Chapter Text
Saturday, July 11th, 2:15am
The cold on a summer night was enough to make Chase Hollow shiver. It bit at his warm skin, making him shrug on his red Alistair Star Brigade hoodie™. Moonlight bled through the open windows, the objects on his desk — beauty products — casting long, dark shadows across the floorboards of his room.
Chase plucked the strings of his guitar, listening to the faint melody echo to the corners of his room. He wasn't playing for an audience, he definitely wasn't expecting anything to be perfect. The alarm clock on his bedside table read 2:16 am, making Chase aware that this was the sixth day in a row.
Chase was tired, not even that. It was a tiredness he felt clawing deep in his bones.
It wasn't because of his insomnia like he'd been telling Deacon and grandpa. It wasn't because of some guy he'd met, driving him into an obsessive mindset.
His guitar brought him out of his thoughts, and his mind pointed directly to the real reason.
Weeks ago, Chase had been dragged to the library by Deacon, who was borrowing medical books for his studies.
Chase had stuck out like a sore thumb in among the aisles of books. He hadn't been known for any exceptional grades like Deacon had. In fact, Chase was still thinking about how he'd even managed to graduate over a month ago.
Chase had pretended not to see the cheesy romance novels Deacon had snuck into the pile. Cousin privileges, he supposed.
Right at the exit was the notice board, which Chase had never paid any attention to. Ever.
Until he saw a familiar logo. The logo of the very same company that funded his favourite boy band, Star Brigade.
Star Brigade had plagued his walls ever since he was fifteen, posters of every member in tight fitting clothes and questionable positions.
Chase's dream for years had been to sing in stadiums to masses of fans. The faint chant of his name and a line he'd been writing recently bounced around in his head, fuelling the fantasy.
Every scribbled line, every random string of notes was a chance. A chance to change his life, to prove to everyone he would make it.
It was a chance to reach those who needed it.
His stomach curled at the next thought. It was a chance to help his mother receive the help she needed without having to pay his aunt and uncle back.
Chase's fingers moved expertly on the strings. His fingers no longer felt the pain of blisters, skin long grown thick over scars.
His mind dove back to the memory of the audition.
Soundproofed room, three representatives from the company, judgement clear on their faces.
Of course, judging was their job. They were looking for the best of the best.
He could remember the way his heart thumped like a drum in his chest when he sang that first note.
Chase just tried to act like he hadn’t spent the last five nights staying up for a phone call he’d never get. It was just this feeling he had. Hope, clinging by a single withering thread.
The first night had him shaking with excitement, hovering by his phone the whole night.
Second night, he’d gotten excited at his phone lighting up, when really it was just Simon sending him a tiktok about this thing on the news.
Third, Chase had stopped waiting at his bedside table and had begun walking around the house and started rewatching the Mistenwood saga.
By the fourth night, Chase had been lugging himself around all day, his vision was blurred, he laughed at the wrong times. It was obvious he’d had no sleep.
The fifth night was when Chase was barely awake, chugging energy drinks like his life depended on it. Of course he was tired, his hands shook from the massive amount of caffeine he’d consumed in less than an hour.
A public audition had been what he’d been yearning for the last three years, when he’d learnt Star Brigade had been formed through the members meeting at an audition.
So while Deacon was looking for grandpa’s groceries, plus the extra baking ingredients their grandpa swore was “just in case” Diane Forenski went ahead with her fabled banana pudding, Chase had snuck off to the audition at the dance hall.
Of course he’d felt guilty, Deacon had moved out of town last year, the store had restocked, but he tried to focus on the positives. This was just another small step towards the life he wanted for himself. Just like the dance classes, occasional vocal lessons, the school performances, and his channel.
Sure, it hadn’t taken off yet, but 15 subscribers was a lot when you thought about it. When you stand in a room of fifteen people, it’s nearly a whole class! A whole class that’s interested in you and what you do, leaving a little like with the tap of a button before wandering off to see what else is on their feed.
Singing live is very different to singing on a device, Chase reminded himself. Your voice is heard as it is, no breaks and no autotune.
He hummed a quiet tune, the lyrics to a song he’d sung to the judges. The song was about one of his first crushes, a boy in his ninth grade maths class.
Chase had picked up his old journal from ninth grade and found a page wrinkled and peppered with little pink and red hearts, and messy handwriting – as if he’d written the thoughts down in a rush, in fear of the world stealing the feelings away.
Looking back at it, it was his first attempt at lyrics – even if he hadn’t known it at the time. Now he didn’t know what he was even doing.
All his friends were off to college at the end of summer, only one and a half months away. Great, he’d been wasting half of his summer break doing nothing, while Dani, Simon and Ross were all probably working hard to do grown up things – like pack for college.
He didn’t blame his mum for needing the money for her medical bills, cancer wasn’t a joke. But even past all the reasons he’d told himself she needed the money more than him, there’d always been a tiny voice nagging him in his head. Telling him he was wasting his life. That he was as worthless as dirt. That every song and plastered smile were things that would crumble under the pressure of growing up.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧
The song he’d sung was a rewrite of his first song.
It was soft, talking about sunlight shining through hair, and small smirks at correct answers. It was then when Chase had realised he had a type.
Goths.
He’d also had another song about the pizza guy from Pizza Sushi that he was embarrassed to admit now that he’d had a crush on.
Over the phone he’d request the one guy specifically, charging extra just for a higher chance of it being him. Not that Chase totally hadn’t memorised his schedule by begging Simon, who was friends with the guy’s younger brother at the time, to track when he was home and when he wasn’t.
Chase felt dizzy when he stopped playing. Must be all the missing night’s sleep. He thought with a silent chuckle. He set the guitar on his lap and stretched his arms up, trying not to be freaked out by how much his back cracked.
He felt like he was missing something this summer. Like an empty void in his heart had taken place and had begun to feast upon it, gnawing on the tendons like a fine delicacy.
Chase had shaken it off as he wasn’t going to college like Simon, Dani and Ross, but for some reason tonight, the hole felt bigger. Heavier.
It felt like the hole that had been there when his dad had died, only he didn’t know the reason for this emptiness.
His mum was still holding on, the doctors had been working hard. His mum had been working harder, fighting cancer.
Maybe it was the reason he’d begun to hope for a way out of Sugar Springs. A way to fulfil his dream of performing to masses, hearing the crowds chanting his lyrics back to him, hear them screaming his name.
Was this how children felt when they’d been told the tooth fairy or Santa Claus wasn’t real? It was only a fantasy to feed their imagination.
The feeling of dreams being crushed?
Maybe he should just get some rest. He’d been up for four days straight this week, sitting by his phone like a dog awaiting their master’s orders.
He reached not for his phone, but for the glass of water beside it.
And just Chase’s luck, it was empty. Great.
He rolls his eyes and gets up, putting on his red Star Brigade hoodie, Alistair’s cologne “Shooting Star” was so strong that it made Chase sneeze.
The hallway was cold, the faint hum of the air con filling the silence.
Chase’s footfalls weren’t loud, but the floorboards he stepped on most absolutely were.
He felt a piece of himself die at every creak. If he was caught, grandpa would wake up, Deacon would wake up – well he probably was still awake, reading his grocery store romance novels – and Chase was bound to be interrogated.
Chase made it to the kitchen.
It looked creepy in the night, somewhere someone would die in a horror movie. Chase didn’t like horror movies, especially the ones where people die.
Light filled the room and the sound of running water through the tap was quiet, but the loudest thing Chase ever heard in the silence.
He filled the glass. Sipped. Filled it again. Sipped again. He hadn’t noticed how thirsty he’d become in the three hours since he’d “gone to bed”.
Chase had a nagging feeling that the pit in his stomach was about the audition.
“We’ll see.” Echoed the corners of his mind. No smile. No other words. Just, we’ll see.
It wasn’t like Chase had anyone to tell about the audition. He hadn’t even told Dani. Dani! She knew everything!
She would’ve overhyped him, making Chase overconfident and he would’ve smashed the audition from breathing alone.
He couldn’t have told Deacon, he’d ruin the mood by stating the chances of being chosen. Which, yes, Chase would admit are depressingly low, but he had hope.
But a tiny spark of hope could flicker, making everything — he didn’t even know what he was saying he was so tired.
He filled up the glass again, taking massive gulps.
I could tell mum, he thought before shaking his head. He couldn’t give her false hope!
He shook his head again, what was he just saying about hope? That a spark could make a change.
Chase felt that nagging tug again, only this time it was harder to ignore.
What was it?
His phone rang. The Star Brigade ringtone loud and clear.
Chase didn’t waste a second. He almost shattered the glass of water he was holding, before deciding to shove it on the mantle beside a bouquet.
His heart raced.
What if the call went through to voicemail? What if that meant he would be turned away?
That only pushed him faster.
Deacon was groggily walking outside his room by the time Chase slammed his door shut.
He fumbled with his phone.
Unknown Caller ID.
Chase swallowed. Was this to keep the company’s number hidden?
He answered without another thought, because that seemed extremely likely.
The call was silent, before Chase heard heavy breathing.
Is this some sort of sick prank?!
The breathing continued, and then the breather spoke.
“Hello?”
It was a man. He sounded British, and his voice was… oddly soothing?
Chase tried not to shiver at that thought.
“Uhm, hi?” Chase asked. “Do I know you?”
The British-breathing-man didn’t answer, and there were two minutes of silence.
“Hey, man if you’re not going to talk I might as well hang up, I’m — I’m waiting for an important call, I’m sorry.”
“Chase, it’s me,” The voice insisted.
“I’m really sorry I don’t know you,” But that was a lie. Or something else, it just didn’t feel right. It felt like he knew this man, but he couldn’t quite tell from where.
“Chase it’s Bu — !“
Two beeps and Chase had ended the call.