My excuse? I can't leave the Tsviets alone. Also, Weiss is deserving of a protagonist role, since his bastard-gasmic performance in Matchstick.

Heavy thank-yous and dedications are doled out to ReadingChick and Zaz9-Zaz0 for the idea. Thank you again to ReadingChick for beta-ing this when I was having issues with characterization.

Disclaimer: Neither I, nor the Tsviets, own any of the songs they "write." I don't own the Tsviets or anyone else out of Final Fantasy VII. If I did, there would be Tsviet plushies and a large poster of Weiss over my bed.

Follow Me

Weiss had decided at a very young age that he was going to be famous. When he was seven, he just wanted to bang on drums and look cool. At 19, he wanted the open admiration, the attention, the chance to project a message that would be consumed by people hanging off of his every word. And yes, perhaps still the attention.

So, Weiss had taken the steps. He began playing drums when he was sixteen and had gone to school for Musical Theory and Composition. After making a name for himself in the school, Weiss began compiling musicians from his college with a simple advertisement. "Drummer looking to form a band. Need vocalist, guitarist, and bassist. Synth player is optional. Must have experience. To arrange an audition…"

There was a headache thundering in his head by the time he finished the auditions for a vocalist. Fifteen men and fifteen women, a third of which were tone-deaf. Even the ones that passed Weiss' expectations academically and in talent still lacked something he couldn't quite put a name to. As Weiss came up from the garage, Nero sat at the table with a book and a grin.

"The last one sounded lovely." Sarcasm oozed out of Nero's words.

Weiss opened the cupboard where they kept aspirin. Fiddling with the child safety cap on the bottle, Weiss recalled the last person he auditioned. "The last one sounded like crow being stepped on." Weiss dry-swallowed two tablets.

Nero nodded, engrossed in his AP Literature prep book. September was, in Weiss' opinion, a bit too early to be studying for a test that was in May. But Nero was Nero and if he had already finished the course work for the semester, who was Weiss to stop him?

"I'm taking a nap"

"Enjoy your sleep."

With a mumbled thanks, Weiss stumbled to his bedroom upstairs and fell into the inviting sheets. He turned onto his back to gaze up at the ceiling. The intensity of the light changed with his heart beat. Sleep was absolutely necessary. Weiss grabbed onto one of his spare pillows and drifted into a pleasant unconsciousness.

In a dream, Weiss was searching for the perfect voice. It was present, a capella but still melodious, trailing him through various venues. Among the more surreal places, such as the desert and an open highway were the high school hallways that eventually melted into college hallways, the park that he jogged through every day, and his own house. Eventually, the voice was just behind his bathroom door.

When the puff of steam from the shower burst through the door, Weiss realized several things in rapid succession.

One: This was not a dream anymore. This was actually his house.

Two: He had been semi-conscious and walked from his bedroom to the bathroom, following a voice that would be perfect for the band.

Three: The voice was Nero, who poked a dripping wet head out from behind a (thankfully opaque) shower curtain and was eyeing Weiss with something between curiosity and annoyance.

"Yes?"

"… You sing."

"Not professionally, but yes. You've heard me sing before."

Weiss shook his head and sat down on the laundry hamper as Nero pulled his head back into the shower. "But you're good. Why didn't you audition?"

"I was working on homework. Would you like me to audition?"

"I think you'd be fantastic. Go."

Weiss put Nero through the same, rather rigorous trials that he had put the others through. Nero passed them all, some more skillfully than others, while getting out of the shower, toweling off his hair and getting dressed. Nero was, in fact, far from the tone-deaf. Furthermore, he had what the other people lacked; the spark that separated singers from musicians and musicians from rock stars. Something that wavered between arrogance and confidence. If Nero could replicate that on a stage…

"Want to put a band together, Nero?"

"I don't think I'd mind."

The next month went by uneventfully. Musicians that ranged from mediocre to 'okay' took up his offer and none of them fit Weiss' high standards. He was thinking that they were too high, perhaps, as he was trailing from Pop Composition to Music Theory. Suddenly, Weiss found himself confronted by a red-headed woman in a three-piece suit.

"I'd like to audition for the vocalist part," she crooned, a thick accent dominating her alto voice.

"The position has been filled," Weiss replied coolly.

"Guitarist then." She smiled with no real sense of happiness so much as arrogance.

"You play guitar?"

"I do."

"Is seven o'clock alright?"

"Seven is perfect."

"Wonderful. Come to-"

"I know where you live, darling," she said, running a long-nailed hand along Weiss' cheekbone in an attempt at either seduction or familiarity. "I come by at least twice a week." It unnerved him, but only slightly.

"Really?"

"Your girlfriend and I have the same job, waitressing. I drop her off sometimes." Letting her hand leave his face, the woman sauntered away chuckling to herself.

Her name was Rosso Masterton. She was the daughter of two orchestral musicians and in school for Accounting. And, yes, she could most certainly play guitar. At least, Nero seemed to think so. Her style was somewhere in the heavy metal range, which overlapped with Nero's 'anything bizarre' style in some places. Weiss liked a little metal every now and then, but the level Rosso was at was just ridiculous.

"Thanks. We'll let you know."

Rosso gave him a smile that just bordered on flirty before letting herself out. Weiss leaned back on two legs of the chair and gave a large sigh into the ether before announcing his opinion.

"She's…interesting."

"Different," Nero quipped, taking a sip of water. "Her energy is a bit darker than what you're used to, I think."

Weiss closed his eyes, going back over the noise. Rosso's endurance seemed alright, the sign of someone who hadn't just picked up the instrument last week. Furthermore, she had a strong personality. Not as much as him, but Rosso certainly left an impression. Still, chords that sounded like the genocide of the angels wasn't exactly what he was looking for. She had talent, certainly, but was it only in that one genre?

Nero seemed to sense his uncertainty. "Weiss?" Weiss looked at his brother. "People don't pick things like that up overnight. She had to have started somewhere."

"You think she ought to be in?"

"I think we ought to try her on."

Cracking a grin, Weiss muttered. "Sounds dirty." Nero slit his eyes at Weiss who laughed, inhaled, exhaled and got up from the table. "So you actually like her?"

"Not particularly. She sort of, ah… Rubs me the wrong way. Don't take that out of context." Weiss squelched the innuendo. "I don't really enjoy her personality, but I see no reason to dismiss her skills as a guitarist due to a personal issue."

"Ah… Well, I draw the line at becoming some 80's leather band. Your tongue isn't long enough to contest with Gene Simmons' and the makeup would be atrocious."

Hearing the sound of a perfect spit-take, Weiss chuckled as he made his way up the stairs.

If there was one thing Weiss loved more than sleeping, runner's high and being right about almost everything, it was losing himself in drum beats. He ceased to be sometimes. He wasn't the kid whose mom died in childbirth, leaving him with a father and a little brother. He wasn't the boy whose father died in his law enforcement career, leaving him a house and a military uncle who sent money. He wasn't the man at the top of the class. He was just Weiss, drumming.

"You've certainly improved."

Stopping after the last crash of a cymbal, Weiss turned his attention to the garage door. It was wide open, despite the December cold. The cold helped him concentrate. Outside, the streetlights were milky, a dog was barking the next street over and Argent leaned against the side of the door, bundled in a winter coat.

"Thank you." Weiss laid down the drumsticks and approached Argent at the door, laying a fierce kiss across her mouth. She let it continue for a moment, before pulling back. After a year of on-and-off dating, Weiss was used to Argent being restrained sometimes. "How have you been?"

"I've been well." The edge in her voice was far from lost on Weiss. Most likely, she was angry at him for having been out of communication.

"Sorry." Weiss didn't get sheepish, but he would get close to it around Argent sometimes. Sometimes.

"Mmm." It was her way of forgiveness. "I have missed you." She admitted it with the same casual tone that she used to compliment his playing.

"Missed you too. Come in." Argent followed Weiss into the garage.

"I've come to see what's been holding you in the house and away from your cell phone."

"I never have that thing on. You could call the house phone."

"Nero usually says that you're out here, practicing."

Since they had accepted Rosso into the soon-to-be-band, Weiss had arranged for practices to occur whenever their three schedules happened to be free. Whenever they weren't, Weiss caught up on homework.

Weiss bade her to sit on the stairs with him. "You know how I've always wanted to start a band?"

"Yes? You've taken the initiative now?"

"Exactly." Weiss reached behind him, stretching his arms out. "I was actually thinking about taking a break around now. Want to come in?"

"Sure." Weiss held the door open for her before following her in and removing her coat. While he hung it up, Weiss cupped a hand around his mouth. "Nero, Argent's here!"

Nero padded out of the living room, with Rosso in tow. Judging from the frown on Nero's face, they had been having one of their epic battles over the sound of a piece. "Good to see you again."

"It's nice seeing you too. How's school?"

"Monotonously easy. A few interesting people though."

"I see." Argent just gave Rosso a small nod. "Rosso." Weiss felt a bit more than a chill from Argent's side when she addressed the other woman. A modicum of a smile might have manifested on his face. Jealousy, perhaps?

Rosso seemed more interested in Argent's fingers than her greeting. "Did you ever play an instrument?"

"I played violin for two years in middle school. Why?"

"Violin in middle school," Rosso echoed. "A violin has four strings, does it not?"

"Yes."

The brothers caught on almost immediately. "Rosso," Nero started, "You aren't suggesting—"

"Well, why not?" Weiss sat up on the counter and continued speaking. "It's a good solution. We need a bassist, Argent would like to spend more time with me. It's perfect."

"I haven't agreed yet, Weiss." Weiss had no real issue with that; He was confident in his ability to talk Argent into the role. "Besides, I haven't touched an instrument in years." That, Weiss' silver tongue couldn't compensate for.

"I could teach you." Rosso offered. "Bass is far easier than six-stringed, and I live within a block of your home, anyway. You could use my old one."

Sensing the chance to pounce, Weiss laid his hands on Argent's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Argent, please?"

Say yes, Weiss mentally beseeched. Say yes, say yes, say yes.

"… Very well. I'll try it."

Weiss cheered in his head, wrapping Argent into a quick embrace. "Thank you. You won't regret it."

Uhm... TBC