The concrete under his legs is still warm from the day's sun, but the light breeze swirling past his bare arms brings a chill with it. The bricks against his back fairly vibrate with the kick drum as the opening band finishes soundcheck, and he sneers. Murphy must have taken a liking to this particular young punk; his law seemed to apply infallibly to his life.

Jesse's voice comes through the slitted open window above him, testing the microphone with the first lines of Warning, and Billie Joe slams his head backwards into the unforgiving brick. Recalling the conversation he was part of about fifteen minutes earlier...

The flier had the usual logo, sillhouetted ska dancer with a fedora. 'Operation Ivy' emblazoned across it along with the date, location, and 'only $4 at the door!' All of this, Billie Joe had seen. What he had not seen, until he got to the door of the club, was the tiny '21+ Only' in the bottom right-hand corner of the promo.

"Aww, what the fuck?," had been the only eloquent way to express his disappointment at the time.

A nearby skinhead had peered curiously in his direction, and Billie Joe waved a hand to the flier in irritation.

"Twenty-one up, man?"

"Yeah," the skinhead had replied, taking a glance at the flier as well. "Guess they're gettin' pretty big, last couple shows sold out so they decided to slim down the chances of people getting left out of this one."

"Fuck that," Billie Joe murmured, eloquent once again. "That's eliminating most of their fan base, right there."

The skin had shrugged. "Not like they're gonna stop playing all ages altogether, man. I'm sure they'll play at Gilman again soon."

The older man had weaved into the club, leaving Billie Joe to glower at the flier alone.

"Yeah, but not tonight..."

The sound of people filing in the doors around the building is louder than it should be, given his distance from the main entrance. It mocks him. After the disappointment of being shut out, he had wandered around the back of the club and dropped to the pavement. He was rightly upset; not only was he missing one of his favorite bands, he hadn't been able to go to a show in a month. His mother seemed to be under the impression that the Berkley music scene was to blame for his inattentiveness in school, and had banned him from going to any shows until he brought home some good grades. For fuck's sake, she only let him play with Mike twice a week.

Two exceptional essays and one aced history quiz later, and where had it gotten him? On the concrete, slamming his head into bricks. Fuck being young.

The door to his right slams open on its hinges, and he pulls himself to his feet to get out of the way. Figuring that another band would be wheeling amplifiers in through this side door, he's surprised when the door slams shut after releasing only one figure. One scrawny, bandana-headed figure, stumbling carelessly onto the sidewalk as he tried to light the cigarette in his mouth.

"Fahck," the man growls, tossing another used and useless match to the pavement.

Billie Joe swallows back his surprise as easily as he can, which is by far easier than he would have been able to if this had occured a few months ago. Since Operation Ivy had started gaining fans, it seemed anything anyone talked about was this boy in front of him, and Billie Joe had shamefully been just as caught up in being star-struck as everyone else. But after a few brief conversations with Lint during various shows and at various house parties, he is more at ease around the older punk. More at ease, that is, not to say completely at ease.

"Here, man," Billie intercepts, digging his lighter out of his pocket.

Lint's head jerks up in surprise, and he offers a little grin. "'ey, Billie Joe. Thanks, man."

Taking a step forward, thin lips lead the cylinder of carcinogen into the offered flame. Deep inhale, pause, exhale through nostrils. Lint shoves the worn book of matches back into a pocket, flumping against the wall lazily, as if he knew something would always be there to catch him.

"Whatcha doin' sittin out here, dude? Don' got the cash to get in?," Lint wants to know.

Billie Joe follows his movements to lean against the wall, in a much less graceful way, and curses his own seventeen year old lameness.

"Nah, twenty-one up," he clarifies. "What the fuck's that?"

Lint grimaces and slips the cigarette from his mouth. "Shit, man, sorry 'bout that. Larry thought it'd be good if we got ourselves some more exposure with the older crowd, y'know?"

Billie Joe gives a snort that states clearly what he thinks of that idea. "Bullshit, man, Jesse isn't even old enough to get into this place."

"Yeh," Lint agrees, with a small, mocking grin. "Poor kid's gotta stand by the merch booth til we go on."

The younger boy forces a laugh without much feeling, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd be playin' anywhere besides Gilman..."

"Shit, never thought we'd be anywhere 'cept house parties," Lint says agreeingly. "Place jus' fuckin' exploded all of a sudden. Heard Isocracy's puttin' out another EP pretty soon, ya hear?"

Billie Joe looks up interestedly at that. "Yeah? With who?"

"Lookout, 'course," Lint informs him. "Helpin' out any band they can snatch up lately."

"Any decent band," Billie Joe corrects him, with a touch of bitterness. He knows if Sweet Children could just get a publicized gig, and stop playing in his living room, they'd be putting out records faster than any Lookout band so far.

"'ey, kid. Keep yer head up, ya got the drive, you'll get there," Lint offers consolingly, and unlike most people, he sounds like he means it.

That was one of the reasons Billie Joe hadn't been able to completely fight down his idolization of the older boy. Not only was he a great guitarist and showman, he was real. He didn't talk trash about any other of the bands in the area, and he was genuinely excited to meet his fans. Billie Joe finds himself smiling in spite of the bad evening.

"Thanks, Lint," he says, just as truthfully.

"'s no problem," Lint assures him, then tosses his cigarette to the parking lot. Billie Joe's smile fades with the knowledge he'll be stuck outside alone again.

"Catch ya after the show," he waves, putting up a brave front.

"Yeh, see--" Lint pauses, hand on the doorknob.

Slowly, the corners of his lips tip up. Billie Joe's certain it's the closest thing he's seen to an evil grin on the boy's face. He drops the door, reaching for Billie Joe's wrist instead. Billie Joe finds himself jerked off the wall with surprising force, given how small his tugger is, and falters in his steps to follow. Lint drags him through the back door. Billie Joe begins to protest, knowing that the bouncers will find him just as easily backstage as if he was going through the front, but one of these bouncers gets to it before he can.

"Whozzat?," the large, harried man asks, looking up from his checklist to look Billie Joe over head to foot.

"Merch," Lint offers, moving around the man and dragging Billie Joe as if they're in just as big of a hurry. "For Op Ivy."

The last is said in passing, and before the man has time to make sure Operation Ivy are allowed an underage merchandise vender, Lint and Billie Joe are darting around the side of the stage to wander out into the main floor. Lint speaks loudly, to make sure any other staff members who have questions will overhear.

"I'm glad ya finally got here, dude, 'fraid we were gunna have to get Pat down here to sell the shit."

Billie Joe bites back a very immature giggle of excitement as they reach the table, a small selection of t-shirts and forty-fives displayed over a checkered tablecloth. Jesse and Matt glance up from their conversation, looking curiously at the partially breathless pair. Jesse arches an eyebrow.

"Hey, Billie..."

"Hi, Jess," Billie Joe says, exhuberant enough from sneaking into the club to greet the sometimes intimidating singer casually.

Lint releases Billie Joe's wrist, grinning proudly at Jesse and Matt, as if they're as impressed by his antics as he and Billie Joe are. "Got us a merch guy fer tonight, since Pat couldn't come."

"But isn't he--" Matt starts, but Lint nods in answer, directing Billie Joe behind the table.

"Best if ya stick back here, so ya don't get thrown out before our set," he explains. "Shirts are five, rekkids three. We gotta go get ready. Have a good time."

And before Billie Joe can thank him, the entire band vacates to make their way into the wings once more. He looks around the bar uncertainly, but no one seems to notice his presence, and he grins. He may be alone, and he may not get closer to the stage, but he got in the backdoor and that's good enough for him.

The opening band is decent, not as hard as bands he's used to hearing, but he figures that comes with being this far from Gilman Street. A fair amount of people browse the table before Operation Ivy even goes on, and as their set starts, Billie Joe counts almost seventy dollars in sales as he sets out more records and t-shirts. His mind boggles, imagining himself, Mike, and John ever managing to make this much money at once show. He isn't picky, though, as long as they got a few good gigs in and maybe put a record out, he would be thrilled. He isn't aiming for the infamy that Operation Ivy are sure to acquire.

Though he's seen the band play many times before, the sheer energy they let off never fails to amaze Billie Joe. Matt chooses to be stoic and only rock back and forth as he manipulates the bass, grinning widely every once in a while. Jesse and Lint, on the other hand, bound all over the stage, barely avoiding mid-air collisions with each other and one time Lint leaps far enough that his guitar comes unplugged and they have to restart Yellin In My Ear all over. The crowd doesn't seem to mind; they aren't as wild as the fans at Gilman or the house parties he's seen them play but he can tell by the ever increasing sales that they are liking what they're hearing.

The set flies by with scarcely a pause between selections, and Billie Joe barely manages to stay in his seat. He wants to be up there in front, with the small crowd of pogo dancers, sweating and screaming along to Jesse's vocals. The singer in question announces two final songs, then starts off into a high velocity rendition of Take Warning with some freestyle lyrics sung by Lint in the middle. Billie Joe feels his smile growing expotentially as the older punk slurs into the microphone, fingertips never missing a step across the fret board, and not for the first time he wonders why Lint isn't the one jumping into the crowd with a mic in his hand instead of Jesse.

The last note fades out and Billie Joe leans over the table to turn his ear towards a partially inebriated girl's request, doling out the t-shirt and album and stuffing the returned money into the lockbox. Lint skitters across the stage to lean in close to Jesse's ear at the same time, murmuring to him as he chugs a half a bottle of water. Jesse nods, and Lint returns to his own microphone, letting the guitar swing carelessly from its strap as he addresses the crowd.

"I jus' wanna thank you all fer comin' out and showin your support, you been fuckin' awesome," he starts, pausing for a chorus of applause and whistling.

Wiping the back of a wrist over his forehead, he continues. "An' you'll be able to pick up our EP after the show if ya want, but for this last song, we wanna close up shop while our merch kid joins us onstage fer our last song."

Barely catching the final part, Billie Joe looks up at the stage with wide eyes. Reminiscent of a contestant on The Price is Right, he glances left, then right, then back at the stage in disbelief. Did Lint just...?

Lint waves a hand at him impatiently, adding into the microphone. "C'mon, Bill, stuff the shit in the box an' get up here."

That's all the younger punk needs to hear. He collects the records off the table in a wobbly stack, setting them back into the cardboard box, and then tossing the t-shirts in a haphazard pile atop them. He fairly leaps over the card table, weaving his way to the stage and hopping up onto it. Lint reaches out to claim his wrist once more with thin fingers, jerking him to stand next to him and then releasing to ruffle his hair. Billie Joe's grin is all for Lint, but a moment after he turns to peer out at the crowd.

"Holy fuck," he mutters, thankfully only heard by himself. "There must be like a hundred people out there..."

But he does not have time to bail, Jesse is already introducing the song. Feeling himself jerked closer to Lint once again, he slings an arm low around his waist, slightly shaking fingers grasping at one of Lint's hips as he joins in the vocals.

"I know, things are gettin' tougher when ya can't get the top off the bottom of the barrel..."

Just over two minutes later and the band leaves the stage to loud applause, Lint's hand once again clasping Billie Joe's wrist and leading him backstage. Billie Joe's face is flushed, all previous nervousness completely forgotten. His well-used eardrums don't register how loudly he's speaking, and Lint's grin says he doesn't mind the volume anyway.

"Shit, man, that was amazing!," Billie Joe is yelling. "Did you see how many people were singing along?! Damn!"

Lint grins, hitting a worn couch and flopping onto it with the same careless grace from before, tugging Billie Joe down so close next to him that Billie Joe's thigh drops over Lint's for lack of space. Lint again doesn't seem to mind, his free hand mussing Billie's chin-length dark hair playfully.

"Hell yeah," he agrees, nearly as excitable. "You got a good voice on ya, kid."

"Thanks, Lint," Billie Joe grins even wider. "For gettin me in and on stage and everything, that was hella cool of you!"

Lint shakes his head dismissively at the appreciation, finally letting go of Billie Joe's wrist to search his cigarettes out again. "'s nothin, man, I'm glad ya enjoyed it so much."

"Are you kidding?," Billie Joe asks, only then realizing how worshipful he sounds when his voice cracks, making him squeak the last word. He tries in vain to calm himself somewhat. "That was...unbelievable!"

A security guard walks by, snapping at Lint and his cigarette, then pointing to the back door. Taking the hint, Lint pulls himself out from under Billie Joe's leg, nodding in the direction of the door to Billie Joe. Billie Joe begins to follow him, then pauses, glancing back at the exit to the floor.

"Shouldn't I get back to the table?"

"Nah, dude, 's cool. Jesse wanted to hear this last band," Lint tells him, pushing the door open and swamping their sweat-slicked bodies with cool night air.

Billie Joe breathes in deeply, sighing through the seemingly permanent grin. "Man, is it always that rad?"

"Hell yeh," Lint tells him with a nod, hopping onto a railroad tie used for parking spaces and pacing over it. "Shows at Gilman are a lot cooler cuz the kids get inta it more, y'know?"

Billie Joe hops onto the adjacent marker, spinning in a slow circle and giggling despite himself. He knows he is acting childish right now, but Lint isn't laughing at him for it, and that seems to make it okay.

"Man, I wanna do that," he proclaims towards the stars. "I wanna do that for the rest of my life!"

Lint drops to sit on the wooden beam, sprawling his legs out in front of him and looking up at Billie Joe with something closely resembling pride. "What I tell ya, Bill? You want it bad enough, you'll do it."

Hopping to the ground near Lint, Billie Joe bites his lip to fight back the uncontrollable smile. "I will."

Lint's left hand comes up to remove the cigarette from his mouth, his own smile hidden even more obviously. His right hand raises to twist in the hair at the nape of Billie Joe's neck, and Billie Joe's stomach gives a sudden, paralyzing lurch of realization just before Lint's mouth descends on his own.

The grin is all but forgotten as his jaw falls open to gape in amazement, and Lint's tongue invites itself into his welcoming mouth. The muscle slides demandingly over the sharp edges of his teeth, a foreign feeling so unlike the placating, submissive kisses of teenage girls, and Billie Joe finds himself scrambling closer on his knees as he suddenly becomes capable of movement again. His tongue rises to meet Lint's, dancing against it playfully, drawing a moan of appreciation from Lint.

The still smoking cigarette is dropped carelessly to the ground as Lint's left hand raises and drifts down the side of Billie Joe's face. It comes to rest under his jaw, feeling it move with the shared excitement in the kiss, and Lint's feet draw back to the railroad tie as his legs push themselves farther apart and allow him to lead Billie Joe closer. Billie Joe follows the suggestion thoughtlessly; on any other night he would be having his doubts and second-guessing every breath he took, but not tonight. Tonight his disappointment had been turned into exhilaration, tonight he'd felt the rush of adrenaline that came with being on stage in front of enthusiastic fans for the first time, and nothing could be wrong tonight. The slide of Lint's mouth over his is perfect, just like the way his hands had moved over the neck of his guitar.

"You will," Lint agrees, parting from Billie Joe's lips only far enough to get the words out. He sounds so singularly convinced of Billie Joe's proclaimation that it seems to seal the deal.

Billie Joe can only beam, at first, for the endorsement. He presses his mouth back to Lint's in quick, hard, almost frantic motions, then leans away again to add.

"And every single fuckin' show, man, I'm gunna pull some kid on stage and let 'em sing or play with us," he tells him. "Just like you did for me, so punk rock will never die."

That elicits a throaty, genuine laugh from Lint, whose hands slide to cup either side of the younger boy's jaw. As soon as the laughter dies, he watches him searchingly for a moment, though the wide smile he wears keeps Billie Joe from balking under the gaze. Lint pushes his lips against Billie Joe's once more to engage him in a deeper and more lingering kiss than those Billie Joe had given him, then pulls back abruptly.

"Only if ya promise me it'll be Knowledge," he requests. "So Op Ivy won't never die, either."

Were Billie Joe more coherent he might have heard the faint sadness that laced Lint's words, might have foreseen what was to happen only weeks from now. In hindsight it would be perfectly clear. But he only laughs it off, shaking his head and responding just by meeting Lint's mouth once again.