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Let Me Light Up The Sky

Summary:

--For a single heartbeat, Cloud thinks ‘oh shit, it’s terrible.’

And then an abrupt roar of screaming and clapping washes over them. Louder than Cloud has heard, he stumbles back a step.--

Rock Band AU: Cloud Strife has gone from band to band without one sticking. Maybe he's just difficult to work with or maybe the universe has been holding out on him, until now.

Notes:

This all because I want Zack to be an idiot, chaotic drummer. I've got way too much art drawn for this stupid AU- I'll link it at the end of the fic! This puppy is all written and ready to be updated. Just have to edit left- so this guy will be outta WIP territory by next weekend.

As always- have fun reading!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Tomorrow Will Be Yesterday

Chapter Text

 

Everything fades down to a single echo in his head. Deep inhales drawing focus to him. Taking in the air; heavy with old wood, metal, and overheated stage lights.

He knows it well. It welcomes his soul as much as it calls fear to him. A home and an adrenaline spiking his breath all in one. The musky smell is warmer and stronger in this venue. Smaller, tighter, drawing him in. Pushing the sound away from his ears more than usual. Just his own lungs giving him a calm to the nerves, even after so long, thrumming in his system. Dark shadows fall everywhere and his silent steps bring him into a blinding light of already hot stage lights. Punches whatever inner nervous is blocking out the sound with a pop. Roaring and rushing; the chattering and the excited shouting as he steps out under the blistering rays. It’s the same as always and yet still new. Still thrilling and scary and the craving for it never leaves him.

The crowd is massive. Shoved in shoulder to shoulder, hard for a small place, but these types of gigs are the best. With their sudden growing popularity, smaller shows are far and few in between. He misses them. The intimacy of seeing every face smiling and vibrating with uncontrollable happiness gives him something unnameable. Safe and vulnerable all at once.

Warmth in his chest.

He goes right to his guitar, sitting pretty for him in its stand. Tucked back against the raised drum set Zack is settling behind. Swinging his leg to straddle the small seat put there for him. Already twirling a drumstick in one hand and grinning with such vibrant energy, it jumps the small distance between them to invade his own chest. Just a split second. That’s all he gets to connect their gazes before the lights shut off and flicker into complete darkness. Only the growing crescendo of screaming off the stage left.

“Ready, Cloudy-Skies?” Zack’s voice drifts to him. His soft tone tingles Cloud’s skin, along with the light tapping on his snare.

Cloud laughs with jitters for multiple reasons. Smirks back at Zack, knowing he’ll feel it through the static in the air. He slips his neck brace over his shoulder; grasping the cool weight of his guitar. Brand new, more expensive than he’s ever had and custom. A Kiesl, not the same worn in spots his old second hand fender back on the bus, but it’s light in his grip and the smooth curves under his skin are cool. Zack had been pretty adamant about him getting it (“come onnnn, Spikes, custom made, she’ll treat you real good. Flex well with that fuckin’ synth pedal you never switch up.”)

He was right, of course. The gentle brushing of the strings crackles a nice clear sound through the amp speakers. Crisp, tight in, all his mistakes noticeable, but it’s worth the vibration left in his stomach. He knows it’s worth it. Played it far too long at the studio, unsure if it’ll throw him off. Up here with faces waiting for the show to start, In the illumination of dust drifting in light rays, and the hush coming over the crowd. He knows it’ll sound clean cut.

Soul touching, if he’s feeling cheesy about it.

He checks his plugins as his bandmates get into their places and the lights flicker through to the starting visuals. Cloud shifts and drops the guitar lower, so he can relax and lean in good. A static from Aerith at the front mic and Kunsel strums a few notes of bass next to him. Behind him, Zack’s tapping his rims with more urgency.

“Wow!” Cloud takes his place as Aerith’s sweet voice rings out over the sudden falling of voices. Eager to hang onto her every word, “they really packed you guys in down there.” 

A short round of laughter.

“Well, whaddya think Scowls? Should we give them a new taste right off the bat?”

Cloud laughs; used to the nicknames from everyone by now. His soft chuckle echoes loud through the mic. The stage lights behind them flicker on again, a soft blue light this time. Dimmer, not as bright, and he can see the crowd a lot clearer in the dark. 

Rumors of a new album-a signed album-dropping have been circling for months and every show they’ve had in the last few weeks they’ve held off. Of course Aerith wants to give a more personal audience a sneak peek. A venue this small, this far out of a big city, it’ll be a lot of their hardcore fans screaming at them tonight. There’s no doubt as well-ShinRa knows their fan base. The start of a new tour, with a tiny, intimate place like this will do wonders for them.

“Just a small taste,” Cloud says. Small smile, more for the sea of faces than at Aerith. 

It’s all the intro they need. Zack’s shouting an overly pumped, incoherent yell and banging his drumsticks in a count off. Low rumbles of Kunsel’s bass and Aerith’s giggling into her mic as she yanks back onto her heels and sways with giddiness. Three counts in from Zack are his cue to pick up.

Their first song on a record signed album. They’ve done pretty well- two previous independently. Small but theirs. The nerves come shooting back to him as he goes through the newish, simple note arrangement of the opening measures. It’s a risk too, their new one album. Slower- a changed up sound, not so heavy on the deep bass and less of Aerith’s immediate throaty screaming. 

He can hear it all ready-sell outs. Too modern in their new album but… well they’ve never been deep into the metal genre. They change style often and Cloud likes pretty lyrics with a dark sound. The only thing they’ve kept consistent; overly complicated. Keep his hands busy and Zack’s tempo high. Give Kunsel more than just harmonizing bass and Aerith sweet words that probably are on the far side of slightly confusing and deeply melancholy. 

If he’s really honest- he’s surprised the record company is letting them take so much creative freedom. He told Tifa no compromise. Not this time, not with this band. After that promise to Kunsel and Aerith; the pull on Zack’s worried expression. Cloud’s too attached. Too desperate to hold on to what just fell into his lap. 

If he’s even more honest. He’s scared. Tifa’s been in and out of his life since he was barely old enough to walk. Always a good friend, but still distant. Their connection never clicking into constant contact. When she’d landed that job at one of the biggest record labels in the country-ShinRa Labels-he’d pushed their distance even more. Cheating. He’d felt it was cheating to get a record deal from a connection alone. He supposes that’s what most albums come down to, eventually. Who you know. 

Whenever his tiny secret of Tifa’s friendship reared its ugly head with his bandmates, well... those bands aren’t together anymore for a reason. And it’s not the mediocre playing or the semi-off-tune signing on random gig nights. It’s the nitpicking and the aggression and the blaming Cloud couldn’t take. Constricted and limited. He knows he’s a pretty face and his voice is more unique than tuned. But his hand skills. His handling of a guitar. That’s his reputation, his in, his shining star. That and he used to work as stand in guitar at the recording studios in ShinRa.

Along with Tifa’s friendship, his other secret is writing. 

Too soft for metal. For rock. That’s the usual scoff and rejection. The reason his writing gets blown off. Cloud’s never fit in anywhere and his style of writing follows along with that pattern. He doesn’t want to write about crushing anxiety and endless suffering. Or overwhelming stupid toxic rage. Or cringe worthy dramatic love. 

He just wants to write about life.

Wants to come across real and raw.

About the pounding rain in a sudden storm manifesting a deep longing.

About the warm laugh of friends and the quiet hum of road tips that complete’s something he didn’t realize was missing.

Whatever it is, instead of one singularity that is typical in the genre they fall into. Being boxed into boring and repetition was always his experience. Until Aerith, until Zack and Kunsel- this band. Even Tifa, he’d never really mentioned the stuff he wrote on the side. Got torn down too many times to keep bother trying. He’s gotten used to sticking to his skill to get by. 

Eventually, it isn’t enough.

Cloud puts his whole being into music. His thoughts and emotions. When he’s angry, he plays angry. Too much reverb and clipping in his notes. When he’s sad he’s got to focus on Zack’s set tempo otherwise, he’ll want to slow everything down. None of it mattered until this band. Not his need to write or his overly enthusiastic exploration of distinct sounds. 

Not his friendship with Tifa. 

Three years. Took three years of gradually making a name for themselves and for Cloud to watch and take in his bandmates. Trust them. Weigh the outcome if they got a record deal with a big company. Would all of it be taken away? If Cloud was tired of holding back, would they drop him? It’s what he was used to, after all. Somehow, the universe this time around said yeah okay enough persistent letdown. 

Now, in the present and under the burning lights, it’s the fans' reactions he’s nervous about.

There will always be others, though. That’s the thing with music. What one person hates, ten more will love. Just depends then, on how many people ShinRa wants them to risk losing. Another risk, to let them drop a single with this song. Slow. Cloud’s favorite, but it never is a major hit. Not as an introduction single.

Tifa seems to think differently with this one and their producers at ShinRa agreed with her. Maybe it’s the long notes in the lyrics that let his rasp grit out. Or the punches of harmonious tones between him and Aerith hitting up after his rifts. The deep pounding of the drums and the low baseline jumping all around scales. 

It’s one of his songs. Makes the nerves worse than usual, even as he hits every note perfectly. Gets in the extra flare he likes for live shows. Even Zack manages to control his normal ‘gotta pick up the pace’ tendencies. 

Beautifully sad-without a dull beat and just slow enough to bring out a deep, haunting in his chest. At least, that’s how Zack describes it. Tifa just keeps saying it’s a hit and Aerith sighs like she knows his thoughts after every performance.

The song comes to a satisfying close with the last of Zack’s heavy taps and the dying of Kunsel’s bass line. His own last echo of the chorus line across the wires of his guitar. Aerith sighs into the mic. A genuine sense she never really seems to realize she has until her eyes flutter back open and she remembers they are on stage. 

It’s silent in the building. That excited hush from before faded into absolutely nothing. 

For a single heartbeat, Cloud thinks ‘oh shit, it’s terrible.’

And then an abrupt roar of screaming and clapping washes over them. Louder than Cloud has heard, he stumbles back a step. Subconsciously, towards Zack’s drum set. 

“Woah,” he barely hears from his right. Kunsel’s voice getting drowned out from the crowd. 

Aerith’s laughing again, breathless and soft. Jumping right back to the mic; Entertaining the crowd until the shock of the reaction leaves her boys. She always recovers faster. 

Okay, so Tifa might be right about that hit after all.

And if she is, Cloud gets to keep it all.

His writing.

His weirdly complicated melodies.

Aerith’s sweetly timed giggles and Kunsel’s joyous body slams.

Zack’s boyish grins and barks of bright laughter. 

Finally his.

***

2 Years Ago

It was barely even a crowd. Just a handful of drunk people and the annoyed, bored bartender under the dim lights. She keeps rolling her eyes at the lackluster of a response they are getting.

Not that Cloud can blame anyone, drunk or not, they are pretty terrible. All over the place in tone and the drummer can’t keep tempo. He’s a stand in for Roche-out with a cold- not that Cloud really cares. He doesn’t think he can stand being in this terrible, use-him-for-his-connections-only band for a weekend longer.

That and if he has to listen to that pretentious redhead spew his shitty song ideas one more time, he might do more than snip at him. A nice shiner on his too pretty face would be very satisfying. Especially after one of Genesis’s stupid lectures on why Cloud isn’t allowed input on lyrics. Cause he’s not the singer. Just the guitarist-a second one at that. What the hell does he know. It’s the last time he joins a band as a favor.

Fucking Roche.

In reality, he did it for more than just an owed favor. Joining bands just for a slight chance at... something. The extra money, he guesses, cause the joy in playing in a group isn’t really sticking with this band.

Or the last one.

Or the one before that.

Cloud rolls his own eyes as they close out the song, and the silence comes roaring up at him. Embarrassingly, His irritation is winning out. 

“Are you fucking serious,” Genesis rounds on him, sneering quietly with a heated glare, “learn to keep with tempo newbie.”

Learn... maybe their goddamn stand in drummer should learn what tempo even is. Cloud never thought he’d see the day where he misses Roche. 

“I’m not the problem.”

“No?” Genesis says, voice dripping in sarcasm, “that wasn’t you I heard skipping half those rifts?”

Of course, because they were all over the place and Cloud was trying to lead them back on track, as much as a second guitarist can. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you lazy-shits learned what fucking rhythm means,” he mumbles subconsciously. He’s so tried. Tired of being shoved into a box, of being sidelined. Of the same shit over and over. He’s never mentioning to anyone ever again that he knows someone who started working in management at ShinRa Labels. 

“The hell you say?” Genesis normally chill exterior deteriorates quickly. 

He should have let it go. Just walked away instead of snipping back. Because only a few quick lines back and forth and Cloud’s throwing out a punch that lands weird. Hits good though, Genesis goes crashing off the stage. Rather pathetically. More of a stumble, but he huffs and bitches dramatically at him to never show his face to them again.

Fine.

That’s... fine.

Cloud sighs. Stands on stage for a while and stares at the ever drunker groups of people as his ex-bandmates walk off. Just leave the set. They still have another hour to fill. It’s not substantial money, but it’ll buy him groceries for the next two weeks. Cloud sighs and shakes off the embarrassment as much as he can.

He can play solo. That’s not a problem. He pulls back the two mics, grabs a high stool, and shoves the amp left behind up closer. Plugs in with a wince as the low, gritting groan and whine from the single mic echo. Catches the bartender’s eye real quick and nods slowly. Her approval for him to play alone obvious.

Maybe it’s better that way. His voice is... not amazing. Can hold his own and he’s been told before he has a ‘fresh’ different tone. Raspiness going in his long held notes and his low tones. The times he can get low. He stays mid to high range usually. Clear and bright. Strong, rarely falling back on his vibrato. 

Wiggling down onto the stool only starves off the odd feeling of fighting on stage and no one giving a shit. The embarrassment burning in his cheeks. But, the moment he plucks away at his guitar, falling back into easy, mellow tunes that ring between blues and grunge. He’s half tempted to play his own songs. If only his confidence hasn’t dwindled on them. 

That’s okay anyway. Might be too sad and rain-chasing for a bar like this. Bluesy rock songs, it is. It’ll appease the bar owners, anyway. Better than the shit Genesis can barely come up with. 

He keeps the reverb minimal and grinds low on the longer notes, vibrating his hands and deep in his soul. His head low and plays too roughly even through the slow melodies. Cuts at the calluses that always linger on his fingers. He could pull out the many extra picks he carries, but sometimes when he’s this put-down and irritated, he likes the rough strings on his hands. Helps the pain he needs to realize dig deeper as he plays. 

Gritty, dark, and slow. Like the slow nights in his memory of the jazz club his mother always dragged him to when she couldn’t find a sitter. He’d hang in the corner and watch the band play all night. Late in her shift, the blues would come out. Duo guitar and piano. All soul and enclosed emotion. Now it echoes from within him rather than at him. 

The hour goes by fast for him. He doesn’t even realize until the bartender is standing just to the side and taps at the floor of the stage. 

“Times up, cutie. Can’t pay you overtime,” her smile is gentle. The first one he’s seen aimed at him, “you real good by yourself, though. If you still in town, could talk my boss into booking you again.”

Doomed then. That’s what he must be. Doomed to bars and quiet gigs. It’s not terrible. Not great money either. He’ll miss the playoff of a group, but that’s been shit luck for so long Cloud doesn’t get why he still longs for it. He never longs for people in any other setting. So why does the appeal of a band pull at his chest so much?

Sometimes it hurts, he wants it so badly. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says. Still as awkward as ever.

She picks up on it. His bashfulness. Smiles with crinkles at the corner of her eyes and an air around her so similar to his mother he gets the urge to call her. Maybe he will when he gets back to his shitty studio. 

“Well, come on, come have a drink and I’ll get you your pay.”

The instruments aren’t his, just the guitar is. Keeps it tight to him as he steps off and wanders into the dimness of the bar. Leans it up against the counter and tucks it safely by his knees. A hand-me-down fender-an expensive one that his mother’s had for years and years. It’s not flashy and needs new strings soon but it has a smooth sound and amps up well enough. It’s all his luck too. Even if he could afford a new one, he’s got too much sentiment to rid this one completely. 

Bartender lady taps the wood in front of him and sets down a slick glass with a deep amber drink in it, “Cider special on the house, don’t look like a beer kinda guy.” 

Cloud laughs softly. He’s not. Takes the cider and nurses it slowly as he watches the slow coming and going of customers. 

Just as he’s near finishing the drink and his paycheck comes slipping to him, a small presence fills the space just outside his peripherals. Only has to glance back an inch or two to catch sight of her. A pretty young woman with long braided brown hair that catches amber highlights. She’s bundled in a cheap summer dress that cuts low. Half hidden by a worn-in and torn fake leather jacket.

“Hi,” she says in a surprisingly high voice. Rocks in her chunky combat boots with purpose, “saw you playing up there.”

Oh god.

“Uh.”

She smiles even wider at him, takes a few steps closer, and leans into his space.

“You normally play alone?”

Oh. Good, she missed the dramatics. Not that... well, Cloud’s not sure what she wants. Feels different from the random girls and guys that come up to him looking for a quickie after a show. No. This one isn’t throwing flirty vibes at him. Has a sparkle in her eyes he’s not familiar with. 

“Why?” He asks.

She only smiles more. Sticks out a nail paint chipping hand. 

“I’m Aerith.”

***

It’s how Cloud finds himself driving down narrow, old neighborhoods next Friday. Bright and early and wondering if he’s about to get murdered on an impulse choice. The house listed on the pretty, neatly handwritten address given to him only intensifies that might-get-killed-today tingling on his neck.

The place is a one-story house, up on a hill and away from the rest of the spaced neighborhood. It’s old, kept okay. Needs a new paint job from the chipping on the corners and the gutter on one side is tilting a little too much- put off every year of fixing. It’s really more the yard, completely let go and there are random lawn decorations that don’t match and have the beginnings of rust on them. The garage door is wide open, and somehow still looks dingy in the crisp, bright sunlight. Everything in it has that old and falling apart feel.

Except the cluster in the middle. A shiny navy drum set takes up much of the small garage and two scattered mics stand weakly near it. A flashy guitar sits on a stand and a deep red bass is already resting around the shoulders of someone Cloud doesn’t know. Aerith is skipping down the driveway to him-her dress flowing and girly compared to the scuffed boots she’s in. 

“Cloud! Hi! Good, good, I was a little worried I’d scared you away.”

It was weird. She’d sat right on that stool at the bar a week ago and chatted at him for over two hours. In truth, Cloud wasn’t going to show. He was still bitter about Genesis and his last ex-band. Stubbornly set in, fucking giving up and sticking to shitty dive bars for extra cash. Maybe pick up a day job and just resign to wistfully wishing he would find a band he clicked with one day. 

“Uh.”

She laughs; stops right up in his face and swings her hips around so her dress swishes back and forth.

“Oh no, I know that look. I promise, this house is misleading.”

He keeps staring at the doorway. A small kitchen knife lodged into the wooden pillar.

“Uh-is that a knife?”

Aerith laughs again, “Look, I have no excuses. This is Zack’s place, and he is still very much the frat boy I went to college with.”

Frat boy….

Cloud hums. His mind already backtracking and thinking he is just wasting his time. He’s not sure “being” a “frat boy” is enough of an excuse for knives stuck in parts of one’s house but... well, Cloud’s going to just try to keep his eyes on the ground. 

At least the instruments sitting pretty in the garage are well kept, well-known brands, knows the guitar series is old, but a nice clean sound. A bit more classic than he likes. Still. It’s the only hope he’s hanging on to here. 

Aerith keeps him down by the sidewalk long enough that when she finally leads him up the cracked driveway to the garage, there are two people already playing. One of them is Zack, and he’s betting it’s the drummer.

Drummers are always the weird, slightly off kilter ones.

Whatever ‘warmup’ the two guys are doing, Cloud can’t take them seriously. The drummer guy is obnoxiously flailing his limbs about. Pulling too many exaggerated expressions of silent screaming, hard headbanging, and squishing his lips in silly concentration. As if he’s never even touched a drum set before. The only real clue he kinda knows what he is doing is his comfortable, confident grip on the drumsticks. 

Bass guy isn’t much different, running up scales lazily and throwing his whole fucking body with silent beats, slipping a bit on the wet spot that is dripping from the garage door. 

“Oh my god,” Aerith mumbles under her breath. It’s very quiet, Cloud has stuck pretty close to her so he catches the irritation in her tone.

“Ahem.” She clears her throat, but it doesn’t interrupt them. The two getting more and more wildly ridiculous with the flailing limbs and terrible off-key singing. Cloud’s pretty sure kicking a leg out like that is actually impossible to do behind a drum set.

Seems to happen a few times too many for impossible.

“AHEM, okay.” Aerith physically goes and puts a hand on both of their heads, “you’re scaring away our first luck in months.”

So. He’s luck for them then? He resists the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. Everyone has to start somewhere and-okay-he knows people mess around all the time. Being silly doesn’t mean they can’t play. It’s just not a very reassuring first impression. 

Their playing fades and all three of them turn attention to Cloud, standing just at the garage’s end. It makes him very self-conscious. Goosebumps run up his skin.

He should have worn a jacket to hide in.

Drum guy breaks into an enormous smile that gives Cloud an odd heart stutter. He’s attractive, must be good for the band. Not that Aerith isn’t cute with her large eyes and long hair. And Kunsel has the strongest hipster-rocker vibe Cloud has seen in a while. 

Zack is just uniquely attractive, in an obvious-it’s making him a little jealous-way. With his hair falling in his face in wispy thick bangs and the spiked up layers in back are charmingly fitting. Structured face and quarter-size gauges bright against his tan skin, matching the many rings curling around his outer ear lobe, used-to-be-a-frat-boy vibes still linger. Must be the sly boyish grin he has going. 

“Find us a guitarist?”

“Yeah, of course, since you two are too busy jerking around. You know he noticed that stupid knife right away, Zack.”

Zack. The drummer. Cloud is right then.

He does sigh this time. 

“Oops.” Zack doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed. 

“Didn’t bring your own guitar?” The basset asks. He nods at the older guitar sitting on its stand, “set out one of mine for you to borrow.”

He did, actually. It’s sitting in the trunk of his car. Cloud nods. He’s curious. Three is small for a band so it’s a little surprising that Aerith doesn’t have her own instrument to play. 

“Cloud,” Aerith says a little late into the staring matches, “this is Kunsel and Zack.” 

“So, wanna play something for us?” Kunsel says after another longer pause of staring. 

Clod snorts this time, “why don’t you guys play something for me first?” It comes out real bitchy and skeptical, “Uh- I mean-”

Zack laughs. Loudly, with his entire body rocking back and his bangs sweeping in front of his bright blue eyes. 

That silliness from a few moments ago is long gone, and now Cloud can only focus on his summer skin and sculpted arms. I

“That’s fair,” Zack says through his laugh, “bet we look like a bunch of goobers, huh?”

Goobers….

“Bunch of goobers-band name, called it,” Kunsel says quickly. As if the over used and cheesy joke has been their private one between the three of them; Beating Aerith and Zack both to the punch. 

Cloud feels an odd intrusion when all three of them laugh in unison. And also a tiny sense of second-hand embarrassment. He’s never met a band with such dorky people. But maybe that’s the problem. Cloud always judges a bit too fast and looks for a band with a good image l before he finds out how shit they are.

As musicians and as people. 

A change would be good for him. Hears it in his mother’s voice. 

“Okay then, Blondie,” Kunsel says. Kicks a stool at him, “have a seat and get ready to be blown away.”

He’s not blown away, but he is impressed. And all his doubts of them being talented fade completely. He can tell right at the start. When their faces fall into serious mode and Zack’s light but strong tap off echos in the garage. They have skill. Clearly. Aerith’s got perfect pitch-rarely so-and has an edge to her voice lots of rock bands are missing. Her gritty scream echos with a rasp few girls have and shocks Cloud more than he thought. 

Kunsel is in love with bass. Shows with a precision and a gentleness across the strings that seasoned players have. Must have been with that particular bass a long time, to get such a wistful glint in his eyes. 

And Zack. 

Cloud will admit, as important as drummers are (heart of the band, really. A bad drummer can wreck a band real quick) he never pays that close attention when he’s auditioning for groups. Just kind of assumes the band is smart enough to pick someone who knows tempo immaculately.

But Zack. Zack has a chaotic energy running through him and spot on rhythm. Every snare flare and every rolling set. Every smack of his drum sticks vibrates through him. His ridiculous demeanor vanished. Rocks his body to the bass melodies and jerks with every pronounced beat. Feels his set throughout the song and the fucking lip-bitting is obscene enough he must bring in a lot of girls at their shows. 

They play two songs for him. An upbeat, heavy on the screams and a slower ballad. Like he thought, not blown away but impressed. 

A lot. 

There’s an edge to them he doesn’t see often. A lot of rock bands sound too similar, stick to the popular tricks and boring lyric material. 

These people, the weird bunch that they seem to be, have an interesting mix of alternative and grit. A pretty flare with clear sounds and a surprising metal element that doesn’t get much use outside the genre. 

Cloud isn’t an expert, but there’s a reason Tifa keeps in touch with him. Keeps asking him to come in and just think about signing with ShinRa- at least as a stand-in player with the label. Again. Fill in for bands that need it. At the very least. 

He turns it down, of course, but that reason is always with him. He can pick up on what’s missing pretty easy. Doesn’t always know how to fix it, but knows it’s there. Not a mistake, just something that is lacking.

The two songs they played are good, changes up keys at least once, and plays with tempo change enough to keep the repetition in their lyrics from standing out too much. Of course, no lead guitar so Cloud can’t judge too harshly when the band isn’t complete. 

More importantly, is the obvious heart they have. The care they take to develop their skills and the clear connection they have to the music. Not just going with the notes and the rhythm. Not just playing for the sake of practice. Cloud can see it right away. They have passion and drive. Feel every strum, every hit down in their bones. 

Like him. 

“So?” Aerith asks. Gaining back some of her breath with wide, pleading eyes. 

Yeah. He likes them. First time in a long time a sudden warmth in his chest blooms.

Excitement. 

“So... what do you wanna hear from me?” He asks. Takes that first step into the garage and grasps the extra guitar next to Zack’s drum set. 

“Well,” Aerith’s sigh relaxes her whole body back into the weird endearing swing she keeps doing, “I’ve already heard you, but- something complicated? Show off to these boys, mm?” 

Cloud laughs softly. Alright. He can do that. Picks a classic that always sticks in his head. Nothing too crazy fast or slow. Puts a small twist of blues into it and more vibrato than he needs to. The amp is small and old, but Cloud knows guitars inside and out. Shows off just a tad near the end and doesn’t realize he lost himself in playing until he’s opening his eyes and looking at two slack-jawed faces. 

“Holy shitting ducks—”

“—band name-called it—”

“—Aerith, where did you find him?”

A flush of smugness crosses her cheeks, “in a shitty little dive bar a few miles outta town.”

Zack’s shoving more bright happiness his way. Leaning all over his base drum and tapping the sides with one of his sticks. 

“Did we win you over?” Zack asks him this time, “at least a little? We can play for you some more.”

Cloud’s laugh is softer than he’s comfortable with strangers hearing. It’s the strong attention on him, he only likes it from faceless crowds. Not individuals, especially hot individuals.

“Um,” why not? He’s got nothing to lose. And he really wants to be part of a group. Misses it already- just one week without and he’s moping in his apartment, “sure? You guys do any gigs?”

“Oh- straight to business,” Kunsel smirks at him. His long hair sways in its thick bun when he tilts his body to the side. 

“Sometimes,” Aerith answers, “we have one next Friday, actually. Think you can learn a set by then?”

Of course he can. 

“Sure. Got all weekend open anyway.”

He’ll admit too. Feels nice to have the three of them smile with excitement at each other and then back at him. 

He hasn’t been wanted so openly like this in… maybe never. 

***

Sometimes. 

Sometimes they take gigs. 

Cloud huffs to himself for the third time that week. Shoving his way into the shitty old front door of Zack’s house. He’s tired from the show last night-ran late into early morning- and dragging his guitar into Zack’s falling down, deathtrap house is more cumbersome than normal. He still can’t believe it. 

Sometimes his ass. 

A massive venue last night and there were too many people to count it as a “gig”. It was near concert level loud and packed beyond what that bar could hold. Hell, they did requests at the end past their slotted time and the place didn’t even complain that they put the sound team into overtime. Aerith’s been more modest and Cloud has been too much of a jerk. Thinking he’s better than them, thinking that they need him.

Maybe he needs them

Tifa always tells him it’s not just the passion or the skill set. Half of it is attitude and Cloud usually has a nasty big one riding his shoulders. So this time he’s kept most of his thoughts in his own head. Silent during practice, even with the looks Zack has been sending him. Like he knows Cloud doesn’t like a certain section in their most popular ballad. Or that Aerith is relying on screaming for their rock edge. Drowns out half the impressive funky melodies Kunsel comes up with on his bass. 

There is one thing he’s been wanting to bring up all week that nearly leaves his tongue after every run-through. 

The set was too easy. For what he knows they can do, their songs are mediocre and boring. Boring is harsh, but it’s a breeze playing through the set. The songs they have are almost there. On the cusp of something fantastic. Cloud can feel it and spending an entire month with them- he knows they can too. 

Zack the most. Sees Zack’s hunched shoulders. Hears one too many bored sighs during practice sessions. Odd, brief comments from Kunsel and Aerith’s silence; they’ve had the disagreement before. Again, curiously Cloud wants to know who is in on the boring opinion. 

The thought sticks with him today. More than usual as they set up in the garage and play over and over. Practice, it’s a lot of more practice than he’s had with other bands. But he likes it. Aerith is sickly sweet and pats his cheek every time she swishes by him. Kunsel and Zack are easy to smile at and include him in every stupid joke they spit out. Nudging him with their elbows.

It’s their ability to play together that Cloud finds the most refreshing. Kunsel is one of the best bassets he’s heard in a long time. Fights Cloud on his tendency to overpower with his lead and they settle into nice duets. Back and forth; playing off each other. Compliment each other. Like they should. Cloud’s had to fight every basset for boring low lines that drag entire songs down. 

Running through their set from last night brings that slightly bored feeling back. He’s tired enough to click his tongue after their first ballad. Gets a questioning look from Aerith and a knowing eye from Kunsel. He keeps his lips pressed tight, though. 

He really, really likes them. He doesn’t want to screw it up. 

At least Zack sighs too after another song finishes up. 

And another. 

And another.

One too many sighs and run-throughs where he keeps spacing out and staring mindlessly at Zack’s collarbone (still manages the set perfectly) Cloud can’t take it anymore. Cloud’s not interested in the easy riffs or the steady background of mid-range notes he memorized in a day. 

“I-This is getting repetitive,” he spits out right after Zack’s tenth sigh ends with a tiny bored whine. 

“Repetitive?”

“Thank yo~u,” Kunsel and Zack say at the same time. 

Aerith sighs. There’s too much of that from everyone going around. She turns from her mic to stare at the three of them with a set expression. Yeah, they’ve had this argument. From the look making its way at Zack- he’s the argumentative one. 

“Well, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that then. So-must really be bad.”

Cloud winces. It’s not as bad as her tone is making it seem. She also must be the one that contributes the most to writing the songs. He’s never asked really-only been with them a month-and he hasn’t heard any talk of new songs being worked on. 

“Uh-sorry. I-it’s still good, it’s just...a...little easy...to…. play.”

He hopes that’s not too offensive. Only gets stares and silence back; waiting for him to elaborate.

“Okay,” Aerith says. Her tone is less defensive at least, “what about it is so boring?” Directs her words at Zack more and makes an abrupt movement like she was going to stick her tongue out at him. 

“Could change the tempo a bit. Sometimes slow songs work better faster.”

There’s the guitar part too. Doesn’t want to overstep, he’s new here, and it’s their songs.

“Alright.”

“And...you could add some more complicated segments for the bass- guitar too.”

“See!”

“Ugh, we did before.”

Before... someone has given them song writing advice then. Maybe their previous guitarist? A glance at Zack surprises him. Pinched in brows and a small frown on his lips. He’s more than annoyed. A heavy air fills the garage. Cloud falls quiet and watches the three of them bicker for a little while. Stares out at the sun getting lower through the trees and feels bad. It’s really not his place and if they’ve already cut stuff there must have been a reason.

“-told you not to listen to him-”

“-well-he was the only one of us that even-”

“-I dunno know why we even listened to that fuckin’ tool-”

Overlapping shouts and bitter tones finally fall silent. Takes a bit for Cloud to notice though. He shakes himself out of his stupor and glances at the trio. 

“What?”

“What?” Aerith laughs, “you get to write is what. You got ideas to help us out?”

“Uh. Look- I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

Please,” Zack whines, throwing himself over his base drum and pouts obnoxiously at him, “please just write in some awesome riffs-a fucking nice ass drum solo-anything. We need fresh ears.”

How do they even know he can write? It’s a good guess, since a lot of bands write their own music, but still. He could just be a set of skilled hands.

Kunsel snorts, “yeah okay,” oops, must have mumbled out loud, “sure you’re not,” dripping with sarcasm, “You got song-writer written all over you.”

“How so?” Genuine curious about that statement. 

“You kidding? That blissed out look you get when you play and every time I suggest something you fight me on it. Nah, you’re a writer.”

With burning ears, Cloud stumbles over his apology, “Sorry. I don’t mean to push back, I just…” he falls quiet at their large grins.

“Yeah, it’s okay, man. Like I said-It’s cause you’re a writer. Besides, as much as I hate admitting it. You’re right most of the time.”

That affection, the first one you feel for new friends. The one that says-‘yeah, this one, I really like this one’-bursts in Cloud’s chest. It’s Kunsel’s words, but Zack and Aerith nodding along and grinning at him with pleading eyes makes the affection reach for all three of them. Cloud swallows the rest of his words and stares back at them for too long. 

“So, boring, my songs are boring,” Aerith says with zero negativity. 

“Ugh,” Cloud rolls his eyes, “not boring. I shouldn’t have said that. They are... too easy.”

That is a better word. If they were boring, there’s no way they would have made it this far. 

“Don’t worry,” Zack says; kicks his left symbol stand with extra energy. “I’ve been saying this for fuckin’ ever. But n-o, no one listens to the drummer.”

Aerith’s rolling her eyes and shifting her weight closer to Kunsel, clearly ready to fight Zack on his bratty attitude. Cloud laughs despite the tension. Clears away his nervousness and strums quietly at his guitar.

“I have... a few ideas. Give a fresher sound- to the two ballads? And the last song on our set. We should-I mean, if you think it’s a good idea- lead with that one instead.”

Zack’s laughing at his quiet rambling. Tapping his fingers and his foot this time and fucking bitting at his lower lip as he grins his excited boyish smile. 

“We’re all ears.”