Archive of Our Own

Yamanaka held up a hand in greeting as Sho entered the studio. Sho nodded politely, and handed him a CD.

“What’s this?” the producer asked, taking the CD and looking at it. It was a self-released demo from a band he hadn’t heard of. “Something you’re interested in right now?”

“Oh, I’ve been interested in this band for a long time,” Sho answered, to Yamanaka's surprise. While Yamanaka had worked with Sho from the beginning of his solo career, he wasn’t the one who had scouted Sho, and was only vaguely aware that Sho used to be in a band. Sho was pretty close-mouthed when it came to his past, so even that much was only known by those who worked closely with him. “It’s just that for some reason, they haven’t recorded anything until now, preferring to concentrate on live shows. They’ve built up quite a fan base in my hometown.”

“I see,” Yamanaka murmured, looking at the CD again. He had to admit that he was curious; the fact that Sho had taken the trouble to pass the CD directly to him must mean that the band was worth looking into. “I’ll take a listen to this, then.”

“Guess who’s here tonight?” Jun announced gaily as he walked backstage. “I was talking to Kinoshita-kun, and he said that a representative from Voyager is here tonight.”

“To watch us?” Nino asked, frowning. They’ve been doing lives for a long time now without being noticed by major labels, and he didn’t see why that would suddenly change. The band had been courted by several indie labels, but they had opted to self-release their first EP by themselves instead. At first it was just that Nino was a bit leery of committing to a label, when they were changing band members all the time. However, by the time Ohno joined and their line-up became stable, they have gotten used to doing things by themselves instead of joining an indie label. A major label would be a different thing, though…

“Well, Kinoshita said that he didn’t know which band they’re here to watch, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not great news, right?” Jun replied.

“It’s Voyager, huh,” Aiba said contemplatively, and Nino knew what Aiba was thinking of.

“Aiba, you know that -”

“I know,” Aiba cut him off. “I was just thinking.” There was no way that Sho had anything to do with it, he knew. But just the thought of Voyager immediately made him think of Sho. He couldn’t help it.

“I received an offer from Voyager Records,” Sho announced to Aiba, Nino and Sugimoto, as they sat at their usual booth at Saizeriya. At first the three of them just stared at him blankly.

“Red Shift is hardly anywhere near the level to attract a big label like that,” Nino finally said.

“Well,” Sho said, hesitating. “The offer wasn’t for Red Shift. It was for me. To debut as a solo artist.”

If the first piece of news was surprising, the additional explanation was even more so. They continued looking at Sho as if he had suddenly grown a second head.

“I guess you told them off, then, since there’s no way you’re going to abandon the band,” Aiba said, laughing nervously.

“This is a really good chance for me,” Sho replied, not looking at his boyfriend.

“How’d they hear about you anyway?” Sugimoto asked.

“Well, apparently when we opened for Dead Beat,” Sho paused, making a face at the unfortunate band name, “they were being scouted, and I guess the label representative must have taken notice of us as well.” He didn’t say it, because he didn’t agree with it, but they all knew what his words meant. Sho was good enough for Voyager, but the rest of them weren’t.

“You’re not going to take the offer, are you, Sho-chan?” Aiba asked, his eyes darting between Sho and Nino pleadingly. He didn’t know why, but he felt like everything was slowing down around him, or going too fast, and he just wanted to make it stop.

“It’s too good an offer to pass up on,” Sho said quietly, still not looking at Aiba. “Since I’m moving away to college anyway, it’s not like I can continue being in Red Shift while you guys are still based here.”

“It’s kind of ironic that Voyager will be seeing us play again,” Nino commented when he was alone with Aiba. “I wonder if they’ll think differently, this time.”

“We’re a lot better than we used to be,” was all Aiba said.

“That’s for sure,” Nino agreed. He looked at Aiba closely. “Are you okay with this?”

Aiba squared his shoulders, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly at first, then repeated, louder, “yeah. I know that Satoshi just said ‘let’s do our best like always’, but I think he’s really hoping for the band to move forwards. Plus, Voyager is a good label.”

The pressure proved to be a bit too much for the band. Ohno managed to remain calm and tried to control the unstable moods of his band members, but Jun was too nervous and ended up sounding pitchy more often than not, while Aiba was too preoccupied and missed out on a couple of cues. They still managed to get a rise from the crowd, and on a normal night, the live would’ve been counted as a decent one.

On a night where their future as a band was at stake, however, they had never failed so badly before.

Yamanaka pursed his lips and frowned throughout the live, in deep thought. Sho, wearing an oversized hoodie with the hood pulled up, and a mask under that for good measure (he didn’t want to, but Yamanaka insisted), cringed internally. He had gone to several Red Shift lives before – always coming in after the band had started playing and leaving before they finished their set, so that he wouldn’t bump into Aiba or Nino – and he had never heard them sound quite like this. He supposed that someone must have leaked the information that they were being watched, and the band broke under pressure. He sighed. “They’re usually much better,” he told Yamanaka.

The producer nodded. “I’ve heard the CD,” he said, “so I know what they’re capable of.” Still frowning, he said, “the vocals, though…”

“He’s better than this, too,” Sho said. “Trust me.”

“You know I don’t trust anyone’s words when it comes to quality; I have to see it for myself,” Yamanaka reminded Sho. Even Sho had had to work hard to earn Yamanaka’s respect, despite Voyager making them work together. “I’ll give them an audition,” he decided. He liked the band, and he missed working with new, unpolished artists. He had helped to shape Sho’s career; he thought it would be interesting to do the same with this band. As the idea took shape, Yamanaka began to consider Red Shift as if he was really going to work with them. “At least for the first album, I’d want them to collaborate with a bigger name, though,” he said. “Even if the vocalist is better, as you said. Because their current sound is good, but it’s not exactly something that’s easy to sell. Yes,” he said, warming up to the idea, “a collaboration would be a good way to introduce this band to the masses.” He was already coming up with a list of possible artists to bring into the project, despite the fact that Red Shift hadn’t even auditioned yet, because he had a tendency to plan things out like that.

“Yamanaka-san,” Sho said slowly. “If you’re really bringing someone else into this project…”

“Are you offering yourself?” Yamanaka asked, joking. Sho never collaborated with anyone, not in the last seven years of his career. He had made it as far as he had with only Yamanaka, and the same group of staff, by his side. He was considered somewhat of a mystery in the music industry, as he kept his personal life very private, and didn’t seem to have close relationships, professionally or personally, with other artists or talents. It was always said that Sakurai Sho was a professional through and through, but he never opened up more than he had to.

So when Sho nodded, and said very seriously, “I hope that you’ll ask me before anyone else, if you end up taking on Red Shift,” to say that Yamanaka was taken aback would be an understatement.

“It would definitely be a novel experience, if you would be involved,” Yamanaka said, “but I’m surprised that you’re putting yourself forward like this. Even with introducing me to the band in the first place. You’ve never done this before.”

Sho smiled, but Yamanaka thought that he saw a hint of sadness in the younger man’s expression. “Let’s just say that I have a personal attachment to this band,” he said.

Yamanaka didn’t say anything as he pondered on Sho’s words, a little astounded to see a different side to the man that he had worked with for so long.

“Why are you doing this?” Aiba asked, his hand gripping Sho’s in desperation. After the impromptu meeting Sho had called for was over, Aiba had walked Sho back to the station, and they stopped by the park nearby to talk. “You can’t just leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you, Aiba,” Sho explained. “I’m just leaving Red Shift. We’ll still be able to see each other. We just won’t be in the same band, that’s all.”

“But band practice is basically the only time we see each other these days! You’re always too busy!”

“I need to study for my entrance exams, you know that,” Sho replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “I’ll be able to see you more when I’m done with that.”

“When? You’re going to get into that college, and you’re going to go away,” Aiba said glumly.

“I’ll come back whenever I can.” Sho paused. “It’s not too late for you to apply to the same school, you know.”

“I’m not going to leave my friends and family just to go to some fancy college for rich kids!” Aiba said, raising his voice angrily. Sho immediately put his free hand on Aiba’s shoulder, pleading Aiba to calm down. Of course, Aiba thought bitterly. You wouldn’t want to make a scene in a public place, would you? “Stop that,” he said, jerking his shoulder, but lowering his voice. Sho pulled his hands away. “You wouldn’t want people to think that we’re a couple, now, would you?” he added sarcastically, but Sho could see Aiba blinking back tears furiously.

“Look, Aiba…” Sho ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I know you’re upset. I understand that. But can’t you be happy for me, even if it’s just a little bit?” Seeing the look in Aiba’s eye, he knew that it was the wrong thing to say, so he looked around uneasily before embracing his boyfriend. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was insensitive of me, I know. Look, I promise that I’ll make time to see you, okay? And I’ll be supporting Red Shift, no matter what happens. Even if I’m no longer in the band, I’ll always be supporting it.”

“Promise?” Aiba asked, immediately leaning into Sho’s embrace and holding on tightly, as if he was afraid that the other boy would disappear if he let go. For once, Sho just let him, instead of pulling away.

“I promise,” Sho replied. “I’ll be Red Shift’s number one fan, always.”

After Red Shift’s audition, as everyone across the table debated loudly over the terms and conditions for the band’s debut, Aiba remained quiet. He wondered if Sho was remembering the same thing that he was, and he wondered if Sho’s presence that day was a result of that promise.

Sho had acted like they were meeting for the first time, and had taken on the personality he usually showed in his TV and radio appearances, seeming fully confident and sure of himself. Aiba wondered where the self-conscious boy he used to know had gone. As the voices of his band mates droned on around him, he didn’t hear a thing. He just responded to any questions directed towards him robotically, engulfed by memories.

The man who had introduced himself as ‘Sakurai Sho, pop star extraordinaire’, was joking with Yamanaka-san and reassuring Jun that he would work together with the band the whole way, instead of completely taking over, but as he talked, he, too, was thinking of the past.

As the details of the debut were smoothed out, and everyone came to a conclusion they could live with, Sho settled back into his seat and glanced at the silent Aiba, who was contemplating his tea as if it held the answers to life, the universe, and everything. Sho didn’t let his gaze linger, and turned, just to catch Nino’s eyes, which were narrowed in his direction. Sho shook his head slightly, indicating that he wouldn’t try to get back into their lives outside of work, and Nino looked away, apparently satisfied. Sho risked another glance at Aiba.

I hope that I could keep at least this one promise I’ve made you, he thought.