Chapter 8
Ryosuke
My bass was slung heavily over my shoulder as I entered the building. While my meal with Itsuki had been pleasant, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with a certain vocalist and his bad attitude again.
Itsuki had said he’d try to talk some sense into him—that wasn’t what I wanted either. It sucked that I’d spent so much time trying to clean up my image only to end right back at square one. People formed incorrect opinions of me without ever getting to know me or who I really was.
Maybe that’s why I’d enjoyed spending time with Itsuki.
He’d taken the opportunity to form his own judgment.
He talked to me, and even when I tried to explain things, he said that it hadn’t mattered.
The fact that I was still there when my bandmates weren’t, spoke louder than anything.
He was right—I needed to stop worrying so much, but Pink Cherry had been doing so well, I didn’t want to fuck things up for them either.
When I entered the practice room, no one was there yet. Maybe it was my chance to redeem myself from being late the day before.
I wasted no time in pulling my bass from its case and setting it up. The room filled with a discordant sound as I tuned the strings. There was something about the way the sounds twanged in and out of pitch that set my nerves at ease. It was familiar and simple.
“What are you doing here?” I bristled at the now-familiar, disapproving tone.
Sure enough, Yasu stood in the doorway wearing tight jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt that made his slight muscles stand out perfectly.
He was the last person I should be checking out considering how much he seemed to dislike me, but I couldn’t help it when someone so beautiful was in my presence.
Thinking that Yasu was beautiful was dangerous, and the last thing I needed to be doing.
I needed to listen to what Toshi had said. Keep my nose to the grindstone, make great music, and soon enough everyone would forget about all the other shit... maybe.
I mean, hopefully.
It couldn’t follow me for the rest of my life. But maybe that’s what they’d meant when everyone had told me to be careful when you choose to be in the public eye. People had a hard time letting go of even the smallest issues.
“I’m here for practice.” The words came out gruffer than I’d intended, but he rubbed me the wrong way. That seemed to set him off because we were right back to where we were the day before.
Yasu stomped across the room, pulled my instrument from my hands, and pointed at the door. “We don’t need you.”
I sighed before standing and taking my bass back. No one, and I mean that, absolutely no one, touched my baby like that. It had been my very first bass I’d bought when I knew I wanted to make music a career. I’d be damned if some jackass was going to yank her around like that.
Yasu’s eyes widened as I leaned in close to him.
I hadn’t noticed the day before how much taller than him I was, but damn. I had a good several inches on him. It would be easy to intimidate, lording over him. Not that I made a habit of doing those things, but this guy was crossing a line and needed to grow the fuck up.
“Hate to break it to you, Yasu-san, but you do. Without me, there is no band.”
It wasn’t true. They could probably find another bassist, but this had been my in. My only hope of continuing to perform, I wasn’t about to blow up my chances, but damn, I was pissed.
Watching Yasu deflate wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.
There was a larger part of me that wanted to apologize quickly.
To wrap him in my arms and tell him that everything would be okay, but now that I’d built up this hard-ass persona, it was hard to toss it out the window.
Besides, he’d more than earned a bit of my ire with the way he’d been treating me.
Yasu said nothing as he crossed the room, rifling through some papers that were sitting on a table.
I hadn’t expected him to give up so easily—maybe I didn’t know the whole story.
It was obvious that the band was close. I was an outsider coming in to shake things up.
I could be a little more sensitive, but it didn’t mean I needed to roll over and accept abuse.
It wasn’t much longer before Tatsuki and Riku came into the room.
The last to join us was Itsuki, who came running into the room looking a little flushed.
His smile lit up his face the moment he saw me standing there, and it made the morning feel all that much better.
At least it wasn’t all that bad—I’d managed to make one friend.
Itsuki came over, wrapping me in a quick hug before he got his guitar ready. It was hard to miss the way Yasu’s eyes stayed glued to us the entire time. Was he mad that his bandmate and friend had accepted me so easily? Maybe if he’d put forth half the effort.
We didn’t waste much more time talking. Yasu gave us a list of songs.
I knew a good portion of them. We started with those, and while I still messed up a little, that was the whole point of these practice sessions.
With time, we’d work out all the kinks and wrinkles.
We’d sound like the cohesive band that Pink Cherry had always been.
It didn’t seem to matter that this was my first full practice with the band.
Every time my fingers slipped on the chords or I missed a note, Yasu would turn to glare at me.
At the rate we were going this wouldn’t be sustainable.
There was a large part of me that wanted to just unplug and leave, but that really wasn’t a choice either.
This was my last chance. My only hope, to keep playing music because no one else wanted me.
Hell, Pink Cherry obviously didn’t want me. If Yasu’s ire was any determiner.
That was the sobering thought that finally got my fingers to stop working. When the baseline fell away completely, Yasu slammed his mic back onto the stand and turned to me again.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. There was only so much of that I could take for the day. As much as I wanted to keep playing, this was bordering on abuse.
As much as it stung, like a thousand bees stabbing into my heart all at once, I lifted my instrument over my head and started the process of putting it away.
I wasn’t a crier, but something about it all felt so damn final that my eyes burned, anyway.
I choked it all back just to keep face in front of this asshole who had made it his sole mission to make me feel as unwelcome as possible.
So, for today, he won.
There was nothing that could stop me as I left the room. Not even when Itsuki ran after me. When he grabbed my arm, I brushed him off. It was hard to ignore the pang of guilt that tugged at me when hurt flashed over his features.
If anyone had tried, it was him.
“Ryosuke-san, wait,” he called. But it did nothing to slow my pace as I raced out of the building, down the busy Tokyo streets. After about five minutes, I looked behind me to see that I wasn’t being followed any longer.
My throat burned as if I’d smoked a cigarette too close to the filter, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back. I’d cut my losses. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but there was no way I could deal with the way Yasu was treating me.