#and just the pure inhuman disrespect....wow

[baekuras]

literally crying waiting in the dentist office because our region wide chef basically acted like i am stupid and unwilling to work after 3 weeks of me being in pain which is now at it's peak

I have a literally open wisdom tooth and a headache on the other side that's also stabbing me open with pain-add to that the brainfog bc uh pain and general nausea

and his first question it to ask me if i hadnt considered taking painkillers

....................

OH NO SORRY YOU OH SO WISE MAN I HADNT CONSIDERED DOING SO FOR THE PAST 2 WEEKS I WILL RETURN TO WORK IMMEDIATELY APOLOGIES YOUR MAJESTY

he was upset i dared leave work AFTER finishing everything for the ppl who had appointments today because I hadnt done enough apparently

only the complicated things no one else can or will do (: which was the only reason i even came in in the first place because otherwise I'd have gone to the doctor asap and left my coworkers to bathe the bs storm out (:

[my-ultimate-is-ready]

Overwatch Hunger Games #1

Who is given the most hatchets and explosives by sponsors? Or, more importantly, who lives long enough to win?

Round 1 begins and ends below, so, place your bets!

Day 1: The Bloodbath

There is a lot of strategic running away. And then, there’s Hanzo and Roadhog...

D.VA NO!!!! BAD!!!! Also, Zenyatta is the first to grab anything and a backpack sounds like a smart idea.

Reinhardt and Pharah gather resources, apparently not seeing Hanzo and Roadhog hiding in there. Everyone else runs.

Mei must have been in a hurry, or spooked by Hanzo who I now imagine was hiding amongst the backpacks. Bastion can’t even eat food so I wonder what that’s all about. The others run...

Tracer grabs a shield. Genji and Widow duke it out but Genji prevails.

Day 1 Continues

WHERE DID PHARAH GET A KNIFE FROM!!!?!? Unlikely trio forms. Bastion shows mercy. McCree is doted on by a generous sponsor and the games have only just begun.

Mercy spares Widow and kills Roadhog, Junkrat sleeps through his heartbreak. Reaper practicing archery, Zarya being an escape artist... And then THE EVENTS OF DRAGONS TAKES PLACE!!!!!!!!!!!!?!?!?!?!??!?!???! (I’M SPEECHLESS?)

Mei, why did you have to do D.Va like that? Such violence sandwiched between two pure events.

Day 1: Fallen Tributes

4 cannon shots can be heard in the distance.

Winston (District 10)

Sombra (District 6)

Roadhog (District 3)

D.Va (District 11)

Night 1

Hanzo cannot make fire happen meanwhile Genji is territorial about his. Widowmaker may be in trouble or may be plotting but it doesn’t appear that anyone takes the bait. Reinhardt makes 76′s life harder. Ana, Mercy, and Bastion have a friendly chat.

Mei has a fire but wants nothing to do with the others. Lúcio was generously gifted healing supplies while McCree nods off untroubled and Tracer hums. Junkrat joins Roadhog in an almost Shakespearean way. :-( 

This is more ominous to me than it should be.

Day 2

Genji is generously sent food. 76 waits in the bushes for... what exactly? Torbjorn builds a shack and no one is surprised.

Hanzo disrespects my main. Zenyatta (my second main) is given a hatchet (let’s speculate it was from me so he could get revenge for Zarya.) People both split up and work together. Teams are forming.

Ana... Wow. I don’t know if I should be impressed or scared.

Day 2: Fallen Tributes

6 cannon shots can be heard in the distance.

Junkrat (District 3)

Zarya (District 8)

Lúcio (District 11)

Mei (District 9)

Orisa (District 4)

Tracer (District 10)

Night 2

Sponsors get generous. They really want Zenyatta to be dangerous. Symmetra perhaps does the logical thing and destroys Ana’s supplies, in case she was making another explosive...?

Torbjorn has no reason to mess with 76 but does so anyway. Hanzo has never been more canon. Also Mercy and Reaper are painfully real too? The second explosive is given tonight.

Day 3

Torbjorn looks after the other builder. McCree mercifully puts 76 down.

Mercy’s internal dialogue (probably): “Say I need healing one more time...”

Day 3: Fallen Tributes

1 cannon shot can be heard in the distance.

Soldier: 76 (District 1)

Night 3

Pharah’s death is appalling considering her mom is a healer and too busy telling ghost stories to do anything about it. Mercy is merciful. Zenyatta has a peaceful moment.

The sponsors have to stop giving explosives. Hanzo and Genji look out for each other, as brothers should.

Day 4

Reinhardt should have grouped up. The healers decide to get offensive while everyone else groups up. Bastion, the literal tank, is given an additional weapon.

Day 4: Fallen Tributes

2 cannon shots can be heard in the distance.

Pharah (District 2)

Reinhardt (District 5)

Night 4

Ana has not had enough of murder. Widowmaker kills Hanzo and Symmetra with an explosive that I didn’t know she had. Zenyatta heals Reaper’s firewood-gathering wounds?

Day 5: The Feast

The Omnics don’t go to the feast, unsurprising. Widow doesn’t either which is less so unsurprising. Genji goes for clothes (novel to think that maybe he’s been wearing pants the whole time?)

Ana kills AGAIN. McCree pulls a Junkrat and builds a trap, killing the Ikea Dwarf.

Day 5 Continues

I am going to be very surprised at this point if Ana doesn’t win. Local cyborg gets healing. Widow gets discord. McCree gets water but relents that it isn’t moonshine.

Day 5: Fallen Tributes

5 cannon shots can be heard in the distance.

Mercy (District 7)

Hanzo (District 12)

Symmetra (District 7)

Torbjorn (District 5)

Reaper (District 1)

Night 5

Widow, Ana, and Genji sleep in trees. McCree has nightmares— perhaps he should have climbed a tree as well.

Day 6

No one dies today! 

Night 6

Zenyatta puts an end to Ana’s rein of terror. McCree and Widow scheme, maybe. Bastion gets, what might be, his second hatchet. Genji is not wrong to stay up with everything that has transpired.

Day 7

Genji copies Widow’s move. Bastion falls into a pit. Beep-boop.

Day 7: Fallen Tributes

2 cannon shots can be heard in the distance.

Ana (District 2)

Bastion (District 4)

Night 7

Zen and McCree must see Widow’s fire as she makes her eats. Genji gets (what has become) the nightly hatchet with Bastion dying in a pit.

Day 8

The sound I made was inhuman. 

Day 8: Fallen Tributes

1 cannon shot can be heard in the distance.

Genji (District 12)

Night 8

Okay, now I’m really screaming.

Day 9

THEIR TRUCE DID NOT LAST LONG. I HAVE NOT STOPPED SCREAMING.

This is such an unlikely duo. 

And yet, only one will win...

Day 9: Fallen Tributes

1 cannon shot can be heard in the distance.

Zenyatta (District 8)

Night 9

(I wish I recorded my reaction, I laughed so suddenly that I choked.)

WELL, FOLKS. YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS. 

Ana, with her astronomical 6 kills, was no match for McCree’s charm and silent neck-snapping abilities. 

See you next time!

[lazywriter7]

Firewalking

(Because I apparently crossed 50 followers at...some point... have an old ficlet I’d written for an Imzy prompt ages ago XD Rolls in at about 2.3k) The cotton of his shirt was sticking to his armpits, sweat-sodden and uncomfortable. The heat was a physical presence weighing down on his skin. The air itself was hot; gusts of it blowing across his face, his jaw, his bare lower arms and barer feet. Every gust seemed to coax more salt-laden liquid out of his pores, till he was drenched from head to toe yet still unable to find relief. 

The only thing stronger than the sensation of oppressing heat was the smell −  god, the smell. Ash and smoke, with an overpowering undercoat of incense; it filled his nostrils and filled his lungs and tasted dusty on the back of his tongue, till every breath seemed to struggle against it. His head was dizzy with the smell, his chest full of it, his heartbeat long gone erratic…but that wasn’t the worrisome part, was it? The worst was yet to come.

“Mr Stark?” He heard, and turned his head around, vertigo attacking him with a vengeance even with that small movement. The smoke in the air obscured vision, his eyes already smarting with it, but the concerned look on the man’s swarthy face was obvious. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Tony turned his face back around − steady, steady does it − and stared straight up front, soot clogging the water in his eyes, vision a smear of black with a river of red stretching ahead. “I fly in the air for a living, Jayawardene. What’s a bit of − what do you call this, again?”

“Firewalking.” Jayawardene pronounced, scepticism and trepidation warring in his voice.

 “Yes, that.” Tony said, eyes scraping over the banked coals, black over red, red over black, fire and brimstone and... yeah, his feet were getting sweaty. “Walking barefoot over a bed of hot embers. No biggie. I’ve done worse.”

 “Not the best reason to be doing things.” The man tossed back in reply, and what had Tony’s life come to, really, that he was being judged and pitied by strangers?

 “Hey, this is what I do.” Tony tossed back just as easily, and took a step forward towards the coals. Another. His toes were dipping into warm soil. “Fly to Monaco for business, take part in a Grand Prix. Come to Colombo for diplomacy talks, walk over several feet of burning coal.”

 A Grand Prix where you crashed your car. Jayawardene didn’t say, because he was a good guy who’d been assigned on Tony-detail and didn’t want to get reamed out by his bosses. Disappointing really, that he’d apparently matured enough to sign accords and conduct negotiations with foreign officials but there still was a Tony-detail.

 He was ten inches away now. Five. The smell was getting stronger; Tony pushed back the coughing fit inside his throat with inhuman strength, words undercut by hoarseness. “Why do the other crazies do it anyway?”

 “Firewalking has been an age-old practice for many people and cultures in different parts of the world.” Jayawardene said in quiet reprimand. “It’s a rite of passage. Sometimes religious, sometimes not. It’s considered a test of an individual’s strength and courage. The fire burns off your sins…sloughs off all that extra weight, coals acting as tools of penance…and it is said that if one is pure of heart, then he or she can emerge from the test unscathed.”

 One inch. “You do know that’s just physics, right? Sure it looks impressive, walking on fire. Not even coming to thermal effusivity…the embers have extremely low conductivity, and the ash covering them lower so, did you know they were actually used as insulation in ice boxes−”

 “−and if one walks fast enough, no damage.” The man smiled grimly. “You’d be surprised at how many people still burn.”

 “…I’m not disrespecting anyone though, am I? Sacrilege? I’ll stop.” The offer escaped his mouth while Tony continued to stare at the glowing path, tiny orange sparks escaping into the dense air every few seconds. The smell wasn’t coming from the coals.

 “The festival ended hours ago.” Jayawardene confirmed, apparently unable to lie for all of his disapproval and pity. Good man. “We were about to sweep the coals away anyway. No sacrilege.”

 Water had a higher specific heat capacity than whatever the path of fire was made of, that would mean the feet’s temperature would technically change less than that of the embers; the temperature of the embers should be below flashpoint now anyway, so no new generation of heat − that was good, if he kept moving, no more than one second spent in contact with any one ember−

 “You should wipe your feet. Wet feet increase the chance of burning.” Jayawardene voiced, except Tony heard test of strength, test of courage, burn off your sins, pure of heart and the facts and theories speeding through his brain morphed into a screaming silence, except for who am I kidding, and he stepped forward.

 Hot, was the first thing, supplemented by a hysterical You think? which of course was supplemented by the parts of his head that couldn’t stop gibbering that there was fire under his feet. Pain sensors sparking off in various parts of his feet simultaneously fuck fuck fuck danger signals blaring in his brain, wow, he thought he’d gotten rid of them ages ago keep moving you idiot.

 He was aware of the strangest things. The sweat pooling in his hairline, the cuff of his shirt scratching at his wrist, his heart a racket of tha-tha-thump tha-thump − who needed love when you could walk on fire to skip a heartbeat − his feet moved forward, ash scraping against his heels, soft coal crumbling against the tender skin of his mid foot too hot cant cant cant…

 It was like his entire feet were giant, shining blisters, being carefully ironed with each step keep walking. His knees were liquid, he was going to fuck − a stagger and Tony’s head reeled with nausea, nope, can’t vomit on fire, definitely can’t fall to the ground to vomit because it’s on goddamned fire why did I do this why do I always−

 Because he’d seen a video. He’d seen a video, and he was in Colombo, and firewalking had some goddamned symbolism and iron could only be forged in fire. Because he could feel the heat wafting off the screen, and Siberia had been cold, and he hated deserts, sand or snow.

 And he was standing still, and looking down, eyes suddenly captured by a piece of black coal peeping between his index and his middle toe. There was a char mark running up the side of his big toe…he could almost feel the water getting squeezed away from his skin, the blister puncturing, the tissue getting burnt away. He stood still while a man yelled in the background, and watched the fire eat away at the ground beneath his feet, numbed mind trying to push through the sense of…. rightness. Reality had just gotten literal. It was almost appropriate.

 More, and desperate yelling. It seemed to be coming from a closer point − Tony’s head jerked up, and his bleary sight registered Jayawardene at the far end, huddled with a group of three or four others, face ashen and clearly about to leap into the path himself. Something about that knocked the numbness in his head askew; Tony shook his head one more time, registering the runny leg muscles barely keeping him upright, and staggered ahead, will and endorphins alone pushing him through.

 Everything was a bit of a blur following that − several strong hands stretching towards him to pull him out, his knees buckling to an inch above the ground, swaying into someone’s grip and being led to a…somewhere, somewhere he could sit and feel cool wood under his thighs, though everything from his shin downwards was still numb.

 “You shouldn’t have done that.”

 Tony glanced at the source of his words − down and down, where a man was kneeling on the ground, washing his feet. He probably hadn’t noticed it earlier because of said numbness. Some distal part of Tony’s brain that hadn’t been endorphined into silence tried to jerk his feet away reflexively − his toes twitched weakly, and the man put a steady hand around his ankle and looked up.

 He had dark eyes and a saturnine complexion like all of them − and yet, and yet, that tiny part of his head mused, not like them at all. He was staring Tony right in the eye, and for the briefest second, there was a…Tony blinked − a distortion in the jawline area, and the man’s eyes flashed blue.

 Photostatic veil, something whispered in Tony’s muddled mind, as the…as Steve continued to wipe his feet down with care. Over and over; he had no cloth or scrub, he just dipped his palm in the bucket at his side, scooping up water and pouring it gently down the slope of Tony’s feet. Streams trickled past his instep, under the ridge of his ankles and down the front of the arches − and Steve’s touch followed their paths carefully, cool fingers soothing the inflamed skin. He rubbed over the tips of the toes, soft scrapes over the nails washing away the ash, smoothing over the reddened nail beds. A gentle pull forward, and Steve reached back to clasp Tony’s heels, circular motions of thumbs coaxing the irritation away.

 “You…you aren’t supposed to pour water on burns.” Tony couldn’t do much better than a croak, throat still parched sandpaper. He couldn’t seem to be able to stop blinking. Had to be a hallucination. Adrenaline, endorphins, epinephrine, norepinephrine…other scientific words.

 Steve didn’t pause even for a second, working his fingers down from the heel to the arches of Tony’s feet, the drag and pull and contrast of temperature feeling…wonderful. “You aren’t burned.” He said simply.

 “No…that’s. That’s.” He wasn’t stringing words into a coherent sentence either. Last time…the last time they met. Things hadn’t been that wonderful. He had to remember that…didn’t he? “I stood still. I wasn’t supposed to…I stood still and it was definitely more than one second per ember − ”

 “When do you ever do what you’re supposed to.” Steve said, and he was rubbing away the charred mark on Tony’s toe, and not sounding vexed or resigned or worst of all, cold and resolved and…why was Steve touching his feet again? Hallucination hallucination hallucination. “You didn’t burn. You’ve got some pretty terrible blisters, some of which have burst. But no burns.”

 “What are you doing here.” Tony’s mouth said. Yes. Good mouth. That was the right question. Better yet: get lost and stop touching me and what are you thinking, they’ll catch you. They’ll get there (though maybe not that last bit).

 “Heard you were coming down to Colombo for some final negotiations with the Asian powers.” No more water now, Steve was simply…patting the skin maybe, to dry, or…stroking, why would he−

 “Keeping an eye on me?” Tony said, and tugged one foot away from the…stroking.

 The sudden jerk had brought the folded hem of his trousers down to his ankles; Steve sighed and reached forward, folding it up back again to shin height with deft movements. Tony waited for the touching to come, but Steve only curled a thumb under the hem and held on, bowing his head slightly to the earth. “Not what you think. We’d heard news of−”

 “We meaning you and the other Avengers.” The hoarseness took the impact out of the snapping, but Steve flinched all the same. It looked worse, somehow, with the height difference and the bowed head. Tony didn’t feel bad.

 Steve raised his chin, dark eyes catching Tony’s own. “Yeah. We heard news of splinter cells of A.I.M hovering around here to muck with the talks…and I’d rather you didn’t have to test the validity of self-defence against the Accords.”

 So you were helping me…not break the Accords. Tony didn’t have to say anything out loud; Steve’s mouth curved down, and the thumb that had been curled around the trouser hem trailed downward, the blunted nail drawing against hairy skin. It reached the beginning of Tony’s instep and paused there, Steve’s fingers fanning out to wrap around the ankle again, resting there.

 “You believed in something. I have missed…I used to know what that…” Steve stopped with the slightest hint of frustration, then started up again, fingers briefly tightening around the ankle. “I wanted you to be able to hold on to that.”

 His touch was still cool against Tony’s skin, but rapidly beginning to warm up. It was one point drawing attention in Tony’s mind, another was tossing over the words that had just been offered to him and − no you keep telling yourself that, no I have to interfere if I see a situation pointed south? No countering said beliefs, or invaliding his opinions, or−

 “No deriding my actions?” The words escaped out loud, and Tony refused to take them back.

 “You’ve flown in the air.” Steve said, and his thumb brushed back and forth, soothing and desperate. His eyes were glimmering, and for all their disguise, in them Tony could see the colour of the sky. “Of course you could assume the reins of fire.”

 One last, seeking stroke and the hand uncurled − both hands, pulling away and leaving Tony’s skin feeling bare. Steve looked up one last time…looked closer, because he was drawing closer and − Tony kept his eyes open, as Steve left a kiss right between them, an impression of dry lips a little above the bridge of his nose. He pulled back, and Tony breathed.

 “Besides…firewalking. Penance. I can understand that.” Steve said, a tired smile flashing on his lips for a second, before his hand brushed past Tony’s toes one last time to secure a grip over the bucket of water. He straightened up and pushed himself to his feet without bending, casting a long shadow over Tony’s seated figure, pail swinging absently in his right hand.

 “I’ll be there.” Steve said, and Tony closed his eyes to hear him walk away. Hear his last words, and I can understand that and jagged writing that said if you need me, I’ll be there and how…

 The footsteps were gone. He was gone.

  How, for the first time in forever, the apology didn’t sound like complete bullshit. 

[kyotohub-ktv]

Kenta K: “…-and for our guests on this week’s Newcomer Showcase…!” Mitsuri: “Please welcome the members of-…” Kenta K and Mitsuri: SNOW and WISH!~”

Like clockwork, overwhelming swells of elated applause and washed-out cheers erupted in the large television studio. The cataclysmic roar of sound flooded the room to the rafters, nearly drowning the two groups as they made their respective appearances on stage. Daichi felt his chest expand with breath and something else, barely aware of his feet planting cautious steps across the lacquered flooring that donned the stage. He almost felt like he was swimming; trying as gracefully as possible to flail his arms and navigate the churning waves of recognition and expectation that were plastered across every indistinguishable face in the crowd.

This was the type of feeling that could consume you. Take you under and never let you go. And just as he thought every other time he’d stepped out on stage, it was as terrifying as it was thrilling.

A recurring symptom of being “famous" that he might not ever get used to.

But this wasn’t his first rodeo. And it for damn sure wasn’t going to be his last. So, moving with a practiced sense of purpose the blonde violinist willed his turgid limbs to center stage. His face was stoic and unwavering as he stood at the rear of the line of his bandmates. Each of them took their moment to greet the hosts of the Idol Watch, as SNOW had done just before them moments ago. When it was finally his turn, he paused as they’d rehearsed a day prior to shake Kenta K’s with a slight nod. The bright-haired male made an offhand comment that Dai ignored as he shifted his attention to Mitsuri. Bending at the waist, Daichi bowed to her and grabbed for her hand at the same time. He planted a quick, practiced kiss on the top of Mitsuri’s palm, offering the smallest of smirks before moving to his seat at the leftmost end of his bandmate’s row.

The audience erupted in more cheers and squeals at the act. Kenta K stayed faithful to their skit, giving an exaggerated sound directly into his mic.

“Wow! A bold move from WISH’s Daichi! Am I sensing a loooove connection?”

“K-kenta! Cut that out! You’ll have Daichi-kun’s fan club waiting to jump me outside my apartment!”

More cheers, groans and undistinguishable (slightly inhuman) exclamations sounded as Dai settled onto the semi-uncomfortable stool. The rest of the WISH members followed their scripts as well, the guys joking him and giving him thumbs up while Kirra rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The artificial smirk stayed screwed on his face as things began to settle a bit and the show got underway.

“Now that everyone’s introduced, let’s get to prying! Shall we?” Kenta K’s voice dropped in a theatrical manner and the lights on the stage did some sort of cheesy effect to accompany the line.

“I second that! Let’s start with SNOW. So how are you guys feeling ton-…"

Daichi found himself zoning out as the Q&A began, emerald gaze scanning his surroundings on pure instinct. He and his bandmates were perched at the back of the SNOW brigade since they had 1 more member. Their smug-faced rivals were aligned in front of the members of WISH, poised between the gaps in the WISH member’s seating.

Luckily, when they’d come in for a run-through yesterday, Daichi found out that not only would he be at the end and the farthest away from their prying hosts, but that Shino of SNOW would be on the opposite end. Which would limit their contact and possibility of interaction to nearly zero.

You won’t hear me complaining about that arrangement, he’d thought at the time. He had to be close enough to the guy enough at school.

A few months prior

It was enough that Fuwari was in his class in the first place. But to have the guy sitting so close to him, surrounded by newly acquired buddies that doted on his every word could seriously be classified as torture.

It had only been a few days but just as Daichi predicted, Fuwari had charmed nearly everyone in the class. All the girls had arbitrary crushes and the guys wanted to hang out after school and play video games with him. Typical high school shit that Daichi wasn’t even remotely interested in.

What really got him was that in all the grabs that Fuwari had made for people’s attention and good graces, he’d completely ignored Daichi. To the point where the blonde was sure it was intentional. Not that he’d been jumping at the chance to become best buds with the guy but still. Fuwari had talked to literally everyone in the class but him. He’d even given Minato an address of acknowledgment and respect. Minato that just one desk apart from Daichi.

What the total fuck is that guy’s problem?

It pissed him off even more that he was pissed about it. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. It was just disrespectful. Totally dissing someone that was supposed to be a fellow musician at the same agency.

“Dai, fix your face. You’re glaring.” Minato quipped between bites of Melon bread one morning.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You are. And maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk to you. You look scary. *munch* I wouldn’t take to you either if I didn’t already like you.”

“Fuck you, Mina.”

“Woah, woah Mr. Moody. Did you not get enough sleep last night? You’re never this snappy.”

Dai stiffened and paled a bit, feeling anxiety creep up his spine. Minato was right. His emotions were out of control and that was just not like him. What the hell. He needed to get ahold of himself. This mask was all he had to glue the frayed pieces of his persona together. He couldn’t let it crack. Not even for a second. Not if he wanted to keep functioning correctly.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, grabbing at his bag and standing at the same time. “I don’t think I did. I’m goin’ home.”

“Oi, Dai wait!” Minato called after him. Daichi had already made a few quick strides toward the door, artfully but noticeably slipping past the crowd around Fuwari. The guy didn’t even look up at him. Che.

The anger welling in him drove his retreat faster. He could barely get his phone out of his pocket to call Rinko to come pick him up. He needed to decompress. He needed music. He needed…to figure out why Fuwari pissed him off so much without even opening his fucking mouth.

Daichi blinked a few times as he was brought from his thoughts. His hands at his sides had balled into fists, stinging with pain as his blunt nails dug into the pliant flesh. Minato, who was sat to his immediate right wrapped an enthusiastic arm around his shoulder and pulled him in. No doubt in response to something one of the hosts had said that Daichi missed.

He uncurled his fists, hoping they’d gone unnoticed and the sudden fiery anger he’d felt didn’t show on his face. Now…was not the time to be distracted by Fuwari.

Not to suggest that it happened often. It was just that sometimes when he thought about how utterly irritating the guy was it took him to places in his mind that were hard to get out of. Especially since he was prone to get lost in his own thoughts anyway.

And he was so close right now.

Well..-he was usually close anyway during the day cause—unfortunately—they’d landed in every single class together. Even the composition elective which had Dai chewing on his lip trying not to curse when he’d seen the guy enter the classroom with an excited look on his face a few months back.

But right now he could almost see the air of superiority swirling around the tall darkette that drove Dai totally up-…

‘Stop,' he urged himself in his mind. He could feel the sting of anger forming against his cheeks. He seriously needed to get out of his head. Now. 'Focus on the band. On WISH. Making a good impression in front of the millions of people watching you right now.’

He gulped silently at the thought, going cold as the anger drained from his face and formed a pit of unease in his stomach. Great. Triggering anxiety was probably something else that should be avoided right now. Get it together, Dai. Next thing you know, they’ll be asking you a question and you won’t be paying atten-...

“-…Daichi-kun?”

Fuck.

The look on his face betrayed the sudden tanking feeling he felt in his stomach when he slid his cool gaze to Mitsuri; who was looking at him rather expectantly. He had absolutely no idea what she’d said.

Double fuck.

A sharp, pointed chuckle broke the almost awkward silence.

“You’ll have to forgive our Dai. His mind is always filled with music so he spaces out a lot. I know it seems mysterious but he’s probably just composing something in his head right now!”

'Nice save, Ryu. I owe you one,’ the praise rang in his head as a relieved sigh rushed from slightly parted lips.

“Oh, that’s right! Daichi-kun, you do compose and produce a lot of WISH's tracks, right?”

“Ryu likes to exaggerate about me but yeah, with help from everyone else, I have produced several of our tracks.” Just keep talking about the music, Daichi. Don’t think of anything else.

“It’s not an exaggeration,” Inari added, continuing to boast about him. “Before we got scouted by MUSE, Dai did all of our producing and publishing. Our entire first EP and all our singles. We wouldn’t have gotten noticed without him!”

Said blonde male lifted a hand to brush his bangs from his face in a feigned act of modesty, looking away from the host for a moment and clearing his throat.

“It’s not that big of a deal. It was really all our hard work that got us here. I’m just good at the technical stuff.”

“That’s really amazing, Daichi! So bringing it back to Mitsuri’s initial question, who’s your greatest motivation when it comes to music? We know you’re classically trained and have a residency at the Kyoto Philharmonic and a member of WISH. What drives your passion for music so much?” Kenta K’s eyes flashed with curiosity and playfulness as if he hadn’t asked a potentially loaded question.

Which it definitely was when it came to Daichi.

He shifted in his seat, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the palpable silence that filled the vast television studio. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he quickly collected his composure when flashes of his Dad’s face slashed in his vision. He didn’t know if it was his hesitancy to answer or what but it felt like everyone in the room was staring at him expectantly. Luckily, he’d practiced an answer that didn’t give away too many personal details.

“Well, that’d mostly be these guys. When we met, I was in a pretty bad place when it came to music,” Good, his voice didn’t sound shaky. “I kinda just played because I was good at it. But then in my last year of elementary, I met Ryu who was desperately trying to get people to join the “Rock Band Club”

“Aww, come on Dai! Don’t tell them about that!”

“Hey, I didn’t ask the question.”

A groan and the sound of a hand slapping against skin. Probably a face.

“So anyway, I don’t know why I joined. But I did. And long story short, we all had a pipe dream. Theirs was to become a world-class group of musicians and mine was to make sure theirs came true. At least that’s what it started as.” He felt his body relaxing in his seat again, clearing captivating the hosts, the audience, and even most of the stars of the program with his heartfelt tale.

“Now I’m probably the one that pushes us all the hardest when it comes to goals.”

“When he’s not napping or daydreaming,” Kirra adds.

“Or off winning violin competitions,” Minato snorts.

“Oi guys. Don’t embarrass me. We’re on national television.”

Laughter erupted in the studio, washing Daichi in a satisfied sense of accomplishment. Persona maintained. Question answered. Blunder managed.

“Awesome! It’s obvious that you guys are close and we love to see that don’t we?” Mitsuri prompts the audience’s response which is a surge of clapping and cheers, “and now we know the stoic, mysterious Daichi-kun has a sweet side!”

“Promise you guys won’t tell anyone,” he adds for a bit more humor.

“*chuckle* We can’t make any promises!”

The rest of the program went just like that. Kenta K and Mitsuri asking a plethora of questions, both trivial and probing. Most of it goes well, especially when they take breaks in between questions to do little challenges and games. Their rivalry is tested and lightened as the two bands pull laughter from the crowd and each other. They’re working hard at it, just as Rinko-san requested and it appears to be going well for them.

As the Idol Watch neared the final—and most anticipated—performance segment Daichi was given one final question.

“So the last question of the night is for WISH’s Daichi,” Kenta K starts. “In light of the perceived rivalry between your two bands and in order to quell some of those rumors (if you can), what is one thing you admire about SNOW?”

Ick. He’d hoped he didn’t get this question. Mostly because he had a genuine answer that he just absolutely would not admit to. That their musicality was pretty great. Augmented by a truly unique voi-…

“I think that SNOW’s lyrical prowess is something to be admired. They always find unexpected ways to word something or make an ordinary phrase musical. Also..-,” he paused, taking a moment to look at the small red-head that was seated directly in front of him. “I think Nami-san is a really talented bassist. I’d like to see what she can do on a contrabass one day.”

Said SNOW member craned her neck around to look at Daichi, giving him an incredulous look with a light pink blush on her face. She offered him a sly smile and a chuckle before turning back around and nodding.

“Challenge accepted, Daichi.”

Just as every other interaction between the two groups riled up the crowd, this one was no different. The nearly jittering audience was just about hoping from their seats in anticipation for the performances.

“All right! You saw it here folks! SNOW and WISH: Rivals or comrades? You decide!” Mitsuri exclaimed.

“But not before you grab hold of your seats and get geared up for the performances of SNOW’s “Butterfly” and WISH’s “Elements”, next on Idol Watch!” Kenta K said in a flash of movement. The directors counted him off for the break and he relaxed, looking back at both groups with a satisfied smile.

“Awesome show, you guys. I think this’ll be one of our highest rated yet.”

“Yeah! For sure,” Mitsuri added, placing a hand on her sharply hip. “We can’t wait to hear you guys perform. That’ll set the ratings off for sure.”

A plain faced man approached the chatting group of celebrities with a voice of authority, grabbing their attention instantly.

“Alright, we’re back on in 7 minutes. SNOW, you’re up first. WISH, we’ll be moving you to the gallery area there,” he pointed without looking up from his clipboard. “so you’ll still be visible during the performance, bear that in mi—oi, I need the stagehands moving faster to set this up!—mind. After SNOW’s performance we’ll have another short break and then it’ll be you all’s turn, everyone clear?”

“Clear,” was the resounding response from everyone on stage.

“Right. Kenta, Mitsuri. Go get freshened up and then meet back on your marks.”

Lots of hustling and quick-paced steps followed. Daichi and the rest of the members of WISH were rushed to the gallery, all the while being poked, prodded and fixed. A particularly interesting looking make-up artist added more powder to Daichi’s face with a look he couldn’t quite place….disdain? Disgust? Annoyance?

Whatever.

He wasn’t really interested in whatever that guy’s problem was. The only thing he was interested in at the moment was his sickeningly high level of anticipation towards SNOW’s performance. He’d-…maybe listened to their album a few times for research purposes and “Butterfly” was one of his fav-..one of the most interesting tracks. He was more than curious about what it would sound like live. If the melody was still as smooth and if Furwari’s voice still sounded as nic-…

He shifted in the equally uncomfortable stool he sat on in the gallery area. These guys really needed to invest in more comfortable seats for their guests. Daichi clenched his hands at his knees, feeling sweat collect in his palm, making it clammy. He gulped again, mentally kicking himself for being so bound up with nerves over this performance that wasn’t even his own.

He could hear his bandmates whispering to each other, trying to include him in a conversation he didn’t have the focus to contribute to when the producer sounded for final checks and everyone’s scurrying multiplied by 10.

“We’re almost back. Minute till’ live!”

1 minute.

He could see Nami adjusting her bass and securing the strap to her neck before turning and giving her bandmates a wide-toothed grin.

45 seconds.

Wataru pressed his fingers on a few chords, silently giving them a thumbs up.

30 seconds.

Okita hopped around his mark, strumming his dormant guitar with an over exaggerated fervor. He was so hyped up that it was almost comical.

15 seconds.

And then there was Fuwari. His posture was relaxed as he looked behind him, probably giving his bandmates encouraging words as the front man should. He gripped the mic with a sureness that made the hair on the back of Dai’s neck stand up. He looked more than confident.

'Cocky,’ Dai thought halfheartedly. The insult sounded half-assed even in his own head.

10 seconds. 9…8…7…

The quartet drew in for a few seconds, bumping each other’s fists before settling back at their marks. Fuwari turned fully away, facing the audience’s already deafening calls.

5…4…3…

Screaming fans were pressed as close as the bulky security personnel allowed. Dai could make out several signs with the band member’s names on them. An overwhelming amount of them read “Shino”.

2…1…Live.

The producer gave the final motion that the show had gone live again. Kenta K and Mitsuri’s voices cut through the commotion only for a few additional seconds, introducing the group and moving off to the side of the stage with faces alight with excitement.

And then, as the breath that Dai didn’t know he’d been holding released, the first chord sounded on Wataru's keyboard.