Hajime no Insho
sho jusan.
“Takanori, how would you like to try being a singer?”
The words inspired confusion in Takanori; he’d never thought of singing before. He’d always played drums or toyed around on the guitar to help write a song. He’d never imagined being the one at the frontmost part of the stage. The thought made him nervous, but strangely, it excited him, too. He’d gotten over his fear of crowds at Ma’die’s first live- what was the difference in being the vocalist if he was still in front of people?
He allowed himself a few moments to watch Kouyou, eyebrow raised, and when he realized that the guitarist’s expression was that of complete seriousness, he stepped forward, reached out, and brushed his hand over the microphone. The decision felt final to him, but it also felt as though it had more potential than he’d had when he’d been a drummer.
And for some reason, the moment his hand had touched the thing, he felt a slight chill dance through his spine, as though he was meeting destiny face-to-face and inviting it over for tea. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be the world’s greatest vocalist, but it seemed like something he could at least put a good effort to, and it seemed like something that would work out better for him than drumming ever had.
He smiled just slightly, and he looked over at Kouyou, and his smile widened as the guitarist flashed him a grin and uncrossed his arms and slung his guitar over his shoulder.
“All right, then,” he said. “Takanori, you know the words. And guys? Don’t hold back.”
They’d maybe written two songs as a band in the two weeks that they’d been known as Kar+te=zyAnose, but Kouyou was right; Takanori had them memorized. And he was, visibly, just a bit nervous about singing the words instead of accompanying them, but nonetheless, he pried the microphone from its stand, shut his eyes, and mentally prayed to every higher power imaginable to please don’t let me fuck up.
And it felt strange for him to have the band literally behind him, but it was also a comfort, because that meant that he wasn’t alone in a huge room and stepping off the metaphorical cliff into the unknown. Having them behind him was the only thing that kept him from crossing over from ‘slightly hesitant’ to ‘absolutely petrified.
He opened his eyes, turned to give the band a nod, and then mentally told himself ‘to hell with it’, and then he became Setsu Akane the vocalist, leaving Kaede and Kirihi the drummers behind. And on the inside, he was so self-conscious that he wasn’t entirely sure it was healthy, but on the outside, to the rest of the band, and especially to Akira, he looked like he’d finally found where he belonged. Sure, the lyrics didn’t call for legitimate ‘singing’, at least not by the literal definition of the word, but he was the front man of the band now, and he seemed to fit the part.
Thanks to the people he’d known and the personalities he’d been in contact with, he was a little off-center, and he didn’t seem like the kind of man to jump into a loud, grungy chorus, but at some point in the middle of the song, Takanori seemed to be giving it his all. And as his voice became stronger and louder, the volume of the band behind him increased, and then became the pulse for each of the five men in the room. And, even though somewhere deep in the musical connection, there was still something missing, it seemed to be enough.
Takanori was a natural with a microphone in his hand, and his voice seemed to have been made for music. It was incredible that he’d taken so long to discover this fact, but now that he had, it was as though all he’d done throughout his entire life was sing. And he knew that later on, he would hear things such as “Well fuck, I should have convinced you to try sooner” or “Holy shit, Takanori, where did you get pipes like that?” or even “You’re going to fucking murder them at our first show”, but he really couldn’t find that he cared.
With a microphone in his hand, Takanori had a feeling that he could prove that Midori was right, and he could prove that his parents had been wrong. He could write words and then perform them, and he could have his say without ever directly confronting dear old Mom and Dad.
With a microphone in his hand, Takanori was fucking home.
The words inspired confusion in Takanori; he’d never thought of singing before. He’d always played drums or toyed around on the guitar to help write a song. He’d never imagined being the one at the frontmost part of the stage. The thought made him nervous, but strangely, it excited him, too. He’d gotten over his fear of crowds at Ma’die’s first live- what was the difference in being the vocalist if he was still in front of people?
He allowed himself a few moments to watch Kouyou, eyebrow raised, and when he realized that the guitarist’s expression was that of complete seriousness, he stepped forward, reached out, and brushed his hand over the microphone. The decision felt final to him, but it also felt as though it had more potential than he’d had when he’d been a drummer.
And for some reason, the moment his hand had touched the thing, he felt a slight chill dance through his spine, as though he was meeting destiny face-to-face and inviting it over for tea. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t be the world’s greatest vocalist, but it seemed like something he could at least put a good effort to, and it seemed like something that would work out better for him than drumming ever had.
He smiled just slightly, and he looked over at Kouyou, and his smile widened as the guitarist flashed him a grin and uncrossed his arms and slung his guitar over his shoulder.
“All right, then,” he said. “Takanori, you know the words. And guys? Don’t hold back.”
They’d maybe written two songs as a band in the two weeks that they’d been known as Kar+te=zyAnose, but Kouyou was right; Takanori had them memorized. And he was, visibly, just a bit nervous about singing the words instead of accompanying them, but nonetheless, he pried the microphone from its stand, shut his eyes, and mentally prayed to every higher power imaginable to please don’t let me fuck up.
And it felt strange for him to have the band literally behind him, but it was also a comfort, because that meant that he wasn’t alone in a huge room and stepping off the metaphorical cliff into the unknown. Having them behind him was the only thing that kept him from crossing over from ‘slightly hesitant’ to ‘absolutely petrified.
He opened his eyes, turned to give the band a nod, and then mentally told himself ‘to hell with it’, and then he became Setsu Akane the vocalist, leaving Kaede and Kirihi the drummers behind. And on the inside, he was so self-conscious that he wasn’t entirely sure it was healthy, but on the outside, to the rest of the band, and especially to Akira, he looked like he’d finally found where he belonged. Sure, the lyrics didn’t call for legitimate ‘singing’, at least not by the literal definition of the word, but he was the front man of the band now, and he seemed to fit the part.
Thanks to the people he’d known and the personalities he’d been in contact with, he was a little off-center, and he didn’t seem like the kind of man to jump into a loud, grungy chorus, but at some point in the middle of the song, Takanori seemed to be giving it his all. And as his voice became stronger and louder, the volume of the band behind him increased, and then became the pulse for each of the five men in the room. And, even though somewhere deep in the musical connection, there was still something missing, it seemed to be enough.
Takanori was a natural with a microphone in his hand, and his voice seemed to have been made for music. It was incredible that he’d taken so long to discover this fact, but now that he had, it was as though all he’d done throughout his entire life was sing. And he knew that later on, he would hear things such as “Well fuck, I should have convinced you to try sooner” or “Holy shit, Takanori, where did you get pipes like that?” or even “You’re going to fucking murder them at our first show”, but he really couldn’t find that he cared.
With a microphone in his hand, Takanori had a feeling that he could prove that Midori was right, and he could prove that his parents had been wrong. He could write words and then perform them, and he could have his say without ever directly confronting dear old Mom and Dad.
With a microphone in his hand, Takanori was fucking home.