored him. He checks each tuning peg, making sure that they’re turned properly.
The backstage area is a small room with one door leading to a hallway and an opening in the wall, with a facsimile of a door created by a curtain, leading to the stage. One wall is a worn couch, and on the other is a table with only one chair.
A worker walks in from the hall. “You guys are on in a minute.” She whispers hurriedly before leaving.
“Thank you.” Ritsu says.
Shigeo takes a deep breath, and thinks of Ritsu's words in his head. It’ll be okay, I’m right by your side, he whispered before their first show as a band, while Shigeo cowered against the wall. That’s the mantra he repeats in his head at each show. Just imagine everyone naked! Shou's advice is less helpful.
With one final look to the exit, they walk on stage.
They’re playing at a bar, so the crowd is relatively small– which Shou has whined about before. Still, there’s enough people to put sweat on his palms. He grips his bass tighter, close to his chest. It almost hurts, with how fast his heart is beating.
He closes his eyes and breathes in, slow and deep. The air inside his biking helmet is stale but familiar. With each breath, he tries to slow his beating heart. It doesn’t help.
Shou’s drumsticks banging on his set snaps him out of his ritual. He sends Shou a short glare, which is returned with a grin. As Ritsu begins to sing and strum his guitar, his eyes droop closed.
The strum of his bass stings under his finger, vibrating through them and into his bones. His brother’s voice washes over him, enveloping him in its melody, and his heart finally settles into only a slightly panicked beat. Even the rhythmic beat of the drums behind him serves to wash him away in a wave of music. His riffs, simple in style and mimicking his brother’s, boost the others’ instruments, and together, they make something beautiful.
The easiest part of their shows is when Shigeo gets swept into that wave, forgetting all that’s around him except for his bandmates. But for some reason, his eyes peek open.
A man is standing in the throng of people. Even though he’s in the middle of the crowd, Shigeo’s eyes are drawn to him. His outfit is what catches his eye– it’s almost incomprehensible, with the amount of jewelry and colors that adorn him. The only description he can think of is “punk rock”, since that’s what Shou would call him.
The man’s eyes blaze with passion. The gaze jolts his system. He looks like his brother when he comes up with a new lyric– like he’s discovered something beautiful.
He can feel his face heating up under his helmet, and he closes his eyes before it can get any hotter in it. Even with his eyes closed, the heat of his gaze melts through Shigeo’s clothes, burning a hole in his chest. Why is he staring so hard, and why can’t Shigeo get it out of his head?
The song ends with a flourish from Shou and Ritsu, and as practiced, Shigeo cuts off his base with an echo of his last note. The crowd roars. Moments like these make Shigeo glad that he wears extra ear protection: it’s a barrier between the noise. He breathes heavily, stress and heat weighing on his lungs.
The heat of that gaze follows on his back as they leave to go backstage.
“Man, that was great! That crowd was, like, double the size of our last!” Shou slaps Ritsu’s shoulder, causing him to yelp. “And you were awesome.” His voice is smooth, now, as he slides closer to Ritsu, his breath likely brushing against his brother’s ear.
Ritsu blushes and responds, “Thanks. You were good, too.”
Shigeo looks away, uninterested with their flirting. He’s certain that Shou likes his brother— something he was angry about until he remembered that his little brother can protect himself– since even his close teacher, Reigen, made a comment about it. The glare Ritsu gave Reigen in that moment was enough to kill, if they had physic powers or anything.
Shou moves away from Ritsu, finally creating distance. He plops down on the couch and stretches, grunting with the effort.
Ritsu sits next to him, still blushing, and clears his throat.
“You’re right, Shou, this was a successful show. I think this bar will ask us to play again.” Ritsu grins. He pulls out his phone, likely checking his email.
Shigeo sits down on the stool near their couch, putting his bass in his lap. He likes to check it after every show, polishing the hardwood with a spare cloth. The feeling of her smooth wood under the cloth barrier makes his heart slow down to a gentle rumble, and he can finally take in a deep breath. He wonders about that guy, in the crowd. Why did his gaze felt so different from everyone else?
–
The bar does call them back. Only a week later, they play again, and Shigeo is still nervous despite the familiar venue. His routine is the same as he worries backstage, then transitions to the stage, even more anxiously.
But there’s something different to his routine: he doesn’t close his eyes. Shigeo can’t forget that man, and his eyes search the crowd.
In the same spot, he’s there again. Intent, passionate, blazing, with just as much of a unique outfit as before. The pink sweater he’s wearing is like a soft pillow for the large silver star earrings he’s wearing and the array of four– no, five– necklaces. Around his arms he wears a jacket with hot pink and black straps. His hair sticks up wildly in all directions, almost like Shou’s liberty spikes but less formed, and his hair is almost as tall as his head. His eyes are blue, but the space around them is covered with eyeshadow so dark it matches Shigeo’s black eyes.
His scorching gaze cuts into Shigeo’s skin and stays under there; the warmth spreads through his veins. He gulps around nothing, exhaling softly. Shigeo’s eyes don’t leave his for the entire show.
But eventually, the last song comes, and the lights cut off. He leaves the cheering behind him, the noise falling around him like a meaningless blend. He was there again, today.. It’s darker backstage. Why do I care?
“Are you okay, Shige?” His brother’s hand finds his shoulder.
Shigeo nods after pulling his helmet off. His sweaty hair sticks to his forehead, only leaving when he brushes it back.
“You seem distracted.” His brother frowns.
“I…” Shigeo mumbles. A drop of sweat drips down his brow and the bridge of his nose. He chews his lip, squinting his eyes at the concrete floor. Am I okay?
“We should get pizza!" Shou’s exclamation interrupts the conversation, something that Shigeo’s thankful for. If he tried to explain what’s distracting him, he’d just feel silly– it’s just one guy, and it’s not like he’s done anything. It’s too hard to explain.
“Fine.” Ritsu sighs. “Let’s get home, first.” Shou cheers, and they change their clothes. They’re no longer an underground punk band, but simply a group of four, normal boys who’re walking home. Shigeo stares at his feet while they walk. His eyes lock onto a piece of gum stuck to the sidewalk. The pink is obvious against the grey, and even as he passes it, the image sticks in his head. The pizza tastes dull. That guy… why does he bother him so much?