Playlist - 5. Track 5) Jumpstarted - Jukebox The Ghost

March 5th, 8:45AM

Sebastian dreamed he was drowning. He was trapped in a pit with walls slick as ice, but he tried to claw up them anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered; a comically large iron ball and chain tethered him to the ground. His skin was wet and cold. Faceless people above him were pouring water down the hole. First his feet were gone to the pool forming beneath him. Then it rose to his knees. His stomach. It tickled the tops of his armpits, then clasped around the whole of neck. Still, the pit filled. And filled. And filled.

Until…

He woke up. Sebastian was not in a pit anymore, and, unless the afterlife looked just like his messy bedroom, he wasn’t dead either.

“This is what I get for not smoking before bed,” he grumbled to himself.

Though he was out of dreamworld, Sebastian still felt weighed down. His feet dragged along the hardwood floor of his bedroom. In his head, Audrey’s advice sloshed around. Was dating -- dating with intention -- the right idea? Or was it just throwing himself to the wolves?

Morning light glinted in Sebastian’s eyes. He nearly tripped on a sweater he’d thrown on the floor some time ago. Judging by its snowflake pattern, he had guessed around December.

Sebastian’s room wasn’t by any means “neat.” Yet, he knew there was organization to it. Sure, the pile of clothes building on his yellow saucer chair in the corner was an eyesore to most, but he knew that it was just the dirty clothes he’d eventually need to wash before wearing them again (usually). Nearly the entirety of his bedroom’s walls were covered in posters, graphics, and prints; some depicting album artwork for projects Sebastian had worked on, others from various television shows and movies he enjoyed. Sure, there wasn’t any order to how all the wall art was hung, but its true purpose was to cover up the drab slate color the bedroom was originally painted with. There was always a method to his messiness.

Sebastian’s eyes caught sight of his record collection. Well, honestly, how could they not? In college, Kate’s collection was limited to a two-by-three cube unit shelf with most of its space unfilled; that paled in comparison to Sebastian’s now.

Over the years, he’d accrued enough music to fill twice as much shelf space as Kate’s collection back then. If there was one place that was relatively neat in his bedroom, it’d be Sebastian’s records. There was a theme for each box of the shelving unit; though, the categorization was not exactly “consistent” between themselves. One was for old school records that he’d swiped for a dollar. One was for records he’d gotten as gifts he often didn’t play (including one from Emile). One was more for dance music, specifically between the 70’s and 80’s. One was for albums with no skips, and another was for albums with really only one song Sebastian had liked or recognized, but he purchased nonetheless.

Sebastian needed to get ready for work. He was still naked. And not naked in the sexy way, naked in the way where he’d look in the floor length mirror in his bedroom corner, think to himself “God I need to work out,” and subsequently never follow through on.

There was one thing that always got him motivated to start his day.

Randomly, he pulled out an album without even looking at its cover. He turned on the record player seated on top of his collection and placed down the vinyl.

Dark plucky guitar notes flooded the room: “L.E.S. Artistes,” the first song from Santigold’s premiere album. He started to move his body along to the dizzying music, letting the weight at his feet evaporate in the sun.

By the time the song’s Stevie-Nicks-like bridge concluded, Sebastian was fully dressed. He left the album playing as he exited his bedroom only to stumble into Naveen.

His roommate was dressed in “business casual,” and his short hair was neatly molded into a solid-black quiff.

Both of them froze and looked at each other like Bigfoot getting caught on film.

They hadn’t said a word to each other since the Wisdom Tree. Somehow, things between them became awkward-quiet instead of mutually-distanced-quiet. Nothing had gone wrong that night, besides Sebastian maybe smoking a bit too much (which reminded him, he needed to replenish his stash). Yet, the two seemed unable to buck up and talk to the other.

In fairness, Naveen’s schedule was crazy. Sebastian hardly ever saw the man in order to talk to him in the first place. From one of their few conversations, he’d learned that Naveen was pretty much his company’s “every-man.” That gave him crazy hours, often allowing Sebastian the apartment to himself.

“...Are you, uh, going to work?” Naveen asked.

“I am,” Sebastian said back.

More silence.

“Are you… uh… going to work?” Sebastian matched.

“Yeah, I am.”

Oh god. This was unbearable. Did Sebastian fuck everything up? Is living together now going to be an issue? He didn’t think Naveen had a problem with his sexuality, that would be so 2011 of him, but perhaps opening up in general was a terrible idea. Well, that wasn’t Sebastian’s fault, that was sort of Audrey’s fault. Goddamn that meddlesome, helpful, nosy, kind-hearted--

“Heard you hung out with Audrey last night,” Naveen noted. He wasn’t looking at Sebastian anymore, instead he was smearing cream cheese on an everything bagel.

“Why? What'd she say?” Sebastian pressed. He silently prayed he hadn’t done the very thing she warned him not to do: take advantage of her therapeutic capabilities.

Naveen shrugged his shoulders. “Not much. Glad to see that, you know, everything worked out.” He chomped into his bagel and while chewing, said, “I was worried we might have crossed a line.”

Sebastian crossed his arms. “A line?”

A slight quiver formed in Naveen’s temple. “...Finding out you had just been dumped… and us incidentally ‘uncovering’ you being gay… it wasn’t okay. Even if it was a mistake.”

Was this an apology?

“What, no. Naveen, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” It wasn’t technically a lie; in regards to Naveen’s actions that night, Sebastian was totally.fine. Everything else battering his thoughts at any given moment of downtime was not fine but that didn’t concern his roommate.

“Good. Audrey is pretty cool. It’s great you’re talking.”

Sebastian smirked. “Well, you were the one who had the hiking idea. Give yourself some 'cool' credit.” Two back-to-back days of giving unwarranted compliments? Who was Sebastian becoming?

His roommate shifted his shoulders, perhaps a bit out of pride. “I was just trying to help.”

“I think you did.” He thought back to the celestial glow of Los Angeles from the Wisdom Tree’s overlook. The subtle smell of smoke wafted around his memory. The sound of a pen scratching on a notebook murmured in his ears. A brightness tugged his heart.

He shook out the nostalgia. Sebastian had work to get to. His car keys were still in his room, and he’d left Santigold playing in the background there too. Once he quickly scurried to shut off the music, his phone dinged.

Kate had texted him:

Morning Sebastian. Really am sorry that I sprung all this shit on you. You’ve got this. I’ve got all the paperwork sorted already so you won’t have shit to worry about (hopefully). I’m forwarding you any and all material regarding this project, including my music contacts if you need them.

And forward the material she did, as not a moment after Sebastian finished reading her text, Kate’s email containing all the legal information and contracts to sign (and so on) popped up on his phone screen.

Though, the only thing Sebastian was thinking about was her. Not Miles. Not his work. Even if he did need to get on the road soon.

His fingers started to peck at his keyboard.

That’s awesome, Kate! You should--

No, too eager. That could have read as sarcastic.

Thank you for the email. I hope you’re doing well--

Okay, that was way too formal. She was his collaborative partner; he wasn’t writing a job application.

Sebastian tried a third time. He started: Kate.

Perfect.

Thanks for handling all the not-fun stuff. I’m headed to work now. Please tell me how touring goes. And I’ll keep you updated on my work with Miles.

He pressed send. He read and re-read the text message anyways, even if there wasn’t a way for him to edit it by that point. By the third time he re-read it, Sebastian remembered he still hadn’t decided on a way to tell Kate about his whole sexual orientation deal. Even considering how to approach it made his skin shiver.

Thankfully, a loud piercing alarm with the message “GO TO WORK” in big bold letters saved him from his worried stewing. His phone was right; he needed to get to the studio pronto because if there was one thing Sebastian hated most of all, it was not arriving to places on time. That made the hairs on his arm stand on end even more than figuring out how to come out of the closet.

March 5th, 9:26AM

Across the street from Hi-Fi Studios there was a diner. Sebastian hadn’t gone in apart from the very first day he and Kate were able to work there (as a sort of celebration), but on the right day, if the wind was blowing as it was this morning, he could smell smoky bacon and wafts of fresh-cooked pancakes as he parked his car. The scents made his stomach moan.

He hadn’t had time to eat this morning. Or rather, he had too much on his mind to consider eating.

“Good morning!” a cheerful voice sang from the other side of his car.

Just a few spots away stood Miles, next to an unassuming blue hatchback Sebastian guessed belonged to him.

“Morning,” grumbled Sebastian.

Miles rounded Sebastian’s car. He brought his guitar again, but this morning, Miles sported a different, but equally flashy outfit. Today’s ostentatious ensemble included a brown pleather motorcycle jacket, a white t-shirt with a giant thumbs up on it, and bumble-bee striped pants that flared out at Miles’ feet. None of the clothing elements should have worked together, but of course, the young man’s nonplussed confidence dispelled even considering that anything he wore had clashed.

Sebastian must have been holding his gaze a bit too long, as Miles hummed, “You keep staring, your eyes will dry out.” However, Miles hadn’t said it defensively; rather, his tone implied that he almost expected people to stare at him, like he had achieved something. Sebastian couldn’t decide if that was arrogant or just ridiculously self-assured.

“S-Sorry,” Sebastian apologized.

The two walked to the building’s entrance together. Sebastian gracelessly unlocked the front door. He let Miles in first.

“It’s okay Sebastian. I think I want to start on ‘Garden Grove’ first,” Miles said.

‘Garden Grove’ was not the city in Orange County, in this case, but the name Miles had chosen for one of the tracks they’d been hashing out the day before. The song had a dream-like chord progression: one of the “bedroom pop” tracks. Though it now had elementary lyrics after their work together (a step-up from the gibberish originally in the demo), ‘Garden Grove’ was the song that had the harmonized, staggered vocal layering that piqued Sebastian’s interest the day before.

The pair entered Studio A as Miles prattled on. “I think you had the right idea with the changes we’d made so far.”

“You mean, me insisting that it needed words? And a title?” Sebastian snarked.

“Right, yeah. Little tweaks.” Miles said it so flippantly, Sebastian fought the urge to keep the intercom switch off to keep down as much communication between them for the rest of the day. This was why Kate was the envoy between Sebastian and their clients; without her, every single slight irritation he’d face felt like he was going through a death by a thousand cuts.

Sebastian woke up his computer with a wring of the mouse. Miles came over and handed him the flashdrive. Before wandering to the recording booth, he tossed another wink Sebastian’s way.

Why did that make his ears feel hot?

Miles unlocked his guitar case and brought out his beautiful Gibson. He started to set up and Sebastian found himself staring at the curious man again, keeping busy in the sound booth. Miles had slender but strong hands, moving with purpose. He would hesitate plugging in pedals and would screw in cables slowly, carefully, like he was in total control of exactly how the recording session was going to sound.

“So,” crooned the young man, “You’re working alone today, hm?”

Sebastian snapped out of his daze. “Uh, yeah.”

“How are you going to fare without Kate?”

Was this fucker taunting him? “Excuse me?” retorted Sebastian.

Miles immediately straightened up. “Ah, sorry,” he apologized. “That came out wrong. You seemed pretty close friends with her.”

Sebastian let out a small puff of air from his nose. “You could say that.” How close they were was certainly up to interpretation.

“Oh. Are you two, like, dating?”

“Uh...?”

“It’s fine! It’s fine! I totally get how long distance can feel. I heard she was touring and--”

Then, all of Sebastian’s building frustration fizzled into… glee. He actually started cackling. Full on, head-thrown-back, Wicked Witch of the West cackling.

However, Miles took a frightful step backwards, stopping Sebastian’s bout of laughter short. “No,” Sebastian corrected flatly, “Kate and I. Never gonna happen.”

The musician let out a sigh of relief.

They continued their individual set-ups, with Sebastian admittedly splitting his attention between accessing his own computer programs and observing Miles ambling around the recording booth. Sebastian couldn’t help but feel entranced by the man’s solipsistic way of being. Each step Miles took felt like another part of an ongoing dance, and each mumble to himself was just a note in an everlasting tune.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “So, can we begin? Primary guitar on ‘Garden Grove’?”

“Sure,” Miles breathed, pulled on a pair of headphones, and tuned up to record.

March 5th, 2:12PM

“Garden Grove” evolved and changed throughout the day, as Miles and Sebastian carefully edited it piece-by-piece through the hours recording. A change in lyrics here, a new vocal line inserted there, until the skeleton of the song slowly started to build up flesh and bone.

The song was about leaving home, both literally and metaphorically speaking. Miles sang listlessly over the song, though, as if to say that moving on was… inevitable. He even used the word “inevitable” in the chorus; however, most likely that was placed in the song by Sebastian’s hand, not Miles.

“Wow!” Miles hooted after a third session of adlibs, “It’s been a while since I’ve had this much fun!”

“Certainly are getting somewhere with this track,” said Sebastian, who did not turn his attention from the console.

“What’s next?”

“Next I’m going to actually develop more of the music behind the vocals,” Sebastian responded, “You probably don’t need to be here for this part, so--”

But Miles wasn’t listening. He already took off his headphones and swung around to the computer console. “I was hoping you’d start with heavy reverb in the beginning,” he instructed. “I want it to feel like I’m waking up from a dream. Like you’re waking up from a dream.” Miles had said it so pointedly, Sebastian couldn’t help but suspect the young musician had known about the drowning nightmare from last night.

“A dream?” Sebastian asked.

“Mm. It’s not just about leaving. It’s a moment of clarity, when, all of a sudden, everything hits you. Perspective comes in and you’re all ‘This isn’t where I need to be.’”

Sebastian pecked on at the computer as Miles rambled on. Seriously, how much hot air was that guy full of?

“My home is where I grow. And continue to grow. Change. The world changes, too, even places we can call ‘home.’ But, ‘home’ is not bound by physical locations. It’s bound by the heart.”

That got a little chuckle out of Sebastian. However, the sharp inhale he heard from Miles clued that this was not a laughing matter.

“I’m serious!” huffed Miles. “This is what I’d been through not really all that long ago. You haven’t just had a time in your life where, like it or not, everything changed around you?”

Sebastian sucked in through his teeth. “Let’s not.”

He continued to fuss with the introductory guitar and the rich vocals at the beginning. Sebastian couldn’t and wouldn’t deny that Miles had a spectacular voice, able to reach bright highs and sonorous lows with ease. Adding reverb to the beginning guitar part was a good idea. He even separated the vocal layers they’d worked on by left and right stereo channels -- which basically meant that there’d be a “surround sound” effect, where the audio would drift from side to side for headphones-users.

Sebastian has been so focused on the next twenty minutes of editing, he’d not noticed Miles hadn’t said a word. Well, he didn’t notice, until it was too late and Miles started his chittering once more.

“You know, you’re handsome when you’re in the zone,” the artist wryly commented. His lips twitched. “Very… stoic.”

Sebastian sputtered. “Wha--?”

Of course, Miles just shrugged absentmindedly, as if to say “Don’t act like throwing a compliment about your looks is such a big deal.” Which totally was a big deal. Sebastian didn’t like feeling at best, ogled, and at worst, analyzed. Or, perhaps, Miles was just playing with him.

“I don’t like messing around,” Sebastian grumbled.

“So shall we get right to the point?” Miles hummed back.

Sebastian whipped his head to Miles. He was ready to lash out at him, but once he had his full attention to the man, Sebastian could see something different in Miles. The fullness in his brown eyes melted and his strong features softened just a tad. Then, just as quickly, Miles suavely scooted next to Sebastian at the computer.

Sebastian lurched back so quickly, he spilled over his chair and fell onto the floor.

Miles leaped back as well and yelped. “S-Sorry!”

The two took a moment to collect themselves. Sebastian stood and peered back into Miles’s eyes -- whatever was in them before had now left. Did he fuck it up? He wasn’t ignorant; that was an advance.

“I don’t…” Sebastian said, “Understand.”

Miles gulped. “You’re… not gay… huh?”

And then the other shoe dropped. While Sebastian had spent enough effort already trying to dig in Miles’s brain for his true intentions, it was like Miles had already had Sebastian all figured out. His face flushed hot.

“I…” Sebastian stammered. He tried to move his lips to argue. This wasn’t actually the first time someone ‘suspected’ he was gay. Though Audrey had been the first to pre-eminently know, a few (including his mom) asked over the years due to his inability to date women during his adult life. He’d always just say “no, I’m not the dating type” and move on. Whether that statement meant that Sebastian wasn’t the type to look for dates or if Sebastian thought of himself unworthy to date were up to others’ interpretation.

“I…” Sebastian once again stammered. But then Studio A shrank. The walls loomed in closer and closer around him, and reached higher and higher until Sebastian forced his mind to pull back. He scoured around the crevices of his brain to readjust, to calm down. He listed out the facts:

• He could say “yes” or “no.”

• If he said no, he’d officially be spinning his wheels in the mud, trying to gain momentum in a trap of his own making and effectively going back on what small progress he’d made out of the closet. When did that ever work out on television?

• If he said yes, another person would know he’s gay. Someone who, clearly, was not heterosexual. And unless Naveen and/or Audrey weren’t telling him something, it’d be the first queer person he could confide in… unless he’d be desperate enough to call Emile.

The choice was unfortunately obvious.

He sighed, and admitted, “I’m gay. Yeah.”

The words hung between them. Sebastian’s shoulders pinched tight against his back; he waited for something, anything, to go wrong.

Miles blinked. He scratched his neck absentmindedly and said, “Sounds like it's still a big deal for you.”

“I-Is it not supposed to be a big deal?” Sebastian hissed, a little too sharply.

“It can be,” Miles acknowledged, “I was guessing you were just a more private person about your sexuality, not that you were… ahem, still figuring it out.”

“It’s not about you.”

“I know it’s not about me,” huffed Miles. He turned around and squatted against the table. “Judging by your reaction, I’d say you’re hardly out of the closet. A baby gay?”

“I’m not a baby.” But Sebastian found himself saying the words as if he were pouting rather than defending himself.

“No. You’re not. But, maybe it’s just a bit too early to put the moves on you just yet.”

Wait a minute, who was Miles to tell Sebastian who could and couldn’t make the moves on him and when?

“That wasn't a ‘move’?” Sebastian pressed incredulously.

Miles smirked, like he had a secret he felt not worth sharing, and changed the topic. “How long have you actually been out?” It was like he was asking it as a challenge, not out of curiosity, and that sent a cold chill down Sebastian's back.

Apparently Miles noticed how he sounded. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that--”

“Whatever,” Sebastian interrupted. He snapped his eyes back to the computer and didn’t answer Miles. Instead, he put on his headphones and played back the track.

The song sounded good. Because of course it sounded good. Confidence wasn’t something that came easily to Sebastian, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was his capability to make music.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Miles fussing with the studio’s MIDI pad. This particular one looked like a miniature keyboard, and Miles was wandering his fingers over its black and white keys like he were ready to tickle the ivories.

“Here,” Sebastian snapped, jerking his headphones to Miles. “Listen.”

Miles gracefully accepted the headphones and put them over his head. He snapped either side over his ears rather dramatically, and chuckled, “Show me what’s become of me.”

Sebastian pressed play.

While Miles was haughty, dramatic, often absent-minded, and cocky, the change in his expression was priceless nonetheless. Sebastian secretly craved that change in his client’s face, when he alchemized shit into not-shit. Though, for all Miles’s flaws, the guy was an excellent musician; this was an afternoon where, instead, the chaos became order.

Once the track started to play, immediately Miles broke into a smile. “Yeah, yeah…” he cheered quietly as the intro passed into the first verse. The warmness in his eyes twinkled once more, much to Sebastian’s buried delight.

“Garden Grove” was still rough, but yes, at that moment, Sebastian was proud.

Then, Miles actually hugged Sebastian. The guy was thin-framed, but jeez did he have quite the bear hug. “Oh my gosh!” he laughed, still keeping his tight grip on Sebastian, “This is amazing! Thank you!”

Miles’s voice sounded like he’d just received an incredible birthday gift. But all Sebastian did was shrug.

“Thank… you…” Sebastian gritted. “Please let me go.”

Miles relaxed, but he didn’t fully release the hug for a few seconds. He pulled his head back and the two locked eyes. Their breathing matched pace. Sebastian found himself patting Miles’s back… and mirroring Miles’s smile. “Um. Please.”

And at last, Miles retracted.

There was no denying it, Sebastian knew. His heated frustration with Miles was softening into mild irritation, because that hug was, well, nice. This was new. Sebastian liked seeing Miles so candidly happy. The whole flash and pomp of his style peeled away from him once overjoyed like that. Their embrace felt a bit warm, spiritually. The way the side of Miles’s face brushed against Sebastian’s ear piercings in his fervent death grip. His laughter was innocent, pure, and special. It was as if Miles had the superpower to spread positive emotions through physical touch, and the hug was just the first crack in the dam Sebastian was in need of.