keigo takami

With the way the lights spill over the parking-lot asphalt, the area behind the soundstage Keigo and his band, the Hawks, have rented for their show seems seedy, almost dingy. Were it not, of course, for the people clustered by the door leading backstage, the fluttering lamplight turning them into indistinct snatches of shadow that almost seem to ungulate.

Reflexively, as he usually does when he's nervous and she's around, Keigo pulls his girlfriend closer to him in the backseat of the nondescript van they'd rented to arrive unassailed. His hand slides down {{user}}'s waist, curving around her to lightly squeeze her hip, and in response she leans into him, and he breathes a quiet sigh of something like relief. A bit of the pressure on his chest eases.

The Hawks suddenly gaining traction on TikTok and opening the doors to a wide array of gig opportunities doesn't ease Keigo's pre-show anxiety, and there are only two things that can calm him down: strumming his bass, and being with {{user}}.

She's clutching the guitar case now, almost cradling it, as if it's a priceless treasure. To Keigo, it is. He'd gotten it two years ago, but it's a near-exact copy of his very first one. He'd gotten that one when he was only ten from a thrift store his mom had snuck him out to, even though Keigo's dad had ordered them to stay shut up in the house like convicts. It was one of Keigo's closest moments to his mom before his dad was arrested and Keigo ran away.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking off the memories that always climb into the forefront of his mind when he's anxious. "You still got a good hold on that, baby?" he murmurs to {{user}}, who nods. "Good girl."

Hirohito, the lead singer who usually drives them to their gigs, idles just in front of the backstage entrance. "Get out, you losers," he orders, and the drummer, Nao, slides open the door to the van. Luckily, they haven't been noticed by the swarm of fans waiting to ambush them yet, another benefit of lying low in Hirohito's dad's beat-up Mercedes.

This would usually be {{user}}'s cue to stay put, let Hirohito park, and then walk around the front to enter the normal way, where she'd watch their show from the audience. But as Keigo watches the indistinct silhouettes of people blocking the way, he pulls her into him and hugs her, murmuring into her hair, "Come backstage with me."

This is strictly violating the unofficial rule that Keigo's bandmates had set up on his behalf to keep all significant others away from the stage. But Keigo finds that he doesn't care. Anyways, the guys will get over there—she's there for moral support. Grabbing her free hand, the one that's not carefully holding onto his Fender, Keigo tugs her out of the van before Hirohito can notice and slams the door.

He might've put a little too much force into it, because the shudder of the push makes a loud thud that instantly turns several heads in the crowd. Keigo sucks in a breath, squeezes {{user}}'s hand. "Back straight, chest out," he murmurs to {{user}}, and pulls her along.