Chapter Text
“I’m holding another round of auditions.”
George groans from across the room, but Sapnap can’t bring himself to care. “You just scared off our literal lead guitarist, George. We could make do without a rhythm guitar, but lead?! No chance.” He continues, swiping a stray piece of hair from his face.
Today’s practice had been all kinds of hectic, and even Sapnap’s headband hadn’t been able to keep some stray locks from falling forward into his eyes. He’s barely had the time to slow down and readjust the small strip of elastic, but seeing as their lead guitarist has just walked out, there’s evidently no time like the present.
“I’m hosting auditions, and we’re looking for a lead AND a rhythm guitarist.” Sapnap replies, letting his hair fall loose as he removes his headband. He shakes his head, ruffling his hair as he lets his statement sit amongst the two most responsible for the abrupt departure of their previous bandmate.
“Well it wasn’t just me.” George mutters from behind his drum set where he’s leaned carefully over the snare drum. Sapnap rolls his eyes behind his fringe as he swipes his hair back into a short ponytail.
“Oh come on.” Comes the reply from the party George had been referring to. Dream speaks indignantly from where he’s adjusting the microphone stand to be put away, and Sapnap resists the urge to slap the absolute shit out of his childhood friend as he yanks his headband back on.
“Both of you need to shut up, because, I’ll be honest, you’re both equally as guilty.” He finally says, facing the two, one hand on the neck of his guitar and the other lifted to point “You” he says, swinging his finger at George. “just couldn’t help but to spring an impromptu guitar solo on him with no forewarning, not to mention the countless insults to his ability to read your music.”
George shrugs. “He should’ve been better at improv. And it’s not my fault he was inept at the most basic aspect of being in a band.” Sapnap scoffs.
“And you,” He says, focusing his accusatory finger on Dream “ganged up on the poor guy with George, and blamed him for your inability to keep up during the bridge.”
Dream just takes a swig from his water bottle. “He’s the one who threw it all off, I was doing the right tempo, and he was off. So I told him so.”
“Guess what?” Sapnap says, tone dripping with sarcasm. Dream and George raise twin eyebrows at him. “I don’t care! What I do care about is that we’re out of a lead guitarist and rhythm guitarist with one month before Sunset. So whether you like it or not, I’m holding auditions so we can actually function.”
Thankfully, neither try to dispute him this time, but they still avoid his gaze as they pack up their instruments.
“I’m making flyers and putting them out around town tomorrow, and advertising on our social medias starts today. I’ll bother Bad for some good marketing, and we’re holding the auditions next Thursday from 3-8 PM. They’ll be open, people will just come in when they come, play a song with us, and we’ll see who clicks. Clear your schedules. Unless you’re going to the hospital or something, you’re both going to be there.” He threatens, laying down the plan. “George, I’m going to provide ‘Freaking Out’ as the song they’ll be performing with us.”
Dream scoffs. “No, you won’t. Have them do a cover of someone else’s song with us. We don’t need them stealing our discography.” he says, and Sapnap raises his eyebrows and cocks his head as he acknowledges Dream’s clever thinking.
“Ok, fine, that’s a good idea. We’ll do 1985? The Bowling for Soup version? That’s a classic, and Dream, I know you and I know every line.” He says with a wink.
George considers, but Dream is clearly on board. “Works for me. George, you still know that drumline?”
“Of course I do, you request we do a cover of it at nearly every event. I’d be more surprised if I forgot it.” The older says, and Dream scoffs fondly. Gross.
“Alright, sounds good.” He finally says, and Sapnap nods approvingly from where he’d been noting down the specifics on his phone.
While he had been spitballing most of the information he had been throwing at the boys, writing them down made them official, or, at least, as official as they could be on such short notice.
“Ok. I’m putting this on the band calendar AND in the groupchat. George, if you sleep through these auditions, you will have no room to bitch if the member isn’t to your liking.” The younger reprimands, entering in a date on his phone, and sending the message with the simplified details to their group chat.
“And Dream, give everyone a chance. I swear to God, if you stop singing halfway through because they’re not ‘keeping up’ or they’re ‘out of tune’ I will take the mic myself.” Sapnap threatens “You and I both know you could easily keep up with whatever curveball they throw at you, but you don’t.”
Dream doesn’t speak, because Sapnap’s right, and the younger hopes his friend will comply. “Alright. And guys, unless everyone at this audition is absolutely 100% trash, we’re going to take who we can get, and we are going to stick with them until Sunset at least. Understood?”
He gets grumbled yes’s as replies, but it’s enough. “I audio recorded that so you can’t have deniability.” He says indignantly, pressing the finish recording button on his phone. He levels his bandmates with a stare “That’s how serious I am.”
The message reads across loud and clear.
-
By the end of the day, Bad has pulled through and provided some professional-level marketing for the group, and Sapnap tells his friend he’ll owe him.
Bad replies, refusing the favor, but Sapnap doesn’t really care. Bad has already done so much for him.
While Bad is several years older than him, Sapnap had made his acquaintance at a local band function, back when he was simply a soloist.
From then on, Bad had been their “on the road” supervision, and the only reason Sapnap had been able to get to and do any gigs as a high-schooler. His real parents trusted Bad enough to keep him safe, and their bond had formed into a strange father-son relationship in and around the band scene.
He was also an extremely talented artist, who agreed to do marketing for The Feral Boys, something the artistically-lacking group of them appreciated greatly.
Their online following isn’t too large, but it certainly isn’t small, and the interest has already been piqued. Between people wondering what happened to Eret, their previous lead guitarist, and others interested in the chance to join a band with some backing already, Sapnap had already received several DMs, PMs, and messages about interest.
By the next day, Sapnap has flyers printed out and ready for pickup at Walgreens, and, as expected, he’s the only one placing them up around the town. Damn his friends, he’ll yell at them later.
He doesn’t mind though, because already, by the time he’s home, his phone is pinging with even more interest, and everything is coming together.
-
Thursday loops around quite quickly, and the lowered time between this day and Sunset makes Sapnap’s nerves twitch. He really hopes they’ll find who they need at these auditions, because if they don’t, their chances at Sunset are slim.
Dream has shown up, and George, Sapnap hopes, will be fashionably late.
He checks his phone frantically as Dream and him set up, and finally, finally George rolls in, sliding his backpack off, grabbing his drumsticks, and checking his drum set.
“Look who decided to show up.” Sapnap comments loosely, beginning to tune his strings. George shoots him a venomous look.
“Oh come on, at least he’s here.” Dream cuts in, and George’s look shifts to Dream. Sapnap just smirks.
“True enough. Get back to your vocal warmups, idiot, I’ll join in a second once I hook into the amp.” Dream rolls his eyes with a light smile, but does as Sapnap asks, and by the time he’s on the next octave, Sapnap’s playing along on the bass and chiming in with the harmony as they climb up and down the scale.
He does a similar practice with the electric guitar he’s pulled out of storage, seeing as he’ll need to play lead for the rhythm guitar applicants.
They finish warmup, and Sapnap opens the doors to the auditorium they’ve rented for the auditions, eager to see the musicians who have shown up.
“Alright everyone. We’ll go in order of who showed up, and don’t worry, everyone will get a chance.” He guarantees, and the first attendee is welcomed onto the stage, the rest given a number.
Sapnap takes their names and says he’ll message them when they’re on deck and in the hole, and to feel free to warm up in the adjacent community room.
And then, they jump into the first performance.
-
After the first 8 run-throughs of 1985, Sapnap is already tired. They’ve relegated the auditions to be around 1 minute of the song, and have also told auditioners the minute they’ll be playing is random.
This was done to avoid getting too bored of playing the same section of song over and over, but even with the rotation, they’ve had no decent players.
There’s been more lead guitarist auditioners than rhythm guitar, but it’s barely 4. They’ve got several hours left. At the very least, the line of applicants has lessened, and the flow has slowed down to allow longer breaks between performances.
At 4:15, around 5 minutes into a break discussing the previous auditioner, the next person walks in.
Sapnap checks his phone. “Number 9?” He looks to be in his late teens/early 20s, and hosts a mess of brown hair, and a guitar case hanging across his body. The guy smiles as he walks up, and his attire is a comfortable whirl of colors. He’s got a color-block sweater hanging laxly on his upper body, torn and stressed at some of the seams for effect, and with a desaturated teal rectangular swirl in the middle. There're crudely hand stitched stars around the decal, a clear addition by the owner, and half of the sweater is purposefully spilt over the belt around his waist.
And while normally, Sapnap doesn’t note jeans as a particular fashion choice, it’s hard to miss the splash of colors crawling up the guitarist’s left leg and splaying from the upper right. It’s handpainted down to the cuffs, and Sapnap loves the style.
“Woah, nice jeans, dude.” Sapnap compliments, and the man’s face lights up brightly. All Sapnap can do is stare, somewhat blinded by the sheer kindness in that smile as he lifts a hand to swipe back his hair. It falls almost hopelessly back into place, but Sapnap catches the flash of color the taller’s got on his nails that match the hoodie.
“Thanks! Your eyeliner’s really well-done, I always struggle with that.” He says, pulling his guitar from behind his back and adjusting the color of the creme button-up under his sweater. “I’m Karl Jacobs by the way, here to apply to be your new rhythm guitarist.”
“Oh sweet, we’ve barely seen any rhythm guitarists all afternoon.” Sapnap comments. Dream and George’s silence from behind him isn’t new, and he hardly expects either to speak until necessary. “I’m Sapnap, on lead vocals is Dream, and our drums guy is George.” Karl nods.
“I also play keyboard.” He says with a grin, and Sapnap shifts his attention to Dream and George as he motions at the brunette.
“He also plays keyboard!” The shorter reiterates. All George does is raise an eyebrow.
“Let’s see if he can play guitar first.” Dream comments loosely, and Sapnap turns back to Karl with a cringe. “Sap, switch to lead.”
“Got it.” He says with a salute, sets down his bass, and fixes his gaze to Karl. “Sorry about them. I’m sure you’ll do great. Need any help setting up?” Karl shakes his head, and Sapnap catches a glimpse of a black choker around his neck, and wonders how he didn’t notice that at first. It’s painfully attractive.
“Nah, you’re good.” He replies, and Sapnap tries not to get distracted as the man adjusts his guitar, strumming some chords to check the sound. “What section am I playing?”
“We’ll just have you start after the first chorus.” George calls from behind the drums. Karl nods.
“‘She’s seen all the classics?’” He checks, and Sapnap nods.
“You got it! George, count us in!” He calls as Karl does a brief riff.
George nods, “We’ll give a 4 measure lead in.” So Sapnap picks up his guitar, doing a check to make sure the chords are as in tune as his precious bass, and gets ready to spring into the song.
“1, 2, 3, 4-” Sapnap jumps into the song, vocalizing the beginning ‘Oo-oo-oo’s with Dream, George jumping in barely a beat later, and setting the rhythm.
Karl pops in as well, keeping up the rhythm, hands strumming in perfect time with George as the song continues.
It sounds good. Karl isn’t taking more sound than he needs, letting Sapnap on lead shine but keeping the subtle rhythm necessary. The song is pretty rhythm based, but Sapnap, as a lead, is a sucker for improv, adding in several riffs where the original doesn’t.
They reach a sector of the song where the rhythm guitar takes the lead, and it’s clear Karl knows what he’s doing.
She’s seen all the classics,
She knows every line
Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink,
Even Saint Elmo’s Fire.
His fingers strum the chords perfectly as Sapnap overlaps every first beat with a brief strum on lead, and it sounds good. Great, even.
Karl takes the lead as they head into Where’s the miniskirt,, strumming the repetitive chords wonderfully, and Sapnap improvs a brief overlay for spice, as is his style. Karl doesn’t flinch, nor get off beat, but shoots Sapnap a grin.
It’s going well, and then George changes the tempo, increasing the rhythm for the drums as they reach the height of the lyrics
Whatever happened to
Sitcoms, game shows?
And on the radio is sung much quicker than the original by an adaptable Dream, Sapnap as well adjusting his speed to keep up, sending a harsh glare at George, and sparing a worried look for Karl.
But he’s keeping up, lips pursed in concentration as he adjusts the chords to match beat as they lead into the chorus, tempo returning as George revisits the main beat.
Sapnap aids Dream in backing vocals through the last chorus, whaling on the guitar with Karl keeping pace as well as any of them as they cut off with a flourish, omitting the last set of ‘Oo-oo-oo’s in favor of finishing.
“GEORGE!” Sapnap calls, mouth twisted in a frown as he braces his guitar and whirls around to face his band member. “What the hell? Why did you change the tempo in the middle there?”
“Almost threw me for a loop, but I didn’t become a rhythm guitarist for nothing.” Karl chimes in with a smile from over his shoulder.
“Dream kept up just fine.” George comments, ignoring Karl.
“Because Dream has worked with you before and knows you.” Sapnap replies. “And besides, Karl kept up too. You know it.” The younger says, moving back to pat Karl on the back. “You did amazing, best we’ve heard all day.” He promises with a wink, and Karl grins.
He doesn’t see George shrug, but his silence is telling. He turns back around.
“Come on guys. Karl did an amazing job and you both know it. Fix your attitudes.” Sapnap says, mouth back into a twisted frown. George doesn’t meet his eye, which means Sapnap’s right. He focuses his attention on Dream. “Dream, come on.” Dream fiddles with the coord of the microphone, but eventually.
“Yeah, he was pretty good.” The taller says with a shrug. “He did keep time, and played very strongly.”
“Thank you!” Sapnap exclaims, and turns back to Karl. “Alright, you’re free to go, sorry for that tempo change, we’ll let you know by tomorrow, but you’re looking like a pretty good prospect.” He assures.
Karl smiles as he unplugs his guitar, packing up his stuff.
“And hey, even if we don’t go with you, you should call me.” Sapnap adds with a wink. Like hell he was gonna miss out on all Karl had to offer because George was being a little bitch. Karl giggles.
“Oh yeah?” Sapnap grins.
“Yeah. You’ve got my number, I think we’d get along.” The brunette just raises a sweater clad hand to cover his mouth as he giggles again.
“Alright Sapnap. See ya around.” He says as he finally departs.
Sapnap watches him leave, grin still on his face before he turns around to George and Dream.
“He was really good.” He says.
“Don’t let your attraction to him blind you from the facts.” George says, and Sapnap groans.
“I’m not! Objectively, he’s very handsome. And also objectively, he’s very good at playing!” He replies.
“For once, I agree with Sapnap. He was pretty damn good.” Dream chimes in, taking a swig of water. George huffs a sigh, but Sapnap watches him relax.
George has never really been much for socializing, much preferring staying in his room or with the limited company of people he trusts. It’s why he plays the drums, he’s said, easy to stay in the background and let the focus be on the leads and guitarists.
So while George’s attitude with the people trying out isn’t necessarily new or abnormal, Sapnap hopes with whoever the new members are, George can learn to relax around them.
Because Sapnap would not have stayed friends with George if he were always such a prude.
“He handled your stupid test of acceleration.” Sapnap adds on.
“And you didn’t test anyone else like that. I know that means you like him.” Dream comments. George avoids their gaze. Sapnap and Dream’s eyes meet in silent victory.
“I’m gonna shoot a text to the next apply-ee.” Sapnap says, walking towards the auditorium to check his list. “At the very least, we know Karl’s an option, and that’s what we need.”
Now, if only they could find one for lead guitar.