Chapter Text
Aiolia is the first to leave class. Clutching his phone, he rounds the corner and settles into one of the half-occupied benches lining the hall. There are nine missed call notifications taking up his phone screen. All of them are from his roommate, Milo. Former roommate. They had moved out of their cramped university dorm just before the beginning of the new semester, taking up in their own respective apartments across town. Aiolia had expected their relationship to gradually fizzle out from there, but Milo, determined, has not left him alone since.
“Hello?”
“Lia,” Milo shouts on the other end, “Are you out of class yet?”
“Yeah, just got out.”
“Good, g – ah, shit!” There’s a sound like pots and pans clattering to the floor. Aiolia winces and holds the phone away from his ear until the cursing subsides. “Anyways, since you have, like, no life outside of me and classes, how about you meet me for drinks later tonight? We’re going to this bar that just opened up last week.”
The people on the other side of the bench push their bags closer to Aiolia’s side. He mumbles a quick apology and scoots over some, though he is sure they did not hear him.
“Drinks? Okay, but is this going to be a you and me thing, or a thing with you, me, and your band?”
“A little of both. The band is, uh, not doing so hot right now. The whole breakup thing with DM and our manager has been kiiiinda bad for gigs, considering the, uh, management side of things,” Milo laughs. “So we’re hoping to scout this new place out, see if maybe they’ll be interested in letting us do shows on some nights.”
“So... why do you want me to come?”
“Because you’re my friend?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And, I dunno, maybe having a buff guy with us will make them take us more seriously. You could, intimidate them a little, yeah?”
Aiolia readjusts his phone. “Can't you use Aldebaran for that? I'd rather just go as your friend.”
“Perfect! I knew you’d be down. I’ll go ahead and tell the others you’re coming, ‘kay?”
“Hold on, I didn’t mean –”
“Okay, okay, I’ll text you the time and address! Later!"
The call ends before he can protest further. Groaning, Aiolia shoves his phone into his pocket and makes for the parking lot.
::
He ends up having to ask for directions on the street, unable for the life of him to find the sign for the bar. The couple he stops gestures back over their shoulders at the stoop they've just descended: the poorly lit staircase leads to a metal door covered entirely in stickers and posters. Just above it hangs a barely visible sign that reads SANCTUARY in chicken scratch: if it can even be considered a sign at all. The name is carved directly into one of the stone plates on the wall.
Well, he thinks with a grimace, I guess this would be the kind of place they'd want to perform at.
Milo and his band have never been all that great at picking venues. Rather than pursue popular local spots where they can draw bigger crowds, they always resign themselves to the unknown corners of the city. Last time Aiolia attended one of their shows, it was in a supermarket parking lot. Most people in the audience at that time were college frat boys who had only dropped by to pick up drinks and late night snacks.
“Excuse me, are you heading in?”
Aiolia makes a sound of surprise and turns. In front of him now stands the last person on earth he would expect to see entering a place like this. Dressed in a snug black turtleneck and a long pleated skirt, he would sooner expect to see them holing up in a coffee shop for hours on end, book in hand.
“Uh.”
“Well?” They neatly tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind their ear. Despite their demands, their voice is almost eerily calm. Aiolia wants to get a better look at their face, but the poor lighting and the stranger's thick bangs make it near impossible. "I have people waiting for me inside. So, please, if you don't mind."
“O-Oh! Sorry.”
He shuffles out of the way. The person nods their thanks and heads in, their every movement unnervingly graceful. Are they a dancer? A performer, maybe? Entranced, Aiolia catches the door and tries to follow them in.
“Hey, there you are!” Milo is already weaving his way towards the door with a grin. Aiolia acknowledges him with a short nod and returns to his search. Craning his neck, he tries to catch at least one last glimpse of the stranger, bu they have already disappeared into the bar. He huffs in disappointment. “Sorry for not replying to your text. This place has dogshit cell service.”
“Didn't this place just open? It looks and feels pretty rundown already."
“Hey, c'mon. It’s cheap and they allow indoor smoking. What more could you ask for?” Milo throws an arm around him. “The others are already here. Let's have a good time tonight, okay? And relax for once! You're always so wound up, it's hard to tell when you're having a good time.”
Aiolia allows himself to be dragged through the bar. He keeps his eyes peeled for the stranger in the meantime.
::
The band is surprisingly quiet tonight. Milo is too busy texting his boyfriend to be of any trouble, Aldebaran is with his boyfriend and on his best behavior, and Deathmask… Aiolia shoots the frontman a sympathetic smile. Deathmask is now single. Without the band manager to have all but draped over his lap, he has become one of the more unnoticeable presences at the table.
“So,” Aiolia begins, making a series of ineffective hand motions, “Did you guys talk to the bar owner yet about performing?”
“Huh?” Deathmask, whose actual human name still remains a mystery, looks up from his untouched bowl of roasted peanuts. “Talk to who?”
“The bar owner. I thought that was half the reason you guys came here?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah.” The frontman takes a swig from his beer bottle and looks around. “I was gonna speak with them after tonight’s show. I wanna see how good the crowd is before committing to this shit hole.”
If it’s a shithole, Aiolia thinks wryly, then why would you want to perform here at all?
“Do you know what band is going to be playing tonight?” The question comes from Mu, Aldebaran’s boyfriend. He has been with the drummer since high school, and the absence of a ring on his finger is baffling at best. They have already been living with each other for over a year now. “I haven’t seen or heard anything just yet, and it’s getting pretty close to show time.”
“Maybe they’re new,” Aldebaran offers. “Anyone more established, we would’ve heard about it by now.”
Mu shrugs and stirs his soda. He must be the designated driver between the two tonight. “That, or maybe we’re just out of the loop. You guys need to get going with that social media page already.”
“Well, if someone here hadn’t broken up with our manager, it’d be done by now,” Milo says while hunched over his phone. Deathmask kicks him from under the table.
“I was the one who got broken up with, idiot.”
“Oh, wow, gee, I wonder why.”
“What?!” Deathmask practically throws his arm across the table in a mad scramble for Milo’s phone. “I don’t want to hear this from a bitch dating someone from another band!”
“And just who the hell am I supposed to date here, huh? You? Thanks, but I'd rather die."
“Shut up!”
The bickering goes on. Aiolia is about to excuse himself to go order another beer, but the lights overhead suddenly dim and a hush falls over the bar. An older man, presumably the bar owner, walks out onto the ground-level stage and grabs the mic.
“Oh, shit, is it starting already?” Milo raises his phone to start recording, still managing to keep it out of Deathmask’s reach. “Too bad Camus can’t come. He said his new band got called in for a last minute show tonight,” he explains to Aiolia. “Hey, if these guys are good enough, maybe I’ll pitch Camus to ‘em! People always need a good bassist.”
“We need a good bassist,” Deathmask grumbles. He waves his hand obnoxiously in front of the phone camera, earning an annoyed sigh from Milo. “Tell your boyfriend to either join us or find some other guitarist to mess around with.”
“You don’t mix business and pleasure, DM. You should know that by now.”
“Go die,” Deathmask snaps.
“And leave Aldebaran alone with you? Fat chance.”
“Hey,” someone at another table shouts, “Would you guys shut the fuck up over there?!”
Aiolia sinks in his seat.
The bar owner, undeterred by the noise in the crowd, continues his introduction. The name Galaxian comes up once or twice, but the rest of what he says is completely washed out by the excited chatter amongst the bar patrons.
"Energy is good, at least," Deathmask mutters. "Owner looks kinda outdated, though. I wonder if he'll even let us perform after hearing what we sound like."
The other band finally emerges. First to appear is the drummer, who glares out at the crowd without so much as a wave of acknowledgement as he takes his seat. Despite his towering height, which may even rival Aldebaran's, he is thin and exhibits a pale, sickly complexion.
Milo gives Aiolia a nudge. “These guys must think they’re already in the big leagues. Who the hell walks out one at a time at a bar show? Where do you even emerge from, the bathroom? Man, if Camus were here, he would –”
“Oh, look. It’s Camus,” Mu says in mild surprise, and Milo immediately jumps from his seat.
“It’s who?!”
Aiolia sits up in his seat a little. Sure enough, Camus, Milo’s boyfriend, is at one of the mics setting up his bass. To keep the entire show from falling apart before it can begin, Aldebaran has clamped a hand over Milo’s mouth to keep him quiet.
“Don’t make a scene,” the drummer says sternly.
“Mmmnngnnmnmmnngmmm,” Milo retorts, smacking the other’s arm for release.
After Camus follows two others, both guitarists. The first is much more lively than the drummer, wearing a smug grin as he lifts his guitar over head to show off. But soon he is eclipsed by the second guitarist, who only offers his smiles to those gathered closest to the stage. When he arrives at his designated spot and looks up, smile growing brighter still, Aiolia bolts up in alarm.
“Fuck,” he breathes. A tight, oppressive feeling forms in his chest, squeezing the air out from from his lungs.
“Know him?”
Everyone at the table is watching him now. The feeling gets worse. Inhaling sharply, he grabs his jacket and takes a stumbling step back. "Sorry, I – I gotta go. I can't be here."
Aldebaran lets go of Milo, who quickly grabs Aiolia by the arm and tugs him back. “What? No, no, come on! At least wait until the end of their performance, Lia!”
“I can’t. If Saga sees me, I – I really don't think this is a good idea. If he sees me – "
“Oh, wow. They’re pretty,” Mu chimes in, continuing not to pay attention to the antics of the table. Aiolia briefly thinks he is talking about Saga, and opens his mouth to vehemently object to the idea of Saga being attractive, let alone decent enough to stand in proximity to, but he is stopped short as he follows Mu's gaze. The last person to have joined the band is none other than the blonde stranger from outside the bar. Distracted now, Aiolia allows Milo to pull him back down into his seat.
“We are Galaxian, ” the stranger says. Beside them, Saga strums a chord to collect the bar’s full attention. A few cheers and claps sound out. “Thank you.”
Someone at the neighboring table snorts. "What is this, a class presentation?"
But the moment they start playing, the atmosphere in the bar entirely changes. Saga enters with a haunting melody, fingers plucking the strings of his guitar with profound skill. Following this is the stranger's melancholic voice. By the time the rest begin their parts, everyone, even Deathmask, is entranced. They watch on in silence, eyes wide and palms sweating around their drinks as they experience consumes them whole. Aiolia keeps his eyes on the stranger the entire time, unable, unwilling, to look away for even a moment.
“Imagine us playing here after this,” Aldebaran murmurs to Mu, smiling playfully. “We’d clear the place out in seconds.”
“Variety never hurt anyone. Besides, DM has a good voice. He just needs to stop screaming at the audience for not picking up the lyrics fast enough.”
“Shut up,” Deathmask says, this time half-heartedly. It seems he too is trying to enjoy the performance.
The next hour passes like a dream.
::
After Galaxian wraps up, Milo excuses himself from the table to go find Camus. Aiolia briefly considers joining him in hopes of running into their vocalist again, but after recalling Saga’s presence in the band as well, he hastily slides Aldebaran what money he owes for drinks.
“Just keep the rest for tip or something,” he says. “I gotta go.”
“Already? You don’t want to stick around?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to get involved if Saga notices I’m here.”
Mu tilts his head. “Is he an old acquaintance of yours?”
“I’ll explain another time, okay?” He throws his jacket over his shoulder. “Tell Milo I went home. Or I guess I’ll text him? Just – “
“Alright, alright,” Deathmask grumbles with a wave of his hand. “Get going already, fuck. You talk too much.”
As Aiolia makes his escape, he stops just long enough at the door to glance back at the now empty stage. His heart hammers uncertainly in his chest.
::
He spends the remainder of the evening looking up Galaxian on his phone. Unlike Milo’s band, they have quite a number of social media projects already up and running. Aiolia decides to look through their Instagram first.
RHADAMANTHYS||DRUMS
CAMUS||BASS
AIACOS||GUITAR
SAGA||GUITAR
SHAKA||VOCALS
WE WILL SHOW YOU THE GALAXY.
Shaka. The sound of their melancholic voice still rings in his ears. Feeling strange, Aiolia tears his eyes away from their name and swipes through the band's image gallery instead. Other than a few promotional pictures of the members together, Shaka hardly has any individual photos up. They do not even have their own Instagram linked to the page, if their own Instagram even exists. Aiolia clicks his tongue in mild annoyance and scrolls back up to lurk through whatever remains available.
"Huh," he says aloud. The manager for Galaxian has their own link in the band's bio. He clicks on the profile link, more so out of boredom than curiosity, only to watch as a familiar face takes up the screen.
"Huh."
Knowing that Milo and the others must also be lurking through Galaxian's social media, he wonders how soon Deathmask will come across this turn of events.
::
“Break up with Camus,” Deathmask screams at Milo over the phone. “Break up with him this fucking instant or you’re out of the band!”
“Okay, I know this all looks and sounds bad, but let’s be reasonable here. There’s no way Camus could’ve known Deets was the manager!”
“Of course he fucking knew, you idiot! Now break up with him before I do it for you!”
“You couldn’t even end your own relationship! How the fuck are you gonna end mine?!”
“ You little b –”
Milo curses loudly in exasperation and hangs up without another word. Across the room, Aiolia awkwardly side-eyes the distraught guitarist before returning to his studies. He had only come over in hopes that Camus would also be over, possibly with more information on Shaka.
“He’s such an ass.” Milo flings his phone onto his bed and goes rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. “I’m taking a smoke break. Wanna come with?”
Aiolia wrinkles his nose. “You haven’t quit yet?”
“Nah. It’s hard when you’re in a band with Deathmask.”
“Well, I’m not in a band with Deathmask, so I’ll pass.”
Milo puts the stick between his teeth and winks. “Smart. I’ll be back.”
Once he steps out, Aiolia reaches for his phone and checks Galaxian’s Instagram again. The only new post is a selfie of Saga. He wrinkles his nose.
::
A week later, Milo invites him over again. Aldebaran and Mu are also present, though this time the former is the designated driver. Mu has already polished off three cans of beer by the time Aiolia arrives, and he is only ten minutes late.
“No DM?”
Milo takes his jacket and tosses it over the couch with the rest. “Nah. He’s meeting up with someone tonight. Potential new bassist, he said.”
“The Camus thing bothered him so much, he swore that he was going to find us someone by the end of the week,” Aldebaran elaborates further. “I think the Galaxian thing is bothering him in general, though. It was a good show.”
“Speaking of which,” and Mu cracks open yet another beer, maneuvering the tab open with his knuckles rather than his nails, “Aiolia, you never did explain the whole Saga thing that sent you running.”
Aiolia laughs nervously. “Sorry, maybe another time. It’s kind of a long story, and I don't want to be a killjoy.”
"Is it that serious?"
"Well –"
“Ugh, fucking Camus!” Milo cuts him off from the kitchen. He types on his phone furiously, teeth grit in exasperation. “Another last minute band practice? Fucking seriously?”
Aldebaran frowns. “Again? Why is everything always last minute with that group?”
“Because Saga is a little bitch who keeps micromanaging everyone’s schedule around his own,” Milo grumbles. “Seriously. Camus has nothing good to say about the guy outside of his guitar skills. He’s a real piece of shit.”
Aiolia takes a seat on the couch, laughing. “I could’ve told you as much. Best of luck to Camus, though.”
“My poor Camus… Ugh, he probably won’t be able to come by until midnight.”
“Midnight’s kinda pushing it for me, sorry,” Aldebaran says. “Me and Mu have plans tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll just tell Camus not to worry about it.”
Aiolia reaches for a beer. “How are the other members treating him?”
“They don’t talk to each other much, so there’s not really much to say.” Milo shrugs and picks up the TV remote. “Though I hear the vocalist kinda weird.”
“Weird?”
“Weird, like… I dunno, weird? Camus says they – they as in they , by the way – are kinda, like, high maintenance. They have all these terms and conditions, never want to pitch in ideas for anything, and always leave practice without saying a word to anyone. So… weird, y’know?”
“Oh.” Aiolia swirls his beer bottle around idly, mulling it over. “I guess that is kind of weird.”
Mu glances at him, then returns his attention to Milo. “And Deathmask isn’t weird?”
“DM is… well, DM. He’s different.”
“So maybe their weird is a little different, too. You never know.”
Aiolia catches Mu glancing at him again. Embarrassed, he takes a swig of his beer and looks elsewhere.
::
He is passing through downtown days later when he hears it: muffled shouting inside a parked car. Unease pools in his stomach. An argument out on the street is one thing, but in a car suggests a terrifying potential. Turning on his heel, Aiolia begins looking around for the source.
He passes a sleek black car with tinted windows parked along the sidewalk. The arguing grows louder the closer he gets. Scowling, he steps out onto the street and approaches the driver’s side.
“Excuse me,” he calls. When he gets no answer, he knocks on the window. “Excuse me!”
The arguing finally stops. Aiolia ducks away as the window rolls down.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I could hear you both arguing from all the way down the street. Is everything alright in th –”
“Aiolia?” The man inside the car lowers his sunglasses. “Aiolia, is that you?”
All the air squeezes out of his body.
“Saga,” he manages weakly.
“Darling, who is this?”
The other person in the car leans into view. Aiolia recognizes them from Instagram – “Deets”, as Milo would say, or Deathmask’s ex. He reddens in realization of the scene he has just come across and takes another step back.
“An old friend’s younger brother,” Saga replies casually. “What a coincidence! But then, if I’m not mistaken, you were at Sanctuary the other night, were you not? I saw you in the crowd while I was performing.”
Aiolia digs his heels into the ground. “Was I?”
“Drank too much to remember, hm? You must get that from Aiolos.” Saga laughs and retrieves a small business card from his pocket. “Here, take this. My number’s on there. We should catch up sometime.”
“I’m good, actually.”
A pause. The charismatic smile stretches thin. “That so?”
“It is.”
Saga slowly withdraws the card. At his side, Deathmask’s ex watches in silence.
“I see. Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Aiolia.”
He rolls up his window and starts up the car. Aiolia returns to the sidewalk, back turned until he is certain the two have driven off.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Aiolia lifts his head. It is none other than Shaka standing beside him now on the sidewalk, their face covered by a pair of bulky black sunglasses. They seem to be staring after Saga’s car. A tray of coffees rests in their hands.
“You have got to be freaking kidding me,” Shaka says again.
“Oh.” Aiolia moves into their line of sight. “Sorry to bother you, but I, uh –”
“Not now. Here.”
Without any further explanation, Shaka shoves the drink tray into his hands. Some of the hot coffee splashes out, causing Aiolia to yelp in surprise and leap back. Shaka hardly seems to care. They reach into their tote bag and fish out their phone. It is surprisingly simple; a matte red case kept in pristine condition.
“I would like to know why I have been abandoned here on the sidewalk,” Shaka demands. Their voice remains calm despite the threatening edge to it. “I have your card and these coffees still, too. Shall I dispose of them, card included? Or shall I wait for you to come back and pick me up?”
Aiolia tries again to make his presence known. Clearing his throat, he shuffles back into Shaka’s line of vision. An uncertain smile tugs at his lips.
“H-Hello, uh –”
“Yes?” Shaka lowers the phone. They seem annoyed. “What is it?”
“Do you, uh…”
The vocalist hangs up on Saga, whose voice could faintly be heard repeating Shaka’s name in agitation. “Are you always this articulate? You were stuttering the last time we met, too.”
Aiolia blinks. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do. I remember a lot of things most people don’t.” Shaka slips their phone back into their bag and retrieves the drink tray. Even now, their every movement is graceful. “You were at my show that night with that one loud table.”
His heart flutters. Unable to keep from smiling, he nods in earnest.
“Yeah, I was there. It was a really good show! Your singing voice is very nice. Your voice right now is very nice too, of course.”
Shaka hums in amusement. “So you are articulate,” they say, readjusting their hold on the tray.
“When I’m not nervous, I guess.”
“In any case, ah… Your name?”
“Aiolia,” he answers, giving a small wave in greeting, “My name’s Aiolia.”
“ Aiolia , then. In any case, Aiolia, I apologize for cutting this short, but I do need to get going.” Shaka inhales sharply, clearly displeased with their current situation. “Do you happen to know the fastest way to the east side? We are recording a demo tape today. I need to be there.”
Remembering now what he had been trying to tell them before, Aiolia laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck.
“Actually, do you, uh, want a ride?”
Shaka hesitates, looking unsure. “Like an Uber?”
“Oh.” The realization of how strange he must seem sinks in. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, he fumbles for his phone. “Sorry, that was weird of me to ask. An Uber, right. Totally. Let me just, uh – “
“Nevermind. It’s fine.”
Aiolia pauses in his frantic search through his apps. He glances up, only to see Shaka has removed their sunglasses and set them on the coffee tray. Their eyes are still that brilliant, piercing blue from the other night.
“A ride is fine. You don’t seem the dangerous type, after all,” they continue. The corners of their lips curl into a smile. “I’m Shaka, by the way. Try not to forget.”