Chapter Text
“Roaming about, where to go?” you belt out across the empty auditorium, turning to gaze over your shoulder at the guitarist thrashing against the electric instrument beside you. Their messy auburn hair flies around their face as they whip their neck to the rhythm of the music. “If you want a path for you to move forward,” you bounce on your toes, spinning across the stage toward the tall blond boy thrumming his sticks across a set of drums. “Prostrate yourself before me,” you allow your voice to roar through the microphone clutched tightly in your palm.
This feels good. All your hard work has paid off. You haven’t missed a note or a word of the song that Hange gave you to practice when they approached you regarding an audition for No Name Band.
“I’ll show you, tearing it to pieces,” you thunder into the microphone, twisting toward Hange again. “If you wish for salvation, for the future,” you’re vibrating with the music, beads of sweat flicking sideways as you bounce across the stage toward Mike’s drum set again. “Then, kneel down to me,” holding the last note, you turn to clutch the microphone stand, shifting it sideways in your hand, shaking your head, letting your own hair fly about your face as Hange completes her rift and Mike winds down the beat to the song.
“That was great,” Hange exclaims, sweeping their hand forward to rid themself of the strap securing the guitar to their chest. “I think you’re perfect to fill the spot we have open. What do you think, Mike?” They turn as the blond boy sets the drumsticks aside and shuffles around the set to join the two of you at the front of the stage.
“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Nice work.”
“So, I’m in?” you ask exuberantly. “It felt great. I felt great singing this song. Who wrote this again? It’s fire.”
“Our ex-lead,” Hange sounds slightly sad for a moment before regaining their sunny disposition. “He was really good, but you did it justice. I think we can still perform at the dance.”
“Agreed,” Mike comments, stuffing his hands in his pockets and moving to the end of the platform to take a seat, dangling his long legs over the edge.
“Awesome,” you pipe, studying the back of the handsome boy’s head before turning back to Hange. “How often do you guys rehearse?”
“Twice a week after school here,” Hange says, growing slightly serious. “Remember, you can’t tell anyone about the band. No one knows who the members are.” You nod as they continue to talk, explaining again that the band members wear face coverings when they perform on stage for an audience.
“I went out on a limb telling you, but we were desperate for a new lead after our other guy walked out on us,” Hange continues. “It just seemed like fate when I overheard you telling Petra that you were in a band at your old school.”
“That was lucky for me,” you smile at your new friend and bandmate. “Can I hug you, Hange?” you ask suddenly. “I’m just so excited. I never thought I would be back in a band so quickly.”
“Bring it in,” Hange says, returning your happy expression with outstretched arms. When you lean into them, they squeeze so thoroughly that you almost lose your breath.
“I better take off,” you say, pulling away. “It’s a bit of a trek to my house. I have homework and I want to practice the songs you gave me a couple more times before we meet up again. What day will that be?”
“Let’s shoot for Thursday,” Hange says. “That work for you, Mike?”
“Sure,” he answers without turning toward either of you.
“Great,” you say, walking to the edge of the stage to retrieve your backpack. Throwing a strap over one shoulder, you move toward Mike, jumping off the stage to rotate in his direction. “Later, Mike. Later, Hange,” you give a little wave before hurrying up the aisle to the double doors that lead to the lobby and high school campus beyond.
As you are crossing the space between two buildings, gravel crunches on the path behind you. Wheeling around with a wide smile on your face, you expect to see Hange or Mike, but instead there is a boy with dark hair glaring at you from the other end of the short alley.
“Why are you on campus this late?” he asks in a voice that is low and slightly menacing. You can’t tell him that you were here auditioning for No Name Band when the group members are supposed to be unknown.
“Uhm,” you pause, stalling as you work through possible answers in your head.
“I’m not interested in hearing your lies, new girl,” the young man snarks, his dark brows furrowing as he studies you. “You think you’re pretty hot stuff already, don’t you?”
“What?” you are confused by his harsh attitude. “Who are you?” you question, trying to determine what you might have done to offend him.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with who I am,” he returns, slowly walking toward you. “Just know that I’m a third-year and therefore your superior. Show a little respect by not trying to lie to me.”
“I’m a third-year too,” you squeak indignantly in return. “Just because I’m a transfer doesn’t mean I’m below you.”
Shock plays through his eyes, which you can now see are a strange shade of light blue. He rebounds quickly, his lips pressing together and drawing down into a frown again.
“Just get where you’re supposed to be,” he grumbles, turning away from you and stalking off in the direction he came.
“Thanks for your permission,” you mutter after him, but he either doesn’t hear you or decides against reacting to the comment.
Turning away from his retreating back, you quicken your steps again, propelling yourself away from campus and through the streets of the city to the small apartment you share with your mom. As you burst through the door, you call out to her, receiving a return greeting from the kitchen.
“I made it, mom,” you say excitedly. “I’m in a band again. I’m so happy,” you can feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you process your gratitude for the opportunity you thought evaporated with your move.
“Honey,” your mom exclaims, pushing out of her chair and crossing the space to encircle you in her arms. “I’m so proud of you.”
After sharing a dinner of soup and salad with your mom, you retire to your room to finish your homework and practice the songs Hange gave you for No Name Band. As you work through the sheet music, accentuating your voice on the proper notes, you think about the boy who stopped you on your way home. He acted as though you had offended him in some way but you couldn’t recall ever seeing him before this afternoon. You certainly hope you don’t run into him again anytime soon.
Wishful thinking. Your mind repeats the two words over and over like a mantra, as you stand staring at the boy with the light blue eyes and dark hair. How have you been unlucky enough to cross his path when you only just arrived at school?
“Could you move?” he asks, staring daggers at you. “I need to get in my locker.” Turning to where he is pointing you realize that his locker is positioned right beside yours. How is that possible? Stepping to the side, you motion for him to move in front of you. He gives you another dirty look before crossing the space, shifting his body to block your view as he spins his combination.
“Geez,” you quip, waiting for him to open the door and begin rummaging around in the very neatly arranged space before grasping your own lock. “It’s not like I’m interested in stealing anything from you.”
“Tch,” he scoffs through clenched teeth. “If only that were true,” he grumbles, yanking a textbook and notebook from his locker before slamming the door and stomping off down the hallway. You stare after him, your mouth hanging slightly agape.
“I see you’ve gotten acquainted with Levi, finally,” says a girl with strawberry blond, shoulder length hair, stepping to your side. The two of you gaze down the hall after his retreating form. “Hope you didn’t get on his bad side already. He’s not easy to forgive.”
“I don’t know how but I think I have somehow managed to get on his bad side,” you murmur, retrieving a book from your backpack before shoving it into the locker and shutting the door. “He stopped me on my way home last night accusing me of being disrespectful.”
“Ouch,” Petra says as the two of you glide down the hallway toward your first class. “Maybe if you stay out of his way, he’ll forget about it.”
“I can hope,” you return.
Stepping through the English room behind Petra, you wave at Mike. The tall boy is sitting on top of his desk with his feet on a chair. He returns your greeting with an upward tilt of his head. “Mike?” Petra whispers into your ear. “Really?” You feel yourself blush as you coast down the aisle, sliding into the seat adjacent to hers.
“He’s just nice,” you comment, dropping your eyes to the textbook you’ve placed on the top of your desk. Thumbing through the pages, you pull out the folded sheet of paper that is last night’s homework assignment.
“Tch,” you hear that now familiar sound, and raise your eyes to find yourself caught in that icy blue glare. “You again,” he comments, his arm slung over the back of his chair as he sits sideways to stare at you angrily. When he realizes he has drawn your attention, he swivels in his seat, gracing you with the back of his dark head.
“Did you transfer?” Petra asks, leaning an elbow on the surface of her desk and gazing in Levi’s direction. “You aren’t usually in this class.”
“Is it any of your business, Petra?” he returns without looking her way. Glancing at you, she rolls her eyes and then offers a wide smile.
Levi doesn’t turn around the rest of the class period. When he is forced to pass papers behind him, he simply lifts them over his shoulder and waits for you to take them, shaking them around impatiently if you take a second too long. When the bell rings, he stands beside his chair, casting sideways glances at you as he neatly folds his papers into a folder and gathers his things. For some unknown reason, you feel he wants you to remain behind until the rest of the class has exited the room.
“I’ll see you later, Petra,” you comment in her direction. She gives you a quizzical look before shrugging her shoulders and moving toward the door. Lifting your book into your crossed arms as the classroom empties, you stand beside your chair waiting to see what he will do.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice dark and low. “You act like I asked you to stay behind with me.”
“You did ask that, without any words,” you return, watching him gather his things in his arms without moving toward the door.
“I did no such thing,” he snaps. “I just don’t like to be rushed, and I hate the crowded hallways.” He pauses, eyes flicking across your face. “What class do you have now?”
“Science,” you offer, taking slow steps toward the door. “I have to go back to my locker first though, so I better head that way.”
“Whatever, new girl,” he grumbles as you move out into the corridor. You are confused by the interactions you have had with this young man. On the one hand he seems extremely angry with you, but on the other he seems to find you interesting.
Throughout the morning, you work your way back and forth through the halls from your locker to classes. Before you know it, lunchtime looms and you make your way to the cafeteria. Stepping in line you find yourself behind a familiar dark head, and an involuntary groan slips from your lips. The noise draws his attention, his eyes widening when he turns to you.
“Are you stalking me?” The question yanks a laugh from your lungs. He was the one that showed up in a new English class halfway through the semester.
“I get the odd feeling that I've done something to upset you,” the statement is given without answering his question. “Would you care to tell me what that something is?”
“Tch, spare me,” he returns, whipping his face back in the direction the lunchline is moving. “As if I care enough about you to be upset by anything you would do.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” you say, moving along behind him, “because I was just starting to feel a little guilty for harming you in some way.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” he grumbles in return.
“Whatever,” you turn to the side, moving away from the line, uninterested in spending ten minutes of your lunch period staring at the back of his head listening to him insult you. Crossing the cafeteria, you drop onto the bench beside Mike. He turns to you slowly, and offers you a half smile before returning his attention to the piles of meat and macaroni on his lunch tray.
“What happened after English?” Petra asks, sliding onto the bench across from you. Her eyes drag from your face to Mike and back before she wiggles her eyebrows.
“Nothing happened,” you say, lifting your eyes to scan the lunchroom for Levi. You return your gaze to Petra when you fail to detect him among the sea of faces.
“Why did you even stay?” she sighs, picking at the salad on her tray. “You can’t force him to get over whatever the problem is.”
“Force who to get over what?” Hange pipes as they drop into a seat beside Petra.
“The new girl has irritated Levi in some way,” Petra says before lifting a forkful of lettuce to her mouth. Hange throws Mike a strange look that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When you glance sideways at the blond boy, you see him looking back at Hange with a deep frown.
Your attention is suddenly drawn away when a bright yellow banana is placed on the table in front of you. Gaze traveling up the sleeve of the arm attached to the fruit, you are shocked to make eye contact with icy blue eyes. “Thought you might get hungry,” he mumbles before moving away, his tray held in one hand. He pushes through the cafeteria doors, disappearing into the hallway.
“Looks like he’s over it,” Petra murmurs, staring after him with raised eyebrows.
“He bought you a banana?” Hange squeals in surprise.
“That’s unexpected,” Mike puts in.
“Why isn’t he eating lunch in the cafeteria?” you ask, turning your eyes on the others seated at the table. “Where is he going?”
“He has his own little space in a janitor’s closet down the hallway,” Hange reveals. “He says he likes solitude when he eats.”
“Well, he’s not getting that today,” you say, snatching the banana off the table and sprinting across the room in the direction he disappeared. Hange calls after you, but you ignore them as you move down the hallway, searching for a door he might be concealed behind.
Rounding a corner, you see what you are looking for, a door with a maintenance plate on the outside. Grasping the knob, you pull the barrier back to reveal him seated at a desk within the small space.
“What are you doing here, new girl?” he asks, as you step inside the tiny room, allowing the door to close behind you.
“Thanks for the banana,” you say, holding the fruit up in your hand. “It was really nice of you.”
“The least I can do considering I drove you out of line,” he returns. There is a napkin across his lap and he has a fork raised in one hand and a knife in the other, his tray positioned squarely on the desk before him. “Okay,” he says dismissively. “You showed your gratitude, run on back to the cafeteria with all your new friends.”
“Right,” you return, snapping your head in a nod before turning to the closed door. What were you expecting, a real conversation? As you lay your fingers on the nob and twist you are surprised to find the handle doesn’t turn under your grasp. “Crap,” you mumble, trying the nob again, turning it this way and that in a panic as you realize you’ve locked yourself in the tiny room with this boy.
“What’s wrong with you?” his voice trails over your shoulder. “Why aren’t you gone yet?”
Turning back to him, you know your face is pale. “It’s locked,” you squeak, waiting for his inevitable disgruntled reaction. “We’re locked in here.”
“What?” he asks, pushing back his chair to cross the space, sliding past you to twist at the nob, which continues to stick fast in one place. “You have to be kidding me,” he grumbles, turning his icy blue eyes on you. “I’m locked in a closet with the thief.”
“Why do you keep calling me names?” you ask, heat rising on your face as you give in to anger and frustration. “What could I have possibly done to make you think I’m a thief and a liar?”
“You,” he starts, but stops, drawing in a sharp breath. “It doesn’t matter,” he mutters, slipping around you again to drop into his seat and resume eating his lunch.
“It obviously does matter,” you say, watching him spear pasta on the prongs of his fork before lifting the eating utensil to his mouth. “Tell me what I did. Maybe I can correct it, whatever it is.”
“You stole my band,” he says suddenly, his eyes flashing to your face before he ducks his head back to his tray. “They want you as their new lead singer, don’t they?” he asks, his voice softer, less confident.
“I auditioned and it went well,” you concede. “Why did you call it your band?” you ask, moving in his direction. “Please don’t tell me that you’re the lead singer I’m replacing.”
“Fine,” he growls, tossing you another angry look. “I won’t tell you.”
“Why did you leave the band if you still want to be a part of it?” you question, feeling sad for him but also yourself. If he still wants to be a member of No Name and they want him back, who are you to stop that? Yet, you really want to be a part of the band. Either way one of you loses.
“I made a mistake,” he says quietly. “I didn’t think I had time for No Name, but I should have cut something else out.” He takes a deep breath, exhaling dramatically. “I was going there to see if Hange and Mike were rehearsing and saw you singing my song.” He raises his eyes to study you before continuing. “You’re really good,” he says. “Probably better than me. I couldn’t tell them I wanted back in when they already found someone with so much more talent.”
“First of all,” you reply, leaning into the corner of his desk, “thank you.” You trail your eyes over the top of his head, wondering what his hair would feel like under your fingertips. “If you want back in the band you need to tell them. You wrote all those songs. I shouldn’t be singing them if you are still interested in performing with No Name.”
“I wonder,” he says quietly, tapping his fork against the edge of the tray. He slowly lifts his gaze back to your face. “What would it be like if we performed them together?”
“Maybe we should try if we ever get out of this stupid room,” you mutter, taking a step back toward the locked door.
“Oh, that’s not a problem,” he says, pushing his chair back again. He moves across the room, stepping in front of you. “I’ve got a key,” he produces a ring of keys, selects the right one and jams it into the lock. “You can break the news to Hange and Mike at your convenience," he orders, pushing the door open for you to step out into the hallway.
Staring at him, you force your mouth closed. Was this all a game to him? A way for him to get back into the band without risking his pride? It certainly felt like he lured you into some sort of trap.
“I think you should be the one to tell them you want back in," your voice sounds nervous, choked with anxiety. How had the confusion he caused sapped you of all self-confidence?
"Why would I do that when it was your idea?" he questions, the words so sincere that you can't remember which of you initiated the idea. "See you Thursday, new girl," he sneers before disappearing behind the door.