HBD

Rating: PG

Fandom: EDM/OC

Ships: just a biiit of Icha/Doutzen for the soul :)

Warnings: alcohol, panic attacks, whatever the hell is going on with the blairs, friendfic

written for yousuckcharlie's birthday!

“Mister Joel…”

“No, it’s fucking ridiculous!” Joel shouted, shoving his way through the crowds of people surrounding the luggage carousel. “I’m paying, what, a hundred bucks a ticket- that’s me, you, Paul, three hundred for all of us and that’s when my second opener lives right fucking here- and they’re gonna let their flight attendant be all oh my god i’m your biggest fan sign my tits? Jesus Christ, I’m calling the airline to complain about her later. What was her name again? Some Spanish shit. Lorita or something?”

Icha sighed. She had long learned to tune out her boss and his opinionated rants, but they’d become grating to anyone after long enough. As the luggage went around the carousel, she just tried to focus on finding their bags.

When they arrived at the venue, their second opener was already there. Leaning over her workstation and gesturing to different knobs on the mixer, she spoke to a small-statured Black boy, seemingly unaware of the main act’s appearance.

“Hey, Eyelid,” Joel said as he crossed the stage, Icha following shortly behind him. “Didn’t know it was bring your deadbeat brother to work day. Aren’t you supposed to be doing soundcheck?”

The Black boy looked up at Joel, eyes wide- he looked something like a deer, not helped in the least by his pigeon-toed stance. Eilidh scoffed. “Glad to know you’re still a wee cunt. If for some reason you couldn’t tell, I’ve already went ahead and done soundcheck. And you never said I couldn’t let him tag along, so I assumed I could, unless you were jonesin’ to have some alone time with me.”

Joel spluttered at the insinuation, but Eilidh paid no mind as she turned her attention to Icha. The Scot smiled as he brought the cat-DJ into a tight hug.

“Icha, it’s been too long. I hear it’s someone’s birthday.”

Icha smiled, just a little, as she returned the hug. It lasted hardly a second before Eilidh pulled back. “I baked you a cake since I didn’t know what to get you. It’s backstage whenever you want it. And… I want you to meet my brother, Miami.”

Miami, now in the spotlight, offered little more than a sheepish wave. It took him a moment before he spoke up, realizing abruptly that Eilidh wasn’t going to keep talking. 

“Oh, um- yeah, I just- El’ told me about you and I wanted to say hi. Oh, and happy birthday,” Miami muttered. His voice was almost squeaky, like it was being forced up higher than it should be, and his accent was distinctly American. He burrowed himself further into the white wool coat he wore. “I really like your music, um… Execution Year is, like… kind of my get ready for the day anthem, ha…”

“Oh-” Icha’s heart fluttered just a little at the compliment. Being a new artist, she didn’t get all that many compliments on her music for what it was- more questions about what it’s like to tour with Deadmau5, really- so it felt nice to be recognized for her talent. Well, she didn’t think her music was all that good, so she wouldn’t call it a talent. But she liked to be recognized. She felt like, all too often, she faded into the background. Got left out or forgotten in the shadow of her boss, or even her more successful classmate. 

She realized she hadn’t actually responded and awkwardly appended her acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Mister Miami.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-” Miami smiled in an awkward sort of way. “Just Miami.”

Icha’s set was the first of the night. That made the job nerve wracking, to some degree, breaking the silence and playing to an almost empty crowd. Many people wouldn’t arrive until the main act had almost started. Icha understood. She probably wouldn’t show up early, either. 

Sidestage, though, she could feel Miami’s eyes watching her perform. There was something in them she couldn’t quite recognize; admiration. 

The backstage conversation was a little more coarse, fueled by liquor and a half-decimated birthday cake. 

“Wait. Do not fuckin’ tell me you brought that kid just to set him up with Icha.”

“What?” Eilidh scoffed, half-tempted to throw his beer can at Joel and refraining only because it wasn’t yet empty. “No, Jesus! Besides, he isn’t even on the itinerary. No. Why the fuck would that even cross your mind?!”

“I mean, she’s a girl, he’s a guy. Same age. He looks at her like she invented music. And you just got out of this long-winded ass tangent about this crazy breakup with the stalking and the hexes and the crazy past-life soulmate connection stuff.”

“You’re a loon.” Eilidh rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall. “Promise you won’t tell her this, Miami’ll have my head.”

Joel cocked his head to one side noncommittally. Eilidh leaned in and lowered her voice. 

“He wants to get into DJing, and she’s his biggest inspiration. He practically begged me to let him come tonight so he could meet her. And- and nothing has really motivated him like this in years. And I thought if he could meet his idol, maybe I could help him. He’s been going through so much.”

Eilidh’s set was next, under her stage name, Bass Bunni. The crowd had filled out some, with new people arriving by the minute, anxious for the beginning of Joel’s set. But for right now, Bass Bunni held the spotlight; and he reveled in it. 

Toward the end of the set, Eilidh glanced down at his watch. Too much time to just leave and not use it, but not enough time to play another song. She picked up her microphone. 

“Alright- I don’t have the time for another song, I’ve got- what, two minutes? I’ll make this quick. I’m Bass Bunni, you all know who’s up next, but I want everyone in this fuckin’ room to make some noise for our first opener right now, Icha!”

Behind her bunny mask, Eilidh grinned at the applause that filled the venue. From sidestage where she’d been sitting and sketching throughout the set, Icha looked up at the call of her name. Eilidh beckoned her up. 

“Come on, get out here.”

Icha, nervously, set down her sketchbook- careful to cover the page where she’d been drawing Eilidh and Joel- and made her way onstage again. 

“Ladies and fuckin’ gentlemen, Icha came all the way from the other side of the world to open up this show tonight, and it’s her fuckin’ birthday, so Edinburgh, we are gonna sing happy fuckin’ birthday to her! Are you fuckin’ ready?!”

Icha felt a swell of panic bubbling up in her chest as Eilidh grabbed her wrist and held it up in the air, but it was already too late to protest. The crowd was already singing. Behind her cat mask, Icha just wanted to shrivel up and die.

Joel’s set was, if nothing else, a moment of respite. Eilidh had stayed sidestage to watch the show. Normally, Icha would do the same, but after the impromptu singing, the last thing she wanted was to be around anyone else, or the loud sounds coming from the speakers, or the lightshows. It was all so overwhelming. Backstage wasn’t completely void of people, either, but it was somewhere to go. And there was cake. Cake was nice if she could keep it down. 

Oh, and Miami. 

“Hey, you look… um, kind of blue.”

Icha didn’t look up, hugging her knees. Maybe if she just ignored him he’d go away. 

Miami let out a little sigh after an enduring moment of silence. A few moments later, Icha felt a heavy wool coat being draped over her shoulders. She tugged it closed and glanced up at Miami, who was smiling. 

“I get it, I’d rather be alone too if I were you. I’ll go, but you can have my coat. It’s really big and it makes me feel safe. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, though.”

By the end of the show, Icha did start feeling better. She caught the end of Joel’s set from sidestage, and then backstage Joel had offered to buy everyone drinks at the pub. Eilidh had suggested the place, and as the group headed out the back door, Eilidh and Joel started bickering over something stupid again. 

“You know, you could drive us all there if you had something nicer than a Del Sol.”

“It’s just across the street and down the way, you lazy bastard, your legs won’t fall off if you walk a little.”

It was a comfortable sort of background noise. Icha noticed, as she walked, the way Miami leaned on his sister for support, though, the two of them falling in step behind the group.

When they got to the pub, Joel ordered a round of shots for everyone, and for the first time since the show started, Icha took off her mask to drink. It could get really stuffy behind that thing, but at least nobody could see her crying. It was a nice birthday, better than other years for sure, but something about it felt… well, incomplete.

“And then Sonny was like, I bet I can beat you to the top and he fell on his ass five feet up and started crying,” Eilidh spoke, words slurred, in some meandering anecdote about Warped Tour. “And then- then Derek was all, you’re not a koala you dumbass and I was like I’m the king of the fuckin’ world and then Eleanor- fuck Eleanor- she threw her fuckin’ bong at me.”

Icha had stopped paying attention at about the part of the story where Pete Wentz had gotten naked, but that was five whole minutes ago. It became quickly apparent that Eilidh was going to dominate the conversation as long as she wasn’t sober, and Icha was about ready to throw in the towel and head back to the hotel alone. Sure, she didn’t entirely remember the address, and she was more likely than not to get lost, but she was clearly fading into the background again. She’d rather hole up in her room and draw.

She excused herself from the bar and got up to leave, but as she headed toward the door, she tripped over someone’s outstretched foot. Collapsing to the floor, she groaned and pushed herself up. A voice above her spoke, smoothly, laced with condescension.

“Have a nice trip, love?”

Icha glanced up, eyes widening as she caught sight of the blond Dutchman.

“Doutzen?”

“Come on, you didn’t think I wouldn’t find you?” He asked sardonically. After a moment’s thought, he held out a hand to her, and awkwardly, Icha took it, lifting herself up.

“How did you even know where I’d be?”

Doutzen waved the question away, seemingly uninterested. “A little bunny told me. Where are you off to? You’re not the brightest, I’m sure you’ll get yourself lost.”

“The, um, hotel.” Icha awkwardly rubbed at her elbow, the spot where it was still sore and raw from catching her fall. But she supposed that’s how Doutzen always was; sweet and sour. 

“Well, let me walk you there so you don’t get yourself killed. I just came here to see you, anyway.” Doutzen sighed and wrapped an arm around Icha’s waist as he lead her out of the pub. “Happy birthday, you moron.”