Chapter 1: The Druggie, the Princess and the Norwegian
"Arthur, if you absolutely have to do cocaine before every show, could you possibly try and do it away from me?" Lukas Bondevik said, pulling a face and waving his hands at his English bandmate in an attempt to shoo him away. "That shit's nasty, I'm not about it."
"That's because you're a straight edge loser," Arthur grumbled, but reluctantly did as he was told. He moved until his back was pressed up against Lukas's legs, cutting and chopping the white powder with the side of his debit card. He ignored his friend's petulant groan at being trapped on the sofa by Arthur's bony back, instead choosing to roll up one of the abandoned five-dollar bills to better angle the said 'nasty shit' into his nostril.
"Drugged up bastard," the third member of their trio muttered - that being Lovino Vargas, Italian playboy (if gay men could be classed as playboys in relation to their straight counterparts) and rich arsehole, who only loved one thing more than swearing - his voice. You would be hard-pressed to find Lovino drinking anything other than water, maybe Ribena on a particularly tough night.
The grump, the self-proclaimed 'wild child' that slept with anything that moved and spent all his salary on hard drugs and hookers, and Lukas Bondevik. The three members of 'Magical Bastards', the well-known and NME acclaimed punk rock band. All known for their proclivity to hate everyone, show nothing but disgust on their faces and spend most of their free time holed up in a house watching shitty horror films.
Lukas sighed heavily as Arthur finally got back to his feet, swaying a little. The man did not look good, he was exceptionally pale and his ribs were showing underneath his tight white t-shirt with the logo of their band emblazoned across it. Their lead guitarist had been showing signs of extreme fatigue recently, but no matter what Lukas tried to tell his best friend, there was no sign of Arthur stopping anytime soon.
Honestly, when Lukas had answered the call for a competent drummer on their university's noticeboard on that rainy, muggy evening, he hadn't expected much. He was halfway through a degree in biosciences, ready to come out with summa cum laude and a guaranteed spot in the research department of University Hospital. It had been more of a whim than an actual shot at fame and fortune.
He'd been with his brother at the time, who had just started studying psychology at the same university that year. After much cajoling and reassurement, Emil had agreed to meet his big brother every Wednesday lunchtime for food and a chat. That was the only time he let Lukas come anywhere near him on university property, and the elder brother liked to make the most of it.
They had been sat on their usual bench in the quadrangle, brutalist concrete architecture, Lukas chewing on a coronation chicken sandwich whilst Emil munched through a bento box his boyfriend Leon had made for him when Emil brought it up. "You play the drums, right?"
That was a stupid question. Of course, Lukas played the drums. His kit was the one thing he had left from their parents before the accident, and he cherished it almost as much as he did his lunchtime sandwiches. It was a thing of beauty, well worn in the middle of the cymbals, and Lukas still liked to play it every night before bed. So it wasn't like Emil hadn't heard his brother play it before, and yet he was still being facetious.
Lukas didn't rise to the bait. "Yes," he answered simply, taking another bite of the sandwich. There was something about the creamy filling in the bread blanket that he just loved so much, the slightly sweet and salty taste and the fluffiness of the loaf he freshly baked that morning. Sandwiches, he decided, swallowing the mouthful. Were created by Odin himself.
"There's a notice," Emil continued, chewing on his piece of sushi. "On the noticeboard. There's a band - the Magical Bastards? Say they want a drummer. Someone to round out their sound a bit."
Lukas rolled his eyes. Drummers didn't round out the sound, they provided accompaniment and crunchy beats. In his opinion, his drumming was just that. Drumming. Nothing special, he liked to play on his own and he had certainly never tried out for a band before. He didn't like people (apart from Emil) and he didn't like people who told him what to do.
"You should try," Emil added as if he could hear Lukas's thoughts. "It's not like anyone's heard of the band before. And that weird British kid runs it - you know, Arthur Kirkland? Likes to dress in vests and death metal t-shirts, black nail polish, horrific eyebrows?"
Ah, yes. Lukas knew Arthur alright. Medical student, his year. Average height, obviously gay, liked to hang around with that horrific Francis kid. The pair were obviously an on and off thing, as one week they'd be sticking their tongues down each other's throats in public and the next they'd be yelling at each other over bacon rolls.
But, if you ignored the perverted boyfriend, Arthur was alright. Friendly enough, he supposed. Lukas had a similar fashion style, although he secretly fancied himself more of a mod, with his long wavy blond hair and tight blue jeans. He wouldn't mind pulling out a couple of black Megadeath t-shirts from the back of his wardrobe for a change, and he had been looking for something to do on his weekends that wasn't sitting and watching reruns of Friends…
And that was how Lukas had found himself in the university music room the following evening, dressed all in black, his jumper pulled off to expose the neatly inked tattoos on his forearms. He kept them hidden, most of the time because he didn't like the questions he got about them.
Why a rose in black ink? Because my mother died in a car accident three years ago. Why a lily in black ink? Because my father died alongside her. Why a puffin? That symbolised Emil, chosen for his long-suffering puffin toy.
Hopefully, Arthur wouldn't ask too many questions about his forearms. It had been a long day - his butt had been grabbed in his new tight black jeans a few too many times for comfort, and nobody said that bioscience was an easy degree to do. It was fucking hard. And all Lukas wanted was coffee and bed and Ross and Rachel.
He didn't know who to expect for the other member of the band, and he was very surprised to see that it was Lovino Vargas. Varg-ass, Lukas corrected in his mind, with a smirk. Not the most forthcoming of people - in fact, he made Lukas look positively welcoming. Rich, spoilt and very very pretty, Lovino knew he was worth a million dollars and he always made sure he looked like it. Prade shoes, Gucci earrings, his top was just a plain black but even that looked designer.
"Welcome to Magical Bastards," Arthur began, in a bored voice. He, along with Vargass, was sitting behind a desk procured from one of the tutorial rooms. The Englishman tapped his nails on the wooden tabletop, looking like he would rather be anywhere but there.
That makes two of us, buddy.
"What's your name?" Lovino asked, looking at Lukas with a stoic expression. It took a second or two for Lukas to find his words again - he'd been thinking too much about the coffee grinder waiting for him at home.
"Lukas Bondevik," Arthur nodded, jotting it down on a piece of lined paper, torn out from a notebook. "I study biosciences."
"I've seen you in my lectures," Arthur said here, finally looking a little less bored. "I wasn't aware you were a musician."
Lukas snorted. "Drummers aren't musicians," he insisted, ignoring Lovino's scowl. That man was not easily pleased. "I just play for fun."
Arthur nodded - again. He didn't speak a whole lot either evidently. "Show us what you've got, then, Lukas."
Lukas didn't bother to return to nod, instead setting his satchel down on the ground and unzipping it. He pulled his sticks out from the back, where they were nestled behind his work folder, and went over to sit down at the kit the music room provided.
It was nothing like his beloved drum kit at home, everything was shiny and new with no sign of wear or tear. And - yes, as Lukas tapped the drum skin lightly with the top of one of the sticks, it barely vibrated at all. He would have to really bash it to get a decent sound out of this thing.
He was very aware of the two gazes fixed on him whilst he made himself comfortable, but Lukas forced himself not to rush the process. He liked his ass to be comfy whilst he played, otherwise he would have a numb bum by the end of his set. He normally sat on a cushion or something atop of the stool - if this was going to work out long-term he would have to bring one in.
Lukas finally got himself settled, before grabbing his sticks and beginning to tap out a basic rhythm. Just a basic 4/4 time signature, perfect for any kind of song that the other guys would want to play - he wasn't entirely sure what genre this band came under anyway.
"No! NO!" Arthur cut in quickly, interjecting Lukas's thoughts. The Englishman had got to his feet, glowering at the Norwegian boy. "Something more metal, y'get me? Not just basic shite like that."
Lukas blinked. He really did not like being told what to do, especially by grumpy Englishmen with shite eyebrows and messy hair. And - he noted, with a mental roll of the eyes - his nail polish was beginning to chip away, too.
No, Lukas, you're not here to start a fight. Lukas took a deep breath, but eventually nodded, settling himself back down again.
This time, he tore into the kit, smashing down on the drums like nobody else would ever need to use it again and he could wreck it if he wanted to. Not even Lukas was sure of his plan, but he managed to find a faster, heavier rhythm and stuck to it, changing it up every now and again to stop his arms falling asleep. Once he was in a groove he could stay in it for ages, once even managing to stay up to an hour in the same position just from muscle retention and habit.
Despite himself, Lukas wanted to impress Arthur and Lovino, so he decided to pull out his magnum opus. Tossing his sticks up in the air, he pulled on five years of previous gymnastic training and just about managed an unbalanced front flip over the kit (although he did catch his pinkie on the left cymbal). The Norwegian stretched up to full height again, before reaching back over the top drums to grab the falling sticks in one hand - one, then two.
It took a second or two for Lukas to get his breath back, but when he did, he noticed that Arthur and Lovino were both nodding appreciatively. "Congrats," Lovino said, in his distinctive Italian accent. "You're in the band."
That had been three years ago, and Arthur's demanding band practice schedule had meant that Lukas's summa cum laude quickly dropped from his grasp. He no longer needed to look at graduate jobs, or worry about working to get Emil through the rest of college. Arthur was convinced that Magical Bastards would make it big, and through some fluke, it happened.
After a series of gigs in local London bars around the city, going wherever someone would take them, they had been lucky enough to come across an agent from Hetalia Corporations, who wanted to sign a punk band to detract from their squeaky clean image. Their main money bringer was the pop group Bad Touch, but the agent had been sent out to find something new and fresh for the label's catalogue.
Apparently, Magical Bastards seemed to fit that bill. And suddenly, Arthur had a regular paycheck to buy his drugs with, Lovino could buy all the designer gear he needed, and Lukas invested in a proper French coffee press.
Emil was happily living in Hong Kong with Leon, so Lukas felt like he had a right to let his hair down a little and enjoy the rest of his youth. But, despite being a world-famous drummer, he was mostly a gateway to his bandmates rather than an actual catch himself. Everyone preferred Arthur because he was hot, and Lovino was cute. Lukas was just… there. Part of the scenery.
Arthur staggered somewhat, and Lukas got to his feet to hold his best friend up. "You okay?" he asked worriedly, hooking an arm under Arthur's armpits. "Look, we're supposed to be on in ten minutes, will you be okay by then?"
Arthur nodded frantically, pupils incredibly dilated. Lukas swore to himself, before gently setting his frontman down on the sofa he had just vacated. He fixed Arthur with a glass of water and strict instructions to 'drink up or I'll hurt you', and walked over to Lovino.
"He's in a bad way," Lukas said, in a low voice, watching as the Italian glanced over at the prone Englishman. "Lov- I'm not sure if he's good to go on tonight."
For once, Lovino didn't put up a fight. He just nodded, looking as concerned as Lukas felt. "We need to call someone," Lovino insisted, pulling his mobile out of his suit pocket (of course, only Lovino would want to wear a suit as the lead singer of a punk band). "Um… Any ideas?"
Lukas just shrugged, wracking his brain for ideas. He pulled his own phone out, scrolling through his meagre list of contacts. Emil, Leon, Francis, Lovino, Arthur… Five people and one of them was his brother. Maybe he did need to find friends outside of Magical Bastards.
"I don't want to call Francis," Francis was their manager, which was incredibly awkward when the frontman of the band he managed was also his ex-boyfriend. The pair had been broken up since the day of graduation, and Arthur had adamantly refused to get back together with the man, saying that he 'was done with frogs and perverts'.
Lovino nodded in agreement, as his thumb kept scrolling. Of course, even Lovino has more friends than me...
"We can say it's a family emergency," Lovino said, after a moment of further scrolling. "We'll say… We'll say that Arthur's brother is in the hospital!"
"Allister?" Lukas scoffed. "The man is as healthy as an ox, we'd need to make sure the paps stay away from Scotland for the next few weeks."
Lovino looked like he was about to either punch the wall or cry - knowing the Italian, most likely the former. "Fototto bastardo," he muttered, looking down at the floor. "Arthur, you stupido drogato…"
Lukas was honestly not entirely sure what Lovino was saying, only being able to speak Norwegian and English, but he was 99% sure that it was swearing. "We'll sort it," he said quietly but didn't trust the words he was saying. Arthur was silent, still lying on the sofa staring up at the ceiling.
"I'll be fine," the Englishmen said suddenly, not looking over at his bandmates. "Just give me five minutes."
Lukas checked his watch. "We've got three," he sighed, walking back over to the sofa. He slapped Arthur around the face.
"OW!" Arthur scowled, rubbing his cheek. "Fucking HELL LUKAS!"
Yup, Arthur was back. High, but back.
Lukas sat back on his calves, regarding Arthur Kirkland with satisfaction. The frontman's eyes were still incredibly dilated, but he at least looked with it enough to fool their fans.
The noise from outside was getting louder and louder now, with the steady chanting of 'MAG-I-CAL BAS-TARDS' signalling that it was nearing their time to go on stage. With a nod to the stage manager, their intro music (a punk-style instrumental of Smells Like Teen Spirit, performed by Arthur and Lukas) began to blast.
"Ready?" Lukas asked, getting to his feet and offering Arthur a hand. For a second, he didn't think Arthur was going to take it, but then he did. The Englishman's arm muscles tensed as he was pulled to his feet.
"As I'll ever be," Lovino chimed in from the doorway, hovering halfway between their dressing room and the stage. He smirked, looking Arthur up and down, and nodded. "Magical Bastards?"
"Magical Bastards," Lukas and Arthur agreed, the latter grabbing his Fender Stratocaster and swinging it over his shoulders. Then the trio marched out into the open air, with Lovino leading the way.
"HELLO COPENHAGEN! ARE YOU READY TO ROCK WITH I BASTARDI?"