There's a glint in Eiji's eyes as he watched Shorter sing, although the scene itself does not lend to romanticism: they're in a little cramped punk bar in Manhattan that smells like chock beer and cigarette smoke, pressed against a wall, far away from the stage. It's better this way, and Ash pressed himself tighter against Eiji, arms around his shoulders, because it was better: surrounded by a wall and by the other man, Ash knew he was safe. Now, if only Shorter would get off that damn stage - part of him does not want to, part of him wants Shorter by his side as well. It's safer that way, his brain tells him; Ashe wishes his brain would shut the fuck up.
He wants to ask if Eiji was enjoying it, but the loud volume of the music did not allow it. Besides, it's not like he has to ask: it's written on his gobsmacked face, in the way his mouth is slightly open. It's funny, but it just makes him seem ethereal underneath the shitty lighting, bathed in the faint glow of the red lights. Different, but familiar.
It makes Shorter beautiful, too, but slightly foreign: the light makes him look angry, and the music lends itself to it, a screaming sound of words slurred together until they were a long chain - both Ash and Eiji unsure of how he breathes, and Shorter does not explain how he does it, winking their questions away -, and Shorter looks like an angry god, coming down to Earth to end his enemies with a yell, like a general amidst battle, and the drums the song had were the drums of war, a rhythmic beat to guide the marching soldiers.
Two sides of a coin, Ashe rationalizes - and how lucky is he to have both. He kisses the side of Eiji's forehead, presses himself a little bit more against him. Eiji looked at him, curious, eyes still shining. Is something wrong? , he mouths, and Ash shakes his head.
No, he replies. Nothing's wrong. Soon enough Shorter will be off that stage, and he will have both his lovers with him, protecting Ashe; how could things be wrong?
