Chapter Text
San Dimas
December 5th, 2014
Nicholas fidgeted nervously in his seat. Sweat beaded down his forehead. He felt like he was about to be sick.
‘Detention’ was a thing that happened to other people. The kind of kids who talked back to teachers or who used silver cigarette lighters to satiate their pyromantic tendencies on their graded papers.
Not kids like Nicholas, who when he was little had kept a tally of all the rules he’d broken in his life and cried himself to sleep after that number had surpassed ten.
He wrung his hands. He wished he still had his phone, but he’d had to turn it in at the start of the two hours of remorseful reflection. Last time he’d checked, his father still hadn’t responded to Nicholas’ text that he didn’t need to get picked up from school to get a ride to the hospital, but that he’d instead take the bus to see Mom.
Did that mean that Dad was angry at Nicholas for getting detention? Or had he forgotten about him again?
The past few weeks had been… stressful. His mom’s car accident had turned their whole lives upside down, and Nicholas felt stretched thin, like a rubber band that had been pulled too far and was in danger of snapping at any moment. He always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. These days his eyes were either heavy with a lack of sleep or on the verge of tears.
Glenn was in town to support Nicholas and his father while Mom was in the hospital, having canceled whatever tour he was doing. And that was nice of him, but, well, Glenn was… Glenn. If Nicholas were to mention feeling stressed, his biodad’s advice would probably be to light a joint and get stoned out of his mind. Not exactly helpful.
As Nicholas sat in the classroom, trying his best to blend in with the background, someone else walked in.
One of the demon twins. Nicholas could never tell them apart. Not that he had ever needed to; they were always together, and responded to either name, as though they were secretly the same entity. Nicholas couldn’t remember ever seeing them more than a hundred feet apart.
Whichever one it was, Nicholas made himself even smaller. One of them had been the creative genius to come up with ‘Narcolas’; a moniker that, once sprung into existence, had been following him around for the entirety of freshman year. The twins weren’t full-blown bullies, not like Gunner Duckworth or Robby Gunderson, but Nicholas still preferred to steer clear of them.
Don’t look at me, don’t acknowledge me…
The twin looked straight at him, his expression illegible before scrunching up. He promptly turned on his heels and walked out of the classroom.
“Lark, get back in here,” Miss Morrison said sharply.
“Apologies, miss,” he said brightly. “I was under the assumption this was detention. Not the teacher’s lounge.”
Nicholas cringed and tried to shrink even further into his seat.
The twin – Lark – sauntered over to the desk next to Nicholas and plopped down with a smirk on his face. There was no reason to sit down next to him while there were plenty of empty seats, save for the purpose of making these two hours even more of a living hell than they were already going to be.
But to his surprise, Lark didn’t say anything to him. Instead, he pulled out a worn paperback of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and started to read. Nicholas wasn’t sure what he should do, so he just ignored Lark in turn, looking at his lap.
It left Nicholas alone with his thoughts, which wasn’t that much of a preferable alternative. All of his fatalistic contemplations were accompanied by the imagined beeps of a heart monitor.
Somewhere around thirty minutes later, Nicholas noticed Lark had put his book down. He was leaning with his cheek on his fist, elbow on the table, and was studying Nicholas with an uncomfortable intensity, wearing a curious expression.
“Stop staring at me,” Nicholas whispered angrily, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the scrutiny.
“You are crying.”
Nicholas frowned and brought the back of his hand to his cheek. It came back wet.
Embarrassment was sour in his guts. He reached for his Jansport, in which he kept a box of tissues that was already half-empty, even though he’d only bought it last week. “I’m fine,” he muttered, hoping that Lark would drop the subject.
Lark didn’t look away. He tilted his head, which strangely reminded Nicholas of a young puppy. Nicholas had no idea what was going on inside his head, and he didn’t want to know either.
“What did you do to get in here?” Lark asked, his tone conspiratorial.
“None of your business.”
Blessed silence for ten whole seconds.
Then: “You know, I did not think that there was even one teacher in this institution who would send dear beloved Narcolas to detention.”
There it was. Nicholas’ face flushed with embarrassment, and he instinctively looked toward Miss Morrison for some kind of way out. But she was busy with some papers, and didn’t seem to notice their hushed exchange.
“So, do tell,” Lark purred. If there had been any sympathy in his features before, it was gone now. “What egregious crime have you committed? Did you forget to raise your hand before speaking in class? Did you get caught chewing gum?”
Nicholas could feel his fists clenching at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “I was late to class. A couple of times,” he mumbled, hoping that Lark would just go back to minding his own business.
“Oh, the horrors. How ever will you make it in life, Narcolas? Being tardy to class is a slippery slope to a life of crime and debauchery.”
“Lark, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Shut. Up.”
“Make me.”
His dimples deepened and his cheeks almost seemed to bulge with the effort to keep from laughing. It was a grin that held a hint of danger, a challenge, and a playful taunt all at once.
For the first time in his life, Nicholas asked himself a terrible question.
What would Glenn do?
That thought made that rubber band that was his self-control finally snap. Without thinking, Nicholas lunged at Lark, throwing a punch that connected with his cheekbone.
He stumbled backward, surprised. For a moment, they just stared at each other, both of them panting. Then Lark’s face lit up with something Nicholas couldn’t for the life of him understand – exhilaration, delight, whatever – and he took a step forward, as if to throw himself at Nicholas.
Before Nicholas would fully experience the highs and lows of a junior delinquent’s life by getting himself into a fight, their teacher stepped between them.
“I’m so sorry—” Nicholas immediately stammered. Miss Morrison’s fury was not directed at him, however.
“Lark, what did you say to him?”
Lark just dramatically rolled his eyes and sagged back into his chair, uninterested in the teacher’s reproaches. Miss Morrison didn’t even try with him anymore. Instead, she turned to Nicholas, all her anger instantly shifting into concern.
“I’m so sorry, dearie. You can sit somewhere else if you like.” She sighed. “Or, if you’re not feeling well, you can go home.”
“But I have an hour and a half of detention left.”
That didn’t seem fair. Detention was the school’s way of delivering justice, unpleasant as though it was. He couldn’t be an exception to the system.
He also didn’t want to make it seem like he was running away. It felt like letting Lark get the last word in.
He assured Miss Morrison that he was okay. He just needed a moment to calm down.
What had come over him? He had never been violent before, never even had a real argument with anyone.
“Was that catharsis sufficient?” Lark whispered. His tone was different, still amused, but it had that same note of curiosity in it as when he’d told Nicholas he had been crying.
“What?”
“Did the physical release of aggression alleviate your emotional distress?”
“You- You are so weird,” Nicholas sputtered. Lark was acting as though he had been trying to help him.
“But you do feel better.”
“Violence isn’t the answer,” he mumbled back, not denying it. He flexed his hand. His knuckles didn’t hurt anymore, but the skin still felt tingly.
“Mayhaps.” Lark seemed completely at ease. “But it is a response.”
“Whatever,” Nicholas said.
Lark hummed thoughtfully. “Your force was commendable. But your technique was lacking.” He shuffled closer again. Nicholas nervously threw a glance at Miss Morrison, and while she was keeping an eye on them, she wasn’t intervening. Lark grabbed Nicholas’ hand, gently, gentler than Nicholas had ever expected Lark could be.
“This was how you were making a fist,” he said, folding Nicholas’ fingers together. “But the thumb should be on the outside, like this. Otherwise it is at risk of breaking if you punch too hard.”
“Oh.” Nicholas’ throat was dry. “…thanks.”
“It is no problem.”
Lark leaned back in his chair, immersing himself in his book once more. Nicholas’ heart was beating rapidly. He wasn’t sure what exactly had just happened.
He just knew that he hadn’t hated it.
Chicago
March 19th, 2023
The back lounge of the Hellcat Valley tour bus smelled like marihuana and sweat and leather and stale coffee – the same smell that hung around Nick, Lark observed.
The small kitchenette area with a mini-fridge and a microwave oven was cluttered with empty beer bottles and snack wrappers. Lark noticed a guitar resting against the wall, its strings gleaming under the low lights. The walls were adorned with posters of their past concerts, and the sound system was playing Carnival of Rust at a low volume.
It was a nice place. Well-used, well-loved. Lark could imagine how it functioned as a home away from home.
He idly wondered if it could ever become that to him. The thought of a home seemed so alien to him, nowadays.
Lark was sitting in the booth, his forearms leaning on the coffee table as he listened to the man next to him talk.
Walter wasn’t exactly the kind of person Lark had been expecting as a bodyguard. His broad shoulders and strong arms were well suited for someone who needed to push back crowds, but he was fairly short, barely reaching Lark’s chin. His hands were calloused and looked like they could bend metal. He had smooth, deep brown skin that seemed to glow in the light and was completely bald, which drew attention to his face, where his eyes bulged slightly from his head. Despite his formidable presence, there was something gentle and reassuring about Walter, like a kind uncle who could be counted on to keep an eye out, not just because it was his job, but because he cared. Less than ten minutes after meeting him, Lark had decided he liked him, which was a rare sentiment these days.
Walt spoke with a thick, garbled voice in an accent Lark couldn’t place, but that didn’t stop him from listening intently as the other man explained the different types of security measures that would be taken at each venue, from bag checks to metal detectors to crowd control barriers. He talked about the importance of maintaining a low profile and avoiding unnecessary attention, but also being ready to act quickly and decisively if a situation arose.
Lark nodded, taking it seriously, but a part of him still couldn’t quite grasp that this was real. That this was going to be his new job now. He was out of his element, surrounded by strangers, and he had no idea what he was doing. He’d never considered himself a protector – the opposite, really - and yet here he was.
He had taken Nick up on his offer, acting on a momentary impulse. He’d driven all the way to the Windy City, following the tour buses and turning in his rental car once he had arrived. It was most likely a decision he’d come to regret, but he didn’t have a lot of other options except for going back to San Dimas.
Anything was better than going back to San Dimas.
If anything, what he didn’t understand was how he had been hired. His resume wasn’t exactly what one would call promising. His bad conduct discharge from the US Army looked about as pretty as the year-long gap that followed after. And if they’d somehow get a hold of his medical records, they’d soon enough find the absolute confirmation that he wasn’t the type of person one wanted in their employment.
But then again, Nick had always been persuasive. Lark had seen firsthand how his old friend could work his magic on people. If he really turned up the charm, people tended to fall over themselves in their attempts to please him.
Speaking of Nick. The rockstar – who Lark was pretty sure was supposed to be preparing for his upcoming interview – was on the other side of the lounge, playing a videogame on his Switch and sneaking glances at Lark which he pretended not to notice. He wasn’t in his rocker getup, instead wearing tight jeans and a black t-shirt with proper sleeves that had the cover art from Depeche Mode’s Songs of Faith and Devotion album splayed across the chest. His hair was pulled up in a high man-bun, though it wasn’t quite long enough to safely be tied back, and a lot of stray locks had escaped the hair tie and fell down the sides of his face.
Lark realized he was staring. And he’d missed the last few things Walter had said. And now Nick was looking back at him for another one of those stolen glances, and – sh*t.
Nick’s brown eyes softened as they caught his gaze. Lark looked away before he could discern the flicker of emotion that lit up in Nick’s eyes. Was it hope? Trust? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Whatever it was, it was undeserved.
Lark turned back to Walter, determined not to get distracted.
After a while Walter handed his tablet to Lark, containing files and locations of note. Lark began to scroll through the files of past cases that Valley’s security team had handled, the majority of which had taken place on tours like this one. Most of it was pretty standard stuff; reports of stolen equipment, rowdy fans getting out of hand, even a couple of instances where overzealous groupies had tried to sneak into the band’s dressing room.
Then Lark arrived at Nick’s personal history, and things instantly became more interesting.
He read silently and immersed for a while, until he turned the tablet to show to Nick.
“Bill Close.” He tapped the photo of a middle-aged man that was attached to the file. “Family of yours?”
Nick let out a long, dramatic sigh. “My grandfather. Sort of.” He turned his Switch off and joined Lark and Walter in the booth, taking place next to Walter. “He’s Glenn’s dad. Never met him before Valley got big, but once we made it he smelled potential money and started making all kinds of claims. About how Glenn owed him, and I did too because of that. Was just annoying, really. We slapped him with a restraining order and he’s been pretty quiet since, with a few exceptions.”
“Okay. So. To summarize. Current factions that might wish you harm are,” Lark took a deep breath, “your sort-of grandfather. An unknown person who’s been sending you death threats. Two Swedish fans who started an online harassment campaign. At least three spurned ex-lovers. And the f*cking FBI.”
“I mean, just one or two dipsh*t agents, not the entire FBI – I’d probably already be dead if that were the case.” Nick shrugged in mock-apology. “What can I say? I’m a popular guy. I get around.”
“How did you piss off FBI agents?”
“Wasn’t me! They got beef with my dad. Jodie, I mean. Probably also with Glenn, but he’s been lying low. They don’t have sh*t on him.”
“I thought Jodie was a cop?”
“He got divorced.”
“Great.” Lark was quickly coming to the realization that all of this was going to be both harder and more interesting than he’d thought.
“I’ve got files that talk more about it,” Walter said.
“So? What do you think?” Nick asked him.
“I think you should be chained up in a recording studio for the foreseeable future.” Lark said. “It’s safer for everyone that way.”
“That’s victim blaming, Lark,” Nick chided with a smile.
Lark shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “By the way,” he said, changing the topic when he cast another glance at a file with Nick’s name at the top. “Do you still even go by Foster? It says Close everywhere here.”
Nick made a hesitant noise. “Officially, it’s still Foster, and it’s fine if you call me that, I guess. Never bothered to legally change it. But, yeah, I decided that ‘Close’ just had a better ring to it. Stage name, that shizz.” He did jazz hands. “Looks great in headlines. ‘The Closing act!’ ‘Close Call’, et cetera, et cetera. Reporters can get really creative with it.”
“Does that mean you and Glenn made up?”
“Lot’s changed.” Nick shrugged. “Glenn did become a father to me, in the end. He’s been super supportive of me and the band, hooked us up with a couple of gigs. He has connections, y’see? Worked out great.”
There was the tiniest bit of venom in those last three words. Lark could tell that there was more going on there. It didn’t seem like his place to ask, though.
Not that he had the time for that, anyway. The heavy divider door separating the back lounge and bunk area opened with a quiet whoosh, revealing Terry. “Hey, sorry to interrupt,” he said. His eyes lingered on Lark, briefly narrowing. Lark a curt nod in greeting, keeping his face carefully neutral.
They hadn’t talked yet. Everything had gone so fast yesterday evening, and Terry’s schedule had kept him busy all morning. He definitely had questions for Lark and clearly wasn’t too psyched to have him here as part of this colorful entourage as long as he didn’t have answers to those questions. Lark couldn’t blame him.
“Nicky, press call is in thirty. Erin wants your ass at make-up, now.”
“Right. Yeah.” Nick sighed and got to his feet. He gave Lark a quick wink and finger guns, and the two of them left. They left the divider open, so Lark kept an eye on Nick’s back until he hopped down the stairs and left the bus.
When he turned back, Walter was looking at him with a twinkle in his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifted in a sly smile that hinted at some unspoken joke.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Walter said, amused. “I just think you’re gonna be real good at this job, kid.”
~~~~~
Nick and Terry were walking backstage, side by side, in a silence that Nick would label ‘faintly judgmental’. They passed a couple of members of their crew. The techs and roadies were spread throughout the venue – some setting up the PA, some setting up the merch, some catching up with local crew buddies. Nick knew this simply because it was the twentieth tour stop. This was all old hat by now.
He blew a lock of hair away from his eye. “Alright, spill it.”
“Spill what?”
“You’re making that…” He gestured at his own face, making an expression of someone who just popped in a way too sour candy, but instead of spitting it out kept it in their mouth for the long haul. “That ‘Nick-is-making-a-big-mistake-again-but-I’m-not-getting-involved-in-his-business’ face.”
Terry rolled his eyes. “Are you sure bringing in Lark is a good idea?”
Nick waved his concerns away with a flick of the wrist. “I already ran it by Erin, she said it was fine.”
Not completely true – technically, Erin had given him a tirade about the meaning of integrity, to which Nick had responded that Lark was “like, Rocky levels of integral!”. Then in the interest of full disclosure Nick mentioned that Lark was most likely in the possession of a criminal record, and Erin had told him she would murder Nick herself just so the stress he caused her would end.
But she hadn’t said no.
Terry shook his head. “I mean, for you, Nicky. He meant a lot to you, and now you’re turning your relationship into something very professional.”
“What, are you jealous? Don’t worry, Tear-bear, you’re always gonna be my number one.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” His smile faded, and he sighed. “You know. He might not stay.”
“Hmm.” Nick kept his head straight, hands flexing and relaxing at his side. “Well, then we’ll just have to sue him for breach of contract.”
That’d be an interesting form of closure, Nick thought to himself. Definitely a better option than leaving dozens of four hundred-word unread text messages. He swallowed and turned back to Terry. “You think makeup department is gonna make me change clothes?”
Terry took one glance at him. “Definitely.”
“sh*t.”
“Aren’t you wearing your pajama shirt?”
“Just because I’ve slept in this shirt a few times doesn’t mean it’s a pajama. It’s just comfy.”
“Uh-huh. And the holes?”
“That’s just character.”
“If you wanted to take the Kurt Cobain route with the whole ‘just rolled out of bed’-style you should have stuck with it from the beginning.”
“I’m sure my persona can take the hit.”
Terry made a playfully hesitant noise, but before he could roast his fashion sense any more, someone from the makeup department found them and whisked Nick away.
~~~~~
The bright lights of the camera crew shone down on Nick, and he was relieved he wasn’t hungover this time. Last time he had been, and that had been hell. He adjusted his leather jacket, making sure it was just right, and flashed his signature smirk to the audience watching from home. He was barely aware of what he said during the introductions, but as long as he added a wink at the end, he knew he’d leave enough people feeling weak at the knees for the words not to matter.
The journalist leaned forward in her chair. “Odyssey, Hellcat Valley’s debut album, hit the scene three years ago, almost to the day.”
“Wow.” Insert charming laugh. “Time really does fly, damn.”
“Did you ever expect to achieve this level of success when you released Odyssey?”
“I could give you the clichéd answer of ‘no and I’m so grateful,’ but let’s be real here. I’ve always been a fan of dreaming big. Even at twenty years old, I was already envisioning us opening for the Super Bowl or something like that.” Self-deprecating chuckle. “I really am grateful, though. It’s been a wild ride.”
“Has a lot changed since then and now?”
“Oh, totally. Back then it was still a lot of finding our footing, getting into the groove of things. There was still this sense of, are we even the right fit for each other? Can we keep this band from splitting up within three months? But we pulled through! We work better together these days, make better sounds too.”
“You’ve definitely been rising in popularity since your debut, and for good reason. But with your next album, Playground Nightmares, Valley has taken a turn for the darker. What inspired that?”
“Mostly just us coming more into our own. We got the genre-suitable revivalist pop punk out of our system, now we want to get a bit more introspective about the things we’ve been through. We’re very excited to be carving out our own niche, doing what feels authentic to us. So far that’s meant experimenting more with hardcore punk and metal.”
“There has been a big shift in the tone of lyrics as well. Is this also a result of the band’s maturation process?”
Nick nodded. “Definitely. We’re trying to tackle some heavier subject matter with this album. Our fans are growing up, and we want to grow with them. It’s been a challenge, but also a really rewarding one.”
“A lot of your previous biggest hits were about young love, heartbreak, and the ups and downs of relationships. Can the fans still expect themes like these?”
“Well, as long as I’m still falling in love with someone new every other week, definitely, yeah.” Sheepish, friendly smirk here.
Nick was great at these. He was a music journalist’s dream subject in that he would comply and answer and answer and sparkle for the camera and give them great sound bites and pull quotes. Unlike the rest of his bandmates, he loved to be the center of attention and had no problem playing up his rockstar persona.
“To what extent was Playground Nightmares influenced by your breakup with Cassandra Swift?”
Nick’s smile almost faltered, but he was used to questions like this. Didn’t mean he appreciated them. “Not as much as you might think, actually. Cass and I parted on good terms. There just wasn’t a lot of material there, unless people are dying to hear a song that is just three minutes of ‘sorry our schedules never lined up, maybe in another five years but probably not’.”
It had been well over four months, and somehow every single journalist still thought it relevant to wrangle in a question about how Cass had dumped him. As though his personal life was more interesting than the music he was creating.
Nick preferred not to think about his personal life at all. Easier, that way.
~~~~~
“Do you know what you gotta do if someone starts getting aggressive when you’re telling them to back away from a certain area?”
“Chokehold?” Lark guessed.
“ …I’ll send you a manual on de-escalation.”
Walter was giving Lark a tour around the concert hall, still going over the security protocols they had in place for venues like these. Lark wasn’t sure what exactly the difference was between rules and protocol, but he knew he was terrible at the former and okay-ish at the latter.
He had only been backstage once before, when Nick and him had snuck past a security guard during a Cage the Elephant concert. They’d gotten caught and unceremoniously kicked out within five minutes, barely getting a glimpse of the behind-the-scenes action. They’d sat on the curb for the rest of the evening, taking turns taking swigs from a beer bottle a random concertgoer had bought for them.
As they walked, Lark couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the venue. It was like a small city, with its own streets and buildings, all hidden away from the crowds outside.
“Now, one of the things you need to know is how we interact with the venue security. When we arrive at a venue, we coordinate with their team to make sure everyone is on the same page,” he explained. “We give them a rundown of our protocols, and they inform us of any specific issues they might have. This includes things like the number of entrances and exits, where the greenroom is, and any potential problem areas in the venue.”
“Got it.”
“They’re not always thrilled to see us, and sometimes there can be friction between our team and theirs,” Walter said, as they approached a door labeled ‘Security Office’. “It’s their turf, and they don’t like outsiders coming in and telling them what to do. But it’s important to remember that we’re all working toward the same goal: keeping everyone safe. So, be polite and respectful, even if they’re not always on board with our protocols.”
He pushed open the door, revealing a small room with several monitors displaying different areas of the venue. Two security guards were seated at a desk, one typing away on a computer, the other glancing at one of the monitors.
“Hello, fellas,” Walter greeted them. “Just doing a quick tour with our new guy here.”
The guards nodded in acknowledgement, then returned their attention to their work.
“We’re in constant communication with venue security. If you need anything, like access to certain areas, or if there’s an issue with a patron, always let them know,” Walter explained to Lark. “They handle communication and coordination. If there’s any pushback, just let them handle it. They’re used to dealing with these types of situations.”
Lark nodded, trying to take in all the information. He knew that this job was going to be a steep learning curve, but he was determined to do his best.
A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey guys!” Nick called out, bounding over to them with his usual enthusiasm. He had a slight flush in his cheeks and his breathing slightly labored, as though he’d been running to catch up to them. It didn’t escape Lark’s notice how his eyes seemed to light up even more than usual when they landed on him.
Lark felt a pang of something in his chest as Nick bent over to catch his breath, looking up at them through a curtain of dark hair. He couldn’t identify the sensation, but it made him feel slightly off-kilter.
“How was the interview, kiddo?” Walter ruffled his hand up through Nick’s hair, like patting a puppy’s head.
“Mind the hair, mind the hair!” Nick said, then groaned melodramatically. “You just ruined some poor stylist’s hard work, Walt.”
“My apologies,” he said, but Nick didn’t keep his bothered act up for long. He turned to Lark.
“What do you think of the house? Pretty cool, right?”
“It’s not bad. I’m just getting the lay of the land,” Lark replied, trying to keep his tone professional.
“Ah, well, let me show you around. Walter’s great and all, but he’s not as cute as me,” Nick joked, tilting his head to the side with a playful quirk. “Have you met the band yet?”
Lark shook his head no.
“Great! I can introduce you, then. And don’t worry, they’re chill.”
Walter chuckled good-naturedly. “I’ll leave you to it then. I gotta go check in with Erin in the control room.” He gave Lark a pat on the shoulder before heading off in the opposite direction.
Nick nudged his elbow against Lark’s as they started walking. “So. What do you think?”
“You keep asking me that.”
“Yeah, I wanna check in. See how you’re doing. You know.” Nick’s confident stride faltered ever so slightly. “I get if this is all a little overwhelming.”
“It’s just a job, Nick. I can handle it.”
“Your enthusiasm is noted.” Nick grinned. “But, ah, it’s more than that, though, right? I mean, this is a little weird– and, that’s fine! I’m not saying I think this is weird, just that it is. You’re allowed to think this is weird. sh*t, am I the one making this weird?” He was sputtering, at this point.
Lark didn’t answer that, instead raising an eyebrow in amusem*nt.
Nick sighed. “f*cking hand me a shovel, man, I haven’t hit the bottom of this grave yet. Anyways, what I’m trying to say, is that I’m really happy to have you back in my life, Lark.”
“I…” he trailed off.
I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.
I’m so f*cking sorry for leaving in the first place.
Me too. f*ck, me too, I missed you.
“I’m not exactly the same as I used to be.”
“Well, duh. Neither am I. We’ve grown up.” Nick inspected the wall next to him, which was lined with faded photos of famous musicians. When he continued, his tone was notably lighter. “This is, like, our sequel, right? Except not some sh*tty Disney straight-to-DVD kind of sequel. More, like, The Godfather.”
“I like that,” he said softly. Then, he added: “The second Little Mermaid was pretty good, though.”
Nick laughed. The cackle removed the tension Lark had imagined building up in the air, and he could breathe a little easier. “Don’t argue with me when I’m slandering Disney.”
“You’re the boss.”
“sh*t. Guess I am.”
They reached a door at the end of the hallway, and Nick pushed it open with a flourish.
In one large, comfortable chair, a blonde woman was writing in a journal, sucking on the end of her pen as she stared at the words she’d written. Her eyes darted up when Lark and Nick entered, while the other people in the room didn’t so much as look in their direction. A girl and a guy his age who Lark only vaguely recognized from band posters were crouched beside the couch in the center of the room. They were stacking cans of Red Bull on the side of the head of a loudly snoring crewmember Lark hadn’t met yet.
“Shh,” the guy said as they approached. “We’re trying to break our record here.”
“How many cans?” Nick asked.
“Six,” the girl replied, grinning. “We’re going for eight.”
The man shifted in his sleep, and the cans started to wobble precariously on his head. Nick shot forward to steady them, but they managed to hold on without any help.
The sleeping man mumbled something under his breath and swatted at the cans, sending them tumbling to the floor. The two groaned in frustration, but Nick just chuckled.
“Looks like your record will have to wait for another day,” he said, clapping them both on the shoulder. “But good effort.” He gestured with both hands at Lark, who was standing a little awkwardly in the middle of the greenroom, not knowing with whom to make eye contact. “Alright, guys, this here is Lark Oak. I don’t know if Erin already told you, but Lark’s gonna be my new bodyguard.”
“Nice to meet all of you,” he said politely, finding use for the manners his mother had rammed into him as a kid for the first time in what felt like years.
Nick moved to stand behind the woman with the bleached-blonde hair and piercings who was sitting on the chair. He placed his elbows on her shoulders, and she tried to swat him off. She looked distantly familiar to Lark.
“You remember Ellory.”
Lark did–-faintly. Ellory had been a senior when Nick and Lark were freshmen, but she and Nick still hung out after she graduated because they were in the same band. They hadn’t ever been very close, though. Lark had never gotten the feeling that she liked him very much. “Hi.”
“Hey stranger,” she said with a smile, pushing Nick off her. If she was feeling anything else except mild curiosity, Lark couldn’t read it off of her face. “Good to see you again. I like the beard.”
“Then we got Killa, she’s our bassist, and her brother and the resident drummer over there is Yeet.”
Clad in a navy blue crop-top with screenprinted art of Superman and Batman playing tonsil-hockey, Killa waved at him. She had a silver chain wrapped around her wrist, and her nails were painted black with little lightning bolt accents. Her dark curls were styled into a wild, voluminous halo, with bright red streaks running through them. “Hi!” she said. “Nice to finally meet you. Nicky’s told us a lot about you.”
Before Lark could decide how he felt about her implication-dripping tone, Yeet added: “Sup, dude. Welcome to the squad.”
Yeet – which had to be a stage name, right? – was a lanky kid with a mop of curly hair that fell messily over his forehead and down the sides of his head. His dark brown skin was adorned with a small scar over his right eye, giving him a slightly rough-around-the-edges appearance, but his laid-back demeanor softened any intimidation factor. He wore a faded Ramones hoodie, ripped black skinny jeans, and old Vans sneakers.
“We’re lucky you swooped in when you did,” Killa said. “I mean, Nick’s ego is big enough to have its own zip code, but we’re pretty sure it’s not bulletproof.”
Nick mock-pouted. “Aw, you guys are so mean to me. Lark, don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous of how I always outshine them on stage.” He flicked Ellory’s nose and quickly ducked away when the back of her hand came flying at him. “And the reason why I didn’t want to get paired up with some gruff, boring stuffed suit was because I already got my own secret weapon.” He gestured to his bandmates.
Ellory grinned. “Yeah, because we’re so intimidating.”
“You know what I mean. You guys keep me safe.”
Killa snorted. “Yeah, sure, because who needs an actual bodyguard when you’ve got a bunch of musicians?”
“We’d fail. Very, very badly,” her brother said. “But at least we’d be able to play your funeral music. Maybe a sad rendition of ‘Wonderwall’.”
Nick playfully punched Yeet's arm. “Hey, no one disses ‘Wonderwall’ in front of me.”
“Right, because that’s the real danger we should be worried about.”
Nick shrugged. “You never know. Some Oasis-hater might try to take me down.”
“Well, if that happens, we’ll just smash their face in with our guitars. Problem solved.” Killa mimicked a guitar smashing motion with her hands, causing the rest of the group to laugh.
Nick threw his arms up. “See! You do know how to protect me. Problem solved! Lark, buddy, sorry to tell you, but you can just chill out and enjoy the show.”
Ellory patted Lark on the back. “Don’t mind them. They’re all a bunch of clowns.”
“Yeah, but we’re the coolest clowns you’ll ever meet,” Yeet said.
Killa added, “And the most talented. Except for Nick, of course.”
“I’m so happy you guys never fail to keep me humble.”
“Don’t worry, Nick, you’re still the prettiest one of us,” Ellory said.
“Thank you for that, El,” Nick said sweetly. “As long as you don’t forget that without this pretty face, we’d still be called the Watermice, and we’d be lucky to play in some back alley pub called the Lucky Horseshoe or something.”
“Joint effort!” Killa called out, throwing a can his way, at the same time as Ellory blew as raspberry and said: “Keep telling yourself that, Nicks.”
“Nicks?” Lark quirked a brow.
Nick waved a hand. “Stevie Nicks. Inside joke. Ellie thinks she’s hilarious.”
“I am.”
Lark noticed he was smiling – he wasn’t sure when that had happened. The atmosphere in the green room was like that of a party, maybe even that of a family gathering if there had ever been a family in the history of mankind that managed to be comfortable in each other’s company like this, reveling in each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies.
They had the kind of patchwork family friendship that Lark had had back in high school, back when it was him, his brother, Nick, Grant, and Terry against the rest of the world.
The kind of friendship Lark had walked out on after the Gold Mine. After Willy.
Lark took a deep breath and carefully pushed that train of thoughts aside.
Lark wasn’t sure if Nick had noticed his shift in mood, but the rockstar’s timing when he spoke up again was impeccable. “Oh, the guy currently knocked out on our couch is Cern. He’s our front of house guy.” Nick looked around the room. “Hey, have any of you seen–”
Then a blur of red and white ninja-rolled into the room, knocking over a chair.
Lark looked to see a skimpy teenager with red, messy curls and a face full of freckles. He wore a sweatband around his forehead, as if ready for a workout, and a white shirt that looked two sizes too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up to show off his thin biceps. He must have been around sixteen, but clearly hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. He was grinning from ear to ear as he stopped in front of the group, showing off his braces.
“Bring-The-Pain-Man!!” Nick slapped the kid on the back, and he did a formidable job pretending not to stumble. “Lark, this animal here is Paeden.”
“Yo,” he said, jerking up his chin. “Whaddup.”
“Hey.”
“Alright-o, Costner. Test of initiation. Wrestle me.”
Lark blinked, thinking he’d misheard that. “What.”
“You, me, and whoever tastes the floor first. If you’re gonna protect my man Nick, I gotta know what you’re made of. You steel? You lead? These knuckles will tell.”
The kid was completely serious, Lark realized. He shot a glance at Nick, who just flashed Lark two thumbs-up.
“Okay. If you want to,” he shrugged. He had no problems whatsoever with fighting a kid.
“Bring it on, bah-bey!”
Paeden circled Lark warily, while Lark remained firmly in place, not even shifting into a fighting stance. He waited patiently as the boy’s eyes narrowed more and more to the point that Lark wasn’t even sure if he could still see a thing. Then Paeden lunged forward with a clumsy tackle. Lark sidestepped him easily and swept his leg out from under him, sending Paeden crashing to the ground.
Paeden wheezed as he rolled onto his back to face the ceiling, but stuck his thumb up in the air. “Aight, aight. You’re good.”
“Thanks?”
Blatantly ignoring Lark’s outreached hand, Paeden failed to do a kick-up to get himself back on his feet multiple times, and eventually settled for scrabbling upright instead.
Once he did, he stepped into Lark’s personal space, presumably to intimidate him though the effect was lessened by the fact that he didn’t even reach Lark’s shoulders. “You might be good, but don’t think I don’t got my eye on you. And don’t think for a second you’re gonna escape from this gaze here, bucko, ‘cuz I got…” he paused for dramatic effect, “the eye of the tiger.” He whipped a pointed finger at Killa, who, as though this was standard and normal behavior, played the opening notes of Survivor’s song on an acoustic guitar. Then he ninja-rolled out of the green room again.
Nick’s grin reached his ears. “He’s gonna be your own personal demon from now on.”
Yeet nodded in confirmation. “Oh, yeah, he won’t stop until he takes you down.”
Lark surprisingly didn’t mind that. “He’s fun.”
“Thought you might think that,” Nick beamed. “He’s special, that’s for sure.”
“What the hell,” a groggy voice mumbled, followed by the sound of crushing aluminum. Lark turned his head to see Cern, who had just woken up and stepped on one of the many, many stray soda cans lying around. “Why was I covered in your trash?” he grumbled.
San Dimas
April 3rd, 2015
“What about this one, Nicholas? It looks kinda like that shirt you’re wearing in that school picture we got on the fridge, don’t you think?” His father was holding a navy polo with a little alligator embroidered on the chest.
“It’s okay,” Nicholas mumbled. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Jodie didn’t look defeated, even though every one of his suggestions so far had been met with a similar amount of disinterest. Nicholas hoped he would give up already. He wanted to go home.
While his father moved on to browse through another rack, Nicholas’ phone vibrated in his pocket. He tried to be subtle as he pulled out his phone and checked the message.
>From Lark:
I see you
Nicholas’ head snapped up, and he turned around. The other teen wasn’t in the store anywhere, but Nicholas spotted him through the window, his grinning face pressed against the glass of the display window. Made sense. Nicholas couldn’t imagine someone like Lark being able to physically set foot inside a Ralph Lauren, as though the display of khakis and argyle patterned sweaters served as some kind of salt circle.
Nicholas caught his eye, and Lark waved cheerfully. All of Nicholas’ boredom and reluctance vanished.
He interrupted his dad’s monologue about the virtues of a good oxford shirt. “Dad? A friend of mine is here.”
“A friend?” his dad asked, failing to mask his surprise in time. Which would be humiliating, but Nicholas was too excited to get out of here and talk to Lark to care.
Nicholas hadn’t told Jodie about Lark yet. Jodie had made enough off-hand comments about the Oak family and their out-of-control kids that Nicholas knew his dad wouldn’t exactly be delighted with his son’s choice in friends.
If you could call it a choice. It was more like kidnapping, the way Lark had adopted Nicholas. When he had asked Lark why the other boy was suddenly so intent on putting up with him, Lark’s vague but characteristic response had been “you hold potential”.
“Yes,” Nicholas said. “Can I borrow some money so we can go shopping together? We can meet up again after.”
Jodie didn’t pry too deep and handed him some cash. Nicholas practically ran out of the store. He gestured with his head that they better immediately start walking, before Jodie could spot Lark. They turned in a random direction, not with a specific goal in mind.
Lark looked amused. “You being present in the very first polo store I look into really does not give me much hope for your sartorial evolution.”
“Shut up,” Nicholas laughed, at this point well-accustomed to Lark’s mostly-benign mockery. “What are you doing here? Where’s Sparrow?”
“Similar to you, I managed to evade a father-son bonding activity.”
“Ah,” he said sympathetically.
Lark shrugged, hands in his pockets as he walked. “It is alright. I am sure Father would much rather spend time with Sparrow alone, without me trailing behind and bringing down the mood.” He said it lightly, and Nicholas knew Lark well enough to keep his mouth shut and not pry any further.
Nicholas’ gaze wandered over to the black hoodie Lark was wearing, his eyes settling on the white tombstone with a quote on it.
“‘Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt’?” he read out loud. “I take it that’s ironic?”
“Thank you for having reading comprehension.”
“I’m sensing literature nerd rage behind your words. Spill the tea.”
Lark visibility fought a grin, which Nicholas thought endearing. “It is a quote from Slaughterhouse Five, which people love to take at face-value.”
“I can see some people framing that quote on their wall right next to a ‘live, love, laugh’ sign, yes.”
“The line is repeated multiple times by the narrator, a veteran with PTSD. It does not signify optimism or happiness. It’s the narrator’s way of coping by dissociating from reality.” He shrugged, as though to downplay his excitement. “I appreciate the understated rancor. If everything truly were beautiful and nothing hurt, then would we ever be able to feel joy? It is a reminder that we can only appreciate the good things in life because we know what the bad things feel like.”
“Deep.”
“I’ll let you borrow my copy.”
Another one for the growing pile of great works of literature that Lark had recommended to Nicholas and that Nicholas would most likely never read. “Thank you,” he said politely. They wandered a bit more, past fountains and food courts. “So, uhm, that hoodie. Where do you even buy that kind of emo stuff?” Nicholas asked casually. “Hot Topic?”
“Do I hear the desperate cries of someone who wants to escape preppy purgatory?”
“Maybe,” Nicholas smiled. “Don’t tell Jodie.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I have the solution for you. It is called a ‘thrift store’.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to go full hipster just yet.”
Lark grinned. “Achieving whatever definition of coolness you prefer is possible without conforming to any particular style. Just be yourself.”
Nicholas chuckled. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” Lark replied. “Just let go of what other people think – especially Jodie.The rest will fall into place.”
Two hours later, Nicholas was clutching a paper bag containing two pairs of jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a denim jacket. It wasn’t a complete departure from his usual style, but it was a step in a different direction.
He couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.
Chicago
March 19th, 2023
Lark hadn’t actively listened to any of Hellcat Valley’s albums. Not because they weren’t any good; Lark had always enjoyed sitting in the background while Nick and whatever band of misfits he’d managed to scrape together that month were jamming in someone’s dingy garage or at the school’s band basem*nt. Nick was especially great to listen to; his proclivity for improvisation kept the sounds fresh, and often resulted in a good laugh when he was goofing off.
Lark had always thought Nick was the best musician in whatever group he was in. There was just something about the way he played that made the music come alive.
Then again, Lark had been biased.
Willy was the one who had put it into his head that the best way to move forward was to avoid reminiscing over the things that reminded him of his old life. Even after his discharge, he still quickly averted his eyes every time he walked past a Birkenstock store. Whenever a radio host announced that the next song was one of Hellcat Valley’s, Lark turned it off.
Now, he was hearing their music in the most immersive way it could be played. Nick was everywhere on the stage, grinning broadly next to Yeet in one moment, then back-to-back with Killa the next. He was holding his fiery red electric guitar less like an instrument and more like an extension of himself.
The wings of the backstage area were dimly lit, with a few scattered lights illuminating equipment cases and tables with water bottles and snacks. From here, Lark had a perfect view of Nick, even though he could see only a part of the crowd. Every so often, he spotted a shock of red hair amidst the sea of people, usually somewhere in the middle of the mosh pit. Paeden’s enthusiastic yelling managed to be even louder than the music.
Lark had his arms crossed and had a hard time looking anywhere but at Nick’s face. He looked so in his element, belonging on this stage in front of a sold out concert hall the way he had never fully belonged at San Dimas High.
Nick had always joked he was destined for greatness. Guess he had been right.
As long as Lark kept looking at Nick, and nowhere else, he could pretend they were both on even grounds, sitting in Nick’s bedroom while Nicky played over Jodie’s yelling to keep it down. It was a cheap trick, to play ignorant and dismiss the weight of the years, but it made the world seem a little less overwhelming.
A sudden weight jumped onto Lark’s back – not heavy enough for him to stumble, but enough to startle him.
“That’s right, bucko, you didn’t even hear me coming,” the voice of Paeden whisper-yelled in Lark’s ear.
Lark’s muscles relaxed and he smirked. He twisted and grabbed Paeden’s arm, pulling him over his shoulder and onto the ground. Paeden landed with a thud, but quickly bounced back up.
“Reflexes are good, but your observational awareness needs some work, Larkie-boy.” He did a karate chop. “You’re in luck I have sworn my body and soul to this band. If I meant them harm, I’d have snuck right by you and they’d be dead already.”
Technically, Lark hadn’t been on guard because he wasn’t on duty. He wouldn’t officially start until tomorrow. But he appreciated Paeden keeping him on his toes nevertheless. So he just chuckled.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” When Paeden remained where he was, he asked: “You’re not gonna go back to the crowd?”
“Nah, I know the setlist, and the one they’re gonna play next isn’t as fighty. Doesn’t get the blood pumping as much!”
The current number was indeed coming to an end. A lingering note of feedback from the amps and instruments echoed through the room, the pause slightly longer than in-between their other songs.
Lark looked past Paeden, back at the stage. Ellory was more to the side for this number, doing backing vocals while Nick took center stage. He wasn’t jumping around anymore, instead leaning close to the microphone like he was telling it a secret. His fingers glided over the guitar strings, the notes pouring out like liquid gold.
“I know this one,” Lark said, mostly to himself, surprised. He couldn’t recall the lyrics, but the melody of the opening riff, almost melancholy before picking up pace, was familiar to him. He must have distantly heard it before in grocery stores or on the radio, not paying enough attention to it to realize that it was Nick singing it.
“Uh, duh. ‘Course you do. It’s their biggest hit.”
The excited screams of recognition from the crowd were calming down, and Lark could hear almost everyone in the concert hall singing along to the opening lines.
“Take me back to when everything was beautiful,” nearly fourteen-thousand people sang in unison. “And nothing ever hurt.”
The line jutted Lark’s memory. Vonnegut.
“Cuz I’d rather dissociate / then sit here and contemplate / all the things I must have done wrong.”
His nails dug a little deeper into the skin of his arms.
“What’s it called?” he said loudly.
Paeden raised one eyebrow, as though offended he didn’t know that. “Goodbye Songbirds.”
Right.
Okay.
“You were the water in my lungs,” Nick sang. “Always wake up gasping for air / yet only in my dreams I still find you there…”
Lark inhaled very deeply through his nose, the air tasting like cigarettes, which only made him crave one himself.
Paeden was singing along now too, but Lark closed his ears off from the rest of the lyrics. He leaned his back against the wall and shut his eyes, letting the song wash over him until the crowd exploded into a screaming applause, demanding an encore.
