Time passed, as time will. Well, about five days passed. They had been to the club a few more times since they last saw Abyssinian, and, as luck would have it, it seemed as if the group was playing a couple times a week. Ken, determined, had approached the lead singer both times, and learned his name was Aya. Aaaayyyyaaa. He liked saying it to himself. It was a very good name (after all, Ken’s approval was of the utmost importance). Slowly, things were going somewhere with them.

On this, the fifth day, they were again at the club, having just parked and climbed out. The group consisted of Ken and Yohji, as well as the other three members of their club.

“Dude! Score! Abyssinian is playing again tonight!” Yohji glanced up as Ken shouted this back to him. The blonde waved him inside, then turned back to the car. Opening the trunk, he surveyed what lay inside. A smirk spread over his face and, grabbing the items, he went inside.

The day is mine! he thought triumphantly. Just because he happened to come across as nervous and timid and was partial to cropped-shirts didn’t mean people – big, burly, mean men at the club in particular – could ignore him when he wanted to get by.

Images of the past flashed through his head. Him trying to get towards the front, kindly and innocently tapping the arm of the big man who blocked his way. The man turning around and scaring him off, pushing and shoving him. Utter humiliation.

... Okay, well, utter humiliation was not exactly the right word. He forgot about it five minutes later. But still, he was a sensitive guy, and that was hardly the way he expected to be treated.

He grinned to himself, readying his equipment. “Ano... Sumimasen,” he said loudly over the music, reaching out and tapping the same man on the shoulder. Yohji was a new man with a new purpose. Well, at least a man with a new purpose.

The burly man – we’ll call him Bob, for lack of a better pronoun – turned around, and he glared at the one who would bother him.

“Yeah?” Bob slurred.

“I’d like to get by now.” Yohji stood ready, expectant.

Bob chortled. “I’ll bet. Listen, kid, do ya’ want me to throw you down like I did last time?”

“Heh. That’s what I thought. You asked for it, my friend.” He whipped out the wire concealed in his watch – quite a handy thing to have, really – and rapidly strung it around a beefy wrist. Bob’s eyes widened in surprise. A few people had turned around for the show.

Moving faster than lightning, or so Yohji liked to believed, he reached behind him and set the small battery-generator on the ground between them. Grabbing the two plastic ends of the wired protrusions, he clamped one onto the wire on each side of the man’s hand.

A shock – this time *actually* like lightning – shot through the man. His hair frizzed out – almost enough to match Yohji’s – and he uttered a few meaningless sounds before toppling over. A smell like charred beef wafted from his general direction.

‘Ooh’s and ‘aah’s came from the small audience gathered. Yohji preened.

Ken, meanwhile, once entering the club, had forced his way towards the front. He didn’t hear the song – he only heard the smooth, sexy voice that assailed his ears. Well, that and Dreamweaver. There was Aya, in his customary trench coat, singing away.

Ken took a deep breath. Tonight was the night.

Aya stepped lightly off the stage, accepting all of the compliments shouted at him with a gracious nod. Upon reaching the floor, he rested his hand on the hilt of his trust katana. After the past few ‘incidents’, those here had learned to steer clear of him. He didn’t like his personal space invaded by just anyone.

Walking through the crowd, he made his way to the bar and ordered some sake. He was immediately aware of another presence.

“Konbon wa.” A sleek voice greeted him, and Aya turned, arching his eyebrows slightly. A man with slicked back dark hair, thin glasses, and a gray business suit was standing next to him. He had sculpted, fine features and eyes that gleamed.

“Hey,” he returned casually, taking a sip of his drink.

“I am Brad Crawford.”

He nodded shortly.

“You’re performance was incredible,” he continued.

“I know.”

He sweatdropped. “Anyway, I wanted to offer you my card. I work for a company that deals with a variety of things, some involving cable shows, and others working with bands, like yourself. I have considered suggesting you to my superior, about a record and video deal.”

Considered suggesting. Aya was intelligent – he knew where this was going. He couldn’t help it if he was desirable.

“Right, okay, I’ve gotcha. I’ll take your card and consider it.” Taking the proffered business card, he turned away.

“No thanks?” Crawford asked. He sounded frustrated.

Aya smiled slightly to himself. “Doumo,” he tossed over his shoulder. He disappeared into the crowd, and soon a familiar figure caught up to him.

The soccer-loving star of a minor cable access show fell into step next to him, running a hand through his chocolate hair. He looked slightly nervous, Aya noted with interest. He had come often since Abyssinian had been playing, and he was different from the others that approached Aya. Aya was coming to like him and his cute anxiety.

“Yo, Aya,” he said, grinning. “Sounded as good as ever.”

“’Sup, Hidaka?” Aya smiled.

Ken glanced at him, appearing indecisive, then finally said: “Oi, do you wanna go some place and talk?”

The red-head, katana-wielding singer that everyone seemed to desire shrugged. “Sure.” Gesturing Ken to lead, he followed him up to the roof, past his friend Yohji who seemed to be having a bit of an argument in the bathroom line.

Walking through a door in the back, we entered onto the roof, where the lack of people was a blessing. The cool air swirling around us, pulling gently at Ken’s bangs. He gestured towards a low brick wall that overlooked that street, and against which were some blocks of concrete. A very romantic setting.

We sat down.

“So,” Ken said at length, shifting nervously. “Listen, Aya, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say.”

I frowned slightly, not sure what to expect.

He hesitated, paused.

The wind whislted through the alley below.

Crickets chirped.

“Nyeh twith shan gaa’a.”

I stared. “Hidaka! You speak gibberish!”

He grinned, shrugging modestly.

“Myar nhiff sou lontigis, caphil itte snarf!”

[At this point, for the benefit of those reading that, for some reason or other, do not understand gibberish, the translations will take place of the words.]

“Slowly, slowly!” he replied, motioning with his hands. “I am still learning.”

“I understand. You have just started learning recently?”

“Yes.”

“I am quite impressed. You even have the accents right.”

Ken opened his mouth, but there was the soft click of another door opening, a few feet away, which also led onto the roof. A man in a soccer jersey and a girl with blue hair stumbled through.

Ken, jumping, quickly put his hand up, hiding his face. The man still saw.

“Hi, Kenken,” he slurred.

A long-suffering look crossed Ken’s face. “Hi, Kase,” he said, baring his teeth. It was a sorry smile. He turned quickly back around.

Aya arched an eyebrow. “Who is he?”

“Someone who doesn’t know how to let go,” he replied.

A silence fell, in which thoughts reigned – well, and the sounds of Kase and the girl making out, and Kase making a point of it.

He wasn’t a very good soccer player, and he felt better about himself when he was with me. Too clingy, though. It wasn’t working. He finds people to be with based on how they make him feel about himself, not on the person. He has low self-esteem.

That might be true. Aya gave a thoughtful nod. However, you shouldn’t label people that way. You can’t be sure why he does what he does.

Point taken.

They both idly looked around at their surroundings.

Say, do you find it weird that although our vocal dialogue stopped, the translations have kept going?

Strange, isn’t it?

A short silence. “So,” Ken finally said. “Do you think... maybe... You want to go out sometime?”

*Crash* A loud sound erupted behind them. Blinking, the two glanced in time to see Kase and the blue-haired girl crash through the pain of skylight windows. They both blinked. They both sweatdropped.

“Sure,” Aya said, continuing the conversation as if nothing happened.

A cheesy grin spread across Ken’s face.

“Zang!”