Chapter Text
Guitar Tryouts
4 PM
Gymnasium
Nicholas stared at the brightly colored piece of paper. It had caught his eye on the way to Algebra, metallic sharpie hearts and an amateur doodle of a guitar making it stand out among all the other announcements tacked to the cafeteria corkboard.
He sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. The date was tomorrow. He wished he had seen this sooner for ample time to prepare, but he had spent his first week drowning in coursework. Being the new kid didn’t help, he felt like he was playing an unwinnable game of catchup.
There was time. He could think about it. He just had to decide before classes tomorrow so that he could bring his own guitar. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was restrung to be left handed. And it was his. It felt familiar and comfortable, something greatly needed lately.
Nicholas slung his bag further onto his shoulder and allowed himself to imagine being in a band. It was something he dreamed of often, but mostly when dancing around to Fall Out Boy albums alone in his socks. It was easy to picture himself in his Father’s shoes, the lead guitarist of a frontline band who later left to go solo, strumming along to Top 10 Hits across the globe.
Yeah, maybe he would try out. It was a high school band, but it would be fun. Give him a reason to play, something to strive towards. Something to do with his misplaced dreams.
Oh, Nicholas was fucked.
His self-taught Guitar Essentials 1 knowledge was not going to cut it. There were a couple dozen guitarists warming up in the bleachers around him. Everything from Jimi Hendrix to flamenco riffs. They all had major training, probably years of private lessons that spoke to the tuition of this school.
Nicholas’s own self-taught tabs weren’t going to hold a candle, so he didn’t play. Instead, he leaned back and watched everyone who went up in front of the judges. He didn’t put any effort into preparing besides basic stretches.
From the sidelines, it was difficult to hear the voices down on the floor. The judges had their backs to him, but Nicholas recognized the two seniors. Aiden, the school’s most notorious heartbreaker and the band’s lead singer, and Harvard, Aiden’s best friend and the band’s bassist. Beside them was the band’s newest member. He’d introduced himself as the drummer, Eugene.
Every audition was going pretty much the same. They’d call someone up, Aiden would shoot them down, and then Harvard would quickly compliment but gently reject them. Nicholas watched as Aiden pointed to someone’s silver Flying V and called it a tin can. They seemed startled and walked off without another word.
And then Harvard was calling up his name, “Cox, Nicholas?”
Nicholas tightened his grip on his fabric case. It was flimsy as he stumbled down the bleachers, but he was careful not to hit it on anything. He’d spent too many weekend shifts saving up for this thing to dent it on high school bleachers, even if that high school was King’s Row and their bleachers were made of a polished, immaculate wood.
There was still the background noise of everyone else practicing, but the zipper of his case seemed loud. He pulled it out neck first, the silver tuning keys immediately catching the light. The bright red body of his knock off Strat was polished–he’d cleaned it of all the residual fingerprints last night–and his matching pick was tucked between strings. He unsheathed it and plugged into the amp.
When he dropped it across the wrong shoulder, heads turned. Aiden’s eyebrow went up, but he thankfully didn’t say anything. Nicholas knew that some people hated when guitars were restrung for lefties. He didn’t care.
The weirdest part was that he didn’t even feel nervous, just jittery. He ran a quick scale to test the sound, readjusted the knobs, and then hit the accent at the beginning of Atreyu’s Right Side of the Bed.
It wasn’t his type of song, really. Nicholas preferred smoother vocals that landed more on the pop side of punk, but the riff was one of the showier ones he knew. He’d picked it up from an old guitar magazine he’d found in his Mom’s room. He liked to imagine that it was something his Dad had learned from once upon a time.
Nicholas fully expected to be stopped like all the other contestants. He lacked their innate skill, yet they let him keep going. So he bopped along to the steady, deep tones. He worked the nail-ons and then hit the whammy on the longer notes. It was comfortable and easy to get lost in. It was familiar.
The ending note shook him to his core, echoed around the gymnasium, and when he looked up he readily took in the judge’s expressions. Eugene looked overrun with excitement, hands on his cheeks and eyes wide. Harvard held an expression not unlike a proud parent, and while Aiden didn’t look quite as overjoyed, he didn’t look disapproving either. And he definitely didn’t say anything scathing, just leaned back with his arms crossed and watched Nicholas as he fiddled with his pick.
It was Harvard who spoke first. “How are you feeling, Nicholas?”
What kind of question was that? “Fine?”
“Do you get stage fright?”
Nicholas quickly stopped biting his lip and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. “No.”
Harvard smiled like he knew Nicholas was lying but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. And Nicholas wasn’t lying, not fully. He hadn’t felt nervous while playing. He was way more scared for the results. “How do you feel about joining our band?”
He stopped fidgeting. “Now? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Nicholas opened and closed his mouth multiple times. He felt very much like a fish in that moment, and was just about to get himself together to agree with someone else stepped out in front of him.
Oh, shit. Nicholas recognized–
“Excuse me,” He said, ignoring Nicholas completely to address only Harvard. “You cannot pick someone without hearing the rest of us.”
Aiden finally broke his silence. “Katayama, right?”
“Yes. Katayama, Seiji. I was next.”
Seiji Katayama. Nicholas’s unforgiving roommate. On his first day in, Seiji had put up a curtain between them and declared that they may be roommates but that didn’t mean anything. Seiji didn’t want to see Nicholas’s mess. Between their clearly different schedules, Nicholas’s admittedly poor sleep schedule, and that goddamn duck curtain, they hardly ever saw each other.
He was surprised to see him here. He didn’t even know Seiji had any interest in music. Granted, he wasn’t sure he could name a single thing about the guy beyond his name.
“I know who you are.” With an over dramatic sigh, Aiden propped his hands behind his head. “I guess I can sit here for one more audition. If you’re ready.”
Seiji did not react well to the sarcasm. A look of annoyance passed over his face, but he seemed to get over it as he reached for his guitar. It was a classic f hole, red-golden and looking more expensive than Nicholas’s entire wardrobe. The black neck was somehow the exact same shade as his immaculately styled hair. Seiji didn’t even bother plugging into the amp, like he knew that people would listen when he played no matter what. The worst part was, he was right. Many of the other people who’d come to audition were watching him with bated breath.
He rose and fell in epic crescendos, every note accented the perfect amount as he laid out some jazz riff, something powerful that commanded attention as it danced in the high register. Nicholas had never heard this particular melody before, but he could find himself listening to it forever. It was captivating. Entrancing. A perfect blend of musicality and skill. He clearly had some formal training, if not a lot of it. None of the pesky habits that came from being self-taught like Nicholas did.
By the end, the entire world seemed to hover. Nicholas almost felt like he should be clapping or something. He didn’t.
After a moment where Aiden just stared at Seiji, seeming to size him up, he announced, “Sidebar, please,” and then turned to the other two judges. They began whispering furiously.
It wasn’t Aiden who made the final announcement. Harvard said gleefully, “We’ve decided to have two guitarists.”
“What?” Nicholas exclaimed.
Harvard held his hands out, palms up. “It’s very common for bands to have two guitarists. We can have a lead and a rhythm. You can decide or switch off. The first practice is on Monday!”
Seiji turned to Nicholas then. It was the first time he had been acknowledged directly. “I will be lead. You can take rhythm.” And then he turned up his nose and marched away.
And then it was just Nicholas, his guitar, and the quickly approaching Monday.
Monday ended up taking far too long to arrive.
The rest of the week was smothered in homework. He worked in the library and then returned to his room to stare at Seiji’s curtain. The bright yellow ducks mocked him, even in the dark.
He hated this. He hated the drown of his work, the way his fingers always itched to play even when he was trying to read his history textbook, the neverending pain of being the scholarship kid.
He hated that he now saw Seiji’s guitar, its hard case neatly tucked beneath his bed.
He hated that apparently this particular rock band was a lot bigger deal than he thought. It probably should have been clear from the amount of people at auditions, but the gossip that swam through the school halls the next day had confirmed it.
And he hated feeling inadequate. But his determination knew no bounds, so come Monday he found himself at practice, tuning with a phone app and itching for every second to run by faster. They continued to crawl.
Seiji had set up next to him. He took the time to plug in this go around and then carefully and perfectly executed a series of technical warm ups. His nimble fingers didn’t find any trouble stretching for arpeggios.
Nicholas didn’t even pretend not to watch. He wished he could be that polished. It was intimidating.
Seiji caught his eye and cocked an eyebrow. Then he said, arrogantly and snidely, “You can leave.”
What was with this guy? Nicholas dropped his hand into playing position and tried to assume an air of confidence that he just did not feel. “I earned my place here as much as you.”
With half a shrug, Seiji seemed to say, If you say so. Then his gaze zeroed in on Nicholas’s right hand. Nicholas assumed he was about to comment on the left-handed restring, but instead, “Your thumb is too high.”
A quick glance revealed that, yep, his thumb was indeed too high. Nicholas tried his best not to scowl as he slowly slid it down. What should he say? Don’t correct me again, you arrogant ass? No, they were playing the same team now. He could make an effort to get along, whether Seiji was willing to or not. Besides, Nicholas could probably learn from him. Maybe. In the far off future. He should work on being polite first. So he leveled his chin and simply said, “Thanks.”
“And your pick grip is too tight.”
Nicholas readjusted until the cheap plastic was slack in his hand.
“Your strap is too long.”
Now that was intentional. He liked holding his guitar lower because he tended to lean back when he played. It made him feel cooler. It made everything feel more real.
Yet Seiji was standing there, ramrod straight, legs shoulder-width apart with his hair as wonderfully styled as yesterday and the day before that, not a thread out of place on his King’s Row uniform, and he still managed to make it work.
Nicholas turned his shoulder to Seiji and said, “I like it that way.”
“It will strain the muscles in your arms—“
“Alright, dude. Noted. Thanks.” He pointedly looked everywhere else in the room. Harvard and Aiden were fussing over a pile of papers while Eugene sat at the drumset, twirling a stick in one hand while watching them. When he saw Nicholas looking over, he grinned. “This is going to be interesting.”
Nicholas scrambled through his memory for something to say. “You’re new too, then?”
Eugene nodded and uncrossed his legs, continuing to twirl the stick. “I’ve tried out the past few years, finally made it in. The drum auditions were before the guitar ones. There’s less of us.” His grin doubled in size as he hit the hi-hat. “Super excited to finally be here.”
Nicholas looked between Eugene—with his welcoming attitude but clear dedication—back to Seiji. This may be more intense than he had previously assumed.
“Alright!” Harvard called to the room. He began passing out loose papers. “We have a few songs that we wrote last year but didn’t use. We can expand on those, or create entirely new ones. The competition states that all our songs need to be originals except for one, and there’s a variety of different requirements to be met. Our standard schedule is Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Eugene, I know you compete in varsity athletics, so let us know if you have any conflicts. It’s important we all practice regularly if we want a shot at winning this year.”
Eugene saluted. “Roger.”
“Wait, competition?” Nicholas’s mind stumbled back through Harvard’s words as he accepted the handwritten lead sheet.
Seiji sneered. “Are you not interested in competing?”
“I never said that—“
Harvard launched into a full explanation. “Every school competes in a Battle of the Bands competition. We always qualify but never rank. It’s our last year, so we were hoping to pull out all of the stops.” Harvard gestured to Aiden, who did a little wave from his perch on a desk. “The winner gets a hefty reward.”
Reward. Nicholas began to strum chords, feigning nonchalance as he asked, “What kind of reward?”
Aiden piped up, “Ten grand and an album deal.”
The pick fumbled from his fingers.
Ten grand. Spoken from Aiden’s lips like it was nothing. Rich people money. Life changing money. And an album deal, a road that could pave out his entire future.
He gulped, picked up his pick, and said, “I’m good. Please continue.”
“Exton won last year,” Harvard explained. “They seem to win almost every year. Their band opened for Robert Coste after last time.”
Nicholas dropped his pick again. He left it on the floor this time. It was too embarrassing to reach for it again.
“Doesn’t help that his son is in the band.” Aiden stood and walked up to Harvard, stood by his side like he was meant to be there. “Their lead guitarist graduated last year. We thought the great Seiji Katayama would be taking his place. Aren’t you and Jesse supposed to be inseparable?”
“I can handle myself,” Seiji bristled. He knew Jesse Coste? Robert Coste’s legitimate son and Nicholas’s half brother? His hands were shaking so bad, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to play anymore. A perpetual state of shock and all the boiling rage that always accompanied thinking about Jesse was quickly settling over him. How did they know each other? If they were so close, why was Seiji at King’s Row?
He was probably disappointed by Nicholas, but Nicholas would show him. Nicholas would show all of them that he deserved to be here.
Harvard nodded. “And we’re glad to have you.”
“Gives us a better chance,” Aiden snickered.
With a shrug, Harvard said, “Seiji may be great, but we are a team. We all need to work hard to stand a chance. Nicholas, do you know how to read music?”
Nicholas knew it wasn’t an insult, but how he only asked Nicholas and not Seiji did not go unnoticed. “A little. I mostly play by ear. Sometimes I use tabs.”
Seiji scoffed. Nicholas bet Jesse knew how to read music. He didn’t bother entertaining Seji with the glare he thought was rightfully deserved.
Harvard handed him another sheet of paper covered in scales, notes already jumbling together on the page. “Since we are doing originals, we don’t play much by ear. We can make tabs, but it would still be useful to learn. And we can help, of course. It shouldn’t take long if you already know a bit.”
Nicholas felt very foolish. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Does everyone have the song I passed out?” A chorus of agreements. Nicholas tucked the scales behind the other paper. It was basic power chords and would be very easy to sight read. Harvard hoiked his bass strap over his shoulder—a standard white electric with a black strap—and told Eugene to count them in.
Eight drumstick taps and they were off. It was an immediate mess. Eugene was ridiculously loud, drowning out Aiden completely. Seiji seemed to be fighting for the spotlight. Nicholas couldn’t figure out the rhythm. Harvard was actually playing well, but the entire debacle seemed to stress him out.
Nicholas struggled. His fingers stumbled, he missed his chords, and he just couldn’t figure out the rhythm. He tried to listen to Eugene, but all he could here was Seiji. Seiji’s perfect countermelody, Seji’s perfect style, Seiji’s perfect phrasing.
The longer he played, the worse he got. He could almost feel Seiji barring down on one shoulder. And if he closed his eyes then he saw Jesse Coste, too. Smirking, taunting him, reminding him that Nicholas would never be good enough.
He called it off, asked them to try again. It was only marginally better. Nicholas continued to flop around aimlessly. He began to fear that they were going to kick him out right then and there and decide to have only Seiji. They didn’t need Nicholas, after all. They had only intended to let one guitarist in.
Nicholas blinked, and Jesse grinned at him from his place beside their father.
There were a few more attempts before Harvard instructed them in a more strategic approach. He and Eugene went first to build the rhythm, then they’d go up from there.
Nicholas took the moment to reset himself. He took a few deep breaths. He wasn’t as good as Jesse or Seiji, it was true, but he could do this. Playing here was step one, and there were a million more steps to go, but he could climb this mountain. He could learn, and he could never forget that.
It began. Harvard and Eugene danced around each other until they got the hang of the tune. Once set, Harvard nodded at the guitars.
Seiji was lead, so Nicholas came in first. It took him a little bit to get the hang of, but without trying to match himself to Seiji, he found himself swept up in the current. His hand slid up and down the neck, careful to watch his thumb like Seiji advised. Once he nailed it, Harvard gave the okay for the lead guitar, but Seiji never began.
Instead, he stared at Nicholas puzzlingly. He looked confused, but also angry. Nicholas had no idea what he’d done other than exist, but okay. Whatever. This guy could be mad for taking lead if he wanted.
“Are you going to play?” Nicholas heard himself asking after the stall lasted too long.
Seiji scoffed and began like he had never stopped. He played to perfection, clearly leading but now that everyone else had it down, it worked.
But that anger, that flash in his eyes that Nicholas had noticed… Seiji held onto it all the way throughout practice. Nicholas managed to brush it off as just another Seiji thing, but then they were returning to their rooms, and as soon as their bags were down—
“Why do you play like Jesse?” Seiji was in his face, pointing an accusatory finger and rubbing his minute height advantage in Nicholas’s face.
“Jesse who?”
“Jesse Coste.” He spat the last name like an insult.
Could Nicholas get away with playing innocent here? Yet even the mention of Jesse was making his head spin. He’d heard that name too many times today, and he was absolutely sick of it. Wasn’t it bad enough that he had to compare himself to Jesse? Did Seiji really have to do it, too? “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do! You play like Jesse.”
“I play like me,” Nicholas forcibly shoved Seiji away, heading for an escape, but he was grabbed around the wrist and spun again. “I don’t play like anyone but me, now let go!”
“But Jesse—”
“Shut up about Jesse!” He didn’t know who had moved first, but then they were tumbling over each other on the floor. Thrashing and shoving at each other, bumping into the dressers, the bedposts. Nicholas’s foot got caught in the shower curtain and it came tumbling down, but he just flipped and held a fist to Seiji’s face.
“Look at me!” Nicholas screamed. “I’m me, I’m not Jesse–”
“--so you do know him–”
“--you’re playing in my band–”
“--oh, it’s hardly yours–”
“--I’ll make you look at me, I’ll make you see me, I swear it–”
“--you’ll never stand up to him. He’s everything, and you’re just–”
“--I said to shut up about Jesse!”
Quick as lightning, Nicholas’s fist was flying at Seiji’s face. Seiji caught it just as fast, his eyes coating over with ice before his own was moving, and then all bets were off. Nicholas felt a fist on his face, a knee to his gut as he was flipped onto his back, then he retaliated, coming at Seiji’s chin with a scream.
A knock at the door, they both froze. Looked at each other. Didn’t move.
“Who is it?” Nicholas called. He tried his best to hide how his chest heaved for breath. It was unconvincing.
“Harvard. You forgot your music.”
With a forceful push, Nicholas threw Seiji off of him. He only just managed to comb through his hair with his fingers before cracking the door open just so. He accepted the loose sheets of paper with a, “Hey, thanks man.”
“No problem,” Harvard said, eyeing Nicholas up and down. “Uh, you okay?”
A quick glance at himself spoke wonders. His tie was completely messed up, shirt half-untucked, a button undone–and not even the top one, a random one in the middle–and a quick swipe at his lip made his hand come away bloody.
“Totally great,” Nicholas said.
A moment passed where Harvard seemed to debate prying further, but finally he gave up and asked, “We were all gonna go out to dinner. I was wondering if you two wanted to come? It’s a celebratory dinner of sorts. To congratulate you on making it.”
“Sure, I’ll come,” He said, putting extra emphasis on the intention that it would only be him. Although that wasn’t fair of him, was it? His lip may sting, but Seiji was in the exact same boat as him here.
“Is Seiji in there?” Harvard asked.
“He is.”
“Can you…” Harvard trailed off. Ask him?
With a sigh, Nicholas propped himself on the doorframe. “Yeah. Yeah, I can ask. Give us a few. Where are you meeting?”
Harvard relayed all the information and left. The door closed with a soft click and then Nicholas turned back, leaned against it, and looked at Seiji. To his credit, he looked just as abashed and sheepish as Nicholas felt. The atmosphere was intense. What now?
“You wanna come out with us?” Nicholas asked as if the original invitation hadn’t been intended for both of them.
Seiji crossed his arms and turned up his nose.
Nicholas huffed. Seiji was being so petty, he would have to be the bigger person here. “I can’t control you–”
“You’re right. You can’t.”
“--But this dinner is for you. Us. Take the victory.”
“I never doubted I would make it. There’s no need to celebrate what I knew would happen.”
Seriously? This guy… Nicholas thought about what he would want to be told in this situation. “We’re in this together now, and you deserve to have people rooting for you. We’re a team. It’s not wrong to celebrate that. You deserve to have someone congratulate you, so, er, Congratulations.” And then, because he could already tell Seiji wasn’t one for social activities, “You can always leave early if you hate it. I am more than willing to lie on your behalf. It’s in the Roommate Oath.”
Seiji eyed him suspiciously. “I never took any oath.”
“It’s unspoken.” Nicholas rebuttoned his shirt, tucked it in and ran his hands through his hair a few more times. It still looked untamed. “Do you want to come, then?”
A beat passed where Seiji didn’t say anything. Nicholas grabbed his coat, and it was only as he reached for the handle that Seiji enunciated, “Wait.” Nicholas’s head went up. “Work on your thumb. It keeps slipping. You can get a clearer sound that way.”
Despite himself, Nicholas felt his face breaking out into a grin. “And then once I fix my thumb, I’ll be good enough to play with you?”
“And then once you fix your thumb, I have a list of other things you can work on,” Seiji corrected.
Nicholas gambled. “And you’ll teach me.”
Seiji’s gaze narrowed, carefully evaluating Nicholas for any signs of foul play. They did just have fists at each other’s necks, after all. “I can give you some pointers.”
“Yes!” He beamed, and the rest of their negative energy evaporated. This would be good. He could learn a lot from Seiji. He could finally get better. “Come on, let’s go out to that dinner.”
“Are you sure you want me to go?”
“Of course! We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“We are?”
“Totally!” Nicholas slung his coat over his shoulders, then grabbed Seiji’s jacket, his hand, and drug him out the door. “Let’s go!”
So maybe it had been a series of too big leaps, maybe Nicholas had forcibly shoved a positive relationship on Seiji too quickly, but whatever it was, it was coming back to bite him now. This dinner was super awkward.
Aiden and Harvard were talking animatedly about one thing or another at the end, Eugene joining in happily where he saw fit, while Nicholas and Seiji–having arrived late–were awkwardly tacked onto the end.
Nicholas tried to start a conversation. “So, what do you do on weekends?”
“Practice.”
What had he expected? This dude was intense. “I play too.” That was the wrong thing to say.
“I know.” At least he wasn’t condescending about it.
The restaurant they’d met at was a small place just off campus. A burger joint in walkable distance that had low lights, dark walls lined with neon signs, and an old fashioned jukebox playing The Temptations. It didn’t seem at all the type of place you’d find near King’s Row, but the prices on the menu spoke otherwise. Nicholas cringed at them, thinking longingly of that ten grand and of how badly he already wanted it. He landed on a burger, no sides, and a water. And goddamn if that burger wasn’t the greatest thing he’d ever tasted.
“How’s your food?” Harvard asked.
Nicholas stared down at his empty plate. It had been completely devoured, crumbs and all. No one else had taken more than a few bites of theirs. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Really good, thanks.”
Harvard smiled at him. It was quickly becoming evident that he was the leader here, whether it was intentional or not. “I’m glad to hear it. We like to go out together sometimes after practice. It’s nice to get away from it all.”
Nicholas smiled, his tension easing at Harvard’s words, but he didn’t get a chance to agree. Aiden started furiously tapping his friend’s shoulder. “Harvard, I love this song! We have to dance.” With a laugh, Harvard agreed and then they were dancing, spinning each other playfully to My Girl while making jokes at each other’s expense. They looked happy, laughing in the low lights, and Nicholas knew that there was more to them than simply being in the same band.
He suddenly knew two things.
One, that he would be welcome here. That he would have friends, if not a family, and that there was a lot to look forward to. The path ahead of them was illuminated. It was bright, and fun, and Nicholas was going to get better no matter what. He was going to improve, and he was going to win. He knew it.
Two, that he wanted to dance.
Nicholas looked to Seiji first. It was an initial instinct, but Seiji was staring away from them, showcasing his perfect posture as he sipped almost dutifully at his water.
So he looked to Eugene, and when he asked, Eugene answered enthusiastically.
They danced playfully. Nicholas didn’t have much experience dancing, but he quickly learned that he was absolutely horrid at it. Eugene didn’t seem to mind. They spun around each other. They laughed, they sang along, and when the song changed into something a little more electric, they extended their arms and moved their feet to the rhythm.
Seiji continued to sit all alone. He looked forlorn, and that just wouldn’t do. Not with the way he was watching them longingly, his eyes dark as they followed Nicholas across the floor. Reinvigorated by the beat, Nicholas ran over, grabbed both of Seiji’s hands in his own, and led him away from the table.
“I don’t want to dance, Nicholas,” He said, a small frown creasing his lips.
“Don’t lie.” He spun his way beneath Seiji’s arms, who he continued to just stand there. “Come on. You’re a musician. What kind of musician doesn’t like to dance?”
“I never said I didn’t like to, I said I didn’t want to.”
Nicholas pulled Seiji closer and began to forcibly sway him back and forth. “So that’s your trick, huh? You think you’re too cool for us? Well that’s too bad. You have to dance with me. It’s in the Roommate Oath.”
“I would like to see this oath in writing.”
Nicholas and Eugene both laughed. They managed to force Seiji in some semblance of a movement. He continued to resist. They didn’t care. Nicholas danced until his feet were sore, and then he kept dancing, feeling more alive than he had since he’d first arrived at King’s Row.
Seiji never stopped protesting, but Nicholas knew the truth. In the dim light, somewhere between Elton John and The Regrettes, Nicholas caught Seiji smiling. It was small and being allowed to see it made Nicholas feel like he was being let in on the world’s biggest secret. He could have pointed it out and teased Seiji endlessly, but he thought better. If he teased, then the smile would drop. He would never dare to let that happen.
Instead Nicholas smiled back, grabbed Seiji’s hands, and kept dancing.