Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Instruments, lights, music, scenery, and action. The music club's main composer prepared a primary note for the crew's number Starlight. Its sound projected from the speaker connected to his decent conditioned laptop. In view of his perception, there lay the lead singers, Jake and Hailey.

The main light focused on the peach blond haired boy, who voluntarily stepped in and began to vocalize his voice. Then, the symphonic gesture of an electric piano is present. Zander, the deviant painist, gently pressed his fingertips down, pushing the accurate keys, cooperating with the order of the song.

As soon as Jake raised his vocal cords upmost into a minute, the drummer, Luke, instituted to slam his rhythm sticks onto the batter head of his tom-toms. Meanwhile, the main guitarist, Milicent, sprang her sharp, clean nails straight against the firm strings of her pink sleaze flying V bass. The five of them spent a good twenty seconds doing their job.

The producer Sean leisurely fades the background effects the moment everyone else paused. He teased, signaling Hailey's turn to steal the main character spot.

The turquoise haired lady directly darted her charcoal optics onto Jake whilst she crooned along the guitarist continuously playing her part. The singers' perspectives lock together.

Nonverbally, the hazelnut eyed boy reassured a limited safety to cover up, previously initiating for the club president to stare at him if the silhouette audience frightened her functional mindset.

Fixing to work her voice, Hailey slowly removed a chunk of her blue curls by walking her feet ahead, armoring her courageous bravery. A set of bright lights switched both Jake's and Hailey's physical stance. Boyfriends Luke and Zander resumed their cue.

This went on for the next minute and a half. Even so, it felt and seemed like an eternity for the whole club. The world revolved all of them at an apt rate. It filled a small communication, heavenly opening a golden bridge to walk across, and simply abandon everything else behind.

The beginning is a beginning, yet for some odd reason, it authentically sensed the end of an era. . . How strange.

Roaming her averted rays on the edges and corners of the stage, Sadie tilted her cranium upwards. She quickly noticed something weird.

Extremely observant, her friend Daisy immediately lingered at the sudden move. She examined the gothic's concern, searching for an easy answer. However, the purple eyed girl detected a gaze engraved to her pale skin.

Turning a glimpse, she hummed a "Hm?"

The former student council nervously cackled. "Er. . Sadie, are you okay?" She worried.

Sadie gawked where her eyes deceived prior, ostensibly ignoring Daisy's question. However, she pointed upward, providing little to no details. Daisy decided to follow her finger.

A clamp to an ERS and frensel were barely hanging on a fixture. Despite a meter inwardly above the singers, the lights violently dangled, vibrating horrid to the point it could tumble any time.

The porcelain girl audibly gasped. She built as if she saw a ghost. Her mouth slightly opened, leaving room for speechless opinions.

After perceiving her palpable breath, Miss Jones couldn't help but tilt her head towards Daisy. She narrowed her eyebrows. "D-Daisy? You alright, dear?"

"Fuck." Sadie slurred as she clutched her grasp on each arm rest. Slouched in terror, she warned, "The lights are starting to tremble." A few strangers heard her comment.

The history teacher checked her surroundings, intently eavesdropping conversations random groups of adults rapidly discussed. She distressed, looking ahead, watching the clamps jumping in suspense due to the shudder on stage. Panicked, the bob cut woman vastly stood up from her seat.

Without thinking thoroughly, she screamed, cautioning beyond the house, "KIDS, WATCH OUT!!!!"

Right then and there, Earth began to lean and spin into the wrong direction. Incorrectly orbiting around the hot, blazing sun.

A mistake had been made. An accident. A stupid blunder. One that included two high schoolers, the victims.

A splattered puddle of blood washed the very corspes of Jake and Hailey. The gravitational blunt forced ERS harshly slammed the female's skull, visibly causing a crack, wounding her succumbed injury. The blond's brain is concussioned by the heavy weighted frensel, gravely slipping away from his deceased embodiment.

Delicate glasses of the two tech tools shattered in millions of smithereens. Most blistered and diced the children in danger. Pieces came flying to Zander and Luke whilst other shards targeted Milly and Sean.

While seconds shift minutes, the clamoring of yelling, shouting, ugly sobbing, and people dialing digits on their devices overwhelmed individuals.

Dark crimson blotches trickle down the setting line proscenium arch. The apron stained and reeked of human biohazards.

Milly rushed to Hailey's side, denial kicking her instincts. She yanked the older lady's arm, intensely pulsating her index and middle finger below the base of the club president's thumb.

Zander chimed in, dashing and swiftly kneeling to the guitarist's level. Tears already soaked his face.

At an attempt to help, he inspected Jake's neck. He placed his hold on the groove between the windpipe and jawbone to the closest area he could reach.

Luke, wearing a wet expression, wobbled his mouth. He had a difficult session to speak, yet he made his way to the front. He sniffles at the sight of his lifeless friends flesh and bone.

Sean didn't bother to motion. He froze. Anxiety crippled him. Did two members of his chosen family just scrutinize the fire before their eyes?

The DJ pinched himself. Nothing. It's truly not a dream.

Salty water blinded his vision, his globes twitching.

"Jake?!" Exclaimed a twelve year old boy, weakly gripping his palm on his brother's demolished red coated hair. His ribs slanted against the plasma apron whilst he pleaded for a response. "No! Jake, NO! Please tell me this is a dumb prank! You can quit pretending! Jake, YOU MOTHERFUCKER! What the hell!" He traumatically wailed. "JACOB!!!!"

The pianist covered his reaction, uncontrollably lamenting. Milly had given up hope, digging her claws into the materials of her camouflage pants. She whined, "They have no pulse!"

The mother of Jake and Milo wrapped her arms around the youngest child, pulling him far from the bodies. Her lips quivered. She didn't want to accept the fate of her son either.

Shannon spotted Bethany and drastically snatched her. She aggressively picked up the seven year old, dragging both of them out of the area in a flash.

Michael scampered to the music club, weeping as if it were the last he cried. He carefully caressed his daughter's tresses, smoothly running his fingers.

. . .

She wore his late wife's pearl earrings.

Shocked, he dreadfully heeled his bean on top of Hailey's. "My babies. . ." He whispered, merely a mumble his birdsweet, sonorous teenager would've caught if only she was licitly alive and well.

Ambulance and police sirens were noted outside the premises. The sound triggered the ears of everybody currently present. Nonetheless, arrival brought mild solace for the received aid.

But the tragic impact endured.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

The sun arose on a new day. A fresh, sunny day. The gentle wind blew, carrying leaves and a quiet sense of grief with it. One that made suffocating seem more bearable.

Countless, sleepless people rose up from their beds that morning, barely alive to even face that day.

But Drew wasn't one of them. Not yet, at least.

He had already sat up quietly on his bed, his finger scrolling through years of photos and embarrassing videos and stupid memes from his lettuce obsessed friend.

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘸.

His nut brown eyes glanced at the photos and recordings on a glowing screen for a moment before judging whether to trash them. He had decided to simply delete all the pictures and videos with him,

Jake.

He did It coldly. With barely a care in the world - and that small care was directed towards the ones with Henry and Liam in them, too. Except for that, the magenta haired boy didn't give a damn. Or that was what he tried to convince himself of, mayhaps.

It didn't take long for him to come across one particular picture taken... what? Almost a year ago? He'd blocked out most of their memories together by now, but this one? He still remembered It.

Jake's birthday. During summer break, he had spent the day with him and the rest of the crew, celebrating and partying.

In that specific photo, a short green haired friend of theirs, Henry, was stridently singing 'The Day', known as MHA's s1 opening song, at the top of his lungs with the karaoke Jake had brought before Drew advised the peach haired boy that they alredy had one. Despite that, they still used the one the birthday boy brought. And no matter now much his face twisted in annoyance at the mention or sight of anything Jake related, he couldn't deny he had a fun time.

Not only in that picture that seemed to freeze a little reminder of all the laughs and chuckles they had together that day, but also in all their years of friendship.

"This means nothing to me." The boy muttered under his breath, his irritation growing. "Nothing."

The young high schooler observed the photo for another few moments - just a few before something in his mind clicked.

A reminder.

Drew tilted his head to the side, turning his vision and focusing on his personal storage closet. Somehow, hesitantly, the boy stood on his feet, taking a few moments to balance himself. When he did, he walked towards the closet with a grim expression stamped all over his face.

As he opened the doors, he found old board games that sprinkled dust everywhere. His past nintendos and... an odd karaoke machine drowned in colorful stickers. It was definitely a pretty cheap one, in his opinion. And one that, for that reason, was for certain not his.

He grabbed the thing by its handle with ease, like a lugagge bag, dragging It out of that old mess.

It was... small, compared to the ones the wealthy boy owned, and it had a dusty and old smell. Well, maybe that was something only someone like Jake could appreciate or enjoy.

He didn't like the idea of keeping It. He didn't want to keep something related to that peach haired guy. Not anymore. He wanted to forget about him and their experiences together as soon as possible.

That's why he decided to return It.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

Leaves crunched under his feet as he walked on the wet sidewalk of a path he memorized over the years, despite the bitterness he felt as his body led him naturally. It had rained tremendously the night before. Heavily. As If the sky had something to mourn for.

That's what Drew always thought happened when he was a kid. Anytime it rained, he thought the sky cried. But that was an idiotic belief, and he didn't believe in it anymore.

Against his will, he walked with the machine's handle in hand, dragging It beside him as the tiny wheels rolled on their own, soggy leaves attaching themselves to it. Drew didn't react to the fact that it got dirty just like that. He didn't seem to care much.

After 20 minutes or so, he stood in front of the familiar white yet old-school looking house with a deadpanned expression. He glanced at the left side of the wall just for a moment, catching a glimpse of a single crack that was decorated.

He remembered the time they played football in front of his house together, kicking the ball so hard that it hit the outside wall. The same wall he was looking at more carefully now. The memory was faint, but he clearly remembered. The way Jake's mom scolded them both. That felt like his first time getting yelled at by an adult.

He had felt quite offended, but he didn't say anything. Jake had reassured him that it was normal for a parent to scold their kid; surprised it was his first time.

Drew took his eyes off of the crack as he moved his feet up the small carpeted stairs, walking towards the hard wooden door. With a hand holding the handle of the item, he blamed for starting all of this, and the other one clenched in a fist, and it hesitantly roamed over the door, and he suddenly knocked loud.

Despite lasting merely a few seconds, the wait felt excruciatingly long.

Familiar footsteps echoed behind the door, getting closer and closer to the main entrance that the wealthy boy was standing right in front of.

When the door opened, Drew let out an exhale he didn't know he was holding until then.

An adult woman with light golden blonde hair and grey hair roots sticking out stepped towards the doorway, her miserable chocolate brown eyes filled with what Drew could only describe as melanchony and grief Her soft cheeks were covered with dried up mascara-stained tears, and her usual welcoming smile didn't even bother attempting to show up. She held a wet and dirty tissue in her right hand.

"Andrew." Her sore utter broke the akward silence.

He had to admit, he was surprised. Not only by the fact that she knew his whole name, which wasn't really that hard to figure out, but also by her voice. She sounded raspy and broken, and it felt wrong to see her, an adult and his ex-bestfriend's mom, like this. But it wasn't just that. It was also the way she spoke, as if she had been waiting for him all along, in a way. It sent shivers down his spine, but he remained collected.

"Ms. Sterling." He spoke, his hand gripping the karaoke machine softly. "I'm here to give this back to Jake. I was wondering if you could... give It back to him on my behalf?-"

He stopped when he heard her breath hitching.

And then? Pure silence.

Drew stared at her nervously, his eyes darting uncomfortably around. Because the look on her face made his skin crawl. It felt like she had been reminded of a cut too fresh. Her breath was now labored, letting out a few cracked whines as seconds passed. Her hollow, widened eyes seemed only reinforced Drew's theory: something bad had happened. Possibly to Jake. But he still refused to think about It. He decided to blame It on Jake's massive and chaotic family drama.

"So you don't know." She stated softly.

He, on the other hand, let out a mumble, dreading the answer to his question. "Know what?"

The blonde haired mother hesitated. He could see the pain in her dry eyes, the way her voice tried to form words. It only forced the worry in him to grow further.

She took a deep breath, painfully trying to pull herself together. Ms. Sterling opened her mouth, and five firm choked words left. Words even she, as a mother, couldn't bring herself to believe.

"Jake died yesterday on stage with Hailey."

. . .

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵. . .?!

Drew felt like he'd been punched, no, stabbed in the gut.

Dead. Dead meant gone. Gone meant he - THEY weren't here anymore! Or anywhere else. He didn't know now to react to the girl's death, yet the guilt he felt for both their deaths was already haunting.

Drew couldn't believe it.

He was gone. The person with whom he'd spent hours of his life was gone. Hailey. Oh, that damn Hailey.

Jake's mother's eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled as she told him what had happened, but he didn't listen. He couldn't bear to listen. The magenta haired teen was in shock, not knowing what to say or do.

At that moment, he forgot about everything else. The colorful karaoke machine sitting there was like a mockery to the pain he felt in his chest now. He stared at the woman in front of him, but his focus wasn't even on her.

Now he understood why her eyes were so red and puffy. Why her face was stained with tears and mascara. Why she was in so much pain.

He couldn't help but sympathize with her. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to comfort her or show any type of vulnerability. Not for him. Not for someone he swore to never talk to again.

Jake was dead to him anyway, so why does it matter so much now? Why did It hurt so much?

"My... deepest condolences. I wasn't aware of the... situation, ma'am." He stammered weakly, his hand slightly letting go of the object he had to return.

"I think I'll go... I'll leave this here." He muttered.

"Thank you. And... I'm sorry you had to see me like this." She spoke quietly, wiping away her tears with her hand. He hesitantly nodded in response.

The boy turned around, but he didn't instantly walk off. He stared at the streets, at the other homes, anything that could make him temporarily forget it all. Only when he heard the door close, he started moving.

The boy, step by step, walked aimlessly through the city. Parks, shops, bars, homes, schools, bus shops.

He could hear his phone buzz with different notifications while he passed them. All those buzzes made him think about Henry and Liam.

Did they know about Jake? Or Hailey? How would they react if they knew? What about the remaining music club members? How did they react, considering they probably saw everything unfold?

Only after several hours of wondering, he sat on a nearby wooden beanch. Again, he simply stared, trying to get his mind off of the situation.

But he knew it was useless. As much as he felt his guilt grow for Hailey, his heart sank mainly because of Jake. Even so, he refused to weep for them. Even as tears welled up in his eyes, he held it all back.

He felt like a witness. Someone who could confirm that they existed, even if they were gone now.

"I can't change anything." He murmured. "They're gone."

The teen held back his tears, his breath hitching as his brain processed what it really meant.

He'd never see Jake walk down the halls, laughing stupidly at some dad joke he found online. Hailey would never look at Drew with clear annoyance in her eyes ever again.

He sat there, silently mourning in his own way while the sky had become cloudy specifically to grieve with him.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

Admist glass fenestella, a navy ponytailed young woman, found herself glued to a standard folding chair in the middle of a confrontational interview meeting. She vowed her head, processing the disturbing fallout from a few days ago.

She was meant to lay her eyes on Jake and Hailey, but her perspective went somewhere speculating. Skeptical.

Her mother, outside the room, tapped her acrylic nails on the clear window. The girl shifted up, turning her focus at her. She gifted a tiny smirk, nearly fake.

Mom started mouthing some phrases in Spanish, but dear daughter was too impassive to communicate with her. She merely nodded and shook pushbacks to whichever seemed appropriately corresponding.

Just as two policemen walk past the room, one spared eye contact with the mother. He pointed to the end of the corridor, deciphering that she needed to leave. The mom doesn't settle for an argument, and so, she steals a last glance at her daughter. She blew an air kiss with her palm.

"Te amo, no les des problemas." Mother lipped. I love you, don't give them trouble.

Daughter listened that time. Now mom is nowhere in line of sight.

A man entered the room, sharply inclining a leverage to the wooden door. He carried a medium-sized yellow file. Jake's and Hailey's surnames were inked through the color.

Austin and Sterling. How pitying.

The girl rationalizing peeked a deadpanned reaction, unsure what to do about all of this. She's never had conversations face to face in an empty solitude.

In a trice, the man began to speak. The girl hastily aired emotion before you could say her name.

"Hello, good afternoon, I am Charles Rue. I am an investigator regarding the death of Jake Sterling and Hailey Austin." He introduced himself, pulling a chair to sit on the other end of the table; an equipment separating the police and minor. "I've been informed you have a new piece of information retelling Jake's and Hailey's fate. Who are you and tell me what you know."

The child gulped a hard swallow. Her speech is definitely unwilling to help.

Despite her timid display, she stammered without an ounce of regret, "I. . . I'm Stacy. I go to Rosemeadow High School, the same place Jake and Hailey pursued their education. I am the school's thespian officer. . . right? In order to prove my support as a leader, I attended the music competition. Like I mentioned earlier, I'm a thespian who also professionally studied technology in theater. What I mean by technology today were the lights that dropped on the heads of my former acquaintances."

Mr. Rue intook Stacy's pleasant impression. He soaked each phrase lollygagging at him.

After a quick train of thought, he questioned the lassie, "I'm presuming you want to talk about the lights?"

"Yes." Stacy neutrally fixated. "I'm cynical."

"Why?" The police questioned.

The teen bit her bottom lip, frightfully dominating her voice. She kept her composure, but well aware she had to hand the guy a reason fast.

She answered in an anxious tone, "I believe Jake and Hailey were. . . murdered. Their death was no accident."

A shock swam Charles' spine, heeding Stacy's words.

"What makes you think that? The tech for the competition confirmed those lights haven't been touched in weeks." He inquired, taking a blue pen and a small notebook from his khaki jacket.

Stacy replied, "The lights weren't adjusted enough. Meaning someone set them up and forced the gravity to play out the rest."

Intrigued, Mr. Rue wrote a little detail in his journal. "Explain." He calmly ordered, ogling at the girl. He patiently waited.

The introvert deeply inhaled her lungs. "Okay. I. . . I'm not a proper organizer, though."

"Do the best you can." The police coaxed.

Stacy nodded, collecting the remains of her braincells.

She hesitantly ran her conclusive theory top and bottom. "The first light to fall is known as an ERS. It holds complex structure with a yoke and often requires precise positioning due to its focused, sharp-edged beams. They are typically mounted using a C-clamp or similar rigging hardware, which must be securely tightened in order to weight and maintain alignment. Since the clamp wasn't sealed, the vibration of its position managed to eliminate Hailey. The next to fall was a frensel light. They conduct a versatility, producing a soft, adjustable beam. Frensels are often seen as less critical experts, but that doesn't automatically make Jake's downfall a big oopsie. They're usually held by a clamp or yoke, too." She catched her breath. "My suspected murderer must've learned some way the ERS is heavier than the frensel, yet created advance for both. The killer would surely understand a typical ERS weights approximately ten to twenty pounds and the frensel about six to fifteen. An additional piece you will need to consider is that said lights had no safety cables attached. Those are extremely required not only for practices, yet they must be buckled onto the lights perpetually."

Silence filled the room.

"Tell me, sir," Stacy finished. "Did the tech during the music competition state any claim mentioning their safety cables?"

Charles was astonished. He hadn't expected a child well informed in this generation.

He leaned back in his chair, slightly bewildered. "No ma'am, they haven't mentioned a single thing about the safety cables," a counter argument snuck in. "but that doesn't necessarily mean somebody deliberately removed them."

Defensive, Stacy ticked, "Yes, it does. They weren't there when Jake and Hailey died. At least they weren't on the fallen lights, that is."

Charles crouched forward, "Look, I'm not saying it's impossible someone tampered with the lights, but we need more evidence than lack of safety cables to prove it was intentional."

Red shaded colors fumed the young girl's face. The man was really beginning to piss her off. "I assume you forgot I went to the recital. Before their song came on, I saw the lights above the music club. They all had safety cables besides the ERS and frensel. My mom even bothered to ask if it was normal."

Mr. Rue raised an eyebrow, surprised from revelation. "Why didn't you mention this earlier?" He asked, a mix of curiosity and annoyance in his tone.

"I apologize," Stacy noted. "I figured you knew already. Plus, I did warn you I'm mentally disorganized."

"Okay," Charles sighed. "Let's say for a moment that you're right and someone did remove the safety cables. Why wouldn't the tech notice?"

Stacy shrugged. "It's unclear. Perhaps a technician did it, or a participant who is or isn't part of Rosemeadow's music club committed the crime. I politely recommend you interview the tech and contestants. My honest suggestion, sir."

The police quietly agreed. It would, indeed, be best to question everyone who was involved in the music competition.

He scribbled letters on a blank page. "You're right. We'll interview the tech and the contestants. I'll see what I can do."

The thespian grinned. "Great."

"Do you know any participants in particular that might have had a grudge against Jake and Hailey?" The detective refined entries of his case. "Anyone who might have wanted to harm them?"

Stacy fetched his comment, "Not really. Although, I can list the participants I saw. Hailey's stepbrother, Zander, his boyfriend Luke, their friend Milly, and their other clubmate, Sean. I witnessed a band walk out prior to the club's performance. They claimed to appear a missing member, but their alibis are odd. If my memory serves me good, their group is Maxed Out. I'm guessing one of their names is Max. As for tech, you're gonna have to search yourself."

Mr. Rue wrote the names mentioned, double-checking he gathered anew information. "Very helpful, thank you." He complimented.

Paused a hot minute, he cross-examined, "Maxed Out, huh? Any reason you find their alibis odd?"

Stacy huffed, "Again, that band walked out from backstage to the house. You're not supposed to do that. Don't get me wrong, that's nowhere why I think they're responsible. I simply don't believe they have a fourth member, nor do I believe they were actually there to perform. With or without a fourth member they claim to have, they'd be smart to get on stage anyway. Instead, they don't, which makes their conscious airtight."

Mr. Rue intently respected the lady's forthcoming cooperation. "You serve a fair point. Is there anything else you can think of that might be relevant? Any other details you noticed that I should be aware of?" He pondered.

"No, I've discussed everything I wanted to share." Stacy gripped the lace of her white skirt, bereft of departure.

The police jolted, sensing her apathetic continuation. He packed up his notebook and pen, prepared to end the interview. "Well, thank you for coming in and sharing this information with me, Stacy. We'll investigate all the names you've given us and see if we can find any other evidence to support your claims." He gestured the girl to exit; ready to move on to the next phase of the investigation.

"No problem." Stacy conjectured, rising her brown doll shoes to the polished tile.

She whirled around, her steps echoing as she stormed out of the room.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗘𝗻𝗱.

Chapter Text

Hi js adding this here bc I put this in drafts yesterday and js tryna get more hits bc ao3 thinks I published this yesterday