There he goes again. The eyes of many who were inside the bar gazed at the purplish haired man wearing glasses, who passed by their seats, face dead-pan, not giving off any resolution, feeling, whatsoever. He must have had a tough day at school, or whatever. Who cared anyway? Nobody did—nobody—in that place.

Inside that bar, nobody cared about what people looked like. No first impressions whatsoever; no judging by the cover; no nothing. Everyone was a stranger to each other—but in a good way.

"The usual please." The man with glasses said, placing a bill on the bar's counter, taking a seat on one of the chairs in front of the bartender's table.

Swish, swish. Whoop, whoop—all those martini mixing, slash, wine mixing, slash, alcohol mixing sounds like that. The bartender slid the wine glass on the table to reach the man with glasses. He was smirking; quite contented deep inside. That man… that man with glasses always went to the bar he was working in. Every single day, at the same time... always.

He stopped directly in front of the man with glasses, finally finished tending with the other customers. "So," he paused and eyed the other. His eyes were reflecting on the somewhat oblong-like shape of the glasses of the purplish haired man. "What brings you here today?"

The other arched a brow. "Ah," He took a sip from his red wine, "You know very well why I am here. You know very well. Don't you?"

Ding-a-ling!

The door opened once more, and in entered three tall men; three tall men with glasses. The other customers save the one who was being tended by the bartender wooed and catcalled, mostly the girls inside. They were probably girls from the colleges that those three go two. No, not probably. They were girls from the same schools.

One looked incredibly suave. Wavy, somewhat layered dark blue hair, paired with luscious violet blue eyes. His eyes did not look that bad at all. His eyes looked perfectly fine—no blurriness whatsoever. Or at least, that's how he's pictured by the people around him. His specs were circular, blue framed and the glass on both eye-frames looked fake.

They were fake to begin with.

Oshitari Yuushi.

And then the other, behind Oshitari to the left, a brunet with wavy, messy hair, stood there numbly. With a stoic expression. That was it. That was all there was to this man. Glasses? Oval. Clear. His eyes were blurry, and he couldn't see well without his pair of glasses. It must have been because of when he was in elementary. Darn classmates, always picking on him for no reason at all. They always threw stones at him, and it hit his eyes. Not at the same time though. Ah, children way before really lacked pity, huh? After that, his eyes didn't function as well at they did before. Reading—he had to read with the paper or book or notebook eye-level, at least six centimeters away. Until he got his glasses. Poor kid. But now, he's quite successful, even with glasses. Even with such a bad history.

Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Then came the last one. He stood right next to Tezuka, a guitar case in his right hand, the other hand pocketed. Short and spiky raven black hair, black framed glasses. Thick. Incredibly thick glasses. Even the glass was thick; it was hard to see how his eyes looked like.

Inui Sadaharu.

"Aa there is quite a number of people tonight," Oshitari looked over to Tezuka, then to Inui. "I hope we put up a good performance for them today."

The three of them headed to the only available table by the corner, next to the bathroom, customers watching their every move. Man, were they really that popular?

Inui placed the guitar case on his seat, along with his bag. "We should get started then." He said calmly, looking at Tezuka, who was busy getting his drum sticks from his sports bag. He probably placed his other equipment in his tennis bag—because he had tennis practice before going to the bar. It paid to only carry a few things after all. The brunet nodded, also replying with a soft "Hm."

Oshitari did not take out anything. He really didn't need any kind of musical instrument after all. Inui took care of the strings while Tezuka on the percussions, mainly the drums. As for Oshitari? Vocals

The three of them walked up the stage, getting ready for their little gig. They weren't a professional band yet. Still no contract. Still no recruiter. But no matter. They were paid anyway. Just like that bartender who was grinning at the three of them, as if plotting something.

Okay.

Well, he's probably not plotting something, but he sure looked like he was thinking of something that had something to do with the three performers. What exactly, though?

"Niou," the well-known customer placed his wine glass on the table, "I would like another, if possible." His voice now didn't seem that pleasant anymore. It turned into something that sounded like angry, or hostile, to say the least.

"You sure are drinking a lot tonight, Yagyuu."

Gleam! The customer looked at Niou, eyes giving of this weary expression. "It is called stress." He replied coolly, face-palming.

His gentlemanliness—Yagyuu that is, didn't really send of vibes at that day. At that night. At that place, right before Niou. Although he had manners; although he knew what his values were, it really didn't matter at that place. Nobody cared. Why would he have to act as if he was some conservative freak at a place like this? A bar. A college bar. Everybody was going wild. Just by the arrival of the so-called 'Meganes', everyone was swept of their feet. So much swooning, so much fangirling (boying, even), so much yelling here and there.

"Well then," Niou poured some more wine on the glass, "Drink as much as you want." He looked at his watch. It wasn't that late yet. Ten: fifty-six in the evening. There was still time. He could just bring Yagyuu home if he dropped flat there. Just like before.

A smirk tugged on his lips. Oh, this was going to be such a night.

The lights dimmed. The gig was about to start. The Meganes. Wow. The three of them, along with an extra member with no glasses at all, playing the synthesizer.

"This is called Megane wo Hazusu Yoru, Meganes Style." Oshitari said over the microphone. His voice, ever so suave. It could melt a girl's heart any time.

Oh wait. It just did. Some girl at the back of the audience just fainted right after she screamed.

Yagyuu watched and listened intently to the song. As he did, he eyed the college boy playing the synth. He did not have any glasses. He did not look that alluring. He looked boring. Yagyuu thought that. And every single time the Meganes would show up for a gig, he would be upset. That man playing the synth did not wear any glasses. Yet, he, Yagyuu Hiroshi wore glasses. Why wasn't he part of the Meganes?

He hated that fact, but there was not enough hatred to bear a grudge. It wasn't his style to be like that.

Three songs. No, six songs later, the gig was over. Everyone had left, except for the part-time bartender and the usual customer. Niou had no intention of waking Yagyuu up just yet. Let him sleep like that. He needed rest. He needed rest for later.

And besides, it was time for cleaning the place up. He was all alone now. Everybody had left, including the other employees. No matter. He liked the privacy anyway.

He looked around before grabbing his bag and waking Yagyuu up. Everything was cleaned already. The only thing left to do was for the customers of the following day to mess everything up again.

Closing time. Finally.

Ding-a-ling!

The bell rang as Niou flipped the 'open' sign to 'closed'.

Yagyuu slowly opened his eyes and looked at Niou, eyes droopy. His glasses were placed back inside his glasses case which was inside his school bag. He couldn't bear to lose his glasses, or to break his glasses. He's seen so many things with it. He's done so many things wearing it.

"Oh, what happened?" He queried, still with a hint of sleepiness in his tone.

Niou opened the door, ready to leave. "Come on, let's go."

A/N: "Come On, Let's Go!" is the title of Niou and Yagyuu's song. :3 LAME? I KNOW RIGHT. But it seemed like a good ending to me.