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It was strange, the things that could become a tradition if you were friends with someone long enough. Over a week ago, Bickslow had come to work grinning from ear to ear, wafting tickets in Laxus’ face. He followed local bands - that was how he and Laxus had become friends in the first place - but Bickslow’s taste was more… peculiar. He deliberately found the worst ones that he could and dragged Laxus along to them.
“It’s a laugh.” Bickslow insisted on the rare occasion that Laxus complained. For the most part he had given up now, his will to fight dissipating after the fifth or sixth disastrous gig.
Now, Laxus just accepted the ticket with grace. Bickslow always paid for them, and the beer was usually cheap. On an odd occasion Laxus had even discovered a band or two that weren’t completely terrible, so there was always hope. Laxus clung to that.
“Do you want anything?” Bickslow gestured to the empty glass in Laxus’ hands, already pulling his wallet out and gesturing in the vague direction of the bar.
The pub was livelier tonight than Laxus had seen it, so he was drinking beers a little more slowly, not wanting to deal with the queues. But Bickslow was different, he liked making friends with people he had just met, and alcohol merely enhanced this trait. It gave Laxus a headache merely thinking about it.
“Another pint.” Laxus replied, chewing over his next request before he decided it was a good idea. “And half a goldie.”
Bickslow offered Laxus a two fingered salute and then he was gone, weaving through the crowd of people until he was completely out of Laxus’ sight.
Setting his empty glass on a spare table, Laxus crossed his arms and watched the stage intently. They had been coming to this place for long enough now that Laxus recognised the signs of a show about to begin; two members of staff were tripping over the stage, checking wires and adjusting equipment. The lights were wavering as they tried to find the perfect amount of dimness for a gig, and Laxus cursed softly under his breath that Bickslow was about to miss the beginning of the show.
One member of staff, a young woman with short blue hair, took the centre of the stage, both hands placed confidently on the microphone in front of her.
“Good evening everyone, thank you for coming!” The crowd cheered in response, with many raising their beers in acknowledgement; Laxus raised his brows instead.
“Tonight we have a special treat for you, a new band who will hopefully become a favourite to you all.” She laughed brassly, and Laxus rolled his eyes.
“Well the bar is pretty fucking low.” He muttered to himself with a wry smile. If this group could hold a note then they would be an improvement of the last several failed musicians which Laxus had witnessed there.
“Now introducing…” The woman onstage gave a drumroll on her thighs. “The Phantom Lordz!” She ran off to the side as the lights cut completely.
Laxus waited idly for the fanfare to begin, and he certainly was not disappointed. Lights splattered overhead like stars, smoke billowing from under the stage as though Laxus was waiting on a different plane of existence, and the sheer pomp and circumstance of it all made him snigger. Usually when small bands put so much effort into their display it was because they were compensating for something, and when the guitarist opened the set with the shrill screech of an untuned guitar, Laxus was proven correct once again.
The lights were cranked up to a higher setting, and the band was revealed, four people who were so dissimilar to each other that it created a strange sense of cohesion. Laxus cocked his head in interest.
The most striking thing about The Phantom Lordz was how they were all dressed as though they were heading to completely different events. The drummer was a balding man who wore a yellowing tank top and a silky green cape; the guitarist had two-toned hair, face-paint, and an obnoxiously orange fur coat; the keyboard player had oily green hair, a moustache which made Laxus shudder, and a dirty brown suit. The only woman in the group played the bass, and she wore a knee-length Metallica shirt with ridiculously high black platform shoes, and the lead singer… he was something else. Shirtless, he had a plaid shirt tied around his waist and tight, leather trousers which left little to the imagination, and thick, dark hair which Laxus could see trailed all the way down his spine, the front pushed back with a headband. Laxus had always appreciated tattoos on other people - having a reasonable amount himself, of course - but the lead singer was covered in piercings, so many in fact that Laxus had become mesmerised, counting the shining orbs of metal like they were stars in the sky. Face, chest, stomach, ears; every place that Laxus could think of held a metal bar, and that was enough to have Laxus leaning forward with interest.
“We are The Phantom Lordz.” The man spoke gruffly over the opening chords of their slong, voice like standing in snow; fresh and thick, causing Laxus to shiver.
The blond man wasn’t really paying attention to the music, because that wasn’t what this show seemed to be about. The musicians were average, clearly just people with a hobby that they wanted to take public, but the singer was different, held a passion for his craft which was as obvious as it was intimidating. He seemed to feel each note like a physical blow, brow furrowed and body jerking across the stage in the time to the beat. It would have been awkward to watch, but the man actually had a good voice. Laxus was as surprised as the rest of the crowd seemed to be, as one by one they cheered, clapping their hands and waving their arms in time to the modest beat.
“They’re not as bad as I thought.” Bickslow returned with a small circular tray of their drinks, making Laxus jump. A small heat pooled in Laxus’ cheeks as he realised that he had forgotten about the absence of his friend, having been so engrossed in the performer onstage. It was clear that Bickslow didn’t notice, because he didn’t immediately begin to tease the blond man, and Laxus was grateful for that.
“You actually sound disappointed by that.” Laxus shook his head in disbelief.
Bickslow raised the glass to his lips with a sigh.
“Well it’s no fun if they’re good .”
He pulled the glass away from his face, mouth contorting into something sly as his eyes narrowed. Laxus instantly stiffened.
“That lead singer isn’t too bad looking, either.”
Laxus groaned. The singer was Laxus’ type, but that wasn’t the point; Bickslow was always trying to set him up with men. He thought that Laxus was lonely. Laxus thought that he was an idiot.
“So you don’t think he’s hot?” Bickslow raised his brows with a surprised grunt. Laxus knew it was bait, but he caught it between his teeth like Bickslow knew he was; like he always did.
“I never said.” Laxus snapped. “I just don’t think that it makes any difference to his music.”
Bickslow dragged a stool over to their table and perched himself on top of it. He made no effort to get another seat, and Laxus rolled his eyes.
“You should ask for his number.” Bickslow suggested around the lip of his beer. Laxus drank half of his before responding.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.” He sighed. “I’ll ask the guy out, he’ll agree because he won’t realise that I’m gay, and then we’ll start hanging out as friends.” Laxus scoffed. “Not gonna happen.”
The music swelled, the song coming to a dramatic conclusion. The lead singer was beginning to sweat, thick hair clinging to his tanned skin in ways that Laxus tried hard to ignore. As the audience applauded and they prepared for their next song, Bickslow kicked Laxus in the shin.
“What’s wrong with having friends?”
“I have my hands full babysitting you.” Laxus shot Bickslow a nasty look, but the other man simply grinned impishly, knowing Laxus well enough to take his angry teasing as a form of affection.
As the next song started, Bickslow leant in close, whispering straight into Laxus’ ear.
“The dude is called Gajeel, and he’s gay.”
Laxus almost dropped his drink, spinning to face Bickslow wish brows pulled down in confusion.
“How did you-”
“I asked at the bar.”
Hastily, Laxus scanned the room. He saw men and women he didn’t know, some regulars that looked vaguely familiar, and…
“Mirajane.” He hissed. Laxus hadn’t known that she was working that night, but he saw her then, waving at him from across the room as though she hadn’t just made things unnecessarily complicated.
Bickslow sat back on his stool. “You’d be surprised what she can find out in five minutes alone with a band.”
It didn’t surprise Laxus, not one bit; he had known the woman since highschool, and she had always had a knack of getting involved with people’s business. Especially his. If he had thought that Bickslow trying to set him up was bad, then Mirajane was a positive nightmare . One that Laxus would never wake up from.
“Let’s just enjoy the show.” He grumbled, and for once Bickslow didn’t push any further. That should have set off warning bells for Laxus, but he was three beers deep and lost in the music, which was the closest that Laxus ever got to complacent.
It surprised Laxus that there wasn’t a song played which he didn’t enjoy. The lyrics were not even necessarily to his taste, but Gajeel’s voice was like bonfire toffee, and Laxus was losing himself in the tone of it.
One song bled into another; he stopped caring about pace and rhythm, focused only on how the music made him feel. How Gajeel’s voice made him feel. By the end of the set Laxus had almost completely forgotten about Bickslow’s presence, something which the other man often made exceptionally difficult. So when a hand grabbed onto his shoulder, Laxus jumped, snapping his head around in surprise.
“I think the set ends in a minute.” Bickslow yawned. “Do you wanna head out now?”
Laxus blinked slowly, mind still focused on the music and not on his best friend. After a moment, he managed to gather his thoughts into something resembling coherency and spoke.
“I wanna stay ‘til the end. Buy a copy of their CD.”
“Really?” Bickslow arched a brow, smirked, eyes darting to the stage in front of them. Laxus didn’t need to follow his gaze to know that Bickslow was looking at Gajeel.
“Really.”
Laxus crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, not giving Bickslow the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.
The drummer worked up the crowd one last time; the guitarist had his instrument in the air as Gajeel sang the final, softer notes. The audience applauded once again - Laxus included, if not even more vigorous than the others - and the lights dimmed.
“We were the Phantom Lordz. Goodnight!”
As he waited for the band to pack away, Laxus finished the remainder of his drink and checked his phone. There was nothing new or interesting to report, so Laxus shoved it back into his pocket.
“Are they selling shit today?” he asked Bickslow, who shrugged in response.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
Laxus gestured vaguely to Mirajane, still serving behind the bar. “I thought your best friend might have told you.”
The words were out before Laxus had even realised his mistake.
“You almost sound jealous, Laxus.” Bickslow barked out a laugh, throwing his arm over the taller man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be my best friend.”
Laxus shook him off. “Whatever. I’ll find the stall myself.”
The room wasn’t that big, and Laxus was taller than most; a quick scan of the room showed one stand in the far corner, with banners printed on A4 paper. The print was too small for him to read, but Laxus figured it was his best bet. He only got two meters away from their table before Gajeel and the woman from the band settled behind the table. It wasn’t uncommon for band members to flog their own merch at small gigs, but still it somehow took Laxus by surprise. His steps faltered slightly, but Laxus was no coward; he set his eyes firmly on the table and strode over with confidence, locking gazes with Gajeel at the first opportunity that he had.
“Great show tonight,” he offered smoothly, trying not to notice how much prettier Gajeel was up close.
“Cheers man.” Gajeel smiled, all teeth and sincerity with a slash of a metal tongue bar. Laxus tried not to notice that, either.
Gajeel had pulled his hair up into a ponytail, exposing his neck and the beads of sweat which made paths along it. The singer had intense eyes, eyes which weren’t moving an inch from Laxus’ face. The blond man didn’t know what that meant, exactly, only that it made him squirm.
He cleared his throat.
“Can I have a copy or your album?”
Laxus thought that he had left Bickslow behind, at the table, but he was wrong.
“Screw that, can he have your number?” Bickslow called from over Laxus’ shoulder.
The blond man felt his face light up, and the fact that he was so easily embarrassed just made him more embarrassed; he turned and grabbed Bickslow by his shirt.
“Will you piss off!”
“It’s okay.” Gajeel laughed awkwardly, but Laxus was too busy glaring into Bickslow’s sneering face to look over at the other man.
If he had had a chance before, Laxus knew that he had certainly blown it. He had a very specific relationship with Bickslow, and people who weren’t used to it often found them to be too intimidating, or too annoying. Laxus had also allowed himself to become flustered, something he was deeply ashamed of.
He let go of Bickslow, throwing his fist into his jacket pocket and grabbing the money he needed to pay. Laxus slammed the note on the table and snatched up his copy of their album, mumbling his thanks as he moved away from the table.
Bickslow followed behind him, having to hurry to keep up with Laxus’ frantic pace. Laxus didn’t stop until they were outside, where he turned on his heel and gestured to the bar behind them.
“I’m never coming to one of these with you again.”
It was supposed to be a threat, but still Bickslow smiled.
“Nah,” he drawled, nudging Laxus suggestively in the arm. “You’ll be coming with your new boyfriend.”
When Laxus offered nothing but confused silence, Bickslow waggled his brows and pointed to the CD case still clenched between Laxus’ fists. The front cover had a black and white photo of the band, relatively standard Laxus thought, but when he flipped it over he realised what Bickslow was trying to tell him. On the back, underneath the track names and numbers, were eleven scribbled digits and a message.
Call me - G
Heat rushed to Laxus’ face so fast it was dizzying, and when Bickslow started to howl with laughter Laxus thought he might pass out.
“You can buy me a drink to thank me.” Bickslow slapped him on the back, walking past Laxus, whistling a song that they had heard that night.
Laxus didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words; his mind and heart were both racing, and he kept turning the CD in his hands, expecting the number to disappear like a joke, but it never did. It was real. He was really, genuinely, in with a chance.
“Fuck!”
Bickslow was still laughing by the time that Laxus finally caught up with him.