The Best

Sound greeted him in the waking world before sight did. A recording of Aerosmith's Amazing was softly playing, accompanied by the casual strumming of an acoustic guitar. Outside, tires crunched over gravel before speeding away, and the pitter-patter of raindrops was audible from somewhere above him. Sebastian cracked open an eye, and a sleet gray ceiling slowly came into focus. Even through the dim, he could make out posters of Black Sabbath and Alice Cooper looking down at him, strategically placed over defects in the metal sheeting where water damage now warped the paper. This was Ches's room. And he was in Ches's bed. He'd been in this room enough times to recognize it from smell alone—a pungent, organic scent like wet earth—but he'd never seen it from quite this angle before. The window to his left was black, streaks of rain on the glass pane glistening blue as they caught the light from Ches's Buddha lamp. Blinking through the sleep that caked his eyes, he panned his gaze over the room, cataloging the familiar magpie collection. There were the band posters, haphazard towers of records by the turntable, candles, necklaces, and every possible oddity cluttering the flimsy shelves: a life laid out in totems and tchotchkes. And there, seated with his back to the desk, guitar cradled in his lap, was Ches. His eyes were downcast, watching his fingers as he placed them with care over the frets, one foot tapping out the beat. That ever-present smile curled the corners of his lips—a model of beatific contentment. As though sensing Sebastian's eyes on him, he spoke up with a simple, “Hey.” “Hey.” Sebastian's voice cracked, rough with disuse. He coughed around a dry patch in his throat, but couldn't think of anything else to say. Ches didn't push it. Just went back to practicing a tricky combination in the second stanza, his fingers moving unhurriedly to shape out the correct chords even as the record played on without him. This was always how he worked. Slow and methodical, like he had all the time in the world. In another life, Sebastian would have seen it as laziness or just ineptitude, a stark contrast to his own practice that was founded on efficiency and rigor. But here, with the notes coming clean and effortless as Ches moved deftly from an A minor to D chord, Sebastian could appreciate the calm that it afforded him. His mind finally had the chance to catch up with reality. Unfortunately, reality caught up with him first. The events of last night overtook him with the force of a windstorm: the rainy jog home after the concert; his father standing on their doorstep, diary in hand and model city in the trash; his sister's bruised face; his father's voice cracking over his final words; walking away from it all—leaving it all behind. To come here. Why had he come here? What was he even doing? The whirlpool of emotions still raged on, left unaddressed from the night prior and now demanding answers that Sebastian didn't have. His breath hitched in his throat where it threatened to grow into a sob, but he bore down hard, stifling it before it could escape. Shaking with exertion, he squeezed his eyes shut and clapped a hand over his mouth as if he was going to be sick. He pushed himself up from the mattress. He needed out. The sheets pooled around his hips, and it was only then that he realized he was naked save for his briefs. What the— Embarrassment doused his shock, but before he could even formulate the question, Ches was answering him: "Had to get you out of those clothes, man. You showed up looking like a drowned rat." His voice lifted in an impish grin. "And I thought you said that fabric was delicate. What made you think it'd survive a downpour?” He thumbed over at Sebastian's suit where it was hanging like a disembodied copy of himself near the laundry bag. Rumpled and sagging, but dry. He raised a hand to his hair. It was badly askew with bedhead, but otherwise dry too. “How long have I been asleep?” “All night...and all day.” Sebastian scrubbed a trembling hand down his face, eyes wide as the consequences of his actions finally hit home. He was so royally fucked. I have to get back! Mother and Father, they'll have realized I'm gone! They'll know I've been— No. His back stiffened as his eyes went hard. He lowered his hand. That wasn't how it worked now, he reminded himself. The old rules didn't apply anymore. They had changed. Everything had changed. Old patterns of behavior, however, were less easy to ignore, and the first clear thought he had was one he hadn't expected. “I need to—” He paused, unsure how to word it. After all, it seemed inane to bring up when there was clearly so much else he should be explaining to Ches. He almost considered changing his mind, but his body refused to live with the interruption to his routine. “Is there a shower around here?” “Sure.” Guitar still in hand, Ches spun on the chair to point out the bathroom caddy placed by the foot of the door, topped with a folded towel. It almost looked like they'd been set there just for him. “Help yourself. Just head straight out past the water hookup. It'll be on your right.” Sebastian stood, clasping the bedsheet to his chest. As ridiculous as it seemed, he was tempted to take it with him. He'd have given anything to have his robe right now. But there would be no more robe. There would be a lot of “no mores.” Steeling himself, he cast off the sheet and stood, suppressing the chill that prickled his exposed skin. The off-key twang of a slipped guitar string drew Sebastian's attention, and he saw Ches lift his eyes to him for the first time since he'd woken up. Sebastian swallowed, shifting awkwardly in place under that gaze, unsure if the burning in the pit of his belly had always been there or was something new. “W-what?” he finally managed, locking his jaw to keep it from chattering. “You're not going out like that, are you?” Ches raised a brow at him. Grabbing a stray T-shirt from the back of the chair, he tossed it to Sebastian, saying, “It might be dark out, but we've got standards here too, y'know. Your ass isn't as attractive as you might think.” “I was going to ask to borrow something!” Sebastian retorted indignantly, even as he wrestled the oversized T-shirt on. Black with the logo of a band he didn't recognize, it went down to his thighs. He hid a scowl as he subtly sniffed the armpits. Scooping up the caddy, he'd just put his hand on the door, when Ches's voice stopped him. “And try not to get it wet.” “Get what—” But then Sebastian saw it. Looking down, he saw the fresh white gauze wrapped around his wrist. The job was tidy and precise, much better than when he'd done it alone, and he wondered where Ches had picked up this skill. But that wasn't what he was really wondering about. The image of himself lying in the bed with Ches tending to him, those steady hands touching such an intimate part of him, took front and center in his mind. It was hard to look away from it, the conflicting emotions of humility, shame, and—much to his surprise—comfort making him go stock-still. Somewhere he thought he could hear the hum of violin strings. He was still staring at his wrist when Ches spoke up again. “I had to rebandage it. You were—” He coughed and rubbed at his nose, readjusting his seat and tuning pegs that didn't need tuning. “You were scratching at it.” Sebastian flicked his eyes to the desk. A first-aid kit sat atop the F# key scrawled into the wood, its contents disturbed as though someone had gone through it in a panic. “So, yeah. Don't get it wet,” he heard Ches say, but it came out muddled as though through a thick pane of glass. The cotton-fugue was beginning to settle over him again, things threatening to go distant. Ches was still talking, saying something about how his mom was out in the living room—the way he said “out” implied there was no risk of waking her. Then he was warning him to mind the towels by the entrance. That he'd left them there to soak up the mess after hauling his skinny ass in. And damn, if he wasn't heavier than he looked! But then again, that might've just been all the rainwater. And that violin case too. He'd probably want to have it checked out, after the beating it took— “Thanks,” Sebastian bit out, threw open the door, and was gone before Ches could say another word. The communal shower was worse than Sebastian expected, but he managed. Somehow. Luckily, there was no one around at that hour of night, so he struggled with how to turn on the hot water without the added humiliation. In the end, he settled for a lukewarm shower, which was just as well, considering he wanted to get away from the blackened grout and hard water stains as quickly as possible. The restroom situation was unspeakable, and he resorted to a second shower afterward just to feel sufficiently clean again. Two showers in one night. And to think, he'd begrudged his father's strict regimen. Now, however, the memory of his clawfoot tub and limitless hot water seemed like a faraway luxury. Another “no more.” Fog hung thick over the soaked earth on his jog back to the trailer home. He'd eschewed the T-shirt in favor of just the towel, figuring it better to risk a few questioning stares than have to bathe a third time. Once back inside, Ches delivered a light reprimand and pushed a cup of warm tea into his hands, before busying himself about the room, yammering with idle chit-chat. The topics were inconsequential and simple enough for Sebastian to follow with only the occasional noncommittal grunt. He was content to let Ches do most of the talking as he sat on the edge of the bed, sipping sparingly from the mug. Appetite was a distant memory, but the hot beverage helped to settle his roiling stomach, and he took a moment to appreciate the feel of skin scrubbed pink, clean hair, and a towel around his waist—albeit made of ratty terrycloth in place of plush cotton. These had been staples in his nightly ritual for so long, it served as a welcome distraction to indulge in the familiar, the predictable. To do otherwise was—frankly, it was overwhelming. He knew he would have to start looking at his situation head-on eventually. Shelter, money, family, school. There was a lot to tackle. But being a pragmatist had always been Sebastian's strong suit, well accustomed to breaking down even the most complex musical piece into its smaller parts. This was one arpeggio, however, that refused to let itself be played in order. Every time he tried to bring the matter into focus, the elements blurred. Why was this so hard? He shook his head in frustration, and a voice answered him from the desk at the foot of the bed: “Yeah, you're right. That's not gonna work.” Ches had been sorting through his records, undecided between two albums in his hands as though the debate hinged on their weight alone. His tongue peeked out from his tooth gap in a way that Sebastian couldn't help but find endearing. There was a careless confidence in Ches's movements, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be going through records at this hour. For a friend who had shown up unannounced in a downpour and then promptly slept for 20 hours straight, and was now just, y'know, sitting on his bed in a towel. It never ceased to amaze Sebastian how unfazed Ches could be about things. But he'd be lying if he didn't say he was grateful. Every move, deliberate and serene, quieted Sebastian's fragmented mind, allowing him to focus on something he could always make sense of: music. He put aside the half-finished mug. “Okay. I think I've got just the thing for you.” Finally making up his mind, Ches unsleeved a record and placed it delicately on the turntable, aligning the needle with such care, Sebastian swore he was watching himself in action. “Been meaning to play this one for a while, ever since our little mix-up.” Warm notes from Bach's Air on the G String trickled out from the speakers, filling the room with tranquility. Ches's eyes slid closed as he traced the notes in the air with one raised hand, a conductor in tatty jeans and scuffed sneakers. “Mm,” he hummed around a smile. “Yeah. Good choice.” Violins, cellos, and Ches's beloved octobass came together, weaving an orchestral piece that told a tale of loss. The first violin took center stage with its sorrowful melody, as the second violin flitted about her, providing support and reprieve. Sebastian watched the performance unfold through Ches's hands, his eyes never leaving those long fingers as they caressed the air. Despite Ches's rugged exterior, there was a tenderness there that astonished him. Sebastian had only ever known coldness and a stern hand. Raised by a father who had convinced him that he was an abomination and deserving of abuse, he had learned early on never to expect mercy. To show anything resembling vulnerability only brought more disdain. A shiver ran through him. It scared him to think of the punishment he would earn after this stunt he'd just pulled. He felt the phantom bite of his father's hand on him now, and looking down, he saw that his fingers were digging into the bandages of his wrist. “He's a fucking monster, you know.” The scathing nonsequitur was so abrupt, Sebastian jerked his head up. Ches was gazing out over the turntable into the inky blackness of the window where the room's two inhabitants were perfectly replicated in the mirror-like reflection. His usual carefree smile had been twisted into a scowl. There was a hardness in his eyes that belied the calm exterior, and Sebastian could hear the wood of the desk creak where Ches was gripping it too tightly. “I thought you were kidding when you said he'd kill you if you quit the conservatory. But now…” He hissed out something in a language Sebastian couldn't recognize but sounded like water hitting hot oil. Mirror-Ches looked at mirror-Sebastian where the two were suspended in that black space. Fixed. Transparent. Looking right into each other. His voice was so sincere when he spoke again, it tore holes in Sebastian's heart: "I'm sorry, Glam. I'm so damn sorry. You didn't deserve what he put you through.” Sebastian blinked, and a drop of water fell free from his hair to land on his cheek. He made to brush it away, but another one followed. Then another. They were hot, hotter than anything the shower had offered, leaving damp trails where they rolled down his cheeks. “I don't know what—sorry,” he stammered, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his hands to wipe the tears away, but there were too many. And they just kept coming. The sob he'd muzzled before came back with a vengeance, prowling in his chest and clawing at the bars of its cage. It crawled its way up his throat, and he gritted his teeth against it where it came out a growl and then a keen. More tears worked their way free as he squeezed his eyes shut, curling over as his entire body heaved. There was no holding back now. He'd see. Ches would see him crying and think he was weak and pathetic, and— There were hands on his shoulders and just a few gentle words whispered to him from above. But it was enough. In that moment, Sebastian broke apart magnificently. He reached forward blindly and buried his face in Ches's chest. The T-shirt was old and worn thin but still offered a warmth Sebastian had been a stranger to his whole life. He wanted to curl up inside it and never come out again. He threw his arms around Ches and clutched at the back of his green jacket like it were a lifeline, because maybe that's exactly what it was, and maybe he needed something solid for once that would keep him from falling all the way down. There, within that safe space, Sebastian cried.