Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their Roles:
Hank 1 - Bass Guitar, Taiko.
Hank 2 - Keyboard/piano(s)
Hank 3 - Guitar, primarily Electric or Acoustic (haha get it cause hes good with his fingers)
Hank 4 - Drummer/Percussion
Hank 5 - Marimba, Theremin, Synthesizer
- Depending on the song, the lead vocalist varies. Surprisingly throughout all of their discography they manage to spread the voices equally.
- Also all collectively know how to play the ukulele for some reason.

Discography!

No Wires Attached (DEBUT ALBUM)
Tracklist:
On Bent Wire
Hooked
In the wind
Surfin’ HSE
Hung Back for You
Rack my Brain
Shape of my Hook
Tear in my Parachute
More than a Dream
Kiss Me in the Sky
Up Against the Rack

TRYSSE (EP)
Tracklist:
Hangin’ (Adrenaline)
(Bungee) Cord Without a Hook
Hooked on a Feeling
Up too High
Suit-Up/Goin’ Down

Windsurfing, Hank-Gliding, and other Gnarly Adventures (Album)
Tracklist:
Great Breeze of Hector!
Five Hooks of Righteousness
Take Me to your Coat Rack
Undercover
Forever Hanks
Spinning Blade Blue
You May Feel Me Flying
Bring Me Down
Recharge

SINGLES (with features)
Tracklist:
Rack my Brain (Ft. Johnny Splash)
Tubular
Tubular (Ft. Lil’ Crapper)
Catch the Breeze
Flyin’ Cats and Dogs (Hank 1 Single)
Glide Through the Pages (Hank 2 Single)
Thrill of the Heart and Mind (Hank 3 Single)
Windsurfing to nowhere (Hank 4 Single)
(All I Can Do Is) Dream and Fall for you (Hank 5 Single)

Chapter Text

You’re the stage manager for all performances happening in The Breaker Box—a club that has a number of delightful patrons, strong drinks that add a spark to your shift, and quality entertainment.

You had the job of making sure the entertainment stayed quality, electrifying the audience.

Tonight, the highlight would be a debuting band—some guys called The Hanks.

According to your higher-ups and the owners of the club, Volt and Eddie—(plus other rumors floating around), they’re up-and-coming artists—and they’ve apparently done adrenaline-rush antics in order to promote their debut album.

You understood their reasoning, wanting to garner publicity is normal for artists, and that’s their goal with their stunts.
But you can’t help but wonder—is their music really that good to be paragliding for? Or are they just desperate junkies who want attention?
It seems you’ll find out tonight.

Chapter Text

Eight minutes to showtime.

The band was supposed to be here an hour ago. You’ve already set up their instruments and tested them five times each. You’ve asked both Eddie and Volt to contact them, and even tried to contact them yourself, but no luck.

You can hear the patrons’ chatter turn lower, getting restless.

And then all of a sudden, while stepping away from the stage as an attempt to get yourself a cocktail from Eddie’s bar to soothe your nerves, you hear five distinct sounds of laughter.

You slowly turned around, and there they stood.

Five handsome hunks. They looked—and acted like frat boys—each nursing either a can of some energy drink or a soda.

You clear your throat, crossing your arms as you eyed them up and down.

One of them—a dark-skinned man approaches you. He was wearing a dark fleece jacket with orange accents that was slightly unzipped to reveal a dark tee with a small white dog silhouette, coupled with a pair of baggy jeans. His dreadlocks were neatly twisted and tied up.

“Hey man, sorry we’re late—but thanks for waitin’ for us homie!” He grins, patting your back.

You stare in utter confusion, your brows furrowing together.

“I’m sorry—are you the band that was supposed to be here an hour ago?” You deadpan.

The rest of the group paused, their laughter from before dying down.

Two of them approach you—one with warm, achromatic tones and black hair slightly disheveled, yet still neat. He donned a black sports jacket with a red button-up underneath, and of course—baggy, black pants.

The other—a bold-looking ginger with a chinstrap beard and freckles peppering his rosy cheeks. The blue, short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt with a few hibiscus flowers scattering the hem of his shirt, coupled with the white crewneck, carpenter jeans, and what appears to be a patch of an orange number 3 really fits his mannerisms.

The first one took your hand, shaking it apologetically, “We’re so-totally sorry about that dude, Hank 3 insisted that he takes more time to look his best.”

“And that time I took getting ready was so worth it …” Hank 3—who turned out to be the redhead, puts his arm around your shoulder, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips as he slung his bomber jacket with various patches over you.

It was almost convenient.

You did feel a draft.

“Hank 3— You’re all named Hank?” Your brows furrow.

They all nodded, all now gathered around you.

“Yup!!” They chided in unison, like some sort of hivemind.

You just sighed, but kept it professional, assuming that it was just stage names.

“Right, well—there’s your setup,” You gestured vaguely towards the instruments, “They’ve all been tested, and—that’s all. So…break a leg.”

The group laughs, and takes their positions, “Much thanks, amigo.” A blonde, curly-haired member shakes your hand and ruffles your hair, giving you a toothy—rather adorable grin as a semi-sweet looking man with a green bracelet with the number 5 gently shakes your hand.

“Yeah, man. This show’s gonna be righteous!!” Number Five and Blondie laughed for a while before rushing to their position on the stage.

───────────────────────────────────

The show went off without a hitch—and as the club emptied, you stayed behind to help Eddie clean up (and have a nightcap after a long night).

“So—they’re all named Hank?” You asked, fixing up a barstool.

Eddie glanced up, pausing as he was polishing up a Sherry glass.

He gave a small nod, before going back to cleaning, “Yeah.”

“But how do people know which is which?” You tilt your head, leaning on the counter now.

He set the glass down with the other clean ones, before picking up another one, “Numbers.”

“Numbers?”

“They gave themselves numbers. Use your eyes and connect them with the numbers.” He sighs, pulling out a photograph with their signatures.

“Why—”

“They insisted.”

“Ah.”

You looked through each signature carefully, each signed with a different colored marker.

Charming.

Hank 1 was signed in orange—he was the one with dreads. Hank 2 was signed in red, he was the one with the red shirt and the somewhat messy black hair. And then there was three . Signed in blue.

He forgot his bomber jacket.

Left it with you. And you still have it.

Although it’s sitting on a chair backstage.

Hank 4 was signed in purple—that blonde curly-haired guy. And finally, Hank 5 in green. The last one. the one with the ‘5’ bracelet.

Well damn.

“Hey,” Eddie grumbles, snapping you out of your thoughts gesturing to the slightly askewed display of the drinks.

“Help me fix that up, and I’ll pour our drinks, okay?”

You nod, grabbing the toolbox from the back and setting it on the counter.

“Oh, and they’re coming back here again. Audience seems to really like them. Volt too.” He held his hand out for the screwdriver, and you handed it absentmindedly.

“Any special preparations I need to do?” You watched as he straightened the last of the shelf, before putting the toolbox and its contents away.

“None as far as I know,” He shrugs, picking up two glasses from the shelf and pouring two glasses of Bourbon for both of you.

As your glasses clinked, you couldn’t stop thinking about that band, even as you started walking back to your little apartment. You have to admit that they were skilled.

You’ve been working at that club long enough—the acts either get booed off of the stage, or they get whisked away to some record label that just so happened to see their act.

The Hanks.

They’re open books.

And somehow enigmas.

They bewilder you.

In the best ways.

But the point still stands. You have no idea the impact that the band could possibly have on the Breaker Box.

Or what the impact could be to your own life.

Chapter Text

Night Two.

You gave a slight nod to Volt and Eddie as you made your way to the stage, preparing it for the band again.

As you tweaked around with bass guitar, your head perked up as you heard the familiar, animated chatter of the Hanks.

So now they’re early.

Hank One and Three are the first to approach you, gently taking his instrument off your hands as he began to tune it himself.

You reach back for it, wanting to tell him that you were already handling it, but he put his finger up before you could object.

“Nah dude,” Hank 1 chuckles, “we already put you through enough trouble yesterday, so let us take the load off.”

“And uh—anything else you want us to take off,” Hank 3 gave a smirk, which was quickly wiped away as One gave him a side-eye.

Ignoring the comment, you nodded slightly, heading backstage to play around—test—with the lights.

You could overhear them as you worked with the lights, and after you finished examining them.

You watched the band as they rehearsed, amused at the fact they were hyping each other up through every little thing they did.

Before you realized it, you were leaning against a wall and watching the group. 

The way Hank One’s vocals blended with his bass, Two’s own effortlessly gliding across the piano—Hank Three’s fingers effortlessly strumming his electric guitar, smirking to himself over god knows what. Four—despite failing to spin his drumsticks several times and dropping them—never misses a beat. Five, while his eyes drifted across his instrument, he harmonized with One and Three.

The melody was almost enough to leave you there, just listening as they rehearsed.

Almost.

“Something interesting, Live Wire?”

You nearly jump, stumbling back before steadying yourself. As you turn, you’re met with Volt leaning against the stage’s frame, smirking.

“Goodness—” You sigh, stabilizing your expression, “Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, I’m simply—observing their act.” You scoff, waving dismissively.

“Mhm, do you do this for all the acts, or is this particular one special?” The electric host muses, observing your reddening expression.

Before you could open your mouth, he’s already approaching the band, applauding slow as they finish up a song from their set.

“ Bravo , your act has really brightened up our club, and our dear patrons will truly be fawning for more. You’ve already captured the attention of Eddie and I’s dear friend and stage manager here,” He gestures towards you, making the band turn to you, catching as you reach for a glass from Eddie’s bar.

Your body freezes, save for your eye twitching.

“Fucking—” Before you could even finish muttering your curse, They take five (hah), and are already rushing towards you, their bodies buzzing with excitement.

You could sense it emanating as they clamored towards you.

“Ohohoh!! It’s the legend themselves!!” They exclaim, crowding around you as you stumble back behind the bar.

“Heey!!” You smile and nod awkwardly, reaching for a random glass and pretend to clean it, “Anything I can get for the main acts? Perhaps something to cool down those pipes?”

Internally, you were cringing at the way you were speaking.

Two is the first to speak up, “Ohoh, how about five Passionfruit Sparklers? Mocktail-style, of course.” He grins.

You nod at the order, beginning to set up the drinks.

“Could I add a little somethin’ to my order?” Hank Three smickers as he leans on the counter.

“Of course, what else would you like?” You were turned to your back, already beginning to set up the drinks.

The ginger’s smile widened, his dimples showing below his gentle stache, although you couldn’t really see that because you were occupied with the drinks. You just had to imagine what he looked like.

“Could I get the bomber-jacket special?”

You freeze, nearly dropping a glass.

You totally forgot about the jacket.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry—I’ll get it after i finish this, alright?” You sigh, running a hand through your hair.

He chuckles, continuing to watch with that admiring gaze, “S’alright hot stuff, as long as it helped keep you warm during the cold, lonely night, you’re off the hook.”

Five groans at Three’s poor excuse of a one-liner, gently butting in, “Excuse Hank Number Three, his game’s like—super cringe.”

“Yeah brah, not cool,” Hank One nods in agreement.

Three huffs, gently elbowing them.

You finish brewing up their drinks, shaking your head with a small smile gracing your lips, “First one’s on the house.”

The band cheers, sharing a few toasts when you went backstage to fish for Three’s jacket.

“To our debut!” One exclaims, his words followed by the other four chorusing the same sentiment.

“To all our lost buds,” Two’s eyes softened, the rest of the band sharing a moment of vulnerability.

“To all the hotties we’ll be gettin’!!” Three brought the mood back up, the band groaning, but laughing along heartily.

“ To the long nights where we almost considered giving up.” Four chuckles.

“And of course, to us.” The corner of Five’s lips crinkled upwards, a little disappointed his toast isn’t as creative as the others.

It was almost immediate—the way they sensed it. Almost immediately, they slung an arm around him, their spirits high, even when you returned.

You chuckled in amusement, draping the jacket around Hank 3 and giving a wink—as friendly payback.

Sighing, you seem almost—relieved as you see the lights start to arrange themselves into the usual ambience your shift is known to bring.

The lights are low, but colorful enough to act as a siren’s call to shock. You’re even surprised as the band’s kick drum’s front had their logo, scripted in luminescent paint decorating it.

At that moment, the Hanks got off of the stools, leaving a generous tip as they hurried back to the stage.

When you saw the patrons pour in, you felt the air get livelier, and before you knew it, you whisked yourself backstage, taking a good look at the audience.

Just being around the group was an experience that brought tingles to your ears and the other parts of your body— especially the other parts of your body.

As they began their performance, and while they performed, you found yourself humming quietly along.

Chapter Text

You retreated to the bar, the sunset server greeting you with a pre-prepped glass of your favorite, non-alcoholic drink. (She knows you drive home.)

“How’s the kickass stage-manager doing on this fine evening?” Beverly flashed her signature smile, getting a small chortle from you.

There’s a rumor about the bartender, circulating around the drunkards and easy drinkers. They say that if she smiles at you, your drink is sure to taste so damn good, that it’ll bring you good fortune.

“Oh, just fine,” you clinked your glass with her shaker, before taking a sip. “What about you, Liquor-Lady Luck? Has anybody stumped you yet with your complex cocktails?”

Beverly let out a bark of laughter, shaking her head, “Hah! They wish!! But hey, It’s fun watching their shock and delight. I get a little kick whenever they ask for seconds.” She grins, sliding concoctions to the customers like lightwork.

The two of you bantered for a while, the laughter blending in with the lively, excandescent atmosphere.

The Hanks captured your vision again.

Their voices, melodies—even the way they moved—looked as if they were just meant for each other.

Intertwined, woven together, even.

Like the threads on your red shirt.

You're snapped out of your thoughts as the lady of the nightcaps bumps her shaker to your head, pulling you back to reality.

"Hey, welcome back, Red." She winks, noticing you've been out of it lately.

"Bev—sorry," you chuckle, swivelling your head back around as you finish up the rest of your drink.

As your eyes drift around the rest of the bar, both you and Beverly lock eyes on—a sharp-looking group of individuals.

Their getups were all black, save for the velvet red button-up vests and matching sunglasses.

So they're one of those.

"Hey—I've been eyein' them all night too. they've ordered nothing from my bar, and I've pulled my best tricks in an attempt to coax them." The red-head whispers, sliding over a vodka and whiskey to a couple—both sturdy-looking.

You keep your hand covering your mouth as you chat with her, "So, what? are they like—some secret flash mob? or.."

"Beats me," Bev shrugs, "but y'know, I'm not one to judge. Maybe they're driving tonight, or they have work in the morning."

You nodded, spinning back on the stool to watch the band's performance.

As it concludes, you found yourself giving a standing ovation with the rest of the crowd, and you swear that Three gave you a wink and Five blew a kiss through a finger-heart.

You don't put much thought into it, and you catch yourself inviting them for a nightcap after the patrons leave. You and the Hanks are left there, stunned.

Was it too forward? Just for the second night? Are they driving home?

But those thoughts are shaken away when they wholeheartedly agree, already drawing you into their group. They're all holding onto each other somehow as you walk with them, caught somewhere between Two and Four.

You hop over the counter, joining Beverly as she cleans the rim of Blue Curçao syrup.

"Surprise us, homie!!" Hank 1 perks up, although his eyes aren't focused on the drinks.

Hank 2 chides in, cautious for the rest of the group, "But nothin' too heavy, we're driving tonight, brah."

You kept his warning in mind.

Upon noticing the final batch of customers, Madame Proprietress leans in, whispering into your ear, "If you're gonna serve 'em, try this out."

She slides an index card into your pants pocket, flicking your cufflinks before she waves goodbye, leaving The Tipsy Tumbler—The name of this charming bar—in your care.

"O—kay! I'll whip up Bev's reccommendations." You chuckled, following the instructions on the little card perfectly.

Hanging on Rainbows, she called the round of drinks.

She even matched it with their colors.

As you served the drinks, you can't help but shudder upon the last step.

seal with a kiss! ♡

Shaking your head, you foldded up the card and stuffed it into your pants.

Hank Four noticed how shaken you looked upon reading something on the card, and pouted a little, tilting his head.

He reminded you of a dog. In a charming way—of course.

"Something on your mind, Red?" He swirled his purple drink around, resisting the urge to giggle as he sees the edible glitter in the glass.

You turn to him, being caught off-guard by his sudden concern, "Hm? Oh, no! You're fine—I'm great!"

Three had a flirty smirk, running a hand through his copper hair as he leaned a bit more on the counter.

"Oh, thanks bombshell, but my senses're tellin' me you aren't tellin' us something.." The redhead drawled, his eyes drifting to where you stuffed the index card, biting his lower lip.

"How about you share the recipe with us? Sure is one kickass cocktail—"

Thud!

The group turns, met with the sight of One and Five passed out, One's drink already close to being empty, and Five—only about an eighth has been emptied out.

Two sighs, patting One on the back, "These two—aren't the best with their drinking habits," He pulls out his wallet, leaving the cash needed to pay—plus Three offering a generous tip.

"These drinks were amazing, just like you." Hank Three winks at you, again, "But unfortunately we're gonna have to take our leave." He carries One on his shoulders, while Four carried Five bridal-style

"See ya tommorrow, homie!" The bouncing blonde giggles, the band finally exiting the club, leaving you alone on the counter.

You sigh, waving with an amused smile on your lips.

As you listened to music while cleaning, you noticed that the playlist you were listening to had—The Hanks ' songs on them, despite the fact you had no memory of adding them on there.

You hated it when the system does something like that—adding songs in with no prompt.

But this time around—you didn't mind.

It felt—comforting, almost.

That while you presumed to be alone in the bar, you had this.

Lonely nights like this were great.

But for some reason, a nagging feeling in your chest wanted some company to ease your nerves.

You didn't let it bother you though, and as soon as the bar was clean, you headed out, waving as you saw Eddie and Volt in the back parking lot.

You saw them wave back as soon you got in your car.

Chapter Text

It's been about a month or two now, and The Hanks have been a beloved returning act.

Somehow, you found yourself getting closer to them—offering them drinks when you should've been monitoring the new guy working the lights.

Even so—the umbracious individual insists that he has control, and well—he wasn't wrong. The most you've had to teach him is which switch corresponds to which light. And what took you two weeks to learn, emo boy mastered in only one night—no all-nighters pulled.

Despite making the band glow under his lights, he refused to interact with them. According to Volt, "Mr. Shadley isn't really—as energetic as the bunch."

Another thing that never seemed to change since the band's first night—the group of those scary red-vest guys.

They would never do anything—and that's saying something, considering that even the most boring patrons get up from time to time, even tap their feet as the acts play.

But these guys—they don't move. At all.

"They're pretty suspicious, you sure we can't do anything about it?" Beverly whispers to you and Eddie as she slides him a cocktail.

"They aren't breaking any rules," He sighs, his eyes drifting as he leans against the counter while he drinks, "Not bothering any of the patrons either, so.." He pushed himself off, sitting with Volt at a table.

"I still think they're just a flash mob." You shrug, leaning back on the counter as you continue watching.

"All I'm sayin', anybody who hasn't purchased a drink from The Tipsy Tumbler is a little suspicious. Even the cowboy who swore off of drinking for so long got swayed when he saw his date could hold her liquor. Granted, he couldn't really, but he's a fun guy when drunk."

You sigh, swirling the remains of the espresso martini in your cup, still keeping an eye on the red group, while still chatting with Beverly in her cathedral of cocktails.

And for once—while the band was performing—what was it? Shape of my Hook?—whatever it was, in the middle of their song, two of the shady guys standing up.

Both of you gasp as two of them start to approach you, most definitely having caught wind of your stares.

You got a better look at them now—one of them was wearing a mini vinyl record pin with the bottom half colored red.

Red-record pin guy pushed his glasses up,

"Pardon, but are you the one managing them?" He tilts his head, and although you couldn't see his eyes, you were most certain he was analyzing you up and down.

You're frozen, until Beverly so kindly nudges you with her shaker, again.

"Oh—yes!" You nodded frantically, gesturing to the stage.

"Everything you see, all thanks to my vision!"

You felt an ego boost at what you've orchestrated.

"I must say,  this is one—lively band." The second muses, her eyes drifting back to the band.

"How would you like it if we—took this—show on the road?" Record-pin smiles.

Something about his smile had your stomach lurching.

You sputter, blinking in shock.

Are they that arrogant they ask that to the one managing the performances of the establishment?

The nerve.

But before you can open your mouth, Beverly interjects.

"Woah, dude, what do you think you're doing?" She sets her shaker aside, standing right behind you.

Record-pin lowers his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he stares at her down.

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe I was talking with you."

"Don't care! You don't get to act like this place is your personal vending machine for your little exploits, so please, leave our talent alone!" Beverly scowls, her fury evident.

Behind the glasses, the second red one rolls her eyes, taking her partner back. But that didn't stop him from sliding a business card.

Red Bowl Records. ℗

Beverly scoffed, her jaw tightening.

"Eddie and Volt aren't fond of them. They've taken so much talent away from us—and each time, they never come back."

She sighs, watching the band with a hint of—worry.

"I just hope they're not gonna be cocky enough to take them away. I mean—I think it'd be really great for them to thrive and grow as artists, but—Red Bowl never really lets our talent come back…"

"Is it really that bad?" You look back to them, pursing your lips as you fidget with the business card.

Beverly nods, and starts going on with cases of Red Bowl leaving the best washed up.

Although, you're only partially listening. Your gaze is fixated—elsewhere.

You think Hank Five blew a kiss towards you—or maybe Two?—while he was singing. But the lights on stage have been moving a lot, and have been pretty damn bright, that you just dissmissed it as a case of working late.

At the same time, your eyes drift to Red Bowl. They were watching the band with interest, although it wasn't the same interest you were watching them with. Not the captivation you felt by just being in the same room with them—though you may need to look into that more.

Their looks were facades. They looked interested, entertained, like any other person watching them.

They even clapped between their songs.

Underneath, you had a gut feeling that matched Beverly's resent.

Those people were vultures, something inside you said.

After working here for a while, this is the first time you've felt this. This sense of—discomfort.

It's scary, almost.

You rub your temples, and before you can request a beverage, the Sunset Shaker already has your favorite on speed dial. Coming in hot.

But at this rate—you want nothing more than to kick of your shoes and shirt and collapse into your bed.

And at the rate your vision was swaying, blurring while ambiguous kaleidescopes caused by Skips' lights filled your sight, you think that maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to get your wish.

Chapter Text

You're not sure what happened after that night, but it somehow lead to you waking up in someone else's home.

On the plus side, you had all your clothes on.

Downside? You had one hell of a headache.

At first—you suspected that Bev, or maybe Volt and Eddie took you in.

But then you start to gain feeling, your dazed state disappearing.

You're being held.

Not captive, at least. But you're being held in—is that snoring?

You crane your neck, lazily swiveling your head around as you caught sight of the vague the jumble of jumpsuits, goggles, and—

A mixed tuft of Red, Blonde, and Black hair beneath you.

You looked down, covering your mouth as you prevented yourself from screaming.

Hank 5 was clinging onto your arm, Three was enjoying himself with his face pressed against your stomach, Two and One had their arms cradled around you, and 4—well, he wasnt on you, but you swear that hair has a mind of its own, the way it was over your chest.

It was—nice, oddly enough.

You heard one of them groan, and you see Hank 1 stir awake.

His eyes fluttered, running a hand through his dreads as he sets his eyes on you; flushed, and very confused.

"Awh, mornin' bro.." He chuckles, before breathing out into his hands to check his breath.

"Oh.." Four groans, his brows furrowing as your feel the curls release you, "Hank Number One, Your breath is gnarly AF, dude.." He laughs as he got up, looking down at you, "G'morning, sunshine."

Maybe you're still racked with sleep, but you swear that your vision's making Hank 4 glow.

"Wuh—Morning..?" You murmur, rubbing your eyes when you hear a groan and feel a tender squeeze on your hips.

"mmnf.." A muffled chuckle escaped Hank 3 as he lifted his head, his chin still resting on your stomach. "Great sight to wake up to at the start of the day…" His eyes flutter, hands still on your hips, "Got enough beauty sleep, hottie?"

Groggy laughter escaped your lips as you wriggled a little bit in their arms to sit up properly. You're still a little dazed, but—for a moment, you take in the sight. It's—comforting.

You never thought you'd get this close with talent. Seeing them this—drowsy, so—soft. In spite of their—silly sleepwear, it was—nice.

Three's body is especially warm against your stomach, like a weighted blanket.

"Mn, what I wouldn't give to be your main squeeze.." He mumbles, pushing himself up and resting on your upper abdomen, unapologetic about his staring.

Scratch that. A really horny blanket.

Two and Five are the last to wake up from the bunch, looking down at Three and lazily running their hands through the red tufts.

"Hank Three…" Five yawns, his hand over his open mouth, "You're on breakfast duty, and make sure there's a plate for our new dude."

The ginger groans, pushing himself up and hopping out of bed.

Before he exited, however, he turned to you.

Your heart thumped. rapidly.

"Don't worry babe," he smirks, "You'll have a big breakfast."

He winks, and then closes the door on his way out.

You blinked, twice. And then you remembered.

"Why'd you bring me here?" You looked at them, all scattered around you as if forming a protective nest.

That was kind of nice though.

Two looked at the other Hanks, pursing his lips.

"Well—back at the Breaker Box…" his eyes drifted, as he looked to One.

"You so-totally passed out, brah." He cuts in.

Four jumps in next, "We like—don't know exactly why, but like—The pretty chick workin' the bar was like, 'Oh, you gotta bring her with you guys, I can't do it, and Eddie and Volt can't do it either—"

Five interjects, preventing the blonde from rambling any further, "So anyways—we immediately knew, we gotta help a homie out, brah!!"

"And what better way to thank the bestest bud that helped make our record deal happen?!" Hank One's eyes lit up, patting your shoulder.

You paused, looking up at them.

"What record deal?" Your brows furrowed.

"Oh, so like—after our performance—this is like—when you're already like—KO'd in the car, right? These professional lookin' bros rolled up on us, and are like 'Yo, bros! we like—love your talent, so you should come work with us!!' And like—who are we to refuse such a like—awesome idea?"

Oh shit.

"What's the name of their company?" You asked without missing a beat.

"Uuhh…" They all looked at each other, but Hank 2 just calmly handed you a business card from their nightstand.

You grimaced the moment you found out it was who you suspected—Damn Red Bowl.

"Red Bowl." You read out, a hidden sense of disdain.

"Yup!" Four chuckled, leaning back on the headboard.

Bile coated the back of your throat, "Did you—look them up, perchance?"

"Oh, like duh, homie!" The blonde chirped, before he followed One into the bathroom.

"Wait—!" You sigh, following them, prompting Five and Two to follow you as well.

They were nice enough to lend you a spare toothbrush—you were surprised that they even had spare toothbrushes.

"Sho—what did you find on them? Red Bowl, I mean." you asked, mouth filled with toothpaste foam.

"Oh, well," Five reached for the mouthwash, toothbrush being held by his mouth. "We found out that they work with like—a lot of really good artists."

"Is that so?" You spit into the sink before rinsing out your mouth.

"Mhm!" They all nodded in unison, all gargling and spitting into the sink—in sync.

"And we're gonna sign the contract next week!" Two grinned, as if—this was their big break.

Oh, you didn't have the heart to tell them.

Your gut wrenched and twisted in ways you never knew how.

When you were about to tell them, Three called you guys down for breakfast.

Three's cooking was—really good.

You found yourself asking for seconds, and at that moment you were—encapsulated.

Not by the food,

But by the company you shared this with.

It was—homey.

These guys were generous. Not expecting anything back. Hell—Three's advances were all about easing you in and making sure you're comfortable with him and by extension the rest of the group.

And it's not like you didn't do your own research. Beverly might've been your first source, but you went to the old faithful Wikipedia—and found nothing of the scandals she spoke of.

When you pried Eddie and Volt about it, they didn't give you any concrete answers. Just what seemed like a vague warning.

On the other hand, these boys really put in the work, pulling through a lot of struggles.

Before you jump back into the labyrinthic spiral that is your mind, Hank One chirps up again.

"Isn't it great, homie?" All eyes were on you now.

For now, with everything, you offered what you could.

"Oh—yeah! I'm—really happy for you guys!!"

They all cheered, clinking their glasses of orange juice before chugging it down.

"But—hey, this is an—epic opportunity for you guys, but—just be careful, alright? You don't do extreme sports without your specialized gear, right? This is the same thing—keep your guard up." You sigh, twirling your fork on the plate.

"I've seen a lot, and the record labels people go with can either make or break them forever."

They looked at you, their expressions fading into a similar softness from when they toasted to the ones they lost along the way.

"Woah, homie…" Three mumbles.

"I guess we've been so high on this—gnarly opportunity that we forgot about preparing." Five's eyes drifted.

"We'll take your word to heart, brah. swear it!" Two winks, patting your shoulder.

The Hanks.

You still don't know how they manage to do it.

They just—ease your nerves so easily.

Maybe they're just filled with that much good vibes that they share it with the others.

You laugh to yourself as you try to think—but they're set aside as you continue eating your breakfast with them.

But Red Bowl—they were like an itch at the back of your head that you couldn't scratch.

But surely it can't be that bad,

Right?