The day of the first performance has finally arrived! It was the most ambitious band Yamato has ever got a gig with, and he became extremely anxious during the dress rehearsal. Stark stage fright led his forefinger straight into the ominous darkness of his left nostril, overgrown with thick hairs and mucus just like his late grandma's attic with gloomy layers of cobweb.
Completely detached from his will, his agitated nerves then proceeded to lead the handsome blonde's fingertips straight to the rugged surface of the fat .100 E-string freshly attached to Yamato's faithful Fender precision bass, and rub the slimy remains from the mucous glands between the fifth and ninth fret. Nervous musician's OCD then forced his finger to enter the right nostril and, since that hole was in much cleaner state than its first neighbor, dig so deep in search of satisfactory amount of slime that its movements caused acute pain in Yamato's sinuses and a few tears became obtainable on his pale face.
Before Yamato's upset mind stopped projecting walking bass lines in impossible meters, his hands made dozens of similar maneuvers and the otherwise reliable Ernie Ball strings were covered in amount of mucus that only a person which inhaled compressed air from all of Digital world's extremes can produce. And after Yamato finally faced the reality back, he could only watch in horror as the sticky topping prevents his fingers to smoothly glide across the strings.
Wrath completely switched anxiety and, after a few muted and harshly executed "blobs" that resulted from attempts at playing slides on slime covered bass, an angry loud scream intimidated an empty club. Takeru, the guy whom he considered to be his brother until DNA tests allowed them to push their brother-like love even further, came from the backstage to check what's wrong.
"What happened, big bro?" - asked the younger blonde.
"I ruined my bass, our show is doomed!" - Yamato whispered desperately through the layers of angry breaths.
"Oh, you're gross!" - said Takeru in disgust, and proceeded to reach his pocket - "I suppose these might help."
"Teta Violeta?" - Yamato read the foreign product's name after some struggle.
"It means something like auntie Violet in Croatian. The best wet handkerchiefs I've ever used. I've bought a lifetime supply after that battle with KnifeButchermon on a migrant route" - explained Takeru.
"Thanks, bro! You're really my guardian angel" - said Yamato and began the liberation of his instrument from its slippery cover. After depleting two of Takeru's wet handkerchief packs, Yamato's bass was finally tidy and playable. He thanked Takeru with even wetter kisses than Teta Violeta could ever offer him. After their tongues safely collided into one limber mass, Yamato's hand protruded under Takeru's hat, gently petting his hair while the hardened remains of slimy substance from underneath his nails occupied younger blonde's scalp.
An hour after the warmest warm-up Yamato has ever had, his new band's first show finally began. Unfortunately, huge amount of moist from wet hankies slipped into bass' jack, and Yamato was electrocuted during the first song.
THE END