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Oh Jegus, there he is. Act natural, Vantas.
You do your best not to look too eager but you just know you're giving off stalker vibes as you shuffle with a decently sized cluster of other diehard fans for the meet-and-greet of your favorite band of all time: Gl'b Party Squad. You've been to see them live three times but this is the first time you'll actually get to say hello and maybe even exchange a few of the nub-joining gestures that had been embraced with the ever-growing species list the Alternian empire had added to its ranks. You're already sweating before you're even near the troll that captured your attention on stage and in interviews and during that one really weird faygo commercial you can't believe actually aired but you recorded to play over and over again until you eventually shuffle off your mutant mortal coil.
Gamzee Makara, drummer of GPS and utter fucking antithesis of the highblood troll he should be, is sitting on a merch table just four feet away from you with the dopiest fucking grin you've ever seen, waving at the group.
"Welcome to the motherfucking party, mixed-blood," he greets everyone in that sleepy drawl of a voice that promises absolutely filthy pile papping-filled nights. Your pusher feels like it's going to punch its way out of your thorax and fly around the room. He's the most pitiful thing you've ever had the privilege to be sucking the same air with and you swallow down a shameful trill of want. Despite being the same age as you, Gamzee looks as though his lusus never bothered teaching him about things like horn care or nutrition and the fact that he just plods on through life like it's no big deal? You want to care for him so badly it's mortifying. You're actually glad Sollux bailed on this show or he would never let you live this down. Not that he could stand most of GPS' music anyway. Even said 'that guitardouche's riffs do nothing to support Peixes' voice and are pretty amateur anyway'. His loss.
You nervously squeak out a greeting with the chorus of the other fans and Feferi Peixes, the front troll herself, steps up from where she was talking to Eridan Ampora, the lead guitarist in question, to say,
"Thank you so much for coming to rock out with us tonight. We have a kriller set for you all and I'm so excited for you to hear it!"
Scattered applause and whistles and screams answer her as the first three in line are ushered towards the group.
After that, it's an agonizing eternity before you can finally speak to Gamzee. Most of the fans seem to only want to ask him or Eridan questions about growing up as neighbors (nevermind Feferi also grew up with them) and what their relationship is like offstage. Eridan is handsome and capable, you'll give him that much, but he couldn't handle someone like Gamzee. Has openly admitted it online even.
You overhear him now say the only reason the trio formed a band together was because no one can beat Gamzee's spontaneity or Feferi's voice for him. Jade Harley, the bassist, pipes up from his other side,
"Don't forget her ass, or else you wouldn't be staring at it so much every night."
A roar of laughter goes up at that as Eridan splutters denials and blushes royal violet at the accusation.
"Jade, behave. Some of our fans are a little young for that talk. Like this one! Shello, and who is this precious cutiefry?"
As Feferi gushes over the troll and human couple's rather average wriggler, you try and fail not to stare directly at Gamzee while you wait your turn to approach. He's signing posters for three cephalopodanians who giggle at every single word he says, their tentacle-like hair waving around in an almost hypnotic manner.
Typical shameless Squad Clutchers. You think grouchily. If they really liked him, they would be giving him something instead of asking for shit from him.
Which is precisely what you did. Granted, you're not the most artsy troll by any means, but an old schoolfeed buddy of yours had shown you how to make these neat colorful frond wraps when you were younger. You never forgot the meditative process of weaving the strings through the bored pearls of various materials and they were still affordable enough that you made one for your dream moirail.
You wanted to make it with both your blood hues intertwined, but that seems far too forward…for a first meeting, at least. Instead, you used black and Gamzee's shade of highblood purple to weave together a nice, stretchy cuff with room to spare if his wrist swells during a show. That way, he'll actually be able to wear it onstage. Preferably as the band absolutely destroys your auricular sponge clots tonight.
You couldn't stop yourself from adding a barely noticeable diamond in the pattern, though. Just a demure hint of a flirt from you. Surely, that was alright and wouldn't get you banned from any future meet-and-greets.
"I said, 'next, please,'"
You're jolted out of fantasies of gently working every single tangle out of Gamzee's mane of hair by the boulder of a blueblood securiwrangler glaring down at you through a pair of opaque black shades at the head of the line. It's finally your turn to meet the band.
YES.
Taking time for the rest of the band members out of courtesy, you only embarrass yourself once when Jade asks if you've met before because she "normally never forgets a cute face". Her tail wags as she barks a laugh at your subsequent coughing fit and pats you on the back, swearing she didn't mean to fluster you so much. You get a selfie with her anyway, face still blazing with heat as she presses her cheek to yours. There's always something about Jade that intrigues you, but her blunt chipperness often ruins it.
Eridan chats far too much with you in comparison, but you nod enough and snap a pic with him almost automatically. Sollux might think the seadweller stuck up, but even when he's keeping you from talking to Gamzee, he makes some suggestions for restaurants you should try in Alterniapolis and stuffs some extra merch into your bag for you. Before you move away, he whispers about not wanting to share space with it on the bus anymore and that you look like you'll appreciate it more than he does and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.
You get a signed photo with Feferi for Sollux next. You don't know what he plans on doing with it and really don't want to. He's old enough to come get his shame globe fondling material himself, but he did give you an out on the rent this perigee to afford the ticket in the first place in exchange for the favor so, you'll allow it.
Then, the moment you've been waiting for since you first learned about his sopor habits a sweep ago arrives. You're in front of Gamzee motherfucking Makara and he's looking at you and smiling and he's perfect and oh sweet horrorterrors, you could just die–
–and nearly do as you trip over a stray cable on the concrete floor, which comes hurtling up towards your face until you're abruptly stopped by a cold frond around your midsection.
"Easy there, my nubby invertebrother. Almost punched your ticket for the motherfucking carnival early."
Dreading what you're about to see as you hang at a odd forty-five degree angle, you slowly turn your head only to meet the in-the-process-of-purpling eyes of Gamzee on one knee beside you, easy grin in place even with his unruly brows crimped in concern. Concern for you. Concern because you nearly swan-dived onto the floor like a stubless idiot. You really wish he just let it give you a merciful, swift death at this point. It would be better than having every lookstub on the pair of you as he gently sets you up on your feet again (even the securiwrangler looks like he's in a state of jealous awe for some reason). Gamzee asks you if you're okay. You think. His coastal accent is sometimes hard to process.
"Yeah. T-thanks," you mumble, pusher hammering away and prongs shaking so badly, you stuff them in your hoodie pocket just to get them to stop. You can't look at him. You can't look at anyone. Fuck, this was a mistake. Past You will be hearing from your legislacerator in the morning for being a corrupted, delusional danger to everyone, but especially you.
"Aw, ain't no thing. Tiny motherfucker like you so light, got a brother up and worrying about crushing you instead of helping."
And with that your humiliation is complete.
You start to allow the recovered blueblood to herd you over towards the exit for the concert hall when something smooth and malleable against your prong makes you stop and turn.
"WAIT," you say far too loudly.
Everyone's gaze lands on you again, but you don't give a fuck this time. You stomp back to Gamzee and thrust out a closed prong towards him, the bracelet you made gripped firmly in it. The blueblood's massive prong wraps around your arm as if to crush it, making you squeak in alarm, but Gamzee tells him to lay off before he can detach the limb from the rest of you. You think.
"Oh. Of course, High–erm. I mean, yes. My apologies," the sweaty behemoth says, releasing you and shuffling back towards the line where every gander-goo in existence appears to reside. Even the other members of GPS are staring avidly at the both of you. Don't cluckbeast out now, Vantas.
"I…made this. For you, I mean," you say, opening your prong, palm-up, to show Gamzee exactly what you were brandishing in his face. "It's not much, but it's a frond wrap. I figure you probably don't get many of these on tour or anything handmade so I made it. I just said that, but yeah."
Gamzee's ganderbulbs light up as he gingerly plucks the jewelry from your palm with jagged claws that could use a file and a shine and slips it on his wrist without hesitation. It looks so nice against his deep gray skin that you nearly purr at the sight.
"Feels hot. Like you," he says, staring at it. You pray he only notices the diamond after you've left. Then his words register and you feel yourself growing even warmer in pleased surprise.
"I-I hope it fits all right?" You sort of ask, pan spinning as you resist the urge to pinch yourself to check if you're dreaming.
"Like a motherfucking miracle. Got me feeling all shades of grateful, warm-blooded bestie," Gamzee tells you, with a soft honk of laughter. Whatever organ is responsible for trolls' pale feelings fills to bursting in you with freshly pupated bullfairies and you nearly swoon. He likes it and you're so glad you could float the rest of the way to your spot in the pit.
"Come here and let's get us a picture of this wicked-ass occasion."
Gamzee hooks his cold frond around your neck and reels you into his side, whipping out his own palmhusk to snap a picture with you. You get so caught up in the euphoria of having him touch you again that you don't even realize until well after the (absolute best) show on the Gruber ride back to your apartment while trolling Sollux, that you never got a picture with him on your own device.
"God fucking dammit," you hiss, dropping your head into your prong.