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It’s just an eyepatch.
A sleek-looking one, mostly black with a striking red-pink emblem on its front. Half a crescent moon, open toward the top, three spikes radiating from its curve– Kayn thinks it’s fitting. It sits nicely across his face, tearing across his cheekbones and giving him the perfect rugged bad boy look. Rhaast approves of it, which, honestly, doesn’t even really matter– Kayn would’ve worn it anyways, even if the demon threatened to tear his throat out.
Which happens more often than you’d think.
It’s just an eyepatch– so Kayn doesn’t know why the rest of the group are suddenly up in arms about it.
For some reason, stepping into the studio for his bi-weekly session in the booth is like stepping into a wet puddle with socks on. Sett laughs, Yone groans, Ezreal snaps a quick picture– Kayn actually bares his teeth at the green-haired popstar, snapping wildly to drive him back.
He struts over to the long couch with as much swagger as he can muster, letting their laughs bounce off him. He sinks low into the suede, legs spread wide, arms likewise. His eyes dart from one HEARTSTEEL member to the other before folding his tattooed arms up behind his head.
Sett’s still crying with laughter, screaming and clutching his stomach, when Kayn speaks.
“I thought we were here to talk about the song.”
Aphelios sighs quietly, glancing up through furrowed brows.
“And I thought you were satisfied with the outfits.”
Kayn throws his arms up, letting his body sink lower into the couch.
“I’m fine! The outfits are fine! I don’t understand what you’re all so pissy over. Fuck, I–”
They don’t see the vision, Kayn. I told you they wouldn’t understand.
He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from answering that damned voice in his head. Rhaast’s grip on his mind is stronger than he’d ever expected– and Kayn can feel his left eye buzzing in his skull.
He fires off an image of a large, blazing middle finger into the vast space of his mind, aiming it in Rhaast’s general direction. He hears a crazed laugh, deep and smokey, and he finds his jaw twitching, which Yone notes with a raised eyebrow.
And– fuck, he’s slipping further into the couch.
He has to scramble wildly, claws digging into the plush of the pillow behind him to bring himself up.
K’Sante’s shoulder tap makes him bristle, bare his teeth again, but he knows that massive outsplayed hand means no harm. He glares at his bandmate through short lashes, but cocks his head to the side anyway.
“Kayn. It’s a… wardrobe malfunction, hm?”
His jaw drops. He stands up– not because the couch is getting on his nerves— but because he’s flagged– fl– ga– the word escapes him, bu–
Flabbergasted, Kayn. How apt.
“I KNOW!”
The studio goes quiet. The only sound is his breathing, and– the sound of Rhaast somewhere far off, meddling with something in his mind.
Yone clears his throat.
“Shieda, if you need a break, we can talk about the e–”
This time, the middle finger Kayn throws up is real. As is the one he shows to Ezreal when he starts going woah, woah, woah, and to Sett as he whistles long and low.
“First of all, fuck you. Fuck all of you. Just because you guys want to make this a team thing because your fragile egos can’t handle doing it yourself doesn’t mean any of you can comment on my fucking stuff. And secondly, just to make it clear, I’m only here because this band needs someone like me. And you should try to get that into your fucking heads before I come back and get us higher than– than fucking Pentakill.”
He turns on his heel to storm away, shrugging off K’Sante’s warm hand on his shoulder. He pushes through one set of glass doors and then another, cursing Alune for setting the group up in a maze of a studio.
When he gets to the booths, he slams the door behind him.
There’s a sliver of a moment where he’s alone with his thoughts– and then he catches sight of his own face in the reflection of the glass around him.
There’s Kayn, dishevelled and panting, hair tousled and clothes askew– and behind him is Rhaast. He looks like he’s leaning against the far wall, mask aglow with buzzing purple light.
Kayn takes a moment to breathe, eyes fluttering closed.
Having a rough time, Kayn?
“I’m fine, Rhaast. I didn’t need you interjecting like that. I have it under control.”
He can’t stop himself from hissing the last few words, eyes narrowing. The demon chuckles behind him.
He knows from experience now that Rhaast won’t really be there, remaining only a figment of wide horns set over broad shoulders. But his effect on the world around them is real– he shifts the scythe around, even flickering the light switch off and on when he feels like it. Sometimes he even rips up Kayn’s shirts, cutting them down in a way that Kayn thinks is deliberate.
You should take the first draft of the song and produce it yourself. Then we could make our presence known.
Kayn scoffs, rubbing his shoulder in annoyance. He could probably chuck a stone and get farther than HEARTSTEEL ever could. But he knows they’re just a means to an end– getting invested, regardless of whether that meant starting another debacle or getting too attached would just be stupid– and it would be idiotic to cut ties with them now.
Kayn barks out a quick laugh, cracking his neck with a satisfying click.
“You’re desperate, Rhaast. Ever heard of patience?”
At least I know what we want. What we need. You’re just afraid of messing things up, foolish child. You don’t know what it is to be seen, to be desired.
Kayn keeps his head down. Footsteps stomp out on the floor behind him, lazy footfalls shaking the ground. Kayn can feel Rhaast’s claws on his shoulders, the material of his jacket crinkling under the pressure of a firm hand.
He watches the demon through his reflection, scowling at the way Rhaast dips his head close to Kayn’s, eyes narrowing as if animated atop his mask. They flicker between Kayn’s eyes and those trapped in the mirror, reality bending into a dream.
One of Rhaast’s claws comes forward, pulls the rapper’s eyepatch off to examine the bright red eye and its buzzing white pupil. A moment passes, and then another, and then:
You know you could do so much more, Kayn. Why hold yourself back? I know what you’re afraid of–
This time, Kayn cuts the demon off, roaring as he pulls his jacket over his head and throws it to the opposite wall.
The mirage that is the demon dissipates, leaving only the faint whisper of his laughs and Kayn’s own laboured breathing. He reaches both hands up into his hair, tugging at the roots, desperate for things to make sense again. His back finds the cool glass wall and he slides down it, tank top riding up.
He screws his eyes shut, head leaning forward into his lap. His brain is throbbing, senses going into overdrive. He desperately wants to run, to step into cool shadows, to fight, to scream– but instead he wheezes with laughter, overcome with the irony of it all.
The door to his right slowly swings open.
Heavy boots try their hardest to tiptoe to his seated body. Kayn watches them go still for a moment before he sighs and leans his head back, looking up at K’Sante’s ever-towering form. All shoulders and thick arms.
One of Kayn’s hands pushes the hair out of his face.
“What is it, K’Sante?”
The older man hums for a moment before squatting low before Kayn, face kind. He tilts his head, smiles a little.
“Just… came in to check on you. You look better without the eyepatch, hm?”
Kayn barks out in surprise, eyes darting to the accessory now crumpled on the fuzzy carpet. It really is pathetic, lying by itself on the floor.
The irony isn’t lost on him.
He raises an eyebrow and tilts his chin up.
“I look good in anything. What’s your point?”
K’Sante smiles again, and it’s so disarming that Kayn finds his tensed shoulders deflating a little. He was expecting a stern talking-to, the kind his father was fond of doling out– but instead, K’Sante is gentle. Even… understanding. He feels small, stupid– he has to bite his lip to hold himself back from snapping, breaking himself out of the confrontation.
The older man sighs, which Kayn frowns at.
“Kayn, I… I know you have your own goals. We know you’re good at what you do– that’s how you’ve come as far as you have. But, believe me, there comes a period in your life where you can’t go on alone.”
This is intriguing. Kayn knows little of who K’Sante was before HEARTSTEEL– and he never seems too keen on talking about it, so the former would leave it untouched. He figured that’s what he would’ve wanted, too.
K’Sante goes on, hand reaching out to punch Kayn lightly on the shoulder.
“There was a time when I thought that I was all I needed to excel. To find the spotlight. I ended up taking a real bad tumble before I realised it. Riding solo is… hard. And it isn’t always worth it. I’m not going to tell you what you should do, but… you should try and get a hold on your own leash, hm? Maybe not be so intent on being a lone wolf. You should remember that we believe in each other, and that means we believe in you, too. We can do this. Remember that.”
Kayn lets K’Sante’s words wash over the two of them, the bass of his voice warming the room. He cracks a wicked smile, all bared fangs and raised hackles– but this time it’s in a grin, and not to drive anyone away. He shrugs a little, rises to his feet at the same time K’Sante does.
“Yeah, yeah, old man. Just don’t hold me back, eh?”
He slaps his hand into K’Sante’s back, but it’s like punching a brick wall, and he ends up cradling his fingers behind him. K’Sante shoots him a sidelong glance, smiling slightly.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. And… maybe you should get that eye checked out. I hope it’s not an infection.”
Kayn laughs wildly as K’Sante leaves, sending a kind smile over his shoulder once again.
Now alone, he lets his laughs die down into a sigh, one hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose.
He knows he has a dream to fulfil. And he knows he won’t rest until he gets what he wants– but K’Sante’s words still echo inside him, and he finds himself sighing once more, glancing over at the eyepatch.
He picks it up with one hand, stuffing it into his pocket without a second glance. He’ll deal with the rest of the group later– this was merely a soft launch of his new look. And they were going to have to come to terms with it whether they liked it or not.
When he grabs his jacket and slips it over his shoulders, fixing the collar and sleeves, he pauses to glance in the reflective glass around him.
Sure enough, Rhaast is still there– but so is another figure, someone standing on the other side of Kayn’s shoulder, head bowed so as to cast their face in shadow.
The sight of bright green hair makes his heart skip a beat.
He rolls a hot pink lock between his fingers, mind running at top speed.
It’s still in thought that he lets the door to the recording booth hiss shut behind him– but this time, Kayn can feel a fire burning in his chest– that same desire that had always been part of him, his identity as an artist and as Shieda Kayn.
The desire to create. The need to sing.
And the drive to excel.