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“Wanna watch the next set with me? I think I’ve seen them before but I didn’t get a chance to listen last time.”
“Sure, but only if you don’t jump around so much,” Nobara pats her face with a blotting paper before tossing it into the bin, “you’re hella sweaty and I don’t want it to get all over me.”
“But it’s way more fun that way,” Yuji whines.
“Then go watch it yourself.”
“Okay, I won’t get my sweat on you, I promise, so let’s go! They’re starting in five.”
From the couch Gojo lifts his head off Geto’s shoulder to ask, “Are you guys gonna go into the pit? Ooh, should we go too, Suguru? It sounds kinda fun.”
“I’m tired,” Geto sighs, “but you can go if you want.”
There’s some shuffling and hushed whispers between them that Yuji can’t quite hear and then Gojo’s hand comes waving flagrantly.
“On second thought, you kids have fun! Looks like I have stuff to take care of here, after all!”
“Gross,” Nobara says before she heads out the door, hauling Yuji along by the wrist in a beeline towards the stage wings–from where they’re standing in the dark they can really only see the side profiles of the performing band, but it’s better than getting swallowed up by the mob below.
The lead, a guy with obviously bleached hair and pointy eyeliner shouts into the mic, starting their set with a little crowdwork. It works on Yuji and his eyes widen just a touch as he starts to pump his fists, chanting the band name along with the crowd–Makora! Makora! Makora! Beside him, Nobara snorts, but joins in too.
“Prepare yourselves for the best show of your lives,” the guy sneers into the mic, “and be grateful for your chance to see the best fucking band to ever come out of this shitty little joint!”
The crowd splits into boos and cheers but it’s drowned out by an explosive drum riff, punctuated by hits on the crash cymbal that lead into a roaring first verse.
“His voice is kinda annoying,” Nobara whisper-shouts into Yuji’s ear.
Yuji screams back, “It has its charm. The drummer is crazy cool though! She’s got sick tattoos!”
“She looks a lot like the guitarist!”
“Don’t they all kinda look like each other?”
“Woah, they actually do. The bassist is totally your type though.”
“Huh? There’s a bassist?”
“Are you blind?”
“This angle’s bad, don’t get mad at me.” Yuji shuffles into Nobara’s space until he can see the fourth member of the band standing on the far end of the stage, and Yuji’s shocked that he missed that spiky mess of black hair and the beautiful, lovely face attached to it. Somehow his eyelashes are still long enough to be seen under the harsh lights and his whole expression is gritted in concentration, intense and pretty all at the same time, and Yuji can’t help but turn to Nobara and nod his head in aggressive agreement.
“You’ve got a stupid ass smile on your face,” she laughs at him. “Are you even listening to the music?”
“I am! But he’s kind of distracting. I mean, look at his fingers! He’s seriously good, they need to turn his amp up.”
They turn back to focus on the next song, a piece with a slower pace and more melancholic punk goodness that has Yuji bobbing his head along to the beat. He watches the lead do some adlibbing during the instrumental stretches but has a hard time peeling his eyes from the bassist, whose face has softened up a bit now, shoulders relaxing as he scans the audience and sways his hair just slightly. His black tank top’s slightly low cut and it reveals his pale chest, strong arms, and his sweat makes it cling even tighter to his skin. By now Yuji’s pretty sure he’s reaching inappropriate levels of leering, worsened by his dismissal of their artistic efforts in lieu of pure horniness, but then the guy’s head snaps over to the wing and Yuji feels his face go red-hot when their eyes finally meet, just for one stupidly sexy moment.
“Don’t fall for it, everyone looks good under stage lights,” Nobara hisses when she catches Yuji’s dazed expression. “Yuji! Be strong!”
“I’m doing my best here,” Yuji bites his lip, “I won’t fall. I won’t!”
Is what he says, but neither of them are surprised when Yuji ends up “bumping” into the bassist outside the green room, the cheers from the crowd starting to die down as Nobara rolls her eyes at him.
“Yuji, I’m gonna go find Gojo and Geto. We’re probably gonna go eat or something but you can catch up with us whenever.”
“Okay! See ya, Nobara!” Yuji waves at her with all the gratitude he can muster before turning his attention back to the guy beside him. “Oh, she’s the drummer in my band. She’s awesome, right?”
“I watched you guys. She’s pretty crazy.”
“You guys are pretty crazy, too! We watched your set and it was great. I really liked the second song, uh,” Yuji scratches the back of his head, “sorry, I don’t know the name. The one that kind of sounded like Pierce the Veil?”
“Oh, ‘Divine,’” he snorts, “I like that one too.”
The door of the waiting room swings open and the drummer sticks her head out to ask, “Megumi, are you coming in? We’re gonna clean up and head out soon. Who’s this?”
“Yeah, I’ll be in soon. This is, uh,” Megumi–what a cute name, Yuji thinks to himself–looks over at Yuji uncertainly. “Did you tell me your name?”
“Sorry! I got too excited and totally forgot to introduce myself. I’m Yuji, the guitarist from Prison Realm, the band that went before you guys. Your set was sick!”
“Oh, you saw it? Thanks for watching. You guys were great, too.”
The lead’s unmistakable voice comes sneering from within the room as he shouts, “Yeah, great at opening for us!” and the drummer offers Yuji an apologetic grimace before slamming the door shut.
“Sorry about that. Naoya’s an ass but we’re all cousins, so we can’t really kick him out.”
“It’s okay. Gojo–our lead vocalist–always says a strong personality helps build a good brand image. It’s like having a mascot, you know?”
“Hm. Fair point.”
“So, your name’s Megumi?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I thought you looked really good up there.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“You’re really straightforward,” Yuji laughs, “but yeah, I am. Sorry if I’m being overbearing.”
Before Megumi can reply the door swings open again and this time all three of them walk out, faces all contorted in varying levels of annoyance.
“We’re going home ‘cause Naoya’s throwing a bitch fit,” the guitarist girl sighs. “You drove separately today, right?”
“Yeah, I can go home alone. Did you guys want to discuss anything from today’s show?”
“Not today,” the drummer deadpans. “I’m sick of this shit.”
The other two descend into a bickering mess as the drummer herds them out the backstage exit, and Megumi just sighs like a disappointed parent.
“Sorry, am I keeping you? You can head home with them if you want, I don’t–”
“You ditched your band to talk, so,” Megumi says as he heads into the now unoccupied green room, “it’s only fair if I do, too. Are you coming in?”
It takes a second for Yuji’s legs to start working with his brain short circuiting from the invitation but he scrambles in with an excited, “Ah, yeah!” the moment they’re back to functioning. As he clicks the door shut behind him Yuji asks, “How long have you guys been playing?”
“We’ve been playing seriously for two years, but we started the group around twelve years ago. I started with just Maki, the drummer, then her sister, Mai, joined, and then Naoya, because he demanded it.” Megumi sinks into the couch, long legs spread apart on the cushion, and Yuji joins him, sitting on the other end.
“Twelve? Seriously? You guys are basically a legacy band at this point. How’d you come up with Makora? It’s pretty edgy-sounding.”
“I made it when I was ten and it stuck,” Megumi shakes his head. “I was really into that religious mythology stuff as a kid.”
“Would you change it now?”
“I don’t think so. I liked the way it sounded when you said it.”
Gentle embers flicker alive in Yuji’s stomach. Megumi’s voice is alluring, especially when he uses it to flirt.
“What about you guys?”
“We’ve been playing for, hm, a year and a half now? Gojo was actually my TA for calc in college and Geto’s his boyfriend, so we got together and started playing. Nobara’s a childhood friend so she joined in, too.”
The small talk continues as Megumi takes his bass from where it’s been stashed in the corner of the room and sets it on his lap, fretboard cleaner in one hand and a cloth in the other.
“Do you need to clean your guitar?”
“Ah, sure.”
With the excuse of sharing the spray bottle Yuji sits back down on the couch with his guitar, this time close enough for their shoulders to rub, and starts wiping down the fret. Yuji takes the time to ask about Megumi, learning as much as he can as he cleans his guitar ten times more meticulously than usual–Megumi’s a year older than him at twenty-four and is finishing up his master’s program in business administration right now, though he’s way more interested in history and linguistics than finances. He learned how to play bass from his older sister and got that big scar across his eye when an amp fell off their garage shelf and knocked him out cold, and since then he’d decided that punk rock suited him, aside from the fact that he’s a rather reserved guy otherwise.
“You’re good at making conversation, though,” Yuji points out when Megumi says that. “I’m having fun right now.”
“That’s because I want to talk to you. Anyway, it’s your turn now.”
So Yuji obliges, telling him how he’d set out to be a real rockstar despite his naturally pink hair and easygoing attitude because of his unwavering love for Bring Me the Horizon, learning how to play the electric guitar after hearing the riff in “Throne.” He’d played for a couple of bands in high school and college before he’d landed on his current group in his final year of university, and it’s the one hobby he has time for with his crazy hours working as a contractor.
By the time Yuji finishes his spiel it’s already half past two and the security guard comes knocking, telling them to wrap up and get out because the venue’s closing, and Yuji reluctantly puts his squeaky clean guitar into its case and slings it onto his back as Megumi does the same, heading out to the parking lot as Yuji trails behind him.
“It’s late,” Megumi starts, the dim yellow streetlight casting shadows across his sharp features. “Are you heading home, or coming to mine?”
“You’re,” Yuji’s breath hitches in his throat, “seriously amazing.”
Megumi laughs. “What kind of response is that?”
“I thought I would be doing all the flirting but you’re way quicker than me at it, I totally lost to you. But, um, I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I don’t want to just sleep with you–or, well, sorry if that’s not what you meant but it’s kind of implied so–you’re really cool, Megumi, and I’d rather actually date you and do things in order, if that’s an option.”
For the first time that night Megumi actually seems flustered–his eyebrows furrow just slightly before he smoothes them back out and he tucks his chin a little further into the high collar of his jacket. When he speaks his voice is a touch quieter than before.
“It is an option.”
“Are you sad that I turned you down?” Yuji asks, taking Megumi’s hand in his. “I mean, it was really hard to say no. Just know that I had to actually force myself to say no because I do want to have sex with you, I mean, you’re super hot, but I just–”
“No, I understand,” Megumi coughs, “so you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’m not–I’m not upset.”
“Perfect! Then can I get your number?” Yuji grins, offering his phone.
Megumi nods, takes it from his hand, and texts himself.
–
The pair text on and off but with the way both their schedules are packed to the brim, Yuji doesn’t take offense to the long response times and inconclusive conversations. On one drunken occasion Yuji calls Megumi and to his surprise Megumi actually picks up, and Yuji, regrettably, can’t quite remember what they talked about except that it began with him giggling on the sofa with the last can of beer in his hands and ended with him in bed deathgripping his painfully hard dick. Megumi doesn’t text him about the phone call, though, so Yuji doesn’t bother with breaking the peace.
After many failed attempts to find time for a date, the next time they meet is actually by chance.
“Hey,” Geto says after checking his phone, “you guys wanna do a show tonight? It’s at that one venue by the beach. They’re asking for a last minute fill-in for a headliner that dropped out.”
“Why didn’t they invite us in the first place?” Gojo whines into the mic despite Nobara’s garage-turned-band room being dead silent.
“Is that a yes or a no? We’ve got ten minutes to decide.”
“I’m down!” Yuji says.
“Same,” Nobara agrees.
“Satoru?”
“Fine, fine,” Gojo’s voice echoes through the small room and Nobara glares at him, “but make them promise to make us headliners in the first place next time, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell the manager.”
They toss all their equipment into the back of Geto’s van and take off for the hour-long drive, rehearsing as best they can with their own tapes playing from the car speakers. Yuji’s not really the nervous type, more of an optimist than an overthinker, but when Gojo sends the edited flyer to the group chat and he sees Makora next to their name his stomach does a tiny flip and a half.
With Thursday night traffic, they end up getting to the venue while the band before them is halfway through their set, and the manager, Utahime, has to come out and help them haul in all their gear while Gojo gives her an earful about offering the spot to them in the first place. Amidst the chaos Yuji doesn’t have any time to look for Megumi, who he’d texted on his way down but never received a reply from, and he forgets all about it as soon as the lights come on and his guitar buzzes to life under his well-versed fingers. As Gojo yells their lyrics into the crowd Yuji loses himself in the adrenaline-infused melody, banging his head as he plucks at the familiar strings, spirit soaring a million miles above his real, tingling body. The air is electric, hot, exciting, filled with the energy of the screaming crowd, rocking themselves back and forth against the edge of the stage, and Yuji’s smile breaks even wider as he looks over at Nobara and Geto, all three of them singing along to Gojo in their own muted voices. When Yuji strums out the final chords his hands are trembling, euphoria still running hot through his fingers, but the lights go dim and it’s their sign to scramble off the stage and let the next group get set up.
Yuji’s too busy laughing with his groupmates and celebrating a nearly perfect set to notice Megumi stepping up onto stage from the other wing, and when he sprints back to the stage from the bathroom they’re already set up and it’s too late for Yuji to get a word in.
Shoot, I forgot–oh, geez, he looks pissed.
Megumi’s face is set in a harsh frown, more so than his usual flat expression, and the glare he eyes the audience with sends a chill down Yuji’s spine. He quickly checks his phone, wondering if maybe he missed a text from Megumi, but there’s nothing but a Read at 7:40 PM under his text, and the flutter in his stomach is back because he’s not sure if he did something wrong, or if there’s something just wrong in general. Either way, the show goes on, and Naoya’s harsh attitude comes blaring through the microphone.
“See all of you losers on the other side,” is all he offers today before the music starts.
From the first few measures, Yuji can already tell something’s off. Maki’s lagging half a beat behind Naoya’s voice, Mai’s fretting isn’t as accurate today, and Megumi’s overplaying every single beat, the bass turning more into a metronome than a flow. The ecstatic feeling thrumming through his body sloughs off as he continues watching, Megumi’s disconcerted scowl growing more obvious as the show goes on, and the crowd’s weak cheers only worsen their obviously misshapen performance.
Halfway through their third song, a loud pop reverberates through the stage and brings the music to a screeching halt as the band turns to look at Maki, whose snare drum skin has just ripped open, the torn leather visible from where Yuji’s standing. Nobody says anything for a moment and Yuji holds his breath as he sees heat flare up in everyone’s eyes, communicating silently between the four of them, and just as Maki raises her drumsticks to make do for the last song of the set Naoya turns around and tells the crowd, “Guess that’s it, thanks to our drummer!” and grins while the stagelights click off in a sudden flurry.
The silence makes Yuji feel sick, so he starts clapping, and, mercifully, the crowd follows along, some of them even shouting it’s okay but Yuji already knows none of this matters because they’re already arguing on the stage, Naoya with his hands in Maki’s shirt as Megumi shoves him off and Mai’s telling Maki let’s just go, come on, and because it looks like this whole thing’s about to explode into an all-out brawl with the way Megumi’s sweat-soaked hair is starting to form scary looking bangs over his already terrifying glare, Yuji sprints onto the stage and gets between Maki and Naoya.
“I know it’s not my place at all but–”
“What, you work security now?” Naoya jeers. “Get out of the way now, or you’ll regret it.”
“Yuji–Jesus, Naoya, just shut the fuck up–”
“Or what?”
“Hey, don’t–”
Naoya’s arm swings way back, hand curled up into a fist, and Megumi’s starting to brace when a loud shout stops them both.
“If you throw that punch you won’t be allowed back here again!”
Utahime’s threat is enough to get them to all stop, limbs dropping limply to their sides, and without another word they begin to pick up their equipment and trudge off the stage. Yuji, not sure what to do, lingers awkwardly around Megumi at the edge of the stage, who pushes past him with a terse bump on the shoulder.
“Hey, Megumi, wait–”
Yuji calls for Megumi but there’s no reply as he walks down the backstage hallway. Unwilling to let things go this way, Yuji chases after him, finally grabbing hold of his shoulder when they’re in front of the equipment room.
“Megumi, I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier.”
Slowly, Megumi turns to face him. He stares at Yuji’s face for a long, silent second, and Yuji wants to squirm so badly he starts to rock on his toes, but he keeps his trap shut, waiting for Megumi to say something. Then, without warning, Megumi yanks the door to the equipment room open and shoves Yuji in, spinning them around once he’s inside so that Yuji’s pinned between Megumi and the door. Megumi flicks the light switch on and all Yuji can see is a bunch of speakers, amps, microphones, and Megumi’s wild grin.
“Yuji, you’re still riding the high from your set, right? Share it with me.”
“Wait–”
Yuji could stop him, really, if he tried a little harder. But he lets his hands rest in weak protest against the front of Megumi’s chest as their lips collide, a tiny oomph escaping Yuji as their faces melt together. And Megumi’s totally right–the rampant endorphins from the stage reignite in Yuji’s blood as soon as he feels Megumi’s lips on his and they flow through him, heating every inch of his skin like a furnace burning his body from the inside out, and suddenly he’s biting back with a ferocity that ruins whatever miniscule chances he had to turn this frantic moment into a romantic first kiss, diving deeper when he hears Megumi groan in the back of his throat, tilting his head so he can lick further, press harder, grip Megumi’s waist tighter as Megumi crushes him against the door. He can’t tell who’s panting, whose sweat is whose under his palms, just that it’s a hundred-degree mess in this tiny room and Yuji thinks he’s going to faint when his blood travels helplessly down to his dick and Megumi seems to get it, pushing his hips against Yuji’s until they’re both groaning into each other’s mouths.
He only wakes up when he feels himself get dangerously close, pushing Megumi off with a real shove this time, and he can finally get a clear look at Megumi’s dishevelled face now that there’s a few inches between them.
“Megumi, what’s wrong?”
Megumi takes a deep breath in, out, then stands up straight, sweeping his bangs out of his face.
“We fucked up tonight’s show.”
“Yeah, but, this?”
“I wanted to kill Naoya, and I wanted to fuck you, but obviously one of those things isn’t happening.”
“You mean, killing Naoya, right?”
“Yeah. I can’t kill my own cousin.”
“So you decided to do what you could.”
“Sorry for being selfish.”
“It’s not like I really mind but,” Yuji looks away from Megumi, “I want it to be right. Not in a bar closet, you know?”
For some reason, Megumi snorts. The sound is a relief to Yuji’s ears but he’s not really sure if he said anything funny until Megumi asks, “Do you remember what you said to me on the phone?”
“I drank too much, so no,” Yuji answers sheepishly. “Fill me in?”
“You said the next time you saw me at a show, you’d fuck me on the spot.”
“I said that?”
“Yeah. It was a surprise to me, too, but it wasn’t a bad suggestion. I guess if you want to be a rockstar, it’s part of the lifestyle.”
Both of Yuji’s heads are swimming in confusion. He’s flip-flopping between arousal, shock, and a desire to actually take care of Megumi’s current problems instead of taking him up on the offer, but eventually his sense of reason wins out and he says, “I think I meant if we’re already dating. I’m sorry for not being clear.”
Megumi laughs again at his earnest answer.
“It’s fine. I get it.”
“So, your band?”
With an irritated huff Megumi whips his phone out and over his shoulder Yuji can see a crap ton of missed call notifications flooding his lockscreen.
“I need to call them back,” Megumi says. “Sorry, Yuji.”
“It’s okay! Go save Makora. I wanna hear your next album. Plus, if Naoya quits, you can just take his spot, you’ve got a great voice. It’s really sexy.”
Megumi flicks Yuji on the forehead then slips out of the equipment room.
“Thanks for helping me out today.”
“Nah, it was nothing. I’ll see you again, right?”
“Yeah. For a real date.”
–
Makora goes on a temporary hiatus so Megumi’s able to meet up with him the following Thursday night, his first free evening in a while. They’re both tired so they keep it simple, just Yuji’s apartment living room, a beanbag, the couch, and their instruments. No alcohol, because Yuji’s wary after the last time, but it’s fine because he’s more than happy just jamming along to Megumi’s rhythm.
“That sucks,” Yuji says after Megumi tells him about the group’s break. “You wanna play with us for a bit? Your style matches Geto pretty well.”
“It’s your band. I’ll be fine on my own, we just need some time to cool off.”
“Are you sure? They wouldn’t mind. Just come to the next practice, it’s Saturday morning.”
“I don’t want to–”
Yuji puts his guitar aside and clambers onto the couch, sticking his face into Megumi’s.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. I wanna see you play with us.” He presses a kiss onto Megumi’s cheek, then tilts Megumi’s face towards him so they can kiss on the lips.
“Fine, I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah?” Yuji takes the bass from Megumi’s lap, places it onto the coffee table, then replaces its spot with his own body. “Hey, can we finish what we were doing last week?”
“Yeah,” Megumi smiles up at him, “finally.”
–
“Woah, Yuji brought his boyfriend,” Gojo exclaims as soon as Megumi walks into the garage.
Before Yuji can say anything Megumi says, “Yeah, nice to meet you all. Thanks for letting me join in.”
“Wait, Gojo, you just–I didn’t even get to ask him yet! I had a whole date planned out, that’s so unfair!”
“Sucks to suck,” Nobara cackles, fist-bumping Gojo as Geto smashes both of their heads in with her drumsticks.
Still determined, Yuji turns to Megumi, sweeps his hands up in his own, and urgently asks, “Megumi, will you be my boyfriend?”
The genuine frustration in his voice makes Megumi laugh as he answers, “Yeah, of course.”