Alex Faulkner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
videokilledme) wrote2018-01-26 04:23 pm
videokilledme) wrote2018-01-26 04:23 pm
“And The Rest Is (World) History.” Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Seven
~
"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Seven
[music]
As expected, Bill hadn’t been happy. At all. That didn’t stop Alex from going to the show as planned on Friday, but this time he left a note taped to the television, where he knew his father wouldn’t be able to miss it:
Note or not, Alex knew Bill would probably stay up anyway, and that he was in for an uncomfortable weekend, though it would be made a little more liveable due to the fact that he was working most of Saturday and part of Sunday. The music store wasn’t usually very busy, so there was plenty of time for Alex to work on homework at the desk or tool around on one of the keyboards or a drum set, so long as there weren’t customers to assist, inventory to take, items to restock, or equipment to test and repair. Duncan was almost never in on the weekends, and Keiji was very laid back (so long as his irresponsible boss wasn’t involved, anyway), sitting behind the counter with Alex and reading or doing the daily crossword puzzle from at least three different newspapers all at the same time. He didn’t say much, but that only made Alex like him more, really; if the store was especially quiet, they could go for hours without so much as a single word exchanged between them, though it was a comfortable silence rather than an awkward one.
One of the things they did talk about sometimes was music, and they’d definitely talked about the show Alex was going to tonight. Keiji’s personal musical taste fell more on the Classical side of things, though he was well-informed regarding all sorts of genres thanks to his job and, presumably, his boss. Alex had mentioned that he’d invited Bianca, then jokingly invited Keiji along also, and received a lesser version of the dead-eyed look of exasperation that Keiji was perpetually turning on Duncan.
“I’m flattered, Alex, really. It warms an old adult’s heart to be considered cool enough for college kids to invite me places.” (Alex couldn’t help snickering at that, because Keiji was clearly by no means old, 25 or 26 at most, though he was actually pretty cool, at least by college kid standards.) “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re not just doing it so I could buy you alcohol.”
“I would never.”
Keiji gave a low, disbelieving hum in reply, raising his eyebrows at Alex’s suddenly-beatific expression, then added, “But, even if I did feel like having my eardrums blown out, which I don’t, what would you do if that girl does show up? I would rather not be a third wheel, or abandoned in the crowd either.”
“She’s not coming,” Alex said with an indifferent little shrug, “And even if she did, we’re just friends, so you wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
Keiji angled a sideways, skeptical look down at Alex, but the blue-haired teen was already focused on his psychology reading and missed that dubious glance. A subtle expression of comprehension passed over the older man’s face, his usually sharp eyes easing into an atypical softness as understanding flooded through him. Ah...poor kid doesn’t even know it himself yet. In that case, it wasn’t Keiji’s place to say anything. These things were best allowed to happen in their own time.
Nonetheless, third wheel or not, cool ‘old’ adult or not, Keiji would not be joining him tonight, Alex was sure, and neither would Bianca. And as far as Alex was concerned, that was just fine.
The Rave Review was a newer building, and it had been built with adaptability in mind. There was a recessed stage at one end of the venue, but it didn’t extend out into the room and could be easily curtained off when there wasn’t live music playing there. The sound tech’s booth had its own raised platform about seven feet above ground floor level, but below and in front of the balcony area, which was dimly lit and full of tables and comfortable couch-like seating; a metal ladder on the side was the only way to reach the tech booth, unless you wanted to attempt a semi-crazy and definitely inadvisable jump down from the balcony. That tech booth was what made DJing there so awesome: you were above the crowd, surrounded by dry ice and neon lights, with all the controls for the spots and speakers and such under your hands. It made you a part of things, yet let you maintain your personal space and a certain amount of distance, and in Alex’s opinion, that made it the best seat in the house.
The sound booth was considerably less flashy-looking at the moment--the focus of the crowd was supposed to be on the bands playing onstage tonight, not the tech--but Alex still wished he could give into the urge to set his hands and feet on those metal rungs, and climb.
Especially when some tipsy dudebros started a mosh pit right in front of him in the middle of the first band’s set. That didn’t last long, thankfully: during the second song, one of them knocked into a spindly-limbed little girl who was maybe 13 years old, sending her stumbling sideways with a shriek that was mostly lost in the music. Alex was close enough that he could’ve stepped forward and caught her, but he held himself back--because doing so sent her careening directly into a beefy security guard, who caught her instead. Needless to say, a few obnoxious drunk guys got bounced, and once they were gone, the rest of the crowd simmered down to a still-hype but more reasonable level.
The first opening band, a three-person local group calling themselves Fall Off the Radar, was all right, if a little rough. Their singer wasn’t much good and couldn’t seem to stay on key or remember the lyrics, but their guitarist was very skilled, and their bass player was fantastic--and, in the words of Bianca, smokin’ hot, her dark skin shining with sweat and her heavily made-up face an eye-catching mix of concentration and sheer joy, glorying in the act of performance, of making music, of pouring the notes plucked from her instrument out into the crowd of waiting, eager ears. All told, their sound and lyrics were typical pop-punk fare, several cliches and overused rhymes, nothing to write home about but not really bad either. It had worked for plenty of other bands before; there was no reason that it might not work for this one too, with a little--or a lot--more polish. And a new vocalist, Alex thought, wincing as the guy fumbled his words and lost the beat for the third time in the same song. Definitely a new vocalist. The current one needs to...fall off the radar.
As the first set ended and the roadies fell to breaking down and setting up for the next band, Alex found himself painfully aware of his dry mouth and throat. He looked over his shoulder towards the bar, knowing that the pair of Xs on the backs of his hands would prevent his still-19-year-old ass from getting anything alcoholic, but he didn’t want anything but water anyway, so that didn’t matter-
And that was when he saw her.
Her long, wavy blonde hair was swept up in a high ponytail, though it was more relaxed, messier than it was when she pulled it back for a game or practice or even just class, with several strands falling down to frame her face. Knee-high brown boots, light blue skinny jeans, and a loose white t-shirt with an oversized cardigan on top of it completed the look, which was a comfortable balance of casual and dressy.
Bianca.
Alex’s breath actually caught in his throat as he watched her pause to scan the crowd, then he shook his head hard, annoyed at himself. She looked amazing, he couldn’t deny that, but it was nothing to stop breathing over.
There was something else different about her, too: she was without her usual crowd of followers. Alex was pleased, then conflicted, uncertain what to think about that. It was true that he’d been uncomfortable at the table with all of her friends, that she’d gone out of her way after that to eat with him one-on-one, but some irrational, insidious part of him had to wonder if she’d done it for him, or because of him. Maybe he’d been bringing the atmosphere down; maybe she’d talked him up to her friends and his taciturn nature had embarrassed her. Maybe she only wants to hang out with you when no one else is around to see it.
He’d had “friends” like that back in junior high, even high school, people who would smile and laugh with him when they were alone, then wouldn’t so much as look him in the eye at school the next day, not wanting to risk their social status or whatever by being seen with him. It had happened before; this wouldn’t be the first time. But no, Bianca was far too genuine for that, and didn’t have enough free time to waste any of it hanging out with someone she didn’t enjoy being with, even if they did have to work on a project and study together. And anyway, she’d almost certainly come here due to his invitation, just because he’d asked her to come...
At that moment, her eyes locked with his from across the room, and Alex gave an uncertain half-smile and raised a hand in greeting. In contrast, Bianca’s face fairly lit up, and as she waved back and made a beeline for him, Alex noticed that she had Xs on the backs of her hands also. (Of course she did, she was underage just like he was; the messy marker crosses just looked odd, almost out-of-place on the hands of such a sporty, non-punk-looking girl.)
She reached him just as the next band, an honestly pretty obnoxious collection of local college-age hipster-punks styling themselves as PINQ $LIP, started in on their set with a cacophonous thunder of drums and screeching electric guitars.
“What are you doing here?” Alex leaned in and shouted, and even then he could barely hear his own voice over the crash and yowl of the music. “Don’t you have a team study group tonight? And an away game tomorrow?”
“I’m skipping study group!” Bianca yelled back with a wide, cheerful grin, “And I’ll be good to play tomorrow, even if I stay out late tonight! It’ll be worth it!”
How do you know, Alex wanted to shoot back. She’d probably never even heard of this band before, or any of the bands playing tonight. She might very well hate them all. (Alex himself didn’t care for PINQ $LIP much--they were self-important elitist jerks, and even worse, they had nothing going on talent-wise to justify it. But he wanted to see the rest of the bands, so here he was.)
And yet, she still came here, on the night before a game. Not to see the bands. To see you, some part of his mind whispered coyly, and Alex shook his head at himself again. No, there were plenty of other reasons she might’ve come, and almost all of them were more likely, not to mention more believable than thinking that she had come here for the sole purpose of hanging out with him...weren’t they?
His eyes dropped to those vivid Xs scrawled on the backs of those slim, lovely hands. They looked good on her, he thought, but he hoped they would wash off, or she might get in trouble for them at the game tomorrow. A risk that she’d been willing to take for his sake. He had no idea why she’d do that, what she could see in him that was worth that, but even so, he was grateful.
So stop trying to figure out how and what she’s thinking and getting stuck in your own mind. She’s your friend, and she’s here with you. Enjoy the show.
Bianca stood right there with him the whole time, only leaving his side once to go to the bathroom, even following him over to the bar when he went to buy them both some bottled water. If it had been anyone else, if he hadn’t literally invited her here himself, Alex would’ve been annoyed. For him, part of going to shows was the feel of merging with the music, disappearing into the crowd as just another faceless audio-addict, which was impossible with Bianca standing close beside him, periodically bumping into him as the mass of music-lovers heaved and pressed around and against them. She distracted him, she made him feel hyper-aware of himself, of his body and every slight sensation that ran through it, and she was far too beautiful to go unnoticed, which meant that Alex, who was obviously there with her, didn’t go unnoticed either. Thus, he found himself on the receiving end of a surprising (or not) number of envious or disbelieving stares. The latter he could understand--he was dressed full-on punk again tonight while she still looked pretty sporty even in her nice shirt and jeans, not to mention the fact that Alex was wearing his Converse sneakers instead of shoes with any sort of heel or raised sole, which left Bianca in her boots a good four inches taller than he was--but he could only roll his eyes at the jealousy. They weren’t holding hands, or embracing each other in the carelessly obnoxious way of couples prone to canoodling in public; maybe their shoulders brushed, or their arms happened to graze each other, or they were briefly squeezed together in the crowd every so often, but that was just part of being in such a packed room. They were obviously just friends, nothing more.
But all that aside, Alex knew he’d had a good time. It had been decidedly different than usual, but...not bad.
It was hard to talk in the middle of a set, but there was plenty of time to chat between them, and when Bianca had admitted to not knowing any of the bands except the headlining one, Alex filled her in on what to expect. She hadn’t disliked PINQ $LIP’s screamo-inclined sound, but commented that the vocalist needed to talk less and sing more, “Especially if all he’s gonna talk about is how amaaazingly awesome he is.”
“You missed the first opening band,” Alex told her, “Which is a shame, because even if their singer wasn’t the best, their bassist is...what’s the term? ‘Smokin’ hot’?”
“ALEX.”
“Couldn’t resist,” he smirked as Bianca let out a mock-irritated growl and gave his shoulder a playful shove.
The rest of the night was much the same, and when the show was over, Bianca offered to drive him home, jangling a set of keys (and was that a LEGO grim reaper keychain?) with a toothy, slightly manic grin. Alex hesitated for half a second, not sure if he wanted her to see his tiny, shabby house, but then hurried to accept, figuring that she wasn’t the type who’d judge him for it. He second-guessed himself a few minutes later though, stopping cold in his tracks when Bianca led him over to a sleek black car that he hadn’t noticed at first--it was parked on a nearby street instead of the club parking lot, and had almost seemed to meld into the shadows from the overhanging trees. “Borrowed it from my godfather,” was all Bianca said in response to his incredulous stare.
Godfather? What the heck kinda guy is he? Alex wondered as he gingerly settled into the plush black leather interior, careful checking to be sure his shoes were clean before climbing inside. He didn’t know--or particularly care to know--much about cars, but even he had noticed and recognized the logo on the back. Who lets their teenage goddaughter swipe their Benz for the night?
Alex was quiet at first, nervous about the car, about maybe-indirectly getting Bianca in trouble with her volleyball coach, about whether she’d actually liked the show or if she was regretting it a little now, about what he should say to put an end to this weird silence, about-
“So,” Bianca said, breaking in on his unreasonably intense doubts, “That was pretty awesome. If that last band, Infinity On High, ever plays around here again, do me a favour and let me know ‘cause I absolutely wanna go.”
“Sure, that sounds like fun,” Alex nodded, immediately hating how stiff and stilted he’d sounded, though Bianca either didn’t notice, or (more likely) was gracious enough not to comment on it.
“Would it be cool if I brought some other people, too?” she asked, sounding a little anxious herself now as she glanced across the car at him. “My former roommate is a big fan of that band, especially their vocalist/lead guitar player. I’m actually kinda surprised she wasn’t there tonight...”
Alex felt his eyebrows go up, curiosity getting the better of him. “...Define ‘big fan’?”
“As in, she had posters of him in our room, and owns all their CDs, a wristband, and at least two shirts. Oh, and one time half the wing had to talk her down from impulsively getting the band’s insignia tattooed somewhere on her person, in an undisclosed location.”
Alex coughed to hide a laugh, though it was only a half-hearted attempt that certainly didn’t fool the other college student, not that it was really meant to. “I see… Well, I guess I can understand why...I mean, objectively speaking. After all, Ashley McAlister is-”
“Alex Faulkner, don’t you DARE say it-”
“-extremely talented, a great singer, and definitely a good-looking guy,” he went on smoothly, without the smallest hitch to indicate that he’d even contemplated saying anything else. “Not quite as pretty as me or Andy Biersack maybe, but hey, who is?”
Bianca shot him an oblique glare, then gave a rueful-sounding half-laugh. “Yeah, who is, for real,” she muttered not quite under her breath, then reached over to fiddle with the car’s navigation system, gesturing for Alex to put in his address.
The rest of the ride passed uneventfully, with Alex asking about tomorrow’s game and Bianca questioning him about how his job at the music store was going (she loved to hear about Duncan’s crazy antics and Keiji’s many subtle revenges for them); almost before he knew it, she was turning onto his street.
“Let me out here,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle even before Bianca started to slow the vehicle. “Less explaining to do if my dad doesn’t see me getting dropped off by a mysterious black Benz.”
Bianca hissed in a breath through her teeth as she pulled the car over to the curb. “Ooh, yeah, good call.” She’d heard enough about Bill to know that Alex wasn’t joking...and actually, enough to feel a little bad for him. After all, her own dad was a huge goof and could be super embarrassing sometimes, but she’d never once doubted that he loved her wholeheartedly, or that he wanted not only what was best for her, but what she herself thought was best for her. He let her be herself, let her chase her own dreams; from what Alex had said, that wasn’t Bill Faulkner’s way of thinking at all.
The streetlights were bright enough that Alex could read that empathy on her face, though it veered much too close to pity territory for his liking, which meant it was definitely time to go.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said simply, giving Bianca a small, crooked smile. “And...thanks for coming tonight, too. You really didn’t have to, especially since...well, anyway. It was a lot of fun.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” the blonde chirped as Alex reluctantly clambered out of the car (it was really difficult to want to pry himself away from those heated seats) and cautiously closed the door behind him. Before he could step away from the curb, the tinted passenger-side window rolled down, revealing Bianca leaning over the center console towards him. “Thanks again for the invite! I’ll see you Sunday, right? Text me!”
Alex managed to give her one of his small, but honest, smiles as he nodded and waved, then started down the sidewalk, already shivering a bit in the late autumn air. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Benz sat there a moment more, then silently pulled away from the curb, passing him and turning left at the next street, fading away into the gloom of the night with almost eerie immediacy.
Which left Alex alone with his thoughts, his one true, constant companion.
See? Friends. She said it herself. Are you happy now?
He blinked a little at that particular, peculiar thought. Of course he was happy--why wouldn’t he be? He’d found someone he actually wanted to be friends with, and despite his overly-cautious, standoffish personality, she seemed to feel the same way, for whatever reason. Happy, pleased, satisfied...he was all of that and more, certainly.
So why does it feel just slightly... he began to wonder, then firmly closed the proverbial door on that question. He really had found a friend, Bianca had proved that tonight. Maybe even one who would go to shows with him regularly, someone who he could be completely honest with, who he could just be with, and that concept, that gleaming shard of timid hope, left a comfortable warmth in his chest, a gently glowing ember to be cradled and treasured.
Despite the cold, critical welcome he knew awaited him at home, Alex carried his head a little higher, walked with a little more confidence, and even had the faintest upward curve about his mouth as he strode down the sidewalk towards home.
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A/N: ...Also, just so y'all can know how ridiculous I am: I totally used the name and band of a primary character in another story I'm writing in this chapter, haha. X'D Ashley McAlister FTW~
"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Seven
[music]
As expected, Bill hadn’t been happy. At all. That didn’t stop Alex from going to the show as planned on Friday, but this time he left a note taped to the television, where he knew his father wouldn’t be able to miss it:
Note or not, Alex knew Bill would probably stay up anyway, and that he was in for an uncomfortable weekend, though it would be made a little more liveable due to the fact that he was working most of Saturday and part of Sunday. The music store wasn’t usually very busy, so there was plenty of time for Alex to work on homework at the desk or tool around on one of the keyboards or a drum set, so long as there weren’t customers to assist, inventory to take, items to restock, or equipment to test and repair. Duncan was almost never in on the weekends, and Keiji was very laid back (so long as his irresponsible boss wasn’t involved, anyway), sitting behind the counter with Alex and reading or doing the daily crossword puzzle from at least three different newspapers all at the same time. He didn’t say much, but that only made Alex like him more, really; if the store was especially quiet, they could go for hours without so much as a single word exchanged between them, though it was a comfortable silence rather than an awkward one.
One of the things they did talk about sometimes was music, and they’d definitely talked about the show Alex was going to tonight. Keiji’s personal musical taste fell more on the Classical side of things, though he was well-informed regarding all sorts of genres thanks to his job and, presumably, his boss. Alex had mentioned that he’d invited Bianca, then jokingly invited Keiji along also, and received a lesser version of the dead-eyed look of exasperation that Keiji was perpetually turning on Duncan.
“I’m flattered, Alex, really. It warms an old adult’s heart to be considered cool enough for college kids to invite me places.” (Alex couldn’t help snickering at that, because Keiji was clearly by no means old, 25 or 26 at most, though he was actually pretty cool, at least by college kid standards.) “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re not just doing it so I could buy you alcohol.”
“I would never.”
Keiji gave a low, disbelieving hum in reply, raising his eyebrows at Alex’s suddenly-beatific expression, then added, “But, even if I did feel like having my eardrums blown out, which I don’t, what would you do if that girl does show up? I would rather not be a third wheel, or abandoned in the crowd either.”
“She’s not coming,” Alex said with an indifferent little shrug, “And even if she did, we’re just friends, so you wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
Keiji angled a sideways, skeptical look down at Alex, but the blue-haired teen was already focused on his psychology reading and missed that dubious glance. A subtle expression of comprehension passed over the older man’s face, his usually sharp eyes easing into an atypical softness as understanding flooded through him. Ah...poor kid doesn’t even know it himself yet. In that case, it wasn’t Keiji’s place to say anything. These things were best allowed to happen in their own time.
Nonetheless, third wheel or not, cool ‘old’ adult or not, Keiji would not be joining him tonight, Alex was sure, and neither would Bianca. And as far as Alex was concerned, that was just fine.
The Rave Review was a newer building, and it had been built with adaptability in mind. There was a recessed stage at one end of the venue, but it didn’t extend out into the room and could be easily curtained off when there wasn’t live music playing there. The sound tech’s booth had its own raised platform about seven feet above ground floor level, but below and in front of the balcony area, which was dimly lit and full of tables and comfortable couch-like seating; a metal ladder on the side was the only way to reach the tech booth, unless you wanted to attempt a semi-crazy and definitely inadvisable jump down from the balcony. That tech booth was what made DJing there so awesome: you were above the crowd, surrounded by dry ice and neon lights, with all the controls for the spots and speakers and such under your hands. It made you a part of things, yet let you maintain your personal space and a certain amount of distance, and in Alex’s opinion, that made it the best seat in the house.
The sound booth was considerably less flashy-looking at the moment--the focus of the crowd was supposed to be on the bands playing onstage tonight, not the tech--but Alex still wished he could give into the urge to set his hands and feet on those metal rungs, and climb.
Especially when some tipsy dudebros started a mosh pit right in front of him in the middle of the first band’s set. That didn’t last long, thankfully: during the second song, one of them knocked into a spindly-limbed little girl who was maybe 13 years old, sending her stumbling sideways with a shriek that was mostly lost in the music. Alex was close enough that he could’ve stepped forward and caught her, but he held himself back--because doing so sent her careening directly into a beefy security guard, who caught her instead. Needless to say, a few obnoxious drunk guys got bounced, and once they were gone, the rest of the crowd simmered down to a still-hype but more reasonable level.
The first opening band, a three-person local group calling themselves Fall Off the Radar, was all right, if a little rough. Their singer wasn’t much good and couldn’t seem to stay on key or remember the lyrics, but their guitarist was very skilled, and their bass player was fantastic--and, in the words of Bianca, smokin’ hot, her dark skin shining with sweat and her heavily made-up face an eye-catching mix of concentration and sheer joy, glorying in the act of performance, of making music, of pouring the notes plucked from her instrument out into the crowd of waiting, eager ears. All told, their sound and lyrics were typical pop-punk fare, several cliches and overused rhymes, nothing to write home about but not really bad either. It had worked for plenty of other bands before; there was no reason that it might not work for this one too, with a little--or a lot--more polish. And a new vocalist, Alex thought, wincing as the guy fumbled his words and lost the beat for the third time in the same song. Definitely a new vocalist. The current one needs to...fall off the radar.
As the first set ended and the roadies fell to breaking down and setting up for the next band, Alex found himself painfully aware of his dry mouth and throat. He looked over his shoulder towards the bar, knowing that the pair of Xs on the backs of his hands would prevent his still-19-year-old ass from getting anything alcoholic, but he didn’t want anything but water anyway, so that didn’t matter-
And that was when he saw her.
Her long, wavy blonde hair was swept up in a high ponytail, though it was more relaxed, messier than it was when she pulled it back for a game or practice or even just class, with several strands falling down to frame her face. Knee-high brown boots, light blue skinny jeans, and a loose white t-shirt with an oversized cardigan on top of it completed the look, which was a comfortable balance of casual and dressy.
Bianca.
Alex’s breath actually caught in his throat as he watched her pause to scan the crowd, then he shook his head hard, annoyed at himself. She looked amazing, he couldn’t deny that, but it was nothing to stop breathing over.
There was something else different about her, too: she was without her usual crowd of followers. Alex was pleased, then conflicted, uncertain what to think about that. It was true that he’d been uncomfortable at the table with all of her friends, that she’d gone out of her way after that to eat with him one-on-one, but some irrational, insidious part of him had to wonder if she’d done it for him, or because of him. Maybe he’d been bringing the atmosphere down; maybe she’d talked him up to her friends and his taciturn nature had embarrassed her. Maybe she only wants to hang out with you when no one else is around to see it.
He’d had “friends” like that back in junior high, even high school, people who would smile and laugh with him when they were alone, then wouldn’t so much as look him in the eye at school the next day, not wanting to risk their social status or whatever by being seen with him. It had happened before; this wouldn’t be the first time. But no, Bianca was far too genuine for that, and didn’t have enough free time to waste any of it hanging out with someone she didn’t enjoy being with, even if they did have to work on a project and study together. And anyway, she’d almost certainly come here due to his invitation, just because he’d asked her to come...
At that moment, her eyes locked with his from across the room, and Alex gave an uncertain half-smile and raised a hand in greeting. In contrast, Bianca’s face fairly lit up, and as she waved back and made a beeline for him, Alex noticed that she had Xs on the backs of her hands also. (Of course she did, she was underage just like he was; the messy marker crosses just looked odd, almost out-of-place on the hands of such a sporty, non-punk-looking girl.)
She reached him just as the next band, an honestly pretty obnoxious collection of local college-age hipster-punks styling themselves as PINQ $LIP, started in on their set with a cacophonous thunder of drums and screeching electric guitars.
“What are you doing here?” Alex leaned in and shouted, and even then he could barely hear his own voice over the crash and yowl of the music. “Don’t you have a team study group tonight? And an away game tomorrow?”
“I’m skipping study group!” Bianca yelled back with a wide, cheerful grin, “And I’ll be good to play tomorrow, even if I stay out late tonight! It’ll be worth it!”
How do you know, Alex wanted to shoot back. She’d probably never even heard of this band before, or any of the bands playing tonight. She might very well hate them all. (Alex himself didn’t care for PINQ $LIP much--they were self-important elitist jerks, and even worse, they had nothing going on talent-wise to justify it. But he wanted to see the rest of the bands, so here he was.)
And yet, she still came here, on the night before a game. Not to see the bands. To see you, some part of his mind whispered coyly, and Alex shook his head at himself again. No, there were plenty of other reasons she might’ve come, and almost all of them were more likely, not to mention more believable than thinking that she had come here for the sole purpose of hanging out with him...weren’t they?
His eyes dropped to those vivid Xs scrawled on the backs of those slim, lovely hands. They looked good on her, he thought, but he hoped they would wash off, or she might get in trouble for them at the game tomorrow. A risk that she’d been willing to take for his sake. He had no idea why she’d do that, what she could see in him that was worth that, but even so, he was grateful.
So stop trying to figure out how and what she’s thinking and getting stuck in your own mind. She’s your friend, and she’s here with you. Enjoy the show.
Bianca stood right there with him the whole time, only leaving his side once to go to the bathroom, even following him over to the bar when he went to buy them both some bottled water. If it had been anyone else, if he hadn’t literally invited her here himself, Alex would’ve been annoyed. For him, part of going to shows was the feel of merging with the music, disappearing into the crowd as just another faceless audio-addict, which was impossible with Bianca standing close beside him, periodically bumping into him as the mass of music-lovers heaved and pressed around and against them. She distracted him, she made him feel hyper-aware of himself, of his body and every slight sensation that ran through it, and she was far too beautiful to go unnoticed, which meant that Alex, who was obviously there with her, didn’t go unnoticed either. Thus, he found himself on the receiving end of a surprising (or not) number of envious or disbelieving stares. The latter he could understand--he was dressed full-on punk again tonight while she still looked pretty sporty even in her nice shirt and jeans, not to mention the fact that Alex was wearing his Converse sneakers instead of shoes with any sort of heel or raised sole, which left Bianca in her boots a good four inches taller than he was--but he could only roll his eyes at the jealousy. They weren’t holding hands, or embracing each other in the carelessly obnoxious way of couples prone to canoodling in public; maybe their shoulders brushed, or their arms happened to graze each other, or they were briefly squeezed together in the crowd every so often, but that was just part of being in such a packed room. They were obviously just friends, nothing more.
But all that aside, Alex knew he’d had a good time. It had been decidedly different than usual, but...not bad.
It was hard to talk in the middle of a set, but there was plenty of time to chat between them, and when Bianca had admitted to not knowing any of the bands except the headlining one, Alex filled her in on what to expect. She hadn’t disliked PINQ $LIP’s screamo-inclined sound, but commented that the vocalist needed to talk less and sing more, “Especially if all he’s gonna talk about is how amaaazingly awesome he is.”
“You missed the first opening band,” Alex told her, “Which is a shame, because even if their singer wasn’t the best, their bassist is...what’s the term? ‘Smokin’ hot’?”
“ALEX.”
“Couldn’t resist,” he smirked as Bianca let out a mock-irritated growl and gave his shoulder a playful shove.
The rest of the night was much the same, and when the show was over, Bianca offered to drive him home, jangling a set of keys (and was that a LEGO grim reaper keychain?) with a toothy, slightly manic grin. Alex hesitated for half a second, not sure if he wanted her to see his tiny, shabby house, but then hurried to accept, figuring that she wasn’t the type who’d judge him for it. He second-guessed himself a few minutes later though, stopping cold in his tracks when Bianca led him over to a sleek black car that he hadn’t noticed at first--it was parked on a nearby street instead of the club parking lot, and had almost seemed to meld into the shadows from the overhanging trees. “Borrowed it from my godfather,” was all Bianca said in response to his incredulous stare.
Godfather? What the heck kinda guy is he? Alex wondered as he gingerly settled into the plush black leather interior, careful checking to be sure his shoes were clean before climbing inside. He didn’t know--or particularly care to know--much about cars, but even he had noticed and recognized the logo on the back. Who lets their teenage goddaughter swipe their Benz for the night?
Alex was quiet at first, nervous about the car, about maybe-indirectly getting Bianca in trouble with her volleyball coach, about whether she’d actually liked the show or if she was regretting it a little now, about what he should say to put an end to this weird silence, about-
“So,” Bianca said, breaking in on his unreasonably intense doubts, “That was pretty awesome. If that last band, Infinity On High, ever plays around here again, do me a favour and let me know ‘cause I absolutely wanna go.”
“Sure, that sounds like fun,” Alex nodded, immediately hating how stiff and stilted he’d sounded, though Bianca either didn’t notice, or (more likely) was gracious enough not to comment on it.
“Would it be cool if I brought some other people, too?” she asked, sounding a little anxious herself now as she glanced across the car at him. “My former roommate is a big fan of that band, especially their vocalist/lead guitar player. I’m actually kinda surprised she wasn’t there tonight...”
Alex felt his eyebrows go up, curiosity getting the better of him. “...Define ‘big fan’?”
“As in, she had posters of him in our room, and owns all their CDs, a wristband, and at least two shirts. Oh, and one time half the wing had to talk her down from impulsively getting the band’s insignia tattooed somewhere on her person, in an undisclosed location.”
Alex coughed to hide a laugh, though it was only a half-hearted attempt that certainly didn’t fool the other college student, not that it was really meant to. “I see… Well, I guess I can understand why...I mean, objectively speaking. After all, Ashley McAlister is-”
“Alex Faulkner, don’t you DARE say it-”
“-extremely talented, a great singer, and definitely a good-looking guy,” he went on smoothly, without the smallest hitch to indicate that he’d even contemplated saying anything else. “Not quite as pretty as me or Andy Biersack maybe, but hey, who is?”
Bianca shot him an oblique glare, then gave a rueful-sounding half-laugh. “Yeah, who is, for real,” she muttered not quite under her breath, then reached over to fiddle with the car’s navigation system, gesturing for Alex to put in his address.
The rest of the ride passed uneventfully, with Alex asking about tomorrow’s game and Bianca questioning him about how his job at the music store was going (she loved to hear about Duncan’s crazy antics and Keiji’s many subtle revenges for them); almost before he knew it, she was turning onto his street.
“Let me out here,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle even before Bianca started to slow the vehicle. “Less explaining to do if my dad doesn’t see me getting dropped off by a mysterious black Benz.”
Bianca hissed in a breath through her teeth as she pulled the car over to the curb. “Ooh, yeah, good call.” She’d heard enough about Bill to know that Alex wasn’t joking...and actually, enough to feel a little bad for him. After all, her own dad was a huge goof and could be super embarrassing sometimes, but she’d never once doubted that he loved her wholeheartedly, or that he wanted not only what was best for her, but what she herself thought was best for her. He let her be herself, let her chase her own dreams; from what Alex had said, that wasn’t Bill Faulkner’s way of thinking at all.
The streetlights were bright enough that Alex could read that empathy on her face, though it veered much too close to pity territory for his liking, which meant it was definitely time to go.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said simply, giving Bianca a small, crooked smile. “And...thanks for coming tonight, too. You really didn’t have to, especially since...well, anyway. It was a lot of fun.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” the blonde chirped as Alex reluctantly clambered out of the car (it was really difficult to want to pry himself away from those heated seats) and cautiously closed the door behind him. Before he could step away from the curb, the tinted passenger-side window rolled down, revealing Bianca leaning over the center console towards him. “Thanks again for the invite! I’ll see you Sunday, right? Text me!”
Alex managed to give her one of his small, but honest, smiles as he nodded and waved, then started down the sidewalk, already shivering a bit in the late autumn air. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Benz sat there a moment more, then silently pulled away from the curb, passing him and turning left at the next street, fading away into the gloom of the night with almost eerie immediacy.
Which left Alex alone with his thoughts, his one true, constant companion.
See? Friends. She said it herself. Are you happy now?
He blinked a little at that particular, peculiar thought. Of course he was happy--why wouldn’t he be? He’d found someone he actually wanted to be friends with, and despite his overly-cautious, standoffish personality, she seemed to feel the same way, for whatever reason. Happy, pleased, satisfied...he was all of that and more, certainly.
So why does it feel just slightly... he began to wonder, then firmly closed the proverbial door on that question. He really had found a friend, Bianca had proved that tonight. Maybe even one who would go to shows with him regularly, someone who he could be completely honest with, who he could just be with, and that concept, that gleaming shard of timid hope, left a comfortable warmth in his chest, a gently glowing ember to be cradled and treasured.
Despite the cold, critical welcome he knew awaited him at home, Alex carried his head a little higher, walked with a little more confidence, and even had the faintest upward curve about his mouth as he strode down the sidewalk towards home.
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A/N: ...Also, just so y'all can know how ridiculous I am: I totally used the name and band of a primary character in another story I'm writing in this chapter, haha. X'D Ashley McAlister FTW~