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the sheer audacity of this guy is making his right eye twitch. carter is treating that which matters most to julian as if it's some kind of joke. of course, he's aware what the general consensus on show choir used to be at saint rivera, before carter joined the new directions, but being disrespected in their choir room like this? it hits different, it... is upsetting. "no, i am not losing my mind. i'm being as professional as one can be, while being faced with such a grotesque manifestation of cultural decline!" and yet he's raising his voice, getting heated, allowing some guy with a few sport titles that mean absolutely nothing to julian to get a rise out of him. he knows he should just ignore his him, compose himself, but carter dripping his protein shake sweat onto sondheim, though? yeah, any hope of regaining his cool just flew out of the window.

fire truck. tomato. beet. those are the three shades of red carter lists in his head as julian rants about the hallows of sheet music and show choir. it’s hard to not give credit where it’s due from the level of shit talking. he’s heard something of similar caliber on the ice. sometimes in a different language. every now again those words would escalate into something more violent. carter eyes the other up and down only once before deciding he could take him. but he doesn’t even clench his fists. instead he takes a step back with his arms raised, afraid to trigger julian into another long-winded rant. he still finds himself caring less and less about songtime, and sheet music, and composers; however, listening to the co-captain crashout makes him realize that this club might be more than just the butt of a joke. “you can chill — i’ll go.” the seemingly innocent gesture of throwing his hands up in surrender makes a few droplets of condensation land on julian. “and don’t freak out, this is way better than a slushy.” yes, the implication was evil, but it was only fair after the verbal lashing. and unfortunately, carter was a little too curious about seeing just how red he could make julian turn. but not today. he still needed to survive the rest of his classes. his feet finally shuffle to the door but he stops in the threshold to face him one last time, refusing to miss the opportunity to correct the other. “and it’s ice hockey, dude — not football.”

it wasn't like aidan was purposely trying to run into micah, but considered it a possibility when he stepped into the other's favorite vintage thrift store. but glee club or no glee club, it wasn't like they could avoid each other forever, going to the same university. however, micah de leon trading the new directions for the cheerio squad definitely wasn't on his bingo card. he can't help but wonder what happened that made him want to leave the show choir he loved so much, and invested so much time and energy in. tired of fighting with julian and stella over solos? possible, but aidan never took him for someone who gave up that easily. maybe today would finally provide some answers, because there micah was, apparently contemplating whether or not to buy the ugliest blazer aidan had ever seen.

the edges of his ears turn red when aidan drops the nickname pinky. “you have a lot of nerve speaking to me like that, aidan. you’re the one who lost his mind when i met someone actually ready to commit,” he hisses, purposely running a hand over his short newly blonde hair. “and bow ties don’t need a comeback. they’re timeless.” you are stronger than a jawline. the mantra repeats in his head until the blush fades. “i’m allowed to be concerned about my fellow cheerios — they’re subjected to experiencing your full-fledged narcissistic personality disorder,” he insists, eyeing the other up and down. “and not that it’s any of your business, this blazer is a gift for someone very special to me.” it’s somewhat of a flimsy lie, but it’s only fair micah gets to bite back after their falling out last semester. “and unfortunately for you, you’ll never know what it’ll feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of love, attention, and most importantly, respect. grow up and stop self sabotaging yourself and maybe then you can judge me for moving on.”

a hockey rink was the last place on earth stella wanted to be that afternoon, but desperate times called for desperate measures. and the captain of the saint rivera ice hockey team starting a new directions recruitment effort she had not asked for? well, that was desperate!

this has to be a goof, carter thinks to himself. “stella, i’ve never heard of people flighting over pianos and choir room space unless you count people glaring when someone sits in the wrong seat.” undoubtedly, he wasn’t playing close enough to truly notice. and in true carter nature, he hadn’t learned his lesson about challenging the diehard members of the new directions. refusing to accept his reality hadn’t worked thus far and was in fact making his life more difficult. but for now, the embarrassment of singing eight bars from a tired, old play takes precedent. a whistle blowing in the near distance draws his attention away for a second. the drills are still paused without him and he holds up a finger with a small sigh. “to level with you,” he begins, making himself even smaller. “i have a lot of places to be on campus and the choir room isn’t really at the top.” it’s the very beginning of a long rejection. fortunately for stella, it starts off with feeding her what she wants to hear. “but since you were nice enough to somehow make your way in here, i’ll sign the sheet, cool? and when you guys win a real trophy, maybe you and julio can work yourselves up to a thank you, carter?” he intentionally leaves out hollow a promise to actually show up.

as expected, luciana delivers and carter doesn’t hesitate to type each idea into his phone for safekeeping. “i like heaven and hell but sounds a little too close to home right now.” he gestures to the choir room. it’s dramatic, but he doesn’t care. he’s too thankful for the distraction and the ideas. it does nothing but solidify luciana's already polished exterior. a part of him even considered asking for "help" with the glee assignments. of course, the help would be manifested into a desperate plea of please do this for me, but he was managing to fly under the radar for now. “i didn’t know you were into party planning too — how the hell do you even have time?”

an angel who could only be named goldie tugs carter out the choir with a handful of arbitrary sheet music tucked under his arm. “what the hell pippin anyway? a song about the basketball legend?”it’s a genuine question that works in favor of their escape. he’s never been more grateful as they hurry down the hall and out of the dusty arts building. he doesn’t look back. “i owe you my life, goldie,” he huffs once they’re met with the cool fall air. the silence lingers between them and an apology sits on the tip of his tongue. he keeps her too close for a moment. “like, really owe you.” the summer spent together was admittedly a complete change of pace outside his tumultuous relationship with eugena. it’s something he would have considered keeping had he not been so easily influenced by his now again ex. “are we good? are you good?”

location: cheerios training gym

a small gust of wind leaves his chest at her compliment. “stop — you were saving my ass today from coach steele.” he boasts, leaning in to squeeze her arm gratefully. “someone seriously needs to confiscate the megaphone asap.” as they turn the corner, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a trophy case. cheerios, of course. “of course, sav — but i’m gonna need you to save my roots again, please,” he almost whines. “i don’t know why i’m so distracted lately. liar. his mind was reeling with all kinds of boy issues and show choir fomo and they had hardly put a dent in the new semester.

Muscle memory was a bitch. He almost stood up to take it, but he just leaned back in his chair, knocking a foot against the metal leg, tipping it back slightly. "It would be... something," August concurred, regarding Carter's eventual keg stand. When he brought up their mash-up duet, August was the one to clear his throat this time.

carter wasn’t sure which elephant to address first. “you mean, like, a hype song?” he finally lands on. “the cure really does it for you, man?” he digs out his phone and scrolls to his game day spotify playlist before landing on perhaps the most ironic song in his life. dj khaled. he pauses the song just as quick as he plays it. “you’re basically the expert at this point, will it mash well?”

August had been lingering towards the edge of the choir room for a full minute before Carter noticed him. His eyes lingered on the blender bottle, a slight thought of remembering before he decided to fling the reminiscence from his mind as quickly. He huffed out a short laugh when Carter talking about party themes of all things as he crossed the room, dropping himself into the nearest chair.

a stifled laugh clears from carter’s throat. he leans back over the piano to shake the bottle of protein paste. muscle memory kicks in and he holds out the shake towards the other. it hangs awkwardly between them for a moment too long before carter clears his throat. “anyway,” he sighs at his own embarrassment. “a blackout party would be cool too. my first keg stand in the dark? could be worth celebrating after winning this mashup assignment,” he continues thoughtfully. he throws a glance over his shoulder as if expecting another pair of eyes to catch them. “any ideas for that, by the way? apparently it’s just two songs you slap together.”

"oh. my. GOD. you? stop talking!" julian huffs, raising his hand at the jock as he storms into the choir room. as it turns out, the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach he could't shake off was there for a reason, and he was right to follow his intuition and check in on his kingdom. julian had caught him redhanded, committing not just the heinous crime of messing up the sheet music, but also defiling the piano with what looked like wet drywall trapped in a blender bottle. "so, despite all my efforts of explaining the sanctity of my choir room to you and your airheaded brethren in language even you should be able to understand, you still have no idea where you are." just when julian thought he had managed to get through to these neanderthals, by staging a 'chad intervention' to lay down the law, his patience is once being tested by the guy responsible for this invasion. he steps closer, sighing dramatically as his gaze sweeps across the disaster zone, his expression growing gradually more horrified as he inspects the damage, eyes landing on one of the folders. "you... you filed sondheim under b! genuinely, what the hell is wrong with you??"

it takes everything in him to not laugh in julian’s face. at a point this low, it’s really all he can do. that and find a different brand of contraception asap. “dude, every time you step in this place, you lose your mind a little bit more. are you sure this is a chill place for you to be? i think there’s a meditation room in the next building, but i’m pretty sure it’s closed for cleaning if you know what i mean,” he shudders. a long arm reaches across julian to grab the bottle, dripping condensation over the precious sondheim number. a smile sweeps across his face before carter can help it. “b is for broadway, buddy.” it’s a grossly uneducated guess stemming from his ex-girlfriend’s rants on the club. he glances down at the now warped sheet. “and it’s a mashup between me and whoever the hell johanna is.” he reaches again to wipe the fallen drops with his sleeve. he proudly nods to himself for figuring out the assignment that easily. too proud that he doesn’t notice the ring left behind on the piano. “hey, how come you don’t give out prizes for these assignments? or is it a glee thing to suck and lose, like, all the time?”

a few vocal warm ups does hardly anything to alter his voice. for a moment, micah wonders if he’s losing his touch. the thought flees when he remembers it’s probably the glee club still haunting him. his orders from coach steele were practically a part of his daily routine already, so hopping on the campus radio station to spread some harmless gossip came fairly easy. he clears his throat a final time and unmutes his phone. “firstly, we all know it’s stella nasr haunting the dorms, okay? stay vigilant and do not engage. second, i bring you another psa about saint rivera’s new directions. rumor has it that they’re trying to siphon money from the cheerios budget. can you believe that? stealing money from a historical and successful team that has worked so hard to get where we — they are, and yet our — their success is being slashed by harpies with a showtune in their heart!” he rambles in a dramatic tone. admittedly, he has to take a deep breath and confess to himself that his rant was spinning into something borderline obsessive. “i think it’s time to show some compassion and support the new directions as they call it quits before they start living in tune with their delusions.”

"i broke up with carter." it wasn't the first time, not even the second or third time, but somehow this break up felt different. his betrayal of joining the glee club without as much as giving her a heads up about it was unforgivable to eugena. he couldn't even properly explain his reasoning for his actions, but then again, what could possibily justify this social suicide? sure, glee club was trending right now, but people were bound to remember just how lame it actually is soon enough, not even the captain of the hockey team could change that for the long run. "for real this time," she assures, managing to keep her composure, even though she was seething on the inside. frankly, she was feeling concerned about what kind of effect the rising popularity of the glee club could have on her friend. would he want to return? truth be told, she had only poached micah last year to mess with the new directions, mainly to piss off stella, but surprisingly enough, the two had actually become close friends these past few months. "if carter wants to go down in history as the guy who had it all, and threw it away so he could sway in the background behind stella and her tony award reject, it's his funeral," she shrugs. "i'm just not going to allow him to drag me down with him." ( @loserspng )

something short of an almost laugh leaves micah’s chest when his friend declares another break up. the familiar pattern starts all the same and he nods and awes until his jaw drops in quiet surprise. “you actually broke up with him for joining glee? for good?” he repeats. knowing the disdain his friend has for the new directions, the reasoning for a break up doesn’t come as a shock. but micah is surprised about how serious she seems about it. it doesn't take long for his mind to wander back to his once favorite extracurricular. it’s still a total mystery as to how and why the captain of the hockey team willingly joined such an eclectic group. and clearly the group wasn’t the same as it used to be. “are you sure he actually joined and it’s not just some low brow prank?” he stretches his legs to sprawl out on the riser in the cheerios private gym — an unspoken perk of being on a winning team that’s free from aidan shaped distractions. “or maybe it’s a desperate call for help,” he says thoughtfully as he leans back. “not that you deserve to be dragged down to the depths, but it is kinda sweet that you get to keep repeating your honeymoon phase.”

intermission. god's apology for all that is wrong with the world, also known as milo's sacred space. he was often found roaming the aisles past midnight, as if he were a ghost that was trapped within the store. especially since he looked extremely ghastly beneath the fluorescent lighting. each week, he had money set aside to restock on snacks, drinks and the odd trinket perched by the cash register. he'd made a decent display over the years and displays it with pride. his favorite being the miniature rubber ducky in saint rivera's colors, to the extent that each teammate of the titans received one. currently, he was balancing several bags of chips atop a case with glacier freeze gatorade which the store clerk set aside for him each week. rapport matters! he hadn't the common sense to set the contents down whilst pouring out a slushy... a #CLOWN, and karma for trying the new flavors out with a cupped hand out beneath the nozzle. inevitably, the chips go each and every way with the case of gatorades splitting and rolling out into the aisle. “ CRAP! my gatorade... ” his yell falls quiet with his mourning, shoulders dropping in defeat and lips falling on a pout. his luck only gets worse with his slushy falling from the tilt and splashing across his favorite pair of joggers, staining them with red 40 and blue 1. “ oh, come on! ” an irritated groan, followed with a muttered, “ you're such an idiot, milo, ” as he smears the slushy contents into the joggers until they become a shade of saturated violet. admittedly, he was neither the brightest nor wisest, with little regard for the mess he'd created in a mere matter of seconds or the innocent bystanders on a late night snack run. after a loss of dignity and many paper towels later, he finds himself crouched against the slushy machine gathering the remaining chunks of slush. he notices a foreign shadow beside him, shoes soon coming into sight. “ just a second, nearly done here. then this stupid thing is all yours! ” a hand raised out to them, half apologetic, half annoyed, 100% embarrassed.

the fluorescent lights flicker in time with the sad sound of snack after snack hitting the ground. it’s almost poetic and for a moment, carter wonders if that’s what the new directions are always harping about. before carter can crunch on the next dorito staining his fingers, a now sticky bottle of gatorade rolls to his feet. of course he can’t just ignore milo’s predicament. it’s milo. so he perches the unpaid bag of tortilla chips on the shelf to pick up the bottles that got away. “could this be divine punishment for picking a mid flavor of gatorade?” he asks in a teasing tone as he lines up the bottles. he then reaches over to grab a handful of paper towels to mop up what’s left on the counter. granted, he’s spreading the chunks of dyed sugar water around and around, but it feels strange to let milo be the only one cleaning. “good news, you’re totally not the first guy to wear a slushy. bad news, i think you’re the first to actually drink them.” after tossing the used paper towels away, he picks up what’s left of the case of gatorade when he catches the purple stain on his joggers. “oh, and that, i guess,” he adds with a fallen face. “i’m sure someone is, like, super knowledgeable about dealing with slushy stains.” he’s actually more than sure, but he doesn’t speak on it as an attempt to keep the universe balanced. who’s to say he wouldn’t be the one dripping in red dye soon? carter tilts his head as he stares down at the stain. he holds up the remnants of the case of drinks and positions it in front of milo’s lower half until it’s mostly hidden. it’s a lame attempt to brush off whatever embarrassment may be left. “dude, what stain?”

⭐an open starter for anyone in new directions

somehow, someway, carter recognizes the distinct sound cutting through the noise of the rink. granted the voice sits way below his field of vision, but that’s not at all surprising. what is surprising is that the voice had managed to sneak into a closed hockey practice. his suspicions are correct when he turns around and locks eyes with the familiar brunette who suddenly appeared in a row of seats. “hey, stacy — sorry, starla,” he chuckles once before yanking off his glove. “i don’t think we’ve officially met.” he stretches his hand out with a stupid, stupid grin on his face. “carter cortez, team captain of the titans,” he recites in an overly polished tone. he leans against his hockey stick and shrinks himself the tiniest bit to lower his voice. “do other students really use the choir room for other lame things? or is a mashup code for something else? is there a fun sign up sheet i don’t know about?” he blinks as if he really needs to be handed another responsibility to keep up with. “you know what — don’t tell me. the less i know about mashups, the better.”