Chapter Text
I was waiting in the shadows, gripping my bass until my knuckles hurt. The crowd was still roaring for the last band, and my stomach twisted like it wanted to escape. This wasn’t just another gig—it was a contest. One stage, a dozen bands, and one chance to prove ourselves.
“And now… Crimson Veil!” the host shouted.
The name had been born a few hours earlier, out of desperation. No debates, no planning. Just a spark—and now, it was ours.
We walked out. Smoke curled across the floor, lights still dim. Each of us wore a mask. No explanations, no questions. We didn’t need words.
Lucian raised his sticks. One, two—
The opening riff of Poison ripped through the speakers.
The bass rumbled under my fingers. I bent low, throwing the first wave at the crowd. A cheer rose in answer.
Dante had the mic clenched like a blade, voice slicing sharp into the hall. He dragged the stand toward the audience and they surged forward, hands clawing for him.
Thalía’s eyes met mine. I knew that look. I charged, and our instruments clashed like swords. Bass against guitar, a duel just for show. The crowd lost it. We spun back-to-back, notes colliding in sync as if we’d practiced forever.
On the chorus, we pushed it further. Bending back almost ninety degrees, instruments raised to the ceiling—the lights blazed and the noise shook the walls.
Lucian pounded faster, harder, daring us to keep up.
Second chorus. I planted my foot, boosting Thalía onto the monitor. She jumped down with a riff that rattled the floor. I slammed a counter-line in answer. The place went wild.
Dante laughed mid-verse, feeding off us without losing a word. His voice tore across the room, relentless.
Then the solo—Thalía’s moment. I stepped aside, but she came right up against me, shredding with her shoulder pressed to mine. Her guitar screamed, my bass thundered beneath it, chaos turned into unity.
That’s when I saw him—the boy with flaming red hair in the front row. Eyes wide, locked first on Dante, then on me. My chest tightened. The music drowned everything else, except his stare.
Final chords. I lifted my bass high, notes hanging in the air. Thalía dropped to one knee, ending her solo like she was challenging the world. Lucian crashed down, Dante hurled the last line—
One breath of silence.
Then the explosion. The roar nearly ripped the roof away.
Dante leaned on the stand, grinning. “Tell me—does the jury even need to vote after that?”
The answer was deafening.
Backstage, I was trembling, legs like jelly. The sound was still pounding in my chest.
“Insane,” Thalía gasped, throwing her guitar strap off.
“And beautiful,” Lucian grinned, wiping sweat. “I thought you two were gonna smash the stage with that stunt.”
“Maybe not the stage,” Dante said, pulling at his mask, “but the crowd? You nearly killed them.”
I tried to catch my breath. “Did you see the redhead up front?”
Thalía smirked. “I saw him. Looked like the world stopped spinning. At you.”
I looked away, busying myself with my bass.
The organizer stuck his head in. “Come on. Results are in.”
The jury didn’t keep us waiting. “The winner—Crimson Veil!”
The hall erupted. Cheers, stomps, whistles. My heart nearly burst. We raised our hands together, masks hiding our faces. Maybe that was better. Let them remember the music, not us.
That night, the club turned into a party. Music blasting, bottles clinking, strangers congratulating us. We kept the masks on.
“To Crimson Veil,” Dante shouted, raising his drink.
“To five-second names that stick,” Lucian added.
“To fans with red hair,” Thalía whispered just for me, smirking.
I pretended not to hear, but my chest ached.
The bottles clashed together, and laughter filled the air. None of them knew who we were—and that was exactly how it had to stay.