Chapter Text
*
“I wish I could throw off the thoughts which poison my happiness, and yet, I take kind of pleasure in indulging in them” - Frederic Chopin
*
“Quickly…quickly…ugh…mmh…”
“You like that?”
“Mmm…”
Another soft exhale.
“You want me to suck it?”
“Mhmm…mmph…quick…”
Chrollo’s hand gripped to her pink hair, eyes rolling back with pleasure; lips parted in another exhale. Staggered breaths, heavier breathing, dry gulping.
He could hear the frantic thumping from behind the closed door: the scratch of the amps being dragged against the floor, the clash of the microphone stands hitting each other - the chatter of others, the stress of backstage.
“Has anyone seen Chrollo?!” He heard someone say.
“f*ck-” Chrollo exhaled again in a soft panic, hand gripping her hair tighter, pushing her head deeper against him, quicker.
Machi groaned and pushed off his hand.
“Just a bit more-” Chrollo grunted, gripping her hair again.
She slapped it again, but he gripped tighter; needier.
“Where’s Chrollo?!”
“I saw him in the dressing room earlier, I think.”
Chrollo pushed her deeper, just a little deeper: she groaned, close to a gag; nevertheless, within a second, she pulled away and Chrollo sighed with relief.
“You’re a real asshole.” Machi spoke as she stood up and grabbed the towel from the side. “f*ck you.” She cursed as she cleaned herself up.
Chrollo looked at her; buttoning up his pants. He reached out a hand apologetically; she slapped it away annoyedly once more.
“Don’t be like that; I'm sorry.” Chrollo sighed, wrapping an arm to her waist; Machi pushed him off again. “Machi-”
“What?” She turned to him, pointed a finger with irritation, “Just because I blow you backstage like a groupie doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole about it. Dick. You’ve got some nerve on you.” She shook her head, adjusting her dress, fixing her hair, her lipgloss in the dressing room mirror.
“You’re not a groupie.”
“Then don’t treat me like one.” She rummaged through her purse, then clicked it close again. “Don’t look at me like I’m your whor*.”
“Machi, come on-”
“That look in your eyes.” She clarified. “It’s f*cking rude.”
He walked towards her, eyes cold with defense, “I offend you by just looking at you?” He scoffed. “Is that it?”
A pause. Machi stared up at him just as coldly.
“I’ll see you around.” Was all she said, pushing past him, opening the door.
Chrollo sighed and watched.
As Machi opened the door, there stood Shalnark, hand in a fist since he was about to knock. Their manager, Wing, was standing next to him.
Before they could speak, Machi pushed past them too.
Then:
“You were in here the whole time? We were looking for you-“
“I’m coming.”
“Don’t shrug us off like that! The others are already waiting for you backstage.”
“I got this, boss.” Shalnark tried to ease. He patted Wing on the shoulder.
“Well they aren’t on stage yet, are they?” Chrollo snapped.
“You little-”
“Alright, why don’t you go and check with the others.” Shalnark laughed uneasily again. With that, Wing cursed something under his breath before leaving.
Chrollo glanced at him, then glanced away.
“Do you wanna piss off everyone today? Geez.” Shalnark closed the dressing room door behind him. “What’s with you?”
Chrollo sighed, “nothing.” He grabbed his guitar pick from the side, holding it between his lips.
“Stop giving everyone a hard time then.” Shalnark crossed his arms. “Were you fighting with Machi?”
Chrollo hummed, tucking his shirt into his pants.
“Chrollo.” He said again, unconvinced.
Chrollo sighed again, he pulled the pick out his mouth. “I’m sorry.” He said once, “I’m sorry.” He said again with a sincere expression, softer. “I’ve just been a little stressed. Like…with the band and stuff, I guess. You know how it is - pre-stage nerves.” He tried to explain, “Maybe it’s because of the concert today.”
“Since when do you get nervous before a show?” Shalnark scoffed.
They left the room, he continued to speak:
“Snap out of it. You gotta keep it together, man. Is this because of the new guy?”
“Well I don’t even think he’s any good: this new kid. Why do we need a keyboard player in the first place? Soon enough we’ll be imposed on some techno sh*t; then it’ll be beats on stage - and that’s a f*cking insult to our instruments, Shal,” Chrollo muttered back.
“He was alright in rehearsals. He adds flair to the group.”
“That's just it, he was alright. He’s got no rhythm, no initiative. He’s not got any chemistry, he has the wrong flair.” Chrollo scoffed, “He lacks something. He can keep up, yeah; but he brings nothing to the table beyond that.”
“Foundations, Chrollo - the keyboard can set the tone just right, you heard him, he’s a f*cking good keyboard player, he had timbre and style: how many others can vouch for that?” Shalnark protested.
“No. You’re wrong. A drummer should set the foundation: if there’s no foundation then the whole empire will collapse. Now, if we left it up to Uvo, he has the foundation and keeps it sturdy: he wouldn’t just keep up, no, Uvo would hold up the entire set till the very end. Timbre doesn’t compare to a sturdy base. Anyone can have style, we have style already.”
Shalnark listened and sighed.
“Well PR said the new kid looked good, clean record; decent sound, he fits in well like that. Shut up and deal with it.”
Chrollo scoffed. “Since when was that stuff ever important?” Chrollo halted a step, “this isn’t us, Shal. Come on, since when did this stuff matter to us?”
“Since this is how we make money. Asshole. You may not care but the rest of us do as we’re told.” He nudged the other and they continued to walk.
As soon as they came to a halt, they were backstage with the other boys standing there already: a cigarette from Phinks’ lips, bass at his waist.
Chrollo stared at it…then he shook his head, trying to turn away from the smell.
“Where’ve you been?” Asked Feitan, tuning up his guitar. He glanced once at Chrollo, then back to his fingers.
“In the back.” Chrollo replied nonchalantly.
He was passed his guitar by one of the staff members: his hair was tousled and sprayed by another in a rushed movement. Chrollo paid no attention to it, continuing their conversation.
“Fei,” Chrollo said his name again, “during ‘Neon’ let me start 4 counts before you.”
Feitan nodded and listened. He glanced over whilst he tuned his guitar.
Chrollo tapped his foot against the ground to count, “just before the chorus, when Shalnark waits 2 counts, let me come in when he does, then you carry on after 2 counts. The fade will sound better; the rhythm guitar will hit better.”
“Over the riff?”
“After 2 counts it’ll match up nicely and harmonize.”
“Did you tell Shal you were doing that?” Feitan chuckled under his breath, amused.
“He’ll roll with it.” Chrollo shrugged, holding his guitar pick in his mouth again to tune his guitar
“Mmm, I trust you. Whatever you do sounds good anyway.” Feitan looked around now. Then he said: “Aren’t you gonna wish Kurapika any luck? It’s his first show.”
Chrollo glanced over to him. He glanced back at Chrollo: they made a spout of eye contact.
“He’ll be fine.” Was all Chrollo said.
Normally, backstage would be the time for a quick smoke, a quick mental preparation; check the instruments were tuned, check your throat was clear: in Shalnark’s case, a quick kiss from his girlfriend. In Feitan’s case, the last drag of Phinks’ cigarette.
“Alright boys, you’re up.” Said Wing, ushering them on stage by the next moment.
He could hear the roar of the crowd; the flashing lights and the overstimulation. Though, earpiece in one ear and he could hear himself think again for a second.
The dynamics of this band were simple, calculated by a whole team to ensure an entertaining show:
Shalnark would always walk out first, with that huge charming smile and dreamy glint to his eyes. The girls would scream and gush and he would put his hands up and feed off of it for extra measure. That was practiced.
Then Feitan and Phinks, one would wave, another would nod. Both of them together would attract more attention, that’s what the PR team had said. That may have been right…well…not for that reason; since the ship material had started circulating as a result. It’s natural they would gravitate towards each other: as they did now, and as the fans responded in a way that had already been perfectly thought out by the others. It was almost chillingly accurate. That was also practiced.
Chrollo would usually have followed along last, behind Uvogin. Uvogin would rile up the crowd, make them energized and excited; exhilarated and rowdy; and Chrollo would be the calm that followed. Though, with the addition of Kurapika: Chrollo didn’t walk out last anymore. He didn’t need to practice that.
He was the ‘quiet’ one. The one who didn’t have a whole lot to say but had a whole lot of presence. He was the ‘comfort’, as someone had said, or the ‘fantasy’, as another PR person had thrown out. Concepts and words and unimportant facades; Chrollo didn’t care for any of it…he didn’t care for the image, as important as it was.
So, usually the others would do the talking.
That’s what he was good at, hiding behind the guitar and playing it well; yeah, that’s what the co-founding member of PHANTOM did best.
Usually the spotlight was on Shalnark anyway.
“Did you miss us?”
Shalnark asked cutely.
The crowd roared back.
Shalnark chuckled against the mic; Chrollo had to soften his expression to not seem offish.
He wasn’t offish - he just wasn’t sociable.
“Before we start off…I think you’ve all noticed: there have been some changes to the band.”
Another cheer from the crowd.
Like a call and response: it was almost musical.
Shalnark continued:
“So, I thought it would be a good idea if we all re-introduced ourselves.”
The crowd screamed: Shalnark laughed.
“Shall we?” He teased.
Another cheer.
Shalnark gave the crowd a moment to settle: another thing practiced.
“Okay, I’ll start.” He smiled, spoke in a softer way: Shalnark had a pretty voice regardless. “I’m Shalnark, and this is my band.” He teased again.
The crowd laughed: he laughed; the others started to laugh.
Chrollo scoffed amusedly.
“No, no, but seriously,” he spoke again after a beat, “I’m the main singer of PHANTOM and sometimes I like to play the keyboard.”
A huge cheer.
“Just sometimes.” He chuckled again.
Shalnark looked over at Feitan the next moment.
Feitan spoke into the mic:
“Hello! I’m Feitan.”
A gushy cheer.
“Oh- alright…didn’t think I was too popular.”
A laugh.
“That’s quite nice, isn’t it?” He said, amused. “Anyway, this is not my band; and I play rhythm guitar. I would sing backup but I don’t feel like paying for your ear surgery.” Feitan laughed with the crowd this time. “How many in the crowd today? Maybe a couple thousand?”
“We sold out today.” Said Shalnark.
“Huh? We sold out?” Feitan hummed, “not bad ey? More than a couple of thousands then, huh. That’s a lot of ear surgery.”
Another laugh.
Then, Phinks leaned down against the mic, “My name is Phinks, I play bass and I hope I play it well.”
A big ‘awwww’ from the crowd.
“Oh? Did that sound pitiful?” Phinks chuckled. “But I do hope I play well. Since everyone else is very talented; and we sold out today, which is amazing. I hope you enjoy the show.”
Shalnark spoke into the mic again: “Phinks is being nice today? What do you all do to him?”
“Maybe it’s my old age.” Phinks joked.
“He usually bullies us, everyone.” Shalnark added.
“I’m feeling sentimental today, shut up.” Grumpily muttered Phinks.
“There he is.” Feitan commented.
Another laugh.
Next: Uvogin:
“Who’s excited for tonight!?”
A huge roar from the crowd - even Shalnark had to cover his ears a little. Yeah, that was the effect that Uvo had; his presence was riveting and loud.
“I think they’re excited, Uvo.” Shalnark laughed softly.
“Yeah?”
Another cheer.
Uvogin chuckled softly, “Shal, I don’t think I need to introduce myself, they already know.” He let out a loud playful sigh.
“Just do it,” Feitan interjected, making the others laugh.
Uvo scoffed, he looked around co*ckily, he paused, waited. “Then…drumroll…”
He grabbed his drumsticks, hitting the snare slowly, then slowly getting faster and faster, the crowd just went crazy for him.
“I’m Uvogin, drummer of PHANTOM!”
“Yeah yeah, show’s over,” Phinks scoffed.
“Of course, Uvogin needs this kind of introduction.” Shalnark chuckled.
Then, Shalnark looked at Chrollo: Chrollo glanced back. He awkwardly leaned against the mic.
“Uhm- I’m Chrollo-”
A huge cheer before he finished.
Phinks looked at the sight, bursting into his own fit of laughter.
Chrollo looked at him, confused. “What?” He said shamelessly against the mic.
The others laughed too.
“It’s always fun to catch Chrollo off guard.” Shalnark spoke up first.
Then, Chrollo scoffed amusedly. “I was introducing myself.” He muttered.
“Sorry, sorry,” Phinks chuckled, making Feitan laugh too.
“Continue, Chrollo,” Shalnark probed.
Chrollo couldn’t help but chuckle, “I’m embarrassed now,” he ran a hand through his hair, laughing.
The crowd laughed too…so Chrollo had a moment to let them settle and gather his own thoughts.
“I’m Chrollo, and I play lead guitar,” he managed to finish off.
“Andddd?” Shalnark teased him again. Chrollo glanced over, a little confused. “Do you sing, Chrollo?”
Chrollo chuckled, he looked back at Shalnark. There was a natural moment of pause, he was thinking for a moment. Nevertheless, he said: “no,” bluntly.
“Why?” Asked the majority of the crowd, making Chrollo perk up again.
Chrollo stepped closer to the mic, “because I don’t feel like it.” He spoke with another soft chuckle.
“Ahh a man of few words, our Chrollo.” Shalnark laughed. “He’s being modest, he wrote our entire album, did you know that?…Bandit’s Secret…,” Shalnark continued to tease him even more - “…so tell us, what is the bandit’s secret, Chrollo?” Chrollo flashed him a look.
“Patience and beer.” He replied.
Everyone burst into a fit of laughter except for Chrollo.
“Patience?” Shalnark laughed out.
“Mmm, patience is a virtue.” Chrollo stated.
“What’s the beer for, then?” Phinks laughed.
“To endure the patience.”
Another laugh.
“Okay okay, wise words from a virtuous man. Look at him, he’s moody at me now, let’s move on.” Shalnark laughed. “Our last, new member, why don’t you introduce yourself?”
All eyes turned to the back:
“Hello, I’m Kurapika, the newest member of PHANTOM. I play the keyboard - I hope you enjoy the show!”
A huge cheer from the crowd; applauding, encouraging: Chrollo didn’t move an inch.
“Welcome on stage, Kurapika.” Shalnark probed him.
“I’m glad to be here.” Kurapika spoke, relieved.
“Since we’re running short on time, now…why don’t you tell us your favorite song from the album?”
Chrollo flicked his eyes over.
Kurapika hummed with thought, “I would have to say ‘Scarlet Eyes’, but ‘Neon’ is also another contender.” He chuckled.
“Hmm, I think the fans agree…” Shalnark turned back to face them properly; body language open. “...What do you all think of ‘Neon’?”
A roar of excitement.
“Yeah? Then, let’s start our opener, shall we? Lucky guess for you because suddenly…’the flags you wave are all neon’...,”
“...but I’ll still surrender every time…” Uvogin finished the lyric, fed off of Shal’s energy, teasing the fans; making the crowd excited again.
With that, Shalnark took a step back, nodding to Chrollo who picked up his guitar; then Feitan, Phinks looked around: Uvogin with his drumsticks and:
1…2…3…
It was always harmony.
Their concerts usually lasted 3 hours: their latest album. In between with some chatting, charming and gushing from the fan and the stage: it made for a melody of a show, as usual; three hours and after they were done.
After that, they would all slump back into their dressing room and close their eyes for a second to take in the silence. To wind down from the microphone feedback, the screech of the instruments, the screaming crowd. To hear the silence.
Oh how Chrollo would have loved a cigarette right now, he closed his eyes, sat and leaned back against the couch.
“Oh- sorry,” said Phinks, just before Chrollo could close his eyes, he looked over; the other put his lighter back in his pocket.
“You can smoke here, I’m not gonna say anything.” Chrollo scoffed.
“No, no it’s cool man, I want some fresh air anyway.” He patted his arm, then left. Chrollo scoffed.
“Good work today guys,” said Uvogin, before he slipped on his headphones to indulge into the quiet a little more.
Chrollo loved the calm down afterward…since the high of the stage was finally fading away.
Finally, silence…he closed his eyes, head pounding…
“Chrollo! Did you change the counts for ‘Neon’?”
“Hmm?” Chrollo hummed, taking in a breath.
“Did you change the counts for ‘Neon’?” Shalnark crossed his arms, face scrunched up with a pissed off demeanor. Chrollo only knew that since he opened one of his eyes and then was forced to open the other.
“Yeah why?” He mumbled lazily.
“f*cks sake!” Shalnark nudged his leg with his foot.
Chrollo rose up slightly, his face scrunched up too, to one of a confused expression; one of disbelief. “Sorry?”
“What the f*ck, Chrollo.” Shalnark kept probing, making Chrollo even more confused, even more baffled.
“What’s the problem?” Chrollo rose up properly, arms crossed.
“You! You just do whatever you want!”
“It was 4 counts, Shal! Step off it.” Chrollo scoffed and flicked his hand dismissively.
“But it isn’t just the counts, is it? It’s your unpredictable solos, you change the riffs and don’t tell us, you tell Feitan to do things and don’t tell Phinks - how’re the others going to follow?! You’re late before stages, you’re f*cking moody lately! You switch up randomly- like, f*cks sake, is it that hard to just play the damn song the way it was written?!”
“I wrote the damn song!” Chrollo stood up, fist clenched. “You need to calm your tone, Shalnark.” Chrollo glared, he took a step closer to him, eyes cautious, he was saying ‘are you sure you want to start?’
“That’s enough boys, why don’t we just all calm down. It’s been a long day, yeah?” Of course, Wing was there to ease the tension.
Yeah, there had been a lot of tension lately.
“Why are you guys starting?” Feitan scoffed, rubbing his temples.
Uvogin glanced over, he took off his headphones and sighed, “both of you, cut it out- man we had a good show, great vibes, f*cking amazing crowd - we sold out, and you’re starting over what?” Complained Uvogin.
“It’s him, he started over nothing,” Chrollo explained calmly.
“Will you two stop?”
Chrollo looked over with a colder glare; Shalnark’s expression softened.
“Oh great.” Chrollo mumbled under his breath, he rolled his eyes.
Baise gave Shalnark’s shoulder a gentle rub; he smiled. She gave him a quick kiss to the cheek.
“Why do you paint me as the bad guy, Shal?” Chrollo tried to speak to him again.
Baise looked over, she glared coldly. “Cut it out, Chrollo.”
Chrollo had to bite his tongue, or something really spiteful might’ve left his lips.
That woman made his skin crawl, his veins pop in his hands. Shal and her together made his mouth itch with irritation.
Chrollo shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair to try and ease some frustration. He wanted to smoke: where was Phinks? He needed a drag. Where was he? Where?
Feitan let out a deep sigh, he turned to Kurapika who watched silently the entire time.
“They’re not usually like this.” He felt the need to mention.
“Did something happen?” Kurapika muttered quietly. Uvogin leaned over too.
“No…they’re like dysfunctional brothers, those two…think of it as a sibling fight. They’ll piss each other off, get angry, pick a fight, then kiss and make up. They were fine at the start…when they both started. But, f*ck, it’s such a headache when they fight, it’s gotten like that lately.” Uvogin explained. “I just let them hash it out.”
Kurapika hummed, “should I- should I say something? I think Shalnark is mad since it was my first stage.”
“No no, just leave it, you’ve not done anything wrong; you were great!” Despite Feitan trying to reassure him, the other two were still hunched over like children.
“When will you get it into your head, Chrollo, that the whole f*cking band doesn’t revolve around you.” Shalnark argued again.
“Oh f*ck off.” Chrollo dismissed him again, rummaging through his bag; he must have left at least one cigarette somewhere, at the bottom…somewhere.
“Come on, let’s go outside.” Baise spoke gently to Shalnark, making Chrollo roll his eyes again.
“He won’t even apologize to Kurapika!” Shalnark laughed with sheer disbelief, “It was his first show! The disrespect! Don’t you understand, Chrollo? Do you understand why I’m mad?”
“Don’t patronize me, dick.”
“Enough!” Baise raised her voice.
Then, they both stopped talking and took a breath. If only Shalnark hadn’t opened his mouth again:
“Just admit that you act like a jerk, just admit it!”
Oh Shalnark. Uvogin popped his headphones back on with defeat.
“Yeah?” Chrollo was surely heated now, he took a step forward too. “Oh yeah?” Chrollo clenched his fist with irritation again, face stark with threat.
“I didn’t have a problem with it!” Kurapika asserted, he stood up. “It sounded good.”
Chrollo ignored him.
“Did we have a good show, Shalnark?” Chrollo asked demandingly.
“Whatever.” Shalnark sighed after hearing Kurapika.
“Answer the question,” Chrollo took a step closer, “answer me. Did we have a good show?”
Baise put a hand to Shalnark’s chest, stopping him from moving any closer.
“Yeah, we did.” Shalnark scoffed.
“Exactly. So get off my back. You know what? f*ck you! Oh, I’m so sorry for writing our entire f*cking album, maybe a little credit, dickhe*d.” Chrollo glared again.
“That’s enough!” When Wing raised his voice, that’s when Chrollo backed down. He looked down, unclenching his fists.
Chrollo groaned, tossing his bag to the couch again. He needed space. Chrollo left abruptly; Shalnark rubbed his hands over his face, sighing.
“Is this really how you want to end your show?”
OUTSIDE:
“Phinks.” Chrollo said his name after spotting him near the back entrance.
Phinks glanced over, cigarette hanging from his lips.
“Hey man.” He said casually.
“Can you roll me one?” Chrollo asked with a sigh. He huffed slowly, the cold air already forming a cloud near to his lips. He rubbed his arms in a shiver.
Phinks tilted his head, “are you sure?” He asked, taking a drag and holding his own between his fingers.
“Yeah,” Chrollo breathed out.
Phinks patted his pocket, he reached into it. Then, he glanced at Chrollo one more time. He paused.
“Just uh- just finish this off, I had one already.” Phinks muttered and Chrollo nodded.
“Thanks man,” He breathed out, taking it from his fingers to his own fingers, then lips. Chrollo sighed with relief as he took a drag.
Phinks crossed his arms, “so what did you think of the new kid?”
“He was decent.” Chrollo hummed. “He could keep up.”
Phinks hummed, “for the record…I’m not too keen either. But, who knows, it could be good…” He trailed off unsurely.
“Right, who knows.” Chrollo took another drag. “You killed it, by the way.” He complimented Phinks, “the bass in ‘Scarlet Eyes’ was so crisp, man. I don’t know how you do that,” He chuckled and shook his head.
Phinks was so talented, Chrollo had never doubted that.
“Yeah yeah,” Phinks laughed, “thanks dude.” He ruffled his hair, “it’s nothing without the rest of you.” Phinks patted his shoulder, “I’m gonna head back in, you alright?”
Chrollo nodded, “yeah, just needed some air.” He added, finally letting his shoulders untense.
Phinks patted his shoulder once more, then, he left him.
Chrollo took in a shaky breath, then out.
He took a drag, then exhaled with relief.
Then, the silence brought leave over his chest again. He could breathe just fine once again. Nevertheless, Chrollo finished off his cigarette, and he stepped on it afterwards, hard.
One week and 3 days…that’s how long he had lasted without nicotine.
Still, with each exhale, Chrollo could feel the burdens of the night roll down his shoulders and leave his body through his hands.
Pathetic.
TWO DAYS LATER - STUDIO
“...personally- no, professionally, in our opinion, I think you all need something new, something fresh. I think that this ‘nonchalant’ image has served you guys super well. Sure, I think that it gave you all a little zhuzh with your last album- loved it by the way, absolutely loved the entire thing; concept and all- and congratulations by the way for making it to the top 10’s in the charts and-”
“Can we speed this up?”
Everybody turned their heads towards Chrollo.
Wing gave him a look; Chrollo raised his hands defensively.
Sat in the studio like that, all leaned back with head of PR, Leorio, at in front of them: Feitan was already bored; Phinks was glancing at his phone every now and then; Kurapika tapping his fingers against his knee, probably practicing some song in his head; Uvogin tapping his drumsticks against the tableside.
“Shush,” Shalnark nudged Chrollo.
Chrollo scoffed, nudging him back.
“No, no of course.” Said Leorio, crossing his arms, “what we think is…that this time, we should push for best album. Forget the top 10, how about number 1? Best album of the year.”
Now, everybody was paying attention.
Uvogin put his sticks down, Kurapika raised his head, Feitan and Phinks sat up straight.
“You mean…like, a grammy?” Uvogin’s eyes lit up.
“No way!” Feitan scoffed, “you think you can take us there?” He asked nobody in particular, but ultimately, he turned to Chrollo and Shalnark, “you think it can happen?”
“I don’t see why not.” Shalnark shrugged.
“Hold on,” Chrollo stopped them, “what does that mean for the album? So- so it’s some factory made polished statue pumped out from the industry robots, is that it?”
“Not at all,” said Wing, “it’s like a formular, the right songs, the right concept, the right marketing. You’ve all got the fanbase already, frankly I think it’s about time you all won something or got nominated at least. I know the band is still fairly new: 2 albums isn’t bad at all for your fanbase.”
“So, what are you saying? Don’t sugar coat it.” Chrollo spoke bluntly.
“We just think that the production needs a little polishing. The album needs a big bang. So…the concept needs to be flawless, and I know that it may seem a little different but-”
“I said don’t sugar coat it.” Chrollo muttered calmly.
“Right, I’ll get to the point.” Leorio chuckled nervously. He definitely was not scared of Chrollo…definitely not. “We’ve bought in a critically acclaimed producer to work with you, you are all going to love him-”
“So we aren't writing our own songs?” Chrollo rose up with confusion, he looked at Wing.
“Chrollo,” Shalnark patted his shoulder.
“No.” Chrollo shook his head. “What kind of band doesn’t write their own songs? That’s phony.”
“How is it phony, Chrollo?” Wing crossed his arms, “you’ll all be helping out, it’s not like he’ll be writing the songs for you, he’ll be helping you. You’ll all have creative control.”
“Bullsh*t.” Chrollo leaned back again and sighed.
There was a pause amongst all of them.
“Can we have a second to talk?” Shalnark asked politely.
“Of course.” Wing nodded, he left with Leorio by his side, the both of them muttering something.
“What’s the problem?” Shalnark asked softly.
The rest of them huddled around too.
“You all want to go along with this?” Chrollo looked around.
“I don’t know, Chrollo…it’s a grammy.” Phinks spoke up, tilting his head. “Like…this is it.”
“I don’t see the harm,” Feitan added.
“Uvo?” Chrollo said his name, still with eyes of disapproval.
Uvo scratched the back of his neck, sighing. “I dunno…I mean…we haven’t even met the guy, what if he’s really cool,” he shrugged. Another sigh, and then: “Look, guys…I love all of ya, I do, I think you’re all the top of the top, for real, guys. And- and Chrollo, you’re like- you’re a genius, man. Our last album was so much fun, it was f*cking awesome. It’s a gem, and we all had the best f*cking time putting that together. I just think that, yeah, it was fun, but this is work. Work where you gotta move up to the next thing. And I think: sure, let’s bang out another album, just us boys, make it the best album anyone’s ever seen, make it just about us. This is the music business, guys; after that track is out there, it isn’t just about us anymore. So I think, why not just let them help us and really make something out of this all? Let’s f*cking win an award, then win another, let’s be the best we can be. We’d be fools to turn down all that. Wouldn’t we?”
Another pause.
“He’s right,” Shalnark said to Chrollo.
“But Chrollo, if you aren’t cool with it, then…then we’ll figure something else out.” Feitan said.
The others nodded; except for Kurapika.
“Can I say something?”
Now, all eyes turned to Kurapika, Chrollo’s were a little more cold.
“Of course,” Shalnark gave him a nod.
“Right,” Kurapika took in a breath, “I know that I haven’t been around long…but…if I’m going to give you all a bit of the harsh truth.” He paused, “The thing is…I’ve worked with producers in the past, I’ve been a part of the mixing, the process behind the glass. I’ve seen bands come and go, I’ve heard bands stick to their own material, some buy other songs, produce their own beats. The thing is, that the people above you, those people know better. You can sit here and stick to your own sound, write another album, do your own thing, but it won’t compare to the guidance that they can give you. I gotta be honest…a band like you- us, we only get one chance at this kind of merit. When the heat stops rising and it goes stale, you’ll regret that you didn’t reach for something like this. That’s just my opinion. Pride is important, but too much pride turns to sabotage. This band is a product, you have to let them sell their product.”
Chrollo’s eyes darkened. He didn’t speak. His fist clenched.
“f*ck,” Phinks breathed out.
“He’s right, though.” Feitan shrugged.
Chrollo looked down, he turned to Shalnark.
They made eye contact. Chrollo’s eyes softened.
Then, Chrollo looked at the rest of them again. “Majority wins.” Was all he said.
“We’re gonna win a f*cking grammy!” Uvo exclaimed, playfully punching Phinks; he excitedly wrapped an arm around Feitan and ruffled his hair.
Kurapika smiled brightly.
Shalnark chuckled; he nudged Chrollo.
“Yeah,” Chrollo exhaled, leaning back again.
“I’ll go and get Wing,” Kurapika offered with a gleam.
“I bet we’ll go on an international tour! Imagine that!” Phinks laughed, “PHANTOM, world tour; the merch would be sick!”
Shalnark beamed, “we’ve still got a lot of work to do, we still might not win, you know.”
“f*ck that! We’ll make sure we win.” Uvo crossed his arms.
Chrollo flicked his eyes between them, then, when the others came in, he looked at them too.
“So, are we getting you the best album of the year?” Leorio asked with a cheesy grin.
“It’s decided; we’ll use the producer.” Shalnark spoke for them.
“Is that the verdict, Chrollo?” Wing had to ask him directly.
Chrollo nodded.
As the others burst out into an excited burst of elation, Chrollo could only force a smile. He looked around: observed the faces: Uvogin’s wide grin, his teeth beaming, Feitan’s eyes creasing at their edges, Kurapika’s smug look and satisfied demeanor, Phinks’ cheery voice and open body language…Shalnark’s wide eyes, they absolutely radiated. Shalnark looked like a kid all over again; like that wide eyed teenager writing songs in Chrollo’s bedroom all over again. Hope. That’s the look; yeah.
So why couldn’t share the sentiment.
He let his eyes flick back over to Kurapika for another moment: ‘too much pride becomes sabotage…’ huh.
What was recognition if pride didn’t exist? Why make music if pride was too dangerous? Sentiment alone was bullsh*t and validation was the oil in the machine.
What was pride, if not an expression of self-importance?
Chrollo let his eyes flick over to Kurapika, then back to the others in their midst of celebration. He watched them, stared, flicked his eyes back to Shalnark.
‘Is this what we wanted all along?’
Chrollo scoffed at his own thoughts.
Of course it was.
That evening, Chrollo was eager to get home.
When Chrollo wasn’t working, he was quite a homebody. Married to the music, perhaps. Rather, he felt far more eased with headphones over his eyes and quiet when they weren’t. He liked to think of his home as a place of organized chaos: sheet music, piano, guitars here and there, a couple of shiny awards in glass cases, nothing grammy level, but still…Chrollo didn’t know what all the fuss was about.
His day to day life was fast paced, quick when he was working and thinking. Always thinking…
“Do you think that I'm being dramatic?”
Chrollo rolled over in bed, staring at Machi, who stared at the ceiling.
“Probably, Chrollo. Isn’t this what it means to make it?” She sat up properly, letting the sheets roll down to her waist.
Chrollo hummed, staring at the ceiling again. “Maybe It’s just me.”
Machi reached over to the side, she reached into Chrollo’s drawer, looking for a light.
“Light?” She asked, holding the cigarette between her lips.
“Second drawer.” Chrollo mumbled.
She reached for it, lighting up her cigarette.
“No ashtray,” she added.
“Just ash on the dresser.” He replied.
Chrollo glanced at her again, “Is it me, Machi? Do I do it to myself?”
Machi sighed again, pulling the covers back up to his collarbones. “Is this gonna get dark? I feel like this is gonna get dark.” She spoke as she took a drag and then another.
“No, it won’t.” Chrollo scoffed. Then, he changed the subject. “Are you still mad at me?”
“A little…” Machi turned to him again, offering him a drag.
Chrollo shook his head.
“How can I make it up to you?” Chrollo neared to her, getting closer.
Machi raised a brow, “I dunno, how do you think you can make it up to me?” She gently stroked the side of his face, then pushed back his hair.
“You have a problem with the way I look at you, is that true?”
“As if.” Machi chuckled, “I can’t stand you sometimes, babe.” She sighed, “but I can’t resist you either, for some reason. Maybe it is the way you look at me,” then, she leaned against his ear, “you f*ck me good, though.”
Chrollo scoffed again, “Good isn’t great.” He rolled his eyes.
Machi shrugged, “I can’t say anything to that.” She paused, “you f*ck me good, but I f*ck you better, isn’t that right?”
Chrollo leaned in needily, his lips grazing against her cheek, then down to her neck.
“Chrollo,” Machi leaned back a little, still smoking her cigarette. She exhaled softly, then, Chrollo got on top of her again. He instantly started to trail kisses down her chest, to her stomach, past her stomach, between her thighs.
“Chrollo-” she hitched a breath at the sensation of his tongue, exhaling softly, trying to relax. She took another drag of her cigarette, exhaling again.
“f*ck,” she moaned out after another second, one hand to his hair, Chrollo’s head between her legs, hand to her thigh tightly. He looked up at her, then back down and Machi exhaled again.
She moaned, messily putting out the cigarette, letting it sit pitifully on his dresser. “f*ck, baby…” Machi whined out, hand gripping the back of the bed, other hand pulling Chrollo’s hair.
She moaned softly, exhaled with sheer pleasure, legs propped up, spread.
“Slowly…” she moaned out, exhaling needily, stroking his head. “Yeah, yeah…yeah like that…yeah like that…” she whined, moaning softer, completely relaxed, she arched her back with pleasure, starting to breathe heavier.
Then heavier.
Then her breaths started to crescendo and Chrollo rubbed her gently…heavier, she exhaled again and…
“Ugh, f*ck…” Machi moaned out, breathing even again, she had to catch her breath.
Chrollo leaned up and laid back next to her.
She stared at him, she gently rubbed up and down his arm, over his shoulder, against his jaw, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, then his lips. She pulled away.
“I forgive you now.” Machi spoke after a moment.
Chrollo hummed, “good, we’re even.” He nudged her gently.
She chuckled softly, leaning back to relax again.
They stared at each other, she trailed her hand down with a smirk, however, that smirk dropped when she said: “oh, you’re not hard?”
Chrollo perked up a little, “I'm just tired from before, I guess.” He gently moved her hand and held it instead.
Machi nodded.
“Do you wanna stay and hang out?” Chrollo asked after a moment.
“I can’t, I have to go.” She sighed, checking her phone. Then, she started to put her clothes back on, and Chrollo sighed. He stared at the ceiling again.
Her phone started to ring.
“Ugh, I’ll see you around, babe.” Machi said to him quickly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and then slipped her shirt and pants on quickly, before answering her phone and rushing out.
Chrollo watched her, he hummed again.
Actually, he still wasn’t satisfied. He looked around, contemplating, then after a moment, as if it was cliche, he grabbed his laptop.
THE NEXT DAY - STUDIO
When it was time to create a new album, it was always the same andante. Rather, Chrollo was used to being in control: the conductor of the ensemble. The leader. Still, someone else’s andante may have been his allegro.
“If he’s critically acclaimed then he must be decent.” Said Feitan at the end of the couch.
“Why didn’t Wing's name drop, if he’s so famous,” scoffed Uvogin.
Chrollo looked over amusedly, “maybe he wanted to keep it a surprise.” He spoke sarcastically.
“I’m sure he’ll be great for you guys.” Said Baise.
Chrollo scoffed again, less amused. Why was she even here? Couldn’t Shalnark go a day without patting his back?
“f*cking hope so,” Phinks hummed, “I’m kinda excited for it, actually…”
“Me too.” Kurapika smiled.
“The main thing is, just be nice, guys. We don’t want him to think we’re just a bunch of douches.” Shalnark glanced at Chrollo.
“Why are you looking at me?” Chrollo gave him a look.
Shalnark chuckled amusedly, he pressed to kiss Baise's cheek, muttering something in her ear, making her laugh.
Chrollo looked away.
“Do you guys have a concept for the album yet?” Baise spoke again, she sat at the edge of the couch, leaning back in a comfortable way.
“Apparently it’s all sorted.” Feitan muttered, “who knows? Maybe we’ll be turning into a boy band who wears chinos and sings about their last summer of love.” He joked.
Baise chuckled, Shalnark laughed and nudged him.
“I could see you in chinos.” Baise smiled up at Shalnark, “I think Chrollo should wear the chinos.” She joked again.
Chrollo flicked his eyes over.
“Are you not writing this time, Chrollo?” Baise asked again.
“I've not written anything lately.” Chrollo responded.
“Maybe you can show them one of your songs.” She looked back to Shalnark, holding his hand.
“You been writing, Shal?” Phinks tilted his head.
Shalnark shook his head, a nervous haze across his cheeks, “well, nothing too great. Nothing album worthy, just some stuff here and there,” he modestly shrugged.
“Bullsh*t,” Baise huffed, “he’s f*cking amazing, There’s this one song he played for me…it was so good.”
“Oh please,” Shalnark nudged her.
“Why didn’t you show us?” Feitan asked now.
“Becauseee, it’s just a silly little thing, nothing serious, Baise is being dramatic.”
Chrollo hummed, “show us.” He said softly, genuinely.
“Come on, Chrollo.” Shalnark shook his head.
“Why?”
“It’s not ready…maybe some other time.” Shalnark shrugged again.
Chrollo hummed, he let his eyes linger for a moment longer. Why didn’t he show them? Shalnark and Chrollo used to write songs together all the time back in the day. Their first couple of songs had been a bunch of riffs and chords all mushed together badly with a bit of vocal over the top. Shalnark always did have an addictive voice; his fingers were talented too: on the keyboard, on the guitar a little too.
Chrollo didn’t feel the need to press on it anymore: instead, he slipped his headphones back on.
Another peaceful moment passed; until the studio door jingled and opened abruptly.
“Hello boys! How are we?” Leorio followed by Wing, somebody standing behind them.
The other greeted their manager, then Wing said, “This is Hisoka Morow, he’ll be working with you all on the new album.”
“Morow?” Uvo perked up a little bit. “Wing, why didn’t you tell us it was him?” He jolted up, standing up respectfully, politely.
Hisoka chuckled softly, he shook his head, “Oh please, if anything, I’m excited to work with all of you.” He shook Uvo’s hand.
Chrollo looked down, looked back up, noticed that Wing came inside, noticed that there was someone with him.
He looked over properly…he looked…his arm fell to his side, off guard…he stared…
Chrollo stared and his eyes were half lidded and his lips were parted subconsciously and his head was tilted slightly.
He stared.
Hisoka glanced over…their eyes met.
They stared.
Just for a quaver.
“Chrollo…” Said Wing.
Chrollo didn’t notice.
“Chrollo?” repeated Wing.
With that, he abruptly took off his headphones and awkwardly stood up.
“Sorry.” Chrollo apologized, trying to compose himself, putting his headphones somewhere, straightening up.
“This is Hisoka Morow, he’ll be working with you all.” Wing spoke a little cautiously, considering the fact Chrollo was so disapproving last time.
Chrollo nodded, he looked up at Hisoka, at his face. “Nice to meet you, I’m Chrollo.” He spoke with an unconscious softness to his tone. He didn’t mean it, but somehow, his eyes were drawn to his eyes: tempted to stare into them.
Hisoka’s lips were parted too: though his lips were thin and pretty: curled into an elegant shape - his eyes were also quite feline and bright.
He was beautiful.
“Chrollo and Shalnark co-founded the band.” Wing felt the need to mention.
Hisoka put a hand out, nodding, “nice to meet you, Chrollo. I’m Hisoka.”
Chrollo hummed, he let his eyes flick to his hand, then back to his face. Chrollo gently shook his hand, pulling away after a second.
“What’s your last name, Chrollo?” Hisoka asked politely.
“Lucilfer.” Chrollo replied.
Hisoka nodded.
No more words.
“I thought that we could all chat about concepts and ideas.” Hisoka started to speak again to everyone. “I’d love to get a better feel of your personality. Maybe listen to some tracks, tell me what you like and don’t like about them. Rather, what I think could make them a little better.” He asserted quickly.
The others were eager, gathering around the couch.
“Hisoka.”
Hisoka turned around, smiling at the sight of Kurapika. “Kurapika, hey.” He smiled and gave him a hug. “It’s been a while.”
“Do you two know each other?” Shalnark asked with a smile.
“We’ve worked together a few times.” Kurapika pointed out. Hisoka nodded.
“I’ve heard some of your live stages: all of you; you’re very talented. I already had some ideas.” Hisoka got straight to business, sitting down at the chair.
Chrollo joined them on the couch, sitting at the edge.
He leaned forward, eyes attentive.
Shalnark glanced over. “You’re quiet. Are you okay?” He asked Chrollo.
Chrollo nodded.
He turned his attention back to Hisoka.
“What did you think of the last album, ‘soka?” Kurapika asked.
Chrollo scoffed: that was a ballsy question. As if Kurapika was even a part of the last album.
“Oh, it was great.” Hisoka hummed, “some serious gems in there.”
“Tell us what you really thought, be brutally honest.” Uvogin interjected. “Your opinion matters a lot.”
Hisoka laughed and shook his head modestly, “no, really, it was brilliant. That one song, the first track - it was a masterpiece. If I were to be brutally honest, though…”
His voice was dangerous: the type of voice that could purr out unpleasant words and make the eyes harsh. The type of voice that could be used and shaped and mumbled through a jumble of words. That type of voice.
They all looked at him with anticipation, “that other song, ‘Owl’, it felt out of place. The ordering also felt quite irregular. The production was a little bit messy: sometimes the reverb was unnecessary - the drums weren’t crisp enough and there could have been some other choices when it came to the actual layering. All of that is fixable, though.”
Now, Chrollo tilted his head; confused. There was a fine line between assertion and arrogance, wasn’t there?
“I wrote Owl, I produced it.” Chrollo stood up, arms crossed.
Hisoka looked over.
A beat.
“Right, I’m not saying it was bad.” He narrowed his eyes with thought, “don’t you agree there is room for improvement, Chrollo?”
The way he said his name was devilish, slick.
“There’s always room for improvement.” Shalnark jumped in.
“Production aside, what else?” Chrollo asked calmly, he wasn’t being agitated, he was being curious.
He took a step closer to Hisoka, looking down at him. Hisoka didn’t seem to waver.
“Well, for instance, an album should tell a story, this felt like a narrative that was jumbled up into different parts. It starts off as an allegory of betrayal, then it moves on to songs about thieving and fraud. So I was listening and I thought: what’s the essence of the album? Imposter syndrome? Betrayal? Identity?”
“So you’re saying it was poorly put together?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Hisoka spoke calmly.
“It is what you’re implying, Hisoka.” Now Chrollo spoke his name.
“Should you be insulted, though? It’s constructive,” Hisoka tilted his head. “Are you?”
“I’m not insulted,” Chrollo went back to his spot on the couch, “just curious.”
“As am I.” Hisoka looked at them all now, “does anyone really know the concept of this album?”
They all remained silent. Uvo turned his head, looking at the rest of them: all of them looking a little clueless.
Hisoka hummed, “you don’t know the concept of your own album?”
Chrollo crossed one leg over the other. Condescending f*cker.
“Well that sort of is the concept,” said Shalnark, “it’s a fragment of things put together.”
Hisoka nodded, “that’s interesting…” he trailed off into a thought.
Shalnark spoke up again: “and subjectiveness is a part of the concept. Since it could mean something different to anyone.”
Hisoka hummed again, “I can appreciate that.” he flicked his eyes towards Chrollo, “so the concept is that there is no concept?” Was he teasing him? Dick.
Chrollo scoffed. His eyes turned cold, steel and in a mode of cautious observation. Hisoka caught the look…he looked away with a hint of amusem*nt behind his eyes.
“I had a concept in mind already,” Hisoka started again.
“Weren’t we going to decide that?” asked Shalnark.
“Well there can be some maneuver room.” Hisoka nodded.
They all leaned in, looking at Hisoka attentively and full of anticipation.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER:
“This is bullsh*t, Shalnark!” Chrollo complained, hands rubbing over his face; pacing back and forth.
“Take it easy!” Shalnark snapped back at him, he sighed, reaching a hand out, pulling Chrollo to come and sit beside him.
It was just the two of them now; the other’s had already left the studio. Nevertheless, the both of them felt the need to stay late and debrief properly.
PHANTOM was a band, sure, but truly, Chrollo and Shalnark made all the decisions. The power dynamic was clear and unspoken. It didn’t need to be spoken when they all turned to them anyway. Two heads at the top meant that there was another decision within every other decision. Since it was their band, technically. Their responsibility to keep it in their palms, not let it slip through their fingers.
It was no wonder they bumped heads so often.
“Chrollo, what’s the problem?” Shalnark asked a little softer.
Chrollo sat down, sighed. “Did you not hear what he said? They're making a f*cking mockery of us.”
He shook his head.
Shalnark scoffed, “bit dramatic.” He too, shook his head, “they’re just trying to change things up a little bit. And…you know…isn’t it nice to be taken care of a little bit?” Shalnark tilted his head.
“Taken care of?” Chrollo rolled his eyes, “what bullsh*t is that?” He rummaged through his bag, rolling up a cigarette as Shalnark spoke.
“Do you remember how hard it was for us to get the last album together? We were up all night for weeks in a row just trying to get the production done. We were writing songs for hours, days; we were all huddled together, exhausted. Our fingers bled from the guitar strings- Uvo’s hands would cramp up since he practiced so much; I almost lost my voice, Chrollo.”
“That’s my point though-” Chrollo tried to interrupt but Shalnark spoke over him.
“But finally…they’re doing it for us, and all we have to do is play the music and get to be ourselves.”
“No”, Chrollo shook his head insistently, “you’re wrong.” He asserted confidently. “How can you say that? That’s what being a band is all about, Shal.” Chrollo sat up, “don’t you remember, back when we were writing dumb songs in your bedroom, guessing what type of bass line we would add, trying to play riffs on my cheap acoustic?”
Shalnark chuckled softly, eyes creasing with reminiscence. Chrollo continued:
“That was it, man. That was the cream right there. The sweet part. And, back when we were writing the album, trying to figure it out, staying up and f*cking working ourselves crazy: how good did it feel when we heard that album for the first time? On the radio, saw the CD, the cover, the downloads; played it in concert? How f*cking good was that, Shal? You see, that- that was everything. It’s not just the playing.”
Shalnark nodded. He didn’t speak, he rubbed his eyes.
“I don’t know, Chrollo.” He mumbled, baffled, conflicted.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Chrollo looked at him in disbelief. “He said that we should f*cking write love songs. Oh- they might as well just put us all in fedoras, dress us in ripped jeans and give us a little dance to follow!” He snapped, lighting up the cigarette, “f*cks sake,” he cursed after taking a drag.
“Don’t snap at me,” Shalnark rolled his eyes, “what’s your problem? Aren’t you thrilled about the fact that we have a chance?”
“Is that what this is about?” Chrollo sighed, “the award?”
“Of course it is!” Shalnark snapped now.
“What happened to just making music because we wanted to? I don’t want to be some commercialized project just to gain recognition! Sure it might be cushy and nice to ride the high but then what-”
“What if I want to be cushy?” Shalnark groaned, “I don’t want to exhaust myself for the rest of my life Chrollo. I don’t want to struggle anymore, I don’t want to be tired anymore.” he paused, “and you know what, Chrollo?” Shalnark stared at him, “I think you do.”
“What?” Chrollo lowered his hand from his lips, cigarette between his fingertips.
“I think you like the struggle. I think you like feeding off it. I think you love saying that you did everything yourself, like you’re proving something. It’s that ego of yours; you just love rejecting the easier route; you’re addicted to the satisfaction. You do it to yourself, you always have.”
“So it’s my fault? Alright. That’s rich coming from you, Shal.” Chrollo took another drag, leaning back.
“How is that rich?”
“Since you’ve become the little show pony in the spotlight. All that PR training, saying the right things, making a good show; like what Kurapika said, ey? What was it again?” Chrollo was being douchey, he crossed one leg over the other, face full of dry amusem*nt, “it was ‘they have to sell their product,’ was that it?”
“f*ck you.” Shalnark got up, walking to the door.
Chrollo sighed, squeezing his eyes shut with regret. Then: “Shal, come on, I’m sorry.” He looked at him. “All I’m saying is that I’d rather stick it out, do it properly, make out own way rather than conforming to something that-”
“No. We’re gonna do what they say, play music, make money and you’re gonna shut up about it. You are doing my head in, Chrollo.”
“I’m sorry, I-”
“I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you but you need to sort yourself out before I really punch you one of these days.” Shalnark took in a breath, “I love you, but you’re a real dick.” He left.
Chrollo frowned.
He leaned back, eyes heavy, shoulders tense whilst he finished off his cigarette.
Then, the door opened again, and he perked up, “Shal, I-”
He turned around, and he went back to his original position since it was Hisoka who had walked back in,
“Sorry- I was gonna work in here for-”
“It’s fine.” Chrollo stood up, gathering his things, not looking at him.
“Chrollo.” Hisoka said his name. Chrollo didn’t respond
“Chrollo,” Hisoka said again. Chrollo looked over this time.
Hisoka stepped closer to him, “You don’t like me very much.” He stated.
Then, Chrollo paused, turning himself properly to look at him.
“Sorry?”
“Oh? Am I wrong?” Hisoka didn’t seem hostile, rather, he seemed…curious?
“Well uh-” Chrollo awkwardly cleared his throat, “I don’t know you very well, Hisoka, so, I don’t think I could dislike you.”
“Right, but you dislike me coming here…somewhat taking over.”
Chrollo sighed, “well, I’m not going to lie to you. I think you’re mocking us.”
“Mocking?” Hisoka chuckled softly. “I’m just trying to help. It isn’t personal. The others are on board.”
“Who’s really benefiting, though? The company or the band? Is it fame or accomplishment?”
“This is the industry.” Hisoka stated again.
“Easy for you to say,” Chrollo scoffed.
Hisoka stared at him again, tilting his head. “You do dislike me.” He repeated softly, yet, his face was annoyingly smug.
“Maybe,” Chrollo shrugged, “is that judgmental of me?”
“You tell me; you said you don’t know me.”
“Listen, Hisoka,” Chrollo started, “I respect you as a producer, I respect you as a professional, but when it comes down to it, we’re just working together.” Chrollo looked him in the eye, “so it doesn’t matter what I think; either way, I have to suck it up and work with you.”
Hisoka nodded, amusedly, “that is true. I just thought maybe I could make it easier for us, you know. I’m aware that the others see you as a leader figure.”
“We’re a band,” Chrollo corrected.
“You get my point, though.”
Chrollo nodded. “I’ll be going, then.”
Hisoka stared, nodding. “I didn’t think your tracks were bad, by the way.”
Chrollo looked again.
“I just thought they were interesting. You have a distinct way of layering your sound, you choose things I wouldn’t choose: it’s probably because you’re a little independent, but I appreciate that. Just like you know the industry, so do I.” He shrugged.
Chrollo hummed, “that’s good to know”.
“So, let’s let eachother do what we do without becoming hostile.” Was his final comment, and then Chrollo understood a little better.
“One thing you should know, Hisoka,” he started again, “is that we’re a loyal band, the others will move where I move when it comes down to it, and what you think is hostility is just my opinion. Don’t get it twisted, I’ll only act in the best interest of the band, I have no concern about your reputation.”
Hisoka didn’t respond, he just had this look in his eye; it was hard to decipher, but it was intense and contemplative.
Chrollo was glad he didn’t catch it, otherwise he might have felt a little insecure.
With that, he left.
Two arguments in one night: nice job, Chrollo.
That night, when Chrollo was getting ready for bed; he stood in his bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, rubbing his hands over it.
The silence of his home was consolation only when his mind wasn’t running wild. He grabbed his phone from the side, unlocking it, scrolling through his contacts, stopping when he saw:
‘MACHI’
He sighed, closing his phone again.
His mind was wandering, thinking, ruminating, shouting. He remembered Shalnark’s words from before. Were they true? Did he do it to himself? Was Chrollo the one to blame? Was it true? Was it? Maybe it was. Maybe it was true and he was the problem. Was it true?
He took in a deep breath, and then exhaled shakily.
He took in another, and then hitched it out.
He hitched one in and then barely breathed out properly.
“f*ck-” Chrollo gasped out, hand over his chest. He clenched his t-shirt, taking in deep breaths. He stared at the shower behind him, the mat on the floor, his toothbrush.
Eventually, he could steady his breaths, in through the nose and exhaled through the mouth.
He felt better after a moment.
Chrollo sighed shakily, he splashed his face with water again, then he looked up.
He caught his own eyes in the mirror. He stared.
He stared….he stared…
Chrollo looked down after another beat, and he frowned, hands gripped against the sides of the sink till his knuckles went pale.
He should’ve just called it night.
He did, letting sleep throw away his thoughts into the abyss of his mind. Night thoughts were dangerously wistful, after all.
THE NEXT DAY - STUDIO
“Pondering on the concept, we thought that the album should be given a name that is courageous and heroic, or even something that’s a little bit brighter than usual. We don’t usually name the album first, actually, you see, before we’ve sort of put it together as we go along, like a- like a puzzle. This time, I thought we could have a better sense of direction if we just stuck with the name first; and Kurapika and I actually came up with it yesterday. I already pitched it to Baise and she said she thought it was a hit, but we all know that you guys have the last say…so, what do you think of this: Hunter.”
“The album is called…Hunter?”
Uvogin, Feitan, Phinks and Chrollo stared at Shalnark with a dumbfounded look on their faces.
“Well…yes!” Kurapika jumped in, “it’s the perfect prompt for the rest of the album, don’t you think? It conveys searching and finding something, or could also suggest being in the pursuit.”
Whilst the others took a moment to wrap their heads around it, Chrollo’s eyes flicked over to Hisoka. He was sitting in the producer’s chair with a cigarette from his mouth. His legs were spread co*ckily, his eyes were attentive and relaxed at the same time. Hisoka said:
“I love it.”
“Yeah?” Kurapika smiled in a satisfied way.
“I don’t hate it,” Phinks said.
“It just sounds…” Feitan added.
“...a little juvenile.” Uvogin finished.
Chrollo nodded in agreement.
“I can understand that,” said Kurapika. “But that adds an element of surprise, doesn’t it? To contrast the name with genre, it adds a whole new layer of interest.”
Phinks nodded, “makes sense.”
Shalnark smiled at Kurapika, Kurapika nudged him. Chrollo looked over at them, Hisoka glanced at Chrollo; Chrollo flicked eyes towards Hisoka. Then they looked away quickly.
“Are we all set on the name?” Asked Kurapika.
“Let’s do a show of hands,” Shalnark suggested. “Whoever is for ‘Hunter’, raise your hand.”
Shalnark, Phinks, Kurapika, Uvo, Hisoka raised their hands.
“Majority wins,” Kurapika announced.
Shalnark sighed, “wait, guys, why didn’t you raise your hands?” He asked Chrollo and Feitan.
“I’m just not used to this kind of concept, that’s all,” Feitan explained. “But maybe I’ll change my mind.”
Shalnark nodded.
“What about you?” Hisoka directed towards Chrollo, suddenly.
Chrollo looked over, then to Shalnark, “I’m in the same boat as Feitan.” He lied, and Shalnark and Hisoka knew he was lying, but they didn’t say anything else.
Hisoka spoke up again, “as far as the songwriting; I’d appreciate it if you all got down to it. Or rather, if you already have, then it would help me start producing. It’s better to have material and make it better than to have nothing to improve.”
They nodded; Uvogin scratched the back of his neck, “the thing is…we just leave it up to Chrollo most of the time. Then we add stuff that we want to: like Feitan might add a riff or Shal might change the order or a couple lyrics.”
Hisoka nodded as he listened. “And why don’t you all write your own songs? You’re more than capable.” He put out his cigarette.
“We just never really…did.” Phinks said.
“Why not give it a try? you are a band after all.”
Was he mocking him again? Chrollo grit his teeth with annoyance.
Phinks nodded, “that’s true, actually.”
“I don’t know if I have it in me,” Uvo chuckled nervously.
“That’s okay, too.” Hisoka shrugged, “do whatever feels comfortable. You know how it goes these days: you buy a couple songs, you change them around; it’s rare to have your own material now.”
“Shalnark has a couple songs.” Chrollo finally spoke.
Shalnark looked at him; he couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or sheepish.
“You think they’re any good?” Hisoka asked, leaning back.
“They’re still sort of…drafts,” he explained.
“That’s okay,” Hisoka reassured nonchalantly. “Play something now,” he encouraged.
“Oh-” Shalnark looked a little shy, which was rare to see; it amused Chrollo a little. “I have my lyrics, but-”
“Just play something Shal,” Chrollo encouraged him too. “What do you need? Acoustic, keyboard?”
He stood up, grabbed the guitar from the side.
“Well, actually, I don’t really have anything properly-”
“Why are you getting shy?” Feitan laughed slightly, making Shalnark a little embarrassed.
“Ugh, fine!” He huffed. He looked at Chrollo, “Uhm, C, then G, F then A,” He quickly explained.
“Major?”
“No, I meant minor,” Shalnark corrected, then Chrollo started playing.
By the end of the verse, then chorus, Shalnark had stopped singing, and everyone stared in awe: even Hisoka looked a little more than just impressed.
“Shal, what the hell? That’s solid! Like, really solid,” Uvo spoke first. “You were acting all sheepish this whole time for what?”
Feitan agreed, “why were you hiding that this whole time?”
“Well I don’t usually write, so I was a little insecure, I guess,” he explained, becoming a little awkward again.
“What’s it called?” Hisoka asked.
“Black Voice.” Replied Shalnark.
Hisoka turned his swivel chair to the desk, scribbling something down.
“That was amazing, Shal,” Chrollo complimented, “you always wrote well, don’t know what all the drama was about,” he teased him. Shalnark nudged him, Chrollo nudged him back.
“Can I have the lyrics, please?” Hisoka put a hand out whilst his eyes were glued to the desk.
“Ahh, right.” He passed the paper over to him, and then sat back down. Chrollo watched Hisoka’s hand clasp over the paper, and put it back on the desk.
“Does anyone else have anything?” Hisoka asked; though, everyone shook their heads.
“Then, maybe I’ll start working on some arrangements and you guys can see if you come up with anything?”
Chrollo hummed.
The next few days passed quickly like that.
Three days to be exact.
On the first day, Hisoka had already come up with an arrangement for Shalnark’s song. Chrollo didn’t want to admit it, but it was good. No, it was impressively good; intimidatingly good.
“How did you think of that riff?” Feitan had asked Hisoka excitedly that day; Chrollo knew from then that he too was sold on the idea.
“Do you like the arrangement, Chrollo?” Hisoka had also asked.
“It’s good.” Replied Chrollo, yet his eyes were full with uncertainty; that’s why he didn’t look at Hisoka that time and kept his head down instead.
“Have you written anything yet, Chrollo?” Uvo had asked him a little while after, to which Chrollo shook his head.
And when Uvo asked him why, he said:
“I just haven’t had much inspiration lately.”
Which was the truth.
On day two, Baise had decided to accompany Shalnark, this time.
Perhaps it was personal, or rather, Chrollo just had a dislike towards her intrusion.
“Good job, babe,” she would say to Shalnark, patting his back like a mother encouraging her son. Chrollo thought it was a little absurd. Her enthusiasm was fabricated: he knew that too.
When she would whisper in his ear, persuade him gently, stay by his side, assert herself into the conversation. Gosh, it drove Chrollo crazy. Shalnark was like that, though. He was the wide eyed retriever, happy to receive a rub to the head; happy to relax by her side; indulge in her pleasant words.
Chrollo knew Shalnark better than she did. He knew the type of guy he was, and he had a feel of the type of woman Baise was.
Nevertheless, he kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t…
“Good job, babe!” Baise said again; Chrollo wanted to scoff. How predictable.
“Maybe try going into a major, rather than a minor, Shal.” Chrollo suggested. He glanced at Hisoka, who spoke up too:
“I like the major note there, I think in the second chorus the minor note will had a nice contrast.”
Chrollo scoffed.
Hisoka looked at him. “You disagree?”
“Well, yes.” Chrollo crossed his arms. “I just think a minor note sounds better.” He explained. “It’s darker, the major makes it seem too gushy.”
“It’s one note, Chrollo,” Said Baise.
Chrollo bit his tongue; he clenched his fist a little. Oh how much he had to control himself. He ignored her as a result.
Why did the truth just happen to piss everyone off?
Hisoka caught the look, looking at Baise. He raised a brow, thinking…
“What do you think sounds better, Baise?” Hisoka asked her.
“Oh?” Baise crossed her arms, eyes darted towards Hisoka.
“Why are you asking her?” Chrollo suddenly asked. Shalnark flashed him a look and then Hisoka said:
“Because she’s the target audience, in a sense.” He stared at Chrollo, Chrollo didn’t speak, he let his eyes linger; narrow.
“I like the first one,” She spoke, running a hand through her hair, fingers rubbing against each other.
“Of course you do,” Chrollo scoffed.
“Come on man,” Feitan muttered, nudging Chrollo.
“What?” Chrollo scoffed, “does nobody care about my opinion anymore? I know it’s one note, but that one note means a whole lot, you know. It matters to me.” He looked back at Hisoka. “Don’t you agree, Hisoka?”
“To an extent,” He was amused, “but, Chrollo, you are a band: the majority should rule.”
Chrollo glared at him. Hisoka smirked.
“The variation sounds better,” Kurapika spoke up suddenly. Chrollo turned to him.
“You’re only saying that because it sounds more coherent on the keyboard. It goes better with the riff and the tone of the song to keep it the same.” Chrollo argued.
Kurapika scoffed.
Chrollo’s eyes darkened. “What?” He said with a little bit of hostility.
“Chrollo.” Shalnark sighed disapprovingly.
“No, he wants to say something, let him.” Chrollo put a hand out to pause Shalnark.
“Nothing,” Kurapika sighed, “I just think that Hisoka’s thinking about it more objectively than you are. Since he can overlook the entire thing…”
Chrollo rolled his eyes.
“Come on guys, let’s move on.” Shalnark sighed, trying to brush off the tension.
Chrollo was quick to back down after that, eyes wavering, hand tightly fisting the sheet music in his hand.
On day three, Chrollo had left the studio to smoke whilst the others were inside, chatting, laughing, doing whatever it was they were.
At least the outside had the consolation of silence, and the breeze of the wind to comfort Chrollo like a squeeze to the skin. At least he could hear himself think…
“Chrollo, are you okay?” Asked Phinks after he too, had taken a step outside.
Chrollo looked over, noticing he had stood beside him. “Huh? Yeah,” he spoke with half lidded eyes, smoke leaving his lips.
Phinks nodded, patting his pocket, lighting up a cigarette for himself too.
There was a soft beat, they didn’t speak, Phinks took a drag, then, he spoke again:
“Are you sure?”
Chrollo turned to him properly, he sighed. “Yeah, man, I’m alright, I’m good…I'm just a little tired…” he trailed off, taking another drag, staring at the ground. Chrollo sighed deeply after a moment, “it’s just-” he started, but couldn’t find the words to finish.
“Look, I get it. I do.” Phinks spoke. Chrollo looked at him, “I get that things with the band are a little…different right now, yeah? But, you know, nothing’s changed properly, not between us anyway.”
Chrollo shrugged. He looked down.
Phinks sighed.
“We’re barely a band anymore, Phinks.” He finally said. He frowned, “we’re just six people playing the same song.”
“That’s not true, man. What about you and Shal?”
“It’s not him.” He shook his head, “this is all he ever wanted, you know. He wanted validation and opportunity and all that stuff, whatever. So, look at him: he got the fame, he got the girl, got the opportunity…” Chrollo paused, flicking away his cigarette, “...so why make music, anymore?”
He finally met eyes with Phinks again; intensely, full with burden and thought. “Why make music, if it’s just to feel validated? Why try to glue the band together if it all looks pretty on the surface?”
“I hear you,” Phinks had a look of uncertainty wash over his face, “don’t think too much about it. Just because a couple things are changing doesn’t mean we aren’t the same. Who knows, maybe this’ll be good for us.” He shrugged, then thought about something again.
He paused, he spoke.
“You remember when Wing took us to see that concerto thing?” He scratched the back of his neck, “you know, I didn’t quite understand it all: the technical stuff or the way it all came together in the background. I thought: f*ck, they must’ve worked hard to keep themselves in tune, with those big instruments as well. If one person were to f*ck up, it would be obvious; it wouldn’t work. Then, afterwards, I spoke to one of the cello players: bit of a beard, hipster looking fella - and I said to him ‘cello is just a bass standing upright, right?’...”
Chrollo chuckled.
Phinks laughed, continued, “...he didn’t find it very funny, though. Anyway, I asked him how he navigated it all in such a big orchestra; how he didn’t get lost in it all. He said that the details were more important than the bigger picture. The cello was just another detail that contributed to the masterpiece. To be a part of it was better than feeling detached, you know? The music was the important part, not the politics behind it.”
Chrollo nodded. He paused, he hummed. “Yeah,” he sighed once again. “Thanks, Phinks.”
Phinks patted his back. “You used to be really lively, Chrollo.” He added, “Relax once in a while. We need you; we’re nothing if you don’t write.” He patted his back one more time, then, with that, Phinks stopped speaking.
Chrollo didn’t say a word either, instead, he nodded and enjoyed the silence for a little while longer.
Chrollo had gone back inside after finishing off another cigarette: he noticed that the others had already settled down; that Hisoka was turned towards the computer, eyes glued with headphones on.
He stared at him, then, he looked at the remains of the others: Feitan and Uvo: Phinks had left after his smoke.
“We might get some dinner,” said Feitan, nodding his head towards the door.
“I’ll pass,” Chrollo said softly, “I might stay behind for a bit.”
Uvo nodded, patting his arm.
After those two had left, Chrollo turned to Hisoka.
What was his deal? Just what?
“Are you just going to stare?” He heard Hisoka say.
Chrollo scoffed, “I wasn’t staring.”
“If you’re gonna stand there, you may as well listen to the track.” Hisoka glanced behind his shoulder.
Chrollo paused; then, he walked over, his finger trailed against the desk when he walked around it and stopped right next to Hisoka.
“You’ve already started on the track?” Chrollo tilted his head.
Hisoka took off his headphones, letting them rest around his neck.
“You’re speaking to me, now?” Hisoka didn’t look away from the screen.
Chrollo didn’t say anything.
There was another soft pause, Chrollo was staring again.
Somewhere in the back of his mind…he knew that Hisoka noticed and yet, he didn’t say anything about it. So, Chrollo couldn’t help but keep staring. He noticed the way his eyes were attentive; the reflection of the screen’s brightness against his iris; his left hand clasped over the mouse of the computer as if it was reflex.
Then, after a moment, Chrollo tilted his head, he stopped in his tracks.
He noticed the way that Hisoka’s right hand shook. No, the way it flopped around and trembled vigorously.
His right hand - whilst his left was steady and calm and functional.
“What’s happening? Why is your hand doing that?” Chrollo asked whilst he looked. There was a soft concern behind his tone - subtle, though.
Hisoka looked down at it, he hummed and slipped it under the desk, onto his thigh.
Had he made him feel self-conscious?
“It’s a tremor,” Hisoka muttered nonchalantly as he continued on clicking with his right hand, focusing on the track.
“Like…carpal tunnel syndrome?” Chrollo asked, confused, still staring at him.
“Sort of, yeah. I damaged the nerves in my wrist a couple of years ago. So, I can’t control the movements sometimes, in my right hand.” Hisoka’s eyes were still glued to the screen.
Chrollo’s lips were parted, eyes softer. “How did you damage it?” He asked without hesitation.
“I was in an accident. I crushed my carpal bones under a stage light.” Hisoka replied in the same fashion.
There was another pause of contemplation from Chrollo.
“Doesn’t that affect your work?”
“Hmm?” Hisoka turned, glancing at him.
“Doesn’t that affect your work?” He repeated.
Hisoka scoffed, “the sentiment is there, but the delivery needs work, Chrollo.” He amusedly scoffed.
“I’m serious, though.” Chrollo leaned against the edge of the desk.
“Well, I can’t strum a guitar anymore. I can’t play the melody part of a piano either. At least, I can…but not with the chords, not properly.”
Chrollo hummed, he nodded…he thought…he gazed into the distance…
“You’re wondering how I do my work, aren’t you?” He chuckled.
Chrollo looked back at him. “It crossed my mind,” he admitted.
“I have very good audiation.”
Chrollo hummed, that made a lot of sense.
Another beat.
Hisoka spoke up again: “I went to a music school when I was a teenager. I wanted to be a composer.”
Chrollo’s eyes were attentive again; almost soft. “What did you want to compose?”
“Piano music.” He replied, “classical. I used to play piano well. I picked it up when I was 6, then I picked up guitar naturally…though I always preferred the comfort of a piano…”
“The fret system is easy to translate,” Chrollo commented, nodding.
“...exactly.” Hisoka agreed, continued, “then violin, and some flute. Flute was the hardest for me…my fingers aren’t as delicate.”
Chrollo chuckled amusedly, “guitar scabs will do that.”
Hisoka chuckled.
The remains of their laugh left them both with the pleasant tinge of a smile.
Another beat.
“Isn't the producer somewhat a composer?” Chrollo shrugged.
“Not exactly. Well…the clue’s in the name, isn’t it?” Hisoka laughed. “Anyway, I wanted to compose classical pieces. I wanted to compose on the piano. I could’ve done it…” He looked down for a moment, in a moment of rumination. Though, that was quickly cut off by Chrollo, who inched a little closer to him; who’s hand was flat on the table, fingers fidgeting against the surface. He stared down at his hand.
“You still could.” Chrollo muttered, looking back to Hisoka.
Hisoka scoffed, “what kind of composer can’t play the melody?” He scoffed once again, amused.
Chrollo hummed.
With that, Hisoka gently took his right hand, holding it at its wrist and securing it steadily - he stared at the screen again, as if nothing was happening, and nothing had happened.
Chrollo’s eyes were full of rumination: just, for once…it wasn’t about himself, and it wasn’t another means of self-indulgence: it was somewhat close to empathy…maybe sympathy?
Just…when he looked at Hisoka, suddenly those feline eyes weren’t so sharp anymore and the words uttered in the past didn’t have the same harsh ring to them.
Remorse? Is that what this was?
Ahh…that’s right, Chrollo felt remorseful. Once again, he was too quick to judge somebody else’s actions as a tribute to the critical projection of himself. Classic Chrollo.
There was that self-awareness.
Chrollo looked down, his lips pressed together, his eyes drooped.
Another moment passed.
“Can I hear the track?” Chrollo spoke up, changing the subject.
Hisoka glanced over again. He too, had a beat of silence…then he nodded.
With that, he took the headphones from Hisoka, glancing over, and then letting their soft simmer of a conversation come to a comfortable silence.
He closed his eyes, he listened.
