my first delve into the Kane chronicles fandom. enjoy this awesome rarepair!
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Amos was not planning to be late for the gig. Rather, he got ready extra early so he wouldn't miss it. Although it had taken some struggle to motivate himself to emerge from the nest of homework he had built around himself, he was feeling pretty on top of it as he pressed the elevator button. His braids were clattering at the tips where fresh beads rustled: sapphire blue, to match his blazer and tinted glasses, and his sax case swung at his side.
The silver doors cracked open with a soft bell and he stepped in, humming the notes to a Coltrane song. He was humming with serene energy, ready to hear smooth brassy notes slide from his sax. Anything to escape the ever-constricting grip of upcoming finals.
The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and in stepped a man who was, frankly, a mess. His top four buttons were undone, his mahogany hair dishevelled, and his tie knotted carelessly over his collarbone. Despite the caramel warmth to his skin, it was obvious his cheeks were flushed.
A prep, probably a frat boy, utterly devoid of anything Amos would find appealed beyond those burning eyes. Really, he was everything Amos hated, smug and lazy. He was the kind of person that was loud without saying anything. Everything from the clumsy shining watch on his wrist to his boxers rising above his pants -stamped proudly with Gucci- screamed rich boy.
The newcomer made eye contact with Amos and smiled a slow crocodile grin that slid languidly over his fine-boned features. He stood next to Amos, dark eyes never leaving his face.
"Come here often?" He asked in a voice that was stark and brass. Still, it had its own seductive notes, like a crooked finger across the floor of a club.
"I try to avoid it," Amos replied coolly, his own voice smooth in contrast. "Too much riff raff."
He faced directly forward, trying to keep the disdain from leaking into his voice.
The newcomer did not look discouraged. His voice was frank and natural, but the way he was swaying a little betrayed his lack of sobriety.
"Pity," he smirked. "You don't seem to like the riff raff, but the riff raff sure likes you. Where you going tonight, Blue?"
Amos raised an eyebrow at the reference to his attire. Was this guy flirting? In an elevator with a total stranger at eleven at night when he had obviously just gotten lucky?
"Nowhere I'd share with you," he said coldly, all veneer of civility dropping away.
The man shrugged, finally backing off. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, sliding smoothly into an artful slouch.
"Just being friendly," he could be heard muttering under his breath.
"Too friendly," Amos couldn't help retorting sharply.
They sank lower and lower, floors passing by. But when they hit the third floor, the elevator shuddered. Lights flickered, and both men tensed, bracing for balance.
The elevator groaned, and their gazes slid to each other in shared horror.
Then all at once, the lights winked out and the elevator stilled. For once moment, silence rang in their ears, loud as the thunder that followed after a moment.
The storm he'd heard about this morning on the radio, Amos realized. It was the cause for their current peril.
"Shit," his companion said, his voice blazing bright as ever in the darkness. "You got your phone for light? Mine's dead."
"Yeah, one sec," Amos said, pulling off his tinted glasses and groping around him for the wall. "Hang on, let me grab it."
He clicked it on and the blue light illuminated the space. His companion's face was just as strikingly rakish in this light, the sparse light catching on his crooked nose bridge and arching cheekbones. He looked worried, his dark eyebrows furrowed.
"Service?" the prep asked.
"None, and battery's down too," Amos said, shaking his head so the beads rattled against each other. "They said there'd be a storm today, I just didn't expect it to be so intense."
"A storm did this?" The newcomer repeated. "Damn, that's some storm. Hang on, I'll try the emergency call."
He hit the red button, aided by Amos's phone flashlight, but nothing happened. He tried again, but nothing came of his efforts.
"Shit," the prep said again, rocking back onto his heels. He met Amos's gaze, uncertain. "Now what?"
Amos shrugged and sat down. "Looks like we'll be here until someone looks for us."
His fellow prisoner sat down next to him, long legs splayed across the floor.
"Turn your phone off," he told Amos.
Amos looked over. "What?"
"Turn it off," the man said. "In case you get more service and someone calls. I gotta a light."
There was logic he hadn't been expecting in that sentence, so he turned it off obediently. Next to him, the man clicked a lighter to life. Shadows danced eerily around them and Amos nearly groaned. As if this whole experience needed more of a reason to be freaky. He hadn't slept enough for this.
"I'm Set," the man said suddenly, lifting his head. "My name, it's Set Villaday."
"What kind of name is Set?" Amos asked, nose scrunching.
Set rolled his eyes, the movement minute in the dim light. "Septimus Emerson Villaday, if you want, but I find Set is usually easier."
"Set," he said grudgingly. "I'm Amos."
He neglected to mention his last name, not wanting to deal with the attention that came from being Julius Kane's brother.
There was another brief pause, but true to nature, Set shattered it within seconds.
"You don't need to talk to me like I'm stupid." His voice was light, blunt, like he was just telling Amos what he had for dinner. "Whatever story you've made up about me in your head is probably wrong and your whole condescending thing is getting real old. If we're gonna wait in this elevator all night, I'd rather not also have to deal with your judgement."
Amos found himself yet again surprised by Set's perceptive nature. He hadn't even realized Set was registering his cold shoulder.
His companion took his silence differently.
"Is it because I was flirting with you earlier?" Set asked, voice growing clipped. "Because I do that with everyone. And if you're a homophobe, I'll fucking deck you right now, Blue, swear to god."
"Wha- what? No! No! God, no!" Amos nearly laughed at the situation. "No, I'm literally gay, can you chill? No- no, that's not why."
"Then why?" Set demanded, folding his arms. "What is it that makes you so surprised any time I say anything intelligent?"
Irritation seeped into Amos.
"Maybe the fact that you showed up like you just came from a frat party and you smell of vodka," Amos proposed.
"Hey, I hold my liquor quite well, thanks," Set shot back. "Anyways, it wasn't a frat party, it was an anarchist buddy of mine's birthday."
He took a second to process that, and then Amos really did start laughing, struck by the absurdity of the situation. He was sitting in an elevator with an anarchist at eleven at night with nothing but a saxophone and a lighter.
"Of course you're an anarchist," Amos muttered, recovering from his laughing fit. "You- Of course you are."
"Well, I don't know why you're laughing," Set said, sounding affronted. "You look like Robert Downey Jr. had a kid with Bleeding Gums Murphy from The Simpsons. I mean, you wear tinted glasses at night, Blue."
That started Amos up again, and then they were laughing together, Amos's rich, buttery laugh at perfect odds with Set's abrupt, ringing one.
A silence descended over them when they stopped and Amos fidgeted with his glasses in his lap.
"Don't, like, tell people though," he said softer, solemn all of a sudden. "That I'm gay. It's not really something I like to advertise."
"Please," Set replied at once, all relaxed certainty. "As if I'd do that to someone. Ever."
To his own surprise, that made Amos feel better.
"Thanks."
"Sure."
Amos could feel the other man looked over at him, and he met his gaze.
"Can I help you?"
"You look familiar," Set said, head tilted.
Dread collected in Amos's stomach. This was it, it always happened at one time or another. First their brows furrowed as they searched his face. Then recognition would flare up in their eyes and their lips would form a moue of surprise. Oh, I know your brother! You're Julius Kane's brother?
Something sad and bright lit Set's dark eyes and but after a moment, he shook his head.
"Never mind," he muttered, expression fallen. "It doesn't matter."
Amos was curious now. Obviously he'd just reminded Set of someone, but for once it wasn't Julius. Still, he knew better than to push it. The stormy expression on Set's face warned him not to overstep boundaries.
"You gotta sax there, Blue?" Set asked suddenly, jerking his chin towards the case in Amos's lap. "You play?"
"Yeah," Amos said, surprised. "That's where I was headed tonight, a gig at a nightclub. Blue Train, on 42nd."
"Well?" Set asked.
Amos shrugged. "Well?"
Set laughed, shaking his head. "Well, play some for me, Blue."
"I dunno man, this is a small elevator," Amos started, but that wasn't why he was apprehensive about it. "Sax isn't exactly quiet."
Set grinned at him, the gleam of his teeth catching the light in the darkness.
"Blue, you've known me for like half an hour, but you can probably tell I don't have much of a problem with noise," he smirked. "Besides, if you don't play, I'll start singing."
Amos arched an eyebrow, and Set tilted his palms up.
"You asked for it," he warned, before launching into the worst rendition of Whitney Houston's 'I Wanna Dance with Somebody' Amos had ever heard.
"I wanna DANCE with someboDY! I wanna feel the hEAT WITh someboDy!" Set screeched, his voice cracking as it stretched into octaves no man was capable of.
Amos laughed, big and loud and then waved him off. "Fine, fine, if you'll stop! Jeez, Villaday, you have no chill."
He flicked the clasps open and pulled his baby out. Every time he saw her, he was struck by how beautiful she was, all gleaming gold and smooth metal.
"Any requests?" He asked Set, peering at him in the dark.
Set smiled, less amused and more gentle. "Whatever you like."
Amos thought for a moment before nodding and settling his lips to the mouthpiece. He took a breath and then let a long mournful note seep into the stale air of the elevator.
The sultry notes of You Belong to the City by Glenn Fray swelled around the two of them in that dark elevator. As he got more into it, Amos slid into some of his own soloing. He rode the notes like a wave, letting it take him wherever it liked. It was a sweet melancholy tune that echoed nostalgia and mourning. Finally, he slid back into the Glenn Fray notes and ended the song.
Self-consciousness hit him hard and fast as soon as the final notes seeped out of the air and he looked over to Set, gauging his reaction.
To his secret pleasure, Set looked dumbstruck.
"You- Blue, you've got some serious talent," he said at last. "What are you majoring in?"
Amos mumbled his answer.
"You tellin' me a secret?" Set mocked loudly, a hand cupped around his ear. "Speak up!"
"Archaeology," he repeated, louder. Set arched an eyebrow.
"So are you stupid or just plain dumb?" He asked after a moment.
Amos's jaw dropped open. He knew Set was blunt, but he hadn't been expecting such a childish retort.
"Am I-," he sputtered for a moment, floundering for a response. "What the devil are you talking about?"
Set stared at him, head tilted. "I'm just saying like, if you're basically a reincarnation of Louis Armstrong, why the hell are you set on digging up rocks?"
"Armstrong played trumpet," Amos muttered, looking down at his twisting hands. "And archaeology, it-, it runs in the family, okay?"
"So? You just gonna let your folks stop you from being the next Coltrane?"
He'd gotten right this time, Amos thought absently. Coltrane was sax, not Armstrong.
"They're dead," he found himself saying, despite the fact that he never talked about his parents to anyone ever, not even Julius. "My folks. That's why I have to do this."
Set didn't retreat, didn't wince like everyone else. Instead, he crossed his arms.
"Yeah? So are mine," he said, unimpressed. "You think they would have wanted you to let your talent just rot away while you do something you clearly don't like?"
Amos's blood began to boil and his face grew hot as he glowered at the other man in the dark.
"Hey, why don't you stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Villaday?" He spat, slamming his sax back into his case and locking it away.
"How 'bout I don't?" Set said, leaning forward.
Amos saw red, vivid and overpowering in his field of vision. "You think you've got the answers to everything, huh?" He scoffed. "I don't care if you think being an orphan makes us similar, you don't know anything about me! Now, I don't care about you, but I'm going to do what my parents would have wanted me to do, instead of disappointing them like you obviously did!"
"Yeah, maybe I disappointed my parents when they were alive! Maybe I disappoint them now, wherever they are!" Set shouted back -had Amos been shouting, he hadn't noticed-, shoulders tensing. "And you know what? I don't give a single shit! It's my life, and I don't have any kind of fucking moral obligation to take over a godforsaken oil company just because my parents had one, for fuck's sake!"
"Archaeology's been in the family for generations!" Amos snapped.
"So's oil!" Set countered, face flushed. "So why don't you stop bitching about your tragic backstory and do something meaningful with your life?"
"What, like you?" Amos laughed, a mean, nasty sound. "You sayin' I should become an anarchist, Villaday? You sayin' that's what my parents would have wanted?"
"I'm saying, they wouldn't have wanted you to squander the time you got on this earth for some shit you don't even care about just because you feel like you owe it to 'em!" Set roared.
"Yeah, cuz you know so much about my dead parents!"
"Blue, if you don't stop pulling that stupid fucking dead parent card, I will deck you right now, I swear to god!" Set snarled. "You know it's fucking pathetic!"
Amos did. He'd felt dirty saying it as soon as he did. When his mom and dad had died, he'd sworn to himself not to exploit their deaths for any kind of pity, deserved or not.
"Oh, just because I haven't compartmentalized the deaths of my parents into insignificance like you, means I should never talk about them?" Amos snarled half-heartedly, despite the fact that he knew Set was right.
"I don't compartmentalize shit," Set hissed. "I drink and I smoke and I fuck to get through it and forget the pain, but I sure as hell don't let it hold me back, because that would insult their memory more than any of that other shit does combined."
Amos went silent, the anger draining away from him.
"And it hurts," Set went on, voice cracking, although he continued as if it hadn't. "That shit hurts so fucking much, I know it does. I, of all people understand, Amos. But telling yourself everything is fine as long as you carry on that family business thing? That's selfish. You can tell yourself it's for them, but that's for you."
Before Amos could reply, there was a groan in the walls all around them, and the lights flickered back on. The elevator hesitated for a moment, and then began to glide smoothly down, like it had never stopped.
Set got to his feet and helped Amos up, not saying a word. When the doors opened, he stepped out first, looking back at Amos with those flinty eyes.
"Think about what I said, Blue," he called over his shoulder, expression unreadable.
Amos wavered, torn between thanking him and flipping him off.
"Hey Villaday!"
The lean man turned, the reddish undertones in his dark hair glinting under fluorescent bulbs. Light caught the slope of Set's collarbone, and he watched Amos with inscructible eyes.
"The club's called Blue Train," he said, lips moving before he thought it through. "42nd and Post."
They had a staring contest for a moment, and Amos's arms danced with goosebumps under his blazer. Then Set dipped his chin, walking away without a second glance.
Amos couldn't tell if he'd accepted the silent invitation, but figured he wasn't going to get anything else out of him, so he gripped his case tightly and hailed a cab. It had only been an hour, he could probably still make it for the gig.
What an hour it had been, Amos mused as he told the cabby the address. It had felt like infinity.
"Hey Villaday!"
Set turned slowly, heart too loud in his chest.
"The club's called Blue Train. 42nd and Post."
Amos looked surprised at his own words, amber eyes going wide at himself. Just then in that moment, without those ridiculous tinted glasses, Set might have thought Amos Kane was something close to beautiful. Everything from his cocoa skin and startlingly bright eyes to his body that blazer cut so well. It was all just right.
Set turned away before he did something stupid.
Like say yes.
He walked quickly, deftly buttoning his shirt up and straightening his tie, and headed around the corner to hail a cab.
"Where to?" The man asked as he swung his long legs into a car that made his head swim with the scent of cigarettes.
Set rattled off his address without a second thought, before folding his arms and leaning as far into the window as possible.
He should have kept his damn mouth shut.
That was the thought that echoed in his mind, over and over. But he'd heard that music that wrapped itself around him like an ocean, and he couldn't stop himself. He'd wanted to, boy did he want to. His mouth just kept running and in his head he was screaming shut up shut up shut up but something in Amos Kane made his mouth run and run.
Maybe it was the way he smiled, sudden and illuminating like a lightning strike. Maybe it was the steadiness of his gaze, even and honeyed and unafraid. Maybe it was his lips, full and mesmerizing, stretched wide when he laughed.
Maybe Set was a goddamn moron
Should've kept my damn mouth shut, he thought again miserably.
But some little part of him disagreed. Some little part of him hoped that Amos had seen through all of his blustering and swearing to see Set had just been trying to help. He hoped Amos changed his major because Set didn't talk about his parents. Now without cause.
And that was when he really knew he was in trouble.
So now what? Was he just going back to his empty apartment to crack open whisky and drink until he forgot this whole night? Set abused his lower lip with sharp canines as he hummed to himself, knee jogging up and down, and then he looked back at the cab driver. He wavered for a moment and then steeled his nerves.
Shit, he was an idiot.
"Actually you know what? I changed my mind…"
"Amos!"
"Hey man!"
"Where you been?"
Amos grinned at the warm welcome he received from his friends.
"Y'all won't believe it," he smiled. "That storm trapped me in an elevator."
"No shit!" Davion, the trumpeter laughed. He clapped Foster, their keyboardist on the shoulder. "I told you he had a legit reason for missing a gig!"
"Well, we called Lee anyway," Foster shrugged carelessly. "Sure he'll be thrilled to get an early leave. He's got classes tomorrow at like seven some shit."
Amos waved to where Lee, a sax player they knew, was getting them drinks, and he waved back.
"Well, c'mon," Davion encouraged, tilting his head towards the stage. "This crowd didn't come out to hear Amos give excuses. Let's get this show on the road."
"Now we're cooking with gas!" Foster grinned as they trouped up to the stage, a favorite saying of his.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hobb, the trombonist, said into the mic with his slow, syrupy announcer's voice. "Amos Kane has arrived."
The crowd burst into cheers and whoops and Amos couldn't help grinning. This was a sacred place to him, where he was more than just his last name, more than Julius's brother. Here, Julius would be Amos's brother.
"Sorry I kept you all waiting," he murmured into the mic, to numerous calls of that's okay! and you good! "That little rainstorm trapped me inna elevator."
There were some boos for the storm, and he chuckled. "Alright now, it's okay. I'm here now, and I'm feelin' it. Y'all feelin it?"
The crowd hooted and hollered until he quieted them down by leaning into the mic. "This here's Miles Davis."
The lights dimmed, and he heard Andy the drummer count in for them. And then the music took control.
Amos was lost in it, lost in the jumbled order of jazz, of the sax in his hands. He was lost in his head and his music, so he didn't see anything around him. He didn't see the man and wife who danced together for the first time in years, or the girl who was getting over a bad breakup smile, or the door open with a rush of cool air.
He didn't see Septimus Emerson Villaday step inside Blue Train with tense shoulders, very much out of his element, but very much focused on him.
But when Amos finally opened his eyes, he found that burning stare in the crowd right away. He smiled around the sax and Set gave him that crocodile grin again. The melody soared as Amos took it higher, showing off just a little.
And Set didn't take his eyes off Amos the whole time.
In a lull between songs, Amos slipped off the stage and waded through the crowd to where Set was standing.
"Enjoying the show?" Amos asked, though he nearly took it back as Set's eyes flashed. He had to stop giving this guy opportunities.
"Sure," Set replied, showing remarkable restraint as he avoided the innuendo. "Sax player seems like a bit of a moron, though."
"Is that so?" Amos asked, head tilted. "Why's that?"
"Well, I talked to him earlier today, he was a bit of an asshat," Set remarked. "Not sure why I came to see him at all."
Amos leveled a look at him. "Maybe the guy he was talking to was a bit of a dick as well."
"Maybe so," Set agreed, sipping from his glass.
"Oh, did you hear?" Amos asked innocently.
"Hear what?"
Amos didn't look at him, pointedly staring ahead where Davion was gesturing him back towards the stage. "The sax player goes to the same college as you."
"Really?" Set said, a sneaky grin creeping onto his face as he realized what Amos was doing. "What's he majoring in?"
Amos let a tiny faint shadow of a smile creep onto his face. "Jazz studies."
"Interesting," Set replied evenly, though the toothy grin didn't leave his face. "Any reason why?"
"He wanted to," Amos said simply.
"I'll drink to that, Blue."
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