Chapter Text
Auralism – a pretty word to describe a less-than-pretty fascination.
Nao Egokoro sunk back into her couch, eyes fluttering closed in contentment as a familiar voice drifted into her ears. It was defined, quite scandalously, as a sexual attraction to sounds such as voices or music. Nao wasn't entirely sure she would personally define it as sexual (although there was evidence to the contrary), but she could definitely see the appeal. She had always been a more visual person; she was, after all, an artist, and by her very nature she was adept at picking out tiny aesthetic details that others might overlook. The world of audio barely made a passing impression on her.
That had been the case, anyway, until one fateful evening, when some of her much cooler classmates introduced her to Samurai Yaiba.
It had been somewhat of an awakening for the otherwise-conservative young college student, who had previously only really listened to whatever pop music was playing on the radio at the time, but the harsh sound and heavy vocals of the punk-rock band stirred something deep within her heart. She had watched, fingers digging into her thighs, as the lead singer turned to give the camera a sly wink – and from that moment onwards she found herself consuming whatever Samurai Yaiba material she could get her hands on.
It wasn't exactly her style, all the clamorous noise and over-the-top performance, but that lead singer, Reko Yabusame, clad in black leather with a devilish smile? Oh, she was definitely Nao's type. And it wasn't just her bad-girl looks, either, though those certainly helped; Nao was hopelessly infatuated with the rockstar's voice. Her singing was, of course, divine. It was what she was famous for, after all, and Nao would quite happily let the band's entire discography play whilst she worked, but what she truly loved listening to was Reko's speaking voice.
Every press release, every interview, every silly candid twitter video, Nao loved them all and would replay them ad infinitum. She knew every one of Reko's communication quirks; the barely-hidden laughter when she was trying to be snarky, the throaty grunt of displeasure when asked something she didn't want to answer, the soft, tired exhale from her lungs before she launched into her pre-written interview script...
One might assume that Nao Egokoro had a problem, and one might be right.
She was halfway through her favourite recording of all, one where Reko had filmed herself talking for a fan QnA, her mouth up close to the microphone, when she was broken out of her reverie by her shoulder being shaken roughly. Alarmed, her eyes flew open and she pulled her headphones off, her mouth falling open in a squeal.
“Nao, Nao! Calm down! It's us! You left your door unlocked again!”
Nao blinked, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, and looked up at the tall figure standing over her, “J-jeez, Joe, you nearly gave me a heart attack. You could have been a little gentler!” She griped, combing a hand back through her thick, frazzled hair, before adding, “Oh, hello, Sara.”
Joe pouted as Sara leaned around him to give Nao a small wave, “And no hello for me? Your most precious protégé? You've gotta start locking your door, Nao, or one day it really will be a burglar!”
“What are they going to steal, empty pizza boxes?” Nao rolled her eyes at him, but she was thankful, really – she was forgetful and scatterbrained and asking for trouble, whilst he and Sara were just looking out for her. She had befriended the two high-schoolers late last year, becoming an unofficial mentor of sorts for the two of them as she graduated and headed off to college. As it turned out, she didn't have her life together at all, and living alone was so much harder than she expected. In comparison, Sara Chidouin acted more like an adult than she did, and even the young Jou Tazuna, in all his goofy boyishness, managed to remember to lock his door. Somehow, they had become her caretakers rather than the other way around.
“He's right, Nao, you need to be more careful. What were you listening to, anyway?” Sara asked, her tone flat and neutral.
“A p-p-podcast! It was just a podcast!” Nao waved her hands frantically, getting them caught in the headphone wires as she did so and sending her phone clattering to the floor. All three of them winced. “A-ah!”
“U-huh, and it definitely wasn't the velvety pipes of one Miss Yabusame?” Joe grinned, catching sight of the playlist name on her screen, “Oh, but I'm sure that just coincidentally came up on shuffle, huh?”
“Did you come here for any other reason than to disrespect your elders?” Nao fumed with embarrassment as she snatched her phone up and shoved it into her apron pocket. Of course, Joe and Sara knew all about her fascination with the band, and Reko specifically, but they didn't need to know how far it went.
“I got some strawberry cake on sale from the store on my street,” Sara's expression was as clear and unworried as ever, “I thought I'd bring you some, would make a nice change from all the instant ramen you've been eating.”
Nao teared up, “Strawberry?” Sniff, “You guys take such good care of me... what kind of mentor am I...?”
“Oh, and I wanted to ask if you'd entered the Samurai Yaiba competition yet. It's all anyone at school is talking about!” Joe added, his eyes flashing with good-natured glee.
“S-samurai Yaiba...? Competition? I've been painting all day, I haven't heard anything!” The dramatic tears were gone and, all of a sudden, Nao had a scarily intense expression on her face. She looked seconds away from grabbing Joe's collar and shaking the information out of him, “Joe! Tell me everything you know!”
“Eh, it's no big deal,” he shrugged with a perfected air of nonchalance, “Just heard they were givin' away a romantic date with the lead singer, or something. Probably nothing you'd be interested in -”
There was a flurry of movement as Nao threw herself across her apartment to the table where her laptop sat, her fingers shaking as they typed the well-practiced keystrokes that would bring her to the band's homepage. She barely breathed as she navigated to the news page. Sara and Joe peered over her shoulders, glancing at each other over the top of her head and wearing matching mischievous grins.
“It's true...” Nao said, her eyes wide, and began to read the article out loud: “Win an all-expenses-paid dinner for two with Samurai Yaiba frontwoman, R-Reko Yabusame. Your chance to mingle with a star... exclusive commemorative merch... Guys, how do I win this?”
“I think I heard something about sending in postcards. Kind of old-fashioned.” Sara tapped her cheek thoughtfully, “But it means you can increase your chances by sending in a whole bunch.”
“Oh! They sell those at the shop on the corner!” Nao was trembling from excitement, “I can decorate them, too; that would increase my chances, right? And – and – and if I cut down on take-out I can buy even more...”
She was already pulling her coat on and moving towards the door, mumbling to herself about postage and washi tape. Sara turned towards Joe and quirked an eyebrow at him, “She's gonna be devastated if she doesn't win this thing.”
“What was I supposed to do, not tell her? She would have seen it sooner or later.” Joe folded his arms, “I hope she wins, too, but it's not like we can do anything about it.”
Sara raised her other eyebrow. He let out a good-humoured sigh, a smile forming on his lips.
“Oh, fine.”
“Are you two coming or not?” Nao's voice came echoing back from somewhere down the stairwell, “I'm going to need your help to carry all the postcards back! I've got to win!”
“Nao! Get back here and lock your door!”
-*-*-*-
The days leading up to the competition closing date crawled by, with Nao making the trip to the post office almost daily. It had been the only thing on her mind for the past few weeks; she had tried to hold off on fantasising in case she didn't win, but it was ultimately a futile struggle. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Reko, leaning on her elbows opposite her at a fancy white linen table, purring words directed only at her. For all her obsession, Nao had never seen or heard Reko in person, let alone received any individual attention from the star, and with the opportunity being so close to her grasp she could focus on nothing else.
Unfortunately, even though Nao felt that she deserved that prize more than anyone, once a winner had been drawn Joe and Sara found her dead-eyed on her bed, staring at the ceiling and halfway through a box of overpriced fancy chocolates.
“What's wrong, Nao?” Joe's voice was always so cheerful. Right now, she hated it. “I heard they contacted the winner today! Was it not you?”
“Joe. Does it look like I just won a date with the woman I've had a crush on for the past year?” Nao's voice dangerously lacked in pitch, “No. I didn't win. I bet it was some gross dude, too. Ugh! I can't stand it!”
“Hey! I'm not that bad! I'm sure Reko wouldn't find me gross, either.” Joe protested, looking genuinely hurt. Sara sighed and elbowed him sharply in the ribs, but Nao's interest had been piqued.
“Wait, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, yeah, I won the competition. Weird, huh?”
“W-what?” All the colour drained from Nao's face. Joe had won a date with Reko? How was that possible? And why would he do it when he knew she wanted it so badly? Fury was not an emotion that Nao was well-accustomed to, but it bubbled up in her veins at the thought of Joe and Reko on a date. She sprang up from her bed, scattering Belgian pralines onto the floor, “Joe! H-how could you? This betrayal... I can't bear it...”
“Woah, woah! I'm sorry, bad joke! I won it for you, Nao! I don't even like Samurai Yaiba! I just wanted to give you an extra few chances, that's all!” Joe backed up, holding his palms up in front of his body. Nao looked somewhere between a bristling cat and a kicked puppy, and it was downright unnerving. She froze in place, her brain struggling to comprehend what she'd just been told.
“We both entered to try and win it for you, Nao.” Sara placated in a soft voice, holding out a letter to her, “Joe's being an ass about explaining it, but he managed to win, and the prize is yours.”
“...I'm...” She stared at the letter in Sara's hands like it held the answers to life, the universe, and everything, “...I'm going on a date with Reko Yabusame?”
“You're going on a date with Reko Yabusame!” Joe parroted, hopping up and down with glee, “We've already called and confirmed it! They're gonna pick you up and take you to the 'secret date location' next week!”
“W-well!” Nao tried her best to contain herself in front of her impressionable young charges as she took the letter from Sara and drew it in close to her chest, “I'll forgive you for saying you don't like Samurai Yaiba in return for this.” She looked down at the letter in her hands; it felt like it weighed so much, meant so much. Trembling, she unfolded it and read over it's contents. It wasn't like she didn't believe them - more that she didn't believe any of this could possibly be happening - but there it was, clear as day. Joe had indeed won the date with Reko, and was giving it to her. As much as she had daydreamed about such a thing, she could barely get her head around the fact that it was actually going to happen. “I... you guys... you're the best...”
“Hey, don't get sappy on us yet. We have to figure out what you're gonna wear if you wanna slay Miss Punk Rock dead!” Joe was clearly overjoyed at the prospect of helping his mentor shack up with a celebrity, “You can't show up in anything paint-splattered, and that's like, the majority of your wardrobe.”
“You're right!” Nao gasped, the nerves in her stomach starting to override the excitement, “I-I'm not 'punk rock' in the slightest, what will I wear? Should I go buy something a bit more hardcore?”
“No, I don't think so,” Sara scrutinised her, head-to-toe, with her usual steely expression, “She's going to realise pretty fast that's not who you are. Play to your strengths and be yourself.”
“A terrible idea, Sara.” Joe muttered underneath his breath, eyeing a chair piled high with dirty laundry; Nao wasn't exactly the most capable person he knew. She was definitely going to need some help. Luckily for her, Joe knew all about love and romance. Just because he didn't have a lot of practical experience didn't mean he was clueless, no matter what Sara said! “Don't worry, Nao, with me and Sara here to help you can't go wrong! Tomorrow, after class, the three of us are going shopping!”
-*-*-*-
A week was simultaneously not enough time to prepare, and way too long.
Nao circled her dining table like an anxiety-ridden shark, eyes unfocused and arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was going to be picked up for her date in less than an hour and nothing felt real any more. She had tried to relax with her usual playlist of Reko's voice, but it only served as a reminder that she'd be hearing the real thing soon, and that made her want to throw up. “Guys, I can't do this, one of you go instead.” She whined for the seventh time that evening.
Sara sat neatly on Nao's couch, mostly because Nao's circular motions had started to make her feel seasick. “Come on, Nao, you can do it!” She cheered, but it was weak; she was starting to think that maybe Nao couldn't do it. The flighty art student had gone through every emotion possible throughout the course of the day and it had taken every bit of patience and will from her friends to keep her somewhat grounded.
“You totally can! You look super cute thanks to us, too!” Joe agreed with a nod. They had done a good job in making her look presentable: she was wearing an adorable yellow sundress and a soft white woollen cardigan, which were much more her style than leather and ripped jeans. She scrubbed up pretty well, too – Nao pulled off a flawless 'adorable little lamb' look. “I'm sure Miss Reko will think so!”
“But she probably doesn't even like girls anyway...” Nao had abandoned the table and was now pacing around Joe, “The prize would have been better off going to someone she would actually be attracted to.”
Joe and Sara met each other's doubtful looks over Nao's head just as the doorbell rang.
“Oh my god, they're here.” Nao ground to a halt for the first time since she had gotten dressed. The room kept spinning without her, and she felt sick.
“Alright, time to go and make us proud!” With a winning smile, Joe linked his arm through Nao's. Sara seemed to be uncharacteristically fired up from excitement, too, because she bounced over and took Nao's other arm. Together, the two coaxed a unsteady Nao out of her apartment, down the stairs and out the front door. A shining black limousine was stretched out languidly in the street, looking quite out-of-place in what was essentially the student's quarter of town. The bored-looking driver, stiff and smartly dressed, greeted them with an expressionless face,
“The terms of the competition admit only one.” He drawled, “Do you have the letter you were sent that proves your win?”
“Oh! Y-yes, right here!” Nao scrambled to thrust her hand into her cardigan pockets, only to find them empty, “Um – oh no – I think I left it -”
“Right here!” Joe offered, producing the letter out of his blazer and handing it to his frazzled friend, “I knew you'd forget it, so I pre-emptively pocketed it!”
“So the young miss is the winner?” The driver took the letter, examined it briefly, then gave a curt nod, “I'm to deliver you to the date location. Only you, I'm afraid; The band would like this to be a quiet affair.” He opened the door into the back of the limousine, which was plush with leather and glowed with a gentle pinkish hue. Nao gulped; it looked far too upper-class for someone the likes of her.
“Off you go, Nao.” Sara swooped in with her kind words and calming tone, helping her into the car with a steadying arm, “Have fun on your date!”
“Oh, and if you have time, ask Reko for an autograph for me?” That earned Joe a disapproving look from the driver. “Hey, I'm kidding, like I said, I don't even like Samurai Yaiba.”
That earned him an even more disapproving look from Nao before the door swung shut.
“You think she'll be okay?” Sara asked, leaning into Joe's side. He gave her a gaudy grin and a thumbs-up,
“Our girl Nao will be fine. Now let's get to work.”
Nao shifted uncomfortably in the back of the limousine as it hummed into motion, straightening out the front of her dress with her palms. It was a spacious vehicle, with room for a whole party of guests; alone, she felt very small. She wished she could had at least brought her friends as far as the restaurant. Joe could make every situation funny, even if it was at his own (or her) expense, and Sara was so patient and sweet that Nao could draw from her, like a well of courage. Nao was just... Nao; exceedingly average and uninteresting in every way.
But she was the one on her way to a date, not them, and this night had the potential to be the best night of her life... or the worst.
She fretted for the entirety of the journey, resisting the urge to bite her fingernails to shreds as they sped ever closer to her celebrity crush, but in what felt like no time at all the car was pulling up to the sidewalk and sliding to a smooth stop. The door was once again opened for her and as she stepped out, swivelling to keep her knees together like she'd seen on TV, she momentarily felt like royalty. She would be lying if she said she could get used to it, but it certainly was nice. Being ushered into the restaurant she felt even more out of place in, Nao swung her head around to see if she could catch sight of Reko anywhere. Would she be already seated? She scanned every perfectly-made table, every well-dressed figure, but Reko was nowhere to be seen. Not to mention that this place hardly seemed a suitable place for a rockstar to spend her time – it was so clean and fancy, not a piece of silverware crooked nor a champagne glass unfilled.
“Take a seat, ma'am.” A waiter pulled out a chair with a smile. For her? She'd never had a chair pulled out for her in her life! This felt surreal. “Your company will be with you momentarily.”
Reko... Nao breathed out, long and slow through her nose, and picked at the edge of the tablecloth nervously. She was already here, then? Tucking a long strand of reddish-pink hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes and focused, trying to pick up Reko's voice above the polite conversational mumbling of the aristocratic diners around her. It was hard, but...
There! Behind the chatter was a rough, angry sound coming from somewhere in the back – Nao smiled despite herself; she could recognise those furious inflections anywhere.
Uh oh, furious?
The waiter was back, placing two menus and a jug of water on the table, “Miss Yabusame is just arriving.” There was the harsh sound of smashing glass coming from the same place she had heard Reko's voice. The waiter winced through his thin smile, “She won't be long.”
The shouting and struggling noises continued in the background; if any of the other patrons noticed, they chose to ignore it. Nao felt fear well up within her. Pre-date butterflies were one thing, but if Reko wasn't planning on being a courteous host then she was a few mere moments from ending up a public disgrace! A fired up, pissed off Reko meant that she wasn't as into the idea of this date as Samurai Yaiba's website made it out – and of course this wasn't what Reko would want! This was probably one of her superior's ideas that she was forced to go along with. Nao felt stupid for being too caught up in the prospect of dating her crush to realise that sooner. She clutched at her cardigan and glanced desperately towards the door; maybe she should run now, whilst she still had the chance...
She was so busy considering her grand escape that she failed to notice that the yelling had ceased.
“So... You're Jou Tazuna?”
Nao's heart felt like it had stopped. She turned her head back, slowly, ever so slowly, knowing before she saw her that Reko Yabusame was now standing at her table, hand on hip. A blush bloomed on Nao's cheeks at the sight of her, somewhat red-faced and still bristling from her tantrum, but with a playful smile starting to form on her lips, her trademark brown-and-blonde hair framing her face perfectly. And that voice... it was rough around the edges, but the anger was gone from it, and she was talking to Nao, face to face. Nao was completely and utterly enthralled. How could she get her to say more things?
Oh, right! She had to answer the question, not stare at her like a frozen guppy.
“Y-yes, that's me!” She confirmed with a squeak, having forgotten that she was technically here in Joe's place. “Nice t-to meet you!”
“Y'know...” Reko drawled, slumping into the chair opposite Nao with the grace of someone who had perfected pretending not to care, “Prize ain't transferable. Says so in the terms 'n shit.”
“Oh... Does it?” She feigned innocence, but the jig was clearly already up.
“Yup. Luckily for you, I don't give a crap about the small print. I'm just glad you ain't some creepy old man. I was about to execute one of my flawless storm-outs, 'til someone told me you were a chick. So I won't tell if you don't.” Nao had never expected she would be on the receiving end of one of Reko's famous shit-eating grins. She felt like she might pass out from joy at any moment.
“R-right, of course.” She tucked her hands into her lap neatly, trying to hold herself together. Reko was glad she wasn't being forced into anything romantic or inappropriate. That made sense. “My name's actually Nao Egokoro.”
“Well, that's cuter than Jou, at least.” Reko smirked, and Nao wasn't sure how much of a compliment that was. Either way, she blushed. “Reko Yabusame, singer-songwriter, massive pain in the ass, blah blah blah. You already know that stuff. You a big fan, Nao Egokoro?”
Reko saying her name made her soul leave her body and ascend to heaven. God, please say it again. “Yes! I only found out about Samurai Yaiba about a year ago, but I really enjoy your music!”
“Ya don't particularly look like a run-of-the-mill 'Yaiba fan, that's for sure.” Reko's gaze on her made her feel hot, “No tats, not even a piercing or nothin', unless you're hidin' em under that pretty dress of yours. Not that that's a bad thing, it's good to know we're reachin' a wider audience.”
“No, no, I don't have anything like that.” Nao laughed weakly; her mother would have a fit if she did, “I would be quite out of place if I ever went to one of your shows.”
“You've never been to a gig?” The punk girl asked, opening the menu in front of her and scanning it with a look of distaste, “Man, they picked a real shitty place for this shindig. I suggest ordering whatever's most expensive. My bosses are paying, so go wild.”
“N-no, it never seemed to work out. I was always busy with classes or I missed the ticket sale.” Nao explained, somewhat downhearted, “But winning this makes up for that bad luck!”
Reko gave a short grunt of acknowledgement before going back to pondering over the menu. Nao opened her own and had to forcefully swallow a gasp – everything in here was obscenely expensive! Should she really just pick the priciest one? Would that make Reko happy? She didn't even know if she liked caviar...
“Hey.” She was snapped out of her seafood conundrum by Reko's voice, which had taken on a hushed, edged quality. She looked up to find the other girl leaning towards her with a dark expression, “Don't turn around, whatever you do.”
She froze obediently. Despite the fear that blossomed through her veins from that ominous statement, it's not like she could disobey anything Reko said, or tear herself away from those liner-laden eyes, not for any force on Earth. “What's going on?” She stage whispered, feeling her skin prickle.
“Paps.” Reko snarled under her breath, “Table behind you. Think they're bein' real sneaky, but I could recognise em anywhere. God damn it!” Her fingers clawed into the tablecloth, “They promised me there'd be no fucking cameras this evening! That was part of the deal!”
Reko was angry: you didn't need to be an expert to figure that much out. But Nao kind of was an expert, and she was sure she could also hear a twinge of fear in Reko's voice. She'd heard it before, just once, in a vlog the band had posted when visiting a famous haunted house at Hanayashiki – and she wasn't even sure if that had been genuine fright. She got the feeling that fear wasn't an emotion Reko felt very often, so to hear it subtly corrupt her voice now was a cause for concern. “What should we do?”
“Well, I'm bustin' outta here. Contract-fucking-broken. I'm gonna go spend my evening some place more my style.” Reko looked ready to spring into action, but she paused when she caught Nao's dismayed face, “What you do is up to you. You can stay here and eat gold-plated lobster and discuss politics or whatever-the-fuck else with the social elite, or you can blow this crummy joint with me. What d'ya say?”
Reko extended a hand over the table. Nao looked at it, then back at her face. Reko was... offering to take her with her? Going somewhere else wasn't planned, and Nao didn't even know where they would be going, or even how they would get there, but...
Despite her nerves and common sense screaming at her, there was only one clear choice.
She took Reko's hand, inhaling sharply at the warmth emanating from her skin and the intimacy of the situation. Reko was here, real and solid and glowing under the dim mood-lighting, and smiling at her like she was the only person in the world. Nao's heart soared.
“Let's go, Nao!”
The next few moments went by in slow motion. Reko spurned into action like a bullet shot from a gun, leaping from her chair and knocking the water jug to the floor with a crash. Nao was yanked along with her, her smaller hand completely locked in Reko's steel grasp. Together they barrelled towards the door, twisting and dancing around tables and staff as they went, yells and gasps sounding out as people rose to pursue them. Nao felt like her feet were barely keeping up with her body as she tumbled after the joyous girl, who barked out loud, victorious laughter as they made their escape from the restaurant. The cool evening air hit Nao's bare legs with a blast, but she had no time to shiver as Reko pulled her onwards, around the back, down one side street and then another – she felt like they were on the run from the cops, not journalists. Was this what being a celebrity was like?
“Down here.” Reko ordered, darting to the side and into an alleyway, making Nao's skin prickle. She didn't think Reko was about to mug and/or murder her, but you just never know.
“W-where are we going?” She panted heavily, glad that they were slowing down but still suspicious of their surroundings.
“Don't panic, this is just where I got Alice to stash my getaway vehicle. I refused to go along with it otherwise.” Reko brought them to a stop besides a glistening, expensive-looking motorcycle. She started unzipping the panniers, oblivious to Nao's wide-eyed expression. “He even left extra gear just in case we 'hit it off.' I hate when that asshole's right. He should have done this stupid date thing, not me.”
“Ah, I doubt I would have entered if the prize was Alice... No offence to your brother.” Nao tried to laugh and hide how hurt she was at how little Reko seemed to care about the date, going so far to suggest that one of her bandmates should have taken the fall... But she was taking Nao with her, wasn't she? And had they actually hit it off? Goodness, it was all so confusing.
“He certainly isn't a prize. I don't think you're his type, anyway.” Reko smirked and retrieved two helmets, donning hers with practised precision and then reaching over to wiggle the second onto Nao's head and clip the strap under her chin. The sight of her thick red hair protruding wildly from underneath it made her smirk fade into a more genuine smile, “Is this comfortable, fluffy?”
“Um, y-yes, it's fine.” She blinked owlishly up at Reko through the dark visor; was she really going to get onto a motorbike willingly? Oh, her poor mother, if she found out about this...
“Good.” Reko passed her an extra pair of leather gloves and a jacket that was too big for her, helping her into it, “I understand this is irresponsible of me, but it's that or leave you here for the press pack to tear apart. It's risky, though, so I'm not gonna force ya. Here's your chance to back out. You can go back to your normal evening and pretend this never happened.”
Nao looked at the bike, then down at her bare legs, then back at Reko. She could hear the sound of people yelling in the distance. Reko's leather jacket dwarfed her, and it was so warm.
She wasn't ready to go back to her normal life just yet, danger be damned.
“Take me with you, please.”
“You got it. Now, get on and hold on. Keep your feet on the pegs, alright? And try to keep that dress of yours from flyin' up. There's probably gonna be blurry pictures of this in tomorrow's gossip mags.”