Summary: An opponent approches the horizon what the trio, Fang, Trish and Reed need to beat on the stage. And of course Fang have a dream..AGAIN


Chapter Text

Fang quietly pushed open the front door, mindful of the late hour. The house was submerged in darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the windows, casting long, gentle shadows across the floor. The usual sounds of their bustling household were absent, replaced by a tranquil stillness that spoke of deep slumber.

Moving with practiced ease in the dark, Fang softly closed the door behind them and tiptoed through the hallway, passing the familiar family photos hanging on the walls and the little imperfections of their home that they'd come to love.

As Fang passed by Naser's room, the door slightly ajar, they couldn't resist the urge to peek inside. There, amidst the tangled sheets, lay Naser, his chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath, his large, usually formidable wings relaxed in sleep. The sight was a gentle reminder of the duality of their lives: the fierceness and the calm, the loud days and the quiet nights. Despite his tough exterior, Naser had always been there for Fang, a silent guardian in both presence and absence.

With a fond smile and a heart swelling with a warmth that had nothing to do with their lively jam session, Fang continued to their own room, mindful of each creaking floorboard that they expertly avoided.

Once inside their sanctuary, Fang let out a quiet sigh, allowing the events of the day to wash over them. The laughter, the music, the friendship—it all seemed to fuse into a melody that only they could hear, a lullaby composed of their happiest moments.

They didn't bother with the lights, instead opting to prepare for bed in the comforting cloak of darkness, guided by familiarity and the pale moonlight. As they changed and settled under their own covers, the day's fatigue finally caught up with them, seeping into their bones and making their eyelids heavy.

But before sleep claimed them, Fang pulled out a small notebook from their bedside drawer, the one they used to jot down lyrics and melodies that struck them at odd hours. By the silvery light, they scribbled down a few lines that had been floating around in their head, inspired by the night's practice and the quiet comfort of home.

With a contented sigh, Fang closed the notebook and set it aside, sinking deeper into the pillows. Their thoughts drifted between the echoes of music and the gentle rhythm of their family's breathing in the rooms nearby.

As sleep finally began to pull them under, Fang's last conscious thought was an anticipation for the days to come, for the music yet unplayed, and the unbreakable bond they shared with their friends, their bandmates.

In the heart of the quiet house, under the watchful eye of the moon, Fang drifted off to sleep, the softest of smiles gracing their features.

 

The morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Fang's room. The excitement buzzed through their veins as soon as consciousness took hold. With only one day left until the show, every moment felt electrified, every second pulsing with potential.

As Fang went through their morning routine, their mind was a whirlwind. They ran through the setlist in their head, mentally practiced their parts, and visualized the crowd's energy. Amidst the cacophony of thoughts, an idea struck them—something personal, something bold. They wanted a change, a physical representation of their inner evolution. They decided to dye their hair, a vibrant color that would not only stand out but also encapsulate their spirit.

After a quick breakfast, Fang rummaged through their drawers, searching for the old, unused hair dye they'd impulsively bought months ago. Their fingers found the boxes, and they assessed the colors with a critical eye. None of them felt right. They needed something that screamed 'Fang,' something as vivid and passionate as their music.

Resolved, Fang grabbed their essentials and headed out, the mission clear in their mind. The local store had a wide array of colors, and Fang was drawn immediately to the boldest of them all—a fierce, fiery orange-red, akin to a molten lava flowing from a volcano. It was perfect, mirroring their intense passion for music and the fiery determination that burned within.

Back at home, Fang stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the box of dye ready. They hesitated for only a moment before they began the process, carefully reading through the instructions. The dye smelled strongly of chemicals, but Fang was undeterred, their heart pounding with the promise of transformation.

As they waited for the dye to set, Fang's mind wandered to the upcoming show. They could almost hear the crowd, feel the lights on their skin, and the music coursing through them. This new hair color—it was more than a style choice. It was a declaration, a visual representation of their commitment to their dreams and their journey.

Finally, it was time to wash it out. Fang leaned over the sink, the water turning a bright, fiery hue as it rinsed away the excess dye. They felt a surge of excitement, and when they finally looked up at the mirror, their breath caught in their throat.

The color was stunning—an intense, vibrant orange-red that seemed to glow with its own light. It was wild and untamed, just like their music, just like their dreams. Fang's orange eyes were bright, their face alight with joy and newfound confidence.

They couldn't wait to show Trish and Reed. More than that, they couldn't wait to step onto that stage, the fierce color a visual echo of the fire that blazed within their soul. Tomorrow's show was going to be more than just a performance; it would be an assertion of who Fang was and everything they stood for.

The day passed in a blur, and Fang spent every moment in preparation, the excitement never once dimming. They were ready, more than they'd ever been. And as they went to bed that night, their vibrant hair a stark contrast against the white pillowcase, Fang knew one thing for certain: tomorrow would be unforgettable.

 

The morning was crisp and clear, a cool breeze signaling the change of seasons. Fang, sporting their new vibrant hair, couldn't help the spring in their step as they approached the school gates, where Trish and Reed were already waiting. Their friends' eyes widened in pleasant surprise at the sight of Fang's fiery transformation.

"Wow, Fang! You look... you look like a rockstar!" Reed exclaimed, his purple eyes shining with admiration.

Trish was grinning ear to ear. "Absolutely stunning! It suits you so well, and just in time for the show!"

Their conversation was bubbling with anticipation for the evening, discussing last-minute details and sharing the butterflies fluttering in their stomachs. The morning classes seemed to drag on forever, but finally, the lunch bell rang, releasing them from the educational hold.

In the cafeteria, they huddled around their usual table, food largely ignored as they chatted. "Do you think the crowd will like our new song?" Trish asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"They'll love it," Reed reassured, though he looked a bit anxious himself. "We've practiced so hard. We're ready for this."

Fang nodded in agreement, their fiery hair a stark contrast to the drab cafeteria backdrop. "We're more than ready. We're going to set that stage on fire!"

Their moment of bonding was abruptly interrupted by the mocking laughter of three other students approaching their table. They were also performers in the show, known for their arrogant attitudes and mean streaks.

"Look at the wannabe stars!" sneered the leader of the trio, a tall, green T-Rex with a smirk that oozed disdain. "Think you stand a chance tonight?"

His cronies, a Spinosaurus and an Ankylosaurus, laughed, their eyes malicious. "They think changing hair color is going to win them the show!" the Spinosaurus jeered, nodding towards Fang.

Trish's smile faltered, and Reed clenched his fists under the table, trying to maintain his composure. But Fang, their blood boiling at the unwarranted attack on their friends and their passion, couldn't hold back.

"Why don't you jerks mind your own business?" Fang retorted sharply, standing up. Their orange eyes were ablaze with anger. "We're going to give our best tonight, no matter what snide comments you throw our way!"

The T-Rex stepped closer, trying to be intimidating, but Fang held their ground. "We'll see about that," he hissed before the trio walked away, laughter trailing behind them.

As they left, Fang turned back to see both Trish and Reed with downcast eyes. "Hey, don't let them get to you," Fang said, their voice softer now, but firm. "They're just trying to shake our confidence."

Reed looked up, a sad smile on his face. "I know, but it's hard, Fang. They've always looked down on us."

Trish nodded in agreement. "They think they're the kings of the school."

Fang's heart clenched at the disheartened looks on their friends' faces. Taking a deep breath, they sat back down, placing a comforting hand over Trish's and Reed's. "Listen, we've worked too hard to let some bullies ruin this for us. We're a team, right? We've got each other's backs. And we're going to go out there tonight and show everyone what we're made of. Not with anger, but with the power of our music."

Trish and Reed slowly lifted their heads, the determined sparkle returning to their eyes as they exchanged glances. "Right," Trish said, a fire relighting in her voice. "We're in this together."

"Together," Reed echoed, his grip tightening on Fang's hand.

The resolve solidified in their shared gaze, a silent vow to not only stand up to bullies but to shine in their own right. The rest of the lunch period was spent in more uplifting conversation, the trio bolstering each other's spirits, ready to face the challenge ahead, united in their passion, friendship, and dreams.

 

The final bell couldn't have rung soon enough, releasing a palpable wave of excitement throughout Volcano High. Students flooded the hallways, chattering about the next day's show, but for Fang, Trish, and Reed, it was more than just idle talk. Their future was on that stage, their dreams set to the melody they'd crafted together.

The trio rendezvoused at the school's front steps, the afternoon sun painting long shadows on the ground. "Ready to brainstorm over some snacks?" Fang asked, the vibrant hue of their hair seeming to dance in the light.

"Absolutely," Trish responded, her spirits lifted since their confrontation at lunch. "A good plan needs a full stomach."

They set off toward their favorite pub, a cozy, somewhat quirky spot known as "The Dino's Den," popular among the town's diverse residents for its dino-sized portions and lively atmosphere. The walk there was filled with animated discussion about the following evening.

"We need to double-check the equipment first thing when we get there," Reed was saying, his usually calm demeanor giving way to a meticulous planner as showtime approached. "We can't afford any technical difficulties during the performance."

Trish nodded in agreement. "Also, we should finalize the order of our setlist. I think we should start with something high-energy to get the crowd going."

Fang chimed in, "Definitely. And we need to decide on our outfits. We should coordinate colors but not be too matchy. Oh, and we can't forget about stage presence! We've got to engage with the audience, maybe plan a few surprises..."

Their conversation was ceaseless, each contributing ideas and weaving their individual threads into the tapestry of their shared vision. By the time they arrived at The Dino's Den, they had hashed out most of the finer details.

The pub was warm and inviting, a welcome respite from the growing evening chill. They chose their usual booth, the cushions worn from many a strategy session just like this one. As they settled in and placed their orders, the conversation shifted from logistics to anticipation.

"I can't believe it's tomorrow," Trish murmured, her blue-purple eyes shining with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Reed reached across the table to give her hand an encouraging squeeze. "We're ready for this. We've practiced and planned... we're going to be great."

Fang's heart swelled with pride for their band, for their friendship. "We're more than great. We're spectacular," they declared with a grin. "And when we're up there, we'll forget the nerves. We'll just feel the music, the crowd... it'll be us, living our dream."

The food arrived, an array of hearty dishes that filled the table with inviting aromas. They ate and continued to talk, laughter weaving through their strategies and plans. Even the earlier incident with the bullies seemed a distant memory, their current mood untouchable by negativity.

As night deepened, the pub's lights seemed to glow warmer, and the outside world faded away. It was just them, three friends on the cusp of realizing their dreams, hearts full with the promise of what was to come.

When it was time to leave, they exited The Dino's Den, each feeling the comforting weight of belonging and purpose. The walk home was quiet, a peaceful end to an evening of fervent planning. They split off with wishes of "good luck" and "sleep well," each heading to their homes under a starlit sky.

The night before their big show was restless with anticipation, but beneath the nerves was a foundation of confidence, built from hard work, passion, and the unbreakable bond of true friendship. They were ready for whatever the next day would bring.

 

Fang tiptoed into the house, the soft glow of the hallway light guiding them to the living room. There, amidst a scattered sea of papers and drawing tools, lay Naser, his head resting on a particularly detailed sketch, his breathing even and deep indicating he was sound asleep.

A soft smile crept onto Fang's face as they approached quietly, not wanting to wake him. They leaned down to get a better look at the sketch under Naser's cheek. It was a stunning design of their show stage, complete with lighting details, positions, and even some notes on possible audience interactions. Naser had always been there to support Fang's dreams, his own artistic talents often contributing significantly to their performances.

Careful not to disturb him, Fang gently slid the sketch from under Naser's head, replacing it with a soft cushion. They took a moment to study the drawing, touched by the effort and thought he'd put into it. Naser might not share their musical talent, but his creativity and dedication to their shared aspirations were always unmistakably present.

With a heart full of gratitude, Fang draped a blanket over Naser, ensuring he was comfortable. They then decided to tidy up the living room, collecting the other sketches and organizing them neatly on the coffee table. Among them were various stage designs, costume ideas, and even a sketch that remarkably resembled Fang with their new vibrant hair color, a testament to how well Naser knew them.

Once everything was in order, Fang placed the detailed stage sketch on top of the pile, so it was the first thing Naser would see when he awoke. On a blank piece of paper, they scribbled a quick note:

"Couldn't have dreamed this big without you. Let's make it real tomorrow. - F"

Placing the note where Naser couldn't miss it, Fang stretched and let out a yawn. The events of the day, coupled with the emotional highs and lows, were catching up with them. With one last glance at their sleeping brother, they made their way to their room.

The excitement of the upcoming show mingled with thoughts of the incredible support they had from their friends and family, making sleep seem like a distant dream. But eventually, exhaustion took over, and Fang drifted off, their last thought a silent promise to make the next day a show that would ignite the hearts of everyone who saw it, just like their passion for music set their own soul ablaze.

 

In the realm of dreams, where reality blends with imagination, Fang found themselves under the dazzling lights of the stage once again. The setting was surreal, a larger-than-life concert venue packed with an ocean of faces, lights swaying like stars brought down to earth, and the familiar figures of Trish and Reed by their side. The air buzzed with anticipation, the kind that tingles on your skin and makes your heart race.

They kicked off their set with a high-energy number, the sound of their music powerful and pure, reverberating through the vast space. Fang soared on the rhythms they created together, their voice a melodic cry that spoke of dreams and daring, while Trish's and Reed's instruments harmonized, weaving a tapestry of sound that was near tangible. The crowd was a part of them, their energy feeding the trio's spirit, their cheers a roaring wave that bolstered their confidence.

Song after song, they poured their hearts out, each note a piece of their souls bared for all to see. It was the epitome of what they had always craved, a perfect communion of artist, audience, and art.

However, as dreams are wont to do, the scene began to shift. The crowd's cheers started to dim, and the sea of faces blurred, the lights dulled to a sickly hue. The once vast stage seemed to shrink, confining, as a solitary figure emerged from the shadows— the producer they had hoped to impress, the key to the future they'd envisioned.

The music faltered, notes turning jagged and uncertain under the producer's critical gaze. Despite their best efforts, what was once a symphony of seamless harmony became a cacophony of mismatched chords and beats. The dream, once vivid with the joy of performance, was now tainted by a growing sense of dread.

As the last notes of their set died away, the producer's face remained impassive, unmoved by the passion they'd unleashed. With a nonchalant shake of his head, he turned away, the finality of the gesture a silent verdict that sliced through the heavy silence.

The dream began to fracture around that piercing disappointment, the cheers of the crowd turning to whispers of doubt and shadows of pity. The bright stage darkened, and the music that had been their heartbeat silenced.