Work Text:
Shachi stands at the mic, the strap of his guitar soaked in sweat as much as his shirt and his throat already aching for a night of rest, but they have one last song for their encore. He looks over at Killer on drums, the blond’s hair sticking to his forehead even over his white and blue striped bandanna, purple-painted lips curled up in a smirk as he twirls one of his drumsticks through his fingers. Shachi nods at his friend before turning back to the mic and the crowd beyond.
“Right. Last song for the night, and for the tour!” The crowd roars back, and Shachi soaks in the energy with an even wider grin that doesn’t exactly show in his eyes, even if no one could see them through his sunglasses. “It’s a new one, but I think you’ll all like it- I want you all to rock to it, got it!?”
Another roar, and Shachi nods, tapping his foot as he starts strumming, the instrument singing under his fingers. And as the words come, so do the memories, the emotion of them leaking into his voice.
They’d been friends since either of them could remember, Penguin-and-Shachi, Shachi-and-Penguin, a troublemaker and the one who got into the same trouble to back the other up (though it could be argued who was who on any given day). In the space between their birthdays that meant they were both ten for those double-handful of days, Shachi had been the first person Penguin told he was a boy, for all that everyone thought he was a girl, treated him like one. Shachi had just hugged his best friend tight, muttering against Penguin’s shoulder, “If you’re a boy, you’re a boy- you’ll always be my best friend, though.”
Shachi had been there when Penguin had told his moms, too, had seen just how relieved his best friend had been to see them accept him as him, and the watery, joyful smile on Penguin’s face was something he wouldn’t ever forget. The ginger had been there to back him up while he had started to make the more visible changes, had been the first person to learn his chosen name (for all that he would always be Penguin to those who loved him, he still wanted a ‘proper name’, too). Shachi had been there when Penguin started the medications that would hold off his puberty, and again when he started on the hormones that would send him down the path that would make his body more match his mind than it did at birth. He’d been the first one Penguin had admitted to liking guys to, as well, and Shachi had rolled with that just like everything else. Penguin was Penguin, after all, and he’d be there for his best friend no matter what.
Penguin had been there for him, too- through the loss of his dad to a car accident, through the concussion that left him sensitive to bright lights even after recovering otherwise, through fistfights and cram sessions and first dates and breakups. Was there with him when he saw the first guitar he fell in love with, had helped him scrape together the money to buy it from the pawn shop they’d seen it in. The brunet had been there as he had learned to play it, putting up with fouled chords and screeching feedback until Shachi’s mom had finally paid for proper lessons.
Brook Rumbar had been his gateway into creating music rather than just playing, and his studio had introduced him to Killer, who had been coming for drum lessons. Somehow the pair had clicked, and Shachi found himself splitting his free time between Penguin and Killer, between his best friend and the guy who was quickly becoming his creative partner. By the time Shachi graduated high school, he and Killer had already written more than a dozen songs together, had performed at any open mic night they could, and had not-quite-bickered over band names until settling one- Vice Patrol.
When he wasn’t practicing, writing, or playing gigs with Killer, he was with Penguin, who was already neck deep in college. As time went on, though, he noticed his best friend talking more and more about this guy he had originally been paired with for his anatomy labs- apparently the guy was focused on going into med-school proper while Penguin was interested becoming a radiology tech. Maybe he should have seen the signs then, the way Penguin’s face lit up as he talked about the guy, about how they ended up signing up for more of the same classes in the fall. But then again, maybe he’d taken Penguin for granted for longer than he realized- after all, they were Penguin-and-Shachi, Shachi-and-Penguin, best friends for their whole lives.
Instead he carried on like nothing was changing- Shachi ended up with a part time job at an auto parts shop, Killer at an Itallian restaurant, and they pooled their money together to rent a studio to record their first proper album. Brook had helped produce it, laughing when they tried to pay him for his time.
“No, no- my payment is the joy of hearing you put your music to tape, though there is no tape that is used anymore, yohoho! Next time, perhaps, if you would like my help again.”
And so they had recorded the album, throwing it up online and printing out a couple dozen CDs to start. They called around to a dozen venues in the area, and then a dozen more across several state lines, and suddenly they had a *tour* and the next time Shachi was over at Penguin’s, CD in hand, he was practically vibrating with joy.
“I still can’t believe it! A tour! We’re gonna tour! And we’ve already sold a bunch of the album digitally, on top of it.” He flopped onto his back on Penguin’s bed, looking over at the older man upside-down. “You’re gonna come to our shows, right?”
Penguin laughed, rolling his eyes. “The ones I can make it to, sure. I love ya, Shach, but I can’t go haring off across a bunch of states.”
“Well, sure, but all the ones kinda close, I mean.” He wished he could just bring Penguin with him, to share the music and the energy with his best friend, but he got it, understood what the other was working towards. He grinned again, meeting mismatched eyes with his own even through the lightly tinted lenses he wore indoors.
“Yeah, of course. Might even be able to get Law to come, too, maybe make a couple of dates out of it.”
The last bit had Shachi’s eyebrows drawing together before he rolled over again, propping himself up on his elbows as he gave Penguin a confused look. “Dates?”
His best friend grinned back like he wasn’t in the process of pulling the rug out from under Shachi’s understanding of the world, rubbing the side of his finger across the bridge of his nose as color rose in his cheeks. “Ah, yeah. Me and Law started dating a couple weeks ago. Been kinda quiet about it because we’re just figuring it out, but…”
Penguin had paused then, expression softening but also filling with a happiness that Shachi hadn’t seen on the other’s face before, “I think it’s working out so far.”
Shachi blinked, staring for a long beat before realizing he should say something. “Oh. Uh, congrats, man.”
“Thanks, Shach. Oh, I gotta tell you about the clinical round I had to do yesterday-”
Shachi had made it through the rest of the visit, but as soon as he left, he went straight for the bar next door to the first club he and Killer had played as a proper band. It was one of their favorite spots, too, one shared with both of their circles of friends. He’d settled at one end of the bar and just started drinking, mind swirling around the fact that Penguin was dating someone, and trying to figure out why it was rocking his world off its axis.
He didn’t register the person who settled in next to him at first, not until they swapped his drink with a glass of water. He looks up from the very-non-alcoholic drink to meet Killer’s gaze, frowning blearily at his bandmate. “When’d you get here? And why’d you take my drink?”
The blond tilted his head at the bartender, the huge man working on getting drinks for other customers. “Jean Bart texted me. Said you’ve been here three hours and been drinking hard shit non stop. What happened?”
Shachi reached for his pilfered drink, only for Killer to bring it to his own mouth to chug it down. It made the ginger huff in frustration, but the point was clear enough even in his sloshed state. He grabbed the water, staring into the cup before finally muttering. “‘parrently Pen’s dating someone. Didn’t know why it felt so weird to hear. Been tryin’ to figure it out.”
Setting down the now empty glass, Killer leaned one arm on the bar and asked blandly, “So you decided to drink?”
Not that Killer was a teetotaler in any way, but he had always been a lighter drinker than Shachi, used to being the designated more-sober one of a group thanks to his own boyfriend and that crew of friends. (Even Shachi couldn’t keep up with Kidd, though he was a decent enough match with Heat and Wire.) But Shachi grew up in a family of Germans and Irish folks- to live was to drink and to drink was to live, in some ways, so of course it was one of his options. To actually answer the other, though, he shrugged and said into the glass he held just before his mouth, “Couldn’t write, and the shop’s closed. Bar’s closer, anyway.”
He finished his water, just in time for Jean Bart to slide his debit card over to him, a too-cheap, already paid receipt under it. It makes Shachi huff at the man, who just rolls his eyes and says to Killer, tone kind enough, “Get him out of here, don’t worry about his car- it’ll keep overnight.”
Flipping his favorite bartender off, Shachi slid his card back into his wallet as he stood, rocking a little under the couple of heavy pats Killer gave to his back before leading the way out of the bar. As they climbed into the drummer's Jetta (Shachi never let him live down the fact that it was “a fucking Jetta? Really?” “It was the best I could afford, fuck off.”) he finally asks, “So where we going?”
“Studio. Better than drinking over it, and like hell am I letting you cook drunk.” Killer snorts at the grumbled ‘fuck you’ he gets from the guitarist, continuing, “Even if you can’t write, might as well do something productive.”
“Fuck, man, when did you get to be the reasonable one?”
”Since Kidd and I actually got together. It also helps that I’m not the drunk one.”
Shachi flipped Killer the bird, too, even as he huffed and settled into the seat. He let the other pick the station, too, watching the streets pass while Killer drove. Soon enough they were pulling up to a familiar building, parking lot empty but for the old Lincoln Continental that Brook had been driving longer than Shachi'd been alive. Caring for that exact car is what he’d offered in exchange for a key to the studio, to practice or to vent or both at the same time, and the old rocker had agreed readily, slipping a pair of keys into their hands the next time they met. Killer used one of those keys to let them in, and Shachi followed him through the door and back to the practice room Brook used for classes.
The drum set there was not Killer’s, and in deference to the fact that Brook actually lived above the studio, Shachi grabbed an acoustic rather than electric guitar, but it was like the space itself was permeated with music, and it sank into him even through all the liquor. Slipping the guitar over his shoulder, he glanced over at Killer, already settled behind the set and slipping a drum mute set over the kit.
Shachi noodled idly at the strings as he waited for Killer to finish, changing the tune on a couple of strings before he was satisfied. Hearing the dulled thump of the drums as Killer went through his own quick check, Shachi let his fingers continue the tune they’d been plucking. The riff they ended up plucking settled in Shachi’s ears, and he let his eyes fall shut as he played it a few more times. Killer picked up a beat as he did, speeding up the tempo and dragging Shachi along and into a proper, if quieter than their usual, jam session.
Well, it was, until Shachi found himself playing the riff again, mumbling words to himself, feeling the lines start to fall into place. Opening his eyes, he glanced over at the round table to the side of the practice space, spotting the small pile of notepads and pens left on the top. (Killer must have texted Brook about using the studio, if they’d been left out like that.) He walked over to the table, fingers pulling the jam to an end, though his fingers kept miming through the riff against the strings. He heard Killer wrap up the beat with a bit of a flourish as he pulled a chair out, finally letting the guitar shift to hang against his side as he sat, already reaching for a pen and one of the regular lined pads.
He didn’t see the look Killer gave him as he started to write, but honestly, he was thinking more pressing thoughts.
The song has the crowd bouncing, the call and response picked up so easily, and it has Shachi’s blood pumping, even as he sings through his shattered heart.
Penguin had gotten up front and center, because of course he did- the guys at the venue knew him through Shachi, had gotten him and the tall guy with him to the prime spot thanks to the comp tickets Shachi had been able to negotiate with the venue. Shachi can see him bobbing his head in time to the music, his date’s (Law’s , but man, it’s easier to not think about it) arm around his waist, as it had been for most of set.
Shachi practically bites out the last word before the instrumental break, yanking off his glasses and dropping them on the floor in front of the mic stand before going into it. He has to slam his eyes shut against the lights flashing for it, but he knows he’ll have Penguin’s full attention for the next bit.
Killer cuts his beat, and Shachi can feel everything but an overhead spotlight go dim through his eyelids. When he opens his eyes, Penguin is just on the edge of the circle of light, and Shachi locks eyes with him as he belts out his feelings.
“It's a lifeless life with no fixed address to give
But you're not mine to die for anymore, so I must live”
The lighting means he can’t quite see the color of Penguin’s eyes, but he knows that mismatched gaze as they go wide, because he’s realizing Shachi’s singing this for him.
“Born of a bottle from heaven's hand
And now you know, and here I am.”
Killer had called him an idiot when he finally said it out loud after they finished the first draft of the song, to not realize until it was too late, but Shachi had always been a bit slow to realize his own feelings.
“When they love you (and they will)
Tell them all, they'll love in my shadow
And if they try to slow you down (slow you down)
Tell them all, to go to hell.”
Penguin deserved it, to be loved, to be happy, even if it wasn’t with Shachi. And if they ever gave him hell, the ginger’d be there for him in a heartbeat, because Shachi loved him first. Even if he’d never realized it in time to admit it to Penguin.
Shachi slipped away from the venue as soon as he could manage, Killer taking the guitar case from him even as he tried to run through clean up quick enough to avoid Penguin trying to come backstage after the show. The blond had given him an out, which Shachi had taken and run with, all the way back to their old, familiar bar. He was nursing a water between sets of heavier drinks when a body slid into the seat next to him.
“Saw the show tonight, didn’t expect to run into one of the band at this bar of all places. Can I buy you a drink?”
The guitarist looked up, and, catching the interest in the gaze, sat up with a shrug an the start of a grin. “You know what? Sure.”
“When they love me (and they will)
I'll tell them all, they'll love in your shadow
And if they try to slow me down (slow me down)
I'll tell them all, to go to hell.”