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School bus graveyard( band au

The Static and the Spotlight

The morning sun hit the pavement of the college campus with a brightness that felt personally offensive to anyone who had been at the Clark mansion until three in the morning. For Graveyard Theory, the transition from underground rock icons to sleep-deprived students was a jarring daily ritual.

Aiden leaned against a brick pillar near the main entrance, his oversized black hoodie pulled halfway over his face. He still had the faint remnants of yesterday’s adrenaline buzzing in his veins, though it was currently being smothered by a desperate need for caffeine. His blond hair was a bird’s nest, and he’d swapped his red contacts for his natural, dark eyes, which were currently rimmed with exhaustion.

"You look like you died and forgot to lay down," a voice dryly noted.

Aiden shifted his gaze. Ashlyn was walking toward the entrance, her red hair tied back in a practical ponytail. She looked annoyingly put-together in a dark green utility jacket and black jeans. She didn't look like someone who had spent the night watching a drummer have a minor existential crisis on a balcony.

"Good morning to you too, Ginger," Aiden chirped, his voice cracking slightly. He forced a grin, the familiar mask of chaos sliding back into place. "Did you dream of me? Or was the memory of my drumming enough to keep you awake?"

Ashlyn stopped in front of him, her expression flat. "I slept like a log. Mainly because your party was so loud it actually numbed my brain."

Before Aiden could fire back a sarcastic retort, the sound of muffled screaming and frantic footsteps echoed from the parking lot. A group of girls, mostly freshmen who hadn't yet learned that the band members were just a bunch of idiots in hoodies, were descending upon the entrance.

"There they are!" one girl shrieked, clutching a vinyl record.

Tyler and Ben were walking a few paces behind Ashlyn. Tyler was mid-sentence, gesturing wildly as he talked to Ben about a new bass line. Ben was nodding, his eyes fixed on his phone as he typed a response.

The wave of fans hit them like a physical force.

"Tyler! Can you sign this? You were so amazing last night!"

"Ben, you’re so quiet but your solos are literally life-changing!"

Tyler, usually the one who lived for the spotlight, took a half-step back. He held up his hands in a defensive but polite gesture. "Hey, hey, slow down. I’d love to, really, but I’ve got a lit-theory quiz in ten minutes that’s going to execute me if I’m late."

"Just one picture?" a girl pleaded, thrusting a phone into his face.

"Sorry, ladies," Tyler said, his voice firm but charming. He reached out and caught Logan’s sleeve as the smaller boy tried to slip past the chaos. Tyler pulled Logan close, tucking him under his arm in a very deliberate, very public display of affection. "My boyfriend here is the only one allowed to take my picture today. Catch us after the show next week, yeah?"

Logan turned a bright, dusty pink, ducking his head to hide behind his glasses, but he didn't pull away. The girls groaned in disappointment, though a few of them whispered about how "cute" they were.

Ben was even more direct. When a girl tried to grab his arm to get his attention, he stepped out of her reach with the grace of a cat. He didn't look up from his phone, but he lifted his hand to show the silver ring on his finger—a matching one to the one Taylor wore. He quickly typed something and turned the screen toward the crowd.

*LATE FOR CLASS. GIRLFRIEND IS WAITING. SORRY.*

He gave a short, polite nod and navigated through the crowd like he was solving a puzzle, his face a mask of stoic indifference.

Aiden, however, was a different story.

As the girls realized the lead singer and the lead guitarist were officially off-limits, they turned their sights on the drummer. Aiden didn't retreat. He stood his ground, leaning back against the pillar with a lazy, practiced smirk.

"Whoa, one at a time," Aiden laughed, his eyes scanning the crowd. He didn't push them away when they crowded into his personal space. In fact, he seemed to lean into it. "Yeah, I remember you from the front row. Great outfit. You want a signature? I’ve only got a Sharpie that barely works, but I can try."

Ashlyn watched the scene from five feet away, her arms crossed. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Aiden practically basking in the attention. A girl with blonde highlights was leaning in close, whispering something in his ear that made him let out a loud, boisterous laugh. He reached out and ruffled the girl's hair, his movements reckless and flirtatious.

"He’s such an idiot," a voice muttered beside Ashlyn.

Taylor had appeared, holding two iced coffees. She handed one to Ashlyn and watched her brother and Ben disappear into the building while Aiden stayed behind, surrounded by at least six girls.

"He does this every time," Taylor sighed, taking a sip of her drink. "Tyler and Ben realized ages ago that the 'rockstar' fame is exhausting, especially when they’re actually happy with someone. But Aiden? He’s addicted to the noise."

"He looks pathetic," Ashlyn said, her voice colder than the ice in her cup.

"He looks lonely," Taylor corrected gently. "Look at his eyes, Ash. He’s smiling, but he’s not actually *there*. He’s just playing the part because he thinks if he stops, everyone will realize there’s nothing underneath the blonde hair and the broken drumsticks."

Ashlyn didn't respond. She watched Aiden sign a girl’s notebook, his movements jerky and energetic. He looked up for a split second, his gaze catching Ashlyn’s across the clearing. For a heartbeat, the flirtatious smirk faltered. He looked caught, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

Then, he winked at her.

Ashlyn rolled her eyes so hard it hurt and turned on her heel, walking into the building without a second glance.

***

The university cafeteria was a sprawling mess of beige plastic and the smell of overcooked pasta. The group usually congregated in a far corner, a small island of chaos in the sea of academia.

Tyler was currently face-down on the table, his muffled voice echoing against the wood. "I failed it. I definitely failed it. Who cares about the symbolism of the green light? I just want to sleep for a thousand years."

Logan was patting his back sympathetically. "You didn't fail, Ty. You wrote three pages."

"Yeah, three pages of lyrics for our next bridge," Tyler groaned, sitting up. His hair was even messier than usual. "I don't think Professor Miller is going to appreciate a rhyming scheme about teenage angst instead of an analysis of Gatsby."

Ben was sitting across from them, sketching something in a leather-bound notebook. Taylor was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder as she scrolled through her phone.

Aiden slid into the booth next to Ashlyn, bringing with him the faint scent of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. He was vibrating with a nervous energy that usually preceded him doing something stupid.

"Miss me, Ginger?" he asked, nudging her shoulder with his.

Ashlyn didn't look up from her textbook. "I enjoyed the thirty minutes of silence. It was the highlight of my day."

"Ouch. You’re wounding me," Aiden said, though he didn't look wounded. He looked wired. He reached over and tried to snatch a fry from Ashlyn’s plate, but she swiped at his hand with a plastic fork, nearly pinning his skin to the table.

"Get your own," she snapped.

"I can't. I spent all my lunch money on these," Aiden said, holding up a pack of new drumsticks he’d clearly bought at the music store across the street. He started tapping them against the edge of the table—*thump-thump-clack, thump-thump-clack*.

"Aiden, stop," Tyler snapped, rubbing his temples. "My head is pounding."

"You’re just cranky because you can't read," Aiden teased, increasing the tempo of his tapping.

"I can read! I just choose not to process boring information!"

Ben looked up from his sketchbook, his green eyes narrowing. He reached out and grabbed one of Aiden’s sticks mid-air, holding it still. He didn't say a word, but the look he gave his cousin was enough to make most people shrink.

Aiden just grinned. "Fine, fine. No music in the hallowed halls of the cafeteria."

He slumped back, his eyes wandering over to Ashlyn again. She was ignoring him with a level of focus that was almost impressive.

"So," Aiden said, leaning in so close that his breath stirred the loose strands of her red hair. "Those girls earlier. You seemed pretty interested in the show I was putting on."

"I was wondering how much glitter they were going to leave on your hoodie," Ashlyn replied, finally turning to look at him. Her green eyes were sharp, unyielding. "It’s embarrassing, Aiden. You’re like a golden retriever that’s been hit over the head with a brick. You’ll take attention from anyone who throws a bone."

The table went silent. Tyler and Logan shared a look of pure "oh no," while Taylor slowly lowered her phone.

Aiden’s grin didn't flip this time. It sharpened. "Is that what you think? That I’m just desperate?"

"I think you’re terrified of being alone with your own thoughts for five seconds," Ashlyn said, her voice low and steady. "So you let a bunch of strangers treat you like a prop because it’s easier than being a person."

Aiden stared at her. The playful, chaotic energy that usually radiated off him seemed to pull inward, leaving something cold and hollow in its wake. He stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor.

"I’m going to go smoke," he said shortly.

He didn't wait for a response. He grabbed his bag and his drumsticks and vanished into the crowd of students.

"Ash," Taylor whispered, looking worried. "That was... a bit much, wasn't it?"

Ashlyn looked down at her book, but the words were blurring. "He needed to hear it. He acts like a child."

"He’s not a child," Ben typed rapidly, his phone buzzing a second later as the text-to-speech voice rang out in its flat, robotic tone. "He is just broken. There is a difference."

Ashlyn felt a pang of something that felt suspiciously like guilt, but she pushed it down. "Whatever. I have class."

***

The sun was beginning to set when Ashlyn finally left the library. The campus was quiet, the evening air carrying the scent of damp earth and distant traffic. She was heading toward the parking lot when she heard a rhythmic sound coming from the concrete stairs behind the gymnasium.

*Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.*

She paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. She rounded the corner and saw a lone figure sitting on the top step.

It was Aiden. He was alone, his hoodie pulled up. He wasn't playing a beat. He was just hitting a heavy, thick textbook with his drumsticks over and over again. Each strike was violent, leaving deep indentations in the cover of the book.

He didn't look up when she approached.

"You're going to ruin that book," Ashlyn said, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Aiden’s hand froze mid-air. He let out a long, ragged breath. "It’s a chemistry book. It deserves to die."

He finally looked down at her. His eyes were red—not from contacts this time, but from lack of sleep and something else he was trying very hard to hide.

"Come to tell me I’m a prop again?" he asked, his voice devoid of its usual snark.

Ashlyn climbed a few steps and sat down, leaving a respectful distance between them. "I was harsh."

"You were right," Aiden shrugged, turning the drumstick over in his hand. "My parents are in London now. They sent me a text. Well, their assistant sent me a text. Apparently, I’m supposed to attend a charity gala next month. I’m just a name on a guest list to them. A prop for the 'Clark' brand."

He looked at the stick, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

"When people scream for the band... when those girls crowd around... for a second, I’m not just a name on a list. I’m real. Even if they don't know me, they see me. It’s better than being invisible."

Ashlyn looked at the bruises on his arms, the small scratches he got from his reckless performances. She realized then that he wasn't trying to be famous. He was trying to feel solid.

"You're not invisible to the band," Ashlyn said quietly. "Tyler treats you like a brother. Ben literally lives with you so you don't burn the house down. And Taylor... Taylor worries about you more than she worries about her own grades."

Aiden looked at her, a small, tentative smile touching his lips. "And you? What do you do, Ashlyn?"

Ashlyn looked away, her heart doing a strange, fluttering rhythm that she didn't like. "I observe. And currently, I observe that you’re shivering."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a spare hoodie Taylor had forced on her earlier that week—a dark grey one that was soft and smelled like vanilla. She tossed it at him.

Aiden caught it, looking surprised. He pulled it on over his own, the extra layer making him look even more buried in fabric. "Thanks, Ginger."

"Don't make it a thing," she warned, though there was no bite in it.

Aiden shifted, sliding down a step so he was sitting right next to her. He didn't say anything. He just leaned his head back against the concrete, closing his eyes.

"Hey, Ashlyn?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't go to the gala next month," he murmured, his voice drifting off as exhaustion finally started to win. "It’s going to be boring. Stay here and watch a movie with me instead. Something where things blow up."

Ashlyn looked at him—really looked at him. The mess of blond hair, the reckless heart, the boy who played the drums like he was trying to break the world before it broke him.

"We'll see," she said.

Aiden didn't respond. His breathing had evened out, his head lolling slightly to the side until it rested against her shoulder.

Ashlyn froze. Her first instinct was to shove him off, to maintain the cold, distant barrier she’d spent years building. But then she felt the heat radiating off him, the sheer vulnerability of the way he was leaning on her.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the stair railing. She didn't move.

The campus was dark now, the only light coming from the distant streetlamps. In the silence, without the screaming fans or the aggressive guitar riffs, the world felt a little less chaotic.

For the first time since she’d met him, Aiden Clark was quiet. And for the first time, Ashlyn didn't mind the noise he’d left behind.