Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mel was trying, and failing, not to cry again.

They've known for a couple weeks now that she is leaving. Her mother's health had taken a bad turn, and Mel had made the right call. She needed to go back home. No one had argued with that. But even with the decision made, even with her flight two days away, it still hit like fresh news.

Tonight is their send off. One last night out together before everything changes. But now she is starting to tear up again, and Jayce doesn’t know how to fix it.

He doesn’t blame her, not even a little. Jayce had been there in the final days with his own mom, and the uncertainty leading up to it had been almost worse:the not knowing. The hoping, then dreading. So yeah, he understands. But gods, the timing.

They had just gotten into the competition, a shot that could actually lead somewhere, and now they are losing their bassist before the first round even begins.

He hates himself for the thought, but it is still there.

"I'm sorry, Jayce," Mel whispers, her voice tight, chin quivering. "I didn’t know what else to do."

She is seconds away from crying in earnest, and Jayce moves before he can over think it. He wraps his arms around her, grounding both of them with the motion.

"It's okay," he murmurs. "We get it. It's going to be okay. You do what you need to do."

Even if he doesn’t believe that yet.

She pulls back, wiping at her eyes, smudging her signature gold eyeliner. Her eyes are red and swollen from crying and yet, somehow, she is still one of the most striking women Jayce has ever seen. She lets out a shaky breath, trying to collect herself.

"I'll keep in touch, I promise. I know you guys are going to crush it, new member or not."

Jayce forces a crooked smile, hiding the churn of discomfort at the thought of holding auditions. Now wasn't the time to bring it up. Mel already felt bad enough.

"That’s a bold statement considering we haven’t even heard the other bands yet,” he says, half teasing. He’s admitted to himself that not knowing what they’re up against makes him anxious.

"Doesn't matter.” She says softly. “This band was always meant to be more than background noise in some bar. You know that."

She steps back and offers him a faint smile, already back to being composed. Jayce glances at the clock, Ekko and Jinx will be home any minute from their shift at the diner. They are leaving in a couple hours. He should start getting ready. He looks back at Mel, giving her a gentler smile in return.

"We better start getting ready, they'll be back soon. Do you want the shower first?" Jayce asks, already turning down the hall.

"I'm all set,” she replies, her voice lighter now. “I took one earlier. Just gonna change and freshen up”

As he heads to his room, Jayce’s thoughts start to spiral. Setting up auditions, coordinating schedules, sorting logistics… it was going to be a pain in the ass. They've all known each other for years. Shared cramped stages, late-night rehearsals that bled into sunrise, and spent countless hours shaping something real. Songs stitched together from sweat, laughter, and too many takeout nights to count.

And now that was about to end.

The idea of bringing someone new into the mix felt like trying to wedge a stranger into their family photo. It wasn’t just about skill, they need someone who will fit. Someone who won’t throw everything off balance.

His chest tightens. He groans, grabs a towel, and steps out into the hallway.

The house is quiet, for now. His footsteps echo softly as he heads towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, the one on his side of the house.

It isn’t just his bathroom, though. There are two full baths, this just happens to be the closest to Jayce's room. He'd inherited the place after his uncle passed, and turning it into a shared home for the band had felt obvious at the time. They were already more like family than friends anyway.

The layout is pretty simple: Jayce’s room and Mel’s were on one side of the house, sharing the first bathroom. On the opposite end are Ekko and Jinx’s room, Vi and Cait’s room, and the second bathroom. It gives them just enough space to avoid constantly stepping on each other’s toes.

Once in the bathroom he turns the water on as hot as he can stand it. Steam curls up around him, fogging the mirror as he strips off his shirt. His shoulders are already tight with anxiety, muscles coiled from another day spent pretending everything's fine.

It'll be okay. They'll figure it out. He repeats the thought like a mantra, hoping that if he says it enough, it'll start to feel true.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, tall, broad, tension still clinging to his frame. He knows he's conventionally attractive, with tanned skin and the kind of lean muscle you get from years of working at a forge and sweating it out in the gym with Vi. There's a familiarity to the way people look at him, like they expect the charm and confidence to follow. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't.

The tattoos are what he notices more these days. He'd held off for a while, but after his dad's funeral, Vi had taken him to get his first. “Memento mori” inked along his ribs. After that, he couldn't stop: a hammer for his family's forge, a guitar pick on his wrist. A journal stretches across his back, wrapped in a microphone cord. And the most recent, a broken hourglass, added after he lost his mom. That one still hurts if he looks at it too long.

He steps into the shower, letting the water burn the tension from his skin. The heat grounds him. Centered, even if only for a few minutes. He doesn’t linger. He knows if he stalls, someone will bang on the door.

By the time he's out, dressed and tugging on his boots, the house is no longer quiet. Laughter echoes down the hall, Jinx, unmistakably , followed by Ekko's low voice saying something he can't quite make out. Music plays in the background. Jayce smiles to himself, pausing at the mirror for one last glance: dark jeans, fitted henley, hair still damp. It'll do.

He heads out toward the kitchen, where Jinx and Mel are already taking a shot of what looks like tequila straight from the bottle.

Jinx spots him and grins. "Come over here, pretty boy! We're starting our last hurrah off with a bang"

She’s already lining up four more shots by the time Ekko appears, strolling out of his room dressed in skinny jeans and a loose tank. Jinx lets out a whistle, hands him a glass, and cackles when he rolls his eyes.

"All ready?” Ekko asks Jayce, lifting the shot glass toward him. “We're gonna make tonight a good one."

Jayce huffs a laugh, the edge of his earlier stress finally starting to fade. "As ready as I'll ever be. And I'm going to hold you to that"

They each grab a glass, but before anyone can raise theirs, Mel clears her throat gently. The shift is immediate, attention turns to her without a word.

"I just wanted to say how much you guys mean to me,” she starts, voice a little thick. “These past five years have been some of the best of my life. I know you’ll find someone ten times better than me to replace me, and rock this competition."

Jinx lets out a whoop, but falls quiet again as Mel continues.

"I know we’ll stay in touch. We are still family. I love you guys. Here's to tonight, and to what comes next."

"To what comes next!" They cheer back, all four of them clinking glasses before knocking back the shots.

Jayce feels the warmth bloom in his chest, a grin pulling at his mouth as their laughter fills the room, bright and alive.

And for once, he doesn’t let the uncertainty of what’s coming get to him. Not tonight. Whatever happens next, at least they have this.

—-----

Jayce feels like he might actually be dying as he slowly returns to consciousness. He cracks one eye open, wincing at the sun sneaking between the window shades. With a groan, he rolls onto his back, the pain in his head like an anvil under his hammer in the forge.

Opening both eyes proves to be an immediate mistake. It makes his stomach lurch. Before he can even register it, he's scrambling to the bathroom cursing with every step. He barely makes it to the toilet before throwing up what feels like half the bar from last night.

Fuck, he's never drinking again.

Once his stomach’s empty, thoroughly and violently, he rinses out his mouth. The guy in the mirror looks nothing like the one from last night. Pale, sweaty skin, shadows under blood shot eyes. Wrecked.

There’s a knock on the door pulling himself from his self-pity. Mel’s voice cuts through. “You good in there?”

Jayce cracks the door and squints at her. “Define ‘okay.’”

She’s already dressed, not a hair out of place. Not even a hint of a hangover. Jayce stares at her, offended. “How the fuck are you not hungover?”

Mel laughs. "I didn’t try to match Vi shot for shot."

He groans, muttering something under his breath that makes her laugh again.

"No one else is up yet either, so don’t feel too bad about your tragic inability to handle your alcohol."

Jayce flips her off on his way back to his room, her laugh chasing him down the hall. More sleep. That’s what he needs if he wants to feel remotely human again.

He grabs painkillers from the nightstand, downs two with a mouthful of water, and collapses face-first onto the bed. Sleep takes him fast.

The second time he wakes, things are marginally better. Not good. But not dying. He drags himself out of bed and heads for the kitchen, still half out of it. Cait is the only one in there, singing quietly to herself as she makes coffee.

"Hey sprout, any of that left?" he mumbles, nodding toward the pot.

"Yeah, here," she says, turning and handing him a cup. She stops mid-motion, eyes going wide. "Oh my god. You look like shit."

He gives her a deadpan look. “Wow. Thanks. I feel like shit too, so shut up. How is Vi?"

"She's nursing her own hangover. You're both idiots." Cait rolls her eyes, but grins all the same.

A half smile tugs at his mouth as he sips, secretly pleased Vi’s in the same boat. His pride feels a little less bruised. He takes another sip and groans as the coffee starts doing its work. Slowly, his brain begins to reboot.

He mentally runs through the rest of his weekend to-do list. Laundry and dishes, cleaning out the living room, but mostly they’ve got to get those audition posts up as soon as possible. He grabs his laptop and pulls it over to the kitchen table, powering it on with a determined sigh.

"I'm going to get a couple of posts out today about auditions,” Jayce says, already typing. “We need Mel's spot filled as fast as we can. The next round will be here before we know it."

"Yeah, you're right. This is going to be… interesting." Cait muses.

Jayce presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, "It's going to be a shit show, is what it is."

This competition could change everything. Part of him still doesn’t believe they actually got in. The entry had been a long shot, something they sent off late one night just to say they tried. When the email came in saying they’d been selected, it hadn’t felt real.

But it was. And now it mattered more than anything.

Jayce knows they’re good. Really good. But being good isn’t always enough. Breaking into the industry is damn near impossible. He’d lost track of how many rough demos they’ve sent out over the years, how many rejections, how much silence. This is the first time anyone’s actually seen them.

They’ve got until June to find a new bassist, get tight as a group again, and prep for the first round. That’s four months to pull everything together. To get it right, get loud, and prove they deserve this.

He pulls up socials first, and starts drafting, tagging everyone to blast it as far as it’ll go. He copies it into a word doc and prints out a few flyers.

"I'm going to take this and start putting them up. The more we get the word out, the better our shot at finding the right person." he says, handing Cait a copy.

Cait scans the flyer. "This looks good, Jayce. Vi and I are about to head out in a bit anyway, so we can put a few of these up for you.” She glances at him. “You’ve already got enough on your plate.”

She pauses, looking like she’s debating saying what’s on her mind. “You, uh… finished any of those new songs yet?”

Jayce sighs, slumping back in his chair. Not a single one.

Every time he picks up his guitar or opens his notebook, the ideas stall out before they even form. Chords come in flashes, but they don’t stick. And the lyrics… normally the part he could wrestle into shape even when everything else was falling apart, but now have been nothing but blank pages and half lines that go nowhere.

It’s like his brain hits a wall every time he tries. One chord, one verse, and then frustration takes over and he’s putting the guitar down and walking away again.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, sprout," he mutters, avoiding her question.

Cait just smiles and ruffles his hair as she passes. "What's family for, hm?"

Well, that’s one thing done off the never ending list. But he knows damn well he won't be writing anything today, his head’s all over the place. With the lineup incomplete, the pressure mounting, and this competition looming, it’s like everything creative in him has been sucked dry.

Until they’re whole again, until they feel like a band again, the words just… won’t come.

Jayce finishes the last of his coffee, then stands with a sigh and heads for the sink. If he can’t write, at least he can clean something.

-----

Sunday arrives, and with it, Mel’s flight back to Noxus.

The group piles into Jayce’s beat-up truck and make their way to the airport in near silence. The girls sit in the back with Mel, all holding hands, while Ekko messes with the radio, trying to find something upbeat, anything to cut through the tension.

They hit traffic, of course, and time slips away faster than it should. By the time Jayce finds a spot and parks, they’re cutting it close. Everyone rushes out. The boys grab her luggage, and somehow they get Mel to security with just enough time to spare.

She hugs Cait and Vi first, both of them teary eyed, before she turns to Jinx.

“It’s not forever,” Jinx says, voice trembling as much from conviction as nerves. “You better come visit. Call every week. And facetime. Or I’ll –“

Mel cuts her off with a fierce hug that pulls a shaky laugh from Jinx.

“I promise, Jinx. You’ll be begging me to stop calling by the end of week one.”

“Never.” Jinx holds on tight.

Next is Ekko, who offers her a quiet hug. “We’re really gonna miss you, Mel,” he says, his voice low. “Who’s supposed to help me keep these lunatics in line now?”

Mel gives him a watery smile, laughing as she wipes her eyes. “I’m afraid that falls to you now. Hopefully whoever replaces me has at least one sensible bone in their body. Unlike these two.”

She gestures to Jinx and Jayce, both of whom immediately start to protest.

“That’s slander,” Jayce says, shaking his head as she approaches, fingers twitching at his sides.

Goodbyes never sit well with him. Even when they’re temporary, they still land too hard. He’s known too much loss for them not to feel a little permanent, even when he knows they’ll see Mel again.

Mel brushes a tear from her cheek, trying to smile. “Please. If I wanted to slander you, I’d bring up your terrible taste in movies.”

Jayce lets out a dry laugh. “Says the woman who watched Clueless three times in one week.”

Laughter ripples through the group, brief but genuine, breaking the sadness like sunlight cracking through clouds.

“Laugh it up,” Mel says, eyes still shining. “But you’re all going to miss my superior taste.”

She leans in for a hug, and Jayce pulls her close, holding her a little tighter than he means to.

“Yeah,” he says under his breath, softer now. “I’m definitely going to miss that.”

He steps back but keeps one hand cupping her arm. “Don’t disappear on me, alright? You better not forget us.”

Mel gives them all a smile, trembling at the edges. “Impossible. I could never forget any of you.” Her voice wavers, but she draws a steady breath. “You’ve always been my family. That doesn’t change just because I’m leaving.”

She turns toward the security line, then glances back one last time.

“I’ll be cheering you on. Always. Don’t lose what you’ve built here. Not ever.”

“What we’ve built together,” Jinx adds firmly. “You’re a part of this too. You always will be.”

Mel presses a kiss to her fingers and blows it toward them before stepping into line.

Jayce watches her go, the weight of her words settling in his chest.

“Take care, Mel,” he says softly.

-------

It takes a few days before any of them really feel like practicing. Mel’s absence lingers in every room of the house. But they can’t sit in limbo forever, time’s ticking.

They need a replacement. And they need to move.

The pressure to find someone before the first round looms over Jayce like a noose. It gnaws at him constantly. By the weekend after Mel left, he can’t hold it in any longer. Over a half-eaten breakfast, he finally brings it up to Jinx and Ekko.

“I’ve got about a hundred signups for the auditions,” he says, brushing crumbs from his plate. “We need to start organizing this.”

Jinx groans and lets her head drop to the table. “Ugh, yeah, man. You’re right.” Her voice is muffled, barely coherent. “We should get on top of this as fast as we can.”

Ekko leans back with a tired nod, hands laced behind his head. “This is going to suck.”

Jayce huffs a breath, gaze fixed on the table. “No kidding.”

“You got that right, babe.” Jinx mutters from where her face is still buried in her arms. Then she lifts her head, rubbing her hands together like she’s trying to rally. “Alright. Let's make a game plan.”

For the next hour, they throw themselves into it. What they’re looking for, what’s a hard no, how to spot red flags before they waste time. Ekko suggests a “get to know you” round. Something casual, just enough to see who might actually vibe with them: a few questions, see who gets it.

Jinx offers to write the questions. Both boys immediately veto the idea before she can even finish the sentence.

Once the ground rules are clear, Jayce combs through the mountain of emails and DMs, locking in a time and date.

One week. That’s all they’ve got to find their new bassist.

Saturday comes faster than any of them want.

They gather at the Last Drop, Jinx and Vi’s dads’ bar, where they play a few times a month. Vander and Silco offered the space for the auditions, saving them from having to rent out somewhere else. Jayce is grateful, even if his nerves are already frayed by the time they arrive.

They get the makeshift stage assembled, pull together a table and some mismatched chairs, and try to make the place feel… official.

“Who’s excited?” Jinx asks, a little too brightly, flipping through her list of questions. Ekko grimaces. Jayce just stares at her, unimpressed.

No one answers. Not really.

Jayce isn’t excited, he’s dreading it. Ever since Mel said she was leaving, something inside him has been quietly unraveling. Thread by thread. Nothing loud or dramatic, but enough to leave him hollow in places he can’t quite name.

“Well, some are already lined up,” he says, resigned to their fate today, as he pushes open the front door to let the first few people trickle in.

He tries for a smile, something friendly. But it lands somewhere between awkward and barely holding it together.

“Hey,” he calls out, raising a hand. “Thanks for coming to try out for the bassist spot. We’re Ascent from Ashes.” He gestures to the others.

“This is Ekko, he plays guitar and keys, and that's Jinx, she’s on drums. I’m Jayce, lead guitar and vocals. So… who wants to go first?”

Chapter Text

The first day of tryouts goes exactly how Jayce feared. Forty people came through, one after another, and none of them were right. Some couldn’t even keep time. Others had the personality of wet cardboard. By the time the last candidate disappeared out the door, Jayce’s patience was gone.

They’ve been camped at one of the high tables for hours, the surface scattered with empty water glasses and crumpled notes. Sunlight from late afternoon spills through the higher windows, catching dust in the air. Ekko leans forward with his arms on the table, idly rolling a pen between his fingers, while Jinx tips her chair back until it rocks on two legs. No one says a word, but Jayce can feel the same pressure settling over all of them.

Anxiety coils tighter with each name they cross off the list. If they don’t find someone soon, the spot on bass will stay empty and the songs they’ve been building will never make it past rehearsal. The competition won’t wait. Without the right person, they won’t even make it to the starting round.

The thought turns sharp in his mind. The band will fall apart. He’ll be stuck at the forge for the rest of his life, hammering out orders for people who’ll never know his name. The only thing that has ever felt like home will slip right through his fingers.

His chest locks up.

He stands so fast the chair nearly topples. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” he mutters, not waiting for a reply.

The empty bar feels too wide and too small at once as he makes his way toward the hallway. The echo of his own footsteps follows him. He keeps his eyes on the floor, moving by memory, but the edges of his vision blur as the panic swells. By the time he reaches the bathroom door, his hands are shaking. He fumbles with the knob, steps inside, and shuts it hard. The click of the lock is loud in the small, tiled space.

He presses his back to the door, head tipped against the wood, breath coming fast and shallow.

This isn’t going to work.

This was supposed to be the start of something better. A chance to change all of their lives. Maybe he’s just not cut out for this. Maybe he’s the problem. He’s just not enough to handle all of this, and it’s already over before it even begins.

The thought sticks and starts to rot. The longer it sits, the louder it gets. The forge isn’t so bad, it's steady. Predictable. Safe. But safe doesn’t mean happy. And the voice in his head twists that thought, makes it sound like maybe happy isn’t meant for him at all.

Breathe in.

The air feels too thin, scraping down his throat. His chest won’t open all the way, like someone’s cinched a strap tight around his ribs.

Breathe out.

His heartbeat is a hammer inside his skull, too fast, too hard, each thud making his vision pulse. The edges of the room pull inward until the bathroom feels smaller than it is, like the walls are inching closer. His palms are damp. His jaw aches from clenching.

Breathe. Just breathe.

He squeezes his fists shut until his nails bite in, then forces his hands down to his thighs and presses hard. The denim under his fingertips helps anchor him, here, not somewhere worse, not back in the places he’s fought to leave behind.

The loop comes back stronger. You can’t fix this. You’re not enough. You’ll watch it fall apart and it’ll be your fault. A strained, frustrated sound breaks out of him as he bows his and shuts his eyes. His pulse spikes even faster. He forces himself to stay with the feeling of his hands, the drag of his breath in and out. He starts counting without realizing. One, two, three in. One, two, three out.

He can’t let it end like this. He won’t.

This isn’t the end. It’s just a bad day.

He’s had worse.

He’s gotten through worse.

He can do this.

His back stays pressed into the door, the cool wood solid against his spine. He keeps his eyes closed, counting his breaths, waiting for them to steady. In and out. In and out. Each exhale still comes out shaky, but the band around his ribs loosens. The air still feels thin, but it’s coming easier now.

When his knees stop threatening to give out, he pushes off the door and crosses to the sink. The bathroom feels too bright under the fluorescents, the lights buzzing above him. He leans on the counter, head down, arms braced, letting the solid weight beneath his hands keep him from floating off into the panic again.

His reflection stares back from the mirror when he finally looks up. Skin pale and damp, hair sticking to his forehead, pupils blown wide. He splashes cold water on his face until the shock bites into his skin, chasing away the lingering haze. Droplets cling to his beard, some dripping down his neck, but he doesn’t wipe them away.

“Alright,” he murmurs to himself, voice low and rough. “Get it together. You’re not done yet.”

He rolls his shoulders back, forces his spine straight. The anxiety is still there: a time bomb sitting under his ribs. For now he can move again. It’s enough.

----

The next day rolls in gray and slow, it’s the kind of overcast that flattens the light and makes the hours drag. Jayce shows up early, list of today’s names ready to go, and tries not to think about yesterday. The nerves are still there, but they’re manageable today, manageable enough.

Jinx wanders in ten minutes late, sunglasses on, hood up, clutching her coffee like it’s her lifeline. Ekko trails in after her, his shoulders hunched, still scratching out edits on the question list.

No one says much, but they don’t have to. The second line of the day is already forming outside the locked doors.

Jayce lets out a slow breath through his nose. He looks between them and nods to the door, checking if they’re ready. Jinx just slides her sunglasses up into her bright blue hair and gives him an unenthusiastic thumbs up.

“Round two,” Jayce mutters, mostly to himself, and he unlocks the doors.

----

It’s around three in the afternoon when the last person finishes. They thank them and leave, the door swinging shut behind them. Jayce sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Well, we’ve got a few better maybes…” he says, the words coming out on a thread of tired optimism.

Jinx snorts without looking up from her phone. “We have nothing, Jayce.”

Ekko elbows her lightly. “Knock it off. We can still fix this. Go back through the people we kind of liked, hold more auditions…”

Jayce doesn’t react. Doesn’t speak. He just sits there, staring down at his thumb rubbing over the leather strap on his wrist in a pathetic attempt to soothe the feelings once again clawing at his chest. He barely registers Ekko and Jinx bickering, the dull roar of blood rushing in his ears. They are so fucked.

The door suddenly bursts open. It slams against the wall with a sharp thud, a gust of wind sweeping into the empty bar with it. Jayce startles, head snapping up.

A man stands in the doorway, shoulders squared against the chill from outside, the wind tugging at his coat. His hair is messy from the weather, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He looks from one of them to the next before stepping fully inside and letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Am I too late to try out?” His voice is steady, slightly accented, and carries just enough confidence to make Jayce sit up straighter.

Jayce blinks at him, then instinctively glances down at the list on the table, all the names neatly checked off. This man isn’t one of them.

“You’re… not on the schedule,” Jayce says, words slow like his brain is still catching up.

“I was told about the opening last night,” the man says with a casual shrug. “Thought I would try my luck.”

Something in his tone sinks under Jayce’s skin, a quiet certainty that doesn’t need an invitation to belong here. Jayce can’t decide if that’s cocky or just the kind of self-assurance they’ve been missing in every other audition.

He takes a better look at him.

Long chestnut hair, bleached in streaks that catch the light like sun on water. Sharp angles in his face, softened by piercing gold eyes framed with lashes too long to be fair. A small, perfect mouth with a silver ring through the bottom lip. Piercings climb the edges of his ears, another glinting from his eyebrow, matching the two in his nose. He lifts a tattooed hand to push his hair back, and Jayce catches the ink curling over his knuckles.

He’s fucking hot.

He's slim but solid, wearing a tight black shirt under an open green flannel, dark jeans hanging just right on narrow hips. A small strip of skin shows above the waistband when he shifts his weight, more dark ink curling there in shapes Jayce can’t quite make out. He wonders, briefly and unhelpfully, how far it goes. There’s an ease in the way he stands, shoulders loose, weight carefully balanced like he’s comfortable anywhere, even in a stranger’s doorway.

Jayce blinks, realizing a second later that he still hasn’t answered his question. He glances at Ekko and Jinx, both just shrug, equally caught off guard, eyes flicking between Jayce and the man in the doorway.

“Uh, no. No, it’s fine,” Jayce says quickly, voice pitching higher than he means it too. “You’re not too late.”

The guy’s mouth curves into a small smile, and he steps farther in. Jayce notices the tiniest hitch in his gait, the subtle shift in weight before the man straightens again. Even that is unhurried, like nothing about him could be rushed.

“What’s your name?” Jayce asks.

“Viktor,” he answers, glancing over his shoulder with a faint nod.

Jayce quickly introduces the rest of them as Viktor starts setting up. He pulls his bass from its case, fastening the strap over his shoulder. Jayce watches, maybe a little too intently, as Viktor moves with practiced ease. The instrument is sleek, a deep, dark green that catches the light just enough to flash a strip of white at the bottom. At first, Jayce thinks it’s a random design, until realizes it’s a butterfly, stylized and sharp edged, almost glowing against the dark body.

His gaze lifts, following the strap upward, and catches black ink peeking out from Viktor’s collar, the design makes more sense. Curling along his throat in a mirrored pattern to the wings on the bass, is the same butterfly. The connection is small, but it hooks something in him.

Viktor’s fingers are long and sure. Silver rings wrap around a couple of them. Jayce takes in the whorls of art that wrap around a few like vines as he checks the tuning.

He kneels to the floor, flipping a few switches on the modest pedalboard and testing the sound. A low, resonant pulse that settles into Jayce’s chest. The settings are simple, compressor, chorus, maybe an overdrive for bite. Nothing flashy, but the way Viktor moves through it is steady, like the bass is an extension of him.

He finishes adjusting, a slight wince in his face as he stands back up, then looks back over at them. Ekko gives him a small nod to go ahead. The bass is slung low across his body, and Viktor positions his fingers on the fretboard. He takes a deep breath, and then he plays.

The first notes are low and clean, smooth as poured molasses. The sound catches in Jayce’s throat, a slow, deep toned groove that spreads through him like heat, settling deep and lingering. Viktor’s shoe taps lightly on the pedalboard, adding a subtle reverb that turns the bassline into something richer. The sound blooms, clean but layered, effortless and controlled.

There’s no showboating, no wild slapping or frantic finger work. Just this locked in cadence of notes that pulses with intent, every motion measured. The silence between notes is deliberate as the sound itself, speaking in the kind of rhythm that doesn’t need to rush. He shifts once, pressing another pedal with the toe of his converse, and the tone grows sharper, more aggressive, like the bass has teeth.

Jayce can’t look away. He hadn’t expected to be pulled in this fast, not by someone who wasn’t even signed up to try. There’s a quiet ownership in the way Viktor plays, like the music belongs to him and he’s just letting the rest of them overhear it.

Viktor's fingers slide up the neck with surgical precision. He moves with the current of the song, steady and unshaken. His brows pinch just enough to betray the focus in his head, but his body stays loose, fluid. Free. Jayce isn’t sure if he wants the next note to land or the moment to never end, but his hands are curled tight against his knees all the same.

Jayce realizes he hasn’t taken a proper breath in the last half minute. Ekko, usually unshakable, leans forward in his seat, mouth slightly open in shock as he watches. Jinx has set her phone aside completely, watching Viktor with wide eyed curiosity.

There is no grand finale, no clear end point, just a final note that melts into a low hum. Viktor lets it hang there, neither resolving nor collapsing. Then he taps the pedal, cutting it off. The silence that follows is hushed, as if the song simply stopped existing mid-breath.

No one moves. Jayce stays rooted, eyes fixed on Viktor’s hands as he lowers the bass into place like it didn’t just blow apart every expectation they’d had.

Jinx is the first to break, letting out a slow, impressed whistle. “Okay. Yeah. What the hell?”

Even Ekko just exhales, his voice low. “That was… seriously good.”

Viktor only offers a small nod, as if he hadn’t just resurrected their chances in the competition.

Jayce opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a quiet, “damn.”

Ekko clears his throat, snapping himself back. He flips a page on his clipboard and leans in. “Alright, so here’s the thing.”

Viktor looks over, attentive now.

“We’re not just looking for a bassist,” Ekko says, his tone sharpening. “This isn’t just some weekend hobby or a garage band messing around. We’re competing in one of the biggest live showcases in the country. Bands from all over sent in recordings just to get a shot, and only a handful were chosen. Round after round, we’ll be playing in front of record label scouts and industry reps, in arenas packed with people. At the end of it, one band walks away with a record deal. Tours. Studio time. Real backing. A future.”

He taps his pen once against the clipboard, meeting Viktor’s eyes.

“If we make it, everything changes. We will be living in each other's space…a lot. We’ll be around each other more than we’ll be alone.”

Jinx leans back, boots propped up on the chair in front of her. “If we’re gonna spend that much time together, we all have to survive each other. It gets… intimate. Not in a weird way. Just in a no-personal-space, you-hear-every-shower-thought-and-every-annoying-habit kind of way. If we can’t work as a family, the whole thing falls apart.’

Ekko grins. “So, we’ve got one last test. A vibe check. No wrong answers. Just the kind we’ll never let you forget.”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, a flicker of dry amusement in his eyes. “You’re telling me this is the real audition?”

“Absolutely,” Ekko says, deadpan. “You can shred, but can you hang?”

Jinx laughs. “Welcome to the gauntlet.”

Jayce, still a little dazed, manages a small smile. “Good luck.”

Viktor lets out a quiet chuckle, the tension in his expression easing as he nods. “Alright, I’m in. Go ahead.”

Ekko glances at his notes. “Okay, you’re stuck in the backseat of a car for eight hours. Who’s your dream road trip companion, and who’s banned for life?”

Viktor doesn’t even pause. “Companion? David Bowie. Wild stories, good music, and he wouldn’t fight me for the aux cord.” A pause. “Banned? Elon Musk.”

Jinx bursts out laughing. “Solid start.”

Ekko grins and keeps going. “What would you do if someone messed up live, like, totally tanked it on stage?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Depends. If it’s a small mistake, I’d cover it and keep playing like nothing happened. If it’s something big, I’d pull it back into rhythm without drawing attention. Blaming each other in front of a crowd wouldn’t help.”

Ekko glances at Jayce with raised brows, impressed. “Alright, how about noise tolerance? Jinx will play drums at 3 a.m. sometimes. That’s not a joke, it’s a warning.”

“I grew up in a one room apartment above a nightclub,” Viktor says simply.

“Damn,” Jayce says, grinning. “You’re immune.”

Viktor huffs out a laugh.

“If you could instantly master any other instrument, what would it be?” Jinx asks.

“Cello,” Viktor replies with a smirk. “It’s like the bass’s classier cousin.”

Ekko snorts as he taps the clipboard. “Alright. Lightning round. Still no wrong answers, but we’ll make fun of you anyway.”

Viktor nods, crossing his arms loosely. “Understood. Trial by fire.”

“Favorite garbage movie you’d defend with your life?”

“Van Helsing,” Viktor says without a second thought. “It’s a cinematic masterpiece and I will not elaborate.”

Jinx nearly chokes laughing. “That’s awful. You’re in.”

Ekko and Jayce laugh with her. Jayce looks up at him and asks, “You’ve got a day off and nothing planned. What do you actually do with it?”

“Sleep too long. Think about cleaning. End up sitting on the floor listening to sad music instead.”

Jayce breathes a soft, amused sound through his nose. “Yeah, okay. Been there.”

Jinx leans forward. “Best talent outside of music?”

Viktor thinks for a moment. “I can fix almost anything mechanical.”

Ekko arches a brow. “Impressive. Jayce can too. He rebuilt half our gear last year when it kept dying on us.”

Ekkos glances over at Jayce for confirmation, and Jayce just lifts a shoulder with a modest shrug, attention on Viktor. “I just hate wasting good equipment,” he says. “If it can be saved, I’ll find a way.”

Viktor meets his stare for a beat. Curiosity flickering in his eyes before he looks back down at the table. Something in his chest gives a small pull, unexpected and sharp.

Ekko clears his throat and refocuses. “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

“I don’t sing karaoke.”

“Not even if you were drunk?” Jinx presses.

“Especially not drunk.” Viktor answers, a dry smile pulling at his lips.

Jinx just smirks back, crossing her arms. “We’ll see. I’ve got a hundred percent success rate at getting people to sing. You’re not special.”

Viktor lets out a small laugh. “Then I will be glad to break your streak.”

“Night owl or morning person?” Jayce asks.

“Night. Mornings are for suffering.”

Jinx cackles, clapping her hands once. “I like him! He passes.”

Ekko gives Viktor a small, impressed nod. “Yeah, man. You might be weird enough to fit in with us after all.”

Jayce nods, but he still has a couple questions before making the call. “Is there anything else you can do? Besides playing bass.”

Viktor looks at him, meeting his eyes briefly. “I write music,” he says, voice light but certain. “Mostly lyrics. Some instrumentals, too. And I can sing backup. Harmonies, if you need them.”

Jayce nods slowly, filing that answer away. “Right. That’s good,” he says, careful to keep his tone even. But inside, he can hardly believe it. How the hell did they get this lucky? They might actually pull this off. For the first time in weeks, it feels like they aren’t completely screwed.

--

Viktor keeps his posture loose, casual, as they ask him questions. But every muscle is strung tight as wire. He’s been here too many times before, waiting for someone else to decide if he’s good enough, worth it. After everything he has poured into becoming this good, he is still at the mercy of someone else’s yes.

He watches as they exchange quiet looks and speak in low voices, unable to catch more than fragments. Anticipation thrums under his skin, but he stands steady beside his pedalboard, hands loose at his sides. His leg aches, sharp and familiar, yet his expression stays neutral and composed.

Please say yes, he thinks.

He had looked them up the night before, planning to sample a few songs just to get a feel for their sound. Instead, he lost an hour to every shaky live recording PilTube could offer. Their music has lived in his head ever since. Heavy and melodic, wired with electric edge, it digs in and refuses to leave. This is the kind of music that fits his hands, where control and intensity breathe in the same space. He can already hear what they could become, and he wants more than anything to be a part of something that loud.

He’s been chasing something like this since he was seventeen, half-starving in a studio apartment with holes in the ceiling, playing for three drunks with a broken amp. Music has been the only constant thing he has in his life. He wants this. Needs this.

This is the first time in years he actually wants this yes. Not for survival. Not for the next gig, but for the music, for them. Wanting in is hard enough without one of them also being infuriatingly attractive.

Viktor risks a glance at Jayce. He sits at the table, his sleeves pushed hush enough to bare strong forearms that flex each time he shifts. The dark shirt pulls slightly across a broad chest and solid shoulders. Their size difference is impossible to ignore, and Viktor feels it like a hand closing around the back of his neck. Jayce is built in a way Viktor has always been weak for.

Of course the front man had to be inconveniently hot.

Jayce murmurs one last thing to Ekko and Jinx before turning back to Viktor. He clears his throat, pulling Viktor from his thoughts. “I saw you… limping a bit earlier. Are you alright?”

The question is cautious, not unkind. Viktor thinks about brushing it off, but if this is going to work, he can’t lie his way through this.

“I have Ehlers-Danlos,” he says evenly. “It’s a connective tissue disorder. Joints overextend, things dislocate, chronic pain… all that fun stuff.”

Silence follows. It’s not awkward, but it’s heavier than before. Viktor feels the question coming before Jayce even opens his mouth.

“Would you be able to keep up?” Jayce asks, eyes locked on him.

Viktor doesn’t hesitate. He’s gone over this answer a hundred times. “Yes. If I plan ahead. Pace myself. I can do it.” He exhales slowly, thumb brushing the silver ring on his finger. “I’ve learned how to work with my limits instead of against them.” His gaze moves between their faces. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I couldn’t pull this off.”

The room stays quiet. Jinx stops bouncing her knee. Ekko leans back slightly, arms crossed, expression thoughtful. But Jayce… Jayce doesn’t look away. He doesn’t let him break that steady line of sight. And Viktor’s stomach twists for it.

Then Jayce stands up.

He closes the short distance between them at an unhurried pace. Viktor straightens, shoulders tight, but Jayce stops directly in front of him. Up close Viktor has to tip his chin up to meet his eyes. They’re a deep hazel, threaded with gold in the light, and Viktor hates how easy it is to get caught staring. He catches the faint trace of cologne softened by the day, and beneath it, the solid heat of him, close enough for Viktor to feel radiating off his body.

Jayce studies him, gaze steady and searching, like he’s trying to see past the surface. His jaw works once, the pause deliberate, as if he’s choosing the words with care.

“Do you really want this?” Jayce asks, his voice lower now. “If we win, we’re in it for real. It’s full time. Recording. Touring. Long hours. People pulling you in ten different directions.” he pauses again, letting the words settle. “Burnout is almost inevitable, but there is no halfway.”

Viktor feels his throat tighten, but his voice stays solid. “I want it. I’ve wanted this for years. I know what I’m walking into.” His head tips slightly, his tone softening. “And I know myself. I don’t walk away once I’m in.”

Jayce doesn’t respond at first. His lips press together, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Relief, maybe, or nerves. Then, without another word, he offers Viktor his hand.

Viktor stares at it for a beat before taking it. Jayce’s grip is warm and solid, grounding in a way Viktor doesn’t expect.

“Welcome to the band,” Jayce says, his voice rough but certain.

It takes a second for the words to land. Viktor’s chest pulls tight, the kind of ache that comes from holding yourself braced for rejection for too long. He has been passed over more times than he can count, never with the right look or the right connections. No one wanted to deal with a bassist who might need to sit down between sets, someone who required a bit of patience, no matter how good he sounded.

But finally, someone has said yes. Someone sees his skill, his potential. He swallows and manages a shaky smile.

“Hell yes!” Jinx crows, practically launching herself out of her chair. She slings an arm around Viktor’s shoulders without warning, grinning up at him like they’ve been friends for years.

Ekko’s right behind her, offering a handshake that turns into a quick, solid clasp on Viktor’s arm. “Told you someone would surprise us.”

Viktor barely has time to react before they’re both talking over each other, peppering him with questions about gear, practice schedules, and favorite take out spots. The sudden closeness is dizzying. But not unwelcome. It’s noisy, warm, alive.

Still, even in the middle of it, Viktor’s gaze drifts back to Jayce. And Jayce, leaning against the table with his hands in his pockets, is still watching him.

For the first time in a long while, Viktor feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.