Synchronism: deliberately achieved coincidence at a specified point of time.

Note: the name "Line" is pronounced "LEE-neh", not like the infinitely-extended one-dimensional figure with no curvature that I know you want it to be

"You gotta wait until the night of the concert," Leon explained, a dastardly smirk playing at his lips.

Arthur seemed confused, but not defiant. "Why?"

"Maximum stress levels. That, and they can't get revenge."

Well, that actually sounded pretty convincing.

"Yao?" Arthur asked, turning to him.

"He's right," Yao replied, seeing no reason to criticize.

"Alright," Arthur replied affirmatively, "what do you think we should do then?"

Leon let out a light laugh – he knew exactly what to do.

The ultimate plan against the Nordic Five was finally in action.

One would be hard-pressed find Lukas more stressed than he was the day before the concert.

Emil sat at the kitchen table, scowling over some difficult proofs that he really didn't want to bother with, while Matthias frowned at an equally difficult game of 2048.

It only took about fifteen minutes (all spent trying to solve a single math problem) before Emil snapped his pencil in half and yelled, "Luke, quit it already! I'm trying to do my geometry homework!"

"You should be singing anyway!" he snapped, entirely in a rage and incapable of ceasing his fidgeting.

"Chill, Luke," Matthias interjected, setting down his smartphone and walking over to grab the distressed punk's shoulders. "He needs to keep up with his grades. You should probably go do your homework as well."

"How am I supposed to do that? My guitar playing is still so unpolished..." He paused for a moment, unable to find the right words to complete his thought, then let put a frustrated groan. "We'll never have a chance, given where I'm at now."

Matthias refused to believe such slanderous lies. "Lukas, you were up at four in the morning practicing. You sounded great. What more do you need, if you're already losing sleep over this? Honestly, I think a nap would help more than anything else."

This only vexed Lukas further, who started prattling aimlessly. "I can't go to sleep I'm so awake and everything's so overwhelming and it's already almost seven at night and no one's even started on dinner yet what the hell everything is going wrong."

"Um..." Mat blinked, then gave Luke a worried expression and asked, "Out of curiosity, how many cups of coffee have you had today?"

"Four- wait, no... I, uh..." He turned his gaze to the ground, face bright pink. "I lost count after the second pot."

Emil whistled.

"Is it even possible to drink that much coffee in a day?" Matthias queried as Lukas continued to fidget.

"If anyone can, it's Lukas," Emil replied bluntly, totally forgetting about his homework at this point.

Luke was offended by this. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Alright," his brother decided, "you need to calm down."

"What are you talking about Emil I'm completely calm I'm just-"

"Luke. Calm," Matthias tried to say soothingly, running his hands through his boyfriend's hair.

For once, Lukas didn't argue, inhaling slowly through his node before sighing. "Right. Calm."

"It'll be fine," he promised. "You're a great guitarist, Emil's a great singer, and we've been rehearsing every day, right?"

"Right."

Then Mat lightly patted his head as if Luke were an obedient puppy or something of that nature (he hadn't necessarily wanted it to feel so condescending, but his awkwardness shone through). "See? No reason to stress."

"Okay," Luke said, seemingly satisfied until he thought it over for a bit. "But I've still had like twelve billion cups of coffee oh my god that's so unhealthy what the fuck was I thinking?"

"Uhh..." And finally, Mat ran out of comforting things to say.

Luckily, Emil saved him. "At least you're hydrated. And energized."

"Yeah, let's go with that. Maybe you should run around a bit to try to get rid of some of that jitteriness," he suggested, hoping to help at least a little.

"That's not a bad idea actually I kinda wanna run around in the snow that sounds like fun Mat do you wanna come with me?" Luke asked, sentences still coming in long, unorganized chains.

"Uh, sure?"

And with that, Lukas grabbed his boyfriend's arm and started to drag him out of the house. "Great, let's go!"

"Wait, Luke, it's below zero out there!" Well, zero degrees Celsius (stupid American temperature systems), but it was still pretty cold. "Don't we need coats?"

"Coats are for the weak!" Luke shouted back to him as he opened the front door.

"No, coats are for the sane!" Mat shot back, not ready for this in the slightest.

"Are you claiming to be sane?" Luke asked.

Matthias had no response, so they walked out into the barren tundra that was their front yard, door slamming behind them.

Emil stared at the front door, shaking his head and saying, "Heaven help them," with the utmost disdain before returning to his homework.

"We need to trap them," he said flatly, as if that was entirely obvious.

The other wasn't quite so sure. "All of them? Impossible. How do we get them all in the same room?"

"Lie," he commanded. "They all trust you. Each band is assigned a practice room. Arthur's entrusted me with the implementation of the sabotage, and Mr. Edelstein put me in charge of assigning the rooms."

His partner in crime smirked. "Perks of being on the student council, huh?"

"That and the first chair viola player," he added. "Edelstein, like, loves me. But here's the plan: we tell them all to go to practice room 6."

"Why that room?"

"I have the key to that room," he explained coyly, "Like all the buildings at our school, it locks from the outside."

Then his parter smirked. "Oh, you're evil."

He was very proud of himself. "I know. Here's the deal though: we have them all go in. They're supposed to get there, like, an hour before the concert starts, so we need to make sure we have the fake room assigned, then lock them in before stage checks half an hour later."

"How do I get out?" The other asked. "I'll be I'm there with them because... You know."

"Make an excuse, like, umm-"

"I got it," his partner interrupted. "Thanks. But... What about-"

"Everyone else?" he paused, then let out a sort of evil (but mostly just dorky) laugh. "Don't worry, I've already got it all worked out. Leave it to me."

Berwald had just opened the door, bass guitar case in his left hand, when his father stopped him, asking, "Berwald, where are you going?"

That alone was a wildly unexpected anomaly – his dad, a distant and offhanded but not unpleasant single guy in his 40s, was actually concerned about where he was going?

He could expect such things when he was at his mother's house, his mother being of a more stern and strict manner, but the last time his father had shown any semblance of concern for his whereabouts had been his first night over at Tino's house once the two had started dating.

Which was entirely justified in Berwald's opinion, because honestly he would have worried had his father not questioned him about something of that nature.

But he digressed. This situation was fucking weird.

How was he even supposed to respond? Did the bass guitar he was carrying not make his intentions clear enough? Was there some emergency? Should he panic?

Since the possibilities were endless, he decided a simple response would be best. "Rehearsal?"

His father awkwardly paused, coughed awkwardly into his hand, then awkwardly replied, "Could you not tonight?"

"Well, th' concert's tomorrow," Berwald pointed out, because they both knew how long Berwald had been anticipating this.

The look he gave his son was one of guilt and sympathy (which was rare enough that Berwald knew he was bend sincere). "Just this once, Ber?"

Again, weird. "Why?" he asked, because this seemed about as justified as his school's dress code (and the dress code at his school was pretty remarkably stupid).

"I..." Then, to Berwald's astonishing, his father, the stoic and decidedly masculine Swede, actually blushed. "I've met someone."

Someone? Who was someone? Were they important? Like, the President of the United States, or the King of Sweden, or an actual girl-

Wait. Wait! Ohhh, that someone. His father was attempting romance? Again? "You've been dating again?"

Then, to confirm Berwald's worst suspicions, he nodded. "Yes, and I wanted you to meet her. She's coming for dinner tonight; could you just stay this one evening?"

Alright, well... Berwald couldn't claim not to be happy for him, but...

Really? Tonight?

But he saw the sincerity in his father's eyes, and relented. "Mhm, that should be okay. Might get some shit from Lukas, though. Lemme make a call."

"Alright, I'll start cooking. Thanks, Berwald!"

Okay, that was the last straw. Since when did his father cook? What the ever-loving fuck?

"Sure thing," he sighed as he pulled out his cell and retreated to his bedroom for the sake of his peace of mind.

Fearing the worst but hoping for the best, he dialed Lukas' number.

It took four rings for him to answer, which was three rings more than it usually took. "Hey, Ber," he said, voice drowsy and muffled as if he had just gotten out of bed, though the lack of further criticism ("oh my god what is it this time", "you're late dude gay the fuck") made Berwald worry.

"Hey, Luke... Y'okay? Sounds like you're gonna die." At least he was honest.

"Kinda feels like it, too. Remind me never to drink three pots of coffee in one day again. Not fun." Well, that explained it. "Anyway, why did you call?"

Berwald braced himself before responding, "Dad's got a date here t'night, wants me to stay. I've gotta miss rehearsal."

There was a long pause, and Berwald could sense the tension in the air. Finally, Lukas sighed. "Really? Tonight?"

"Sorry, Luke." He wasn't actually sorry, but saying so wouldn't exactly help his case.

"Sorry?" he iterated. "That's all you have to say? The concert's tomorrow! You can't just not show up!"

"Luke, y'know how long m'dad's been lookin' for a girlfriend," Berwald argued in an attempt at getting Lukas to see what a dick he was being.

Lukas continued to be a dick anyhow. "And I also know just how socially awkward your dad is. Do you really think I'll believe that he just happened to find one right now? The night before the concert? Are you a traitor now? What the fuck, Ber?"

"'F y'don't want me to play t'morrow 'cos of somethin' as stupid as this, that's your problem," Berwald shot back in an uncanny display of sassiness.

"Me?" Luke scoffed indignantly. "I'm the problem now?"

It sounded like he was about to tell Berwald off, but he cut off, the phone dropping to the ground.

There was some yelling and cursing, then the phone was picked up again for a moment, only to drop again just a second later.

Finally, the shit going down on the other end subsided, and he heard Emil clear his throat, mouth near the mic. "Don't listen to him," he advised. "He's in a bad mood. Go ahead and do whatever, Ber, it's not like you'd call if it wasn't important."

"Oh... Okay. Thanks. Guess I'll see ya t'morrow then."

"Yup!" he replied a little too cheerfully given the fact that this was a Bondevik, but at this point, Berwald didn't give a fuck. "Rehearsal starts at 9 a.m. tomorrow, okay?"

Lukas yelled at him in the background.

Emil sighed. "Okay, scratch that, seven AM," he corrected. "That's okay, right?"

He shrugged. "Sounds good t'me."

"Sweet! Catch you later, Berwald."

They both hung up, and Berwald decided to return to the kitchen before his father burned the house down.

His father's date was really stunning in a quirky sort of way – her blond hair (which was growing in gray in the front) cropped at the chin and allowed to run wild, end pointing every which way, lips painted bright red, sparkling blue eyes shining like... Like diamonds in the sky.

And now Berwald had a Rihanna song stuck in his head. Brilliant.

It was apparent, however, that Berwald had a hard time taking his gaze off of her. The confident and defiant glint in her eyes, the way her hair fell... It was so familiar.

"Nice t'meet ya," he greeted, trying to be cordial.

"You too!" she replied, shaking his hand. "Your father's told me all about you! My name is Line, by the way."

"Line?" he repeated, noting the name's oddity in the States. "Are you Scandinavian?"

Line beamed. "Ja, I'm Danish! I've been told you wouldn't be able to understand it though."

Berwald didn't argue. "Can't understand the accent. Only do Swedish 'n' Norwegian."

"That's fair."

Then his father, not finding good words to say, but assuming he didn't need to speak at this point anyway, he led them to the dinner table, where he'd set the table all fancy-like with a hella rad candle.

Well, the candle had been Berwald's idea, but that was beside the point.

"Y'said ya had a son as well, Line?" his father asked, having expected him to show up as well.

For the first time this evening, Berwald saw Line's smile falter. "He... Wasn't able to make it this evening. He's been, ah, staying at a friend's house."

Shit.

Everything came together.

The crazy blond hair, the lively blue eyes, the endless smile, her coming from motherfucking Denmark...

Dear lord.

"You're Matthias' mom?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Her eyes widened at the mention of Matthias, and she quickly replied, "You know Matthias? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Kinda pissed 'n' stuff, but that's Mat for you," he explained with a shrug. "He's in my band."

She gawked. "You're in that punk band too? But you seem so straight-laced."

Then, shockingly, his father actually let out a small laugh. "Course he is," he remarked. "He and his boyfriend are both in the band, and they're pretty damn good as well. All of them are A students."

Line didn't believe him. "Even the one with the crazy hair and a million piercings?"

Berwald smirked. "Lukas? Yeah, he actually tutored Mat a couple months back."

"That was him? He seems so scary though."

"Wouldn't want Ber dating him," his father said, "but that's just 'cos they're both so quiet. Doesn't have any parents at home, so he's had a hard time."

Wait, had Berwald ever actually told him that?

How had he found out?

... Was his father a stalker?

Either way, he didn't speak up – if this could earn Matthias his mother's acceptance, then he was more than content to just luck back and let him do all the work.

"God," she exclaimed, "why didn't he just tell me that? Teenagers, I swear to god. How do I get him back now, though?"

"Concert t'morrow at th'school," Berwald suggested. "Y'should come."

Line smiled. "Consider me sold."

The remainder of Mr. Oxenstierna's dinner date and the next day's rehearsal both went by without incident, and by the time the band arrived at the school in the evening, they were all pumped.

"Well," Lukas exclaimed as they walked to their assigned practice room, "tonight's finally the night."

"The night we take down the Allies for good!" Mat finished for him, determined and excited and just as competitive as he always was.

"You got that right," Emil agreed with a mischievous smirk as Tino (who was holding the paper with their room on it) led them around a corner. "Though I'm still not quite sure about singing."

Berwald rolled his eyes. "Why? You're fine."

Tino nodded. "Yeah, you sing great, Emil! You'll do awesome tonight!" Then he stopped walking. "Guys, this is the room. Ooh, and there's already a drum kit in here, too!"

"Do I really want to use that piece of shit?" Matthias whined, which was fair given how trashed the kit was.

"Unless you're that set on wasting time," Lukas shot back, rolling his eyes. "There's a better one on the stage already; you can live with a shitty set for the next half hour."

"Fine."

So they settled in the room, warming up and running through their first number when-

"What the bloody hell are you wankers doing here?" Arthur yelled, interrupting their song as his band entered the practice room after his lead.

Tino couldn't help but notice that Ivan had returned to the band, and regarded him with a scowl.

Emil stopped singing and deadpanned. "Practicing."

"This," Arthur replied through gritted teeth, "is our practice room. Find your own."

And with that, the fuse the Allies had lit by entering ran out, and everyone exploded into chaos.

Lukas and Arthur started cursing and yelling and spitting on each other as if they were seven again, and Berwald was the only thing keeping Matthias from pouncing at Yao, who had apparently looked at him funny.

Ber hadn't managed to get to Tino on time, and he was already squaring up with Ivan, ready to throttle him and anyone else who dare stand in his way.

No one saw Emil walk out of the room, locking the door behind him.

He texted Leon:

"Just locked them in. Everything's going according to plan. Hopefully it works out - knock on wood ;)"

"I'm not a coward, I've just never been tested.

I'd like to think that if I was I would pass."

~ "The Impression That I Get", Let's Face It, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones