The Marching Band AU//brallon -under major editing

the sole survivor

Brendon was wrong.

You did sweat in pit, and you did complain about soreness. His face shimmers with sweat, his hands oily from gripping his sticks too tightly. today was another after school practice and everyone was practicing outside. today, however, instead of practicing on the parking lot where it was shaded, they were playing on the football field. 

It was not shaded here, and the sun was unrelenting. Brendon almost felt bad for the drumline, knowing what it was like to be marching with a heavy drum weighing you down in this heat. It was late September, and yet in the distance you could see the waves of heat rising from the turf.

Of course, he didn't really feel bad for them. Not when he was sweating like a pig with Mr. Hasty critiquing his every move. 

"No, no, guys, no!" Mr. Hasty waved his hands to cut them off before continuing, "Guys, how many times have I told you that measures 105 to 120 are in six eight?" 

There were mumbles of "too many" and groans.  Mr. Hasty massaged his temples as if rubbing the time signature into his student's brains. "Take five. Dallon, I won't be back for thirty minutes or so, take over?" Brendon was startled out of his self-pitying thoughts by this question. 

He looked questioningly to Tyler, who walked the four feet to Brendon's neighboring instrument and stating; "Dallon's the section leader. A senior." Tyler's face was flushed, sweaty like Brendon's. It made him feel a little bit better.

Dallon was making his way around the assortment of instruments, holding his water bottle, music, and stick bag to his chest. Brendon walked a careful distance from the $10,000 instrument before dousing himself in the remains of his water jug. It's not like he wasn't already soaked. 

"Alright guys," Whipping his hair out of his face, Brendon looks up to the drum major podium Mr. Hasty had occupied a minute earlier to see a boy far too tall waving at the pit. "Go fill up your water bottles, wipe off your sticks, just be back here in five minutes. Good?" There was a chorus of "yes" and "thank god" from the crew, shuffling through the tightly packed keyboards. 

Brendon continues to stare at Dallon, though, despite his empty water jug hanging from his hand. The latter was flipping through Mr. Hasty's notes, even marking a few of his own. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Brendon starts toward the large barrels of water at the end of the field, where band moms were dumping fresh ice into the water. 

Before he could get far, however, Brendon is stopped by a soft voice calling from behind him. "Hey, Brendon right?" 

The boy in question turns to reply, "er," Finding himself suddenly young tied, Brendon just manages to choke out a "Y-yes" before a red flush finds it's way up his neck. 

Dallon doesn't seem to notice, though not making eye contact. "I- I'm Dallon. I just wanted to introduce myself." He turns back to his notes, mumbling to himself;  "Dallon's the name, section leader's the game. That's shit." It's clear he doesn't mean for Brendon to hear, or realizes that Brendon is still standing there, still staring perplexed at the tall blue eyed boy. 

^~^

I kept erasing everything I wrote because it was all shit (not like this isn't but i gave up on the fourteenth time) 

sorry for the lateness. I'll try my bestest to update by friday, but don't hold me to that. 

Teaser: regionals is coming soooon and that means room assignments and eight hour long bus rides oh no