Chapter Text
Eridan: Watch the new girl.
Your name is Eridan Ampora, and this is actually going a lot better than you expected.
You hate to admit it, but Aradia has a fantastic voice. She's over there having a full-on moment in front of the mic, and you're leaning sideways against one of the amps, watching her appraisingly. It’s only a sound check, but she’s singing like she's in front of a sold-out house. You’re almost concerned that she’s going to upstage you once the actual show starts. (Okay, you're definitely concerned.)
“Sounds great, AA,” Sollux calls from the tech booth, holding out a thumbs up. She smiles and steps back, grabbing her water bottle as Sollux indicates that Gamzee should play a few bass lines to test the volume. He nods his shaggy head and begins playing, but your eyes are trained on the new girl, studying her.
You’d been wary at the audition, even though Sollux vouched for her. Especially because Sollux vouched for her, actually. But she’s amazing, and even you can’t deny that. Not to mention she’s pretty cute, with that long, wavy auburn hair. But she belongs to Sollux, and there is no way you would touch that with a ten-foot pole.
“Jealous?” a sarcastic voice coos in your ear. You jump slightly and turn to find Vriska smirking at you.
“Of her? No way, why should I be? I’m still the front man, a’ course. I’m the one everyone’s comin’ to see, not some new chick.”
“Ha! As if. They’re here to see meeeeeeee!” She grins in her usual vaguely disturbing manner, her lip ring glinting in the light.
You respond with an exaggerated eye roll. “Yeah right, Vris. Keep tellin’ yourself that, if it makes you feel better.”
She doesn’t react to your weak attempt at a comeback, and instead continues to smirk in her typical infuriating manner. “Try not to scare this one off, okay?” After a mockingly sympathetic pat on the shoulder she sashays off, and you think for the five-hundredth time about how you’d kick her to the curb if she wasn’t such a beast on that guitar.
When Gamzee finishes his sound check, Kanaya is instructed to play a few chords on her keyboard for a bit while Sollux continues to fiddle with the technical shit. You’ve already tested your mic and guitar, so you wander backstage to grab some water. Upon entering the tiny green room, you're greeted by the usual bickering.
“As co-manager, I have the same amount of say as you do!” Terezi insists.
Karkat makes a frustrated noise. “Holy fuck, how many times do I have to say this before it gets through your thick skull? I'm the manager, and you're the assistant manager. There is no “co” anything, so knock it off with that bullshit.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second. “Whatever you say, Mr. Crabby.”
“And I told you to stop calling me that!”
“You think I’m going to stop just because you asked me?” she laughs, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Anyway, I don't know what you're getting so worked up over. Honestly, you need to stop being such a grouchy tightass all the time.”
He practically growls. “Maybe I wouldn’t be such a so-called “grouchy tightass” if I didn’t have to deal with the mind-numbing nonsense that is constantly spewing from your mouth!”
They don't look like they're stopping any time soon, and it’s probably best to not interrupt. You edge around them to the case of water bottles that is supplied for the band at every show, right next to the slightly battered couch where Tavros is sitting. He’s watching the managers duke it out, a tired and baffled look on his face, and you can’t help but chuckle.
“Don’t even try to understand them. It’s not worth your time,” you advise the roadie and grab a water bottle, while they continue to bicker behind you.
He looks at you and shakes his head. “Trust me, understanding them is something I have never done, and trying is something I gave up on, quite some time ago,” he answers in his oddly halting manner.
Tavros is a nice kid, you guess, but he’s pretty boring to talk to, and there’s really nothing more to be said. With the mission accomplished, you think its best to leave the squawking pair alone, so you head back out to the stage where it seems that everyone has finished their individual instrument checks, and Sollux needs everyone to play together to check the balance.
You pull your guitar strap on and take your place at the front of the stage, in front of your microphone. It’s a bit disconcerting to have Aradia standing next to you for the first time, with her own guitar and her own microphone. You still wish that everyone had gone with your plan of leaving you as the sole lead singer, instead of getting a replacement female lead.
At Sollux’s cue you choose a song from the set list and launch into it, filling the house with the notes that you proudly penned. The only thing better than this is the pure adrenaline of a screaming crowd of fans that will be joining you later this evening.
Alternia is on the smaller side as venues go, but it’s definitely your favorite, and you sort of enjoy the more intimate setting. It’s not much more than a black box, standing room only, but it almost always gets filled from wall to wall which makes the crowd seem that much better. There’s a small bar in the back of the room, usually covered by a grumpy black man who only goes by “Slick”, and through the wide double doors to the side of it is the hallway where the merch table is set up. Nepeta has appointed herself as the faithful merch girl, and she usually manages it by herself, selling t-shirts, posters, and CDs. She almost always comes in to watch your set, hanging out in the shut-off VIP balcony and cheering everyone on.
Sollux makes a cut off motion, and everybody stops playing. “EQ, could you let up on the drums a little?” he calls out in an exasperated tone. This was something that he had to repeat at nearly every single show, and yet Equius’ drumming constantly remained too overpowering.
“Sorry,” he replies, adjusting his shades. “I guess I got carried away."
You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at this answer, which is almost exactly the same every single time. Sollux seems to have a similar reaction, though it’s hard to read his face behind the stage lights. Through the open doors in the back, you can make out Nepeta at her merch table, who waves exaggeratedly at Equius and gives him a reassuring thumbs-up.
“And ED, stop trying to out-sing AA,” Sollux adds, his voice laced with distaste.
Sputtering, you open your mouth to respond, but Aradia puts a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about him, he’s just trying to be a protective boyfriend,” she says reassuringly. You let your angry words drain away, but the scowl remains etched on your face through the rest of the sound check.
Despite that, however, you can’t help but think of how well Aradia fits into the band, and how perhaps you had been wrong to complain about her joining. For the first time in weeks, you’re surprisingly excited about a show. It feels great.
You almost convince yourself not to think about who’s missing.
Be Past Eridan.
Past Eridan: Win over the girl of your dreams.
It’s the perfect plan. Simple, foolproof. You wrote a song for her, a sweet little acoustic number, and you’re about to perform it in front of the entire crowd and reveal your true feelings for her. You won’t actually say anything, of course, and risk embarrassment in front of your fans, but you know that the lyrics and the emotions in your voice will be all she needs to hear.
The band is halfway through the set list, and it is now about the time when it becomes socially acceptable to transition into a few slower acoustic songs, so you shoo everybody else off the stage as Tavros comes out to hand you an acoustic guitar and a stool.
“I’ve got a new piece for ya tonight,” you tell the crowd, who responds with a cheer. As you play the opening string of notes, you remind yourself again how perfect this song is. Subtle, quiet, rather than a dramatic declaration of love. The chorus comes, and as you softly croon, “I’m falling head over heels for you,” into the microphone, you look to the wings offstage and your eyes meet hers.
Your heart leaps into your throat, and you maintain eye contact as you continue into the next verse. It vaguely occurs to you that the audience may wonder what you’re staring at, but you don’t really care. You have eyes only for her. Her eyes are locked on you as well, but the expression on her face is unreadable. “I’ve been dancing on the tops of buildings…at the top of my lungs, I’m singing you a song,” you sing, and there is no denying that you are singing to her. “Don’t you leave me alone...” She eventually breaks away, and you return your gaze to the back of the room, wondering if she understands.
The sound of your voice filling the room mixed with the gentle notes coaxed from the strings of your guitar is empowering, and you feel as if nothing can possibly go wrong. This is different, so much different than everything else you’ve written, but the crowd is watching you with definite approval, and you just know that you’ve gotten it right this time.
“I’m falling more in love with every single word I withhold,” and you’re kind of pleading now. “I’m falling more in love with every single word you say.”
The rest of the song flows smoothly, and as you let the last few notes float into the air, you can’t help but smile. You look up once again as your fellow band mates re-enter the stage, and you try to catch her eye. She doesn’t look at you, and you wonder if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
You transition into the next song, and although you’re giving as close to your usual level of performance as possible, your head is not really in it. What did she think? Did it work? Did you screw it up? Will she reciprocate?
The show from that point on becomes kind of a blur, and suddenly it’s over, to your relief. You exit the stage, laying down your guitar in its proper position on your way, and as soon as you are backstage, Feferi pulls you aside.
Yes. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for. She has to feel the same, she just has to. You smile at her, even though your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. She smiles back, but the smile does not reach her eyes.
“That was a beautiful song,” she says, and it’s just what you wanted to hear, except that you can hear the “but” coming. “But I don’t feel that way about you, Eridan.”
You freeze. You eyes stare into hers, unblinking. There is sadness in her ocean blue eyes, and there is truth as well. Your mouth opens and you try to speak, but the words do not come. “…Oh,” is all you can manage.
“I’m sorry,” she adds, and she looks about as heartbroken as you feel, and even though she just crushed your dreams you cannot stand to see her looking like that.
“No, it’s...it's okay,” you reply, even though it is not okay, it is so far from okay, it is a thousand miles from okay.
She places a hand on your arm, and you can feel the breath catch in your throat. “I don’t want our friendship to change,” she tells you, and you nod because there's no other way to respond.
“Of course,” you hear yourself saying, and her smile seems a bit brighter.
The girl of your dreams looks at you for a moment longer, and it seems that she doesn’t really know what else to say. She stands up on her tippy toes and plants a soft kiss on your cheek, and the hand on your arm travels down to squeeze your own hand. And just like that she's gone, disappearing down the hallway, and you watch the long dark curls that cascade down her back until she vanishes around the corner, and you are alone.
You're still frozen in place, with your arms pinned to your sides and a lump in your throat, and you try to pick up the pieces of your heart that have shattered to the floor below you, but there are just too many and you don’t even know where to begin.
Eridan: Get over it.
A week passes, a jumbled haze of noise and confusion, and you try to get over it but you can’t. Feferi tries to act like everything is okay, like nothing happened and you two are just regular best friends, but you avoid her like the plague--which is hard enough under normal circumstances, but even worse when you fucking share an apartment. You can see that it’s hurting her, but when you’re around her it’s hard to breathe.
You’re at a different venue this time, where the signs proudly proclaim that Arsenic Aquarium is playing tonight, and you’d desperately begged Karkat to cancel the show but he told you to shut up and stop being ridiculous.
“Are you sure it’s too late to cancel?” you ask him now.
He gives you a withering look. “Eridan, the sound check is in ten minutes. I think we passed “too fucking late to cancel” about 50 miles ago, right back there with “your manager gives zero fucks about your love life.” I remember; I waved at it as we drove by.”
You sigh and give him the most pitiful look you can muster. “I fuckin’ hate everythin’.”
Karkat seems to sympathize with that, at least. He sighs, shakes his head. “Look man, I know how you feel,” he says in an unusually reassuring tone.
“No you don’t,” you protest bitterly, resting your chin in your hands. The backstage area is mercifully empty save for the two of you, and you're suddenly glad that everyone involved with this goddamn band is a hyperactive weirdo, all running around and doing their own things, too busy to sit on the crappy couch and interrupt your feelings jam.
Karkat rolls his eyes. “Okay, so maybe I’ve never been in the same exact position as you. But I have had my fair share of shit when it comes to romance, and I know how crappy it feels. And yeah, it really sucks now, but you’re gonna move on and be fine.”
“But I don’t wanna move on,” you sigh, staring at your shoes. “I want her to feel the same about me.”
“Yes, and I would like to win the fucking lottery so I could have enough money to buy my own penthouse and get away from the perpetual stench of pot in my cramped residence shared with the three biggest twats I know save you, but that’s not going to happen, is it?” he snaps back, and although you could do without the attitude, you know he’s right. Still, it’s not exactly what you want to hear.
“So what do I do?” you ask in a small voice, burying your face in your hands.
“Well for one thing, stop acting so damn awkward around her,” Karkat says. “It’s only making things worse. I know it seems impossible, but you have to try to act like everything is normal. And eventually, with time, it will be.”
You let out a grunt of frustration and shake your head, mumbling, “Can’t.”
“Okay then, fine. Continue to be a dumbass and dig your hole even deeper,” he growls, standing up. He pauses, and you’re not looking at him, but you can tell from the silence that he feels bad. “Just…try. Okay?” He claps a hand on your shoulder and takes off, probably to do some all-important managerial bullshit, AKA argue with Terezi.
You drag your hands down your face and push up off the couch, resolved to do as Karkat says and at least give it a shot. But as you head down the hallway in the direction of the stage, you happen to pass by Feferi, and the “hello” that you intend to give her gets stuck in your throat as you avoid eye contact.
Well. Off to a great start.
If the sound check is any indication, tonight’s show is going to be a spectacular flop. You flubbed several lines in the span of less than one full song, and your fingers slipped on the strings at least once, if not twice. You can practically feel Vriska’s eyes burning into the back of your head, and the first time she gets the chance she grabs you by the front of the shirt and pulls your face down so that it’s level with hers.
“I swear to god, you had better not fuck up this show for everyone else with your goddamn moping,” she snarls. You hold up two hands and lean back, eyes wide. “Pull it together, Ampora, or so help me I will castrate you.”
“Jesus fuck, Vris, lay off a’ me,” you reply as you pull back, brushing out the wrinkles she put in your shirt. Normally you would keep going, initiating a series of hostile back-and-forths, but your heart really isn’t into it tonight, so you turn your back on her and walk away, leaving her bemused and bothered in your wake.
The set list has been selected with the utmost caution. The most neutral songs possible have been chosen, with minimal duets and a larger focus than usual on Fef, but there have to be at least a few of your signature shared songs, and none of them have a very “neutral” theme to them.
You and Fef wrote them together, and you were always pretty damn proud of them. For the most part, you’d focus on the notes, and she’d focus on the lyrics, though you would occasionally switch it up. Strangely enough, most of them were pretty uncharacteristic of her—there was a lot of anger and resentment, stories of bitter break-ups and warring couples. You’d often question her about these, and she’d reassure you that they had nothing to do with either of your lives, and that they were just good material for songwriting.
As you enter the stage, to the delight of an enthusiastically screaming crowd, you launch into one of these songs, one of the band’s first singles. Carry Me Home was always one of your favorites, even though it was difficult for you to play the role of the boy rejecting the girl when all you ever wanted was for her to be yours.
“I’m just a boy with a hole in my heart,” you sing, and everything seems to take on a new meaning tonight. She joins you on the line, “and I swear the world turns if it all falls apart,” and you just can’t look at her, you can’t.
“Carry me home tonight,” she pleads, and you respond with, “You had your chance, but baby, it’s too late now,” and god if this isn’t the most ironic and awful thing you’ve ever experienced.
“Tonight let’s play with our hearts,” you’re practically spitting the lines out into the microphone, and it’s the strangest mixture of self-pity and depression and bitterness, and you can’t even tell if you’re angry or upset or both. All you know is that together, you and Fef used to dominate this stage, voices blending together perfectly, an electric chemistry running between your duets.
And now…now it's lost, all of it, and it's palpable; even the audience can sense it. They continue to shout and sing along, but their excitement is dimmer than usual, and it's definitely a reflection of the train wreck happening on stage.
This continues for the rest of the night, and with each awful fuck-up of a song it only gets worse. Your individual songs are shit, and Feferi’s solos are a bit off as well. Vriska is positively fuming at your incompetence, and even Kanaya seems annoyed.
Finally, finally, after what seems like ages, the shit show is over, and you book it off that stage. Vriska shoulders you into the wall as she pushes past you, too pissed to even bother with yelling. Kanaya shoots you a look, and Equius seems irritated as well. Only Gamzee seems oblivious to it all, offering you a lazy smile and a shrug.
Karkat grabs you by the sleeve and pulls you over to him, a murderous scowl on his face. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses. “Try to act normal, I said. How fucking hard was that? Are you trying to drive the band into the ground? That was the most embarrassing excuse for a show I have ever seen.”
“What do you even care?” you mutter in reply, shaking him off and sulking down the hallway. He’s sputtering behind you, but you ignore him and keep going, wanting nothing but to be left alone and get the fuck out of there.
But of course, then comes the coup de grace: Feferi herself corners you, and there’s no running away from this one. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest, and while the look on her face is significantly more sympathetic than the others, she doesn’t look pleased.
“This can’t stay like this,” she tells you, and of course she’s right. But you’re bitter, and you want her to feel guilty, and what’s the point anymore?
“Maybe you should’a thought a’ that,” you say, and the look that crosses her face makes you immediately want to take that statement back.
“Are you blaming me for this?” she protests, placing her hands on her hips. Looks like all sympathy has gone out the window. “I have been nothing but nice and mature about this whole situation. I’ve been trying to act normal, but you’re the one who couldn’t pull it together for the span of one stupid show!”
You can’t even look at her. “You...y-you have no idea w-what this feels like,” and here comes the goddamn stutter, as if this isn’t embarrassing enough as it is.
“Maybe not, but I know what it feels like to lose a best friend, and it freaking sucks!” she argues, and you are entirely uncomfortable with how close she is standing to you right now, given the circumstances. “Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, or you’re going to tear this damn band apart!”
It’s like she’s pouring salt on your wounds. You manage to turn your head and meet her gaze for just a moment and practically beg, “Just l-leave me alone.”
Feferi throws her hands up. “What was I supposed to do, Eridan? Did you want me to lie to you?”
“You didn’t h-have to say anythin’ at all!” you snap back, raising your voice.
“Oh, and lead you on? That would have been better?” she asks, her voice rising in volume as well.
“You could’a left everythin’ the w-way it was! It w-was better than this!”
“Like I could just ignore your feelings? I don’t think so!”
“It w-would’a been easy! Just regular best friends like w-we always were, I could’a dealt w-with that!”
Her face softens slightly, and you realize that she is on the verge of tears as well. “And you don’t think we could ever go back to that?”
You pause and look down. Try to imagine a future in which the two of you could just be best friends again. But…you shake your head. “No,” you murmur.
She’s quiet now as well, and she looks away. “Well then, maybe it’s best if I just leave.”
You look at her, confused. “W...what…?”
“The band. I think it’s best if I leave the band.”
The words hit you hard. Definitely not what you expected. She loved this band, and…well fuck, it wouldn’t be right without her. “W-wait,” you start to say, but she shakes her head.
“No, you’re right. I need a break, anyway. I don’t want to see this band crash and burn, and it’s obviously not going to go well if we have any more shows like tonight, so it’s okay. I’ll go.” She looks sad, but she also looks sure, as if she’s been thinking about this.
You’re not sure what to say, not sure if this is actually a good thing or the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You want to say, what about us, you want to know if she's going to move out, you want to know what this all means. The two of you stand there for a moment, and you’re searching for the words, but she’s made up her mind and with a small, sad smile, she walks away. For the second time in a week, you watch her go and wish more than anything that you hadn’t written that fucking song.