Chapter Text
Yachi sighs as she cleans the espresso machine.
“What’s wrong, Yach?” You ask, wondering why she seems down.
“Oh, nothing,” she smiles up at you, quickly changing her demeanor. You roll your eyes, knowing it’s not ‘nothing.’ She hasn’t been her usual self today.
“Come on, what’s up?” You say, tossing your towel at her waist, forcing her to look at you.
“Sorry, I was just wishing I had a talent to do for the open mic night,” she sighs, staring at the poster posted on the bulletin board across from the bar.
“The boss said you could anything,” you smile at her, hoping to cheer her up. “Read a passage from your favorite book, or a poem, maybe?”
She looks up at you with a sad smile. Her eyes flick down to the small scar on your throat, and her smile turns to a frown.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she stammers, bowing slightly in front of you.
“No, no, it’s fine!” You wave at her. “I wish I did too,” you admit softly.
“That’s not- I didn’t mean to bring it up,” she says, still not looking at you, wringing the towel you tossed at her.
“It’s okay, really,” you reassure her.
It’s only been a little over a year since the doctors told you you were in remission. But your vocals aren’t what they used to be. The tumor destroyed a lot of the tissue on your vocal cords and you haven’t tried singing since then. You don’t even know if you can sing anymore.
Sure, you hum while working or softly sing along to the songs playing around you, but belting out lyrics like you used to? Not anymore. Singing in front of a crowd? Not in years. You haven’t even looked at a musical instrument since you found out about your Laryngeal cancer four years ago. You were so close to being a real pop star, training and giving everything up for the spot you got at a top tier talent agency. But once you felt a sore throat for over a month, they had you seen by a professional who told about your ‘misfortune,’ and your dream was taken from you.
It’s not like the thought of singing on stage again didn’t crossed your mind when you were putting up the posters around your neighborhood for the open mic night. It’s just, you’re too scared to even try.
That night, after locking up the cafe, you return to your small studio apartment and search through your closet for the old keyboard you used to have, keeping it out of sight from being a reminder of the past.
Fiddling with it, you find all of the old tunes and beats you created and samples of songs you used to love to sing. You land on the one you were covering when you found out your diagnosis - Fake Happy by Paramore.
As the beat plays and the sound loops, you feel tears stream down your cheeks. The pain of the past bubbles up and the song hits a little too close to home now.
Wiping away the tears, you start to hum along to the beat, trying to warm up your chords. It’s a low enough song that you know it won’t hurt you even if you do try.
After about an hour or so you found yourself singing the song, testing your pitch and trying to find the best octave, rubbing your throat, when you felt like you were pitching too high. Much to your surprise, you still sound pretty good. Better than you thought you would, actually. It’s not top tier talent agency level, but it works for now.
You don’t want to over do it so you turn off the keyboard. Smiling shyly to yourself in the, now, silence of your home, you feel a wave of confidence come over you.
~*~
The next day, you slide up to Yachi after the morning rush.
“Psst, hey,” you whisper to her. She jumps slightly, looking wide eyed at you. “I might have tried something last night,” you say to her with a cheeky smile, telling her how you pulled out your old keyboard and sang a bit.
“You sang?!” She gasps. Covering her mouth shyly at how loud she was.
“Yeah, just a little bit, to see if I even could,” you joke.
“Well I’m glad,” She smiles sweetly at you. “Are you trying to sign up for the mic night?”
“Oh no, no way. I’m not ready for that!” Your eyes go wide as you shake your head, waving your hands to clear her words from the air. It’s way too soon for something like that.
For the next couple of days when you’re done at the cafe, you head home and fiddle with the keyboard again. Singing songs you haven’t sung in so long. It feels so freeing to be able to do what you’ve loved your whole life.
This time you send a voice note to Yachi and she replies with a bunch of heart emojis. You laugh and tell yourself you should probably stop now, you don’t want to strain yourself too soon.
Warming up the kettle for your ritual post singing cup of tea, just like the old days, you have a smile plastered to your face as you think about going into work tomorrow.
~*~
Tonight is the open mic and towards the end of the day, you and Yachi begin to set up the cafe seating area into a makeshift stage area. The cafe owner had said that not many people signed up like he thought they would, but there was enough to keep it going. Most of them are bands, and a few spoken word segments, so he went to the music store down the street to rent a compact drum kit, microphones and speakers.
“The attendant said he would come by and help set everything up before the show, so you girls won’t have to do that part,” the owner says over the phone.
Just then, you hear the bells on the door jingle, signaling a new customer.
A sweet looking, freckle faced, green haired man walks in the cafe and comes up to you.
“Hello, I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, I’m here to set up the stage,” he says with a small smile, his hand outstretched.
You shake his hand, introducing yourself. “Thank you for helping us,” you smile at him.
“It’s my pleasure,” he blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is this it over here?” He points to the open space you and Yachi had just cleared and inspects the area.
“Yes,” you say.
“Ok, I’ll be done shortly,” he beams at you. Pulling his trolley of items behind him, he begins to arrange things.
You nod and tell him if there’s anything he needs, you’ll be behind the bar.
It really doesn’t take him that long to plug things in and set up the sound when he walks up to you, clearing his throat.
“I’m done, but would it be okay to test the sound?” He asks.
“Oh,” you look back at Yachi for her approval.
“I don’t mind,” Yachi says as she walks up from the back, overhearing the conversation.
“Okay then, please do,” you nod to him, giving him the permission.
“Um,” he hesitates, his freckled cheeks lightly tinting pink. “I noticed the guitar in the corner,” he points to your guitar and keyboard stored in the back corner behind the coffee bar. “Would whoever plays that, come plug into the speaker to test?”
You look back at Yachi at with wide eyes. You did bring your keyboard and old electric guitar, just in case you decided to brave the stage or if it were needed for someone else, but the sudden request for you to play it makes your heart start racing.
“S-sure,” you say to him, nervously.
You see the corner of his eyebrow twitch up at that, not expecting you to say its your guitar.
“Would that be okay?” He asks.
You nod and walk back to grab it. It’s an old jet black electric Fender that you had bought with your own money six years ago from a pawn shop. It’s nothing special, but you’ve had it for years and it does the job.
Walking over to him, he hands you the wire, feedback crackling out of the small speaker as you plug in. His green eyes shimmer at you as you stand there, not sure what to do next.
“Would you be able to test the mic as well?” he asks, gesturing for you to step up to the mic.
“Oh, right,” you mumble. You look over at Yachi, who is standing behind the bar, smiling wide, excited to hear you sing again.
It’s very awkward and nerve wracking to be doing this for the first time in front of a man you’ve never met before, but it has to be done. So you take a deep breath and strum the guitar softly, quietly singing the intro to the song you’ve been practicing all week.
“I love making you believe, that what you get is what you see, but I’m so fake happy. I feel so, fake happy…” you strum the chords and hear your voice coming out of the speakers clearly as you sing, avoiding looking either of them in the eyes. You stop just before the first verse that requires the use of your keyboard, not sure if that was enough of a test for him.
Finally getting the courage to look up at them, you see Yachi quietly clapping her hands, smiling at you. Yamaguchi stands, his mouth open slightly, staring at you.
“Was that, okay?” You ask him nervously.
He nods, smiling at you as he walks over to unplug the guitar.
“That was great! Will you be up here, tonight?” He asks, as he wraps the cord around his hand.
“N-no, I don’t think so,” you mumble, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Aw, that’s too bad. You’re really good,” he smiles, placing the wire on top of the speaker. “Well, everything seems to be working.”
“Thank you so much,” you say to him, sliding your guitar off your shoulders.
“See you tonight,” he smiles at you over his shoulder as he takes his leave.
“Tonight?” You whisper to yourself. “He’s coming to the open mic night?” You smile to yourself, he was sweet and you’re happy to be able to see him again later.
“That was so good!” Yachi comes over to you, lightly clapping and smiling. You smile back and thank her.
“Do you think you’ll sing tonight?” She asks as you both finish up arranging the chairs around the cafe.
“I’m not sure,” you blush. Your stomach flutters with mixed feelings of anxiety and excitement.
You tell Yachi that you’re going to take your break, and head to the back office. Putting your headphones in, you feel your heart start to race as Born For This plays through them. Thinking of how you never realized you sang your last song so long ago.
Everybody sing
Like it's the last song you will ever sing
Tell me, tell me do you feel the pressure now?