Chapter One

(One) Your Name - Swedish House Mafia

Matthew quietly made his way down the darkened hallway of his, rather, his father's, large home. He carried some clothes, his headset, and his little token, a pin of a polar bear with a hockey stick. He was sneaking off to the bathroom. He had night business to attend to.

And no, it wasn't what you think it was.

He crept into the room, checking to see if anyone was stirring, then turned the lights on and shut the door quietly behind him.

He donned his red flannel shirt, (with nothing underneath, minus the tape around his body that supposedly covered a 'wound') his torn jeans, and his boots. Matthew looked in the mirror.

His blonde, slightly curly hair would need fixing, especially if he wanted to keep his cover. He also would need those red contacts to cover up his odd, purple-blue eyes. He didn't want to be recognized, definitely not as the son of Abel Williams, super-rich fashion designer. That would be asking for bad things to happen.

Matthew tied back his hair, tried to make it a little rougher, more tough-looking. He grabbed his red contacts from the cabinet, and, with little difficulty, inserted them into his eyes.

Now, his alter-ego, Matthieu Delacroix, stood there before him.

A transformation like this wasn't anything new. He'd been at it for years.

What was the purpose? Why did he do this?

Simple. He was a DJ.

Sure, he made goods grades in school and didn't do drugs and blah, blah, blah. But another side of him craved that loud music, the dancing, the slight haze in the air. He loved the adrenaline.

But he couldn't go there like he normally was. He looked almost exactly like his father. Clubbers might take notice and do hell knows what with him. And he knew for a fact some of his classmates went to the club, too. He'd be snitched on in a heartbeat.

Matthew hurried out of the bathroom, turning out the lights and grabbing his headset. He slipped his polar bear pin into his pocket and rushed to his room to grab his laptop.

He was prepared.

Matthew shoved all of this into a backpack and zipped it up. Then, he made his way down the steps and to the door. Turning the lock, he slipped outside and into the night.

It was a short way to the club. When he got far enough into the city, he got a cab to drive him the rest of the way. The whole process only took about ten minutes.

Matthew paid the driver, who roughly snagged the cash and pocketed it.

He then looked to the building. Bright lights glared, advertising his stage name - Delacroix - DJing on Fridays and Saturdays!

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Matthew wasn't so keen on the 'fame' thing. He didn't particularly hate his father, but fame and fortune does things to people. He did not want to be said people.

Matthew had to go meet some lady before performing all the time. He was never given an exact reason why, so he just assumed it was like hyping you up for your set or whatever. Like a pep talk.

He discreetly made his way to the back door of the place. Well, as discreetly he could with all the annoying honking cars passing him.

Matthew knocked on the door loudly. The door swung open almost immediately. "Well,here he is!" A woman with a very tight, sparkly black dress said. Matthew only knew her by Miss Celeste. Honestly, to him, she sounded like a stripper or prostitute or something.

"How's Delacroix doing?" Miss Celeste asked, moving closer to Matthew. He could smell the alcohol on her breath. Okay,I need to be in character. Come on, Matthieu.

"Eh, whatever." He answered. "Let's just get this fuckin' thing goin'."

Miss Celeste patted his shoulder. "Come along, then." She ushered him inside. "Hurry and hook up your things. People are waiting~" she added in a sing-song voice. Matthew nodded.

He hurriedly got his laptop and headset hooked up, then arose from his little crouch on the ground. They'd hooked up a mic, so he could rile up the crowd. Matthew turned a knob and another to get the thing started. He cut off his own sound soon after, beginning to speak. "Hello, Sun City!" He got yells and cheers in response. "How are you doing on this fine night?" He continued. "I hope you all are feeling down for some classic electro tonight, because if you're not, well, I'm still mixing that shit." He added Mathieu's sarcastic, asshole-ish streak to his words. He heard snickers coming from the back.

Matthew turned a knob, then another to speed up the beat. Some people seemed to be getting into the rhythm. He sped it up a little more, added a little bit here - then - then came the drop.

Always the best part, he thought, especially on this track. Matthew was certain that the energy from the music was almost like a tangible force, sweeping through the crowd. He let himself savor that energy.

This is what he lived for for the past two years.

And he loved it.

The next day, Matthew was crashed on his bed, trying to do something like sleeping. It wasn't really working, because the afternoon light kept annoying him and getting in his eyes.

Dammit, light, go away. He mentally protested. Matthew rolled over and looked at his clock.


It glowed red, almost seeming to actually try to piss him off.

"Go get coffee." Matthew muttered into his pillow. "Coffee will wake you up."

Yeah, with it's horrible taste and burning hot temperature.

"I am not down for one of your sarcastic arguments, self. Now, go and do something productive."

Why am I talking to myself? He thought. He shook his head and rolled to one side, and fell suddenly.

Matthew landed with a loud thud on the floor.

Good morning, bitch!

Why am I roasting myself?

Agh… This doesn't make any sense…

He decided to stop that conversation with himself quickly. Matthew stretched his limbs and rose clumsily off of the floor. He had this moment of dizziness when he got up. He had to sit back down on his bed to balance himself.

Matthew looked down, at his arms, and in the mirror. This was mostly to check that he had changed after he got home before crashing. He'd be pretty bummed if he lost his eyesight because of his own stupidity. Not that getting out of homework wouldn't be nice, Matthew thought.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. The Delacroix in him said, You look like shit.

The nice, forgiving, shy-student side of himself would much rather say, You look a little out of it.

Of course, this was the weekend, there weren't people around, and he had no reason to assume that ego.

So, naturally, he muttered at himself, namely because he looked like a zombie and someone was bound to notice that.

Separate lives suck, Matthew whined to himself mentally. He made some halfhearted attempt at looking alive, and almost left his room. Then, he turned back around to make sure he'd changed completely from his Mathieu Delacroix disguise.

Now that he felt the slightest bit more sure of himself, he left his room, snuck past his father's studio, and out into the city.

Matthew had walked sluggishly to the nearest Tim Horton's.

Now, he stood in line behind a excessively cheerful man, a curly haired blonde saying something about "L'amour", and an obnoxiously loud albino. Seriously, how often do you see those guys around?

Matthew tapped his foot. One of them started singing something, Matthew didn't know what it was, but he was pretty sure it was in German.

He had little knowledge of the German language, but he could catch from the way it sounded that it was rock and probably about teenage rebellion. As most rock was. Unless it was different in Germany, which he didn't really know.

Matthew suddenly recognized them. He'd seen something, something of his stepbrother's, advertising a local band. It's them!

'Them' was the people standing in front of him, the Bad Friends. He had no idea where the name was from, it honestly sounded like something kids would call themselves during their "I'm so random!" stage when they were in the third grade. But names didn't matter much - his stepbrother's favorite band as of late, standing right here in front of him.

An opportunity I probably can't pass up. Alfred would kill him if Matthew told him about this and he hadn't gotten some sort of proof.

Then again, I can't just ask for pictures, that's awkward. So, Matthew pulled out his phone, turned on the camera… and they turned around.


Matthew, in his clumsiness, tapped the camera button and got some blurred picture of their faces. At least I got that much…

Matthew saw his struggle had received some mixed reactions. The blonde looked almost sympathetic, the cheery brunette had just sort-of ignored Matt's phone struggle, and the albino -

Well, he was just staring, with one eyebrow raised.

"Uh, hallo?"

Matthew shook himself out of his stupor. "Oh, um, hi…"

The albino took a moment to give Matthew some weird form of eye interrogation, as Matthew could describe it, staring determinedly. Then, he spoke. "Oh! You're a fan?" Matthew could hear a hint of an accent. "No, actually, my stepbrother is."

"So, you wanted autographs? Something?"

"Honestly, I just needed a picture to prove I saw you guys." Matthew felt kind-of at home among these three. Musicians flock together, I guess.

"Well, come here!" He grabbed Matthew's wrist, gently tugged him two feet or so, closing the space, and pulled out his phone. The other two crowded in, making faces to the camera. Before Matthew could react with any more then a surprised smile, the picture was taken.

The albino looked like a punk, the blonde was blowing a kiss, and the brunette waved hapilly. Matthew looked like some mixture of innocent, happy, and what-the-hell-just-happened?

"Hey, kid, what's your name?" Matthew turned his head. The albino had obviously asked the question, the other two were on their phones now.


"Well, ja, who else is here to ask?"

Matthew took a quick glance around. The coffee shop was pretty empty; except for the workers, they were really the only ones there.

Well, I guess it is afternoon, and I doubt many people drink coffee this late in the evening.

"Uh, yeah. I'm Matthew W- uh, Jones." Matthew tried to cover his blunder as best he could. Jones was also the name of his stepbrother. Be more creative than that, Matthew!

Thank god the albino didn't notice. "You must already know, but I'm Gilbert, also known as the awesome lead singer-" Gilbert grinned, and pointed to the two others. "The brown haired guy's the guitarist, Antonio, and the blondie's Francis, our drummer."

Matthew was actually interested in hearing about their music, but he was also really itching to get out of there. And he was really awkward in this kind of situation. And I don't think I honestly want to leave…

Matthew shook away his thoughts. "I bet they're good… I've gotta run, though." Matthew smiled apologetically.

"See you around?" Gilbert phrased it as a question.

"Y-yeah." Matthew nodded, turned, left the building as calmly as he could, then once he was out of sigh, he ran, with the hugest feeling of 'what the fuck just happened' ever.

Also, he forgot his coffee because of the encounter.

Hey! I had an idea... It turned into this...

Also, the chapters are named after electronic songs, in a format of song - artist. So, if you want electronic music or dupstep or something? You're welcome.

And maybe someone caught the "super-random stage" danisnotonfire reference? No? Okay...

And another and - Mathieu has an attitude that, in mind, is fairly reflective of deadmau5's. If you don't know who that is, it's a Canadian DJ. It felt appropriate.

I'll start a little section here, I guess.

Behind The Name: Chapter Name/Song Choice

(One) Your Name - Swedish House Mafia

Well, it had number one in it, and Gilbert did ask Matthew's name, so... It's basically a summary. How I so wrote it like that, I have no idea. This song just happened to come on Pandora while I was writing.