Chapter Text
“So… you’ll accept?”
Nace looks around the room. Five smiling faces, his brand new fellow band members and the member he’s just replaced, banter and talk amongst themselves. They’re relaxed, happy, sprawled out over the couches and chairs of Bojan and Martin’s apartment as they celebrate Nace officially joining Joker Out.
The opportunity had seemingly just fallen into his lap a few weeks ago when he’d unlocked his phone to see a message from Bojan Cvjetićanin, of all people.
I was wondering if you’re free to meet up and have a coffee together? We have an opening for a bassist and you come highly recommended.
Strictly speaking, Nace doesn’t need the work. He’s actually reached a good, stable point in his life, playing for the stage band on V petek zvečer. It had been a long, sometimes unsteady road to get here. When his high school classmates were getting office jobs or heading to university, he was signing up for months at sea, playing bass on a cruise ship for drunk German tourists. When his childhood friends were going out on Friday and Saturday nights, taking their girlfriends out to catch an up-and-coming band at the local venue, Nace was backstage, tuning his bass, running through the setlist in his head. His parents had despaired of him ever finding steady employment, but 10 years later, he’s made a name for himself and has no shortage of gigs, which he guesses is why Bojan had thought to reach out to him.
But he’s also intrigued. Once he’s ascertained that Martin isn’t leaving the band due to an interpersonal conflict, Nace lets himself envision what it might be like, joining Joker Out. On the surface it doesn’t seem like that much of a change, swapping one steady gig for another. But there’s something about the way Bojan speaks about the band over coffee, the look in his eyes as he outlines his hopes and dreams for their trajectory, and the thread of affection in his voice as he talks about his fellow band mates, Jure and Jan and Kris and Martin. Something in that conversation strikes at the deepest part of Nace’s brain and echoes around the inside of his skull, saying this is important, this is important.
So, he lets himself imagine. He sees himself in this group of men, daring and achieving along with them. He imagines himself playing on stage to a live audience, regularly, not just when he gets a call to sub in for a sick bassist in another band. He lets his thoughts spool out, the prospect of being a part of composing new music, releasing new albums tickling at the parts of him that are normally content to stay in the shadows, urging him to take a chance. And at the end of the meeting, Nace agrees to join the band at their next practice to have a jam session and see how they fit together.
It starts out extremely professional. They sit in the loft of the practice studio, backs ramrod straight on a couch that should be relaxed into. Bojan handles the introductions, and Nace dutifully nods in the directions of Kris, Jure, Martin, and Jan as each of them are named. He commits their names to memory, hopeful that he will need to know them for the future, his eyes moving from band member to band member and then resting on Jan, the last to be introduced, for several seconds before Bojan grabs his attention again by saying, “Well, shall we play together?”
Nace grips his bass, centering himself with a slow breath as the others tune their instruments. The steady drumbeat of this is important thrums through his veins, and for the first time he can feel a twinge of anxiety in his gut at the thought that he might fuck this up before he’s had a chance to respond to that drumbeat and ask yes, but why?
And then three bars into the first song, every thought is completely blown out of his head.
He watches, hands moving on autopilot, as they play through a Joker Out song that Nace had told Bojan he already knew at their coffee meetup. Bojan commits to the vocals like he’s on stage in front of hundreds, and he leans into Kris as he sings directly to him, wrapping his arm around the guitarist and pulling him close like he’s done it a million times. He probably has, Nace thinks, as Kris leans in and sings the backing vocals right back at Bojan, pride and devotion and intensity written all over his face.
The song is over before Nace’s brain has really had a chance to catch up, and then Kris is playing the opening bars of another song and they dive right back in.
They fly through at least a dozen songs, both classics and songs from Joker Out’s back catalog, moving from number to number by unspoken consent, a guitar riff or a few notes of a melody line or a drum beat enough to set the others off. They all play off each other, and Nace finds he’s getting into it, too, moving around to the music and playing to and off the others like he’s been doing this all his life.
By far the most rewarding member to play off is Jan. Nace could tell from the first song that the man is insanely talented, and he swings between being in his own world, coaxing music from his guitar like he’s calling forth magic from the depths of the earth, only to then look up and blast the full force of his energy onto the nearest band member. The first time he does it to Nace, Nace is almost bowled over with the depth of Jan's gaze, power and emotion and lust and intensity all piercing Nace through like arrows. He takes it all in and feels the fire flow through his body, to his hands, pouring out into his bass.
When they finish playing, Bojan is grinning wider than Nace has ever seen another human smile. They all sit back down on the couch, but this time they do it all in a pile, relaxed, the energy still humming between them. Bojan is basically in Kris’s lap, and Jan puts his arm around Kris’s shoulders and rests his head against Kris’s temple. It should be weird, strange, this intense closeness between these men; Nace should find it curious or abnormal or at least notable. But Nace is still high on the energy of playing together, so all he can do is smile as he watches a group of fully grown men cuddle.
“So… you’ll accept?” Bojan asks.
“What?” Nace isn’t sure he’s heard Bojan correctly.
“You’ll accept. You’ll join the band.”
Nace doesn’t have to think twice. “Yes. I will.”
—-
Nace doesn’t realize that he’s drifted off into his own head, zoning out at his own welcome party, until a voice brings him out of his reverie.
“I think this is going to work out.” The deep voice drifts into Nace’s left ear, and he turns to see Jan, beer in hand. Nace smiles to himself and then takes a risk.
“Good to know I have your approval,” he teases, and then feels his chest fill with an unnameable emotion when Jan’s stoic face cracks into a smile.
“Of course. Getting my approval is the most important step. I’m glad you’ve recognized that fact.”
“How could it not be? The way you play - you wouldn’t accept anyone who couldn’t match it.”
It’s just a compliment to a colleague, a recognition of Jan’s skill from a fellow musician who can appreciate his talent, but Nace is a bit breathless after he gets all the words out. He somehow feels like he’s let a bit of his soul out along with the praise. The top edge of that nameless emotion presses on his throat right where it meets his chest, and squeezes tight, as if to keep the words from coming out despite the fact that they’ve already escaped.
Jan turns to face Nace fully. “No. I wouldn’t.” His eyes flit over Nace’s face and the pressure around Nace’s throat increases. “But you clearly can, better than anyone else we’ve auditioned. It’s like you were made to play with us.”
Again, it’s just a compliment from a colleague. So why does Nace feel like he’s about to shake apart?
“That’s good to know,” Nace manages. “Playing together was… something else. I can’t wait to do it again.”
Nace doesn’t know where this boldness has come from. He watches as Jan’s eyebrows twitch upwards and his smile turns a bit sly. “That’s good to know,” Jan echoes, a teasing lilt in his voice, and Nace realizes as the emotion in his chest spikes in magnitude - he likes this. Nace likes to compliment Jan and for Jan to enjoy being complimented by Nace. He’s flirting. With Jan. And he likes it.
Suddenly, he can’t continue. He pulls the ripcord of the conversation. “I- better go refill my drink.” Nace raises his glass, which he notices belatedly is still mostly full of Coke, and then beats a hasty retreat to the kitchen. He sets the full glass down on the kitchen counter and breathes in slowly, the shaking feeling threatening to overtake him as the pressure in his chest, which he now recognizes as excitement, slowly dissipates.
Yes, Nace thinks to himself. But why?