Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Art by @threegoblinart on Tumblr

Chapter 1:

About a lucky man who made the grade.

The car exhaust went off first. 

Then came the crash of the thunder.

Then the chorus of heavy raindrops that covered the streets.

Hunter felt the water cover the top of his shoes, soaking them through the socks right up to the bottom of his slacks. 

Manhattan is surrounded by water. 

Usually, people ignore this fact when they imagine themselves walking through the streets of the “City that Never Sleeps” late at night. This is often the difference between people who move to New York City, versus those who’ve always been here.

To newcomers and weekend visitors, the city was full of adventure and mystery. All sharp angles and flashes of light. Salt covered pretzels and Broadway Billboards. A mythical land where history was made and stars were born. Thirteen miles of opportunity. 

To Hunter Wittebane, it was the place that he’d managed to exist the longest. 

Existing was difficult. More than it seemed to be for most of the New Yorker's who easily made their way down the sidewalks, huddled together. Walking and talking in pace with such ease that they seemed on the inside of some magical bubble where loneliness couldn't invade. Like the sun shined on their every step and each new day was an opportunity to make an impression.

But the torrential downpour that covered Hunter's perfectly pressed white button up (uncle insisted he had his initials stitched into the cuffs in gold, for a good impression) and managed to mess up his freshly cut hair, had made sure that he would not be making any impressions worthy of praise. 

As soon as the car exhaust went off, the opportunity was shot. 

The sound of the rain had immediately flooded Hunter’s senses with gray. And, of course, in the city, there was always an ambulance somewhere in the distance, which had sealed the deal.

Hunter’s heart pounded. His chest drew shallow breaths, and with little memory as to how he got there, he found himself slouched against the side of a building fidgeting with his leather briefcase. 

The brief ghost of Uncle Philip’s sunken face passed through his mind’s eye. 

It couldn’t be helped though. There was no way he was going to make it to midtown for the dinner meeting with the CEO from St. Epiderm’s Property Management company – which likely meant the prospect of a business internship was now out of the question. 

His uncle had gone through the trouble to set up this meeting, and if Hunter couldn’t get experience worthy of his uncle’s approval when he graduated Stern Business School? 

Well, he didn’t want to think about that. 

If his beeper was at his side and not in his briefcase, it was certain that there were more than a few pages from the Titan Record’s central office with Uncle’s code 15:22  to communicate urgency. It was VERY likely that his lateness had already been reported.

The very least Hunter could do was to call the Russian Tea Room and have the staff inform Mr. Piniet that he wasn’t going to make it. He fumbled in his pocket for a couple of wet quarters and began scanning the street for a place he might be able to slip in to find a payphone.

It was his fault, really. He thought he’d planned accordingly.

He’d left the Bobst library after his last class, and thought he’d had time to kill, so he took a walk down to the Angelika Theater in NoHo to catch a showing of, City of Angels.  

Again. 

Then he’d gotten distracted by a vendor that sold old books out of some shipping boxes on his front stoop. Hunter had bought the movie tickets with his bank card, so he’d wrangled his last dollar out of his weekly cash stipend to purchase a Star Wars paperback called HEIR TO THE EMPIRE, and gotten lost in the first few pages. 

And that’s when he’d finally noticed the time. And when the skies opened up above him. He would just have to accept that he brought this on himself. 

But first? Payphone.

It was difficult to see through the rain, and his hair that stuck slick to over his eyes. The street was unfamiliar, lined with storefronts that required stairs either going up or down to access entry. 

Thunder split through his ears again. He felt his breath quicken. 

Without much further thought, Hunter followed a river of running rainwater towards the light of a stairway that lead down to a low lit doorway, covered with an awning that read:

“DELL CLAWTHORNE’S THE OWL HOUSE.” 

The door vibrated yellow light as he pushed his way through, down a long thin hallway covered in red chipped paint and posters featuring various musical acts that had once passed through. Hunter followed the warm buzz of electric guitar into a room with a small bar and a few tables facing a stage.

🎶

Ah, now I don't hardly know her

But I think I could love her 🎶

It was a familiar tune, but the tempo was sped up. And even though there was something missing that Hunter couldn’t quite put his finger on, he found himself lured in by the warmth of the tune hanging between the guitar player and the bassist who’s voice dripped thick like honey.

  🎶 Ah when she comes walking over

Now I've been waitin' to show her

Crimson and clover over and over 🎶

She stood upfront. Short, curvy, and strong. Dressed in a Joan Jett t-shirt with torn denim jeans that covered her thick legs perfectly. Her dark hair was braided and peppered with various shades of green dye.

And though this girl was clearly the leader of the group, her powerful voice had an unexpected shy quality. It called to something deep within Hunter’s chest. 

On the drums was a young thin black man with a side shave and short top locs. He wore a wide grin  while spinning his sticks around as his foot kept busy with the bass drum, which had been painted up with a big green gem. 

On the lead guitar was a tall pale woman with a short brown ponytail tied up with a spiked band. For a moment, Hunter thought he’d spotted a big shaggy dog off to her side. 

And to the right, a small framed black girl was playing some sort of electric violin. Her face was painted with sharp green stars, contrasting her soft white cloud of hair that made Hunter think of STORM from X-Men.

  🎶 Yeah, my, my such a sweet thing

I wanna do everything

What a beautiful feeling

Crimson and clover over and over  🎶

Hunter took in a breath. Through the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke, cloves, and what was definitely SOME sort of pungent substance that was definitely NOT legal, he found himself in a corner of his memory he’d long buried. 

The kitchen windows were wide open. The scent of patchouli mixed with the crisp fall air that blew the thin white curtains aside. From the counter, the radio buzzed slightly. 

Hunter was cheek to cheek with momma. Her spiky red hair glowed in the sunlight, while she held him in her arms dancing. She reached out and turned the volume way up as they sang together.

 🎶AHHHHH! LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!  

CRIIIIIIIIMSON AND CLOOOOOOOOVERRRRRR🎶

A whistle answered from the fire escape. Dad snuck in through the open window with a big grin on his face. “Hello, my loves.” He leaned in and kissed them both before joining them in the chorus.

🎶Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over🎶

Now Dad held a hand to his mouth and patted it like he was yawning, but instead, he stifled the sound of his voice, imitating the echo and vibrations of Tommy James’ song. Momma and Hunter laughed letting Dad take the lead with the melody while they sang the harmony.

🎶Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over🎶

“Crimson and clover, over and over… Crimson and clover… Over and over…” Hunter mouthed the words as he tapped out the beat on the table. He hadn’t remembered sitting down. His wet clothes clung cold to his body, but his chest felt warm. 

The song, the guitars, her voice. It was all so … messy. 

Messy and perfect.  

He noted, however, that there seemed to be a slight distance between how the melodies and harmonies connected. It was like looking at a puzzle where the space had been filled with a piece that mismatched just slightly, leaving a thin empty sliver where they should have interlocked.

Hunter spotted a beat up green Epiphone SG guitar sitting unplayed on a stand off to the side. 

🎶Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over🎶

Hunter continued to follow the rhythm with his hands, speeding up to match the shift from the traditional slow to what was most definitely some form of punk music. 

🎶Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over

Crimson and clover over and over🎶

He was singing now. Louder than he’d realized, because the unfamiliar sound of his own voice had replaced the instruments. His eyes popped open. Everyone was staring. 

Everyone. 

Was. 

Staring.

She was staring. 

Staring at him through foggy green framed glasses that hid her eyes. 

“Uhhhhh.” Hunter’s ears heated up. Then his face. He grabbed his wet briefcase and spun for the door. 

“HEY! YOU!” The singer shouted. 

Hunter dashed for the hallway, almost to the doors.

A barking dog chased after him, cutting him off. He tripped, falling out on the floor, wet and humiliated.

“OH SHIT! PUDDLES! NO!” Someone shrieked. “Bad girl!”

The dog had begun to lick his face, covering him in “Grade A - Dog Breath.” 

“What happened here?” An older voice rasped. “Someone hit the sauce a little too early?” 

Hunter raised his shoulders. “I-I’m sorry.” He mumbled. He closed his eyes bracing for the laughter that would likely follow. 

Hunter drew his shoulders up. He opened his eyes to see the dog’s wet snout. The tall brown haired girl grabbed the dog by the collar. She reached a hand out to help him up.

“I AM SO SORRY!” She gasped. “She gets excited with new people! Puddles! I said no!” 

“It’s fine.” Hunter whispered. “I-I was just leaving.”

He turned towards the door, but a new hand grabbed his arm. 

“WAIT!” It was the green haired bassist. The singer. 

Hunter turned slowly. He could see now that her eyes were a bright green. Wide and curious. 

She smiled at him and held up a poster that read, “THE EMERALDS.”

“Wanna join the band?” She squeaked.

Chapter Text

art by @ThreeGolblinArt

Chapter 2

I’d love to turn you on.

________________________

Willow Park began her morning run the same as she had for the last four years. With a greeting from Kate Moss.

This was only partially true.

The running part, not the Kate Moss part. These days, Kate was as ever present in Manhattan as the Eyes of Dr. T. J. Eckleberg was for West Egg in Fitzgerald’s classic novel. The darling of all the popular labels. Plastered on nearly every advertisement in the city. Barely dressed, constantly judging anyone who dared eat a cookie.

Queen Kate's likeness loomed from high above, over a city of people who took efforts to act like they couldn’t care less about their image.

"Image is everything, Willow dear," a needled a nasty voice in a long buried memory.

Image was just that. Willow knew this. In reality, she knew that there were several types of people who existed in Manhattan. 

There were the ones who came here to be noticed. The aspiring actors who moved from audition to audition hoping that their next leap would be the leap to fame. The wanna be models who chased their dreams up seedy stairways, clutching a questionable want ad in hand.

There were the business people. They bared their teeth like sharks and held empty gazes, looking at everyone and everything as a series of numbers. There were the ones who still clung to the world of giant shoulder pads and big hair. The ones who scraped by and remained unnoticed by the self centered world of the first few. Selling hot dogs out of street carts. 

There were ones who slept on the streets. Everything they had in the world summed up in what could fit in a small shopping cart. Willow always felt an ache for them. The sidewalks were an unforgiving place to make a bed, no matter how soft their pillows might be.

Manhattan was not kind to everyone, and the homeless population -- no less Manhattanites than any of the others? They were a stark reminder of just how unforgiving their home could be.

Willow often wondered at what point they had become unforgiven. A pang of guilt ran through her body as she passed around them along with the rest of the morning commuters. She reached into her pocket and managed a dollar bill for an old woman who sat silently with an old coffee cup in hand and the word, "HELP", written in dull marker on a makeshift cardboard sign.

All of these groups made up the "melting pot" of the city. Actors. Models. Sharks. Big Hairs. Vendors. Homeless.

And then there were the ones who just had been able to exist in the background of the place they’d always called home. Unremarkable, but able to move freely without issue.

Yes. Willow worked out every morning, but sometimes she opted to use her rollerblades for cardio instead of running. Now, as the sun rose earlier, so had the crowds and this was usually the time of year where she decided it was less treacherous to just run . 

Classes were gearing up for the end of the semester, so she’d stayed up late the night before putting the finishing touches on her final papers while rocking out to some Elastica. 

So it was Justine Frischmann’s voice that filled Willow’s ears as she arrived at her destination. Park’s on the Park II was located right on the corner of East 15th Street and Union Square West. The closest of her fathers’ four Bodega’s to the NYU dorms where Willow stayed, Park’s II had been the most convenient for her to work at during the school year.

And it would remain the most convenient, for the next few weeks at least. 

🎶Another heart has made the trade

Forget it, forget it, forget it

I don't understand how a heart is a spade

But somehow the vital connection is made🎶

Headphones on, Willow waved to Prim at the counter and took her place in the back where a new shipment of fresh flowers had arrived via an unmarked truck. 

Artfully, Willow began wrapping them in colorful arrangements. Prim plopped a bundle of unsold fashion magazines right beside her, where of course Kate was featured in a reclined position, all smooth, skinny and pale in Calvin Klein underwear. 

It wasn’t Kate’s fault really. Willow tried to remember this when she caught glimpses of the stretch marks that lined her own legs and belly. 

It did feminism NO good at all to hate on Kate or any of the models whose entire careers were built around being whatever the “ideal” of the moment was. And from the mid 90’s on? The ideal was, “waif” or “heroine chic” depending on who you spoke to. 

“If only Sir Mix-a-lot defined beauty standards,” Willow had told her round butt, “we’d be all set, you and I!”

But alas, the billboards in the city were covered with ads for cigarettes, and worn denim jeans, and underwear – all featuring shirtless men with giant muscles, and women whose ribs could be counted easily. 

With a too casual shrug, Willow brushed the magazines out of the way and brought an armful of her specially curated bouquets to the water buckets out front. 

“Thanks, honey!” Prim called out. “You ready for graduation?” 

“Eh. It’s really just final papers now.” Willow slid her headphones off and shut her walkman. “I’m just waiting to see if I got into the grad program I wanted.” 

“Well you’re already going to that school!” Prim huffed. “It’d be stupid of them not to keep letting you KEEP going there?”

Willow shrugged. “The Masters for Environmental Studies is still pretty competitive. They only want the best candidates for the program.” Of course, what Willow didn’t mention was how she just didn’t quite feel ready to jump into this next stage. Especially after her undergrad had been half wasted on a direction of study that she had not excelled at in the least. 

“At least I have this to distract me!” Willow pointed to a black and white poster on the wall that read, “THE OWL HOUSE! THURSDAY NIGHT PUNK SCENE! FEATURING: THE SLITHERBEASTS! DETENTION PIT! AND THE EMERALDS!”

“Gotta get the old bass in tune?” Prim grinned. “Wish I could make it there, but it's way past my bedtime. Also, isn’t punk DEAD, as they say?”

“Nah.” Willow bristled, “We’re still playing it at least.”

“Didya ever replace that guitar player? Jeremy whatever?” 

“Not yet.” Willow cringed. Viney had been particularly salty about his quick departure. Willow knew they'd need to figure something out soon, and that things would likely be strained for a bit. She hated the thought of a stranger playing with the Emeralds. The group itself had come together organically. With this in mind, Willow did as she always had and put on a sunny facade. “We’ll get there though!” she told Prim.

“Well, good luck. I’ll get Morton to break up those old magazines in the back.” 

“Thanks Prim! As always, my dads are happy to have you here.” Willow grabbed a pack of specialty Parks on the Park dumplings and headed out for the rest of the day.

There wasn’t too much going on before the show. She met Luz and Gus at Union Square Park, then they popped into Tower Records hoping to see some new released from the UK. Then they’d argued if they were going to go see Bulworth (again) or Suicide Kings with Christopher Walken (again), and opted instead to crash back at Luz’s place to watch a reruns of The X-Files, before heading back out to the show. 

The problem with always being the opening act for the opening act was that you were usually playing to a pretty empty space. Eda sat with some of her friends by the bar – and a few new people shuffled in throughout the evening, but since the Emeralds had been down a guitar player, they hadn’t really been able to get back up to speed. 

Even with Skara, who had been training at Juilliard and brought her own brand of flair to the stage. 

Willow laid out a set list of favorites. 

Start with a little Joan Jett – afterall, she wasn’t wearing this shirt for show. 

London Calling – the Clash was always a good bet. 

And topping it off? The punched up version of Tommy James’ classic, Crimson and Clover . 

Willow’s voice warbled a bit as the band’s thick sound bounced off the walls. Gus always had trouble keeping time with this particular song, and without their other member? Well… something was off for sure. 

She was absolutely positive that she’d scared off the few people who’d come to see the show, when she’d spotted the saddest looking, wet cat of a young man she’d ever seen in her life. 

And he was actually drenched. Her eyes flicked to the doorway, where she caught a glimpse of a practical waterfall of rain rushing down the stairs outside. 

Apparently, during the short time between set up and now, some never forecasted heavy storm had fallen from the skies, seemingly all onto this one poor soul. 

Actually, maybe the rain was the reason The Owl House hadn’t had as many people show up for their act. But he was here. So it was some sort of fate, perhaps?

Even fully engaged in the bass, Willow immediately noticed a lot of things about this young man. 

He was very pale, with a handsome angular face, but a curious mark of discoloration ran up his right cheek. He had a hawk-like nose that could have been considered “severe,” but his eyes were a warm brown. Gray circles lined his gaze suggesting that he hadn’t slept in forever and his heavy eyebrows were darker than his hair, which even when wet, Willow could tell was some shade of blonde.

Also, he was wearing a button down shirt, and he carried a leather briefcase. So he obviously wasn’t the normal clientele for The Owl House, but more notably? This guy was singing along ! Better? He was tapping out the rhythm to the song matching the speed of the rest of the band. 

So, she was excited?

But maybe it was a little impulsive of Willow to chase after the guy after the set had ended abruptly. Especially since she’d drawn the excitement of Viney’s giant mutt, Puddles who’d knocked the poor guy off his feet onto the ground. 

Well? At least he hadn't left, but now he was sitting up on the floor looking right up at Willow with giant eyes. She’d noticed his hands were trembling a bit. Probably something about being stuck out in the rain and not properly dried off.

Before, when he was signing, Willow had caught a small ribbon of his voice. Smooth and gentle, but there was undeniable raw emotion in it -- and she was staring at him. Oh jeez. She was staring right at him.

So was Gus from the drum set and Eda from the bar and just about everyone else in the general radius of this giant red pin on the map of what was a niche dive bar. For a moment, the time between them paused, and then he was running towards the door, attracting the eye of Puddles, Viney's giant mutt. By the time Willow had caught up with him, he was splayed out on the floor bracing for a stinky dog attack.

Okay. So things were already a disaster. But hey? That’s punk for you. A beautiful mess. Just like this young man. 

This was exactly why Willow did the first thing she could think of. 

“Hey you!” she’d said, “Wanna join the band?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3: 

Woke up, fell out of bed

“Sprig? Where’s Sprig?"  A small child's voice ghosted, " Nonono. D-don't take him away! I c-c-can’t leave without him. P-please, please don’t make me leave him behind.”

It was shameful, but Hunter still slept with a stuffed animal in reach. After everything had happened that awful day after his fifth birthday, he had needed something to hold onto. Hunter hadn’t cried when the police arrived. He couldn’t. All emotion had left his body before they'd told him it was time to go. 

The tears were dry on his cheeks, mixed with the blood from his bandaged ear. The medic had left after wrapping the last bit of medical tape around the gauze. She had a sharp white scent. Like the hospital where momma told him he'd stayed when he was just an "itty bitty thing." Hunter thought about how momma and dad brought him back there a few times to meet with a man who listened to his heart and took pictures of his insides. 

"Just to make sure you're engine's still working!" dad had joked. After they would go to the park and feed the birds. Momma would stop at the cart and pay the man for a warm soft pretzel just for Hunter.

But that wasn't going to happen. Not ever again.

Hunter didn’t even argue about leaving the cozy apartment where he lived with his parents. The apartment where his parents HAD lived.

In that moment, there was no Hunter. Not anymore. He was a toy. A doll. A body to be ushered and transferred wherever and to do as he was told. All except for leaving Sprig behind. That was one thing he refused. Feet stuck to the ground, hands clenched. Hunter had begged the police to let him take Sprig with him to the station. 

At first there was an argument between the officers in the yellow raincoats.

“We can’t just remove an item from the scene of a crime!”

“C’mon Batista! The kid was literally holding it when we got here. Hell. He’s still in his pajamas! He probably just got out of bed when it happened.”

“It’s EVIDENCE TAMPERING Sandoval!” 

“I don’t think allowing a scared little kid a comfort item is evidence tampering. It’s not fair. He’s already had everything taken from him.”

After a little more argument, they’d relented. 

It was a wonder that Hunter had managed to smuggle Spig into Uncle Philip’s Lenox Hill Brownstone, but he’d managed to tuck the little pink frog under the blankets he’d been given at the hospital. Anyway, Uncle was just too overwhelmed with all the paperwork at that point to notice -- not to mention the argument that took place outside of the exam room. So Sprig managed to stay with Hunter when he'd been taken in.

Of course, Spring was not permitted at the Academy , but for the last five years, since graduation, Hunter had woken up every morning in the small studio apartment Uncle had set up for him in Midtown. Here there was very little natural light, and the walls were painted plaster white with only the Glandus diploma on the wall above his single bed for decoration.

____________________

But no matter what, Hunter always fell asleep and woke up with the little pink frog in his arms.

“Uhhhh. S-Sprig?!?”

Sprig was not here. And this place definitely wasn’t Hunter’s apartment. 

Instead of a single stuffed animal usually hidden under his pillow, there was a pile of them on full display -- and on his feet. Furthermore, the plush creature in Hunter's arms wasn’t a pink frog with an army hat, but a thin rabbit with a blue button on one eye. 

Where Hunter’s room was cold and dark -- shrouded in shadow with windows obscured by curtains and blocked by a close adjacent building, this room was bright and hot. Very, very hot indeed. In fact, the entire blaze of the sun seemed to shine directly on his face. 

Slowly, Hunter's eyes fluttered fully open, focusing on a small unmade bed across the small room. The walls were covered in polaroid pictures, and tree. Not a real one, of course, but it had a construction paper bark and branches and it was decorated with leaves made from what appeared to be tickets, possibly from movies or even a concert. On the wall over the adjacent bed itself was a poster illustration of girls wearing some sort of maritime uniform. They had giant eyes and long flowy hair, and Hunter could make out the words, “Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon” across the top.

A thick waft of grease in the air teased his nose. A hungry bear roared from within Hunter's cavernous stomach. When was the last time he'd eaten anyway?

“Oh. I think he’s awake.”

Hunter's body jumped at the unfamiliar voice. He clenched his eyes tight and covered his head with his arms. The shadow of a stranger passed over him.

“¿Estás despierto?” they prodded. 

Slowly, Hunter slid his arms from his face to see a girl staring down at him with large brown eyes. She appeared roughly around his own age with brown skin and wavy short hair.

“Nope. This is a dream.” He mumbled. “When I wake up for real I’ll be home.”

“Oh no no no you don’t.” The girl leaned in. 

Hunter parried, slinging the blanket around his shoulders and up to his chin. He shut his eyes -- and what definitely felt like an open palm slapped his face.

“Hey! Wake up!”

The sting from the slap hummed through him. He sprung up from the bed and into what he now had to admit was not some weird hallucinatory dream.

"Heeeeeeeey," the girl waved casually as if she hadn't just assaulted him.

"HEY?" Hunter's heart pounded, "Th-that's all you can say to me right now?"

"Well, what'm I supposed to say?" The girl snorted. She crouched by the bed, now at Hunter's eye level.

“I - I DON'T KNOW?" He grabbed his hair, "M-maybe tell me who you are? A-and where I AM? OH! And where's SPRIG?"

Now the girl tilted her head, “Who’s Sprig?” she snorted, as if that was the most important answer she could give him to any of those questions.

"I can't believe this!"

Hunter knew he was messed up. It was a fundamental fact of having grown up himself. He'd had some lapses in his memory and frequently demonstrated poor judgment, and reasoning skills, but NEVER EVER had he failed to return home each night. And upon calculating all this, it immediately occurred to him that on top of whatever this was? On top of all of this, he had missed an important job interview the night before. 

Without a call to the CEO who had been waiting for him at a very expensive restaurant. On uncle Philip's dime, no less.

Furthermore, he was still dressed in last night’s clothes -- that were damp, and they smelled like smoke. ALL KINDS of smoke. He looked at the golden Rolex on his right wrist. Uncle Philip had gifted it to him for his 18th birthday.

“Consider this a token of my generosity, Hunter.” Uncle Philip told him. “This is one of the finest timepieces money can buy. I give it to you to remind you of the responsibility of timeliness. Do not be late to your appointments. Ever. And make sure you do not venture into any bad neighborhoods with that. Some vagrant might try to steal it.”

“Wow! Racist much?” The girl snorted. 

“HUH?” Hunter's eyes darted up, “What are you talking about?”

She crossed her arms, “you were wondering if I stole your watch, weren’t you?”

Hunter’s mouth dropped. “N-NO!” He shouted immediately. He paused, “I mean MAYBE ?” he looked around once more taking in his surroundings, “you did … did you KIDNAP me?”

“ Kidnap you?” The girl whistled low, “Whoa dude. WhaaatEveeeer. You don’t remember me at all do you?” 

Dumbly, Hunter just shook his head. 

“Oh I’m insulted!” The girl’s eyes shifted mournfully to her hands. “You came home with me last night! I thought I was special.”

“W-WHAT!?” He was going to throw up. Hunter was going to throw up right there in this strange room, all over someone’s Little Mermaid comforter. 

While the wallspace on the other side of the room was cluttered and chaotic, the one above the bed Hunter slept in was a bit more orderly. There were still pictures, but these were taped neatly above his head. Most featured a tan girl with hair dyed blonde and a faded accent of green underneath. This girl, the blonde one, sat with a variety of female teammates wearing some sort of sports uniform. The pictures came together around a letter of Scholarship from Sarah Lawrence College awarded to someone named, “Valeria Vilmaris Noceda.”

“Luz, can you let the poor guy sleep?” Trilled a sharp voice from another room.

“He was already waking up, Eda!" The girl called "Luz" pouted, “And anyway he kept ME up last night with all that mumbling he did in his sleep!”

A hand small hand smacked against the side of the wall over Hunter's head.

“Oh. You’re s till here?” A  little boy with messy black hair and a thick rat tail down his back poked his head into the bedroom from the open window overhead. “Hey Luz! Did I leave Francois here?” the kid asked. 

“Didn’t see him buddy, ask mama.”

“AWWWWW!” The little boy whined. He dropped inside from the window and scampered out of the room, “Tia Camila! Did I leave Francois here last night?”

“Ay baby! No!” Another voice answered. “Did you check your Fire Escape?”

“I just came from there!” The boy shouted back. 

Luz eyed the little stuffed rabbit in Hunter’s arms, “Oh you’re gonna be in trouble in a few minutes,” she chuckled.

“I - I’m sorry,” Hunter shook his head again, “but where am I?”

“It’s like I said.” The girl’s smile stretched again. “You came home with me last night.”

Hunter felt his neck grow hot. “I – I… what?”

“Okay. I love a good prank kiddo, but blondie there was pretty worked up last night." called the voice from before, Give him a bit.”

A deep sigh came from the doorway. Hunter squinted. He could just about make out a woman leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee in her hands.

“Eda’s right, cariňio, no more teasing okay?” she was middle aged and rounder in the face, but the resemblance to the girl who sat taunting him was undeniable. “By the way, hijo." she smiled, "Luz has a girlfriend that she’s crazy about, so don’t worry about her jokes. You were in a bad way and she just took you here to rest.”

Hunter found himself folding at the kindness in her eyes, “Come on," she sighed, "we’ve got breakfast ready if you want it.” 

Slowly, Hunter let out a breath. Images from the night before began to fill his mind. Faces, voices, colors, music…

🎶 Crimson and Clover… Over and Over 🎶

“Wanna join our band?”

The rain poured down the stairway followed by more thunder while waves of cold panic rushed through his body. 

Hunter rubbed his eyes. Now three faces stared back at him. The girl with the wide eyes, her older counterpart, (an older sister? her mother?) and another woman as tall and angled as the first one was small and round. Long gray hair, she wore a long red gauze dress and a gold toothed smile. 

“Who ARE you people…?” he asked softly. “And where am I?”

“I’m Luz. Luz Noceda.” the girl chirped, “that’s my mom, Camila and my Auntie Eda.” She shook her head. “You really don’t remember last night, do you?

“I remember a DOG…” Hunter knit his brow. 

“Yeah! Puddles.” Luz nodded. “We met last night at The Owl House.”

“The Owl House ?” Hunter rolled the words around in his mouth. It sounded slightly familiar.

Luz nodded, “You were talking to Willow and Gus.”

“Oh.” Hunter breathed in the names. “Gus.” he repeated. “A-and, Willow," the tips of his ears tingled just a bit at the feeling of her name on his lips.

________________

"You wanna join our band?” she smiled at him. In her hands, she held up a poster that read, “THE EMERALDS.”

Hunter’s eyes darted around the room. It was dark, lit only by about half a dozen old Tiffany lamps on the ceiling, but he could make out the decor enough to see that this venue (if you could call it that) was furnished with knick knacks that seemed like they’d belonged in some old lady’s basement. Cuckoo Clocks, hand carved birds, mostly owls, though there were few lupine animals, as well sat un-dusted on wooden shelves. 

Along the top of the bar hung pictures of a man with a long beard and a scarred eye. In one photo, he was sitting in the middle of a field with a bunch of other long haired folks in tie dye. In another, he was shaking hands with Bob Dylan. In the next frame, he was smiling next to Iggy Pop.

“Well?” The basist's voice drew him back. “What’ya think?”

Hunter wrinkled his nose, his eyes flicked to the flyer and back to her, “I … I don’t really have time right now,” he muttered.

“You had the time to come in here and listen?” The girl pouted. She wiggled the paper playfully and Hunter felt something in his stomach thaw. 

Before his brain could stop him, Hunter found himself taking it from her hands. 

Her short fingernails were painted in a dark green polish that was mostly chipped -- so different than the shiny red and french manicured claws he'd been used to seeing uptown. Her thick wrists were covered in multi-colored beaded bracelets. When their fingertips touched, a small tingle of electricity passed through Hunter’s chest.

“Leave him alone, Willow,” The young black man – the drummer -- shook his head. “He looks like a narc or something.”

“Uh. I’m NOT.” Hunter raised a brow. “I mean. I can’t be? I don’t even know what a ‘narc’ is?” 

He really didn’t, but by the way the drummer had said it, he could tell it wasn’t something good . But then again, what did it matter? Hunter wasn’t even supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to these people let alone worrying about if they thought he was a, 'lark' or whatever.

“Yeah, well that’s exactly what a narc would say,” the guy pointed at Hunter's embroidered cuffs. “You’re definitely dressed like a narc.” 

“Maybe he’s a talent scout!” The electric violinist squealed. She bounced over to the table. “I knew it! I knew someone would get it ! See, Gus? I told you violins belong in punk music!”

She was so earnest. Hunter felt hot around the neck. He folded the flyer up and put it in his pocket.

“I’m sorry, I’m not a talent scout.” He mumbled. 

“Oh.” The violinist rolled her eyes. She shrugged and hopped away as quickly as she'd come.

“I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.” he cringed. “About any of it.” 

Hunter really was sorry. Her addition to the band was delightful. He’d wanted to be a scout for Titan Records once upon a time, but Uncle Philip had a very specific type of brand he wanted to convey, and Hunter was not equipped to bring anything worthwhile to the table. 

“Well at least have a seat and let’s talk about it?” The bassist looked hopeful. “you should stick around for a few minutes you, uhhhhh, you don’t look so good.” She seemed to look towards the drummer for some reassurance. He rolled his eyes and gestured to the chair where Hunter had been sitting just a moment ago.

"Yeah, okay." the drummer sighed, he managed a smile, "you good man?"

“I’m fine.” Hunter muttered. He settled into the hard wooden seat,  “just had a rough day.”

"What a weird casual conversation to be having with actual strangers." he thought.

"Rough day, he needs a drink!" the spiky hair-banded dog owner shouted. She swigged a glass of melted ice and what must have been some green looking drink.

The Storm-from-X-Men haired violinist rolled her eyes, "I don't think he needs a midori sour, Viney."

"I don't need a midori sour, Skara! I'm only drinking this thing because you're a lightweight and I can't stand you leaving your drink un-drank!"

A weight covered Hunter's hand he glanced down to see her small hand covering his. At closer glance her nails weren't actually black so much as a very dark shade of green. Pins and needles filled his arms at her touch. He flinched away and drew his hand away to grab his chest. For a moment she looked almost insulted. Sad. His heart faltered.

“You’re very pale.” the bassist spoke gently.

"T-thanks?" He swallowed. What a dumb thing to say?

"I mean you're like white as a sheet! Like a ghost," she shook her head. I think you definitely need a drink.

Hunter opened his mouth to tell her he definitely didn't need whatever spiky hair band -- Viney? --had been drinking, but she waved him off, calling over the shoulder towards the bar.

“EDA!”  she shouted, “Can we get a glass of ice water here?”

A tall middle aged woman with graying hair and a gold tooth shimmied from behind the counter with an old fashioned whiskey glass, “One virgin vodka onm the rocks,” she raised a brow in Hunter's direction, "uuuuuhhhhh, extra virgin?" she added.

Hunter’s stomach lurched at the word “virgin”, but he took the glass anyway and drank it down, letting the coolness steal his breath. 

“Whoa,” The gold toothed woman – Eda – leaned in. She eyed his cuff links, then his watch and took a drag from a rolled cigarette. “Who let the stiff in?” she asked. 

Hunter felt sweat creep up the back of his neck again. That “cigarette” definitely did not SMELL like a cigarette.

“Is that MARIJUANA?” he gasped.

“A narc.” The drummer gestured, “Told y’all. Would you listen? Noooooooo.”

Hunter's mind began to race. Several others in the room were ashing cigarettes that might not be cigarettes. The smell was everywhere! Smoke all around, in the air and around him.

“AM I GONNA GET A CONTACT HIGH?” He squeaked. “AM I ADDICTED NOW?”

Blank eyes met Hunter’s gaze as his head began to swim, down, down towards the table. 

“He’s losing blood sugar or something!” A voice called out.

Someone opened his palm and spilled a bunch of multicolored oblong shaped gels into his shaking hand.

“Here blondie, eat some of these.”

Hunter’s eyes flicked up to Eda's.

“A-are these drugs?” he murmured, "pills? Uppers?"

“They’re Jelly Beans.” Eda rolled her eyes. They were cat like. Sharp and crinkled at the end with mischief. They were light brown. Almost golden. She grinned playfully, “Reagan approves.”

Hunter felt his face pinch. Slowly, he popped three into his mouth. The sugar rush flooded him at once.

“Hey,” now Eda leaned right up in Hunter’s face, “Have we met before?” 

Hunter nearly choked on a jelly bean. “D-definitely not!” he snapped. “I-I’ve never been to this place in my life!”

Slowly, Eda stood up and put a hand on the bassist's back. “Hey Wills? I’m headed back to the bar, okay?” she nodded towards the stage. “The next act should be here in a bit. Luz is helping me with the drinks, so holler if you need anything.”

“Got it!” The bassist smiled again, and when she had smiled, she’d smiled at Hunter.  Not at the woman called Eda, and not at her companion. 

At Hunter.

“I’m Willow Park,” she said, “that’s Gus Porter.” She nodded to the drummer. 

“N-nice to meet you?” Hunter stuttered. Was he supposed to offer a handshake? Did punks shake hands, or just headbutt each other?

“That’s Skara.” Willow gestured to the violinist with the white hair, “Viney.” Willow pointed to the tall brunette who had her hand over the head of a patchy dog. “You’ve met Puddles.”

“Oh. C-cool.” Hunter sipped a bit of the ice water, "uh, good to know."

“This is the part where you tell us who you are.” Gus Porter deadpanned.

Right. Of course.

Hunter cleared his throat, “M-my name is Hunter."

“Hunter,” The bassist’s – Willow Park's -- Willow’s – smile deepend. 

She had dimples!

“Nice to meet you, Hunter .”

His stomach warmed just a little more at the sound of his name on her lips. The corners of his mouth tugged a bit.  “You guys, uh, you sounded good.” He said. “The music was nice, actually.”

“ Actually ?” Gus whistled. “Hey, thanks for the fake compliment man.” 

“What?” Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t being fake. You were GOOD. I’ve never heard that song played like that ! But .. your drumming was a little off, you know.”

Gus’ mouth dropped. “How would you know?” He crossed his arms.

“Errrr. I have some percussion training,” Hunter mumbled.

“SOUSA!” Scooter Crane tapped his baton on the stand. “Here at Glandus Military Academy anyone who enters the practice of music, will learn to RESPECT SOUSA!”

“How very vague of you.” Gus bit his lip. “And you thought I was off, why?”

“Well?” Hunter sniffed. “You weren’t keeping time with the rest of the band? Drummers need to LEAD. Have you thought about listening to a slowed down version of the original and starting there?”

“What?” Gus seemed slightly more interested now. “How so?”

“Um Crimson and Clover,” Hunter waved his hand out, “By Tommy James, right? Listen to the original and practice with that at a slow speed before speeding it up? You can increase it steadily as you go along?”

“Okay.” Gus nudged Willow. “You win. Ask him again.” 

“So the band…” Willow shrugged. “You seemed really into the music, and we’re down a guitarist and singer… so I wanted to know if you wanna join?”

“I can’t be in a band! ” Hunter’s throat went dry. 

Willow and Gus stared back blankly.

“I’m a business major ?” he explained.

More staring.

“At Stern?” He offered. 

“Oh!” Willow’s face lit up. “I’m also at NYU! Environmental Science. Gus here's Cooper Union. A big nerd.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about how much of a nerd I am when I’m on MTV.” Gus waved her away.  

“So you see?” Willow smiled. “we're students too!” 

“But…” Hunter looked around. “I-I’m not supposed to be here! I – I only came in to look for a pay phone!” 

By now, Mr. Piniet’s surely LEFT the Tea Room and altered my uncle’s office that I was a no show.

“Sorry bud. There’s been no working payphones here since ‘94.” A new girl with brown skin and messy short hair passed by. She handed Hunter a fresh glass of water. “Hey! Looks like the jellybeans helped!”

“You can prolly use the phone behind the bar,” she continued, “But it’s almost 10 and it’s gonna get super loud in here once the next band starts up.”

10 PM

Hunter’s breath sped up. “Oh.” he gasped. His fingers found his damp hair.

“Uh, are you okay? Again?” Willow reached out with a hand, but Hunter drew back and shook his head.

“I missed the time window for my meeting …” he labored. 

“I went to great trouble to set this up for you, Hunter. Do not disappoint me again.”

“Meeting?” Willow asked. 

Hunter nodded quickly. “I was supposed to be at an interview for an internship. I got caught in the rain and I was late, and now I definitely missed it.”

Willow knit her brow. “I’m sure you can explain what happened.” She gave a soft look. “You’ll get a second chance…” 

Hunter shook his head. “Maybe you’d get one, but where I come from, even first chances have to be earned. Especially when you’re considered a bastard like me.”

The room seemed to go very quiet. Willow’s bottom lip parted. Her glasses had fogged up again, but both hers and Gus’ faces hung in surprise.

“Why would I even share that …?”  He cursed himself 

“Sorry to have wasted your time.” He began to pull himself up again, "good luck with your band," briefcase in hand, Hunter made it up the hallway, through the door onto the rainy stairway. 

He checked the time on the gold Rolex Uncle Philip had given him. 

10 PM …

His meeting had been set for 8:30 PM SHARP. He touched the top of his soaked briefcase. He could FEEL his pager buzzing over and over…

🎶 Crimson and Clover…

Over and Over… 🎶 

“HUNTER? ” Willow’s sweet voice prodded.

Hunter? 

“Uh oh! We’re losing him again!”

Hunter, honey. Stay in your room…

“Are you sure he’s not drunk?” 

Hmmmm. So you’re awake after all?

“We’re losing him again!”

Hunter...

“Is he on something? Kid? Did you take anything? Pills? Not jelly beans.”

The air buzzed with a sort of white static. His voice was stuck in his throat. “J-just the jellybeans,” he managed.

The cry of a police siren burst through the air, and then everything went dark.

______________________

“Come on out, blondie.” The woman called Eda tapped his shoulder playfully. “We got some eggs cooking."

“Eggs.” Hunter blinked. 

“Eggs,” She nodded. “Fresh from my parents' farms upstate.”

"Y-your parents keep chickens?" he squeaked.

Eda snorted, “Nah. The griffins weren’t laying eggs though, so I had to give you pigeon eggs!”

“What?” Hunter choked.

“KIDDING! Yes! Chicken eggs!” Eda’s laugh was big. Laced with bold colors. Her gold toothed grin framed it perfectly. “My folks keep ducks too,” she shrugged, “Those eggs are nice. Kinda thick. We do have an aviary on the roof, but the pigeons don’t like it when I steal their young.”

Hunter nodded as if this was the most natural thing for someone to say. He followed Eda and the girl, Luz , through the cluttered bedroom to a small kitchen/living room combo. The “older Luz” sat at the table offering a tall plate of scrambled eggs. 

Next to her sat the rat-tailed boy from before. He now wore a paper Burger King crown on the top of his head, and had begun shoveling some thick bacon and eggs onto toasted bread. 

The kid’s eyes grew really big as Hunter approached. He bared a mouth full of uneven teeth and snatched the stuffed rabbit that was still in Hunter’s arms, growling, “WEH!”

“KING!” Eda’s voice raised at the boy. She pulled her arm back, and Hunter felt all the muscles in his back pull tight. He watched the hand, then the kid, then the hand, then Eda -- who rolled her eyes and tapped the kid playfully on the shoulder. The older Luz pushed the crown over the kid’s eyes.

“Where’d ya leave your manners?” Eda helped him adjust it. “Say good morning to our guest and save some toast and bacon for him.”

“Why?” The kid wrapped his arms around the stuffed bunny, “he’s the one who stole Francois! I couldn’t sleep last night because of him!”

“King, I’m not arguing with you about this!” Eda snorted. “Last week you left Francois at Aunt Lilly’s and when we went back to get him, Uncle Hooty demanded we stay to play mancala with him for four hours!”

The kid shrugged and went back to his breakfast. 

Luz appeared at Hunter’s shoulder with a large mug with a rainbow around the rim. The words, “Pride and Shine!” were painted on the side. “Coffee?” she offered.

“Um. Yes please.” Hunter mumbled. “A-and, thank you.” He nodded to his hosts. “I promise I’ll get out of your hair soon, but I’ll help you clean up before I go.”

“How about you just get a good meal in your belly, mijo. ” The older Luz said. “I believe Luz said your name was Hunter?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Hunter nodded. His hand shook as it hovered over the fork in front of him. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he really was. 

“Don’t be shy, kiddo.” Eda nudged the plate his way. “Dig in! We’re not gonna tell anyone.”

For a moment, Hunter forgot himself. As if on command he heaped the eggs onto his fork and filled his mouth, like a wild animal. 

“Did you wanna try some hot sauce?” Luz grinned deviously.

Hunter shook his head, “Err… no thank you. I’m not —”

He almost said he’d never been allowed hot sauce before – but it was a little more complicated than that. And it would sound stupid to say this. He was 22! He should be allowed to eat whatever be wanted. In all fairness, he’d just never tried hot sauce before. It could leave a stain .

“No thank you,” he said again. 

“Suit yourself.” Luz shrugged. “So anyway, as I said before, I’m Luz Noceda. That,” she pointed to the older version of herself, “Is my mom.”

“You can call me Camila. ” The woman pronounced her name as a smooth, “Cuh- MEEL -uh”, with the hint of a latino accent. He spotted a Dominican Flag over the sink -- right next to a rainbow one.

The gold toothed woman cleared her throat, “I’m Eda Clawthorne. Some folks call me the Owl Lady,” she grinned “That little demon over there’s my son, King.”

Hunter paused. Eda had called the kid a demon, but it actually seemed to be an affectionate title. 

“That was my family’s place you were at last night.” Eda explained. 

Hunter blinked. “I thought this was your place?” The room became quiet. He looked at Luz’s mom. “O-or is it your place, ma’am?”

“It’s Camila, por favor. And right now you’re in our kitchen. But I think Eda was talking about the discotheque. The club?”

Hunter felt his face crease a bit. 

“The place you crashed on the table last night.” King looked up from his breakfast. “And my mom and Luz dragged you here so you could steal Francois?”

The rain. A staircase leading down to a foggy doorway under and overhand that read …

Dell Clawthorne's Owl House.

Hunter’s brows shot up. “The – uh. The concert hall?” 

Eda laughed. “You’re being pretty generous, kiddo. The Owl House isn’t exactly a concert hall, but it's been around featuring bands in the East Village since ‘63!”

“Oh!” Hunter gasped, “So y-you’ve been around almost as long as The Bitter End!” 

Something pinched between Eda’s eyebrows. “Something like that." She snorted. "Didn’t expect a button up like you to even know what The Bitter End was…”

Hunter dropped his fork and clenched his hands together. 

“Ay, Edalyn, don’t tease the guy.” Camila pulled a face. “Luz and King’ve given him enough grief.”

“So, where am I exactly, right now?” Hunter mumbled. “I-I know it's your apartment, but am I still in the Village?”

“Kinda?” Eda shrugged. 

“Kinda?” Hunter swallowed his bacon a bit too fast.”

“You’re in The Boiling Isles.”

This was bad. 

A quick pain shot up Hunter’s chest. 

This IS bad. 

“Is there someone you should be calling to let them know where you are?” Luz asked. “I know you needed a payphone last night, but you can use ours. If its long distance though, I’ll lend you a calling card.”

No matter how tempting it was to just grab the phone right now, Hunter knew that his uncle screened calls. More than that, he had phone numbers tracked. He would think of something , but there was no way he could let Uncle Philip know that he’d slipped into an underground live music club, passed out and spent the night at a stranger’s apartment in the Boiling Isles of all places.

“No.” he answered quickly, “Thank you for your kindness ma’am. I should be going very shortly. I have an important meeting.”

“Ah! But last night I heard you say you missed your meeting.” Luz tilted her head. 

"About that", Eda grinned, "I heard you’re looking for an internship?

“Yes ma’am.” Hunter drew his chest out. “Last night. The meeting -- i-it was for my business school internship.  I promised m-my uncle I would attend a meeting to debrief him on the details.” he folded just a bit. “E-even though I have none because I never made it.”

“Hmmmm.” Eda tapped her chin. “So you’re looking for a gig?”

Hunter arched his brow. “A-an internship.” he explained. “In business ?”

“Business can mean a lot of things, blondie.” Eda squinted. “Camila? You got anything?”

“Business is not exactly the part I work with.”  Camila sighed, “And I just took Viney on as my tech.”

“Why doesn’t he just work with me?” Luz shrugged. “I could use a buddy to keep me on track!”

“W-what?” Hunter wrinkled his nose. “I’m not looking for work ? Not a buddy? It’s a-an…”

“Internship.” Eda finished. “Like something where you wear a suit and they groom you to be a stiff but don’t pay you for your trouble?”

“An opportunity…” Hunter gestured. Though now that he’d thought about it, none of the interviews he’d been on had mentioned any sort of stipend. 

“I think I have a better idea.” Eda, tapped her golden nails on the table. “So you’re joining the Emeralds right?”

"Tt-the ... whuh?"

“Gus and Willow’s band?” Luz smiled. 

“Oh! Nooooo.” Hunter shook his head. “N-No. I can’t ... I’m a business major. I already told you…”

“There is such a thing as the music business?” Eda pointed.

“I know!” Hunter gasped. “My  … umm. My uncle is … sort of … a – never mind.”

“Luz here’s my intern for the club.” Eda explained.  “She’s in – uh – promotions. She makes posters. Gets them out around town. Chat's with folks about what would bring em' in. But my partner’s working on a bit of a spinoff.”

Hunter hadn’t realized but he’d begun eating again. A small piece of bacon fell across his collar, "Your business partner?” He flinched.

“My romantic partner.” Eda countered. “But they help me out at the club sometimes “

“Oh.” Hunter considered this. W-what kind of organization does he …” Eda’s lips twitched. For a moment the room seemed to still. Hunter glanced at the rainbow flag again. And the rainbow on his mug. His stomach pulled.

Oh!

Oh.

“So what?” a rare disobedient voice -- that sounded an awful lot like his own -- nagged him, “These people have been kind to me.”  

These people HAVE been kind to me.

He swallowed, “Your partner. Uh, SHE ? What type of organization does she want to start?”

Eda smiled. “THEY used to be in a band with me. THEY got a little fancy though.”

“Okay.” Hunter knit his brows. 

“Now they adjunct at Juilliard, and run our old music shop,” she shrugged. “But they’ve been wanting to start something -- an organization, to raise money to use music to help folks with PTSD.”

“Ah. I see” Hunter squeaked. 

The memory of a clinical white room brushed his memory. 

“L-like in therapy ?” He ducked his head.

“Yeah!” Eda smiled. “It’s not exactly the high end work you’re looking for, I’m sure, but it's good experience.”

“You’d be doing something good for people who need it.” Camila added.

“And they can probably pay you -- not a lot, but still. Maybe a little extra from me, if you don’t mind bartending at the Owl House a bit to cover some of the time they’ll be busy.”

Hunter fidgeted with his thumbs, “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Well," Luz sighed, "before you go take this."

“Is this your partner’s number?” Hunter asked Eda.

“No. That’s Willow’s number.” Luz grinned. “She made me PROMISE to give it to you. You better call her. She really wants you…” 

"Huh?" Hunter's throat ached.

“Oh yeah.” Luz’s smile stretched. “She wants you bad.” 

“Wants me …” Hunter tried to read Luz’s gaze.  “To do what?” he asked.

“MJIA!” Camila swatted Luz' shoulder, "knock it off!"

"WHAT! She wants him," Luz chuckled, “IN HER BAND!”

"Oh." Hunter felt the tips of his ears tingle. A small sliver of shame flooded his stomach, though he wasn’t entirely sure where it had crept in.

“Uh. CLUELESS!” Eda sang out. 

“Why’re you guys looking at each other like that?” King looked up from his eggs. “What’d I miss?”

“Don’t worry about it, cariňo,” Camila rubbed his head. Hunter felt his lips tug a bit. They were all so playful together. Easy and comfortable.

"I - I don't know..." Hunter repeated.

“Give it a thought, kiddo.” Eda seemed to reach into her hair. She pulled a card out from behind her sharp ear.  

“This is my partner’s card. Mull it over, kid. We’re not talking about a big Fortune 500 name, but it's good work they’re aiming to do. And they can teach you guitar."

"Guitar?" Hunter's fingertips twitched. Eda smiled.

"For the band you’re not joining.”

Chapter Text

art by @threegoblinart

🎶 I thought I saw a man brought to life,

He was warm he came around and he was dignified 🎶

“Seriously, Skara?” Viney groaned.

“What?” Skara squeaked, “It’s catchy?” She rubbed her face a bit, smudging the remnants of green face paint from the last gig on her fingertips, “admit it! Even you like this song."

"Actually?" Viney's eyes slid up. She went to smile, but it fell immediately. "I don't." she said.

"Liar," Skara rolled her eyes, "I bet you like it, Willow?”

“No.” Willow shrugged casually. She flicked her eyes up towards Gus. Her lips turned up, then his did.

“She’s totally lying,” he yawned, “she LOVES THAT SONG!” 

🎶 THAT’S WHAT’S GOIN’ ON! 🎶 Without a beat between them, Gus and Willow joined Skara matching Natalie Inbruglia’s airy tone.

“You know she totally stole that song,” Viney sipped her coffee.

“She covered it,” Gus snorted, “there’s a difference. It’s not like we’ve got anything terribly original.”

Willow shook her head while Viney and Gus traded barbs. She sat back in her white iron chair at the Yaffa Cafe, directly beneath the sign declaring they were, “OPEN ALL NIGHT.” Clover, her bass was slumped off to the side of the table while she pushed her half eaten crepe around her plate.

“Guys," she cleared her throat, "Can we focus? We’ve gotta figure out OUR BAND before we can talk about our music?” Tapping her foot, Willow went over the pitifully short list of potential new band mates The Emeralds had met with earlier that day.

“The guy with all the bat patches on his pants wasn’t bad.” Gus suggested, “had a real ear for music.”

“I could go for him,” Skara nodded, “He was kinda cute.”

Viney whistled low, “I guess if you like that kind of thing.” 

Skara shot her a dirty look.

“Yeah,” Willow grit her teeth. “I agree with Viney, I dunno if we’re really his scene …”

“Yep!” Viney chomped on her toast, “Bet he follows Dave Matthew.”

Willow snorted. Leave it to Viney Bux to make eating toast look fierce. 

"Yeah," Gus laughed, "I don't think his style fits ours."

“Exactly!” Willow cut a triangle of her breakfast crepe and popped it into her mouth, keeping step with Viney’s chaotic eating energy, “I vote no.”

“Awwww!" Skara pouted, "He’s gonna be so bummed when I tell him on our date later!”

Viney dropped her fork.

Uh oh. Willow felt the air at the table shift.

“You’re going on a DATE WITH HIM?” Viney scoffed, “how?”

“Uh, we exchanged numbers?” Skara shrugged. Willow noted something pass through Skara’s gray eyes. Flattery? Confusion? This wasn't the first time there'd been weird tension regarding Skara's taste in guys. “He said I was cute and asked if I wanted to see a Phish cover band at the Wetlands," she smiled.

“A Phish COVER BAND,” Viney swished the words around in her mouth, “Wow. You have fun with that guy, Skara.” she reached down to pat Puddles on the head seemingly at the same time as Skara had decided to do the same. Willow noted how their hands rested just a few inches apart. They locked eyes.

There's that tension again.

“What about the chick with the unibrow?” Viney broke the silence.

“YES!” Gus nodded quickly. “I give her my vote.” 

“She’s different. And she looks like she can tear your head off with her bare hands.” Viney gripped the side of the table. “I like that.”

“She scared me,” Skara agreed.

“Nah.” Willow shook her head. “I think she’s more into metal? Like all that summoning the dark lord stuff she sang about?” 

Gus rolled his eyes. “Punk and Metal can be friends, Willow.” 

“I mean, sure.” Willow snorted, “But what if her style just doesn’t mix with ours and …”

“Well you weren’t opposed to Skara playing the electric violin in a punk band.” Gus shot back.

“You said it would add to our sound.” Skara agreed. 

“Even though I said she’d be super lame.” Viney stuck out her tongue.

“And you were super wrong,” Skara grinned, “Dark Lord girl it is!”

“NO!” 

Pigeons parted on the sidewalk. Diners turned in their seats. Gus’ mouth hung open, and Willow? She hadn’t realized just how loud she’d shouted.

“Ooooookay,” Viney yawned, “care to explain your objection?”

“Look!” Willow threw her hands up. “I just don’t wanna jump into anything! She’s already filling in for three other bands. If it doesn’t work out with us, and we see her at other gigs it’ll get awkward.”

“Ah! You don’t want it to be awkward?” Gus poked her in the cheek. “But you’re still hoping to hook up with awkward, aren’t you?”

“WHAT?” Willow scoffed. “I have NO idea what you mean.” Gus wagged his eyebrows at her and she shoved her palm right into his face.

“Are we missing something?” Skara’s head volleyed between Gus and Willow. “I thought we were talking about potential bandmates?” 

“Oh, we are.” Gus nodded. “Wills is still thinking about that uptight dude from last night.”

“Ohhhhhhh!” Viney grinned, “Guess you’re jealous that Puddles here got to lick his face, huh Will?”

“CAN IT, VINEY!” Willow felt hot around the neck. Puddles’ doggy eyebrows shifted up as if the accusation had been confirmed. “ Furry little traitor,”  Willow growled to herself. 

“Look,” Willow grabbed her orange juice and chugged it down before slamming the cup on the table. “I saw something in him.” 

“Oh, I know what you saw in him.” Gus chuckled. 

“Butts.” Skara cupped her palms together.

“WHAT?” Willow slammed her foot on the ground,  “I literally just asked him to join the Emeralds?”

“Without like, trying out or anything?” Viney shrugged. “Park. Admit it. You just want his ass. Specifically his ass.”

“Too bad that guy had no ass to give.” Gus shrugged, “You can do better, Will. You always do this.”

Do what?

“Guys!” Willow shrieked. “It wasn’t like that!”

Was it?

Willow’s heart fell just a bit when she thought about the poor guy in the white collared shirt. The guy with the embroidered cuffs and the gaudy gold watch on his right wrist. He was clearly dressed for an uptown meeting, but his posture and overall aura suggested he just didn’t fit the uptown pace.

And then there was that thing he had said about second chances.

“Maybe you’d get one, but where I come from, even first chances have to be earned. Especially when you’re considered a bastard like me.”

Willow’s eyes closed on their own. She felt the air on her face like the ghost of a voice from her memory. “She’s not like us, dear. What IS her family even? What are they DOING here? She’s probably some bastard from the projects.”

“EARTH TO WILLOW?” Gus knocked on her head. “STILL?”

Fidgeting fingers, wet hair plastered to his face. Sad brown eyes that flickered when he watched Willow sing.

“I just think he’s got some confidence issues.” she mumbled, “but there was something there. I know there was.”

“Wills,” Gus poked her, “you’ve gotta stop chasing charity cases. Remember how freshman year you were crushing on Luz ?”

“WHAT!” Willow’s eyebrows shot up. “I was NOT…”

“Oh, sure you were!” Viney smiled. “Your cheeks got all red when she complimented your spider plant collection. And of course when she crossed paths with Amity, you got jealous.”

“Okay.” Willow grit her teeth. “First? Sure, Luz was a bit of a mess but she wasn’t exactly a charity case ? Second? I wasn’t jealous. I was worried about her! I knew Amity from a different time …”

“Okay,” Gus nodded. “But then you dated Jer –”

“DO NOT SPEAK THAT TRAITOR’S NAME IN MY PRESENCE!” Viney growled. 

Willow chuckled low, "Dated is sort of an over exaggeration, don't you think?"

“Fine.” Skara chirped, “Wills, didn’t you and Viney have a fling? Now that’s a charity case!”

“Oh, SHUT UP!” Viney threw her hands up. “Willow and I kissed ONE time! We had a sugar high from that strawberry zinfandel Skara stole from her roomie.”

“Blech,” Skara groaned, “Cat’s wine coolers. A bad decision that makes everyone else make bad decisions.”

“ And that was only because everyone kept telling us we should DATE.” Willow nodded. “One peer pressure kiss. Anyway, you make me sound like I’m a slut . It’s not exactly like I’ve actually had a steady relationship ever.”

The reality of her words burned in her belly. Her round belly, that the magazines told her was just too fat to be loved. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the front of a PUNK band, Park ?” Viney laughed. “Who even says, ‘steady relationship’ anymore?”

“Who even uses the term, ‘bastard ’ like that guy did last night?” Gus agreed, “maybe you two are made for each other Wills?”

I can’t be in a band! I’m a business major! 

Willow’s brow creased. A memory shook loose in her mind but she managed to tuck it away quickly. “He just seemed so sad. ” 

“Sad is an accurate term.” Viney nodded. She reached into her green canvas satchel, the same one she’d had for four years, covered in band names written in sharpie. She slid a zippo lighter and a box of cloves from the front pocket. “Anyone want?” she asked.

“No.” Gus deadpanned. “And can you PLEASE try to quit?”

Willow bit her lip. She, like many of her friends, had begun casually smoking cigarettes once she got to the dorms. She’d smoked a little in High School. Her dads had smoked as did many of the adults around her, so even though she knew it wasn’t a good habit, Willow didn’t see it as that strange.

But then, just two years back, Gus lost his mother, Mara to lung cancer. Mara had been a constant in her life for so long. The first parent to invite both Harvey and Gil to their house for a dinner party as an actual couple -- along with Gus' dad Perry, but it was Mara who'd extended the actual invitation. Mara, who was always taking Gus and Willow to a Broadway Show. Mara who was always there with a tray of Rice Krispy Treats for a school fundraiser. 

And then one day, she was gone.

After the funeral, Willow and her dads vowed never to touch another cigarette. That wasn’t the easiest promise to make, but Willow herself and a few others managed to quit after a while. They still partook in a bowl or a joint from time to time, but casual cigarette smoking was no longer a thing for them. Of course, Luz and Vee had never smoked at all, so they made great cheerleaders. 

Viney was one of the few holdouts though. 

“At least CLOVES smell nice.” She told Gus.

“Cloves are worse for you than tobacco!” Gus shook his head, “Come on Viney! You’re killin’ me here. QUIT!”

Viney took a long exaggerated drag. “So, auditions,” she deadpanned. “I say yes to uni-brow girl. Anyone else?”

“I really think that Hunter’s the one.” Willow whispered. 

“Do we even know that he PLAYS guitar?” Gus scoffed.

“He can learn.” Willow shrugged. “I didn’t know jack shit about bass until we started playing. And he gave you some tips on your drumming, Augustus . Up until two years ago the only experience you had with drumming was a synthesizer and banging your spoon on empty cans of spaghettios. 

“Whatever.” Gus rolled his eyes. “How about this? If we EVER see that guy again, we’ll consider it. Has anyone even spoken to Luz to check up on that situation?”

Willow winced. Gus had a point. She knew that Luz had taken him to her place in the Boiling Isles to sleep off his panic attack, and Willow had made Luz promise to give him her number before he left, but Hunter seemed kind of dodgy. 

More than likely, he would just slump out of Vee's unused bed at Luz's and she’d never see him again.

“So, did you get your acceptance to the plant grad program?” Viney flicked the tip of her clove in the ashtray.

“Plant Genomics.” Willow growled, “It’s still early. Whatever.”

“I got accepted to Berklee,” Skara offered, “three quarters of a full scholarship too!”

“Because you actually need a scholarship,” Viney’s eyebrows raised.

Skara dipped her head, “Well, it’s not like my dad wants me to leave New York."

"Sorry," Viney grumbled, "I just wish I didn't have like a million dollars in student loan debt that's gonna follow me around even after I get my own vet practice."

"I know," Skara's voice went soft, "It's just, this could be my only chance to study music on my own terms.”

Willow sighed heavily. The band was a great distraction from uncertainty. Skara had always known music was in her future -- the daughter of an Olympic tennis gold medalist and a casting agent for television, Skara's family had given their only daughter every possible resource to develop her talent. Private violin tutors, were nothing to the Balthazaars -- but Skara had expressed frustration at the very narrow expectations her parents had put on her image. Their expectations for her had nearly killed her love of music.

Skara's path had been chosen. If she was to study music it would be classical or nothing. If she was to go out for an orchestra it would be first chair or nothing. If she was to go to school for music it would be Julliard or nothing. And if Skara were to make a career in music, it would be The New York Philharmonic or nothing. It was actually a small luxury of rebellion that Skara had allowed herself to join the Emeralds.

But music had found Willow when she was at her lowest, and when she’d needed a change. Willow, the best friend. Willow the mom of the group. Willow the one everyone expected to be the jovial chubby sidekick friend who smiled when her new best friend started dating her ex-best friend, turned bully and wouldn't ever say a bad word, or break a rule -- and oh how Willow hated to be seen that way.

Music found her in the low growl of  L7's Shitlist. And as Willow's love of music grew, she'd become far more confident in speaking her mind about what she'd wanted out of life.

"If I don't get in, I'll be fine." she said steadily.

“You’ll get in,” Gus whispered, “you’ve got this one Willow, you know you do.”

Willow wanted to tell Gus not to be so sure. She wanted to tell Gus that just because some things had been working out for her recently didn’t mean that this time it would. She wanted to say a lot of things. Her frustration broke as her pager buzzed in her pocket. 

“Oh! It’s my parents. Anyone got a few quarters I can borrow?”

_____________________

Willow managed to find an empty payphone booth a block away from Yaffa. She checked the number on her pager and dialed.

Harvey Park had picked up after three rings, “Hey pumpkin!” he sang. 

“Hey papa!” Willow smiled into the phone, “What’s up?”

“We just miss you, sweetie,” Papa laughed, “Manhattan’s not that big, you know? You could visit a little more!”

Willow chuckled. “I just saw you guys last week! And you and dad could come to a gig, you know!” 

“Yeah, I know.” Harvey’s voice grew soft. Willow knew her papa generally got nervous in closed up spaces in clubs and she knew why.  “Don’t you think we’re too old to rock?” he joked.

“I salute you!” Willow laughed. “And I miss you too. What’s going on?” 

“I called for a few reasons. First? You still haven’t opened that envelope from the NYU Grad School. I’m reminding you that it’s still here. Waiting.”

“Thanks, Papa.” Willow puffed up her cheeks. “What else?”

“Dad and I were hoping you’d be able to head to Parks III tomorrow morning. There’s already big demand for your specialty arrangements, you know. Kids getting ready for prom, graduations, recitals.” 

“Sure.” Willow nodded, “I’ll run over to midtown tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent.” Harvey was smiling. Willow could hear it in his voice. “Also, could you check your voicemail at the dorm once in a while? Aunt Helen’s been trying to get in touch with you.”

“Ah.” Willow sighed. “I’ve just been really busy with school and the band lately. She could just beep me or email me, you know?”

“She knows, pumpkin.” Harvey’s voice went soft, “But she’s old fashioned and wants to hear your voice.”

“Got it,” Willow snorted, “call Aunt Helen.”

Willow heard a double click on the line, indicating that her call time was almost up. “Gotta get going. Love you!” 

"Love you too, pumpkin!" Harvey hummed, "Oh!” he paused. “One more thing. Someone named Hunter called here looking for you?” 

Chapter Text

Art by @threegoblinart

Hunter managed to walk all the way from The Boiling Isles to his apartment in Midtown in an hour and a half. Normally, this trip would have been shorter, but since the rain had soaked his shoes straight through the night before, his feet were raw and he'd developed blisters, making the walk quite painful. 

He slipped in through the doorway of his building. Carefully, he reached up to mute the bell overhead with his hand so as not to alert the doorman. Thankfully, the front desk was completely vacant this morning. Quickly, he took the elevator up to his studio. He shimmied into the small bathroom, brushed his teeth and hair enough to appear presentable. 

Had he had more time, he’d have taken a rinse in the small stall shower, scrubbing the scent of smoke and sweat from his pale body. Instead he grabbed his stick of Old Spice and jammed it in his armpits. He’d already wasted enough time eating breakfast with total strangers, because he’d been stupid enough to fall prey to his weak emotions and lost time.

Hunter rummaged through his tiny closet and grabbed a white button down and yellow polo vest and a matching clip on tie, that reflected the colors preferred from the family business since Hunter’s grandfather founded Titan Records back in the 1920s – back when it was called Gravesfield Hymnal Recordings.

He found one last clean pair of dress slacks, and grabbed them off a wire hanger where they'd been fastened by a laundromat by two safety pins. He slipped them quickly over his shoes, but managed to catch the left leg on his foot, tearing the fabric in two with a sickening rip.

He groaned loudly. “Welp. I guess I’m wearing the ones from last night.” 

With twenty minutes to spare, he called for a pick up car and managed, once again to slip past the doorman who was back in the foyer, but now off in the coat closet belting out show tunes.

After a characteristically quiet ride uptown with Mason, the daytime chauffeur, Hunter found himself in the waiting room outside the Chairman’s office. Rows of desks stretched out before him filled with secretaries who managed to make themselves busy answering phones and typing on their desktops. They’d glanced up and nodded his way as Hunter passed by, a cold but respectful soldier's greeting. Along the walls, dozens of red leather chairs sat empty. With each one passed, Hunter's legs felt more and more as if they were made of jello, but he knew better than to take a seat while waiting. He swallowed tightly approaching the front of the office and set his jaw.

Calm. Collected. Respectable. Hands folded behind his back.

The main door to his uncle’s office was laced in gold (of course) and flanked by two desks reserved for the most loyal members of Titan Record's office staff. To the left side, was Kikimora – a short woman with sharp tinted glasses and corkscrew curls. She was Uncle’s assistant bookkeeper and Kikimora was not her real name. 

Actually, Hunter had no idea what Kiki’s real name was, or how she had gotten her nickname and he certainly was not going to ask her.

Kikimora had been 19 when Hunter had first met her, around when Hunter was five. It had been shortly after Uncle Philip took him in. At that time, Kiki was still in school, and interning for her cousin Osran’s business ORACLE ANALYSTS AND ACCOUNTING. Osran, Uncle’s main financial advisor had set Kikimora up to keep financial records for Titan Records on site while Kiki attended Fordham University -- receiving top honors as she liked to tell everyone who would listen. 

Subsequently, Philip had bypassed giving Kiki any duties that pertained to actual bookkeeping at that time, and set her up as Hunter’s babysitter. Thus, she’d resented Hunter and every moment she was forced to entertain him. Kimimora frequently went through great effort to make their time together especially miserable for Hunter.

Seventeen years had not softened her. 

To the right of his uncle’s door was the desk of Flora D’Splora, Titan Record’s head secretary. Having served in this position for nearly two decades, Flora was far more than the person who answered phones and kept the schedule for the Chairman, as her secretarial title might suggest, but she wore her title with pride.

Flora didn't even bother meeting Hunter's eyes as he'd approached as to alert her of his arrival, but her lips turned up in a saccharine smile all the same.  “Your uncle will see you now.” She told him. 

Hunter nodded curtly and passed between the desks towards the door, pausing to lock eyes with Kikimora who had pursed her lips. She chuckled slightly and made a mark in her ledger. “Have a nice meeting!” She smiled with all her teeth. 

Hunter’s hand shook as he turned the knob to open the door to Uncle Philip’s office, or as it had been more commonly called by Titan Records Staff, “The Throne Room”.

Philip Wittebane sat with his tall chair back to Hunter. While the world around had changed, this room was exactly the same as it had been the first time Hunter had been brought here as a child in 1979. 

In the center, towards the back, a long dark oak desk, with golden filigree around the sides separated Philip, the man from his visitors. His desktop, while somewhat orderly, had a stack of papers off the side. In the middle sat a feather quill and inkwell that had belonged to the very first Wittebane Patriarch from the 1600’s. At least that is what Hunter had been told. The quill itself was in perfect condition, not a barb missing of out of place, thus Hunter secretly doubted this was logically possible, for it to be hundreds of years old and still in such perfect condition when exposed to the elements, but he wasn’t about to voice this. He knew far better than to say anything too contradictory.

Along the back wall were dual fireplaces, which his uncle kept lit even in the hottest of summer days. And the walls? The tall walls were decorated with record covers of past hit makers as well as painted portraits of Wittebane family members up right before the one that would have been rendered when uncle Philip and Hunter’s father had been children. 

Hunter stood still for what felt like hours. Back straightened, eyes forward – awaiting nothing. Only endless cold silence. If Flora hadn’t told him to go in, he’d have thought he was alone in the room, and while he didn't put it past Kikimora to send him into an empty room to be accused of entering without permission, Flora was not quite as openly vindictive, so he took a chance and cleared his throat.

“U-uncle?” Hunter rasped. 

“Hmmmm. Yes.” Uncle’s voice was thin. His chair did not move.

“I’m … here?” Hunter murmured

No answer. 

“For our meeting?” Hunter prodded slightly. He fidgeted with the bottom of his sweater vest. He could feel himself sweating through his deodorant, no doubt leaving wet stains on the fine white fabric on of his shirt.

The back of the tall backed leather chair moved just slightly, followed by Philip’s wheezing breaths. 

“See that you follow up on that immediately,” Uncle said. His voice was soft. It unrolled in neutral white tones, which anyone else might have read as a good sign, but Hunter remained on edge. Especially since he wasn’t sure exactly what he was being told to follow up on.

He further straightened his stance and took a sharp breath, “Uncle Philip, I would be happy to follow up on anything you wish to…”

The chair spun around sharply. Philip Wittebane’s blue eyes hardened as he motioned to a phone by his ear.

The wind left Hunter’s chest, “S-sorry.” he stuttered.

Philip drew his wrinkled mouth into a straight line and placed a bony finger to his lips. 

Hunter nodded. He placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet. 

Uncle Philip’s eyes narrowed and Hunter stopped immediately. Slowly, Philip swiveled back around, the coiled phone cord stretched along with him. 

Philip’s chair twitched forward. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Well that is unacceptable.” he said dryly, "I do not take this news lightly and I suggest you change your tune at once."

Hunter stifled a cough. His throat was scratchy. Possibly from being soaked in the rain and sleeping in the same clothes from the night before. Still, it was preferable to feel a little sick than to be whomever was on the other end of that phone call. 

“You will see that the situation is dealt with promptly,” uncle said smoothly. “I expect an update by 8 PM tonight.” 

Philip reached out an arm and put the phone back on its cradle. Then he opened the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a wooden box with a thick white handkerchief inside. Hunter could hear his uncle’s ragged breaths slowly breaking into a mucousy inhale.

“Uncle…” Hunter swallowed. “A-are you okay?”

From behind the chair, Philip flicked a frail dismissive wrist in Hunter’s direction.

His throat closed and he clenched his eyes shut listening to each of his uncle's breaths as they lessened in urgency. The chair creaked as Philip let out a long loud sigh.

“Ahh that’s better.” he cooed, “Now.” he turned full around, “let me have a look at you.”

Philip Wittebane had a thin face, with pale skin and sharp cheekbones. A notable figure in the Christian Music Industry, but most recently (and profitably), known for writing and selling jingles to companies which supported “Traditional Family Values”, he was generally seen from afar. 

Philip was seen on the pulpit when he addressed the church where the Wittebane Family had a long history. He was seen at the end of a long table in the boardroom, directing his talent scouts and various associates on business initiatives.

He was seen in the newspapers, rubbing elbows with politicians. 

However, it was only in private where Hunter’s uncle could be seen without his mask.

First there was the thick mask of foundational makeup that covered the scars that sliced from the bottom of the left side of Philip’s neck, up his cheek and passed over through his eye to the other side of his face.

As a child, Hunter used to stand in the bathroom to hold the jar. He had watched his uncle meticulously apply each layer of flesh colored makeup over the paper thin skin that stretched over the bones of his face.

A few times, when he was younger, Hunter had tried to turn his head, so as to avert his eyes as his uncle winced through the constant pain. But promptly, Philip's cold hands would twist his gaze right back, with sharp dry fingers that scratched under Hunter’s small chin. Uncle Philip was ever insistent that Hunter be taught this very vital life lesson.

“This is just one example of the burden that comes from trying to save someone who has fallen so far.” He’d told him.

Then there was the other mask that Hunter’s uncle wore. The calm smile that came with no betrayal of his current mood, underscored by Philip’s most striking feature — his cold blue eyes. The eyes that went hard as they passed over Hunter’s current appearance, from his hastily combed hair, to last night’s wrinkled pants. 

Slowly, Philip folded his fingers in a pyramid over his face, “To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Hunter?” He hummed. 

“Th-this is our regular weekly appointment?” Hunter blinked. “Uhhhh. I - It’s Friday at Noon?” he shuffled closer to the desk.

“Hmmm?” Philip tapped his fingers together.

“It’s Friday at noon, sir ?” Hunter corrected. 

“It is five past noon.” Philip cut, “But I understand you arrived at the front door at 11:58. Cutting it close, were you not?”

“I’m s-sorry, sir …” Hunter bit his lip. He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist, and managed a breath, “I did not mean - uh --b-but… I a-arrived…I-I made it by the time… ”

“Yes. You arrived to the office by noon.” Philip beckoned him closer. “Punctually nonetheless.” 

Hunter let out a breath. His hand touched the leather chair adjacent to the desk. He began to sit. 

“Did I tell you to take a seat?” Philip asked sharply.

Hunter’s body stopped short.  

“No sir.” He shook his head. “My apologies.” He slid his hands to his sides. New sweat began to pool in the center of his palms. He took a breath and clenched his fists willing it away.

“I ask that we meet here each Friday at noon, Hunter, but it would please me more if you would not wait until the very last second to arrive,” Philip reached over his desk where his pure white smile floated in the middle of a glass.  “I am already running late for my lunch meeting with an important client.”

Hunter was usually early to these meetings, and Uncle Philip always kept him waiting, standing between Flora and Kiki until the clock stuck exactly noon. Words of protest balled up in his throat but he swallowed them down deep. If Uncle said he had a lunch meeting, he had a lunch meeting. It was entirely possible that Philip had mentioned this to him last week with a reminder to be early. And it was entirely likely that Hunter had forgotten this.

“Once again, I apologize. I c-can come back later?” Hunter offered. “If our meeting is an inconvenience to you.”

His uncle put up his hand. He sucked the veneer wetly behind his lips, sliding them over his thin teeth. 

“No need,” Philip muttered, “You did indeed manage to be punctual enough,” He reached over and picked up a gold silk tie that lay folded beside the glass.

Hunter’s heartbeat sped up at the sight of it. He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves to conceal the shaking of his wrists.

Slowly, Philip unraveled the tie. He wrapped it ever so casually casually around his right hand and caught Hunter's eye. He smiled.

Hunter felt his fingernails dig deeper into his palms. 

“Which begs the question, Hunter,” Uncle said smoothly, “Why is it that you could not be punctual to the meeting I had arranged between you and St. Epiderm’s last evening?”

There it was. This is what Uncle Philip had been building towards from before Hunter even arrived at the offices that morning.

“S-sir..” Hunter began.

Philip's eyes flashed as he pushed past. He flicked the tie just a bit before pulling it over the collar of his white pressed shirt to fasten it in place. His golden cuff links reflected in Hunter’s eyes the seal of his uncle’s empire. 

The room suddenly filled with ambient noise from the streets below. It was so loud! Why was it loud? Hunter's head filled with the sound from every single car outside and the murmur of crowds heading to lunch. He could hear his own heart pumping blood through his body, echoing in his ears. His head snapped up.

Philip had trained his eyes on Hunter, but he truly wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer. He took a chance.

“Sir.” Hunter kept his voice steady.  “I got caught in a downpour and I didn’t have time to return to my apartment to change. I tried to call to let Mr. Piniet know I would need to reschedule, however, I was unable to find a phone in time.”

More silence. 

Hunter kept his eyes on Philip’s hands. 

And on the tie.

“Perhaps?” Hunter rasped. “I-if I could get a c-celluar phone? I-I could…”

Philip glided over to the closet by the doorway and slipped into a golden suit jacket matching the tie. 

“Do I not provide enough for you, Hunter?” Philip looked not at Hunter, but at himself in the mirror when he spoke. He smoothed the golden tie around his collar, down his lapel.

Hunter’s chest pulled tight.

“Well?” Uncle snapped. “Answer me, boy? HAVE I not provided ENOUGH for you?” He adjusted his belt buckle. “Hmmm?”

Click… 

“N-no!” Hunter gasped. His uncle’s eyes grew sharp. “I mean YES!” he corrected, “You did. Y-you DO! Y-you –”

“I have given you room and board. A fine education. I have provided you with designer clothing and paid your way through your so-called collegiate career – and then?”

“Th-then?” Hunter winced. “I-I.. I’m s-”. 

“Well? I don’t know what else I could have expected.” Uncle interrupted. His eyes burned into Hunter’s neck. 

“I didn’t mean to disappoint you again, sir.” 

“And yet?” Philip sighed heavily. “I have set up five opportunities for you to intern at well respected companies for your business degree.”

“Yes you did sir.” Hunter swallowed, “a-and I’m very grateful…”

“Are you?” Uncle was right in front of him now. Hunter felt his body slouch. “You are so grateful that again, you have come back with nothing ?” he spat.

Hunter squeezed his eyes tight. 

“Is this the thanks I get for taking you in?” Philip hissed.

“S-sir. I tried...” Hunter rasped again.

“You. tried .” Philip rolled the words around his mouth. “Kikimora reported that your bank card was used at a movie theater before the meeting was set.” 

Of course she had. Kiki was always on her computer tracking his expenditures. Since it had become easy to access bank statements beyond paper, this had arguably become one of Kikimora's favorite hobbies.

So, he couldn't deny this. It was better to just explain and move on.

“When the movie let out, there was plenty of time, sir.” Hunter whispered. “I – I j-just…The rain… and…”

“Five interviews, Hunter.” Philip grumbled. “Five failures. These wounds on my face are painful, and so is watching you fail.” 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Hunter whispered. 

He’d tried with the other opportunities. He really had. But every time Hunter had sat down with one of the executives his uncle had set him up with, he seemed to be missing some key component as to what was expected. Even when he had put his best foot forward and researched the company to the best of his ability. 

And then things inevitably fell apart leading to yet another rejection.

Four rejections and one no-show.  

“Uncle.” Hunter said softly. “W-what if I helped out here . W-with Titan Records. I know how you feel about …”

“About giving you yet another handout?” Philip’s lips pulled thin. “Tell me, Hunter.” his voice became smooth as silk, “If I was to interview you right now, what exactly could you bring to my company?”

“I could be a talent scout!” Hunter said quickly, “There’s a whole bunch of talented bands – and I was reading in the Village Voice…”

Now Uncle’s eyes went ice cold. His response felt like a slap in the face.

“You are becoming too much like your father.” He muttered. “After he met that runaway. ”

Momma’s spiky red hair glowed in the sunlight. 

“You, Hunter, are the embodiment of what I have been forced to put up with in order to atone for the sins of your father.”

She held him in her arms, dancing.

“You understand why this is troubling to me?”

Dad snuck in through the open window with a big grin on his face. 

“Are you going to answer me, Hunter ? Or do you not understand?”

“Hello, my loves.” he’d said.

“Hunter? Do. You. Or. Do. You. Not. Understand me?”

Hunter shook the memory from his mind. 

“My apologies, uncle,” he said steadily. “I understand your concern.” 

“Do you?” Philip trilled. “Is that why you did not return to your apartment last night?” 

Shit. 

Of course the doorman had reported his absence to his uncle. That man practically licked the ground Philip walked on. Always trying to get an edge in for Philip to sponsor some sort of production he thought would be a hit for the company. 

“I went back to the library to study and fell asleep there!” Hunter lied quickly. 

“You fell asleep.” Philip leered. “In a public library.”

“N-no sir! The Bobst Library!” Hunter swallowed. “I-i’ts open 24 hours on some floors. F-for studiers, you know?” There was no way he could tell his uncle that he’d slept in some random apartment in the Boiling Isles, of all places. “I wanted to make sure I was prepared for my final papers and …”

“How about I lay it out for you, hmm?” Philip spat. “I cannot support you forever, Hunter.” 

“I - I know, sir.” Hunter swallowed, “but –”

“But?” Uncle’s voice peaked sharp. “We have an agreement, do we not?”

“Yes, sir!” Hunter’s stomach filled with ice. He barely caught his breath in time to answer. “W-we did – I mean, we do. ”

“We do,” Philip nodded. “Let us review our discussion once again. If you cannot secure an internship for your program, you will never make it on your own. If you cannot make it on your own, then you will never make it at all. As the good book says, ‘Do you see someone skilled in their work? They will serve before kings; they will not serve before officials of low rank.’ As you just demonstrated, you have no skills that can benefit anyone. If you continue to miss your appointments as you had last night, you will continue to fail in any sort of skill set. And thus? There is no use for you here, or anywhere else for that matter.”

Hunter knit his brows. Several of his professors seemed to think he had potential. “But my grades…”

“Mean nothing if you cannot get results .” Uncle finished. “No matter how high your grades may be, they cannot make up for what you lack.” He placed his hands behind his back and paced a few steps. “Understand this, Hunter. Unless you prove yourself competent, you will not continue to live on my dime. You will end up on the streets – just like where she came from . Do you understand?” 

“I understand, sir.” Hunter mumbled.

“So.” Philip’s smile spread, “Shall I dig through my rolodex once more to set up yet another prospect for you, or should we just terminate your enrollment at Stern right now?”

“But I DO have another prospect!”

The words sprung from Hunter’s mouth before he could stop himself.

“What was that?” Uncle arched a brow. 

Hunter drew his chest up, “I have another prospect sir. T-that was set up for me b-by a connection through school ?” 

Technically it wasn’t a lie. The bassist, Willow , said she went to NYU. And it was her friends Luz and Eda who had brought him to their apartment and suggested he call Eda’s partner. 

“Hmmm.” Philip said thoughtfully. “And for what type of company would this prospect be?”

Eda had said it was a charity, so Hunter knew he would need to upsell it. And he’d have to omit that it was some sort of musical rehabilitation venture. The thought of working with potential addicts aside, Hunter knew telling Philip this had anything to do with the music industry was too risky. 

“I-It’s a start-up!” Hunter said too loudly. 

“A start-up.” Uncle repeated. 

“Yessir.” Hunter nodded. “A completely new venture! It’s gonna – uh – be really big! It just needs a bit of a push. I’ll be there from the beginning building it from the ground up.” 

Uncle Philip sighed. “Very well, Hunter.” he reached out and cupped Hunter’s shoulder. “You can play. Just be certain that this is the type of organization that will elevate your status to honor the Wittebane family legacy.”

“I am!” Hunter said quickly.

“I’m not.” He thought to himself. 

“I certainly hope so.” Philip tightened his grip on Hunter’s shoulder. “I recall watching your father’s descent into sin. I cannot bear to see the same thing happen to you.” 

Uncle raised his chin and squeezed Hunter’s shoulder so tight that his body buckled just a bit.

___________________

Hunter collapsed on his bed, chest up, arms out. 

“It’s something, Sprig.” he told his little stuffed frog. “I doubt it’ll satisfy Uncle’s standards. I mean, the people I met don’t strike me as the,‘KINGS’ of the ‘GOOD BOOK’,” Hunter used air quotes. 

In fact, they seemed just the opposite of anything uncle Philip claimed the ‘Good Book’ talked about.

He let out a breath and hugged his chest. “They were kind to me, though? And!” he lowered his voice. “And? It’s a foot in the door, Sprig! I’ve gotta prove that I can make it on my own? Maybe if it’s in the music industry it’ll help me show him that I can contribute something useful to Titan Records?”

Amy Grant aside, It wasn’t exactly as if Christian Music was topping the charts after all, and while the jingles paid, they were just – gray – there was just no soul in them.

No soul at all.

Sprig smiled back at Hunter through his doll eyes. 

“Then again, who would listen to the guy who’s 22 and still talks to his stuffed animals.” he paused. “N-not that I don’t value your opinion!” 

Hunter sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the card that Eda had given him. 

Professor Raine Whispers

Julliard Trained Musician 

Lessons. Sales. Good Noise.

357 Bleeker St.

10012

      212-555-5555

www.geocities.com/~raineydaymusic

“I have NO idea if this is legitimate, but it’s my only option.” He told Sprig. “Logically, I should bring someone with me to check this place out. But it’s not like I have a ton of friends to call.” 

Hunter eyed the diploma above his bed from Glandus Military Academy. 

“I guess I could call him. It’s been a while, but he’s always open to meeting up.”

Hunter put the card on his nightstand and examined the other paper that had been in his pocket. The one Luz had given him. The one marked, “Willow Park. ”

Slowly, Hunter sat up. He looked at the number for a full twenty minutes, running his dry fingers over the blue ink before he picked up the phone and dialed.

Chapter Text

Art by @threegoblinart on Tumblr

Chapter 6:

🎶 Amazing grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost

But now I'm found

I was blind but now I see 🎶

PHIL-ANTROPIST!

LOCAL RECORD EXEC DONATES A MILLION TO HOSPITAL CHILDREN’S WING.  

Willow looked up from the news stand where she’d been distracting herself while waiting for Gus. As if right on cue, she caught him rushing up the stairs from the Q train with a wild look in his eyes.

“Bad news.” He mouthed.

She pulled her headphones down around her neck. In spite of the afternoon crowds, Willow could still hear the solemn ringing of church bells from her earphones, accompanied by Ani Difranco’s torn voice, ironically belting out John Newton’s Christian Hymnal.

🎶Through many dangers

Toils and snares

I have already come

It was grace that brought me

Safely thus far

And it's grace that will lead me home 🎶

Gus gave Willow a pointed look and clicked her walkman off, “WHAT?” she snapped. 

“Nothing!” Gus put his hands up. “I went through a Dilate phase myself when it came out. Album helped me through a rough time.”

“No.” Willow threw her hands up, “I mean what’s the BAD NEWS?”

“Oh. Dark Lord girl turned us down.” Gus huffed. “Told Viney she was gonna start her own band with some friends.”

“Is it called, The Dark Lord ?”  Willow grinned.

“No.” Gus sniffed. “It’s called, ‘ Hecate’s Revenge’ .”

Willow crossed her arms for a bit, “That’s a pretty good name actually, maybe we should join her band,” she smirked. Gus set his eyes hard. A habit he’d always tried when he wanted to look serious, but the two of them had known one another long enough to realize it wouldn’t take long for him to crack.  It started at the back of his throat and within a minute they broke into an uneven laughter.

“Honestly?” he shrugged, “it’s fine. You were right about her not being right for us. She’d have bumped heads with Viney on day one. Probably literally.”

Willow’s lips drew up,“Thank. You.” she clapped out each word.

“But,” Gus held up his hands, “That leaves us with the bat guy, who is okay, I guess? Skara’s gonna see him again, too. But she says he’s mad into jam bands, ” he pulled a bitter face.

Willow felt her face grow hot. “We do have another option.” She pretended to adjust her headphones to cover her cheeks.

“Yeah?” Gus nodded, “Back to posting want ads on the record shop community boards? Try to poach from other bands? Whatcha thinking?”

Willow bit her lip. “Hunter called me.” 

“Who?” Gus deadpanned. 

“HUNTER!” Willow shoved him. “HUN-TER!”

“RIGHT. Milquetoast.”  Gus snorted. “Now, how about actually finding someone who can rock with the band and not just your hormones?” 

“UGH!” Willow rolled her eyes. “Look. You SAID if we ever hear from him again…”

“I said if we ever SEE him again.” 

“WHATEVER!” Willow threw her hands in the air. She flexed her two pointers and thumbs to make a big W. “It's a start. If he wasn’t interested at all we’d never see him again, but this is a first step. If Hunter had no interest in the Emeralds he’d have lost my number, but he didn’t. Hunter called me.”

“HE DID?” Luz hopped on her back from behind.

Ever since Willow met Luz Noceda freshman year, she had learned fast that Luz was a master of stealth, which was weird considering how utterly chaotic she was. This morning though, Luz was uncharacteristically early to meet up.

“Soooooooooo,” Luz pulled her “o”, “Hunter called you, huh? I knew he’d call you.”

Gus opened his mouth, as if he had quite a lot to say. After a beat he shook his head. “That makes one of us,” he mumbled.

“Oh hush,” Willow shoved her hands in her pockets and turned away from both of them because she could practically feel the heat rising in her cheeks and there was no way Gus or Luz for that matter would not comment on how she was blushing like a freaking fifteen year old girl.

“Willoooooooow?” Luz rested her neck on Willow’s shoulder, “What did he saaaaaaay? Come on! Tell me everything!”

“First?” Gus smirked, “Why don’t you tell us why there’s lipstick on your neck? Hmmmm Luz?”

Now Luz’s dark cheeks burned. “Uhhh… what?” She slipped off Willow’s back and rubbed her neck with her hands, “I thought I got all that off.”

Willow rolled her eyes, “And maaaaaaybe you can tell us why you smell like you rolled around in a Bath and Bodyworks?”

Luz’s lips turned up, “Ah. Yeah. That.” she chuckled and grabbed a bundle of her own t-shirt to sniff. “Pretty obvious huh?”

“I never figured Amity to be a Warm Vanilla Sugar gal…” Willow poked Luz with her elbow. “She  didn’t wanna join us today?” .

“She did but,” Luz frowned, “she’s on 5th Avenue.”

Willow nodded, “Like metaphorically speaking, or right now?” 

“As we speak.” Luz shrugged, “the usual last minute mandatory shopping spree to remind her of  where she comes from.”

“Ah.” Gus grinned. He slipped his hands in his pockets and began whistling a tune.

“Gus.” Luz warned. “Please don’t.”

“Ya know she’s livin’ in her uptown world.” Gus winked. 

“So, yeah,” Luz leaned in to  Willow, “Her mom wanted to take her shopping .”

🎶“I bet she’s never met a backstreet guuuuuuuy!”🎶

“To lecture her about who she should be spending her time with?”

🎶 “I bet her momma never told her why…” 🎶

She and Luz shot Gus a pointed look as he walked backwards doing a showy impression of Billy Joel’s cocky strut from the music video.

“ You have fun getting a date with those moves, Augustus.” Willow groaned. 

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I get cat called by a bunch of dudes hanging scaffolding with these moves!”

“And when you randomly did the Running Man for that girl at Tower last week?” Willow leaned in, resting her chin on the back of her hand and her elbow on the opposite arm.

“That was not on purpose,” Gus shrugged, “I was doing it for you and Luz! But she was impressed. You know it.”

“Sure thing Gustopher!” Luz was laughing now, but Willow knew there was an unease in her friend’s heart. The secret dating was a strain on their relationship. Willow knew it. Luz was visibly distressed. Her girlfriend had, once more, been whisked away for a reminder that she was indeed quite a few tax brackets above Luz herself. 

Willow was not a fan of Odalia Blight or Odalia’s husband Alador, for that matter. As a young child on the Upper West Side, Amity Blight had once been Willow’s best friend. 

Amity and her older twin siblings had attended the same school as Willow and they’d bonded quickly over their love of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH , which their teacher read to them in first grade. 

Unfortunately, as time went on, Amity’s parents had steered her away from Willow. By third grade, Amity always had an excuse as to why she couldn’t meet at the playground, or why she couldn’t attend Willow’s birthday party. 

Or why Willow wasn’t invited to Amity’s birthday party.

Until one day, Amity showed up in school, her chestnut brown hair dyed platinum blonde and pulled tight into a ponytail looking at Willow like she’d crawled out of the gutter. And even s ooner, she was hanging out with the same girls who Amity herself had kicked in the shins for calling Willow, “retarded’ because she was having trouble with math. 

And for spreading a few other nasty rumors.

Her dads told her that this was just how some people were – especially uptown – and not to mention that people looked at them differently because of their race – and their living situation. Willow wanted to believe that this wasn’t true. That Amity wasn’t LIKE that. 

But Willow had never forgotten how Odalia looked at her green tutu and leg warmers after ballet class that one day. 

“Style is everything, Willow dear.”

Or the strange words she’d heard Odalia say when Willow was still in earshot.

“She’s not like us, Amity. What IS her family even? What are they DOING here? She’s probably some bastard from the projects.”

Her body flooded with hot embarrassment whenever she thought about it. How she’d defend Amity to her dads. How she’d wait outside the classroom with pictures she’d drawn of Mrs. Frisby meeting Nicodemus. A gift to remind them of their bond.

When Amity tore the pictures up in front of her.

“I’m not your friend anymore!”

“B-but why?”

“Because you’re wearing fake Keds! And your lunch smells weird!”

“B-but you told me you loved my sneakers! They have flowers on them! And this is my dad’s kimchee empanadas! I thought you wanted to share them again!”

“W-whatever! I was lying. They’re gross!  I can’t be friends with someone like you!”

Eventually, the Blights sent their children to a fancy private school, but Willow often ran into Amity and her new friends around town where they always had a cruel comment ready.

Of course, things had changed a bit when the two reconnected in college. Rather, when Willow and Luz stepped into their Freshman English class and Amity strolled into the front row. Quickly, Amity had begun a rivalry with Luz over who was the best of the Sailor Scouts. 

Luz said Sailor Moon, of course. “ The heart of the team !” Amity said Uranus and Neptune. “ Mature. Cool. Collected. Lesbians .” That was the first time Willow had seen Luz actually stop talking about anime. 

“Wait, there’s other Sailors? And they’re lesbians? Like, for real?”

Luz and Amity started dating by Thanksgiving.

Now, Amity’s edges had softened as Willow’s had sharpened. On several occasions, Amity reached out, asking to grab a cup of coffee alone and catch up, but Willow wasn’t interested . So instead she buried those feelings down deep and tolerated how lovey dovey her current best friend was with her former best friend, turned bully, turned reformed mean girl.

“Does Odalia even know you two are dating yet?” Gus rolled his eyes.

Luz shrugged, “Noooooope.”

He waited half a beat, “Has Odalia even accepted that Amity’s gay? Or Ed for that matter?”

“Noooooooooooope!” Luz gave a double thumbs down and blew a raspberry.

“It’s only been, what?” Willow whistled, “three years?” She glanced at Luz pointedly.

‘Nope.” Luz gave a double thumbs up, “Three and a half years, actually!”

“And this doesn’t bother you?” Gus offered. “Like, Amity’s been over your place a million times. She went with Vee and your mom to visit your abuela in Arizona last Christmas. Her mom doesn’t question this?”

Luz’s face went still, “Em covered for her,” she pursed her lips, “said Ams was going skiing with her and a bunch of her friends.”

Willow felt her jaw drop. She stopped short in the middle of the street, narrowly missing a shoulder check from a random guy in a Tommy Hilfiger Polo. 

“Luz, are you serious?”

“Next topic.” Luz called out, “ Willow ! Did you hear back from grad school?” 

Now it was Willow’s turn to change the subject. “Gus! Did your dad ever get you that MTV internship he promised?”

“Meh.” Gus shrugged. “Dad’s got no time for nepotism these days. This whole Unabomber case has been BIG news. He’s just glad to be taking a break covering the – uh – presidential scandal. And he’s been working on some investigation about some sort of campus coke ring?”  

“Ah. Bummer, my friend.” Luz bit her lip, “Soooooo. You guys playing at The Owl House again?”

“I mean, it’s the only place that’ll let us play.” Gus shrugged.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that?” Willow waved her hands around. Luz and the Nocedas were tight with the Clawthornes. So tight that they had practically no borders between their homes. If it wasn’t for Eda, the Emeralds never would have gotten on a stage in the first place. But the fact remained that they were still without any real direction or following, “Lots of bands got their start there.”

“And I don’t think we’re exactly CB’s material, ourselves.” Gus gestured to himself Willow. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Willow spat. 

“Wills.” Gus shook his head. “We’re not exactly living the punk lifestyle. We’re college students.”

Willow narrowed her eyes . “Kathleen Hanna started Bikini Kill when she was in college.”

“Kathleen Hanna was a first generation college student…” Gus shot back.

“So am I,” Willow pointed.

“Hanna stripped to pay her way through school.” Gus blinked. 

“Yeah, so what?” Willow’s body went cold, “not like anyone would actually pay to see my body, or for free for that matter.” she thought to herself.

“We’re like – upper middle class kids?” Gus shook her out of the thought, “And we’ve got parents helping us through pretty pricey colleges.”

“Uhhh, wait?” Luz held her hands out, “First? Does this conversation include all of us here? Because Vee’s in school on a sports scholarship and I’m on financial aid? And Gus? I thought Cooper Union was free?”

Gus swallowed, “Well, yeah? But I paid in getting bullied for my nerdiness.”

“Also?” Willow poked his chest. “you’re MORE THAN upper MIDDLE class, son of channel Seven’s PERRY PORTER.”

“Okay. To be fair.” Gus sucked in a breath, “My dad had to work really hard to get where he is  as a black man in the newsroom… you know the stuff he went through, Wills? What mom and I went through?”

“I do.” Willow nodded curtly. “And, my dads are an interracial gay couple who spent decades pretending not to be so they could grow their business.”

“AND YOU BOTH GREW UP ON THE UPPER WEST SIDE.” Luz threw her hands in the air. 

“Gus grew up in the Apthorp .” Willow narrowed her eyes. “You’ve both been to my dads’ first place…”

“Overlooking Central Park West?” Gus snorted.

Willow groaned, “THE ONE BEDROOM OVER MY FAMILY’S FIRST BODEGA?” 

“I thought Mike D. grew up around you guys?” Luz interrupted quickly. 

Willow and Gus took a breath. A quiet agreement to agree to disagree. They slipped into Bleeker Street Records, taking a bit to paw through the bargain bin. 

“This summer’s gonna be sweet!” Luz said happily, “I can’t wait til the Emeralds are back in business!” 

“We’re not OUT of business.” Gus pointed out, “we technically don’t even need another guitar player…”

“We do,” Willow cut in, “Viney’s got the lead down, but we need someone to fill out the sound for rhythm…”

“Because, punk is really known for its rhythm, Willow.”

“I’m done arguing this with you, Gus!”

Luz nodded politely. She pulled out a 45’ of Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots are Made for Walking. “Oh! Oh! You should do a punk cover of THIS, Wills!” She bounced on her heels. 

Willow smiled. Luz wasn’t a musician herself. According to her, she’d never gotten past the third grade recorder, but she was a music enthusiast. Her dad had once worked as an usher at the Filmore East and she’d wanted to grab a piece of that magic in her own life now that he was gone. Luz always had the most interesting ideas for songs for the Emeralds to cover. It was no wonder that Eda had snapped Luz up as her assistant for The Owl House. Luz had a great ear, and original ideas. 

Willow knew that Luz’ mom was happy for the direction Eda provided. Her sister seemed to get all the practical genes, planning to inevitably teach Spanish at the High School level. Luz’ area of study was unique for sure, but there wasn’t much of a future in it alone. 

Willow abandoned the pull boxes. She paid for the record and sighed. “I need to get this one on tape.” she muttered. “Easier to listen to when I’m out running.”

“Just call in to the oldies station and tape it when they play your request.” Luz smiled.

“That’s some Eda level trickery.” Gus grinned.

“Actually, my mom taught us that one.” Luz smiled. “Why d'ya think me and Vee's mix tapes cut off before the songs end? So, where are you guys going today?” 

Gus shrugged. “I’ve gotta get back to the studio at school to work on a few video edits for my last project.”

“Got a paper due. Then to pick up some boxes to pack with.” Willow told her. “Then I’ve gotta help my dads with some stuff at Parks IV.” she bit her lip “So about Hunter...”

“The guy who freaked out at The Owl House?” Gus rolled his eyes. “The white guy in the white collared shirt looking like he rolled out of an alley behind Wall Street? The guy …”

“Hunter.” Luz corrected. “His name is Hunter . And I prefer to think about him as the dude who passed out on Vee’s bed and drooled all over Francois.”

“King must have loved that.” Gus rolled his eyes. 

Something pinched in Willow’s stomach. The guy in question had clearly been having a terrible night. He was odd but there was no reason to be mean about it.

Luz was enjoying her own recollection of the poor guy, “Hunter who ate nearly all the eggs Eda made like he’d never eaten before in his life.”

“Yes.” Willow said, “ him. ”

“Sooooo” Luz leaned in, “You were saying he called you.” 

“He did ?” Willow paused. “Sorta”

Luz’s eyes sparkled. “YES! I knew he’d bite when I passed him your digits. What’d he say?”

“Dunno.” Willow winced. “I accidentally wrote my parents number on the slip I gave you to give him.”

“AWKWARD!” Gus whistled. 

“Yeah.” Willow groaned. “And he didn’t leave a number either. Papa said he got dad on the phone and stumbled over his words a lot before he hung up.”

“Did he leave a call back number?” Luz shrugged. 

“Noooooooope!” Willow drew out the word.

“Yeah, we need that guy in our band.” Gus snorted.

“Hey Gus? How’s your drumming been,” Willow glared, “since you did what that guy suggested?”

Gus’ face fell. “Not bad, actually. I admit he made a good point.”

“Ah! Here’s my stop!” Luz tapped Willow’s shoulders a few times. “Wanna come in?”

Willow looked through the window of Rainey Day Music. Raine was sitting at the front counter with a stack of papers and a pen,   “Nah.” she said. “I’ll catch up with you later.” 

Luz shrugged and ducked into the shop, waving them off as she went.

“See ya.” Willow called out. She turned to Gus. “Wanna grab some pizza?”

“You know it!” Gus smiled. 

Within less than 5 minutes, the two had ducked into a Famous Ray’s Pizza. Or maybe it was Ray’s Famous Pizza? There was a variation on every corner that claimed to be the “Original” and no one was quite sure which was the real deal. Not that it mattered. Pizza was pizza. Gus grabbed them a few slices and a couple of fountain soda. Willow sipped hers as the ice melted quickly in the soft paper cup. 

“Gus.” Willow sucked in a breath, “about Hunter…”

Mid bite into a massive plain cheese slice, Gus looked up from this month’s SPIN magazine. “Okay,” he sighed, “If that guy – if Hunter, ends up back in our orbit we can consider him for the band.”

“Yeah?” Willow smiled. 

“Yeah,” Gus groaned. As he spoke, he never once put the paper down, “I mean, he can’t be worse than a guy who’s into Phish, right?”

Willow hummed thoughtfully. Her eye caught on an article called, “ GONE TOO SOON: THE UNDER 30 CLUB. From Joplin to Cobain – and the double whammy unsolved murder that snuffed out two stars on the rise .” 

Chapter Text

Art by @threegoblinart

Chapter 7

From fools and from Sages.

______________

Hunter’s eyes grazed over the magazines on the front of the news stand. He adjusted his headphones and hit rewind on his walkman. He'd become quite efficient at recognizing just the correct amount of rewind clicks needed to return to what was nearly the beginning of the song he’d been listening to on repeat his entire walk downtown. 

🎶 Every time that I look in the mirror

All these lines on my face getting clearer

The past is gone 🎶

This month’s cover of ROLLING STONE featured that talk show host who got couples to go on a stage and fight over their infidelity. Sometimes chairs were tossed and a bodyguard had to break it up. It was a thing that Hunter didn’t quite understand the entertainment value of.

The image of the man had red horns and a pointed tail drawn onto him and he had his fingers on top of his head making horns. 

“I like it better when Rolling Stone has musicians on the cover.” A familiar voice came from behind. 

Hunter turned around quickly. “Steve!” he smiled.

“Hey man!” Steve smiled back. “Still using that old thing, huh?” he pointed to the walkman. 

Steve Tholomule had been on mail duty when Hunter had first received the walkman. Some of the older cadets at the academy, those who had been considered high performers, often received the desirable jobs such as, “mail room”. On his 9th birthday, Hunter had received a package addressed to him in purple marker. Hunter never received mail, so this was a shock in itself – and there was seemingly no return address to be found.

Steve had watched as Hunter unwrapped the brown paper slowly. It peeled open revealing a box underneath, that contained the walkman and headphones, a few packages of batteries, along with three cassettes. 

Aerosmith (Aerosmith)

Dreamboat Annie (Heart)

London Calling (The Clash)

This type of item was contraband at Glandus, and Steve should have confiscated it on the spot. 

Instead Hunter’s senior cadet had simply covered it with his hands. He’d winked and pressed a finger to his lips. It was a kindness Hunter wasn’t expecting, and a slight rebellion he knew he should reject.  And yet? The Walkman had stayed.  From that moment on, each year on his birthday, Hunter would receive a similar package. Smaller, but with three cassettes and a batch of batteries to keep him going through the year. All addressed to him in the same purple elegant handwriting -- but never with a note or card indicating as to who had sent it.

Steve’s eyes were gentle,“It’s good to see you, Hunter.” 

Hunter shrugged a bit. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Thanks for the call!” Steve nodded. “I’ve been thinking about you lately. A lot, actually. I left a message on your machine a few months ago, but you never got back to me.”

“Been busy with school.” Hunter sighed heavily. “And, you know, trying to get an internship to make my uncle happy.” 

“Dude.” Steve’s blue eyes became serious. “It is fundamentally impossible to make that man happy. You know that right?”

Hunter’s throat pulled tight. His eyes passed over the cover of SPIN Magazine, which featured a trio of musicians on the cover, only one of which he recognized.

He caught the words “The Under 30 Club” in small print towards the bottom. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and paid for the magazine in cash, tucking it into his briefcase. 

The two walked a bit. Steve ducked into a cart and grabbed them both a hot dog. Steve slathered it in mustard and devoured it. Hunter did the same, sans the slathering of the mustard. They ambled past scaffolding, and the construction of several new Starbucks locations, catching up from several months of missed events. 

“I put my acting career on hold for now.” Steve sighed. “Got a few odd jobs around town. I’m thinking about going back to school and switching to psychology? Bartending pays the bills though. My kid brother’s doing the trade school thing – I thought I had it all figured out, but I’m just drifting.” 

“It must be nice to be able to figure things out on your own.” Hunter told him. There was way more weight to his words than he’d realized.

“You know, man…” Steve began. “You …”

“YOU!” A familiar voice whined. 

Uneven teeth. Messy hair in a rat tail down his back. 

The kid from Hunter’s morning in the Boiling Isles stood blocking the sidewalk in front of him and Steve. The kid wore the same Burger King crown from the other day, and carried the raggy stuffed rabbit in his arms.

“Don’t you worry, Francois!” The kid raised the rabbit in the air. “I shall protect you from this kidnapper!” 

“Oh, of course, you’re here.” Hunter grumbled. “You know what? Forget it.”

The kid bared his crooked teeth. “WEH!” he shouted. Quickly, he stomped on Hunter’s foot with his dirty black Converse. 

“OW!” Hunter shouted. He grabbed the offended foot, and hopped up and down on his good one. “WHAT WAS THAT FOR, YOU LITTLE RAT?”

“Ohohohoho!” The kid laughed, “You call me a ‘Rat’, but the jokes on YOU. Because you just made an enemy of the KING OF DEMONS!”

“I…” Hunter swallowed. “I have no response to that one.” he turned to meet the Steve’s eyes, “This was a mistake. Come on Steve, let’s go.” 

“Whoa buddy!” Steve was actually kneeling down in front of the kid already. “You can’t just stomp on people's feet like that, you know?”

The kid’s eyes flashed. “ That guy ?” He pointed a tiny pin of a finger at Hunter. “he stole Francois! He’s bad news.”

A kind smile lit up Steve’s eyes. “You mean, Hunter?” he pointed behind him. “Nah. He’s good people , little dude. And I bet you’d get along if you gave each other a chance!” 

Hunter felt a wave of something watching the way Steve interacted with this kid. 

“Are you supposed to be out here by yourself?” Steve asked. There was a steady wave of jest and respect in his voice.

“I’m not s’possed to go any further than the third store down.” The kid kicked a pebble, “but I’m surveying my territory!”

Hunter felt a chuckle escape his throat. “You are strangely endearing, you know that?” he mumbled. 

Steve looked at the storefront above them. “Hey. Isn’t this the place you’re interviewing?” 

Hunter looked at the sign, then at the card in his hand. “Rainey Day Music,” he read out loud and slipped the card back in his pocket. “This IS the place.” 

“Hey, kid?” Steve smiled at the little boy. “D’you think…”

“Not a kid!” The kid crossed his arms. “I’m –”

“King?” Hunter leaned down. “Am I right? That was your name?”

The kid held his stuffed rabbit and nodded. It reminded Hunter a little of himself and Sprig. The only constant he'd ever had in his life.

“And that’s your friend Francois?” Hunter pointed at the rabbit. 

“My loyal subject.” King explained.

“N-nice to see you again, King." the kid's eyes flashed a little, "You too, Francois,” Hunter corrected, doing his best to imitate Steve’s easy demeanor. ”My name’s Hunter, remember?” 

"Yeah." The kid growled, but nodded. “Luz calls you the sad boy .” 

Hunter felt his blood rise from his neck to his face. 

“Ha! Now you’re a MAD boy.” The kid stuck his tongue out.

“I’m not MAD.” Hunter shot back.

“Then why’re you all RED?” King tilted his head, "and your eye's twitching like you're some sort of character in one of Luz's cartoons."

Hunter thought about himself when he was this kid's age and quickly considered what would have happened had he behaved like this at Glandus, or in front of Uncle Philip and his associates. 

A bony hand closed around his small shoulder. Hunter's breath shallowed. The door of the throne room slammed shut behind them. 

Hunter’s wrists shook. Yeah. He was certain there was no way he’d have been allowed to behave like this. And yet? This kid was somehow connected to the person who very well might be the last chance to acquire an internship. On one of the interviews Uncle Philip had set him up on the man he'd been scheduled to meet had smoked a cigar and blown the smoke right in Hunter's face. He'd spoken to the waitress in a way that made Hunter's body twist and referred to him as a "sissy" when he'd coughed and gagged at the smell of the smoke.

Hunter sighed. So far this meeting was preferable to that. Once again, he channeled his inner Steve and tried to think about the way he would have wanted to have been spoken to as a child. 

“Luz likes to tease, doesn’t she?” Hunter asked. The kid nodded. “Well she’s teasing me b-because,” he let himself smile. “I’m supposed to go in and talk to someone in this shop.” he explained. “F-for a job? ”

“I know.” King grumbled. “Luz’s been telling Raine about you all day. She’s looking forward to you two meeting.”

“Oh.” Hunter felt himself swallow. “Luz is in there ?” he peeked behind the kid to see a familiar mess of dark hair attached to a bouncing body behind the storefront window. “Y’know? Maybe I’ll come back and …”

“HUNTER!” 

Before he could finish Luz had launched herself out of the door into his chest. 

“Y-yeah.” He stuttered. “Hi er… Luz.”, keeping his arms stiff at his sides, he turned to Steve. “Steve this is …”

“Luz Noceda.” Luz grabbed Steve’s hand and shook, “Did this guy drag you along to make sure we weren’t gonna mug him or something?”

Hunter felt his stomach drop, but Steve laughed. 

“Something like that!” He nodded. “Steve Tholomule. Nice to meet you!” 

“And I see you met my cousin, King?” Luz ruffled the kid’s thick mop. “I told him to be on the lookout for you guys. Come on in. Raine’s waiting!”

______________________________

Rainey Day Music smelled like a rainy day indeed. Slightly musty, but not unpleasant. 

The store itself was small. Old instruments hung from the walls, and lay across glass counters that reflected off the old rust colored carpet underneath. 

Each section of the space seemed to be dedicated to a different kind of instrument. Brass and Woodwind on one side. Strings on another. Percussions of all types lay along the back wall, and in the middle two rows of electric and acoustic guitars lined up on dual layer racks. 

Steve immediately gravitated towards the electrics.

“Mind if I play?” He called out. 

“You break it, you sign a contract to be my minion!” King shouted. The kid plopped himself down into a chair by the register and began spinning around and around. 

“Is that a yes?” Steve raised a brow.

“Knock yourself out!” Luz told him.

She eyed Hunter from head to toe, taking time to rest on his gray suit and pressed shirt. He had managed to grab a new clean pair of slacks that had been delivered to his apartment from the laundromat. Sometimes Uncle liked to make Kikimora bring his dry cleaning. Of course the reasoning was that since Kiki kept the books, she should be acquainted with where the money was spent, but Hunter often wondered if Osran preferred Philip keep her busy and out of his hair.

“You look good .” Luz grit her teeth and drew out the word, ‘good’ like it was a question. 

Hunter opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a slim figure with graying hair and round glasses. They were fiddling with a record player, placing the needle down on a smooth black disc, followed by a familiar hiss of static. Satisfied, they made their way over with a smile. The room was instantly filled by a familiar tune.

🎶“Youuuuuuuu aint nothin’ buuuuuuut a Hound Dooooooooog!” 🎶

This wasn’t Elvis Pressley though. This version had a completely different shape altogether. 

Longer. Sharper. Darker. Richer in color and sound.

“I’ve never heard this cover before.” he mumbled. 

“Actually, this is the original,” round glasses said, “Big Mama Thorton recorded this first. Way before Elvis.”

“Big Mother Who?” Hunter felt his face go hot, “I-I’ve never heard of her before…” 

“Big Mama Thorton.” Luz corrected. 

“Mmmm,” round glasses nodded, “Most people haven’t heard of her. Missy Elliot’s a big act now, but fat black women didn’t exactly sell records back then.”

“S-sorry… I – I .. didn’t… I mean…” his body folded. Of course he’d failed the interview before it even began.

“Don’t worry! The more you know, right?” Round glasses said with a quiet smile.  Hunter let out a small breath. 

“You must be Hunter?” round glasses offered a hand, “I’m Raine Whispers.”

Hunter accepted Raine’s handshake and took note of their attire. They wore a multicolored patched vest over a t-shirt that featured the cover for Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors . Their pants were red and their shoes were worn leather and pointed. 

Hunter stood ramrod straight as uncle pawed through the suitcase of clothing the police had brought from home. One by one, Uncle Philip tossed the soft shirts and Hunter's Osh Kosh B’Gosh overalls into a black trash bag.

“Brooks Brothers, Ralph Lauren, Armani. We adorn ourselves in the finest and we command respect.” 

“I think I’m in the wrong place.” He muttered to himself. He blinked, “D-did I just say that out loud?”

“Hmmmm?” Raine eyed Luz. 

“Told you he was a nervous nelly.” Luz shrugged. She shot Hunter a look that he could almost describe as encouraging . Either that, or she was laughing at him, which was entirely possible. However much she’d teased him that morning that he woke up in her bedroom, Hunter recalled that she’d also fed him and encouraged him to connect further. In the past, he’d gotten just the opposite from nearly everyone but Steve. Luz winked at him, then turned to Raine, leaning over the glass counter with her entire body. “Give him a chance.”

A chance.

“Well, I certainly intend to!” Raine returned a warm smile. “Now Hunter . Eda and Luz told me you’re looking for an internship opportunity and …”

“If you don’t hire him he’s probably gonna throw himself into the East River!” King called from his spinning chair. 

From the corner, Hunter could hear Steve playing the first few licks of Smoke on the Water.

“Hey, King? Why don’t you head into the back. Play a little solitaire on the desktop?” 

King grinned, “Can I play Doom?” he crooned, all of his uneven teeth on display. 

“You can play SOLITAIRE,” Raine’s voice was steady, “or Minesweeper.” 

“FINE!” King whined, but stumbled into the office anyway.

“For the record, I did NOT say that thing about the East River.” Luz cringed. “That was all Eda.”

“You didn’t say he wouldn’t!” King sang from behind the door.

“Ignore him,” Raine shrugged, “thanks for coming in. Let’s chat.”

Hunter’s back went rigid. Here it was. The interview, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance… ummm Mmmm…”

“Raine is fine.” They nodded. “I  – uhh – gender is sort of, well, let’s just say for me, gender has no borders.”

Hunter knit his brows. A flash of Philip’s cold eyes filled his mind. Wrinkled lips turned down. 

“I’ll be frank.” Raine cleared their throat and gestured to themself, “If this is a problem for you, it’s not going to work out here.”

The words hit Hunter right in the gut. Six interviews and six failures. 

“Six. The number of sin. Imperfection. Weakness. All the things embodied by your father. And all you will amount to.” 

“It’s fundamentally impossible to make that man happy,” Steve had said. 

There was no way that this was the type of place that Uncle Philip would approve of, but Hunter was at an impasse. He could fail yet again to secure an internship and then his uncle would for sure cancel his enrollment and his lease – leaving him out on the street. He could tell his uncle that the place he failed to get a job was what “The Good Book” considered a “den of sin” – and still end up with a canceled enrollment and a canceled lease for not only failing but admitting where he’d been and how he found this place. Or? 

He closed his eyes and breathed in the music. 

🎶I tell you you’re just like a dog

barking up wrong tree

A just like an old hound dog

barking up the wrong tree

I’m telling you baby

there’s nothing you can do about it 🎶

Bare notes with hints of dark blue. 

Hunter’s head snapped up. “I - I thought your name was Raine!”

“Beg pardon?” Raine sniffed. They folded their hands on the counter in front of them. 

“Y-you said – uh – ‘I’ll be Frank’, b-but you also said your name was Raine, so I just … ummm,” he rubbed the back of his head, “I …”

“Oh no!” Luz’s body broke apart into sharp shrill laughter, “DUDE! That’s TERRIBLE! Raine! Did-ya hear?” 

“I heard,” Raine pushed their glasses up their nose. “You’re a punster!” their face opened wide. “I like you, Hunter! You can just call me Raine?” they grinned, “Or if you want to be formal you can call me MIX . Whispers – spelled with an M and an X. but I prefer my first name. We aim to be very casual here.”

“Okay then, Raine, it is,” Hunter’s chest unfurled. He wasn’t out of the running. He hadn’t failed! Not yet at least. He forced away the goofy smile he knew would expose his stupid gapped tooth and glued his lips over his teeth. “How should we proceed? D-do you need my resume?” he flinched.

“ Because I barely have one.” he thought.

“I’m going to hire you.” Raine shrugged. “The whole East River thing notwithstanding, I definitely need help and someone who is in Stern Business school would be a boon for what we’re doing here.” they paused. “The question is? Do YOU want it?”

Hunter sighed again. “I need an internship.” He said firmly. “And I’m running out of time to secure one. Not that this place seems - I mean I don't want you to think this is my...”

"Last resort before the East River?" Raine laughed, "it's fine. I know we're not really a desirable company, but I'm willing if you are.

Hunter nodded. He reached into his toolbox of formalities. “Could you tell me a little bit about your business?” he asked. “Ms. err… Eda mentioned a new venture? But this place looks like it’s been around forever.”

“Ah!” Raine smiled. “It has, actually. A few decades ago this place belonged to Eda’s dad, Dell Clawthrone…”

“The name on the awning with the Owl House!” Hunter smiled. 

“Yep yep yep!” Luz bounced a bit, “Dell’s a great guy! Like a grandpa to me. But when I was little I used to call him Santa, cuz he had a big beard.”

Hunter couldn’t help but smile a little at her spunk. Luz was wearing a lot of purple. Purple checkered Vans, a purple shirt with a logo for a band called Miracle Legion , and black cut off shorts. He recalled that Luz had mentioned she was also an intern. 

If Hunter took this position, he considered dressing a little more casually next time. The concept felt surprisingly nice . 

“So.” Raine nodded. “Years ago, Dell made fine instruments. He ran the Owl House with his business partner and landlord. She owns this building too, actually. Dell’s wife Gwen runs a bake shop on Bleeker. It’s a more of a coffee house these days.”

“Oh!” Hunter gasped. “Y-you mean Robin’s Roast by the Angelika?”

“Yes!” Raine nodded. “But anyway, the Clawthornes ran the club and raised their daughters here.”

“There’s another one?” Hunter asked, “I met Eda …”

“Lilith.” Raine pursed their lips. “She’s a librarian. She lives near the Cloisters with Great Uncle Hooty, who’s related to…” they bit their lip and looked at Luz who shrugged. “Well, he’s Uncle Hooty . Anyway, after me and Eda got together in High School, Dell took me under his wing as his apprentice.”

“You and Eda met in high school.” he repeated. Hunter didn’t have any relationships to compare in his own family. Uncle Philip was pretty adamant that he had no interest in the base urges or sins of the flesh, (Hunter’s stomach flipped just thinking about that conversation). And the married couples Hunter had met through Titan Records’ business relations didn’t seem to actually like each other very much. 

Secretly, Hunter thought that a high school sweetheart situation sounded idealistic. 

“Did I ever tell you about how I met your mom?” Dad smiled and ruffled Hunter’s hair. 

“Cay, he doesn’t wanna hear this.” Momma snorted, “Daddy’s boring us, isn’t he Hunter?” 

“I wanna know!”

“Hunter?” Raine prodded. “Are you ok?”

“Ummm.” Hunter coughed. “F-fine. I just. I’m sorry. I was paying attention! I promise, I…”

“You’re fine.” Raine said softly. “You just looked a little lost for a bit.”

“N-not lost! Y-you worked with Eda’s dad. You’ve been together since high school…” 

“Wellllll? Eda and I broke up a bunch of times between now and then.” Raine laughed. “The getting back together’s the best part.” they winked, “Anyway, in college, I was studying violin at Julliard. You can imagine how many business opportunities that opened up for me.”

The wry smile on their face indicated to Hunter that this was a joke.

“Julliard’s amazing though.” Hunter said quickly. “N-not many musicians can make it in, let alone…”

“Eda and I were in a band together with Lilith.” Raine continued. “We did pretty well for ourselves but we wanted to start our own indie label.” 

“Bad Girl Coven.” Luz smiled. “That’s the name of the band too.”

“WAS the name of the band.” Raine corrected. “And the label didn’t work out either. Still got the club though. That’s what Luz’s part of the job is, helping Eda with the Owl House.” they shrugged. “I run this shop. Repair instruments. Sometimes I send difficult cases up to Dell, but he had an accident a while back. I also teach lessons and adjunct at The New School.”

“That’s pretty impressive.”  Hunter said quickly. “But I thought you were starting a business and you needed me for…”

“I’m getting there!” Raine laughed, “Over the past few years, I’ve been working one on one with students who’ve experienced trauma. Bad home lives. Abusive childhoods. Veterans who’ve been – uh – shell shocked” 

White walls. Grey light. 

“PTSD?” Hunter swallowed.

“Exactly.” Raine nodded. “I want to start a non-profit to raise money to get music education into mental health clinics and hospitals. Rehab centers too. But I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to raising money. I barely make ends meet here." They laughed. “It’s not fancy, but if you want the job, it's yours.” 

Oh, if Uncle Philip knew. If he was in this room right now? Hunter’s stomach felt like lead. This was most definitely not the type of job that he would approve of. In fact, this is what he would consider the first step to Hunter’s descent to sin.

His brain told him, “NO!” but his heart filled with the sounds of Big Mamma Thorton’s barbed voice. Strong. Tired. Powerful. He needed this. He needed this . Not just for Uncle Philip’s approval, which he certainly would not get here (and Hunter would need to figure out a way to keep his uncle from discovering the true nature of this job), but Hunter needed an internship to complete his MBA education.

And maybe to prove that I can make it on my own.

Hunter let out a breath. “Okay.” he nodded. “When can I start?”

“I really like him!” Raine told Luz. They looked back to Hunter. “You can start right away! Monday! I can’t pay much…”

“I didn’t expect to be paid at all,” Hunter mumbled.

“Well, I guess that makes me feel a little better,” Raine ran their hand through their hair.

Now that he thought about it, having an alternate money source, no matter how small, seemed prudent. He still had been down to his last pair of twenties before he’d left Philip’s office the day before, and Kikimora had gleefully handed him a bill for The Four Seasons Restaurant in place of his weekly food stipend. 

“For your missed appointment last evening.” Kiki chirped, “Mr. Piniet has quite an expensive taste. Hope you’ve saved some money from past weeks!”

“Eda said he can bar tend because you’re gonna be busy with this and teaching your summer classes.” Luz leaned in. 

“I don’t know how to bar tend.” Hunter said softly. He eyed Steve happily strumming a guitar in the corner. “B-but I know someone who can teach me,” he nodded. 

“Excellent.” Raine’s face lit up. “Now, Luz also tells me that you’re interested in learning guitar?”

Hunter’s head spun around. Luz was grinning. She made a heart shape with both of her hands.

“N-no – uh – Raine… I…” Hunter’s stomach filled with heat.

“Hunter’s gonna be joining the Emeralds!” Luz’s smile spread. “Willow WANTS him.” 

“Wants me?” Hunter swallowed. Luz kept saying that. Why did she keep saying that ? “Wants me to do what ?” 

“Oh you know,” Luz smiled with all her teeth. She wagged her eyebrows and poked his nose with her forefinger.

Hunter’s ears rang. The shop was so quiet. Why was it this quiet? Luckily the only other people in the room were Raine and Luz. Well, also Steve who had stopped playing at just that moment. He raised a brow in Hunter’s direction.

“To be in the band of course!” Luz laughed, “come on…”

“I don’t know.” Hunter whispered. His eyes darted towards the guitars.

“I’m not hearing a no …” Luz bumped her elbow with his.

“Luz…” Raine shrugged, “if he doesn’t want to do it that’s fine. I mean not everyone wants to learn guitar either.”

“N-no! It’s not that!” Hunter gasped. 

Shit. He knew that really he should just thank Raine for the job and move on to figuring out how he was going to hide this from uncle Philip while somehow affirming that he has fulfilled his end of their deal. 

“So you do want to learn?” Raine asked. “I don’t want to presume or push… have you ever played guitar before?”

What’s one more deviation? It’s just guitar lessons?

“I - I’m not… I mean I…” Hunter let out a breath. “I know a little about the instrument.” he rubbed the back of his neck, “M-my father played.” he said quietly. “And my mother too. But they … well? They’re…”

The moment your father began down that road? With the clubs and those people? That was moment his soul was sullied. You exist by the grace of a vengeful God, Hunter. Your father paid the price for the lifestyle he chose. Taking you in is my burden for his sin. 

How exactly could he explain that he had long been forbidden to learn the instrument himself without it sounding insane. And of course, it would lead to questions about things he didn’t want to think about. 

“Perfect!” Raine clapped their hands. “It’s in your blood then.”

Blood on the wood floor of the living room…

“I’ll get you a work schedule and a lesson schedule and we’ll figure it out.” Raine began scribbling in their yellow lined notebook. “If you’re playing with Willow, you can always grab that old Epiphone they’ve got. I gave it to their old guitarist before he quit.”

“Ummm.” Hunter closed his eyes. He imagined Uncle Philip’s cold gaze passing over him. “Okay.” his stomach flipped, “Thank you for taking a chance on me.” 

“See you Monday morning?” Raine grinned. “Eleven AM.” 

“Not nine?” Hunter asked quickly. “Business hours?”

“We make our own business hours.” Raine winked, “no suits required.”

“Perfect!” Luz jumped up. “So.” She grabbed his elbow and led him towards the doorway. “I’ve gotta get some flyers for the club out on the streets, then we’re gonna meet Willow and Gus at The Owl House.”

“We?” Hunter asked quickly. 

“Well, your friend’s welcome to come with!” She motioned to Steve. “He seems cool?”

“Can I come!” King shimmied out from the back. “I’m also cool.”

“Not tonight, little guy.” Luz pouted. “Mama’s gonna take you to Blockbuster to rent a movie tonight though.” 

“AWWWWWW!” The kid whined. “But everytime I ask her if we can see Scream she says nooooo!”

“You got nightmares from the Power Rangers movie.” Luz deadpanned. 

The kid sighed deeply. “Then I will require a mountain of popcorn!”

Raine ruffled the kid’s hair, “I’ll pick up Jiffy Pop on the way back.”

“Come on.” Luz told Hunter. “Let’s go meet Willow and the others.” 

“That’s it?” Hunter felt a tingling at the end of his nose. It worked! He’d gotten an internship. Certainly not one he was going to be able to explain to his uncle, but he’d gotten something . 

All on my own. I need to prove I can make it on my own, right? And? I’m going to see Willow again. 

His fingers twitched thinking about how close he'd been to her when he’d taken the flier from her hands. He wasn’t exactly sure why this excited him so much. Or why he’d even tried to call her for that matter. His mind flashed on her eager green eyes and his stomach felt light.

It was common courtesy to call when someone asked. That was why he’d done it. No other reason. Courtesy. 

That and he really wanted to touch her hands again. 

But then a man had answered the phone and –  well that went very poorly. He let out a breath. He would apologize to Willow if he saw her tonight. When he saw her tonight. 

“Hey!” Hunter startled at the voice. Steve was slouching by the register. Raine was ringing him up to a package of strings, having pulled himself away from the guitars themselves, “All good man?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Hunter nodded. “Good.” 

“You coming with, then?” Luz raised a brow. 

“You gotta tell me where we’re going first?” Steve chuckled, “but I’m in.”

“WAIT!” Raine shouted from behind the desk. 

And here it was. They’d changed their mind. Hunter knew this was too good to be true. That anyone, even a music teacher trying to start a charity out of their aging shop wouldn’t want to work with him. 

Raine hopped over to the door in front of Hunter. 

“Before you go.” Raine cleared their throat. “I know I’ve got to fill out some paperwork for your program, and I’ve got to get some paperwork made up here. I know your name’s Hunter. Luz’s been referring to you by first name only, like you’re Madonna or Prince .” 

They said the name with a shrug, likely because of the whole “Artist Formerly known As’ thing. “Assuming you do have a last name?” Raine chuckled. “Uhhh can I ask what it is?”

“Oh.” Hunter swallowed. “It’s Wittebane.”  

It might have been his imagination, but Hunter swore he’d seen something in Raine’s face shift.  

Chapter Text

Art by @threegoblinart

WILLOW 

Hunter was even more handsome than Willow had remembered. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Sure, Gus had called him milquetoast, but there had been something so undeniably attractive about him at her first sight.

As he approached Willow's breath hitched just a bit, she tried to distract herself with something mundane. The cracks in the sidewalk, for instance should have been a good enough place to focus her attention -- as she thought about the way Hunter's lips moved as he had sang along to Crimson and Clover, and how wide his eyes had been when she'd called out to him. Yeah. Distraction wasn't working.

Maybe her friends were right. Maybe Willow did have a bit of a thing for, 'charity cases'. Be that as it may, as opposed to their first meeting, this time Hunter had not been excessively rained on – which added to his whole vibe in an extremely agreeable way. 

Considering how an image of him had been obsessively running through Willow’s mind for the last 48 hours, she had considered that there was a chance she’d created a false idol of Hunter from memory. An image that was beyond the threshold of what Willow actually considered, “good looking”.

After all? It had been dark during their first meeting, and there was a lot of smoke in the air, and the lights near the stage were all different colors, not to mention that Hunter hadn’t looked terribly well under the street lamps when Luz and Eda had propped him up leveraging his arms on their shoulders, to drag him back to their place to rest.

But much to Willow’s surprise – and possibly a little bit of her own disappointment, her body flooded with heat as she saw him approach.

Sure, the guy still looked like he'd eaten a bundle of knotted ropes for dinner, and being out in the open the discoloration on his right cheek was on full display. A sharp scar, which she imagined had to have been from some sort of childhood accident. But now Willow could better see Hunter’s finer features, framed by the early evening sunlight.

A false idol indeed. 

“Oh jeez” Willow’s chest fluttered . “He literally looks like one of those statues of the Greek gods at the MET.”  she swallowed. Her eyes traveled from his lovely face to his chest, “I wonder if the rest of him is as chiseled.”  A low rumble escaped her throat.

“Whatcha thinkin, Lady?” Viney nudged her. 

“ Thinking?” Willow said mildly. The way his lips moved. “Hmmmm. Nothing in particular.” she squeaked.

“Yeaaaaaah. I’ll bet.” Gus chuckled. “ Nothing in particular is on her mind.” 

There was a lot on Willow’s mind, actually. 

“Butts,” Skara whispered.

“There’s more than butts on my mind, Skara.” Willow warned.

“You DO admit that butts ARE one of the things on your mind,” she teased back.

And now she definitely was thinking about butts. 

“UGH!” Willow threw her hands up, “Let’s see? My final papers, for one? Graduation? I don’t want to walk, but my parents are insisting that I do? And cleaning out my dorm room? My dads’ apartment is tiny! I’m gonna have to put all that stuff into storage until I figure out the rest of my life? Also? I gotta help get Parks IV up and running?”

And open that grad school letter. 

 "No. You're thinking about the blonde guy’s assets," Viney laughed, “all that other stuff is just background noise."

“VINEY!” Willow’s voice cracked, “my future is not BACKGROUND NOISE!” 

"Which reminds me," Viney waved her off, "you better make a move fast, cuz taking him back to your dads' place to seduce him isn't exactly hot.”

“Ooooooooh!” Skara chewed her lip, “Wait? Are you thinking about seducing MY blonde guy or Hunter?”

“She’s talking about Hunter,” Willow swallowed. "and I'm not thinking about seducing..." she paused.

Now Hunter was tapping his chin while Luz gestured to a pair of keys that she dropped in his hands – and he missed. The keys themselves bounced out onto the sidewalk and then, seemingly into a sewer grate. On the plus side? Hunter was messing up his hair in a far more punk way that it had been when he’d first arrived. Now the poor guy was grabbing his hair with his hands in what must have been some sort of panic response. Lucky for him, it looked like the keys had been caught between two grates and the keychain – Luz dangled them in front of the guy while Luz (and the friend he’d brought, a brown haired guy with an easy smile) tried to talk him down. 

Willow imagined her own hands running through Hunter's hair. In her mind she pressed a hand to his chest and taught him how to breathe. Four in and four out. Then she filled the space between their bodies and ...

"You know what?" she grinned, "fuck it! Yeah, I'm thinking about seducing him. So what?"

“Oooof,” Skara stuck out her tongue, “sorry, but that guy is pretty hopeless, Wills.” 

“OH MY GOD, SKARA!” Gus shouted. “He’s literally right there with Luz!” 

It was as if Willow hadn't confirmed anything at all. She wondered if her friends took her seriously sometimes. It wasn't as if she was the type to throw herself at anyone and everyone, but there had never been a time when she'd so bluntly said she wanted someone in that way. Someone that was a real person at least, so no, her awkward teen crush on Fox Mulder (or Dana Scully) didn't count here.

Willow sighed. More than likely, her friends had become drowned out by their own drama because Gus now looked like he was waiting for someone to come with a bucket of popcorn while Viney glared daggers at Skara.

“And what did you mean before when you said, YOUR blonde guy?” Viney spat.

Skara pulled a round hand mirror from her pocket and fussed with her hair before answering, “Me and Brad’re going out again,” she chirped, “tomorrow? He said he knows the lead singer of Conehead Buddha?”

Viney grit her teeth, “literally every stoner says that, Skara…” 

"Yeah? Does that include you?" Skara pursed her lips. She snapped the mirror shut and met Viney's scowl with a sharp shrug of the shoulders, “What’s your problem, Vi ?”

Willow drowned them out. This tension between Skara and Viney was an escalating annoyance that she had no desire to puzzle through. Anyway, while the idea of Hunter had been a welcome distraction to all the other stress, but now that he was actually here in front of her, Willow kept circling back to one thought.

“This guy looks like he belongs on the Calvin Klein billboards next to the skinny girls. I bet the girls he dates can easily slip into one of the legs of my jeans.” 

"So," Gus leaned in, "what's your game plan?" he teased.

My game plan is to act like I don't care so I don't seem desperate?  My game plan is to sit back until this passes and hope he wants to be friends at the very least? My game plan is to build up a  hard shell and for once NOT to be the weird fat girl who stares at the cute boys who would never look twice at her? Even though he DID call my house.

"My plan for what?" she said tightly.

"To seduce him?" Gus poked Willow's cheek.

"Okay," Willow pushed the thought from her mind and slung her gig bag over her shoulder, “y’know what? I’m heading downstairs.” And with that, she left them on the street outside The Owl House, without so much as saying “hello” to Hunter or Luz for that matter.

__________________________

“Uh. H-hey.” 

Willow had positioned herself at the edge of the stage, so she could appear to be tuning her bass – casually of course, when Hunter approached. 

Just moments ago, The Emeralds had been warming up with Bratmobile’s Queenie.

Gus’s drumming sounded better than ever, and Willow was pleased that her voice cut through the noise like butter.

🎶 Sweeter than sugar, cuter than pie

I'm the apple of his eye

Sweeter than sugar, cuter than pie

I'm the apple of his eye

Sweeter than sugar, cuter than pie

I'm the apple of his eye 🎶 

But now, acting casual was simply not possible. Sure, she'd resolved to play it casual, but surprisingly Hunter had bypassed talking to all of the other Emeralds to greet her before any of the other's.

“Oh! Hi!” her voice pitched a bit. “I uh… Hunter! I didn’t see you there!”

It was a lie. Willow had been keenly aware of Hunter’s presence since he came downstairs. She watched how Luz showed him and his friend the bar. She saw how Hunter wrapped his arms around himself tight, while his friend made himself right at home. She saw how Eda pointed to the glasses, then the bottles, taking a quick moment to point out which shelves were unstable and only held alcohol for “show”. Willow knew that these shelves also hid some several years of water damage that would have exposed the club to yet another code violation. 

Willow saw how nervously Hunter fidgeted with an old list of standard drinks. Luz and Hunter’s friend laughed and pointed to the cocktail umbrellas – and Hunter’s eyes shot up to meet hers. 

(To which, Willow turned away immediately, pretending to tune her bass until it was way out of tune). 

After the tour of the bar, Hunter spent a good five minutes fixated on a poster on the wall until Willow lost sight of him, and then in some sort of magical moment of teleportation or (maybe because Willow’s brain shorted out for a moment), Hunter was right in front of her.

“Uh. Hi.” He waved quickly, “Willow ,” he said her name with a tiny hush and Willow’s body melted again.

It almost seemed impossible to Willow that this was only the second time they’d actually met. Hunter had been on her mind nearly 24/7 since she first met him. At breakfast. While she wrote her final papers. At lunch. In the greenhouses. At work. At practice. 

In the shower . Her body flushed.

“Good to see you again?” she cleared her throat, “I mean. It IS good. That wasn't a question! You know. Cool. Rad.” 

Is it really, Willow? Your body is burning up.

Hunter’s eyes changed. He didn’t answer with words, but a deep squeak emerged from his throat, and if it wasn’t so dark in the club, Willow would have thought she caught the glow of a blush on his cheeks. 

Willow’s lips turned up immediately, “I heard you called my house?” she prodded.

“Uh, Yeah.” he nodded. Casually, Hunter scratched the back of his head as if he was unsure as what to say next,  “But ummm. I got a guy on the phone?”

“I guess my papa is technically a guy?” Willow laughed. Inside she was cursing herself. She couldn't tell if that response was slick or stupid.

To her delight, Hunter’s lips twitched. His mouth pulled into a genuine smile. “Technically?” he cocked his head to the side.  

“You know.” Willow snorted. Keep going! Say something funny! “In the way that parents are people?” Ha! Good one!

“Oh. Yeah. Parents ,” Hunter's eyes went serious for a moment, and with them, his body stiffened, “h-he s-seemed nice .” he stammered. “Y-your father … I was ill prepared to address him properly.”

“He speaks so formally.”  Willow thought. In spite of his stiff demeanor, his hands were fidgeting nervously at his sleeves, like little moth wings. Willow palms itched to touch them .

To touch him. 

“Get it together, girl!” Willow scolded herself. She willed her shoulders to shrug, and pulled her mouth into a casual grin. “I guess I sorta got nervous and gave you my parents’ number without thinking.” she laughed. 

Hunter’s dark brows shot up, “Nervous?” 

“Way to give up the crush, Park!”

“I shoulda given you my dorm number,” she sidestepped the comment completely, “even though I’m moving out soon. You could’ve left a callback number though, so I could’ve gotten back in touch? Papa said you got off the phone so quick.”

“He apologized like twenty times and then just hung up.” Papa had said. 

“S-sorry,” Hunter ducked his head shyly, “I didn’t really know what to say.”

More fidgeting hands. Willow’s own fingers hovered over his as if dancing towards a flame, “Hmmm, how about next time we exchange pager numbers?” 

Hunter's brows knit. “Uh. Okay. Suuuuuure.” he drew out the, ‘sure’, like he was absolutely not sure.

Willow’s stomach flipped, suddenly keenly aware of the growing crowds. A few new folks had taken a seat at the bar. 

Willow forced her eyes up to meet his. She tried to keep her expression casual, but her mind was screaming, “So you gonna join the band?” she managed.

“I?” Hunter winced, “I think, maybe? I’m gonna be around here more I guess.”

“Hunter’s Raine’s new assistant!” Luz hopped up towards the stage. 

“Business intern.” Hunter corrected. 

“Whatever.” Luz wrapped her arms around Hunter, now his cheeks dusted slightly, “So what that REALLY means is that he's gonna spend LOTS of time here. With me!” 

“LUZ HAS A GIRLFRIEND!” Willow blurted out. She felt the immediate need to crawl under the bar.

“Ummm. Okay. I think I knew that?” Hunter slipped out of Luz’s arms. “Cool. I guess?”

“Is that cool with him? I don’t even know this guy…” Willow knit her brow, “He’s so hard to read, but he agreed to work with Raine, soooooo.”

“Wow, Willow,” Gus snuck up and clapped her shoulders. “Not sure why Hunter here needs to know that! So man.” he cleared his throat. “I tried that thing you said about slowing down the drumming and then speeding it up. Really cool tip. Thanks!”

"R-really?" Now Hunter’s face opened. Really opened. He grinned, displaying a wide gap in his front teeth.

“How does that make him even MORE adorable?”  Willow’s inner self squealed

“It’s really cool!” he told Gus. “Sometimes you just need to take to see the shape of the rhythm before you can really understand it?” he scratched the back of his head again. “But like, once you’ve got it down it just like, becomes a part of you and you can play at any speed, you know?”

“Truth,” Gus laughed. “So you’re gonna play with us, right?” His eyes slid to meet Willows. His words were easy, but his expression wavered. Gus had expressed his doubts about Hunter several times before he’d actually showed up. But when Raine had called the bar to let Eda know that Luz would be heading over with Hunter in tow, Gus promised Willow to keep an open mind. To give him a chance.

Hunter drew a breath, “Uh…”

“Wait,” Skara nudged him. She rested an elbow on Gus’ shoulder, “we’re gonna just let him in without trying out?”

“Try out?” he asked, "b-but I haven't even agreed to..."

“You are, or Willow’s gonna literally explode.” Viney plopped the Epiphone SG in his hands. He held it awkwardly, running his fingers over the neck. 

“It’s part of the deal!” Luz added, “I mean not officially, but I’m making it official right now. Or else I’m gonna make him babysit King.”

Hunter’s eyes went wide, “Yeah, I’d rather not do that,” he sighed, “Look. I’m not gonna be very good.” he muttered, “I know nothing about this instrument – or playing this kind of music in general.” his voice trailed off. He said this, with his words, but his advice to Gus had suggested otherwise. 

Willow noticed how Hunter cradled the guitar, how perfectly measured he’d distributed the weight of the instrument over his body. How his fingers now fluttered over the strings. E A D G B E. 

And the way his fingers slowly pulled into awkward patterns over the frets.

“He’s trying to make chords.” Willow noted the possibility that based on this motion, and his very helpful suggestion to Gus earlier, that this whole “Know Nothing” thing was either a lie, or just a stretching of the truth. 

Hunter looked up at the stage, to the guitar and back to Willow. 

“None of us knew how to play when we started,” Willow grinned, “Come on. You look like you’re literally born to rock.”

“I don’t think so, but,” Hunter’s eyes widened. A small smile fell on his lips again, “but maybe…” 

“Whoa dude!” A pasty hand fell on Hunter’s shoulder and his body went stiff. So did his smile. “That’s MY guitar!” Jeremy whined.

Hunter nearly dropped the instrument like it was covered in bees, “S-sorry! So sorry. I didn’t –”  

Skara and Viney groaned. Willow cursed quietly to herself. There he was. Tall. Brown hair. Looking as awkward as ever in ripped black jeans and a Green Day T-Shirt. As unwelcome as he was by a perfect stranger like Hunter, this guy was even less welcome by The Emeralds.

Unfortunately, Jeremy himself seemed to be very much unaware of this as he continued to insert himself in their conversations. As if he hadn’t literally stabbed them all in the back.

“Sup guys?” He gave a sideways grin and flipped his hair with a free hand. Willow noted that Jeremy had started painting his fingernails black, and that he’d gained some sort of put upon swagger that likely came with having some lower mid level agent telling him that he was gonna hit it big. Well, contrary to his new ‘edgy’ look, Jeremy was still himself. He held out a hand to Skara, “truce?” he asked.

“Ugh. GO AWAY!” Skara shoved him, “no truce. No guitar...”

“What’s your deal Balthazaar?” he grumbed, “Just because I quit, you can’t just give some random dude my guitar!” 

“It’s not your guitar,” Gus rolled his eyes.

“He’s not some random dude. ” Willow shot back, “he’s …”

“My replacement,” Jeremy said pointedly, “which is why you’re letting him play my guitar .”

“I-is this really your guitar?” Hunter snapped up again. Willow could practically count the beads of sweat on his forehead. His eyes locked in on Viney, “I didn’t mean to … I mean… SHE GAVE IT TO ME!”  

“Not cool, Viney,” Jeremy glowered, “you gotta let this go!” His eyes passed to Willow, “hey,” he smiled.

“Hey yourself!” Viney rolled her eyes. She stepped in front of Willow like a wall of muscle and rage. If Puddles was here, she’d likely be growling too. “One more time. It’s not YOUR guitar!” Viney grit her teeth, “and YOU’RE A FILTHY TRAITOR, JEREMY !”

“Uhhhh… hey man. Let’s try this again,” Jeremy’s face pulled in a way that was very much the opposite of Punk. He shook his head and extended a hand to Hunter, who waited a beat before giving an awkward shake. He forced a smile, “I’m Jeremy Bowen.” 

“We call him Jerbo.” Willow groaned, “he’s the guy you’d be replacing.”

“So you admit that THIS guy IS my replacement?” Jerbo’s face went wide, “Uh, ouch? So, replacement? Do you have a name?” 

“Oh, s-sorry.” Hunter said quietly. He offered a shaky hand. “Uh… I’m Hunter.” 

“Eh, it’s fine.” Jerbo grinned, “didn’t mean to drag you into our beef, man,” he nodded to his band mates in the corner. A thin boy with shaggy brown hair on his face, and a girl with poofy dark purple dyed hair in a viking hat. “That’s Barcus – errr– Baxter Marcus, and Mary Ryan. We’re Detention Pit . Wills here and the others are mad because I left The Emeralds for The Pit .”

Willow’s lungs filled with annoyance at the casual way Jerbo had addressed her. 

“Jerms?” she growled, “Don’t call me, ‘Wills.’” Jerbo hated being called, ‘Jerms’ even though everyone had told him it was a good punk name versus the portmanteau he used. Anyway, Willow was NOT, ‘Wills’ to Jerbo, and she certainly didn’t want to give Hunter the insinuation that this was the case.

“Not Wills. Noted,” Jerbo frowned and refocused on Hunter, “But seriously dude,” he said, “that’s MY guitar –” 

“And before you used it? It was Raine’s guitar, actually.” Skara crossed her arms. “Maybe the fancy talent scout that poached you can give you a new one?” 

“Come on, Jerbo.” Willow narrowed her eyes, “Leave it alone already?”

Jerbo shared a look with Willow. His eyes crinkled a bit and he shook his head. Willow’s mind pulled back to an awkward night sophomore year. Jerbo – Jeremy – was dressed in a button up and corduroys. Willow had looked out the window trying not to draw attention to what was about to happen. 

“Are we really gonna do this?” She mumbled.

“Nah.” Jerbo laughed. “He can play it as long as I get it back when I go on. And Skara’s right, it was on extended loan anyway,” he forced a smile at Skara and then Viney. “You guys wanna go out after our set tonight?”

“With you?” Viney snorted. “No.”

Jerbo shrugged. “Kay. See ya Emeralds!” He looked at Hunter. “Good luck, man. They’re a fun group.” he slipped the guitar back into Hunter’s hands, “see ya Willow.”

Willow gave a noncommittal shrug. She wasn’t as sore about Jerbo’s departure as the rest of the group, but it had been abrupt and rather uncool, since it was actually Barcus who broke the news to them and not actually Jerbo himself. And the news to what few fans the Emeralds had was broken via an announcement in the Village Voice .

No matter. Hunter would be much better than Jerbo. Training or not, Willow could just feel it, what with the way his eyes covered the guitar like it was some sort of forbidden magical relic.

“So you gonna play?” Luz nudged him.

“Don’t think I have a choice?” Hunter raised a brow. He spoke to her, but was looking right at Willow.

“I’d like to think so,” Willow blushed, “I mean, if you don’t wanna you can always just give Luz the guitar so she can give it back to Raine.” 

Hunter got up a little too fast to pass the SG to Luz. Willow’s heart dropped. Luz dropped her hands and he fumbled again to save it from the floor. 

“TOOOOO SLOWWWWWWWW.” Luz laughed. “You’re playing. Or at least you’re gonna try.”

“It’s just just. I’m not sure?” he mumbled.

Willow felt herself wilt. Maybe this wasn’t fair. Maybe she was letting her raw attraction get in the way of what Hunter actually wanted. 

But he came back. He did.

“You’re still not sure you want to?” Willow prodded a bit. She decided right there if she’d had

“I’m not sure I can ?” Hunter said quietly.

“I think I get what your problem is.” Luz pointed to the golden watch on his right hand. “You’re a lefty.”

If Willow hadn’t known any better she’d thought Luz had told him he’d grown horns.

“I - I’m NOT a lefty!” Hunter shouted. He glanced at his hands. He rubbed them gently with the opposite finger.

“Lefties know other lefties.” Luz showed Hunter the side of her left hand covered in ink from her sketches, no doubt. 

“How about we see if he can actually PLAY.” Gus crossed his arms. “That is if he actually WANTS to?”

“Or if he can sing?” Skara shrugged. 

“Anyone can sing better than Jerbo!” Viney called across the bar.

Barcus glared from under his shades and shot Viney the finger. “WHATEVER!” he groaned, “I can already hear that guy’s got an annoying voice!” 

Jerbo looked positively mortified, “DUDE!” he nudged Barcus. “You got your nickname because you LITERALLY HOWL LIKE A DOG!”

Willow sighed. She looked at Hunter. Barcus’ comment about his voice had made Hunter’s chest fall a bit. He sat on the stage hunched over the guitar. His thin fingers shook in a way that made her want to just draw them in, close to her heart and quiet them with her heartbeat.

“This isn’t just about the music. Admit it.” Willow released a breath, “admit it .” she told herself. 

“Hunter,” she touched the guitar, “look. This is up to you. If it doesn’t work out, I’m not gonna talk behind your back or anything.”

“Viney might,” Luz laughed.

“I might,” Viney agreed, “but I won’t because Willow’ll beat my ass,” she paused to take a drag of her clove. 

“If I don’t do this, will you stop talking to me?” Hunter’s eyes flicked up to hers. Willow’s lips parted. She drew a breath and for a moment, she felt the urge to cradle his face in her palm. 

“That would make us pretty big assholes?” Gus gave a sidelong look, “which we’re not?”

“They’re not,” Luz agreed, “assholes that is.”

“Well, Viney is,” Skara smirked, “but the rest of us aren’t.” Viney rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue, “and it looks like you’re gonna be around here a lot more anyway?” she nodded towards the bar where Hunter’s friend seemed to have ingratiated himself to the counter looking over all the pictures of Eda’s dad and the musicians that had passed through The Owl House during his tenure as owner. 

“It’s just,” Hunter seemed to consider their words, “Jeremy – er – Jerbo left your group and you don’t seem to want him around.”

“Well, Jerbo is a bitch ass TRAITOR!” Viney growled. Then she smiled, “but there’s a lot of history there! We barely know you.”

“Plenty of time for you to mess up and become a bitch ass traitor ,” Skara cackled. 

What had clearly meant to be a joke seemed to hit Hunter right in the chest. Luz eyed Gus, who gave Skara a sharp shake of the head.

“She’s joking,” Gus groaned, “Jeremy’s always been a dingus. Viney just expected too much from him.”

Hunter shrugged, “I - I just don’t wanna disappoint you. I’m not even sure if I can be of use to your band…” his eyes were dull. 

“We’re not just talking to you because we want something from you,” Willow trilled. The looks on her friends' faces at the word want made her want to pummel all of them at once. 

“But I just. Why me? You don’t really know me,” Hunter offered, “you don’t know if I can play? O-or if I even LIKE the music you guys do? Why would you even want me to try out for your band?”

And he had a point. On paper, Willow had made several hasty moves the other night when Hunter had appeared at the Owl House, but attraction aside, they way she’d watched him mouth the lyrics? The way he seemed to tap in perfect time with the song?

“Fair point.” Willow nodded, “I just think you’ve got … something .”

Hunter flexed his fingers over the guitar strings again.

 “We don’t really know each other,” she said, “but you’re here and you came back even when you say you’re not sure, and well? I think you could be good at this… don’t ask me why, but I do.” she shrugged, “and if it doesn’t work out? Well you’ll be around here more and I’m around here a lot, and maybe we can just be friends ? Either way, it’s fun to see Jerbo squirm every time you touch that guitar.”

“Okay.” 

Hunter had said it so quietly, Willow had wondered if she’d just picked up noise from the slowly growing crowds.

“Yeah?” Luz was beaming, “for real?”

“I can try,” Hunter swallowed. He answered Luz, but he was looking right at Willow with those large brown eyes. “I can try T-to sing.” He stood up and moved to the stage. “And to play.” 

“Only if you want to,” Willow’s body buzzed as he brushed past her slowly. 

“What I want ?” Hunter released a breath. He cradled the guitar in near perfect playing position. “I-I... I think I WANT to,” he said, and when he said it, his voice pitched as if his own words surprised him. 

“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Luz pointed at him. 

Willow took note of all the regulars at the bar. Ulka – a thin girl with a tall maroon Mohawk was chatting with Katya, the lead singer of The Slitherbeasts. Hunter’s friend had seemingly made fast friends with both of them.  

Eda was behaving in an uncharacteristically quiet manner. Usually she spent her time filing through all the bills and code violation notices she’d chased around. Now she had her eyes fixed on what seemed to be the exact same poster that Hunter had been looking at earlier. Her expression shifted the minute she noticed Willow watching.

Her gold tooth shined and she gave an easy thumbs up to Luz and then Willow.

Viney plugged in the guitar and Skara flicked on the amp filling the air with the delightful hum of feedback. Luz and Gus lead Hunter up to the stage. He ducked his head as if he were asking for forgiveness from someone . 

“Okay.” Willow released a breath. She smiled at him. Hunter’s eyes softened just slightly. “Why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” she tilted her head. 

With a shaky hand, Hunter nodded. He began to strum. It was slow and in a cumbersome motion along with his messy attempt at chords. But as Willow had theorized earlier, they were chords. Still, for someone who had the best suggestion for Gus as to how to keep time on his drums, Hunter was struggling here. 

But the pitch was just right. 

He swallowed, and closed his eyes breathing deep before moving towards the mic. His voice quivered slightly as he began to sing.

🎶 Oh, yeah, I'll tell you somethin'

I think you'll understand

When I say that somethin'

I want to hold your hand 🎶 

Chapter Text

Hunter.

🎶  Oh, please, say to me

You'll let me be your man

And please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand

You'll let me hold your hand

I want to hold your hand 🎶 

“Cay! Knock it off!” Momma laughed.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” Dad chuckled. He kissed momma on the curve of her neck and put his guitar down. Hunter loved the way Dad’s acoustic looked. Light brown wood with a dark pickguard etched with the image of green and red flowers and a golden bird. He loved watching dad play. He loved how the shape of Dad’s fingers on the chords matched up with the shapes of the music in the air. A few times, Hunter had asked dad how he remembered it all. Dad never minded when Hunter asked him questions, and when it came to music he smiled. When Hunter asked these questions? About chords and notes? When he did, would sing out their names and each variation, like an alphabet of sound. Hunter loved to watch dad's hand dance around the neck of the  instrument.

Hunter loved it even more when momma joined him. Her style was different from dad’s. Momma played guitar the way she chopped veggies, and sometimes dad would tease her about that. He told her that her chords sounded like daggers, but momma’s music still sounded good and Hunter felt a warm tickle in his chest when she and dad played together. And when they sang? Their voices melted like magic.

🎶 And when I touch you I feel happy inside! 🎶 

Dad sang those words and wrapped momma in a hug. Slowly, her arms made their way up his back. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he sighed. 

“Eve. Are we okay?” he whispered.

“We’re okay,” Momma pulled away and stuck her tongue out at dad, “I just don’t like the way he talks to you.” 

“I know,” dad mumbled, “but some of it’s my fault. Just a little.”

“I get it. But it’s also really not? He had free will. He still does,” momma sighed, she placed a small record on the turntable. It was one of the ones that had a green apple in the middle, “anyway, that wasn’t fair play, Cay!” she smirked, “you know I’m not immune to old school Beatles.” 

Hunter could practically smell the static from the needle scratching the vinyl. He sat Sprig in his lap and grabbed a few crayons. “John, Paul, George and BINGO!” he laughed

“It’s RINGO, Hunter.” Dad ruffled his hair. 

“Ringo.” Hunter nodded. He looked at his Birds of New York coloring book and scribbled a red crayon (mostly) in the outline of a pigeon. Just a moment ago he had been using his big box of crayons to try and match the colors to the music. “Ringooooooooooooo,” he repeated, because it was SO much fun to say.

“Talk about ancient past? My dad was SOOOOOOO angry when the Beatles were on Sullivan.” Dad chuckled, “corrupting us impressionable youth. Or me at least.” 

“I get why your dad and PHIL the PILL hated OUR music.” Momma rolled her eyes. “But the Beatles? Because you know, British men in suits wanting to hold hands is SOOOOOOO scandalous!”

“Well of course!” Dad drew his chest up like this when he was trying to act ‘proper’. “First they want to hold your hand, and then what next?” he gave momma a side smile, and she kissed him.

_____________________________

Hunter wasn’t accustomed to going out late. He’d done it once or twice when a few of the older guys at Columbia had tried to get him to join their fraternity. This was back when Hunter had been an undergrad freshman. 

He’d declined at first, and he would have been happy to continue to turn them down. Not in the least because his uncle was usually opposed to Hunter not keeping to a strict study schedule. 

“Consider my funding for your education a LOAN, Hunter.” he’d said, “If you cannot maintain a grade point average that I find adequate, then I will no longer foot the bill and you will need to repay me.”

However, in this case as it turned out, Hunter’s grandfather, and many Wittebanes before, had belonged to this particular fraternity – so Uncle Philip pushed Hunter to attend their meetings, because his uncle had not had the opportunity to join himself. 

“I was too busy cleaning up the mess your father had left behind. And then? Well, I had to manage the business. And manage you.”

Whenever Hunter did the math in his head, the timeline didn’t make sense. Everything had happened after his uncle would have been of college age, and therefore well beyond the target age to join a fraternity. His uncle never mentioned his own schooling either.

Still, Uncle Philip seemed to think that this was some sort of elite club to make connections for Titan Records, and possibly grow the congregation of the Unity Church, but church seemed to be the last thing on the mind of anyone in this group. The first time Hunter had met up with these guys, was at the fancy dorm where they all lived. All they wanted to do was drink a lot of alcohol and snort cocaine. They'd called Hunter a “fruit” when he’d made a face at his first sip of pale beer, and they’d tried to lock him in a room with a girl he’d seen around freshman classes who looked like she was terrified of him. 

Hunter had quickly rectified the moment and opened the window to the fire escape and let her out, but not before he had found the phone the brothers had hidden so she could call a friend to meet her outside.

The next time Hunter saw the guys, they’d dragged him out to 42nd street. Hunter’s stomach grew nauseous as his companions discussed women like they weren’t people. Like they were cuts of meat or toys wrapped in bodies. 

Hunter’s uncle had often lectured that this area of Manhattan was a place of depravity and filth.

Uncle Philip lectured Hunter about a lot of things – and sometimes it struck him that that way the frat brothers spoke about women (like they weren’t human beings with feelings and families) was strangely like the way his uncle did – with differing end points. All Hunter knew for sure was that what he’d seen in the booths of those run down store fronts made him feel as uneven as the magazines the older boys had hidden under his mattress back at Glandus Academy. 

The frat brothers had laughed and mimicked his voice with an over pronounced lisp when Hunter had excused himself for the night. Later he’d heard whispers that the pledges who had made it to the next round of recruitment had been put through a hazing process, and when he’d been told what that had entailed?  Well, he accepted his uncle’s disappointment that he hadn’t made the cut for the fraternity. He was technically an adult now! He didn’t need to relive any of that through hazing . And while Hunter had hated yet again falling short, he felt relief as Philip lectured him on his failure to make these specific connections. 

Hunter already knew he was a failure. It was one thing to be told so by his uncle. He knew where he stood with Philip. Uncle Philip told him often.  Way down below, between hell and the streets . But Hunter had decided that did not need to be reminded of this from people he was supposed to be making friends with. So it was a welcome surprise that hanging out with Willow and Luz and their friends was NOTHING like the fraternity brothers.

Back then, Uncle had explained that it wasn’t Hunter the fraternity guys had wanted in their group so much as the connection to the Wittebane name. 

They will use you for their own purposes. This is how it is, Hunter. People will always want something from you. And you will use their influence to benefit Titan Records and the Good Lord. Unless, of course, they reject you. You are really only a Wittebane on a technicality. 

Hunter kept waiting for some sort of hook between this group. Something that implied they wanted an exchange, or benefit from their interactions. But as Willow and the others had told him that they wouldn’t stop talking to him if he’d decided not to try out for the Emeralds, they’d just as easily accepted him as part of their group after the club had closed. 

Also unlike the fraternity brothers, these people didn’t seem particularly interested in each other's family names – though Raine’s expression after Hunter had mentioned his last name put him on a very slight edge. That aside? There was an ease of interaction between this patchwork of friends that had been obvious from the beginning. They genuinely seemed to enjoy each other's company. Sometimes they would tease each other, and Hunter would wait for a counter action, but it was all accepted in good spirits without that weird hint of competition he’d seen at the Glandus Academy and from the fraternity brothers.

Also? The things they talked about were interesting to Hunter. Not just the music either.

“Dude! I keep seeing stills from The Phantom Menace and I’m going CRAZY!” Gus squealed.

“RIGHT!” Luz bounced a bit in her chair. “Like that picture of little Anakin in front of the shadow of Darth Vader? He’s SO cute! I wanna pick him up and be like, dude! You can’t turn into THAT guy! Nooooooooo!”

Easy or not, Hunter was very much aware that this group had years of history together. He was very much an outsider, and breaking in? Well. He still wasn’t quite sure how or if he wanted this. He wasn’t even sure why he’d said that he wanted to try out for the band. The band that he was apparently now a part of?

“Do you think we’ll see the Clone Wars happen?” Gus prodded, “that’d be so BAD ASS.”

Hunter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Words bubbled up behind his throat, but he swallowed them away. He stiffened as a hand fell on his arm.

“They’re talking about Star Wars.” Willow said quietly. “The movies? Err... I dunno if you know them, but they’re making…”

“A prequel ?” Hunter let out a breath and reached into his briefcase and fumbled for the book he’d bought the other day. Right before the downpour. “I know Star Wars,” he said quietly. He fumbled through the pages, rippled from water damage.

“WHOA.” Gus’ mouth fell open. “You’re reading HEIR TO THE EMPIRE?”

“I was gonna,” Hunter shrugged, “But…” he nodded to the ruined paper.

“Oh! It’s really good!” Gus said quickly, “I’ve got the whole series at home! I can bring it next time we practice, if you want?”

A small knot in Hunter’s chest loosened. “Sure. I’d like that!” He smiled. 

“Which means you’re coming to practice?” Willow looked hopeful. She batted her lashes dramatically, “because you're IN the band, Hunter?”

“Yeah,” Hunter’s breath sped up. “I.. ummm… think I am ?” a smile bloomed as he said it. Willow smiled back, and, oh God, how his chest lit up. And the way she said his name smelled like cinnamon. He needed to hear it again.

“I’m gonna camp out to get tickets for opening night,” Luz grinned, “there better be some lady Jedis in the mix this time though!”

“Well Luz,” Gus glowered, “If YOU would have read HEIR, like my man Hunter, you’dve met Mara Jade, who becomes the most badass Jedi ever to Jedi!” 

“My cousin goes to school with Natalie Portman.” Skara cut in. “She’s gonna play Princess Leia’s mom.” 

“Huh.” Hunter swallowed, “that’s cool?” He knew he should be contributing to the conversation, but he wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I went to school with – uh – Steve ?” he offered. 

Speaking of Steve? Steve had opted to continue hanging out with him even after the interview. Even after the bar. Actually, Eda had offered him a part time bartending job at The Owl House as well, which implied that Steve would go from someone Hunter saw infrequently, to someone he would soon be spending much more time with. 

Hunter envied Steve.

Steve was at ease with this crowd. Steve was at ease everywhere , but in this case, he’d formed a quick connection with Katya, the lead singer of the Slitherbeasts. They’d headlined at The Owl House, and produced a fierce sound that riled up the crowds for their entire set of original music. Now Steve and Katya were at the opposite end of the table twirling onion rings around their fingers in some sort of deep conversation. 

“I’m surprised this place isn’t closed.” Hunter said out loud. “It’s like after 1 AM?”

“Yeaaaaah… this is the city that never sleeps?” Viney rolled her eyes. “24 hour diners 365 days a year!”

After a beat of silence, a bright eyed girl with lavender dyed hair snuck up behind Luz (who was mid sip of a glass of water) and kissed her on the cheek. “Hellooooooo Batata!” she squealed. 

“Ay dios, hermosa!” Luz nearly choked,  “what did I tell you about sneaking up on me?”. Now, the lavender hair's face turned a shade of dark red as Luz pulled her into a sweet kiss.

Heat rose in Hunter’s chest at the sight of the affection, elevating to red hot when Willow’s hand moved up to his shoulder. 

“That’s Amity.” she leaned into him. The feeling of her breath against his ear tickled in a way that made his stomach flutter . Hunter sensed a pull to her voice when she’d said Amity’s name. 

“Luz’s uhhhh… girlfriend ?” Hunter swallowed.

“Yeah.” Willow nodded, “ girlfriend ” Her eyes narrowed from behind her glasses, and she removed her hand from his shoulder, “That’s not a PROBLEM for you, is it?”

Hunter rasped. “Uhhhh, n-no! Not a problem for me!” 

“It’s a problem for someone else.” He pushed the thought back.

“Ok. Cool.” Willow nodded. 

“Cool.” he agreed, “Nothing to worry about. It’s not like I’m gonna be introducing Luz and her girlfriend to Uncle Philip. I just have to keep him from wanting to meet Raine.”

The tiny waitress stopped over with a giant tray on her arm. Hunter restrained the need to help her with it. Quickly she put out the food. 

“DISCO FRIES!” Luz and Amity shouted. They got to work sharing a plate of french fries covered in literally everything that was likely in the kitchen other than the sink itself.

Hunter had ordered a cheddar cheeseburger, medium rare, with fries with a sprite. 

Willow had ordered the same, but instead of a sprite she got a diet coke with lemon. 

“I had a salad for lunch!” she said quickly, “you know?”

“Okay,” Hunter wrinkled his nose. He wondered if it was customary for people to tell eachother what they had eaten throughout the day. He wondered if he should tell her about the hot dog he’d gotten with Steve. “Cool”, he said instead. 

“Ketchup?” She offered him a bottle. 

“Uh, n-no!” Hunter answered quickly. His throat tightened. “I’m good.” He eyed the napkin on the table and crumpled it in his hand. He wasn’t the best at these situations, but he knew enough that tucking the napkin into his shirt like a bib would get him laughed at. The fact that he hadn't ordered the burger very, very well done was a deviation in and of itself.

“That’s cool!” Willow nodded.”I like honey mustard on my fries better.” 

Hunter bobbed his head and took a bite of a fry. It was a little bland. 

He reached for the salt shaker. Apparently Willow wasn’t impressed with the level of seasoning for her fries either, because she’d reached for the salt at the exact same time that Hunter had.

“Oh! S-sorry!” He pulled his hand back quickly and ran his finger through his hair, pulling at it just a bit. He cleared his throat. “A-after you.” he coughed.

Their fingertips grazed slightly, but the touch sent a thick buzzing feeling through Hunter’s arm.

Willow’s lips parted slightly. “Such a gentleman.” she winked. 

Hunter’s stomach bubbled again. 

“No I’m not!” he smiled. Wait. He smiled. He was smiling at her. Oh God, why was he smiling? And why was her lip pulling up at the side? Now she was smiling at him because he’d denied being a gentleman of all things

“Uh you totally are?” she giggled. Willow dunked her straw into her glass a few times and took a sip. She was still smiling when she looked back at him. “Not everyone’s as considerate with their salt.”

His eyes fell on her lips, “they’re like hearts,” he thought, “I wonder if they’re chapped or soft, or if they taste like diet coke and lemon… ” 

Hunter’s chest seized, “Salt was quite valuable in Ancient Rome!” he blurted out. 

Well this was great. Now, not only had Willow’s smile vanished, but he’d definitely said something weird. It was bad enough that he’d thought something weird about her lips of all things, but Hunter knew that look. The one Willow was giving him right now.

She’d abruptly stopped short of taking a bite from her fries to stare at him. Aaaaaaand now Gus and Luz were staring too. So naturally, Hunter did the first thing he could think of to diffuse the situation. The thing that never, ever diffused anything. He just kept talking. 

“IT’S TRUE!” Hunter said just a little too loud, “salt was used as currency back then! P-people say that Roman Soldiers were paid in salt too, actually the term, ‘salary’ comes from the Latin word, salarium – which is rooted in the word salt and,” he paused. Now Viney and Skara’s eyes were wide. Luz’s girlfriend looked positively bemused. She pulled her hand over her nose like she was stifling a sneeze. 

Or a laugh.

Hunter felt his face flush.

“Umm.. and the thing is… t-that back then? S-salarium specifically meant the money allotted to a Roman Soldier to buy –” he shrunk into his seat, “salt.” he whispered.

All around, plates were clinking, loud New Yorkers were recounting the events of their evenings, in a lively chorus of extroversion that Hunter had already felt ill equipped to attend, and one of the first things he’d done was entertain his company with a monologue about salt.

“You have a pretty nice voice.” Willow hadn’t pressed on the topic of salt, but she’d managed to salvage the conversation by complimenting him of all things, “you sing beautifully. ” 

“Oh. Um. Th-thank you,” And there went his stomach again, “you don’t have to say that,” he murmured, “I never sang before,” he lied, “but thanks for saying anyway.”

“I agree,” Skara twirled a white curl around her forefinger, “your voice is …. Well? It’s UNIQUE! Like, very different from Jerbo’s or anyone else's!”

“I gotta be honest,” Gus sighed, “I was impressed. I didn’t expect all that much.”

“Uh, thanks?” Hunter scratched his head. He wasn’t sure if this was an actual compliment, but Gus grinned, so he formed a smile in return. Hunter ducked his head, “uhh, m-most people say my voice is annoying .”

Most people being Uncle Philip and his associates. Kikimora in particular had made a point to discuss it whenever Hunter was in earshot as a child and continued on at her desk when she and Flora saw him out of the office each week. So to hear anyone actually praise his voice left Hunter feeling skeptical for sure. But Willow seemed not the only one to have a favorable opinion.

“You really never sang before?” Viney poked a fork full of home fries in his direction. 

“Not since I was little?” Hunter admitted. He knit his brows, “b-but my grandfather sang.” he shouldn’t have said that “And so did my dad,” or that, “and my …”

Mother.

“So like you’re from a family of singers!” Gus punched the air, “You’re growin’ on me, dude. That’s SICK!”

“I feel okay?” Hunter touched his head. “I mean… that was slang wasn’t it?” he mumbled, feeling far more embarrassed than “cool” which is probably what Gus had meant by, “sick.”

“And you know how to play guitar too,” Luz had stopped kissing her girlfriend long enough to butt in, “even though you’d have us believe otherwise.”

“I don’t –” Hunter drew a breath, “I mean I know SOME chords?” He wasn’t used to talking about this or anything else, so openly.

“Well, do you at least know as much about music as you do about salt?” Luz’s girlfriend smirked. 

Hunter’s throat went dry.

“AMITY!” Luz tapped her arm playfully.

“But seriously! I didn’t expect you to know anything !” Willow’s cheeks dimpled. “I had to learn from scratch!”

“You WERE a bit awkward though, man” Gus shoved a fry in his mouth. “Your playing. Errr. Not your everything else.”

Amity pulled her mouth into a line. “Riiiiiiight.” she pulled the word along with her smile.  “It was JUST his guitar playing that was awkward.”

Luz nudged her, “Because, he’s a lefty!” she grinned and pointed at his wrist watch. 

“Am not!” Hunter shot back, like a little child. 

“ARE TOO!” Luz slammed her hands on the table and leaned forward.

“You two sound like me and my sibs!” Amity snorted. “Hey Luz, even you and Vee don’t even fight like this.”

“Vee’s Luz’s sister.” Willow leaned in to Hunter. 

“We're twins," Luz shrugged.

Hunter’s mind flashed back to that embarrassing morning when he’d woken up in Luz’s bedroom, but not her bed. Images of a sandy haired girl in a sports uniform passed through his mind. 

“Vee.” He blinked. “Valeria Vilmaris Noceda?” 

“Uh. Yeah?” Luz’s eyes opened. “Wait, you know her?”

“Ummm. No.” Hunter swallowed. “Over the bed where I woke up? Her name was on a letter from Sarah Lawrence? I have a pretty good memory.” he paused,”except for when I don’t … have a good memory?”

“Another totally normal thing to say.” Amity laughed. Once again, Hunter’s body shrank. He looked at the crowds smiling and laughing. Tables full of seasoned New Yorkers. Someone had a can of beer in a paper bag. Someone had their hand around the buttocks of a girl. 

Someone stepped around Luz and Amity and stared right at them, coughing something that definitely sounded like a derogatory word that made Hunter's stomach crawl, and somehow? They didn’t hear. Or if they did they did a very good job of pretending that they didn’t.

“So, like, tell us something about YOU,” Viney leaned in, “we know you’re a business major and we know Willow likes your … uhhhh style,” she paused to light a small brown cigarette, and sat back in her chair, “Did you grow up around here?”

“Err. Kind of,” Hunter swallowed. This was definitely not what he wanted to talk about, he’d decided deflection was the better option, “did you?” 

“Nah,” Viney shrugged, “I’m from Vermont,” she took a drag of her brown cigarette, “You said you went to school with that Steve guy?” she pressed.

Hunter instantly regretted having even made that comment. Glandus wasn’t exactly the type of place you discussed with people like this. Even some of his college classmates had gone to fancy private schools and their own experiences were so very different from his own that he’d stopped talking about it all together when asked. He looked to the other end of the table for Steve, but he was deep in conversation with Katya, who slipped her hand over to touch him. 

Hunter’s own body came alive as he recalled how he’d just accidentally touched Willow’s fingers.

In his mind’s eye he swapped Steve and Katya for himself and Willow. Imaginary Willow placed a hand on his cheek with soft gentle fingers. He leaned in and touched his nose to hers.

“Uh! Yeah!” he shook himself out of the fantasy, “I went to school with Steve!”

“So tell us something else about yourself?” Gus rolled his eyes, “Or do we have to guess?”

“He’s a lefty.” Luz shrugged, “I already told you that.”

Switch hands or get the switch!

“Not a lefty!” Hunter said quickly, “I already told you that!” he wrung his hands over the phantom pain before he met Luz’s eye, “I used to be ambidextrous, b-but…”

“You use your right, but favor your left,” Amity offered.

“I don’t favor my left,” Hunter told her firmly, “I choose to use my right.”

“Oh, did you grow up super religious?” Skara’s eyes went wide, “my dad and auntie went to Catholic School in the 50's, and they told me that kids weren’t allowed to be left handed back then.”

Hunter’s eyes darted over to Steve once again. He was laughing. So close and so far at the same time. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

“Ooooh,” Willow puffed out her cheeks, “maybe that’s why you felt awkward playing! Maybe Raine can lend you a lefty guitar?”  

“No!” Hunter shook his head again, “I really don’t need that, I’ll make do.”

“You totally can,” Luz waved him off, “you know you can always just string the guitar you have upside down.” she offered.

Hunter’s mind lit up at once.

“Like Jimmy Hendrix did!” he grabbed a fry, “he also played it flipped over! Dick Dale was also a lefty who played his guitar flipped but …”

“Unlike Hendrix, he didn’t re-string it!” Hunter and Luz said at the same time 

“HA! You’re totally a classic rock nerd too!” she pointed. 

“No!” Hunter said a little too quickly. ““Th-that’s just, I spent a lot of time in the library on summer breaks.” 

When I was supposed to be studying for my SATs. 

“There ya go!” Willow cut in. “We’ll just re-string Jerbo’s old guitar so you can play.”

Hunter shoved a fry into his mouth. “Th-there’s really no need.” he shook his head, “I’ll just learn with my right.”

“There is a need if you’re gonna join the band.” Skara grinned. “Lefty.”

“I’m not  –” Hunter’s eyes caught on Willow. She had looked so fierce on stage a few nights earlier. Now she was glancing down at her hands like she’d done something wrong. “I mean,” Willow’s eyes flicked up.

He took a deep breath.

“I’m not a lefty,” Hunter said slowly, “okay?”

Gus’ head snapped around. He rolled his eyes a bit.

“Okay?” He looked at Willow, “please?”

“Okay,” her lips twitched a bit. Hunter felt a bead of sweat stick to the side of his neck, “not a lefty. Got it. I won’t ever make that nasty assumption again,” she smiled.

Oh. Dimples. Right.

“I might,” Viney shrugged. Skara elbowed her sharply.  

Hunter shook his head. He was doing this. He was really doing this, wasn’t he? 

“So,” he asked, “to be in the band, I’d have to perform live ?”

“Unless you’d rather perform dead,” Gus deadpanned.

“Which would still be an improvement over Jerbo,” Viney snorted. She ashed her cigarette. 

“You’ll learn,” Skara chirped, “Willow did!”

Hunter noted how Willow’s smile slipped a little. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Willow offered, “you can sing and do some simple guitar stuff while you do. We can cover you.”

“I -I don’t understand,” he shook his head, “isn’t it more trouble to have me in your band? I mean,” he licked his lips, “w-wouldn’t you want someone who’s used to doing all this instead of … well? Me ?”

“Willow’s pretty determined to make this happen,” Viney shrugged, “and your voice is sort of an instrument, so I think we can carry you while you carry a tune.”

“And in the meantime, we’re gonna bring the guitar to the shop and have Raine restring it!” Luz explained. 

“Guys!” Hunter called out. “I don’t… I don’t need it restrung.” he looked at his hand. “I mean, maybe? But, look. I mean don’t you want a musician in your band?”

“Says the guy who had the best advice for my amateur drumming,” Gus snorted, “are you saying drummers aren’t musicians?”

“No!” Hunter scoffed, “I was barely allowed to even play drums at my school! but I guess I could?” 

“I’m the drummer.” Gus crossed his arms. “We need a vocalist and a guitarist.”

“I guess I could sing,” Hunter whispered. His heart pulled a bit, “but guitar? I shouldn’t .” 

“Says who ?” Viney smirked. 

“Yeah.” Steve had looked up from Katya, “says WHO?”

“Hopeless cause.” Uncle Philip whispered in his mind.

“He can do it!” Steve called out, “he’s just being coy. He was basically salivating over the music mags at the news stand this morning.”

“I won’t be able to play guitar well .” Hunter mumbled. 

“Please!” Willow grinned now, “We play PUNK MUSIC . It doesn’t have to be GOOD. It’s supposed to be MESSY.” 

“Okay, but” Hunter bit his lip, “But about the singing? I don’t know if you noticed, but I – um… Well, sometimes, I stutter.”

“You didn’t stutter when you were singing.” Willow pointed a fry at him. 

I didn’t.

Hunter closed his eyes. This was a lot to take in. He’d gone from prospectless, soaking in the rain to having a new job and a group of people who genuinely wanted him to hang out with them, to also being in a band in a period of less than 72 hours. He needed to breathe. He needed to think, “I – I should go. I have to be up at … uhhh. Well Raine said they open at 11, but Monday’s my first day?”

“You have to go to sleep early tonight because you need to be at work at 11 on Monday?” Viney shared a look with Skara. Amity snorted. 

“I just wanna be well rested.” Hunter mumbled, “for you know. All of this?”

“Is that an official yes?” Willow grinned, “to the band?”

“Yes?” Hunter ducked his head and ran his hands through his hair, a new thought crossed his mind, “yes to the band, but also a yes to you?” 

Willow pulled a pen from her gig back and reached out for Hunter’s left hand. “This is my dorm number,” she told him. It was as if she’d just read his thoughts. “My papa thought you sounded like a nice guy though, but this is a bit less awkward.”

Artfully, she wrote down her number, on the top of his hand, somehow avoiding the scars that laced his skin. She paused for a moment and blew some cold air on the ink letting it dry. Hunter’s body shivered. Willow seemed to smile at her handwork. She continued on to write a street address, adding what appeared to be a smiling daisy at the end.

“You can meet me there, and we’ll head to practice together,” she told him. 

“Monday after work?” he asked.

“Monday, after work,” Willow nodded, “we usually get together a few times a week, but I’m sure you’re busy –”

“Not busy!” Hunter had no idea why he’d even volunteered that information. Let alone why he’d said it so quickly. He felt a pull in his chest. The faces around him were open. Steve gave a quick nod.

“I mean, o-okay.” He nodded, “I’m - uh - usually open, b-but I’ll have to check my schedule.” 

My schedule which is empty.

Willow’s eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were fully dimpled.

The air hummed with the cool humidity of the approaching summer. For years, Hunter had spent this time of year listening to classmates talk about their plans. Where they were going, who they were seeing. What they were doing . And for years, Hunter had nothing to add. He’d hung in the back scribbling in his notebooks with endless silences in his future. Now, though? Now the summer seemed full of possibility. Full of music. He reached for his burger and took a bite.

A greasy blob of cheddar cheese fell out all over the front of his perfect white shirt. 

“OH!” He shot up from his seat,  “N-no! I-I- I’m sorry!” he shouted. His nose filled with the scent of static and blood.

“It’s fine man!” Gus grinned, “We’ll get some club soda and …”

“No.” Hunter shook his head quickly, “no time!” He tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table and shoved the chair back, bumping into the diners behind him. Several glasses of water fell to the ground, shattering like tiny bombs. A table of teens in the corner began to clap. Hunter’s stomach filled with bile,  “I’ve gotta go.” he gasped. “I - I’m really sorry.”

“See you Monday!” Willow shouted. It wasn’t a question. 

“See you Monday,” Hunter called over his shoulder.

____________________

He hadn’t even considered calling Uncle’s night chauffeur to pick him up. There was no WAY Philip would accept that he’d been in this neighborhood after midnight, which was fine, really. No matter how old he was, how much bigger, Hunter never wanted to be alone in a car with Mr. Vitimir. Ever.

The street light above Hunter flickered off as he arrived at his apartment building in midtown, blisters forming on his feet from his stiff leather shoes all from the long walk. He peeled past the doorman up the stairs to his apartment where he stripped off his embroidered shirt and shoved his hands in a sink full of soap. 

Hunter? Is there a reason you cannot keep a single stain off any article of clothing I give you?

"N-no. I - I'm sorry," he choked out, not even considering that he was speaking to the air, alone in his apartment. Hunter scrubbed and scrubbed until the stain was no longer visible, because the shirt was covered in water and it was impossible to tell if he'd actually cleaned it off. But there was one thing he'd managed to clean. 

He looked down at his hands. Willow’s number and address has washed away. 

“I’m SUCH a screw up.” he groaned. 

“It’s supposed to be MESSY,” Willow’s voice called back to him.

Hunter released a breath. There was nothing more he could do right now. He collapsed on his bed and hugged Sprig close. 

“At least I got an internship.” He murmured. 

 Also? I got to sing again. Like I -- like WE used to.

He shook the thought from his mind.

Slowly, Hunter reached for his briefcase and reached for the SPIN magazine. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was both hoping and dreading he would find. 

GONE TOO SOON, THE UNDER 30 CLUB.

Hunter knew they would be there. The only two names listed together. 

Blood on the wooden floor. Two bodies under two white sheets. Side by side. 

After Hendrix, Joplin, and Morrison. Before de Freitas, and Zapata.

Before Cobain.

“The double whammy unsolved murder that snuffed out two stars at once.”

Hunter reached under his bed and slid a box out from underneath. He took one last look before adding the magazine to the collection where he kept these things in reach, knowing that once they were in the box, he would never look at them again. Without a second glance, Hunter crawled into bed. He switched his alarm clock from the generic beeping noise to the radio. He moved the dial a few times before settling on 104.3, the classic rock station, and closed his eyes.

For the first time in years, Hunter Wittebane dreamed of his parents.

Chapter Text

art by ThreeGoblinArt on Tumblr.

Willow

“GOOOOOOOOD MORNING, PUMPKIN!” 

Willow cringed as her papa stood up in his seat waving his arms in the air. 

“OVER HERE SWEETIE!” Dad hooted, "COME AND GREET YOUR LOVING FAMILY!"

"Ugh, this again," Willow rolled her eyes. She knew she kind of earned this. Staying out more than usual in her senior year. Forgetting to return phone calls. But her dads had spent so much time trying to act like they weren't a family in that way, that Willow couldn't help but celebrate what must have been a sense of ease that allowed them to feel safe enough to do this in public.

"WE LOVE YOU, HONEYBEE! COME GIVE YOUR DADS A BIG HUG AND KISS!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she groaned, "I'm coming."

Gilbert Park pointed to a seat next to him in the shade of the table umbrella, while Harvey and Aunt Helen sat side by side, a little more willing to subject their dark brown skin to the sun.

Willow rubbed her eyes, likely smudging what was left of last night’s makeup across her cheeks, and took a seat next to her dad. She had managed to get his genetically paler skin, though with the right ratio of sun to sunscreen, both she Willow Gilbert could tan – but they had long since given up on that sort of maintenance. 

“Willow Park, as I live and breathe!” Aunt Helen put her hand dramatically on her chest. “Is that really you?”

Willow rolled her eyes again. “Whatever, Aunt Helen.” she grumbled.

"Y'know? If you keep doing that thing with your face, it's gonna freeze like that?" Aunt Helen rolled her eyes to demonstrate.

“Glad you could make it,”  Papa grinned, “fit us into your busy life and all.”

“Yes.” Dad nodded curtly, “We have heard that the staff at Parks II and IV see you often. And Raine tells us you practically LIVE at the Owl House. Not the dorm room where you are never around to pick up your phone?” 

“Or answer your messages?” Aunt Helen flicked a cigarette in the ashtray and took a long sip of her coffee. 

“Okay! I get it!” Willow threw her hands up. “I’ve just been busy? School’s wrapping up. I’ve been working FOR you guys with the flowers at Park’s . And you know, I’m in a band?”

“Uh huh,” Aunt Helen gave a wry grin. “Did you know I was running for State Assembly?”

Willow’s mouth opened and shut.  “The 45th district?” she squeaked. 

“The same,” dad reached over and pulled one of Willow’s braids.

“I. Did. Not. Know. That.” Willow focused on her chipped fingernails. 

“Do you ever check your machine?” Papa smiled, “In that dorm room where you never seem to be?”

"It's not a machine..." Willow mumbled, "it's voicemail... I have to pick up the phone to see if I have messages."

"Which you never seem to do unless we page you, because you're never in," dad snorted.

“OKAY!” Willow threw her arms up. Attitude got her nowhere with her family, because they gave it right back. “I get it. I’m the worst.”

“I bet she’d answer her messages if Hunter called her dorm.” Harvey ribbed Gilbert. 

Willow flicked her eyes up to meet Papa's. She gave him a 451 degree glare.

“Oh?” Now aunt Helen was the one whose mouth was agape. “Who is this … Hunter?”

"That's what I'd like to know!" Dad nudged her, "has our little punk rocker met her very own Sid to her Nancy?"

The rest of the table went very, very quiet. 

"Okay, Gil?" Papa chuckled, "you need to brush up on your music history, or we might have to break this whole thing off," he pointed before them.

"You'd never do that, Harv!" dad nudged him, "I own 51% of the business!"

"Yeah?" papa leaned in, "well whose name's on all the leases?"

"Ok! Ok! Enough," Aunt Helen glared at papa and dad, "now..." she smiled at Willow, "as I was saying before? Who's Hunter?"

“A boy who called her at our home.” Gilbert smirked, “and asked for Willow. ”

“Dad," Willow shook her head. She'd stopped herself from rolling her eyes because she knew she'd be teased if she did it after the, 'face freezing' joke, “He’s just someone I met at The Owl House.” 

“The Owl House?” Aunt Helen laughed, “That dive’s still standing?” 

Willow rolled her eyes, (dammit!) “Yeah. And Hunter … he’s …” she paused. She wasn’t exactly sure how to define the guy. The night before she’d gathered some things, and to her delight he knew far more about music and playing it than he’d let on, but Willow still knew so little about him. 

“He’s someone who seemed very flustered when I answered the phone.” Harvey slid a white mug towards her with a wink. 

Willow took the carafe and filled it, watching the steam rise into the mid morning mist. There was nothing like coffee from a NYC diner. Which was to say, that every cup of coffee from a NYC diner was very much the same. Slightly burnt. A little too thick. Or was that a little too watery? Either way they were all perfectly bitter and very, very cheap.

A classic, sometimes served to go in a blue and white paper cup with greek scrollwork and the words, “We are happy to serve you,” on the side in orange. Since the Starbucks Invasion of a few years back, a plain cup of diner coffee seemed unfashionable, which made it all the more irresistible to Willow. 

Of course, she was happy to grab a mocha from Gwen Clawthrone’s tea shop turned coffee house, but that was different! This was tradition. 

Since Willow’s fifth birthday, she and her dads had met Aunt Helen at Grimgrub’s Diner for breakfast every third Sunday of the month.  Before that, Aunt Helen’s appearances were fewer and far between. She had worked for the Manhattan DA’s office in the 70’s while she went to Brooklyn Law School, which left her little time to spend with family. 

Aunt Helen and Papa’s parents had tried to steer her away from working in law enforcement. They’d insisted, correctly, that was dangerous for a young black woman to bring that level of attention to herself. In fact, they’d have been happy if Helen had just found her niche filing paperwork and answering phones for the judges’ offices.

But Aunt Helen had first gotten the spark for her future, organizing with Shirley Chisholm on her campaign for State Assembly of her home district in Brooklyn, and then later her campaign for the U.S. Congress. Aunt Helen had received a personal letter to law School from Chisholm herself, and went on to work for several public defenders until Helen became one herself. 

And now, she was going to run for that very same office. 

“Congratulations, Aunt Helen.” Willow said quickly. 

“Well congratulations to YOU, dear! Graduating college? Your dads tell me your grade’sve really picked up since you picked the new major. And, Harv's little music history faux pas aside, I'm understanding that you’re moonlighting as a punk rocker ?”

“Yeahhhhhhhhh,” Willow wiggled her nose, “depending on who you ask.”

“So.” Aunt Helen grinned. “ Hunter , huh?” 

Now Willow’s face was hotter than her coffee. Her dads shared nearly identical and no less infuriating grins to her aunt.  

“He’s gonna play in the band,” Willow puffed out her cheeks. She pretended to play with the strap of her tank top, “backup guitar. Sings too. He just kinda stumbled into Eda’s and …”

“And you’re blushing just thinking about him.” Gilbert shook his head. 

“DAD!” Willow groaned, “I didn’t come to breakfast to get harassed by you guys! Can we just order already?”

“Relax, pumpkin.” Harvey shook his head. “We already ordered your flapjacks. WITH bananas, blueberries and strawberries of course!”

“At least you’ve got my best interests in mind,” she smirked at Papa a little. A few years back when Papa had told Willow that he had wanted to steer her towards her best interests it meant ignoring the Willow that loved to make things grow and having her enroll in a program that did not align with her abilities nor her desires. Ordering her pancakes correctly was a start.

“I want to hear about Aunt Helen’s campaign,” Willow leaned in.

“That’s boring. I want to hear about this boy.” Aunt Helen whistled. “Your dads said he called the house and could barely get a sentence out.”

Of course none of them were going to let this one go. What to tell them about Hunter? 

“He’s shy?” Willow shrugged. “I think?”

"You think?" Gilbert snorted, "so shy you're not even sure that he is actually shy?"

Willow shrugged. She wasn’t actually sure if Hunter was shy. She briefly remembered how he’d retracted quickly at her touch the night before, like she’d delivered some sort of electric shock through her fingertips. 

Also, the whole thing about salt? Hey! She had no idea about any of that stuff, so she learned something new from him already.

“He’s quiet, and awkward,” Willow murmured, “and probably the least punk person we’d ever considered for The Emeralds – he didn’t seem like he considered himself a good fit either.”

But music – and punk music – was as much about the right fit as it was the right misfit.  

That and he came back. In spite of it all, he kept coming back. To Raine’s shop. To the Owl House. Out to the diner after. Hunter had pointed out the stuttering the night before, something he was sure should have disqualified him from being on a stage. But when he actually sang, all of that uncertainty melted away. 

And his voice? It was nice. And not in a crooning way which Gus would have told her was absolutely not the right sound for them.

When Hunter sang that song? An older Beatles song, from back when they were still walking the line between the manufactured proper gentleman persona and emerging sex symbols.

🎶 It’s such a feeling that my love, I can’t hide! 🎶

There was something so raw about it. Not just a teen pop ballad, not when Hunter had sang it. He had given that song a tinge of pain and longing . Everyone else felt it too. She knew it. She just couldn’t get him out of her mind. 

“Hey, Willow.” Gil nudged her, “Still with us?”

“She’s a goner.” Harvey chuckled.

The server stopped by with a tray full of food. Willow made a star of syrup right in the middle of her pancakes, over the ice cream scoop shaped soft butter. The table thad grown quiet now, what with everyone stopping for a moment to enjoy the first few bites of their hot food.

“So," dad began again. “This, 'Hunter' guy.”

“He’s awkward, he’s shy,” Aunt Helen shook her head, “and his name is Hunter, ” she poked a fork of home fries Willow's way.

Gilbert filled Willow’s coffee with the perfect amount of cream. 

“So tell us, Willow?” Harvey raised a brow. “How white is this boy?”

Now she threw her head back. When Willow Park wanted something, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to make it happen. Not in the last two years at least. She’d spent too much of her life giving up to doubt. 

So naturally, when she’d gone home the night she’d first met Hunter, she dragged out the NYU facebook and flipped through the pages to the section for Stern business school. 

There was one other Hunter towards the middle of the book, but he had short brown hair and a double chin. Definitely not her Hunter, or the one she’d wanted to call hers. Willow had crumbled inside. Exhausted, she took a few breaths and turned a few pages until she found him. Unsmiling. His blonde hair had been slicked back, but that same pesky bit of it stuck out in front. And he had that distinct scar on his right cheek and nick on the opposite ear.

“His last name is Wittebane .” Willow sighed.

“Ahhhhhh,” papa and dad said in unison. “Super white.”

“Hmmmm.” Aunt Helen tapped her fork to her plate. “Wittebane.” she repeated. She licked her lips like she was tasting the name with her breakfast, “Wittebane, Wittebane. Something about that name. Sounds so familiar…”

“Willow,” dad cleared his throat. “I know you’ve been avoiding this.” he reached into a canvas satchel and pulled out an envelope from NYU. She snatched it fast. 

"Thanks, I'll check it out later!" she chirped.

"Later?" Gilbert chuckled, "we want to be here when it happens! Come on! Show us what's in the letter!"

“I’m sure you got in, Pumpkin.” Harvey smiled warmly. 

Aunt Helen said nothing. She smiled though. 

Willow growled. She pulled her shoulders up high to her ears. “I just wanna finish up this part of school first.” she told them, casually as she could manage, “Pack up my room, you know? I don’t wanna think about the next step until this one’s done with.” 

Helen cleared her throat. “What about you guys?” she asked Willow’s dads. “You’re up to your fourth Park’s now!”

“Up the road from the Stonewall!” Gilbert nodded proudly. 

“Great location.” Harvey’s mouth pulled tight. “But unfortunately, being a bit more OUT even in this location has brought in some fun folks who are not so happy to have a gay owned and operated market in their neighborhood where a lot of gay history was made.”

Willow nodded. She knew enough about that from growing up with two dads. Even in the places where the community had fought to be treated the same as anyone else, there were those who wished they would just crawl back into a time when they didn’t have to get used to their queer neighbors.

“Well, that sucks.” Helen groaned. “If you guys need any legal connections let me know.” 

"We're actually getting some meetings going with the Veterans of Stonewall." papa frowned, "just in case."

“Right now, we’re fine.” dad touched papa's arm and smiled. “But we’ll let you know.”

Willow pulled her brows tight. It was difficult for her dads to maintain a low profile where she’d grown up. The very first Park’s was located on Central Park West, and many of the kids Willow shared a school with the ultra wealthy who looked down on a chubby mixed race girl who lived above the corner grocery shop that her family maintained. 

And then that mixed race girl had two dads? 

During the AIDS crisis?

Until high school, dad had been the only one to appear at Willow’s school functions because she’d resembled him the most. She was told not to talk about papa at all. 

Willow didn’t understand it. Not at first. Papa was so great! He made her flapjacks and carried her on his shoulders. He and dad were so in love. But every week before school began, they would coach her on how to discuss her home life. 

In public, Willow was to call Papa, “Harvey”. 

He was dad’s “best friend” who happened to share a room in their apartment. The one bedroom apartment, where Willow had a small space of her own in an alcove near the kitchen.

Willow did make some friends, but she was never allowed to invite them to her home. It was a  hard learned lesson. Willow was living in an elite landscape but everything about her forced her to the sidelines.

Her two dads didn’t even have to be common knowledge for the rumors to begin swirling. 

Especially, when her best friends’ mother had begun paying attention to Willow’s presence in Amity’s life. And when Odalia dug into Willow’s home life? 

“We are Blights, dear. We associate with the best. That girl is a bastard. Who knows where she even came from?” 

Willow still cringed. It was as if Odalia’s voice was waiting in some internal cassette player, always ready for her subconscious to hit that play button and remind of what was said about her when people thought she was out of earshot -- or when they knew she was just close enough to hear them. Until Gus came to school, Willow spent most of her time alone arranging bundles of flowers in the back of Park’s I. 

But the 90’s had offered a few changes in the landscape and attitudes began to open up a little bit. By the time Willow graduated, Harvey and Gilbert had become fixtures at PTA fundraisers. 

She thought back to Hunter’s reaction to Luz and Amity the night before. He flinched a bit at their affection, but answered quickly that he’d had no problem with their relationship. 

He’d taken a job with Raine. 

Skara had brought up the suggestion that his aversion to possible “left handed-ness” had come from a conservative religious upbringing. Did this mean that Hunter would be cool with Willow’s two dads? Since starting NYU, Willow had become unapologetically open about her family. She drew a ‘DAMN THE MAN’ persona around herself and played bass in a punk band. 

She'd openly openly expressed attraction to men and women, though several people claimed that she was either a lesbian in denial, or "doing it for attention". 

But Willow felt a little twinge of nerves when thinking about explaining it to Hunter himself, and it crushed her a little as she watched the two men who had raised her so lovingly argue with Aunt Helen about how ‘OUT’ they should be in their new shop in a gay neighborhood. 

“If it doesn’t work out with Grad School, I’ll run Parks IV.” Willow blurted out. “Like I said, I need to pack up my room anyway. Maybe I can find a sublet by the shop for a bit. You know, while I figure things out?”

Now dad and papa were staring at her. 

“I know the apartment’s a bit tight.” she grumbled. “And If I’m making some money at the shop? And I get a roommate or two?” 

“But pumpkin…” Harvey began. 

“You’re going to ‘save the world from global warming’.” Gilbert offered.

“All you need is a seed!” Harvey added.

This was part of the impassioned speech Willow had given them when she’d told her dads she wanted to switch majors. 

“I just don’t…” 

“I don’t want to be disappointed,” she thought to herself, “I don’t want to disappoint you and I don’t want to disappoint myself!”

“I wanna help you,” she shrugged, “I could be good at it! Running the shop. And, you know? Less studying, more time for music!”

“She means more time for the boy, ” dad chuckled. 

“His name is Hunter. ” Willow glowered. 

“Hunter White Guy.”

Willow glowered “Wittebane…” 

Her dads laughed, but Aunt Helen rubbed her temples, “ Wittebane.. Wittebane…” she kept Hunter’s last name on her lips for a few seconds more and rubbed her eyes. 

“He better not expect you to take his last name!” dad chuckled. 

“Oh?” Papa snorted, “now you’re the one who gets to decide who takes what name?”

“And really. It’s nothing.” Willow smiled. She looked down at her thighs. They touched in the middle, filling out her ripped jeans. “I just asked him to call me, cause I wanted him in the band.”

That’s all. 

_____________________

The night before Hunter had left in a huff. He’d seemed to warm up a bit at the diner, but when he’d dripped some stray cheese on his shirt his whole body language turned to steel. He’d become a mess and left abruptly, leaving a large bill on the table. 

“We should pocket it.” Viney chuckled. “Clearly, the guy’s loaded.”

“Hey!” the guy who’d been flirting with Katya called across the table. “He’s a good guy. A little twitchy, but I’ve known him for a long time. He doesn’t get out much, and he’s had it rough.”

Viney flicked a clove in the ashtray. Gus shot her a look. 

“WHAT?” She growled. 

“Steve?” Luz prodded. Willow took note of his name. “Hunter said you went to school with him?” she pulled her mouth into a funny shape, "you seem a bit…”

“Older?” Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Five years older? He was the youngest cadet, errr I mean, underclassman. He uh – needed some looking out for. Things were pretty strict at that place, and he didn’t always fit what they wanted.”

“Was it a private school?” Amity leaned in. She caught Willow’s eye. A small glance passed between them. “I mean. His clothes are older, but those are definitely not off the rack. And the way he holds himself. He comes from money, doesn’t he?”

“I forget.” Gus rolled his eyes. “Amity’s the authority on clothes to wealth ratio.” 

“Oh please!” Amity shooed him away. “It’s just when you’re born into it, you pick up on things?”

“And you pick up on plenty,” Willow narrowed her eyes. Amity blanched. She ducked her head and pushed a strand of purple hair behind her ear.

“Skara here comes from money too.” Viney teased. “Why don’t we let her weigh in.”

Skara’s eyes widened slightly. “It was a little different?” she huffed. “I mean, YEAH. We HAVE money, but I wouldn’t say that we COME from money. Not generationally?”

“So, Willow’s crushing on richie rich!” Viney snorted. “Must be a trend at this table.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luz’s eyes flicked to Viney and wagged her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Gus smirked at Viney, but he looked at Skara, “What’s what mean, Viney?”

“And who said I’m crushing on him?” Willow groaned. 

“You just did.” Luz chuckled. 

“Last part of your sentence.” Gus added. “After, ‘who said’.”

“Just saying.” Viney cleared her throat. “Willow is pretending not to want to jump that guy’s bones. And Luz here has been sneaking around with Ams for three years.”

“Three and a half!” Luz and Amity high fived.

“Three and a half,” Viney agreed, “And we ALL know that the Blights come from money.”

“You’re a BLIGHT?” Steve’s mouth fell open. “DAMN!” He sized up Amity with gentle blue eyes, “my condolences. You do COME FROM MONEY.”

“Do YOU come from money?” Katya’s face shifted into something Willow often saw when she performed. Fierce. Teasing.

“If I say, yes, will you go out with me tomorrow night?” Steve smiled back.

Katya chuckled. She brushed a bit of floppy hair from his face and leaned in as if she was about to kiss him, "Nah,” she pulled back last minute, “I don’t date establishment rich boys.” 

“Good thing I’m neither.” Steve laughed lightly. “At least, not anymore." Katya's eyes were hungry. She made a bite motion in Steve's direction, and his smile stretched.

"Uh. Wow." Skara squeaked, "could you all just get a room or something?"

"I've got one," Katya answered Skara but looked at Steve.

"I'll keep that in mind," Steve answered, and shifted his attention back to Willow, "but seriously.” he looked at her with kindness, “It’s not really for me to say, but I’ve never seen Hunter look so happy before.”

“Whoa!” Luz puffed out her cheeks. “That was HAPPY?”

"OUCH!" Gus shook his head.

Skara snorted, then Viney and Amity started laughing. Willow glared and they stopped at once. She cleared her throat. 

“But you really think that he was happy?” She whispered.

“For Hunter?” Steve bit his lip. “Uh. Yeah. He was.” he rubbed the back of his head. “Look, just give him a chance? He’s got a lot to offer. But he’s – well it’s like he’s been taught to have no self esteem. He’s real diamond in the rough.”

Katya shoved him, “If you start singing Prince Ali Ababwa, I’m dumping you.”

“Hmmm,” Steve tapped his chin, “does that mean you’ll date me before I do?”

“Define, ‘date’,” Katya’s eyes flicked to Steve’s chest then to his lips. She leaned in, and he let her kiss him. 

“Let’s define that together,” Steve chuckled. He looked at Willow again, real serious this time, “I mean it. You all seem pretty real. But Hunter’s green to this stuff. He deserves a chance to be treated like a person. Don’t take advantage of him?  Please?”

Treated like a person? Willow briefly thought about the little indentation in Hunter's left ear, and the scar on his cheek. She thought about the way his body shook when he got the grease on his shirt. She had a small sickly feeling in her stomach. 

“I won’t,” Willow smiled. 

“Good,” Steve’s face went soft, “that’s good.”

The group had filed out of the diner. Gus gathered some change for Hunter. 

“I’ll give this to him with the Zahn books,” he told Willow. 

“That’s if he comes back.” Willow had groaned.

“Oh he’ll come back.” Gus had teased, “if anything, he has to give us more salt facts.”

________________________________

“I want him in the band. And he has an internship with Raine. He will come back, but it’s out of circumstance. Not for any other reason.” Willow shrugged casually. She happily sipped her coffee and dug into her pancakes, "and I doubt there's any other interest on his end." 

“Sweetie,” dad shook his head, “I wish you wouldn’t underestimate yourself. If he was smart he’d come back to get to know you more.”

"Seriously, sweetheart," Aunt Helen smiled, "I know it's been rough, but you need to consider how much you have to offer."

"And that's not considering how beautiful you are," Harvey nudged her, "if he misses that, he's either a fool, or he's the one who needs glasses."

Willow shrugged. A car drove by the front of the diner with the windows open. From inside, Willow could hear music. 

🎶Racing through my brain. And I just can’t contain. This feeling that remains. 🎶

Steve had said Hunter had looked “happy” last night. Willow believed it. She caught it when Gus had mentioned the Star Wars books, and when he and Luz were geeking out about left handed musicians, all the while insisting that he was not one himself.

Willow looked at her hand. The one that had touched Hunter’s when they had reached for the salt. 

“What causes that type of spark?” She thought to herself. “When I touched him, it was like a rush of magic. But he pulled away so quickly. He was probably just embarrassed. Or grossed out.”

Willow watched her dads laugh easily. Dad had a hand on Harvey’s thick arm. Her mind traveled back to the night before when they’d left the diner. 

Everyone shared goodbyes, but Luz and Amity had gone up ahead alone.

Willow watched as they danced under a darkened street lamp. And as their hands touched, the light above flickered on.

Chapter Text

art by @ThreeGoblinArt

CHAPTER 11

Hunter

“Hmmmm. He’s burning up, Cay.” 

“I don’t feel so good.” 

“Shhhh. Aww buddy.”

"Mmmmsorry."

"Oh, sweetheart, no."

“It stinks being sick on your birthday, yeah?”

"Put your head here. Shhh."

“C’nyou stay with me, Momma? I had a bad dream.”

“Of course kiddo. I can think of no better gift than to snuggle you to sleep.”

“Mmmthanks.”

“Dad’ll sing you to sleep.” 

🎶Didn’t know what time it was, the lights were low 🎶

On your knees.

“What do you want?”

What I am owed.

“Hunter? Sweetie? Stay in your room!” 

🎶There’s a starman waiting in the sky 🎶

“Please, this isn’t worth it.“

Oh, shut up.

🎶He’s told us not to blow it, ‘cause he knows it’s all worthwhile.🎶

“No! Please.”

“We can talk about this.”

🎶Let the children lose it 🎶

You have spoken enough.

🎶Let the children use it 🎶

“Momma? Daddy?”

So you’re awake after all?

“M-momma!? Daddy!?”

🎶Let all the children boogie 🎶

What a shame…

BANG

_____________

Hunter woke with a gasp. Outside an old truck crashed down the side street, right below his bedroom. His hand immediately clapped upon his left ear. 

It was ringing. Ringing. RINGING! 

He traced the scarred edges with his pointer finger as the phantom pain faded. His heart felt like it was going to blast right through his ribcage. With sweaty hands, he barely managed to grip the thin white bed sheets before tapping around furiously for the feeling of Sprig’s soft plush head. 

Momma had covered his small body with a wet cold towel, “something to keep the fever down,” she’d told him. 

He remembered daddy singing, and momma stroking his hair. Their voices outside, begging. Pleading for their lives. Hunter had moaned something from his feverish state and momma told him to stay put, but he had padded out of his room and opened the door anyway. In his dream he could FEEL the ghost of the gun pressed up against his sweaty forehead. 

What a shame.

BANG!

BANG BANG BANG, “KEEP IT DOWN!” Hunter’s neighbor slammed what must have been the end of a broomstick against the wall over and over. He knew the walls were generally thin in this building, but he also felt his throat raw from all the screaming he had been doing between the nightmare and wakefulness. Which was probably why the man next door had reacted as such. 

Hunter swallowed, “s-sorry!” he coughed, “sorry…” 

He had no idea if the guy could even hear his apologies, and at that moment, he didn’t even fear the awkward looks he’d get in the hallways when they’d passed one another. Oh, God, his mouth tasted like bile. Hunter used to keep a bottle of mouthwash by his bed for these situations, but he hadn’t had a dream like that in a very long time. 

It wasn’t just a dream though, was it?

He swallowed again, willing the terrible memory deep down into his subconscious and focused his eyes on the red blinking light from his answering machine. Hunter remembered hearing the phone ring a few times in small distances between his dreams, but he was so exhausted he just couldn’t will himself to pick up. 

Sprig safely tucked under chin, Hunter reached out to the machine a few times before his shaky hand steadied enough to tap the play button.

“You have two messages,” t he scentless robotic voice told him, “ First message. ”

“Hunter. I need not tell you that your absence at church for this morning’s 6 AM worship service has left me displeased. I have received your voice message that you were ‘ entertaining. with. colleagues’ for your new internship until late. This should not be an excuse to turn from your devotion to the Good Book. This opportunity best be worth my time.”

He clenched his eyes shut. It took a good twenty minutes before the new feeling of nausea had passed enough for him to process. Hunter very much knew that working with Raine on their charity start up was not what his uncle would consider, “ worth his time ,” but it was the best he could do. Technically it wasn’t a breach of their agreement. He found an internship. He’d already emailed his advisor the details and it had been approved for the summer internship program. 

Anyway, leaving Raine's shop at this point would have been rude. Hunter had made a commitment! And! And? He reminded himself that it was important to understand the overall culture of the company he’d be working with – and Willow, Gus and the others were somehow intertwined in that very thing. So what if he hadn’t exactly been meeting with work colleagues in the sense that he’d implied. 

Technically, Luz worked with Raine’s partner anyway. 

Anyway, it was most likely that Uncle Philip was the only one who noticed his absence at church. Hunter had been relegated to the back of the pews since he was very young due to his constant fidgeting being a bother to those who sat up front. Mrs. Snapdragon and Kikimora especially, complained of his rudeness, though Flora had grabbed him by the ear more than once to march him off to a remote corner to ‘sit in silence’ and stare at a wall, only to be retrieved after the sermon.

The back was better anyway. It was easier for him to fade out of existence in the back and his uncle often commented on how Hunter’s face often reminded congregants of the sins of the past. 

He would apologize to Uncle Philip and accept another cut in his weekly stipend if need be, but this was part of his work. Networking was important. His professors had even said so. Slowly, Hunter tapped the machine and played the second message. 

“Hey man! It’s Steve again! Look *chuckle* If you’re gonna be working with that crew you should … uh… get a new wardrobe. *muffled voice in the background*, HEY! Shhhhh. Sorry! So yeah, uhhh why don’t we meet me at Yaffa for breakfast. We'll – uh – take you shopping. The address is…”

________________________

It wasn’t quite that Hunter didn’t agree that he needed to wear different clothes for this job. He had been planning to wear a short sleeve button down and some older slacks. 

No need to spend my limited money budget on something temporary.

But after hearing uncle Philip’s angry blue voice in that first message, Hunter found the idea of a tangible meeting with a friendly voice strangely comforting.

Hunter’s pager had buzzed from an unfamiliar number with the code “342”, as well as a few from Uncle Philip.

“911”

“911 911”

“1522”

A knot formed in his stomach. Uncle Philip had designated that code for when he felt Hunter was not living up to his expectations. The ones that would keep him on the right path. 

“1 Samuel 15:22.” Uncle had crooned, “‘What is more pleasing to the Lord: your burnt offerings and sacrifices or your obedience to his voice?’ Your obedience is key to your salvation, Hunter. When I lay out my expectations for you, you are to follow my voice to the note. Afterall, I am the one who remained devoted to the Lord in the face of the temptation to which you owe your existence.”

It was likely that the congregation had closed to the general public and the board of Unity Church was now in session, which meant that it was even more likely that the Brownstone was empty, but Hunter didn’t want to take the chance of catching Uncle Philip at home. Instead, he held his breath and dialed Titan Record’s main line. There was no one in the office on Sundays as standard business practice and his uncle's edict that this was a day for prayer. The automated menu began after one ring and Hunter hit Uncle Philip’s private extension. He mumbled a quick apology for his absence at worship when prompted by the beep, and tried not to think too much about his uncle listening to the recording the next day, with his teeth floating in a glass of water on the desk.

After a beat, Hunter dialed Steve’s place, where he’d also gotten the machine – so he had to rely on the hopes that his friend would show up at the coordinates he’d given at the time he’d relayed. 

And show up Steve had. Albeit five or so minutes late. Somewhat un-punctual for a Glandus alum, but just close enough to their appointment for Hunter to be sure that this meeting had been a priority and not an afterthought. 

Though those five minutes felt like several hours as he watched the hands tick by on his golden Rolex.

The apparent reason for Steve’s lateness however? 

Well, Hunter hadn’t thought much about how Steve had said “we” on the message, and so when he’d emerged at the breakfast location, hands locked up with the Slitherbeasts' lead singer, (and curiously, in the same clothes from the night before), he’d guessed at what had happened, but didn’t dwell on it. Anyway, Steve confirmed that the phantom page had been from her number, and apparently, “342” meant “see you soon”.

Hunter did his best to hide his discomfort all throughout breakfast as Steve spent the time casually touching the back of his new friend and laughing about the evening before. In the end, he’d offered to pay for Hunter’s crepes and handed him change from the night before.

But it was Katya – or Ka t – as Steve called her who had led Hunter through the crowded aisles of Trash and Vaudeville even after Steve protested that a trip to The Gap was good enough. This shop was as far off from Fifth Avenue as one could get. First? It was dark . Very dark.

The walls were painted red and covered with flyers from old punk shows, much like the walls of the Owl House. In addition to the lighting, it was cluttered. The clothing was hung haphazardly on racks in the middle of the store, the belts all had silver metal loops, and the walls were lined with racks of shoes of all shapes and colors. Mostly, black leather – advertised as “steel toe”, some with spikes and studs. Others were made of velvet. They came to a sharp point at the end similar to the ones Hunter had seen Raine wearing. 

He’d managed to find a pair of black Chuck Taylors in his size and on sale, which had earned him a nod of approval from both Steve and Katya, but the clothing racks proved trickier. After an hour of looking, Steve had protested more than a bit when Hunter had held up the outfit he’d patched together from what he'd found on the sales rack, but Katya had given the nod of approval, and she was smiling wide. 

"Well, don't keep up waiting! Try 'em on!" she grinned.

Hunter asked to be shown the dressing room, and the heavily pierced cashier had barely managed to look up from apparently cleaning his fingernails with a razor blade. He pointed towards stalls in the back while behind him, Lou Reed was talk singing on the radio, 

🎶 Little Joe never once gave it away

Everybody had to pay and pay

A hustle here and a hustle there

New York City is the place where they said 

"Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"

I said, "Hey Joe, take a walk on the wild side"

🎶

“All the rock stars shop here!” Katya had laughed, “this is the most punk place in town.” 

“I’m not sure I’m really the punk type?” Hunter had told her, but he would have been lying if he hadn’t felt some interest in the clothes he’d managed to pick out. Especially the pants. He’d never seen so many colors on one piece of clothing. The pattern reminded him of the plaid tartan Conor MaCleod wore in Highlander – but it was mostly bright yellow. The felt fabric wasn’t stiff and there were built in suspenders strapped to the sides. And zippers? Who knew they could go just about anywhere!

He’d just about finished trying them on when his ears caught the jingle of the bell above the front door.

The air went still.

🎶Sugar Plum Fairy came and hit the streets

Looking for soul food and a place to eat

Went to the Apollo

You should've seen him go, go, go 🎶

In the background, Steve and Katya were bickering nearby and from the other sounds that emerged from their general direction, Hunter deduced that they were possibly kissing , seemingly taking Mr. Reed’s invitation to “walk on the wild side,” a bit more seriously. Now a new voice had moved in like an indigo fog. 

“Is Ray in today?”  

A smoothe, deep voice. 

Familiar.

Hunter’s body went stiff. 

“Ray stepped out. Sorry, man.”

“Ah. I see. Tell him I have made the alterations he’d requested.”

Hunter swallowed and tilted his head slightly towards the back of the shop where he just about caught a glimpse of a black man with thick purple locs piled up in a bun. 

“Well, he called me in on my day off!”

The man laughed and the wind nearly left Hunter’s body bare. In one swift movement, he gathered the clothes in his arms, grabbed his cash and paid up front, slipping out the door way before Steve and his new friend could follow. He spent the rest of his Sunday in the park feeding the pigeons. 

_______________

“Uh. Are you sure you’re comfortable in that?” Raine bit their lip. 

This was the third time they’d asked him this since he’d arrived for work. 

Hunter casually looked down at himself and cleared his throat. “Oh… of course!” he nodded quickly, “s-sorry I was late today.”

Hunter had thought an 11 AM start time would have afforded him a chance to be early, but he’d realized he couldn’t call for Mason to drive him here , so he’d walked miscalculating the distance and arrived 15 minutes late.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Raine shrugged, “I got here at five after anyway.” they cleared their throat and gestured to the hand written notes, “So what do you think?”

Hunter felt his lips pull into a frown. Raine had been ready with all of their plans for the new charity organization they had wanted to begin. Or rather, one jumbled mess on a single piece of 8.5X13 yellow lined paper. Not even in his most difficult case studies at Stern had he been given so much that worked out to something so chaotic.

“That bad, huh?” They cringed. Their eyes flicked up to meet Hunter’s gaze. He took note of the Queen shirt Raine was wearing today along with the vest and slacks from the other day and again resisted the urge to scratch his own chest. And his legs. “Well?” Raine leaned in.

Hunter cleared his throat, “It’s a good concept.”

“But?” Raine’s face pulled.

Hunter blinked. He folded his hands behind his back in the way Uncle Philip did when delivering a verdict on a decision, Raine’s body language folded a bit. 

“It’s n-not that bad!” Hunter felt himself unravel at once. 

“You display your weakness,” Uncle Philip’s voice hissed in his ear, “you won’t gain respect as a stuttering fool.”

“But it is bad,” Raine’s eyes were downturned behind their specs. Hunter felt his heart speed up. He drew a small amount of strength from the fact that he knew a thing or two about what Raine was trying to do, and he took a small personal lesson in the reaction Raine had given when Hunter had shifted his demeanor.

“So,” Hunter gestured to the paper, “First? You’re gonna need a mission statement, you know?”

Raine blinked, “A whuh?” 

“A s-statement of purpose ?” Hunter pursed his lips, he picked up the pen in his right hand and wrote as he spoke, “What are you trying to present to potential investors?”

“Investors?” Raine snorted, “This is a charity, I thought…”

“You thought that you could simply sit outside with an open guitar case and make enough coins to fulfill your goals?”

“Okay. Ouch?” Raine looked back at Hunter like he had slapped them.

“S-sorry,” Hunter shook his head. He couldn’t help the way his chest twinged at the look on Raine’s face. It wasn’t that what he was telling them was wrong . They’d hired him to help their business venture.

No. Not exactly their business venture. Their charity . 

“They literally had no other options and neither did you.”

Hunter closed his eyes. Maybe that was all he was good for. 

“You’ll never stand before Kings, you know that don’t you, Hunter.”

“Look,” Raine’s voice went sharp,”if this job is wasting your time?” 

“No. It’s not!” Hunter opened his eyes. “You’re not wasting my time.” Earlier that morning, Hunter had logged into his NYU email to find a letter of approval from his assigned internship advisor. 

Dear Mr. Wittebane, 

I am writing to advise you that we have approved your enrollment in the Summer Internship program. I have all the information I need from your supervisor Raine Whispers and look forward to your progress report on this endeavor. 

In addition to this, I wish you luck. This seems like a challenging assignment, but perhaps this is just the sort of thing you need to recognize your own potential. Your GPA and the attention to detail demonstrated in your classes thus far, imply that you could do much to help make Whispers’ goals a reality.

Sincerely, 

Professor H. Bump.

Hunter took a breath and tried to believe it. He could help Raine fix this. He knew he could. They’d taken a chance on him. They wanted to do this so they could help people. 

And if I help make that possible? Maybe I’m helping people too? 

“This isn’t a waste of my time,” he repeated. Hunter relaxed his stance and leaned over the counter, “Okay,” he took the pen again, “so what’s your charity’s name?” 

Raine smiled, “I’ve been kicking around a few ideas but Eda keeps telling me they all suck.”

“C’n you tell me one?” Hunter felt his lips twitch “Then maybe I can tell you if it sucks?”

“Musicians Understanding Trauma Therapy?” Raine smiled and waved their hands out at their sides. “Or? MUTTs!”

Hunter’s mouth fell open, “Yeah, Eda’s right. That sucks.” 

“Damn,” they groaned. 

“We can work on it!” Hunter smiled. “Let’s put that on the ‘To Do list’, okay?” He wrote neatly at the top of the page.

Raine’s Charity Plan:

1. Pick Name.

1. Create Mission Statement

“This seems pretty simple.” Raine’s nose wrinkled, “I thought I’d have to file for articles of incorporation or something.”

“Ah!” Hunter felt his chest rise, “so you DO know a bit more than you let on. You absolutely should! But we can’t really do that until we get this stuff sorted out.”

“So small steps first?” Raine nodded, “got it.”

Hunter nodded. “You still need investors, even with a charity.” He explained, “businesses can usually write off contributions for charity in their taxes, but you’ll need to convince them about what you’re looking to do.”

“That feels kind of gross.” Raine shuddered, “trying to convince a wealthy company to give us money so they get a tax break.”

Hunter knew Raine wouldn’t want to hear what he had to say next, so he reached deep down in his memory and thought about how Uncle Philip would explain it. 

“There are many who would ask you why they should give their money to help people who have chosen to squander their own lives on drugs and wanton behavior.” The words tasted absolutely rancid on Hunter’s own lips, but he’d heard this too many times. Along with a threat that he’d been trying to purge from his mind the longer he thought about all the things that had happened within the last week.

Raine’s eyes narrowed, “Well whomever believes that someone would CHOOSE to sleep on the streets of Manhattan needs a lesson in compassion,” they pursed their lips, “people who end up there have no other prospects. They don’t choose addiction, or mental illness. They don’t choose to be thrown out by their families because they are queer, and PTSD keeps folks on the streets, unable to work! Sometimes they had no support system to begin with. They started their lives miles behind even those of us who just scrape by! So they fall into addiction . Not to mention that AIDS goes unrecognized and untreated! Music therapy might seem small, but it can help people who are really struggling!”

Hunter swallowed. His mind trailed to a homeless man he’d seen earlier, sleeping on a bench in a small park with only a cart full of soda cans to cash for change. 

“That could be you, Hunter,” two hands wrapped around his shoulders, “this is why I am so hard on you. I should put you out for a night to sleep on the streets. Hmm? Let you experience the reason why I try so hard to save you.”

“Hunter?” Raine sniffed, “I know it doesn’t sound like much but…”

Hunter felt for his walkman, still attached to his belt buckle. “I see what you mean,” he grimaced, “but you know? It would be hard to get a big company to invest in a new charity, maybe talk to musicians themselves? They’d probably get it. I mean if you can?”

Raine drew a breath. Hunter felt his body tense. Uncle Philip would often do this when he told his talent scouts what calibur of client he would accept associating with the Titan label. Or when he was about to tell Hunter that he’d failed.

Raine’s eyes went bright, “This has been very helpful,” they smiled.

“R-really?” Hunter felt beads of sweat on the back of his neck. He scratched them away. “It was helpful?” he scratched his chest, and looked down at his pants which were definitely chafing . 

“It was,” Raine nodded, “especially when you played Devil’s Advocate back there? You know, playing the part of a big company explaining why they wouldn’t want to invest? I need some of that passion to ‘sell’ my idea if I’m going to need to gain some support.”

“Devil’s Advocate, huh?” Hunter frowned. He wasn’t quite sure that was exactly what happened, but he knew for sure how saying those things had made him feel. 

“You know,” Raine tilted their head, “you should think a bit better about your abilities! Your internship advisor seemed very happy to hear I was taking you on!” 

Hunter blushed. Professor Bump had been at NYU for a decade, but he’d come off retirement from a successful run in several agencies. He was well respected by the student body and the faculty.

“These suggestions of yours have given me a lot of food for thought,” Raine looked at their notes, “I know just where to start. Dell, Eda’s dad, has some old connections from the club. I’ll see what he says.” they paused, “now about your guitar lessons…”

“I don’t need guitar lessons …” Hunter said on instinct, “I mean, I think I can get by…”

Raine shook their head, “Willow told me you know some basic chords. Do you know what tabs are?”

“Yeah,” Hunter nodded, “tablature is when you use the numbers to represent where you should place your fingers and …”

“Just a minute,” Raine smiled. They disappeared into the back of their shop for a moment and returned with a long thin silver guitar case. They placed it on the counter gingerly undoing the latches along the side.

It was bright red. Mostly at the edges, but those edges bled towards the middle, giving the instrument a marbleized look as if it was on fire. On one side, a small crescent sliver revealed a slightly hollow body. On the other was a black wing like pic guard, black with the image of a red cardinal carved into the middle.

“Maple body, with two piece checkerboard bound back, maple and walnut neck, rosewood fretboard with triangle inlays,” Hunter drew a breath. 

“Ah! So you know instruments?” Raine smiled.

Hunter’s eyes pricked slightly, “Similar to a Rickenbacker Fireglo,” but this one’s a custom piece,” he whispered. 

Raine’s lips twitched “You really know instruments.” 

“Yeah,” Hunter scratched the back of his head, “I guess I do.”

“Hunter…” Raine opened their mouth, then they closed it. They gestured to the instrument mildly indicating the pickguard and pickups, then the tuners, “this guitar’s left handed,” they explained. Hunter pursed his lips a little. A small noise escaped his throat. Raine leaned in. “Luz told me you were a lefty.” 

“I’m not!” Hunter held his hands away, but his palms vibrated at the idea of the weight of the instrument in his hands. “But that’s a beautiful guitar.” 

“It’s been here for a while,” Raine said slowly, “Eda’s landlady brought it back in here almost two decades ago? It was left behind by the original owner after he, uh, passed away . Never had too many lefty students myself, though.” 

Hunter traced the inside of the box with his finger. Someone had etched something into the inside. The letter “F” stood out, followed by an “L” and an “A”. 

“It’s a pretty special instrument,” Raine let their voice hang in the air.

“This thing’s gotta be worth a fortune .” he murmured, “didn’t you wanna sell it?”

“Well,” Raine cleared their throat, “some things are just too special to have an actual price. A few musicians over the years have tried it out, but… well? It was never the right fit. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

“But I’m not a lefty,” he said weakly. His fingers twitched. He ran them over the neck and the strings, then the body, scooping it out of the case and close to his body.

“You already know how to hold it.” Raine pushed their glasses up the bridge of their nose.

Hunter nodded.

“How does it feel? Is the weight good? Does the neck feel too thick?”

“It,” Hunter paused. He let out a breath. In a voice much softer than he’d expected of himself he touched the strings and let his fingers travel over the bridge. “It feels good? ” 

“Good.” Raine smiled, “Do you know the names of the strings?” They slid a fresh manuscript book Hunter’s way. Hunter blinked. He picked up a pen and slowly he scratched out the letters, “E. A. D. G. B. E.” across the lines. 

Within the hour, Hunter had made many more notes of his own. Raine had their own book and Hunter had grabbed a large pen from the side of Raine’s desk. It was round and had several buttons that selected a different fountain inside. He followed along in his own way. With each new sound combination, he used a different color ink.

“Hmmmm.” Raine hummed as they watched Hunter write. The sound made his spine stiff. He caught a glimpse of the time on his golden Rolex, and flexed his hands.

“Time to meet the band, huh?” Raine smiled. 

“Willow will be expecting me,” Hunter sighed, “But I lost her contact and address.” His mind pulled back to the other night. How he’d scrubbed his hands raw with the shirt as he’d tried to get the grease out. The stain remained, but the contact information meticulously written in BIC pen had not. 

“Oh, no problemo,” Raine smiled. They grabbed the old rotary phone next to their notebook and cradled it on their neck, “I’ll ask Luz to tell her to meet you at the Owl House. Eda’s dealing with some,” they paused, “housekeeping issues today.” 

“Thanks,” Hunter placed the guitar back in the box and slid it back, but Raine shook their head. 

“Keep it for now,” they said, “and before I forget?” they handed him a few twenties.

Hunter's mind ticked, “What’s this for?” 

“Well, I have a small stipend I can pay you," Raine smiled, "as I mentioned we can work something out with Eda too. I think we’re going to work well together. But are you sure you don’t want to – uh – change?”

Hunter looked down at himself. He’d already spent enough of his cash on this outfit, no matter how uncomfortable he was. He dismissed Raine with a shrug and slid the money back across the counter,  “I didn't do much! Just gave you some advice. R-really, I don’t think I can accept this.”

Raine sighed, “Look. Everyone gets compensated for their work here,” they shrugged slightly before flicking on the radio, “fair is fair. Plus. I have a feeling you are going to want to go shopping again soon.”

Hunter’s body stiffened at the suggestion, “But what’s wrong with what I’m –”

His throat caught as Raine turned up the volume. Hunter’s breath caught in his chest.  

Gentle guitar strum. 

Ethereal voice.

🎶 Hey, Hey, now. 

Goodbye Love 🎶

“Hunter?” Raine’s soft voice grounded him. “Is something wrong?”

Quickly, Hunter reached up to touch his cheeks. They were slick with tears he hadn’t even realized he’d shed. He felt his eyes go wide. After a beat, he looked at Raine and willed himself to nod.

"Hunter?" Raine said his name as if it was a question itself.

“I think …” Hunter swallowed, “I think my dad used to sing this to me.”

Chapter Text

art by @ThreeGoblinArt

WILLOW

“Uh. Willow? You’re staring.” 

“Pfft.” Willow spit a little more of her drink than she’d wanted to. There was no point in denying it. “Yeah, I am. That is a look .”

While she’d hoped to entertain Hunter outside her dorm and find some excuse to invite him up, it was probably better this way. Really, what was she expecting to happen? Wow him with her knowledge of fern taxonomy in a powerful play to rival his salt speech, that’d end in a sloppy make out session? Then, giggle as they rushed in late and flushed to their first official practice with the Emeralds?

Yes. This is exactly what Willow had hoped would happen actually. She’d even made the decision to forego her usual gray sports bra for the black one with the lace. That thing cost her quite a bit and it took Willow forever to find a store that sold something that fit her that didn't look like it belonged in a maternity ward. Apparently, Victoria's actual secret was that she was unable to comprehend why anyone larger than a size 2 and a B-cup deserved pretty underwear. When Willow slipped on the only bra she'd ever found that she felt attractive in, she had felt strangely more confident than ever. It hugged her curves and shaped her breasts just so that complimented the curves of the rest of her body. This this thing was meant to be seen. Willow wanted to be seen wearing it! But as soon as she stepped out the door she'd regretted it at once since it chafed. 

Speaking of chafing , if Hunter had shown up to her dorm dressed in that he might have been laughed all the way up from the lobby to her room. Willow knew that but she also knew that she would have had a difficult time restraining herself from wanting to bite him. 

At first she’d been slightly disappointed when she’d gotten a call from Luz that Hunter had misplaced her information. Her first thought had been, “how could he have lost her info?” Willow had played that interaction over and over in her head. How she’d removed the cap of the pen with her teeth. How she’d made sure to use her best handwriting while treating Hunter’s pale skin like a perfect canvas. How she blew gently on the ink to help it dry. 

Willow had seen her fair share of indie movies, and those were all classic moves for a mysterious young woman to express interest. When Luz called, she’d been half expecting it to be Aunt Helen with whom she’d been playing phone tag since their breakfast. Some important information that she’d wanted to share with Willow and not her dads.

But as soon as Luz had told Willow of Hunter’s current whereabouts she strapped her bass to her back and bladed down to the Owl House early.

“Raine said he looks  – different.” Luz had said. Luz also said that Raine would not elaborate on what exactly different had meant in this case.

And now Willow understood why. There was no sane explanation for this type of sudden change. Gone was Hunter’s button down white shirt with the embroidered cufflinks. In its place? A black Ramones t-shirt with cut off sleeves, stretched over a long sleeve bright neon green fishnet shirt that ran down his arms – the gold watch, however, was still fastened into place, but slightly obscured by the sleeves of the shirt.

Willow had stopped by the bar to say “hello”, but Hunter, as it seemed, had been busy trying to make slow work of the drink orders from early guests while Eda toiled away at the sink which seemed to have sprung an even bigger leak than it had in the past. 

After about an hour, Steve had popped in, practically molded together with Katya, and took over the bartending for him, thus inviting Hunter to reveal his entire new get up in front of the entire assembly of The Owl House.

“Whoa,” Viney snorted, “can someone call Drucilla and tell her that Spike’s been located.”

“Oh, shut up!” Willow squeaked. She’d almost laughed at that one though. Almost.

“Raine did tell Eda it looked like he’d been shopping .” Luz drew her mouth into a dip. 

“I mean, yeah,” Gus chuckled, “I hope he left the tags on.”

“Hey!” Willow nudged him sharply, “We don’t make fun of Skara’s navel ring and we won’t make fun of Hunter’s clothes.”

“Speak for yourself,” Viney cackled, “I make fun of Skara’s navel ring!” 

Willow felt slightly embarrassed for Skara, who was off to the side tuning her violin, as unaware of their ribbing as Hunter himself. Luckily it was only them and not -

“OH. MY. GOD.” Amity’s voice nagged at Willow’s gut, “is he wearing what I think he’s wearing?” 

She was not expecting Amity to be here tonight, and she had very little interest in whatever it was she had to say, something she made sure that Amity knew when she spun around to size her up. 

“Hi Amity,” she spat.

“Hi Willow,” Amity’s eyes flashed sad for a moment. She ran her hands through her hair, now died a light purple over bleached blond on top of her natural chestnut brown. Willow recalled their first swimming class in the school gym after Amity’s hair had first been dyed Odalia approved blonde. Amity’s “new friends’ had poked fun at how Willow had looked in her swimsuit and for a moment it looked like Amity was going to defend her! Willow’s eyes burned. She wanted to believe that something of her old friend (old? It had only been two weeks since the change) was in that dour body. Amity told the girls to shut up, but she still didn’t talk to Willow.  

After her time in the pool, it turned out that the chlorine had reacted to the blonde dye to turn Amity’s hair light green – prompting the bullies to make a motion of wiping their noses across their faces through their hair and claiming that she used snot as hair dye. For a short while after that, Amity had turned back to Willow. She cried and confided in her that she hated how she looked with blonde hair and she hated the girls who teased Willow and herself. The weekend rolled around, and Willow held out hope that her best friend’s coldness had passed, but on Monday, Amity was as closed off as ever. When it was time to swim, one of the bullies made a comment about Amity’s hair and she and the other girls were pushed in before they were ready.

Amity wasn’t in school the rest of the week, and she didn't come back the week after either. That's when Willow found out that her parents put her in private school. 

“Errr, he seems like a nice guy though?” Amity shrugged, “f-for you Willow.” 

Willow narrowed her eyes. Luz had turned her head uncomfortably as she always had during these interactions. 

“WILLOW!” Skara sheiked,”Is that HUNTER wearing bondage pants?”

“He’s wearing bondage pants!” Amity covered her mouth, seemingly recovered from the awkwardness, “right? I’m not imagining things?”

“Leave it.” Willow growled.

“Does he even know what those are?” Luz pushed herself into their space. She wrapped her arms around Amity’s waist. 

 “Do you know what those are?” Viney ribbed her.

“We live practically with Eda?” Luz chuckled.

“LUZ! TMI!” Gus shouted. 

“I didn’t mean it like THAT!” Luz protested, “I mean she HAS a pair and … you know what?” I don’t know. I don’t wanna know.”

Willow had been here for two hours already and her fingers were itching to play. When Luz had called her, left her room in a hurry, moving boxes unfolded and ready to be filled with the wares from her dorm for the very last time. She’d arrived at the Owl House earlier than the others just in time to see Hunter from the waist up at the bar, and to hear Eda in her weekly conversation – or as Eda liked to call it, the weekly, “Bargu-ment” with Mr. Rafe Warden the local Health and Safety inspector. 

This “arrangement” was called a “bargument” because as they argued, Eda would often try to offer Rafe bribes to keep him off her back, sometimes literally. Rafe had harbored a very unsavory crush on Eda for what she’d explained was the better part of the decade, and had very little respect for the fact that Eda not only was not interested. She’d told him that she already had a partner in Raine. Willow often caught them arguing.

“Call me when you finally need a real man!”

“First? If I did want that, I wouldn’t call YOU. Second, I can fix the leak myself. Here’s fifty. Leave me alone!”

Willow saw how Hunter watched Rafe wearily, but managed to wipe down the counter about five times during their conversation, all the time his eyes trailing back to a promo poster on the wall. Finally, Steve tapped him on the back and handed Hunter a few dollars from the tip jar. Now he picked his head up and waved awkwardly towards Willow as if he had finally been given permission to realize that she was there. 

“So are you gonna invite him over to play?” Gus poked her, “or do you prefer just objectifying him like a piece of meat?” 

“What?” Willow hadn’t even thought about how creepy she must look, this fat girl in cut off shorts and an ancient NOFX shirt, oogling this guy … who clearly didn’t know how to dress himself either, because while she knew bondage pants were supposed to be tight, the ones Hunter was wearing were clearly too small for him, in spite of his very skinny body. 

“Let’s just nip this one in the bud right here,” Gus groaned, “I’m gonna tell him.”

“GUS!” Willow hissed.

“Remember what Steve said,” Luz warned, “be nice,”

“I intend to!”  Gus chucked. He reached into his light blue Jansport, covered in Sharpie notes from years past, “hey! Hunter! Got your Star Wars Books, man!” 

At the sound of his name, Hunter’s lips turned up. He hugged his middle and slowly, urged by Steve, he made his way over to the stage.

“Oh, c-cool!” he gave a shy smile and shrug that immediately countered any badassery that his outfit might have offered. He looked at the books and ran a hand through his hair. Then his eyes found Willow. 

“You’re here.” Willow felt a smile creep up on her face.

“I am,” he nodded. 

“You sound surprised,” she raised a brow.

“I think I am ?” he shrugged again, but it was a bit lighter, “s-sorry about the whole losing your address thing,” he mumbled. 

Willow opened her mouth to wave it off casually, but Viney clamped her shoulder and leaned in.

“Soooooo, ummm Hunter? You look different .” she smirked.

For a moment he looked confused, but must have followed Viney’s eyes as they trailed down his body. “Oh! Katya and Steve took me shopping at the place where rockstars go!” He looked so earnest. Willow felt embarrassment burning in her body for the poor guy.

“Yeah, Hunter? About that.” Amity sucked in a breath, “I don’t think the world is ready for you, ‘shopping like a rockstar. Please change.’”

Confusion washed over his face. “But I just spent all my money on this?” he mumbled, "and I don’t have anything else that would be adequate for a venue like here?”

“Don’t listen to her.” Willow found herself covering Amity’s mouth with her hands, and then retracting them like poison, “Amity doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Uhhh. When it comes to fashion, I think I do?” Amity had applied to FIT for grad school and gotten in early decision. Luz had told Willow that Amity’s parents had been pushing for her to attend Columbia for Business, but she’d convinced them that the Marketing Program at FIT was more lucrative for their business needs. The only problem was, Amity was actually planning on studying costume design under one of the most famous names in the industry who had taken a residency there. 

“Yeah,” Luz swallowed, “like I told you before? You look different. ”

“Different good, or…?” Hunter swallowed, “why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” his eyes darted around like a rabbit’s eyes, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” he looked at his shirt, “the Ramone’s are cool, right?”

“Name one song by them,” Viney challenged. Puddles sat by her side. The giant mutt was just too restless to stay at home, so she had opted to bring her to the club again. Hunter eyed the dog with caution, “One. Ramones Song,” Viney repeated, “and then we can discuss if they’re cool or not.”

Hunter drew his chest up, “ Hey Ho, Let’s Go ,” he grinned. He looked around pals up, “eh?” he challenged. Willow restrained herself not to actually smack her palm into her face. 

Viney crossed her arms,  “I think the song you’re talking about is called Blitzkrieg Bop ,” she tossed her ponytail to the side, “also, everyone knows that one.”

Willow bit her lip. They hadn’t even tried playing together and already this was a complete disaster. Hunter, who had just a moment ago showed a small amount of innocent confidence had begun to fold. He hugged his arms around his waist and drew back a few steps, “ I Wanna Be Sedated ?” he swallowed.

“Still a pretty popular one.” 

“ Pinhead, Sheena is a Punk Rocker, Rock and Roll High School ,” Hunter swallowed, “b-but they have a few really great covers like, ‘Surfing Bird’ originally written by the Trashmen a-and Califonia Sun by the Rivieras ! ”

“Ohhhh kay.” Viney shrugged. 

“Yeah!” Willow touched Hunter’s back. He flinched away slightly, and she tried to pretend it was nervousness and not aversion to her touch that had caused it. “Now,” she raised her chin to Viney, “instead of working against each other can we all just play –”

But Hunter wasn’t done. He closed his eyes, “The Band Members all gave themselves the stage surname Ramone which was based on Paul McCartney’s habit of checking himself in hotels until the name Paul Ramon and …they’re from Forest Hills … n-not too far from here.”

“Hunter,” Willow said quickly, “it’s fine!”

“WE GET IT!” Gus laughed,  “You know your stuff, Viney was being an ass. “

“I was,” Viney admitted. She smirked and leaned close to Willow’s ear, “touché Park. Now for your sake, I hope he fucks better than he bartends.” Viney raised a glass of what appeared to be a watered down Jack and Coke. Willow’s body went hot. 

Hunter looked shyly at his feet. He was wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors that looked right out of the box. It threw the look off a little, “So umm, a-are we gonna do this?” he asked.

“DO WHAT! Willow gasped. 

“Practice?” Hunter shrugged, “that’s why you wanted me here? Right?”

“Practice! Yes!” Willow smiled, “now, the thing is – I know we talked about just –”

“Hey! Emeralds!” Mary of Detention Pit called out, “did you guys hear they’re trying to close this place down?”

Willow caught Luz’s face falling a little bit. She knew Eda often had money troubles, but this was new. 

“Whoa!” Jerbo had snuck in under the radar, he eyed Hunter from head to toe, “You guys really wanna go up there with a poser in bondage pants?” 

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up, “I’m sorry. What are ‘bondage pants’?’”

“Hah, good one,” Viney shoved him away. She studied Hunter’s face for a beat before her eyes widened, “dude, please don’t tell me on top of all this, he’s a prude.” 

“VINEY!” Willow shrieked. A hot mass of nerves washed over her as she watched as Hunter’s face drain.

“No. Seriously. What are bondage pants?” He mumbled. The panic was setting into his eyes.

“Oh, you naughty boy.” Skara cackled playfully. Then she blinked, “Wait, are you serious?”

“Umm,” Willow’s heart sank, she put a reassuring hand on his arm. His body remained tense, but he’d leaned into her, “maybe we’ll talk about that later. ” she told him.

Jerbo shook his head, “Hey man!” he rubbed the back of his neck, “are you gonna use my guitar again tonight?”

“Oh! No actually!” Hunter’s face brightened. He hopped over to the bar, and returned with a bright red guitar, “Raine lent me this one!” 

Willow noticed Eda’s head spin around as he rushed back to the stage, cradling it to his chest.

“WOAH!” Barcus slipped his sunglasses over his nose, “Whispers was holding out on you, Jerms.”

“Don’t call me, ‘Jerms’,” Jerbo groaned, “but yeah, that’s a crazy instrument man. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Because it’s a Clawthorne original,” Eda leaned up against the wall by the stage, “my dad made that one. I remember it well, actually. The – uh – client came by to test it out. I stopped by the shop just to hear it for the first time! I was a teen at the time, but it was one of dad’s masterpieces. Took him a while to finish because of his injury, but he was so proud of it.”

Willow watched as Hunter’s brows knit, “I can give it back,” he said softly, “I told Raine…”

“Nah! It suits you,” Eda placed a hand on her hip, “it’s just been gathering dust in the back of Raine’s shop anyway. That thing? It was waiting for you blondie.”

“And? It’s a lefty,”  Luz shouted.

Hunter winced. He shook his head slightly, “It’s not – I mean, it is …” he drew a breath, “look! It’s not that. It’s just easier for me to play!” 

“Because you’re a lefty?” Luz tilted her head in towards him. 

Willow looked back at Eda, but she’d already returned to the bar. Now instead of bills, she seemed to be looking through a stack of old photographs. The crowds were beginning to fill in now, and the air was thick with smoke. 

“I thought we were gonna practice,” Hunter mumbled.

“Yeah? I thought you were gonna play!” Barcus smirked, “Or are you guys here to clear the crowds out. Our manager wants to get us into new venues before they pull the plug on this place.” 

“Wait, WHAT?” Hunter’s eyes shot open, “b-but I thought…”

“Relax man!” Gus shook his head. “That rumor’s been going around for like decades. This place is a cornerstone of the community.”

But now this was the second time that Willow had heard this rumor tonight. A weird sense of foreboding rang through her spine, but she pushed it back. Eda would have said something. Luz would have said something!

“We could JUST play,” Viney shrugged, “kick your ass Jeremy. Put you and your manager to shame?”

“You mean, in front of people?” Hunter gasped, “Raine showed me some stuff b-but…”

Willow sighed. She’d hoped to have more practice time before performing, but what did it matter? Slowly, tentatively, she slipped the strap over Hunter’s shoulders, grazing the hot skin on his neck with her bare hand. His face lit up and she leaned in close.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said softly, “that first Ramone’s song you mentioned, do you know the lyrics?”

“Kind of?” Hunter swallowed, “b-but I’m not sure I can play it?”

Viney groaned, “do you know what a power chord is?”

“Oh!” Hunter smiled. He placed his long fingers on the frets just so, first finger on the first string of the 3rd fret, third on the second string of the 5th, “this shape?”

“Yeah,” Willow smiled. Slowly, she covered his hands with her own and slid them down to the 5th and the 7th, “but this song starts here.”

It might have been the stage lights, but Willow swore she saw his ears light up red. She bit her lip, “follow my lead,” she whispered.

Quickly, she grabbed Clover off the stand. Skara cued up her violin, and Gus hopped behind the drums.

“We’re just gonna play?” Hunter said again, “i-in front of all these people?”

“We are,” Willow nodded, “and we’re gonna kick ass.”

Viney smiled. She patted Puddles on the head and moved confidently past the members of detention pit to grab her own guitar. She looked to Willow, then Gus, then Skara. She grinned at Hunter.

“Okay bondage pants,” she chuckled, “if we’re going to have you in the band show us what you can bring to the table.”

Without another second’s rest, she flicked on the amps and began to play. 

Hunter moved clumsily at first, but it didn’t matter. The Emerald’s manic energy had increased so furiously that it was difficult to notice. He slid his hands over the chords, following the best he could – then he approached the mic. Willow's eyes widened as Hunter opened his chest. Her heart pounded as he began to sing.

“Hey ho, let's go!”

Chapter Text

art by @threegoblinart

Hunter

“This is my grave,” Hunter groaned. 

“Dude,” Steve shook his head, “it’s not that bad.”

“Oh it’s totally bad,” Hunter shook his head slowly, “why?” he rasped, “why didn’t you TELL me that I was wearing …”

“Bondage pants?” Steve’s lip twitched.

“Yeah,” Hunter’s shoulders pulled up to his ears, “that.”

Casual as ever Steve Tholomule let out a deep sigh as his smile widened. He leaned his body up against the side of the bar.

"Ahpupup!" Hunter tensed up, “Steve! I literally just cleaned that counter! And it took forever. I don’t think it’s been cleaned since 1984, specifically.”

“It’s dark,” Steve shrugged, “I can guarantee no one but you noticed this grimy counter before you. Especially if no one’s said anything since '1984, specifically'.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, “Everyone noticed my…” he gestured at his pants, “you know…”

“The bondage pants?” Steve said again. He tapped his hands rhythmically on the counter, “If you hadn’t left the shop so quickly, I’dve tried to talk you out of buying them, but you just bolted! I kinda gave Kat shit for being a brat and not telling you in the first place. She says she’s sorry,” he sighed, “BUT? On the bright side? You got a date out of it!”

“A date?” Hunter tasted the word. He let it sit on his tongue like a hard candy. His chest fell a little.

“Come on, man!” Steve nudged him, “Willow basically asked you out.”

Willow.  Her name smelled like the spring air.

“I don’t … I mean," Hunter’s nose twitched, ”she told me she’d go shopping with me ?” he ran a hand over his hair, again, which now rose about two inches over his head, spiked from sweat and fifteen minutes of a panic attack, “in return for helping her pack up her dorm room ?”

"Exactly," Steve smirked, "she 'needs help in her dorm room'."

"Yeah!" Hunter paused for a moment, “it’s a reciprocal situation, you know? She could use help, and I could be useful.”

Steve released a breath. He reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels, and grabbed a thick glass full of ice. In a quick motion, he poured a bit of whiskey into the glass and snapped open a can of coke, “I know you don’t get out much, man,” Steve tossed the drink back fast and gave a quick gasp of satisfaction, “but that’s a social code for wanting to spend more time with you. That Willow girl? She wants to see you A LOT more.”

“Well yeah?” Hunter swallowed, “because somehow I joined her band? Which…ugh, Steve." a steely cold flushed through him, "I-If my uncle knew …”

“If your uncle knew what?” Steve shrugged, “that you’re out on your own, being a functional adult?”

“Functional?” Hunter raised a brow, “I have fifteen dollars in tips and a couple of twenties in my wallet. And then that’s it. And if I use my bank card Kikimora’s gonna track my spending and start drawing blood. Really, Steve. If he finds out about ANY of this,” he gestured to the bar, “th-the alcohol, the … drugs ?”

“Which you are totally partaking in,” Steve rolled his eyes, “not even smoking a joint! Bartending without taking a drink for yourself like SOME of us!”

“Steve…”

“Hunter?” Steve quirked a brow, “listen to me. Screw that guy. SCREW. THAT. GUY. The dude told you to get a business internship or he’d cut you off, right? That’s what you’re doing!”

“This isn’t what he meant,” Hunter spat, “the music ,” he whispered. 

"Yeah," Steve's face lit up, "the music. You're a natural too! Makes me wonder why old Crane never took you off the triangle and tried to get you trained with some other instruments at Glandus."

Hunter closed his eyes. He shrunk to age 9, sitting outside Scooter Crane's office while Uncle Philip had come in for a meeting with the school band leader and the headmaster.

"The child has a natural ability for tone and rhythm, Mr. Wittebane."

"And I sent him here to make a man out of him. Not to have him prance around in a tassled uniform!"

"Mr. Wittebane ..."

"Furthermore? I will not have him tempted to give in to the same follies that claimed his father."

"The Glandus Marching Band is nationally ranked! If you reconsider, we could offer a scholarship towards his tuition."

"Very well. But he mustn't so much as touch anything beyond a simple percussion."

"Mr. Wittbane -"

"Ahpupup. He's my burden, therefore I get the final say in his training. If his abilities are as you claim, they will show up in -- I don't know, a triangle, or crash symbols? Now when can I expect the scholarship reimbursement, hmmm?"

"You're good," Steve told him. "Really good! I mean that guitar sounds amazing, but its just part of the whole deal. It's like you became a whole new you up there!"

Hunter opened his mouth to talk, but no words came out. On one hand, Steve had struck a chord. Pun intended! Performing on stage felt right. It felt good! Hunter felt itchy. He looked down at his pants. Oh, how badly he wanted to scratch. 

“You can – uh – scratch now,” because of course Steve noticed, “no one else is here.”

“Actually, I’m here!” Gus popped up from around the corner, “Eda let me back in. She’s also still here, but I forgot my sticks. And you can scratch. I literally don’t care that you’re wearing bondage pants or that you didn’t know what they were. I had no idea until like a year ago, because I’m that lame.” On fast feet, Gus hopped over the bar and grabbed Hunter’s hand. He pulled forward so quickly that their heads bumped.

“OWWWWWW!” Hunter let go fast, but Gus and Steve laughed.

“That’s your new buddy handshake or whatever,” Steve downed another Jack and Coke.

“It is.” Gus winked. He motioned to an empty glass which Steve filled with more of the same.

Hunter had no idea if Gus was even of age to drink, but he kept that question to himself, opting to wipe down the counter yet again.

“Hey,” Gus smiled, “you don’t have to be buggin’ out about any of that,”  he threw back his drink and hopped back over the counter, taking a moment to grab his sticks from off the stage, “what you should know,” Gus gave a sharp look,” is that you rocked it out there tonight, man.” 

“I …” Hunter took a deep breath trying to recapture the staticky smell of the music in the air.

_______

🎶 Hey ho, let's go! Hey ho, let's go!

Hey ho, let's go! Hey ho, let's go! 🎶

A rush of static gold and white flushed Hunter’s body from head to toe. He knew he wasn’t quite as in sync with Viney or Willow as he could have been, but Skara’s frenetic fiddling mixed with Gus’ beats called forth whirlwind of frenzied notes, and it all just sounded right. All Hunter needed to do was join with Willow and sing.

🎶 They're forming in straight line

They're going through a tight wind

The kids are losing their minds

The blitzkrieg bop 🎶

Willow’s voice was different than it had been the first time Hunter had heard her sing. It still held a thick honey-sweet note, but it was lined with razors. Or maybe that was just Hunter’s own voice harmonizing with hers. 

🎶 They're piling in the back seat

They're generating steam heat

Pulsating to the back beat

The blitzkrieg bop 🎶

His body just MOVED. From his place on the stage he watched Viney’s lead guitar, and managed to keep up himself, messily hitting each of the power chords intermittently, singing with Willow, until their eyes met. 

🎶 Hey ho, let's go

Shoot 'em in the back now

What they want, I don't know

They're all revved up and ready to go 🎶

He read the lyrics off her lips like little kisses. She drew each breath, inviting him closer to the mic. He could only comply. She was his leader, his conductor. Willow was his captain.

And then the song was over. About a quarter dozen people stood out in front of the stage screaming in shades of gold and green Hunter felt the sweat slip between his shoulder blades. The fishnet shirt pressed against his chest, so sticky and yet, Hunter swore he could feel each hole in the webbing. And his heart? 

“Gotta make sure your ticker’s still working, kiddo.”

"Ow," a bubble of pain made its way up through his chest.

“HUNTER!” Luz sprung forward from the audience, “DUDE THAT WAS AMAZING!” 

Hunter’s vision went fuzzy. He felt his legs fold like jelly onto the floor while his breath quickened.

A bundle of arms tackled him in the midst of his near fall. His vision swirled back to see both Willow and Gus breaking him from a tight embrace.

“Whoa!” Skara’s violin hung in her hands, “are you okay?” she asked. 

“I…” Hunter looked around at the scene, “yeah!” he nodded.

“Any doubts I ever had about you are squashed,” Viney pinched her fingers together, “you were right Wills.”

“SEE!” Willow stomped on the floor, “I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU HE HAD IT!”

“Well you certainly seemed to think he had something !” Gus chuckled, “but wow!”

Hunter couldn’t not notice that Willow had lingered in the hold slightly longer than the others had. He could still feel the weight of her soft arms around him. He found himself reaching for his chest to quell the sharp needling inside.

“I … I…” he forced the words from his lips, “I c-can’t believe I just DID that…”

“You’re not the only one!” Amity, Luz’ girlfriend slipped an arm around her waist, “you’ve got some stamina,” she shot Willow a smile. Hunter noted that Willow froze up a bit before her cheeks went red.

She tilted her head towards him, "are you okay?"

“I - I’m just tired,” he groaned, “b-but really. Thanks for giving me a shot…” his stomach twinged with a combination of guilt and gratitude. 

“Well if that’s you being tired, then you’re pretty strong.” Amity grinned, “congrats Willow! Can’t wait to see your next show.”

Living with Uncle Philip, Hunter had become highly attuned to the language of eyes. Just a flick to the left or right could be the difference between a dismissal for the day, or instant regret that he'd spoken out of turn. After Amity had congratulated them, Hunter noticed that Willow’s eyes were tinged with warning. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something.

“Okay, I’m impressed.” A woman with a bright red Mohawk and a double lip piercing slipped a hand between them. Whatever words had hung on Willow’s lips faded when she took her hand.

“Yeah?” Even Viney sounded surprised.

Mohawk grinned, “You guys have some kinks to work out, but I think it’s all falling into place! Hey Detention Pit?”, she slipped a smirk at Jerbo and Barcus, “That’s gonna be a hard act for you to follow, huh?”

“Hooooooooly shit!” Skara squealed, “that was UKLA from the SLITHERBEASTS!”

Hunter knit his brow, “Katya’s band?”

“Uh, yeah dude.” Luz chuckled, “but Ukla’s SCARY. She’s not really one to just give out compliments willy nilly.”

Hunter caught Willow’s shy smile, “that’s THE BEST we’ve ever sounded! How did you just sing and play at the same time? It took me FOREVER to do that?’

“Seriously,” Viney laughed, “it’s like worse than walking and chewing gum! It took me MONTHS of practice. I thought you’ve,” she made quotes with her fingers, “ never played before.”

Hunter swallowed, “I mean, it wasn’t exactly easy ,” he offered, “but all of our shapes just sort of matched up.”  And now he’d realized his mistake. Everyone was staring because he’d just said something incredibly stupid. 

“Well, whatever it was?” Amity’s arms wrapped themselves around Luz. She picked up a leg and Luz caught it underarm. These two were always locked up in some sort of physical contact, “you sounded awesome!” she smiled with her entire face. 

“No doubt,” Skara chuckled, “it’s like we’re reborn! Like we’re a whole new band!”

“Well?” Willow stepped back, “maybe?” she eyed Hunter, “maybe we need a new name?”

Hunter frowned a bit. For years he’d stood outside. Always outside. Outside circles, outside private clubs, outside families. Outside doorways. And now for the first time ever? Hunter actually felt like he was on the inside of something . 

The band. Skara, Viney, Gus, Willow . They were looking at him. They wanted his input. He pursed his lips, “What’s wrong with the Emeralds?” he asked. Hunter actually had liked the name. It was bright and colorful, and if he was being honest with himself, Willow reminded him a little bit of an Emerald herself. All green and shiny.

“Eh,” Gus grimaced, “it just seems a little old fashioned? I mean don’t get me wrong? I love that Luz painted an emerald on my bass drum and I’d hate to have to change it, but, after what we just did? I mean, sure we’ve got Skara’s violin, but we’re not exactly gem like?” 

“Hmmm.” Hunter thought about it, “the music. It’s not smooth. It’s ROUGH a-and SHARP – but we’re still green, I think? Or at least I am, t-to this whole band thing? We’re new to playing together? So yeah! We’re all GREEN and we get into the guts of music.”

He closed his eyes for a beat, “maybe we’re the Emerald ENTRAILS ?” For a moment he worried that he’d been wrong about this, ‘being in the inside thing’? Especially when he’d opened his eyes he was met with open mouthed stares.

Gus chuckled, “That sounds like a team name on Legends of the Hidden Temple…”.

“Huh?” Hunter raised his brow. From the way the others nodded, it seemed like this was something he should know about. Gus was a Star Wars fan, so he took a guess,“Is that an Indiana Jones Movie or?”

“Legends of the Hidden Temple?” Skara sniffed, “OLMEC WHO KNOWS THE SECRETS BEHIND HIS TEMPLE!”

Okay. Not Indiana Jones. 

“Red Jaguars, Blue Barracudas,” Luz offered.

 Hunter shook his head, “I - uh, don’t even know what that means?” his face was lined with sweat, “Is that a good thing?”

“IT’S PERFECT!” Willow’s smile was wide and fierce. She leaned in and for a moment, Hunter thought he felt the weight of her head against his heart. Instead, he felt a dozen ice cubes crash over his head. Viney stood behind him with an empty glass.

“Sorry!” she smirked, “it looked like you needed a cool down.” Puddles nosed around Hunter’s feet, licking up the residual ice.

“Emerald Entrails?” Willow asked.

“EMERALD ENTRAILS!” Viney growled.

“Whatever!” Barcus groaned, “now let the ACTUAL band go on?”

“You mean Slitherbeasts?” Viney laughed, “they’re the headliners?”

“ARG! Okay!” Jerbo laughed, “let it go, Bark!” he eyed Hunter and smiled warmly, “that was awesome, man! Even with the ill fitting bondage pants.”

Hunter’s stomach twitched, “OKAY!” He grabbed his head and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, “CAN SOMEONE TELL ME? WHAT ARE, ‘BONDAGE PANTS’?”

_______

“She told me it was…” Hunter closed his eyes. The memory of Willow’s lips ghosted against his ear.

“It’s a sex thing.” she’d whispered.

“Uh huh!” Steve smirked, “then she invited you to hang out!”

“Outside of your clothes,” Gus’s eyes twinkled. 

Hunter’s stomach twisted, “A-again!," he shook his head. "S-she offered to ‘take me shopping’!” he stammered, “In return for helping her pack up her dorm room?”

“She’s LITERALLY inviting you UP TO HER ROOM?” Gus rolled his eyes, “I’d love to stick around while you figure this out but, I’ve got papers to turn in, and and a good ol’ nepotism interview tomorrow at MTV studios!” he tapped Hunter on the back, “welcome to the band, dude. But also? Willow’s had a difficult couple of years. Do. Not. Hurt. Her."

Gus trained his eyes on Hunter for what felt like a while. Hunter considered for a moment that this guy. Gus might have his own feelings for Willow. But he’d also just been teasing him about the implications of Willow’s invitation, which Hunter himself highly doubted was anything like that. And anyway, it’s not like Hunter wanted that either. 

Right?

His mind traveled to Willow's smile. Her dimples. The tickle of her breath on his ear. The color of her singing voice. How she looked when they sang together, and how she’d looked when he first had rejected joining the band.

Gus’ words hit him in the chest. Hunter swallowed. “I – why would I hurt her?” he murmured. 

“Forget I said anything,” Gus shook his head, “Enjoy the books! See you soon.”

“I’m gonna head out with you, actually!” Steve smiled.

“Off to Katya’s for round two?” Gus poked him in the ribs.

“Ha! Something like that,” Steve, who was always so cool, scratched his head shyly, “later though. My little brother just paged me 911. He prolly needs me to rescue him from sports night with his work buddies.” 

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Gus chuckled as he followed Steve out the door.

Hunter placed two hands on either side of the counter. He eyed the guitar off to the side. Left handed or not, It had felt so RIGHT just a few hours ago. How easily his hands closed around the neck, and how clear his voice had sounded. 

And the band? They liked his name suggestion. The Emerald Entrails existed because of him !

“Hey kid! Do you need to crash at our place again?” Eda’s voice cut through the dark. “You’ve got work at 11, right? You live uptown?”

“Midtown,” Hunter murmured, “errr. I mean, Midtown-ish.” The area he lived was wedged in a neighborhood known to some as “Clinton” but known to locals as “Hell's Kitchen”, which often made him wonder if Uncle Philip had been aware of this when he’d set Hunter up in the small space. 

Uncle Philip simply called it, “Midtown”, but would often inform Hunter that if he didn’t satisfactorily fulfill his end of “the bargain” this would be his last stop before hell. Uncle Philip did enjoy his jokes best when they were humorous mostly to him, and sent a message to those he admonished.

“Midtown- ish , huh?” Eda snorted, “Well, Mr. Midtown- ish , If you stay with the Noceda’s again, it’ll save you some time. A little birdie told me Willow’s gonna take you shopping anyway?”

“A little birdie called eavesdropping?” Hunter crossed his arms.

“Something like that,” Eda shrugged, “If you need some more quiet you can stay at Rainestorm’s place. They’re a few buildings over. King, well?” she scratched the back of her head, “he doesn’t like to go over there – so it’s like, ‘unchartered territory’, for him, it’s not like you have to worry that he’ll be sneaking in the windows or anything.”

Hunter shook his head, “no,” he sighed, “I’m okay.” It would have been easier to stay down here, but if he didn’t come home again? And his uncle found out? Well, Philip would know FOR SURE that he’d been straying. At least he hadn’t used his bank card near here this evening.

“Thanks though.” he added, because it was only polite. 

Eda shrugged and slid a pile of singles his way, “more tips,” she explained, “I made sure to hold on to them for you so no one swiped em’.”

Hunter blinked. Most of the people who he had served tried to act patient. Many of them had to repeat their order at least twice, and they waited as he found their orders on the drink map that Eda had provided. A few wanted special versions of those drinks anyway, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to pour less alcohol or more. He’d explained several times that he was new at this. He’d noted the very rusty smell of marijuana fighting with cigarettes and gagged a bit, thus forgetting what he’d been in the middle of making. 

“Sorry,” he shook his head, “I don’t think I’m good at this,” he gestured to the bar, “give that to Steve.”

“Oh, Steve got his tips stuffed directly into his shirt!” Eda laughed, “and you’ll learn. You’re faster than Luz at least!” she smiled and eyed the leaky sink, “uh? You don’t happen to have any plumbing skills do you?”

Hunter chuckled darkly. His apartment was a mess. At one point the pipes below his sink had rusted out and sprung a bad leak. The doorman had put him in touch with a plumber and Uncle Philip took the money to pay right from Hunter's food stipend. From that point on, he’d figured out a less expensive way to handle these things. He felt his lips twitch, “Not really, but have you tried duct tape?” 

“Resourceful!” Eda laughed. She hesitated for a beat and reached into her pocket, “hey before you go. Could you just settle something for me?” Hands splayed out, Eda placed a black and pink poster on the counter.

Hunter’s breath fell as he looked from Eda to the poster, to the blank spot on the wall where the poster had been just the other night, “I noticed you’ve been looking at this a bunch,” she pulled her lips tight.

A sharp barb slipped up Hunter's throat. Four faces. Two men in the back. One, a tall black man with a pile of locs on his head. The other was a shorter man, his face and head covered in a mess of thick hair. Then, two up front. A man and a woman. Lithe and youthful, they grinned wildly. Sharp black eye liner painted over their eyes. Leather coats, spiked hair and …

Blood on the floor.

Two sheets. 

“Hello, my loves.”

“Hunter? Sweetie? Stay in your room!”

“What a shame.”

Eda’s finger passed over the four figures. But to Hunter's surprise, she skipped over the blonde man in the leather jacket and settled a gold pointed nail right on the sharp eyed woman in the middle, “You’re Eve Wild’s kid, aren’t you?”

Chapter Text

Art by @threegoblinart

Duet

“I didn’t know if you liked coffee, so I went out on a limb and grabbed you one anyway!”

Hunter frowned a little. Willow had been extremely kind to meet up with him early in order to ensure he would make it to work at Raine's on time. Usually it took him a few extra minutes to leave his apartment in hopes that the doorman was distracted enough to avoid him all together.

If Hunter was unlucky -- and he usually was, he would manage to sneak just past the mail room before eye contact was made. From the point of eye contact came the bragging. From the bragging came the insistence that Uncle Philip would soon be calling on him for his talents. From the insistence came the demonstrations of said talents. And from the demonstrations -- well, this is where the doorman would begin to pry into Hunter's personal life. To look for reasons to call his uncle and alert him on some sort of false "concern" to just for a chance to have an in with Philip Wittebane. The prying was usually just a minor annoyance, because up until now, Hunter had no private life to pry into.

And now that Hunter did have something to hide, he wasn't ready to face the consequences of these last few weeks, especially at the tattling of a sneering wannabe "thespian".

Today, however, the wiry man lay lazily on a swiveling chair with his tiny feet up on the desk. He was watching what should have been a monitor for the door, but instead was some sort of live performance on VHS. 

🎶Razzle dazzle 'em

And they’ll never catch wise! 🎶

He sang along flashing his hands all over the sides of his body.

Hunter reached up to silence the door and took a moment to allow himself an eye roll before slipping out without acknowledgement. He’d received a call from Raine right before leaving his place that they’d be busy with clients most of the morning, and they would be emailing some information regarding potential investors for Hunter to review with them later in the day. 

This had allowed a little extra time for him to make it downtown to meet Willow at a bodega by Washington Square Park. As soon as he’d arrived, she’d nearly knocked him over, hopping off the stoop while holding two coffees in blue and white paper cups, and curiously, a bunch of leaves stuck to her arms.

“I also didn’t know how you took your coffee,” she continued to greet him without ceremony, “but there’s some sugar and half and half in the bag. Oh!” she pointed a nose towards a brown paper back under her arm, “I also got you a buttered roll, unless you ate before you got here?”

Hunter had not eaten before he got here. His cupboards consisted of a few packages of budget saltine crackers, Nissin Ramen Noodles and various cans of Chef Boyardee "pasta". Usually, breakfast for him was some sort of prepackaged coffee cake, but he’d run out of those the week before. That morning he had made himself a cup of Sanka instant coffee with powdered cream, and it tasted like absolute misery compared to the rich hot cup Willow had given him. 

“This was generous of you,” Hunter swallowed, “I’ll pay you back.”

Willow laughed like bells on the air, “oh don’t worry!” she leaned in very close as if she was sharing a secret, “I didn’t pay!”

Hunter’s heart sputtered. His eyes darted around the street for an angry cashier. He felt the middle of his palms itch, “I-I don’t want a stolen roll and coffee!” he stammered.

Willow’s eye’s grew really big, and she laughed again.

“WHAT?” he shouted, earning him a few dirty looks from kids in baggy white shirts, "I-I'm not comfortable with shoplifting!"

“Relax!” Willow nudged him with her shoulder, “my family owns this place!” she pointed to the awning that read, Parks on the Park IV, “come in! I’ll introduce you.” 

Hunter let out a breath and tried to protest, but Willow had already grabbed him by the sleeve to pull him along. He followed her into a narrow shop full of various displays of wrapped pastries and fresh fruits on ice. On the side, by the door sat a delightfully vibrant selection of floral bouquets. He took a moment to appreciate the scent of it all, grounded by the earthy aroma of fresh coffee from bubbling pots behind the counter. 

Behind the tingling on the door-chime he could hear the distant sound of the radio playing over the cashier.

“What’d you forget?” 

The new voice mixed with the sensory overload startled Hunter backwards, sending his tall body toppling over a pile of boxes.

“Oh shit! Hunter, are you okay?” Willow stood over him to help him up. Behind her stood a middle aged Asian man in an apron.

“I- I’m sorry!” Hunter stammered, “I just didn’t see –”

“No, no,” the man had a slight accent and a less slightly panicked smile, “I am the one who is sorry. We’re still unpacking here. I thought we’d tucked these boxes far enough away – just …” he swallowed, “please don’t sue us!”

“Oh!” Hunter blinked, “I’d never! I mean, I - I was the one who should have been watching where I was going, and I understand how lawsuits like that could destroy a small business!”

"Well, thank you?" the man seemed surprised, "Sweetpea? Who is this considerate young man who wouldn't think to pursue legal action against us?"

“Dad,” Willow leaned in, “this is my friend, Hunter.”

Hunter’s entire body went still. He ducked his head low and swallowed a breath trying to match this man's voice to the one he’d heard on the phone when he'd called, “I-it’s a pleasure t-to meet you, sir!” He straightened his back at once, hesitating to offer him a sweaty palm.

The man – Willow’s father’s face pulled into a real smile, “you can call me Gil. No harm done?” Gil took Hunter's hand and his eyes crinkled at the sides just like Willow’s, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Hunter! I won’t keep you though – gotta get back up to Parks II! I hear there’s a shortage of Snackwells!” he gave Willow a quick kiss on the cheek as he left, “MORTON!” he shouted, “can you make sure Willow’s friend gets a few muffins to go? He looks a little thin.”

The way Gil said the word, "friend" , confused Hunter. It was the color of the orange-yellow light on the traffic lights that gave pause as to if this was the correct term for his relationship to Willow at all. Hunter opened his mouth to explain that they were band mates, and mostly to insist that he didn’t need any more free food, when another man – much thinner than he was – stumbled out from the back with two bags.

His eyes grew wide under his small round frames, "Prim!" he gasped, "come check out Willow’s friend!”

“Morton ,” Willow’s voice was tight with warning, “we’re on our way out!” she tucked her shoulder under Hunter’s own shoulder. He found the feeling strangely comforting, “let’s just go,” she groaned.

Unfortunately for them, a fast exit was impossible as a small stubby woman with dark skin, pushed a broom up to the front door. “Is that Willow in here with the Grim Reaper?” the woman unsquinted her eyes and took a good look at Hunter, “Oh! it IS! It IS the Grim Reaper!”

Hunter’s brows shot up, “The - grim… WHAT?” he coughed.

“Guys! What are you talking about?” Willow furrowed her brow, “this is my friend, Hunter.”

The way Willow used the word, "friend" was pink and blushy. Like one of the small roses in the floral bouquets.

And of course, every time Willow said his name, he still smelled cinnamon. It made his stomach twitch. Not in the way the woman (Prim, her name tag said) sounded when she had called him that.

The Grim Reaper.

“I’m sorry,” Prim shook her head, “that was terribly rude of me.” 

“I’d say it was,” Willow looked furious. She softened her eyes towards Hunter, “they’re usually nicer than this?” she explained. 

“Sorry,” the man (Morton) shrugged, “It’s just," he looked at Hunter, “you’ve been walking by Park’s II like every morning for years! You never stop in though.”

“We’ve got another location by Union Square,” Willow explained. She brushed some leaves off her arms, as if she’d just noticed them, “that’s where dad was headed. Is that – do you live around there?”

Hunter ducked his head. “N-no. That place is likely on the way to my classes,” and it was more than likely that he passed that bodega about half a dozen times a week without a second look.

“Okay,” Willow nodded. She glared at Morton, “but that doesn’t explain why you just called my friend the ‘Grim Reaper’.”

Friend. Pink. Cinnamon. A hint of sugar?

“Well, that’s not really what Morton calls him,” Prim chuckled, “I mean he used to. I’m sorry!” she pursed her lips, “It’s just? You always walk by looking like you’re on your way to a funeral! Every time you passed, Morton started saying ‘Grim Reaper walking by! And eventually, he just started calling you the ‘Grim Walker.”

Hunter felt his shoulders slouch a bit at that.

Morton must have noticed, because his own shoulders slumped as well. “Sorry,” he mumbled again, “I guess I never expected to actually talk to you and have this conversation with you.”

“But!” Prim cut in, “it is genuinely nice to meet you for real and you’re here with our Willow! I’ve known her since she was little! It’s impossible not to smile when you’re talking to her.”

Hunter had never thought much about what he looked like when he rushed to classes. Usually his mind was full of assignments from school and terse warnings from his uncle. But it wasn’t unusual for someone on the street to look at him approaching and ask, “who died?” Which made his chest close up. Because of reasons .

But people had been asking him that since he was a little kid, and back then he’d actually answered them a few times, which got him such looks . Eventually, he’d figured out that this was an expression and that no one actually wanted to know who had actually died. Hunter was used to people calling him things to his face, but now that he knew that people he didn’t know had watched him from afar and a nickname for him? It was more than embarrassing. 

Prim smiled, "What did Willow say your name was again?"

“My name is Hunter,” he mumbled quietly.

“Yep,” Willow bit her bottom lip definitively, “ Hunter’s in my band now. And we’re friends, so no more of that, ‘Grim Reaper, Walker,’ or whatever.”

“Of course not ma’am,” Morton laughed, “not gonna piss off the boss’s daughter.”

Now Hunter took a good look around Park's . He didn’t go into bodega’s frequently, but this was a cozier space than he’d expected. The ceilings were lined with a variety of dangling plants, giving the place the feel of an actual indoor park. Along the walls, in the open faced fridges, the drinks were stocked with such a variety he'd never seen before. Not just soft drinks, but juices that bragged that they were, “fresh squeezed.”

“Did you want one?” Willow offered, “Morton makes em’ himself every morning. Also, on the house.”

“Like the day old muffins!” Morton handed him the bags, “they’re still good though.”

Hunter’s stomach flipped. There must have been nearly a dozen of them in the bags, “I couldn’t” he grumbled, “it wouldn’t be right, y-you could sell these!”

"Oh, we don't keep anything on our shelves that's not same day fresh," Prim shrugged, “there's at least one blueberry and one double chocolate in there. For some reason, the strawberry cheesecake flavor didn't sell. Maybe you'll like 'em! Anyway those muffins were just gonna end up in the garbage. ”

Hunter couldn’t argue with that. Best not to waste food. He could freeze some, and this would save him a few dollars on Drakes Cakes at least.

“Ok,” he nodded, “but not the juice! I mean … I don’t want to take advantage.”

"Take advantage," Willow nudged him with her shoulder, “I’m their part time florist,” she indicated her arms, “and the boss’s daughter. Free food is a perk. Also, Morton and Prim owe you for insulting you! So, are we ready to go?”

His hand hovered over an orange juice, when as if on cue, he felt his pager buzz. Quickly, he flicked it from his pocket and eyed the screen. 

Uncle Philip’s number, with the code 15:22.

"Your obedience is key to your salvation, Hunter."

Hunter shook his head, “Y-yeah,” he stuttered, “r-ready when you are.”

________________

Willow noticed the way Hunter’s eyes changed when he’d entered her single. She tried to act casual. Truly, she was glad that her quad mates were all off at classes or other activities. She flicked on the radio hoping to lighten the mood.

🎶 Wanna put my tender heart in a blender

Watch it spin 'round to a beautiful oblivion

Rendezvous, then I'm through with you. 🎶

Hunter’s eyes passed wearily around the room. She thought about the panic that raised in his eyes when he’d dripped the melted cheese on his shirt. 

“I hope he’s not a total neat freak,” she thought. 

“Have a seat wherever,” she told him, “I’ll get the boxes out so we can get packing.”

Willow had cleaned up best she could with her limited capacity for organization, but she'd realized at that moment just how messy the room still was. She'd offered for Hunter to take a seat, but there were no actual seats to be had that weren't covered in something. Slowly, eventually, he relented and found space on a postage stamp sized corner at the end of her bed - which she’d made, sort of. Save for the sweat stained stretched out sports bra that was half peeking out from under her pillow.  

“Please, please, may he NOT see that,” she groaned internally. She thought about the many ways she could beckon him over to her so that there was less a chance that he would see it. Willow glanced over at him. Somehow he’d become smaller. His body language was best described as tense. Hunter folded his shoulders in and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Asking him to come closer would probably spook him more,” Willow thought to herself. She nearly winced, realizing that she’d regarded Hunter’s discomfort the same way Viney talked about the poor horses in Central Park. If Hunter wasn’t going to move, Willow realized she’d need to figure out another way to fix this problem

“Can’t have him seeing my sweaty sports bra just yet,” the thought made her even more sweat under her clothes.

“Is it hot in here!” she squeaked loudly. Quickly, she peeled off her black hooded sweatshirt and tossed it over to the bed hoping to cover the offending garment. Of course it missed by a couple of inches, likely drawing even more attention to the bra. And in turn, Willow realized she was showing even more skin than she had been before.

She felt Hunter’s eyes rest on her bare shoulders, and she could have sworn she saw his ears grow pink, “Well, Willow. This is either gonna be a make it or break it moment on if he wants to hang out with you alone or not. Don’t make it awkward!” 

  🎶 Or am I origami

Folded up and just pretend

Demented as the motives in your head  🎶

Willow glared at the radio, “Uhhh,” she cleared her throat quickly and laid out three new boxes, “sooooooo, today was fun, huh? You got some good stuff?”

“Yeah! It was fun?” Hunter said the word, ‘fun’ like he’d had no idea what it actually meant. He swallowed audibly and began to rummage through the pink plastic bags from their shopping trip. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, “So,” he rasped, “none of these are ummmm….” 

🎶 I alone am the one you don't know you need

Take heed, feed your ego

Make me blind when your eyes close 🎶

“Bondage clothing?” Willow smirked. She smiled up from the large box on the floor, “Nope! I don’t think Levi’s Jeans has started making those yet.” 

Hunter's face flushed full red. It looked like he was about to burst open. He drew a breath.

🎶 You don't know you need me

Make me blind when your eyes close

Tie me to the bedpost 🎶 

“YOU KNOW WHAT! I DON’T ACTUALLY LIKE THIS SONG!” Willow’s throat went dry. She hopped up and flicked the station at once, where the DJ spoke fast over the last few notes of some lesser known grunge song.

“You are listening to WNYU! The official radio station of NYU! This block of music is brought to you by Heaven Scent Chicken! Now with a location near Columbus circle. 

🎶With a taste so heavenly, it’s biblically accurate.🎶 

“Oh, jeez.” Willow rolled her eyes. Heaven Scent Chicken was a new chain that seemed to be popping up everywhere. She'd also heard some less than comfortable things about their business practices, “Ugh. That place. That’s the stupidest jingle I’ve ever heard!”

Hunter’s eyes widened a little bit, “you think so,” he mumbled. It wasn’t a question.

“Oh,” Willow knit her brow, “ummm… y-you don't?”

“Yeah,” Hunter’s mouth pulled into a line, “you're right. It’s … n-not great.” he fiddled a little with his pager, “um, anyway? Really, thanks for going shopping with me today,” he unfolded a pair of jeans from his bag, “I had no idea that place existed!” he smiled a bit.

After their stop at ‘Park’s’, Willow had shepherded him through the busy streets. They’d meandered down St. Mark’s Place and by-passed an entire street of shops, including Trash and Vaudeville, and a place called, “Andy’s Chee-pees,” which Hunter had asked her about, as he mentioned that he was on a budget. Willow had informed him the clothing there was not actually “cheap” in any way. 

They’d eyed a few vendors on St. Mark’s that  sold old flannel shirts on hanging racks outside a storefronts, right next to a table of colored glass pipes which were labeled, “FOR TOBACCO USE ONLY,” on makeshift signs made of sharpie and cardboard. 

Finally, Willow had stopped walking abruptly, “I think we might find out best luck here?” and she’d pulled Hunter into the Canal Jean Company.

Unlike Trash and Vaudeville, where he’d told Willow that Steve and Katya had taken him, Canal Jeans was huge. The people who shopped there weren’t all spikes and multi-colored hair, though some were. The variety and price was what made Willow certain that this was the right call. And by the way Hunter gravitated at once to a few shelves, she felt this even more so.

Willow hung back a bit, pawing through a few dresses that looked like something out of “The Sound Of Music,” while Hunter had settled on a few t-shirts with various band logos and two pairs of dark blue jeans that were slightly looser than the pants he’d worn when he was all dressed up in the designer slacks.

She forced herself to act casual when he'd slipped into the open dressing room stall with nothing but a curtain between herself and Hunter's half naked body. She gave him and encouraging nod for the clothes that looked best on him. Willow tried to act distracted as Hunter gave back two of the shirts after the cashier had rung him up. It seemed that the initial grand total was a bit more than he’d had available. Willow considered offering to purchase at least one of them for him, but she'd remembered how uncomfortable he'd seemed at the prospect of the free food, so she refrained. Either way, Willow thought she’d caught a smile ghost Hunter's face as they had left.

“Hopefully you’ll be more comfortable playing in that than what you were wearing the other night?” Willow watched Hunter’s face grow pink again, “if it’s any consolation, I thought you looked great!” she added.

Hunter rubbed the back of his head and shrugged, “thanks again,” he mumbled.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me out here,” Willow gestured to her messy room, “It’s kinda weird that I’m not gonna be living here anymore.” she fumbled a bit with a pair of shirts, unevenly rolling them into some sort of shape.

“Oh! I can do that for you!” Hunter hopped off the bed at once. And then he was next to her. Easily, he had grabbed a pile of her clothes and folded them neatly into a pile of perfect squares. As he worked he stuck his tongue slightly out of his mouth as if he were a cartoon character, exaggerating on how hard he was working. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” she chuckled, "I can't fold anything!"

“Thanks!” Hunter smiled. A wave of confidence passed over his face. He pressed a hand to his chest, “I always got top notes on my bunk checks at school!” 

“Oh,” Willow wrinkled her nose. Something scratched the back of her brain, “uh, cool.” 

“So, you like, uh, plants?” Hunter scratched the back of his head. He looked around at the flora that lined the room. 

“Yeah,” Willow smiled softly, “it’s lame, I know.”

“No! I think it looks nice,” Hunter dropped a few shirts neatly into a box, “my place is just kinda blank. This room is very green ?” he blinked, “like you.” His voice was soft as a feather. He picked up a trio of picture frames and shrugged, “where should I…”

Willow smiled, “You can put those over there by the photo albums,” she swallowed. “Those plants have been with me since my first dorm room. My roommate didn’t think they were nice,” she chuckled, “actually, she didn’t really like anything I brought to our room. Or the fact that I didn’t look good in tight clothes, and wasn’t the right type to do ecstasy and hang out at the Tunnel.”

“The Tunnel?” Hunter blinked, “she wanted you to be ecstatic to go through the Tunnel and wear tight clothes?”

He was so deadpan when he’d said it, Willow wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not. She wagered that Hunter wasn’t the type to know the ins and outs of the Nightlife in Manhattan.

“No, no.” Willow chuckled, “The Tunnel’s a techno club.” Willow chuckled, “not my scene. The Owl House is a lot … cozier?”

“You think that place is cozy?” Hunter raised a brow.

“Well, it’s where my people are,” Willow smiled, “anyway, she was pretty bad – that roommate. Things got better when Luz switched over and roomed with me second semester.”

“I get it. Sharing a room with strangers is difficult,” Hunter ran a finger over one of the picture albums, “I had eleven roommates at school.”

“ELEVEN?” she shrilled, “What dorm were you in?”

“Oh!” his head popped up, “not here! A-actually, I went to Columbia for undergrad, and I lived, ummm. Not on campus or anything like that,” he shrugged. He was looking at a picture of Willow and her dads with Aunt Helen. It was Willow’s sixteenth birthday and they’d all gone to Coney Island to celebrate.

“I went to a boarding school,” he said softly, “Glandus Military Academy from grade 3 to 12.”

Willow swallowed. She remembered how Steve had mentioned as much on their night out. Hunter’s eyes flicked to the folded clothes in the box, “so you know, that’s why I’m so good at folding. Cadets who can’t fold their garments properly, you stay up late until they can! Classic .” he chuckled.

Willow laughed. Again, she wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not. 

“The plants are cool though!” Hunter said again, “I liked the ones in the bodega, too. And the f-flowers? It made the place look fresh .” 

“Thanks!” Willow brightened, “actually, I’m a plant science major!” she pulled her lips tight, “I applied to NYU’s Environmental Bio Masters.”

Hunter furrowed his brow, “sounds complicated.” 

“Less complicated for me than my first major,” Willow felt herself darken, “my dads – er – my parents had me register for Comp Science, because they thought it would give me, ‘more opportunities'.” 

Hunter ran a finger over the picture again, “Your dad seemed friendly. I hope he didn’t think ill of me when I’d called the other day. But did he have a cold or something? He sounded different on the phone.”

“ Different ?” Willow squeaked. It occurred to her that Hunter had spoken to her Papa, not Dad.

“Yeah,” Hunter nodded, “a little … well, sometimes phone voices are weird, I guess,” he shrugged.

Willow frowned a bit, “ Welp, Better get this out of the way early .” she thought to herself. 

“Look, if this is gonna work?” she gestured to the two of them, and then to her bass, Clover, sitting untuned off in the corner. Heavens forbid the “this” that Willow was referring to meant a relationship and not just the music (though she was certain she’d caught something in his face when she’d implied it). “If us hanging out if gonna work,” she clarified, “you’re gonna have to know,” she pointed to the picture, “that’s my dad," she indicated Gil, "and that’s my papa," she pointed at Harvey. Hunter blinked. "My dads." Willow said firmly, "Plural. Two. I have two dads.”

“Oh.” A crease formed in the middle of Hunter’s brows, “S-so your parents are…”

“Gay,” Willow said flatly, “I hope that’s not a problem for you.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Hunter mumbled, “do I seem…”

“Homophobic?” Willow thought, “NOT AT ALL!” she said too loudly, “but you never know and you…”

“I don’t exactly fit your band’s – or your friend groups style?” he indicated the bags of new clothes.

“IT’S NOT THAT!” Willow said a bit too loud. She was always the one used to “not fitting in” and she never wanted to make anyone else feel like that ever, “I just thought you’d be more comfortable…”

“It’s fine,” Hunter shrugged a bit, “it was nice,” he looked at the picture again, “so that’s your dad and that’s your papa ,” his eyes focused in as if he were doing some sort of math while he took catalog of her features, “and that’s…”

Willow felt herself bristle, “my Aunt Helen .” 

“Got it!” Hunter nodded. And then his body seemed to reel in a strange tight way, “my parents are dead.” he told her.

Chapter Text

Art by @threeGoblinArt

Chapter 15:

Willow

“Will, sweetie, it’s Aunt Helen! I’m so looking forward to your graduation next week! Also, Gil told me he met your Hunter and he seemed real nice. But listen, when you get a chance, give me a call. It’s important. 

_______

Hunter had sat on Willow’s floor for a good 45 minutes tangling his fingers through his hair. Willow had seen panic attacks before. From Luz when she’d spiraled about telling her mother she was bi – she saved Vee the trouble by going first. From Gus after he failed his first test. And in her own mirror several times over. 

🎶 Wake up, young man

It's time to wake up

Your love affair has got to go

For ten long years 🎶 

Mad Season rose quietly from the radio as Willow sat frozen watching the guy whom she’d painted a perfect picture of heaving for air like a fish out of water. A few times he’d wretched, vomiting bile onto his long sleeve shirt, and also on the blue carpet of her dorm room. Finally, his head rose up heavily from between his shoulders. She’d half expecting to see tears, but his eyes were just stunned. He met her gaze like a deer in headlights. 

“I - I’m s-sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” Willow swallowed down the sharp blade in her throat. “That sounds really terrible,” she said plainly. In part, she’d said it was because she didn’t know what else to say, but also because it really was terrible. 

Now Hunter’s eyes shifted to surprise. He nodded slowly as if he had never heard anyone say those words to him before. Willow noticed how his hands shook beginning at his wrists, while the rest of his body remained rigid. 

“Try this,” Willow held up four fingers, “four breaths in…” she demonstrated and Hunter followed, “then four out?” she said tightly. They sat like that for a bit, breathing in and out until what little color Hunter had returned to his cheeks. 

Yes. Willow had seen panic attacks before, but what had happened with Hunter just now was something altogether different. And she had no idea how to handle it. But she wanted to try. She’d opened up to him about her family, which was different by many people’s standards, but stable and intact. 

Apparently more than Hunter had. 

“S-sorry…” he said again. He looked at his hands, “I don’t talk about that stuff. Ever.” his nose twitched, “O-oh!” he looked at his arms and then at the floor, “I – I ruined your carpet! I …”

“It’s not my carpet,” she fixed her mouth into a smile, “it’s NYU’s!” 

A small, confused note escaped Hunter’s throat. 

“Do you know how many people’ve thrown up on this carpet this year alone?” Willow leaned in, “including me!” she watched steadily, not daring to move, “sophomore year, Luz’s sister visited for a weekend? And she was really into Malibu Rum and we went a little too heavy and … welp! We all threw up so much we had to chip in to rent a Stanley Steamer. That’s how you know we were having fun!”