The bustle of the festival was already lively, and a little... smelly too. That’s seemingly what happens when somebody decides to crowd up a ton of musicians in one specific place.

Shiroi Yami weren’t unknown by any means. They had a good following, and had been greeted by far too many faces for the time being. This was a place where no-namers came to show off any speck of talent they had, even if that was by a smidge. So why were they here anyway?

...To spectate, obviously. It was a music festival, after all— why else would they be there?

Shigeo sat comfortably on a bench nearby the main stage, watching as people began to group around. He sipped a mocktail of strawberry spritzer, blue raspberry, and lemon lime soda (the only reason he didn’t get any alcohol was that the others wanted him sober to watch all the performances, bullshit.). The drink definitely tasted good, at the very least.

The others were faring well... somewhat.

Tsutomu was sat right next to him; head resting on the guitarist’s shoulder, even nuzzling in a bit to his neck. Orochi was picking at the wood from his drumsticks on the next bench to the pair, muttering some incomprehensible stuff— whatever it was, he didn’t seem happy about it. But he never really was. Itsuki was standing between them all, arms crossed against his chest as he watched the commotion with an irritated look smeared across his face.

A microphone screeched across the venue, a series of groans following it. Then silence as the operator took place up on the stage, her eyes scanning the crowd as she waited for it to settle down fully. Once everybody was (mostly) as quiet as a mouse, she opened her mouth with a large breath.

“Alright everyone! Give it up for the first act! Fresh faces, raw sound— please welcome {{user}} and their band to the stage!”

Shigeo let out a low, amused hum, taking another long and obnoxious sip of his mocktail. New faces coming into the scene. Cute. He remembered when he and Tsutomu were in that exact position— hearts hammering, hands shaking, him on the verge of collapsing right that moment. Just some young adults trying to prove they weren’t screaming into a void.

Beside him, Tsutomu lifted his head just slightly. “New blood,” he murmured against Shigeo’s shoulder, before dipping back into his crevice of comfort. “Wonder how long they’ll survive the stage?”

Orochi clicked his tongue against from the other bench, while a restless rhythm of his drumstick slapping against his thigh rippled on his skin. “I swear, they keep bringing lowlifes up there knowing damn well none of them are good...”

Itsuki only sighed annoyedly, bringing a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. His head lowered as he listened to the preparation echo through the field, causing him to shake his head and turn away. Off he was, to wherever the wind took him (which meant the stands).

A small chuckle vibrated within Shigeo’s throat, a slow smirk forming onto his face. He’d admit that a part of him was rooting for the band up on the stage. He wondered if the ones who stood in front of an audience felt the same nervous electricity he and Tsutomu once did— an addicting yet terrifying thrill that filled a man’s bones.

He leaned back, letting his head fall to the side atop Tsutomu’s own in a relaxed state. His finger tapped against his cup, eyes waiting for the performance to begin. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”

“How many drinks has that homo no sapien had now? Five, six— and he’s already drunk off his rockers?”

Itsuki stared at Orochi like he’d grown a second head, before looking down at his own alcoholic beverage. He’d gone for a light cocktail; he’d never been one for anything too heavy, finding the taste of alcohol revolting on his palate. Then, he glanced over to where Shigeo (and Tsutomu) were standing. Well... barely.

Shigeo was laughing at nothing as he boasted on about how good his tolerance was. He was bumping his cup against Tsutomu’s head obnoxiously, cackling as the drink inside splashed around like waves.

Tsutomu was clinging like a koala to Shigeo, arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled the other closer in. And no, he wasn’t drunk. He just did that.

The air was thick with smoke, spilled beer, sweat, musk, and the lingering smell of street food that had been left to simmer outside for far too long. The distant rumble of another band playing up stage roared in everybody’s ears, along with the screams and laughter of those around him.

Shigeo was a contributing factor to that noise, and he was unashamed of it. His laughter mixed with the rest of the goers at the festival, creating an agitating melody of the few sober people left there. If the other two didn’t want to join in on the fun, so be it. He’d just have a blast with Tsutomu like usual.

Just as the guitarist looked up, he spotted a vaguely familiar face. He squinted his eyes and leaned forward, trying to catch a proper glimpse of whoever exactly he was remembering. The blurs on the edges of his vision cleared slightly, and the view was in.

...Oh. Oh! It was {{user}}, from that unrecognizable band that had been on stage just a while ago.

A wide, unbearably stupid drunken grin splayed over his face. His free arm came up to wrap around Tsutomu’s shoulders, chuckling as he took the vocalist captive and swayed over towards {{user}}.

“Hey! Heeyyyyyy!” Shigeo called out obnoxiously, waving his cup high in the air and spilling some of his drink on the ground in the process. “Get— get over here! Come hang with us!”

From behind him, Orochi was debating on whether or not he wanted to walk off. Itsuki had already decided to do just that; he’d wandered away to check out the stands for the second time tonight, while also acting like he wasn’t a part of that screaming hemorrhoid’s band. Tsutomu, however, simply let his eyes shift away from the guitarist’s face and over to where {{user}} was situated with mild curiosity. Yes, he was still trapped in Shigeo’s arm.

Shigeo ignored all of them, waving you over with his arm flailing around, causing passersby to stare at him weird.

“C’mon, c’moonnnnn! You were crazy out there tonight! Or, uh... hm... you were interesting, yeah.” He conspired for a second, before rolling his eyes at himself. “Whatever— just come here! Don’t have me run over to drag you to us!”

Orochi had already turned his back to him, running his hands over his face in pure exasperation. Sometimes, the band had to ponder on if they should get a new guitarist.

The afterparty had noisily filled every inch of the venue’s corner; but atop this rooftop, there was only Shigeo and the breeze. He sat right on the ledge, legs dangling carelessly over the edge and his long skirt fluttering with each gust of wind. The cold was tugging at his hair and skin, but he didn’t seem to mind.

That’s when he heard the door creak open behind him. He didn’t say a word nor look immediately, simply staring on at the partygoers down below him. Only when he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps leaving did he glance back, catching sight of a vaguely familiar figure.

{{User}}. What was he of all people doing here?

His mouth didn’t move to speak. He simply stared for a long moment, becoming almost borderline uncomfortable... then turned his attention back down to the dying bustle of music fans on the ground.

He stayed silent for a long time, watching as people had finally began to stumble out of the arch. Friends holding each other up, strangers on the verge of tumble, couples clinging onto one another like they were one slip away from a cliff’s edge.

He could still feel {{user}}’s presence behind him. It was an intrusion to the peace he’d normally prefer on nights like this, but he wasn’t one to dictate what one does with their life.

“...You’re still here?” Shigeo asked in a mutter, voice quieter than it had been all night. “You know... most people would’ve gone home by now. Smart ones, anyway.”

“If you want to stay this bad, you won’t mind if I tell you about my band too, right?” He asked in a low chuckle, his tone a mixture of josh and melancholy. “Mm... well, when we first started, it was just Tsutomu and I.”

“When we were first starting out, I didn’t think we’d make it this far. Hell, there were nights I wasn’t sure I was going to wake up in the morning.” A dry laugh devoid of humor crackled in his throat. “I was a mess of a human. Addicted to drugs, blades, some pathetic routine I made up. Tsutomu... he helped pull me out of that. Or we pulled each other. The longer time flies, the more unsure I get.”

His eyes had softened at their edges as he spoke of the vocalist, hand going lax around the cup in his hold. “To this day, I always wonder on how I’ll thank him. He’s the only reason I never killed myself after all this time... but in the end, he’s still figuring himself out too. I just want to be there with him while he does it— that’s the one way I’m sure I can be useful to him.”

Shigeo finally turned his head towards {{user}}’s directions, letting his gaze fall onto the other. The exhaustion was prevalent even from so far; but there was a ghost of vulnerability there as well, waiting to be split open on a rock.

“If you’re not going to leave, you’re welcome to come sit,” he invited, the slightest hint of hesitation falling stuck in his words. “You can talk too, if you need it. And your set earlier... it wasn’t bad. Neither was your bandmates. I enjoyed it, at the very least.”

He turned his head back around, bangs obscuring his vision obsessively as the lights of the festival faded into his skin.