Chapter Text
Shun remembers the exact moment he fell in love with music. The exact moment he heard the beautiful melodies created by another human being and thought, Yeah. This. This is what I want to do.
It was in the bustling and overwhelming city of Tokyo, when Shun and his family visited for a reason Shun was too young to remember or care about. He was a little over five, being tugged around in the tight grip of his mother’s hand in his.
They had reached an underground subway platform when Shun saw a man with a saxophone.
“Only the homeless and hippies busk for money like that,” he remembers his mother murmuring (rather irritably) to her son when he stopped walking to stare. “Musicians don’t get that far in life anyway.”
But it was too late; Shun was hooked. He was hooked to the smooth jazz music coming out of the instrument and hooked to the obvious, devoted passion the man put behind his work.
He discovered electric guitar that very same night.
Shun hates pubs. He hates them more than he hates centipedes, and he really, really hates centipedes.
Yet somehow, he’s standing in front of Basement Bar with a firm grip on his phone and a guitar case slung across his back.
Toritsuka better be right about this.
The bar he’s so graciously been led to hosts open mic nights every other Saturday and has become fairly popular with up and coming artists hoping to make a name for themselves. So popular in fact, it’s rumored big shot producers join the audience every so often in hopes to find acts for music festivals or label signatures.
And Shun’s friend (if Shun even wants to label it that way), Toritsuka Reita, works as a bartender there.
Just to be safe, he types up a confirmation text.
Kaidou Shun: basement bar the right place??
Toritsuka Reita: Yep! Come right on in and ill put ur name on our list
Kaidou Shun: k. but if i get tomatoes thrown at me and booed off stage im burning all your porno mags
He doesn’t read the message that dings seconds after sending his last one because Shun’s already pushing his way through the front door. Instantly, he notices the chill, thank god, as the A.C. seems to be amped up to its limit to fight the soul-crushing heat outside. If it was any different, Shun would’ve immediately noped out of there. Because of the heat. Not because he is looking for any excuse to back out. Definitely not.
The interior is…not as intimidating as Shun originally anticipated it would be. The bar is all the way to the right while the booths and tables take up the rest of the space. The stage is further across the room and is currently occupied by a young violinist.
“Chihuahua!” A voice calls from his right. Reita stands behind the bar counter, waving his arms frantically and like a dumbass.
“Cool place right?” Reita asks as Shun walks up and takes a seat on a stool. “It’s perfect for people like you wanting to be actually noticed and stuff.”
“It’s…packed.” are the only words Shun can supply at the moment without throwing up.
“I honestly thought you’d chicken out, considering who could be possibly watching you. I mean, it’s your first time performing in front of more than two people, and you’ve never done well in front of crowds to begin with, y’know?”
Shun’s eye twitches. “Need I remind you who talked me into this in the first place?”
Count on Reita to unintentionally verbalize every reason why Shun shouldn’t be doing this.
Reita claps him hard on the back. “I talked you into this for a reason man! When have I ever steered you wrong?”
“I can recall multiple instances where you have–”
“We’ve got four more acts after the one going on right now,” Reita continues, ignoring Shun’s words. “That’ll give you enough time to get over your little panic attack. Seriously man, you’re shaking.”
Shun is about to protest otherwise before he pauses and sees that his hands are in fact trembling. He sighs, combing his fingers through his hair to give them something to do. “It’s just–it’s my first time doing something outside the box like this. And, I’d like, kill me to mess it up.” Shun lays his head down on his arms, sighing. “If I blow it I’ll probably never step foot on a stage again and live the rest of my life as a hermit.”
Reita gives an audible exhale. “Listen, chihuahua–”
“Give that name a rest already–”
“I know you always expect the worst out of situations and completely blow things out of proportion most of the time, but trust me when I say: you’ll be fine. And if you screw up, who the hell cares? Half of our acts are just drunk people making half-ass attempts to sing a Katy Perry song.”
Shun pulls his head up and gives Reita a sour look. “There’s a difference between being bad because it’s funny and being bad even though you’re actually trying.”
Despite this, he appreciates Reita’s sentiment. Most days, Shun wanted to punch his idiotic, perverted face in. But in moments like these he finds it in himself to be reassuring in his own strange Toritsuka way, stepping up like a friend is supposed to do. It’s funny, almost, how even the most irritating people in life can have a gentler side to them. Shun forgets this fact every time Reita shows his sweetness. Shun would also rather drop dead than tell this fact to Reita.
“That’s something a chickenshit would say.” Okay. Sweetness gone. Shun wants to deck him again.
“Like you’d have the balls to go up there.”
Reita raises his hands in a fake surrender. “Hey, I’m not the one wanting to be a musician.”
Shun must have the most disgruntled look on his face because his expression softens once more. “Why don’t I pour you a drink then get you signed up, yeah? That’ll get you more relaxed.”
Shun doesn’t say anything to that, which prompts Reita to turn heel and walk off.
There’s a twinge at the base of Shun’s skull, followed by a dull heat spreading through his head to the point he can feel it in the back of his eyes. It may be due to the anxiety inducing situation or simply the sound of Reita’s voice, but Shun might just be developing a migraine.
Great. This is awesome, actually. He can tell Reita to take him off the list with a valid excuse and if he accuses Shun of being a chickenshit (again) he’ll calmly explain that he’d rather not faint under the searing stage lights in front of an entire crowd and possible music producers–
Wait, what are those angelic tunes currently blessing Shun’s ears?
He instantly perks up and his bleary eyes settle on the stage in the farthest space in the bar. There, he can make out three figures. A band, probably, playing an alternative rock song he’s never heard of (an original song, most likely). His guitar feeling heavy on his back, Shun jumps from his seat and makes his way up there to get a better view.
More invigorating songs such as this usually have people up on their feet–these three are no exception. He has a hard time pushing through the crowd that has formed at the front of the stage. It reminds Shun of the time when he’d skipped a day in third year to go to his first concert (the most rebellious he’d ever been as a teenager). Despite the day ending with the worst lecture he’d ever received, a.k.a. his mother screaming her head off and having everything taken away from him, he still looks back at that day fondly. I should go to more concerts, Shun tells himself now that he’s no longer under his mothers roof.
Finally, he’s able to make it to the metal gate that separates the crowd from the stage. His eyes flicker across the three musicians and–wow. They are incredible and so in it that Shun himself can feel the adrenaline.
They are on the younger side, probably Shun’s age, which makes his heart flutter in a strange way. It tells Shun that yes, his dreams are very attainable despite his inexperience and yes, his dreams aren’t just a silly phase he’ll grow out of in due time and there are people like him. It once again reminded Shun why he was here in the first place.
Their vocalist and lead guitarist stands center stage, closest to the audience. His voice is smooth and perfect and it wraps Shun around his finger almost instantly. That is probably the intention anyway. He has silver hair and eyes that are locked onto the crowd, soaking up the attention and praise like a greedy sponge. The pink-haired bassist stands to the left of the singer, yet a tad farther back. From the unused mic in front of him, Shun assumes he’s also the background vocalist. Shun is very pleased whenever he does get to hear him. From behind his glasses his eyes are closed with focus and calculated intention. A stark contrast from Grey Hair next to him, but lures in Shun all the same. The vibe of him made something inside Shun go: Open your eyes! Talk to me! Be my friend! Tell me everything about you!
Shun’s eyes fall to the very right corner of the stage where the drummer is and–oh god, the drummer.
Words can’t even begin to describe the feelings that stir inside his guts when he sees their drummer. The warmth of a thousand suns blossoms deep in his abdomen and spreads to the crown of his head and the tips of his toes. The grin is the first thing Shun picks out of him; it’s smug, it’s proud, and it’s oh so radiant. Almost as radiant as the dark violet hair on his head, wonderful like the verbena flowers growing in the front of Shun’s apartment. He should start paying attention to those more.
The black ink decorating his arms that makes Shun’s mouth go dry may just be the icing on the cake.
Shun leans his weight forward, hands braced on the metal gate, eyes locked onto the drummer of his affections. He swallows, finally realizing how dry his mouth had gotten and how sucked up he’s into the performance. He can’t find it in himself to care. The guys on stage are too pretty and too talented, and Shun would have to be dragged away by three body builders before he looked away just yet.
And for a moment, a moment so quick that he may have imagined it, the drummer’s eyes find Shun’s.
Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck–
He’s so flustered Shun believes his heart fell right out of his ass. But if it didn’t, it certainly starts racing much faster than it originally was. The anxiety starts creeping back slowly and surely and Shun is brutally reminded of his oncoming migraine. He’s brutally reminded that in just a few acts, he’ll have to go up there and somehow step up to the same level as those guys.
He cannot–cannot do that.
With now hazy vision he pushes himself through the crowd and away from the stage. As gorgeous as the band is, he couldn’t bear to watch anymore. It becomes so overwhelming that he pushes politeness and people aside to get away (which may have gotten him cursed out one or twice).
Shun stumbles back towards the bar where Reita stands, looking confused and irritable. The moment he spots Shun, the bartender spat at him. “Hey asshole, it’s not nice to walk off like that when someone’s trying to–whoa. Please don’t throw up on my floor.”
Maybe I will, just out of spite, Shun thinks as he plops down on the stool.
The guitar on his back gets discarded on the floor and then Shun’s fingers grasp the drink Reita poured for him earlier. He doesn’t care what’s in it, and doesn’t ask, just chugs it in hopes it will wash down his misery, self pity, and all the other disgusting feelings bubbling in his chest.
“Well,” Reita starts awkwardly, clicking his tongue. “You look great. Seriously, it hasn't even been ten minutes, and you’re already on the verge of tears.”
I’m not on the verge of tears, jackass, Shun would say if his mouth was not occupied. He says it anyway once he’s done, and Reita blanches.
“Look in a god damn mirror!”
“I’d rather not.” Shun lays his head down. “And take me off the waiting list. I’m not going up there anymore.”
Shun hears a groan from above him and knows what’s about to come. “You really love backing out of things last minute, don’t you? If you really want this shit to work out–”
“You try and go perform after those guys and see how you feel!” Shun snaps, pointing towards the offending group wrapping up their song. Reita frowns and follows his hand, face changing to a look of realization soon after.
He scratches the back of his head. “Ah. Yeah, those guys are regulars and pretty well known around here. Not famous or anything, though. They do charity events and shit too. Maybe–uh–maybe I should’ve told you not to watch anything.”
“They were amazing, Toritsuka.”
“Yeah.”
“And they’re all gorgeous.”
“I guess.”
“And I want to be their friend really badly, but they would probably eat me alive.”
“Eh.” Reita shrugs. “I talked to them a few times and they’re all pretty polite and mellow. Well, their drummer–”
“Oh god, the drummer, Toritsuka. The drummer–”
“I’m…gonna go remove your name now,” Reita says, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence. Shun thunks his forehead against the table and waves him off. Good riddance.
After tonight, Shun will go home and throw his guitar out, along with his heart and soul. He’ll go home and won’t dare breathe near a guitar pick or music sheet ever again. He’ll go home and focus solely on his degree in communication studies that he’ll be earning once he graduates in March. Maybe then he will fulfill his mothers odd dreams of her son becoming a married man to a beautiful wife that will produce her three perfect grandbabies.
Yeah, that's a much better path than the one Shun is already heading too.
Who needs dreams when you have your whole life already set up for you, right?
…fuck.
“Hey homie, can I sit here, or will your imaginary friend get mad at me?”
Shun instantly bristles at whatever drunk asshole with a stupidly hot voice is trying to talk to him. Head pounding in protest, Shun pulls himself up from the bar and blinks his cloudy eyes at the stranger. He’ll tell the guy to fuck off, and he isn’t intrested in any gospel he’s trying to spread to him–oh. Oh.
As his eyes clear up Shun sees that above him stands the breath-taking, proud-looking, verbena-haired, and stupidly talented drummer that had altered Shun’s brain chemistry mere minutes ago.
…fuck. Again.
“Uh.” Is the only elegant word Shun can muster at the moment as the drummer plops onto the seat next to him. He was much prettier up close, despite his previous smug expression looking more sheepish now.
“Er, sorry. Was that rude of me? It definitely was,” Drummer says apologetically. “The names Kuboyasu Aren.”
Kuboyasu. Kuboyasu, Kuboyasu, Kuboyasu.
“Kaidou…Shun,” He murmurs out, not exactly trusting his words at the moment.
“Nice meetin’ you, Kaidou.” Aren smiles. “My bad for approaching suddenly. I just–uh, thought you were passed out over here after drinking something Toritsuka gave you. Wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Shun blinks. He knows Toritsuka?
“Shit, well, if you’re friends with the dude, I may have just sounded insensitive for assuming the worst.” Aren cringes at himself. “It’s just the guy can be a bit–”
“Sketchy?”
“...yeah.”
Shun forces his racing heart to chill the fuck out. They guy’s simply checking up on Shun’s well-being (wow, isn’t that sweet) and will probably leave once he realizes he’s okay. The conversation is already going a little awkward–only a matter of time before Aren decides there are better things to do with his time.
“Well, uh…” Shun swallows thickly. “I’m alright. Toritsuka’s not really the type to do that. At least, not anymore. Or to guys.”
“Not anymore?” Aren echoes.
“Yeah. In high school he was a hormonal freak that only cared about porn and the color of girls underwear. I’ll admit, he’s gotten a bit better since then, but still won’t let that porn addiction rest.”
“Oh, that sounds like a nightmare,” Aren says with a repulsed tone.
“Tell me about it.”
“You two friends?”
Shun scrunches his nose in a way that makes Aren laugh and Shun’s stomach does not erupt in butterflies. “Wouldn’t exactly call us friends. We’re roommates right now. I only moved in with him because it was convenient.”
Aren hums in acknowledgement. “I’ve talked to him a few times, but he gives me too much of the creeps to hold a conversation. Usually I leave that up to Kusuo, and he even says Toritsuka has such innocent eyes for a scumbag.”
Shun doesn’t know who Kusuo is and he doesn’t ask.
Silence falls between them and Shun nervously runs his finger around the rim of his empty glass. Aren still hasn’t moved from the seat. As much as Shun would love to make friends with someone as cool and talented as Aren, he isn’t used to it and is five seconds away from an anxiety attack. He may not be cut out for a social life.
“I saw you guys playing earlier,” Shun tells him shyly. “You guys are really talented.”
“I know,” Aren says quickly. A little too quickly, causing himself to instantly backtrack. “I mean–thank you, and I know you watched. I saw you in the audience. It’s kinda the real reason why I wanted to meet you.”
Shun’s heart thunks against his chest. “You serious?”
“Yep!” Aren grins. “I saw that sweet little face of yours and couldn’t resist. Isn’t that funny?”
Shun goes impossibly red and Aren laughs once more. Ah, so he’s a sweet talker. Unfortunately Shun can’t tell if he is teasing or seriously hitting on him. It flusters Shun none the less.
They fall into a much easier conversation after that, and the more Shun hears about Aren, the more he adores him. Aren’s a bit of an awkward guy at first, but once they’re past the uncomfortable small talk, it’s all charm and smooth words. Shun learns that he grew up in Ibaraki, but moved to Hidari Wakibara in his second year of high school. There, he met Metori and Kusuo (his band mates, Shun realizes) and formed the band just a few months shy of graduation.
Shun is soaking up this information greedily. His fears of tedious small talk completely disappear once he realizes Aren is…very fun to talk to.
It helps that he’s, again, much more gorgeous up close. He has this perfectly structured face that makes Shun want to delicately run his finger tip over each feature until it’s all memorized by heart. Aren also has an eyebrow and singular lobe piercing that compliments him so well Shun gets a little jealous. As cool as they are, Shun thinks piercings would look out of place on his own. He gets to see Aren’s arm tattoos up close now too; it’s not exactly a sleeve, but not really patchwork either. And if Shun looks close enough he can make out various scars peeking through the black ink.
He definitely doesn’t ogle at the way Aren's black shirt hugs on his shoulders and chest. Nope. Definitely not.
Eventually the conversation changes and Aren’s eyes slide over to the guitar still sitting by Shun’s feet. “You playing tonight?” He asks, nodding at the offending item.
“Huh? Oh. Oh, no.” Shun pokes the case with his foot nervously. “I was, but decided against it last minute.”
Aren cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”
Because I saw you guys and knew I’d never compare, He supplies in his head, but not outloud, because he’d never put anyone in an uncomfortable position like that. He stares down at the table, embarrassed. “I got nervous, I guess.”
“Nervous of what? Judgement?” Aren asks and Shun nods. The drummer studies him for a moment, making Shun even more jittery than he was when he first walked into this godforsaken place.
After a few beats Aren swivels around in his stool, facing the stage as he speaks. “Alright. Let’s say you went up there. Totally bombed it. You walk off stage, then what happens?”
Shun huffs. “Well, I’d be completely embarrassed and humiliated–”
“Tell me, do you know a single person here? Besides Toritsuka, of course.”
He takes a moment to scan the area. “...no.”
“So why care what they think? Their opinions shouldn’t matter to you, positive or negative. They’ll laugh, forget, and you all move on with your lives.” Aren swivels back around in his seat, attention solely on Shun. “I get it. I really do. I felt the same thing when I started up, but still took every possible opportunity to put myself out there. You think your favorite musicians got where they were today because they were too scared to try? No! They took that chance despite the fear.”
Shun blinks. He guesses he can see where Aren is coming from. But, some people handle anxiety better than others, and there will always be judgemental people no matter what you do, so–
Oh. There will always be judgmental people no matter what you do.
So you might as well do it.
The epiphany must have shown on his face, because Aren leans forward with a wolfish grin. “That’s what this life’s all about, hun.”
Someone behind them clears their throat and the two turn to see Aren's band mates standing by the front door to leave. They both have their eyes on Shun, which makes his face redden and he ducks his head down.
Aren stands up, nodding to the two in acknowledgement before smiling down at Shun. “I wanna hear you play.”
“Huh?” He snaps his eyes back up.
The drummer grabs a nearby napkin, pulls a pen from his pocket, scribbles down an address and phone number, then hands it to Shun. “We’re having practice at four tomorrow, kay? You’re invited to join if you’re free.”
Dazed, Shun grasps the napkin and stares down at it. When he looks up once again, Aren’s already walking out the door, giving one last wave goodbye before disappearing from view.
…huh. Shun now has a number of the cutest guy he’s ever seen and the opportunity of a lifetime. And to think this all started because of Reita. He looks down at the napkin again.
Maybe Shun should pay for dinner tonight, as a subtle thank you. His pride wouldn’t allow himself to say it to his face.