Day 6 - Road Trip Or Drug Trip KLOKTOBER

Day 6 - Road trip or drug trip 【 KLOKTOBER 】

A/N : Based on my Klokllege AU :)

Day 9 - Use someone’s parents 【 KLOKTOBER 】

Day 10 - Bravery or Cowardice 【 KLOKTOBER 】

Day 9 - Use someone’s parents 【 KLOKTOBER 】

Kloktober 2024 Day 9

Use someone's parents

I was initially not going to do today's entry but I realized couldn't miss the chance to address Skwisgaar's issues with Servetta. Or, well, one of many I suppose.

Thank you Servetta for helping create this deeply traumatized guitarist that I love!

Skwisgaar walked into the classroom. He could notice the eyes on him, and it made him apprehensive, but he didn’t want to show it. Instead, he just sat in his usual seat at the end of the left, right by the window. 

A group of girls whispered nearby him, and clearly they weren’t being quiet enough because he could still hear them. 

“My mom said his mom is…a disgusting person.” One of them said.

“Yeah, my parents told me not to talk to him.” Another replied.

“I think she tried to sleep with one of the teachers!” A third girl said. 

“No way!”

“Yeah, Ebba told me!”

“Ew, then he shouldn’t even be here!”

Skwisgaar glared at the girls and they stopped, pretending to look away. As soon as he laid his eyes off them they started whispering again, except this time he couldn’t hear them anymore.

He watched the snowfall out of the window, wiping his eyes before the tears had a chance to drop. He didn’t need to add ‘crybaby’ to the rumors about him and his mother. 

Not when so many of them were true, anyway.

–

A group of boys ran away when they saw Skwisgaar coming. Laughing and stealing glances at him, they disappeared into the crowd in the hallway. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened, so when Skwisgaar reached his locker, he wasn’t exactly shocked.

There were scribbles all over it, insults to him, his mother, crass jokes, obscene drawings. Pretty much the usual stuff. He was a little surprised when a postcard came flying out when he opened his locker, though.

It was a picture of his mother from the 1956 Miss Sweden contest. Someone had drawn nipples and a bush over her bodysuit and written on the side: “I came to this picture 100 times last night. And you, Skwisgaar?”

“Oh, my God, that’s horrible!” A feminine voice said and Skwisgaar turned in her direction. 

It was Hilda, the appointed nice girl of her class. She had shoulder-length black hair and big auburn eyes and was staring at his locker with horror. Or, wait, was her name Helga?

“Eh, I’m used to it.” Skwisgaar said, tossing the postcard into the nearest trash can. 

“It’s still terrible.” Hilda or Helga replied with her arms crossed and a judgemental look. Skwisgaar noticed that there was a girl by her side. She was biting down her lip, like she wanted to say something.

Skwisgaar knew that look damn well.

“Is it true your mom slept with Erik from 9th grade?”

“Krista!” Her friend scolded her.

“What? You wanted to know too!”

“What are you-”

“Probably.” Skwisgaar closed his locker with a slam, startling the girls. “I don’t really care.” He turned his backs on them and walked away. 

It was always the same.

–

“Dude, Skwisgaar.” 

“Yeugh?” Skwisgaar raised his eyes from his guitar. He was tuning up by the ear.

“You told me you didn’t have a mom, dude.” Matthew said. He was the curly-haired vocalist of the American band Skwisgaar was currently part of  and he was a constantly smoking weed. 

“Uh, ja.” 

“Well, I looked you up last night, dude. Since you said you were famous in Sweden…why didn’t you tell me your mom was a total hottie? I would’ve so banged her!”

“What? Show me the pics!” Rick, the drummer, yelled from the other side of the room.

“I wanna see too!” The bassist, whose name was something like Ryan, joined Matthew on the couch. “Woah, no way!”

“Yeah, dude…”

“That’s one hot slut!” Rick exclaimed, peeking at the phone from behind the other two.

As he watched his bandmates fawn over what were presumably pictures of his mother, Skwisgaar was reminded of a feeling he thought he had left behind just like his hometown. 

That ugly, ugly discomfort when people spoke about his mother. Made him feel so powerless and vulnerable, even though it wasn’t on him.

Even though none of it was on him.

–

“Yeah, I heard of you.” One greasy manager told him, slinging an arm around Skwisgaar’s shoulder. 

He was at the New Year party of a big label. He had been invited by one of his ex-bandmates because he briefly replaced the guitarist of one of the bands they represented and he would never turn down free alcohol and drugs. 

The only downside was the annoying people that acted familiar with him. Like this jack off.

“Skwisgaar Skwigelf, right?” He said, with a drunk breath. He was a middle aged man, his gray hair slicked back and wearing a couple of sunglasses even though it was night. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Eugh, rights…” Skwisgaar said, already annoyed by the proximity of the man. He hated when people got on his face like that. Unless they were floozies, of course.

“I actually worked in Sweden some years ago.” The man continued. “Your mom was a total sensation back then.” 

“Ja, she was a bits ofs a celekbrities…” Skwisgaar said with disinterest, mildly relieved the conversation was just boring, rather than uncomfortable. 

The man leaned in to whisper into Skwisgaar’s ear. “They say she slept her way to the top…” He placed his hand on Skwisgaar’s waist. “What about you?”

Infuriated, Skwisgaar shoved him away and left, gripping the drink in his hand.

“Hey!” He heard the man call him. “I was just joking, come back!”

There it was again.

That feeling he had worked so hard to abandon.

He hated it.

–

“What ams this?” Their latest addition, Toki, had been snooping around Skwisgaar’s stuff for a while. He was a bit like a child, excited over everything and constantly asking questions. He reminded Skwisgaar of an overstimulated dog. 

“Mmh?” Skwisgaar kept fretting mindlessly and Toki showed him a magazine with himself on the cover. “Oh, dat ams and olds thingks…when I was just gettingks starts…”

Toki paged through the magazine, searching for the Skwisgaar article. “Founds it! Buts I can’ts reads anyt’ings…” He sounded dejected.

“Dats woulds be because it ams in skwedish.” Skwisgaar said, still playing. 

“Waits! It shouldn’ts be thats hard…” Toki squinted at the text. “En…kommande…gita-gitarr? Gittartala- Oh, it ams too hards!” He started looking at the pictures instead. “Wowee! Why ams dat a pages rippeds of?”

Skwisgaar flinched unwillingly. “Eugh…it has somethingks I didn’ts wanna sees…ja.”

Toki tilted his head, awaiting more information and Skwisgaar swallowed heavily.

“It, was, eugh, my moms.” He tried to say casually.

“Oh…”

The pace of Skwisgaar’s playing increased unconsciously. He closed his eyes, feeling his body tense up, his heart rate picking up. 

…But nothing happened.

Confused, he glanced at Toki, who kept inspecting the magazine with curiosity. “So cool…” He whispered in awe at some picture of teenager Skwisgaar posing with a guitar.

“Yous not goignks to ask abouts dat?”

“Whys?” Toki turned the magazine upside down, confused. “I donts gets this…” There was a cryptic illustration on the page. 

“Because it ams my moms?!” Skwisgaar asked, in disbelief. 

Toki’s stupidly innocent eyes laid on Skwisgaar. “Buts you donts wants to talks about it.” He said as if it were obvious.

“W-Well, ja, buts everyones always-”

“Parents ams hard.” Toki said, and it was like the naivety had left his face suddenly. “And…we ams not thems.” His eyes were hard, as if he wasn’t just talking to Skwisgaar anymore.

Come to think of it, Toki hadn’t really talked about his parents either, had he?

And, instead of the discomfort Skwisgaar had grown used to over the years, he felt something different. Something he hadn’t felt since he was a child, since his mother cradled him in her arms and sang lullabies for him. 

He smiled, embracing the sentiment. “You ams wise for a littol snot-nosed brats, heuh?”

“Ams not a brats!”

Skwisgaar chuckled with fondness. “Thanks you, Toki.”

Toki blinked, scatterbrained as ever. “Whats for?”

Without replying, Skwisgaar looked out of the window. The snowfall was inclement as ever.

But things weren't the same anymore.

Kloktober day 2 8: favourite ship