Chapter Text
"You're late dude!"
"I'm three minutes late."
"That's still late."
Multi threw his jacket onto the old leather couch while Ewron complained loudly behind him. Before the lock had even clicked, Nexe pushed past them with a pair of drumsticks between his teeth.
"Yw—o!" He greets them with the sticks still in his mouth.
"The Polish Cave," Graf announced dramatically, dropping his backpack onto the ancient couch.
"Home sweet home."
Dust floated through the shafts of afternoon sunlight sneaking in through the tiny basement windows. Empty energy drink cans sat on top of old amplifiers, tangled cabels covered the floor, and band posters half torn and held together with duct tape covered the concrete walls. In one corner stood Graf's keyboard, Ewron's guitar leaned against a battered amp, and Nexe's drum kit took up almost half the room.
And that's what Graf called... home.
Strange.
Somehow, despite the dust, the peeling paint, and the constant smell of cheap energy drinks, it was the only place any of them ever seemed comfortable.
"Hey, I heard there's a new transfer student."
Graf's voice cut through the room as he finished plugging in his keyboard. It wasn't exactly important news, but in the Polish Cave, even the most ordinary sentence had a habit of turning into complete chaos.
"What?!"
Ewron practically shouted, nearly making Nexe drop the drumstick he had been lazily spinning between his fingers.
"Dude!" Nexe barked. "Do you have to scream every five minutes?"
"What? It got your attention."
"It got my tinnitus."
Multi, who had been flipping through a worn notebook filled with crossed out lyrics and unfinished verses, didn't even bother looking up.
"...You're all so loud."
"I heard that."
"You were supposed to." Multi pauses to stare.
Graf rolled his eyes.
"As I was saying..." he continued. "Apparently there's a new transfer student joining our year."
Nexe shrugged from behind the drum kit.
"Cool."
"...That's it?"
"What else do you want me to say?" he replied. "They're probably gonna be just as annoying as everyone else in this school."
Nobody disagreed.
The basement fell quiet for a moment. Ewron absentmindedly strummed a chord on his guitar while Multi tapped his pen against the notebook, staring at a line he still wasn't happy with.
Then Ewron's face lit up.
"...Unless."
"Oh, don't," Nexe sighed.
"What if..." Ewron grinned, "...it's a cute guy~?"
Multi finally looked up.
"...What the fuck."
Graf let out a long, exhausted sigh.
"You hear 'new student' and your first thought is dating?"
"My first thought is opportunity."
"For what?"
"For romance."
Nexe laughed.
"Romance? Brother, you've been left on read three times this month."
"Those were tactical retreats."
"They blocked you."
"Minor setback."
A drumstick flew across the room.
It smacked Ewron in the shoulder.
"OW!"
"I was aiming for your forehead."
"You're a terrible shot."
"I'll improve."
Multi snorted before quickly covering it with a cough.
"...Can we rehearse now?" Multi asked, finally closing the notebook that had been resting on his lap.
The room fell silent.
"...Yeah," Graf admitted after a moment, sliding onto the bench in front of his keyboard. "We probably should."
"Finally," Nexe muttered, twirling one of his drumsticks between his fingers before settling behind the kit. "I thought we'd spend the next hour discussing Ewron's love life."
"My love life is a very important topic." Ewron claims, throwing back the other drumstick.
"It really isn't." Nexe catches and twirls it around to flex, earning an eyeroll from Ewron.
"It has lore."
"It has restraining orders."
"I hate all of you."
"No, you don't," Multi said absentmindedly, reaching for the microphone stand. He adjusted its height with practiced ease before wrapping one hand around the mic, giving it a small tap. The old speakers crackled in protest.
"...One day that thing's gonna explode," Graf commented.
"Adds character," Ewron shrugged as he slung his guitar over his shoulder.
"It adds a fire hazard."
"Exactly."
Nexe clicked his sticks together twice.
"You ladies done flirting?"
Ewron gasped dramatically.
"I don't flirt."
Three pairs of eyes turned to him.
"...Okay, I flirt a little."
"A little?" Graf laughed. "You were ready to fall in love with a transfer student you've never even seen."
"I believe in love at first rumor."
Multi let out a quiet snort, shaking his head.
"You done?"
Ewron placed a hand over his heart.
"No appreciation for romance."
"No appreciation for rehearsing, either," Graf muttered.
Nexe rolled his shoulders before lifting his sticks.
"One..."
The room seemed to hold its breath.
"Two..."
Graf's fingers hovered over the keys.
"Three..."
Ewron rested his pick against the strings, his grin fading into quiet concentration.
"Four."
The Cave erupted.
A sharp guitar riff tore through the room, followed by the heavy pulse of Nexe's drums. Graf's keyboard filled the gaps between them, tying everything together as if the melody had always existed.
Then Multi stepped forward.
The same boy who barely spoke more than a sentence at a time suddenly became someone else entirely.
His shoulders straightened. His eyes lifted from the floor. The hesitation that clung to him outside these walls disappeared the second he leaned into the microphone.
His voice cut cleanly through the music.
Confident.
Raw.
Like he'd been born to stand in front of a crowd.
For the next hour, nothing else existed ..not school, not teachers, not the whispers in the hallways, not the names people called them whenever they walked past.
The lyrics came naturally, each word blending perfectly with the music. Ewron joined in during the chorus, the contrast between their voices making the song feel bigger than the tiny basement could ever contain.
"...Wrong chord," Graf interrupted.
Ewron stopped playing, staring at him.
"...No it wasn't."
"It literally was."
"It sounded cool."
"It sounded like you sneezed on the guitar."
Nexe snorted, nearly dropping a drumstick.
"Pfft... debil."
"No kurwa..." Ewron groaned, looking over at Multi. "Przecież lepiej tak brzmi, nie?"
Multi didn't even hesitate.
"No właśnie chujowo."
"...Traitor."
Nexe burst out laughing again, leaning so far back on the drum stool it almost tipped over.
Multi looked over at Graf.
"Graf?"
"Hm?"
"Kick him out of the band."
Graf didn't even look up from his keyboard.
"I've been trying for three years."
Ewron gasped dramatically.
"WHAT?!"
"Same," Nexe said.
Ewron clutched his chest.
"This is betrayal."
"This is democracy," Multi replied, "You're outvoted."
Ewron let out an exaggerated sigh
"Okej, lock the fuck in, idiots."
—
The song came to an end with one final crash of cymbals.
Silence lingered for a second before Nexe let his sticks fall onto the snare.
"...Again?" he asked hopefully.
"No," Graf answered before anyone else could. "My fingers are about to fall off."
"I second that," Multi muttered, wiping a thin layer of sweat from the back of his neck.
Ewron dramatically threw himself onto the old couch, guitar still hanging from his shoulder.
"We're getting old."
"We're like 17 and 18."
"Exactly."
Nexe laughed, hopping off the drum riser to help pack away the scattered equipment. Graf was already coiling cables with the kind of precision that somehow only he seemed capable of, muttering under his breath every time someone nearly stepped on one.
"Can one of you learn how to wrap a cable properly for once?"
"No."
"Absolutely not."
"Sounds like a you problem."
Graf sighed.
Multi unclipped the microphone from its stand, carefully placing it back into its worn case. Compared to the others, he was always the one who packed everything away neatly. Maybe because if he didn't, nobody else would.
Nexe tossed his drumsticks into his backpack before zipping it shut.
"What've we got tomorrow?"
"School," Ewron answered immediately.
"...I meant our classes."
"Oh."
Graf pulled his timetable out of one of his folders, scanning it for a moment.
"First period's history."
"Easy."
"Then English."
"Still easy."
A pause.
"...Then math."
Multi froze halfway through pulling his hoodie over his head.
"...Don't."
Ewron looked over with the biggest grin imaginable.
"Oh, I absolutely will."
"Double math," Graf added helpfully.
"...Don't."
"Test next week."
Multi slowly lowered his head into his hands.
"I'm dropping out."
"No you're not."
"I'll fake my death."
"You say that every time we have math."
"And one day I'll commit."
Nexe slung his backpack over one shoulder.
"If it makes you feel better, I'll fail with you."
"It doesn't."
"It should."
Ewron snickered as he unlocked the basement door.
"C'mon, princess. You can survive two hours of numbers."
"I can survive them," Multi replied flatly.
"I just don't want to. And don't call me that."
The hallway outside the basement was already quiet, most students having gone home hours ago. Their footsteps echoed softly as they climbed the stairs, still arguing over whether math had any actual purpose outside of making teenagers miserable.
Before disappearing down the corridor, Ewron glanced over his shoulder.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Obviously," Graf replied.
"Wouldn't miss it," Nexe added.
Multi simply nodded.
The heavy basement door clicked shut behind them.
Once again, the Polish Cave was left in silence.
Until tomorrow.
—
The bell announcing the end of second period echoed through the hallway, and within seconds the school dissolved into its usual chaos.
Classroom doors flew open one after another as students poured into the corridors, conversations overlapping into an almost incomprehensible wall of noise.
Someone shouted across the hallway to a friend two floors above, a teacher called after a group of boys already disappearing around the corner, and somewhere in the distance a locker door slammed hard enough to make several people turn their heads.
Quackity stepped aside almost instinctively, pressing himself closer to the wall as the crowd streamed around him. It was strange how quickly everyone else had settled into a rhythm he couldn't quite follow yet. They all knew where they were going, who they were looking for, which teachers they could joke with and which ones to avoid. Meanwhile, he'd already checked his schedule three separate times in the last five minutes just to make sure he wasn't about to walk into the wrong classroom.
As he adjusted the strap of his backpack and started making his way toward the staircase, a familiar phrase drifted through the crowd and caught his attention almost immediately.
"...The Hussars."
It wasn't particularly loud, yet something about the name made him glance over his shoulder. A small group of students had gathered around a row of lockers, speaking casually enough that it was obvious they weren't trying to keep the conversation private.
"I swear I could hear them rehearsing yesterday," one of them laughed. "You'd think the whole basement was about to collapse."
"They're still using that room?" another asked.
"The Polish Cave?" A girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah."
"That's such a stupid name."
"They're Polish. What else were they gonna call it?"
A few of them laughed.
Quackity slowed his pace without really thinking about it. He wasn't trying to eavesdrop at least, that's what he told himself but curiosity had always been one of his worst habits.
"The guitarist never shuts up."
"The drummer's weird."
"The keyboard guy's alright, I guess."
"What about the singer?"
The group fell quiet for a second before someone shrugged.
"I don't know. He's... creepy."
"Creepy?"
"He just sits there. Doesn't talk. Doesn't react. You say something to him and you're lucky if you get a full sentence back."
"My friend tried asking him for notes once."
"And?"
"He stared at him for like five seconds, handed him the notebook, then put his earbuds back in."
More laughter followed.
"They're all freaks anyway."
The conversation ended as naturally as it had started. Someone remembered they had chemistry homework, another complained about a teacher, and within moments the group disappeared into the flow of students heading toward their next classes, leaving Quackity standing alone in the middle of the hallway with a name stuck in the back of his mind.
The Hussars.
It was odd. He hadn't even been at this school for half a day, yet he'd already heard about them more than any teacher or sports team. There wasn't a single positive thing anyone had said, either. Every story sounded slightly different, but they all ended the same way—
with a shrug, a laugh, or a dismissive comment as though those four boys had already been sorted into a box nobody intended to open again.
Quackity wasn't sure why that bothered him. Maybe because people loved exaggerating. Maybe because gossip had never been a particularly reliable source of information. Or maybe it was simply because he couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be more to the story than, They're weird.
By the time he reached his third-period classroom, the conversation had almost slipped from his mind. Almost.
The room was already buzzing with quiet chatter when he stepped inside, and for a brief moment he hesitated in the doorway, uncertain whether to wait for the teacher or simply find an empty seat himself. Before he could decide, the teacher looked up from the attendance sheet on her desk and greeted him with a welcoming smile.
"Ah, you must be Quackity. Come in. I was just about to introduce you."
Every head in the classroom turned toward him with impressive synchronization.
Fantastic.
He managed an awkward smile, offering a small wave that somehow made him feel even more aware of himself. The teacher asked him to introduce himself a formality he'd already repeated twice that morning before scanning the classroom for an available seat.
"Hm..." she murmured, eyes moving from desk to desk. "Looks like there's only one left."
She pointed toward the back of the room.
"You can sit next to Multi."
Quackity followed her hand almost absentmindedly.
The boy by the window hadn't looked up once.
While the rest of the class whispered among themselves or watched the new student with open curiosity, he remained focused on the notebook spread across his desk. His pencil moved steadily across the page, occasionally pausing just long enough for him to scratch something out before rewriting it somewhere else. Even from a distance, Quackity could tell those weren't class notes. There were too many crossed out lines, too many arrows, too many half finished sentences squeezed into the margins. It looked less like schoolwork and more like someone trying to untangle a thought before it disappeared.
Only when the teacher called his name did the boy finally react.
Without a word, he reached down, lifted his backpack from the empty chair beside him, and placed it on the floor. It was a simple gesture.. silent, almost automatic ..but somehow more welcoming than any of the forced smiles Quackity had received all morning.
As he made his way between the desks, Quackity couldn't help glancing at him again.
...
As the lesson began, Multi didn't seem to care in the slightest.
While everyone else reluctantly opened their math textbooks, he simply rested one elbow on the desk and continued writing in the same battered notebook Quackity had noticed earlier. His pencil moved almost constantly, only stopping every now and then so he could scratch out an entire sentence before replacing it with another. Whatever he was writing clearly mattered more than whatever the teacher was explaining at the front of the room.
Then, for the first time since class had started, Multi looked up.
His eyes slowly drifted toward the whiteboard, where the teacher had filled almost half of it with equations. He stared at them in complete silence, his expression remaining perfectly blank... though somehow, he looked personally offended by every number written there.
Quackity bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to laugh.
Wow... he really hates math.
After only a few seconds, Multi seemed to come to the same conclusion he always did.
Absolutely not.
With a quiet sigh, he lowered his head again and returned to his notebook, scribbling another line in the margin as though mathematics had simply ceased to exist.
Unfortunately for him, the teacher had noticed.
"Multi."
Nothing.
"...Multi."
Slowly, he looked up.
"Were you listening?"
The classroom fell silent.
"..."
"...No."
A long, exhausted sigh escaped the teacher as she pinched the bridge of her nose, looking dangerously close to snapping the piece of chalk between her fingers.
Several students laughed.
Some shook their heads.
Others didn't even bother pretending to hide their amusement.
Multi, however, didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. He merely gave the smallest shrug imaginable before absentmindedly spinning his pencil between his fingers, completely unfazed by the attention.
Quackity wasn't sure what surprised him more.
The fact that Multi had answered so honestly...
Or the fact that he genuinely didn't seem to care what anyone thought.
The final bell rang before the teacher could call on anyone else.
Almost instantly, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone began packing their bags. Conversations resumed throughout the classroom, drowning out the last reminders about homework and next week's test.
Quackity zipped up his backpack before glancing beside him.
The desk was empty.
"...Huh?"
His eyes dropped to the floor.
One of Multi's earbuds lay beneath the chair so he bent down to pick it up.
The moment he lifted it, faint music escaped from the speaker.
Rap.
Quackity smiled to himself.
'Rap, huh...?'
'Didn't expect that.'
For some reason...
It suited him.
His smile vanished almost immediately as he looked back toward the classroom door.
"...Ah, shit."
Multi was already halfway into the hallway.
"Hey!"
Quackity hurried after him, weaving through the crowd of students spilling out of nearby classrooms.
"Uh..."
Multi stopped walking.
He turned around just enough to see who had called out to him.
"You forgot this."
Quackity held out the earbud.
For the first time all lesson, Multi actually looked at him.
Not a passing glance.
Not a brief acknowledgment.
Actually looked.
His eyes were a surprisingly clear shade of blue, almost startling against the tired expression he wore so naturally.
"...Thanks."
His voice was quiet.
Almost too quiet for the noisy hallway.
As he took the earbud back and slipped it into his ear, the notebook tucked beneath his arm shifted ever so slightly.
Only for a moment.
Just enough for Quackity to catch a glimpse of the page inside.
Crossed-out lines.
Rhyming words.
A chorus written in larger letters near the middle of the page.
Lyrics.
His eyes widened ever so slightly.
Oh...
So... he's the singer.
Before he had the chance to say anything else, another voice echoed down the hallway.
"Michał!"
Multi looked up almost immediately.
Three boys stood waiting a little further down the corridor.
One of them probably Ewron, judging by everything Quackity had overheard earlier, was waving dramatically while calling out something in rapid Polish.
"Michał! Dobrze on wygląda, co?" He looks over to Quackity
Before Multi could answer, Nexe shoved Ewron lightly in the shoulder, earning nothing more than an annoyed sigh.
Graf remained a step behind them, adjusting the strap of his backpack as though he had absolutely no intention of getting involved.
"Ach, zamknij mordę," Multi muttered, rolling his eyes.
The others burst into laughter.
Whatever had just been said, it was clearly enough to get under his skin.
Still bickering amongst themselves, the four disappeared into the sea of students filling the hallway, their voices slowly fading into the noise of the school.
Quackity stood where he was for another moment, watching until they finally disappeared around the corner.
...So.
That's the Hussars.