Chapter Text
Okay, so maybe Boyfriend is a little nervous. He’s head-over-heels for the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and she’s head-over-heels for him in return. She’s the daughter of a rockstar and a popstar, he’s a Soundcloud rapper, it’s a match made in heaven. Or hell, maybe. He’s leaning a little more towards “hell” after she dropped the bomb that, if they wanted to keep going steady, he has to meet her dad.
Hence him being a little nervous. But hey, he’s handled worse! Sure, if he fumbles this, he’s done everything short of signing his death warrant, but that just means he has to not fumble this. No pressure. No pressure.
I think there’s some pressure, a voice in the back of his head snarks. He ignores him.
Boyfriend bounces his heels to try and diffuse some of the energy building up inside him as he’s stuck waiting for Girlfriend’s dad to arrive at the venue. Girlfriend herself is setting up the speakers and humming a simple tune. A smile crosses his face as he watches her work. Yeah, she’s worth it. That sentiment is echoed by the rest of him: whatever’s coming next, it’s gonna be worth it for her.
Girlfriend finishes plugging in the rat’s nest of cables and pats the main speaker like it’s a beloved pet. God, I wish that were me. Boyfriend flushes and bats the comment away. Not right now! Come on, focus! He needs to work together if he’s gonna leave a good first impression, but the internal scuffling is happening anyway. It’s always happening, especially when Girlfriend’s involved. There’s a never-ending tug-of-war over every minute spent with her.
She doesn’t notice the inner war happening somewhere in his skull and boops him on the nose. It has the side effect of causing aforementioned inner war to screech to a halt as Boyfriend bluescreens. Well, that’s one way to take care of it. She smiles at the lovestruck look on his face and brushes some loose strands of electric blue hair out of his eyes for him.
“Daddy said he’ll be here in a couple mins,” she says with a wave of her phone. “I told him we’re helping set up for his show, so~” Girlfriend sets it aside and clasps her hands together in front of her chest. “You can talk about music together!” Her voice is hopeful in the way where she’s probably chanting a mantra of please let this go well on the inside. “You’re both really good at it, so maybe he’ll listen to you! Maybe even sing together! And then he’ll know you’re a nice guy!”
Boyfriend, still a little scrambled from the hard reset, gives her a thumbs up. He’s down with this plan. A bit apprehensive, sure, but maybe finding common ground will work in his favor. The horror stories he’s heard can’t all be true, right? He’s no stranger to rumors blowing things out of proportion just for the fun of it. Horror stories sell better than the truth, after all. …Hopefully her dad hasn’t heard any of the ones about him.
He turns away from Girlfriend to do a quick one-sided bout of rock paper scissors, secures his spot, and turns back around with a grin. “He won’t mind if we do a quick sound check, right?”
Girlfriend squeals and climbs up the speakers like a cat making its way up to its favorite spot on the cat tree. She gets comfortable up on her perch and sways from side to side. “Let’s do it!”
There’s a flicker of disappointment that isn’t his, and he pushes it aside. He won this fair and square, damnit. The other one can wait his turn. Boyfriend grabs a microphone off one of the stands, taps it to make sure it’s on (it is. Ow.), then steps a bit further away from the speakers to look out at the empty seats that will no doubt be packed with people later tonight. The Dearests always drew a crowd. Maybe that’ll be him, someday.
Girlfriend starts humming the tune from earlier, and Boyfriend taps his foot to the beat. A short song wouldn’t hurt. Singing with her always got him to relax, after all. He’s just gotta let her set the pace, follow her lead, and sing whatever comes to mind.
He doesn’t hear the doors open. He’s too busy freestyling something cheesy to make her blush, because she goes red at basically anything and it’s one of his favorite things about her. Red’s his favorite color, you know? It’d been that way before he met her, and everything about her only makes him love it more. There’s a lot about her for him to love, like her long wavy hair, her beautiful smile, her—
A shadow looms over him and the microphone slips out of his hands. Uh oh.
The feedback from it hitting the stage makes Girlfriend wince, but she shakes it off soon as she sees who the new arrival is. “Daddy!” She slides off the speakers and lands between the two of them. “This is my new boyfriend, um… Boyfriend!”
Boyfriend’s seen Daddy Dearest loads of times. He’s on magazines, in concert bootlegs, on posters and record sleeves and CD jewel cases. Dearest isn’t in the limelight as much anymore, especially compared to his wife, but he’s still an icon. The thing surprising Boyfriend most right now is that the purple skin isn’t a lighting thing. The glowing red eyes aren’t edited in, either. He always thought Dearest being called the “demon king of rock and roll” was wordplay. Apparently not. He looks smooth and suave in recordings, with a voice to match, but in person he’s radiating enough intimidation to set off the vibe equivalent of a Geiger counter.
Also he’d just walked in on a twink rapping about his daughter’s ass, which is a bad start.
Dearest looks over at the daughter in question with an unimpressed frown. “I was expectin’ someone…” He trails off. “…taller.”
Boyfriend straightens up from his typical slouch and still barely meets his chest. Not his fault that his posture isn’t the greatest, and not his fault that Dearest is a skyscraper. “Hey, old man!” Strike two. His attempt at friendliness falls flat to the floor as “unimpressed” evolves to “active disdain”. “I’m Boyfriend.XML, you… might’ve heard of me…?” Yeah, right. As if he’s gonna pay any mind to somebody that likes to show off on open mic night.
What was the thing he was supposed to be doing? Common ground? He spins a wheel and lands on what he thinks should be a winner. “Dude, your new single was awesome! It’s been stuck in my head for weeks, so I was thinkin’ about a remix—”
He’s cut off by a raised hand. “Nice try, but I’ve got no time for suck-ups,” Dearest scoffs. Boyfriend’s plan of action crashes and burns before it can even get off the ground. “You think I’ll let you off easy just because you’ve got a stage name and an earworm? Give me a break.”
“I… What?” Boyfriend tries to reorient after the mood whiplash. “Sorry, I thought…”
“You thought? Nah, nah. We both know there’s not anything going on in that brain of yours.” Dearest taps his temple with a clawed finger. “If there was , you’d know no one gets to my daughter without going through me first. Especially punks like you.”
He sneers and his fangs catch the light from the spotlights. “I don’t know what she sees in humans. They’re always more trouble than they’re worth.”
That last part is directed to Girlfriend as much as it’s directed to him. She wilts.
Okay, he’s heard enough. All of them come to an agreement: he’s not going to let him talk to her like that. Taking pot shots at him is one thing, but Girlfriend? Uncalled for. Boyfriend clenches his fists and takes a deliberate step forward with a fierce glare. Dearest may be a goliath, but he’s pretty sure David won that fight. “She can do what she wants,” he snaps. “Even me! So stay outta her business!”
“Oh, you’ve got a backbone, huh?” Dearest growls and stomps forward to close the gap further. “I’d like to see you walk home to your shitty one-room apartment after I rip it out of you.”
“Dad—” Girlfriend tries to worm her way into the conversation before the fireworks start. It’s too late: the fuse is lit, and they’re both firecrackers.
“Holy shit, are you seriously threatening me just ‘cuz I think you’re bein’ an asshole?” Boyfriend’s jaw drops. “All I’m sayin’ is you gotta let her make her own choices!”
“I’m threatening you because I don’t want you anywhere near my baby girl!”
“Dude, she’s nineteen! I get wantin’ to protect her, but—”
“Boyf—”
“It is my job as her father to keep her safe, and I’m not gonna let a lowlife like you ruin her!”
“Holy fuck, what is your problem?”
"YOU!”
“Daddy, no—”
“Okay, scratch this noise!” Boyfriend grabs the microphone again and glowers at Dearest with barely-contained rage. “You think I’m not worth anythin’? You think I can’t keep her safe? You think I’m a good-for-nothin’ punk?” The words spill out as fast as they cross his mind. There’s no time to have a verbal filter. Maybe he’s digging his grave, but Dearest still has to put him in it. “If you’re such a big shot, then show me what you’ve got. Rap battle. I win, you leave me and Girlfriend alone.”
He’s pretty sure Dearest is about to punch him. Instead, the man swipes the other microphone off its stand with enough force to knock it over. “Deal,” he hisses. “But if I win, you will never see her again.”
The closest thing he’s got to a voice of reason points out that this is a terrible idea. He shakes his head. He’s got this. It doesn’t matter what’s in his way, he’ll take it down if it means seeing her smile again. There’s no point in thinking about what’ll happen if he loses, because he’s not gonna lose. Plain and simple.
“Deal.”
Girlfriend sighs and hits “play” on the music before she climbs back up on the speakers. She really liked this one, too…
It’s a slow and easy call-and-response. Dearest sings a line, and Boyfriend puts his own twist on it. Maybe he’s being lulled into a false sense of security, but it’s more likely that Dearest is gauging his skill level. Boyfriend’s been around the block a few times by now, so it’s a breeze. Besides, this gives him a good chance to get a feel for what’s to come. Everyone’s got their own style, and Boyfriend prides himself on how he’s able to adapt to each one.
So far, so good. Dearest makes some jabs at him and Boyfriend brushes them off. It’s all stuff he’s heard already: he’s short, he’s not too bright, he’s got no future, etcetera etcetera. Jeez, isn’t Dearest pushing 50? Kinda cringe to be saying that stuff to somebody not even half his age.
He doesn’t stoop that low. He’s got heart and soul and a long way to go, and as long as Girlfriend’s by his side he can do anything he sets his mind to. Experience comes with time, but he’s got more under his belt than Dearest thinks he does. Living slow or moving fast, it’s nothing new.
It’s short, simple, and a start. Girlfriend cheers when the song ends, and Boyfriend flicks a peace sign her way. Even if it’s all uphill from here, it’s a nice way to establish himself. He’s not just some kid that thinks he’s more than he’s not: he’s a rising star ready to burn bright. Now he just needs to get that through to him.
“Not too shabby.” Dearest is still looking at him like he’s a gross bug. “Training wheels are off, kid. Keep up, or keep out.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Boyfriend rolls his eyes. Dearest doesn’t need to know he’s getting nervous. Part of him has been on edge this whole time, and while he’s got a confident front going it’s starting to bleed in. He reminds himself he’s got this handled and it’s gonna go just fine. Don’t show any weakness, keep up the performance, and it’ll be smooth sailing.
Girlfriend selects the next track. “Three, two, one, go!”
Dearest throws an early curveball with some beatboxing that Boyfriend parrots back at him. A little unexpected, but something he can handle. Is he still going easy on him? The doubt sneaks up on him and he adjusts his stance. No, no, it’s fine. He’s got this. No need to trip himself up.
Again, Dearest picks at his insecurities. What does he think Girlfriend sees in him? He’s nothing special, just a drop-out with a dye job. Anyone just like him could walk through the door and take his place. Girlfriend’s not going to miss him for long, not when he doesn’t have anything going for him besides the coveted award of “hit a single on a low ball he practically had handed to him”. Even if he somehow secures this win, he’ll be surprised if they last another week.
He’s had a lot of insults thrown his way, but that one stings. Boyfriend sets up a rebuttal, but stutters on the last couple words. Yeah, so maybe he’s still just starting out, and he doesn’t have much going for him, but that’s- that’s fine. He’s something special! There’s more to him than just his good looks, he just- needs to think of— how to say—
My turn! Someone grabs him by the back of his shirt and pulls him back. The empty spot is filled in a split-second by somebody with too much moxie for his own good, but as far as he’s concerned that means he’s perfect for the job. He knows with every atom of his being that Dearest is just blowing smoke to get under his skin— they’re made for each other, no matter what happens. She’s his girl. He can keep it fresh, no sweat.
Nobody notices the switch until it’s too late. Boyfriend waits for Dearest to finish his verse - ripping on him for slipping, yeah yeah, god forbid somebody get a little tongue-tied - and fires back with some choice words.
“Beep bo be skee da—”
Dearest laughs. It booms through the venue, loud and ugly, and Boyfriend comes to a screeching halt. “You’re kidding,” he coughs out once his outburst subsides. “That’s your plan? Beeping like a dead fire alarm?” He makes a show of wiping a tear from his eye. “If you wanted to throw in the towel, you could’ve just said so.”
“Skibeep.” Boyfriend squares his shoulders and packs all of his spite together into the venomous glare he sends Dearest’s way. Words don’t matter! What matters is rhythm and flow, and he’s the best at it. Nobody can lay down a beat like him! Dearest starts laughing again and Boyfriend flips him the bird. “Ba do ee!”
Girlfriend’s unfazed by her significant other’s sudden transformation into an angry printer. “You tell him!” she cheers. “You’ve got this, Boyfriend!” Her unfailing confidence in him puts a smirk back on his face. This is what he’s fighting for. Now all he needs to do is grind that smug bastard into dust.
“I get it now.” Dearest is still chuckling, but there’s now a much darker undertone. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t ya?” He looms overhead like a stormcloud. “You’re not takin’ this seriously. You’re gonna roll up in here, mock me to my face, and think you can get out of this scot-free? That’s strike four, kid.” The lights in his eyes flash brighter. “Let’s take it from the top.”
They do. They hit rewind and do the intro over again, except this time he’s doing whatever the hell he feels like. Dearest only looks more and more irritated as the high-pitched pipsqueak matches him note-for-note with some physical flair thrown in for good measure. If he wants a show, he’s gonna put on a show, alright? Again, there’s more to this than words. He’s got more style than this washed-up sellout will ever have. Glory days are over, time for something new to take center stage.
Besides, it’s always a blast seeing how he riles people up just by existing. Maybe he shouldn’t take as much joy from it as he does, but that’s what they get for underestimating him. There’s nothing he likes better than knocking people off their high horses. If Dearest thinks this is going to give him trouble, then he clearly hasn’t been paying attention.
(Ignore the part where he started fumbling and a secret tag-out happened. He was still winning for sure, he just wanted to boost further into the lead. That’s all. No big deal.)
The song ends the way it started. This time, it’s flawless.
The look on his face is awesome. Boyfriend cackles like a hyena as Dearest stands there in shock. Boyfriend 2, stupid idiot asshole 0! Who’s top dog now, huh? Don’t underestimate him when you have no idea what he’s packing! He’s three times what Dearest will ever be (well, 2.5, no offense) and he’s got the skills to prove it.
“Enough. Games.” Boyfriend squeaks as Dearest grabs him by the front of his shirt and hoists him up. Girlfriend leaps off the speakers, but one glare from her father stops her in her tracks. “No more fucking around. No more of your stupid stunts.” His free hand twitches. Boyfriend gets the distinct impression that Dearest would love to have it around his neck. “One more round. Winner takes all.” He bares his teeth in a feral grin. “No do-overs. No retries. No bullshit. Sing your fucking heart out or I’ll stop it dead.”
Boyfriend pales. He nods - more of a twitch, really - and Dearest drops him back to the floor. His head is full of panic from all directions. Oh, you’ve really fucked it up this time. A shrill beep of a response— What was I supposed to do?! We were losing! Crushing dread ebbs up from the back. Guys, I think we’re actually going to die. I think he’s going to kill us. For real. He doesn’t bother to get up as the clamor overwhelms him. Here likes Blake, age 19, cause of death— A brief pause in the chaos. …what’s the word for when you do something really, really stupid ‘cuz you thought you could do it and then you can’t and you die?
His eyes half-close in tired irritation as he chirps under his breath. Hubris.
A hand slips under him and Girlfriend lifts him up into a sitting position. He gives her a grateful look, then holds up a finger - one second. There’s a quiet agreement, then he’s back on his feet and shaking himself out. An awkward pause hangs in the air while Dearest waits for his reply. He mumbles “Got it” and adjusts his grip on the microphone. It’s always strange switching back. It’s like the body forgets he can say actual words if that guy’s at the wheel for too long. Not the greatest thing to be happening right now.
Girlfriend sticks close to his side. He nudges her with his arm and what he hopes is a confident smile. He knows she’s scared - all of them are - but who would he be if he gave up now? (Asides from “missing a spine and dead from cardiac arrest”, if Dearest was gonna follow through on any of those threats.)
The music starts. All of them huddle together and sing with one voice the best they can— switching, improvising, taking one line and handing over the next, filling the empty spaces with any sound they can as they ladder between high and low notes. They’re fighting dirty. Low blows find their way into the lyrics, if in the form of loose vowels rather than words thanks to a certain somebody nursing a grudge, but that’s not what’s dirty about it. It’s not like Dearest knows he’s fighting a 1v3.
Not that the advantage is helping much. It’s hard to coordinate when three different styles of approach push and pull in three different directions. Teamwork makes the dream work, but the stakes are higher than Everest and they’re not mountain climbers. Dearest pushes the offensive as they fall off-beat and try to recollect. One stumbles out of sync as another tries to take the lead— Get it together! Work with me here!
It’s not enough. They’ve lost too much ground. Boyfriend feels weak as his vision starts to go hazy. It’s like something’s being drained out of him with each failed verse. Girlfriend grabs his arm and tries to keep him upright as his knees start to buckle. He can’t take his eyes off his opponent: Dearest’s own eyes are like approaching headlights in a midnight fog. His voice fails as one of him works himself up into hysterics. I told you this was a bad idea!
We gotta keep goin’! We can still swing this—
No we can’t! Goddamnit, he was right, we’re always in over our head—
Not the time—
Shut up and let me sing!
Cam, don’t—
Planning on giving up?
A new presence settles into place. Boyfriend freezes as he nudges the others out of the way. The cluttered thoughts separate and fade until it’s just him and the newcomer with an elbow propped up on his shoulder. It’s hard to make out the details - he doesn’t exactly have the time and focus to look inward right now - but there’s a big smudge of blue in his imaginary periphery.
You know what’s gonna happen? he says. You’ll lose everything. Everything you’ve worked so hard for, everything you’re fighting for, is gonna be gone. It all slows to a crawl. You don’t want that. None of you want that. He moves his arm to squeeze his shoulder. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus. You’re not the type to fold so easy. So why are you letting him walk all over you?
I’m not letting him, he protests. It’s- it’s too loud. I can’t think, I…
Shrug. Then stop thinking. Do whatever your heart tells you to. Show him what you’re made of. Show him what happens when he messes with Boyfriend. A sweeping gesture brings the other two back into the mix. Don’t let him get in our head. Lock in.
He’s being eyed with suspicion, but he doesn’t care. He’s here for one reason and one reason only, and that’s to get them back on their feet before it’s too late. Clock’s ticking. Time for a different approach.
Unless you want to be known as the loser that talked a big game and then threw it? Clenched fists, bared teeth, a growl like a dial-up modem. He pays his reaction no mind as he changes targets.
Unless you want to screw yourself over when somebody needs you? Nervous worry withdraws with a look of shame. Maybe harsher than intended, but if it got through then it got through.
And then, finally, the one holding the microphone and using every ounce of energy he has left to stay in the game. The one that started this fight and that’s about to end it. They fix each other with challenging glares. Unless you want to stop short of the finish line you’re spending your whole life chasing?
He sets his jaw. Defiance sparks inside him and arcs like electricity from a tesla coil. That’s what he likes to see. That’s what he’s looking for.
So, one more time: Planning on giving up?
Dearest finishes his verse. A surge of determination pushes Boyfriend forward and he flashes the demon a cocky grin. Hell no. Dearest is throwing everything at him he can, but he won’t let it faze him. He’ll give it his all.
Boyfriend breaks the pattern. He takes the opening Dearest gave him, but instead of the short retort that’s expected of him he charges full speed ahead. No room to think, no room to do anything but act: he weaves together a tirade laying out his mission statement, his plans for the future, his undying devotion and unfailing determination. And then he keeps going. A quick switch into a harmony, then another switch to undercut Dearest’s own comeback and override it. Shut it, old man, I’m not done yet!
Everything’s flipped. He’s the one in control now. Dearest tries to find any gaps to fit his own lines in, but Boyfriend’s got too much momentum to be stopped now. It’s more fluid now as they dance in and out of the spotlight - taking turns with subtle cues rather than climbing over each other out of desperation. They band together for the climax, unified voices ringing in his head as they sing: I just know I’m one of a kind!
Boyfriend stops to catch his breath, chest heaving from exertion, and Dearest takes the opportunity to bring down the intensity as the song approaches the finale. In the end, Boyfriend’s the one that gets the final word in. It’s not an attack like what Dearest has been hurling at him all night, just a straightforward statement: you know you’re not getting rid of me.
He gets the impression of a self-satisfied smile. Yeah. Didn’t think so.
Just like that, it’s over. The music comes to a stop. Girlfriend squeals and throws her arms around him. Dearest grits his teeth and looks like he’s close to committing a murder. And there, right in the middle of it, is Boyfriend himself: confused, a little overwhelmed, and not entirely sure this is real.
“Go man go! Go man go!”
Someone starts the chant, and then voices join in one after another. Boyfriend turns to his left and sees something square in the middle of his worst nightmare and his wildest dreams: they’ve drawn a crowd. The audience is packed with strangers on their feet clapping, cheering, and chanting. He glances from side to side in disbelief. Are they cheering for him?
Pride and excitement wells up in him. He grins from ear to ear and punches the air with a whoop. We did it! We actually did it! The hard-fought heroes pile together into a messy group hug on the inside as Boyfriend hugs Girlfriend on the outside. In the background, the newest member of the team joins in with the crowd: Go man go! Go man go!
Dearest turns his back on them and storms off backstage. Boyfriend bats away the urge to flip him off again. There’s no need to provoke him further, as tempting as it is. Instead, he’s taking pride in his victory. Out-rapping Daddy Dearest? In front of a live audience? That was insane. There was no way he would’ve even considered that being possible— But, hey, he’s got a can-do attitude and a girl he needs to impress.
Girlfriend kisses his cheek and he turns bright red. Maybe she’s not the only one that flusters easy. The crowd roars with approval, and he turns to face them with a goofy grin as he scratches the back of his head. All’s well that ends well.
…So are we gonna talk about the blue guy, or?