Chapter Text
Sebastian had it all planned out.
He’d open the club he always dreamed about. Name it Seb’s. Place his prized stool that once graced the famed buttocks of Hoagy Carmichael on full display for all to ogle because, yes, he actually owns that, thank you very much. He’d play jazz every night with as many talents as he could find. They’d play whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, and they’d revive the dying art that is his passion. There would maybe be some chicken on sticks involved; he hasn’t actually worked that out just yet. Most importantly, though, he’d prove that he could attain his dream, just like she did.
He never planned for her to actually see it. For her to sit in a seat directly in his field of view, and to watch him take the stage.
She was staring at him, and from up on stage, he could see her face. Her beautiful, incredible, passionate face, now stricken with grief, contorted in a manner that left him stunned. She still cared. Or maybe she just never thought she’d ever see him again. That was also a possibility.
A million thoughts raced in Sebastian’s head, each clawing for purchase at the forefront. All he could muster through it, was a jagged and raw, “Welcome to Seb’s.”
He floated over to his bench and sat. Hands trembled ever so slightly as he raised them to the keys. He knew he had to play. He couldn’t just sit in front of a crowded room and not play. The setlist he had crafted, poured countless hours over, was thrown out the window. Fingers drifted to familiar keys, and that beautiful, haunting, lovely song crashed like waves against the shore of his heart. They slammed into him with every note he played, reminding him of what was lost and what could have been.
It was all his fault. He knew that. She was devoted to not just her dream, but his as well. Meanwhile, he completely left both of theirs behind under the feeble guise that The Messengers was a means to an end.
Mia saw right through it. That night. That horrible, awful night where he said the most unforgivable things to her. She cut through his words like a serrated knife through bread. He was giving up his dream; he knew that — he just didn’t want to admit it at the time. Mia saw it, and she was right to leave that night.
He made his choice the night of her show. It truly was a one-woman show, since he made the decision to stay at that stupid photoshoot. God, how humiliating it was. Her face when he raced to the theatre, begging to make it up to her, it flashed in his mind as he played.
Stupid. Idiot. Useless. Coward. A thousand other words cut into him, and still he played.
Sebastian refused to look up when the applause erupted. The noise drowned itself out as he began to drown in his mind. It was all too much. He couldn’t stay here. He needed to leave. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. His neck became too aware of its proximity to his suit collar. His hands fell to his lap, trembling once more without the keys near to calm them down.
The familiar feeling of her eyes bore into him. He looked up this time and decided to be brave.
She was staring at him over her shoulder, painted in a deep blue shade from the neon sign just around the corner from her. How ironic.
Her eyes didn’t leave his, like they were waiting for confirmation. An approval that everything was okay; that this was how it was meant to be.
Sebastian nodded. A smile escaped the wretched thoughts he was swarmed by, fueled by an immense, incalculable amount of love he still held for her.
She smiled. It was that smile he fell in love with. How her eyes crinkled ever so slightly as her entire face melded into happiness.
Mia turned and walked away, as she had all those years ago. Only this time, she took one final piece of Sebastian with her. It was something that he didn’t expect.
She took his will to live.
-
His keys hit the kitchen counter with a loud clang, hitting a leftover pan from breakfast the previous day. The door behind him slammed shut as he kicked it. He didn’t care it was two in the morning. In fact, fuck it! Let’s make all the noise possible!
Sebastian moved toward his piano, ripping his tie out from the collar. It fell to the floor alongside his jacket. Plopping himself onto the bench, he stared at the piece he was playing before he’d left. It was a new one. He wasn’t quite sure where he wanted to go with it just yet. The general vibe was something entirely new. Still jazz, but just new. Keith’s stupid voice rang in his head. His talk about changing with the times and not being stuck in the past. Well, okay, maybe he had a point in some of it, but he was still a total shithead.
So maybe Sebastian was potentially, hypothetically, making a new song inspired by other genres. Big whoop. He stared at the sheet riddled with his handwriting and shook his head.
‘What the fuck am I doing?’ He sighed, hands coming up to cover his face. Tears threatened to breach containment, and he cursed himself once more for being so emotionally charged. Why did she have to come? The question rang like an annoying church bell. She pissed him off. Things were going so well, and just one fucking look from her was all it took to unravel this facade that everything was okay.
Fuck.
He stood up and took off his dress shirt, leaving just his plain white tee and his pants. The room ached with a loneliness he’d forgotten. It truthfully sucked. He told himself he was happy. Hell, Laura even came by yesterday (broke in more accurately) and remarked how happy he seemed.
Because to be honest, he was. He was happy. Mia was a part of that happiness. She was out of reach, of course. But her presence, even though she wasn’t actually there, was enough to drive him. It was motivation. The past five years were spent carefully planning out just how exactly he was going to fulfill his dream. Finishing The Messengers tour, parting ways with them, taking up small gigs here and there to keep up with bills, and saving an extreme amount of money filled those five years since he last saw her, all with the goal of finally opening up his bar.
And you know what? He did it. She was there with him every step of the way, whether she will ever know it or not. In those quiet moments between gigs, he could hear her humming their song. Her voice was soft, gentle, like a breeze on a hot summer’s day. It calmed him down when stress was boiling within him. He could hear her pushing him to keep going, because if she could do it, so could he. He had just as much passion as she did, if not more.
Suddenly, another memory decided now was the perfect moment to resurface. He never gave that conversation much thought, and yet here it was deciding to haunt him.
“Maybe I'm not.” She’d said. They were standing in front of the library across from her home. He remembered how he drove those three hundred miles to reach her.
“You are.”
“Maybe I'm one of those people that has always wanted to do it, but it's like a pipe dream for me, you know? And then you... you said it. You–you change your dreams, and then you grow up. Maybe I'm one of those people, and I'm not supposed to. And I can go back to school, and I can find something else that I'm supposed to do. Cause I left to do that, and it's been six years and I don't wanna do it anymore.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why don't you wanna do it anymore?”
“Cause I think it hurts a little bit too much.”
Sebastian now stood in front of his reflection in the bathroom. He understood her now. Not in that he didn’t obtain his dream, because he did. Rather, he understood not wanting to try anymore. He’d done so much trying these past few years. The evidence of it was all around him. His new home, his bar, his clothes, hell even the fact his car still ran properly. They were all proof that he never gave up.
He was tired.
It wasn’t something that snuck up on him either. He felt it in his body: how his bones ached with every movement, his fingers most of all. The way the shadows under his eyes never seemed to truly fade no matter how much sleep he got the night before. His attendance at the bar was commendable, with many patrons commenting how he seemed to always be present.
One of them, a rather repulsive old man, but still a patron nonetheless, had said, “You really oughta get laid. You married to the job, or what?”
Sebastian had grinned, in spite of his better judgment. “Married to the passion.”
The man had scoffed, downed another shot, and walked away.
Blue eyes stared back at him now, duller than ever. His body sagged under the weight of its exhaustion. Okay, so he wasn’t happy. Fine. Truths out!
He was stuck here in this stupid house with his lifelong dream finally his, and yet he was still miserable. There was nothing he could do about.
The glint of light hitting his razor caught his eye.
It was a dumb idea.
He picked it up.
It was a stupid idea.
He pressed it against his exposed arm.
It was wrong
He didn't stop.