Prologue

Summer 1990

 

“What the are you even doing? Have you never worked a mixing board? This is a joke!” The tall, thin guitarist’s normally soft features were twisted in vexation. “The equalization is non-existent, and why the hell would you turn up the bass sensitivity when we don’t even have a goddamn bassist in here?” As far as first impressions went, this clearly was not going to be winning any awards.

“Oh, come on Kurosaki, give the kid a break. It’s only his first week on the job.” Kenji, the owner of the small rehearsal and recording studio, called rather unenthusiastically from the corner.

“I’m not paying him to screw up this demo.” You jerked his head at the man standing over the mixing console, whose tight-lipped expression made it clear that he was barely holding back choice words of his own.

“You haven’t paid me a single yen the last three times you’ve been here!” Kenji reminded with a scoff. “Should I start collecting?”

You ignored the question and shot another sharp look at the man he had been accusing. “Where’d you even find him?”

“Ren vouched for him. That’s probably why the bass is up, he was in here right before your lot came in. Hey, Okabe, will you fix it?”

“Yeah, no problem.” The until-then quiet audio technician trained his gaze on the equipment, and You watched as the adjustments were made with a delicate and deliberate touch. “Happy now, Mr. Kurosaki?” The technician’s dark eyes and deep voice turned toward the guitarist, the tone of his professional address dripping in disdain.

You merely glared in response, before heading back into the recording area to join his bandmates. “Kenji, can you just check our sound this time around? If it’s good, then we’ll pay you for the recording,” You called from within the small, not really soundproof room.

“Okabe will do it.”

A scowl flashed across You’s face, but he turned away to address his band members.

“Don’t mind him,” Kenji called over to the audio tech as the band started to play a rhythmic rock song. “He’s actually the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He’s just moody cause his girlfriend dumped him this morning.”

“Can’t blame her,” Satoru muttered, watching the drummer at the back of the room and finding himself mentally criticizing her technique. Disappointing, since she was cute and he usually found girl drummers quite attractive.

“Well, that’s her in the back, so I’m not sure how long this group is gonna keep it together. Then again, they’ve broken up twice before so maybe a while.”

The young technician let out a short laugh at that piece of information. Maybe he could find her attractive after all.

~~~~~~~

It took just a few minutes of flirting for Satoru to get the girl’s phone number, two days to get his hands up her skirt, three days for her to announce that she was sick of You’s band and was leaving. It took another thirty seconds for the guitarist’s fist to collide with the technician’s face.

“Didn’t do enough for you to screw with my demo, now you have to screw with my girl?!”

“From what I understand, she dumped you.” Satoru spat, wincing at the throbbing pain on the left side of his face.

“ you!”

Satoru curled his fingers into his palm, fingernails digging into the skin for the briefest moment before he sunk a punch into the stomach of the pissed-off guitarist. His smirk of satisfaction was quickly wiped away as You’s shoulder plowed into the center of his chest, sending both men into the wall behind Satoru.

Breath hitching his chest, Satoru grunted as he jerked his arm out and then drove his elbow high into You’s collarbone just as the guitarist’s knee made contact with his hip. The blood pumping through his head was like amplified drumbeats, drowning out the yells from across the studio. His boot made heavy contact with You’s ankle, knocking the taller man to the ground, and Satoru was above him within a second, tightly-clenched fist ready to return the punch which had started the fight. His dark eyes focused on the young, handsome face of the man beneath him, looking forward to seeing it marred in black and blue bruises. “ you!” He hissed, drawing his arm back to take the swing when he found his wrist being grabbed and his shoulder gripped as he was yanked off the guitarist.

“Get off me!” Satoru went to swing for whomever had interrupted the fight, stopping just short of smashing his closed hand into his boss.

“You need to calm down.” Kenji’s voice had lost its normally placid tone, grip tight on his audio tech’s shoulders. “Or you’re out on the street without a paycheck.”

That threat would have been enough to stop him in any situation. Satoru cast his eyes over at the guitarist who was being helped off the floor by Ren, the tiny bassist, and Saki, the ex-girlfriend.

“Really, Ren, you’re on his side?” Satoru exhaled in exasperation, trying not to wince at the pain in his ribs and near his groin.

“I am staying out of this,” Ren said, holding his hands up as if to wash himself from any responsibility.

“Kenji, you need to fire this or—”

“Or what?” The studio owner cut into You’s declaration. “You won’t come back here? Good, I’ll get a band in here that can actually pay me. Besides, I think I saw you throw the first punch.”

You gritted his teeth, waving off Saki’s hands as she tried to help him adjust his clothes.

“Hey, Saki, can you run into my office and grab some ice packs from the fridge?” Kenji directed, and the girl rushed off with a nod, her long eyelashes blinking in Satoru’s directions as she passed him.

When she came back, Kenji handed a couple of the small blue ice packs to Satoru, and tossed the others to You. “You’d be surprised to hear this isn’t the first fight that’s broken out in here, but it’s normally between band members.”

“He’s got his—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Kurosaki. If you have problems with your girlfriend, you don’t bring it in here.”

“I’m not his girlfriend anymore.” Saki said, leaning on the desk which held the mixing console and the majority of the recording equipment inputs.

“Well, then, we don’t have any problems, do we?”

You and Satoru exchanged hard looks, but both said nothing.

“Good. Ren, Saki, why don’t you help Kurosaki out of here for today? I don’t think we’re going to be productive after this.”

Ren made quick work of grabbing their bags, shoving You’s things into the guitarist’s arms, and then pushed his friend out of the room. Saki followed behind with a quiet “Sorry,” as she passed Satoru.

“So, you gonna fire me?” Satoru asked, lifting the ice pack to his face once the three had cleared the doorway.

“Nah, I think you learned your lesson. Let’s go grab a beer. There’s a gig coming up you can work if you want, I’ll tell you about it.”

Satoru threw down the ice pack and grabbed his jacket off the chair he had thrown it on earlier. “You’re buying.”

~~~~~~~

For the next couple of weeks, Satoru managed to avoid You, mainly because Kenji made it known that he was not going to tolerate any sort of physical conflicts in his studio.

That evening, Satoru had been tasked as the sound and equipment tech at a small but moderately popular live house— at least it was on Saturday nights. Tonight was a sort of showcase for a few local indie bands, and Satoru was looking forward to some hopefully half-decent music.

Assorted band members and their friends mulled around the venue, checking on their own instruments or grabbing drinks and flirting with the busty girl serving behind the bar. Satoru plugged one of the guitars already on stage into an amp and gave the strings a , testing out the connection and volume. The notes reverberated through the mainly empty room, and once Satoru was satisfied he forced himself to set the instrument back down despite the itch in his fingertips to try out a few opening lines of a song that had been floating around inside his head for a few days. It would be nice to hear how they sounded on a guitar that wasn’t falling apart.

It was still about thirty minutes until the doors opened. The audio tech had helped out at a few of the small-scale shows around the city before, mainly because of Kenji. The studio owner had found Satoru playing around with some sound equipment at a run-down club a few weeks prior, and not only complimented him for his ears but also offered him the job at the studio, as well as some chances like tonight. Never having been good at keeping regular work hours, Satoru jumped at the chance to do anything other than serve noodles or waste his efforts on forced keigo at a local convenience store. Working live houses actually motivated him to get up and out before noon.

As the audio technician finished setting up, the crowd started filtering in. There were a few tables toward the back, which were filled up gradually by cute girls in short skirts and guys with styled hair and faded jeans. Some people grabbed drinks, while others headed straight for the stage, wanting to be straight and center for whichever act they had come to support. By the time the minute hand struck the hour, a nice crowd had gathered.

Satoru glanced at the notes and instructions he had for each group, but none of the band names stood out. Occasionally, a touring band with a bit of a national following would do a gig there, as demonstrated by some recognizable, signed posters hung around the walls. However, this night was reserved for those still chasing dreams.

“Hey, Satoru!”

He glanced up to see Ren, and smiled at his friend. “Here to watch?”

“No, I’m playing!” The excited answer surprised Satoru. “I’m, uh, helping out a… friend. His bassist couldn’t make it, and I know their songs.”

“Cool. When are you up?”

“We’re the last group,” Ren said rather sheepishly, glancing over his shoulder. “I gotta go. Wish me luck.” The bassist scurried off to the backstage area, but not before waving.

The first group to play had a mellow acoustic sound that was relaxing and pleasant. The female vocalist sang sweetly to lyrics which spoke of high school crushes and fairytale endings. Not bad, but not exactly Satoru’s choice for an opening act. The next group played covers of popular rock bands, although they did not quite match the energy of the B’z songs nor the vocal ability demanded of the ones belonging to Luna Sea.

By the time the last group came on, Satoru had tuned out his mental critiques on each misplaced drumbeat or missed vocal key, choosing to focus on his work. He made sure that the equipment was functioning properly and that none of the performers onstage tripped over the sound cables trailing from the instruments.

He took a moment to lean back against a wall column just offstage as the last group— Ren’s group— began to progress through their first song. Their music wasn’t half bad (although less could be said of their singer, Yoshi-something if Satoru remembered correctly, the guy practiced in Kenji’s studio as well) but something about it sounded oddly familiar.

Ren was bouncing around the stage like he always did. The short man was a constant ball of energy, at lives, at rehearsals, recordings, anywhere really. It made Satoru smile, but despite Ren’s amusing antics, that was not what caught Satoru’s eye.

He instead found his eyes drawn across the stage, to the guitarist playing there. The man who stood at the furthest part of the stage from Satoru was clearly concentrating on the music his fingers were producing. Satoru watched those fingers move over the guitar strings, plucking at them with ease. The guitarist’s long spine was slightly curved as he seemed to lean into the music. The man’s features were obscured, but there was something familiar about the smooth jawline and full lips. The distance, stage lighting and makeup made it all the more difficult for Satoru to place him accurately in a memory. Ren said he was helping out a friend. Maybe he had seen the guy in passing, but something still did not sit right.

Satoru tried to concentrate on the guitarist’s face again, but all he recognized was an expression content and lost in music, one that Satoru knew that he himself had often worn. Unlike Ren and the bland vocalist, both of who were playing up to the audience, the guitarist seemed satisfied in simply playing the notes, barely appearing to notice the crowd in front. Cool, Satoru thought. So many people try to showboat to make up for their lack of skills, so it was refreshing to see someone who did not feel the need for any of that.

When the band finished their set, Satoru pushed his mind back into work mode, waiting to gather up equipment. Ren passed him, still bouncing with post-live energy.

“How were we?” he squeaked, rapidly shifting from the balls of his feet to his toes and then back again.

“Good,” Satoru said quickly, trying to take Ren’s bass and at the same time look for the guitarist who had snagged his attention, but the man had departed from the other side of the stage. “Ren, who’s the—” Satoru stopped when he realized that his friend was already gone, making a beeline for the bar. Oh well.

Ren’s group had been the last scheduled go out on stage, and with that the crowd dissipated, either heading home or trying to catch a word with any remaining band member that they had come to see.

Satoru tasked himself with getting any remaining equipment off the stage and placed away in storage. He had almost finished when Ren came back around.

“Did you see Saki?”

Satoru blinked at the question. While he had been purposefully avoiding You back at the studio, he had not seen the girl since the fight. “No, not since two weeks ago.”

“What? You didn’t see her playing with us? Are you blind?”

A frown spread across Satoru’s lips and a furrow deepened his brow. He had not even noticed the drummer during Ren’s set, his interest diverted by the mystery guitarist. “….No.”

“Whatever. I think she wanted to talk to you,” Ren said, looking over his shoulder. The bassist made eye contact with the bartender, who waved back at him. “Oh my god, Satoru, guess what?! I asked out Haruka!”

“Hmmm?” The audio tech was not paying attention, mindlessly winding cables around his arm to ensure they did not get tangled in storage. It took a punch in the shoulder to bring him back.

“Haruka! The bartender,” Ren whispered loudly, as if he was not really trying to be quiet about the information. “I am taking her out now.”

“Oh. Good for you.”

Ren rolled his eyes at the lackluster reaction. “What is up with you? You are normally so pumped after shows. And you should be thrilled for me! Can you see how smoking hot she is?”

Satoru chose not to comment on the fact that the smoking hot girl was a full seven centimeters taller than Ren without her high heels, and a few years older. Then again, maybe that was what the bassist wanted. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I don’t know her cup size yet, but they’ve gotta be… at least… E’s!”

“Not that,” Satoru dismissed. “Who was the guitarist playing with you?”

“Heh, that,” Ren laughed, with a nervous twinge cracking his voice. “Uh, that was… wait, you couldn’t tell?”

“He looked familiar but I couldn’t get a good look at his face.”

Ren shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. “Well, it was—”

“Ren, are you coming~?” The bartender’s sweet voice cut off the small musician’s answer.

“Sorry, need to run!” Ren quickly excused himself, snatching up the case of his bass and practically sprinting to reach the girl waiting for him. “See you at the studio tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Satoru responded, but his comment fell upon deaf ears, as Ren was already chatting up his date. Satoru could not help but chuckle. How did a kid like him successfully ask out a woman like that? “See you there.”

~~~~~~~

The next day, Satoru and Ren sat inside the studio, chatting about Ren’s date the night before. Or Ren was chatting, Satoru was listening with a soft smile on his face as his friend went on and on about how smoking hot the bartender was. “You sound like you’re twelve.”

“But she’s just sooooo hot.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“Just wait until I can see her !”

“Are you sure you won’t explode?”

“Only in the good way,” Ren winked and Satoru groaned. “By the way, what were you trying to ask me last night?”

“Oh. That.” Satoru thought back to the tall guitarist who had captivated his attention. It was not the first time he had found his interest peaked by a fellow musician, but he’d been up all night trying to figure out where he had seen the man before. “Who were you playing with last night? That guy was… so… cool.”

“Really?”

Satoru was taken aback by the sound of surprise in Ren’s voice. “Yes, why? You don’t think so? He had this charisma, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

Once again, Ren did not have a chance to answer, as this time a loud scoff broke into their conversation. Satoru looked in the direction of the scornful sound and saw You standing in the doorway, Saki at his side. “What do you want?” Satoru snapped.

“Nothing. I was just surprised by the compliments.”

It took a few seconds for the comment to process. “I wasn’t talking about you!” Satoru countered. “Just exactly how big is your ego?”

“Apparently not big enough. Couldn’t take your eyes off me?” The smirk on You’s face was enough to make him sick.

“Not even in your wildest dreams.”

“Don’t think there is room for you in my wildest dreams.”

“Ren, who was that last night?” Satoru turned his attention back to his friend, who was suddenly looking quite terrified.

“Ummm, it was… uhhhh….” The little bassist’s eyes darted back and forth between You and Satoru, unsure of what to say.

“It was me, idiot,” You snapped, setting his guitar case against the wall beside him. “You really need to get your eyes checked out. Can’t manage a mixing board, can’t manage to recognize the guy that beat your .”

This time, it was Satoru’s turn to smirk. “That’s not how I remember things going,” he said, standing up as Ren shrunk further into a corner.

“You wanna try again?”

“You aren’t worth my job.”

“You’re just a staircase away from proving my point.” You gestured behind him, to the entrance door that led down to the stairs outside.

“I wouldn’t want you to break your neck going down it.” Satoru stepped forward, closer to the slightly taller guitarist, dark eyes meeting dark eyes in challenge.

“I’ll break more than your neck,” You breathed down on Satoru’s face, the two now close enough that a centimeter more and their chests would have been touching.

“Stop!” Both men looked over at Saki, whose loud voice interjected their heated exchange. “You are both children! This is such a waste of my time… I’m out of here. Don’t call me.” She finished by shooting You a disgusted look, and then her heels, her long black hair swaying behind her as she walked out of the studio.

“You gonna follow her?” Ren piped up from the corner.

“I’m not done here,” You replied, turning his eyes back to Satoru. “So, what do you say?”

“I say you’re going to end up without a girlfriend and your teeth after this.”

“I say you two stop comparing sizes and get to work.” Kenji entered the room, and the two young men instantly put space between themselves. “Looks like you’re without a drummer, Kurosaki, and you have another gig in a few days. Need a replacement?”

Eyes still firing daggers off at the sound tech, You then reluctantly turned to look at the studio owner. “What, you have one hidden in your pocket?”

“Just about.”

“No.” Satoru realized almost in horror what Kenji was suggesting. “No, no, no. Not with him.”

“What, him?!” You asked in shock. “You’re being funny.”

Kenji shook his head. “From what I’ve seen, Okabe is quite a talented drummer. He’d give me a run for my money on my best days.”

“I’m not playing with a liar,” Satoru protested.

“That was me!”

“Prove it!”

“Shall I wrap some guitar strings around your neck and strum them for you? Would that be satisfactory?”

Kenji cleared his throat. “What seems to be the problem now?”

“Satoru-saw-You-play-at-the-show-last-night-and-thought-he-was-good-but-he-didn’t-get-a-good-look-at-him-so-now-he-doesn’t-believe-that-it-was-really-You,” Ren explained all in one breath.

Satoru looked at his friend as if he were a traitor.

“So, you need a drummer,” Kenji said to You and then turned to Satoru. “And you want to find out who played at the show last night?” Both men slowly, reluctantly nodded. “Good, that’s easy to solve. Kurosaki’s got some photos from gigs at his apartment. So why don’t you go grab them so we can settle this?”

“Will it shut him up?”

“I’m right here, you can talk to me.”

“Okabe, will it shut you up?” Kenji asked lightly, copying the guitarist’s words. When the audio tech didn’t respond, Kenji clapped his hands together. “Right then. Why don’t you go with him then?”

“Huh?”

“Go with Kurosaki. And don’t come back here until you’ve both reached some sort of accord.”

“I don—”

“That goes for both of you,” Kenji stated, looking between the two. “You can come back here once you’re sure I won’t be walking into any more spats in my studio. Reach an accord, or find a new studio to plague.” They could tell him from his tone that Kenji’s decision was final.

Satoru stood up and made his way out first. He was not about to trail behind the guitarist, who joined him shortly thereafter.

They walked in silence, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Thankfully, it was not a long walk, and roughly fifteen minutes later they were outside a decently-sized apartment complex. You led the way to the fifth floor, taking the stairs, his long legs carrying him up the staircase without the slightest indication of fatigue at the top. Pulling keys out of his pocket once they were in the hallway, he made his way down to the room at the very end. “Don’t touch anything,” he hissed without looking at Satoru and opened the door.

Satoru was tempted not to remove his shoes in the entranceway, simply out of spite, but figured another physical confrontation would impede his ability to return to work that day and he really needed to pay his rent. Instead he kicked them off unceremoniously, and stepped into the guitarist’s apartment. The short hallway led past a bedroom doorway into a kitchen and then opened up into a small living room. Satoru barely had time to catch a glimpse of a separate bedroom when You shut the door leading to it.

The lanky guitarist made his way into the living room, leaning around stacks and stacks of brown boxes. Satoru looked at them curiously and quietly, before drawing his eyes up to the walls which were entirely plastered in photographs. There seemed to be no organization to them. Some seemed to be of the brightly colored leaves which surrounded Kiyomizu Temple in the fall. Next to them was a black and white image, which showed a frog popping his head out of the water, tiny webbed hands gripping onto a rock. In the far corner, the almost blinding orange of the Fushimi Inari gates demanded attention amidst sepia-tinted pictures of Kyoto station.

Covering half a window were portraits of people Satoru did not recognize, until he got to one of Kenji. The studio owner was seated on the steps leading up to his studio, fingers of his right hand held to his mouth with a cigarette trapped between his lips. The middle aged man was not looking at his photographer, but at the ground beneath him while visible smoke ascended over him. Another one was of Saki, open wide with genuine laughter, eyes nearly closed in glee, one hand on a bare knee pulled up to her chest as she sat back in a chair, while her other hand gripped an open can of beer. None of the photos were framed, held up with pins and tape haphazardly around the living room. There wasn’t a millimeter of space which allowed wallpaper to peak through.

“Here.”

Satoru was slammed back into reality as something heavy was shoved into his hands. A photo album.

“In the back.”

Satoru flipped to the back of the book, landing on some photos of a band on stage. Four people were in the group, a singer, guitarist, bassist and drummer, but it was hard to make out anyone’s faces. He looked some more, seeing other photos of the same group on different nights, finally coming to what looked like a photo taken after one of the shows depicted in the previous photos. This time, the photo was a close up of the group huddled together, posing for the picture. Satoru could clearly see Saki, her long black hair damp with post-concert sweat. To her right were two guys that Satoru recognized, one as the bassist that normally rehearsed with You’s band and the other the vocalist from the night before. To Saki’s left was You, smiling widely with his arm draped over the girl’s shoulder. They all wore stage makeup. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

You rolled his eyes and then turned, bending over another stack of boxes, grabbing for something. He straightened up and came back over to Satoru, holding out a short stack of Polaroids. “Those are from yesterday, though they aren’t the best quality.” After he handed the photos off, the guitarist made his way into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. He leaned against the table there, quietly watching as Satoru looked through the Polaroids.

A few of them were not completely in focus, but he recognized the scene from the previous evening. Off to the right was Ren, his enthusiasm radiating even from the photo. The same singer was front and center, with Saki on the drums behind him. To the left was the guitarist who had enthralled Satoru, slim and tall frame a perfect match for You’s. “Still doubtful.”

A second later, the instant photos were snatched from Satoru’s hands and You hastily flipped through them, then held up one. “How about now?”

The photo was of the backstage area, where mirrors were set up in the miniscule green room. You was sitting in front of them, Saki beside him applying some makeup to his face. “You need to thank Ren for that one, he was messing around with the camera.”

Satoru conceded. Kind of difficult to protest now. “Sure.”

“Couldn’t take your eyes off me?”

“You weren’t that good. Everyone else was just crap.”

“Ren will be happy to hear you say that.”

Satoru glared, then nodded at the Polaroids. “Who took those?”

“These? A few people. I like having photos of the gigs we do,” You shrugged. “Yoshikazu, our singer, took some. Whenever Ren subs in, he likes to steal the camera. I get a friend in the crowd to take the ones while we’re playing. It usually gets passed around quite a bit.”

“How about those?” Satoru was looking back at all the photos that covered the walls.

“Those are mine.”

Satoru did not reply, and the two fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Finally, You cracked open the top of the water bottle that he had set down next to him and took a drink. “…So, you play the drums?”

“Yes.”

“Are you any good?”

“Better than most.”

“Yeah right.”

“How the would you know?”

“I know you can’t work a mixing board to save your life.”

“I’m a ing genius when it comes to the mixing board.”

“And I’m sure you’re a genius when it comes to the drums.”

“You showed me your proof, wanna see mine?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Half an hour later, You, Ren, Kenji, and Yoshikazu gathered to watch Satoru demonstrate his drumming skills. According to Ren, Saki had not come back, nor had there been any word from the other bassist who had been missing for two days.

Satoru took off his jacket and dropped it next to the full drum kit that Kenji kept and allowed people to use in the recording area. Underneath, he wore a black tank top which showed off toned arms. He opened his drumstick case, something he always carried on him, partially so he could practice after work and partially for another reason altogether.

He sat down on the stool behind the drum kit, positioning his feet at the pedals, feeling his heart pumping more rapidly than normal inside his chest. Normally, he didn’t get nervous, but he was anxious to wipe the confident, mocking grin off You’s face. He unconsciously twirled both of the drumsticks between his fingers, getting them warmed up and comfortable in his hands as he inhaled slowly to try and calm his heartbeat. Not that it mattered. He glanced across the room, seeing Ren hold up a pair of thumbs in encouragement and an unreadable expression on Kenji’s face. You was watching him through bored eyes, like he did not expect much. Satoru wasn’t having it.

Taking in one last deep breath, Satoru focused on the beats inside his head. From the first soft strike of the drumstick against the cymbals, he forgot his nerves. He started off slow, setting the rhythm and then launched into one of the songs he had recently started practicing. His arms moved the beat quickly across the surface of the kit, wrists flicking the drumsticks without a hint of hesitation, strong strikes alternating between the faces of the drums and the cymbals. He rocked along to the fast pace of the rendition, sinking all his attention into the playing out the lines.

“Is that… Kurenai?” Yoshikazu asked the men beside him, some disbelief in his voice, as Satoru progressed through the song.

“I think so,” Ren answered quietly, not wanting to speak too loudly in case he disturbed his friend, but it also meant that his response was drowned out by the thumping of the percussion instruments. They watched as Satoru expertly worked the kit, not missing a single beat of the fast-tempo song, his arms and legs moving in unison to play the instrument almost every bit as well as the famous drummer that normally performed the song in national stadiums.

“.… Well, I think we found our drummer,” Yoshikazu said to You, whose grimace had faded. “Admittedly though, he isn’t as cute as Saki.”

At the final vibrations from the cymbals faded, Satoru sat back, breathing rapidly. “Good enough for you?” the audio tech called out to the man he had been performing for.

You actually smiled in response. “The question is, can you learn all our songs in four days?”

“I love a challenge.”