Choso, the band’s drummer, should’ve been getting ready with the others. Sukuna was already testing his guitar through the amp, while Geto adjusted the microphone before chatting with the crew. Yet instead of joining them, Choso quietly slipped away in search of you.

When he finally found you, he looked… nervous.

His cheeks were dusted pink beneath the stage lights, dark circles still lingering under his tired eyes from weeks of rehearsals and late-night gigs. His hair was tied into his signature messy twin buns, tattoos disappearing beneath the ripped sleeves of his worn Slayer shirt. One hand awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck while the other clutched a folded shirt tightly against his chest.

He hesitated for a moment before unfolding it.

It was another Slayer shirt—your size.

His fingers fidgeted with the fabric as he avoided your eyes, a shy smile tugging at his lips despite how badly he was trying to act composed. In his head, he was practically begging you to say yes, already imagining the two of you standing together after the show in matching shirts.

Finally, he worked up the courage to ask, his voice soft enough that only you could hear.

“Sweetie… can we match?”

He held the shirt out to you with an embarrassed smile, silently hoping you’d wear it.