Chapter Text
SPARKS FLY AMIDST BITTER RIVALRY?
The Stellaron Hunters’ drummer, Blade, and The Nameless’ guitarist, Dan Heng, were spotted outside of Starskiff Haven Stadium last night, sharing what appears to have been an intimate moment together, before leaving off together.
The Stellaron Hunters have recently kicked off the Xianzhou leg of their tour, following the massive success of their recently released album, Destiny's Slave.
Similarly, the release of The Nameless' highly anticipated self-titled debut album, is mere weeks away.
Tensions between the two rival bands have been escalating ever since The Nameless' steady rise in popularity. What will the relationship between the two aforementioned members mean moving forward?
We can only speculate as we witness what appears to be a forbidden romance unfold.
Dan Heng’s entire world collapses on a Tuesday afternoon.
His morning had started not unlike any other. He’d woken up far more exhausted than he was supposed to be, a sure sign of a rough night’s sleep, before dragging himself out of bed to get ready for the day. He hadn’t caught up with the news yet, too preoccupied with how he wanted to arrange his schedule for the day, and hadn’t bothered to check his phone outside of a few texts he’d exchanged with Stelle to confirm what time they’d be meeting up.
He’d ignored any unwanted calls received, his face twisting up in displeasure upon recognizing the caller ID, and made it a point to shut his phone off so as to not be reminded of last night’s activities.
Even his trek to the studio was mostly peaceful, a mercy, really, for how hectic his days have been lately. Moments where he’s able to relax have been rare and few in between, and it’s only bound to get worse in the coming months. He makes sure to make the most of it any time those short breaks from reality do crop up.
The sense of serenity had remained once he’d made it to the lounge room, sinking into his favored love seat as he awaited his fellow band members’ arrival, eyelids falling shut as he fell into a light doze.
The sound of the door slamming open signals the end of his tranquility. It doesn’t startle him, aware of how rowdy March and Stelle tend to be. He hums in acknowledgment, his ears picking up on the sound of Stelle throwing herself onto the sofa located opposite to his.
His eyes flutter open to the sight of March stomping in his direction, causing his brows to knit in confusion. He’s taken aback when she passive-aggressively throws a flurry of paper onto the coffee table, crossing her arms in an exaggerated motion. Her face is flushed and puffy in what Dan Heng can only presume to be anger and he can’t help but compare her to an aggravated kitten.
She cocks her head to the side in a jagged manner, as if to prompt him to look at what she presented to him, and it leads him to finally divert his attention from her and to the coffee table. The sight of it immediately causes him to bolt up, sitting ramrod straight as his blood runs cold.
He’d never been the type to read celebrity tabloids, his ill-will towards the matter not exactly a well-kept secret. He didn’t care to read about the latest controversy his peers had sparked, or whatever relationship drama audiences were gossipping about at that very moment. He believes it to be trivial at best, invasive at its worst, and most importantly, a complete waste of his time.
He’s well aware that he’s been the subject of many of these articles, as is to be expected of someone who’s been steadily rising in the public eye within recent years. It also doesn’t help that he’s managed to garner a lot of attention for his mistiful persona, a result of him being a lot less willing to divulge his private life as opposed to March or Stelle, who are known to overshare. It leads to a lot more people who try to pry into his life in an attempt to fill in the blanks, and while he’s not too fond of it, he’s learned to ignore it, choosing to keep reading about what the media has to say about him to a minimum.
He knows that this is not the case for March or Stelle, as they believe the entire thing to be far more amusing than he did. And while they, for the most part, try to respect his wishes, they do share the most outlandish theories with him. His reaction would usually range anywhere from a scoff and a raised brow to an honest chuckle.
He’d expected the same thing to happen here, even though March’s behavior had been alarming, to say the least. Yet as he stares at the article, he realizes he couldn’t have been more wrong.
He couldn’t even make it past the headline, couldn’t even bring himself to read whatever makeshift truth the author had made up as he’s frozen in place, eyes strained on the image plastered front and center on the very first page.
He suddenly feels very ill.
He feels as if the ground beneath him is crumbling, his sense of equilibrium shifting as one horror after another dawns on him. He doesn’t understand how he’d let his guard down and allow himself to be caught in the act like this, the result of his carelessness staring him right back in the face.
“Hello? Are you even listening to me?!”
Dan Heng blinks once, maybe twice, barely able to register the loud booming voice coming from behind him. He still feels entirely too numb to the outside world to respond, his mind too preoccupied with the contents of the tabloid, the incriminating images imprinting into the back of his eyelids and serving as a reminder of his colossal fuck-up, consuming his thoughts to the point where it’s begun to overwhelm him and his stomach lurches until he feels sick with it.
He’s beginning to feel the tell-tale signs of bile rising in his throat, and he can do all but hold back from vomiting on the spot, if only to prevent himself from soiling his clothes and humiliating himself more than he already has.
“What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’re thinking about your secret boyfriend.”
He’s slow to process the words but once he does he’s snapped out of his trance, physically recoiling at what March is insinuating. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, a garbled mess he rushes out in an attempt to save his dignity.
“Really?” March replies, looking entirely unconvinced, “The evidence suggests otherwise." She snatches the tabloid off the table and shoves it under his nose as proof as if he can’t see it for himself.
“He’s not,” he repeats, shoving her hand away as his agitation grows. The sight of that first page is still nauseating.
And it’s the truth. The relationship he shares with Blade is far from romantic in nature, and giving it any kind of deeper meaning is not only absurd but downright hysterical. It’s a sentiment he’s certain Blade would agree with, if he was present at this current time. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear how he felt about Dan Heng they’d last spoken, the harsh words they’d exchanged fresh within his memories.
Still, he can’t fault March for assuming the opposite, or at least, not with how the picture depicts them, leaving entirely too much up for the imagination.
“Can we just drop the subject?” He says, the ‘please’ going unspoken, as he’s starting to feel the onslaught of a headache creeping its way in. He’s already bound to be on the receiving end of public scrutiny, he doesn’t need to be dealt with the same treatment from his lifelong friend.
“No way!” She exclaims, wildly gesturing at him to display her anger, and he can’t help but groan to himself, his exhaustion becoming more apparent. “You broke code. You can’t just break code.”
His brows furrow in confusion, “Code?”
She points a single, accusing finger at him, “You slept with the enemy!” He chokes on his breath, in part scandalized at the vulgarity of March’s words. “I thought we were in this together. I thought we all agreed we didn’t like them .”
“You’ve never cared about my relationship with Kafka,” Stelle quips, finally inserting herself into the conversation. She’d been mostly silent up until this point, draped horizontally across the sofa as she drummed in the air, presumably off in her own little world. Even now she hasn’t spared either of them a glance, and he doubts they would’ve concerned themself with their discussion if the Stellaron Hunters hadn’t been brought up.
“But that’s different,” March argues. Stelle finally sits up, interest piqued. Their impassive face prompts March to elaborate further, “You already knew her long before you knew us. And you’re not dating her.”
Stelle shrugs, raising their hands in mock surrender.
“Blade and I are not dating,” Dan Heng repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s starting to sound like a broken record at this point. “We’re not… we’re just not like that.”
March turns her nose up at him, a pout resting on her lips. She still doesn’t look like she’s willing to let the matter rest if the glint in her eyes is anything to go by.
“I don’t mean to be rude or anything but shouldn’t we get started on rehearsals? We still have a gig booked in a couple of days,” Stelle says, before March can resume her interrogations, and silently, Dan Heng has to thank her for intervening.
“Besides, who cares if Blade had his tongue down Dan Heng’s throat. That’s his business,” another strangled noise forces its way from his lips. Leave it to Stelle to treat any subject with the same fragility as they would a punching bag. Between their lack of filter and March’s… everything , he’s bound to start graying before he hits the age of thirty.
Of course, Stelle’s taunts don’t end there, if her sly gaze is anything to go by. “Congrats on your first celebrity scandal, by the way.”
And that does it. He bolts up, ready to give both Stelle and March a piece of his mind when the sound of someone clearing their throat causes him to pause, turning to see who’d chosen to join their company.
“Is something the matter?” Welt asks, one foot halfway through the doorway, a single hand resting on his cane. His eyes peer over the rim of his glasses, flitting between the three of them as if to ask what had thrown them into a frenzy.
“Everything is just fine, Mr Yang,” Stelle assures, a broad smile overtaking their features. Welt regards them with suspicion, the matching sour expressions he and March were sporting giving way to the heavy tension in the air. “We were actually just about to get started.”
They dart forward to grab hold of March’s wrist and jank her forward. March yelps at the treatment but is unable to protest as Stelle pushes her into the direction of the studio, leaving Dan Heng to stand awkwardly beside Welt.
Welt doesn’t question Stelle’s behavior, used to her odd quirks by now. Instead, he turns to Dan Heng as if to ask him something before pausing, seemingly thinking better of it. He merely peers at Dan Heng, giving him a slight nod before taking his leave, and though no words were exchanged, Dan Heng has to thank him for his small mercy.
spoon @bladesword
so everyone else saw the news right
Jax @bladehxnter
Replying to @bladesword
Why is everyone being so ominous what happened??
Jax @bladehxnter
Replying to @bladesword and @bladehxnter
oh
luna @starduststelle
nooo dan heng… ure too sexy to be hanging out with that beast
aila misses dh @azuredragon
so all this time their rivalry was just homoerotic tension? who could’ve foreseen this
hana @bladeheng
Replying to @azuredragon
jokes on you I saw it coming from a mile awayaila misses dh @azuredragon
Replying to @bladeheng
your username ??hana @bladeheng
Replying to @azuredragon
I had to call dibs while I still can
DH ENTHUSIAST @yinyuefan
YALL CLEAR THE SEARCHES
DAN HENG PRETTY
DAN HENG TALENTED
DAN HENG SMART
Jax @bladehxnter
Can you verify @gamerwxlf
Silver Wolf ✓ @gamerwxlf
Replying to @bladehxnter
idk that man
Rehearsals go just as swimmingly as he would expect it to, which is to say it’s not. He’s mostly going through the motions while he tunes his guitar, his thoughts straying towards the one thing he would rather forget about.
Warm-ups don’t go any easier either. He keeps messing up, making mistakes in places where he usually wouldn’t. He’s so off-kilter Stelle stops playing at some point to frown at him, his uncharacteristic behavior finally leading to cause for concern.
“Dude,” they say from behind their drum kit.
“I’m fine,” he reassures her, or at least, tries to, the uncertainty in his own voice apparent. He chooses not to acknowledge March’s eyes drilling holes into the back of his skull.
He silently admonishes himself, it wouldn’t do them any good if they were to fall back on practice based on his behalf. He needs to get his act together. “Let’s start from the top.”
Stelle still doesn’t look too convinced but complies, starting a countdown. As if on cue, Welt peeks his head through the entryway, a sheepish expression on his face. “Dan Heng, Himeko asked for you to meet her.”
He gulps, the request spelling nothing good. Stelle peers at him and when she catches his eye she gives him a small thumbs-up out of support, though whether it has its intended effect is debatable.
He’d seen this coming, the scenario a logical conclusion after his initial panic had subsided. That still doesn’t mean he’s particularly eager for this conversation to happen, especially not this soon. Unfortunately, it’s not like he could avoid it either, so in the end, he relents. It’s best to rip the bandage off anyway, or so they say.
He still can’t shake his nerves as he wanders over to Himeko’s office though, the anxiety in his gut only growing in size the closer he gets to it.
He knocks on her door, the sound echoing through the hall, and after a few seconds of waiting a soft ‘come in’ follows, making its way from the other side of the room. He takes a deep, steady breath to steel himself, before turning the knob and forcing himself over the threshold.
If there’s one way to describe Himeko’s office, he’d say it’s welcoming. The room is lined with potted plants that are well taken care of and there are various kinds of portraits and canvases hanging from the walls, giving the room a homely vibe. There are small trinkets on top of Himeko’s desk that add to her character rather than make it look unkempt. Even now her office exudes the definition of warmth, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through her curtains giving the room a soft glow. Yet what’s most welcoming about her office by far, was Himeko herself, her kind smile and easy-going nature able to soothe anyone so long as they’re within her presence.
He finds his nerves settling, if only by a fraction, the effect she has on him instantaneous. He takes his seat in the chair directly opposite to hers as he waits for her to finish whatever she’s working on her laptop, gazing out the window to watch as the sky turns golden. It’s why he doesn’t notice the frown that mars her face at first.
His eyes continue to study the room he’s been in many times before, eventually landing on a picture frame hanging on the wall. It’s one March took herself, mere days after signing to Astral Express Records, the image depicting her and Stelle with matching devious grins on their faces while Stelle’s drumstick is shoved up Welt’s nostril, fast asleep. He can’t help but look back fondly at the memory, the corners of his lips curving up ever so slightly at the two’s antics.
“Dan Heng,” she says, drawing his attention towards her. Loose, vibrant red curls frame the sides of her face as her amber eyes search his face, her delicate features twisted into an expression of concern. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine,” his answer remains short as a manner to maintain an air of indifference, his facial expression kept carefully blank. He knows it’s useless for him to do so, as she’s one of the handful of people who can read him like an open book, yet the urge to save face is one he can’t deny.
She hums and resumes her earlier task of ticking on her keyboard, and for a split-second, Dan Heng believes that to be the end of it. The illusion shatters when she closes her laptop with a soft click, shifting into a position that is more comfortable for her.
Her full, undivided attention is on him, and he can’t help but squirm in his seat. “Is there a reason why I’m seeing compilations of you and Blade trending across various different social media platforms?”
He groans at the question. “It’s not what it looks like. We’re not–” he pauses, unable to put all that encompasses the… thing he has with Blade into words. His brows furrow, suddenly incapable of speaking much further.
It must’ve been a pitiful sight to Himeko, as she sighs into her folded hands. “I’m not here to police your interpersonal relationship,” she reassures him, her voice firm and steady.
He can’t help but feel as if she’s treating him like a frightened animal.
And in a way, that might as well be correct. He feels high-strung, all his limbs wound tight at the thought that his and Blade’s relationship has been put up for discussion for hours on end.
Himeko, for what it’s worth, does try to be understanding of him. She’s never been too imposing on his public image and hasn’t once tried to take control of what he does in private. It’s one of those things he’s come to like about her over the years they’ve known each other, her steady support of not only his freedom but also the rest of his band allowing him to see her as a more friendly figure as opposed to just another coworker.
But for as amiable as she is, she still remains his superior at the end of the day, and as much as she’d like to let the matter be, mainly on his behalf rather than hers, a transgression like this can’t go unaddressed. It’s something they’re both very much aware of, a moment of understanding passing between them.
“You’re aware of the interview this upcoming Friday, correct?” He nods at her, not trusting his own voice momentarily. “I trust you’ll know how to handle it?”
At some point during their discussion, his nails had begun to dig into the meat of his thighs. He makes sure to loosen his grip, if only to maintain a semblance of self-control. He takes another deep, measured breath, before facing her gaze head-on. “I will.”
Himeko nods and grants him a gentle smile. “You should get some rest. You have a busy week ahead of you,” she says in a not-so-subtle way to tell him he looks like shit. He can’t bring himself to be offended, choosing instead to not look a gift horse in the mouth. He gets up, never once having been more grateful to be dismissed, and turns to leave.
“And Dan Heng,” he pauses in his tracks, facing her once more. Her expression has grown grim all of a sudden, adding to his unease. “Please don’t force yourself to do anything for anyone else’s sake.”
His fingers tighten on the door handle, and he’s suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “I won’t.”
They’re the last words he exchanges with her before he ducks out of the room, scurrying his way back down to the practice room where he’d last left March and Stelle. He wants nothing more than to follow up on Himeko’s suggestion and head home, a great excuse to hide away from the world and everyone he knows, yet his work ethic would never allow him to do so, his need to be at least somewhat productive far outweighing his need to self-isolate, especially in such a crucial time in his career.
Still, for as much as he tries to be proactive during practice, his heart’s not in it, and it’s obvious if his lackluster performance is anything to go by. That paired up with March’s unusual long-lasting anger results in Stelle calling it quits, deciding it’s best to call it an early night. He can’t bring himself to disagree.
The commute back home is a blur for the most part, his physical and emotional exhaustion taking its toll on him and leaving him barely any space to process his surroundings. It's not until he’s within the confines of his own apartment that he finally crashes, barely making it past the front door when a day's worth of turmoil finally catches up with him.
His insistence that nothing was going on between him and Blade had become nothing but a broken mantra at this point, whether that be between his work colleagues or echoing within the confines of his own mind.
And it's true to an extent. How could it not be, when he'd made sure to put an end to everything last night.
Their relationship was never romantic in nature, merely an attempt to fill up the lack of intimacy either of them could afford to have given their career paths. It was not something that could be sustainable in the long run, and ending it had only been the right decision to make for both of them.
It's what he tells himself as he stares at himself in the mirror. Yet as his reflection peers back at him, his pale green eyes glassy with unshed tears, he's suddenly unsure.