Mahiru had to give the passing waitress— and most unlikeably, the rest of the people in the fastfood establishment— an apologetic look.

Sakuya now stood— towered— over his friends, nearly disturbing the food and drink balanced atop their table. As if his unusual hairstyle of a most remarkable shade wasn't eye catching enough, he was currently in the middle of throwing up his arms in an exaggerated display of astonishment and disbelief. He flopped down on his seat, prompted by the hushed appeals of his friends, and he slumped back with an air of petulance. He sipped his cola noisily, partly sulking. His red eyes lingered on brown ones for a good while, the sounds of a fastfood chain humming in its usual liveliness, and despite himself, he had been the first to break the stillness.

He leaned forward, placing his cup with dramatic vigor on the surface of the table which his elbow now rested upon.

"So, Mahiru," he began with a slight drawl. "While I— we— were out there being turned into mush by the crowd, you went ahead turning Sloth's vocalist into your new best friend!" he corrected his reference to himself alone with a gesture of his free hand, which previously held his drink.

"Geez, Sakuya, you didn't even notice him until we saw him waving from the second floor." Ryuusei mumbled, shoving an adequately-sized french fry into his mouth. The former gave him a look.

"Calm down. I just stepped out to get a breather, met him there." Mahiru answered, to which all three of his companions fixed their unconvinced gazes on him. Sighing, he rested his cheek on his open palm and sipped from his own drink. "Okay, I jumped over the railings to get to their tent."

Their joker of a friend gasped again, looking just about ready to slam his hands down on the table, eliciting an advanced reaction from Koyuki— sitting next to him— who held him back by his shoulder. The elderly woman next to them shook her head, earning her an enquiring look from a child she sat across from. After rolling his eyes at his friend's overenthusiastic responses, Mahiru recounted the events to his friends, leaving out the bit about Kuro handing out his contact information. Sakuya's surprisingly lukewarm reaction came not too long after the tale, and he retreated, juggling a hamburger in his hands. Their blonde friend gave Mahiru a friendly slap on the back, eyebrows raised in astonishment.

"Got yourself another child to take care of?"
"We didn't talk much. And I said to stop calling me a mom."
"I didn't even."
"Directly or discreetly, I know what you mean, thank you very much!"

The brunette crossed his arms and they all laughed heartily, this time with no one taking up the responsibility to silence them.

Kuro sat scrolling through his phone while his bandmates discussed the comments on their live show, the video having been posted on their page by the official staff of STRIKE. He partly lay on the couch, his arm draped over the armrest which a portion of his back was leaning on, one leg up the cushions while the other dangled idly, scraping the carpet. Although they found bright spotlights beaming down at them during performances, he could never get used to the white ceiling of their band's 'headquarters', the place being their drummer's home. He had to squint at his phone, although he was quite comfortable in this position and refused to shift, lackadaisical as he was. One hand held his device, and he nearly dropped it as his bandmates burst out laughing.

"Look at this, Kuro!" their present guitarist called out, beckoning him over to join their small huddle around the computer. Kuro narrowed his eyes at them ineffectually. "Come on, man, we can't exactly bring the PC to you." another added.

"Can't you just send me the stuff? Screenshot, send, dunno. I'm tired."
"We all are. Get your ass here."
"Ugh," the vocalist groaned, slouching his way to where the others were, slumping like a dead body over whoever was occupying the swivel chair infront of the computer. The drummer's protest went unheard as Kuro reached over to the mouse to scroll through the comments.

He, indeed, found them quite amusing, whereas the others were simply unholy screeching from people whom they were only acquainted— not friends— with. He disliked those people. Most of them, they met during their lowest days, whose attempts at getting their attention skyrocketed the instant they emerged victorious from the previous year's music festival. There was something they found majestic in acquiring bragging rights for being 'friends' with a band who was on its way to getting a regular spot in the music industry, which Kuro found distasteful in all aspects.

He was flummoxed by the ways of this society, and yet, he couldn't do anything, as he was already part of this dynamic flow, his only open show of his rejection being his infrequent visits to their social media page and his refusal to attend to groups who sought an audience with them. Random radio station personnel who asked you to advertise their station for them, was very much out of the question.

As he got down to the most recent comment, he snorted with a barely-suppressed sort of amusement, his companions snickering as well. Posted there was a picture of the stage, with Hyde Photoshopped deliberately badly into it, expression frozen mid-yell. Above the image was a caption,

"Images you can hear."

"He's been away for months and all people ever talk about is him and his ugly mug."
"Him and Kuro. That's 'cos no one cares about the bass, the drums, and the rhythm."
"Admit it, man, you never really listened to those instruments as a kid listening to music. And most bands don't even have a rhythm."
"Touché."

The discussion continued, which Kuro found was draining the meagre life left in him. He sluggishly walked back to the couch where he had been settled on earlier, snatching his phone from the cushions as he landed rather suddenly on it, on his back. He now held up the phone infront of him, blocking the circular light planted into the ceiling with its shadow. The device lit up with a notification.

"shirotamahiru_ sent you a message."

He lay there, blanked out, for a second before he finally managed to put a finger on the name. He was hesitant, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he scanned the message for what felt like the hundredth time.

"found yours! there were 13 or so other usernames. shouldve told me the specific numbers."

All the while, as they loaded the instruments into, then out, the van, he could only half-hope this kid hadn't paid enough attention to whatever Kuro had called out after him on impulse. It seemed, though, that he actually made an effort to make sure he was messaging the correct person. Despite the better of his conscience telling him not to, the blood-eyed individual whipped up an indifferent response.

"who tf puts their full name as a username"

He hit send before he could find himself pressing hard on the backspace button, letting his phone drop to his chest face-down, and it took no longer than a few seconds before it went off with a small sound.

"not good with that stuff"

then another one.

"besides it makes it easier to find me."

"k then"

"best response ever."

Kuro bit the inside of his cheek to stop a smile from disturbing his expression, which betrayed nothing.

ok, yes, this is taking longer than i hinted at, but all these chapters are planned out before i write them, so  y e e t  .  i usually write around 2.5k words for fanfics like these (hello, discontinued and deleted works), which is probably why it seems to me as if i'm progressing hella slowly xD usual routine, comment if any questions, and vote if you're not yet bored :''')