Chapter Text
"Jezu, oddaj!" Nexe yelled, reaching for the pill bottle.
"Nuh-uh." Ewron held it above his head with a grin. "Co to w ogóle jest?"
"Ewron, zostaw go." Graf frowned, already knowing Ewron wasn't actually curious—he was just trying to embarrass Nexe.
"Ale—"
Before he could finish, Nexe's fist landed square in his stomach.
"Ech—!"
Ewron doubled over just enough for the small pill bottle to slip from his fingers and clatter onto the floor.
Multi watched the entire exchange from across the room, briefly looking up from his homework before returning to it with a quiet sigh. Beside him, Graf pinched the bridge of his nose.
Somehow, the two of them always ended up being the only ones actually trying to get any work done.
Nexe snatched the pill bottle, shoved it into his bag, and stormed out of the room.
Bang.
The door slammed behind him.
Ewron let out an exaggerated groan, throwing himself onto the couch.
"The fuck is his problem?"
Multi looked up from his notebook, already sounding tired.
"You know he's not proud of his...—problem. I don't know why you're acting surprised."
Ewron scoffed. "I was just joking."
"Yeah," Multi replied flatly. "And you always take it too far."
A brief silence settled over the room.
Then Multi sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
"...At this point, you're nicer to that Katie girl than you are to your so called "Family."
Ewron barked out a laugh, one that sounded more like mockery than amusement.
"Please— I treat everyone the same. I barely even know her."
Multi looked up from his notebook, unimpressed.
"You called her 'bestie' last week... Whatever."
He let out a quiet sigh and dropped the conversation. There was no point arguing with Ewron when he was like this.
Truthfully, he was just disappointed with how Ewron treated Nexe.
"By the way..." Ewron leaned back in his chair with a grin. "About that new guy—"
"Don't." Graf cut him off without even looking up from his homework.
"We're actually trying to get this done while your lazy ass is waiting to copy off us. How about you contribute for once instead of thirsting over some poor new guy?"
"Jeeez, okaaay—"
Ewron dragged the word out obnoxiously, stretching the last syllable for far longer than necessary.
He wasn't backing down.
He was just being annoying on purpose.
...
Nexe shoved his headphones over his ears before the music room door had even finished closing behind him.
He didn't bother turning the volume down.
He wanted noise.
Anything to drown out the replay of Ewron's stupid laugh.
...
The rooftop was usually empty around this time.
Usually.
Today, two voices reached him before he even pushed the door open.
"...¡No, no fue así!"
A burst of laughter followed.
Spanish.
Nexe glanced over instinctively.
Roier leaned against the fence, laughing so hard he had to wipe at the corner of his eye.
Opposite him stood the new kid.
Quackity.
Animated as ever, talking with his hands as though the story alone wasn't enough.
The conversation flowed so naturally that Nexe couldn't even tell who'd started speaking first.
He tore his gaze away and walked toward his usual spot.
Their laughter lingered behind him.
Strange.
Two people who'd only known each other for such a short time already sounded... comfortable.
Sometimes, it felt like that came easier to strangers than it did to family.
Nexe quietly lowered himself onto the cold concrete in the corner of the rooftop, his usual spot tucked just far enough away from everyone else that nobody ever bothered him.
Without a second thought, he slid his headphones over his ears and turned the volume all the way up.
Music immediately flooded his head, swallowing the sound of the wind, the distant chatter from the courtyard below, and—most importantly—the thoughts that refused to leave him alone.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a little while...
He didn't want to think about Ewron.
Or the argument.
Or the stupid pill bottle.
...
A burst of laughter carried across the rooftop anyway.
Even through the music.
Nexe didn't bother looking over.
"...And then he actually had the audacity to tell me it was my fault," Quackity exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in disbelief. "Like, can you imagine?"
Roier stared at him for a second before laughing so hard he had to grip the railing.
"No way!"
"I swear!"
"What'd you do?"
Quackity wore the kind of grin that already answered the question.
"I told him that if he couldn't handle losing an argument..." He paused dramatically, "...maybeee he should stop having opinions."
Roier doubled over.
"Pendejo!"
"What?" Quackity laughed, clearly proud of himself. "I wasn't wrong."
"You absolutely were, cabrón."
"Hey, at least it was hilarious! You should've seen the look on his face..."
Roier could picture it.
Some poor guy standing there completely speechless while Quackity walked away convinced he'd just won a Nobel Prize for comedy.
"...You're actually impossible."
"I've heard that before."
"I don't doubt it."
Another laugh escaped both of them, gradually fading into something quieter.
The conversation didn't end.
It simply... slowed.
Neither of them seemed bothered by the silence that settled between them.
It wasn't awkward.
Neither of them felt the need to fill every second with words.
Instead, they simply stood there, shoulder to shoulder against the railing as the afternoon breeze swept across the rooftop, stirring loose strands of hair and sending the trees surrounding the school into a soft rustle.
Below them, students wandered across the football field, some already making their way back inside while others lingered outside, enjoying the last few minutes before the next lesson.
Quackity rested both elbows on the railing, absentmindedly watching the movement below.
"...So," he said after a while.
Roier hummed in response.
"Hm?"
"How long have you been at this school?"
Roier thought about it for a moment.
"...Since the beginning."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
There wasn't much else to say about it.
Years passed surprisingly quickly when you spent them in the same hallways.
Quackity let out a thoughtful hum before puffing out his cheeks slightly.
"Soo..."
Roier immediately smirked.
"That 'so' tells me you've got another question."
"...Maybe."
"I knew it."
Quackity rolled his eyes with an amused smile.
"You know everyone then?"
Roier shrugged.
"More or less."
He looked out across the school grounds as he spoke.
"I mean... I wouldn't say I know everyone. But I've been around long enough to recognize most faces."
"...Enough people, I guess."
Quackity nodded slowly.
His fingers drummed against the metal railing in an absent rhythm.
"There is this group..."
He hesitated.
"...Everyone talks bad about them."
Roier didn't even need him to elaborate.
"The Polish boys?"
Quackity glanced over.
"...Yeah."
Roier mirrored his posture, leaning his forearms against the railing beside him.
For a brief moment, he simply watched a football roll across the field below before answering.
"...Honestly?"
"I've heard just about every rumor there is."
"People say they're arrogant."
"They say they're weird."
"They say they think they're better than everyone else."
He shrugged.
"But nobody actually knows what's true anymore."
"The stories get passed around so much that they're all mixed together."
Quackity listened quietly.
"...So you don't know them?"
Roier shook his head.
"Not really."
"I've talked to a couple of them here and there." ...
"But they're usually doing their own thing."
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"...One thing I do know, though?"
"Hm?"
"They make some dope-ass music."
Quackity's gaze drifted back to the football field.
"...Yeah."
He already knew that much.
Quackity remained leaning against the railing for another moment, his gaze lingering on the school grounds below.
For a second, he seemed completely lost in thought.
The shrill ringing of the bell snapped him back to reality.
Students below immediately began scattering toward the school building, conversations cut short as backpacks were thrown over shoulders and the rush to class began.
Roier let out an exaggerated sigh, pushing himself away from the railing.
"...Y'know," he said, slowly reaching for his backpack, "I really think we shouldn't be late to chemistry."
Quackity turned to face him, eyebrows raised.
"Oh yeah?" A grin spread across his face.
"What's she gonna do? Perform an experiment on me?"
Roier let out a laugh.
"Oh, you wish."
Quackity's smile faltered just enough to become suspicious.
"...It's worse."
"Worse?"
His eyes widened dramatically.
Roier nodded with mock seriousness.
"Way worse."
He slowly stepped around Quackity, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal the darkest secret known to mankind.
"...She's going to..."
He paused.
Another step.
"...give you..."
One last dramatic pause.
"...the homework and detention combo."
Silence.
A breeze swept across the rooftop.
Quackity stared at him in horror.
"...No."
Roier bit the inside of his cheek, already trying not to laugh.
"No..."
Quackity clutched a hand to his chest as though he'd just been stabbed.
"Oh no."
He took a slow step backward.
"C'mon, man..."
His expression was one of pure betrayal.
"I can't let her scar me for life with chemistry homework."
He shook his head solemnly.
"My GPA may recover...!"
Roier completely lost it.
A loud laugh escaped him as he doubled over for a moment, shaking his head.
He was still smiling as he slung his backpack over one shoulder.
"Let's go before your whining gets us detention."
Quackity let out one final, theatrical sigh before following after him.
"Fine..."
He glanced back toward the rooftop one last time.
"...But if I don't make it out alive, tell everyone I fought bravely."
Roier didn't even look back.
"I'll tell them you died because of a worksheet."
"...Cruel."
...
The chemistry classroom was already packed by the time Roier and Quackity slipped through the door. Nearly every seat had already been claimed, the room buzzing with the usual chatter that filled the few minutes before a lesson officially began. Someone near the front complained loudly about last night's homework, a group of girls by the windows were already deep into gossip, and a paper airplane lazily drifted across the room before nosediving into the aisle.
The teacher hadn't arrived yet.
"Looks like we barely made it," Roier muttered.
"See? I told you I had enough time to get something from the vending machine."
Roier simply rolled his eyes before leading the way toward the only two empty seats left in the room.
The pair squeezed past a row of students before dropping into the desks at the very back. Quackity let his backpack slide from his shoulder and onto the floor with a dull thud, only then noticing the student sitting directly in front of him.
Multi.
One black AirPod rested in his left ear, while the other sat neatly inside its charging case beside a well organized pencil case. His chemistry textbook lay open across the desk, covered in neat annotations and sticky notes. A notebook rested beside it, already half filled with formulas and observations, while a pencil spun effortlessly between his fingers in a rhythm that matched whatever song was quietly playing in his ear.
He wasn't looking around the classroom.
He wasn't talking.
He wasn't waiting for the bell.
He was reading.
Quackity blinked.
...Huh.
Back in the Polish Cave, Multi had looked completely different.
He'd laughed at Nexe's stupid comments, argued over songs, and sang with enough confidence to command an entire room.
Here...
He almost looked like a different person.
Not cold.
Not unfriendly.
Just... completely absorbed in what was in front of him, as if the rest of the classroom had ceased to exist.
Before Quackity had time to think about it any longer, the classroom door slammed open with enough force to make several students look up.
"MULTI!" Ewron's voice echoed through the room before he even stepped inside. "Ty kurwa, we got invi—"
"Ewron!"
The teacher's sharp voice cut straight through him.
She had appeared in the doorway behind him without Quackity even noticing.
The room fell silent.
Ewron froze mid-step.
Multi slowly lifted his head from his textbook, raising a single eyebrow in Ewron's direction.
"...Morning," Ewron offered with an awkward scratch to the back of his neck.
"I don't recall giving you permission to burst into my classroom screaming."
"...Fair."
"And you're late."
"...Also fair."
A few students let out quiet snickers.
The teacher sighed, already sounding exhausted.
"Sit down. We'll discuss your punctuality after class."
Ewron didn't argue. He simply hurried over to the empty seat beside Multi, practically bouncing with restrained excitement as he dropped his backpack onto the floor.
He lasted exactly three seconds before leaning toward Multi again.
His mouth opened.
Then closed.
He glanced toward the teacher.
Back at Multi.
Then sighed dramatically, slumping into his chair.
Whatever he'd been about to say...
...it was obvious he was desperate to tell him.
From the desk behind them, Quackity frowned slightly.
'Invited?'
'Invited where?'
'And... for what?"
The question lingered in Quackity's mind far longer than the chemistry lesson itself.
He tried paying attention—he really did.
The teacher filled the whiteboard with equations, explained reaction mechanisms, and called on students to answer questions. Quackity copied down everything he was supposed to, though half the notes might as well have been written in another language.
Every now and then, his attention drifted toward the desk in front of him.
Multi, on the other hand, looked completely at ease.
Whenever the teacher asked a question, his hand was among the first to rise. His answers came without hesitation, precise enough that she rarely had anything to correct. Even during the practical demonstration, he quietly pointed out a mistake another student had made before it could ruin the experiment.
It was... strange. But I guess everyone has their thing?
The ringing bell finally cut through the classroom, earning a collective sigh of relief from nearly everyone inside.
Chairs scraped against the floor as students hurried to pack their bags, conversations immediately replacing the silence that had settled during the lesson.
Quackity had barely zipped up his backpack when the chair in front of him screeched backwards.
Ewron practically shot to his feet.
"Can I say it now?"
"No," Graf answered without even looking up from packing his notebook.
"Oh, come on!"
"You couldn't stay quiet for forty-five minutes?"
"I did stay quiet!"
"You literally interrupted the start of class."
"Wtv."
Multi pulled one of his black Earbuds from its case and slipped it into his ear, clearly amused despite the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ewron looked between the three of them as if he were physically incapable of keeping the secret for another second.
"...We got invited to play the Youth Festival."
For just a moment, nobody said anything.
Then Nexe blinked.
"...You're serious?"
Ewron grinned so widely it looked like his face might split in two.
"I'm serious."
Even Graf couldn't hide the small smile that crossed his face, even if Ewron wasn't supossed to say it so openly.
"Looks like we've got a lot more rehearsing to do."
"Agreed, so let's go." Multi says, as he starts heading out.
Quackity's ears practically perked up.
Youth Festival?
The name sounded familiar, though he couldn't quite place why.
He quietly slung his backpack over one shoulder, pretending to be far more interested in organizing his books than in the conversation happening right in front of him.
Roier was already waiting by the classroom door.
"You coming?"
"Yeah."
Quackity tore his eyes away from the group and followed him into the hallway.
"...Hey."
Roier glanced over.
"That Youth Festival thing..."
"Hm?"
"The one they were talking about."
Roier shrugged.
"It's kind of a big deal. Local bands, school bands... hundreds of people show up every year."
Quackity hummed thoughtfully.
"So... they're good enough to get invited?"
"I told you. Rumors are one thing.," Roier laughed, "They're actually really good."
Quackity didn't reply.
He simply nodded to himself.
...
That evening, after dinner, Quackity found himself sprawled across his bed with his laptop balanced on his knees.
He hesitated for all of five seconds before opening a search tab.
Youth Festival.
The official website loaded almost immediately.
His eyes skimmed over the lineup until one name caught his attention.
The Hussars.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"...Well."
His cursor hovered over the ticket button.
"I'm just curious."
One click.
Another.
A confirmation email landed in his inbox moments later.
Quackity closed the laptop with a satisfied smile before flopping backwards onto his bed.
"...Definitely not becoming a fan."