Work Text
Germ’s nickname was pretty accurate, wasn’t it? He had always thought so.
It was just one of those things you picked up in your childhood, a little word that felt bound to you like gum to concrete. That was the best descriptor for it, too. A gross little nickname for a germ of a kid. The perfect name for the chubby comic book kid. Although, he wasn’t much of a kid anymore, was he?
He definitely wasn’t a kid anymore. He was an adult now, freshly 18 against the dark veil of the future. The number was meaningless but meant everything; a milestone he thought he would never reach, or at least something he thought would take longer to pass him by. But no, Germ was 18, sitting curled up against the soundproofing foam of his best friend’s garage with a spiral sketchbook resting angled in his lap. The spiral wires dug into his palm as he stared at the graphite markings against the page. His friend's conversation spun around him like how the stained water would swirl around the drain after a dye job.
“I’m just sayin’ man, I think she’s into you,” RJ spoke the loudest in the garage. Germ swallowed tightly and shoved his sketchbook to the floor, then turned over to watch the others. RJ waved his hands in the air descriptively, broad shoulders leaning over his battered precalculus textbook.
Freddy fidgeted with the spikes of his hair before plucking an out-of-tune note on his guitar. “Nah, nah, fuck yourself,” He grunted back as he tuned, each twist followed by pluck after pluck of twangy notes. “E’erybody knows she’s a total lesbo,”
“Dude, you can’t say that,” Nick mumbled through the spine of his book.
“But she is!” Freddy threw his hands toward the air in exasperation. “She is, dude, she fuckin’
told
me!”
“For real?” RJ scoffed and leaned back against the padded wall of the garage.
Germ pulled his knees to his chin and leaned against them, curled up on the other side of the room beside the bass amp. This was Freddy’s garage… aka, the studio of the
Demolition Lovers
.
Freddy’s Garage was basically just a spare building to the side of his tiny house, a space only wide enough to fit a car and a workbench on a good day. Thankfully, Freddy’s family didn’t have a car, so the space had been turned into his own little clubhouse when he had moved in years ago. Recently, it had flourished into their studio. The three main walls were plastered with soundproofing foam, the cheap kind. It was stuff made from craft foam, anything they could scrape together to fill the wallspace. The room itself was split into two parts: The recording half, and the lounging half.
Germ was curled up in the recording half, huddled up beside the bass amp with his sketchbook resting against his lifted thigh. The other three were sitting in the lounging half, talking absently into the steady air of the soundproofed garage. Germ’s eyes lifted toward the colored lights along the ceiling, the ones that Freddy had bought and that RJ had hooked up. They had been the most exciting purchase… a piece of flair for their otherwise unexciting studio.
Demolition Lovers was kind of a passion project, that was how Germ would put it. It was like a book club, but way less productive. A lot of the time
“band practice”
was just the four of them in a room doing homework. RJ would flip through textbooks with his eyes closed, Nick would actually do his homework, and Freddy would copy Nick with the
class
and
style
of a professional. Germ leaned his head against the foam and listened.
“I’m mostly just wondering why she even told you,” Nick mumbled, book abandoned against the carpeted floor of the garage. “You aren’t exactly the secret-keeping type,”
“Ay, I’m plenty good at secret keeping,” Freddy was laying on his back, head against the floor beside Nick’s stranded book. His guitar sat lopsided in his lap, the wiry strings stuck out from the head, uncut and loose. “These hot italian lips are fuckin’ sealed; you don’t know a damn thing, Nicky.”
RJ made a gagging noise, Nick laughed.
“Didn’t you tell us she was gay like, a minute ago?” Nick reminded Freddy. “You sure are Italian, but I dunno if your lips are sealed. 1 for 3, Fred.”
“Fuck off.” Freddy flipped him the bird with an air of grace and elegance about him. Maybe that was just his body odor, though.
“So, Lindsey Parker’s gay…” RJ cut in with a heavy sigh. He was leaning over his elbows, knees crossed below his still open precalculus textbook. Freddy glanced up at RJ from the floor and snickered.
“Don’t you have precalc homework, RJ? Watch yourself,” Freddy taunted. RJ jumped and glared down at the now wrinkled textbook page. He swore and scrambled for the notebook that laid cast to his side. Freddy’s voice teetered off into a string of cackles.
RJ was Germ’s first friend in New York. His first real friend in the big city, a D&D geek with a dorky voice and a taste for classic rock. That wasn’t an issue, honestly that was a blessing. He was someone who could understand Germ’s interests to a pretty deep extent, and they met even on a couple scores. Not only that, he was probably one of the best guitar players Germ had ever met in his life, and he’d met more than a few.
He remembered his first day pretty vividly. It was a clear day in September, back when New York was still new to Germ in a sense that was frightening. He had waddled up to the front of the class and mumbled through his introduction, a formality he had to recite every time it was asked of him. This class had been different. When Germ said he was from Newark, RJ’s head of hair had twitched in the back row. Germ still remembered when the guy had approached him, hand extended and smile wide. They were friends for a reason, after all. Dorky Jersey kids had to stick together.
RJ picked at the acne on his chin and grimaced, eyes shrouded by his frizzy head of brown hair. He clicked his tongue in thought and scooted away from the other two to focus. RJ knew when he had to focus, and he did it well. Germ had always admired that aspect of him.
“... The hell you readin’, Nicky?” Freddy spoke up. Germ’s eyes darted toward the kid on the floor, who had reached up beside his head to snatch the book from the carpeted floor.
“Your mom,” Nick responded easily with the adjustment of his glasses.
“Not my fuckin
ma,”
Freddy gasped, then threw the paperback up into Nick’s chest with a good half of his force. Nick belted out a string of laughter as he flinched, the kind of laughter that rang high in his vocal chords and teetered like the broken wheels of a shopping cart.
Nick was the quietest of the group, and also the second friend Germ had made in New York. They had run into each other entirely thanks to coincidence. Germ remembered it pretty vividly, mostly because it had embarrassed him so deeply. He had been walking through the halls with his nose a little too low, and he had run directly into Nick’s shoulder. He remembered stumbling back and moving to apologize, but his efforts were stifled by the
“Anthrax”
logo patched hastily to his bag. The only thing he could blurt out in that moment of recognition was “woah”. He remembered Nick laughing.
It was one of those moments that made Germ’s gut swim with embarrassment. It was lucky for him that Nick was just as pathetic, and also incredibly forgiving. He was a lot of things, actually. He was a fantastic bass player, he loved collecting things, and he had a knack for getting people to do what he wanted. He had gotten Germ his first job in the city, so maybe he was happy he had hung his nose a little too low that day.
Nick plucked the book up from the floor and examined the cover with a smirk. Freddy scoffed and glared up at the ceiling, pouting with his hands resting absently against his chest. He blew his wiry black bangs from his eyes and looked back over at Nick.
“Didn’t answer my question,” Freddy reminded him.
“Oh,” Nick blinked, then opened the book to a split in the pages marked by a smudgy gas station receipt. He smiled and showed Freddy the cover. Germ glanced at it from a distance.
The cover of the book was bright and worn, a healthy smattering of yellows and reds that looked like a classic horror-neon-murder-scene. It was the kind of art Germ hated making but loved looking at… it was the kind of shapework that was hard to comprehend.
“Carrie by Stephen King,” Nick grinned excitedly. Freddy’s front teeth fiddled with his lip piercing while he thought, examining the cover for what felt like a bit too long.
“... is it good?” Freddy asked.
Nick blinked and lowered the book to examine it. “I guess,” He shrugged, then looked back at Freddy. “I don’t hate reading it.”
“Eloquently put, Nicky.” Freddy looked back up at the ceiling and snickered. “I kinda expected more out of you, if I’m honest.”
“Do you even
know
how to read?” RJ mumbled through the pencil eraser in his mouth. Freddy scoffed and sat up with a jolt, now glaring at RJ in anger.
“AY!” Freddy snapped. RJ only laughed, Nick joined him. Even Germ found himself giggling along from the other side of the room.
Freddy was the strangest of Germ’s friends. He was the third and most recent person that Germ had met in the city, less so by coincidence and more by circumstance. Freddy was the type of person that was hard to miss, like a strobe light in a shadowy room. His essence was comparable to the twang of a banjo in a classical orchestra; the scrappy punk stuck at a prep school in Brooklyn.
Germ had met him by force, trapped in the tiny windowless detention hall sat beside the library. The day’s tolls had been extensive, as if the heavy weights in gym had been melted down and welded into a random wednesday. He didn’t remember what had gotten him into that detention hall, at least not with full clarity. Germ remembered trudging through the courtyard that afternoon with his lunch in hand when a word had been hollered at him, one that was familiar. The word had felt particularly sharp that day. Maybe it was the way it shot through the air, or the way it struck his back and bled like an arrow bolt. All he remembered was gritting his teeth and hurling an apple at the guy. According to Nick, it hit the guy right in the forehead.
Freddy had leaned over in that tiny little detention hall with a cat-like grin on his face. All he did was compliment Germ’s accuracy, and he knew they’d find common ground somewhere. It was lucky they did, or the band wouldn’t have had any place to play. Freddy was one of those passionate little miracles; the kind that knew a good arm when he saw it.
The laughter that scattered over the soundproofed walls started to die as the three calmed down. Freddy scoffed and sat up again, back to fiddling with his guitar and watching as the strings wobbled under his painted nails. Nick curled up against the wall beside RJ, nose buried in the same book Freddy had been tossing around so carelessly moments prior. The air of the garage was stiff, but comforting. It was stiff in the way a children’s park felt stiff past 5 PM.
The textbook in RJ’s lap slid down his thigh and stopped gracelessly against the carpeted floor. He leaned his head back into the wall and his eyes darted up over the bare ceiling, pupils following the wires and cables that had been fixed to the concrete months prior. His gaze arced in the silence, eyes darting from the ceiling to the walls… before landing on Germ. They made eye contact. Germ was suddenly very aware of how much he existed.
Germ was hard to describe.
He was… pale. He hadn’t washed his hair in a few days. His Batman tee shirt felt unclean and itchy, and it probably looked like that, too. He was still wearing his work jeans which were worn out around the knees in a sad way, not a punk rock kind of way. There was a hole in his sneakers. He had splashed his sketchbook with coffee a few days ago, and he could still see the crease in the pages.
Germ wasn’t much of anything, honestly. He wasn’t very original or passionate, he wasn’t loud, he wasn’t bright or intelligent by any means. He was average, there wasn’t much to note about him. Germ couldn’t come up with any pretentious little metaphors for himself, nothing did him justice. His name would have to do. His name kind of said it all.
“You good?” RJ asked softly, thankfully audible from across the room. Germ blinked and glanced down at his still open sketchbook.
“Yeah,” He picked up the book and closed it, twirling the cover over the spirals with practiced ease. “Yeah, I’m good.” Germ’s voice sat strangely in the back of their throat. It wasn’t so much a confidence problem, more a… personal issue. It was like his voice was incorrect.
Suddenly, RJ was beside him. The second soul entered his space rather abruptly, with a nudge to Germ’s shoulder and a rustle of his oily hair.
“We could talk lyrics, if ya wanna be productive,” RJ adjusted his hair and smiled kindly, in the way that made Germ’s mouth shakily mirror the expression on instinct. “It’d be better than our sorry asses, and we’d actually get something done.”
Germ fiddled with the crooked spiral of his sketchbook spine. “... I guess I had a few ideas in class,” He admitted. “Just some lines I wanna put music to.”
“That’s all a song is, man,”
“Pfft– Yeah, true,” Germ snorted and reopened his sketchbook.
It was a little easier to exist when he had a project to focus on, and their little band of misfits would last for years to come. Right?
—
Germ laughed with his whole chest. Bursts of air shot out into the February cold comfortably, puffing out into the night like little clouds. He watched as RJ bowed with a graceful flourish, a mocking gesture directed toward the disgruntled Freddy that stood solidly on his concrete porch under the lamplight.
“My sincerest apologies, my liege!” RJ announced in a familiarly exaggerated drawl. It was the one Germ only ever heard at D&D sessions: A poorly impersonated British accent riddled with butchered Shakespearean. Freddy watched from the porch with a grimace on his face. “If I hadst known our presence were to be
blessed
by a
fine duke
such as yourself, we would hath brought gifts of gesture,” RJ reached over and grabbed Nick so that he could steer him closer by his lanky shoulders. Nick’s voice broke into giggles as he followed the movement.
“Got a gift of gesture right here,” Freddy flipped RJ off.
Nick giggled and mock fainted into RJ’s chest. “Augh! The fiend, he
curses
us!” He yelled in his own roleplay dialect.
RJ gasped in anguish and knelt over Nick as if he were a soldier dying in war. “Dwegharde the Unbroken,
no!
The wretched duke hath cursed you!”
“Please go home,” Freddy requested with another sigh.
Germ had to admit he was laughing a little too hard, in that shrill way that rang high in his register like a song. With a heavy heart, he had to be the bigger person… for just a moment.
“Guys, we probably should go home–” Germ attempted. It wasn’t long until Nick stopped him, grinning wide.
“Gee, do the voice…”
Nick urged. RJ’s grin hung above Nick’s with a similar shadow to it, two smiles parallel to each other against the night. Germ stood with four mischievous eyes watching him like rambunctious little kittens, desperate for entertainment.
Germ blinked and shuffled his sketchbook from one arm to the other. He looked at Freddy, whose eyes looked dead and tired in the shadows of the night. His eyes darted back to RJ and Nick, who were still staring at him like desperate little puppies.
“...
what
voice?” Germ asked cautiously.
“The voice!” Nick repeated. “Come on Gee, you know the one!” He didn’t.
“Y’know,” RJ cut in. They were approaching Germ as a group now, both eyeing him with excitement. “That grouchy one you use for all the magicky npcs?” Germ blinked. He
did
know the voice they were talking about, actually.
“What the fuck is an npc–” Freddy attempted from his spot against the porch railing, but Nick shushed him.
“I…” Germ hesitated. His voice broke off into embarrassing little giggles, appalled that he was expected to perform in Freddy’s empty neighborhood. Almost resolutely, he accepted the pathetic moment with an open heart and made claws with his hands.
“The wretched duke has CURSED you with his gestures of malice,”
The three started cackling.
“
Ooh
what shall we do!?” Nick let himself fall into RJ’s arms. “Is there
any
way to halt this utter agony?”
“Of course!”
Germ felt his body lifting the moment the voice entered his throat. It was a stupid voice, one that he had to send into the lower registers that he usually struggled with. Whenever he did it, he found himself bouncing a little lighter on his feet– little movements that made the character feel authentic and real despite its basic nature. He really liked playing a character, even though it felt so childish.
Germ held his hands out with purpose and announced,
“You must wander the Glass Caves of Trebione before the moon reaches its second wink,”
The words that spouted from his mouth were complete bullshit, adlibs ripped from pieces of books he had read over the years. He ducked down and glared at Nick with a devious smile, fingertips clawing at the air for effect.
“... Or you will be cast into the PITS–”
“Alright, I’m going to bed. G’night.” Freddy turned on his heel and entered his house with a resolute door slam.
The three friends were left alone in the cold, caught motionless in their renaissance poses with mouths still open. Slowly, in unison, they all straightened awkwardly, the silence split by the occasional cough and uncomfortable chuckle. Germ was the first to feel a subtle wash of shame, but it dampened when RJ rustled Germ’s hair and began to walk down the street on his own. The other two followed behind, now quietly trudging under the rustling trees of Freddy’s clustered neighborhood.
RJ usually walked pretty confidently, his head of hair held high as it bounced subtly in the breeze. In contrast, Nick always walked at a low hunch, awkwardly condensed as he trudged over lanky legs. Germ stood between them on the sidewalk, pale hands clutched around the edges of his worn sketchbook. They were quiet, each one of them glancing over different parts of their surroundings passively. Freddy was probably in his room by now, either getting ready to go to sleep or nowhere near it… Germ never really knew. Freddy kind of did whatever he wanted at this point in the night. But he
had
looked tired…
“Gee wrote something sick today,” RJ mentioned briefly into the night. Nick perked up beside Germ’s opposite shoulder, interested.
“Somethin’ for the new EP?” Nick asked.
“Oh…” Germ caught himself off guard with his own voice. He continued with a laugh. “I don’t know if it’s an EP anymore,” He admitted. “I’ve been writing enough for a whole EP on my own, add that to Fred and RJ? Well… then we’ve got a whole
record.
”
“...” Nick straightened his posture and breathed tightly. “... You sure the band can handle that?”
“Why not?” Germ smiled at Nick nervously, admittedly terrified of the prospect. A whole record… the band had barely made it through their first project, and now they were starting another one? Maybe they should just focus on gigs, maybe a new record was a bad idea.
RJ seemed to notice Germ’s anxious apprehension, because all he did was laugh.
“Nah, when you hear what Germ’s got churning in his head you’ll change your tune, Nicky.” RJ assured Nick with an excited grin. “It’s this jam about prison, it’s fucking
awesome–”
“I only have, like, a chunk of the first verse.” Germ admitted. “It’s something like…” He hissed through his teeth to try and remember it.
“... In the middle of a gunfight, in the eyes of twilight, come with your arms raised high. Oh, they’re never gonna get me…
Uh…” Germ blinked.
“I really liked that doves line, do you remember it?” RJ mumbled. “It just sounded
sick,
”
“Oh!” Germ laughed, embarrassed, suddenly fidgeting with a loose seam in his coat. “Yeah, it was ‘
and like a bullet through a flock of doves’,
I really liked that one.” Germ remembered underlining that line excitedly when he had first written it, it was embarrassing to forget something he was so proud of.
Nick whistled. “Ooh, I like that,”
“We could probably tighten up the other lyrics, but that one is solid.” RJ decided. “I bet Fred’ll wanna take a glance at them, pass them over to him tomorrow. He’s always been good with that kinda stuff.”
RJ was always the most encouraging when it came to the musical aspects of the band. He never liked being called a genius, but Germ would call him that in a heartbeat. Germ was just a nerd with a pen, RJ knew how to put those meaningless little poems to music and make it mean something. It was something in the way his brain was wired; he could understand what he heard to a much deeper extent than other people. Whenever Germ came to him with lyrics, it was like he knew just what to do to make them perfect, even if he couldn’t really grasp Germ’s flowery little metaphors.
The three friends came to a halt before the high steps to a familiar apartment complex. Nick looked up and sighed deeply through his nose, disappointed that he’d have to leave so soon. It was the curse of living so close to Freddy, he was always the first to split off when they walked home as a group. Nick said his goodbyes, and Germ was sure to nudge his friend playfully in the shoulder before he trudged up the steps and disappeared down the thin hallway. RJ and Germ were alone now, the air between them filled with relative silence against the cold air.
Germ’s stomach churned with a feeling they couldn’t name. It was like the emotional equivalent to motion sickness, that toss and turn that swept through his stomach during a scary movie or an awkward conversation. It was frustrating because he didn’t have any reason to feel like that… he was walking with one of his best friends, waddled in warm silence like a pathetic baby in the cold. RJ sniffled and wiped his nose against the sleeve of his jacket. Germ adjusted his own coat self consciously.
“Did you end up finding someone to work with in history?” RJ asked passively, eyes still cast up ahead of them. Germ blinked like he was surprised to hear a question about his own life.
“Uh,” He hesitated. “No, I haven’t.” Germ felt embarrassed to admit it. “I couldn’t really find the time to ask anyone.” He felt RJ’s eyes glance toward him knowingly.
“... If you need help, just let me know.” RJ’s voice escaped him in a tone that felt… sincere. He wasn’t scolding Germ, like he had expected. Germ swallowed dryly. “I can always just talk the teacher into letting you work with me, if you want.”
“N-nah, nah,” Germ did his best to smile and laugh it off. “Man, I’m an adult, I should be able to take care of that kinda shit myself,” He raised his chin and spoke with a chuckle, but heart shuttered with misplaced dread. “I’ll ask around tomorrow. If I can’t find anyone, then
I’ll
talk the prof into letting me work with you.”
“... I’m only offering because I’m not sure who you can ask,” RJ wasn’t convinced by Germ’s bullshit. “I mean like, think about it. Everybody’s got a partner to work with. That means you’re either gonna get some weirdo, or you’re gonna get stuck with one of those varsity freaks. I don’t think you’re cool enough to stick that landing, Gee.”
“I’m plenty cool,” Germ rolled his eyes and looked away. “I’m cool as hell, you don’t even know it.”
“... Germ,” RJ nudged him. “You like D&D, Audry Hepburn–”
“Hey!” Germ’s face flushed.
“--Fangoria, Harry Houdini, croquet,” RJ was keeping a count on his fingers now, counting off Germ’s shames like a game of goddamn bingo.
“I don’t even
like
croquet that much anymore–”
“You can’t swim, you can’t dance, and you don’t know karate,” RJ was just making shit up now.
“What the hell does karate have to do with anything–”
“Enough. Face it, man, you’re not cool.” RJ reminded him, his eight little reminders of Germ’s worth dangling from his extended fingers like a tally. “You’re
not
gonna make it, especially if you go running around pretending to be more than you are. You’re a loser, embrace it. You’re
never
gonna make it,”
Germ huffed and looked away, face embarrassingly red against the cool blackness of the winter evening. His left thumb flicked over the crooked spiral at the end of his sketchbook, a little rhythm to keep himself grounded to the earth.
“... Well, when you put it like that,” Germ mumbled. “I don’t know if I wanna make it. I just wanna…” His breath caught up in his throat, like he was supposed to say something. It was like a word was supposed to be there for him to speak, one his brain hadn’t found yet. “Nevermind.”
“Just let me know if you need a hand,” RJ rustled Germ’s hair again in that way he always did. His touch always lingered for a moment too long, like an older brother’s playful teasing. Germ pushed his bangs back and let them fall over his face like a wiry mop.
It wasn’t so much that Germ was socially helpless, he just didn’t know where to start. He had never known, even when he was a kid in Jersey. He never had that many friends, and it wasn’t like his town was safe enough to go wandering out to find some… No one had ever told him how to talk to people, and now that he was something like an adult he was just
expected
to know. He was floundering, like a little kid in the deep end of a pool. His friends were helpful, but it wasn’t easy to learn social formalities when his only friends were just as inept… It was incredibly hard, actually.
Germ really wasn’t going to make it, not ever. He knew that. But something in his heart wanted to try. He wanted, more than anything, to make it… he didn’t know what that meant, or what context that goal was held in… All he knew was that he wanted it. He didn’t care if it meant the band taking off, or if it meant his stupid art getting him somewhere… He just wanted to make it, to some degree. It was kind of hard for an idiot like him to swallow the truth.
“Well,” RJ sighed deeply and slid his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He was standing just before the gate to his tiny house. The small cluster of shrubbery under the tiny kitchen window rustled in the air. Germ paused, caught off guard by sudden awareness.
“... Yeah,” Germ nodded. “I’ll see you then,” He breathed, then smiled.
RJ wished him goodnight, walked up to his front door, then disappeared, leaving Germ alone to walk all the way home. This was always how the night ended… It always, no question, ended with Jeremy May walking home completely alone.
It wasn’t an issue, of course. Germ liked having a moment to think. He needed time to brood, like Bruce Wayne or one of those noir detectives from the movies in his basement… except way stupider, and a little rancid on the hygiene side of things. The next day would be more of the same. A full day of school, a few hours at work, and then a few hours at practice… That was how the last day had been, along with the day before that… if Germ had his way, every day would be like that forever. But he probably had to grow up eventually.
Although… losers don’t ever grow up, really. And he sure was the biggest loser in the world. The world’s most annoying little germ.
He took a deep, slow breath, filling his lungs with cold February air. Then, he stepped away from the front gate of RJ’s house and started to walk toward home. He looked out at the empty horizon, admiring how the street lamps glittered in the watery reflection of the partially filled gutter to his right. His off hand moved for the pocket of his large coat and withdrew his cheap headphones, then clasped the plastic around his head so that the foam fit comfortably over his ears. The MP3 started playing with a click as Germ walked, sketchbook under his arm.
Drums battered in his ears as he trudged toward home, out toward another day… Soon, the morning would arrive, and Germ would have to face it the best he could. Things were comfortable now, and he hoped it would stay that way… He really couldn’t afford for something else to fall apart in his life. That sure would be unfortunate.
Until then, Germ would walk home alone.
-PHOTOGRAPHS AND DIRTY LOOKS-
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Germ was shit at school.
He wasn’t even bad at the school part, he could pay attention and get his assignments in without issue. In fact, he had spent the last four years of highschool passing pretty steadily with very few bumps in the road… It was the social aspect of school that he was shit at. If Germ had his way, he would lock himself in a private library with nothing but a couple books and some time. If Germ had his way, he wouldn’t have to go anywhere at all. He struggled the most with going somewhere and looking presentable. He hated the way his two-toned school uniform itched around his shoulders and crotch embarrassingly. Germ despised being forced to get up from bed every single morning and dress himself in clothes he hated, just to go to a place he hated more.
It had always been patronizing, a little prison stuffed with people that Germ couldn’t get along with and teachers he couldn’t work with. He had always been socially stunted, and none of the authority figures in that school were willing to accommodate for that. So the best thing he could do was accept the veiled insults and walk through the halls with his head low.
All he could do was let the day pass him by again and again. Each hour was spent waiting for the next, watching as the clock ticked through the seconds and minutes imperceivably against the classroom walls. That was how he had spent the morning. Through his first few classes his eyes glanced from the board to the clock waiting for time to pass, a force of habit reinforced by impatience. Whatever the professor was talking about passed through his ears like water through a drain, running just under his brain well before he could ever soak it in as information. He probably knew whatever they were talking about anyway. If he didn’t, he could figure it out. That would be an older, wiser Jeremy’s problem.
He was in chemistry. That was the class. The teacher was prattling on, mumbling through long winded explanations of things that didn’t matter, directing dead eyes toward figures on the board that meant nothing to their tired heads. Germ only half processed the instruction. He jotted down a few meaningless notes to look busy. The lead of his pencil snapped against the page. Germ released a condensed sigh.
Resigned, he examined the classroom passively instead.
He was trapped in one of the many, many lower level classrooms of Saint Helena Preparatory School, a decrepit, likely haunted old building in one of the many districts of New York. The place was ancient, a strange mix of pretentious architecture and incompetent modern addons that felt haphazard and strange. Granted, Germ was incredibly biased. He hated this place. He
had
to admit it was nicer than his old highschool in Jersey.
The classroom was a bit longer than average, the pale cream walls stretched to accommodate for the black counters and cabinets that lined either wall. Behind him he could feel the glare of sunlight shining through the open windows on the farthest wall. They were sitting on an uncomfortable stool at a black tabletop, split pencil resting absently in his hand above his half finished page of poorly done notes. It was all so lifeless, from the plain decorations to the blank walls to the black countertops… All Germ could do was keep his nose low and make sure his hair stayed out of his face.
When the bell rang, he jumped in his seat. It scared him for a moment, and he realized in clarity that he was the only one who wasn’t ready to move on to the next class. Embarrassed, face flushed, he stuffed his notebook haphazardly into his bag and shuffled anxiously to the door before he was caught behind.
He walked through the threshold and held his breath subconsciously. Walking through the halls was suffocating. It was hard to transition from a quiet classroom to loud, locker-lined hallways of tile and crowds. Germ resigned to survival again, choosing to hover closer to the wall and walk as fast as his weak legs could carry him to the art wing. He exhaled sharply to weave around a large clump of friends and escape to the other side, then weaved up through a cluster of students discussing things his mind wouldn’t let him hear. It was a practiced series of maneuvers, the kind of thing he knew how to do to get through the day. It got complicated when someone joined him.
“Gee,” Freddy called him from behind him and began to trot at his pace. Germ glanced back briefly and acknowledged him with what felt like a normal, human smile. “You headin’ to class?” He asked.
“I–” Germ felt his pace slow. They passed the entrance doors and walked through to the opposite wing of the school. “... Why
wouldn’t
I be?”
Fred only snickered. “I’m skipping, I’m hungry.”
Germ released a tight sigh and sped up again, already denying Freddy’s unspoken offer.
“Lunch is in like, an hour, man,” Germ reminded him in a tired tone, one that wasn’t actually that frustrated. Freddy could do whatever the hell he wanted, Germ didn’t give two shits.
“Awe come on, is a guy not allowed to get hungry?” Freddy only snickered in response and reached back to scratch the nape of his neck absently. “It’s not like we’re doing anything in McCallister’s anyway,” McCallister was one of the quieter art teachers, and he taught the only class that all four of them actually shared.
Germ huffed a sigh through his nose. “Well,” He paused. “I kinda wanted you to glance over some lyrics I was fiddling with last night, if you could,”
“I always can,” Freddy grinned.
“I’m
sayin’
we could go through them together,” Germ tucked his hands underneath the weight of either arm, as if to keep himself condensed in the crowded halls. “It’d be good to have everyone working on them now, especially if I wanna get this record out before we graduate,” He rolled his shoulders and admitted his goal as if it was common knowledge.
Freddy blinked.
“Record?”
He scoffed and looked ahead of them in shock. “Dude, nah, we aren’t even touring. RJ’s pc could barely handle the EP, and we only made one copy.”
Germ felt his face redden as the two approached the art classroom on the farther side of the wing. “Yeah but, like,” He repressed the urge to clear his throat. “You
know
people, don’t you?”
“I don’t
have
the kinda cash for a record, I don’t think
any
of us do. We can barely afford that drummer, and we only pay that guy in, like, loose 20s.” Freddy shrugged his bag onto one shoulder and shuffled into the classroom with Germ behind him. “You gotta think more realistic. Either we find miracle cash under a bridge, or you start gettin’
real
chummy with those jackass vinyl snobs downtown.” Just the utterance of the suggestion made Germ shiver anxiously, chilled by the idea of speaking to those kind of guys for more than a few minutes.
“What are you two talking about?” Nick spoke up. He was sitting passively at the table, lanky legs hanging crooked off the metal stool. Germ let his bag hit the leg of the table with a pathetic slump.
“Gee’s talkin’ ‘bout a new record,” Freddy spun the stool around and sat on it backwards. He leaned against the table on his elbows, ready to tear Germ’s little plan apart with his teeth. “I’m tellin’ him–” Luckily, RJ came to the rescue with his hand on his hip behind Freddy’s hunched back.
“You’re telling him it’s a great idea? ‘Cause it is,” RJ stepped around the table, passing each one of them with an idle pat or loving hair ruffle.
“Ohh, so you suddenly got
record
cash, Torres?” Freddy bit back. “Or did you replace that brick back home? Think honestly, man,”
RJ sat down and crossed his legs, quietly smirking in the face of Freddy’s nay-saying ass. The seconds passed, and Freddy’s re-explanation of his argument started to unravel at the seams like an old knit sweater in the wash. As Freddy’s words trailed off, RJ pulled a folded note from the inside pocket of his coat and slid it across the table for Freddy to take. The spiky haired kid snatched it and unfolded it to reveal a scribbled riff notation under what Germ could gage as his own lyrics from the night previous. Freddy blinked and narrowed his eyes.
“...” He clicked his tongue and then glanced at RJ from behind the paper. “... Is this fucking
swing?”
“Swing elements,” RJ responded smoothly. “A little rock, y’know,” All he did was smile. “There’d be a bit of jazz drumming, too, and Nicky would have a ton of Bass parts. But the chorus would probably slip into that classic punk rock sound.”
Freddy seemed skeptical. “... I’m liking this song,” He admitted stubbornly.
“Germ’s draft lyrics sounded pretty flowery,” RJ explained. “I’m thinking if we try to find a good varied sound, we could make this weird little prison waltz.”
“I like that,” Nick admitted in his usual quiet tone. “I like when we do those dance songs, they always make the fucked up lyrics cooler,”
Freddy breathed deeply through his nose and then slid the draft riff notation back to RJ, who stowed it back into the pocket of his blazer. His teeth fiddled with his lip piercing in thought. “... Gee,”
“Yeah?”
“Lemme see those lyrics you were working on,” Freddy asked with little commitment. Germ realized after a second passed that he was supposed to respond to that, so all he did was duck down to his bag and withdraw his sketchbook. He flipped to the page in question, the one he had poured over the night previous the second he got home.
Freddy took the sketchbook in his hand and examined the page. Germ tried his best not to smile anxiously. Whenever people looked at the thing they got antsy. They didn’t even draw anything weird, it was mostly the invasion of privacy… It was stupid, they were supposed to trust Freddy. His eyes narrowed over Germ’s red ink scrawl, which split into long lines separated by slashes and haphazard dashes. Germ couldn’t read what Freddy was thinking even a little bit, left only to guess.
And he’d have to guess for a bit longer, because before Freddy could actually voice his thoughts, McCallister approached from behind him and mumbled something into his physical peripheral. The three friends watched as the forth’s face paled uncharacteristically, a real show of anxious fear that filled the air of the table with confused tension. Freddy swallowed anxiously and blinked, already moving to put the sketchbook away in his bag.
“Woah, Fred–”
“I gotta go,” Freddy was already up with his bag half slung over one shoulder.
“Wait,” Germ attempted, shoulders tense with fear as he realized that Freddy was
already
walking away with his sketchbook. “H-hey, wait, Fred–”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” He had already left the classroom before Germ could get up to stop him. The three friends sat in that silence for a little longer before Germ gave up, then sighed into the weight of his shoulders.
“...” RJ grimaced and moved to adjust his hair. “... He’s fine,” He decided.
“Yeah,” Nick agreed.
“... I…” Germ drummed his fingers over the surface of the table.
“You’ll get it back at lunch,” RJ assured Germ, already aware of his worry. “What’s an hour without it? He’ll get to the lyrics at some point.”
“... Mhm,” Germ was only half worried about the sketchbook, honestly. It was a notable worry, sure… but he couldn’t help but wonder why Freddy had looked so scared in that little moment. What was wrong? What had made Freddy run off so quickly…?
—
An hour later, Freddy was sitting at their courtyard lunch spot like nothing had happened, curled up with his legs against his chin like he hadn’t been scared in the first place.
The Demo-Lover’s lunch spot of choice was a circular collection of steps up into a grassy field that sat beside a cluster of identical trees to the left of the school. It was the perfect spot, usually placed in the shade at lunch and the perfect distance from the school’s assholes. No one bothered them, and they wouldn’t have to bother anyone else. Freddy sat to the right, leaning back against the highest step and sitting on the one below. His knees were tucked under his chin, and his bag and food sat beside him on the concrete.
The surrounding trees were dry and barren in the last few dry weeks of winter, each branch clear against the solid white sky. Germ could see RJ and Nick trudging over from a distance, so Germ hauled himself up the steps and settled on the farthest one, his tray of food now resting against his still thigh. Germ glanced at the back of Freddy’s head nervously as he started to eat. He didn’t know what to say.
“... Hey Fred,” He mumbled against the air. He watched as Freddy’s shoulders twisted and rolled anxiously for just a moment, a little gesture of unease.
“... oh, uh,” Freddy turned his head slightly to glance up at Germ for a second, then pivoted to pull Germ’s sketchbook out from his bag. “Sorry for taking it,” He held it up behind him for Germ to take.
“Did you look at the lyrics?” Germ asked simply.
“...” Freddy blinked. “... Ah,” He slowly brought the book back to his lap, signaling that
no,
he had not. Germ snorted and took a bite of his sandwich.
Germ sighed and leaned back on his off hand so he could look up at the cloudy sky. It looked like fog, a subtle static that washed over the sky in smooth clouds of white. The shoulders of his uniform tugged at the seams in the direction of his position, splitting at the open collar. The red brick of the school looked bright against the plain white sky. Granted, anything could look bright against the pale light above. His sandwich tasted bland in his mouth but he continued chewing, honestly eating just for the sake of it. Germ had skipped breakfast like he did every morning, so it was better to eat now than set it aside again.
From the corner of his eye he could see the back of Freddy’s head adjust in thought, back hunched over the open sketchbook in that goblin-esc way he always defaulted to. He was unnaturally quiet. He was quiet in a way that made Germ squirm anxiously in his seat. Something had happened to Freddy in the last hour, and Germ couldn’t think of any way to ask in a way that didn’t sound nosey or invasive. So, Germ simply sat under the clouds with an anxious shutter in his heart.
“Nice and quiet?” Germ looked up to see Nick hunkering down on the lower step a few feet to his right. He sat back and sipped passively from his soda. RJ was sitting down on the lowest step, sitting flat on the concrete ground with his lunch beside him.
Germ shrugged. “Eh, yeah,” He gestured to Freddy half-heartedly. “He’s just looking through the lyrics,”
RJ leaned over to get a look at Freddy’s obscured face. Germ watched as his face scrunched up in vague confusion, a little flash of concern that washed over his face in the moment. Before he spoke he adjusted, pulling his knees up so he could lean against them and get a better look at Freddy.
“Hey, Fred, where are your piercings?” RJ asked. Freddy’s head twitched and pivoted so that his profile was in full view to Germ. Germ blinked, then leaned to get a better look.
Sure enough, Freddy’s piercings were gone. His black lip piercing had completely disappeared with his nostril piercings, two key aspects of Freddy’s face that looked strange apart from him. His gauges had been slipped out, which left his ears bare and abandoned. Freddy’s hand reached back to scratch anxiously at the nape of his neck. His painted nails looked strange beside the absence of his usual accessories.
“S’fine,” He turned his head back toward the sketchbook. “Just felt like takin’ them out.”
No one believed him. Germ shared glances with the other two, particularly with RJ.
Everything
was off with Freddy, it was like that little strobe light in his heart had started flashing red, an omen of danger. RJ’s soft face twitched with real concern, and he opened his mouth to ask Freddy to elaborate. Freddy cut him off before he could speak.
“I think you can change a few of the lyrics in the opening verse, it sounds corny,” Freddy explained passively, as if nothing was wrong. “Especially the
‘twilight’
line. It’s too few syllables, I think. It’d sound smoother if the second line was longer than the first,”
Germ breathed slowly. The sudden topic change was jarring. Freddy was trying to continue their original conversation like nothing had happened, like nothing was obviously incorrect about him and the air around them. RJ pursed his lips and Nick adjusted his glasses.
Fred glanced back up at Germ. “Gee, I need your feedback here, you’re the lyrics guy,”
Germ blinked. “... That sounds good,” He mumbled. “I was… I was kinda frustrated with that beginning too, honestly.”
Fred passed the pale sketchbook back up to Germ. “Don’t be worried about getting wordy with it.”
Germ took a second to process Freddy’s instructions. It made sense, he was always nervous about sounding pretentious or getting too complicated for the band… But Germ felt strange. It was something in Freddy’s voice, something that sounded tight and anxious. Germ couldn’t help but trail off and nod passively alongside him. If Freddy didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t have to. Germ wasn’t going to pry it out of him if he didn’t want it seen.
The conversation started to blossom from the awkward quiet, and the four friends started to talk like equals again. Suddenly they had partially forgotten Freddy’s missing piercings and tense shoulders, suddenly they were talking about comic books and exaggerated stories from the previous weekend. Everything was as it should be, and Germ could breathe. He leaned forward slightly and scooted toward the rest of the group ever so slightly.
“I’m probably gonna be busy after school,” RJ explained through bites of his sandwich. Nick was quiet behind him, nursing the last of his soda like a jaded veteran. “It’s school shit, y’know? I’ll be gone for sixth hour. I dunno how long it’ll run.”
“You’ll show up for practice though, right?” Freddy asked. Nick gave him a strange look from the other side of the steps.
“We’re still doing practice tonight?” Nick mumbled. “I thought that was tomorrow,”
Freddy blinked, a beat passed. “Ah,” He clicked his tongue through his teeth. “Forgot it was Wednesday.” The admittance was met with snickers.
“And I have a shift till 8 anyway,” Germ cut in. Whenever he joined conversations it felt like his voice was too loud, but maybe that was just him being weird. The other three blinked in confusion, baffled by how long his hours were. All Germ could do was shrug. “We close late on Wednesdays,” Wednesdays were the days that new comics came in from printing.
His gig at Danger Days Comics was something of an accidental birthday present, a favor from Nick in the early months after Germ first moved in. It was a tiny comic book store on the edge of the city, a little hole in the wall filled with clutter, figurines, and filled wall to wall with endless shelves of books and filing boxes. It was Germ’s heaven, a little cluster of excitement that had since become his spiteful ball-and-chain. He loved comics. He hated talking to people.
“I’ll walk you over when we get out of here,” Nick decided. “When does your shift start?”
“3,” Germ responded.
Nick smiled and capped his now empty soda bottle. “Great, I was headin’ that way anyway.”
—
When Germ had an opportunity to walk alone with any of his friends, he always made sure to note the differing attitude that hung in the air. It felt necessary in properly understanding the nuances of their friendship, like a taste in his mouth he couldn’t help but associate with any of the three. Whenever Nick walked he walked at a hunch, his bones condensed like he would blow away in the wind if he wasn’t careful. His wide eyes darted absently and innocently from thing to thing in the silence. He always chose silence before conversation, like he saw the quiet exchange of peace as more meaningful than meaningless icebreakers. It was so jarringly opposite to people like RJ and Freddy, who liked to have their presence known in their own special ways.
They were walking through one of the broader areas of town. It was one of those collections of blocks that stretched out on the corner of the city, a little easier to navigate and comprehend despite its healthily decrepit nature. The brick and concrete of the clustered buildings sat like bundled bouquets in a row, each man-made stone decorated with ivy and moss of a similar vein. Germ liked to watch his reflection shutter off of the glass beside them as the dirtied apartment buildings split to make way for local shops and tiny department stores.
Germ breathed slowly through his nose and moved to adjust his scarf under his chin. It hung a little long beside his waist, its knit width easily hiding his crumpled uniform shirt in between the parted zipper of his jacket. Nick sighed easily alongside him. They were stumbling through the street like lost toddlers and sighing like pretentious goths. Although… a dumber man would deem they weren’t far off from either.
“Y’know that song…” Nick mumbled into the air. His voice was always quiet when the two were alone, as if he was preserving his energy for other people. He didn’t continue his sentence.
“...” Germ tucked his bangs up behind his ear and shrugged tiredly. “Nah, no I don’t,” He responded at the same volume. The conversations sprouted naturally and gently.
“It’s one of the songs you wrote,” He tensed and laughed as he elaborated. Nick’s hunched back straightened subtly as they transitioned into their suddenly blossoming conversation. Nick’s eyes moved to the sidewalk ahead of them. “It was one of the songs that didn’t make it to the EP. I really liked it,”
“Do you remember the name?” Germ asked, genuinely curious. He was already mentally running through all the songs he had written over the life of the Demolition Lovers, but he couldn’t think of any song Nick had outwardly expressed love for. Granted… Nick never really elaborated on his preferences, so it wasn’t like Germ would’ve known in the first place.
“You always called it ‘Mirror’ or ‘Honey’ in your notes,” Nick responded. Immediately, Germ knew what he was talking about.
“Oh, that one.” He sighed deeply and started to fiddle with the tassels of his scarf. “The title was really long so I always shortened it. That’s
‘Honey, This Mirror Isn’t Big Enough For The Two of Us’,”
“...” Nick blinked, then nodded slowly. “... So,
Honey This Mirror
is really good,” He had already shortened the song name. Germ snorted. “I’m honestly just wondering if we could put it on this new record…”
“... Hm,” Germ’s amused chuckle filtered off into a little frown of contemplation. He stowed his hands in the warmth of his pockets.
“I know it doesn’t really fit with the record. I know we’re trying to experiment more… but it sucks. I can't listen to it more on my own. I honestly just want it recorded…”
“We could always do that,” Germ responded. He could see the little sign for Danger Days Comics peeking out from the next block over. Their conversation would have to end soon. “We could record it. It might be good to practice mixing and recording before we dive into that new record, anyway.”
“... I’d like that,” Nick admitted. “I really like that song.” Now that Germ thought about it, the preference made sense. Nick had always responded to Germ’s stronger vocal performances, and he probably liked the rougher sound of
Mirror
as opposed to some of their brighter melodies. “But… I wouldn’t mind if we jumped right into that prison waltz. That’s
also
looking sick, I think it’ll turn out awesome.”
“I’ll ask RJ if he remembers how to play
Honey This Mirror,”
Germ decided as the two began to approach the little store in the center of that stretch of road. “And I’ll ask Bill if he can drum on short notice.”
“Tell him I said hi,” Nick had stopped beside the door to watch Germ head inside.
“You know I won’t,” Germ ended the conversation with a joke and a smile before he entered the store.
Germ hated work, but he loved his friends. At least he had something to work on that night. If Nick wanted him to sing princess ballads in a tutu, he would do it in a heartbeat… Although, the idea seemed pretty fun to him, at least in the moment. He waved the thought from his head and walked to the back to check in.
—
Germ didn’t usually mind long hours at the shop. Whenever those blocks of time were highlighted out on his calendar, he tried to use the time as a time to think in silence. The most he had to do working retail was make easy small talk and do as he was told, and he was good at that. The store’s energy was perfect for a moment alone, even if he was usually accompanied by more than a few customers on the longer days.
Danger Days was probably Germ’s favorite place in the city. It was clustered tight in between a tax office and an ancient ice cream parlor, a two story setup that was significantly longer than it was wide. Each wall was completely covered by thick, black, sticker-covered bookshelves filled side to side with flashy spines of graphic novels and glossy-print file boxes. Everything was labeled and organized to a disgusting degree, and any wall that wasn’t covered by a shelf was plastered with black-and-white print posters in various shades. Germ sat at the small counter by the door, surrounded by glass shelving units filled with sparkly vinyl figurines that he could never afford.
The counter was old, the wood chipped and scratched by age and covered in little scraps of decade old stickers. He was leaning against a flat plastic mat which had been plastered with little advertisements. Germ picked at the edge of the mat and eyed the Robin figurine that stood at eye level with him, its tiny hands raised behind the glass. His heart tried to settle comfortably in his ribcage, but something felt wrong. It was something he couldn’t name or find, like a needle in a haystack. Germ winced and looked away from the figurine, irked by the thought of a needle and completely thrown from his train of thought.
The day passed easily. Soon, the day became late evening. Customers clustered the aisles and dispersed. Germ barely remembered talking to them, he barely remembered scanning out books and sorting through bundles of change. Soon he was on the other side of the store hunched over a filing box, flipping through wrapped comic books with the delicate touch of a trained doctor and reorganizing them one by one. He was mostly alone in that area of the store, sitting on the floor underneath the upstairs staircase. He was sitting at an uncomfortable hunch. His wiry hair spilled over his brow and hung in strings in his peripheral vision, blocking everything around him as he flipped absently-mindedly through the
‘A’
file.
Around the back of the file his soft fingers stopped, then parted the plastic cases to get a better look at one particularly colorful cover. Germ felt his nose scrunch subtly in curiosity while his eyes darted over the cover.
‘Ghost of You’
by Ellen Strowsing. A beat passed almost audibly, and Germ then withdrew it from the filing box.
The front cover was a beautiful cell shaded piece that looked painted, almost. The lines were crisp, arcing across the cover and underneath the red font of the near-sparkling title. Germ was examining the face of a woman clad in leather and splattered with thick blood. Her skin was pale as snow but the makeup on her face was dark and haunting, which matched the masculine nature of her leather jacket to a degree that made Germ’s heart twist with unexplained confusion. She was wearing a pleated skirt, one of those pretty skirts the girls at his school wore on warmer days. The woman was carrying a sniper rifle, which she had slung over both of her shoulders menacingly.
Germ blinked. An emotion stirred in his gut, something fresh and terrifying. This was new, this was… This felt concerning. This felt scary.
“
Hot
, right?” A low voice spoke up behind him. Germ’s entire body jumped in fear, like he had been caught with something actually shameful. He resisted the urge to swear under his breath and turned the comic over in his hand. He glanced back at Bill, his coworker.
“Can you get me the
‘G’
file?” Germ refused to answer his question.
“Way to dodge the question, Germy-Germ,” Bill snickered and stepped to the side to fulfill his request. Germ rolled his eyes subtly and pushed his hair up out of his face.
Bill was the hobbyist-drummer of ambiguous character, the guy Germ knew through work almost exclusively. He wished he could say
exclusively
, but Bill happened to be the paid drummer of the Demolition Lovers, so he was a little hard to avoid. He wasn’t a
bad
guy by any means, he was simply strange. He said weird things at weird times, one of those coworker quirks that was hard to avoid. Germ just had to deal with him for a few shifts out of the week, and he played the drum well without complaint.
He set the requested file down in front of Germ. Germ scooted over on the floor and started to flip from book to book, muttering the alphabet as he flipped. He almost hesitated before he slid the book into its place… He considered buying it, another comic book for his collection. But he didn’t even know the plot. He couldn’t buy another book on a whim, based on a feeling he couldn’t even define. So, Germ said goodbye to its sparkling title and watched as it dropped into the row of packaged books. He resisted the urge to wistfully whisper a goodbye.
“How’s the Demo Lovers?” Bill asked from above him. Germ closed the box with the worn cardboard lid and started to haul himself up from the floor.
“They’re good,” Germ mumbled as he picked up the filing box. “We’re drafting up a new song right now. We’re thinking about recording one of our older songs, too. It’s… a lot of projects,” He smiled awkwardly before hoisting the heavy file box up into a wide shelf.
“Well, you know where my tab is,” Bill shrugged. “Just tell me what you want me to play and I’ll figure it out. You’re the boss,” Germ swallowed and smiled dumbly. Bill smiled back for a moment, but his expression split into something more excited. “Oh, speaking of you being the boss,”
“Hm?”
“Gigs,”
Bill grinned with his full set of teeth. Germ grimaced and moved away from the shelf to grab the original file. He didn’t want to talk about
anything
like that, especially right now. Bill scoffed at Germ’s visible terror. “Dude, come on! Grow up,”
“We’re not
ready
for gigs.” Germ stressed, almost too aggressive with his wording.
“Germ,” Bill placed his hand on Germ’s tense shoulder. Germ paused, filing box still slung in both his hands. “Germ, buddy, I know you’re shy. I
know.
But you
gotta
get a gig booked if you wanna get anywhere in the scene.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna ‘get into the scene’,” Germ grumbled and shrugged Bill’s hand off of him.
“You ever heard of a band that stayed out of the scene? Duh, of course you haven’t,” Bill leaned against the bookshelf beside Germ and crossed his arms. “I’m not saying you’re stupid for being nervous about it, I’m just saying your band is
good.
Don’t let it die out because you’re being a girl about it,”
Germ grimaced at the word choice. “... We’re just gonna end up being shit.”
“Do you need me to rationalize this to you, dude?” Bill leaned into Germ’s space uncomfortably.
“No–”
“Well, firstly,” Bill started counting off on his fingers. “RJ is a fucking god. I have never heard an 18 year old shred that hard in my entire goddamn life, and I’ve seen a
lot
of shows. Secondly, Fred is an animal. Even if you come waddling out on stage like a pussy, his energy will make up for it. Thirdly, Nick? Nick has bounce to him, and he works
great
with the other two.” Bill’s three fingers lowered and he pointed directly at Germ, pointer finger jabbing into his chest. “And
you…
You got the gnarliest scream in you, I don’t know how you do it…”
“...” Germ felt his heart twist anxiously. He could see it now. He could see the lights of that tiny basement stage, and he could almost feel the way he knew his body would freeze under the audience’s eyes. He
knew
he’d never do it. The stage life would never be for him, that kind of dream was never meant for someone like Jeremy.
Bill was still speaking, but Germ couldn’t hear him. All he could imagine was the shame embedded in this imaginary scenario… He could feel it flooding his veins like a drug. But… Wait.
If Germ wasn’t meant for music, what was he meant for?
It was like his breath had been stolen from him.
Was he meant for anything at all?
“... And your mixing’s fuckin’ amazing. Not to mention your
lyrics?
Just a ragtag group of geniuses, the lot of ya.” Bill moved away but continued to talk. Germ couldn’t think. “And not to mention…”
If Germ was never meant to sing his songs for others, was his only redeeming quality art? He wasn’t even that good at it, all he ever did was draw the same character in collected succession, over and over again… No nuance, no class, no structure. Germ wasn’t
smart
or
brave
, he wasn’t
artistic
or
deep
. Germ was just a kid in what was supposed to be an adult’s body, or at least a body that was supposed to become one. He was
supposed
to know what he was doing, right?
Right?
Whatever Bill finished his speech with, he must’ve deemed it meaningful, because he smacked Germ’s shoulder with the force of an over-excited uncle. All Germ could do was shutter and move away, trying to push himself out of the little cloud of terror he had led himself into. It was
fine,
he mentally insisted as he lurked the aisles of the store. Everything was absolutely fine. He was okay. All he had to do was last the next thirty minutes and he’d be home.
All he had to do was…
—
Germ shut his bedroom door.
The walk home felt like blacking out. Suddenly, he was home, encased in his cluttered room that had been shrouded in shadow only emphasized by the navy blue of his bed covers and the shadowy decoration. His David Bowie poster watched him from the opposing wall menacingly. Germ swallowed anxiously and started to shrug off his jacket and kick off his shoes. His bag hit the floor with a thump, and with a few unbalanced maneuvers he was already dressed in pajamas.
The numbing blackout left him in an instant, and he realized he was sitting completely still on his bed. His hand was pressed into the soft flannel of some of his crumpled laundry. It was all clean, assorted tees and soft shirts he hadn’t bothered to put away.
His bedroom was a cluttered space with a shuttered window, each wall plastered in half-hearted decoration in the form of posters and pinned paraphernalia. Germ released a sigh he didn’t know he was holding and flopped back into his crumpled laundry and wrinkly sheets. All he did was stare at the ceiling, mind churning, searching for something to consider in the darkness.
He couldn’t even remember what had happened that day.
Was that bad? It didn’t
feel
bad, it felt pretty standard. But something about how the fog in his head obscured the past made him uneasy. He wasn’t uneasy enough to do anything about it, of course. He was probably just being overdramatic.
Germ was
always
being overdramatic. He was always complaining, that was the only way he could think. Every second of every day, complaints, complaints, complaints. Germ wondered why his friends even tolerated him. He wondered if they did. He wondered if they rolled their eyes every time he left the room. Would he ever notice something like that? Was he ever supposed to? Was Germ too
stupid
to notice it?
The thoughts relaxed for a moment, and Germ realized that his off hand was knotted in the old fabric of his tee shirt. He let his hand relax and lay flat over his soft stomach. His fingertips began to spark with little blotches of static, the sign of too little movement. All Germ could do was stare upward. Movement was beyond him.
Germ blinked slowly and considered doing something. His mind went over multiple possibilities, anything he could spend his time on before he’d have to go to bed. He didn’t
want
to move, but he had to do something to rationalize a day spent. He couldn’t go to bed knowing that all he had done that day was sleep and work. So, when his mind finally settled on something, he pushed himself up with all of his strength and withdrew his sketchbook from his bag.
He hunkered down across the room in his worn out bean bag chair, heavy acoustic slung haphazardly in his lap. The old wood bore into his tired thighs, and the strings glittered in the light of the lamp he had only just turned on. Germ set his sketchbook down on the floor and flipped to the page full of lyrics, then slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and back.
Germ wasn’t any good at playing the guitar, but he was good enough to get by. He could write simple melodies and conceptualize song breaks just fine, it was people like RJ and Freddy who could bring that kind of thing to life. He reached back and untucked his cassette recorder from the shelf beside him, then set it down beside his sketchbook. All he had to do was figure out a little melody and he could declare his day worthwhile, at least marginally.
So, Germ scribbled out a few lyric tweaks and then hit record.
His fingers fumbled with the strings, but the sound was clear enough to be picked up by the recorder so he didn’t complain. Little eighth notes jutted out from his twitching fingers and followed the pattern he pressed into the fretboard. He tried to follow that swing melody RJ had mentioned at school, so he plucked with intentionally structured unpredictability, carving out the melody in between the beats in his head.
“In the middle of a gunfight, in the…”
He fumbled with the strings.
“In the center of a restaurant,”
Germ struck down on the string a little too hard, which made an ugly noise into the receiver.
“They say,”
Downstroke.
“Come with… your… arms… raised… high,”
He started to strum out chords, hand fluttering up and down with the rhythm. He could feel his voice bouncing from word to word easily, like the structure of the song came naturally to him.
“Well they’re never gon’ get me,”
His voice hung a little high, like it was already feeling out the rhythm.
“And like a bullet through a flock of doves, to wage… this war against your faith… in me…
Shit–
”
His voice lifted and extended on the last syllable, but he was cut off by a particularly bad string fumble that made him pinch his fingertips on a sharp part of his broken fingerguard.
“Well,” Germ mutedly struck the surface of the guitar and glared at the tape recorder. “Well, uh– I think we got the beginning part down.” It felt strange talking to someone who wasn’t there, so the best thing Germ could do was imagine RJ sitting beside him in the garage. “I think the rest of the song should deteriorate from there, like someone going insane in prison. I… don’t really know how that’s going to work musically,”
Germ paused briefly, gears churning in his head. “I’ll sing the chorus acapella,”
“...” He started to tap rhythmically against the hollow wood of his guitar, eyes focused on the tape recorder sitting on his floor.
“Now, but I can’t, and I don’t know, how we’re just two men as God had made us,”
Germ sang to the beat of his tapping.
“Well I can’t, well I can, yeah…”
He trailed off on the last word, unsure if it was necessary in the moment.
“Too much, too late, or just not enough of this pain in my heart for your dying wish… I’ll kiss your lips again…”
Germ swallowed harshly once the song left his throat. He didn’t say a word of goodbye, all he did was reach over and stop the recording. The tape recorder hissed under his fingers and he stowed it back onto his bookshelf. He felt empty again, encased in the quiet of his bedroom with his guitar resting useless on his lap. He stowed it to the side and hauled himself up, balance uneven.
Silence reverberated through his throat in the same breath as exhaustion. Germ shuffled from his bedroom to the small side bathroom and shut the door with a click. He was looking at himself in the mirror now, for the first time in days.
He couldn’t remember the last time he showered. He visibly reflected that. His poorly dyed hair stuck out in oily strings, little bundles of artificial black locks he had once been so excited about. If he squinted he could see the dark brown of his roots peak through the top of his head, something subtle but shameful to him alone. Germ felt like there was something wrong. The sentiment remained true as he examined his round face in the mirror.
Maybe doing this was childish. It was, wasn’t it? A lot of what Germ did was childish, so maybe that made sense. He pressed his fingers into his cheek and pulled at the shadowy skin under his eyes. He could see the veins underneath his lashes, each little line flushed a gross purple under his sickly pale complexion. What he was doing in the mirror of his bathroom was dumb and childish, just like everything he did every day of his life.
It was nauseating. He knew he was supposed to grow up eventually. His childhood was going away, it already
had
gone away. He was still a child in every literal sense, but if he kept staring in the mirror and never growing up… he’d probably end up living in his Mom’s house forever.
Or, he wouldn’t be living at all.
Germ splashed his face with cold tap water and breathed deeply. He made sure to fill every nook of his lungs with fresh air, deep and sharp against the tissue of his organs. He exhaled mutedly and slowly through his nose, face dipped down into the sink like a trembling kitten. He breathed again and pushed himself up. His hair flew up out of his face, and he was staring back into his terrified eyes.
Something was
wrong
with him. He laughed a little. He pushed his hair back from his hairline and breathed.
The storm had passed. It was just one thought. People dealt with that kind of thing every day, Germ was fine. Germ didn’t need any help… Germ was okay.
He abandoned the bathroom with the flick of the light switch and a click of the door. Soon, he was curled up in the dark covers of his bed staring into nothing. Slept came to him eventually. Everything came to him eventually, after enough waiting. A lot of things would come to him eventually… Germ’s breath left him shakily, and his shoulders trembled. But he wasn’t crying… All he could do was sleep.
-TO BE CONTINUED-