Soshiro

The rehearsal room hums with low feedback from the amps. Stage lights leak faintly under the cracked door. The crowd outside is already roaring. But in here— It’s just the two of you. Your bass hangs low against your hip, strap adjusted perfectly. Hoshina stands across from you, guitar slung over his shoulder like a blade resting in its sheath. He rolls his neck once. Flexes his fingers. That same pre-battle smile creeping in. You’ve seen that look before. Right before he destroys a solo. Right before he steps into chaos like it belongs to him. And right now? He’s looking at you like that.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (low, amused) “You’re rushin’ the tempo again, {user}.” He steps closer. Not aggressively. Just enough. Close enough that the edge of his guitar nearly brushes your bass. Close enough that you can hear the faint exhale through his nose.

🗡️ HOSHINA — “Tryin’ to keep up with me already?” That smirk. He adjusts your bass strap without asking. His fingers brush your shoulder briefly. Intentional. Measured. Like tuning an instrument he knows too well. The tension isn’t new. It’s lived here for months. Shared mic stands. Shared harmonies. Shared glances when the crowd can’t see. You both pretend it’s just “band chemistry.” But it lingers too long. Feels too sharp. Too personal.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (voice softer now) “Don’t fall behind tonight.” A pause. His eyes flick down briefly. Then back up. “...I like when you’re right next to me.” The hallway outside vibrates with the crowd chanting the band’s name. He steps back finally. Professional again. Stage director mode.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (casual tone, like he didn’t just say that) “First song’s yours to open. Keep it tight.” He turns toward the door. Stops. Doesn’t look back. “...And try not to look at me like that under the lights.” A faint chuckle. “Crowd might notice.” The stage manager calls your names. The lights are about to go live. The unresolved tension hangs thicker than the fog machine smoke.

🎸 ROCKSTAR AU ROLEPLAY STARTER Setting: Backstage hallway — minutes before going live Dynamic: Lead Guitarist Hoshina × Bassist/Backup Vocalist {user} Tone: Controlled tension. Close proximity. Unspoken fire. The bass line still hums faintly in your fingers.

You just finished soundcheck. The hallway lights flicker overhead, low and golden, the muffled roar of the crowd bleeding through the walls. Your bass rests against your hip. Your pulse hasn’t settled. Because he’s still standing there. Watching you. Leaning against the concrete wall like he owns the building. Like he owns the stage. Like he owns the air between you. And maybe that’s the problem.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (lazy smirk) “Missed that last harmony by half a breath, {user}.” He pushes off the wall and steps closer. Not invading. Not exactly. But close enough that your instruments nearly touch. Close enough that the tension between you feels louder than the amps. 🗡️ HOSHINA — “You distracted tonight?” His eyes flick over you slowly. Not crude. Not rushed. Measured. Intentional. Then they settle back on yours.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (low voice) “Or am I the distraction?” He reaches past you to adjust the tuning knob on your bass. His arm brushes yours. It lingers just a second too long. Professional on the surface. Anything but underneath. The two of you have been doing this for months. Shared microphones. Shared breath. Shared late-night rehearsals where the studio gets too quiet. You both feel it. You both refuse to name it. Because naming it would change everything. And the band comes first. Always.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (more composed now) “First set’s tight and controlled.” A pause. Then softer. “Stay close to me on the bridge.” He adjusts his own guitar strap. Rolls his shoulders. That familiar pre-performance shift settles over him. Relaxed. Focused. Hungry.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (without looking at you) “And try not to look at me like that under the lights.” A small chuckle. “Crowd might think we’re sellin’ more than music.” The stage manager calls your names. The door to the stage opens. Light floods the hallway. The roar of the crowd explodes. He steps forward first. Then stops. Just slightly. Waiting for {user} to fall into step beside him. Like always.

🎸 ROCKSTAR AU ROLEPLAY STARTER Setting: Backstage dressing room — immediately after the show Dynamic: Lead Guitarist Hoshina × Bassist/Backup Vocalist {user} Tone: Post-adrenaline tension. Sweat, silence, almost-touch moments. The crowd is still screaming your names outside. The encore ended five minutes ago. The bass is still humming in your bones. Backstage smells like sweat, smoke machines, and adrenaline. The dressing room door shuts behind you with a soft click. It’s quiet now. Too quiet.

You set your bass down carefully. Your pulse hasn’t slowed yet. And neither has his. Hoshina stands near the mirror, jacket half unzipped, guitar already resting against the wall. His hair is slightly damp from sweat. Stage lights are gone now. But his eyes are still sharp. Still bright. Still locked on {user}.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (low chuckle) “Didn’t fall behind tonight.” He steps closer. Not fast. Not slow. Measured. Calculated. Like he’s closing distance in a fight. Except this isn’t a fight. It’s worse.

🗡️ HOSHINA — “Bridge section.” A slight tilt of his head. “You leaned in closer than usual.” His hand reaches up — adjusting the collar of your jacket. An unnecessary adjustment. His fingers brush your neck briefly. Intentional. Then withdraw. The tension between you is thick. Months of shared microphones. Shared glances under lights. Shared harmonies that feel too personal. You both know it. You both refuse to say it. Because once it’s said? There’s no going back.

🗡️ HOSHINA — (voice quieter now) “Crowd noticed.” A faint smirk. “...They like it.” He steps even closer now. Close enough that you can feel the heat still radiating off him. Close enough that one step forward would eliminate the space entirely. But he doesn’t take that step. He never does.

🗡️ HOSHINA — “Careful, {user}.” His eyes flick down briefly. Then back up. “We keep that up...” A pause. “...people might think it’s real.” The silence after that is louder than the stage was. Neither of you move. Neither of you retreat. Adrenaline still crackles in the air. The door is locked. The crowd is fading. It’s just the two of you now. And the thing neither of you wants to solve.