School bus graveyard( band au

The air in the basement venue was thick enough to taste. It was a cocktail of stale beer, expensive perfume, and the electric, ozone-heavy scent of an overworked sound system. Beneath the low ceiling, the crowd was a roiling sea of limbs and flashing phone screens, all converging toward the small, elevated stage where Graveyard Theory reigned supreme.

In the VIP section—a slightly raised platform blocked off by a velvet rope that looked like it had seen better decades—Ashlyn Banner stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing an oversized black denim jacket Taylor had forced her into, her long red hair falling in a straight, fiery curtain over her shoulders. Beside her, Taylor was practically vibrating, her hands gripped tight on the railing.

"They’re late," Taylor shouted over the roar of the crowd, her eyes sparkling with a mix of anxiety and pride. "They always do this! Tyler says it builds 'atmosphere,' but I think they just can’t find Ben’s tuner."

Logan, standing on Ashlyn’s other side, adjusted his glasses. He looked a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume, but his gaze was fixed on the stage with a soft, expectant smile. "Tyler’s probably just checking his hair for the tenth time. He wants to make sure he looks 'effortlessly messy' for the front row."

Ashlyn didn't say anything. She just watched. She wasn't an "alternative rock" person. She preferred silence, or the rhythmic thud of a punching bag in her parents' garage. But Taylor had been relentless, and Logan had given her that puppy-dog look she found impossible to say no to. So, here she was, in the middle of a sensory nightmare.

Suddenly, the house lights cut to black.

The screaming that followed was physical, a wall of sound that vibrated in Ashlyn’s teeth. A single spotlight hit the center of the stage, illuminating Tyler Hernandez. He looked every bit the frontman, his Edgar cut slightly ruffled, his dark skin glowing under the LEDs. He gripped the microphone stand like it was a lifeline, a smirk playing on his lips as he soaked in the adoration.

To his left, Ben stood in the shadows, his buzz cut sharp and his expression unreadable. He tapped a rhythm onto the body of his guitar, his green eyes focused and calm. He caught Taylor’s eye in the VIP section and offered a nearly imperceptible nod—a silent 'I see you' that made Taylor melt into the railing.

But it was the person in the back who caught Ashlyn’s attention.

The drums started first—a violent, rhythmic assault that felt like a heartbeat gone rogue. The boy behind the kit was a blur of motion. He had messy blond hair that caught the light and eyes that, even from this distance, looked an unnatural, piercing red. He wasn't just playing the drums; he was fighting them. Every hit was a statement of aggression, his lean, muscled arms tensing with every strike.

"Who’s that?" Ashlyn asked, her voice barely audible over the rising guitar riff.

"The disaster in the back?" Taylor laughed, leaning closer to Ashlyn’s ear. "That’s Aiden. Ben’s cousin. He’s... a lot. Good luck if you ever have to talk to him."

The concert was a fever dream. Tyler was a whirlwind of charisma, jumping into the crowd, flirting shamelessly with the front row, and then turning back to the stage to blow a kiss toward Logan, who turned a shade of red that matched Ashlyn’s hair. Ben was the anchor, his fingers moving with surgical precision over the strings, filling the room with a sound that was both melancholic and soaring.

But the drummer, Aiden, was the chaos. At one point, he stood up on his throne mid-song, tossing a broken drumstick into the crowd without missing a beat with his left hand. He looked manic, exhausted, and strangely alive.

When the final chord echoed out and the band retreated behind the heavy black curtains, the crowd didn't stop screaming. Taylor grabbed Ashlyn’s wrist.

"Come on! Backstage pass perks," Taylor chirped, pulling her toward the side door. Logan followed closely, looking relieved to be moving away from the speakers.

The backstage area was a cramped hallway filled with gear cases, tangled cables, and the smell of sweat. It was quieter, but the energy was still high. They found Tyler first; he was draped over a plastic chair, panting, while a roadie handed him a water bottle.

"You were amazing, Ty!" Taylor cried, throwing her arms around her twin.

Tyler laughed, a bright, jagged sound. "I know, I know. I’m a god. Logan, did you see that save in the second verse? I almost tripped over Ben’s pedal."

Logan stepped forward, wiping a smudge of sweat from Tyler’s forehead with his thumb. "You were great, Tyler. A bit dramatic, but great."

"Dramatic is my middle name," Tyler smirked, pulling Logan into a lopsided hug. He looked over Logan’s shoulder and spotted Ashlyn. "Oh, hey! Ashlyn, right? Glad you survived the mosh pit. Taylor said you might bolt halfway through."

"I considered it," Ashlyn said, her tone dry. "But the exit was blocked by people crying."

Ben walked over then, his face flushed from the heat. He didn't speak, but he pulled a small notepad from his pocket and scribbled something down, handing it to Taylor. She read it and beamed.

"He says the acoustics were 'passable' today. That’s a huge compliment from him," Taylor translated. Ben rolled his eyes affectionately and leaned his head against Taylor’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

"Where’s the menace?" Tyler asked, looking around. "Aiden! Stop harassing the catering and come say hi!"

A crash sounded from around the corner, followed by a loud, "I didn't touch it! It fell on its own!"

A moment later, the drummer emerged. Up close, he was even more disheveled. His blond hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in jagged spikes. He was wearing a t-shirt with a faded logo that looked like it had been through a shredder, and those red contacts were startling against his bronzed skin. He had a small scratch on his forearm that was slowly oozing blood, but he didn't seem to notice.

Aiden stopped dead when he saw the group. His eyes skipped over Tyler, Ben, and Logan, landing squarely on Ashlyn.

He tilted his head, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He looked like a cat that had just found a very interesting, very sharp toy.

"Who’s the ginger?" Aiden asked, his voice raspy from shouting during the set. He didn't wait for an answer before stepping into Ashlyn’s personal space.

Ashlyn didn't flinch. She didn't blush. She didn't giggle like the dozens of girls who had been lining up at the stage door. She just looked at him with the same flat, unimpressed expression she’d used on the security guards.

"Ashlyn," she said shortly.

"Ashlyn," Aiden repeated, tasting the name. He leaned in closer, smelling of salt and adrenaline. "You didn't scream."

Ashlyn raised an eyebrow. "I have ears, Aiden. I didn't feel the need to add to the noise."

Aiden blinked, his grin faltering for a split second before returning twofold. Most people were either intimidated by his energy or obsessed with his looks. This girl looked like she was judging his life choices—and finding them lacking.

"Aiden, leave her alone," Tyler sighed, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "She’s a friend of Taylor’s. She’s not one of your groupies."

"I can see that," Aiden murmured, his red eyes locked on hers. He reached out, his fingers hovering near a strand of her hair. "Groupies don't usually look like they’re planning where to bury my body."

Ashlyn slapped his hand away with a dull thud. "Don't touch the hair. And if I were planning that, you wouldn't see it coming."

The room went silent for a heartbeat. Tyler and Logan exchanged a wide-eyed look. Ben actually opened his eyes, looking at Ashlyn with newfound respect.

Aiden, instead of getting angry, let out a bark of genuine laughter. He threw his head back, the sound echoing in the cramped hallway. "Oh, I like this one. She’s got teeth."

"She’s got a black belt, too," Taylor added helpfully, leaning against Ben. "So maybe keep your hands to yourself, Aiden."

"A black belt? Even better," Aiden said, stepping back just an inch, though he didn't take his eyes off Ashlyn. "So, Ashlyn. What did you think of the show? Be honest. I can take it. I’m a big boy."

Ashlyn looked him up and down—the messy hair, the fake eyes, the reckless energy vibrating off him like heat waves. "The drumming was loud. You break things because you lack technique, or because you want the attention?"

Tyler let out a muffled "Oof" and hid his face in Logan’s shoulder.

Aiden’s expression shifted. For a fleeting second, the mask of the chaotic rockstar slipped, revealing something sharper, something a little more raw. He looked at her not as a conquest, but as a challenge.

"A little bit of both," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. "But mostly because it feels good to break things. Don't you ever want to just... smash something to see if it makes a sound?"

"I prefer to keep things functional," Ashlyn replied. "It’s more efficient."

"Efficient," Aiden echoed, shaking his head. "You’re no fun."

"I’m plenty of fun," Ashlyn said, her voice cool. "I just don't think 'fun' involves permanent hearing loss and property damage."

Aiden laughed again, but this time it was quieter. He leaned against a gear case, crossing his arms. "We’ll see about that. We’re going to an after-party at my place. My parents are out of town—shocker, I know—so the house is ours. You’re coming."

"I am?" Ashlyn asked, unimpressed.

"Taylor’s coming. Logan’s coming. Ben lives there, so he’s definitely coming," Aiden said, gesturing wildly. "And since you’re Taylor’s shadow tonight, you’re coming too. I want to see if I can make you crack a smile before midnight."

Ashlyn looked at Taylor, who was giving her a pleading look. She looked at Logan, who looked like he really wanted to go but didn't want to leave her behind.

"Fine," Ashlyn said, turning back to Aiden. "But if you try to make me 'smash something,' I’m using your head as the hammer."

Aiden grinned, a flash of something bright and dangerous in his eyes. "It’s a date, Ginger."

"It’s a ride-share," she corrected him, turning to walk toward the exit.

As she walked away, she could feel his gaze burning into the back of her neck. She didn't look back, but her heart was thudding just a little bit faster than it had been five minutes ago.

Behind her, she heard Tyler whisper, "Dude, you are so screwed."

And Aiden’s voice, uncharacteristically soft: "Yeah. I think I am."

The party at the Clark mansion was exactly what Ashlyn expected: large, expensive, and filled with people who were trying too hard. The house was a sprawling modern monstrosity of glass and steel, filled with art that looked like it cost more than Ashlyn’s college tuition.

Aiden’s parents, Daniel and Jessica, were clearly the type who expressed love through bank transfers rather than presence. The house felt empty despite the dozens of people inside.

Ashlyn found a quiet corner on the balcony overlooking the pool. The night air was cool, a welcome relief from the sweaty basement and the crowded living room. She leaned her elbows on the railing, watching the reflections of the colored lights dancing on the water.

"Escaping already?"

She didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The chaotic energy preceded him like a storm front.

"It’s loud in there," Ashlyn said.

Aiden slid into the space beside her, mirroring her pose. He had ditched the ripped t-shirt for a fresh oversized hoodie, but he still looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. He had a red plastic cup in one hand, but he wasn't drinking from it.

"It’s always loud," Aiden said, his voice unusually quiet. He stared out at the pool. "If it’s quiet, you have to think. And thinking is for people who aren't me."

Ashlyn glanced at him. The red contacts were gone, replaced by eyes that were a deep, tired brown. He looked younger without the stage makeup and the persona—younger, and remarkably lonely.

"You don't like yourself very much, do you?" she asked.

Aiden stiffened. He turned to look at her, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. "That’s a hell of a thing to say to someone you just met."

"I’m observant," Ashlyn said simply. "You act like a hurricane so people don't notice the wreckage."

Aiden stared at her for a long time. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable; it was heavy, like the air before a lightning strike. He reached up, running a hand through his messy blond hair.

"My parents are at some gala in Geneva," he said, out of nowhere. "They didn't even know we had a show tonight. They probably don't even know what the band is called."

"Does it matter?" Ashlyn asked.

"No," Aiden said quickly. Too quickly. "But it’s why I like the drums. You can’t ignore them. You have to hear them. Even if you hate them, you know they’re there."

Ashlyn looked back at the water. "I hear you, Aiden."

Aiden shifted closer. His shoulder brushed hers, and for the first time, he didn't feel like a threat. He felt like a person.

"You’re weird, Ashlyn Banner," he murmured.

"And you’re a mess," she replied, though the bite was gone from her voice.

"Yeah." Aiden grinned, and this time, it reached his eyes. "But I’m a fun mess. Admit it."

Ashlyn let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "The jury is still out."

"I’ll take it," Aiden said, raising his cup in a mock toast. "I’ll take it."

In the distance, they could hear Tyler’s laughter and the muffled sound of a guitar. But out here, in the dark, the silence was finally something Ashlyn didn't mind sharing.