Chapter Text
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Alfred beamed, pumping his arm in the air as he finished the last smashing guitar riff. His other arm was moving a mile a minute, successfully hitting every note. His sister and lead singer, Michèle, was swinging her curly black hair around and around like a crackhead heavy metalist from 1983.
“That was so awesome!” Gilbert shouted excitedly after the last note had been played. Multiple piano keys had been ripped off or otherwise smashed on his instrument over the years, but he never seemed to care. Alfred smiled at him, putting his guitar down.
“I agree,” a quiet voice chimed up from the dusty rotting couch in the corner of the garage, “I feel as though today has been a good day for everyone, and that has bled into the music. And Alfred, you can keep the ad libs. They sound nice.”
Alfred beamed, “Thanks, Kiku!” 'Where would he be without his manager?' he thought, smiling.
“Lukas, what did you think!?” Matthias shouted from behind the drums. The brooding boy sitting next to Kiku on the couch rolled his eyes.
“Dogshit. ‘Specially the drums,” Lukas grumbled.
'Well, what’s his deal!?’ Alfred thought frustratedly, 'He doesn’t even do anything! He’s just here to rub butts with Matthias!'
Gilbert chuckled deviously, apparently thinking the same thing.
“Man, what do you know?” Frida taunted, setting down her guitar as well. She reached into her hair and pulled out her long black ponytail, which she really only put up when they were playing. “Bet I know way more about musical genius than you anyways,” she smirked. Lukas rolled his eyes in reply, but Alfred could see a slight smile bend onto his mouth.
“Anyways, everyone,” Michèle clapped, her cheerful attitude breaking the atmosphere, “I say we should call it a day! I think we played super great today, but make sure to practice anyway if we want to make it out one day.”
Alfred smiled. “I agree with Michèle. Are y’all good walking home?” he turned to the other members of the band. They all nodded in response, all packing up their things one by one. Frida was the first to finish, so she opted to stand by Alfred near the garage door.
“Is your dad still too busy to carpool us home?” she hummed, lifting up onto her toes to press the garage door opener. Alfred sighed exasperatedly.
“…Yeah.”
“Man, he’s always busy, isn’t he?” she chuckled quietly, shooting him a bit of a sympathetic look. What was that even for?, he wondered.
“Heh, yeah, guess so,” he smiled awkwardly.
“What happened to your first parents? Arthur’s just your foster dad, right?” she asked bluntly. Alfred’s smile hitched, but it wasn’t like he was upset or anything.
“Uh, yeah. My moms not dead, she just…had a situation, y’know? I still visit her a lot. Sometimes I’ll drop tea that she likes and copies of our music on her porch and stuff like that…” he mumbled, grateful for Matthias’ drum set crashing down to distract them from whatever awkward conversation was happening.
“What the hell were you thinking!?” he could hear Lukas yell from across the garage at a winded Matthias. Though, that didn’t stop Frida from sneaking one last suspicious look his way.
“Gilbert,” Alfred shuffled over to him as he packed up his piano, “Are you gonna walk home alone again today?”
The red-eyed boy looked up, smiling up at Alfred. “Eh, probably. Unless Matt and his boyfriend can humor me and walk me home.”
“I’m not his boyfriend!” a voice shouted from the drum set. Alfred and Gilbert shared a quick glance and then burst out laughing.
“So, yeah, I guess I’ll be walking home by myself,” he chuckled, waving goodbye to Alfred as he skipped onto the sidewalk outside. The blond waved back and didn’t stop waving until Gilbert had disappeared from view around the street corner.
“Ok, so not to hurry y’all up,” Alfred turned to the rest of the group, “but you probably should get home before my dad gets here. He’ll get mad if the garage isn’t picked up…and stuff…”
Lukas nodded silently, grabbing their bags and Matthias’ arm and dragging him towards the door. “Wait!” Matthias shouted back, “I haven’t even picked up my drum set!” he yelled, as they, too, rounded the street corner out of sight.
‘That just leaves Frida and Kiku,’ Alfred thought.
“Michèle!” he turned around, walking over to the couch, “Can you call Matthew down to help clean before Dad gets home and blows his head off? I want to walk these two losers home,” he said, gesturing to Kiku and Frida. She turned around, groaning slightly.
“You know Matthew’ll be upset about cleaning up after you again,” she mumbled, “‘Specially, cuz, well, you didn’t even invite him to watch…?”
Huh? Alfred frowned. “I, I didn’t know he was interested! Plus, he can’t just, like, sit around-“
“Lukas does all the time!”
Alfred waved his hands wildly in front of his face as if to defend himself. “Because Mathias’ll get pissy if Lukas isn’t here, you know how it is!” he laughed weakly.
Michele frowned, but opened the door to the house and rushed in anyway. Alfred smiled tiredly at Kiku and Frida, who were throwing him minorly disappointed glances. What was their deal? “Uh, well, anyway, are y'all ready to walk home?”
They both nodded, Kiku grabbing his bag and Frida stepping onto the sidewalk outside. Alfred quickly followed in suit. The three of them started their almost-daily journey of walking home together.
“So, I’ve really been thinking of doing a Nirvana song in the band. Kurt Cobain has been an idol for me, for like, ever, and even though I don’t really listen to his music, kind of a poser move for me, right, I still love his ideas and whatever. Plus, did you know my Dad met him during his punk days!? I thought that was the coolest thing ever when he told me…” Alfred went on and on. “And then, so I was thinking of doing Come as You Are or something, you know, the basics, and-”
“Uhm, actually, Alfred,” Kiku nervously chimed in after a good three minutes, “We don’t have a bassist. And Michele is a soprano…” he mumbled, putting his hand on his chin in the way he always did when he was thinking, “But I guess if you,” he nodded to Frida, “wanted to learn the bass parts on your acoustic guitar? But I’m not sure how that would sound, so we’d have to try it out…”
Alfred beamed, walking sideways to face the other two. “Frito, what do you think?”
She looked up at him, taking out one of her earbuds. “Uhhhh, I dunno. If Alfred’s on board, I can do whatever,” she smiled. He flashed them both a Hollywood worthy grin in thanks.
“Practice next Saturday is good? I can totally sing instead of Michele, but she’ll have to agree to that first. I can let her and Mathias know, but I don’t have Gilbert’s cell or anything,” Alfred hummed.
“I can let him know because we live in the same neighborhood,” Kiku piped up.
They were quiet for a bit after that, until Frida stopped walking in thought. “Frida?” the black haired boy asked, “Are you ok?”
She snapped her head up, smiling guilty. “Oh! Yeah, sorry guys, I was just thinking, that’s all.”
Alfred frowned confusedly at her odd behavior, “‘Bout what?” he inquired.
“Oh nothing, but,” she shook her head, “If Gilbert lives in the same neighborhood, why does he never walk with us?”
Alfred hummed, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Maybe…he has to take another route? I doubt Gil would lie about something as pointless as that,” Kiku mumbled. They all nodded, but the thought hung in the air for longer than any of them would like to admit.
“Well. This is my stop,” Kiku hummed as he stopped walking. The two of them nodded, waving him goodbye as he rushed up the porch. Yao, his older brother, opened the door a couple seconds after he knocked, and gave a scowl towards Alfred’s way. Well, what was his deal? What had Alfred ever done to piss off an old bag like that? Frida chuckled, seeming to have noticed both Alfred and Yao’s expressions.
The two of them continued their noble journey, the conversation occasionally picking up to feud about whether Mayhem or Burzum was better. The squabbling eventually turned into straight silent treatment, with Frida putting in her airpods and turning her music volume all the way to 300 to purposely tune Alfred out. What an immature move!
Their petty battle reminded Alfred of the way they always used to fight in middle school. Frida would constantly steal or break the blond’s glasses, and Alfred would shove her into the sandpit at their school. It was annoying, to say the least, to have to fear for his eyesight and his dignity every time he stepped into school. He can’t exactly say he missed those days.
Feeling awkward just walking in silence, he tapped Frida on the shoulder. She rolled her eyes, taking out an earbud. “What is it?”
“I, uh, wanted to know what you’re listenin’ to?” he smiled, knowing she didn’t have it in her to ignore him any longer. She sighed, but Alfred could see a smirk bend onto her mouth at the corners.
“Caifanes. They’ve gotta be my favorite band ever, but when I showed it to Antonio, he just smiled at me like I was a dying roach he couldn’t save and put on some Jesus music,” she sighed frustratedly, handing the blond and earbud. He put it in his ear for a second, humming along.
“I guess he was feeling the Spanish Inquisition days,” Alfred snarked, taking the earbud out. “Oh, I know those guys! They changed to the Jaguares a couple years ago, right?” he remarked. She nodded in reply, smiling at him. He guessed that meant they weren’t arguing anymore.
“So…how’s Antonio, besides his whole inquisition thing?” he asked as Frida groaned exaggeratedly.
“Just as you’d guess. He’s always on my ass for everything! ‘Mija, why isn’t your room clean!?’ ‘Mija, I gave so much for you, you know? Just go to church at least once this week!’” she spoke in an exaggerated accent, making her sound like a girl on one of those Spanish telenovas. “Give me a break!” she threw her arms into the air dramatically.
Alfred laughed amusedly, sighing as tears fell from his eyes. “I’m sure he means well sometimes. Cut him some slack, y’know? His only sister is an emo, drug addicted loser!” he joked, earning him a punch in the gut.
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it from a fairy like you!” she laughed. Alfred shoved her shoulder in defense, which only caused her to laugh harder. What a jerk.
“Aw, well, looks like this is my stop anyway,” she sighed amusedly as they walked up to a small duplex with rusted pipes lining its sides. Frida gave him one last shove before skipping up the stairs to her house’s entrance on the second floor.
“Saturday, remember?” he shouted up to her. She gave him a big thumbs up from on top of the stairs, opening the door a few moments later.
Alfred sighed contentedly as her black hair disappeared behind the screen door. He checked his watch, making sure he had enough time for one more stop before his Dad would start to worry.
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Alfred smiled at the cashier as he passed his items over the counter. Giving them a wave goodbye, Alfred walked out of the sliding doors of the gas station. He pulled out the chocolate bar in his plastic bag, unwrapping it carefully and taking a bite. The sun was starting to set a bit, and the night’s humid but frigid air was starting to nip at his skin. He regretted not bringing a jacket. Making his way across the street and down the sidewalk, Alfred realized he might have to pick up the pace in his steps to make it. ‘Man,’ he thought grimly, ‘Dad will kill me if I don’t get back in time…’
Luckily, things didn’t look too grim, as Alfred got where he wanted in less than five minutes time. He stopped in front of a small brick house with vines crawling all on its edges. He quietly walked up to the short fence on the side of the house and hiked a leg over it. The wire almost went up his ass as he struggled to get the other one up and over too. Finally jumping into the grass on the other side, he ran low in the yard to avoid being seen by anyone and took the jug of tea and a freshly burned CD out of his bag. He placed it quietly on the back porch, right next to the screen door, and made the run back to the street again. He smiled, knowing he’d definitely be back in time for dinner.
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“Alfred!” a familiar voice shouted from the top of the stairwell. ‘Oh lord,’ he thought, wincing, ‘Must’ve missed dinner after all…’
“You’ve been gone all evening!” Alfred heard Arthur shout as he took his shoes off and threw them wherever they’d land.
“Yeah, sorry! I had to walk Kiku and Frida home!” he yelled back, not feeling like getting into another big argument today. He whisked up the stairs, almost running into Matthew at the top. “Oh! Sorry, dude!” he laughed weakly as Matthew shuffled past him without saying anything. They really were polar opposites; Alfred had no idea how they could be even remotely related.
“Where in the bloody hell were you!?” his Dad slurred as he rounded the hallway and approached him. Alfred was as tall as him now, if not a bit taller, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit proud.
“I told you, I was dropping Kiku and Frida off from band practice,” he groaned as Arthur nearly tripped over his own legs, “Are- are you drunk? This is first time you leave your room in 5 days, and you’re drunk!?”
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, biting his lip frustratedly.
“Don’t…speak to me like that. You- you cause me stress. I’m going to take your band away if you talk back again, your band is always stressing me out…I,” he coughed.
“Yeah, you’ve been ‘stressed’ for the past 10 years,” Alfred retaliated, but Arthur wouldn’t hear it. “And, and you can’t just take the band away? That’s my whole life.”
By the time he had finished speaking, his dad was already stumbling upstairs. Typical, he thought.
Alfred mumbled curses under his breath as he turned on his heel and down a few hallways into his room. On the left side of his room by the wall was his messy desk with homework, sheet music, and god knows what sprawled all over it. His on window, which was on the back wall by the bottom of his bed, was shut tight. A small closet housing his lame band t shirts and washed out jeans sat next to the desk.
He closed the door behind him, belly flopping into his covers and rolling over. An old space race poster hung on the ceiling above his bed, and Alfred felt it was driving him crazy staring at it all day.
His dad wouldn’t really…take his band from him, really? Even if he did, they’d still be able to practice somewhere, right?
School was off the list, since they were too busy sponsoring Braginsky’s snob ass marching band, or whatever that was. Alfred scowled. If there was one person he hated more than his dad on some days, it was Ivan Braginsky. Nonetheless, the school building was off the list.
He went through the mental list of all his friends and their living situation. Frida didn’t even have a garage (and her brother seemed strictly against the band), Kiku’s parents had two cars, Mathias’ parents were just renting their house, plus he lived really far from school, and he didn’t even know where Gilbert lived. He supposed he could ask Lukas, but he didn’t even know the kid that well and knew he was just at the meetings for Mathias.
Alfred groaned, watching as his options ran thin. But, his dad wouldn’t really take the garage from him, right? He frowned and rubbed his eyes. All this thinking was making him tired. He stared up at the space race poster until he fell asleep.
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