Chapter Text
Chocolate hearts, red bows, and the tradition of capitalizing on holidays, fueled by the notion that you had to buy gifts if you cared about someone were things everyone at Spark School agreed made no sense. They were sick of this melodramatic holiday known as Valentine’s Day, which caused nothing but trouble among the school’s distinct student cliques.
On one side was the Heartthrob clique; their every move was perfectly calculated for the camera, projecting an image of people who never had a bad hair day or smudged makeup. They prided themselves on maintaining a certain class, something the Heartache crew, the school’s rebels, dismissed as "preppy nonsense." Where the Heartthrobs embodied pastel tones and elegance, Heartache was all about ripped black clothes and furious counterculture. Their reputation was tarnished by rule-breaking, but that was something they wore as a badge of honor.
In a school where your clique wasn't just a label but a rigid part of your identity, worrying about crushes wasn't a priority. In fact, it was something to be avoided, especially across clique lines. But when butterflies get in the way, what can you do but let your heartbeat guide you? And so, caught in the middle of this conflict, were Rell and Seraphine.
It all started a week ago…
—
Black posters featuring a distorted font with curves that looked like claws were plastered in specific corners of the school, intended for the eyes of only one group. They were announcing the Battle of the Bands, an event the Heartache crew organized every year. The concept was simple: get a band together, write a song, and perform it at school. This year, they decided to schedule the long-awaited battle on Valentine’s Day, clearly sending a message of opposition to a holiday they considered utterly mediocre. Everyone in the Heartache group was eager to participate or simply enjoy the music, and Rell was one of those set to perform.
All too accustomed to being on her own, she had decided to perform solo, just her voice and the expensive gray guitar she guarded with her life. She already had an original song ready; after all, the posters had been up for a month, and some people had been preparing since the previous year. Rell was no different; she had spent countless days perfecting the melody driving a chorus that kept playing in her head and a melody that would inevitably get distorted by heavy riffs, prompting her to tweak her pedals until the sound hit the perfect pitch for her taste.
There was no doubt the girl belonged to the rebel group Heartache, from head to toe; her hair was black with red streaks in the front, loose curls parted down the middle, not long but full of volume. She wore a cropped tank top, black-edged with a white, red-dotted interior that matched the long fishnet top underneath and her black cargo pants, which featured various white embroidered designs and metal chains. With every step she took in her heavy, spiked black combat boots, she grew more certain of one thing…
“Achoo!”
She was sick, and her performance was only a week away. Out of nowhere, as if her body had simply given up, she had woken up in the early hours with a sore throat; she was hoarse and could painfully feel the path of her saliva as she swallowed. Her athletic body felt sluggish as she tried to get out of bed, and once she managed to stand, a sudden chill hit her, followed by a sneeze that made her realize things were only going to get worse.
Now at school, with her guitar securely strapped to her back and a custom mask on her face, she marched toward the only place where she might find some respite for her situation: the rock club. The club had originally been a standard music club shared by the school's opposing factions, but due to frequent disagreements over what to do and what to play it had been split into a “rock club” and a “pop club” to ease tensions regarding a subject the Heartache took very seriously: music. Stepping into the rock club felt like entering a rock band’s dressing room; it was organized enough to pass as a proper school facility, yet it possessed all the hallmarks that revealed the place's true soul: a graffiti on one wall in all-caps reading "BATTLE OF THE BANDS WINNERS," alongside various photos of past victors and the signatures of the band members. Oh, how Rell longed to earn a spot on that wall.
The only people there were the members of a duo also set to perform in the battle next week. Rell was lucky there wasn't a line of people waiting to use the room though most of the Heartache crowd likely preferred practicing in their own garages rather than coming to class and dealing with the bureaucracy of waiting their turn. Plus, it was early; Rell had barely slept and had jumped at the chance to leave the house as soon as possible, her parents didn't care for the noise of her music, anyway.
“You look like you were just transported here from 2020,” said Jinx, a girl with long purple braids. She was the vocalist and guitarist for the duo The Last Drop, performing alongside her sister Vi, a tough girl with short red hair and a spiked headband, who was looking at Rell with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Don't mind what my little sister just said.’
Rell simply rolls her eyes, realizing that, luckily for her, the sisters are busy putting their gear away. She unslings her guitar from her back, grabs her favorite pedal, and sits down near the room's amplifier, picking up two loose cables to connect her instrument and the distortion unit. Without waiting for the sisters to leave the room, Rell strums a chord; finding the guitar in tune, she stomps on her pedal and begins playing a well-known rock anthem, just to test her voice.
Jinx and Vi were getting ready to leave when they realized something was wrong, very wrong. The notes, the kind every rocker is sick of hearing being played in music shops were executed perfectly, as one would expect from a guitarist signed up for the Battle of the Bands. But the vocals, if you could even call them that, were a painful, labored struggle. It was a hoarseness that didn't stem from the kind of intentional, stylistic rasp that adds character to a vocal performance; instead, it sounded like the ruined voice of a singer who had spent decades abusing substances and skipping vocal training.
As a fellow guitarist and vocalist, Jinx stops in her tracks to watch the competition fall apart; she realizes now that the mask Rell wore served a purpose beyond aesthetics, the girl was forcing herself to sing despite being sick. Jinx tries not to laugh, but fails.
“Man, I don't think you're going to be able to perform...” Vi is the first to speak up, her direct, efficient manner prompting a response from Rell.
“All the singers already have bands...” Rell pauses, not by choice, but because using her voice causes her such intense discomfort and pain. “And I’m not giving up.” She doesn't want to appear too affected, but the other girls can hear the pain in her voice. And she was right, in fact; there were no singers left at Heartache, and the rules made it clear that this was an event for that specific school and group, requiring the use of two instruments, plus, it wasn’t as if Rell had friends her age outside of school anyway. She was resigned to the acceptance phase: she wouldn't be able to sing and would have to sit out this year’s event because of a few days spent sick with a cold.
“You know, there’s another place you could look for singers-” Vi tries to suggest something but gets cut off.
“You are NOT going to suggest that, are you?” Jinx looks at her sister, appearing disappointed but definitely not surprised.
Rell focuses her full attention on Vi, a wave of hope washing over her as she waits for the senior to offer a miracle solution to her problem.
“Not everyone in Heartthrob is a jerk,” Vi begins, laying out the rest of her argument. “My girlfriend mentioned they have a really good singer over there.” she says and Jinx rolls her eyes.
She knew Vi’s story: three years ago, Vi had started dating someone from the rival group on Valentine’s Day, defying the school’s taboo surrounding the date and the groups' pact to ignore it entirely. At the time, many had judged her, thinking a new era was dawning; yet, even after the two girls got together, the school remained divided, and the holiday continued to be shunned.
Rell wanted to refuse; she wanted to say she had no interest in a group associated with so many bad memories. But given her current situation,and the way she’d grown up, she doubted any of them would dare say a word against her again. And if they did, they’d have to face a heavy iron guitar. Rell packs up her things and silently thanks Vi with her eyes before leaving.
“Careful not to pass your flu on to your new singer~~” Jinx seizes the final seconds to tease Rell.
It took Rell about four minutes to reach the room designated as the other group’s music club. She glances at the room number, 77, and opens the door without a second thought for formalities. What immediately catches her eye is the piano and the music theory bookshelf inside, contrasting sharply with the catchy pop song playing, likely the choice of the only person in the room, a bubbly girl who stands up and approaches as she hears Rell enter.
“Hiii~” A girl with long white hair, wavy at the ends, greets her, her voice sliding from a lower note up to a higher one. Upon noticing Rell’s attire, a clear look of confusion crosses her face. “Are you lost? The other music club is in Room 66.” She speaks without a hint of mockery in her tone, acting simply like a student guide welcoming a freshman. “I mean, you’re welcome here too, I’ve been dying to talk to someone, but no one else from the room has arrived yet.” She corrects herself and breaks into a smile. “My name is Seraphine,” she says, as if expecting a handshake.
Rell found the whole situation strange, not just the fact that she had to seek out someone from Heartthrob (likely a first in the history of the Battle of the Bands), but the girl’s behavior. She sensed no judgment coming from her; on the contrary, the girl actually wanted to talk to her. Their cliques were distinct and opposing, rivals even, yet Seraphine didn't seem to care.
Seraphine was slender; her long, thin legs were clad in white tights featuring an orange diamond pattern and a pink plaid miniskirt. She wore a pink sweater over a fine white collared shirt that had heart-shaped buttons on the sleeves.
Her high heels shimmered with something, Rell imagined it was white glitter, noticeable only to someone paying close attention. And Rell certainly was, intent on "evaluating her potential partner."
“So…” Seraphine said awkwardly, unwilling to let the silence in the room drag on while Rell remained unresponsive, lost in her "analysis." “Do you play guitar? Or bass? I play a bit of acoustic guitar, but you might have noticed I prefer using my voice. Sometimes a bit too much…” She said the last part quickly, her voice dropping to a lower volume.
As Seraphine finished speaking, Rell snapped back to the present, remembering why she was in the room. She needed someone, and that someone seemed to be closer than she had thought.
“I need a singer… for the Battle of the Bands,” Rell said, keeping it as brief as possible to avoid aggravating her already sore throat.
The white-haired girl was already unusually energetic for that time of day, but upon hearing that, her body language shifted instantly; Seraphine practically glowed with joy.
“That’s like, my dream! I’ve tried to sign up so many times, and they just kicked me out, can you believe it?” Seraphine spoke with indignation, though to Rell, her expressions looked cute rather than angry. “I even tried showing up in a black dress, thinking I could go undercover, but they said they’d ban me from even watching the show if I came back.” She said this last part with a tone that held more frustration and sadness than mere annoyance.
This is going to be harder than I thought… Rell sighs, considering the logistics of registering a girl who aside from being a Heartthrob is practically a persona non grata at the event.
“So, partners?” Rell doesn’t engage with Seraphine’s monologue, preferring to deal with that problem later and taking her last shot at performing this year. She looks up to meet the pop singer’s large brown eyes and holds out a hand.
Seraphine moves even closer to Rell and takes her hand, cupping it between both of hers. “Partners.” And thus marking the beginning of their partnership.