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“You what?”

“You heard me!”

Icy orbs of cut amethyst glared into flaming jade.

“You can’t just quit!” Yohji shrieked, his voice echoing through the large auditorium. “The show is in two days!”

“Oh?” Aya roared back, his hands balling into fists. “Watch me!” With one last scowl, he whipped around and stomped off towards the backstage.

“Aya-san!” Crawford, Black Angel’s manager, called gently as he stumbled up the stairs, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Why would you want to quit? If this is about money...”

“It’s not about money!” the angry member spat. “It’s about him.” He said, his voice growing more deadly by the second. “I joined to play my guitar because that’s what I love to do...” He turned back towards the group, his face furious. “…Not to get my face shoved in his crotch!” He shrieked, his hands motioning wildly in Yohji’s direction.

Schuldich snorted, but went back to tuning his already-tuned bass guitar as Aya’s cold glare was directed at him.

“You heard the fans!” Yohji shouted, motioning towards the empty seats, the bright streaks of vivid blue scattered throughout his tresses glinting in the overhead lights. “They loved it! And isn’t the whole point to entertain the audience?”

“I don’t care!” the furious red head cried, shoving his guitar into its case and snapping it shut with a fierce click. “Go get yourself another boy toy.” He called over his shoulder, stalking towards the exit again. “ I’m not putting up with your crap anymore.”

“Aya-san! Aya-san!” Crawford ran after him, his dress shoes clicking noisily against the wooden floor.

But it was too late. The door slammed and he was gone, the zoom of an engine heard moments later.

Omi sighed quietly and set his drumsticks down, giving Yohji an unreadable glance as he passed by on his way towards Nagi. He whispered something quietly into the guitarist’s ear as he reached him, a small frown on his lips. The calm dark haired boy nodded and smiled softly, taking Omi’s hand in his own as they began conversing quietly, each periodically glancing over at a scowling Yohji.

“You can shove my face into your crotch anytime, Yotan…” a nasal voice breathed into his ear. Yohji made a sound of disgust as he pushed himself away from Schuldich, who couldn’t stop grinning at the singer, his eyes wandering over his lithe form.

“Well…” Crawford began, sighing as he reappeared from behind the dark stage curtains, running a hand through his ebony hair. “…what do you plan to do at the concert now Yohji-san?” he asked quietly, trying to hide the irritation in his voice. Lately, Yohji had become more hostile than ever, his popularity going to directly his head. Omi was the only original member of Black Angel besides Yohji, solely due to the fact that he was the lead singer’s younger brother and could never be upset with him for too long. The rest of the members came and went like the flavor of the week, none of them having the capability to put up with Yohji’s attitude.

Nagi had joined a few months ago when he started dating Omi, and was only staying now because of the bishounen. Crawford had plucked Schuldich out of a smoky club in a moment of desperation; their 4th bassist quitting after Yohji had unceremoniously grabbed his ass during his only solo. Yohji hated Schuldich, which made him safe from Yohji’s actions, but Schuldich gravitated towards the singer like a moth to a flame, and made a pass on him about every five seconds. And Aya…Crawford knew that Aya wouldn’t last long with that quick temper, but he had at least hoped that he would have stayed for the entire tour. But now he was gone and they needed a guitarist…fast.

“You’re the manager, you figure it out.” Yohji said, mindlessly twirling a sapphire strand of hair around his finger.

“Fine…” Crawford said exasperatedly. It was no use to argue with him. “Okay…” he rubbed his temples, his eyes tightly shut as he thought of how in the hell he was going to pull this off. “If all else fails, Nagi…I need you to look over Aya’s parts tonight, incase I can’t find anyone.”

“But…!”

“Please don’t argue with me!” Crawford spat out, trying not to direct all his anger onto the back up guitarist. It wasn’t his fault. It was Yohji’s fault…it was always Yohji’s fault. Good God, why did he keep this job?

“Schuldich, go club hopping and see if any bands are playing.” He noticed the orange haired man’s slowly growing grin. “And please keep your concentration on the bands please. And don’t bring me a horde of pretty boys who can’t even spit out ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’.”

Crawford ignored the small pout that formed on Schuldich’s face. Hey, it had happened before. By the somber look on Omi’s face, he knew that the kind-hearted drummer remembered the twenty boys Schu brought in the last time as painfully well as he did. Half of the bishounen weren’t even aware how to read music, much less play the guitar. “And don’t you dare tell them what band they’re auditioning for! Eight thousand people crowding through the doors is the last thing we need right now.”

“Hai, hai!” Schuldich said, rolling his eyes in mock-exasperation.

“And I…” he said, not to anyone, but more to himself really, chewing on a fingernail in unease. “I guess I’ll do the same thing I did to get Aya…post some random flyers,” he said with a shrug.

“Why not call the record company and ask if we can borrow someone?” Nagi suggested.

“Because they’d be furious if they knew that another member quit-not to mention in the midst of the tour.”

“Need any help?” Omi queried, his eyes showing only sympathy towards their manager. Crawford had always felt bad for Omi, who was constantly apologizing for his brother’s arrogant behavior.

//If I were that little prick’s brother, I’d disown him in two seconds flat…// Crawford thought to himself as he smiled at Omi.

“Aa. I don’t need that much help really, but it would be nice to have some company.”

“I’ll go with you then.” Omi said, giving Nagi’s hand one last squeeze before he walked over to the American. “…Nagi’s going to be driving himself crazy trying to learn Aya’s part anyway…” He winked at his lover. “...I’d just be a distraction.”

A small blush painted the dark-haired boy’s cheeks as he nodded slightly. “I guess I’ll see you late tonight then.” He quickly packed up his guitar and walked over to where Aya had been standing, picking up several loose sheets of music that had been thrown on the floor.

“Everyone be here tomorrow at nine AM! Not PM! AM!” he called. “Ready, Omi?” Crawford asked, watching the distressed look on Nagi’s face as he leafed though the music. It was difficult, but Nagi was a hard worker.

//Hopefully, I can find someone in time…//

He trotted down the stage to pick up his briefcase that was resting on one of the many plush red seats that faced the stage. Schuldich said his goodbyes and sauntered off towards one of the exits in the back. Crawford climbed back up towards Omi, his mind reeling with thoughts and worries.

“What about me?”

The manager’s head whipped over towards the strong voice to see Yohji, who was sitting leisurely on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling in the air. A smug look was plastered on his face as he looked at the American, an amused glint dancing in his eyes.

Crawford really didn’t have the patience for Yohji at the moment.

He took a gentle hold of Omi’s upper arm and they headed out one of the side doors. Crawford paused a moment as he stood in the doorway, turning back to the singer. The foreigner’s outline was framed in the blinding light of the day outside, his facial expression covered in shadows.

“Why don’t you try and figure out why everyone in your band keeps quitting,” he suggested bitterly, his anger seeping out slightly towards the end, the words becoming cutting.

With that he slammed the door, and Yohji was alone to think about it…if he even bothered.

***

“Over here, Ken!” Cole called, stepping out of the garage and waving at the chocolate haired man. Ken slowly rose from his seat on the worn, wooden porch steps, brushing off his cargo khaki shorts.

“Not inside today?” he called back as he saw Cole situating some small speakers around, his platinum hair practically glowing in the afternoon sun.

“Nah,” Cole said, dragging out a small microphone stand. “My mom started twitching when I walked in, so I thought it would be best if we practiced out here.” He said with a wink, stormy blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Ken tried to keep himself from melting into those eyes like some swooning fangirl. Cole and Ken had been best friends since childhood, despite their contrasting outward appearances. Ken had a healthy golden glow to his skin, like he had just been to the beach, and he walked with an air of carelessness about him. Cole looked like he had been carved out of a smooth, untouched piece of the whitest ivory, making every movement look like a well-planned act of elegance and grace. Ken’s hair was a deep brown, with soft locks that tumbled over warm coffee eyes, flecked with tiny pieces of gold. Cole’s hair was a platinum blonde that shone brightly even in the dark. He had it spiked up usually, much to Ken’s dismay, who preferred it when it was down. Then, the fine strands would drop down adorably into his unusually colored eyes. Ken thought it looked like the sky just before it was going to snow, a pale blue gray that looked so cold but seemed so warm when they looked at him.

Their sexual preferences had never been a secret, and thankfully both were the same way, enabling them to survive the hard years of high school, where people are noted for being the least understanding and compassionate to ones that are different. Shortly after graduation, the two finally gave into the growing attraction between them and became lovers. Ken had never been happier in his life. Cole knew everything about him and still loved him, and Ken felt the same way. Currently, they attended a local college, both of them too interested in music to ever really care that much about grades. They’d dreamed of being rock stars since they were in elementary school, and dammit, it was gonna happen. Cole had an amazing voice, and Ken was beginning to get pretty damn good with his guitar. They meshed perfectly together.

The thing was - nobody else did.

They had tried out together for various groups, but as good as they sounded together, they could never sound right with anyone else.

Ken would always joke that if he could play the guitar and the drums at the same time, they’d be perfect. Cole would sigh and shake his head mournfully. He was a great singer, yes, but that was it. He had zero talent in the instrument area, completely butchering any song he attempted to play. They actually were quite good on their own, Cole just singing or Ken just playing, but the two adamantly refused to be split up – saying that they were in it together no matter what happened.

Perfectly flawed- that was them. But that never kept them from playing.

Ken stole a glance at Cole as he took his cheap guitar out of its beat up case. Cole had ended their relationship a couple of months ago, worrying that it was putting their treasured friendship under strain. He said that he thought they might make better friends than lovers, and they should see other people before they decided to stay together for good.

Ken thought that was a load of bullshit.

They were perfect for each other! Couldn’t Cole see that? Ken didn’t want to see other people. He didn’t want anyone else.

He just had to wait for Cole to feel the same way.

***

“Dammit!”

Schuldich growled and threw his cell phone in the freshly cut grass of one of the many perfect lawns that covered the suburban street. Schuldich hated the suburbs; they were so…so…Brady Bunch. So of course, his car had to break down, and of course, his cell phone wouldn’t work. Well, that could be because he didn’t charge it last night, but that wasn’t the point! The point was that he was trapped in suburbia hell and he hadn’t even found one half decent guitarist in the clubs he had scoured.

He was going to head across town to see if the clubs there had anyone worth listening to, and by using his superior sense of direction…

… he had gotten hopelessly lost.

And now… *poof*! His car decided to just die. Not on the freeway, not on a busy street, but here. Christ, all this bird twittering and dog barking was about to drive him mad. If he didn’t at least find someone to at least try and replace Aya, well, Crawford would probably serve his ass on a plate for dinner. Getting to be a member of Black Angel was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and the last thing he wanted was to get kicked out of for not working hard enough. Schuldich was not going to leave unless he was taking a very damn sexy singer along with him for the ride.

Yohji was the hottest thing that walked the face of this earth and Schuldich was going to get him, whether the lanky Japanese man liked it or not. Shit, if Yohji shaked his ass any more in those hot little numbers he wore during their shows, he swore he was going to pounce him.

A kid on a bike whizzed past, swerving slightly as they took in the German’s startling appearance. He still had on some eyeliner from the practice, and not that his orange hair wasn’t already noticeable; he had gotten his mane streaked with bright red when he joined Black Angel. His tight red leather pants and long black fur trimmed jacket probably weren’t helping him fit in either. Schuldich sighed and slipped on his sunglasses, eyes scanning the houses.

//The last thing I need is some housewife screaming and dropping her casserole, or worse, her baby, when she sees me.// Schuldich thought with faint amusement.

He locked his car and strolled down the sidewalk, trying to decide on which house to approach. The majority of the homes had scrawny annoying dogs that would yap at him every time his passed by, clawing at the fence.

“Just try it, buddy.” He whispered to one of them as he passed by, the small pooch chasing him from behind the wooden barrier between them. “I’ll snap that cute little neck of yours.”

He was seriously thinking about it too, but suddenly a faint sound caught his ear.

Singing. Someone was singing.

It was a really beautiful voice. Rich and filled with emotion, Schuldich was drawn to it.

//If only we were looking for a singer…I-//

Then a guitar came in, blending perfectly with the voice. It really was a nic-

Wait, guitar?

Guitar!!!

//HELL YES!//

Schuldich flew down the street; unaware of just how many lives he was just about to change.

TBC...Wuv you Hannah chaaaan! Happy Bday!

[The Archives]