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FIC: “What Do I Call You?”

There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes.

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening.

So! I had some fun writing for the roleswap AU, where I’m the punk rock idol and Ranmaru’s the freelance artist getting some juice from all the love and music.

Not much by ways of content warnings -- lots of eating, a fair amount of alcohol, too, and you know, we utter the word ‘fuck’ a few times.

Ranmaru swore as he dropped the case on his toe. He could tell immediately that this was one of those jammed toes that would hurt for days from the bruising, especially when he still had half of the city to cross before he could get back home. And what was home? His shithole apartment and limping around while he went on his rounds for the local cats?

At least the train was empty enough he could sit alone, even comfortably with all his equipment. He was still cross that the live house didn’t have it themselves. Weren’t they professionals? Stupid. The show had sucked, too, with the band spending more time fucking around then putting on the damn show they were paid for, that their fans came out to see, that Ranmaru had put such care into getting the tech just right to enhance. And that one jackass trying to throw hands with anyone in the crowd. Nobody on staff did a fucking thing to kick him out until Ranmaru dragged him out himself, and now he had a black eye and the stink of shitty beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging on him to show for it.

Thirty minutes ‘til his stop. He could listen to some music to smooth over this shitty...everything. He slipped his headphones on, ready to mute the rest of the world and stop anyone from entering his.

Reiji (12:42 AM) : Iiiiiiiiiit’s dropped!!!!!

What, your balls, Ranmaru thought ruefully to himself, unconsciously clicking his tongue in annoyance. He moved his finger to swipe and mute him for … a week, maybe, from how shitty he was feeling right now, but Reiji was too fast. The link appeared, and Ranmaru hit it, if only to have something concrete to be annoyed with him for.

It was a preview for a new PV. That’s right. It was technically tomorrow already, the day this content was due, but this was still early. Reiji must have found a leak. Lucky he was such an otaku, Ranmaru never had to go hunting for sketchy files or talk with weirdos he knew he wouldn’t be able to level with outside of the crowd. There was a long windup before the music even started playing, the visuals building dramatic lighting and obscuring anything but their silhouettes, but there was the low fuzz of an amp before it all hit at once.

Ranmaru didn’t want to admit that his eyes darted right to that flash of turquoise as the lights came up in the PV, because it would mean that he might’ve smiled at just the sight of her. No, it had to be the sound. That clean, driving guitar, that strong bass, it felt like Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, but pushed to be danceable and idol-friendly with synth and a digital drumkit beat Ranmaru could vaguely recognize parts of.

His toe and face didn’t stop hurting and body didn’t stop aching, but he stopped feeling so mad about it for the minute he watched and listened. There was professional polish there he’d missed seeing at the shitshow that was tonight’s gig, but there was still that rawness there of a good, irreplaceable concert. Something less precise than other idol groups’ practiced, saccharine perfection, but Ranmaru found it more welcoming than any other group he’d seen or worked with.

The camera cut to a focus shot. Her hair was as bright as ever, styled like she were one of those princely girls from anime, just somehow made real, and she turned to look right at him--

Reiji (12:44 AM) : Ranran~~ how are you liking your girlfriend in this one :3c

Ranmaru actually growled a little. He only realized he had been smiling because of how intensely he frowned at that bastard, barging into his texts --

Ranmaru (12:44 AM): shut the fuck up and let me watch it. don’t call her that

Reiji (12:44 AM): Isn’t she doing all the things you like???

Reiji (12:45 AM): So handsome! So rock! So passionate!

Reiji (12:45 AM): Feels tailor made for you ;o

Ranmaru (12:45 AM): I told you to shut the fuck up. go text natsuki if you have to annoy someone

Reiji (12:46 AM): Aww Ranran did the show go bad? :(

Reiji (12:46 AM): But I already did, you know! And I’ve already gotten twice as many sparkly sticker replies than texts you’ve sent me in the past week!!!

(He had to admit he laughed a little at that. Reiji was probably getting another onslaught as he was typing, his own push notifications as clogged as he was making Ranmaru’s.)

Ranmaru (12:47 AM): I’m muting notifs since you won’t learn how to fucking shut up

Reiji (12:47 AM): ohhhh she’s getting ranran’s full attention~! You must really like this preview, huh? I guess it’s true love

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY

Reiji (12:48 AM): You’re right, I should, I should be listening for wedding bells!

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): go make out with your gacha girlfriend body pillow and leave me alone

Ranmaru (12:49 AM): hypocrite

He finally muted all his notifications. An hour should be enough to ride it out, he thought as he settled a little into the hard plastic of the seat, restarting the video. The anger from the past couple hours melted away as he watched, uninterrupted, and replayed it with eyes closed as the sound flowed in through his headphones and released the tension in his body bit by bit.

---

The hour ran out when Ranmaru was squatting over an especially runty kitten, eating noisily while the others watched from a couple feet away. Why stray cats could understand him better than anyone else when he said to piss off, he’d never know. He swiped around to turn his notifications back off for the rest of the night before pocketing his phone again.

“...Oi. Slow down.” He pulled the plate of food away from the kitten. It shook with hiccups as it watched carefully, almost fearfully, before it pounced back onto the food, gobbling it down like it was going to be its last meal. Ranmaru sighed but couldn’t blame the little thing. He dumped out the last of the food, gave the rest of the cats one last look as he stood up to walk away, and he heard the frenzied scratch of their claws against the pavement as they swarmed the plates of food.

Maybe it wasn’t so much they understood him as he understood them. To hunger like that, both literally and for something less physical but just as carnal.

He plugged his headphones back in, listening to the leaked preview a few more times on his way back to the apartment.

--

He liked this group to begin with mostly because of her. She dressed, talked, and acted more like someone from a band than an idol, and something about that felt weirdly familiar and good. The rest of the group were more unique than a lot of other idols -- you’d expect that from a unit made up of a pack of ragtag international recruits, sure, but it was refreshing how they’d made everything about their presence wholly their own.

Hers just made the most sense to him. The brashness, the way she talked about music, the way she performed, it all felt like someone who was chasing and understood the same things he did. She even said her music was about giving people power in an interview Reiji’d dug up for him.

“Beyond language, or the way words reach people,” she’d said in decent but definitely non-native Japanese; she’d grown up some in Okinawa while her family lived on the military base, but mostly shuttled between America and Bangkok before getting recruited by chance here. “I want to give everyone a home that makes them feel strong through my music.”

He wondered, dimly, as he took a hot shower and stared down at his swollen red toe, if he felt drawn to the group because he wanted that for himself, or because it reminded him why he kept picking up jobs that made him as angry as tonight’s did.

He went to bed that night with an ice pack balanced on his swollen eye, the frustration more or less passed as he listened to the classic bands that new song reminded him of.

---

He woke up to his phone buzzing, the hold on push notifications finally expired, and he murmured in bewilderment at just how many there were. Not just from Reiji, but Natsuki, too.

Rather than try and parse whatever the hell happened while he was asleep, Ranmaru just went into the group chat well after he’d gotten himself breakfast.

Ranmaru (9:28 AM): what the hell happened last night that you had to blow up my phone

Natsuki (9:30 AM): Maru-chan-senpai! Ah! You’re alive!!!!

Ranmaru (9:31 AM): I just went to bed is all

(“Why the hell are you calling me ‘senpai’?” Ranmaru had asked him, and Natsuki had looked at him with those big dopey eyes and earnestly said since he’d been a fan longer, he was naturally Natsuki’s senpai, and any protest Ranmaru made never stuck.)

Reiji supplied a link without any fanfare, introduction, or goofy dramatics, which almost startled Ranmaru.

Notice (posted by Ootori Eiichi x/xx/xx):

We are currently seeking an emergency replacement sound/stage technician for performances at the following dates and locations. Inquire immediately. [PAID]

Ranmaru stared at the listing, barely processing the lurch in his stomach that came from just reading it. It was for them. That act. The debut mini-tour for that new single. It’d take rearranging his sound editing queue and massaging some deadlines, but he could feasibly make all of those dates and times.

He thought for a moment of doing that sound check, and seeing for himself the electric energy of that live. Of working with that group whose respect for their audience he personally felt, of watching her prepare, having to talk directly to her as she tuned her guitar....

There was the very real possibility that it’d prove everything he believed about them - about her, really, that ethos he was drawn to - was just smoke and mirrors, too.

Natsuki (9:35 AM): Can you do it, Maru-chan-senpai?

Reiji (9:36 AM): Ranran, you have to do it.

Ranmaru (9:36 AM): this is just a listing, just because I ask doesn’t mean it’ll go through

There was a long pause, where everyone went on and off typing, never actually saying anything, and he frowned.

Ranmaru (9:40 AM): can you all just fucking say what you’re thinking already

Natsuki (9:42 AM): You really love their magic and energy, I just wanted to say I hope you do it and get it because your heart wants it!

Reiji (9:45 AM): Yes, Nacchan, you said it! Ranran, I’ll give you all the free bento you need to keep your tummy full to go do this!

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): don’t fucking do that, reiji, you’ll just piss of your sister. I’ll buy them myself

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): assuming I even do this

Reiji (9:46 AM): I really think you should.

Reiji (9:46 AM): Not because we want the insider scoop. But because when’s the last time you had fun at a live you worked?

Ranmaru could curse Reiji where he stood. Whenever he stopped fucking around and got to his point, it was always a good one.

---

He got the job, somehow, after a little emailing back-and-forth and negotiating the contract. Now he was on a train to Yokohama for the first gig, his case packed full, his backpack stuffed with supplies for a week. Comping travel, hotel, and meals was enough to take the job, even if it paid like ass, but it didn’t. The contract was actually pretty decent. They -- or, well, at least that Ootori guy -- were upfront that he’d be worked hard, the hours were going to be long, and there wasn’t going to be much room for rest or leisure. But the pay was good. Enough that if he had a dryspell of jobs afterwards, he’d be okay for longer than usual.

It was worth it for other reasons, though, he thought to himself, stuffing spare merch he’d gotten in blindbags (and a couple other last-minute buys he didn’t tell the others about) into a bottom corner of his suitcase. None of it was of her, none of it for him. Something felt unprofessional spending this job acting like a fan, but at least there wasn’t any harm grabbing some signatures for friends who never made it to meet-and-greets.

The single was out properly, now, and so was the PV. There was a section of it he especially liked and had gotten into the habit of watching on train rides, where she broke out of the dance routine to put her arms around her teammates, grin a dumb grin, and kick her legs high. It cut to a different shot of the group in different costumes but perfect sync, and when it cut back to that first shot, she stumbled and fell right on her ass, dragging the others down with her. Still grinning stupidly, and singing through it all.

She didn’t take many vocal solos. She only had one line in this song to herself, and she was singing with the whole group for this shot. He read in an interview she wasn’t happy with the tone quality of her voice yet -- it needed to be richer, and she still needed plenty of training before it reached what her teammates and audience deserved.

Ranmaru told himself, as the train was minutes away from the station, that this had to be the last time he watched this video and listened to the song like this. At least for the duration of this job. Every time he watched that shot, as she kept singing and the rest of the group tumbled down with her with the same dumb grin she wore, he knew in his gut the voice she sang in must’ve sounded like the soul of rock. Even if that gesture were directed and performed, there was still something genuine there that reminded him of those moments at concerts that convinced him to walk the path he did.

Maybe he’d get to see it live. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to stop imagining it. She - this whole group, rather - was about to become real, and whether or not everything he imagined would turn out to just be something he made up to deal with his shit, he had a job to do.

------------------------------------

He had a chance to leave his clothes and belongings in the hotel before heading to the live house. Ranmaru was unsure why this Ootori guy had picked him. He didn’t have an exactly long resume with idol shows, but then again, this was a group that debuted without any typical idol sound. There wasn’t any gimmick to them (Ranmaru wouldn’t call being made up of foreigners much of a gimmick when it came to the music), and they weren’t afraid of reaching into all sorts of genres he more typically worked with.

Right as he got to the live house, his phone rumbled with back-to-back notifications.

Reiji (5:48 PM): Ranran~!!! Ganbarimachochho from us!

Ranmaru wouldn’t deign the attached selfie with a response right now (he was about to work, after all), but he felt himself suppressing a smile. Reiji was sticking his tongue out and making a victory sign, Natsuki further in the background, half-buried in stuffed animals and doing the same. They were going to be streaming the event for special-tier fanclub members like REIJI, which Ranmaru had always harangued him for. If he was a fan, wasn’t it enough to just cheer their hearts out live, enjoy their music, buy a CD and shirt, and feel the energy they had to give that way?

(He still pored over the behind-the-scenes and advance material Reiji forwarded to him and Natsuki regardless. Sometimes he translated the English from their social media accounts, even. It was satisfying, as stupid as it felt sometimes, to do those little things in between the real shows.)

He’d never been to the live house before, but it had the same vibes as so many others he’d been to. He found the back entrance effortlessly, where a man with glasses almost took him by surprise.

“Kurosaki?” he asked. His gaze felt just as intense as all the other communication they’d had over e-mail.

“Ootori,” he grunted back.

“You’re early,” Eiichi replied, grinning at Ranmaru. Not that it surprised him in the slightest, but it made him look less approachable and instead even more intense. “Good. I like that in a recruit.”

Ranmaru gritted his teeth quietly. This guy was going to be an absolute bastard, he could feel it, but at least he seemed like he knew how to run a show. “Don’t say that like I joined your agency. Tell me where the group’s at with setup, and I’ll get started.”

Eiichi’s eyes glinted from behind his glasses. He looked too satisfied with himself for Ranmaru’s taste. “I liked how you didn’t beat around the bush when you reached out for the job, and it’s good to see you hold to it. They’re rehearsing in the space, but we still have equipment to unload and cues to sync. You read the notes I sent you, I trust.”

“All forty fuckin’ pages of it.” Ranmaru left out that he’d actually found it pretty impressive, appreciating the thoroughness and ambition of the show for a smaller group and venue. “Are we going to stand around shooting the shit or are we going to get started working on them?”

Eiichi laughed at that. Ranmaru wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or made him feel eager to get to work.

“This way,” he said, showing him to a van stuffed full of equipment.

------

Ranmaru went straight to the live house staff to start doing his work. The master controls were kept in a little room that overlooked the stage. His gut flipped when he first saw them all, rehearsing some specific-looking choreography that needed to adjust to a new stage. He wasn’t about to let that interrupt work. This was just like any other job, except he liked the performers a whole lot more, and things progressed like any other job. Until she looked dead at him from the stage, calling out.

“Heeeeey,” she said. “Scuse me, are you the new tech guy?”

“Yeah.” Ranmaru forced the feeling rising in his throat back down (as much as he could with sheer willpower, anyway). “Whaddya want?”

“I just wanted to ask your name! We gotta call you something!”

“Ranmaru,” he answered, hoping dearly that whatever he felt burning on his face was hidden by the dim lighting.

“Cool, OK. Ranmaru-san,” she continued cheerfully. Ranmaru felt his chest tighten as he heard his name on her lips. “Are we queued up enough that we can do this number with music?”

“This is the one for the new single, right,” he called back. He took a look at the levels, gain, and so forth as they were and instinctively nudged the knobs where the countless plays of that new song told him to. He’d imagined the vision of its stage presence for weeks. “I’m gonna test out some different settings for the levels ‘n stuff while you do that.”

She made an expression of surprise as it came on. Delight, even, as she rode out into the following beats. Ranmaru couldn’t help crooking into his own smile, satisfied his know-how just helped that vision become a little bit brighter. She flashed him a thumbs up, then a gesture to pause, still grinning.

“Can we take it from the top? Five, six, seven, eight---”

--------

Ranmaru had never felt this sort of contradiction. She was restringing her acoustic guitar, from steel to nylon strings, as she hummed and practiced segments of songs, and Ranmaru was adjusting amplifiers and other equipment on the stage nearby. His head swam with the thought and excitement they were sharing the same stage, even just as a tech and pre-show performer, but approaching her felt like being both sides of a magnet at once.

But that push and pull gave way, eventually, as the guitar finished being re-strung and tuned, and the humming turned into full-on singing. Ranmaru fought desperately to make sure he wasn’t just confirming what he’d already imagined, to just appreciate her live voice on its own merits and flaws. But he could feel in his chest that that character, that quality he’d responded so much to was there, that even with some lacking technical skill, there was still a rich tone color you could only get with passion and the spirit for rock.

“You doing any solos tonight?” he asked in English.

“Hm?” She looked caught by surprise.

Ranmaru answered, already anticipating the question. “I’m half-American. I speak it fluently enough.”

“Well, shit,” she said with a grin. “That’s convenient for us. I mean, I don’t mind Japanese if it’s easier…”

“‘Sfine. Do what you want. I won’t complain about the practice, though.”

She chuckled. “Man, maybe losing our usual guy from the agency was a stroke of good luck.”

Ranmaru laughed challengingly. “Say that after the show goes well. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh, uh. Right. Not really? Why do you ask?”

“Why not?”

She took a moment and laughed brightly in reply. Ranmaru could practically hear the insecurity she was covering up.

“‘Cuz we’re an idol group.”

Ranmaru gestured and murmured in vague acknowledgement. “You still have less solo lines than everyone else.”

“Oh, do I,” she replied flatly, going back to her guitar, trimming overhanging strings. “I guess you would know, now that you’ve gotta manage all our sound.”

“I just think it’s stupid you’ve clearly got your own voice but can’t think of sharing it without hiding behind everyone else’s.”

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ranmaru-san, right?”

“...Just call me Ranmaru.”

“Alright, Ranmaru.” She looked at him again. Somehow when she looked at him dead-on this time, nothing went to mush inside of him. “Don’t fucking talk to me like our group voice isn’t the backbone of everything we’re trying to do.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your group voice,” he shot back, getting heated. “It’s good. I can feel the soul behind it all, even when you’re rehearsing.”

“So why are you fucking complaining?” She was still smiling, laying cheer and energy over her growing frustration. “Is there something you wanna say to me about my crew’s voices?”

“They’re fine!” he barked back, frustrated she wasn’t getting his point. “This isn’t about them! You have something your audience is gonna be lit on fire hearing more of, that’s all!”

Some eyes were starting to fall on them, but Ranmaru could barely notice them over the way her chest rose sharply and her expression became inscrutible.

“...how about,” she said, speaking slowly as she deliberately, diplomatically pulled out her words, switching back to Japanese. “You save any notes you have for after the show.”

“......Sure.” His stomach flipped again, more intensely and more painfully than the last few times. He went back to fussing with the amp, and she laid the pliers she’d trimmed her strings with on it before heading backstage until the show started.

---

The show was electric. Ranmaru couldn’t say he was the right audience for most idol groups -- not so much out of distaste as much as incompatibility, he guessed. The way Reiji and Natsuki would lose their minds over their favorites’ cheerful cuteness or the kindness in their voices, Ranmaru wouldn’t. The fanatical, cult-of-personality devotion some other idols could curate with otaku-types, he didn’t connect with, either. What spoke to him was passion, backed by steely sounds and the sweat behind them; the excitement and fervor of rock and a crowd stinking of sweat; how well you could make someone scream themselves hoarse for that one, shining moment without any care for how sore they’d feel the next morning.

Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, but when he could look away from the tech, he felt that here, too. There was no drum or bass player onstage, but he could still feel the beat thrum through his chest and rumble through his bones until his breath quickened, like he were jumping and dancing with the crowd. There was joy in their teamwork. In how they shaped their bodies together in song and in voice, and pushing and pulling the spotlight until it was something brighter, something shared and tangible between them and the audience.

His eyes fell on her. What should he call her? She had a stage name in Thai, but she was open that wasn’t her given name or anything friends and family called her. “Aroon” was just something she picked so she could wear her heritage proudly. It meant ‘dawn,’ it sounded cooler, more idol-ish than her Western name, which wasn’t a secret, by any means, but he heard her called by so many versions of it, none felt real.

It only felt so weird because seeing her onstage, he felt far beyond any confirmation bias he could’ve had that the person he’d seen in the PV’s was every bit as real as he’d hoped. He saw someone who didn’t just fit on stage, but relished and grew like a plant in the hot lights burning down on them. There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes.

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening.

They got cheered back on for an encore. And towards the end of that last song, Ranmaru watched as she broke choreography to literally lift the one Natsuki was convinced was a fairy, spinning them around as the practiced moves dissolved into joyful chaos. The whole group ended the song arm in arm, sloppily holding mics for each other as they alternately laughed, belted, fumbled, and shouted thank-yous into the audience.

Ranmaru still felt something tug at him as the mic got held in front of her, she grabbed it, and handed it to someone else. Just sing, damn it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter if it was perfect, it just mattered that it was hers.

Didn’t she realize she deserved to be adored the same way she wanted the rest of her group to be?

Ranmaru cut everything as they filtered offstage, staggering and softening the mics as they put them back and let them go. He took a deep, sighing breath in and out, almost like he’d been holding it for the entire concert, as his stomach growled.

Maybe he should’ve taken some more of Reiji’s bento, after all, and give Natsuki’s cookies another try.

--------

They closed up quickly. With the group no longer bound by rehearsal, takedown went faster than ever, and there wasn’t any meet-and-greet at today’s venue. Ranmaru dimly considered looking at the merch table, but he had a week to do that and had other things to finish with today’s closeup, anyway.

He could hear the group discussing amongst themselves in English about where to go for a late dinner celebrating a good show.

“I want chicken,” she pleaded. “Is there one of those Taiwanese shops where you can get boba and chicken around here? You know, the kind that comes in a little bag and a toothpick?”

Eiichi approached them, and she started to repeat herself in Japanese before he asked to interrupt her.

“We’re all headed to the izakaya two blocks from here,” he announced to everyone. “I’ve already called ahead to reserve the space. Consider it a reward for a triumph of the first show on tour.”

“But is there chicken,” she repeated in Japanese in mock desperation as she mussed her own hair, fussing it out of the careful styling she’d had it in for hours.

Ranmaru’s phone buzzed from the notifications he missed, shutting them off for the duration of the show. Mostly from Natsuki and Reiji. He scrolled through the groupchat as they reacted live to the stream and tried to compliment Ranmaru on managing sound so well, though he was sure it couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference for the stream.

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): it was a killer show, wasn’t it

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): they’re talking about craving chicken right now. Guess it’s too bad we don’t have a kotobuki bento branch around here.

Ranmaru (11:38 PM): i could go for a kara-age bento

Reiji (11:38 PM): Ranran….!

Natsuki (11:39 PM): Waaaah~! I hope you find some kara-age soon and share it with your shining star!

Ranmaru immediately locked the phone after that. His stomach somersaulted once more time. He stood by what he said to her earlier, but he couldn’t imagine she’d want to talk after the way things had gone. Better to leave the group to that postshow glow, feed himself, and head back to the hotel.

---------

The room was swimming just a little. Ranmaru blearly looked at his phone, trying to ignore the fact that he’d drank beyond his limit like an idiot. He knew he was like this, so why did he keep downing beer after beer? He’d gotten too used to needing as much as he could stomach to tolerate Reiji’s antics (and, he knew dimly, he was just too used to being able to rely on him once he’d hit his limit).

She was seated right across from him, because of course she was, but they didn’t exchange any words or even eye contact. She was entirely focused on the rest of the group and the meal itself, laughing loudly between boisterous stories and jokes and devouring whatever snacks she ordered.

Ranmaru got up. He could make it back to the hotel by himself, probably. Nobody asked as he left, which was how he’d preferred things, right?

If there was such thing as taking a desolate wizz, maybe this is what it felt like, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on his shirt and left the restroom to step outside. Just for a moment. Just to get some air.

Eiichi followed him out.

“Can I help you,” Ranmaru said roughly after Eiichi caught the door behind him.

“Hardly.” He had the same look in his eye as before. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to say well done.”

Ranmaru grunted. “You still have six more shows with me. Compliment me when I’ve nailed all of them.”

“Hm. I’d certainly expect no less. But,” he continued, that grin going places Ranmaru especially didn’t like. “I can’t say that was what I was referring to.”

Ranmaru looked at him suspiciously.

“She’s been a tough nut to crack,” he continued. “I’m glad my instincts were right, Ranmaru Kurosaki, your brusqueness and deep experience with music laid her heart bare enough she recognized some changes she needed to make.”

He didn’t think, and only saw red -- he couldn’t blame the alcohol entirely, but the haziness was enough that his brain needed a moment to catch up to his gut reaction.

Eiichi laughed, unfazed by Ranmaru’s hands on his collar or snarling expression.

“Bastard!” he barked. Eiichi’s eyes glinted behind his glasses.

“I heard your little conversation. Do you not stand by those words?”

“Of course I do,” Ranmaru snapped.

“They reached her,” Eiichi cut in before Ranmaru could think of what to say next. “She’s already asking me about extra vocal training before the next recording sessions.”

“She doesn’t need more training!” He threw Eiichi back, finally letting go. He barely needed any effort to recover, and Ranmaru just glared at him as he kept raising his voice. “And I’m not your for-hire music coach! Is this how you treat all your contractors, you rat bastard of a producer?!”

He just laughed that laugh of his, making Ranmaru even angrier. “Your passion for music and straightforwardness was evident, even in your initial inquiry. It was just excellent luck your technical skills were just as useful for sending this idol group hurtling towards their fullest potential.”

“If you want her to reach it, you’d tell her she doesn’t need any extra lessons. You’d just tell her she’s a great goddamn idol the way she is right now,” Ranmaru spat. “Trusting her voice is just what’ll make her into a better one.”

“I hear some selfish intent in that, Kurosaki.” Eiichi looked like he was burning with excitement. “But that just means I can trust your intentions more than anyone. You speak as someone whose heart’s already been moved. A fan...a loyal follower who desires their success. Perhaps even more than she does.”

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Ranmaru strode past him, feeling himself burn from top to bottom. He gave Eiichi one last look in the eye. “If you need me before the show tomorrow, find someone else.”

-------

The next day and next show went uneventfully. Now that he’d met the group at Yokohama, he was travelling with them in the cars and equipment vans, and he made a point of finding a back seat nobody wanted to share, stretching out, and napping the whole ride. The setup at the next live house was a pain in the ass with their unusual devices and systems, but Ranmaru was quietly grateful to have his hands full. He liked having a good reason for not wanting to talk to (scold) anyone but the live house staff itself. Being irritated they went for weird, cheap models with lower quality helped him double down on the attention needed to make the group shine. They collectively got ramen afterwards. The only words he exchanged all meal were with the one Reiji liked so much, ferrying his ramen order for him when he got frustrated with the shop crowd and left to go wait outside.

(He’d have to find a way to talk with her later about Reiji. Not just for the autograph -- he opened up his phone, ignoring any notifications that weren’t his work email, and messaged him.

Ranmaru (9:42 PM): send me a pic of your Mae shrine

Reiji (9:45 PM): ehh? Ranran, what for?

Ranmaru (9:50 PM): just send it

Dutifully, Reiji did. Ranmaru couldn’t have imagined he really had no idea what he planned to do with it, but if he wasn’t just playing dumb, at least he’d be getting one hell of a surprise.)

It was during the third show that things started to happen a way he could scarcely believe. The show went pretty normally, except for one point where she stumbled badly enough during a complex turn she completely ate shit. But she played it off into something hammy and funny, rolling out of the way of the others, lying like she were posing in a cheesy beefcake calendar while she found the beat again to sing.

Ranmaru still thought she needed to own up to her lack of courage and just sing more, but putting it like she was a coward was a mistake. He thought dimly to what Reiji had said that had convinced him -- “when was the last time you had fun working a stage like this?” And he wondered if he’d ever had fun onstage like he saw. He might’ve tasted the glory and passion of the stage, the delicious energy of the audience, and the power of rock -- he knew he did, he’d looked an easier, blander life in the eye and felt too desolate to walk that path, even with his inescapable debt.

But it could be more fun. That audience could feel more, even more connected, that he could smile through mistakes when the performance came from camaraderie as much as passion and soul. Things could be better when they were shared beyond just the respect of an audience and a performer.

He didn’t realize he was smiling as much as he was until his cheeks were hurting, but that was also because he felt hungrier than he’d ever been.

----

He couldn’t help calculating how many meals he’d be cutting into as the convenience store clerk rang up everything, even though he’d already gotten Eiichi to confirm he was going to expense him the bill and get refunded every cent.

The show closed late. They had a special meet-and-greet he didn’t need to be around to handle, but none of them had had the chance to eat much outside of some spare snacks. He figured something fast and easy before they could collapse in the hotel would fit the bill.

She wasn’t there when he went around knocking on the hotel room doors and delivering the goods. Gone out to relax on the roof, they said, and when they offered to hold her food, he said no, he’d take it right to her.

The sound of the roof door opening looked like it startled her, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold up the bag full of food like a peace offering.

“Eat something,” he said in English, tossing her a banana from the bag. She caught it before eyeing him up and down, then settled back to the outdoor lounge chair she’d been resting on. Ranmaru took a seat in the one across for her, setting the bag on the ground as he pulled the rest of the food out. She looked hesitant, only speaking until he’d laid everything out, even the drinks.

“...That smells good,” she said in Japanese. “What’s that, kara-age?”

“I heard you guys were craving chicken.”

“I mean, I sure was. Thanks.”

“I told you English was fine,” he said, back to Japanese.

“My Japanese is fine,” she said, tearing into the banana first.

“Yeah, but if you’re tired of speaking outside of your native tongue,” Ranmaru started, already feeling himself get heated. “Why wouldn’t you take the chance to just rest?”

She finished her bite of banana before giving him a look. “...If you insist.”

They just sat in silence as she ate for a bit.

“Is there something else you want from me?” she asked. She left half the kara-age and bottled tea.

“...No, not really. I wanted to say sorry for the other day, though.”

“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, though she didn’t look happy about it. “Don’t worry about it. It sure isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna be criticized in this industry. I can handle it.”

Ranmaru murmured in acknowledgement, not sure to what end making himself clear to would earn, but he had to, anyways. He stared down the half-full kara-age container.

“...This is your goddamn food, you know.” He pushed it closer to her. “Eat it.”

“Oh, you’re sure?”

“I didn’t have a meet-and-greet that made me miss dinner. Do you really wanna work a tour on an empty stomach?”

She scooped it up with a knowing ‘hmm’ and a half-smile. After polishing it off, she let out a heavy sigh.

“You are right, though. I’m being a coward, not singing more.”

“You’re not,” Ranmaru grumbled.

“Sure,” she said dismissively. “But I guess I should apologize for getting so defensive. I thought you were just another macho shithead trying to talk the piss out of our group and the voice we have.”

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” Ranmaru said resolutely. “....when I was in a band, I wish I’d had bandmates who’d do that kinda shit for me.”

“Oh, shit, what’d you play?”

“Vocals. Bass. Rock.”

“Aw, c’mon, get more specific than that. Surf rock? Indie boy shoegaze? Folk punk with a little dash of polka?”

Ranmaru gave her an incredulous look. “...Oi. Do I look like a polka guy?”

She grinned widely, looking very satisfied with herself. “I dunno, you never know who’s got a secret accordion! I could see you, maybe you painted half of it, like, red to match that edgelord RPG hero heterochromia thing you got going.”

Ranmaru grumbled, looking away. She laughed. “....I just like rock. If you had to pull my leg I guess I’d tell you hard rock. Maybe a little alt and prog.”

“Ooh!” She exclaimed, barely letting the sip of tea get down her throat. “That’s the good shit! Did you ever record anything?”

Ranmaru hesitated. “...Yeah, but nothing that anyone can listen to anymore.”

She seemed to understand without much more explanation. “...Well. You’re fucking good at the sound engineering side of things. Don’t tell management this -- or well, just don’t quote me on this -- but I like you a hell of a lot more than the guy we were supposed to have from the agency. He doesn’t know shit about how to make music that’s about soul and hype. It’s like, all one level the whole time, you know? Like it’s just sitting at an 8 the whole time, we don’t really get to do stuff like crescendos. Or like, punch someone in the dick by taking it from a three and shoot it to an eleven, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ranmaru said, throwing a hand up. “What’s with that shit? There’s a bunch of stupid clients I had who were like that. Just one kind of loud, the whole album or concert through. What’s the fucking point if you aren’t gonna make people hear something other than just fuckin’ loud?”

“Yeah! You get it!” she whooped, before she held her hand out for a fistbump.

It surprised Ranmaru enough that it took a moment to register. But he smiled a little and pounded it.

------

“Man-eating momma, steam-driven hammer

Sorts the men out from the boys--”

She slid her arm around his waist, and he nearly choked on his beer.

They were at Korean barbecue tonight, their own private room. The last meal, after the last concert, after the last meet-and-greet, after the last frantic merch sales. Ranmaru tried to buy himself a shirt, but instead was presented with a staff hoodie for the tour and a “one of everything” comp for the rest of the merch. They were now safely tucked with other goods he’d gotten signed for Reiji and Natsuki last night while everyone hung out in their big hotel suite. Hotel management made a mistake and upgraded the whole crew to their biggest room with extra cots to fit them all, and they spent the entire post show in a dizzying, joyful, communal haze. Ranmaru even told stories of the embarrassing depths of his groupchat’s devotion to the group and each of their favorites, and everyone took turns recording chaotic, personalized videos for Ranmaru to share later. They fell asleep at a truly stupid hour, and Ranmaru wondered if this is what having sleepovers as a kid felt like.

“Takes no messing, all-in wrestling

Is one of her pride and joys”

Ranmaru recognized the words as she pulled him closer, swaying after slamming her beer to the table. Maybe less the tune, since that was being yelled more than sung.

“She's a classy, flashy lassy

Imitation sapphire shine-- c’mon, dude, you know!” She looked at him expectantly. She was very, very flushed, and at this point, he had to be, too.

“We’re not at a karaoke bar!” he barked.

“Where’s all that ‘you gotta sing more, fuckass’ energy now, huh,” she said, lowering her voice so much to mimic that Ranmaru briefly questioned if this is what he sounded like to her.

“....Fine! If you’re gonna sing it, actually fuckin’ sing it, don’t just yell!”

“Oh yeah,” she said with what passed for a shit-eating grin with her. “Then show me, partyboy. Hey, everyone, meet my new vocal coach! Hold onto your dick, folks, he better fuckin floor you with all the shit he’s been talking --”

Ranmaru looked at her a moment as she kept ranting, first with incredulity, then with a weird surreal awe. What the hell was happening?

Why the hell should he bother questioning it?

“-- Two-faced liar, full of fire

But I know the flame is mine!” He cut off her rant, singing as much as he could like this were a stage.

She -- and a bunch of other staff at the table -- whooped and cheered and laughed, but she and only she joined in with him without a care in the world. “Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her

If you think you can--”

He let the arm that’d been just awkwardly dangling behind her wrap around her shoulder. He felt warmer than he’d ever had, burning all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her you can!”

They hung on the last note of the chorus -- she hung on comedically long before dragging them both up to bow while everyone else clapped, laughed, cheered. A server came, yelling that they had an order of grilled beef up. Eiichi, from the other end of the table, gestured that he’d ordered it, but passed it down until it sat in front of Ranmaru.

--------

They had an overnight bus trip to get back home -- or close enough to home, anyways, Ranmaru still had another long train ride waiting afterwards, so he’d planned to sleep the whole bus ride.

But she wound up sitting next to him, and even if he could pretend like that didn’t make his heart thump now by itself, she was chatty.

He didn’t mind the conversation, though. They mostly talked about music, sharing concert stories and albums. He even talked a little about what he wanted to do now in between all the freelance work, and when she wished him luck and couldn’t wait to hear it, he didn’t feel like she was just blowing smoke.

There came a pause while she downed a bottle of tea.

“...I meant it when I said there’s something in your voice the audience oughta hear,” he said, looking at her intently.

She laughed uncomfortably after she swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll…..I guess I just have to go for it, huh.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I...hm….” She paused in intent thought for a while. “Well, for one, the technical control isn’t there.”

“Yeah, but you’ll improve that by doing it.”

“Yeah, yeah. But there’s more than just that, I guess.”

“Like what.”

“...Well, you know how this industry is. It’s…hard. Finding the balance of what you’re good at, what people want, and what the higher-ups think they want. I don’t think I’m anywhere near figuring that balance out...”

“Forget all that.” Ranmaru looked at her very seriously, shifting in place so he could look her in the eye a little better. “Don’t worry about any of those things.”

She laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, sure, lemme just. Throw out my job description while I’m at it. Dude, the whole point of this job and this work is to make other people happy.”

“I was happy hearing your voice just as it was that first day. You just. Sang the way you wanted to. I liked that. It felt good. Genuine.” He took a moment to recall the words he found at the beginning of the tour. “...You like it when people connect with your group’s voice ‘n adore your groupmates. So let ‘em adore you some.”

“Oh, cuz I’m so adowable,” she joked, laughing as Ranmaru scowled.

“I mean it. I….” he started. “...The audience is going to be better for hearing more of you. Whatever that means.”

She thought about that for a moment. “...I...you know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself what that looks like. Or let myself realize it, anyway.”

“You can handle the criticism if it comes. If that’s something you’re scared of.”

“...Maybe it is. Thank you, Ranmaru, I’m going to think about that and kick everybody’s teeth in the next time we record.

“‘Snothing,” he murmured, but he felt like his heart was going to soar out of his chest, and later, as they both nodded off and slumped over each other as the road stretched on, he realized he felt sated in a way he couldn’t remember being. A weird sort, that took away the pang of hunger, but made him feel it more deeply through his whole being.

----

When he arrived ‘home,’ it was lunchtime, and he was too dazed, hungry, and tired to weather one last long walk home without some food in his stomach. It was on the way-- he may as well go to Kotobuki Bento and make Reiji make good on the free bento offer.

(His sister rang him up, and Ranmaru paid up.)

Reiji found him after the meal, and he wound up heading to Reiji’s room. To give him the merch, theoretically, but after Reiji earned enough grouchy monosyllabic replies, he brought something that sounded like an actual question.

“...So, Ranran, while you were away…”

“Just say it,” Ranmaru muttered, eyes too tired to focus. “I’m too fucking tired for you to take the long away around.”

“Nattsun’s friend wants to join our little fanclub!”

“....And.”

Reiji shrank a little, speaking more sheepishly. “The thing is...we mentioned you and....he’s pretty sure you two already know each other and you’d want nothing to do with him.”

Ranmaru hazily tried to recall who that could be. There were too many people whose guts he hated for him to figure it out by himself.

“Who is it,” Ranmaru growled tiredly. “Just fucking say it.”

“Does...Hijirikawa ring a bell?”

It did. Ranmaru fumed in silence for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of disaster that name was attached to, but also the vague memories of that quiet, serious boy in traditional dress who fretted after him when they were too small to know of things like debts and bankruptcy...

“...Whatever,” Ranmaru muttered. He looked at Reiji’s bed and decided he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of this exhaustion -- he had a reliable neighbor to leave food out for the cats, anyway, what was a couple more hours? “It’s not really much of a fanclub if it’s just the three of us. He can join if he wants. It’ll give you ‘n Natsuki someone who’s better at responding to your crazy nightlong gushing than me.” He tossed the dakimakura on Reiji’s bed, dented in the middle from so much hugging, to him, before he shrugged closer into his staff tour hoodie and slumped into Reiji’s bed.

He could practically see Reiji stammering, even as he turned away and settled into the comfort of eyes closed and a real bed. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and it wasn’t the one Ranmaru was expecting to give, either.

“-- R...Ranran, you really--”

“Yes! What the fuck wasn’t clear about what I said! Masato can join! Go add him already! Just let me sleep, you noisy bastard!” Ranmaru barked one last time at Reiji.

Ranmaru ignored whatever last jabbering Reiji had for him, already carried off to proper sleep. He wondered what he could possibly dream about that would rival the past week and this satisfying feeling, cradled in his new hoodie.

(I perform semi-professionally -- not as an idol, mind, but I’m still getting up on a stage/camera to entertain people on the reg -- and it was so weird but also really......doki-inspiring, let’s say, to imagine Ranmaru being a fan of my stage bravado :’’’’’D To be honest I’ve been feeling a little discouraged and burnt out by it lately but this really refilled my tanks!!!)

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