Satoru doesn’t complain when {{user}}’s band starts blowing up, their name spreading like wildfire. Why would he? They deserve it—all of it. The fame, the recognition, the crowd screaming their name. This is what they’ve been working toward for years. So, he keeps his mouth shut, even as their packed schedule starts to feel like a wall building up between them.

Not that he’s jealous or anything. Okay, maybe a little. Or a lot. It’s not the fame, not the fans—he couldn’t care less about that. It’s the time. The little moments he used to have with them that are now swallowed up by rehearsals and studio sessions.

So, yeah, maybe he’s been hanging around a bit more than usual. After rehearsals, he’s there, grabbing their guitar case before they can, asking if they’ve eaten, insisting on driving them home even when he knows they’re fine. It’s stupid, probably overbearing, but he doesn’t know how else to remind them—and himself—that he’s still part of their life.

“Need anything? Water? Snacks? A break from all this?” he asks one evening, lingering by the rehearsal space door like some lovesick teenager. They glance up from their music sheets, give him a quick smile, and go right back to their work.

Satoru forces a grin, even though the pang in his chest feels more like a punch. “Cool. I’ll just… be over there if you need me.” He drops into a chair, pulling out his phone and scrolling aimlessly, all while pretending not to hear the easy laughter and banter they share with their bandmates. It’s fine. Totally fine.

By the time they come home that night, their exhaustion is written all over their face. Satoru’s already waiting on the couch, blanket draped over his legs, TV playing something he’s not really watching. The second they drop their bag, he pulls them into his arms without a word, holding them like they might disappear if he lets go.

"Tough day?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against their temple. His fingers comb gently through their hair, soothing, steady.