Playlist - 10. Track 10) Casualty - Lawrence

March 11th, 10:02AM

This was exactly the day Sebastian was avoiding. This was going to be one of those awkward stories where he would want to be angry with Miles. He made out with Emile-- in front of him. He was his fucking ex-boyfriend for not-even-a-page-turn-of-a-calendar!

That was the most frustrating part; Miles could just do that. Miles had that power in him that allowed him permission to just go forward and charm guys like that, whether they be Emile or someone else equally handsome. Unfortunately, Sebastian didn’t have clearance to act that way. The universe did not work like that.

Sebastian wanted to make sure Miles knew he fucked up without saying a word, like how that worked out for every main protagonist on television.

Yet, those characters on TV never seemed to list the facts:

• Sebastian had no claim over an ex.

• Furthermore, he had no claim over Miles. Though, Sebastian definitely wished he were the one to be kissing Miles instead of Emile. Fucker.

• Miles would have had no idea Sebastian had an ex-boyfriend -- he was a “baby gay” and all that.

• Subsequently, how on earth would Miles have known Sebastian’s ex was the man macking on him the same night he took Sebastian to his first gay bar? Unless Emile just walked up and was all, “Haha I’m super hot and so are you. See that shriveling puddle of gay anxiety over in the corner? I just dumped him after a three-month relationship. Let’s swap spit and make him cry.”

Yes, that was exactly how Emile sounded. Shut up.

Listing out the facts didn’t shake off any frustration, unfortunately. Instead they just morphed into a feeling unrecognizable: both bitter at the cruel twist of fate, and confused at where this left his own storyline.

He didn’t have much time to process whatever that emotion would be called, as lo and behold, Miles showed up right on time to Hi-Fi Studios. Sebastian, standing outside its front doors, nearly lost his balance finally catching sight of him.

Miles was… strangely distant. The fantastic light that swam in his brown eyes flickered, almost extinguished completely. Even his outfit was uncomfortably subdued: cream-colored shorts, a white tee, and a flowing button up over it.

Sebastian’s spirit paralyzed.

Miles looked like he was waiting for something. Shit, probably waiting for an explanation as to why Sebastisn became such a fucking pathetic trainwreck on Friday that he couldn’t even speak up for himself and get that slimy succubus off his--

“Oh hey!” Miles said, “I totally left those at your place.” His finger pointed to Sebastian’s side.

Right. He had brought the edibles and vinyl Miles had purchased with him before the whole gay bar fiasco. Like, Sebastian wasn’t a total asshole.

“Mm,” he could only grunt. He jerked them forward and into Miles’s hands. “Ready to finish ‘Garden Grove’ then?”

Miles blinked. “Right. Yeah.”

Perhaps Sebastian should have been a bit more friendly with Miles now that they’d made some time outside of the studio. But Miles made it clear that there was nothing between them; he was Sebastian’s client. Sebastian didn’t like making personal connections with his clients. He liked making music.

And damn, could those two make some fucking music.

March 11th, 12:55PM

God, it was agonizing watching Miles in the studio. Like in Shout, he danced his hips around and threw his chest forward and back to the track playing through his headphones. A dream set to music of his own creation.

Well, Sebastian did have a part in making that music.

Miles was actually listening to the final mix of Garden Grove, not recording. Though they'd been making progress on the other songs for his EP, this was their first that had reached completion. He took off the headphones and shot Sebastian an eager thumbs up.

“This is fantastic!” the musician cheered. Suddenly, he was ambling out of the recording booth and over to the console side of the studio.

Immediately, Sebastian’s cheeks burned. Stupid emotions.

At Sebastian’s side of the studio, Miles rounded with arms open, but Sebastian was not looking to share any embrace even if they totally nailed that song. This probably would have been the right time for celebration.

Instead, when Miles tried to cheer and hug him, Sebastian recoiled.

“U-Uh...?” stammered the musician, off-guard.

Tension balanced on precarious needle-point. So close to breaking.

Sebastian couldn’t look at him. He swiveled in his chair back to facing his computer monitor, as if it were far more important to glue his attention forward. This was all too weird. It wasn’t fair.

Miles scoffed, “Okay. Nope. We’re not doing this, Sebastian.” He gripped the back of Sebastian’s chair and turned him back. He stood over Sebastian and peered at him candidly, the fire back in his eyes.

His breath smelled like mint.

“What the hell is up with you? You feeling weird about that fuckhead from all over you at the bar?” Miles pressed.

If Sebastian were clever enough to have said it in the moment, he’d probably have shouted back something like “I’m weird about the fuckhead all over you at the bar.” However, all he could muster was a vexed fold of his arms. Petulant, sure, but he didn’t think Miles needed to know. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Bullshit, Sebastian.”

Sebastian squirmed, like a roach under a microscope.

Something about how they were positioned took Sebastian back to one of their first interactions only (unbelievably) a few days ago-- when Miles sort of made a move on him. Except now, there was a new feeling here. Miles, for once, was the one annoyed here, not Sebastian. The shoe going on the other foot was an unsavory piece of humble pie.

He tried to find the words to string together and explain the situation, but he just blubbered about for a moment before crumbling his body.

“Did I like, do something wrong?” warbled Miles.

“No.” It came out automatically.

Then, Sebastian sighed. He leaned his forearms against the massive Moog synthesizer at the far end of the console and silently prayed for a power above to give him the strength to tell Miles just exactly was up.

But Sebastian couldn’t trust Miles. He had no idea how he felt about the glamorous musician, and furthermore, it was very clear there was no way to read how Miles felt about him. Just looking at him, into those two Margaret-Keane-esque eyes, now brought him nothing but nervous tremors.

Sebastian plucked out the USB flash drive that Miles had given to him a week earlier, where all of his demos were contained and now, the final mix of Garden Grove. Desperately, he pushed the little device between him and Miles, who seemed so far away now.

…or was it him getting further away?

“Take it,” Sebastian snapped.

“Wha…?”

“We shouldn’t work together anymore.” Sebastian decided it as the words were coming out. His soul cowered into the corner of the room.

Miles gingerly took the flash drive and asked, “Um, why?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sebastian said once again.

“Uh, you’re sure as fuck it matters!” shrieked Miles.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew that he was on a collision course of emotion with Miles around. He needed to be written out of his life, even if burning the whole fucking script was the only day to do it. Being alone was the only logical option.

Sebastian tightened his jaw. “You have a good song. I’ll get you some references to finish our work. Don’t worry about paying me for any more sessions.”

“Yeah no fucking shit I’m not paying you for any more sessions!” the musician hollered. His cool was completely shattered, now. “I don’t understand!”

The hints of color in Sebastian’s life, strange and new, unraveled around him. “I-I can’t have you around me. We’re not good together.”

“You know what--” Miles whipped his body around so Sebastian could only see his back out of the corner of his eye. “We made some good music. Fuck you.” Now, Sebastian’s frequent and flagrant use of swearing had rendered even some of the most foul words relatively meaningless to him. Except, in this instance, being told forthright “Fuck you” stung. Yet… Sebastian felt relieved to hear Miles say that, like life was going back on-course and being so obviously in the wrong was just the truest path for him to follow.

Of course, it was also true that together, they made some good music. However, plenty of other talented people like Sebastian existed in the city, without all the storm clouds zapping his brain. Miles was clearly someone with or without Sebastian.

“You’re… Do you know how big of a deal it’d be for us?” the musician muttered.

Us.

“There’s no ‘us,’ Miles,” groaned Sebastian, which made Miles caustically scoff.

The musician turned back and rolled his eyes. “You don’t get it, Sebastian. You really don’t get why this is a big deal for me. You’re like me.”

Sebastian was nothing like Miles. Miles could be whoever he wanted… he made space. Compared to Sebastian, who was clearly just taking it up. Was he being too hard on himself? Maybe. But melodrama was a convenient exculpation from Sebastian’s own decisions here.

So, he said nothing.

And Miles didn’t plead again. The door shut behind him.

Sebastian got what he wanted. He was alone.

March 11th, 3:55PM

Kate refused to have the conversation over text. When Sebastian had texted her that he had to drop Miles as a client, she immediately decided to call him. No, not a phone call, she wanted to video call.

As soon as he picked up, fingers trembling after pressing the “accept” button on his phone, Kate made a face, like she could smell the rank cloud of tragedy Sebastian had swaddled himself in.

Her phone seemed to be propped up on a table inside the Rangoli tour bus. Her dinged up, yet ever-lustrous daphne blue guitar lay languidly in her lap. An electronic tuner clipped to its neck. Kate herself appeared to be backstage, squatted in a folding chair, in the midst of fussing with a pedal.

In the corner of his phone screen there was a current display of Sebastian, looking for the most disheveled.

“What the fuck happened, Seb?” she sniped.

Sebastian winced.

“Wait,” Kate said. She peered intently through her phone and scanned around Sebastian. “Where are you?”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder. Since work was cut short, he felt no reason to stay at Hi-Fi Studios for the day. Poetically, it had started to rain, too, so the only place he could think of to go was to return to his apartment. He’d be sulking on the couch in the living room area for the past hour or so when Kate finally got back to him.

“I’m just at my place,” he moaned.

Kate made a prideful snort and said, “You know, I’m so used to you bumming it out on my couch, it’s strange seeing you on yours.”

“I’ve been here for six months.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve ever invited me over for a sleepover,” she pointed out. “I am really good at doing at-home pedicures.”

Goddammit. He was smirking. The only person who could so easily get him to laugh even in turmoil that consistently, besides his sister, was Kate.

Kate unhooked her guitar strap and set her instrument off to the side of her chair. “You’re gonna have to call Mayson,” she explained with a disinterested stretch.

That got a heavy groan out of Sebastian.

While the two weren’t technically signed employees of the record label, Mystiq Records often “outsourced” their signed artists over to the duo. Mayson Hastings was both Kate’s and Sebastian’s connection to the company. Unfortunately, Mayson was one of those record label guys; the type who only saw projects as deadlines needing to be met, and musicians as numbers to keep track of. Usually, Kate was the one who kept in contact with him, just like how she was the one to keep communication with their clients instead of Sebastian. Except, the reason for Kate being the middleman between Mayson and Sebastian was not because Sebastian was horrible at being personable as was the case with their clientele; the reason was because Mayson was a dismissive, spoiled fuck, and Sebastian nearly got to verbal blows with him on multiple occasions. Plus, he spelled his name with a “y” -- why the fuck did the name “Mason” need a “y”?

“Mayson is the worst,” bemoaned Sebastian.

“Mayson is the worst,” Kate agreed. “But you dumped a client. You gotta find more. I’m busy touring the world and adorning thousands of screaming fans’ tits with my autograph.”

Sebastian stifled a snicker and said, “Dude this is serious.”

“I am being serious,” Kate insisted with an absolutely un-serious smirk across her lips. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and pushed her mass of blonde hair behind her. “You said Miles and you made a good song?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, half of all that good quality, probably more, came from you, Seb.” She said it with bored resolution, as if it were an obvious statement that had no need to be articulated. “So make more. You just need a new canvas,” Kate sighed, “Which means you’re gonna have to talk to Mayson.”

Sebastian splayed his legs on the sofa and threw his back. “I seriously would rather play in traffic.”

Then, she actually smiled. Not one of her sinister, “I’m having fun teasing you” smiles. He could have been mistaken, but by the softness around the corners of her mouth, she actually looked… sincere. “Sebastian,” she began, “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

“Miles and I just had creative differences. That’s all,” he responded.

Even if her face were digitized through the phone screen, Sebastian could see her expression falter. His face did the same, too; inexplicably both of their guards dropped.

Sebastian realized he technically hadn’t come out of the closet until that moment. With Naveen and Audrey, he sort of just admitted to it. Miles had correctly assumed.

But Kate mattered to him. He wasn’t expecting him to burst into tears and have a self-empowered monologue like they did on TV (that wasn’t his character role). He just didn’t know what to do instead; all he felt was distant. Not distant from her, at least not only her, it felt like he had just cut his tether and set himself adrift into the cosmos.

He, for some reason, wondered at that moment if he simply wanted Miles… or wanted to be like Miles. Confident. Assured. Self-aware.

Well, fake it till you make it, right?

“Kate,” he breathed. He straightened his body. “I gotta tell you something.”

Suddenly, a shadow crossed over Kate. Someone out of view on the camera’s phone had come up and said, “Oh hey, Kate.” Then, they came in the shot and stammered, “Oh-ho shit, you on the phone?”

It was one of the band members. A skinny, biracial woman with hair buzzed down to its roots. Her arms were more tattoos than skin. Sebastian was pretty sure her name was Emory.

“Yeah,” Kate coyly cooed, “It’s my other half.”

Emory looked at Sebastian with confusion. “You got a man? Since when?”

“Oh please,” Kate chuckled. She rolled an open palm to her cell phone and explained, “Sebastian’s the guy we flipped off.”

The woman clapped her hands and hooted. She then bent down and pulled the phone up, which didn't seem to get a reaction from Kate (though Sebastian couldn’t see her anymore). “Yo! I almost didn't recognize you!” Emory wheezed. Actually, she literally didn’t recognize Sebastian, it appeared. “You’re like famous around here!”

“Oh god, what’s she been telling you?” Sebastian asked.

“All bad things!” he heard Kate call from out of the shot.

Emory held the phone at an unflattering angle, giving Sebastian a prime view of the underside of her chin. She didn’t seem to care and only prattled, “Nah. Kate’s a good girl. Well, not really, bitch is evil. But she told us all ‘bout the time you guys have been working together. You did Kay Jessup’s first EP? Like, why didn’t you tell us this in the studio?”

Sebastian saw his own eyebrows shoot upwards in the corner of his phone display. “Uh… guess you never asked.”

“Emory, give me my phone back!” sighed Kate, still out of view. “You and the guys have shit to do!”

The phone screen shook like there was an earthquake. Now the unflattering angle was of Kate’s neck.

Emory remained near, however; though her voice a little fainter, Sebastian heard her say, “Wait, cause that’s why I came over. The boys need you for something. Something urgent, it seems.”

Kate shifted her weight. A modest quiver of concern washed over her face. That was not a common emotion Sebastian saw on her, and those rare times she did put it on were for him.

A beat passed, until she raised the phone eye-level and it felt like she and Sebastian were truly making eye-contact despite there being a hundred miles between them. “Can we talk later, Sebastian?” she implored, “I hate to run when you’re down.”

His body went rigid and through a stone smile, he managed, “Sure.” He didn’t wait for a response from his collaborator before hanging up.

A for effort, right?

April 21st, 3:11PM (senior year of university)

Kate’s house looked pretty much the same since the last time Sebastian had visited for her birthday. Just instead of the nighttime palette of a California “winter,” her Leimert Park abode was painted in radiant, late-spring sunlight.

They’d bumped into each other a few times since her birthday party: Carter had taken her along for the summer “end of the semester” party that year and just this previous semester Sebastian and her had class together, though they didn’t exchange many words. However, last week, he’d received a text from Kate requesting some help recording her senior project.

Sebastian had been too afraid to ever reach out to her. She was so fucking cool, like, he somehow saw himself better when around her.

He tapped his knuckles against the glass of the front door.

When it opened, a demure young woman, with fair skin and a long nose stood in the entrance. She looked at Sebastian and cocked her head. “Um. Can I help you?” she asked.

He rubbed his elbow. “S-Sorry. I’m looking for someone else.”

“Hold it! Hold it!” a caustic voice clamored from indoors. The girl swiveled around and beside her appeared Kate. She was bereft of enthusiasm, however, more like expectancy; her eyebrows pinched playfully up once she caught sight of Sebastian.

“Sebastian,” she warbled, “Nice to see you actually show up.” Kate then put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, “He’s helping me with my project, Mal.”

The girl shrugged. “Have fun,” she said and went back to wherever she was hiding from.

Sebastian flicked his eyes to the girl as she left, then back to Kate, as if to ask for clarification.

“Oh, Malika’s my roommate,” Kate informed.

“I thought you lived with a girl named… Isa?”

Kate chuckled, “Oh damn, it really has been a minute, huh?” and gestured for Sebastian to come inside.

As Sebastian’s only time visiting Kate’s home was mid-party, seeing its interior mid-day and relatively unoccupied felt like coming there for the first time all over again. He must have been looking around a little too obviously, as Kate made a gruff “tck” sound and then said, “Calm down, it’s just a room.”

Malika, Kate’s new roommate, escaped into the kitchen. She turned on the faucet and began to fill a red kettle. “Can I make you any tea before I head back to my room?” she said to Sebastian, though it sounded a bit more like an empty obligation rather than a welcoming invite.

“Nah,” Kate answered for Sebastian. And with that, she shuttered Sebastian into her bedroom. Which was a shame as he actually would have loved a cup.

Kate’s bedroom hadn’t changed much. A few more records on the shelf, maybe, but equally “cluttered-neat” as it was on her birthday. However, her Stratocaster, with its stark-as-ever daphne blue finish, leaned humbly against her bed. Kate brushed her fingers over the guitar.

“M-My dad had that same stratocaster,” Sebastian blurted. “Right down the same finish.”

A glimmer passed over Kate’s eyes.

“Well, his was a lot more banged up,” he added.

This made her snort.

She pulled out her laptop from under her bed and began to peck at its keyboard. As she did, she said, “You been good?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry it’s been a minute. I hadn’t seen you since…”

He didn’t exactly have an idea how to finish that sentence. They had class together, sure, but she was pretty standoffish that semester (more than what she normally seemed like). Well, he did remember having a drunken and somewhat-heated conversation with her and her boyfriend Carter about the Beach Boys at the end-of-the-semester party. Actually, he didn’t so much take part in the conversation as he did offer a few words between the couple bickering, while trying to not-obviously gawk at her boyfriend.

“You still hate the Beach Boys?” Sebastian asked.

Kate’s lips twitched. She didn’t look up from her computer but grunted, “You got it.”

“Sorry. I just remembered you, me, and Carter going on about it at that party before the summer.” He eagerly asked, “Hey, how is Carter anyway?”

Kate’s fingers abruptly stopped moving along the keyboard. Flatly, she uttered, “Oh. You don’t know…” She threw her head casually over her shoulder and said, “We’re not dating anymore.”

She held her gaze on Sebastian a little too longingly. He could have sworn this was the universe’s nudge to implore why. But it wasn’t his business. He hardly knew this girl. If Kate wanted to talk about why they broke up, she’d just offer it up herself. How presumptuous of himself would it have been to try and pry that information out of her! Sebastian hadn’t been invited to gossip; he was invited over here today to help her record!

“U-Um, you needed help with some recording, right?” he diverted.

The young woman’s gaze didn’t shake until an awkward second had passed. “...Right,” she sighed, “This fucking project. Well, I’d already got Malika, my roommate, to record some vocals, right? But even though I know it’s on-beat, the file…”

March 11th, 4:24PM

The video call with Kate hardened Sebastian’s bones to steel. Each one of his joints felt like he were the rusted Tin Man, in desperate need of an oil can. His thoughts steamed hot air within him, pressure building inside with every footstep through his apartment. He’d somehow locked himself into an anxious pace back-and-forth through the living room, like he was waiting for someone else to call Kate back up to give him the opportunity to come out.

What a fucking idiot-- He knew this was important and he knew she would have stayed on the line if she’d been told he had something important to say. He was so ready to follow through, too.

There was a feverish shuffling sound clunking against the front door, halting Sebastian’s pace.

Naveen barreled into the apartment. Sweat doused his forehead and over his lips. He was dressed in loose running clothes, highlighter yellow and white.

He didn’t seem to notice Sebastian standing just about a foot away from the entrance, at least not at first. To no one, he exclaimed, no, shouted, “GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!”

Well, that was enough noise to pop Sebastian. Naveen had startled all of the stress out of him.

“Oh shit!” Naveen yelped, catching sight of Sebastian (who had to clutch the kitchen counter so as not to fall over in fright). “What the- Why- Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Aren’t you?” volleyed Sebastian.

“I took a sick day.”

“And apparently you took a 5k today, too.”

Naveen actually glowered over him. It was like a Pokemon evolution of his standard brow-furrow; not just mildly annoyed, but dangerously frustrated. Sebastian tried to buck up his posture back to Naveen until the last of the pressure inside sputtered out, and he surrendered. There was no use in trying to pretend like everything was normal, was there?

So, hesitantly, Sebastian olive-branch-ed, “You… um… you wanna talk about it?”