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Eyes.
As far as her own could see, there were eyes. Wide, unblinking, piercing. All of them watching, waiting, hoping. Doing all they could to catch every last second of any errors she made. This performance would have to be flawless if she wanted to get their attention. In, out. In, out. Don’t let the pack of hungry dogs eat you up inside. In, out. In, out. Her fingers grasp the microphone, but before she can even open her mouth to sing, the words seem to catch in her throat.
She curses under her breath.
“You’re working yourself up too much, Natsumi.”
It’s Jun’ichi’s voice that snaps her out of her thoughts, the image of an impressionable audience melting away to a softer one. As her brain zeros back in on reality, it finds that the crowds of thousands become a measly three: Kazuki, Mei, and Jun’ichi. Her tongue is like cotton as she stares at them, and she wishes she knew what she should say. Mei always said that she talked bigger than she was — all bark no bite type of deal — but she never found she believed it more than she does right now. These are her dear friends who have proven they love and value her, yet the butterflies in her stomach are not butterflies but angry, vindictive bees. How will she be able to sing this song on stage in front of a whole venue of people when she can’t even sing it in front of her friends?
“Natsumi, are you listening?”
The next voice is Mei. Her arms are folded across her chest as she wanders forward, concern creasing her brow. It almost seems strange for her to be so worried about Natsumi; most of the time, she’s more exasperated with her than anything. She can’t decide whether she’s grateful for her warmth, or resentful of her pity. If she had it her way, none of this would be happening. Everything would just go smoothly, like it was supposed to. They wouldn’t be here like they have been for the past half an hour, trying and failing to get her confident enough to do the one thing that she’s supposed to be good at.
“Yes,” is all she can muster, her weak voice forcing out a small, pathetic sound, “I’m listening.”
Mei doesn’t reply. Just watches. Another pair of eyes, watching, waiting, hoping. Judging. Evaluating. Natsumi swallows thickly, wishing to shake her head of the thought. Mei is not like them. Mei is her friend.
“Are you okay?” Kazuki asks from further back, adorning a frown that could be the twin of Mei’s. All furrowed brows and flat-lined lips, the two of them. Glancing over at Jun’ichi is not much better. “Are you having a little stage fright or something?”
No, she longs to answer. No, Ichigo doesn’t get stage fright. Ichigo doesn’t worry about whether or not people will like her. She just… goes for it. She just sings.
It’s all on the tip of her tongue, yet her mouth offers nothing. She can talk as big as she wants, but the dewing sweat on her palms denounces her chagrin. It’s a battle not to cringe as she pulls her hands away from the microphone’s base. Sweat — slimy shame. Can the others see it glistening from their seats? She hopes not. That would be embarrassing.
“Natsumi?” Mei coos once again, her feet drawing her over to the edge of the stage. She’s using that same tone Natsumi’s mother reverts to when she’s mad, and she hates it. Deep down she knows that Mei is trying to be kind, but that doesn’t stop the sensation of being looked down upon. Mei, her friend, is pitying her. She’s looking down on her, just like the crowd does, just like everyone at school does, just like the whole country does. She’s the daughter of despair. Calling herself whatever she wants doesn’t change the fact that Natsumi Kuzuryuu doesn’t belong on stage. Hell, she doesn’t even deserve to be in the same room as the people she’s with! What martyrs Jun’ichi, Mei, and Kazuki are, choosing to try and repair someone so wretched and vile! Hopefully, when the time comes, they can convince that poor devil child to change her heart. It’s always “when” and never “if”.
“Look, if you’re thinking about what people have said to you, you know you can’t hang onto that.” Jun’ichi tries. The tone of his voice is so painfully serious that it’s almost disturbing, like the sound is coming from somewhere else. But when she looks at his face, she knows that it’s him. It’s not like she can’t see him cannibalizing his lower lip. He’s been such a kind mentor to her, but she’s letting him down. Honestly, she’s letting them all down. She can’t even find it within herself to trust them to be candid with her… or maybe she’s just letting that demon in her head eat her alive. Either way there’s defeat involved with it, and it stings like a slap to the face. “One thing I’ve learned through my time as an idol is that you’re going to have a lot of critics, but the important thing to keep in mind is that you decide what kinds of critics you want to listen to.”
Kazuki nods in agreement, his hands curled into fists of conviction. “Nobody gets to tell you who you are, Natsumi. You decide that.”
“Right,” Mei adds, “There are always going to be people who have something to say, but not every thought is gold. You don’t want to let those kinds of people override all of the great things you can do with their doubts.”
But what if I agree with them? She longs to cry. What if I think they’re right? What if I really am what they say about me, what am I supposed to do then?! How am I supposed to fix it?
There’s no right answer, she knows. The act of overcoming these thoughts is more than just one person can do alone, especially with so little time on their hands. It’s not as if she can just snap her fingers and gain self-confidence. The world doesn’t work that way. Usually she can choke these thoughts down, but today they have an iron grasp on her. They squeeze her tightly until she can no longer breathe, no longer sing.
“I don’t think…” She begins. For someone who is meant to burst out into beautiful ballads, her volume control is at its weakest. Everything is broken, and trying to speak makes her feel like she’s a meat bone stuck in her throat. “... I don’t think I… can do this.”
Mei doesn’t grant her even a moment’s hesitation before she snaps back with a firm refusal. “Yes, you can.”
Are you stupid?! The venomous snake of her frustration nearly screeches from her lips. If I said that I can’t, then I fucking can’t, it’s just that simple! Are you only trying to rid yourself of the pain of watching me fail?! Do you care about me at all?!
“No, Mei… I… can’t.” A pathetic little whimper. Ugh. She had hoped for more than that. Her nails dig into her arms as she clutches at them, feeling the fresh manicure poking at her. At the time, getting her nails done professionally for her big performance sounded exciting, but right now she is beginning to regret it. Part of her wants to use them to tear herself apart. “I can’t… do this. Everyone’s just going to find a way to… laugh at me.”
I bet they’ll bring rotten vegetables. The snake continues. I bet they’ll heckle me before I can sing a single note. I bet they’ll take videos, post them on social media, and laugh. Everyone will find a way to torture me and laugh.
“What are you talking about?” Mei beckons her closer, seeming to request that she kneel on the stage before her. She obliges, albeit awkwardly, with the same ideas knocking around in her head. Motherly, too motherly. The prideful Natsumi wants to scream. The anxious Natsumi craves the softness of her hug. She’s making you kneel because you’re beneath her. “We’re your friends, we’d never laugh at you. We’ve all really been looking forward to hearing you sing, right guys?”
The boys nod before Mei can even finish flicking her head back to look at them. It does little to persuade. They’re her friends. Her friends who pity her. They’re just saying that because they have to, because they feel bad for her. That’s all that is.
All she can do is shake her head, strength finally returning to her as she speaks truthfully for the first time. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Mei’s hands meet her hips in a type of offence that seems almost personal, like someone just said that her cat looked more like a skunk. “I don’t see how that could be. You scored this gig all on your own, you’ve been practicing for weeks, you have a great audience for the show, and oh my god, I have been listening to you talk about your outfit for weeks. If you don’t deserve to have a place here, with all of the hard work you’ve put in, then I don’t know who does.”
“It’s not just about the singing , Mei.”
“It’s not?” She quirks a brow. “Then what is it about?”
What do you care? That same angry being snaps, fury bubbling up before she can even get a handle on it. You just want to make yourself feel better. You don’t care about me. Her nails are practically stabbing her now, threatening to draw blood as she tries to quell her bitterness. Should she say something? Should she pour her heart into their laps? … No. That would only make her look more pathetic than she already does. “...Nothing,” she practically snarls, eyes narrowing as she glares down at Mei, “You wouldn’t get it even if I told you.”
The other girl’s brows raise for a moment, and she glances back to Kazuki for help. Natsumi keeps her gaze locked on Mei, but even out of the corner of her eye, she can tell that he has nothing to offer. Cautiously, Mei turns back. “What’s gotten into you all of the sudden?”
She looks away. Too hard to meet those eyes, judging eyes. Sharp and green and pitying. “I just don’t see why you’re pushing me to do this.”
“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you follow your dreams?”
Natsumi scoffs. “Is that really it? Does anyone actually care what I want?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Like I said, you wouldn’t get it.”
“I can’t exactly try to if you don’t tell me.”
“Good,” she huffs, head turning away from her companion, “Then we’re done here. You don’t understand, I don’t belong, I’m leaving.”
She’s sure that Mei started to protest, but she’s already rising to her feet and hopping off stage before she can get very far with them. The boys are watching, panic painting their faces, yet they remain planted in their positions. “Where are you going?” Jun’ichi calls out to her, almost reaching for her as she walks through the venue.
“Away from here,” she replies flatly, speeding towards their table to grab her jacket and bag. In the back of her mind she knows they’d be kind enough to return it to her, even if she did run out on them, but it fits her more to just take it and go. Leave no trace that the horrible Natsumi Kuzuryuu was ever there.
“Wha… Natsumi!” Mei stomps her foot on the floor, motherly once more. Could she at least try not to sound like her parents? She’s so sick of it. Before she knows what’s happening, Natsumi whips herself around, jaw clenched and fists wound tight.
“What?!”
“What the heck is the matter with you?! You can’t just snap at me and run off like that!”
Should someone compare her to a dog bearing its teeth at someone, she’s not sure she would dismiss that as an inaccurate statement. She can’t blame her friends for being startled anymore than she can control how she feels, and right now, she’s spinning out on the freeway. “Oh, and why not? Because you don’t like it? You don’t have to keep pretending to care, Mei.”
In movies, words always feel good when they spill out like that.
It didn’t feel good to see the reaction in real life. Mei looked like a kicked puppy, going from frustrated to sad in a matter of minutes. If eyes could talk, she knew hers would be asking if that's what she really thought. She didn’t know if it was.
“What are you talking about?” Kazuki cuts in, taking a step towards her. Controlled. It’s the word that first springs to mind when she thinks of him, and it’s a trait she envies more than anything in this moment. “How could you say something like that?”
“Because everybody says that!” Natsumi cries out more tearfully than intended. Stop the words, stop the words, she begs herself, but the flood gate is open and it’s all just going to come out. “Everybody knows that! Everyone thinks I’m the worst person on the planet, and if they don’t, they’re like all of you and they just feel sorry for me! I don’t need you to delude me into thinking I’m special and talented just so everyone can go mock me tomorrow! I’m not going to put myself through that!”
Silence.
Nothing.
Just silence. The sound of the air conditioner running, the occasional speaker crackling. But between the three of them? Silence. Nobody is sure what to say. What can be said? Mei’s head is hanging down like a guilty child, and Jun’ichi is clutching at himself, grabbing fistfuls of shirt as if this will somehow make the intensity of her words fade. Even Kazuki, controlled Kazuki, has dropped his shoulders in disappointment. The gravity of her thoughts weighing on them makes her feel like someone’s stuffed a rock down her throat; she can barely swallow as she watches them. The tears that welled up in her eyes as she shouted are longing to fall, but all she can do is follow Mei and move to stare at her feet. At least that way, she might be able to hide them.
“Is that what you really think?” Kazuki says finally, unable to take the moment of silence any longer, “That we don’t care about you?”
Natsumi licks her lips, her fingers clutching at the edge of her skirt. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I guess I… worry about it.” She pauses. “People say things.”
“People are always going to say things,” Jun’ichi responds, his tone soft like the fur on a cat’s belly, “That doesn’t make them true.”
“I know that, it’s just… a lot, sometimes. I’ve been hearing it all my life. When I was on stage in front of you, I didn’t feel like I could even sing. I just kept seeing this image of people who were disappointed in me, judging me. It was like you guys weren’t even there, I couldn’t see you… I couldn’t even think of you the way I’m supposed to,” a rogue tear slips down her cheek, but she is quick to swipe it away with her hand, “I don’t see how I can do my first show if I can’t even manage to sing for you… if I get nervous and think about things that I know aren’t true.”
Jun’ichi offers her a thoughtful shrug, moving forward to place a hand on her shoulder anda squeeze. “Hey, nothing’s happened yet.” Jun’ichi assures her. “You had a moment, we all get them. You get worked up, you think you can’t do it… Performers get that all the time. In fact, so do most regular people. You think Kazuki doesn’t worry about his detective work?”
Kazuki nods nonchalantly, stuffing a hand in his pocket. “It’s true, it happens to all of us.”
“Although we do know that it’s not exactly like what you’re facing right now-” Mei adds, her expression still wound with nervousness, “But Jun’ichi’s right. You clammed up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it.”
Natsumi sighs. How come her friends had to be so understanding after she just vomited a bunch of lies all over them? The pit in her stomach sits a little heavier than before, now bound with guilt. “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to be helpful and encouraging, but if the idea of a crowd makes me get nervous and turn on my friends, how am I going to do this tomorrow?”
Another pause overtakes them, the trio of Ichigo supporters exchanging looks until all eyes finally fall back on the performer. “Well, maybe instead of focusing on the crowd, just focus on us.”
“Focus… on you?”
“Yeah,” Kazuki agrees, “If it’s the concept of a crowd that’s bothering you rather than actually us, then why not just focus on us? You said you know that the stuff you said isn’t true, so it could help you to just put your attention on people you know care about you. And if you look at us and you start to think that we like to pity you, just remind yourself who’s voice you’re hearing.”
“Right!” Jun’ichi chirps. “That’s not the voice of your friends. That’s the voice of the critics who don’t matter. Your friends think you’re phenomenal, and that you’re going to blow the roof off this place!”
To this, Mei finally smiles. Natsumi can’t help but remark how much better she likes her when she’s wearing one. “Yeah, you’ve always been our rockstar! So if you need to look to us when times get tough, you know we’ll be there for you.”
She wishes she could say more. Tell them how much it means to her that they would even give her so much understanding, how much it means that they want to prioritize her. Would they be confused if she ran around and gave each of them a hug? Probably. All she knows is that she’s so grateful to have them. As her hands reach up to swipe at her eyes, all she can muster is a soft: “Thank you. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
If they’re trying to care about her as more of a charity case and less of a person, then they’re doing a pretty terrible job at it.
Some people are just too good at being true friends.