Chapter Text
“One more time?”
“Yeah … maybe five.”
Jean rolls his eyes and turns his gaze over to Connie. A quick glance is given down to the drums in front of his best friend before the attention returns to its original place. There’s a smug look on his face, accentuated in the slight curve off his lips.
“You don’t even need the practice, Con … you just like being loud.”
That comment is returned with a hearty laugh.
“And?”
A shake of the head and Jean fixates back onto his bass, a beautiful, sleek model with a gorgeous black finish, pristine as the dark polish on his nails. His fingers run over the length of his strings, feeling the perfect tension within them.
Once he’s satisfied, he whistles to get Sasha’s attention, drawing her back into reality. She has the same habit as Jean, becoming absorbed by her instrument, adoring it as if it was her child, promising to keep it safe.
Sasha stands up, tall and proud, a wide grin on her face.
“Ready?”
Her bandmates give her a nod and get into their proper positions. She starts off their run-through of their signature opening song, an amplified cover of Demi Lovato’s Cool For The Summer, a song capable of showcasing Sasha’s skills as both a lead vocalist and a guitarist.
The 104 was formed entirely as a spur-of-the-moment thing. The three of them just wanted something fun to do, a break from how mundane normal life was. A group of freshly-made twenty-somethings living in a bustling metropolis with no real notion of what they wanted to get out of life. Naturally, the only logical solution was to merge all their talents and form a cover band together.
And somehow, they proved good enough to secure gigs. This was their final practice before what would be their biggest one yet, a show featuring a variety of local bands, mostly ones just like them, full of young virtuosos just trying to make themselves known even in their community, likely not a single songwriting credit to their names.
“Woo!” Sasha calls out right as they finish, reaching out her arms, first to stretch, then as an invitation to bring her best friends closer. They take the opportunity without hesitation, setting aside all their equipment to form a tight huddle. Arms are wrapped around one another, heads touching.
“We’ll end now ... I know Jean needs all the time he can get to make himself pretty.”
Her comment gets her a jokingly forceful nudge from the offended party.
“You’re just mad because you know she’s right.”
Jean scoffs and runs a hand through his hair, admitting defeat, just this once.
I’ll show them pretty, he thinks, with a quiet smirk.
And he lives up to that promise when the trio goes their separate ways. Jean Kirstein has elevated standards for himself, frustratingly high to those around him. It wasn’t unusual for him to arrive late to a party purely because his hair didn’t look quite right.
The outfit one selects for a gig is indescribably important. A statement is being made. What kind of person are you? What kind of performer are you? Are you laid-back, casual, trying to exude an excess of coolness, or are you maybe even inexplicably seeking to convey that there’s a stick so far up your ass it’s a miracle you can walk? The details were important, crucial even.
In his apartment, a place wonderfully described as mediocre-at-best, Jean carefully considers his options. Most of his wardrobe consisted of various neutral colors, predominately black. But the shade was important to him. In his mind, there was no such thing as one universal shade of black, and to assume as much was a foolish mistake. There were lights and darks, different hues for different occasions, and it had to be analyzed with great precision.
He selects a tight-fitting turtleneck, sleeves coming just short of his wrists, cuffing around with an ideal amount of pressure. Jean has a particular affinity towards this shirt because of the way it shows off his arm muscles, but that’s a thought he saves for the conversation he has with the mirror. It’s paired with beige pants, tailored to fit his body perfectly, making sure he doesn’t look just like his grandpa. Nothing could be more embarrassing.
Right as a tasteful trace of eyeliner is being applied, the door to his bedroom bursts open, letting his bandmates through as though they own the place. Sasha swings her spare key around her finger a little too aggressively, sending it flying across the room. She doesn’t bother to retrieve it, opting instead to stroll over to Jean, looking him up and down.
“Your ass looks good in those pants,” She tells him with a playful laugh. “Dontcha think, Connie?”
“All the girls will go crazy. Maybe the guys, too.”
Jean shoots back with a partially sarcastic, “That was the plan.”
He’s attacked by an embrace, arms tight around his neck, two faces joining his in the mirror. It’s impossible for him to suppress his amusement, no matter how much he tries. Sasha squeezes him hard, enough to take his breath away, before planting a gentle kiss against his cheek.
“C’mon, let’s go, pretty boy. Can’t be late this time.”
“Why not? We could make a dramatic entrance.”
Connie decides he’s grown much too impatient to wait any longer. He takes a step back and yanks hard on Jean’s arm, causing him to stumble back. The retaliation comes swiftly, with the taller boy making a move to chase his friend off, acting like they were back in school, zooming through the hallways, getting in trouble with teachers.
They’re nearly out the door when something catches Sasha’s eye.
“Hey, idiot.”
It’s only more amusing when they both turn to look at her.
“You forgot this.”
Jean rushes to catch his precious comb as it's tossed. He tries his best to look suave while doing it, though he’s dangerously close to falling forward. Once that feat is achieved, Jean returns to an upright position and straightens out his shirt once more.
“Thanks.”
_______________________________________
They arrive at the venue just on time. And the atmosphere already feels like home.
There’s already a performance going on inside, and the music flows out onto the streets, filling the area with the infectious sound of an aggressive guitarist and their backing bassist, the bombastic drums, and artistically strained vocals blending all of it together to create something beautiful. The 104 may have been formed as something spontaneous, but that did nothing to lessen the deep appreciation its members held for music and those who participated in its creation.
One step inside elicits a big smile. The subtle lighting comprised of delicate shades of blue and pink, occasionally morphing into a pretty purple. The way the music bounces off the walls and carries such a great distance. The energy of the crowd, singing along and cheering. Jean lives for this kind of thing.
Brushing past all the audience members, the band makes their way backstage. It’s fifteen minutes before their set, plenty of time to prepare and go over each important detail. Their placement on stage, their setlist … anything to ensure they’re at the height of their game, ensuring that the attention of the crowd is theirs and theirs alone. If some B-list, overrated, over-revered celebrity came wandering in looking for a quick boost of their ego, they would find no such luck tonight. That was what mattered.
For that reason, the trio chooses songs that can bring undeniable energy. Any calm melody can be elevated by Sasha, both by her abrasive guitar-playing and her intensely sweet voice that felt like a serenade in the form of a sucker punch.
“Try not to upstage me too much,” She directs that request at both Jean and Connie, who exchange confident looks to each other, wordlessly expressing that no such promises can be made.
The final song before it's their turn to perform is made perfect for dancing, an opportunity that Jean chooses to ignore while his best friends take full advantage. Sasha grabs hold of Connie’s hands and prances about the space, earning confused looks from stagehands and security guards alike. They laugh together, full of an exuberant sense of joy. Jean merely crosses his arms and watches them, pretending to be embarrassed by their childish behavior.
That is, until Sasha decides to switch partners.
She pulls his arms apart again and assembles the pair in a position almost resembling a tango, or at the very least, a very amateur version. Her moves are just as violent, but this time she cuddles close, demanding him to quit being so uptight.
“You know how I feel about dancing,” He bites his lip to try and hold back a laugh, dead-set on winning this little battle. She doesn’t respond, just keeps humming along to the music and swaying back and forth.
The “torment” is only relented when the song comes to an end and the audience erupts.
A man with a clipboard approaches with caution, clearly still alarmed by everything he just witnessed.
“You’re up.”
Without bothering to acknowledge the man, all three of them take hold of their equipment and rush on stage, instantly greeted with applause. Connie takes the time to mess up Jean’s hair, to his great annoyance. It wears off quickly, however, as the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins is enough to make him forget all about it.
His bass rests comfortably in his hands like it was crafted specifically for him. Slender fingers are flexed out in direct view of the audience. Jean aims to put on a show, and that show began the moment he took foot on stage. He is there to please and enthuse, to grab each audience member by the chin and make them look right at him.
Sasha steps up to the microphone and holds it in between her hands, eyes staring out over the masses of people, the spotlight highlighting the redness of her hair, giving it an emboldened appearance. She smiles, hiding the nerves that Jean knows she is filled within this moment.
“Hey, everyone! We’re The 104, and we hope you’re having a great time!”
She gets her answer in whistles and hollers, and that tells her it's time.
As is the usual, Sasha launches into the opening of Cool For The Summer, her guitar replacing the unnecessary piano from the original. Enthusiasm builds from the crowd as they recognize the song.
That excitement grows even further when Sasha starts singing. She comes alive in front of a microphone, letting loose a mass of energy and enticing her listeners.
Jean supports her both with his playing and with his expression, pride ever obvious all over his face, from the goofy grin and the way his tongue giddily slides over his teeth to the flicker in his eyes when he watches his best friend in action. He looks backward to Connie and they share in their appreciation for their beautiful, lovely frontwoman.
The song progresses to a high point, and Jean gets an idea. With all the confidence he can muster, he strides right up beside her, almost challenging her. This was never discussed nor planned, but he knows the crowd will eat it up. A cocky bass player? People were sure to take notice of them with this.
Sasha turns to him and doesn’t see him as any kind of threat, joking or otherwise. She sees this as a dance, no different from the one she had instigated backstage. Their eyes are locked together in great focus, working in immaculate synchronization.
And eat it up they do. Their cheers crescendo as the song reaches its climax, pushing all the way through to the end. The band had never had such an energetic crowd before, and it was the most riveting feeling.
While the audience is too distracted creating as much noise as they possibly can, the guitarist and the bassist pull one another into an embrace. Jean holds her tight and gets close enough to taunt her with an ere of playful mockery.
“Nice job keeping up with me.”
“Thought I told you guys not to upstage me.” Her arms are around his neck, hanging around him with an excess of adoration.
“I never agreed to that, Sash.”
With that, they separate and Jean gives her the spotlight once more.
The band goes through four more songs, all of which help maintain the atmosphere that was established with that explosive first track. They end by standing together at the front of the stage, arms around each other, holding everyone close, accepting all the praise being thrown at them.
Backstage, everything is packed away, and Connie makes a suggestion.
“Let’s stay for the last band, I’ve heard good things.”
“Oh, but I’m hungry ..” There’s a little pout to Sasha’s lips as she makes the complaint. Jean looks between the two and thinks for a moment.
“How about a deal? If we stay, you get to choose where we eat.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“I like that idea!”
Having once more proven his superb persuasion skills, Jean leads the way out into the crowd and finds a spot for them in the back, where everyone else is standing. They receive a few compliments while settling in, and are given ample time before they see the final band walk on stage.
Instead of their three members, this group has four. One shorter girl with blonde hair pulled back and three taller guys, one blonde and the others brunette. Jean has his eyes on the one approaching the microphone and almost laughs at his gig outfit.
In direct contrast with the sleek black outfit he wore, this singer dresses exceptionally casual, with a red checkered flannel over a white t-shirt, paired with black skinny jeans. It looks as though this boy had forgotten they had a performance and had shown up thinking this was a simple practice. The others around him weren't much better.
Jean was tempted to make a comment about it to Connie and was just preparing to lean over when the singer started to address the crowd.
“Hi! This is my band, Paradis .. we hope you enjoy!”
One look around shows that people were excited, but Jean couldn’t figure out why. He had never heard of them before, and the presentation was lackluster. Their singer was noticeably more soft-spoken than Sasha was, yet he had called it his band. He was their leader somehow, and there had to be a reason why.
Whereas The 104 opted for a powerful opening, this band wanted subtlety.
The girl with the blonde hair was their guitarist, and with the help of their drummer, she took them into a cover of Robbers by The 1975. The slow pace was off-putting to someone like Jean, who thrived off the aggression and passion that his own band had turned into their signature.
And this was a song with an instrumental opening .. their vocalist just stands there in his flannel shirt, tapping his foot in time with the drums, waiting for his time to enter.
And then he does.
The soft voice that was present in his introduction melts away to show someone full of quiet confidence, with no need to be obnoxiously bold like Jean. He doesn’t need to be flashy to get the attention of the room. He doesn’t need to grab people by the chin and demand their gaze. If anything, Jean doubts he would even be capable of such a thing. All this boy would have to do is reach out his hand and people would come.
He hasn’t even reached the chorus and he has people with stars in their eyes.
When he arrives there, even Jean finds himself impressed.
He is able to belt out the lyrics with such ease and little strain that you would be convinced that singing like that was a task designed for little kids. He weaves his way through the song as if it was one that he himself had created, like it was written just for him to perform here tonight.
Jean still has yet to be fully convinced of his talent. That is, until the ending comes. Kirstein was familiar with the song, and he knew what was required. This singer had to go beyond just a belt … he had to be loud and he had to be powerful.
Jean expects him to fail. Or maybe, just wants to confirm that he isn’t perfect.
That moment does not arrive.
The lyrics are delivered with a voice so full of raw emotion that the crowd is rendered speechless. Yet it doesn’t matter that they are so quiet .. the silence is deafening.
When he finishes, the audience goes wild.
Beside Jean, Sasha screams out for them, hands cupped around her mouth to amplify her volume, ensuring that her admiration was heard by that boy in the flannel shirt.
All he can do is stare forward, mesmerized.
And Paradis has only performed one song.
One.
“Thank you so much .. this means everything to us, truly.”
The singer laughs gently into the microphone, and even from his seat, Jean can see how wide he is smiling, how ecstatic he is in this moment.
Jean wants to be mad, wants to be annoyed for some reason. With every passing second, The 104 was being left behind in the memories of the audience, too consumed by this new prodigy to even still be thinking about them.
But he can’t be mad. He’s too busy being impressed. In awe. Wonderstruck.
A little voice in his head is asking a question.
He can’t possibly top that, can he? Right?
Paradis continues for another five songs. They never lose their audience. They never lose Jean. And when they finish, it feels .. almost devastating. Everyone so desperately wants more even though they know they’ve been spoiled enough already.
The room is treated to one more taste of Paradis.
“Thank you again, everyone .. have a wonderful night, stay safe out there!”
It becomes a cluttered mess when the masses all try to leave at once, but when it finally happens, Sasha goes back to being unable to contain her feelings.
“He was amazing! Wasn’t he, Jean?”
She comes right up beside him and links their arms together.
He nods.
“Yeah, for sure .. he was .. really good.”
Having completely failed to accurately express all the overwhelming thoughts of shock roaming around inside his head, Sasha is less than impressed. She sighs and starts pulling him and Connie down the street, determined to make it to her restaurant of choice as quickly as possible.
“I’m starving! Cmon, you, walk faster!”
Knowing better than to allow Sasha Blouse to become ravenous. Jean focuses the road ahead of him, relenting and pushing aside his thoughts on that singer as best as he can.
Though it’s not nearly enough. That might be impossible.