Funni

The final note of the track vibrated through the floorboards of the abandoned auditorium, a high-pitched, neon-blue frequency that seemed to physically push back the shadows. Boyfriend let his microphone drop to his side, his chest heaving under his white T-shirt. A bead of sweat rolled down from beneath his cyan hair, but he wore a grin that was nothing short of triumphant.

Across the stage, his opponent—a towering demoness with obsidian skin and eyes like dying coals—shrank back. Her claws, which had been ready to rend him apart only minutes ago, were now trembling. She let out a choked, gutteral hiss of genuine terror before vanishing into a cloud of purple smoke, fleeing back to whatever hellish dimension she had crawled out of.

"Beep bo!" Boyfriend chirped, striking a victory pose. He adjusted his red cap, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just terrified a high-ranking lieutenant of the underworld into a tactical retreat. To him, it was just another Friday night.

He didn't notice the eyes watching from the darkened balcony.

Hidden in the velvet-draped shadows, a small group of figures huddled together. They were a disparate collection of women—some human, some monstrous, some from worlds that defied logical explanation. There was the nun with the explosive temper, the girl with the static-filled eyes, and several others who had once stood across from him in high-stakes musical duels.

"Did you see that?" Sky whispered, her grip tightening on the railing. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the faint glow of Boyfriend’s sneakers. "He didn't even flinch. He just... he just sang her into non-existence."

"His rhythm is getting tighter," Sarvente murmured, her usual composure fractured by a look of intense, almost religious fervor. "It is a gift. A divine, rhythmic gift."

"He's so cool," another voice breathed, barely audible over the hum of the cooling speakers.

They watched in silent reverence as Boyfriend hopped off the stage, humming a jaunty tune to himself. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the exit, whistling as he pushed open the heavy double doors. Not once did he look back. Not once did he realize that his "fanclub" was already moving, slipping through the side exits to follow him at a distance that was just short of stalking.

The walk home was peaceful. The city streets were bathed in the orange glow of sodium lamps, and Boyfriend kicked a stray pebble along the sidewalk, his mind already drifting toward the leftovers in his fridge. He was tired, his throat was a bit sore, and he really wanted to play some video games before crashing.

He turned a corner, unaware that three figures had just darted behind a dumpster twenty yards behind him. He crossed a park, oblivious to the fact that two more were keeping pace with him from the tree line.

When he finally reached his apartment building, he fumbled for his keys. "Bap peep bo-da," he muttered, finally catching the brass ring and sliding it into the lock. He stepped inside, waved a tired hand at the empty hallway, and retreated into his sanctuary.

Behind a row of parked cars across the street, the group gathered.

"He's safe," one of them said, a note of relief in her voice. "He’s home."

"We should stay," Sky suggested, her voice dropping to a serious, protective tone. "What if that demoness comes back? Or what if someone else tries to challenge him while he's sleeping? He's too pure for this world; he doesn't see the dangers."

They all nodded in solemn agreement. That night, while Boyfriend snored loudly in his bed, dreaming of pepperoni pizza and arrows flying in four directions, a silent perimeter was established around his building.

As the weeks passed, the obsession shifted. It was no longer enough to simply watch him from the shadows. The world was a dangerous place, filled with angry fathers, vengeful spirits, and megalomaniacal monsters. Boyfriend, in his infinite, blue-haired simplicity, seemed to stumble into trouble every time he stepped outside.

It started subtly.

Boyfriend was walking toward the local mall, eyeing a new pair of sneakers in a shop window, when a group of local punks decided he looked like an easy target. They stepped out of an alley, blocking his path.

"Hey, kid," the leader sneered, cracking his knuckles. "Nice hat. Give it here."

Boyfriend blinked, his hand instinctively reaching for the microphone he always kept in his pocket. "Beep?"

Before he could even start a beatbox intro, a blur of movement erupted from behind a nearby bus stop.

A tall woman with a veil and a look of cold fury stepped between Boyfriend and the punks. Behind her, two other girls appeared, their expressions equally murderous. The punks didn't even have time to scream before they were "persuaded" to leave the area at a dead sprint, terrified by the sheer aura of violence radiating from the newcomers.

Boyfriend blinked again. The women were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

"Bop?" he wondered aloud, scratching his head. He looked around, saw no one, and shrugged. "Guess they had somewhere to be."

By the third month, the "fanclub" had dropped all pretense of hiding. They didn't speak to him—mostly because they were too intimidated by his "aura" to actually hold a conversation—but they became his shadow.

Everywhere Boyfriend went, he had a retinue. If he went to the grocery store, three girls would walk ten paces behind him, scanning the aisles for potential threats. If he sat on a park bench to practice his vocals, a semicircle of protectors would form a human barrier between him and the rest of the world.

One afternoon, Boyfriend was heading to a recording studio when he tripped on a loose paving stone. He didn't hit the ground. Instead, four pairs of hands caught him instantly, hoisting him back to his feet before he could even register the fall.

"Uh... thanks?" Boyfriend said, looking at the group of girls. He recognized some of them—wasn't that the girl from the mall? And the one from the church?

They didn't answer. They simply bowed their heads in unison, stepped back exactly five paces, and resumed their positions.

"You guys want an autograph or something?" he asked, tilting his head. "Skdoo-be-bop?"

Sky stepped forward, her hands trembling. "We are just... making sure the path is clear, Boyfriend. You have important work to do. The music must not be interrupted."

"Oh. Okay!" Boyfriend grinned, giving them a thumbs-up. "Cool. I’m gonna go get a soda now."

"We shall secure the vending machine," Sarvente declared with a sharp nod.

As he walked toward the corner store, the girls moved in a coordinated phalanx. They reached the door first, one holding it open while two others went inside to ensure the interior was safe. A fourth stood guard at the entrance, arms crossed, glaring at a confused elderly man who just wanted to buy a newspaper.

Boyfriend hummed a tune as he browsed the drink cooler. He felt remarkably safe lately. He didn't have to worry about looking both ways when crossing the street because his "bodyguards" would literally stop traffic with a single authoritative glare. He didn't have to worry about losing his place in line because people tended to move out of his way very quickly when they saw his grim-faced entourage.

He pulled a cherry cola from the shelf and headed to the counter. The clerk started to ask for two dollars, but a girl with a heavy mallet slung over her shoulder leaned over the counter and stared him down.

"It’s on the house," the clerk squeaked, pushing the soda toward Boyfriend.

"Beep! Thanks, dude!" Boyfriend cheered, popping the tab.

He stepped back outside, the sun shining on his face. He felt like a king, though he couldn't quite figure out why everyone was being so nice all of a sudden.

As he walked down the street, sipping his drink, he looked back at the dozen or so women following him. They were all dressed for combat, their eyes scanning rooftops and alleys with professional intensity.

"Hey," Boyfriend called out, stopping in his tracks.

The entire group halted instantly, clicking their heels together.

"You guys wanna come over and play Smash Bros?" he asked. "I got enough controllers."

The silence that followed was deafening. Several of the girls looked like they were about to faint. Sky actually let out a small, high-pitched squeal before stifling it with her hands.

"He... he invited us," someone whispered in the back.

"The King has summoned us to his inner sanctum," Sarvente murmured, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy.

Boyfriend checked his watch. "I gotta be back by five, though. My mom is calling."

"We shall ensure the gaming session is undisturbed by any outside forces!" Sky shouted, pumping a fist into the air.

As Boyfriend led the way back to his apartment, he couldn't help but feel that his life had gotten a little weird. But then again, he had fought a lemon-headed monster in a mall and a spirit inside a dating simulator. A group of hyper-obsessed warrior-fans felt relatively normal by comparison.

He opened his front door and gestured for them to enter. "Just leave your weapons by the door, okay? My carpet is new."

One by one, they filed in, placing swords, microphones, and magical artifacts in an orderly pile. They sat on his floor in a perfect semi-circle, watching him with an intensity that would have unnerved anyone else.

Boyfriend just handed out the controllers. "Okay, who wants to be Kirby?"

As the game started, Boyfriend felt a strange sense of contentment. He didn't know why they followed him, and he didn't really understand their obsession, but as long as they were happy and he had someone to play games with, he didn't mind.

Outside, the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the city. But inside the small apartment, the air was filled with the sounds of 8-bit combat and the occasional "Beep bo!" from a very happy, very oblivious blue-haired boy.

His fanclub watched him play, their hearts swelling with pride. They would protect this smile. They would protect this rhythm. And god help anyone who tried to drop a beat in his presence.