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The afternoon sun is setting slowly, the last bright orange rays of its light washing over the uneven side streets of the bar and club neighborhood. More and more people flow to the streets, eateries, and all other establishments after their busy days of work, and the roads are slowly getting crowded. Neon lights buzz and clink on, the pinks, blues, and greens mixing with the sun's orange rays in the oddest rainbows reflecting in the clear windows. There is no wind, the white streams of cigarette and vape smoke escaping straight to the sky almost as if trying to become clouds. It's a calm, usual evening for everyone else rushing around but not for them.
The silence of a group of young men approaching the prestige Hum bar is almost menacing, the only sound coming from the chains hanging from their jeans and the rustling of the leather jackets. Most people step off their path as they look like a bunch of no-good trouble makers, their guitar cases not helping them in most eyes. Delinquents would probably be the term used most often upon seeing them - with their long hair, black nail polish, and occasional eyeliner. Their sour faces upon seeing another group of men with instruments already standing at the bar's entrance did no help at all.
"I didn't know you could sleep in front of here to get in first," Kim, the main vocalist of the pop-punk group The Comedians, raises his eyebrow as they are within a hearing distance from the other group. It was an unwritten rule - they could do their rehearsal in the order of getting into the bar. And there was no limit for rehearsal per group - if they wanted to, one group could use all of the rehearsal time for themselves.
"We just practice something called good time management," Kinn, the leader of the jazz band Vintage Divers, steps forward from the group at the bar's door. "You should sometimes practice it," he smiles a condescending smile at the man before him. They look like absolute opposites - leather jacket over a white t-shirt, stacks of rings, messy shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, ripped black jeans, and rocker boots on a considerable heel, the black nail polish being the final touch versus a tight white shirt with rolled up sleeves, suspenders, dark brown slacks and expensive looking loafers, hair slicked in place and an expensive watch serving as a finishing accent. They could not be more different - the men behind them matching the style of their leaders. Two ends of the band spectrum meet in one place with the same goal.
"We might have arrived second now, but we will finish this evening as first," Kim reaches his out for a handshake and Kinn accepts with a slightly kinder smile.
"We will see about that," they remain in the handshake for a bit before letting go. "At least we can both agree that the top two are here already," Kinn's voice changes, the sharpness from before as if melts away and Kim allows a small smile to appear on his lips too.
"Agreed," Kim nods and walks to the other side of the door where his bandmates have settled down for a good time of waiting. They were here an hour before they could even go inside and rehearse, and good two hours before the audition would start. Tonight four most popular amateur bands were given the chance to showcase their talent in front of representatives from two major recording labels. They were regulars at the bar and had decided to give the young musicians a chance. Whoever came on top here could change their lives forever with an exclusive contract- and wasn't that any band's main goal?
"I'm already getting nervous," Big admits, squatting down and rubbing his hands together then proceeding with finger flexibility exercises.
"I bet everyone is nervous. It's a huge deal after all. It could change so much!" Pete squats down next to him, placing his saxophone case on the ground in front of him as gently as he possibly could. His eyes first travel over his bandmates in various stages of 'nervous'. Kinn and Porsche sat on the curb just a bit behind Big -hands tightly clasped, eyes closed as they meditated. Jom sat between the two and Big, tapping out his parts on his knees with his palms yet making no sound and probably looked the most relaxed. Big sat closest to Pete and was clearly the most nervous one. Pete himself felt excitement more than nervousness. He liked playing with his friends and having such a chance with them was already a reward in itself. He loved seeing other bands perform too, so it was kind of a situation with nothing to lose for him. From his bandmates, Pete looked over to their biggest competition tonight.
Their leader Kim was sitting down next to their other vocalist/guitarist Arm, both of them quietly going over either vocal points or lyrics or guitar parts or maybe all of it while looking at the brightly lit screen of Kim's phone. Their bassist Tem sat next to them, listening attentively and working the rhythm out with his fingers on an air guitar. Yet he just had to stand further away and thus catch Pete's eyes the most. He just had to. He always did that ever since their performance evenings started to overlap and Pete first noticed him. Not on purpose, of course, it just seemed intentional to Pete - who would just look like that, not on purpose.
Lower back leaning against a wall, allowing him to stand and still move his feet around, practicing each move he would have to make, his black Converse making no sound on the pavement. His hands did the same with two brand new drumsticks in them, his skilled finger twirling them around, adding a level of showmanship to it. Even if the movements are not as grand as they will be, the muscles in his arms tense and the t-shirt with cut-off sleeves he's wearing does not help the visual. His eyes are closed, earbuds in his ears, head lowered letting the two pitch black arches of hair fall freely over his forehead. His eyebrows furrowed at times and his nose scrunched, the silver hoop on the left side catching the light for a second, as he stops his personal rehearsal, rewinds the recording on his phone, and goes over it again. His lips just slightly push forward, cheeks puffing slightly as he focuses on absolutely perfect performance even when it had no sound and just one random viewer he didn't even know about.
"Stupid Vegas," Pete mumbles under his breath and jumps to his feet, startling Big a little. His fast and sudden movement is the first thing that stops the silent performance of Vegas. He raises his head and turns his eyes to look at Pete and the latter immediately sits back down, hearing how his knees crack like glowsticks from the sudden movement. From all things, from all times they were in the same space he just had to look at Pete when he was acting dumb. The audacity.
"Are you of all people doing squats now?" Big asks and Pete decides it is better to ignore his question and for the remaining however long just sit in silence. He hugs his legs with arms and rests his chin on his knees, staring at absolutely nothing in front of him until legs clad in black ripped jeans and a chain hanging from the wearer's hip, making a pleasant sound as he walked moves past Pete. His eyes come back to focus and he turns to his right and he feels how his eyes grow twice in size. Vegas had walked over and was now talking to Jom about something, squatting in front of him so casually - his left hand resting on his knee, the simple bracelet and the single ring he is wearing drawing more attention to his hand than even the drumsticks. Pete doesn't have the strength to focus on what they talk about as he tries to desperately zone out again, his own eyes deceive him as they keep glancing over at him. Why was Vegas so annoying exactly today of all days?
Pete looks somewhere else - anywhere but his right - and he relaxes only when Jom and Vegas shake hands and the latter stands up to walk back to his band mates. Pete, however, subconsciously still follows him with his eyes. What Pete doesn't expect is for Vegas, instead of returning to his spot in the shadow, to sit down on the opposite curb of the sidewalk right across from Pete and look right at him, before turning his attention to his band-mates conversation. Now even if Pete wanted to zone out his empty space was filled with Vegas.
"You can go talk to him, you know?" Jom makes Pete jump, as he leans forward so he could look at Pete more comfortably. "He's quite a cool dude. A bit on the quiet side though," he says and Pete wants to fall through the ground.
"Why would I want to talk to him?" he barks back as if Jom was at fault he had an 'issue' with Vegas. The only one at fault was Pete himself, who too was on the quiet side when he didn't know people around him. As if Vegas hadn't tried talking to him - he had, and that was the most annoying thing about him - he had tried. Pete hadn't, even after they had...
"Well, you look at him as if you want to either kill him or ki..." he continues, now clearly pulling Pete's leg, and it works so well, that Pete is back on his feet before the drummer can finish his sentence to stop him. But before he can say a word, the front door opens - half an hour early at that - and everyone suddenly jumps to their feet and scrambles to get their things and get through the door first to get the rehearsing rights. It's a photo finish, but Kim's foot gets over the doorstep two seconds before Kinn.
"Sometimes luck is better than time management," Kim grins as he leads his band to the stage through a rather large room filled with bigger and smaller tables, a couple of private booths at the back, and the bar on the left. Kinn and the others take a seat at the empty tables, eyeing the stage they have performed on so many times before. It wasn't very big, a bit crowded even, with ancient overhead lights that were too bright and blinding at all times. It was their humble beginning and maybe a step toward something bigger and better.
As The Comedians set up, the other two bands show up - one of them more classical rock while the other was also more aimed at jazz - and take their seats in the hall. Without introducing their set or even saying a word, the familiar countdown clicks of the drumsticks draw everyone's attention to the stage. Powerful guitar riffs start their first song - tonight each band was tasked to present two covers of whatever they wanted so the professionals could compare their skill to known artists, original songs would be requested if they get through this. Keeping it true to the original or making it their own was a choice they had to make. The Comedians don't play it entirely - it's just a sound check and agreeing on settings with the sound technician of the bar. They do the same with their second song - playing only half of it as well, focusing more on discussing the technical aspects of the sound and testing just individual parts with changed settings. While they start to unplug there is a strange light glitch right above Tem - one of the above spotlights flickering for a second - but it seemingly goes back to normal and no one pays attention to it.
"The stage is yours," Kim gestures to the rather cramped space filled with the neutral yellow-ish spotlight. There is a slight flicker of the lights right above the stage on the right side again that gives Kim's poisonously sweet smile a new tint of evil as he looks directly at Kinn. "You can take your time if you need to." He sits down at one of the front row tables, even though everyone else had sat further at the back. The rest of his band joins him and Kinn is left angrily staring at the back of Kim's head.
"Fine. Let's give them the full sensation, not just some stingy crumbs," Kinn gets up from his chair and leads the way to the stage. He doesn't spare a glance to two other bands - even if they are stylistically more their competition - as his completion was always the ones who were more skilled, not only the ones in his field, so tonight it was only The Comedians. They set up and Pete takes the right side of the stage, which so happens to be right in front of the table The Comedians have sat at. He does his very best not to look at them and pays all of his attention to his saxophone. There is another flicker from the light and Pete looks up, as it goes on and off right above him, but it wasn't the first nor the last time there had been lighting issues.
They begin their set and their first song is an absolute classic - slow and melancholic so it would showcase their skills of the very basics. They have played it every time they perform for years now so they go through it just once. Their second choice is something newer, more upbeat, and even though their first try goes well, they decide to play through it again. Pete doesn't mind, he liked showing off in the right spots, so he is absolutely into the song, Porsche's vocals clear, their harmonies with Kinn flaw free. Just from the corner of his eye, he looks at The Comedians, Vegas in particular, and the fact he is bobbing his head along, his arms are crossed on his chest is a big compliment, which only makes Pete even more enthusiastic.
Pete keeps glancing at Vegas, following his facial expressions, and it's quite fun - it's definitely not the type of music Vegas likes but he seems to be enjoying the performance, his eyes finding exactly Pete more than once. Pete is tempted to make direct eye contact, but the flickering light messes with his perception of the space around him and he wishes it would finally stop. Looking back at it later, Pete wouldn't have complained at all if the light would have stayed just flickering. Even though the sound of the music, there is a loud sound of something snapping and time suddenly flows slower and faster at the same time. The flickering light finally has had it and breaks off the ceiling fixture and takes along another working light next to it as well as the metal rods keeping them together. The entirety of its 20 kilograms and more are coming down aiming right at Pete, who feels frozen like, ironically, a deer in headlights. He is readying himself from the impact, his first and dumbest thought is to hope it doesn't hit his saxophone as he squeezes his eyes shut, his legs refusing to move. Yet there is no impact from above.
Amongst the shocked gasps and screams, an arm securely wraps around Pete's waist as a more gentle impact comes from in front of him and knocks him out of the way and to the floor, yet he receives barely any of the impacts, a hand protecting the back of his head as well. The loud crash of the light hitting the stage wakes him up and he finally can clearly see above him. He doesn't see the ceilings, the lights, or even the backdrop curtains - he sees Vegas. His arms are the ones that took on the impact as he pushed Pete out of the way of the falling lights. His face is so close, that Pete gets lost in the shape of his lips, the angle of his eyes, and his high cheekbones despite being on the floor, nearly avoiding concussion or even worse. It takes him far too long to notice the handsome face starting to grimace, even if it's just seconds passing in real-time.
"Vegas?" he lets out and the man finally moves, his arms leaving Pete, which is not what he wanted at all, but as he sits up and looks in the same direction as Vegas he suddenly feels light-headed. One of the metal rods has fallen at such an angle its sharp edge had cut through the jeans around Vegas' right ankle, going through the skin and probably even deeper from the front of his leg almost to the ankle bone, red gushing out of the wound. Pete's hand itches to grab onto Vegas' shoulder, to ask what to do now but his bandmates beat him to it. They pull him to his feet, staying mindful of his injury, and help him get backstage while Pete's bandmates rush to his side.
"Pete, are you okay?" Big shakes his shoulder and tries to pull Pete up. He can hear Kinn, clearly pissed, yelling at someone about what just happened, Porsche echoing his words. There's chaos around him with sounds and lights, while his own words of concern are stuck in his throat. "Pete?" Big repeats and only now does Pete turns to look at him, grasping onto his saxophone with both of his hands.
"Is Vegas okay?" is the first thing Pete asks, nothing else occupying his mind, his eyes finding their way back to the blood puddle on the stage next to the remains of the lights. He would have been there - underneath those lights - if not Vegas. A shiver at the thought alone runs through him - another following right after the vivid image of Vegas' leg in front of his eyes. If it all would have hit Pete...
"Don't know. They took him backstage. We should go there and get you checked out too," Big finally manages to get Pete up and drag him off stage with Jom's help who takes the saxophone from Pete's death grip. The backstage is a mess, several first aid kits have arrived, The Comedians all around Vegas, who have been sat down on a chair while his injured leg is propped on another. Currently, Arm's full attention is on cleaning it and bandaging it up, for now. The staff of the bar, however, was more so concerned with the stage and the lights, yelling about how soon their important guests would be there, not paying any attention to Vegas.
"You need to go to the hospital and get stitches. I think the bleeding could stop, but I am not sure. It actually looks deep, dude," Arm says as he puts a surgical cotton pad on the wound and proceeds to bandage it up. Yet it takes several layers until the red no longer seeps through at one point. "This is a shit bandaging job as well. I don't how to deal with something at such an angle. We are getting a taxi."
"I'm not going anywhere," Vegas breathes out, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths, the pain in his face obvious, his hands gripping onto the armrests.
"The hell you aren't. Let's get him up," Kim is obviously furious, who knows at what and who, but it was obvious he was not ready for any discussions.
"If I leave, we simply don't perform and we are automatically out," Vegas responds and winces even when he moves the leg a little. "No way these assholes are canceling the event either." As he says this more people enter backstage amongst the running and yelling mess.
"Kim, they are asking if we are still willing to play. The other two bands said they will. The lights will be checked again - that's the best they can promise. They can't change the time or date for this though," Kinn suddenly speaks right behind Pete who had stopped the second he saw Vegas. Exactly what Vegas said - the bar needed the event to go on. "I said that we are playing only if you are," he continues and even Kim's angry look softens for a moment.
"Are you an idiot? Why wouldn't you play?" Kim tries to sound angry, but there is a hint of gratitude in his voice. Their musical rivalry went back way before the bands were even a thing. They were brothers after all.
"Because you are our rivals. Not those two. So what do you say?" Kinn's face reads that he is ready to let this chance go. He has already come to terms with it while yelling at the bar manager before. Both him and Kim had walked through valleys of mud to be here - despite the money and status their family name carried. They loved music too much to try and swindle the system in any way and this would throw them ten steps behind, but Kinn was ready to take it.
"We're playing," Vegas is the one who speaks and everyone looks at him. "I can get through two songs. After that, if it will still be bad, I will go to the hospital."
"We are keeping the twist out then," Kim tries to set at least some boundary, knowing well enough he won't talk Vegas out of it, but Vegas shook his head.
"Let's keep it. Might as well go out with a bang," Vegas smiles and even though uneasy, there is momentary peace settling in backstage. For everyone but Pete, that is. He can just stand there, staring at Vegas, his hands grabbing onto the edge of his shirt. He wants to thank him for pushing him aside, he wants to ask how he feels and does he need anything. But he has never gotten the courage to talk to him before, who was he trying to fool thinking he could do it now, especially when his bandmates probably hated Pete's guts? He got hurt because of Pete after all. What startles him is Kim's hand on his shoulder and Pete feels how he is almost passing out from sudden fear.
"Are you okay? Nothing hurts?" Kim asks and Pete is taken aback by the kind and calm voice. All eyes are now on him, all of them concerned - including Vegas. Wasn't this his fault in a way?
"I'm okay! I'm sorry!" he blurts out and rushes out of backstage, through the main room, and straight out on the street through the main door, not raising his eyes from the floor. The evening air hits his face - all streets dark if not the bright neon lights and sparse street lamps - and for the first time in the last 10 minutes, he can breathe. He was not okay - physically maybe, but mentally he was absolutely shaken.
"Pete?" Porsche's voice makes Pete jump as he slowly turns around. He needs a moment alone, even without his closest friend.
"I need a moment. I'm okay," he smiles the biggest smile he can force out of himself, even though Porsche is the one person who sees right through it as he always did.
"If you say so. I'm not going to push you. Just that we will perform first in 20 minutes," as he says, Porsche doesn't force Pete to elaborate and walks back in along with the already slowly gathering crowd. If Vegas was about to push through two songs, then Pete could do it too, right? And then thank Vegas. Yes, that could be the plan. When their sets are over he can catch Vegas backstage and talk to him properly. It's a silly little plan, which will probably fall through, Pete knows it, but that's all he has for now. He walks to the side street next to the bar and squats against the wall, hiding in the shadow, just aimlessly looking at the ground for probably 10 minutes or more before he can walk back in, his legs shaking a little bit.
The stage has been cleaned to the point that no one could tell what had happened unless they were there to see it. Too bad Pete was there and everything is very much alive before his eyes the second he looks at the floor. He tries to look away and find something in the crowd to focus on, but he can't see a single face, the recalibrated lights too bright to see past the edge of the stage. He looks to his side - to backstage-, hoping to see some cheerful faces and as he glances over, to his surprise, he sees Vegas there, resting against the wall, looking straight at the stage. His bandmates are watching from backstage too, but Pete focuses on Vegas only. Somehow, it's enough - the seemingly calm expression on his face and his eyes looking straight at Pete.
There is a level of uneasiness that doesn't leave Pete as he performs. He doesn't make any mistakes, he still enjoys the overall harmony of their performance but it does not have the same groove he had in the rehearsal. It might be lingering fear that something else could happen or maybe guilt about what already took place, but he knows if they rated enthusiasm, his was definitely not a 10 out of 10. And he somehow feels none of his bandmates was 100% into it either, the heavy cloud of what happened in the rehearsal floating above all of their heads.
Their set ends successfully, and the ovations from the crowd are very validating as they all bow together, but there is still a lump in Pete's throat that he can't get rid of. He will probably feel some sort of freedom from it after The Comedians perform - after he will see that Vegas is as okay as he claims to be. He steps down the stage to move to the side as the other band takes their spot, but what he notices is that Jom stays behind, setting up another mic next to the drums before exchanging a quick handshake and shoulder pat with Vegas and returning backstage. "Will he sing?" Pete asks the second Jom is close enough but the man just smiles and finds a comfortable spot to watch the performance of their main rivals. Pete settles more comfortably too - in the same spot Vegas was at before - and focuses on the stage, finding the man at the drums and focusing just on him.
They have changed the first song. This time it kicks off with a quick drum solo, and everything falls together as soon as the first notes escape in the air. As the mic indicated, Vegas does join in on several harmonies, especially in the chorus, giving another dimension to the way Kim and Arm carry the song. The song fully shows their skill vocally and with their instruments, but Pete has to say it brings extra focus on the drummer and if he couldn't take his eyes off before, he definitely can't now. That, unfortunately, also allows him to see how Vegas furrows his brows and winces once in a while, the injury obviously being at fault. It doesn't seem to affect his performance - arms tense, hair bouncing with each move. The calmer, almost jazzy switch in the chorus feels like a direct callout to Kinn and Vintage Divers, as if showing they can do the same thing - the song choice now making perfect sense. It leads to the grand culmination of the performance, a shining vocal moment.
The first song from before has now become the second one, which has a completely different vibe from the first one. They performed it a bit in the rehearsal as well, but now it feels like they are putting their entire soul behind each word they sing. As the first drum parts start, the pain on Vegas' face is becoming more noticeable to those who looked closely, even if he continuously tries to keep his face under control. His voice remains strong as he joins the chorus, the lyrics seemingly push him forward as well, but if h continued with the same enthusiasm he would break. By the second it gets more and more obvious he is in too much pain to hide it and it's nothing but stubbornness pushing him to withstand it. Pete clasps his hands together, his eyes fogging up as he looks only at Vegas pushing through the song and he is silently praying he makes it through. The song seems to carry both rival groups forward, Kim's vocal runs at the end of it are unmatched, and then it goes silent for a second before loud ovations shake the room.
Pete lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding, there is a bit of relief, but it does not calm him down enough and he continues looking at Vegas. It takes longer than normal for Vegas to stand up and Tem goes to his side to help him walk off stage but Vegas shakes his head, walking backstage on his own, but with a slight limp in his step. He doesn't stop at any one - Pete or even Kim who is waiting for him and reaching out his hand - and continues walking further into the behind-the-stage corridors. "I need a moment," he yells back when Arm is about to follow and both bands remain standing where they were, watching Vegas slowly walk to somewhere in the dark as their next competitor takes the spotlight.
Pete looks at Vegas for a couple of minutes until he no longer sees the man and can't keep himself in one spot at all, following him. Surprisingly no one tries to stop him and if they do he doesn't hear them. He doesn't have to look too far as Vegas has made it to one of the dressing rooms, sitting on a sofa, but the initial relief of finding him is short-lived. Vegas has his face hidden in his hands that are visibly shaking, his injured leg stretched out, blood soaking through the bandages very visibly and Pete can swear he can see muscles twitching. A sheer layer of sweat covers his exposed skin and it's hard to tell if is it from performing or something else. His breathing is a bit uneven and the first thought Pete has is that he has fallen into a state of shock.
"Vegas?" Pete approaches him carefully. "How are you feeling?" he continues walking closer until he is right next to the drummer.
"Like my leg is going to fall off, if that's a feeling," Vegas replies and takes his hands off his face, leaning back on the sofa, eyes closed and brows furrowed.
"I'll go get Kim," Pete is about to turn around and rush to get Vegas' bandmates but, unexpectedly, Vegas' hand grabs onto his.
"Give me a minute to calm down a bit," he breathes out. "I am in no mood to listen to Kim yelling at me," he adds and Pete doesn't really have anything to say back so he sits down on the sofa keeping a good half a meter between them. The room sinks into silence - Vegas' breathing being the loudest thing there, but Pete is pretty sure his heartbeat could soon become louder. He nervously grabs his knees, moving his feet around, swaying a little. His eyes go to Vegas far too often and he is grateful the man keeps his eyes closed or else he would definitely catch Pete looking.
"I'm getting Kim!" Pete suddenly exclaims and is about to jump to his feet but Vegas grabs his hand again, keeping him in place.
"Why do you always run away from me?" Vegas asks, his eyes now open, head slightly tilted to the side so he could look at Pete more comfortably. "Am I really that horrible?"
"You are not horrible!" Pete protests immediately, his voice coming out a bit too loud and he bites his lower lip to keep another possible yell back. Vegas was right. Pete was the one who ran away - he was about to do it now, he did it earlier today and he did it that evening too. Were both of them completely sober that night? 'No' would be the most appropriate answer, but were they still aware of that what they were doing? Yes. Yes, they absolutely were aware of their actions and possible consequences as they had kissed for what seemed hours the evening the contest was announced and everyone was celebrating. Pete still vividly remembers the feeling of Vegas' surprisingly soft lips and how the taste of beer lingering on his tongue mixed with the minty mojito Pete had had. The memory alone makes him want to run away again as it is too much to take, too much for him to acknowledge.
"Pete. Look at me, please," Vegas asks and Pete can hear movement next to him, his hand still in Vegas' grasp. He slowly turns his head and with no surprise, Vegas has moved closer, as much as he can without disturbing his leg. "I would simply like to know why and then we can move on. If it was a misunderstanding or the drinks or whatever else, we can't just leave it han..." he tries to continue his thought but to his surprise and also for Pete's surprise, the latter grabs Vegas' nape and pulls him even closer, smashing their lips together with almost too much force. It takes a second to balance out the sudden enthusiasm, Vegas's hand gently holding Pete's cheek and guiding the kiss to a calmer rhythm between their lips and tongues.
"I really need an explanation now," Vegas mumbles against Pete's lips, the tips of their noses touching while they catch their breaths.
"I can't explain it any other way right now," Pete responds and kisses Vegas again, trying his very best to bring across something he truly cannot put in words right now. He's still annoyed and worried, a bit confused and delighted all at the same time and this is the best thing he can think to ground himself at least a little bit. Pete moves his body closer to Vegas, his fingers tangling in his hair, his other hand grabbing onto Vegas' shirt. Vegas left hand was now on his thigh while his right still gently held his face. In the back of Pete's mind, he had other priorities he had to take care of - getting Kim, calling a cab to get Vegas checked out - but he had no strength to carry it out.
"Very interesting. And we were all worried sick," a very familiar voice, belonging to Kim of all people, speaks, and the kiss breaks, Vegas pulling back a bit faster than Pete and the latter losing his balance and almost falling onto Vegas.
"Fuck..." Vegas utters and tries to sit up a bit more comfortably, not losing his hold on Pete, but instead, he moves his injured leg and lets out a pained groan. "Doube fuck," he moans, being the one who actually falls forward, his forehead resting on Pete's shoulder.
"I'm getting you a cab right now and we are going to the hospital. No more excuses," Kim tries to sound angry and intimidating but it probably doesn't come over as serious as he tries, a smile or rather a laugh threatening to break through. "Get him to the back door, please." he manages to get out before he turns around and walks away quite quickly and Pete can swear he can hear his laughter in the hallway.
"Can you walk?" Pete asks as Vegas sits up straight.
"I don't have many choices, do I," he sighs, and even if the main issue has made its way back to the front of their minds, it somehow feels easier, lighter - as if a huge weight had rolled off their shoulders and evaporated into the stuffy backstage air.
"Let's go then," Pete gets up first, lending his hands to get Vegas up from the sofa. Vegas' arm drapes around Pete's shoulders for support and it feels just natural to wrap his arms around Vegas' waist to support him more. The walk to the back door is excruciatingly slow, every last bit of adrenaline that still kept Vegas going before gone, and each step brings incredible pain. They reach the door around the same time the cab pulls into the side street, Kim already waiting for them.
"We will go so you could stay for the result announcement," Kim says as they help Vegas get into the back of the cab. "He's kind of my responsibility. You are still a few steps away from being the one who has to look after this dumbass," Kim pats Pete's shoulder, who in return feels his cheeks coloring red.
"I can hear everything," Vegas scoffs from the backseat and leans forward a bit to talk directly to Pete. "Come tomorrow to tell me the results. I can wait a few hours not knowing," he smiles before Kim shuts the back door and gets in the front seat himself.
Still a bit dumbfounded by just the last 3 minutes, not even everything before that, Pete watches as the cab drives off before walking back into the bar and to his band and the remains of The Comedians. Apo's arm goes around Pete's shoulders, hugging him for a bit with a friendly smile on his always kind face and Pete can relax for a bit. There are still hundreds of thoughts in his head and all of them are about Vegas, but just for a moment, he tries to focus on something else. The last band has just finished performing and the representatives can be seen discussing something, comparing papers, crossing things out, circling something, and even arguing a bit before they take the stage. The two bands standing together hold their breath, eyes looking at the stage without blinking, waiting for what would change their path from here on out.
~ - ~
Pete wasn't a big fan of hospitals. They seemed like a bad memory he has buried so deep he can't even pinpoint from which point in his life it comes. He had truly hoped that they would let Vegas go home, which probably would have been an even more stressful adventure to visit his home, so maybe this was the better of two options. As Kim had relayed to Kinn who then sent the information to Pete - the surgeon had decided to keep Vegas in for a couple of days, to make sure no deeper damage has been done and the healing process is going smoothly. This meant that Pete was now standing in front of the hospital room with a small fruit basket pushed into his hands by Porsche who took him here.
Pete took a deep breath and knocked on the wooden door of the individual door before opening it slowly. As he peeked from the gap, his eyes met Vegas' immediately and his hand actually twitched to close the door. But he has to stop running from Vegas and his own feelings. He can't keep going back and forth because it wasn't fair to himself and to Vegas. "Hi," he waves awkwardly and walks in, closing the door behind him.
"Hi," Vegas replies and places the phone he had in his hands on the bed next to him. "I started to think you won't be coming," he admits, his eyes on Pete as he puts the fruit basket next to flowers on a dresser on the opposite wall from the bed before walking to the bed.
"Had to check out what a private room looks like," Pete smiles and looks around. For a second he considers grabbing a chair and sitting next to the bed but another idea comes to his mind and instantly wins, so he sits down on the edge of the bed instead.
"Kim insisted. I don't mind, not that I would like to interact with other patients for 3 days," Vegas sighs. "Easier to have conversations and do other things when someone visits," his expression changes to a mischievous smile and Pete looks away quickly, his eyes landing on the leg - elevated by a stack of pillows.
"How is it?" he asks and last night's scenes jump before his eyes.
"Fifteen stitches. But it looks like there is no deeper damage, but that's why am I still here - to make sure," Vegas talks and Pete's attention floats from the leg to Vegas' hand just resting on the bed next to him. It's a weird intrusive thought, but Pete doesn't fight it and takes a hold of the hand before him. Vegas responds with a second delay, giving Pete's hand a squeeze. "On a possibly more positive note - who won?" he asks and Pete keeps his eyes on their hands instead of looking up.
"We did," Pete replies but before Vegas can respond Pete looks up, smiling brightly. "And you did too."
"What do you mean?" confused expression was something new on Vegas' face and Pete almost wishes he would have pulled a more impactful joke, but this is fine too.
"They couldn't agree on one winner as they liked different things. We are not getting a contract yet, though. They asked each band to prepare a 6 song set with at least two original songs for a music festival in three months," Pete explains, his thumb rubbing random patterns on Vegas' hands. The nervousness he felt entering the hospital disappears and the memory that caused it gets buried even deeper, his focus on this very moment.
"So we have to compete again each other again?" Vegas asks and Pete nods, still focusing on their hands. "Good," this time Pete looks up quite confused. "Because I love watching you perform when you're competitive," he continues the thought and in any situation, Pete would have looked away, but he doesn't. Instead, he leans closer and presses his lips against Vegas', immediately being drawn deeper into the kiss. Vegas' hand gently pulls him closer by the nape and Pete shifts more onto the bed to get even closer. It's a rather short-lived kiss, but Pete is now so close to Vegas it doesn't matter.
"So do I," Pete smiles, their foreheads resting together. "But you do know that we will win this time, right?" he adds and his lips are instantly captured in yet another kiss that takes his breath away and makes him wish the situation would be a bit different - they would be in a different place, under different conditions. But would he even have the courage to look at Vegas directly then?
They pull away from the kiss again, taking deep breaths and remaining close. "You wish," Vegas responds to Pete's provocation, both of them smiling brightly, sharing small kisses, and somehow, wordlessly, conveying the irresistible feeling they had tried to hold back. What the upcoming stage of their careers would bring was unclear again now, but at least there was this clarity between themand for now it was enough.