Chapter Text
“H-hey Gareth, y-you play drums right?”
Gareth looks up from his sketchbook when he hears your timid, shy voice. He puts his pencil down and leans back, crossing his arms, taking in your small frame. You are hunched over, seemingly trying to make yourself smaller than you already are. Black shaggy hair cascades around your face like a protective curtain. He can barely see your face, but notices the tinge of pink that is blooming across your cheeks.
“Yeah, I do. I'm in a band, actually. Why does the ghost of Hawkins High wanna know?” He questions with a raised brow.
You go stiff at the nickname. Ghost. That’s what you were to this school. A figure in the shadows that people saw but chose to ignore. You sat in the back of all your AP classes but stayed silent when questions were asked. Keeping your head down and never making eye contact with others. Socializing was never on the table either. Pep rallies, lunch, and clubs never saw your presence. A ghost to everyone in Hawkins High, except for here, the art room.
“W-well, I was thinking of entering the talent show–” you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to provide a bit of comfort to yourself. “But, I kinda need a band to play with me…”
You stare at your shoes and kick a forgotten eraser on the ground. Steeling yourself for the pang of rejection you so desperately sought to avoid.
Gareth lets out a low whistle. “Talent show? That’s a tall ask. You aren’t going to perform some dumb pop song, are you?” He questions with a smirk, taking in your faded, oversized Lynyrd Skynyrd tee that is just barely falling off your shoulder.
“O-oh god no,” you quickly huff out. “I was thinking of doing something more southern rock.”
Gareth stares at you for a bit, and you still have barely met his gaze. He thinks about Hellfire and Eddie’s motto of taking in the outcasts. That’s what you were, an outcast, and maybe the biggest outcast of them all, the one that even his group of ‘freaks’ had managed to look over.
“I’ll do it.”
Your head snaps up, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes wide with shock. “You will?!”
“Yeah, sure, why not?” he answers with a shrug. “Do you have anybody else to play with?”
At the question, you immediately shrink back down, “N-no, I can play the guitar, but I would still need a bassist.”
“Cool, well, I definitely know someone who would be able to help out on that front. Wanna talk at lunch?”
It’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped over you at the mention of lunch.
“L-lunch? Like in the lunch room?”
“Yeah, where else? All my friends sit together at a table. I'm sure they wouldn’t mind you joining.” He notices your hesitancy, and he realizes that he just asked you to sit with him and the ‘freaks’. You probably didn’t even wanna be seen with them. “O-or we could meet somewhere else, i-if you don’t wanna be seen with us?”
You notice the air of shame wash over Gareth and immediately bristle at the idea of him thinking you don’t wanna be seen around him or his friends.
“NO!” You immediately yelp while gripping his shoulders
Your outburst shocks both you and him, and you immediately go still and stare at each other wide-eyed. Gareth could smell the familiar scent of cigarettes on you, along with something sweet, like cherries.
Instantly, you drop your hands, “It’s not that. I- I just kinda try to avoid the lunch room,” you hunch back in on yourself and take a step back. “There are too many people there, too many eyes on me, too many voices.” In the 4 years of high school, you hadn’t stepped in there once, practically avoiding it like the plague.
He lets out a chuckle, “Too many eyes, but you wanna perform at the talent show? You know the show where everyone has their eyes on you?”
“That- That’s different,” you take in a shaky breath and think about all the dingy bars and clubs out in Indy your dad snuck you into. The ones where you would get on stage with the band and sing your heart out for older strangers. “I’ve performed before, and it’s different on stage. When you are on stage, you don’t even notice them all looking at you. It’s like I’m not even me anymore.”
Gareth contemplates your words because he knows exactly what you meant. Performing at The Hideout with Corroded Coffin, he experienced that every week. They were no longer the freaks of Hawkins High. They were someone else to all the drunk regulars.
“Yeah, um, I totally understand that– so where would you want to meet?”
“Here. I eat lunch here with Mrs. Fagan. I also have a practice space at my house, drums and amps, and all that you can use.”
“Cool… cool, well, I’ll bring my friend today during lunch if that works?”
“T-that would be great. Thanks… a lot actually, you don’t realize how much this means to me.”
The school bell suddenly rings, making you both jump a bit.
Gareth gathers up his sketchbook and shoves it in his bag. “Well, I’ll see you at lunch then, Ghost.”
“Lunch,” you respond back with a small smile, turning back to your painting, not bothering to gather up your things.
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When lunch rolls around, Gareth makes his way to his usual table. Eddie is sitting where he usually does at the head of the table, animatedly talking about some nonsense that Gareth doesn’t catch. He spots Freak and leans down to whisper in his ear.
Eddie spots the two talking and stops his story. When Freak stands up and grabs his bookbag, Eddie gives them a quizzical look.
“Where are you two going?”
Gareth stops in his tracks and spins around to meet Eddie’s gaze.
“To help a friend out.” He states plainly with a shrug.
“Friend? What friend? We are all right here, man.”
“You wouldn’t know her, dude.” Gareth nonchalantly replies as he starts to head out of the lunch room with Freak in tow.
Eddie sits there for a moment. ‘Friend’, who could his drummer possibly be talking about, a friend that he doesn’t know, and one that is, let alone a girl. He sits there stunned for a bit before being pulled back into his previous conversation with Mike and Jeff.
As lunch passes, Eddie can’t help but think back to Gareth and Freak leaving the lunch room. They were meeting up with a girl, and he wanted to know why. His mind instantly goes to the idea of a desperate girl down on her knees for both of them. If that was what they were up to, he definitely wanted in on it.
He suddenly stands up, slamming his hands on the table, startling the rest of Hellfire. He quickly grabbed his bag and stalked out of the lunch room, not hearing a word that his friends called out behind him.
He roamed the halls of Hawkins, checking everywhere that they could possibly be– the dark room, the theater room, all the boys' bathrooms– he even ventured outside to his usual picnic table and behind the bleachers, but found no sight of them. The metalhead finally resigned himself to just wandering the halls and peaking into classrooms that had their lights on. All he found was teachers working on lesson plans and small study groups. It was like they had just disappeared without a trace. Roaming the halls was just boring now, and he was going to head back to the lunch room when he suddenly heard the faint, familiar sound of Gareth and Freaks laughing.
He whipped around and sprinted down the hall towards the art room at the end of the corridor. He came to a screeching halt, peering inside. He spotted Mrs. Fagan at her desk, eating her lunch, and the backs of Gareth and Freaks. He couldn’t see who they were talking to; you were hidden behind them, but he heard your bright, tinny laugh. It was like music to his ears, and he needed to see who it came from. He moved around, desperately trying to get a look when the school bell went off, making him jump.
He instantly ran around the corner, hiding from Gareth and Freak. He waited for them to pass, then sprinted back to the window, hoping to get a peek at you. What he saw, he didn't expect. There you sat at the table, hunched over a sketchbook. You were small and skinny, swallowed up by a baggy t-shirt of some band he couldn’t get a good look at. Your jet black shaggy hair surrounded you like a curtain. He stared at you, hoping you would look up. And it was like you sensed his presence because you suddenly looked up and your large brown doe eyes locked with his. You looked like a deer in the headlights, struck with fear.
His heart rate immediately picked up, and he booked it down the hall. He didn’t know who you were, but he would; he would make sure of it.