Hajime no Insho
sho jushichi.
“Kouyou, if you’re having a joke, I think that I might kill you.”
The guitarist shook his head. “Oh, Akira,” he sighed, and he rolled his eyes, “you know I’m not quite that cruel. Of course I’m not kidding. They want to meet us, and if we decide to sign with them, then they’ll release Wakaremichi as a single.” His gaze turned on Takanori, and he smiled brightly once more. “So if our beloved lyricist can come up with something for us, we’ll have that single by the end of next month.”
“They really liked Wakaremichi that much?” Takanori sounded dumbfounded, as though he truly didn’t believe that their demo of the song would have that much appeal, and there was a small amount of awe in his voice, as though he was allowing himself to feel flattered to a minute degree. “That’s actually…really incredible.”
“They saw definite potential in it, and they really liked our sound. So they want to hear us play for them in their studio next week, and we can decide whether or not to sign with them then.” He grinned, and his eyes flashed with the tiniest amount of excitement, as though he was on his way to accomplishing an unspoken dream of his own, and then he added, “But I think we’d be idiots not to. It’s a really amazing deal, and we can get our name out there.”
“Incredible.” Akira was grinning, and when he looked at Kouyou, the guitarist seemed to understand his excitement, as it looked like they were excited about the same thing. “After years of waiting, I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”
“Cool your jets a little, noseless one,” Kouyou chuckled, and he ruffled his friend’s hair. “We haven’t played for them yet. We’re still pitiful, miserable, unsigned Gazette until next Wednesday.”
The bassist snickered, and he batted Kouyou’s hand away, the guitarist having failed pitifully to dampen his mood. “Well, I don’t know about you, Uruha, but I don’t see a single miserable soul in this room. So it’s incredibly unfair to classify the band as such.” He snickered again, and he made a dodged attempt to mess with Kouyou’s hair the way his had just been messed with. “Technicalities, you know.”
Kouyou snorted. “You and your technicalities, Reita. You should elope and have children.” He grinned, and then he slipped out of Akira’s reach, leaning against a chair and smirking as Yuu snickered, slid an arm around his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He considered sticking his tongue out, but he knew the blond well enough to know that he’d have a field day with jokes, and so his smirk remained firmly intact.
And for a few moments, there was quiet in the room, and it lacked the usual heaviness or awkward tension; there was excitement, and there was anticipation, and that was something that hadn’t really happened before- at least not for any of the bands that Takanori had been in. There was a sense of accomplishment among them as well, all spread out over having formed the band, successfully put together a song, and now having that same song be the one to earn them a possible record deal.
Those words were gold in any kind of music business, and the fact that they were a new band made that feeling of victory all the sweeter. It was a dream on its way to coming true, and that was one of the most amazing feelings that any of them had ever had.
And when that silence was over and the feeling of victory and accomplishment and all of those amazing things had set in, the moment seemed to combust and grow all at the same time. The band allowed themselves a few moments to grin at each other, and then as though a magnet was pulling at them, they all came together, wrapped their arms around each other, and Takanori was sure that he felt tears as they congratulated each other, and he’d closed his eyes and was quietly thanking every higher power that he could name.
Finally, he’d been given his chance. He was going to show his parents how successful he could become, and he was going to be able to write lyrics and have them be heard, and that was, in his opinion, one of the most incredible gifts that could ever be given to an artist. He’d been given his pad and his paper and his audience, and all that was left to him was to provide the actual words.
And each of the other members was like a godsend. No one could play guitar like Yuu or Kouyou, no one could play the bass like Akira, and as far as he knew, no one had been made for the drums as Yune had. And he’d been told that he sang like he’d been born for it, but he’d always thought of himself as a writer; he had yet to become used to being admired as a vocalist. He knew that he would eventually, however, and he could accept that it would be a while before he could acknowledge the talents that he possessed.
And he knew that it would be a long road, and that as a band, Gazette would have to travel slowly until they had more material and more performances under their belt, but he had hope and he had immense love for the four men he was in a band with, and he felt the most incredible excitement that his small frame had ever been graced with.
But above all else, Takanori had never felt this fucking ecstatic about anything in his life.
The guitarist shook his head. “Oh, Akira,” he sighed, and he rolled his eyes, “you know I’m not quite that cruel. Of course I’m not kidding. They want to meet us, and if we decide to sign with them, then they’ll release Wakaremichi as a single.” His gaze turned on Takanori, and he smiled brightly once more. “So if our beloved lyricist can come up with something for us, we’ll have that single by the end of next month.”
“They really liked Wakaremichi that much?” Takanori sounded dumbfounded, as though he truly didn’t believe that their demo of the song would have that much appeal, and there was a small amount of awe in his voice, as though he was allowing himself to feel flattered to a minute degree. “That’s actually…really incredible.”
“They saw definite potential in it, and they really liked our sound. So they want to hear us play for them in their studio next week, and we can decide whether or not to sign with them then.” He grinned, and his eyes flashed with the tiniest amount of excitement, as though he was on his way to accomplishing an unspoken dream of his own, and then he added, “But I think we’d be idiots not to. It’s a really amazing deal, and we can get our name out there.”
“Incredible.” Akira was grinning, and when he looked at Kouyou, the guitarist seemed to understand his excitement, as it looked like they were excited about the same thing. “After years of waiting, I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”
“Cool your jets a little, noseless one,” Kouyou chuckled, and he ruffled his friend’s hair. “We haven’t played for them yet. We’re still pitiful, miserable, unsigned Gazette until next Wednesday.”
The bassist snickered, and he batted Kouyou’s hand away, the guitarist having failed pitifully to dampen his mood. “Well, I don’t know about you, Uruha, but I don’t see a single miserable soul in this room. So it’s incredibly unfair to classify the band as such.” He snickered again, and he made a dodged attempt to mess with Kouyou’s hair the way his had just been messed with. “Technicalities, you know.”
Kouyou snorted. “You and your technicalities, Reita. You should elope and have children.” He grinned, and then he slipped out of Akira’s reach, leaning against a chair and smirking as Yuu snickered, slid an arm around his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He considered sticking his tongue out, but he knew the blond well enough to know that he’d have a field day with jokes, and so his smirk remained firmly intact.
And for a few moments, there was quiet in the room, and it lacked the usual heaviness or awkward tension; there was excitement, and there was anticipation, and that was something that hadn’t really happened before- at least not for any of the bands that Takanori had been in. There was a sense of accomplishment among them as well, all spread out over having formed the band, successfully put together a song, and now having that same song be the one to earn them a possible record deal.
Those words were gold in any kind of music business, and the fact that they were a new band made that feeling of victory all the sweeter. It was a dream on its way to coming true, and that was one of the most amazing feelings that any of them had ever had.
And when that silence was over and the feeling of victory and accomplishment and all of those amazing things had set in, the moment seemed to combust and grow all at the same time. The band allowed themselves a few moments to grin at each other, and then as though a magnet was pulling at them, they all came together, wrapped their arms around each other, and Takanori was sure that he felt tears as they congratulated each other, and he’d closed his eyes and was quietly thanking every higher power that he could name.
Finally, he’d been given his chance. He was going to show his parents how successful he could become, and he was going to be able to write lyrics and have them be heard, and that was, in his opinion, one of the most incredible gifts that could ever be given to an artist. He’d been given his pad and his paper and his audience, and all that was left to him was to provide the actual words.
And each of the other members was like a godsend. No one could play guitar like Yuu or Kouyou, no one could play the bass like Akira, and as far as he knew, no one had been made for the drums as Yune had. And he’d been told that he sang like he’d been born for it, but he’d always thought of himself as a writer; he had yet to become used to being admired as a vocalist. He knew that he would eventually, however, and he could accept that it would be a while before he could acknowledge the talents that he possessed.
And he knew that it would be a long road, and that as a band, Gazette would have to travel slowly until they had more material and more performances under their belt, but he had hope and he had immense love for the four men he was in a band with, and he felt the most incredible excitement that his small frame had ever been graced with.
But above all else, Takanori had never felt this fucking ecstatic about anything in his life.