Chapter Text
Summer buzzes around them, heat swarming their faces ‘til their cheeks are flushed red. A thin layer of sweat coats each of their faces, the humidity killing them; all of their hair is frizzing up, caused by a combination of the heat hanging in the air and acting careless around the bonfire.
The air around them is loud, filled with background chatter from the other band trailers around them and the cicadas screaming off in the woods. The fire in the middle of them cracks loudly, ashes fluttering in the air. Rom’s sitting off to the side, cross-legged on the log and back hunched to stare down at his notepad of lyrics. Drillbit’s sitting next to him, quietly watching the rest of their band act foolish across the fireplace. He’s holding the neck of a beer bottle in his hand, glass wet from condensation.
Packet, Harddrive, and Zeke are bouncing between standing and sitting together, Packet chatting away at Harddrive while the larger man matches his energy. Zeke, although chiming into conversation, is far more focused on making sure the plate of food he’s balancing on his lap doesn’t fall. Harddrive is his biggest threat; he keeps taking a step back, encroaching Zeke’s personal space without a second thought before saying something loud and reaching forward to slam Packet on the back.
He’s holding a can of cheap beer, wet enough from the cold seeping out that it drips into the grass around their feet. It’s at least his fifth can; Zeke stopped paying attention a while ago, instead enamoured with the way that the warmth of the fire paints Harddrive’s face with an orange glow and leaves his hair shining when he turns.
He turns on his feet, facing Rom and Drillbit as he addresses them, “Either of you two gonna get out and enjoy the energy? Or are you gonna sit and make love to your pencil all night?”
Drillbit makes a face of amusement, a single dry laugh finding its way into the air. Rom doesn’t glance up, trapped in his thoughts rather than the world around him. He takes another sip from the bottle he’s holding before shaking his head.
“You can be the one to embarrass yourself in front of strangers. I’m good with just sitting here,” He answers. He looks up at Harddrive, gaze intense. It doesn’t register in Harddrive; it almost never does, but any attempts at warding the other’s energy off is out the window as soon as he gets a few beers in his system.
“C’mon, Rom wanted us to ‘strengthen our bond as a team’, or whatever. Isn’t getting hammered and havin’ a good time exactly that?” He steps closer to him, throwing his hands out in front of him for emphasis. Rom looks up when his name is said, but listens to just a smidge of Harddrive’s nonsense before scoffing and turning his head back down to his notebook.
“Zeke?” He asks, turning around to look at the other man. Packet’s already muttering to himself about how stupid the redhead is, shaking his head when Harddrive’s eyes land on him.
Zeke looks up from his plate, nearly done with the assortment of chips and other snack foods on his plate. Harddrive pouts – or at least tries to – and instead gives off a pathetic, strained facial expression that only distantly represents pleading.
“What?”
“You wanna go meet some of the other artists performing?” He asks, extending his arms in front of him in a display of faux disbelief. He nearly spills some of his beer, jostling his can enough that some drops go flying off into the grass.
Zeke watches them fall, then slides his gaze back to Harddrive. He’s staring expectantly, some degree of desperation evident in his eyes. Maybe he’s just a weak man, Zeke reasons with himself. He huffs and stands up, folding the near-empty paper plate in half.
“Sure. I don’t see the harm in it,” He tosses his waste into the fire, waiting a moment as the fire grows stronger with the new fuel. Harddrive’s arm wraps around him firmly, jerking him up against his side.
“Sweet! Let’s go, bro!” He cheers, a wide grin overtaking his face. Zeke’s heart rate increases at the contact, and he chalks it up to surprise. “Knew you’d have my back, Zeke. You’re my favourite." Packet scoffs beside them, shaking his head at the pathetic display.
“Slow down on the drinks, I don’t want to be responsible for you later,” He grumbles. Harddrive laughs sharply before downing the rest of his can and tossing it into the fire, much to Zeke’s dismay.
“C’mon. I’m sure we can find a chick hot enough for you.” Harddrive drags him along without giving him time to process what’s happening, causing Zeke to trip over his shoes at first. He glares upwards at Harddrive as they start walking, and he crosses his arms to try and get his attitude across. Harddrive, endearingly oblivious, just continues to ramble. “Man, you’ve got some high standards. Surely you’ve met a girl that’s good enough, right?” He elbows Zeke in the ribs as he removes his arm from his shoulder, only earning a scowl from Zeke.
“You know I don’t care about that kind of stuff,” He answers, a rehearsed reply. He stares at Harddrive’s care-free expression, illuminated as they pass by different trailer setups and small band get-togethers. His eyes sparkle as they walk past a girl group’s trailer, fairy lights shining like stars. Zeke turns to face forward when he catches Harddrive watching the girls, rather than where he’s walking.
“I guess. More for me,” He answers, too smug to sound sober. Zeke shakes his head as he’s dragged into approaching a random group of women for the first time of the night.
The next week is one of suffering; sure, they perform a couple times. It’s not enough for Zeke to be tired out, but it’s not pleasant to sit and perform for a few hours while the sun beats down on them. And then Rom makes them practice until the sun begins to set, insisting that they can’t wait until it’s cooled down, since “no one will actually practice”. Drillbit always watches them argue about it with a smirk of amusement twisted onto his face. Zeke nearly starts a fight with him over it, aggravated by the heat making his body feel like a half-solid block of jello.
Harddrive is the one that calms him down; he throws a near-frozen bottle of water smack into his chest and offers to sit off in the shade with him for a while. Zeke accepts, begrudgingly, but slowly comes back into being a person. Harddrive doesn’t say anything negative about his mood, and he’s grateful for that. The peace is enough for him to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his discarded shirt and grumble that he’s ready to practice again.
Rom looks as if he’s about to make a comment, but a look from Drillbit has him instead just listing off where to start off from.
“Packet, switch spots with Drillbit. I don’t want Harddrive too close to you; he’ll drown out your voice,” He instructs. He shoves the orange glasses up his forehead, using it to keep his bangs out of his face. It leaves a few silver strands hanging down, framing his face and emphasizes the tired look on his face. Even he’s sweating, in his easy-breathe athletic shirt and the baggy shorts he’s wearing. Zeke narrows his eyes at him every time he bothers to look in his direction.
Every time they take a water break, Harddrive’s already got his chilled water in hand and offers it up. It’d bother Zeke how aware and “in-his-business” he is if it didn’t help him breathe for a moment. The fact that there’s no breeze makes it that much worse, and he already knows he’s going to be sunburnt to the point of pain tomorrow.
Swearing under his breath, he downs half of his water bottle in one go.
“You wanna see who’s on stage after we’re done with all this?” Harddrive asks before drinking the entirety of his water bottle in one go, crinkling the plastic bottle obnoxiously as he does so. Zeke slaps the empty bottle out of his hand and sends it flying in the direction of their bags.
“I want to take a cold shower and sleep,” He grumbles. Harddrive’s palm slaps him in the middle of his back, forcing him to stumble forward. The larger man lets out a loud cackle, loud enough to draw the attention of the others, who were all talking about something or other. Packet seems to be in a good mood, though, so it’s likely something not completely awful.
“Zeke, the life of the party.” Zeke rolls his eyes at the sarcasm, screwing the cap of his water bottle back on and passing it back to Harddrive without a second thought. The man doesn’t hesitate to turn back and put it in the cooler, the flow of conversation going with him.
Zeke lets out a deep sigh, his tiredness weighing heavy on his shoulders. He rolls his neck once.
“I hate that I have to crane my neck for so much of this performance. What’s it even add?” He grumbles. He lets out an indignant squawk when large, rough hands plant themselves on his shoulders and begin to massage his traps. He turns his head to the side to curse Harddrive out for touching him unprompted, but he cuts himself off by pursing his lips and hanging his head as the relief rolls over him waves.
“Okay, last time running through the vocals and performance of this. Not to ensure you know it, but just so I know where the music will clash or needs to break from the already-established composition,” Rom explains, speaking loud enough to catch the attention of Harddrive and Zeke from across the room. Zeke doesn’t bother replying, just offers a silent thumbs-up.
Harddrive chooses that moment to dig his thumbs into a knot at the base of his neck, ripping a warbled groan from Zeke’s throat at the sharp pain. Harddrive doesn’t let up as he calls back confirmation to Rom, determined to work the knot out of Zeke’s shoulder. The man doesn’t protest it, either. Even as the rest of the group heads back to their positions in their practicing place, Zeke just stands there slightly-dazed and sighs deeply as he feels the tension melt off his shoulders.
Harddrive’s hands slip away as suddenly as they were gone, brushing past him to walk back to stand near Drillbit. Rom’s standing close to him as well, rambling about something relating to their music if his tight-knit eyebrows and twisted expression is anything to go off of.
Zeke huffs and follows suite, too eager to be done with this fiasco to start another petty argument.
Zeke huffs softly as he drops down into the lawn-chair in front of their trailer, Rom and Harddrive already sitting outside. Rom’s talking with his hands, explaining a book he’s read recently. Harddrive is listening, though Zeke doesn’t know how much of it he’s actually understanding. His chin is resting on his hand, eyebrows furrowed to the point of wrinkles in his forehead, and he’s leaning towards Rom as if shortening the distance will help him understand it better.
He lifts his cup of tea to his lips, peeking over the rim of the mug to watch Rom’s face as he explains. From the general idea of the novel, it seems as if it’s one of the ridiculously long books that he reads. He offers to restart for Zeke, so that he can understand more of it, but the blond waves his hands frantically in front of him to prevent that.
“Can’t sleep, my pills haven’t worn off. I’m just out here to try and lure myself to sleep,” He explains. Rom nods, a gentle look on his face as he resumes his explanation. Harddrive’s knees fall open, one of them knocking against Zeke’s leg and staying there. His gaze flicks upwards to see if Harddrive is acknowledging it, but he’s still nodding along to everything Rom says.
The night is quiet; in the distance, there’s the general thrum of music from other trailers. But it’s far enough that he can’t differentiate any of the notes, lyrics, or thrum of the bass. And that’s enough for him to lean back in his chair, sleeves pulled over his palm as he cradles his cup of tea in his hands.
Cicadas and crickets sing as well, noise that blends in with the rustling of the leaves and grass. Rom’s feet shuffle against the grass every time he gets excited about what he’s explaining, or the plot gets intense. Harddrive hums once every three minutes to show he’s still listening, an occasional question of his filling the silence between Rom’s words.
He eventually finishes off the glass, reaching over to set it on the ground. Despite the pull of gravity on his eyelids, he doesn’t bother getting up to head inside to his bunk. He leans back against the lawn-chair, pulls his knees up to chest, and listens to the others. The last thing that he really remembers is Harddrive asking something that made Rom pause, no doubt out of speechlessness rather than offence.
A week later, they’re still practicing the stupid choreography and vocals to their new song. A week later, the sun is still a massive nuisance and has turned Zeke’s skin into a deep, irritated red. He doesn’t let up on the sunscreen or aloe, now that he’s managed to locate it in the trailer. He still rats on Packet for saying that they didn’t have any without checking.
“Hold on– the speaker isn’t connecting right,” Rom discloses as he examines the wires plugged into his laptop. The thing is an unreliable piece of junk, in Zeke’s mind. They should’ve just waited for the summer festival to end and head back home before trying to generate new music and dances. They’ve been stared at a few times now, despite the fact that they’re deep in the “artists only” part of the festival grounds.
“Never does,” He chimes in, grinning when Rom gives him an irritated look. He shifts his weight between his feet, smiling to himself as he hears Drillbit snicker beside him at the comment.
“State-of-the-art technology,” He quotes, fingers bending to shape air quotes. Zeke shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. All of his curls have become a frizzy mess, thanks to the ridiculous humidity. He misses his proper shower and hair products, not the shitty travel-sized version their label provides for them when on the move. He swears he can feel the damage.
Harddrive jostles his shoulder, causing Zeke to turn around and look at him. Instead of saying anything, he gestures over to the mess of cords attached to power strips, speakers, and Dj’s laptop. Playing around inside the mess, there’s a couple small birds poking at the cables. He stifles a laugh and covers his smile with his hand, watching them with a little bit of amusement. Harddrive’s close enough that Zeke leans against his chest every time he sways backwards, but he doesn’t say anything despite the way his heart rate quickens.
The birds grow close to destroying the cables a few times; or at least get the right idea of what to do, a few times. Every time one of them manages to grab a cable, Zeke nudges Harddrive and points it out, grinning while trying to stop himself from laughing. After a couple minutes of Rom fidgeting and growing increasingly frustrated with the system, he manages to notice the little birds and groans before shooing them away with his foot.
Kicking at them reveals the cord that he hadn’t plugged into speaker, and then the fun is over and they’re back to dancing around and drying out Zeke’s throat. He eyes the cooler for most of the performance, and Harddrive for the rest of it.
“No, we’re not recording that again!” Zeke exclaims at the same time Packet shouts “What?” and Harddrive starts to repeat “Not happening” like a broken record.
“Rom– we’ve recorded this song over twenty times today. I think we’re all done for the day,” Drillbit points out, exasperation slipping into his voice. Rarely does he ever sound tired, even when he’s complaining about how dead he feels and how awful he sleeps on the low-quality bunk mattresses.
That seems to get Rom’s attention, because he huffs and finally slips the headphones off his head to hang around his neck. He glances at the clock, then nods.
“Yeah. Fair point. We’re good, we can finish the rest in a day or two– I need to go back and figure out which pieces I like.” Zeke sighs, relief flooding his system. Harddrive bumps into him, much like a large dog that doesn’t realize how much space it takes up. He looks over his shoulder to glare up at him light-heartedly, only to find the other man looking at him.
“You wanna go get takeout, or something?” He offers, a grin on his face. “Maybe a six-pack too, as a reward,” He tacks on. Zeke laughs dryly, but something bubbles up in his chest regardless. He reaches over and grabs his over-sized flannel off the hook on the wall, pulling it over his shoulders before nodding.
“Yeah, we can do that. No pizza.” Harddrive laughs at him, a wide smile on his face as he wraps his arm around his shoulders and pulls him towards the door. Never mind that Zeke is more than capable of finding his way out of the studio, by now.