Once a band, always a band

Chapter 1

The neon-lit paradise of the city lights in the night flashed by as Katsuki rode in the back of his Uber, but he wouldn’t have noticed much. His eyes were shut as he tried to lose himself in the music blasting from the Airpods in his ears, drowning out the driver’s own music of choice. His foot and fingers tapped to the rhythm of the snare and the kick of the bass drums. The soft, gray hood of his zip-up sweatshirt underneath his well-worn leather jacket was pulled over his head, keeping his head cushioned against the headrest of the carseat. He was a bit more irritable than usual and sleep deprived, but the dark circles under his eyes went well with the rocker look.

Requests were few and far between, but he still picked up gigs as a way to relieve stress and let out his anger ‘in a healthy way,’ as his therapist described it. Katsuki was on a particularly tough assignment miles away from the apartment he called home, so instead of blowing up his hotel room in frustration, he responded to an email for the first time in months. The venue where the gig was located seemed to be in a place he thought was more obscure in the city where it wouldn’t attract too many fans.

As soon as he came back to his hotel room that night, he had showered quickly and threw on one of the few shirts he had in his duffel bag. None of them were really suited for performing, but he doubted the host would care. He settled for one of the less faded shirts with the sleeves ripped off, scowling in the mirror as he realized it had RED RIOT emblazoned obnoxiously as the hero himself on the front. “Fucking Shitty Hair!”

The car neared downtown, towards the center of the city, and Katsuki saw more and more people trickling onto the streets. The nightlife was just beginning, still early on a Saturday night. Eventually, the car slowed to stop in front of a closed Italian restaurant in a more deserted area of the city, but it matched the address Katsuki had received in the email (he was sure; he checked it three times). He left one pod in his ear and opened the car door, removing his hood and giving a gruff thanks to the flustered and star-struck driver.

The promoter ran to meet him as the car pulled away. He smelled heavily of tobacco, with acne-covered cheeks and oily, slick-backed hair, and his suit buttons strained around his heavy-set form. “Bakugou-san, we’re so honored to have you play for us,” he squeaked. “I’m Akutagawa, the owner of The Hidden Vault. I sent the request.”

“Yeah, so let’s do this.”

“This way,” he chuckled nervously, when Katsuki didn’t attempt to say anything else. The promoter led him into a dark alley between the bricks of the towering buildings. Immediately Katsuki sharpened his senses and his defense rose, on guard for any possible danger. He didn’t sense anything suspicious and finally they stopped in front of one of the back entrances of what seemed to be an underground bar.

The unmistakable sound of muffled music drifted out from behind the door while flashing multicolored lights peeked through the cracks in the doorway in front of where a big security guard stood with his arms across his chest.

“Our guest,” the promoter announced pointedly. The security guard eyed him and stepped aside, opening the door and letting them both through.

They entered the venue, taking a long flight of stairs down into the depths of the building. The walls seem to reverberate with the pounding of the bass and the raucous mix of voices. Katsuki followed the promoter as they slunk along the back walls to get to the backstage door. He ran a hand through his hair, finding it difficult to breathe in the claustrophobic space, worsened by the number of bodies crowded together. The stuffy air was pungent with sweat and body odor, and he wrinkled his nose as the scent of spilled alcohol, cigarette smoke, and other substances mingled in his nostrils.

The feminine voice crooning in the background tickled the edges of his memory, prompting him to look up and search for the source. Dark purple and fiery red eyes locked from across the room as she sang into the mic. The singer acknowledged him with a small, interested lift in her eyebrows and a slight nod in his direction.

He averted his eyes from the distracting way her lips brushed the microphone. “You didn’t tell me Earphone Jack was going to be here,” he said brusquely as he followed the promoter -- what was his name again? -- backstage. Where Kyouka went, a crowd was sure to follow. So much for being obscure.

“I-I wasn’t sure if that was a make or b-break factor,” the promoter stammered and rambled on, pushing the door open and almost tripping through. “I know you went to high school with her and were together in A Band. I’m sorry, Bakugou-san, b-b-but we were really needing business a-and she accepted at the last minute, too! I-I had no idea, I swear!”

“Whatever,” Katsuki shoved past him and wrenched the drumsticks from his hands. “Just get me a drink.” He winced with the sudden movement, cursing to himself. He had ignored his injuries and hadn’t bothered to really dress his wounds back at the hotel. Katsuki hoped the few broken ribs wouldn’t prevent him from playing, but then again, nothing really stopped him from doing anything.

The promoter scurried away to meet his request and the other crew members’ mouths dropped open, scampering about to make room for the hero. They tittered amongst themselves and tried not to meet his eyes, though in fear or awe, he couldn’t be sure.

Katsuki claimed a spot on one of the faded couches, throwing his leather jacket and his hoodie off and plopping down. The hood had barely made a dent in his stubborn hair, which still spiked up in every direction. The promoter had sent another person to deliver Katsuki a mixed drink, which he finished quickly and immediately asked for three more.

It wasn’t too long before the music stopped and there was the sound of a muffled round of applause. “Thank you guys, we’ll be back after a quick break.”

The curtains pulled back, and Katsuki watched as the star of the show stepped through, accepting a water bottle a crew member handed her and taking a long swig. She seemed to get along well with the backstage crew, who were scrambling about as they ran to Kyouka offering this and that, and she thanked them with a warm and friendly smile. They seemed to adore her, and rightfully so.

The dark eyeliner and eyeshadow smudged around Kyouka’s eyes matched the deep violet staining her lips. Little flashes of light caught on the small sparkling stones of the piercing below her left lip, right eyebrow, and the others dotting the edge of her ears. The oversized black denim jacket she had on sat halfway down her arms, revealing a lacy black bodysuit that dipped low in the back and the front, tucked under black denim high-waisted shorts. Pale, smooth skin peeked through fishnet tights, and she had on combat boots with chunky block heels. The fingerless gloves she used to wear as a teen were gone. Instead, rows of rings with various stones and finishes were stacked on each finger, and the black nail polish on her fingernails completed the rest of her outfit. She had wispy bangs cut straight across her forehead, similar to like she had when they were younger, but her sleek hair was much longer, the top half sectioned up in a messy bun and the rest loose and hanging down her back and shoulders.

Finally, she turned towards Katsuki, stopping by the refreshment table on her way to him. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite drummer boy, ” she said, her hands fishing in a cooler. She brought out two beers, popping the tops off at the edge of the table before walking over and handing one to him.

Katsuki grunted his thanks as he accepted. “It’s been a while.”