Chaotic Butterfly: Chaotic Butterfly, #1

By Mousa Pelli

When Goto Hikaru is kidnapped by a pair of pop idols from a seedy bar, he has no idea he'll end up as the frontman for Midareteku Entertainment's hot new boyband. The secret? 5*STAR isn't a real band, they're a cover until the real band returns from rehab. But after 6 weeks of promoting and fangirls, 5*STAR won't give up without a fight.

Ebook contains both CB and its sequel, Unseen Wings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mousa Pelli
• Release date: May 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458043764

Mousa Pelli

Mousapelli is the author of four NaNoWriMo novels and 600+ pieces of fanfiction in a horrifyingly large number of fandoms. She possesses an equally absurd number of DVDs and paperback novels, along with a guinea pig of loose morals. She also enjoys onigiri, Melon Cream Fanta, and things that match.

Book preview

Chaotic Butterfly

By Mousapelli

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2007 (Chaotic Butterfly)

Copyright 2008 (Unseen Wings)

Chaotic Butterfly originally posted in November, 2007.

Chaotic Butterfly: Unseen Wings originally posted in November, 2008.

Lyrics to Butterfly and Higher! Fly! are owned by Johnny's Entertainment.

Cover designed by Mousapelli.

Starshine Press

A division of Midareteku Entertainment

http://www.kira-kira.net

Harrisburg, PA

License Notes: This ebook was sold without DRM protections for convenience of the readers. Please respect the effort of the author that went into these novels and purchase your own copy at Smashwords.com.

For Tabris, who took me to Japan for the first time, and for Jemz who took me the second.

For Rachel who does all my inside research, and for DJ, my co-NaNo comrade.

For Rana and Eliza, who stole the Koreans, and for Daisy, who invented the fangirls.

For Marks, Victoria, Iso, Beth, Pero, Shabz, Lindsay, Dichan, Clare, Elise, Winters_Queen, Ramen, Wolfie, Mer, and everyone else who joins in when I flail and reports typos when I fail.

For everyone who read, made icons, named characters, wrote fic, commented, or even just joined the comm. You changed CB even as I was writing it, and it would not have been the same without you.

Special 2nd Edition thanks to Beth, Trinity, DJ, Tabs, Rachel, and Nellie, who re-read and found the eight million typos.

and

For Anj, who loved Rin with the heat of ten million suns. We miss you.

Chaotic Butterfly

Part I

Hey because your gentle figure moves my heart

The view of your back is too beautiful, like

A leaving chaotically BUTTERFLY

What an amazing BUTTERFLY

--KAT-TUN, Butterfly

1

The Leader

Where the hell is Ryou? Takahiro demanded for the fifteenth time in ten minutes. He's not gonna show.

Call him, Ken said.

I don't know where he is, Goto Hikaru replied for the fifteenth time, and I DID call him.

God, if he even brings that girl with him… Takahiro made a disgusted noise deep in his throat. That jackass.

You should call him again. Ken tapped his drumsticks against his thigh, rolling out an alternate version of Tsuki no SECRET, remixed by nervous energy. Where's your phone? Maybe he tried to call you.

It's in my hand, Goto answered through gritted teeth, holding up the phone in question, and he didn't call, and I DID call him again.

She's such a whore. Takahiro slid his fingers up and down the strings of his bass so that they made a slick, metallic sound against his calluses. I must have slept with her like five times.

I think that makes YOU the whore, Ken said, getting a bored Tcht in response from Takahiro. Especially since you've slept with Ryou like four times that much. Call him again again.

"Enough already! Goto finally snapped, making Ken stop drumming and Takahiro eye him. Look, I think it's time for us to face the fact that we might have to go on without him."

There was a moment of silence; Ken started drumming again, darting glances at Goto's phone, and Takahiro gave Goto a condescending look, as though he were a very simple child.

Ryou's the lead singer, Takahiro said. We can't go on without a lead singer.

Yeah, I KNOW, but… Goto started up, but just then his phone mercifully rang, a jangled version of What U Wanna that set Goto's teeth on edge, but was perfectly audible over the dull thump of the club music and the shouted conversations of the people nearest them.

Goto flipped the phone open and put it up to his ear, covering his other ear with his hand and blocking Takahiro's final announcement of He's not coming.

Ryou! he shouted into the phone. Where are you?

I'm not coming, Ryou slurred on the other end of the line, a high-pitched giggle audible in the background, and Goto couldn't really dig up much shock for this turn of events.

Not after Shibuya last weekend. Or Roppongi the weekend before that.

Told you so, Takahiro said as Goto flipped his phone shut, not even waiting for Goto to make the announcement. God, what a whore.

But listen, Goto struggled to salvage the situation, it took us three weeks to set up this gig, and I don't think we should give it up. Takahiro, you and I both sing, and Ken, you wrote the harmonies, you can't tell me you don't know them.

I wrote them for Ryou! Ken protested, dropping one of drumsticks, but instead of clattering, it just stuck, and Ken stared at it as if unsure it was worth retrieving. For Ryou's range! And Takahiro sings like a congested cockatiel.

That's not helping! Goto snapped before Takahiro could get his mouth open to retort. I'm not saying it'll be fantastic, but it'll be something! Vocals aren't the only thing we have going for us, and this is the biggest club we've played yet. It might be our chance! We should live with no regrets! So, we could give up and go home, or we could go out there and play our hardest and let destiny take its course! What do you say?

We should give up and go home, Takahiro and Ken both answered, the first thing they'd ever agreed on in the history of the band.

*****

Goto was still sitting at the bar hours later, having downed a series of successively more disgusting alcoholic things since the club DJ had announced that their first live band of the night would not be appearing, and instead they would be enjoying the newest and baddest beats from J-J-JOKER!

In all honesty, the cement mixer wasn't that bad, Goto thought to himself, finally at the point where he could lay his face down on the bar without thinking too hard about what he might be touching. Instead he thought about how grateful he was to have reached his majority the month before, just in time to toast his band farewell.

'Scuse me, a voice said beside him, wasn't there supposed to be a band playing here tonight?

They were supposed to play, Goto grunted, not moving, but they weren't much of a band, turns out.

The laugh that followed was sweet and clear, and cut through the noise of the club just as easily as Goto's ringtone, and it made Goto turn to rest his cheek on the bar and look to see the voice's owner.

It was a man in his mid-twenties, wearing a camouflage tank top underneath a puffy vest that was trimmed with fake fur. A pair of sizable aviator sunglasses was resting on top of his head, doing a poor job of keeping his bleached and fluffy hair from curling wildly about, as if it were stretching out in search of a good time.

Ne, Kurota, the man said, sliding onto the stool next to Goto, and Goto noticed another man standing behind him. He's cute! Can we keep him?

Idiot, the other man said, remaining standing and giving Goto the once-over. He's not a dog. This man had normal, dark hair, although it was cut in a longish style, the sort that was trendy at that moment in the fashion magazines Goto occasionally bought at the train station. His jacket smelled like new leather, the red shirt he was wearing underneath cut low enough to show off his collarbones.

He leaned over to order two drinks from the bartender, close enough that Goto could see the label on his jeans, which cost more than Goto's rent for six months, then leaned back to regard Goto some more.

Clearing his throat, Goto peeled his face up off the bar with an audible separation of skin from varnish and tried to get his head to stop spinning. Right-side-up, the two men looked rather familiar. Do I…know you?

The first man laughed again, a little darker, so that it made a tiny shiver work itself up Goto's spine, and when he got his drink, something dark that probably had far more rum than coke in it, he took a sip and peered at Goto over the rim of his glass, licking a stray drop of his drink from the corner of his mouth with a touch of his tongue. Ah, do you? It's Goto-kun, isn't it?

Yeah, Goto. Goto Hikaru, Goto murmured, puzzled and kind of drunk and distracted by the way the man was nibbling at the top of the red plastic stirrer in his drink. And then, because being drunk always made him over-polite, added, Please take care of me.

Cute! the man slapped the table with one hand and exclaimed loudly, making Goto's cheeks heat, and he pulled his gaze away, embarrassed, hoping nobody was paying any attention to them. Na, na, Kurota?

Seiji, Kurota warned, making Goto look up at him. His eyes were as dark as his hair, his gaze sharper than Seiji's, and he seemed to have ordered the drink just to have a reason to stand at the bar. A light touch to Seiji's shoulder and Seiji quieted, although he continued watching Goto over the rim of his glass with an amused and interested gaze.

Seiji… Goto struggled to make his brain work, shaking his head a little. Kurota…AH! Goto's eyes flew open wide as he finally placed the two men, the thoughts of Kurota's hairstyle being out of a magazine not having been a coincidence at all. You're Aoki Seiji and Kurosagi Takeshi!

Bingo! Aoki Seiji grinned, bobbing his head in a dorky little bow. But you can call us Akai Ito.

Not so loud, moron! Kurosagi Takeshi touched Aoki's shoulder, but this time instead of a light touch, his fingers dug in until Aoki gave him a little yip and a reproachful pout. Don't you remember what happened last time we went out and you got us recognized? He reached over with his free hand to flip Aoki's sunglasses off his head and down onto his nose.

Aoki pouted harder, the expression made even more ridiculous by the over-sized glasses. Mean! That barely ever happens.

Stop being a distraction, Kurosagi ordered, but his tone was softer, more indulgent, and Aoki gave another soft laugh before he went back to sipping his drink. Kurosagi turned to Goto, expression changing to one of all business.

What… Goto shook his head harder and wondered where the hidden camera was. What are you doing here?

Looking for you, obviously, Kurosagi answered, paying no attention as Aoki set aside his own glass and snuck Kurosagi's out from his fingers. Your band just broke up?

Y…yeah. Goto blinked, off-balance.

Good. Kurosagi nodded. That'll make things easier. Also the fact that you're drunk. Okay, let's go.

Goto blinked, then gasped as he was gripped by the shoulders and pulled off his stool. The room spun crazily for a second, and he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for impact with the floor, but instead bumped into something warm which smelled of new leather. When he dared a glance, he found one of Kurosagi's arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him upright.

Where… he started weakly, then cut off with a groan as Kurosagi started to move and the room resumed its crazy breakdance.

To the car, obviously, he said. Seiji, come on!

Coming~! Aoki tipped his head back to drain the rest of Kurosagi's drink, then hopped up to his feet, giggling when he had to clutch at the edge of the bar for a second. Guess you'll have to drive, Kuro-chan.

There's a shock. Kurosagi's grumble made his shoulder buzz against Goto's cheek, but he didn't stop Aoki from flopping against his other shoulder with exaggerated force.

Outside the club, the cool night air steadied Goto a little, his ears feeling thick with the sudden loss of the deafening noise of the club, and he straightened up off Kurosagi's shoulder. Aoki seemed to have no such compunction, grinning up at Goto's confused expression from Kurosagi's other shoulder until Kurosagi jostled him off gently with another affectionate, Moron.

Wait. Something suddenly occurred to Goto, and he stopped to turn back towards the club. My guitar…

Don't worry about it, Aoki said, hooking his arm through the crook of Goto's elbow and tugging him along down the sidewalk.

Goto let himself be dragged along, quiet as his buzz died down, only half-listening to the quiet hum of Aoki and Kurosagi's conversation and wondering distantly how it could possibly be that nobody recognized the pair because of only a pair of aviator sunglasses. It wasn't late enough yet for the streets to be emptying, and more than a few girls passed them who Goto was sure looked the type to be in the know about idols walking the streets outside the clubs. A few turned their heads at Aoki's musical laugh, but turned back after Kurosagi sent a sharp and disinterested glance their way.

Soon enough, Kurosagi stopped at the entrance of an underground parking garage. He held the door open, but as Goto trudged through, behind him he heard Aoki say they should just pick him up on the way. He shot Kurosagi a curious look as they headed towards the elevator, but Kurosagi just shrugged and gave him a wink.

Kurosagi's car was small and sporty without being too flashy, a more sedate dark blue than Goto would have expected. The leather seats were soft as Goto slid into the back seat, and he leaned his head gratefully back against the headrest, closing his eyes against the beginnings of a spectacular headache.

He opened them again, blinking against the sudden glare of the streetlights and the sharpness of the neon signs, when the car stopped, to see Aoki fumbling the door open and stumbling into the passenger's seat. Aoki shot him a grin over the back of his seat and tossed something into his lap.

Thanks, Goto said, taking a second to register that he was holding a can of coffee, then yelping as the can's heat sank the whole way through his jeans suddenly.

You're welcome! Aoki turned back around to hand another can to Kurosagi, chirping, Don't spill this one! and Kurosagi stuck his tongue out at Aoki, making him laugh again, and then he put the car back in gear and pulled away from the curb.

Goto sipped at his coffee as they drove, the caffeine taking the edge off his headache and doing away with the rest of his buzz, leaving him feeling disoriented and exhausted, clothes gritty and smelling of smoke from the club. Eventually he realized that the radio was on, a song that had been popular at the end of summer in all the clubs Goto had played at or been to, and that Aoki was singing along, his voice sweet and clear like his laugh.

Come on, come on! he urged, punching Kurosagi in the shoulder. It's no fun if you don't do it too!

"Let's run into tomorrow together, Kurosagi gave in, his voice huskier but just as clear as Aoki's. Let's run at OUR PACE, let's go!"

Jerk, that's my part, Aoki laughed, and just like that Goto realized they were singing along to their own single on the radio, that they were arguing about their own song. The thought struck him funny for some reason, but his chuckle drew a glance from Kurosagi over his shoulder, and Goto quickly went back to drinking his coffee.

When the can was empty, Goto leaned his head back again, intending to just rest his eyes for a minute…

…and woke up with Aoki's nose an inch from his own, sunglasses pushed back up into his hair and hanging over the back of the front seat. When Goto opened his eyes, Aoki grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

You're awake! he exclaimed, then turned back around and pushed his door open. Come on, we're here! Get out!

Aoki's grand exit from the vehicle was halted by his still-buckled seatbelt, jerking Aoki back against the seat with an undignified Urk!

Tcht, Kurosagi clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Moron, and reached over to push the seatbelt release button with a single finger.

Where's here? Goto asked as he exited the car more successfully, wincing at the throb of his head as he rolled his neck and the fuzzy taste in his mouth.

Midareteku Entertainment, Kurosagi announced, coming around the side of the car to join them and glancing at his watch. Come on, we're late.

Oh, Goto said, then, after a second, "What?! What the hell did you bring me here for!"

Se~cret! Aoki winked, then trotted ahead to push the button on the elevator.

Standing in the elevator between the members of ME's top-grossing duo, Goto's nervousness grew in direct proportion to how high the floor numbers were getting as the elevator climbed, speeding towards the top floor. He swallowed hard, then winced when his ears popped. When the elevator reached the top, the sudden stop made Goto stumble a little, and he straightened himself with warm cheeks when Aoki's laugh echoed in the elevator.

The offices were all deserted as they stepped off the elevator, the lights all low through the glass walls, and the sound of their footsteps echoing off the floor. The lonely feel of a large, corporate building after hours didn't do much to ease Goto's nerves, and by the time Aoki and Kurosagi came to a door in a non-glass wall, the last office in the row, Goto had had enough.

What is this really? Goto demanded, planting his feet and crossing his arms. Is this a joke? A mission? Some television prank, what is it? You pick me up drunk in some club, and bring me to the main office of the most successful idol stable in the country? I'm not going another step until you tell me exactly what's going on!

See? Aoki nudged Kurosagi with his elbow. He really does know all about us! I guess that's the end of your street cred, ne, Goto-kun?

Seiji. Kurosagi gave Aoki a quelling look, then turned to shrug at Goto. We really can't tell you. We were supposed to bring you here, and here you are. If you want to know what it's about, you're gonna have to go through that door.

Goto glared at them, but they stared right back, attractive and innocuous. Finally Goto sighed and took hold of the door handle.

Should probably knock first, Kurosagi suggested. It's polite.

Gritting his teeth, Goto raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the door, the thick wood swallowing the sound. Goto tried again, harder, and this time got a muffled but respectable knock out of it.

Come in! called a voice from the other side of the door. Goto took a deep breath and reached for the handle.

Oi, Kurota, Aoki hissed behind him in what was possibly the worst whisper ever. He's really cute, huh? I like him the best. Let's wish him good luck!

Goto turned his head to send a glare over his shoulder, but Aoki and Kurosagi just grinned back at him, Kurosagi's arm loose and comfortable around Aoki's shoulders. Aoki raised two fingers to flash Goto a V.

Heaving a little sigh, Goto turned back to the door and turned the handle, having to put his weight into it to make the heavy wood swing back. As he stepped into the office, he noticed in passing that the nameplate on the door read Matsumoto Koichi, Midareteku Entertainment CEO.

Goto stepped over the threshold, and the door swung shut behind him.

2

The Model, the Actor, and the Juniors

Goto's feet all but sank into the deep plush of the carpet on the other side of the door, and the creepy echo of the hallway was replaced by the hush of a very, very expensive office.

Ah, Goto Hikaru-kun, isn't it?

Goto dragged his gaze away from the paintings and potted plants spaced at regular intervals across the walls, and looked across the office to find himself looking at the owner of the largest entertainment company in Japan, a man with complete control over the lives and careers of dozens of the hottest talents in the industry.

Goto hadn't expected him to look so…innocuous. Middle-aged, in an expensive but understated suit, Matsumoto Koichi met Goto's gaze evenly, his face set in an expression of avuncular friendship. His eyes were sharp though, and Goto felt the pressure of their keen gaze assessing every particle of his body as he murmured, Please take care of me, Matsumoto-sacho, with a bow that made his head whirl a little.

Aoki-kun said you were polite. Matsumoto's chuckle reminded him of the other man as well as the mention of his name, but it had an edge to it that made the skin on the back of Goto's neck itch as he straightened out of his bow. Please call me Ko-chan, everyone here does.

When did… Goto asked, then thought of Aoki telling Kurosagi to meet him after getting the car. Ah.

You're sharp, Matsumoto said, smile growing less avuncular and more interested. And you don't like looking off-balance. I like that. Goto-kun, I think we can help each other out. I understand your band has just opted to pursue different paths?

Yes, Goto answered, thinking that was a pretty fancy way of saying that they'd all rather spray themselves in the face with mace than work together for ten seconds longer.

A shame, Matsumoto folded his hands on his desk, but excellent timing. Have a seat, please.

Feeling as dazed as if he were drunk again, Goto approached the desk, noticing that the farther into the room he got, the more the paintings on the wall were replaced with heavy wood frames. Each one contained a large photograph of group of people in progressively more bizarre costumes, and it took Goto a moment to work out that they were bands, the name of a single printed on a small gold plate, along with the year. His eyebrows rose at some of the dates, not having realized exactly how long the Midareteku stable had been in operation, but as he got close to the desk and the dates become more current, he began to recognize more of the faces and song titles.

He nearly tripped over his own feet when he got to the frame containing Akai Ito, barely even recognizing the pair under the glass. Teenagers with the underfed look of boys just growing into their adult bodies, both of them were sporting the wild spiked hair that Goto remembered perfecting in his junior high days, both of their faces set in alluring, cold sneers, Aoki's an open invitation to be used, Kurosagi's more of a sullen pout.

It was a far cry from Aoki's cheerful good luck V and Kurosagi's indulgent smile.

Pulling his eyes away from the frame, Goto finally reached the chair and came around it to sit down, suppressing a sigh at the tension headache that was beginning to build behind his eyes from the alcohol and the strange chain of events, and betting with more than a little jealousy that the AI pair were already home and in bed.

When he was settled enough to look back up at Matsumoto, Goto got the feeling that none of his thoughts had gone unnoticed, and wondered just how much of it had shown on his face.

So tell me, Matsumoto asked, hands still folded loosely on the desk in front of him, what do you know about Midareteku Entertainment?

Not very much, Goto admitted. Only what I've heard through others, people who are more familiar with the pop scene. I know that multiple Oricon slots are occupied by ME bands almost all the time, and that ME bands appear on Music Station regularly. I know that ME bands feature heavily in PV rotations, and that there's more than a couple television shows hosted by ME talents. I buy magazines to pass the time on the train sometimes, and there's always a ton of pages devoted to ME groups. I see them in a lot of commercials too. Oh, and ME's got its own shelf in the Tower Records in Kinteku Passe.

Matsumoto nodded, seeming satisfied. Anything else?

Goto thought for a second, then added, There's a billboard of Tokyo Style Bomb near my apartment that advertises lip gloss.

Is there? How wonderful! Matsumoto laughed, and again the back of Goto's neck prickled. You seem to have a very good understanding of the extension of my company's influence.

Well, I'm a musician, after all, Goto murmured, feeling a bit disgusted with himself at how much he really did know about pop idols. You can't help but notice some of what's happening in the music industry, even in other circles.

Very true, very true. Matsumoto looked serious for a moment, as if he were thinking about something else, but then his attention returned fully to Goto, and the smile returned. Goto-kun, I'm about to ask you a question which will seem very strange, perhaps even like the set-up to an elaborate joke or some silly hidden-camera television show, but believe me when I say that I'm being very serious.

Okay, Goto answered, slightly shaken by having his earlier thoughts repeated to him.

Midareteku Entertainment doesn't just produce some of the most successful bands in the industry. Matsumoto nodded towards the row of pictures on the wall. The real focus of Midareteku is grooming talent. I believe that with proper training from an early age, along with an extensive support network of peers and mentors, success will naturally follow. At any given time, we have not only a number of debuted bands continuing activities, but also between six and ten units composed of junior members, not only giving them experience in all facets of being a successful unit, but also fostering a sense of competition that helps everyone involved strive to do their best at all times.

You mean there's a hierarchy, Goto paraphrased. A bunch of groups in-fighting for the next debut slot.

Competing is what we prefer to call it, Matsumoto corrected, but mildly. Rivalry helps us grow, ne? However, with so many individuals at so many different levels of training and maturity, it's inevitable that problems arise. As it turns out, at this moment, ME has a…gap, let's say, in the schedule.

Matsumoto fixed a significant gaze on Goto, who shifted in his chair. I don't understand.

We've come at last to the question I wish to ask you, Goto-kun, Matsumoto said. I would like your help for a project. It would last for the next six weeks, and you would be well-compensated for your time and efforts, not only financially but also in terms of the number of doors that would be opened for you in the industry. There is one string attached, a rather major one, I'm afraid. And I'm afraid I cannot share any of the details with you until you agree to it.

Of course there is, Goto thought, but said nothing.

For the duration of the project, you will not be allowed to communicate in any way with anyone outside of it. No friends, no family. You will not go to your job or live in your apartment. We will provide everything you need, from living space to clothes, but we will also be in strict control of your schedule, twenty-four hours a day. For the next six weeks, it will be as though you do not exist outside of this corporation.

Matsumoto let his words hang in the air for a long moment, watching Goto's face. Goto took a shaky breath but forced his face to remain neutral, recalling how easily Matsumoto had read his thoughts so far.

Do you think you can agree to that? Matsumoto asked finally. I need an answer right now, I'm afraid.

Goto closed his eyes and tried to think. Aside from an older brother at university who Goto only talked to several times a year, he didn't have any family to check up on him. His bandmates obviously wouldn't notice his disappearance. His rent was paid through the next month, and he didn't own so much as a goldfish. Uneasily, Goto realized that nobody would probably notice if he dropped off the face of the earth for a lot longer than six weeks.

He opened his eyes and found Matsumoto patiently waiting for his answer.

I can do that, he said. I can give you six weeks, no problem.

Excellent! Matsumoto beamed at him, then stood up from behind his desk. Then we don't have a moment to waste. Are you ready to meet your new unit?

My… Goto stood up as well, grunting as the floor shifted under his feet and wondering grumpily why the good parts of being drunk always deserted him much earlier than their more unpleasant partners.

Matsumoto was coming around the desk, and when he got close enough, slung a companionable arm around Goto's shoulders, leading him towards the door. As they walked back along the row of pictures, Matsumoto shared little tidbits about the people they were passing, affectionate and casual, as if he were talking about nephews.

Goto simply took it all in as they headed back towards the elevator, hoping that Matsumoto was too involved in his chatter to notice that Goto was leaning a little more heavily on him than he ought to be. When the elevator started its rapid descent with a jerk, Goto squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath through his nose, trying to ignore the roll of his stomach.

The elevator stopped somewhere in the middle of the building, and Goto opened his eyes just fast enough to read the number 27 off the lit button before Matsumoto was dragging him out into the hallway, this floor just as deserted as the top floor, but the more traditional opaque walls dampened the echo of their footsteps and felt much less like the set of a horror movie. As they passed several doors, Goto noticed they were all labeled as practice rooms, lettered A, B, C, etc.

After Practice Room G, they came to a door labeled Break Room, and Matsumoto brought them to a halt. He paused with his hand on the knob and gave Goto a last searching look. You aren't going to make a very good first impression, looks like.

Hmm? Goto blinked, but Matsumoto was already opening the door, pushing it wide to allow Goto in first.

The room was of decent size, large enough to contain a dozen people comfortably, and littered with chairs and couches, along with several tables. The walls were made of soundboard, which Goto realized must make sense given the need for noise insulation when others were practicing music on either side of you.

Four people were already inside, three of whom turned to look at Goto when he entered. The fourth was fast asleep, sprawled across one of the small couches, cheek pillowed on the thigh of the man he was sharing the couch with. The sleeping one had delicate features and small-boned limbs, the layers of his bleached hair fanning down over his cheeks as he slept, covering his eyes. His slight figure combined with the relaxation of sleep made him look young, perhaps sixteen.

The man beside him looked older, closer to Goto's age. His hair was cut shorter, just long enough to keep from spiking wildly, a dark brown just lightened enough for highlights to catch the light when he moved. When he shifted, Goto caught the flash of piercings underneath his hair, although he couldn't tell how many. His gaze was wary as he examined Goto and he reached down to touch the shoulder of the person beside him, shaking him awake gently.

The other two were sitting on either side of one of the tables, turned towards each other as if they had been talking, but had fallen silent when Goto came in. The man on the left was tanned a bit more than normal for a Japanese person, and had reddish-dyed hair that fell in layered strands to curl over the curve of his neck. He could have been anywhere from his late teens to early twenties, but the grin he was giving Goto made his features seem more childish. Something about him reminded Goto