Ivan Petrov

My routine is so bad, I'm sure my alarm clock feels sorry for me.

I usually wake up at five in the morning and play basketball with Hope on our makeshift court in the middle of the woods. Then I shower and get dropped to the bus stand. After boarding the bus to school, I spend my day with Hayden, Willow and Tyler. They usually do the talking. An entire day of dodging my team and coaches later, I go for physiotherapy and then to the auto repair store I work in. I board the bus home and spend the rest of the day with the Hopes.

I call my sister on the weekends where I keep prodding her to change her 'just friends' status with Harry. Of course she doesn't listen. She keeps asking me if I'm feeling alright. I keep assuring her I am. And she keeps nodding like doesn't believe me.

"You broke your leg? Again?" Hope is glowering at me like he usually does. He's either glowering at me or feeding me green salad. Like actually feeding me. No comment.

"I didn't break it, it's just dislocated. Your dad's a doctor, you should know the difference."

He groans. "He isn't even in town this week. What am I gonna do!"

All the Hopes, save for Hope, left for a weeklong trip to a nearby hill station. They went because Sebastian's mental health was deteriorating since his girlfriend left the town without informing him. Hope and I chose to stay back because we had games to play. Or at least he did, I had barely started training.

"Look, it isn't even a major dislocation. My knee's already relocated and I didn't even do a thing. We just have to ice and heat it repeatedly, it'll be fine."

Wordlessly, he goes to the kitchen and brings me an ice pack. He places it on my knee and sits beside me on the couch. "Don't be so reckless next time." His voice is soft. "You'll only end up eating more avocado salad."

I chuckle. "Well, thanks to your salad, I'm taller than you now."

He frowns. "No, you're not! Sure, you've grown taller. But you're probably my height."

I nudge him on the elbow. "Admit it when your ego decides to give you a break. But I wanted to talk to you about more important things." He nods and I continue speaking. "Our match is drawing closer. It's in a week now."

"Our match? The one in which we're going to face each other?"

I nod. "We're still rivals, Hope."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I know. But I have to play for the Wildcats. I know I'm injured but... they haven't been doing very well lately and I can't afford to back off in the most important match of the season."

"You can start training, if that's what you're asking me for. I can't stop you from playing for your team. Especially in a match against us. That would seem like I'm taking advantage of the situation."

I smile weekly. "Thanks."

He pats my back. "Since you aren't fully recovered, I'm going to double your calcium intake."

"So more kale salad?" I groan.

He smiles. "More kale salad."

***

It's a Friday night and I'm dressed in those Wranglers Hope bought for me not so long ago - the only skinny jeans in my closet, and one of my usual black tees. Hope's dressed in black jeans, a charcoal hoodie and a leather jacket worn over it.

"Where are we going?" I ask, the cool breeze hitting me as Hope locks the front door of his house.

"We're going to have some fun," he responds, unlocking his red convertible and motioning me to join him inside. My fracture has healed, so all I have to worry about is an injured knee and an almost fixed ribcage.

I don't protest and slide into my seat. "You had a match today, didn't you?"

"Yeah, we won. I skipped the party in Blake's house, in case you were wondering. You guys played the Warriors today, right?"

"I was benched, still not entirely in shape. We lost."

"Good luck for your next match, then."

"You too."

Our next match is this Sunday, and we'll be facing each other.

"Don't think about it now," he says. "Besides, aren't you excited about tonight?"

"I don't even know what we're going to be doing tonight."

"I almost forgot this is supposed to be a surprise." He chuckles.

"It doesn't have to be," I tell him. "I hate not knowing what's going to happen. Curiosity killed the cat, y'know?"

"But you're not a cat." He pauses and his brows go up in realization. "You're a Wildcat! No wonder Prince likes you so much, I guess he was too bored surrounded by dogs and human beings. I got a Wildcat in the house and he likes him!"

I stare at him. "Blake's rubbing off on you. Reduce your time with him."

"Why? Is ma boy jealous of lil Blakey?"

Blakey? And why does he sound like one of those stupid rap songs the radio keeps playing?

"I'm not your boy." But I wish I was.

He looks at me like he knows the actual meaning of my words and then shrugs it off. "Forget it. Tonight, we're not Wildcats or Falcons or even high school students. We're legends going to live like them, yeah? Just one night, I don't want you to regret even a bit of it."

"Because I make you feel legendary?" I'm teasing him and telling him we've been that way before at the same time - we'd shed our rivalry off in that mall, we can do it again tonight. In those words, I'm also letting him know that I wouldn't mind shedding our rivalry again, I wouldn't mind being legendary again. I'll do anything for you, I say. He doesn't hear it.

I expect him to laugh and say something like 'Because you make me feel legendary', completely dismissing the meaning of my words. I expect him to shrug his strong shoulders and dismiss my words completely, not just their meaning. I expect him to do absolutely nothing and pretend I hadn't said anything at all, dismissing me altogether.

Instead, he looks at me like he usually does when we have to forget we're rivals - like I'm made of the most brilliant mixture of goldust and stardust, like he'll do anything for me and all I have to do is ask, like we're more than friends and we've been that way forever - and says, "You remember."

It usually takes three words to make you feel like you're the most important person in someone's life. This time, it took only two.

***

A stage is set up complete with mikes, a drum kit and several extension cords for amplifiers. It's set up on a meadow and there's a small gathering around the people-less stage. Everyone, irrespective of their gender, is wearing makeup. And everyone's dressed in black and leather. I feel underdressed.

Hope is holding my elbow, helping me walk due to my not-so-proper knee I just dislocated (and relocated) this afternoon.

"You have your phone, don't you?" he asks for the hundredth time.

"Even if I don't, it's not like you're going to let me go anywhere on my own," I grumble.

"I don't want another dislocated knee. You have an important match in a couple of days."

I nod and stare at the stage like everyone else. Lights have been fitted onto trees and some places on the stage. People are murmuring; whatever I'm here for is going to start soon.

"Ever been to a gig before?" Hope asks, jumping slightly on his face. His hand on my elbow is getting clammier by the minute. Is he nervous about me liking his surprise?

I look at the banner behind the stage that has the words 'Your American Disaster' hand painted on it. I nod in reply to Hope's question. "I've snuck into some, but I've never heard of these guys."

"What about 'Our Final Teenage Nightmare'?" Hope asks, looking into a brochure. "Or even 'The Red Unfriendly Obsession'? These people keep changing their name."

I shake my head. All pretty good band names but my mind's a blank slate when it comes to any of those names.

Hope shrugs. "They're not from here, anyways. A few towns down south. The lead singer is Dad's colleague's son. Dad was looking forward to attending it and since you both share similar music interests, I brought you along."

I'm too distracted to answer. The band has finally made its way onto the stage. The first guy, who I presume is the lead singer, has pink hair. He's shirtless, exposing his skinny physique covered in tattoos of various colors.

Another guy follows him. His hair is as long as mine, only browner and perhaps thicker. He's holding a pair of drum sticks. He isn't shirtless like his friend, but his white button down is open halfway down.

Finally, there's a girl. She's wearing regular unripped jeans, I wonder where you find jeans like that anymore, and a baggy Pink Floyd shirt. Her hair's as short as the pink haired dude's, only it's black. She's strumming her electric blue bass guitar nervously. Mr Pink Hair squeezes her on the arm and then picks up the mic.

"Been a while, eh?" His voice echoes through the loudspeakers. The crowd roars. He waves at some people in the crowd and then looks at the large banner that has the band's name written on it. "We've changed it to Bastard Gods, now. Guess we'll have to get that removed."

The crowd laughs. "Even that's going to last a day," one person shouts.

Mr Pink Hair winks at them. "You bet."

More laughter. Mr Pink Hair runs his fingers through his hair. "A lot of familiar faces, forgive me if I've forgotten your names. But for the new ones: I'm Cal, I sing. We've got Leslie on the drums and F.K. with the bass. And if you're wondering what this piano is doing in the middle of nowhere," he extends his hand towards the instrument in the center of the stage. "It's a keyboard, not a piano."

The crowd laughs again. Cal knows his way with people. "Now shall we get started?"

The crowd roars. Some people are hooting, shouting, howling, even. Everyone's excited and no one's afraid to show it. Cal sits behind the keyboard, his mouth against the mic hanging above it. "Now I want you all to keep quiet. These are the most important notes you'll ever hear."

The crowd quiets down. Hope's hand, which was on my elbow, has slid down so that he's holding my hand. Then Cal plays a sequence I'd be able to recognise even in my dreams. Even if I get amnesia, these notes will always mean something to me. Always.

Because it's not just some note. It's the G note. The opening of Welcome To The Black Parade, My Chemical Romance's greatest song and one of the only reasons I'm still alive.

After he finishes the sequence, he begins to sing. "When I was a young boy..."

The crowd joins him. "My father took me into the city, to see a marching band."

I'm singing too. Everybody is. "He said son when you grow will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned..."

I look at Hope with a smile on my face. He's smiling back at me like he knew I'd look at him. Or was he secretly staring at me all along? I'm about to say something but he shakes his head. "It's your emo anthem going on," he mouths and urges me to continue singing.

When we reach the instrumental part, Hope squeezes my hand. "This isn't the only My Chemical Romance song you'll be hearing tonight."

I look at him. "Thank you."

He shakes his head. "I didn't do anything. Dad wanted to bring you here. Some weird bonding experience. But no one expected Bas's condition to get so bad. So here I am with you."

I lean forward and wrap him in a hug. He's taken by surprise but hugs me back nonetheless. "Still not as tall as me, huh?"

"Shut up. I'm half an inch shorter than you. Big difference."

"Oh come on." He releases me from his hug. "Every inch counts. You should know this, of all people."

I glare at him as he winks at me. "Stop being a dick," I say.

He jabs me in the elbow. "You like dick."

Man. I roll my eyes and pretend my heart isn't accelerating. Then I turn my attention to Cal and his band. "And other times I feel like I should go!"

When Hope starts singing with us all, I can't help but ask, "You've heard these songs?"

He shrugs. "I didn't want to be clueless tonight. So I just heard all the essential tracks."

I smile. On the stage, Cal's picked up the microphone, Freddie Mercury style and is roaming all around the stage, kissing his bandmates on the cheek every time he passes by them.

"He's openly bisexual," Hope randomly says.

"Of course he is."

"Are you... Is he your- Do you want to...?" He ends up sighing. "Forget I said anything."

"I like people only after I've spoken to them, if that's what you're asking. And I haven't spoken to Cal so..."

He sighs again, this time in relief. An open preschool-level book for sure. Dr Seuss probably wrote him.

The song ends and Cal winks at the crowd. "For all of you still wondering, tonight we're playing our favorite MCR tracks. They're the reason this band exists, they're probably the reason some of you still do."

People murmur in agreement. I can feel Hope looking at me. I squeeze his hand. He laughs. My stomach flips.

"Imagine hours of MCR without those stupid Spotify adds begging you to go Premium!" Cal shouts.

The whole crowd laughs. Even Hope does, I can feel his pulse beneath my fingers. We're both jittery and we both won't admit it.

"Brace yourselves for the best night of your lives!" Cal says as the intro to I Don't Love You starts playing. "You aren't gonna get another of this any time soon."

I entangle my fingers with Hope's and press my shoulder against his even though there isn't a shortage of space around us.

Hope loops the hand I'm holding around my neck, bringing us closer to each other, and presses his nose to my hair. I hold his wrist, my finger on his pulse. It's more erratic than mine.

"No regrets, yeah?" he whispers against my hair. I could get used to this.

I'd nod if his head wasn't this close to mine. No regrets.