Chapter Text
Being fresh out of the prison system isn't for the weak. Getting out of prison was less of an escape than people described it. It was more like landing flat on your ass. Despite all of the promises of a better life, they had yet to come, and he's still out of a job. Turns out, a lot of jobs are a lot less forgiving presented with a criminal record, minimal job experience and over a decade in prison.
It'd been so long inside Happy Trails Penitentiary he had almost forgotten what it was like to live the city life. There's no schedule. You're on your own time. No one tells you what to do anymore, which is nice in concept, but once your independence has been destroyed, it's hard to get back.
He can't shower alone, decide what to eat. God, he can't even shit alone.
Maybe it was a reclamation of his newfound free time when he decides to stumble into a jazz bar one night. Just to get drunk with the little money he has. If he can't get a job, he owes himself the buzz. And he'd been fond of Jazz since he was a kid.
Walking in, he braces himself . He looks around the inside of the building, taking in the familiar stench of cozy LA bars. Faint alcohol, old creaky wood, and a hint of piss. It's perfect. Approaching the bar, he sees a familiar-looking man admiring the small jazz band. He looks close enough, but Yancy knows it's just a face he's looking for. Something something, confirmation bias.
It's only human to see familiar faces in the crowd. Especially after being on his own for the first time in... how long again? Not worth mentioning. But he did miss him sometimes.
After half his beer, he notices the stranger glancing back at him too. Like there's some equal recognition. Or maybe he's imagining things. Maybe he's just being hopeful.
After a couple more hours, and a little more liquid courage, Yancy has enough confidence to approach and get the question out of the way. The looks had bothered him enough that he had to ask.
He takes one last drink from his glass, alcohol burning his throat the way down as he shakes his head to relieve from the feeling. He stands up from his seat, drink in hand, and makes his way along the seemingly infinitely long way to the other man's table (which is actually more like 30 feet), fidgeting awkwardly with the seam of his shirt.
"'Scuse me, Ise-uh—I don't mean to intrude. But is youse, ah- Sebastian? Sebastian Wilder?" Yancy finally asks as he's close enough to the blonde man, leaning over the bar beside him.
The stranger's eyes fleetingly dart between his. Yancy cringes internally, and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. The man squints for a moment, before his eyes light up with confirmation. Oh thank god. "Yance!" He smacks the table with his palm, turning his body towards him.
"It is youse!" Yancy laughs nervously, hoping the ice between them is already broken. "I hasn't seen youse in… fifteen years?"
"Could've been longer to me." Sebastian offers with a grin, raising his eyebrows for a beat. There's a fondness to him that indicates there's nothing to be nervous about. A bit of weight falls off his shoulders. Just a bit. "When did you get out?" He questions, smile still fixed on his face.
"Uh, couple a' days ago." he replies warily. Sebastian seems unusually excited, considering the reason Yancy went to prison.
"A couple of days?" Sebastian's brows furrow. "Thought you'd only be in for a few years!" He exclaims.
"Uh yeah. The sentence may have went a little longer than we's originally thought. I didn't exactly feel inclined to leave." Yancy explains, looking absolutely anywhere that wasn't Sebastian's face.
"What! Why not?" Sebastian questions, tilting up his glass for a moment to take a sip of his own drink. His eyes stay directly on Yancy as he does, whose eyes soak in the unrelenting attention for a moment too long. Seb caught this, and raises his eyebrows in tease. He has very much caught on.
Yancy chokes on his own saliva and starts coughing for a moment, trying not to look back. He runs his hand through his hair as he forces his eyes to stay away, playing it cool enough. No matter how obvious he was, neither would address it.
"Well, they got no taxes. The housin's pretty consistent. Don't have to pay for the food. 'S shit, but it's easy." He stares down into his own drink as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, running his fingers absently along the rim
"Jeez, Yance. I'm sorry." Sebastian says, sympathetically patting the other on the back.
A familiar shiver runs down Yancy's spine, he raises his shoulders against the pressure. He's heavily reminded of his unchanging feelings for the other man for almost as long as he's known him. It had certainly dwindled over the years. But to his chagrin, has yet to die, as evident by the heat rising to his face.
"'Sfine." Yancy says back, hunching his shoulders forward, quietly maneuvering away from Sebastian's hand. "Ise got enough of them interviews lined up, and the shelter isn't to shabby." He runs his hand along the stubble on his chin.
"A shelter?"
Yancy can't tell what that meant, but he knows the connotation isn't positive.
"But I'm really gettin' somewhere! Ise got some good jobs I could potentially try for. Nothing of the higher grade, admittedly, but Ise can get something soon!" Yancy explained hastily, rapidly tapping his fingers against the wood of the table.
"What? Yance, I'm not shaming you. You're homeless?" Seb asks. There's a concern to his tone that Yancy still didn't like. As if he was an abused animal or something. He picked his nails.
"Well, yeah—"
"Do you need somewhere to stay?" Seb interjects.
What?
"What?" Yancy questioned, searching Seb's expression, making eye contact for the first time in the conversation. He looks almost… surprised? As if he wasn't expecting it himself.
Seb shakes his head rapidly, wringing his wrist. He takes a large inhale before speaking again. "Well, I can't have you sleeping in a shelter." He says quickly. Sebastian shakes his head, looking forward to the bar. "Stay with me. I don't really have a roommate anymore anyways."
When he meets Yancy's eyes again, something's changed again. He looks more assured.
"Anymore?" Yancy asks, because he can't help himself.
Something melancholic flits through Sebastian's eyes. Shifting his jaw, Seb looks away from Yancy, back towards the wall, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Ex-girlfriend."
Their heads are in two completely different places, because before he can do anything to stop it, he hears himself utter the word "Girlfriend?" Christ on a stick, Yancy. Get it together.
"Yeah. It's been a little while though. Good terms, but…" Sebastian smooths right over that. Yancy thinks that it has to be on purpose.
He just nods solemnly in response. His disappointment is likely evident, but there is no surprise. He can't afford to turn down a place to stay, not after the last two cold hungry nights. But this may kill him.
"I think that'd be good, actually. Just for a little while." he concedes. He could survive this. He's not too proud to refuse a home. But it isn't permanent. Nothing ever is. "I'll be out of your hair quickly." He reassures.
Sebastian bites his lip in remorse, but holds back any further commentary. "Yeah, yeah man." he says. And there's a final emotion, barely legible through his eyes that won't connect with Yancy's: Guilt.
It's clear as day from his expression. How it lingered for a moment in this stagnancy after he spoke, as if he was trying to decide whether he wanted to say anything further before shutting his mouth, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Something uncomfortable hangs between them. Neither really understands how to reach out to the other, and Yancy knows now exactly how impulsive the offer is. The past is not a pair of friendship bracelets. It is a pair of handcuffs. And the more they ignore it, the more Yancy can feel it digging into his skin.
"Thank youse." he says, giving up on looking right at him, kneading the back of his own neck with his hand. "I'd, ah- neglected to say it before."
The corners of Seb's eyes crinkle, and some of the knot in Yancy's stomach untangles itself, just slightly. Maybe they'll figure things out. Find the keys. Things don't have to stay static forever.
"Don't mention it." He grins, and takes a final sip from his glass.
The rest of the night passes in relentless catch-up. What was prison like? Where does Seb work? What jobs is Yancy looking into?
"Odd-jobs." he admitted. Desk life isn't for him, and he isn't for it. "But I've always been particularly intrigued by musical theater."
"Well, you're in the right spot." Sebastian reassured. "Less competition than New York, more shows than bumfuck nowhere."
That got a laugh out of him.
He stretches back in a brief yawn, which Sebastian tracks for a brief moment before he tilts his head. "Ready to go?" he asked.
Huh. He supposes he is.
Sebastian insists he can drive home. He only had one drink. Yancy decides not to push his luck and question that number. Maybe it was honest, because they get to his apartment just fine.
Seb's sleeves begin to sag below his elbows, as he grabs a warm-looking blanket for his couch. There are pillows already there. It's not a pull-out. Yancy can tell it's not big enough to fit him. Some limb or another will be hanging off.
Sebastian gestures his hands toward it with some pride and a lopsided smile. Yancy thanks him, and says goodnight, lying down. It's his leg that touches the ground, as he tucks himself in.
Once his host leaves, and he's comfortable, he takes in the room around him. It's messy. It's homey. It's jazzy. Exactly what he'd expect.
Then his eyes rest on something the entertainment center below the TV, across from the couch. The open shelves reveal neat rows of records tucked together like a bookshelf, with one out, leaning perpendicular to the rows, against the rest of them. Staring back at him is Stardust by Hoagy Carmichael.