Nana wonders what she really knows about Yasu.

That’s the thing that gets her. You can know someone without knowing them. You can be the vocalist and he can be the drummer and you can have a history, a backstory, but really, you don’t know. You’re slouched at the kitchen table you constructed with your own two hands and a bit of help from eager strangers, you’ve got a can of beer that’s practically the size of your face, and you haven’t even opened it. The sun’s rising. The clock’s ticking. Rehearsal’s in a few hours. And Nana wonders.

The other Nana, Hachi-Nana, puppy-Nana, she’s snoring. Her door’s open a crack and Nana hears Nana snoring. Really, it’s a reminder. Really, Hachiko-Nana doesn’t know Yasu any more than Nana-Nana does, despite the guy being an almost-brother and a more-than-friend to them, to both of them. And that should make her feel a bit better, but it doesn’t, so she twists the tab off the beer can and hears the familiar hissing, popping, snapping sounds.

Yasu is bald, but it’s who he is, so he doesn’t mind. And it’s not in an ugly way, not really, so Nana doesn’t mind either. There’s no hair to run fingers through — hypothetically, of course — but he has the earrings. Sometimes, she wants to run her fingers along the piercings along the edges of his ears, count them, one, two, five, two along the top, three further down.

And she knows a bit about Yasu. She knows about his brotherly, almost motherly (Snicker.) instincts that lead him to clean up the apartment after those nights when Trapnest is off from touring and Hachiko cooks more than necessary and, yeah, Yasu definitely has the motherly qualities that Nana herself fears she’ll come to lack when she needs them. She knows that Yasu’s enlightened in a way that the rest of them can only try to be, that he’s always there, always calm and stoic and driven. She knows that Yasu’s driven enough to give up the band for becoming a lawyer. She knows that Yasu’s crazy enough to give up becoming a lawyer for the band. She knows that he’s pulled to security but secretly addicted to fame, to BLAST, to The Black Stones, much like the cherry-flavoured cigarettes that he burns by the box, regardless of how she’d like to stop him.

She knows that she could love Yasu, she wouldn’t even have to try.

And sometimes Nana’s glad that she has the lotus tattooed on her arm. So she has Ren, printed on her, always. So she can’t lose herself, counting Yasu’s ear piercings and hating herself for it, flicking the beer tab across the table, just because she feels like it.

And she takes a sip.

- - - - -

Yeah, um. Mish/Cottonkiwi got me liking NANA. And she's awesome, and NANA's awesome, and the NANA section on here is seriously lacking in quantity. So have a drabble. 8D;

Comments and criticism are love.