Trust Me

by psp7master

Rating: mature
Tags: Romance, Slice of Life, Human
Length: 104872

Octavia Philarmonica, a cellist, leads a nice, simple life. Vinyl Scratch, a DJ, needs a cellist to record the latest piece she has composed. Isn't it a marvel that Octavia's manager and Vinyl's agent are friends and make a deal behind

18+ Octavia Philarmonica, a cellist, leads a nice, simple life. She has her ensemble, and her queerly-planned penthouse, and her cello, and everything a woman of her age and wealth could wish for.

Vinyl Scratch, a DJ, needs a cellist to help her with the latest piece she has just composed. And she isn't going to go easy on them: she needs the song to be perfect.

Isn't it just a marvel that Octavia's manager and Vinyl's agent are long-term friends and turn out to have made a pact behind their backs? Now drawn together, for better or for worse, the two women must face each other's quirks to record the perfect song. And maybe achieve something more, without realising it.

/Cover art by Rexman (who, unfortunately, speaks little to no English; if any of you speak Korean or Japanese, please say thanks to him)

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-03-06 17:29:27 UTC

Part One Marker

I. ACCEPT ME

1. A Promise is a Promise

Octavia Philarmonica woke up to the vivid scent of baked Colombian coffee reaching her nostrils from the street through the tiny open window, which was concealed beneath the chequered ceiling, tuckered away from the rest of the penthouse. The little window had never been closed, for so long as Octavia could remember: its convenient position gave no rain or grime from the outside and little noise, but gifted the woman with the delicious scents of the street that she admired so much.

And the scents were something to savour indeed: the early-morning green of grass fumed with pasture-level freshness, the midday bakeries of the coffee shops emitted the sickly-sweet smell of cookies and muffins, the pre-afternoon baked apples of winter smelt of sugar and cinnamon; and Octavia surely would not give up the late-evening odour of an after-rain street, saturated deeply with the diamond drops of heavy rain. It was all the stranger that all this wild kaleidoscope of scent and smell reached the penthouse freely, through the twenty-eight floors of spacious, state-of-the-art, ridiculously overfurnished flats. The architect must have been perusing acid with relish, to have designed an under-the-roof apartment like that: a vast, impossibly spacious living room with practically no furniture to fill it with, a tiny library that could barely hold a single bookcase, not to mention Octavia's whole book collection, an obvious kitchen and an even more obvious bathroom - and the ridiculous triangular bedroom with the miniscule window by the ceiling, in which Octavia woke up to a vivid scent of freshly-baked Colombian coffee.

The woman yawned, tears welling in her eyes in the wake, and rolled over, muttering something very dream-related as she snatched the blanket with her knees, tucking it away to cover her bare feet, eager to carry on with the dreamland experience. And, for a moment, she did fall asleep once again, her mind diving back into the blackness of hazy pre-awakening, but the alarm rang mercilessly, blaring away with 1812, the overture that Octavia had always adored - but wished it had never been composed, at mornings like this. The worst thing, she concluded with a deep yawn as she sat in bed, her face flat and achy from the pillow and her eyes closing every other moment, was that she always woke up just a moment before the alarm. The worst thing, she mused as she stood up and stretched, her still-sleepy limbs wailing in protest, was that her mind assured her that there was a whole lot of sleep ahead - and then blam! The alarm rang, and all hopes of sleep vanished at once.

Sleep is for the weak. Octavia took a few steps towards the doorless doorway into the living room, which was also the main room, and pretty much the only inhabitable room of the penthouse. God, okay, I'm weak, let me get my sleep. Octavia shook her head. The way through the living room towards the bathroom was a torture of stupendous proportions: in addition to stubbing her toe against one of the numerous cello cases that littered her flat, the sleepy cellist also managed to stumble over an empty wine bottle. Immediately, upon reaching the sacred shrine of porcelain, she swore to herself to clean up the flat someday. On Saturday. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew it was Satuday already; her sleepy brain just failed to dish out that realisation yet.

Octavia took a look in the mirror. As expected, her face looked like a cut-out from a 'Before' in a lotion ad, and her charcoal-coloured hair was wildly tangled and messed up. The benefits of having long hair, Octavia thought with a sigh, picking up a brush and giving it a test run through the gentle hairs. As expected, the pain of her hairs torn out by the number was no less agonising than it had always been. With a grunt, her teeth clenched tight, Octavia got down to work.

The brush made its painful journey through the cellist's hair slowly, as the raven-haired woman struggled desperately not to fall asleep. Her eyelids were lead, and her head tooted the heavy pipes of late-night insomnia and a very mild hangover. Can't be the wine, Octavia assured herself, placing the brush in its rightful place. Definitely not the wine. The cellist picked up the toothbrush.

The toothpaste defiantly refused to be put onto the toothbrush, instead landing in the sink with a soft splash as it hit the mildly rushing water. Turning off the tap? Sheesh. What are those environmentalists even thinking? The second try was more successful, with half of the intended dosage landing on the brush, and Octavia brought it diligently into her mouth, brushing her teeth in vertical, horizontal, and round motions.

Upon counting to three hundred, Octavia spat, rolling a gulp of water from cheek to cheek with fervour and dedication. Sleep. Octavia staggered out of the bathroom, her disobedient feet guiding her towards the velvet couch by the far wall, so small compared to the whole room, its dark lavender so alluring right now. Sleeeeep. The cellist suddenly found herself faceplanting, the couch meeting her face with the divine touch of velvet. Sleeeee...

Octavia opened her eyes. Just some four-five seconds of sleep, and she was already feeling better. Maybe six. Octavia yawned, getting up. Her body certainly felt less achy, her legs not that heavy and her head not that light any more. Just some six seconds of sleep. The woman stuffed the feeling of lying painfully to herself in the deepest closet-nook of her mind. Just. Six. Seconds. Deliberately slowly, the cellist marched  towards the wardrobe. Just don't look at the clock. Octavia's fingers tickled the suits and dresses and casualwear that was occupying the large wardrobe, filling it up neatly, none of the fabric messy, none of the colours wash-faded, none of the texture unpleasant to the touch.

Fishing out a tailcoat and trousers, Octavia placed them on the couch, avoiding any glances at the clock. I still have a lot of time. I just closed my eyes for a moment and opened them back again. No oversleeping whatsoever. Taking a fresh shirt, the raven-haired woman began with buttoning her collar, her fingers still a little sleepy, even though the obvious six seconds of breezy sleep had done wonders, her mind conjuring up images and sensations of unbuttoning the shirt in the evening with pleasure.

On came the bow tie, Octavia's skilful fingers making up the familiar shape from the pink silk. On came the trousers, then, the zipper moaning with effort as it made its way up. I need to go on a diet, the cellist observed hypocritically as she put on the tailcoat. Now came the final preparations. Averting her eyes from the mirror, Octavia fished out a small brush from the drawer, having no desire to pay a visit to the bathroom, and worked on her hair. Just in case in had got messy from the six seconds of sleep. Off to the door she went, finally taking a look at the clock.

Fuck. Two hours certainly was a far stretch from six seconds. Now, Octavia was blaming herself for being so inconsiderate: had she not taken a glance, she could have kept tricking her mind that she was not late for the rehearsal. Which she was. So totally was.

Quickly deciding on court shoes instead of low-heeled pumps, Octavia checked her look in the mirror, and, grabbing her phone from the top of the drawer, some money, her pass and the keys, stormed out of the flat.

The door swung to a close with a soft thud.

***

Vincenza Staccato, Vinyl Scratch to her closest friends, DJ-Pon3 to the fans, a DJ with a lot of talent and few musical boundaries, woke up to the soothing tune of Sixteen Tons in Ford's immortal reindition blasting through the speakers of her sound set that gifted the beneath-ceiling space dedicated in her living room, which, if one took a criticial look at the little studio flat, also served as the bedroom, with the couch only slightly stained by months of abuse, the recording room, with equipment taking the better part of the forty square metres, and the library, with cheap paperbacks occupying the shelves, while hardcovers stood primly in the only silvery bookcase.

Vinyl yawned, jumping up and down on the couch to shrug off the sleep. Humming, "Another day older and deeper in debt," the DJ made her way to the kitchen, ruffling up her electric-blue hair without a need for a brush. It's gonna get spiky anyway. And to even think that most of her fans were prone to believing her to use gel!

The DJ opened the fridge, fishing out a loaf of bread and a jar of orange jam mixed with marmalade, traces of peel floating beneath the glass. Vinyl smiled to herself, still humming the song, wordlessly now, and sliced the loaf diagonally, thickly gifting one of the halves with the orange mixture. As she closed the door - the refrigerator hummed with effort - she went on to glance out of the window.

The sounds of the street were music to her ears: the yells of vendors intent on sharing the news of the previous day, and the beeping of cars that rushed through the busy, hectic streets, and the claxon shrieks, and the roaring stomping of thousands of feet, pressing into the asphalt, and the wind whirling, and whirling, and whirling all about. The soft jazz of coffee shops. The ambience of forsaken construction sites. The industrial metal of the sites that were active. The samba of the passers-by. The brass of cars. The opera of tall skyscrapers and chamber music of shorter buildings all about. Munching on her improvised sandwich, Vinyl was once more so immensely glad to have bought a relatively cheap flat that allowed her to feast on the street music.

Every sound, every touch of a shout or a whisper, every tickle, tockle, bickle, bockle, tuggle, wiggle, scratch, scrap, swoosh and swish of the street ended up in her mixes eventually. Each and everyone. While no listener was so avid as to recognise that - not even her manager, Neon - she still prided herself on the fact deeply. The new album she was composing - Sounds of the Street - was bound to become a success. Not just a commercial success, like all her previous albums - she had to owe that to Neon, certainly - but also a success for her, personally. Finally, she was experimenting with new styles, new intruments, new genres. The dub-jazz song, Riding in a Taxi, had already been fully recorded, with the tasty alto sax blending incredibly with the low frequencies of bass, and she was on to the classical trance composition, whose name she did not know yet. What she did know: it was going to be connected to the whispers. The whispers of couples in cinemas, embracing in back rows. The whispers of a husband to his newly-wed wife, promising wealth and glory that they both know they'll never achieve. The whispers of a mother to a child, just before bed, sweet tuneless lullabies. What she also did know: she desperately needed a very good classical cello. Without it, the song would never exist.

What cellist would Neon find, though? Once again, Vinyl found herself at a doubt. He had to be really good. Not just understand and play the melody she'd composed, but also pour his soul into the passage, understand the whole piece, and the cello's place in it, and admit it - and happily embrace it and contribute to the wholeness of the music. Who said it will be a he, though?

Vinyl got up, dumping the knife into the sink, where it met several plates left from the day before. I'll wash them later, Vinyl assured herself as she took a gulp of water, straight from the tap, more to wash her mouth than to drink. On Saturday. Somewhere, deep inside, Vinyl was sure that it was Saturday already. Back in the only room, Vinyl paused before a wardrobe. Given that her breasts were hanging especially beautifully today, she glanced in the mirror to admire them a little before putting on a bra with a hearty laugh. God, I'm so lonely that I'm checking out myself. Having put on the bra successfully, Vinyl reached for the jeans. A lonely lonely lesbian DJ checking out her tits. Mmm. Kinky. On came the jeans, tight and firm on her ass. God, I have a nice butt. The woman slapped her posterior experimentally. A very nice and sexy butt indeed. Shoving away any thoughts of cloning herself and abusing that clone for sexual reasons, Vinyl put on a T-shirt and a leather jacket and reached for her purple-lensed shades. More like violet, though. The DJ held the shades in her hands, taking a new, fresh look at them. Or lavender. Lavender is good.

Suddenly, the DJ remembered that she'd forgotten to brush her teeth. For a moment, she considered skipping that unpleasant and deeply boring part of the day. But what if I meet a sexy girl who'd want to kiss me on the mouth? Vinyl mused with self-mocking laughter. To think about it... The DJ made her way to the bathroom quickly, not even bothering to take off her jacket. Many fans have tried to make out with me. Vinyl took up her toothbrush. 'Tried' was indeed the right word. Ludicrous as it was, especially in the industry she involuntary belonged to, the DJ believed in true love - and yes, she was a virgin, and no, she was not ashamed to admit it publicly; and she would give a kiss only to the woman she truly loved. And she would give her body to the very same woman, and no other person. If I don't rub my vag into nothingness by sheer masturbation by then. Vinyl spat out the paste with a chuckle and rolled a gulp of water in her mouth before spitting it out too. With that, she turned off the tap and returned to the room.

Lingering before her turntables - the desire to create was as unbearable as ever - Vinyl still guided her feet towards the exit. A mind that's a-weak, and a back that's strong~ she sang in her mind as she snatched her phone, the keys and some money.

Vinyl put on her shades. The day had begun.

***

"Do you think she'll be late again?"

Frederic rubbed his temples at the usual question asked by the usual Harpo in the usual chamber hall where their usual quartet was to hold a usual rehearsal. He unbuttoned his collar, the bow tie springing off cheerfully, free from the grasps of the pianist's sweaty neck. The man looked at his watch. "She's late already, Harpo. Twenty minutes late."

"I dunno." Harpo shrugged, placing his harp on the floor gently, soft wood meeting hard wood. "She's either two hours early or very late." He yawned, stretching his arms in such a manner that, upon descending, one of them crawled its way across the beautiful shoulder of Beatrice Brass, who leaned in to the harpist just a little, laying her head onto Harpo's shoulder. "What do you think, Bea?" Harpo kissed the woman's ear softly. "Do you think we have some time for a quickie?"

Before Beatrice could open her mouth to give an answer, hopefully affirmative to Harpo, Frederic shook his head, tsking his lips comically. "No, you don't. As your manager, I outlaw quickies during rehearsals." The pianist made a motion of hitting a table with a fist. "And so be it."

"Pfft." Harpo waved his hand in the air, his long fingers dancing gaily as he did so. "As if anyone actually listens to you, Freddie." With that, he kissed Beatrice on the cheek. "Right, Bea?"

"Well, you should." Frederic got up and shut his eyes tight, shapes dancing before his eyelids, his back trying to achieve solace in finally being free from the prim pose the pianist held while at the instrument. "I'm your manager, after all."

"Manage my ass," Harpo retorted boldly, kissing his girlfriend on the neck. "I have a nice ass, right, Bea?" The woman noded swiftly, blushing slightly. "See? You can manage my ass just fine."

Frederic had just reached with his hand to give the back of the harpist's head a good slap when Octavia burst into the hall, huffing with effort. The cellists's eyes were tickling with sweat, no blinks able to cure it off, and her heart was leaping up and down in the wake of the long run. Octavia was no marathon runner, but, when she was late, her body awed her at its wondrous hidden ability. "Sorry, everyone," she dropped, coming to a stop by the stage, breathing and breathing and breathing. "Sorry I'm late." The raven-haired woman placed herself on the stool, her cello case tumbling to the floor loudly.

"Oooo~" Harpo made a spooky motion with his hands, flailing them in wavy motions, grinning widely. "That's a sin! Freddie must punish you. Freddie, how about a spanking for our little cellist here?" The harpist wiggled his brow suggestively, immediately receiving a well-placed smack from his girlfriend.

"Har har har." Unwavering, Frederic turned his attention to the just-arrived cellist with a smile. "Now that we've all gathered here..." The man cast a mild glare at Harpo, who'd put on a pseudosombre expression. "I have some spectacular news." Frederic held a thoughtful, serious expression for a moment, before exhaling upon catching the ensemble's sceptic looks and raised brows. "No, really."

Harpo raised his index finger. "Is it about-"

"No, it is not about my landlord lowering the rent." Frederic kept a glare on the harpist, who simply shrugged with a silent-mouthed, No more questions. The pianist straightened himself, beaming proudly. "Remember that concert I promised you?"

Beatrice gasped, immediately clasping her hands over her mouth. Octavia raised a brow, her running-hazed mind still unable to comprehend the implication. Harpo's face just flew off in a goody grin. "Is it good news? You've nailed it?"

"Yes, it's good news." Frederic nodded with a smile. "And no, I haven't nailed it. We're still stuck in this shithole, performing for about thirty people twice a month."

Beatrice's arms fell, limping strangely by her waist, as her eyes widened even more, confused and upset. Octavia just lowered her brow back to its initial place. Harpo frowned deeply. "That's... not very good news, Freddie," the harpist said. "That's crappy news."

Frederic, yet, kept smiling in his usual steadfast manner. "No, it's good news. We're not getting the concert, but..." Frederic stood up, unable to hold the dramatic pause any longer, his face breaking into a large, white-teethed grin. "I met my old friend Neon, and guess what? He works as an agent for DJ Pon-3 herself!"

The pianist stood prim and proud, grinning in silence that enveloped the hall. Beatrice blinked. Octavia cocked her head. Harpo winced. "Is... is that supposed to be good?"

Frederic hmphed indignantly. "Come on, people, don't you know who DJ fucking Pon-3 is?"

Harpo shrugged. "I listen to classical and contemporary jazz."

Beatrice blushed, averting her eyes. "I enjoy a little hip-hop." Harpo cast a highly amused glance at his girfriend, as if seeing her for the first time.

Octavia kept silent. Beauty listening to hip-hop?.. Now that's interesting. Contrary to her two bandmates, she knew a little about DJ Pon-3, if only that the renowned disk spinner was... peculiar, at least for a DJ. For one, she was living in a poor part of town in a single-room apartment when she, according to the journalists' estimations, was at least a millionaire. And that certainly sparked some interest in the young cellist.

"To keep it short, she is the hottest DJ right now." Frederic paused for a second. "In both meanings. What is important is that she is looking - or, rather, Neon is looking - for a cello to record for her new album." The pianist raised his finger in the air meaningfully. "And that means, they are looking for a cellist."

All eyes were immediately drawn to Octavia, who blushed slightly but withstood the sudden attention. "I don't know anything about EDM or whatever she's recording." And I'm too lazy to spend actual time recording a new piece. She was perfectly occupied with learning new compositions rarely, when her quartet - or, rather, Frederic - demanded it. There was simply not enough reasons in the world to sacrifice some of her free time for some recording.

"You'll just have to record the cello," Frederic assured her softly, placing a hand on the cellist's shoulder in a friendly gesture of support. "They'll give you the sheet music, and you'll record it. Neon wouldn't offer a bad deal, Octavia, I assure you. I know him well."

Octavia frowned, chewing in her lower lip. "I'm still not sure it's a good idea." Besides, I'm lazy. And you know it. Suddenly, a strange pop song sprung in her head. I'm lazy and you know it~ The cellist shook her head to get rid of the silly melody.

"Octavia, do you remember the day we formed this quartet; the day when I became our manager?" Frederic wondered with a fatherly smile. The cellist nodded reluctantly. Frederic had simply gathered them and told them to play. And we played. We still do. "You promised me you would trust my judgement. You all did." The pianist glared once more at Harpo sharply. "Besides, Neon has offered you three hundred thousand."

Octavia seemed to have done a spit-take on sheer air. "Three hundred thousand?!" The cellist took a deep breath. "How many homeless puppies do I have to kill?" Immediately, the woman blushed at what she'd blurted out. "I mean... wow." Already, her mind was drafting images of a new flat, not an attic-like penthouse but a real six-room flat - or maybe a house... Three storeys, a garden and a little fountain... A swimming pool, maybe?

"Just record the cello." Frederic smiled. "And you'll be getting half of it, no less! The rest of us will get fifty thousand each." Harpo eeped quietly while Beatrice seemed to fall faint for a moment at such a revelation.

Oh. Of course. They were an ensemble, and it was Frederic's merit, and he had found the deal, and... And I don't really want to share. "What if I take all the money and escape abroad and buy a villa where I'll live happily for the rest of my days?" Octavia suggested in a playful voice, noticing not with a hint of bemused fear just how much truth there actually was to her words.

Frederic laughed softly. "Well, then we'll chase you down and whip you with your cello bow till you give back the money and return to the quartet. Also," Frederic took his seat by the piano again, "it's not that much money. Not enough to buy a villa for sure." He chuckled faintly.

Octavia's hopes faded a little, just like her facial expression, but the woman still nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, I'll try." I did promise to trust his judgement, after all. Besides, what's the worst that can happen because of that little collab?

"Good." Frederic took a deep breath and faced the piano. "Now, let's rehearse." Once more, he was in his element, his face shining with divine light of inspiration, his fingers controlled by the divine, his very existence guided by Heaven itself as he drew a breath, ready to touch the keys. "And one, and two, and one, two, three-"

2. The Interview

Octavia took a sip of coffee, keeping her hands closely embraced about the thick-paper cup - or, rather, a tall plain glass made of corrugated cartonboard. Surely she would opt for a good porcelain mug, or a decent cup, at least; but here, in the little corner-street coffee shop, she simply had no choice. Octavia looked at the dirty-grey clock that was ticking on the wall lively, symbolising the dawn of evening.

Neon wasn't late. She was just early. Octavia took another sip of the sour espresso - terrible, and a double at that - her fingers trembling slightly. The emptiness of the quasicafe was burdening her all the more. It was getting dark, and the sun rolling over the horizon seemed to tell the cellist to go home, and drop the whole thing altogether. Who would have thought I'd have to take a job interview? At least, Octavia was assured that this 'meeting' was definitely an interview. Just this morning, the news of the deal had been dropped on her, and now, on the very same day, she had to take an interview! What's next? Would she have to start work in an hour?

Octavia rubbed her temples with a sigh, feeling a headache crawling towards her still sleepy mind. Maybe it was all a joke, she realised suddenly. Any moment now, Frederic would show up with no Neon ("I'll go catch Neon and you'll have a little talk" my ass, the cellist groaned mentally), and tell her, with that usual dumb smile of his, that it had all been a hoax - all along! Maybe Harpo and Bea are in, too? They would all show up and laugh, and she'd laugh too, but no one would understand just how nervous it had been making her all this time...

Indeed, Frederic showed up, walking into the coffee shop alone, drifting between the pristine metal tables, their round forms letting him towards the cellist longingly, glaring with their salt-and-peppers at the pianist's back. The man's bow tie was off, and his grin was on, as he seated himself opposite the cellist, who, by now, was going insane with worry already. "So?" Octavia demanded, a little louder than she'd expected, making even the shy barista girl, a timid-looking brunette of eighteen, nineteen at most, wince in worry, even though there were no other customers to scare off. "There'll be no Neon, right?" she demanded angrily. "There has never been a Neon, right?" Involuntarily, Octavia grabbed the shocked pianist by the shiny black lapels. "It is all a hoax, am I right?" the woman practically growled in despair.

Frederic's mouth practically fell agape. "Woah, woah, woah!" The tall man freed himself from the cellist's deadly grip, waving his hands in the air. The barista girl all but hid beneath the counter. "Octavia, calm down! Neon is coming in a moment!" He smiled at his friend gently. "You are all worked up, right?"

Octavia took a deep breath and exhaled, leaning back to let her muscles relax a little. "You can't imagine. I'm so nervous." The woman tried to take another gulp of coffee, but there was none left in the improvised mug. The cellist sighed, once again rubbing her temples in soft, round motions, her fingers trembling slightly as she did so.

"Come on, Octavia." Frederic placed his big, sturdy palm on Octavia's shoulder, making the woman feel just a little safer in the wake of her manager's support. "It's not like he's going to interview you or anything of the kind." Frederic's usual warm smile made its way to his handsome face, dancing just around his feline cheekbones. "Just a small talk, to learn what kind of person you are."

Octavia huffed, gaining back a little composure. "Why would he want that?" What if... Octavia suppressed a gulp. What if I'm the wrong type of person? Mountains of money in Octavia's imagination went down the sink, with the cellist clinging at it desperately, bodies of cello-murdered puppies paving the floor. Octavia shook her head to get rid of such a sad and deeply unsettling mental image.

Frederic winced a little as he leant back in the tiny metal chair as well. "Well, you see, as far as I can tell, DJ-Pon3 works only with a few select people. She is very... demanding of whomever performs with her."

Octavia nodded, idly toying with the ex-coffee-mug, rolling it back and forth in her hands. "Skill-wise?"

Another wince from the pianist told her that she was not quite right. "Personality-wise. She is... Again, from what I gather, she is very shy, if not introverted, and easily embarrassed. Self-conscious, too. So, she needs to feel comfortable while working with other people." Frederic let out a sigh, which soon turned into an early yawn. "And that's rarely."

Now it was Octavia's turn to wince. Marvellous. The cellist made an effort to lay her hands on the table, her long, thin fingers calming down reluctantly. "A shy DJ?" Octavia wondered aloud. "That's a rarity."

The glass door opened, and, with a chime of the bell, a peculiar well-dressed man walked in, his ridiculous leather jacket an oddity compared to his state-of-the-art tech watch, the kind that tracks blood pressure and temperature, clinging to the wrist tightly, and his ridiculously glossy shades. His hair was a fair step from normalcy, but a confident grin on his face told Octavia that this man was not concerned with worldly matters, lost in his own world and heeding only his own worldview.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he dropped in a friendly tone, embracing Frederic for a greeting and shaking Octavia's hand politely, yet firmly. "Name's Neon Lights, or just Neon." The barista girl disappeared in the back room, evidently not used to seeing more than two people at once in the miniature establishment. "I just had to pick up that new record by The Expendables. Do you like them?" He asked suddenly, taking a glance at the cellist through those thick shades of his.

Octavia felt a surge of thin, mild panic crawl through her body, seizing it whole for a moment. Unable to see Neon's eyes, the cellist didn't know - and could not know - what to say. He seems to like the band. Why would he stop to buy their album otherwise? "Oh, I'm a fan of their early work," Octavia lied with an easy smile, having not a slightest idea who The Expendables were, and if they were still performing. A perfect answer, the cellist congratulated herself. How many points do I receive?

"Oh. I think it's crap." Neon kept staring at the raven-haired woman with those screaming pools of dark blue mixed with soft violet, those lenses that bore no emotion, made no sense whatsoever. The man's fingers were still, one hand upon the other, a smile steadfast on his round-ish face.

Octavia gulped, sweat covering her brown in a thin layer of film. Dammit! Think think think! This was certainly a test... But what's the right answer? Was there a right answer? "Well, to each their own, I suppose," the cellist replied diplomatically, casting a side glance at Frederic, who traitorously watched the clock, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

For a while, Neon held a painful, silent pause. Then, he sighed, his smile fading a little. "Octavia. I may call you Octavia, right?" The cellist nodded. "Good. You see, Octavia... For my client, honesty is very important." Another pause. The cellist was practically shivering with sweat by now. God, I should have changed into something more comfortable than this tailcoat. "Please, Octavia. Tell me your opinion on the band. Your honest opinion."

Octavia took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "You may call me ignorant and narrow-minded, Neon, but I have never heard of that band, nor do I plan to listen to it in the future." Well, that escalated quickly.

To her surprise, Neon merely chuckled, soon erupting into laughter, supported by the traitorous Frederic, who guffawed light-heartedly, looking at Octavia indulgently. As the men's joy subsided, Neon explained with a grin, "There has never been such a band. It's the name of the football team Freddie and I were a part of in college." Frederic nodded in satisfaction upon seeing the cellist's sheer disbelief.

"You... tricked me!" Octavia gasped, pointing a finger at Neon accusingly as she had forgotten about the interview, and the money, and the homeless puppies. "You lied to me deliberately!"

Neon shrugged. "So I did. And I did that because I need to you to be one hundred per cent honest with me. And with Vinyl."

"Vinyl?" Octavia raised her brow questioningly.

"Vincenza's short name." Seeing the cellist's dumbfounded look, Neon elaborated, "DJ-Pon3."

"Oh." Octavia nodded at the explanation slowly. The barista returned to her place, her face still bearing a slightest trace of concern, but her posture more collected and prim. "I see." That's a strange name for a DJ. Or for anybody, for that matter.

"All right." Frederic slammed his palms against his knees and jumped up quickly. "I think I'll leave you two to converse." The man glanced at Octavia, whose expression resembled a perfect blend of unstable fear and terrifying anger at the pianist's sudden betrayal. "You have a day off tomorrow, Octavia." As if a day off can ever clear up what you've done, you sleasy greasy- "Cheers!" With that, the tall man took his leave with haste, the door slamming behind him, scaring the poor barista to no avail.

Octavia groaned mentally, considering all the ways she could physically reprimand the elusive pianist, which included a painful rectal insertion of her bow and an iron maiden form of hour-long torture. "So..." The cellist once more directed her thoughts on the business trail. "Neon." Suddenly, the woman felt very stupid. What do I say now? Octavia looked at Neon, who still seemed to be scrutinising her with his shade-hidden eyes.

"I'm not going to ask you any questions." Neon leaned forward a little, propping his head with neatly-placed elbows. Octavia blinked in lack of understanding. Then again, she had never been to a job interview before... "I don't need to know how many years you've been playing the cello, or the level of your skill, or your aspirations, or what kind of music you like. It's all for Vinyl to ask you. It's all for Vinyl to decide." Octavia felt her knees trembling, her mind occupied by an image of a gigantic DJ-Pon3, aka Vinyl, floating sternly above a pedestal of gold and steel. For some reason, Vinyl was two metres tall, in a crimson cloak, with fangs dripping a thousand cellists' blood. I should stop reading so many vampire novels.

"What I want, instead," Neon continued, "is to give you a few words, and you'll give me your associations." Turning to the barista girl, the man called out, "Earl Grey, please."

They have Earl Grey here? the cellist wondered to herself, casting a sad glance at her ex-coffee. I should've had a cup. The barista nodded and grabbed a teapot with slightly trembling fingers. Octavia sent a wave of pseudotelekinetic sympathy towards her. "Like a psychotherapy session?" she wondered, calming down a little, on one hand (No questions! Yay!), but falling into deeper anxiety, on the other hand. What if my associations are wrong? What if he doesn't like them? Octavia wanted to shout. Apparently, getting a job was not quite as easy as murdering innocent puppies. Aloud, the cellist sighed breezily.

"Not quite." Neon got up, stretching his limbs a little on his way to the counter. "I'll want elaborate associations. What strikes you as an artist when you think of the associations." Neon took his cup, dropping money on the counter. "Thank you, dear." The barista's face tinted with a faint blush as she nodded. Neon grinned and leaned in, whispering something to the girl heatedly. Octavia watched the brunette flush a deeper shade of pink and nod meekly.

"So." Neon returned to the table, sipping his tea as he sat down at the table. Octavia gazed longingly at the obviously delicious hot drink. "A car."

For a moment, Octavia was silent. What?.. The woman's mind reeled, unable to get a grip on a single association. Panic crept over her once again, like a tidal wave of a scary, fervent storm. "What kind of car?" she wondered idly, if only to win some time.

"A sports car," Neon suggested, his chin once again propped on his elbows, his shades staring at the raven-haired woman lifelessly. "A new, shiny sports car."

"A new, shiny sports car," Octavia repeated slowly. "It's expensive. Very beautiful." The cellist paused. "Everyone is envious of me when I drive down the street. It's not just a vehicle. It's a status item." God, now I look like an adman selling a car.

"Uhuh." Neon nodded, straightening in place and sipping tea in silence for half a minute. For the first time in her life, Octavia's shirt itched so very painfully that she wanted to take it off at once and throw it away for good. "A bird."

"A beautiful nightingale," Octavia blurted out immediately. "A singing bird, its beak open in a wonderful song. The melody is calm, and tranquil, and natural," the cellist elaborated, feeling a little more confident. "It's singing a song of freedom. Maybe," she added sheepishly, her cheeks softening with pink a little.

"A street," Neon carried on, visibly unperturbed.

Octavia chewed on her lip, closing her eyes. A street... Indeed, an image of a busy, hectic street appeared right before her, with its delicious scents. Only the smell was not reaching her nose through the window; it was all real. It was all here. She began to describe: "There's a busy street, full of people. All of them go about their business. There are vendors selling baked apples, their sweet, delicious aroma mixing with the caramel of nearby sweet stores. Hints of cinnamon can be traced in the jerky morning air. The sour odour of grime doesn't attract you, but it doesn't push you down: it mixes into the symphony." Octavia smiled as she opened her eyes. Maybe that sounded weird, but it's so true.

For a while, Neon was silent. Then, he took out a piece of paper and scribbled on it. The cellist took it, scrutinising the writing. An address?

"Tomorrow, at seven pm," Neon said simply. "Vinyl will be waiting for you in her flat. Please don't be early. Being late is okay: she likes to work late evening to early night."

Octavia blinked, suspicion commanding her mind steadily. Was 'session cellist' slang for 'courtesan"? "Why the flat?" the cellist wondered, her voice dripping uncertainty.

"Vinyl doesn't like the walls of her studio," Neon explained simply, shrugging his shoulders and downing the tea, the cup ending up on the table sadly, making a lone companion to Octavia's ex-coffee vessel. "They're soundproof."

She has her own studio?! Octavia thought in awe. Aloud, she said, "Isn't that supposed to be good?" She waved her hand in the air in a round motion. "You know, for the recording?"

Neon smiled with a soft shake of his head, his shades firm and neat on his face. "You'll see for youself. Vinyl draws inspiration from the sounds of the street."

Immediately, a realisation dawned upon Octavia. Of course. That was the point of all the questions. To evoke a reaction within her. The right reaction. And she'd failed. But I... succeeded? I won? Clutching the paper, her ticket to wealth, her fame and fortune written in cheap substitute-ink, Octavia released a breath. "I see. Thank you. I'll be there." The woman paused. "I... I may go?" she asked a little more anxiously that's she'd expected.

Neon barked with laughter. "Octavia, that wasn't a Maths test. Of course you can go." He smiled and shook the cellist's hand. "I hope you and Vinyl get along for the recording."

Octavia smiled, standing up. "I am sure of it, Neon." With that, she walked out of the coffee shop, catching, out of the corner of her eye, the sight of Neon walking up to the near-faint barrista. Once outside, the cellist took a deep breath, letting the freshness of the evening wind saturate her lungs. With still-trembling fingers, she fished out her phone and dialed Frederic.

"Yes?" came the pianist's voice on the line.

"Frederic, you're an asshole," Octavia stated plainly, watching a couple - a young man spinning some tales to his infatuated and dreamy-eyed girl - walk by. "I almost had a panic attack."

Frederic's laughter reached Octavia's ears, transmitted well by the mobile network. "But you still love me dearly, Octavia, don't you? Because you nailed it."

The cellist could not help a small smile. "I did. But you're still an asshole."

"See you tomorrow, Octavia. Good luck."

"Thanks, Freddie." Octavia hung up with a sigh. She closed her eyes, rubbing her eyelids softly. Suddenly, just as she opened her eyes and looked around, the world looked just a little brighter in its evening moonlit glory. Octavia laughed and laughed, unable to stop, as she walked up the street.

Home.

***

"So, how was she?"

Vinyl guided her slipper-adorned feet to the sink, running the tap for a while before filling half of the glass with water. She turned on her feet, watching Neon closely. The man was sitting on the couch, leaning back greatly, his arms unfolded at the back of the couch, his eyes finally un-shaded, for the first time during that evening.

"Vinyl, how many times should I tell you not to drink water from the tap?" the agent chided the disk-spinner lazily. "It's not all that good for your health." The man lit up a cigarette, making the DJ wince in slight disapproval.

Vinyl took a few good gulps of water while walking to get the window. Opening the little stainy-glass structure, she demanded again, "This Octavia. How was she?" The woman sat down on the couch next to Neon, who was puffing out cigarette smoke towards the open window, where it met the chilly evening breeze.

Neon shrugged. "She was okay, I guess. Didn't get the car part, of course." The man chuckled. "Nobody does. The bland answer about the bird. I guess it'll take you a lot of tries to get the music right. She doesn't seem to have the same feeling towards the 'sounds of the street'." Neon's fingers danced in an inverted-commas fashion.

Vinyl put the glass on the little table that stood diligently by the couch, ready to host anything not larger than a sheet of paper. "What about the street? She didn't name any sounds, right." That was a statement, not a question. Vinyl sighed. "She said something about the people and cars and something like this. Right?"

Neon rolled his tongue inside his mouth a little, deciding on the answer. The cigarette made its way out of the window: the non-smoker Vinyl Scratch, naturally, did not have an ashtray. "Not quite," he said finally. "She talked a lot about... smells."

Vinyl looked at her agent strangely. Smells? Her voice echoed her thoughts: "Smells? What do you mean?"

"Well..." Neon shrugged. "It was a bit weird, to tell the truth. She talked about baked apples and caramel and cinnamon and what-not. I guess that's something." Seeing Vinyl's slightly upset impression, the man leant in and placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Listen, Vinyl. I know you're trying to find... something more than a session musician. But you'll find her eventually." Neon smiled. "It can happen any day. So, this girl's not the one. She doesn't feel music the way you feel music. So what? You'll record a song, and off she goes, no strings attached, and you're on to the next one, beautiful and sensitive."

Vinyl chuckled at Neon's encouragement. "You make it sound as if I'm making you do that to find me a girfriend."

Neon wiggled his brow playfully. "Aren't you?" Vinyl slapped his wrist with a laugh. "Sis, listen. Everything will happen in time. You're just twenty-two." Vinyl cleared her throat audibly. "All right, almost twenty-three. Still, you're young. You'll find the right one."

Vinyl winced, leaning into Neon's embrace. "I know, Nini. It's just that... I'm so desperate, you know?" The DJ looked at her agent sadly. "I don't want to sell myself to the first girl I see, but... what if this Octavia, or someone else, is just so beautiful, and she'll say she likes me, and... And she'll dump me?" Tears welled in the spinner's eyes. "After using me?"

Neon grabbed the woman, keeping her close to his chest. "Vinyl. You are my little sister. I will always protect you. If this Octavia, or anyone else, tries to play your feelings and leave you heartbroken, I swear to all gods, I will find her and make her regret that."

Vinyl smiled calmly, leaning in to the embrace, content on laying her head over Neon's shoulder. "Nini, stay overnight, will you?"

Neon tsked and shook his head, making Vinyl's spiked hair bounce off a little. "Sorry, sis. I have a date in a couple hours." Neon ruffled Vinyl's hair and stood up, not without planting a kiss at the DJ's forehead. "I promise I'll see you tomorrow, after you've met up with Octavia." The agent gave his client an exaggerated wink. "And you'll tell me all about her."

Vinyl laughed and launched a pillow at Neon. The laughing man evaded it with ease, raising his hands in defeat. "I yield! I yield!" Still, Vinyl launched herself at the agent, pinning him to the floor and making a show of beating him up with her small, petite knuckles.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Neon exlaimed over and over, on in the game, shielding his face dramatically as he rolled back and forth on the soft, utterly dusty blue carpet. "Mercy! I plead mercy!"

With a laugh, Vinyl rolled over and fell off her brother's body with a soft thump, lying next to him on the floor, staring at the ceiling, smiling. "Who's the lucky girl?"

Neon rose on an elbow, staring out of the window dreamily. "She's the one, sis, I'm telling you. She's so beautiful, and so impossibly cute, and have you seen her nose?" Neon sighed in bliss. "She's a barista at a coffee shop. I turned on my charm, and, naturally, she agreed to a date with me."

"I give you two three days," Vinyl said with a chuckle. "That's gonna be a new record for your love affairs."

Neon looked at the DJ with an expression of exaggerated hurt on his face. "I am offended, Vinyl. What if I end up marrying her?"

The DJ laughed. "Do you even know her name?"

Neon shook his head. "No. But I do know her phone number." The man got up, brushing the dust off his clothing. "And, for now, that's enough."

Vinyl smiled, hugging her agent. "Take care."

"Sure." Neon smirked. "I'll be using a condom."

Vinyl blushed fiercely, averting her eyes. Damn, I'm a mature adult. Why can't I just have normal talks about sex without flushing like a schoolgirl? In fact, Vinyl wasn't even sure if modern schoolgirls were that... timid when it came down to that particular topic. "Come on already." she grumbled in embarrassment, with Neon laughing all along.

The man took a theatrical bow and left the flat, shutting the door behind him. Vinyl sighed and reached the door, locking it with diligence. Yawning, she made her way towards the bathroom to deal with natural urges before she could finally go to bed and prepare for whatever the next day held. On her way, Vinyl took the glass to the kitchen, splashing the water away in the sink and filling it with mineral water straight from the fridge.

Staying healthy, Neon. Vinyl smirked as she downed the glass and walked out of the kitchen.

4. The Preparations

Octavia stared at the paper, hoping that, maybe, after an hour of silent contemplation, the sheet music would open up a whole new world of experience and sacred knowledge to the young cellist. Unfortunately, it did not seem to have such an intention, just lying there on the table silently, staring back at the dumbfounded musician.

Octavia got up with a sigh, stretching her arms and jumping in place. Not even Monk's records had helped her understand the concept of playing what was 'not there' - a concept so bizarre that it still eluded her. The cellist walked towards the table, picking up her tea. At least, she thought, sipping the barely-warm liquid, Straight, No Chaser had been good for relaxing, the previous evening. Yesterday...

Octavia blushed slightly as she made her way back to the chair, looking at the stately notes once more. For now, her mind was content on assuming that both Vinyl and she were adults (even though Vinyl seemed a little younger than her) and could act as if nothing had happened. She had just seen Vinyl... pleasuring herself. And went home afterwards. And took a bath, listening to some jazz in order to understand what her new employer wanted of her. And masturbated while thinking of her. Octavia sighed, closing her eyes. Yes, that too. After all, she thought, it was perfectly natural. So what if I don't know her closely? She had found herself more than once masturbating to the thought of random people she'd seen on the street. Nothing wrong with that. Not to mention that she hadn't had sex for quite a while, ever since she and Freddie decided to remain mere friends. Thanks God we still have quickies sometimes. Though, those quickies had greatly reduced recently, with both the pianist and the cellist realising they felt way more comfortable as friends without benefits. And, Octavia observed, groaning at the notes, it seemed that they no longer would have sex. Thanks God we had quickies, she corrected her initial statement. Frederic had his own life, and she had her own life. But, with Vinyl...

Octavia stood up once more, pacing the room. No such thoughts. The cellist shook her head, her hand ruffling her already tangled hair. Think think think. The clock struck two. Music thoughts. It was five hours till she had to hand in the work, and she had done... Absolutely nothing. Unless listening to the records counted, of course.

The woman sighed, shoving away a wine bottle laying on the floor, having been consumed by the crafty cellist as soon as the clock showed ten-thirty, a time at which her conscience allowed her to indulge in alcohol. And yet, it seemed that the situation demanded a harder drink. For a moment, Octavia just stood in the middle of the slightly-littered room, pondering as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. A little devil Octavia on her shoulder pushed her cheek with a trident and swished her tail. "It's two in the afternoon, for fuck's sake. Have a whisky," the little devil whispered in Octavia' ear. The cellist nodded and looked at the other shoulder. The angel Octavia nodded with a shrug. "Just don't get totally wasted before you go to see Vinyl," the little angel asked. Once more, Octavia nodded and departed with haste towards the wine cabinet that rested by the wall, easily accessible, weekly refilled, and daily emptied - a fine wooden cabinet with expensive glass showing off the contents that Octavia was incredibly proud of.

Her utmost pride, a bottle of sixteen YO Jura, Diurach's Own, a beautiful bottle, a masterful work of art, with amber liquid swishing playfully and yet stately, occupying way less than half of the bottle, took the central place in the cabinet. Can't really get drunk on so little whisky, Octavia observed calmly as she extracted the precious bottle and a couple of glasses. Humming, Whisky, whisky, the magical drink, the cellist guided her feet towards the kitchen, the sink calling out for her longingly. With a frown, the woman picked up an empty bag that had once hosted delicious crisps, the entirety of which had been consumed by the cellist the previous evening after her... heated jazz-fuelled bathroom activities.

The raven-haired woman flushed just a little as she placed the empty bag in the dustbin and started washing the glasses. The salty scent of morning's scrambled eggs was still floating in the air, mixing with the blend of curry-and-pepper prepared for the chicken Octavia had decided to roast for dinner. The fresh fruit on the table emitted a pre-stale odour, the kind of smell that told the cellist to consume them as soon as possible before they went bad. After dinner. Why don't we have best-befores plastered on fruit? Octavia wondered to herself. Immediately, however, her brain jumped onto a new thought.

Why was the cute DJ so unbearably hot? Those breasts, Octavia thought, turning off the tap. That cute blush when she rubbed her little pussy. The woman felt heat once more crawl into her nethers, unwanted and yet not entirely unwelcome.

Entering the overly-spacious living room, Octavia sighed at the wine bottle still rolling on the floor. God, I so don't want to pick it up... With another sigh and carefully averted eyes, the cellist pushed at the bottle with her toe, rolling it under the bed successfully. Done and done. With that, the cellist put the glasses and the bottle on the table, proceeding to her tiny sleeping corner. With a smile, she picked up an old, worn Paddington bear, with eyes replaced by two dull buttons, a red and a purple one. "Come on, Mister Tummers, it's time for a drink." Octavia picked up the plush toy and kissed it on the nose lovingly before taking her life-long companion to the living room. She aged, and Mister Tummers aged with her; in her childhood he used to be her tea-drinking partner; when she was a teenager, he was the one with whom she shared her deepest crushes and secrets; and now that she was an adult, Mister Tummers was her faithful drinking buddy. After all, he was of age too.

Taking her seat in a green armchair, the cellist sat the bear opposite her, pouring a little whisky to him and half a glass to her. "You don't want too much, Mister Tummers," the cellist said in a lecturing tone. "You know you have liver issues." The bear stared at her with his button-sewn eyes. "And don't look at me like that. No means no." Octavia downed half of her glass, wincing as the amber liquid hit her belly with pleasant warmth. And, immediately, the burn in her throat followed. An experienced drinker, Octavia immediately drank what was left of the whisky to soothe her burning throat.

The cellist sighed and leant back, her hands on her knees as she waited for the alcohol to hit her head and give her an edge of inspiration. "What should I do with the music, Mister Tummers?" she wondered, looking at the Paddington. The bear offered no reply. "I don't even know if I should come, after I saw her... going at it." The cellist blushed slightly as the whisky finally hit her mind with a sledgehammer, making her head light and empty. "Maybe she won't even want to see me after that." The images of Vinyl moaning, rubbing her pussy, her eyes closed in bliss, her cheeks red, her nipples peeking through the shirt, made their way into Octavia's head, which soon spun into a daze. "Maybe she will..." Octavia's finger nibbled at her pants, as if in hesitation. "Maybe she'll.... She'll want me to come. And... make me..." Octavia moaned, sliding her fingers into her longing pussy. "Cuuuum~" Suddenly, her eyes shot wide open as she realised exactly what she was doing and where she was doing it. The cellist stared at the plush that stared intently back. Her cheeks flushed a little. "Mister Tummers, you are a pervert." With a sigh, Octavia withdrew her adventurous hand. How could she not get aroused at the thought of the shy - most possibly virgin - DJ, and her jiggly breasts, and her fine-looking ass, and... "Maybe we can become friends with benefits," Octavia observed aloud. But, to do that, an inner, reasonable Octavia told her, First, we need to become just friends. The cellist filled her glass again, watching the clock show half two. Vinyl was so pretty, and so unbearably cute... And I want her. No matter how many partners Octavia had had in her life, she was absolutely sure that, so far, Vinyl was the sexiest woman she'd ever laid eyes upon. Yes, as if a shy virgin like her will let me seduce her. Octavia downed the glass, wincing painfully, and looked sternly at the bear, who had no intention of moving.

For now, she had to make sure she hadn't lost the job. For now, she had to work on the music and present it to Vinyl in the evening. For now, there was no hope for incoming sex with the cute DJ. For now, unfortunately, it was just her and her hands. With a sigh, Octavia got up, staggering a little and downed whatever Mister Tummers had in his glass. "Mister Tummers, wait for me here. I'll go take a bath."

With that, the cellist took her leave, staggering into the bathroom, her legs already just a tiny bit disobedient in the wake of the consumed whisky. For a moment, she considered putting on one of the records - surprisingly enough, bebop was extraordinarily pleasant to masturbate to - but resolved against it. After all, she thought, turning on the tap and letting the slightly hot water rush freely into the finely-plugged bath with steel handles, she could come to an idea regarding the music Vinyl had given her; and, for that, she needed silence. To be truly original, you have to abstract from any foreign sound while composing music, Octavia repeated in her mind the words of the famous Immanuel Staccato, the ingenious cellist and the genius composer, her idol for many years. There is nothing worse for a composer than being eclectic. The cellist slipped out of her shirt and pants, looking at her naked body in the mirror. She wasn't Vinyl, true, but... I could interest her. She's obviously into women, so...

Not bothering to close the door (It's not like Mister Tummers will peek in), Octavia sat in the half-full bathtub slowly, exhaling in relief as warm water enveloped the lower half of her body, swishing around her legs as the tap spat out more and more. Soon, the water was covering her breasts already, and, before it got to the neck, Octavia turned off the tap. For a few minutes, she just lay there, relaxing, bathing in pleasure, and trying to concentrate on the music. However, no music-related thoughts wanted to enter her whisky-hazed mind, which instead decided to focus on the sexy blue-haired woman. I should've stayed for tea, Octavia thought idly as she squeezed her left breast with her right hand, while her left one made its way all the way down to her inner folds. Rubbing her nipple, pinching it slightly, Octavia moaned out as she thought about Vinyl rubbing herself with vigour, on that slightly-stained sofa, her beautiful breasts alluring and mesmerising. The cellist's fingers were already inside her pussy, pressing in, rubbing her sensitive spots, penetrating what ached so much to be penetrated with Vinyl's tongue instead. Mmm, I need her between my legs so much~ Octavia's mind supplied eagerly a vivid image of Vinyl, blushing, on her knees before her, as she, Octavia, patted her head and ruffled that beautiful spiky hair, and pressed the DJ's head into her longing pussy, making her lick her, and lick, and lick, and kiss her, and nibble on her clit... Octavia cried out a muffled yell as she felt deep pleasure awaken within her. Her right hand kept caressing her nipples, squishing her breasts with force.

My breasts are still nice, Octavia thought off-handedly, with a hint of self-hurt pride. Contrary to the current object of her sexual fantasies, her breast was flat, but it wasn't all about the size. Though, size does matter. Somewhat. She just had to make up for what was not there with-

Octavia's eyes snapped open. For a few moments, she just lay in silence, the gears in her mind greasing up with creative juices and rolling, rolling, rolling. Make up for what's not there with... Of course! The cellist smiled and withdrew her hand.

She knew exactly just what to do with the music.

***

"She saaaaa-oh-oh-oooooow meeeee!" Vinyl wailed in Neon's arms, cowering on the floor of her agent's office, the carpet thick and unpleasant against her elbows as her shocked brother held her with uncertainty in his eyes, unshielded by the lucky shades, stroking the woman's shoulders gently."She ssaaaaaaw meeee!"

Neon pressed his lips against his sister's hair, his skin touching the woman's scalp beneath it, his eyes closed as he tried to cure whatever issue Vinyl had with a simple show of affection. The clock kept ticking towards three, with the busy hum of the street breaking through into the skyscraper, mixing in with the noise of the building itself: the tapping of hundreds of shoes going for a late lunch break, the white noise of the adjacent recording rooms, the vocals, the guitars, the horns, the drums breaking through the not-so-soundproof soundproof walls of the studio, the constant swishing of papers in the law firm and the orgasmic glee of office workers who finally unbuttoned their dirty, sweat-drenched white collars. "Sis," Neon said finally, lifting the crying DJ by the chin. "You've been crying for half an hour already, but I don't know what's going on." He chewed on his lip, offering a weak supportive smile. "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"She saw me!" Vinyl replied immediately, sniffing and pressing closer into the man's chest. "She ssaaaww meeee!"

Before his little sister could break into hysteria once more, Neon asked a preventive, "Who saw you, Vinyl?"

"Octavia saw me!" Vinyl closed her eyes, shapes dancing before her eyelids. "She saw me!" Once more, Vinyl cried out, tears streaming  down her cheeks in sheer humiliation - not only because of the situation itself, but because she was telling Neon about it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Vinyl chided herself madly as she cried on and on into Neon's shirt.

"Yes." Neon nodded slowly, his fingers running up and down Vinyl's back comfortingly. "She saw you. Yesterday. When you met." The man fell silent, prompting his sister to elaborate.

"She saw me..." Vinyl sniffed, averted her eyes with a terrible flush. "...Walking my kitten." God, this is so, so awkward... Vinyl shut her eyes painfully, hoping vainly that the ground beneath her feet would open up and swallow her whole.

"What?" Neon blinked, his mind trying to get a grip on the phrasing, his eyebrow lifted, his eyes lost in lack of understanding.

Vinyl flushed even deeper, her neck turning a fine shade of red. "You know... um, scratching my record." Dammit, Nini! Won't you get it already?

"Um..." Neon smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head, his whole face feigning blissful ignorance.

"She saw me masturbating, okay?!" Vinyl jerked up in an attempt to stand, her face matching her eye colour perfectly, but was held in place firmly by her brother, who only gave her a tighter embrace, his arms entwined behind the DJ's back tenderly.

"So..." Neon grinned, unable to miss such a perfect opportunity. "Did she like what she saw?"

Vinyl's fist collided with the man's cheek at once, fires of indignation dancing in the DJ's eyes as she freed herself from her brother's grasp and stood up, her toes facing the door, ready to storm out.

"Sis, wait!" Neon called out, still sitting on the floor, his hands on his knees as he rocked back and forth, trying to contain laughter that was burning inside his stomach already. "I was just kidding!" He smiled at the DJ's fury. "Hey, at least you're not crying any more."

For a few moments, Vinyl considered delivering another punch, but sighed in defeat upon seeing Neon's goofy smile, the smile she'd grown used to over the years. "She arrived. We talked a little," the spinner said finally, proceeding to Neon's chair, in which she took a certain solace as she sat and watched her brother from above. "I showed her the music and gave her some listening material, as usual. And then..." Vinyl's cheeks turned pink as she looked out of the window, the city highline zooming in on her dangerously. "Well, she left, and I... I decided to blow off some steam. And then she returned to get her bow and, well..." Vinyl whimpered something under her breath and kept looking away, unsure whether she'd ever be able to look into people's eyes again.

The hum of the street grew restless, moaning like a tidal wave, like a beast of the sea, crushing the masts of sleepy lampposts and eating up the roar of engines; the people, an avid crowd, marched like an army to and fro, commanding the shaking asphalt; the cars blared and the voices yelled, and even the whispers reached Vinyl's ears in their ill-preserved glory. Such a perfect hearing was her plight, forever.

"Why didn't you lock the door?" Neon wondered finally, making no motion to get up, just analysing the situation in silence. "It... It almost looked like you wanted to be caught."

Vinyl glared at her brother immediately, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Nini, you're walking the fault line. Don't. I just forgot to lock the door, is all." Or, maybe... I really wanted her to... see... The DJ shook her head, getting up from the chair, and looked at the table, not to meet Neon's gaze. It was still littered with papers, as always: cheques and newspapers, drafts and signed contracts, and insider information, and everything Neon could ever need, running the label, which was hers only... Well, only on paper. "What do I do, Nini?" Vinyl wondered with a given-up finality. "I... I have to meet her tonight, at seven." With a sudden touch of fear, Vinyl gulped. "Will she even come?"

"Listen, Vinyl." Neon got up, brushing off his new twopiece suit as he checked his ridiculous green chequered tie. "She will come. And you will meet you. And you will have a recording session." Neon smiled encouragingly. "Because you are both musicians, and you are both adults. Just pretend nothing ever happened, and I'm sure so will Octavia."

"Adults," Vinyl mumbled, inspecting the toes of her trainers. "I'm not sure I want to be an adult, Nini. Hell, I'm not sure I am an adult." Vinyl paused. "I'm not sure Octavia won't act... childishly."

"Vinyl." Neon placed his heavy hand on his little sister's shoulder. "She's twenty-six. I'm sure she's a responsible woman." Once again, the man gifted his sister with a shining smile.

Vinyl smirked, her tears drying up on her skin in salty drops. "She's that old?"

"Oh, did my little sis want to have a chance with-" Suddenly, Neon paused, watching Vinyl's face break into a grin. "Wait a minute..." The agent's eyes narrowing in a dawning realisation. "That's not old! I'm twenty-eight!"

Now, Vinyl was laughing out loud as Neon frowned and made a great show of being offended, his eyes narrow, his lips curling up, his brows furrowed narrowly. "I'm not old!"

Vinyl kept laughing, feeling her worries dissipate, fade away in the wake of the conversation. Suddenly, she just wanted to talk to her brother, like they so often did; just say random things and laugh about them and hug and go to sleep together under the warm, thick blanket. "Did you know that Octavia's... bisexual?" Vinyl wondered suddenly, a little less embarrassed now that she'd got the talk going.

"Oh!" Neon grinned widely, showing off his teeth. "So I guess I do have a chance with her after all!" He laughed softly, his voice like a pretty, glassy chime of a bell to Vinyl.

"What about Melanie, then?" the DJ wondered with a sly smile, wiggling her brow a little.

"Madeline," Neon corrected automatically. "Yeah..." He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I could ask if maybe she's into threesomes..." Vinyl blushed involuntary, her body reacting to intimate terms in such a fashion for quite a long time, as long as she could remember. Would help not to be so shy if I ever want to get laid. Then again, when she was alone - and sometimes when she was alone with Neon - she did not feel such embarrassment. Maybe I'm overcoming it, Vinyl concluded as she watched her brother seriously ponder on the topic, rubbing his chin.

"No," Neon said finally. "Now that we're dating, I don't think I should see other girls." The sour expression on his face warped into one of mild acceptance and... pride?

Vinyl gasped. "Wait wait wait wait wait a minute! You? Dating? As in, actually dating a girl?" Vinyl took a step towards her brother. "In a relationship?!"

Neon smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, kinda. We're meeting again tomorrow, you know." His face brightened as he evidently remembered something important. "Actually, I'll drop by today, after you've had your recording session. Will nine o'clock be good?" he suggested, taking his phone out of his pocket.

"It'll be perfect." Vinyl smiled gently in sheer appreciation. "Thank you, Nini." She took a step towards her elder brother and hugged him, clasping her hands around his waist in a tight embrace. The tall man only placed his chin on top of Vinyl's head, his hand patting the woman's back as he typed with his other hand a notification. "Say, I..." She broke the hug. "I'll go see Dad, all right?"

For a moment, Neon just looked sadly at his sister, before nodding solemnly. "Sure thing, sis. Sure thing."

As Vinyl directed her feet to the door, she heard Neon whisper to himself, "Vinyl... When will you ever let go?"

Brushing it off, the DJ made her way to the familiar door. She knocked. She waited. She came in. The office was still the same. It would always be the same. Always. She walked towards the table. She took the photograph. She kissed it. For now, the sacred ritual was complete. With a smile, Vinyl began:

"Hi, Dad. How's it going? ...I'm fine. Remember I told you about a session cellist?"

5. The Second Try

Octavia's face was shining with anticipation as she danced from foot to foot before Vinyl's door, her cello case seemingly light, just like her whisky-soothed head, her legs heavy after the fresh-air walk, her mood brighter than it had been in days, if not weeks, the familiar piece of paper in her hands, with scribbles all about the notes, music dripping with happy ink. However, the cellist's joy was hindered somewhat by the fact that she had a certain urge that was pressing her to tap at the floor fervently, waiting till her watch would finally show seven.

Five to seven. Octavia jumped up and down, crossing her legs violently. God, I really really REALLY have to pee! The cellist cursed her cheery disposition towards whisky, wine, tea, and liquids in general as she finally pressed the doorbell, the button hard and cold beneath the tip of her finger, as she decided, at last, that being a little early was way better than peeing in her trousers.

The door opened swiftly, with Vinyl standing in the doorway. "Yes, is- oh." The spinner flushed fiercely at the sight of Octavia standing at the other side of the door and staring at her with wide eyes. And there was something to stare at indeed. My God. Vinyl was practically all but naked, wearing a white bra and matching pants, her bare arms and legs so intoxicating to the cellist, her hair still not in the least dishevelled, the blue spikes bright and mesmerising, little black eighth notes on both bra and pants, immediately commanding Octavia's utmost attention. "I... You're early, and I didn't get dressed and sorry, I'll just-"

"Uhuh." Octavia nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed impolitely on Vinyl's breast, her mind reeling, her senses taking in the sight of the beautiful woman before her, her nose sniffing in the scent of lavender perfume, mixed with a soft, touchy strawberry soap. I wonder if she washed her boobs with that soap. The cellist was all but drooling, Vinyl's breasts the only sight before her eyes. "Uuuuh." The natural urges took their toll, and Octavia finally managed to avert her eyes to meet Vinyl's deeply embarrassed and surpirsed gaze. "Uh. Can I use your bathroom?"

Vinyl nodded softly, pointing with her hand towards the bathroom door, her blush still covering her cheeks and neck, fading away gradually as she watched the cellist drift away to the WC, dropping her case against the wall on the way. Was she... checking me out? A weird (and arousing) mix of embarrassment and pride washed over the young woman as she reached the couch and took up a well-worn white T-shirt, putting it on with trembling fingers. She was checking out my sexy boobs. Vinyl put on her jeans, unsure of what to think. She was checking out my body, and now she's... The DJ's eyes drifted towards the shut bathroom door suspiciously. Then widened in a sudden realisation as the now-dressed spinner stood in the middle of the room. She's-! Only I can scratch my record in my bathroom! However, Vinyl's indignation faded at once as she pondered over the issue soberly. She caught me masturbating, and I caught her staring at my boobs. We're quits. Vinyl sighed and walked a little circle about the room, glancing at the cello case that was losing its upright position, crawling along the wall towards the floor, ready to fall. We're adults. She won't mention what she saw, and I won't mention what I saw. The DJ took the case, placing it on the floor horizontally. Easy as that.

Looking way more relieved, Octavia stepped out of the bathroom, a smile on her face. Vinyl noticed faint traces of alcohol in the cellist's breath as she approached the spinner, moving towards her cello case. "Were you drinking?" Vinyl asked cautiously, unsure of what to expect from an inebriated stranger. She can rape me... her mind supplied eagerly, with both fear and heartbeat-raising excitement. You'd like that, wouldn't you? the devil Vinyl whispered from her shoulder. No! the angel Vinyl protested from the other shoulder sternly.

"A little." Octavia raised the paper that she'd been holding in her hands all this time. "I needed a touch of inspiration, you know?" The cellist chuckled, swaying a little in place, as Vinyl wondered if the paper had been with the cellist as she'd gone to the bathroom. It definitely was... Eww. It must be sticky. The devil Vinyl on her shoulder wiggled her brow with a wink. The angel Vinyl was on the verge of fainting, still showing the devil Vinyl an angry fist. "A little alcohol gets the creative juices flowing, right?"

Vinyl shrugged, mild disapproval overwhelmed by a certain neutrality. "I wouldn't know. I never tried alcohol." She added, before Octavia could suggest anything, "I'm an abstainer."

"Oh." Octavia paused, staring at the spinner in surprise. Vinyl, by God, you are strange. "You are seriously missing out some finer things in life, Vinyl." Like getting drunk and having drunk sex... And drunk driving. And drunk... everything. The angel on Octavia's shoulder made a pledge to reconsider the value of alcohol in the cellist's life.

The spinner merely shrugged, taking a somewhat defensive state, her shoulders propper outward, her arms crossed below her breasts, only accentuating their round form. Octavia made a terrible effort not to stare at the DJ's chest, keeping her eyes deliberately fixed on her neck instead. "I guess." Vinyl looked aside, deliberately not paying attention to the cellist's strain. She wants me to get drunk and then she'll seduce and deflower me. The angel Vinyl nodded solemnly, crossing her eyes in the same manner as the real Vinyl, whispering, And you don't want her to play you like a flute and leave you, right? The devil Vinyl only made a motion of licking her lips with her tongue, making sure to wink several times and wiggle her brow suggestively.

"Well, here's the music!" Octavia announced proudly, handing the sheet music to the disk-spinner, beaming with joy as Vinyl took the fruit of her hard labour and began to scrutinise it. "So?" she asked impatiently just as the DJ seemed to have skimmed the paper. "How's it?"

Vinyl smiled indulgently - a gesture that, to Octavia, seemed a little unusual and, frankly, quite strange, coming from the obviously younger and less socially-open woman. "Octavia, I can't understand a word you've written. Or a single note." Vinyl scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes, inspecting the paper closely. "I am pretty sure it's indistinguishable."

Octavia grabbed the sheet a little more roughly than she'd intended, taking great offence in the DJ's inability to read perfectly proper handwriting. However, she immediately realised that Mister Tummers would have done a much better job of writing down her tangled thoughts, and with a drunken and excited hand, no less. I can't understand a line, and I'm the one who wrote it! The cellist sighed in defeat. "Sorry. I... My hand is not well."

"Oh..." Vinyl's face all but faced the floor, a frown meeting her face.  "I... That means you can't play today?" She lifted her eyes, and Octavia could swear that, with an expression like that, Vinyl could easily ask her to murder a sleeping kitten with a kitchen knife, and she'd do it without breaking eye contact.

"I..." Octavia facepalmed, realising the depth of the trap she'd thrown herself into, albeit involuntary. "My hand's well. It's just that I'm a little inebr- inebri- drunk. Hence the trembling hand." She sighed. "Hence the indisting- in- messy handwriting." Great. Admitting your weakness is a sign of... erm. Weakness. The creativity that whisky gifted the cellist with was definitely compensated with the decrease of her analytic capacity and general thinking capability.

Vinyl smiled and rubbed her bare toe against the carpet shyly, definitely scoring a point to non-drinkers. Octavia noted, with a degree of pleasant amusement, that the DJ's feet did not emit the unpleasant, rotten smell most feet had, even through the shoes; Vinyl's feet were clean and nice, letting a pleasant, strawberry-soap-soaked smell. Without thinking, Octavia took a deep sniff, her eyes closing involuntary. And yet, this was her mistake, she realised, as she staggered, unable to hold her balance without seeing the room around her.

At once, she opened her eyes, and yet could not stop her fall, faceplanting towards the couch, her arms too slow, unable to break the fall. Suddenly, she felt Vinyl's hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place. A jolt of electricity ran down the cellist's spine, her every nerve tingling at Vinyl's soft, yet distant, touch. She should've caught me with her boobs, Octavia thought off-handedly, standing straight and placing herself on the couch immediately upon, lest she be prone to more falls. "Thank you, Vinyl," she said earnestly. "Sorry for that."

Vinyl smiled simply. "That's all right." She eyed the cellist with mild concern in her eyes. "Octavia, are you sure you can play today?" Vinyl took her place next to the cellist on the couch, putting a hand on her shoulder - a gesture that made Octavia want to moan. "I mean, you could come tomorrow-"

"Nonsense, Vinyl." Octavia smiled back, freeing herself from the spinner's grasp reluctantly as she avoided touching the hand. "I'm not that drunk." Great, the cellist chided herself mentally, seeing Vinyl lift a brow almost imperceptibly. Now she thinks I'm an alcoholic and that my current state is not my limit. She pondered. Which is partly true. "I'm just a little tipsy," she corrected herself. Way better. "I can play just fine. Especially," she added, getting up from the couch with some difficulty, "given that you can't read the music I wrote." She tapped her forehead. "It's all here. I'll play it, and, hopefully, you'll get the idea."

Octavia began to stagger towards her cello case, the carpet below her posing a serious obstacle on her way, gripping with its hairs at her shoes. Maybe I should've taken off my shoes, Octavia thought belatedly, watching Vinyl outspeed her easily and hand her the case, pushing the chair close to the cellist. Octavia nodded with a grateful smile and a mouthed, "Thank you". I should have definitely taken off my shoes. However, doing it now would come off as a drunken and ungraceful act.

Octavia opened her case and took out the instrument with sober precision, placing it between her knees delicately, grabbing the bow tenderly, the wood soft and warm at her fingertips. Just like Vinyl's hands. The cellist closed her eyes and began to play from memory, the simple passage written by Vinyl growing into a weird mix of jazz and rock and classical, with eighth notes on downbeat, firm, rocky, furious, the notes that Vinyl already had, only accentuated with a pedal tone; and the sixteenth notes, dacing on the upbeat of the downbeat of the upbeat, the invisible rhythm structure that was simply not there - and could not be written in ink, naturally - but could be well-played. And a classical melody, a melody of her own that mixed into Vinyl's notes, entwined with the DJ's melody, cried out in its minor, sombre undertone. Now, she was playing two melodies in place of one. Now, she was still playing a single melody. Now, she was playing both what was there and what was not there - and it sounded so damn beautiful.

Octavia remained silent for a few moments upon ending the piece, her eyes still closed, the scent of music wavering in the air. She had never been able to decipher what music smelt like - but she knew for sure it must have an odour of its own. Like everything. The cellist opened her eyes and looked at the spinner, who was staring at her with those mesmerising pools of reddish magenta, her mouth slightly agape. "Um..." Octavia blushed a little. "That's basically it."

Vinyl was silent for a moment before she closed her eyes and sat on the couch, her eyes closed, the cellist's music still resonating in her ears. That... That was the single most beautiful piece of music I've ever heard. She opened her eyes and looked at the inebriated cellist. She saw me masturbating, she's a heavy drinker, and now she's conquered my heart with a simple melody. Immediately, the woman wanted to reconsider her inner wording. No. I can't fall for her. I can't fall for anyone. She leaned forth, placing her hands on her knees quickly. I would regret it later if I did. I... will regret it if I do. "That... That... It was so beautiful," she said finally, making the cellist flush just a little.

What's wrong with me? Octavia wondered to herself. She'd been praised many times, but she'd never felt this... warm. This content to hear praise. Must be her eyes, she concluded. And the boobs. Definitely the boobs. "Thank you," she replied calmly, placing the bow on the little table, making a mental note not to forget it this time. "I-"

"I wanted to make a classical trance song, but after this... god, this is not a genre," Vinyl said in awe. "It's pure music." In itself. Vinyl stood up and walked around the room. "It's new. It's... refreshing. It's invigorating. It's not what I had in mind." She smiled, looking at Octavia, taking in the sight of those beautiful lavender eyes.  "It's better than what I had in mind." So much better.

"Um..." Octavia chuckled sheepishly. "So... We can record it now?" And then I'll have my money and a congratulatory sex, please, the cellist added mentally.

"No." Vinyl kept smiling, but her tone was firm and unwavering. No? Octavia blinked. "I need to rework the whole structure of the song now. I need some time to work on it. We'll record your part when I have an idea of what the song will become, now." Vinyl dropped the smile, her mind already pondering on the rhythm section. "I need to rework the whole thing to match the new cello part."

Didn't you say that I could just record the cello and you'd mix it in later? Octavia thought but knew better than to speak out against the composer. And my current employer. "So... I'll go home now, and you'll call me when you're done?" the cellist suggested, getting up as well, standing opposite the spinner.

"Actually..." Vinyl rubbed the back of her head, blushing as she averted her eyes. So shy, Octavia observed with delight. So cute. "I was thinking that maybe you could help me out with the rest of the song? For an extra fifty thousand?" Because I so want to... I want to spend more time with you, Vinyl thought in embarrassment and sudden heat washing over her body. Get to know you a little better. Maybe... Maybe Octavia was the one? The one for her?

Octavia did a spit-take on the air, coughing a little in the wake of the offer. "I..." Fifty. Thousand. Extra. A wagon of ice-cream in her dreams was quickly replaced by two full wagons standing next to her very own ice-cream shop. Besides, she wouldn't mind spending some more time with the cute DJ. Becoming friends... Maybe friends with... benefits... "Sure thing!" Octavia nodded eagerly with a smile.

"Great!" Vinyl grinned, jumping up and down in place excitedly, eliciting a chuckle from the cellist. "So... Maybe I could have your phone number so we could, um, coordinate our effort?" she suggested, the blush swiftly returning to her cheeks.

Octavia giggled at Vinyl's shyness and obvious desire to... Wait. She really wants my number. Not just for work. It's clear. The little devil on Octavia's shoulder scored a point for Team Octavia. The little angel Octavia on the other shoulder flew up and high-fived the little devil. "Sure."

Vinyl took her phone from the table, typing down the number Octavia dictated. Immediately, she dialed the number, and, with a nod, Octavia confirmed that she'd got her number. For a moment, the two women just stood opposite each other, unsure of what to say. "Um..." Come on, Vinyl. A little more assertiveness! "Would you like to stay for tea?" At once, the spinner flushed with embarrassment. God, that probably came off very wrong, and she'll-

"I'd love to." Octavia smiled. What do I have to lose? Besides, spending some time with the cute DJ was a nice option, if only because it allowed her to catch glimpses of her beautiful eyes. And boobs. Can't forget boobs, the devil Octavia supplied. The angel Octavia nodded sagely. Moreover, she did want to know a little more about the disk-spinner. And also make a good impression on her.

"Great!" Vinyl pranced in place in anticipation, leading the way to the small kitchen, the only room apart from the bedroom/living room/studio, with Octavia soon taking the lead through the doorway. The DJ caught a fine glimpse of the cellist's rear as the raven-haired woman proceeded to the kitchen, subsequently sitting at the table, her side pressed into the wall in comfort.

Vinyl bounced from foot to foot, smiling as she went to the cupboard, extracting two pristine white mugs, placing one before Octavia and the other one opposite her. Humming,  she brought the teapot towards the table, filling Octavia's mug first. I'm having tea with a sexy cellist~ the DJ sang in her mind gleefully.

"That's enough." Octavia lifted her hand when the mug wasn't even half-full yet. "I like my tea warm, not hot," she explained with a smile.

"Oh, so do I." Vinyl chuckled and filled the mug to the top. "The tea in the pot is always warm." The DJ sat opposite the cellist, filling her own mug. For a moment, she was silent. Come on. Don't be so shy! "That music you wrote. It's amazing. It's like classical and jazz together, and a little rock inbetween. It's... really really something." Great, Vinyl. Your colourful vocabulary never ceases to amaze. And yet, the DJ was somewhat proud that she was able to start a conversation.

Octavia sipped on her tea with a nod. She talked to me. By herself. That's a good sign, I guess. The cellist took a deep breath. The smell of morning bread mixed with the tickly smell of pork sausage and the moldy odour of exquisite cheese, all reaching her nostrils through the fridge door. Stale notes of long-unwashed dishes added an unpleasant touch of disharmony to the little kitchen's symphony of scents, but not enough to actually disapprove. Octavia wondered how she had got used to such smells in her own flat, but could not tolerate in other places. Suddenly, the cellist realised Vinyl was talking.

"-and I think I'll drag four mikes from the studio, and we'll record the cello by the far wall." Vinyl grinned, her heart beating, her mind ecstatic about the fact that she was talking freely, without any embarrassment, with a complete stranger who was not a fan or a journalist. Especially considering that she still had some issues while talking to the most excitable fans and the most nosy journalists. The DJ sipped on her tea to calm down a little. Don't blow it. "What do you think?"

Octavia took a gulp of her tea, holding the mug with both hands. The usual Earl Grey. The best brew there is. "Vinyl, if you don't mind my asking, why do you want to record here?" The cellist lowered the mug to the table slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Vinyl's gaze. "You have just said you have a studio." And I really do know the answer, don't I? Still, that was something. A conversation. A talk.

"That's..." Vinyl blushed a little, averting her eyes. Damn. "You wouldn't understand."

"You like the sounds of the busy street, don't you?" Octavia smiled, her eyes never leaving the DJ. "You love to hear the roar of engines, and the chirping of birds, and the beating of soles against the ground when you're working on music, am I right?"

Vinyl's eyes widened as she nodded slowly. "Yes... Do you-" Suddenly, a realisation dawned upon her. "You don't feel that way, do you. You... You don't like the sounds of the street." Vinyl's face all but fell, Octavia's heart almost shattering at the sight of the miserable DJ.

For a second, Octavia considered lying a little white lie, but decided against it, remembering the value honesty held to Vinyl, according to Neon. "No, Vinyl, I don't." She sighed. "I'm one of the people who likes to work in complete silence." She looked into Vinyl's eyes. Should I... Why not? Not like it's a secret just because I haven't told anyone. "I like the scents of the street. The smells. I like the odour of sweat and old oil mixing with the breezy wind. I like the million shades of perfume dance in the air with a thousand tints of coffee. I like the smell of drying paint and cheap petrol. It inspires me." Octavia fell silent. "I've always been... prone to smelling things no one could really deci- deciph- make out." The cellist cursed under her breath at her treacherous whisky-oiled tongue. "For one, I can smell a strawberry soap on you right now."

Vinyl's cheeks turned a dark red as she looked down in shame. "Shampoo. It's shampoo." How does she know? Even I can't smell it...

Octavia winced. "Please, please don't think of me as a freak." Maybe it was just the long-lost effect of alcohol, but the cellist was growing desperate. "I... That's just who I am. I wouldn't bear it if you... That is, if you... I don't want you to kick me out," Octavia wrapped up her tirade lamely, shutting her eyes. I need some sleep. I really, really need to grab Mister Tummers and sleep till I sober up.

Vinyl's eyes widened. Does she... Does she care about my opinion? The DJ gulped, trying to find the right words. Does she care about me? Or... just because she's working for me now... "Octavia, don't be ridiculous. It's totally all right. We all have our quirks." Vinyl tried to smile encouragingly. "You smell stuff, I..." Um... "I use strawberry shampoo." Octavia chuckled through approaching tears. "I dunno." Vinyl grinned, rubbing her forehead. "I'm sure I have a lot of quirks."

Yeah, like masturbating with your door open. Octavia knew better - and wasn't drunk enough - to say that out loud. It would most definitely ruin the little mutual ease they'd built already. Ease that could, with effort, evolve into trust and, maybe, friendship. With benefits~ Then again, it wasn't like she, Octavia, always closed her door when she was... I need to go home and... take a bath. Yep. A warm, nice bath. Octavia downed what was left of the tea and put the mug on the table. "It's getting late and dark, Vinyl. I should go home. Thank you for the tea." The cellist stood up.

"You're welcome. Um..." Vinyl rubbed her cheek. "Tomorrow at seven?"

Octavia nodded with a smile. "Tomorrow at seven." She directed her feet out of the kitchen.

"Wait," Vinyl called out, successfully prompting the cellist to stop. "Would you like me to give you a lift? I have a car, and, while I don't use it often... and I'm not a really good driver... but still..." Vinyl blushed again. Too soon? Immediately, she chided herself, Too soon for what? We're just working on a song together.

Octavia smiled, facing the DJ. "That would be lovely."

7. Realisations

"Relax, babe," Octavia cooed as she leant over a very flustered Vinyl, whose nethers felt like they were on fire, whose whole body ached for closeness, her mind wild with longing. The cellist placed a firm, bold kiss on the DJ's lips. "I'll do everything myself. You just relax now."

Vinyl nodded; and yet, she could not feel at ease, her shoulders heavy with tension, her lips dry with wild worry. "O-octavia..." she whispered, licking her lips as the cellist tossed her lips over the spinner's neck, eliciting a moan from the wild-haired woman. "I-I'm not sure..."

The cellist silenced her with a kiss. "I'm sure." Octavia smiled slyly, her hot breath falling upon the DJ's ear as she leant even closer, making Vinyl arch her back just so her naked breasts were touching the oh-so-pleasant skin of the cellist's flat, sexy belly. Her nipples rubbed against the tender breasts, sliding down to Octavia's navel. "My little DJ~" Octavia purred hotly into Vinyl's ear, the spinner moaning in delight as the cellist started planting kisses all along her body, closer and closer to-

The phone rang, making Vinyl jerk up in bed, opening her eyes but for a moment before falling into a sleepy daze once again, almost rolling off the couch, her whole body sweaty, her thighs slightly wet, emitting a well-recognisable smell of arousal. And yet, it was not the Sooooome people say a man is made out of mud~ of her alarm; it was the marvellous Moanin' by Charles Mingus, the bari chucking out the theme with bawdy vigour. It was a call. Feeling extremely horny, disgruntled, and just a little ashamed of her vivid dream, Vinyl reached for the phone lazily, unable to bring herself to open her eyes yet. "Uhuh." It's probably Neon. Weeh.

"Vinyl?" Octavia's voice reached her ears through the speaker. Vinyl's eyes shot wide open as she finally fell off the couch with a soft thud, the carpet softening her fall somewhat, as she still kept a firm grip on her mobile phone, pressing it against her ear. She... She can't smell my... uh, of course not, the DJ's sleepy brain concluded as Vinyl tried to come up with some decent non-sleepy words. She'd never felt this sleepy before when waking up. Getting up from the floor, Vinyl assumed that it must be about five in the morning, while she usually woke up several hours later. That's the only explanation.

Shaking the remains of sleep off with a shrug of her shoulders and a back-and-forth of her head, the spinner replied, "Octavia? Is that you?" Of course it's her, you idiot. Keeping the phone between her head and shoulder, Vinyl tried to find her socks vainly in the calm, orderly chaos of the room.

"Yes." Vinyl tiptoed about the room, fishing out her socks from behind the couch where they had inevitably fallen after spending the night on the back of the slightly-stained piece of furniture. "You sound sleepy - did I wake you up?"

Vinyl sat down on the couch, making an effort to put on a sock. "Kinda," she grunted, her fingers clenching the blue fabric. "That's all right. Must be something important for you to call so early." Finally, the spinner succeded with a huff and proceeded to the other sock. "About five?"

"Eleven," Octavia corrected her with a poorly-concealed chuckle. "But yes, I admit that's a little early, at least to me." There was a moment of silence on the line, interrupted only by Vinyl's near-silent grumbling. "I take it you're used to waking up a little... earlier?"

Vinyl nodded with a small blush, subsequently realising that Octavia could not see her - which prompted another blush at what Octavia would think if she saw her now, in her bra and pants solely. And just as the spinner thought that, achieving victory over the second sock, she flushed crimson upon remembering that Octavia indeed had seen her in such an outfit already. "Yes, nine am at most days," Vinyl said aloud, now thankful that the cellist was not opposite her, but just on the phone. Vinyl paused for a moment, embarrassed at what she wanted to say; but the sheer desire outweighed the shyness. This time. "I guess I was just tired after our little night ride."

And that was most probably the reason. Last night, just when she'd taken Octavia home, she missed the right turn and was bound to circle the district about. However, Octavia, without paying attention to her apologies, had suggested that they go on a ride about the city instead. How could I ever say no? Arriving late at night, it was only obvious that she'd sleep like a log. And yet... There was one little gift they'd exchanged. Vinyl smiled, remembering the sheer pleasure of the feeling. Once more had Octavia kissed her on the cheek, her peck ending up somewhere dangerously close to her lips. And... And I hugged her. Though embarrassed, Vinyl was still incredibly proud of her little achievement, that breezy embrace that'd brought a warm, friendly smile to Octavia's face. Someday, Vinyl told herself, walking into the kitchen to get morning tea, I'll gather the courage and kiss her on the cheek too. After all, it was all good between... friends.

"So am I," Octavia replied with an audible giggle just as Vinyl picked up the kettle, sighing as she realised that there was no tea left. "Although, I'm used to going to bed late, and waking up late." Vinyl rummaged the cupboard in search for the sacred tea box. "I liked our little night trip. Thank you, Vinyl." Vinyl stopped, her cheeks flushing up a dark pink, her breath quickening as her heart leapt to her throat in a spur of deep emotion. Something very warm, something... A deep form of attraction. A scary attraction. "So, as a sign of gratitude..." The cellist chuckled on the line, prompting Vinyl to get back to her search.  "And, of course, as per our agreement... I managed to book two ticket for PotF concert."

Vinyl smiled, finally laying her sleepy eyes upon the tin can. "P-O-T-F?" she asked, taking out the tin and opening the lid promptly. Damn. No tea left. "What's that?"

"Poets of the Fall," Octavia replied in a warm tone. "It's rock, but rather... um... romantic." Once again, Vinyl had to calm herself. Just friends, Vinyl. No scary steps. 'Romantic', as in... 'Non-date stuff'. The little devil on Vinyl's shoulder shook her head with a facepalm. "So... Will you pick me up at ten?"

"Ten pm?" Vinyl asked as she took a glass and brought it to the sink. "It's a night concert?" The DJ began filling the glass with pure water.

"It starts at eleven." Vinyl turned off the tap, taking a long, satisfactory gulp. "I thought you were used to night concerts, being a DJ and all?"

Vinyl nodded into the empty space by force of habit. "I am." She placed the glass in the sink, between a neat pile of dishes and a stack of knives that had been long waiting to be washed. "Say, how did you manage to get the tickets for today? I thought they'd have been sold well in advance." Especially if it's a romantic and popular band.

"Well..." Vinyl could sense Octavia's beautiful smile through the phone as she smiled a little smile herself, unable to hold joy at the thought of the cute, sexy-assed cellist. "I brushed up some connections. After all..." Octavia paused, as if searching for the right words. "After all, it's for you."

Vinyl's mouth fell agape as she tried to muster up a response. This... This isn't just friendship. This is... something... And yet, she could not risk that. If she was wrong... Then their friendship would be ruined. But if I'm right? ...Should I tell her how I feel? Vinyl sat at the table, listening to the awkward silence: apparently, Octavia, too, was rather taken aback by what she'd said, probably without even thinking. But aren't things we say without thinking the way we truly feel? Hell, what do I even feel towards her? Attraction, that was for sure. But... Don't start that topic, Vinyl, the little angel on the spinner's shoulder warned her. You don't want to have that talk yet, the little devil agreed, for once. So, Vinyl said what she truly felt - carefully. "Thank you, Octavia. This means a lot to me."

"So... Will you pick me up?"

Vinyl smiled, taking a deep breath. Someday, I'll tell you, Octavia. When I'm ready. "Absolutely." Vinyl hung up, getting up and walking about the kitchen in tranquill contemplation. I do like Octavia, she realised. I like her physically and I like her character. There was attraction. There was infatuation. She only needed to know for sure that Octavia felt the same. And gather up the damn courage to ask the girl out. Yet, Vinyl noted, she was getting bolder in the presence of the wonderful cellist; bolder than in Neon's presence, it seemed. Maybe it's the therapy that I need, Vinyl mused, listening to the merciful ticking of the clock. Maybe Octavia is the best doctor for me.

And, as if on cue - as it so often happens - the doorbell rang, and Vinyl knew exactly, or, maybe, assumed based on her thoughts, that it was her brother. Vinyl tiptoed towards the door, avoiding carefully-stacked records, and opened the door without peeking, her hand weak and heavy with sleep as she grabbed the handle.

Indeed: just as she opened the door, Neon burst in, grinning, joyful, his ridiculous purple jacket and bordeaux-red trousers making him a ludicrous resemlance of a 70s pimp in Vinyl's eyes. "Hi, sis," he greeted the sleepy spinner, giving her a hug, the velvet of his trousers brushing against Vinyl's legs. "Decided to stay half-naked today?" He smirked, taking a step back from the now-blushing  DJ. He offered an exaggerated wink. "A special treat for Octavia?"

Vinyl felt the familiar pressure of blood rushing to her cheeks and forehead; and yet, there was a new, certain defiance that rose within her. Changes. Maybe changes were happening. Maybe it's even good. "Maybe," the DJ replied in a tinier voice than she'd expected; but she'd said it anyway, and that made her just a little proud inside.

Neon raised his brow. "Oh?" His  grin faded a little, dropping to a small smile. The agent proceeded to the couch, sitting down on it and patting his hand next to him.

Vinyl happily went up to her brother and took a seat next to him, placing her head on the man's shoulder. "I took her on a night ride, you know?" she said suddenly, the desire to share her happiness outweighing the embarrassment from what she was saying.

"You? A ride?" Neon laughed, jerking his head back comically as he patted the woman's back. Vinyl raised her head, casting her brother a mild glare. "I thought you didn't drive."

Vinyl humphed, placing her head back on Neon's shoulder, warm, gentle, accepting. Suddenly, she felt like a child again, in her brother's embrace as they rolled on the floor after a game of something-or-the-other. "Well, I do drive. Exclusively for her."

Neon fell silent for a moment, just sitting in place, Vinyl's head on his shoulder. "Vinyl, do you want to tell me something?" Neon asked, pretty much suggested, nudging the woman into an answer.

Vinyl sighed, collecting her thoughts as she tried to come up with a decent reply. The little angel on her shoulder smiled serenely and nodded, gifting her with a blessing. The little devil made a slurping sound with her tongue, rolling it over her lips as she mouthed, Octavia. "I... I think I love her," Vinyl said finally, wincing at her uncertain, stumbly wording. "Octavia, I mean."

Neon was silent for a while. His hand massaged Vinyl's shoulder: a gesture that Vinyl knew her brother succumbed to when he was thinking over something important. "I'm not sure, Vinyl. 'Love' is quite is a strong word, don't you agree?"

Vinyl shrugged slightly, Neon's palm still clinging to her bare shoulder. "I... I like the way she smiles," the DJ began carefully, the remains of her dream still vivid in her awakened mind. "I like the way she talks. I like what she says. I like it when she kisses me on the cheek when we say goodbye." The spinner smiled, closing her eyes in delight, the feeling of Octavia's lips on her cheek a touch of velvety bliss, the sound of her smooch a heavenly symphony, the liveliest beat. "And I so want to touch her ass!" she blurted out, flushing madly as she realised what she'd said.

Neon's hand retreated, the man turning, giving his suddenly-bold sister a curious and scrutinising look. Yet, he did not linger on the pink-faced (and -bodied) DJ, instead giving her a sympathetic and encouraging smile. "Well, she does have a nice ass." Yes, but it's MY nice ass, Vinyl immediately thought in defiance.  Well, not yet. The DJ sighed, leaning back, instead of using her brother's shoulder as a pillow. And it'll never be mine if I can't find the courage to confess. And, knowing herself, Vinyl knew that she would sooner faint from embarrassment than confess her true feelings for Octavia. "Octavia, I really really like you and want to know you a little closer." Is that just so hard? Apparently, Vinyl thought with a sigh, closing her eyes, it was.

"Vinyl." The DJ's eyes opened at Neon's serious tone. She looked at her brother, who seemed to have a strained, sombre expression on his face, a frown taking up his lips, lines tangled across his forehead. "I don't want to circumscribe you, but please... Be careful. Don't rush into it." The agent smiled sadly. "You are so vulnerable. Don't let her put you all around her. Step by step, Vinyl. Okay?"

Vinyl chuckled with ease, waving her hand in the air, even though her heart was beating faster, fear crawling into it maliciously. He's right. I probably should just... remain friends with her. Lest something happen. Good or bad. "You know me, Nini. I'd probably blush my way into oblivion before I can ask her out." Though, the very fact that I said this already shows... Vinyl dropped the smile gradually. Absolutely nothing. Just live your life, Vinyl. Don't reach for the stars. You might fall.

Neon chuckled with a lazy yawn that he concealed with his hand skilfully. "Yeah, that's true." On a spur, he ruffled Vinyl's hair with a laugh, in spite of his sister's protests. Then, he grabbed the woman in an embrace, keeping her close, his eyes closed as he clenched his fingers behind the spinner's back. "I love you, sis. I don't say that often, but I really do love you."

Vinyl giggled, trying to free herself from her brother's hug. "Nini, you tell me you love me every single week. I know that." She kissed the man on the ear, making him loosen the grip on her back.

"Ouch! Too loud!" Neon jerked back his head, clasping his ears with his hands. "Loud smooching! Smooching alert!"

Vinyl laughed, leaning against her brother warmly, snuggling up close. Neon stopped his mockery and smiled gently, stroking the spinner's back. "Sorry for not staying overnight recently, sis," he said, some pain evident in his voice. "It's just that Maddie is taking much of my time. I think I'm seriously falling for her." Vinyl smiled to herself. Seeing Neon settle down with one girl was very pleasant, especially considering that she was falling for Octavia, herself. Brothers in arms, Nini. "I promise I'll stay overnight today. I'll just pay a visit to Maddie's place and be right back to you, till the morning." Neon smiled earnestly.

Vinyl winced, looking away in embarrassment. "Um, Nini. I'm kinda..." She scratched the back of her head, her eyes still averted. "Octavia and I are going to a late-night concert today," she confessed shyly.

Neon, however, did not seem perturbed in the slightest. "And what are you doing today till the concert?"

Vinyl shrugged. "Just hanging out here at home, I guess." What else? She shifted on the couch, planting her face into Neon's shoulder, a surge of childhood-reminiscing tranquillity washing over her.

"Great." Neon rubbed his hands, making Vinyl slide a little towards the back of the couch and grunt in disapproval. "So, I'm off for a couple hours, and then we can hang out till the concert. Go for a walk, have an ice-cream. And then I'll just stay here at your place and wait till you return. Thus, staying overnight."

Vinyl lifted her head, looking at her brother with undeniable gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, Nini. That sounds lovely." She closed her eyes, nuzzling into her brother's shoulder and neck tenderly.

And yet, the man pushed her away gently before spring up to his feet with a clap and a rub of his hands. "All right! The sooner I leave, the sooner I return! I'll be back in a couple hours."

Vinyl wanted to ask him to stay a little more, just to be held in his loving embrace, but decided against it. After all, he had a girlfirend now. And I don't. She could not be an usurper. Besides, he would really come back sooner if he left sooner. "Say hi to Maddie for me." Vinyl smiled.

"Sure will." Neon kissed his sister on the forehead before proceeding to the door at top speed. "Sure will."

***

"This night is going to be perfect~" Octavia sang as she brushed her hair once again, her clothes already waiting for her on the bed, even though it was barely afternoon. Better be prepared for the magical evening well in advance. "The kind of night on which I'll kiss that sexy girl~" The brush was put to its rightful place by the mirror as Octavia walked out of the bathroom, waltzing about the room. "She is cute and very shy, and I'll kiss her lips tonight~" The cellist danced into the bedroom, grabbing Mister Tummers and kissing him on the nose. "Mister Tummers, do you want to know something?" The bear did not show any sign of interest whatsoever. "I've just realised something, Mister Tummers. I'm falling for Vinyl. As in, not just physically." Octavia smiled, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, holding Mister Tummers tightly in her hands. "I like her shy demeanour. I like the way she talks. And she kissed me on the cheek too. That must amount to something! She might even like me back. Maybe..." The cellist fell a little more serious. "Maybe it can evolve into..." Love? the angel Octavia suggested. Threesomes? the devil Octavia offered with a shrug. "...Something greater."

Lightly, she grabbed the plush bear by the head and nodded it slightly, not to tear up the old, worn-out fabric. "Glad you agree, Mister Tummers. But I'm not even in a relationship with her." Octavia pondered, looking at the toy thoughtfully. "Yet." She walked to the kitchen, the smell of roast chicken assaulting her nose with taste, the spicy sauce sending her saliva rolling under her tongue. "Since she's so shy, I must be the one to take the necessary steps." The cellist placed Mister Tummers on the tiny kitchen table. "Drastically."

Octavia opened up the oven, breathing in the scent of heat, the smell of roast poultry salivating up her mouth. She extracted the tray with the regal fowl, gulping down the smell of pepper and roast peaches that accompanied the delicious bird, and placed it swiftly onto the wooden planks that had been conveniently prepared by the cellist just for occasion. With joy, both from having come to a conclusion regarding how she was going to show her feelings towards Vinyl and from expecting a gluttonous feast all for herself, Octavia sat down on the chair, rubbing her hands as she'd spat on them carefully, in order not to make the long way to the bathroom again just so a few drops of water could wash her already clean hands. The cellist took up a less-than-clean fork and a near-pristine knife, eager to dig into the meal, when a noisy, ear-shattering sound interrupted her peaceful dinner.

A phone call.

Grunting disapprovingly, Octavia staggered into the room. This better be Vinyl, telling me she wants me to come over and fuck her silly. Or else. Taking up the phone from the floor, where it lay among the once reigning piles of rubbish, and now merely several empty cups and wrapping paper, Octavia, however, could decipher that it was a number unfamiliar to her. Clearing her throat audibly, she picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Octavia?" came a familiar voice; yet, the cellist could not get a grip on who it could be.

"Yes." The cellist paused. "And who am I talking to?"

"Neon, the guy who hired you," came the reply. "You might remember me."

Octavia gulped silently, her eyes widening at the remembrance. Neon had not left an impression of an easy man, even though he had certainly tried to make one. If anything, she was rather... scared of him. "Hello, Neon!" she greeted the agent with a grin that she put on automatically. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Please don't fire me please don't fire me... Octavia collected herself.

"Oh, you know. Just checking in on the project." Neon fell silent for a moment. Octavia gulped once again. For some reason, there was an unspoken, serious firmness to Neon's tone. And Octavia didn't like it. "I... It has come to my attention that you two are going out tonight?"

Octavia winced a little. That's what it is. But of course. Neon was Vinyl's elder brother. He cared about her. He wanted to make sure she was safe. "Yes, that is true. A concert."

Octavia heard thorough munching, assuming that either Neon was eating or chewing on his lip. She decided on the latter. "I hope you take care of Vinyl. Look after her and... you know."

Octavia smiled. As I thought. "Neon, I'm pretty sure Vinyl is old enough to take care of herself. I do, however-"

"It's not about age," Neon interrupted. "It's..." The man paused, giving Octavia enough time to sit down in a chair, leaning back with a sigh. "Can you keep a secret?"

Octavia nodded to herself. What is he driving at? "I've been told I can." Octavia took up a half-empty bag of crisps from the floor. Half-full. Let's be optimistic.

"Okay, here's the situation." Octavia paused, the crispy goodness frozen in her hand halfway to her mouth. "Vinyl is rather... out of... that is... She is infatuated with you, Octavia." The cellist dropped the bag. The crisps rolled out on the carpet joyfully, finally free from their uncomfortable prison. "And this is why she may do something stupid. Now, she is just a child. She needs some guidance. So, please, if she decides to say, or do, anything stupid, don't do anything stupid yourself. Make your rejection mild, or, maybe-"

"There won't be a rejection," Octavia said firmly, with eagerness sudden even to herself. And yet, since she had already begun speaking, there was no turning back now. "I like her as well. She doesn't know yet, and, frankly... I didn't know she felt the same way about me. But I won't give you away," she immediately assured the agent. "It'll all happen naturally - if something will ever happen. That, I can promise." Octavia smiled to herself at the thought of something happening between her and the lovely DJ. And still... Kissing her is not an option yet, the cellist realised. In order not to hurt her, I have to take it slowly.

"Octavia." The cellist gulped at the sheer ice in Neon's voice. "I want to make one thing perfectly clear: Vinyl is not a woman to be toyed with and dumped. If you have any intentions, they better be serious. And genuine. If you're dishonest..." Octavia almost interrupted the man, but he added swiftly, "Don't play with her feelings. Don't toy with her emotions. If you break her heart, I'll make sure to break your whole life. That," he mocked with icy venom, "I can promise."

Octavia wanted to say a word in her defence, prove somehow that, indeed, she did want to have sex with Vinyl - but that she wanted so much more. That she, finally, wanted a girfriend. That she, finally, had found a woman she could adore. That she, finally, had found mutual longing. That she would cherish Vinyl, and never do anything bad to her. But Neon hung up, and the cellist had no intention of calling him back.

With a sigh, she leant back in the chair, rubbing her temples with her fingers. What do I do now? The cellist's fingers soon found their way to her closed eyelids, massaging them gently. Now, I wait for Vinyl to pick me up and then... then I don't kiss her on the lips like I wanted. I... I let it all play out naturally. Octavia sighed once again and placed her hands on her knees.

In the silence of the room, the clock struck two.

8. The Concert

"Hi, Octavia."

Vinyl smiled as she opened up the door for the cellist to climb into the sports car. The cellist nodded with a smile, placing herself next to the DJ, and immediately leant in, kissing the spinner on the cheek with a hug. To her delight, Vinyl returned the embrace, brushing her lips against the cellist's cheek. It's a kiss! Octavia squeed mentally. Or, rather... uh. Rather, it was the same action Vinyl had taken when she'd said goodbye to her after the night ride. A half-kiss, maybe? A brushy-brushy kiss? At least, the hug was for sure. Octavia did like to have some certainty, especially considering that now she knew the feeling was mutual. Who will confess it, though?

The cellist took a good look at the disk-spinner and could not hold a chuckle at her outfit. Vinyl was wearing a dark-grey suit, a twopiece with matching cufflinks of amethyst, a blue tie calmly tucked between her bra-held, shirt-covered breasts. Ooh boy, how I wanna rip that shirt apart and lick those boobs, Octavia thought, licking her lips a little on the inside of her mouth, her tongue rolling between the tender skin and the firmness of her teeth. "Vinyl, you're.... definitely overdressed." The cellist chuckled once more at the DJ's blush. "I mean, my shirt-and-jeans outfit makes me look naked compared to you."

Vinyl's face turned even redder at the word 'naked', and Octavia assumed, with some perverse delight, that the DJ had probably - just for a moment - imagined her, Octavia, truly naked. Hope she can see that for real soon. "I...." the DJ averted her eyes to the wheel. "I've never been to a rock concert before. I've only been to classical concerts, and... well, yeah."

Octavia raised her brow. A DJ? At a classical concert? As a frequent visitor and performer at such events, the cellist did have certain, involuntary prejudice regarding some musicians. "That's all right. I'm just so used to seeing you in casual. You look very pretty."

Vinyl took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down and ease the blush. "I..." She could not hold an eep, however, driving Octavia to smile indulgently. "Th-thank you. You... You look marvellous," the spinner let out in barely a whisper, not daring to make contact with the cellist. Octavia, feeling bolder and grateful, leant in once again and planted a tiny peck on the already-pink cheek that now turned a deep crimson.

Vinyl closed her eyes, her mind reeling in pleasure. "Are you... I mean, that is..." Wow, my thoughts really are all tangled up, aren't they? "I thought you liked formalwear more than... you know, casualwear." Not that you don't look unbearably hot in both, the spinner added mentally.

"Just because I am a classical musician?" Octavia smirked. "But yes, you're right. Wearing a tailcoat is just as natural for me as wearing a T-shirt." The cellist laughed a jingly laugh, prompting Vinyl's uncomfortable blush to fade and be replaced with a very kind and comfortable smile. "Hell, jeans are more of a rarity than twopiece suits, to me." The cellist smirked, shaking her head at her own clothing preferences.

Vinyl chuckled as well, feeling a little more at ease. "So, are we good to go?" Because I so want to go there... With Octavia's nod, the spinner withdrew her left hand from the gearbox and placed it on the wheel, concentrating her attention on the road ahead of her as she pressed the pedal softly, making the car jerk only a little before it jumped to the only lane, buildings soon disappearing on their left.

"Vinyl, may I ask a question?" Octavia wondered as the car sped up to the busy, yet mostly traffic-jam-free road.

Vinyl nodded, not diverting her attention from the road. "It's kinda hard for me to drive and talk at once, but, for you, I'm making an exception." Immediately, she flushed at her bold reply. Must be the dominant feeling of holding a wheel in your hands, she thought with both pride and embarrassment.

Octavia looked at the spinner appreciatively. She's definitely getting more... straightforward. I like that, the cellist concluded. Chances are, she'll ask me out in a few days. The woman giggled mentally at such an option, her imagination supplying images of a tomato-red-faced Vinyl confessing her undying love to her in a tiny voice.

The cellist refocused her attention on the talk. After all, Vinyl was, by far, not a very experienced driver; and while it felt extremely nice to know that the sexy DJ regarded her high enough to divert her attention from the road a little, such diversion could be dangerous. Octavia remembered their night ride, and Vinyl's crazy steer as she decided to embarrass the DJ a little by talking about bra sizes. "How come you have so many free evenings?" the cellist asked finally, just as Vinyl took an easy left turn. "I thought you had many concerts, being a DJ and all?"

"Gigs," the DJ corrected her friend automatically, her eyes still fixed firmly on the road. "Not concerts. 'Gigs'. And I'm on a break currently, recording songs for the new album and... stuff," Vinyl finished lamely, cursing her lack of conversational skill. And yet, it seemed to be enough for Octavia, who fell silent with a nod, and remained thus till the end of the trip.

And the trip hadn't been that long. Some five minutes after the small talk, spent in complete silence at Vinyl's insistence not to turn on the radio, lest it disrupt her attention, Vinyl parked the car near the spacious, yet very low-roofed building that seemed to be made out of sheer metal, with enormous metal doors wide open, people queueing all about the place, in three, four, five queues! And the outlook of the people made Vinyl even more insecure: getting out of the car, followed by the cellist, she saw that, while some of the people were common hipsters or young adults in jeans and tees, there were also quite many hard-blown rockers, in black leather jackets, parking their bikes all about, with beards that would make a pirate proud. 'Romantic' indeed.

"So..." Vinyl came closer to the vast metal structure, her eyes drawn to the bulky bouncers in the way as she stopped not far from one of the queues. Are the queues any different? From the sheer number of people in each queue, the spinner could conclude that there were no priority ones. "Are you sure this is the club? It kinda looks like a hangar."

Octavia laughed softly. "It is a hangar." Suddenly, she touched Vinyl's chin with her tender, lovely fingers and lifted the dumbfounded spinner's head so that Vinyl could see the neon lettering on the building: The Hangar. "See?"

Vinyl saw. And yet, she didn't see. All she could see was the face of the cellist as she turned her head towards her, Octavia's fingers still on her chin, soft, gentle, loving. So tender. So beautiful. "You... You're touching my face."

"Oh, um." Octavia withdrew her hand at once, blushing a little at her boldness, but Vinyl only took a step towards the cellist, the distance between them merely negligible.

"I liked it," Vinyl confessed, as if in a daze. "When you touched me. Your fingers are soft, and..." She leant in, her eyelids practically closing. Is that it? How a kiss should happen? Am I doing it right? Won't she reject me? Isn't she rejecting me now by not kissing me first?

"Are you going to queue up or not?" a rough voice interrupted the sacred moment, prompting Vinyl to turn round and eep in surprise at the sight of a tall, fat biker in a black shirt that proudly read, Rock for Life. "You're one of those queue-jumpers, aye?"

"N-no," Vinyl began to say, but Octavia grabbed her fiercely by the elbow, casting a dark glare at the biker. "We don't need a queue," the cellist said defiantly as she fished out two golden rectangulars of thick paper. "VIP guests of the club, buddy." With that, she marched towards the bouncer, dragging a very surprised Vinyl along, and presented the tickets to the bouncer, who nodded and let them inside, while the biker just stood there, gaping his mouth at the two women.

"Golden passes," Octavia said with a smile as the two women made their way through the virtually empty space of the Hangar, with a closed something-or-the-other on the right, and a narrow way towards the WC. "Those bikers." The cellist huffed indignantly, making her way through the yet-few people towards the stage. "I wanted to have a beer, and now, thanks to that guy, I don't." Maybe it's for the better, Vinyl thought, following the woman to the right of the relatively-empty patch before the stage. I like sober Octavia. Sober Octavia is best Octavia. The sound of whispering, shattering shouts and laughter, and the stomping of feet, and the dragging of tech, and what-not - all of it assaulted Vinyl's poor ears that just wanted to listen to the pretty cellist's voice.

"So..." Vinyl looked around cautously, looking for rows of seats, but finding only a remote bar at the right side of the club, a huge No Smoking sign above the green neon-lit counter and the no-less-lit display of bottles, the barman puffing on a cigar nonetheless while a security ox next to him smoked a cigarette. So much for the laws. "Where do we sit?"

Octavia laughed, looking at the spinner indulgently, her beautiful lavender eyes calm and kind. "Vinyl, there are no seats. We don't sit. We stand." The cellist paused, searching for the right words. "Like at your gigs." Seeing Vinyl's expression of uncertainty, Octavia took a deep breath, breathing in the scents of sweat, excitement and discussion, and placed a comforting hand on Vinyl's shoulder, making the spinner blush but shift a little closer in the already-crampy space.

"Don't worry, Vinyl." Octavia smiled at the cute DJ. "I'm sure you'll love it."

***

"Come feed the rain~" Octavia sang in a shout, her hands in the air, her head shaking furiously back in forth in near-narcotic rapture, her beautiful hair messed up in bliss. "'Cause I'm thirsty for your love, dancing underneath the skies of lust!~"

Vinyl couldn't help but smile at the ecstatic form of the cellist, who seemed to be so involved in the music, much more than the people around them, who did not sing that loudly, nor did they shake so vigorously; and yet, Octavia was way calmer than the bikers in the centre who formed a circle pit and were jumping and running like mad. Vinyl once more thanked Octavia for choosing this exact spot for their dislocation.

And still, everything considered, the concert was... fine. The music was wonderful, and the singer's voice was smooth as silk, and so powerful. The loud music drowned out all other sounds - apart from Octavia - just like her gigs, putting Vinyl in a pleasant state of tranquillity. Contrary to the terrible array of sounds haunting her every single day, a single sound, no matter how loud, was a pleasant change. This whole 'rock concert thing' had turned out to be rather nice, Vinyl mused as the song ended wtih a soul-shattering "Don't walk away~" outro that set Octavia's eyes wet. Contrary to classical concerts, where she had to suffer constant coughs and snotgreen snorts, the rock music drowned all the sound, all apart from Octavia, her singing, her breathing, her jingling laughter. I want to kiss her so badly, Vinyl realised in the heat of the moment, just as the band left the stage - presumably, for a break. Why can't I just kiss her? If only I could gather the courage... Vinyl followed Octavia to the exit, glad to finally be able to get some fresh air. It was getting unbearably hot in the spacious, yet people-packed, place. But what if she doesn't feel the same?

"So, how did you like the concert?" Octavia wondered, taking a deep breath once outside, the night stars winking at her, the cool scent of the night carrying smells of sour sweat and cold asphalt, mixed with rusting metal.

Vinyl yawned, stretching up. "So far, it's been good. When's the second act?"

Octavia giggled, covering her mouth with a hand as she gazed at Vinyl... dreamily? "The concert is over, Vinyl. That was it." Silly little DJ~ she cooed mentally, taking delight in how innocently Vinyl blinked in surprise.

"Oh. Uh." The DJ yawned again, unable to hold her urge to fall asleep, despite having woken up later than usual.

"Sleepy already?" Octavia near-cooed, chuckling as she made her way to Vinyl's car. "I thought you were used to late-night parties, being a DJ."

The DJ followed her friend, chuckling as well. "Parties don't make me any less sleepy." She pressed the button on her keys, the car winking its lights in greeting.  "I try to wake up early. I usually do. And I feel really sleepy late at night."

"Oh, and here I was, thinking about us going somewhere else," Octavia said, getting into the car, her left hand lingering on the handle before closing the door. "Still, I think you're tired of clubs and there's not much we can do otherwise." Apart from having sex in your car. Right now. Mmm, sex.

Vinyl took the driver's seat, turning her head left to look at Octavia in the darkness of the car. If this were a book, that's the point where I kiss her. The DJ shook her head. Such thoughts were unacceptable. "Thank you for taking me out, Octavia. I... I'd love to go out with you again. Somewhere. Not necessarily a concert," the spinner added hastingly. Always ask for a second date, the little devil on Vinyl's shoulder said sagely.

"How about a cinema?" Octavia wondered with a kind smile. "Wait." She lifted a finger playfully, with a smirk that sent Vinyl's heart aflutter. "Have you ever been to a cinema?"

Vinyl snorted with laughter, having a sudden desire to launch a pillow at the smirking cellist. And yet, the otherwise perfect car had no pillow arsenal to peruse. A shame, really. The industry is losing a lot. "Of course I have. I... I just like classical concerts, is all." Vinyl nodded to herself. "I've been to the bowling, and the billiards, and what-not." Once. But Octavia doesn't need to know that.

Octavia paused, her eyes staring off in the distance. "Vinyl, I... May I ask you a question?" I hope there's no great realisations to come after it. Octavia crossed the fingers on her left hand after Vinyl's nod and an easily-dropped, "Sure." The cellist looked at the woman, her eyes lingering on her breasts, the DJ's shirt salty, sweaty and unbearably clingy after the concert. "Why do you like classical concerts so much? I mean, I thought that, being a DJ, you did not... um, value classical music that high."

"My dad was a classical musician," Vinyl replied simply. "He took me to a lot of concerts. I was always there when he performed." The DJ stared off in the distance dreamily. "He was the soloist. Always in the lead. Always a delight to listen to."

Octavia nodded in thoughtful silence. "He... What instrument did he play?"

Vinyl smiled, meeting Octavia's lavender gaze. "A cello, just like you."

Octavia raised her brow with a tiny smile. "I know most of the famous soloist cellists, if not all. Maybe I have heard of him. What was his name? Scratch who?"

Vinyl chuckled. "Vinyl Scratch is the name I chose for myself. My full name's Vincenza. Vincenza Staccato." And now that sounded like "Bond. James Bond," Vinyl chucked internally, toying with her keys.

Octavia's mouth fell agape. That means... The cellist blinked, unable to form coherent thoughts. "I... You... Could that meant that your-"

"My father is Immanuel Staccato," Vinyl said with a simple smile. "He was a good cellist." And a terrible father.

"A good cellist?" Octavia shrieked, unable to restrain herself. "He was the best! The best of the best! His skill! His perception! His technique! My God." The cellist stared at Vinyl, seeing her in the new light. And yet, she hasn't changed at all, Octavia observed. Vinyl Scratch hasn't changed by becoming Vincenza Staccato. "Immanuel Staccato was your father," Octavia repeated dumbly, staring at the DJ in awe.

"He is my father," Vinyl corrected with a soft, sad smile, staring away at the winking stars of the night. "Will always be."

***

Octavia danced into her penthouse on the tips of her toes, humming to herself happily as her face shone with a goofy smile. The cellist closed the door behind her, turning on the light, illuminating the relatively-messy room. With a shrug, Octavia took off the T-shirt, throwing it away to the floor, where it met a set of dark-blue jeans and a black turtleneck. Taking off the jeans, she threw them away in the same general direction and proceeded straight to the kitchen, where the roast chicken was waiting for her on the table.

As Octavia grabbed the food with her bare hands, not caring to wash them in the slightest, and bit her teeth into the tender meat, her brain finally decided to emphasise the fact that the concert had been quite a success. Not only that, Octavia reminded herself, but also a new meeting had been set for tomorrow: going to the cinema. And she's a Staccato. Down came the bird as the cellist tried to get her emotions straight. All right. I like her regardless of who she is, but... Damn, fucking the daughter of the famous Immanuel Staccato would be so. Hot.

Octavia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, all proper manners forgotten once at home, and rose to leave the kitchen. And yet... The cellist imagined having sex with Vinyl in her bedroom, the potrait of Vinyl's father staring sternly from the wall. Yeah. How about no. Down to the bedroom she went, turning off the lights on the way. While sleep did not yet have a grip on her, she wanted to get up a little earlier to make some necessary... arrangements. See the place for herself. Not that it was a bad cinema...

Octavia surprised herself with a yawn as she lay in bed, grabbing Mister Tummers and keeping him close to heart. Mister Tummers, should I call her Vincenza now? she wondered mentally, reminding herself of her childhood, when she conversed with the bear mentally, knowing very well that her parents thought her fast asleep. Apparently, Mister Tummers had mastered telepathy. "You're right, Mister Tummers," Octavia said, closing her eyes. "I should stick to 'Vinyl'."

For a moment, the cellist thought how nice it would be to hold Vinyl in her hands like that, just pressing her against her chest, kissing that forehead, feeling her snores reverberate through the upper half of her body. For some reason, Octavia was sure Vinyl had a very cute snore.

Smiling, Octavia kissed Mister Tummers on the forehead. "Good night, Vinyl."

***

Vinyl tumbled into her flat silently, manoeuvring about the empty beer cans and bags of half-eaten crisps and nachos, no doubt consumed by Neon in abundance in his wait for his sister, and reached for the wardrobe immediately, taking off her tie and ubuttoning her collar, taking a deep breath of relief. God, I need to lose some weight. Vinyl eyed herself in the mirror, her moonlit form looking strangely vampire-ish. Vampires don't have reflections. ...Do they? The DJ slapped her rear playfully. No, I shouldn't lose weight. Octavia seems to like my fat ass. If her lingering eyes are any indication. And yet, how could she be sure that Octavia liked her, and not just her breasts and rear?

Vinyl sighed, picking up nearby rubbish and walking into the kitchen. One way or another, she had been bold enough to kiss Octavia this time: just a peck on the corner of the cellist's lips; but she kissed her back. And yet, it's not a real kiss. A friendly good-bye, nothing more. Throwing the offensive litter in the dustbin, the DJ sighed. Why can't I read her mind? Then, I'd know if she liked me like I like her...

Vinyl reached for the tap, filling the glass with water. The sounds of the street had nearly died - a rare, silent occasion for this city, the ugliest, the most beautiful city in the world, a silence interrupted merely by the lazy traffic and Neon's peaceful snoring. The DJ downed the glass greedily and walked back into the room. With another sigh, she began undressing. Off came the jacket, thrown onto the chair. Off came the trousers, with some difficulty - and onto the chair they flew. Off came the shirt, drenched in sweat, dropped under the chair tiredly. Off came the bra and the pants, sweaty and clingy, uncomfortable and embarrassing. Holding both pieces with two fingers at a distance, Vinyl walked into the bathroom and dropped them into the dirty laundry bin, scrunching her nose.

The DJ turned on the light, locking the door behind her. For a while, she just stared at her naked body, admiring her form in the mirror. No wonder Octavia likes my boobs. Hell, I want to have sex with myself. With a sigh and a reminder that there were no cloning apparati yet, Vinyl climbed into the cubicle and turned on the water. First, as always, it came unbearably hot; but Vinyl, skilful enough, turned the shower away from her until the water became freezing cold, and only then pleasantly warm.

The DJ washed in silence, too tired to even hum a tune. Exhausted, she leant against the wall, closing her eyes and letting the steamy water wash the sweat and grime away. Octavia... Swiftly, the spinner's hand made its way to her pussy, but quickly found out that the woman's body was too exhausted to enjoy even a little physical stimulation. Octavia, I so want you. I want to be with you, she said mentally, as if the cellist could hear her. But it's so hard. Why don't you make the first step?

Vinyl staggered out of the cubicle upon turning off the water, soap and shampoo be damned, dying herself off with a large towel. Brushing her now-straight hair away, knowing very well that it'd become just as spiky in the morning, Vinyl obeyed the sudden demand of her stomach and proceeded out of the bathroom, and straight into the kitchen. Only upon reaching the kitchen and opening up the fridge did she realise that she had not put on any clothes. Eh. Vinyl fished out a conveniently-made morning sandwich. It's not like Neon hasn't seen me naked. Munching on the sandwich, Vinyl closed the fridge with a yawn that almost made her choke and left the kitchen at once, her eyelids heavy, her eyes closing automatically.

The desire to sleep outweighed Vinyl's desire to stuff her stomach and thus the spinner dropped the sandwich onto the little table, barely staggering to the wardrobe, stumbling on the carpet as she fished out a new set of pants-and-bra, putting them on with weary fingers. With that, she let out an exhausted sigh and fell down on the couch next to a snoring, boxers-wearing Neon.

The woman snuggled closer to the man, throwing the blanket both over her and him, lying in her brother's armpit, his breath smelling of beer and lipstick, his body warm and comforting. Vinyl yawned, closing her eyes. What if?.. How would it feel, to lie like that, only with Octavia? Sleep in Octavia's embrace? Share the warmth of her body. For a moment, Vinyl's sleepy mind pictured it vividly. Octavia's naked body, that beautiful, sexy ass, her flat, alluring breasts, unconcealed by the bra, her fingers holding her shoulder, her nose snoring a tiny snore, her lips beautiful  and welcoming in the moonlight.

Hazily, Vinyl kissed Neon's cheek, mumbling as she fell asleep. "Good night, Octavia."

9. The Date

"Why so cheerful?" Neon wondered, watching his sister hum a song loudly as she tiptoed about the room with a vacuum cleaner, headphones on her ears, her boobs jumping up and down under her T-shirt, delightfully bra-less, unrestricted, her shorts preventing the busy DJ from sweating profusely due to her labour. The man waited for a few seconds, yawning on the couch, before he could conclude that his sister had not heard him. "What's the occasion?!" he shouted, genuinely curious as to why the spinner was so intent on cleaning up - something that she so rarely did.

"When I thoooought that I fooooought this waaar alooone~" Vinyl sang aloud, her eyes closed as she swished her ass back and forth, the vacuum cleaner groaning as it slurped up dust, gritting its non-existent teeth against the thick carpet, its long-time nemesis. "You were theeeere by my siiiiide-" Suddenly, the woman felt a hand on her shoulder. With a shriek, she dropped the cleaning device, her headphones falling off her head onto the floor, almost getting sucked in by the vacuum cleaner, until she hit the power with her foot, taking a sharp look at the intruder. Seeing the grinning form of her brother, Vinyl sighed in relief and smiled. "Oh. You're awake."

Neon nodded, waving his hand around the room, which, by now, definitely looked cleaner than before. "What's the occasion for the big wrap-up?" The man chuckled, not bothering to cover a power yawn that sent tears to his eyes. "Not that I can complain, of course."

Vinyl smiled warmly, her heart beating in her chest, joyfully, loudly, the world around her a vivid kaleidoscope of sound, her expectations higher than ever - and, of course, fear was there too - as she picked up the vacuum cleaner once again, intent on finishing her cleaning. "I'm going to a cinema with Octavia tonight," she explained with a small blush. "I... I think she'd like to drop by my place." After all, she's been here already... "I just want it to be a little cleaner."

"Ooooh~" Neon teased, rubbing his finger against Vinyl's shoulder playfully. "My little sister is having a date with a sexy cellist~" the man cooed, his finger tickling the spinner's armpit.

"Drop it!" Vinyl laughed, slapping the playful hand away. Maybe it's a date. I want it to be. Does she? "Are you done with teasing? I have some new Poets music to listen to." The DJ picked up the headphones with her free hand, War still blaring from them at top volume.

Neon lifted his brow, withdrawing his finger from the DJ's body. "I didn't know you listened to PotF." He scratched his hairy belly with a yawn, feeling that there was enough beer in the world to match his current manliness.

"Well, I do." Vinyl hung the headphones over her neck. "Octavia introduced me to the band, and I like their music now." The spinner eyed her brother with a sudden smirk. "Neon, put on a shirt." Her gaze travelled down, and all courage vanished as she noticed a certain detail, averting her eyes with a blush. "And, um, some trousers. Your, um, uh, well. You know."

"Oh." Neon looked at his crotch-pillar proudly. "You mean my morning glory?" He grinned, showing off his perfectly-white teeth, miraculously unstained by hard drinking, chain-smoking, and vigorous junk-food-eating. "I should call Maddie at once! Only my lovely woman can help me with it!"

"Neon!" Vinyl shrieked, her cheeks a dark shade of pink, her eyes shut tight in embarrassment. "Stop that!" You know I don't like penises! ...Penisi? No, it's definitely 'penises'. "Get dressed and don't get in my way while I clean up and prepare for the da- meeting with Octavia.

Neon dropped serious, opening his mouth in an unspoken question. Instead, he opted for a quiet, gravely-voiced warning. "Vinyl. I... Please, be careful. Especially with Octavia."

Vinyl looked at her brother, raising her brow. She took a step towards the silent man, pushing the vacuum cleaner away with her foot. "Nini. Do you know something about Octavia that I need to know?" Maybe... Maybe he knows she's not interested in me? Maybe... Maybe she's seeing someone?

"No." Neon let out a weak, artificial smile, quickly directing his feet towards the bathroom. "No, I don't. Never mind, just being overprotective, as always. Be right back!" With that, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Vinyl eyed the door thoughtfully and picked up the vacuum cleaner once more. Another song popped up on the shuffle, and she put on the headphones. The preparations continued.

***

"Yes, Mister Tummers, I am cleaning up the flat."

Octavia grabbed the wine bottle and threw it into the huge dustbin, with Mister Tummers staring at her from the bed in the bedroom/sleeping corner with his button-eyes. The cellist huffed and picked up a few pieces of wrapping paper that had once cradled a chocolate bar, placing them in the very same dustbin that she'd been dragging with her about the flat for the last couple hours. All the other rooms had already undergone a clean-up treatment; all but the most spacious, and the most rubbish-stained, one.

"No, Mister Tummers, I'm not ill." The cellist stopped in the middle of the room, wiping sweat off her brow. "I just want to clean up in case Vinyl decides to drop by tonight." Or if I drag her along. Which would be way more likely. After all, she had to make the first move: she knew about Vinyl's feelings from Neon, and Vinyl's shyness... And Vinyl didn't know that she was liked back, Octavia realised. Tangled up with the DJ's constant lack of courage and determination (even though Octavia had noticed, with some pride, that Vinyl was slowly but steadily becoming less constantly-embarrassed, at least in her presence), it most certainly amounted to the sexy spinner being unable to confess her feelings to Octavia. If Neon wasn't pulling my leg, Octavia thought as she shifted to the closet-case, quickly deciding against using a vacuum cleaner. Why would he? Vinyl is his sister. He wouldn't toy with something like that. "Right, Mister Tummers?"

The bear kept staring at the cellist emotionlessly. "Right," Octavia nodded. "I think that, if all goes well, I'm going to ask her out tonight. After all..." She paused, looking around. Both devil Octavia and angel Octavia seemed to have taken a short trip to the Bahamas. "I think she knows, deep inside, that it's a date." Octavia chewed on her lip, eyeing the catatonic plush bear. "I do."

The cellist tugged at her sweaty sports bra, taking it off with one swift motion. Time for a bath. Octavia proceeded calmly to the bathroom, taking off her pants on the way, tossing them away with one hand. Getting into the bath, she let the tap run, pressing her back against the cold back of the oval object. By force of habit, her hands made their way to her nethers, which, Octavia realised in surprise, were not soaking wet at the thought of the hot DJ, but remained fairly unaroused.

That's because it's different, the cellist thought with some pleasant amusement. Back when Vinyl was merely the object of her sexual fantasies, a wild boob-fuelled longing, it was different. Now, however... Now I really do have some feelings for her. Octavia smiled, purring in delight as the water level hit her waist, her whole body shivering in pleasure. God, I really do have to ask her out tonight. Hope she says yes.

With that, Octavia closed her eyes and let the tap run.

***

"Well, that's the place."

Vinyl circled the car around in the underground parking place, trying to find a lot her huge sports car could occupy. Octavia marvelled at how she'd improved. Must have been taking driving lessons, she mused as Vinyl took a skilful (and not entirely legal) U-turn. "Hehe, looks more like a maze than a place," the spinner chuckled at her remark. Octavia deadpanned, holding back a fierce facepalm. Now if only her puns could improve too...

Finally, Vinyl had managed to park the car on the second try, and leant to the right, opening up the door. Mirroring her, Octavia leant to the left, opening the door to the passenger seat, and got out of the vehicle, breathing in the stale air of the parking. She closed her eyes, analysing the smell by habit, quickly, subconsciously.

"What do you smell?" Octavia turned her head to Vinyl, raising her brow at the question. The spinner stared at her intently, locking up the car. "What do you smell, Octavia? You told me you could smell many things I could not. I want to know," she practically begged as the two women made their way towards the nearest entrance to the enormous entertainment centre.

"Well," Octavia began, slowing her pace. "The air here is very stale. There's the smell of burning petrol, and recently-changed oil." She took a deep sniff, approaching the entrance with the spinner by her side. "The scent of moss and grime from the walls."

"How does grime smell?" Vinyl wondered, walking through the glass doors into the hive of the centre, the marching tantrum of soles beating against the floor in disorderly disarray, the chaos of voices floating in the air.

"Um..." Octavia blushed a little, following her friend inside. "Grimy," she admitted, unsure what word to use. She checked the fly of her jeans automatically, as well as the buttons on her blue shirt, taking a prim, presentable pose. "What do you hear?" she asked suddenly, prompting Vinyl to look at her in surprise. "All I can hear is the constant buzz of voices. You... You must hear more, am I right?"

Vinyl nodded, making her way towards one of the lifts. However, Octavia tugged her on the hand, right next to where her long-sleeve ended, and shook her head, pointing at the far end of the floor. "I... There's a lot of sound. Feet marching on the floor - boots, shoes, high-heels. All of them. The chatter. It's hard to make it out." Vinyl winced. "They're talking about shopping and household issues. Children are begging for toys. I can hear a father slap his child." Just like mine. The spinner followed the cellist past various shops, to which, she made a mental note, she had to pay a visit. Battle the shyness, devil Vinyl reminded her. She glanced at the other shoulder. Angel Vinyl merely shrugged. Battle the shyness... nicely? "Can we go shopping?" she asked suddenly, a simple conversation with Octavia putting her at ease.

The cellist smiled with a gracious nod. "Sure thing, Vinyl." Every girl loves shopping, she reminded herself with a tiny grin. Maybe, just maybe, some good shopping would make Vinyl open up a little more? "Right after the film."

The two women walked into the spacious movie theatre, filled with neon illumination and a corner beer joint and a set of arcade machines and a billiards table and an ice hockey and what-not. A whole carousel of colour and entertainment. Vinyl joined the small queue, next to Octavia, casting a glance at Octavia as she watched the air hockey table with longing. Nini and I used to play it all the time...

"Two tickets for Love me Tender," Octavia said to the cashier, fishing out her wallet. Vinyl tried to protest, but the cellist pressed her index finger against the DJ's lips, making her any possible remark cease. The film is a romance, Vinyl thought, butterflies roaring in her stomach. She pressed a finger against my lips. The DJ smiled shyly. If that's not a date, I don't know what it is. It must be attraction.

Grabbing the tickets, Octavia looked about the room, noticing the huge clock adorning the far wall. "We still have about fifteen minutes," she observed, catching Vinyl's longing look at the arcade corner with a smile. Come on, Vinyl. Ask me. It's not that hard, she encouraged Vinyl mentally.

Vinyl took a deep breath. "Uh, Octavia, would you like to play some air hockey with me?" she blurted out in nearly a single sentence. God, if that's how I ask her for a game, how do I gather up the courage to ask her out?

Octavia smirked, rubbing her hands. "I thought you'd never ask."

***

"I can't believe you beat me."

Octavia laughed as the two women left the cinema, Vinyl shaking her head in disbelief. "We've spent two hours watching the film and you're still all tangled up about that?" The cellist threw over her shoulder the empty bag that once held popcorn into a nearby dustbin. "It's as if you have never lost a game." The cellist smiled in delight, noticing that the shy spinner had indeed eased up a little.

"I've never lost an air hockey game," Vinyl admitted, walking by Octavia's side along some jewellery shops that held no interest to her. "Even Neon could never beat me." The musicians passed a Japanese restaurant full of people stuffing their stomaches with ill-rotten sushis.

"He's your elder brother," Octavia reasoned, looking around curiously, her eyes never lingering on the crowd of people about them. "Maybe he just went easy on you." But he's not gonna go easy on me, the cellist reminded herself. But I'm not gonna do anything bad to you, Vinyl. We're just gonna have nice, kinky sex. With lots of spanking and latex. "Do you like latex?"

"What?" Vinyl blinked in shock, absolutely certain that she must have misheard the cellist, stopping dead in her tracks.

Oh shit I did not just say it out loud. Octavia blinked, stopping as well. Damn. Think. Brain. "What?" she asked innocently.

"What." Vinyl opened her mouth to speak. She... She did not just ask me about latex. Goddamit. Latex. That... That's kinda... um... Argh! The DJ tried to get rid of a haunting image of the sexy cellist in a full-body latex suit.

"I just asked..." Octavia took a quick look around, spotting a virtually empty karaoke bar not far from where they'd stopped, with a lonely floor sweeper acting his namesake and sweeping the floor. Bingo. "If you wanted to go sing at the karaoke over there?" The raven-haired woman pointed at the tiny establishment with her finger, smiling. Buy it buy it buy it...

"Oh, uh. Um. I..." Vinyl blushed, averting her eyes, embarrassment once more covering her. "I don't think I can sing all that well..." She rubbed the tip of her shoe against the dirt-stained pseudomarble floor. "Besides, there will be people..."

"There'll be just me," Octavia assured her, gazing into the DJ's eyes. "Only me. Will you sing for me, Vinyl?" she asked seriously, the latex issue forgotten.

Vinyl gulped, looking back into the cellist's eyes. "For you," she said with fierce determination, "I will do anything."

***

"Whatever makes you see, makes you believe~" Vinyl sang, the magenta of her eye fixed on Octavia, who was standing before the little improvised stage, her eyes shining with some otherworldly feeling, her mouth slightly agape, the corners of her mouth up a tiny smile.

Octavia blinked away tears that sprang to her eyes at the spinners magnificent singing. Not only was Vinyl's vocal range outstanding, her voice was sweet, and smooth as silk, a kind of high-class satin vocals, and... And she's singing to me. To the woman she likes. God. Oh God. I so want to kiss her right now. It was time, Octavia realised. Tonight. Only tonight. Tonight, she would confess her feelings to the sexy DJ. After such a performance, there could be no doubt that Vinyl had feelings for her. Either that, or the spinner just had a heavenly connection to music. Quite possibly both.

Just as the song had ended, Vinyl descended to the cellist, a small blush on her cheeks, the microphone lying on the stage in forlorn solitude. "Um... Something like that." Vinyl looked at Octavia, who could not find words to describe how impossibly awestruck she was at the DJ's performance. "I wanted to sing Carnival of Rust, but they only had Illusion and Dream, so..."

Octavia threw her arms around Vinyl's neck, pressing the wonderful woman close to her chest, holding her in a tight embrace, which, to her glee, Vinyl  clumsily returned, the spinner's heart beating in leaps and bounds. She... Oh my god. Come on, Vinyl, come on! After such a... Oh God. The spinner could not even think properly, her mind hazy, as Octavia let her go, teary-eyed and smiling, smiling, smiling. "Vinyl, it was magnificent. You have a divine voice. I..." Octavia gulped. "I could listen to you forever. Vinyl, you..." Take it slow. Take it easy, Octavia. Step by step. Very very carefully. "Not only are you the most beautiful woman I've ever met," the cellist said finally, having chosen the right words, "but you are also the most talented, the most wonderful, the cutest person in the world." With a smile at the shocked, blushing Vinyl, she added in a whisper, "You also have the cutest blush when you're embarrassed."

Vinyl tried to work her mouth in order to come up with a response, but her lips did not obey her. This is it. This is it. Oh God. She... She likes me. She really likes me. Vinyl wanted to run around in circles happily and hide under the bed at the same time. Now... What now? Octavia took a bold step forth towards the spinner in the general emptiness of the merely-decorated room, with a single stage taking up most of the establishment, a few empty tables resting peacefully around it. She... Is she going to kiss me now? What do I do? And how does she know I like her too? Am I that obvious? Vinyl's thoughts ran back and forth, spiralling, tangling up and untangling back, rushing to and fro.

"Ladies, not in my bar."

Octavia turned round sharply, only to see the floor sweeper frown at them, holding out his broom, his old bearded face bland and emotionless. "What?" she barked sharply, taking a defiant step away from Vinyl and towards the man.

"I run this place, just so you know. There's a no kissing policy in my bar," the sweeper said plainly, not moving a centimetre. "I'm one of those nasty people who still care about public decency."

Octavia huffed in sheer indignation. The nerve! The audacity! "Just so you know-"

"Just so you know," the owner/sweeper interrupted her pointedly, "I've been around longer than you have, and I know that look. Not in my backyard." He shook his head, pointing his broom at the exit. 'That' look? Vinyl thought dumbly, still unsure of what to think or feel, apart from sheer trembling in her knees at the closeness of the cellist. "You have already sung a song for free, without ordering anything, which I let slide. Now, leave. We're closing up."

Octavia took a deep breath, her face reddening with anger, her tongue ready to unleash a wave of profanity. Vinyl. Think about her. The fury popped like a toy balloon as the cellist exhaled and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, without a word, she took Vinyl by the hand and, holding her close, dragged her out of the karaoke bar, under the sad, stern look of the proprietor.

"What a douche," Octavia remarked as soon as they'd left the premises. "I hate such people."

Vinyl did not agree, nor did she disagree, as she walked alongside Octavia, passing various stores, most of them full of electronics and films. Did she... Did she really try to kiss me? Vinyl shook her head slightly. One way or another, the moment was lost, and, besides... I can't ask her. I just... can't. If Octavia was ready to make the first move, Vinyl concluded, not without shame at her shyness, let her make the first move.

"All right, let's not focus on idiots like him," Octavia said aloud, more to calm herself than to calm Vinyl. "We wanted to go shopping, didn't we?" She turned with a smile towards Vinyl, who nodded with a tiny appreciative smile. "Oh, I almost forgot!" The cellist slapped her forehead as the two women passed a bookstore filled with glass-wearing nerds queueing up to a desk: probably a signing of some fantasy novel or the like. "I need to buy a new hat for Mister Tummers!"

Vinyl almost stopped dead in her tracks, slowing down significantly. "Who is Mister Tummers?" she asked with more jealousy that she imagined she had, her mind already rummaging through the dirty drawer of possibilities.

Octavia stopped, eyeing the woman with curiosity. In a moment, she burst out in laughter. Oh my god. She is being jealous! That's sooo cute~ "Mister Tummers is my toy, a Paddington bear," the cellist explained through chuckles. "I got him for my very first birthday, and he's been with me ever since."

Vinyl squeed a little at the idea of Octavia sleeping with a plush bear, in addition to the delight at her jealousy fading away at once. "That's so cute~" she echoed Octavia's thoughts with a smile. "I would love to see him!" Vinyl resumed her walking, her feet a little springier and easier to lift.

Octavia chuckled, speeding up to catch up with the disk-spinner. "Well, I could bring-" Wait. Here. This, here, a perfect opportunity. "Actually..." Octavia smiled, making her grin just a perfect amount of sly. "Maybe you would like to drop by place tonight and see him for yourself?" And... other things. Sexy sexy things.

"I... I-I-I..." Vinyl shook a little, realising the implication. "I..." Why not? She obviously likes you, you like her. She won't hurt you. You know that. It's a perfect chance to sort out your feelings. Vinyl decided to listen to the voice of reason, for once.

The spinner smiled, nodding to the cellist. "I'd love to."

***

"Was that really necessary, Vinyl?"

Vinyl laughed cheerfully as she barely dragged the bags into Octavia's flat, placing them on the floor with a soft 'thud'. "Buying all their stock of scarves?" The DJ smiled to herself. "Absolutely necessary. I have to spend money somewhere, don't I?"

Octavia chuckled as well, placing her single bag next to Vinyl's. "And here I was, thinking you were shy." She walked further into the room, yawning as she cocked her head back and forth.

"Shy does not mean 'socially reclusive'," Vinyl countered, following Octavia towards the kitchen entrace. "Wow, you sure have a big penthouse flat here." Vinyl eyed the room around her with respect. "How many rooms?"

Octavia laughed softly, taking a turn into the small kitchen. "Practically, only the living room. My little sleeping corner that I call a bedroom. A nice bathroom too." The cellist extracted two mugs from the cupboard. "Tea?"

Vinyl nodded. "Sure." The DJ watched in silence as the beautiful cellist poured the sacred liquid into the mugs equally, placing them on the table, at which she took her place, following the spinner, right opposite her. Vinyl took a sip of the Earl Grey. Very good tea. Very very good tea indeed.

"I had much fun," Octavia said after a moment of pregnant silence and a sip of her tea - pleasantly warm. As nature indended. "Thank you, Vinyl."

The DJ blushed slightly, but did not break eye contact, thus scoring a little victory over her shyness, getting lost in those wonderful pools of lavender. "Thank you, Octavia. It was the best date I've ever had." Vinyl smiled. Not that I'd had any before but- Suddenly, the DJ's eyes widened as she realised what exactly she had just said. "I mean-"

"A date?" Octavia placed the mug onto the table, raising her brow quizzically, her heart beating like a hammer. Don't blow it. Don't blow it. Don't you dare blow it.

"I mean-" Vinyl could not find the right words to rectify her mistake. What mistake, though? Stupid stupid stupid! What if- Argh! The DJ wanted to bury her head in the sand like an ostrich. Only there was no sand; only Octavia's judgement.

"Vinyl, calm down," Octavia said softly, with a gentle smile. "I like you. I like you... more than a friend. I have intended for it to be a date. And I'm glad that you think so too." Vinyl began to hyperventilate, her heart leaping to her throat, her fingers trembling wildly, her knees wobbling fiercely, her head spinning and spinning and spinning. This is happening. Oh my- This is happening. Truly happening. "In fact..." Octavia's voice dropped to a whisper as she leant closer over the table to the shaking woman. "I'd love to go on many many more dates with you." She smiled, adding in an almost-silent exhale, "As your girlfriend."

Vinyl felt faint, her vision blackening, the tips of her fingers tingly. I... Dammit, I am not going to faint! She just asked me out, dammit! "I-I... I... I would love to go to more dates with you," Vinyl finally, managed to let out in a tiny voice. "As... as your girlfriend." There. I said it. I said it. The spinner began to calm down upon realising that the ground beneath her feet had not shifted away, and the sun still rose in the East and set in the West.

Octavia smiled in delight and closed her eyes. Finally. Finally. Finally! "So..." Octavia smiled. "We're dating. How about that?"

Vinyl chuckled, unable to believe her luck. "We are." I have a girfriend! I have a relationship! "So... What do we do now?"

Octavia smiled slyly as she got up and walked up to the spinner. "Now..." she whispered, pointing at her lips. "You kiss me." The panic returned to the DJ as she once began to take outrageously wrong-paced breaths, sending her head into a daze. "Or..." Octavia leant in, licking her lips. "I kiss you."

Vinyl was pretty sure she fainted for a moment when Octavia locked her lips with hers, sucking on her lower lip greedily, moaning slightly into her mouth. There was tongue, too, but Vinyl was too shy and too busy shivering in near-orgasmic glee to meet the cellist's organ with hers. Octavia broke the kiss after a few seconds, a goofy smile of satisfaction on her face. "Something like that," she parodied Vinyl with a grin.

The disk-spinner brought two fingers to her hot lips. "Wow," she said finally. "My first kiss, and... like that." Wait, I did not just say that! Now she'll think I'm a- uh!

"Not your last, that's for sure." Octavia licked her lips greedily, withdrawing from the goofy-smiling DJ. "So... Would you like to stay overnight?" And I'll fuck you senseless with a huge-

"Um..." Vinyl winced, not wanting to let the wonderful cellist (my girlfriend!) down, but at the same time... "I'm not ready for sex yet, Octavia," she said seriously. "I... I just-"

"Shh." The cellist pressed her finger against the spinner's soft lips which she'd kissed with such passion. Of course. I'll wait. For you, Vinyl, I'll wait. "I'll never do something you won't want me to do, Vinyl," Octavia said earnestly. "And I didn't mean that we have sex tonight. Just you staying overnight. With me." She quickly added, "I can sleep on the floor if you want."

Vinyl shook her head, blushing slightly. "I... Um, I wanted to sleep with you, if that's all right. Cuddle a little." Touch your ass, maybe.

Octavia smirked and gifted her girlfriend with a breezy kiss. "Let's go, then?" She turned towards the doorway, winking at Vinyl sensually.

The DJ downed her tea immediately and jumped to her feet to follow the cellist to the bedroom, where, indeed, she found a very cramped space mostly taken up by the bed, on which she instantly spotted a cute Paddington bear, his eyes replaced by buttons. "I take it that's Mister Tummers?" she asked warmly as Octavia took off her T-shirt and jeans and threw them near the bed, right onto the floor.

"The one and only." Octavia nodded with a smile, sliding under the covers after flicking off the light, deciding to stay in her underwear, lest Vinyl be embarrassed. Vinyl, however, took off her bra as well, revealing a set of perfect, ideal breasts to the cellist, who immediately scored them an eleven out of ten. And yet, the DJ swiftly put on her T-shirt, blushing slightly at the momentary display, but saying nothing. She's my girlfriend now, after all.

Vinyl slid under the covers, right into Octavia's tender embrace, feeling warm and pleasant at once. She closed her eyes, the emotional exhaustion mixing with a feeling of pleasure, delight, and achievement. Octavia was already half-snoring in some five minutes, during which Vinyl just lay happily, falling asleep gradually, her body pressed against the body of the woman she desired and... let's face it, loved so much.

"Hey, Octavia," Vinyl murmured, half-asleep, her mind content with the sheer amount of endorphines for the day. Best night ever.

"Mmhm?" the cellist called out sleepily, without opening her eyes, only pressing the spinner into her chest even tighter.

"You asked if I liked latex." Vinyl smiled, drifting off to sleep finally. "I do."

The moon peeked into the room curiously through the small open window beneath the ceiling.

Part Two Marker

II. HOLD ME

1. A New Day Dawns

Octavia Philarmonica woke up to the sound of her girlfriend shifting in her arms with a snort, her arms tugged around the cellist's waist, gripping her ass tightly, as if it were the greatest treasure. The usual scents came later: the Colombian coffee, the petrol, the freshly-baked biscuits. The  raven-haired woman smiled, tugging in a very sleepy and mumbling Vinyl. She is so cute, Octavia thought with a smile, rubbing the DJ's back gently, with sheer warmth pouring out from her very heart.

Vinyl yawned into her chest, muttering something sleepily. Octavia shifted away from the beautiful woman just a little to hear out her sleepy monologue. "Your boob is touching my cheek," Vinyl grumbled, her eyes still closed, her cheek, indeed, resting peacefully inside the cellist's bra. Not so shy when you're sleepy, are you, Vinyl? Octavia smirked, purring quietly, "Yes. Yes, it is."

Vinyl's eyes opened slowly, her awakening pleasant and strangely soft, even warm... The spinner's gaze lingered on the flat breasts of the woman next to her. "Oh." Then, a realisation dawned upon her. "Oh oh oh!" The DJ withdrew her head a little, blushing fiercely, trying to avert her eyes from the stunning display before her.

Octavia laughed a soft, chimy laugh, pressing Vinyl back to her, showing her that it was all right. Is it? Vinyl mused, obeying her girlfriend (Girlfriend! Tee-hee!) and returning her nose to the little canyon between Octavia's breasts, breathing in the scent of her cellist in calm delight, her embarrassment's fading in the wake of Octavia's silent assurance. The cellist smirked, kissing Vinyl's forehead lovingly. "Your hands are touching my ass, so I say we're quits."

Vinyl eeped and rolled off of the bed with a loud thud, prompting Octavia to both giggle at the sheer cuteness of the happening, and immediately frown in concern as the cellist sat up in bed, looking over to the floor to make sure her girlfriend was all right. Vinyl waved her hands in the air, lying on the floor like a log. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I did that-"

"I'm glad you did that," Octavia interrupted her, getting up and offering a helping hand to the spinner, who accepted it gladly, if a little bashfully. "Vinyl, it's perfectly all right," the cellist assured the blushing woman, patting the bed next to her. Vinyl said down, looking away, but Octavia grabbed her chin gently and turned Vinyl's head to meet her gaze. "Vinyl. We are dating now. It allows certain... things. Like, it's perfectly all right - and, frankly, quite pleasant - to touch each other's... more private areas."

"I understand," Vinyl replied immediately, not wanting her girlfriend to think she was some child needing a lecture. "It's just that I'm so easily embarrassed by such things and-"

Octavia silenced the cute girl with a thoughtful, lingering kiss, making sure that her tongue did not enter the spinner's mouth at once, instead slowing to a crawl as she tried to explore every nook of her DJ's mouth, savour the feeling. Endorphins commanded Vinyl's head as she felt the cellist's organ in her mouth and met it with hers with some hesitance. Suddenly, her mind exploded as Octavia grabbed one of her breasts, right through the T-shirt, and began caressing it, squeezing it just like she liked it to be squeezed. Feeling Vinyl moan into her mouth in evident pleasure, Octavia pressed her weight against the DJ's, gradually laying the woman onto the bed, pinning her to the soft mattress. Come on, fuck the girl silly, devil Octavia suggested, licking her lips at the cowering angel on Vinyl's shoulder. You know you want it. You know she wants it. The little devil on Vinyl's shoulder nodded eagerly, evidently pleased with the suggestion. However, angel Octavia reminded the cellist sternly that Vinyl had said herself that she was not ready for sex yet.

With a mental sigh of acceptance, Octavia withdrew from the spinner's form slowly, smiling warmly at the spinner, whose cheeks were a delightful pink, sparkles of lust and fear of lust shining up in the reddish eyes. "See? Not so hard, right?" Octavia winked. "Your tongue-play was amazing. I wonder what that little skilful tongue of yours can do, hmm?" the cellist purred, leaning in to place a peck on Vinyl's lips.

Vinyl had just opened her mouth to protest, and was deeply surprised to feel her cellist's lips against hers once more, her tongue slipping in, pushing through the woman's lips instinctively. Wow, it knows better, Vinyl assumed, the first kiss calming her down somewhat, making the general idea of kissing Octavia less embarrassing. How can something so good feel embarrassing, after all? Vinyl's reasonable self reflected; and, with disturbingly unisoned nods, angel Vinyl and devil Vinyl agreed with the idea.

As Octavia withdrew, a little surprised at the spinner's boldness, all be it occasional, and glanced over her girlfriend appreciatively. "Hmm, I guess that answers the question."

Vinyl sat up in bed a little, propping her head on an elbow, with a tiny smile, her heart beating fast both in the wake of the kiss and of what she was going to say. Becoming less shy around Octavia, the woman reminded herself. Just a little. A little bit. She deserves it. "Well, my little skilful tongue-" Vinyl began with a sensual smile that faded as soon as her stomach grumbled in an act of sabotage and betrayal, and her cheeks once more covered with a tint of blush. "-wants to have breakfast," the DJ finished lamely, prompting Octavia to burst into giggles and grab the spinner in her arms once again, cradling her with a sense of happy tranquillity, her girlfriend by her side, her life taking a brighter, calmer turn.

"Do you think we should work on the song today or just cuddle the day through?" Octavia asked, incredibly happy that Vinyl had decided to clasp her hands around her back as well, thus making the two women lie entwined in a tight, passionate embrace. "I vote for cuddle."

Vinyl laughed softly, closing her eyes, her body relaxing in Octavia's embrace, her heart slowing down to a steady normal rate, her breathing calm and gentle. "I dunno. I'd like to cuddle too. Uh." Vinyl shifted her legs uncomfortably, trying to free herself from Octavia's grasp. "Octavia, could you let me go, please?"

"Something wrong, dear?" Octavia wondered in concern, her arms unclasping behind Vinyl's back, worry evident in her voice. Did I do something wrong? the cellist wondered to herself. Am I going too fast?

Vinyl blushed fiercely, working her lips before she could let out in barely a whisper, "I just really really have to pee." God, that's so embarrassing...

Octavia smirked, wiggling her brow. "Well, if you're into that kind of stuff~" she cooed, nodding in a mockingly-understanding manner.

"Octavia!" Vinyl flushed crimson and rolled off the bed, much to the cellist's laughter. "I- I'm not like that!"

"Oh?" Octavia raised her brow, suddenly hitting her forehead with her hand in an exaggeration motion. "Of course! You're into latex. Sorry, I forgot." Huehuehue.

Blushing fiercely, accompanied by the cellist's laughter, Vinyl retreated to the bathroom.

***

"I don't like this game."

Vinyl frowned, holding the dice on her palm, observing the two cubes sternly, as if they were responsible for her losing streak. "Backgammon sucks," she concluded, placing the dice on the kitchen table with a pout. "Why can't I win?"

She's so cute when she's disappointed like that. Octavia smiled, resisting an urge to d'aww and kiss Vinyl immediately. Actually... The cellist leant in over the table and kissed Vinyl on the lips gently, no tongue action, just a tender, loving gesture. The spinner exhaled in relief and serenity, smiling at her girlfriend's wonderful gesture.

"That's because you're too sexy for the game," Octavia assured the spinner with an exaggerated wink, taking sheer delight in Vinyl's rosy, heated cheeks. With that, the raven-haired woman leant towards the DJ, planting a soft peck on her cheek.

"Th-thank you," Vinyl eeped, immediately cursing herself for the unnecessary remark. She sighed, propping her head on her elbows, gazing at Octavia dreamily. "You know, I'm so glad we decided to do this." So glad.

Octavia smirked, waving her hand about the table that held semi-eaten sandwiches, quickly-cut ham salad, and their now-empty mugs - save for the backgammon, of course. "You mean the breakfast?" Hehe.

Vinyl smiled, surprisingly not blushing. "I mean the dating. You know, I... I'm really glad we, well, um..." Aaaand cue in embarrassment. "I mean, I really really like you and..." Vinyl took a deep breath, and, gathering all of her courage, brought her lips against Octavia's, opening her mouth slightly as she let the surprised cellist's tongue in. The moist organ trembled with lust as Octavia moaned against her spinner, her deep voice resonated in Vinyl's very throat, piercing it with orgasmic vibrations.

Vinyl broke the kiss clumsily, looking away, her eyes fixed on the oven, its door screeching slightly as it tried to open, the metal lopsided and worn-out; and yet, pristine, not rusty in the slightest. "I could just stay like that, with you, forever," Vinyl confessed, a warm, teary feeling gathering up in her chest, welling in her very throat. A feeling of sheer gratitude. A feeling of happiness. Acceptance. Love? "Just kissing and cuddling and playing games..." Vinyl carried on dreamily, staring off in the distance, her eyes veiled by calm joy.

Octavia smiled, watching her girlfriend muster up some courage and actually talk about their newfound relationship. And she kissed me all on her own~ The cellist closed her eyes, pondering over Vinyl's words: yes, she would definitely like to spend the day by her spinner's side, kissing  those tender lips, hugging that lovely body of hers, those boobs... Oh, and we'll play some games, Vinyl. The first one's called 'Lick My Pussy'. It's an exciting game. You'll enjoy it. "Don't you want to work on the song instead?" the cellist mocked with an exaggerated wink that sent Vinyl into a fit of a giggles - a fit that Octavia found impossibly cute to observe.

"I'd rather stay at your place and watch a sappy film," Vinyl replied with a tiny smile, her eyes travelling to the floor immediately, focusing on her bare toes. "Um, I'd also appreciate it if you could lend me a pair of socks." Where did I even put mine? the DJ mused, shifting on her seat, her pants-enclosed posterior rather sore from sitting in one place with no movement. She could say that both her heart and ass ached to cuddle up with Octavia in bed - or on the couch.

Octavia chuckled lightly, brushing Vinyl's chin with her index finger, sending shivers down Vinyl's spine. "Of course. I also have a nice woollen plaid that we can cover ourselves with, shut the blinds, turn off the light and watch the whole Star Wars." The cellist nodded resolutely. "In the correct order."

Vinyl gasped a little, pointing her finger at her cellist. "Don't tell me-! You're a Star Wars fan too?" I can't believe it!

Octavia crossed her arms, striking a proud pose. "I own the whole collection of books." Also the more... sensual fiction, she added mentally, getting up and taking Vinyl's mug, as well as hers, to the sink. Vinyl observed with approval that her cellist had a similar outlook on washing the dishes, even though she had a different outlook on the wider canon of Star Wars. Psh. Books. "Shall we?" Octavia smiled at her DJ. "I'll take the plaid."

"Um, there's an issue," Vinyl said quietly, with a tiniest blush. Nothing wrong with that. Many people are like that. "I'm allergic to wool." Though, I'd so want to cuddle up with Octavia... "Maybe we could take a blanket instead?" she suggested with a hopeful expression.

Octavia did not even ponder before coming up to the spinner and brushing her lips against the woman's cheek hotly. "Of course, dear. Also, you won't get cold~" she cooed, nibbling on Vinyl's (now visibly red) ear sensually. "I'll be there to keep you warm."

"Yes." Vinyl smiled through the blush, through the embarrassment, through the shyness. "I'd like that. Very much."

***

The bari on Moanin' had always been one of the sweetest things Vinyl had ever heard, smooth like honey, abrupt as a cliffedge, rough as making love to a big black woman from a ghetto, addictive like heroin, soothing her ears like a finest ointment; and yet, at the moment she cursed the unwelcome bari as it interrupted her private time with Octavia that she was enjoying so much. Shifting uncomfortably, not wanting to break the little abode the two women had built on the couch under the blanket, she picked up her phone without freeing herself from Octavia's embrace. The cellist had merely paused the film and was smiling at her spinner. She's so cute like that. She's so cute all the time. It's so nice just lying next to her, hugging her, kissing her... The cellist closed her eyes in delight. But it could be so much better, right? devil Octavia whispered from her shoulder. You could be ravaging her little cunt right now if you were a little bolder, hmm? Octavia told the little devil to go fuck herself. To her relief, she seemed to have obeyed, and, quite possibly, without reluctance.

"Nini?" Vinyl spoke into the receiver, her voice dripping warmth, all disappointment vanishing as she talked to her brother.

"Hi, Vinyl. How're you doing?" Neon's voice reached her ears, chill but concerned. "How was the non-date?"

Vinyl cast a tender glance at her cellist. "The date was amazing, Nini." Octavia raised her brow at the spinner's sudden boldness. She's... changing. Evolving. Can't say I don't like it. "We went to the pictures and the karaoke and bought a lot of wonderful stuff!" Vinyl chirped, eager to share the biggest chunk of news with Neon. "I also... spent the night at Octavia's place." Octavia's mouth fell slightly open. Now that's... Wait. 'Nini' must be Neon. The cellist exhaled in relief and understanding. Sharing such info with her brother was, of course, no reason for embarrassment.

"Like..." Neon paused for a moment, only his breath bursting through the speaker. "Like a sleepover?"

"Uh, not really." Vinyl grinned against the phone, her heart beating in happiness. "Thing is... Octavia and I are dating now!" Octavia froze a little, images of Neon ripping her apart very vivid before her eyes. I just hope he'll be understanding... 'Cause Vinyl likes me and I like her and... And if I try to have sex with her, he'll probably kill me with my own dildo. The cellist sighed deeply.

"Oh." Neon fell silent, prompting Vinyl to raise her brow.

"Oh?" Vinyl reiterated, expecting a more elaborate answer. Come on, Nini, aren't you going to congratulate me? she thought with a hint of bitter disappointment.

"I'm just... Hmm. Interesting." Neon seemed to be considering something. "I thought about dropping by tonight..."

"I'm spending the night with Octavia," Vinyl said with more defiance than she'd expected in her tone, disappointed by the lack of emotion in her brother's voice. The DJ propped herself up a little, laying her head onto Octavia's shoulder, to which the cellist purred appreciatively.

"Oh. Okay then." Neon hung up abruptly, leaving a touch of sadness and irritation welling up in Vinyl's chest, the kind of irritation that comes when you can't do anything about the situation - and not that you want to, but... But it could all be different. Vinyl sighed, burying her nose into Octavia's armpit. "Neon can be such an ass sometimes."

Octavia winced. Ouch. Brother-sister relations. Should I?.. Devil Octavia shook her head fiercely, prompting the raven-haired woman to take a glance at her girlfriend and say, "Vinyl, I'm sure he means good. He's your brother, after all." Damn, I shouldn't have messed in- Devil Octavia rubbed her hands gleefully, wearing a black shirt reading, Reverse Psychology FTW

Why do you like me, Octavia? Vinyl wanted to enquire suddenly, but stopped that thought. Later. For now, she was just too content lying in her cellist's embrace, cuddling, kissing, laughing, sharing inside jokes about the films. It was too perfect of an idyllic bliss to ruin it with an uneasy discussion.

"Let's just watch the film, Octavia." Vinyl smiled and snuggled closer to the cellist, who embraced here with renewed vigour. "Let's just watch the film."

2. An Evening for Two

"Why do you like me?"

"Hmm?" Octavia looked at her girlfriend over her shoulder, her tiny rectangular spectacles sliding onto the tip of her nose, the book resting in her hands peacefully. "What did you say, dear?" She fluttered her eyelashes at the sexy spinner, placing the book cover up on the floor next to the bed Vinyl was lying on, between the bed and the simple wooden chair she'd brought from the kitchen to make room for some tranquil reading.

"Wow." Vinyl blushed, her eyes inspecting the cellist's face greedily. "You... You look very very, um, spectacular in glasses," she mumbled, her mind conjuring images of the cellist in latex, licking her lips with those mind-provoking glasses on her nose, that sultry grin of hers dominating that sexy face, those brows wiggling up and down... God, she's so hot...

Octavia really wanted to facepalm at the 'spectacular' pun that she seemed to have spotted in Vinyl's words, but the cute DJ was just too much to bear. Getting up from the chair slowly, making sure to wave her hips slightly as she approached the bed in a couple steps, leaning over the reddening form  of the spinner. "Oh, I bet you look spectacular without clothes~" she cooed, planting small kisses all over Vinyl's neck.

The DJ began to pant, swear forming on her brow, a sudden desire to take off her clothes overwhelming her. You need a glass of water, angel Vinyl suggested as the raven-haired cellist made her way to Vinyl's shoulder, nibbling at it as she set aside the T-shirt with her right hand, naking the skin up till Vinyl's left breast. You need to take off your clothes and enjoy the wonderful sex Octavia is going to gift you with, devil Vinyl observed. The woman felt a terrible urge to agree to both proposals, even though the very concept of having sex with Octavia scared her to no avail. Why? "I..." Oh my God she's kissing that spot there near my boob... "I just wondered... Why do you like me?" Vinyl reiterated finally, making Octavia stop her advances, much to her relief and also some upsetting feeling in her gut and chest.

The cellist shifted a little, lying next to her spinner with a sigh, laying her hand over Vinyl's soft breasts. "Why?" she asked aloud, shifting even closer to the flushed woman, her nose all but pressing into Vinyl's armpit. "Well, for one, you're quite a looker. Those eyes..." Octavia smiled, looking into the fiery pools of red. "That face..." She ran a finger about Vinyl's rosy-pink cheek, brushing it gently. "Those breasts..." Octavia squeezed Vinyl's right breast a little, eliciting a half-moan of pleasure, a half-squeak of surprise from the woman. "That voice..." The raven-haired woman brought her lips against Vinyl's neck, the source of that beautiful voice that she had. "That blush..." she observed as Vinyl blush only deepened, the magenta eyes still gazing into the lavender eyes of the cellist. "Do I need more?" Octavia took a deep breath. "You also smell really good." She smiled. Like strawberry and cinnamon.

"Uh." Vinyl tried to scratch the back of her head, but did not want to leave her cellist's loving embrace. So, instead, she only inched closer to Octavia, feeling her breast rise and fall and rise and fall, again and again, under the cellist's tender hand. "I... I dunno what to say," she admitted in embarrassment, finally breaking eye contact with her girlfriend. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Vinyl chided herself angrily as she clasped the fingers of her hands into firm fists for a moment.

"Well," Octavia smirked, planting one more peck on the rosy neck, "you could start by saying why you like me, for a change." Octavia ran her fingers through the DJ's spiky hair. I don't recall her using gel... Is it all natural? "What does a well-to-do, sexy disk spinner find in a simple hard-drinking, lazy cellist like me?" she mocked, much to Vinyl's disapproval.

"You are not like that," Vinyl immediately countered with a frown. "You are kind, and caring, and very beautiful." The DJ smiled. "Your fingers are so tender when they touch me. Your voice is beautiful when you whisper sweet things into my ear." The bashful smile turned into an equally bashful grin. "And I, um, I, eh, I really really like your ass," Vinyl ended in a whisper, averting her eyes to the wall shyly. Even the wallpaper is lavender, she observed with some surprise.

"Oh?" Octavia cooed in a sultry tone, running her lips across Vinyl's cheek in minute pecks. "So you really like my ass, don't you?" Vinyl felt it difficult to breathe as Octavia's hand grabbed her thigh fiercely, making its way straight to... Oh no. Oh my God. Oh my God. Vinyl's mind seemed to have stopped focusing on any parts of her body other than the one the cellist was approaching, slowly but steadily. "Maybe I should expose it enough?" Octavia whispered into Vinyl's ear, her words dripping onto the spinner's eardrums hotly. "You can't believe how horny you're making me feel~"

"Octavia, I-" Vinyl shifted away from the cellist, pushing her away gently. Damn, can't I gather my damn courage? "I'm really not ready for... um, for this. Yet," she added hastingly. You'd better be, or she'll leave you for someone who can cater to her desires, devil Vinyl hissed angrily into Vinyl's ear. Angel Vinyl had to nod in silent, and unwanted, agreement.

"Sorry, dear." Octavia kissed the spinner's forehead with aching softness. "I'm just teasing. I won't do anything to you unless you allow me to." Pretty sure you can't end a sentence with 'to', the cellist mused off-handedly.

Vinyl warmed up to the raven-haired woman immediately, running her hand along Octavia's back and even touching her perfect ass a little. "It's so nice. You call me 'dear'." A feeling of sheer warmth filled the spinner's chest at the thought.

"Well," Octavia smiled, "you wouldn't want me to call you 'Vincenza', would you?" Hehe. 'Vincenza'. That's rather... cute.

"No." Vinyl's smile wavered slightly. No. Anything but that. "My... My dad called me Vincenza," she said, staring at the wall, as if she were alone in the room, recalling shadows of the past. "When he wanted to shout at me for not practicing the piano. Or just because."

You... play the piano? Octavia wanted to ask, amused, but instead grabbed the spinner in a warm hug, nuzzling against her cheek. "Do you want to talk about it?" Even though I'm not sure I can help you... Octavia sighed mentally. But I can try.

"No." Vinyl shook her head, curling up in her cellist's embrace. "I want to discuss nicknames." She smiled, thinking of what she should call her girlfriend. Maybe 'darling'? 'Honey'? 'Sweetie'?

"Pet names," Octavia corrected with a smile, her hands running up and down Vinyl's spine, massaging the tension out of her muscles. "I could call you Vinny? Or Vina?" Good name, though. Octavia brushed the tip of her nose against Vinyl's cheek playfully, prompting the spinner to laugh in stitches.

Vinyl chuckled, the tickling from Octavia's nose travelling from her cheek to the inside of her mouth, proving inaccessible. "Like Vina Apsara? From The Ground Beneath Her Feet?" Seeing a look of surprise on Octavia's face, Vinyl merely smiled. "I've read the book too, you know. It's one of my favourites. And I really like 'dear'," she added, running her fingers across Octavia's ass boldly, surprising both the cellist and herself. Good job, Vinyl congratulated herself, noticing with guilt how good it felt to give that nice, tight ass a firm squeeze. Mmm, I should try to do it more often. If I don't faint from blushing. "What should I call you, though?"

Octavia hmphed, rubbing her chin with one hand, while the other tickled Vinyl's body all around, running across the fields of the spinner's back, exploring the hills of her ass, questing the valley of her neck with vigour and longing. "Well, how about something...  short? Like 'Tavi' - or, maybe, 'Octy'?" the cellist suggested, not entirely believing herself. Wow. Vinyl was the first one whom she'd ever allowed to call her anything other than her full name. Or you could call me Tavi all the time and call me Octy when we're being naughty~

"I like 'Tavi'," Vinyl replied slowly, rolling the word on her tongue. Tavi. Taaaavi. Taaaviiii. "Octy,  though..." She frowned. "It sounds like a small octopus. I don't like octopuses." Just pussies. Eh. Very very bad pun.

"Octopi," Octavia corrected immediately, by force of habit, as she rolled over, smiling at the decision. "Tavi.  That sounds very very nice. I like it." The woman gifted her girlfriend with a soft peck on the neck. Vinyl purred, luxuriating in the tender touch of her cellist, eager to bathe in the calmness as long as possible. Maybe take a break from the recording, the DJ mused, watching her girlfriend tug at her belly, tickling and pinching it in a peculiar form of massage. Or go on hiatus entirely. No gigs, no recordings. Take a honeymoon and spend it on a beach somewhere.

"Tavi," Vinyl said, savouring the new pet name delightfully, "how do you feel about going to the seaside for a few weeks?" The suggestion hung in the fresh-air-supported atmosphere of the room as the cellist mulled over her reply, gazing at the ceiling, her eyes fixed on the dusty white of the plaster.

"I'd love to..." Octavia began with a slight frown, laying her hand over Vinyl's belly peacefully. "But I don't think I can afford it." Aaand I've just admitted to my girlfriend that I'm poor. Good job, Tavi. Good job. "I mean, if I save up and sell some unnecessary-"

"Octavia!" Vinyl gasped, her hand clasping over the cellist's lips, closing Octavia's mouth before the raven-haired woman could finish her phrase. "Don't say that! I'll pay for everything, and don't you dare think about money!" If Vinyl could stomp her foot against the floor, she would do so; but, for now, she merely raised her leg and dropped it back onto the pristine sheets of the bed. Seeing a small, clever smile on the cellist's face, Vinyl exhaled and blushed a little at her tiny outburst. "Uh. I mean... I'd just really love to pay for... my girlfriend." The word tasted like sweet honey on her lips, soothing her mouth and tongue, which was aching to crawl into the cellist's mouth already.

Octavia giggled, crushing the DJ in a tight embrace, her spectacles falling off onto the edge of the rather narrow bed. "Vinyl, dear, of course I'd love to go with you. And you know what?" Vinyl blinked in lack of understanding, prompting the cellist to continue. "You're becoming bolder. More confident." Octavia leant over the spinner's ear. "I like it." But, if I'm going to go on holiday with Vinyl... "And I have to make a phone call," she added suddenly, rolling over and getting off the bed in a near-jump, leaving Vinyl to pout on the bed. "Don't be grumpy." The cellist smiled at her girlfriend, who had rolled over and was watching the cellist with begging eyes. "I'll be back in a moment. I just need to make an important call. And, before that..." Octavia wiggled her brow, a sly idea surfacing in her mind. "I'm going to take a shower~" she cooed, watching Vinyl turn pink in delight. "Would you like to join me?"

"I-I-I!" Vinyl worked her mouth, suddenly feeling very faint, her heart leaping to her throat, a haunting image of a sexy, naked Octavia washing her body floating before her eyes. Her face burned with heat, her lips felt dry, and her tongue ached to say yes.

Octavia chimed with soft, jingling laughter, swishing her sexy ass around as she turned round, her feet facing away from the bed. "Oh." She stopped, taking a sultry glance over her shoulder. "You know, I think I'll make a call first, and take a shower later." She winked. "You know, to give you some time to consider that."

With that, Octavia left the room, laughing softly, as a very blushing Vinyl watched her walk away.

***

"Octavia?"

The cellist paused at  Frederic's voice in the speaker, her eyes lingering on the now-cool oven before taking a swift glance about the empty kitchen. "Hi, Freddie," Octavia greeted her friend with a sigh, the weight of what she was going to say pressing her into the floor with the stool she was sitting on, swirling about nervously, thankful for the lack of a hard wooden back on the tiny piece of furniture, barely able to contain her posterior. "How're you?" A stupid, mundane question. And yet, she could not bring herself to bring up the issue at once.

"Fine, fine. How're you, though?" Octavia could make out hints of unhidden concern in Frederic's tone. "How's the whole recording thing going on?" Yes. Because that's the only thing you care about.

Octavia took the phone with her left hand, wiping off the nervous sweat off the right one with a rose-coloured napkin. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Kinda. The cellist stood up and went to get the kettle, shifting from foot to foot uneasily.

"What's the matter? Wait, don't tell me." Octavia poured herself a cup of tea quietly. "She's refusing to pay, is that it? Well, I'll just call Neon and tell him to suck-"

"That's not it," Octavia interrupted, taking a sip of her tea. With a sigh, she took her place on the stool once again. "It's just that... Well, on one hand, we haven't recorded the song yet." A grunt followed Frederic's heavy silence. "On the other hand, we're taking our time because... Well, now Vinyl and I are more than just co-workers." Co-musicians. Whatever.

"So... What you mean is that you're friends now?" There was a certain sad, pathetic hope in Frederic's voice that made Octavia frown before dropping the bomb on him.

"We're dating, Freddie." A thick silence followed the statement, prompting the woman to carry on: "I know it must be hard for you because you and I used to date-"

"No." Frederic's voice was surprisingly calm. "I'll manage." He hasn't fully realised it yet, Octavia thought. It hasn't sunk in yet. "So. What about the ensemble?"

What about it? "That's the second piece of news. I... I have to go on hiatus. I won't be able to be part of the ensemble for a while." Octavia winced, having taken an especially big gulp. "I... I have my reasons."

After a few seconds of silence, Frederic sighed loudly. "Listen, Octavia. Whatever the circumstances, you're always welcome back in the ensemble. But that doesn't mean I'll pay you for the concerts you do not attend. I'll also expect my share after you two lovebirds have recorded the song."

Octavia smiled, her heart fluttering at the idea that Frederic might not be heartbroken after all. "Of course, you capitalist shark. I understand."

With another pause, Frederic wrapped up the talk with a "Take care, Octavia. Keep in touch." The man chuckled. "You still have friends, you know. Don't forget that."

"I won't," Octavia promised, and hung up without a heavy heart that she'd expected to have after the talk. So far... The cellist stood up, guiding her feet out of the tiny kitchen, with some sober merriment, eager to cuddle with her girlfriend, with whom, she was sure, she was going to have a wonderful, beautiful, peaceful holiday. For now, though...

Octavia entered the bedroom, only to see Vinyl reading her book with a look of ill-concealed astonishment on her surprisingly not-reddening face. And here I was, hoping she'd be rubbing herself to this book so I can... "Enjoying the book, Vinyl?" the cellist wondered in a sweet tone, crawling up to the now pleasantly-reddening DJ,

"Uh." Vinyl sweated profusely, practically throwing the book away. "It's... interesting."

"It's a steamy romance novel," Octavia observed with a casual smile. "Kind of porn." Hehe, that's totally going to make her whimper.

"I... Um, I've watched a lot of porn," Vinyl admitted in barely a whisper, looking away, her whole face burning hot. But, after all, Octavia was her girlfriend, and girlfriends shared certain things. I also need to be more straightforward. Octavia likes it.

The cellist raised her brow. Wow. That's very... courageous of her to admit. "So have I." Octavia smiled, remembering the phone talk. "I also have news. I've left my ensemble. At least for a while."

"What?" Vinyl jerked up in bed. "Why?" Don't tell me-

"I want to devote to you as much time as I can." Octavia gifted her spinner with a loving smile and a breezy kiss on the cheek. "It's my choice entirely. Now," she said, having no desire to have an argument, "I'm going to get that shower." I only wish you'd come with me so I could ravage you like-

"Can I come with you?"

Octavia blinked, unable to believe her ears. The cellist turned round, only to observe the spinner's shying form, rosy cheeks and red, bold, determined eyes. If Vinyl had said something like "I'm coming with you," Octavia would have been sure she'd misheard, but... "Of course, Vinyl." Octavia smiled. Good choice. "I... I'm pleasantly surprised by your decision."

"Tavi," Vinyl said pointedly, looking at her cellist with some aching uncertainty in her eyes. "That... That doesn't mean I'm ready for sex. Just... Taking a shower with you. Maybe sleeping naked." A little butt-touching, too. "Not sex." The devil on Vinyl's shoulder facepalmed, shaking her head at such idiocy. The little angel gave Vinyl a small cheer of celibacy.

Octavia sighed. You do realise that's practically sex, right? "Okay, Vinyl. Of course." Jesus, that will be hard. So hard. "Shall we?"  The cellist motioned in the direction of the bathroom, with Vinyl getting up from the bed with a smile.

"Yes." Vinyl smiled. "We shall."

***

"Mmmhm, lower, Tavi, lower~"

Octavia obeyed eagerly, running her soapy hands all about the lower half of Vinyl's back, enjoying immensely the naked form of the spinner, still unable to believe that, for about fifteen minutes already, she had been in the shower cubicle with a very naked and by no means blushing Vinyl. Her skilful fingers were now caressing the DJ's ass, squeezing the buttcheeks roughly, a heated desire waking up inside the raven-haired woman. If I masturbate just a little, that won't be embarrassing, right?

Unable to restrain herself, Octavia slipped one finger right into Vinyl's pussy, feeling a passionate jolt of desire rush through her whole body, making her moan even without touching herself.

Vinyl moaned too, but reflexively turned around, freeing herself from the intruding finger. Her eyes were wide with both fear and desire. Did she just- What to do? "Tavi, I... Please, don't." The spinner felt herself on the verge of crying. Why can't I just- argh!

"Sorry." Octavia blushed. What was I thinking? God help me, I hope she's not thinking of dumping me because of my ridiculous- "I didn't mean to... That is, I..." Damn.

"Let's just get dried up, okay?" Vinyl suggested with a sour smile.

"Sure." Octavia nodded, cursing herself violently. "Sure."

3. Getting Ready

"What do you mean, there's no cheese?"

Vinyl's eyes scanned the fridge desperately, but could not glimpse even the tiniest trait of cheese. This can't be. How am I supposed to have a sandwich if there's no cheese?!

"I don't have cheese." Octavia shrugged from her place at the table, smiling internally that, overnight, the 'shower' issue seemed to have been forgotten, even if it had meant sleeping in shirts. "There's plenty of ham, though." The cellist took a sip of her tea, watching the clock crawl towards midday. A perfect time for a perfect breakfast. The woman took a hearty bite of her ham sandwich. "Really good ham," she added observingly.

"Eww ham," Vinyl called out, her nose stuck in the fridge, double- and triple-checking for cheese. Unbelievable. Cheese is the foundation to good eating!

"Are you a vegetarian?" Octavia mocked from her seat, wiggling her brow. "God created pigs so we could eat them, you know." Or something. The cellist stared at her tea, wishing it could turn into whisky at will. If water could be made into wine... The angel on Octavia's shoulder cringed from such blasphemy. The little devil on the other shoulder took out a glass readily.

"I just like cheese," Vinyl replied, closing the fridge with a deep sigh. She turned towards her girfriend, giving her a smile, less sheepish than the smiles she'd gifted her with. Somehow, the little incident in the shower had not made her more embarrassed of the raven-haired woman. It had made her bolder; more determined, at least. Able to stand for herself. And, soon, such 'incidents' will turn into sexy sexy times... Vinyl mused, tiptoeing towards Octavia on her bare feet, pecking the woman on the temple. On my behalf. "I think I'll go buy some. Would you like me to buy something for you?" Like a full-body latex suit, maybe?

Octavia blinked, her mind automatically running through the options. Waaait a minute... "You're going to do the groceries alone?" she asked, a touch of hurt in the cellist's voice. Without me?.. Was that a punishment for her shower misdemeanour? I hope not.

Vinyl placed her hand on Octavia's shoulder. "Tavi, I'll be back soon," she assured the woman. "Besides, it's not very romantic to go shopping together. Relax, and I'll be back before you can say 'cheese'."Hehe.

"Cheese," Octavia countered with a deadpan look. "There. I said it." Now come back to table so we can eat ham sandwiches like civilsed people.

"That was a metaphor." Vinyl brushed her lips against Octavia's temple, feeling the brown hair tickle her lips. If 'metaphor' is the word I want.

"Vinyl..." Octavia extended her arm, her mind struggling not to fall into the pit of overprotectiveness, which, she knew only to well, led to overpossessiveness. "Stay safe," she wrapped up lamely, her confidence vanishing as she pictured, for a moment, something bad happening to her girlfriend. No! Everything will be all right.

Vinyl chuckled  slightly, accepting the cellist's concern with calm grace. "I will be all right, Tavi. Promise."

With that, she kissed her cellist on the cheek and left, the tea getting cold on the table.

***

Octavia rolled over, unable to sleep. Her body demanded the usual midday nap, but her brain could not obey, fixed on Vinyl and what she was doing. I want to control her, Octavia thought. I want to oversee her every action. I want to put her on a leash. An image of Vinyl on a leash made its way into the cellist's head, prompting her to pant hotly, rubbing her thighs against each other.

And yet, she could not even masturbate, having committed the victimless sin twice that afternoon already: once to the idea of Vinyl dominating her, and once to the dream of dominating Vinyl. Just ordinary sex with her would be nice too... When the hell will she be ready? Devil Octavia ordered the cellist not to wait, and instead take advantage of the sexy spinner, while angel Octavia urged the woman to do something romantic to the shy girl instead.

With a sigh, Octavia got up, for once deciding to follow the advice of the little angel on her shoulder, who did a little victory dance, much to the displeasure of the little devil on the other shoulder. Eh. Maybe she'll want to finally have sex after a little special treat? the cellist wondered to herself as she proceeded to the kitchen, frowning at the (significantly smaller) piles of litter dominating the corners of the spacious living room.

Taking a glance at her lonely cello, Octavia sighed and rubbed her eyelids. I should buy a rubber cello. A rubber cello dildo. Then, we can both enjoy ourselves. And it won't count as sex. The cellist walked into the kitchen, looking about. The pseudoroom was way too small to host a dinner - and it was a romantic dinner she'd opted for as a special little gift to her lovely DJ.

With a deep sigh, Octavia eyed the living room, hope sparkling within her chest. She trod into the room, picturing a table in the middle of it, next to the sofa.

If I pick up the chair and put it opposite the sofa...

Octavia danced about the room, approaching the chair. Also light a few candles...

The cellist tiptoed toward the cupboard for candles. There were plenty.

Octavia grinned. This night is going to be perfect~

She knew exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to move the table into the living room. Make dinner. Light up the candles. Meet Vinyl. Kiss her. And then, have a wonderful dinner together. And then...

And then, maybe, she will be ready.

***

Vinyl paused before a shelf filled with cheese, just thrown onto it in stacks, and set to resemble a perfect array of cheese heads. And yet, she knew that this was a trick, an elaborate hoax to lure in customers. No good cheese was to be seen; and, what was worse, the names! the regular names! were gone, replaced by "Holland's Delight" and "Secrets of France" and "Scottish Greenlands" and "American Dream" - but no real cheese, no Camembert or  Maasdam or Gruyere.

The spinner sighed, looking around, people walking with trolleys, mostly families, kids asking for something-or-the-other, or loners - no couples, of course. What would a couple do in a shop, though? Vinyl mused, grabbing a "Holland's Delight" and a "Scottish Greendlands". Couples should sit at home, having... The disk-spinner froze mid-walk. Dates.

Suddenly, she realised what she really wanted to do tonight. She wanted to pay for the cheese. Buy a bottle of red wine. Go to a florist's. Buy a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Go home. To Octavia. Give her the flowers and kiss her. And then, have a wonderful dinner together, in a candle-lit kitchen, with the red of flowers in the vase and the red of wine in glasses, and the red of blood in their cheeks. And then...

And then, maybe, I will be ready.

4. The Dinner

Nigel Staccato, alias Neon Lights, rushed through the thick, glossy streets of the Downtown, the Centre that held all the pillars of the earth – the dancers, the accountants, the singers, the politicians, the fat cats, the lazy waiters, the city-crawlers, the worldmakers, the old maids and young men, the solitary and the groups, the empty and the full, the lust and the disappointment, the ups and downs, the move, the move, the move – and, as fate had it, slid with his Bordeaux-red shoe straight into a puddle of greying blue, skitting his sole through the muddy water, neverminding, rushing towards his goal, drunk on the air, his eyes drifting about. Every time he hit the street, the toxic sight of a decaying, broken city maddened him, infuriated his mind to the extent that he was flying through the streets, rushing past other human-race marathoners, marathonies, maraphonies; his swift, young, perceptible eyes took in, gulped, and successfully devoured every sight in sight, every man on the Main, every woman in every room, in a matter of seconds. Never prone to such severe agitation indoors, the street was his drug, and his perfect eyesight gifted him with the ability to make the best of it.

Indeed, it was something to marvel at: he who has eyes shall see! His soles circled the corner, stuttering their rhythm, m-mm-my g-g-geeeneration, as he ran on, ten thousand feet beneath the sky. The people slid past him, wide awake in their daily dreams, shivering and handshaking and headturning and smilegifting, and rare: peoplewatching, guitarplaying, philosositting on the park benches and by the river and in hipster coffee shops.

I will protect her. Agitated, Neon ran towards his goal, holding the address in his hand. She may not know it, but I know a cheating, lying whore when I see one! The man came to a halt before the skyscraper, his gaze travelling all the way up: where she was. Where they were. Wait for me, Octavia. Neon approached the door. Fear me, Octavia. For now that you’ve messed with my sister, I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.

***

“Tavi, I'm home!"

Vinyl slid through the opening, holding out the door with her toe as she dragged the bags after her. The cheese-filled bags were not heavy, but incredibly spacious, large enough to barely follow the spinner into the room, at the tugging of the woman's small, pinkish-white hand. As soon as she'd called out to her girlfriend, the girlfriend in question appeared, her arms crossed, a barely-suppressed smile tickling her lips as she leant against the wood of the doorless doorway.

"Hello, Vinyl," the woman greeted her spinner calmly, emerging from her triangular sleeping abode – or was it their sleeping abode now? – observing the numerous goods her girlfriend had bought. "And it's nice to think you consider my home yours," she lingered, the smile on her face evolving into a grin as Octavia realised, in content, that she'd once again managed to make the DJ girl blush.

"It's just that I kinda, you know..." Vinyl scratched the back of her head, the bags making their way to the corner, leaning against the cupboard. "I thought that, um, it'd be nice to come home and, well..." The rest was lost in incoherent mumbling that Octavia could not make out. Mmm, maybe I just need to make out with her. Then I'll be able to make out what she says~ Angel Octavia reminded the woman that it would only make the shy girl blush and mumble even more. Devil Octavia raised a sign, reading, The Sex Party are the new Tories. Octavia for PM!

"What was it, love?" Octavia called out, knowing very well that such a form of addressing would prompt even more blushing. And yet, she knew, it would also strengthen her, make her a little more determined - if she had scrutinised the effect correctly.

"It's just that..." Vinyl took a deep breath, wanting to look deeply in her girlfriend's eyes, and still averting her gaze. "I've always wanted to come home... to a place where I'd live with that one special girl... Just come home with some stuff I bought and just feel at home, you know?" Vinyl glanced at the cellist with a tiny smile. "I'd drop the bags and she'd come out and greet me and- mmffffm!"

Vinyl's eyes widened as her cellist, unable to just stand and watch as her pretty, sexy, cute girlfriend stammer out such sweet words, rushed to her side and tossed her hot lips against hers, meaning into the shy DJ's mouth as the kiss united them.

"And then what, dear?" Octavia asked with a smile, panting as she broke the kiss. A goofy smile appeared on Vinyl's face, adding to the cellist's delight. She's warming up, Octavia noticed once again in satisfaction. She's getting bolder. All thanks to me! The cellist could not fail to take some distorted, perverse pride in that fact.

"Well, then we could have a nice dinner..." Vinyl rubbed her shoed toe against the floor idly, observing it closely. "Maybe then kiss a little. And cuddle, and..."  The DJ lowered her voice to a whisper as she voiced her fantasies to her girlfriend. "Make love on a spacious, soft bed..."

"Oh?" Octavia wiggled her brow. "That last sentence-"

"I'm still not ready," Vinyl warned the woman, cursing herself, blaming herself for making her love wait. "But I... In perspective... yes, that's what I've dreamt of."

"Well, 'she' can offer you a kiss..." Octavia planted a breezy kiss on Vinyl's lips. "And a tasty dinner." The cellist smiled, waving her hand towards the kitchen. "Don't you smell it?" Octavia raised her brow. "The dinner?"

Vinyl winced a little, taking a step back as she looked away in embarrassment. "Tavi, I don't have the same... skill with smells as you do," the DJ reminded her girl. "I'm more about sounds, remember?"

“Oh.” Octavia blushed, running her fingers through her hair. Should’ve combed it better. “Well…” She chuckled. “Let’s proceed to the sound of us munching food!”

Vinyl raised her brow. Angel Octavia shook her head, while Devil Octavia facepalmed. She’s never gonna learn.

***

“Come on, Vinyl, you’re eating the chicken wrong,” Octavia pointed out, watching her spinner brave the sauce-dripping bird with a fork and a knife.

Vinyl blinked, taking a look at the utensils. “I’m pretty sure I’m eating it right.”

Snorting, Octavia took a wing from the plate and sank her teeth in the tender meat. “Vinyl, chicken is poultry. You don’t use utensils to eat poultry.”

“Big deal,” Vinyl grumbled, her cheeks tinting with a shade of embarrassed pink. “Besides, I prefer sushis. And chopsticks.”

“Vinyl, don’t tell me you order takeout twice a week and watch nerdy series,” Octavia laughed. Seeing the pink shade grow darker, she gasped. “Oh my God. You totally do. My little nerdie~” she cooed, brushing her finger against Vinyl’s rosy cheek. “Come on, Vinyl, I’m just teasing. It’s not like they teach table manners in college.”

Vinyl chuckled uneasily, her cheeks flaming. “I, um, I never graduated.”

Octavia raised her brow, putting the crunchy bird down on the plate. “Why did you drop out?” she asked, wondering if she was treading past dangerous grounds.

“I…” Vinyl gulped, putting down the fork. “I had my reasons.”

Jesus. Here we go again… It’s all secrets and lies with these disk-spinners… “I thought being in a relationship was all about honesty,” Octavia observed calmly, trying both to enquire and avoid hurting her girlfriend.

“My dad,” Vinyl admitted, picking up the fork again, disregarding any poultry-eating rules that might apply. “He… didn’t want me to graduate. He wanted me to get married instead.” Bitterly, the spinner chewed into the meat. “Then he died, and I never thought to get back.”

Octavia winced, the image of a prim, perfect Immanuel Staccato taking a step down from the pedestal she’d put him on. “Do… do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Vinyl smiled sadly, her eyes fixed on the table firmly. “He wasn’t a bad dad,” she said, as if trying to persuade herself. “We… we just weren’t really good kids.” The spinner shook her head. “No, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Octavia nodded slowly, closing her eyes as she leant back against the wall, the violent hissing of the Outside roaring into her ears. This time, the stomping was especially unbearable. How can Vinyl live in this city with such good hearing? Laboriously, Octavia shut away the sound, concentrating on the smell instead. And yet, her nose cried when she realised that all there was to the dinner’s smell was shut out by the odour of dirty dishes and sweat that seemed to penetrate the room, permeating every corner and millimetre of the walls, resonating, reflecting right at her.

Meanwhile, Vinyl took in the beating of soles resonating from the street, marching in a weird samba-esque pattern that mixed in weirdly with a funeral procession, sombre and lively at the same time. Sounds like something from a Tom Waits song.

“Want some more pomegranate juice?” Octavia asked, sipping on her wine. It was rather cute - Vinyl’s substitute for alcohol. Vinyl shook her head in silence.

“So.” The cellist drummed her fingers against the table, trying to find a topic for her mind to linger on, just to break the uncomfortable silence. “What else are you dreaming of?” Octavia wondered, gazing into her DJ’s eyes in a half-lidded manner. “Apart from coming home and having sex till you cannot stand or sit for three hours straight?”

Vinyl began to hyperventilate, her cheeks red with blood. Slowly, she calmed, not without an encouraging kiss from Octavia, and began to speak. “I was thinking of a villa somewhere on a tropical island.” Vinyl smiled dreamily. “Or just by the seaside, peaceful and serene. You know?, a place where I could live with that special girl of my own, away from ought and all…” The DJ’s voice trailed away as she closed her eyes, picturing the image in her mind. “We could go for walks along the shore, alone… The sound will be so pure, without other people polluting it: the swishing of the waves against the shore, the wind circling the palm trees, the crunch of our feet pressing into the sand…” Breathlessly, Vinyl leant in for a kiss, feeling Octavia’s lips meet hers – a feeling that became more and more pleasant every time it became more and more familiar. “Then, we could go home and have some fresh fruit for dinner… Sit on the terrace, our phones off, nobody bothering us… Just… alone.” Vinyl blushed. “We could, um, do… private adult things.”

Unable to restrict herself, Octavia burst out into laughter, snorty giggles following throaty chuckles. “Private adult things?”  Commanded by a surge of pleasant, loving warmth inside, the raven-haired woman threw her arms around Vinyl’s neck, crushing the sexy spinner in an embrace. “Vinyl, you’re adorable.” Never ever change that. “What precisely do you mean by ‘private adult things’, by the way?” Octavia asked in a whisper, caressing Vinyl’s neck with her index finger.

“Well,” Vinyl drawled, her neck turning a delightful shade of pink. “You know? Things adults do in private… Like, sexy things?” she suggested, the pink reddening by the second.

The fingers of Octavia’s hand tiptoed across Vinyl’s neck, running up to the blushy cheek in a tickly motion. “Mmm, sexy sexy things, huh?” Octavia traced her lips below Vinyl’s chin. “On a villa by the seaside?” The cellist purred into Vinyl’s neck, sending vibrations through the gentle skin. With delight, she registered a shiver and a moan from the disk-spinner. “I can imagine that. Me pushing you on a spacious bed, pinning you to the covers, my skilful tongue-“

“I-I-I-I get it!” Vinyl interrupted in an unusually high voice, her vivid imagination supplying elaborate images.

Octavia chimed with laughter. “Oh come on, Vinyl. I know you’re ‘not ready’ and all, but I can bet your hot ass that you want it~” With that, she pecked the blue-haired woman on the lips.

Vinyl frowned, averting her eyes for a moment. “Tavi, do I really have a fat ass?” she asked suddenly, piercing the cellist with her pained, honest eyes.

Octavia coughed on thin air. “What? No, of course not!” Agitated, she grabbed Vinyl’s hand in hers. “I never said that! Why would you ever ask?”

The DJ sighed. “It’s just that…” Vinyl gesticulated in the air with a fork that she’d picked up again, hot sauce dripping on her plate. “I dunno. I think I’m kinda self-conscious. I guess. I mean, in the queue, there was this fat woman?, and she told me I had to move my ‘fat ass’.” The DJ’s eyes veiled with hurt.

Octavia leant over and pecked her girlfriend on the cheek. “Vinyl, why would you ever care what people say?” Octavia gestured with her hand, slowly moving it all over, circling the flat. “Especially in our impenetrable fortress?” Impenetrable. Hehe. Now that you are here, my dear Vinyl, there is going to be some penetration… Angel Octavia facepalmed with vigour. Devil Octavia shrugged. Hey, the pun could be worse. Angel Octavia lifted her unamused eyes. Oh really?

Vinyl munched on the turkey. “Well, burglars would say otherwise.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “I’ve got no hand in matters worldly, I hardly care at all,” she sang. “What’s going on fails to concern me ‘cause I’m locked behind my wall. Come on, Vinyl. You are a popular musician. You should be used to ill words coming from the media.”

Vinyl frowned. “Not really.”

“Well,” Octavia reasoned, “you are lesbian. Society’s prejudice should be nothing new to you.”

Vinyl cast her girlfriend a glare. “Hey, you are lesbian too.”

Octavia smirked. “And I’m holding up pretty well. Besides…” The woman licked her lips. “I am bisexual. I can do a man and a woman at the same time.” The words had their intended effect: Vinyl meeped quietly, her cheeks reddening. “Come on, Vinyl. If I paid attention to every mean thing ever said to me, I’d probably be dead from gritted teeth by now.” Octavia laughed. Vinyl raised a brow. Angel Octavia wept salty tears, wiping them off with a heavenly napkin. Devil Octavia reached out for her, patting the little angel on the shoulder.Hey, at least she’s trying.

Vinyl opened her mouth to object – or, rather, point out the dreadfulness of her cellist’s joke – when the doorbell rang in a soft, ting-tingy chime.

Octavia groaned. For fuck’s  sake. She put on a smile for her DJ. “I’ll get the door. Be back in a minute.”

With that, Octavia tiptoed towards the door, a sly, slightly tipsy smile on her face that was such a contrast to her inner irritation at whoever was tingling the doorbell, its chime buzzing in her ears at short, fervent intervals.

Upon opening the door, the cellist saw the scaringly familiar face of Vinyl’s brother, panting from an evidently prolonged run. “H-hello,” she greeted the guest clumsily, anger evaporating in the wake of confusion.

From behind her, Vinyl peeked out of the kitchen, bedazzled by Neon’s appearance. “Nini, what are you doing here?” she demanded, embarrassed to have her private dinner with Octavia interrupted by the sudden appearance of her brother.

Neon waved his hand enthusiastically. “Hi, sis. I need to have a few words with Octavia here.”

Reluctantly, Vinyl disappeared back into the kitchen. Her toes felt cold and numb, and her stomach complained in a feeble premonition. I need to know what they say to each other. For the first time, she didn’t know who to root for: on one side, she had her girlfriend; on the other side, she had her brother. And it was only evident there was a wall of ice between the two. There would be an argument. Cruel words might be said.

Vinyl tiptoed about the kitchen worriedly, hearing no voices coming from the living room. Finally, after a minute of internal debate, she slowly walked out, turning her head round, only to see no sign of either Neon or Octavia. Did they… leave? For a moment, a frightening image of Neon dragging Octavia away (or vice versa) lingered in her mind, only to be terminated once she heard voices arguing in the bathroom. Why would they?.. Oh. Apparently, the bathroom was the only place in the near-doorless flat where the two could talk behind closed doors to avoid Vinyl’s perfect hearing, of which both were quite aware. Avoid. Or not. Vinyl approached the door on the tips of her toes, pressing her ear against the thick wood of the door.

“There was a punishment for everything we did,” Neon’s voice hissed with venom and hurt from behind the door. “Not enough practice? He beat us up. Disagreeing? He beat us up. Not saying grace before dinner? He beat us up.”

Vinyl gulped, her sweaty ear pressed firm against the door, bits of information dripping into her mind drop by drop.

“She is very, very emotionally unstable,” Neon carried on. Something shifted. A sharking foot snagged against the carpet. “Shall your relationship go… unstable…” Shark shark shark. “Vinyl may be badly hurt. You don’t want to bring her even more pain, do you?”

“What do you know about pain?” Octavia whispered ferociously, but ever so quietly, so that even Vinyl with her perfect ears had to strain her hearing.

“Quite a lot,” Neon hissed back. Vinyl winced.

“When I was in college, my parents learnt that I was into girls.” Octavia’s tone was plain; bland, even. “I was renting a flat with my girlfriend at the time. … We were really happy together, away from ought and all.” Vinyl inhaled loudly, holding her breath. “My parents called me back home. I had to obey, you see. They sent me my allowance. I didn’t want it to be cut. I came home. My father…” The woman’s voice broke down for a moment. “He had some guests over. He tied me up. And… he… He let them rape me.” Vinyl shut her eyes. “Thought it would cure me.” Neon’s voice gasped. “It didn’t.”

“Why…” Neon’s coughed, covering up evident compassion. “You… Did you tell the police?”

Octavia didn’t make a sound for a long, painful ten seconds. “My father knew the chief of the police. They were groupmates in university. The judge, too.” Now Octavia chuckled sourly. “The benefits of graduating from a Law faculty.”

Vinyl didn’t breathe, her ear trembling against the wood of the door. “Do you want to know what I did?” Octavia’s voice demanded quietly.

“No.”

“I stood up, took a shower, and went back to college.” A pregnant pause filled the room. “You know nothing about pain or hurt, Neon.”

Vinyl turned her feet towards the door, shaking, shivering, her teeth clanking the national anthem comically. She took off, escaping the flat, running away. Tears rolled down her face, her nose, her cheeks, dropping onto the floor from her chin.

Tears covered her eyes, and they wouldn’t stop.

5. Taking Flight

“Vinyl!”

Vinyl glanced at the door briefly, her trembling fingers trying to click the metal wheel of the lighter. “Neon, go to hell!” she yelled at the closed door. Finally, the spark blew the fuse alive and she lit up the cigarette, inhaling the smoke blissfully, for the first time in years.That’s not Neon’s voice, she realised belatedly, as the knocking at the door grew louder, evolving into banging of fists.

“Vinyl, let me in!” Octavia’s voice pleaded from the outside. “We need to talk.”

With a sigh, Vinyl got up and made her way to the door, taking a few drags on her way. With a soft creak, the door slid open, and Octavia stormed inside, her hair wildly dishevelled, her shirt not pristine in the slightest, her nipples, Vinyl noted with embarrassing pleasure, fully erect beneath the cotton of her shirt. The cellist opened her mouth, but closed it the moment her gaze fell on the cigarette in Vinyl’s hand. “Vinyl, are you smoking a cigarette?”

Trying to conceal her pain and dismay beneath bravado, the spinner managed a dry, artificial chuckle. “I don’t have a pipe or a cigar, so yes, that’s a cigarette.”

Frowning, Octavia took the cigarette away from Vinyl. “You don’t smoke.” The cellist paused, eyeing the spinner cautiously. “Do you?”

“I did,” Vinyl admitted, dropping the pretence. “I was in school, and…” The woman closed her eyes, gulping down approaching tears. “Dad made me smoke a whole pack when he found out. I vomited pretty badly, and my head ached for hours…”

Gently, Octavia pushed her spinner towards the sofa, leading her all the way up till Vinyl sat down comfortably. With that, the cellist took a look at the cigarette and, pecking away the ash with her thumb, took a drag.

Vinyl’s eyes widened. “I thought you didn’t smoke!” she exclaimed, grabbing the cigarette back.

“I don’t.” Octavia blew out a tiny, imperfect ring of smoke. “I smoke only when I am utterly dismayed.” Without another word, she took the cigarette back and dragged in the smoke. “Like now.”

With a sigh, Vinyl took up the cigarette and puffed on it, her eyes directed to the outside, where the sun was already setting, vanishing behind the skyscraper-littered horizon. “No wonder. I mean… What you told Neon…” Vinyl took a deep drag that made her cough. “It’s terrible. What your father-”

“I don’t care about my father.” Octavia took the cigarette abruptly, noticing it was all but done, and used it to light up another, taken, conveniently, from the pack that, if Octavia understood it correctly, Neon had left on the table. Sometimes the irony is just too bitter. “I haven’t talked to him in years, and he’s dead to me. It’s you I worry about.” Octavia extended her arm, passing the cigarette to her girlfriend.

“What about me?” Vinyl took up the cigarette gratefully.

“Vinyl, I know you’ve heard everything Neon said to me.” Octavia sighed, closing her eyes. “About your father-”

“I haven’t talked to my father in years,” Vinyl reiterated her cellist, flicking the cigarette out of the window. “The difference is, he is actually dead. What’s in the past is… in the past,” she finished lamely. That was a terrible attempt, and you know it, Devil Vinyl whispered to her from her shoulder. An attempt to soothe Octavia, Angel Vinyl argued reasonably.

Octavia leant in, her hand brushing Vinyl’s cheek. “Vinyl… I know that it is hard to you. I know that it pains. I can’t say I understand you here, despite the similarity… I don’t care about my father or what he did to me.” Octavia pressed her lips against the spinner’s forehead. “But I do care about you. And I understand if you need some time to-”

“I don’t get it,” Vinyl admitted, finally, her thumb and index finger massaging her closed eyelids. “How? How can you live with that? Your own father did… that to you…” Vinyl gulped, trying to prevent the tears from returning to her eyes.

“I’ve learnt to shut down my emotions,” Octavia interrupted. “I’ve learnt to withdraw any negative feelings that I might have.” The cellist took Vinyl’s hand in hers, looking the spinner in the eye, her fingers clutching the DJ’s hand, her thumbs rubbing her palm in circular, soothing motions.

Vinyl tried to free her hand meekly. “I can’t believe it. You do have emotions. You’re the woman I fell in love with. You are not a robot. You are a human being,” she tried to appeal, her voice trembling, rightful confidence supporting her every word.

“You’re right.” Octavia nodded without averting her eyes, the pools of lavender that seemed to contain Vinyl’s image, minimise it, make it her own, her deed to the property. “I am not a robot. I have emotions, both positive and negative. But I shut down negative emotions. I hold them back, then release them.” She smiled. “Through music. Thus, I do not hold any negative emotion. I deal with it. And, when I’m done, all the positive things? They’re there. The negative things? I force myself to not care once I’ve let go.” Octavia leant closer to Vinyl, the tip of her nose touching Vinyl’s. “Does that make me a robot?”

Flushed and confused, visibly at unease with such a moral (emotional?) code, Vinyl shifted away a tad. “I guess not.” Slyly, she glanced at her cellist. “But it’s still rather strange. Kinda makes you… a what? An android?” The spinner chuckled at her joke.

With a tiny laugh, Octavia lay on the sofa slowly, her head now resting in Vinyl’s lap - a gesture which, for the first time, did not make the spinner blush. Instead, Vinyl started running her fingers through the gorgeous hair, jet-black, soft, straight and long, her fingers massaging Octavia’s scalp. “Even if I am an android…”

Octavia let out a long, content sigh, closing her eyes and purring into Vinyl’s massage. “I sure do dream of electric sheep.”

***

The door creaked painfully as Neon entered the office. It was all as he remembered it: if he closed his eyes, he could still see the papers flying about, Vinyl rolling, wailing, weeping on the floor…

The man walked slowly towards the table, his fingers grasping at the armchair as he stopped, eyeing the photograph. “It’s all your fault,” he said simply, feeling no anger, no irritation, no fury. “Even dead, you still bring a crack between me and Vincenza. You are still trying to clash me with my sister, you bigotous, ignorant, cruel bastard.” With satisfaction, Neon spat at the photograph, his spit ending up on the frame. He took it in his hands, his eyes locked with his father’s. “I was so happy when you died,” he hissed. “It was the best goddamn day of my life. Vincenza cried, you know? She really, she-!” Neon slammed the photograph against the wall, the shards of broken glass cutting his palm. “She thought we weren’t good kids. She thought we deserved what you did to us.” Neon pressed his hand against the wall with effort, bloody rivulets staining the wallpaper. “But no, we were good kids. You were a crappy father. You didn’t deserve to be a father.” Neon let go of the broken frame. “You didn’t deserve to live!” he roared, slamming his blood-stained fist against the wall, shattering his knuckles.

In pain, he leant against the wall, closing his eyes. Silently, he slid down to the floor, shaking, sobbing with pain and irritation. “Wasn’t I good enough for you?” His hand stung with pain, tiny shards of glass making it look like a bizarre porcupine. “I had my straight ‘A’s, I was top of my class, I played all the sports, I perfected every instrument you gave me.” Neon’s voice trailed off, his reddened eyes observing the now un-framed photograph. “Was that not good enough? Was I not good enough for you to- just once!- just once!” The injured hand fell limply on the photo, now spoilt by specks of warm blood.

“I loved you,” Neon whispered, his head dizzy, his vision blurry. “I loved you so fucking much.”

***

Vinyl woke up to the feeling of soft, slightly wet lips tracing her neck, pecking her cheek ever so slightly, tender, loving fingers caressing her shoulder. “Vinyl, wake up.”

Mumbling, the spinner arched her neck, kissing the tender hand, brushing her nose against Octavia’s knuckles. “Did I fall asleep? I thought, um, that I was the one giving the massage…” Somehow, this simple thought made the DJ blush. I was giving her a massage! Angel Vinyl approved greatly: You’re making progress! Devil Vinyl shook her head: A head massage. What you need to be massaging is her hot, dripping-

Octavia locked their lips in a kiss as Angel Vinyl fainted over her shoulder. “You have a cute snore,” she whispered into Vinyl’s ear, giggling breathlessly.

“I don’t snore,” Vinyl protested defiantly, a tint of pink in her face claiming otherwise. “Why would you wake me up?” she complained. “It’s night.”

“Late evening, actually,” Octavia corrected, getting up and turning on the light, making Vinyl shut her eyes against the stinging brightness. “And I’m waking you up so we don’t miss our flight.” The cellist tiptoed about the room, throwing a few clothes on top of an already huge pile that rested inside a large travelling bag. “I’ve already taken all I needed, so you just have to pack up, and we’re going to go.”

“Flight?” Vinyl blinked dumbly, looking over to her shoulders, only to notice Angel Vinyl was still faint and Devil Vinyl had mysteriously vanished. “Where?”

“Montenegro,” Octavia called out, placing two sheets of paper on the table. Vinyl sat up, rubbing her eyes. “It’s an overnight flight. We’ll be there early morning.”

“These are e-tickets to Montenegro.” Vinyl stared at the papers. “For tonight.”

“Yes, they are.” Octavia took a rucksack, stuffing a hat-wearing, coat-enclosed Mister Tummers inside. The plush bear did not seem to disapprove. “I used your computer to book them. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I…” Vinyl looked up. “How did you guess my password?” she wondered sleepily.

Octavia chuckled. “Vinyl, you don’t have a password.”

“Oh.” The blue-haired woman rubbed her forehead.

“I also checked your browsing history~” Octavia cooed from the kitchen.

Vinyl gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I sure did~” Octavia emerged from the kitchen, holding a glass of water in her hands. “Lesbian BDSM? Sexy lesbians go bad? Suck My Cunt - 6?” The cellist smirked. “Really?”

Vinyl began to hyperventilate, her cheeks turning red. Quickly, Octavia supplied the glass, watching Vinyl gulp down water eagerly, the spinner’s mind pondering on the possibility that the water had not been for the cellist in the first place.

“I guess I’ll need to pack my leather belt after all…” Octavia poked the spinner on the nose with a sly smile. “Since, apparently, you like it rough and all…”

“W-why are we flying to Montenegro tonight?” Vinyl asked, eager to change the subject.

“Vinyl, you know that we need a time-out.” Octavia’s face fell serious. “We need some time away from the city. From the people. From everything. We need some time just for the two of us.” The cellist smiled, walking closer. “For our love.”

Vinyl could not withhold a gasp. “Our…” My God… Did she really?..

“I love you, Vinyl,” Octavia said simply, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to her spinner. “I really do.”

“Tavi, I…”

“Shh.” Octavia pressed her finger against Vinyl’s lips. “You don’t have to say it. I just want you to know. Just… Just want you to know that I love you.”

The words fell on Vinyl’s ears like rivers of warm, dripping honey. The woman shivered from pleasure, but the concern took over her. “Tavi, we’re leaving tonight, and- God, this is all so sudden.” She fell silent for a few moments. “Where are we going to stay? I thought you had to book a hotel-”

“Who said anything about a hotel?” Octavia interrupted with a confident smile. “It just so happens that I know someone who has a villa by the seaside… Just like the one you dreamt of…” The woman traced her finger to Vinyl’s cheek. “Someone who is more than eager to let us stay there for a few weeks… Alone… Just like you dreamt of.”

Unable to hold her feelings at bay, Vinyl reached out and grabbed Octavia’s head, pressing her into a kiss that, frankly, surprised her just as much as it seemed to have surprised Octavia herself.

“So…” Octavia panted slightly. “I take it as a…?”

Vinyl smiled, feeling unusual confidence within her, fuelled by the rush of early morning air rushing from the outside, swishing through the studio flat. “Let’s go, Octavia.”

Octavia smiled back. “Let me get my passport.”

***

“That’s it.”

Neon winced in sheer pain as Madeline, the stunning nineteen-year-old brunette, finished wrapping up his hand in thick bandages. The man rolled his wrist experimentally. It hurt like hell. “Thanks, Maddie.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” the young woman ached with concern all over him. Neon took her hands in hers, pressing his lips against her tiny wrist, closing his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he lied, not letting go of the woman’s hand. “I don’t need stitches.”

Madeline lingered before sitting on the edge of the armchair next to her man. “How’s Vinyl?” she asked soberly. “I can see you are not fine, but… how is she?”

“She’ll manage,” Neon dropped, leaning back. “She’s with Octavia. I’m confident in her.”

The woman frowned. “Neon, darling…” She kissed the man’s sweating forehead. “I know it’s not my place to give advice, but… I thought you didn’t like Octavia?”

Neon shook his head. “I didn’t. Now I do. People change. So do opinions.” He grabbed the petite barista by the waist, dragging her onto his knees. “And how many times must I remind you that it is your place to give advice?” He brushed his dry lips against the woman’s cheek, dropping below to her slender neck. “When I said I wanted you in my life, I didn’t just mean sex and dinner.” For a moment, Neon’s lips stopped at Madeline’s shoulder. “Though, to think about it, I mostly meant sex and dinner.” He smirked as he received a light slap on the back of his head.

Suddenly, he grew tense and serious. “Madeline.” With effort, he stood up, his aching head pulsating, heating, driving him mad with pain. “Jokes aside, I want you. I need you. I need you to be part of my life. To give me advice.” He sharked his socks towards the cupboard, much to the girl’s silent amusement. “To share my worries and laughs.” He opened the cupboard with his good hand. “To stop me from making brash and rushed decisions.” He sharked his socks back to the armchair. “To just be by my side, always. And I, in return, will always be yours.”

And I need this, he pleaded mentally, gazing at his woman lovingly. I need this island of stability. I need someone to cling to. Haven’t I earned this? I have. I have earned this. This is mine. This is mine to keep. You can’t take this from me - just go ahead and try.

The man dropped to his knee heavily, gazing into Madeline’s sparking eyes, and opened the tiny velvet box. “Madeline. Will you marry me?”

***

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Vinyl looked around, excited, a little nervous, agitated, amazed, curious as to why they were the only passengers in the curtain-segregated, two-seat-rowed business-class section. Probably because 4 am. And Montenegro. “We’re really flying to the seaside!” the spinner chirped happily. “We just up and went!” She giggled to herself. What about Neon? Vinyl shook her head. No. Not now. No sombre thoughts. Just a happy week with my… love. “That’s so bold, Tavi.” Vinyl turned her head towards the cellist, who sat frozen in her seat, sweat covering her forehead, her fingers gripping the fabric of her trousers, threatening to rip it apart, her breathing quick and laboured, her eyes shut tight. Or not so bold. “Tavi, what’s wrong?”

With effort, Octavia managed a weak smile, eyeing Vinyl with an anxious, exhausted gaze. “I’m scared of flying,” she admitted weakly. “Every time I’m on a plane, it’s like the end of the world.”

Vinyl placed her hand on top of Octavia’s knee. “It’s not. It’s not the end of the world. It’s all right,” she tried to assure the cellist.  “It’s just a plane.” The spinner smiled calmly. “It’s not like it’s going to crash or-”

“Vinyl,” Octavia hissed lowly. “Not. Helping.”

The DJ blushed, averting her eyes. Suddenly, an idea hit her. With a joyful grin, she grabbed Octavia’s rucksack from the floor, unzipping it determinedly.

Octavia was surprised enough to stop shaking. “What are you doing, love?” she wondered gently, her eyes pinned to the spinner’s breasts that shook slightly as she rummaged through the rucksack.

“Here!” Vinyl beamed as she took out a very unamused Mister Tummers. “Mister Tummers is here to help,” she cooed gently, watching with delight as Octavia grabbed the bear and held tight, closing her eyes. “I’m here to help too…” Vinyl whispered, placing her head on Octavia’s shoulder, nuzzling into the cellist’s neck.

Gradually, Octavia relaxed enough to breathe properly. “Thank you, Vinyl.” With pleasure, she laid her head on the spinner’s.

“It’s gonna be all right,” Vinyl whispered dreamily. “Trust me, Tavi.”

Octavia did not reply, content with the delicious solitude she was sharing with her girlfriend. Listen, Life, Octavia challenged mentally. I know you’ve had your shit with me, but let’s agree on this. She opened her eyes briefly to marvel at the almost-snoozing form of her DJ. This, I’ve worked for. This, I’ve earned. This- don’t take this from me.

Silently, Octavia kissed the top of Vinyl’s head. This is mine to keep.

1. The Arrival

“Tavi, I think we should have a talk.”

“What?!” Octavia yelled without turning her head in Vinyl’s direction, her eyes darting about the little parking lot outside the tiny Tivat airport. “It seems there is no taxi this early in the morning!”

Wincing, Vinyl grabbed her cellist’s head and turned it forcefully towards her. “Tavi! Stop! Shouting! My ears! Are! Sensitive!”

Octavia blinked in awe, her jaw dropping a little. “Sorry,” she lowered her voice, shaking her head. “My hearing’s always a little low after a flight.” Not that I take the plane that often.

Vinyl blushed. “Um, sorry for, um, grabbing you.” Still. “I think you and I should have a talk.” We need to have this talk, and the sooner, the better.

Octavia resumed looking about the empty lot, searching hopelessly for a vehicle of any kind. “What talk? Can it wait?”

“About your father,” Vinyl pressed on gently, grabbing Octavia by the arm. “I’ve heard what you and Neon were saying… Tavi, that’s horrible. I think you want to talk about it.”

“And I think I should spank you for eavesdropping,” the cellist countered with a sly smile. “Your point?”

Despite the blush that was attempting to cover her whole face (and, to be precise, her whole body), Vinyl still managed to protest. “Tavi, this is no joking matter!”

Octavia nodded sagely. “Of course. Spanking is never a joking matter. Do you prefer hand or belt?” Satisfied with Vinyl’s little hyperventilating and the reddening of the spinner’s pretty face, the raven-haired woman smirked. “Both, I guess. But here’s a deal. We talk about it, then I spank you. How’s that sound?”

After a few minutes of Vinyl silently breathing and battling her blush, the spinner finally spoke “Here’s a better deal. We talk about… your father, and, um…” The spinner’s voice trailed off quietly.

“What was that, love?” Octavia focused her attention on the sexy spinner. It better include sexy times. Or else.

“We talk about your father, and then… We talk about mine.” Vinyl lowered her eyes. “How’s that for a deal.”

My God. Octavia suddenly felt awful. She… She just wants to talk. And she’ll feel more comfortable if I talk too. Jesus, I’m a horrible girlfriend. Angel Octavia nodded sternly: Also, you take God’s name in vain. Octavia glanced at the other shoulder. Devil Octavia seemed to be burying herself in copious amounts of post-flight rum.

“Sure thing, Vinyl.” Octavia nodded with a smile. “As soon as we get to- Oh, taxi!” Invigorated, Octavia trod towards the just-arrived yellow cab.

With a sigh, Vinyl followed, preparing herself for the uneasy talk.

***

“I didn’t know you spoke Montenegrian.”

Octavia chuckled as the two women descended a steep, narrow path. “There’s no Montenegrian. People here speak Serbian.” She smiled. “And I don’t speak Serbian. I spoke Russian with the driver.”

“You speak Russian?!” Vinyl exclaimed in amazement, almost tripping over a rock.

Octavia smirked. “I also speak German, French, Italian, and a little Chinese and Japanese.” Proudly, the woman tossed her long jet-black hair. “Languages just come to me naturally. You might say…” The cellist grinned. “I have quite a skilled tongue.” Angel Octavia cried at the terrible pun. Devil Octavia withdrew to her room with a bottle of rum in hand.

“I don’t speak any foreign languages,” Vinyl observed, admiring the scenery: the tall, looming mountains that shone black in the rays of the early morning sun, the quiet splashing of the sea somewhere up front, the chirping of faraway birds, the buzzing of hidden insects. The kind of unsilent silence she’d dreamt of. And this is not a dream, the spinner assured herself.

“I thought you spoke Italian.” Octavia took a turn right, onto another desolate narrow path.

Vinyl followed her promptly. “If I’m Italian, that doesn’t mean I speak the language,” she explained, a little sheepishly. “I’ve never even been to Italy. I think that maybe we could go there too?” she wondered, sharking her shoes after her girlfriend.

“Um.” Octavia seemed like she wanted to say something, but closed her mouth, proceeding in silence. Must have something to do with fear of flight, Vinyl assumed.

Finally, the two women came to a stop before a solitary villa, three-storeyed, with a tiny garden and a swimming pool on the roof, sunlight reflecting in the water gorgeously. There seemed to be no one around; not a single building, not a person in sight. Peace and quiet.

“Okay, Vinyl, I just need to tell you before I forget.” Octavia’s serious tone made Vinyl genuinely curious. “If we ever are in town - which I doubt - it’d be best if we didn’t…” The cellist sighed, shaking her head. “Well, if we didn’t show signs of affection. It’s an Orthodox country,” she explained. “The people here are mostly conservative villagers.”

Vinyl nodded slowly. “Sure thing, Tavi. Though, if this is where we are staying…” The spinner let a tiny smile on her face. “I doubt we’ll need to go to town.”

Octavia shut her eyes. Must. Not. Commit. Innuendo. “Yes, about that… I’d rather you didn’t, well… talk much in front of Francisc. You’ll know why.”

“Who’s that?” Vinyl raised her brow. The thought struck her. “Oh, the owner of the mansion.”

Octavia nodded. “The one and only. He is… peculiar.” With a sigh, Octavia pressed the bell button engraved into the simple chained fence.

Vinyl laughed. “Come on, it’s not like he dyes his hair blue.” Chuckling at her joke, she ran her hand through her own blue hair.

From the open steps connecting the second storey to the ground descended an elderly man, in a bordeaux robe, in dark blue slippers. Vinyl gasped in disbelief. Not only was his hair dyed blue - also his impressive moustache that he rubbed as he came up sleepily to the fence.

“Octavia, my dear!” the man exclaimed eagerly, all sleepiness forgotten as he threw open the gate, motioning the women in. With gusto, he embraced Octavia and immediately performed the same gesture upon Vinyl, who was too awestruck to even mumble a greeting.

“Hello, hello there, my dear!” The man exclaimed, walking hecticly about the garden. “You must be really tired from the trip, ah, here is the stunning maid I have heard so much about, Vinyl her name, is it?, I am so glad to see you both, I know we haven’t been talking much recently, but you know how it goes, work work work, but of course you must be terribly tired and where are my manners, oh but I guess you would be better off alone, after all you are a grown woman now, not the little girl I used to know who always fiddled with my violin, if you pardon this old dog his terrible pun, we were just off on our way, and no don’t ever apologise! we were just on our way back to old good Italy, to Milan, the latest fashion collection, oh yes! you have the villa fully to yourselves for two full months, more if you want, ah, but I remember you only took a fortnight off, Frederic must be insane with such a hiatus, but no, don’t bother telling me, you’ll tell me everything after your wonderful vacation, this new word I’ve picked up, ah, don’t bother, don’t bother, just come to the kitchen and get something to drink, you must be hungry? we still have a lot of food in the fridge after the little soiree, pardon this rotting immigrant his poor French, we won’t bother you at all, just come to the kitchen, we’ll be on our way at once, we’ll lock the fence so just off you go, eat, drink, and get some beauty sleep, ah, but youth does not need sleep you might say, well, I am no expert, but a few hours of good sleep are worth a fortune- FLEUR!” he roared on top of his voice. “Fleur, darling, would you pick up the purse? We don’t want to keep our guests waiting, do we?”

Vinyl made a motion of opening and closing her mouth a few times as her brain tried (poorly) to process the tidal wave of rapped-out information. Octavia chuckled. His wife, she mouthed to the stupefied spinner.

Down the steps came a gorgeous blonde, her silk dress light and by no means provocative; yet, her body was slightly visible beneath the cloth - which made Vinyl blush fiercely as her stubborn mind naked the aforementioned body and placed it next to a latex-clad Octavia. “Francisc, stop shouting!” she demanded angrily, her voice booming with authority. “You are scaring the guests.”

“Yes, dear.” The man hung his head low, like a puppy being scolded.

“Hello, Octavia,” Fleur greeted the cellist with a smile. “And you must be Vinyl.”

“Uh.” Vinyl nodded. You have very very nice boo-

“Francisc, why are you standing here?!” The woman snapped at her husband, holding in her hands a spacious purse. “Take your suitcase and leave! Can’t you see the poor girls need some privacy?!”

“Yes, dear.” The man hurried up the steps.

Fleur smiled again. “You two go on to the kitchen and start enjoying your holiday. We will be off in a minute,” she assured. “We’ll lock the fence door on our way out.”

Octavia grabbed Vinyl by the shoulder, and, with a dropped, “Good luck”, hurried the spinner into the kitchen, the entrance to which could be found a little way from the steps, on the first storey. “The first floor is occupied by the kitchen,” Octavia explained as she closed the door behind her, ushering Vinyl towards the large dining table. “The living quarters take up floors two and three and can be accessed from the kitchen or by the steps outside,” the cellist lectured in a guiding tone.

Vinyl nodded slowly, her head beginning to ache from the general weirdness and awkwardness of the situation. “You been here before?” she asked, immediately adding, “Boy, the host - I don’t mean to, um - but he’s… strange.”

“Peculiar,” Octavia corrected with a smile, proceeding to the fridge. Outside, the fence door clicked and the voices of the man and his wife (or, rather, the wife and her man) faded away. “I’ve been here many times. Francisc is a good friend of my father. I used to go here on summers on my father’s yacht.”

“On a… yacht?” Vinyl blinked, trying to estimate the distance.

“I grew up in Italy,” Octavia explained. “It’s not that far.” Fishing out a bottle of ice cold water, she sighed. “Francisc is pretty much the only friend of Father’s that… that I still talk to. Sometimes. Usually after a drink or two.” She laughed. “As I’ve said, he’s… peculiar.”

“So I see.” Vinyl nodded, taking up the water gratefully and getting a gulp. “Octavia. Your father.”

The raven-haired woman sighed, rubbing her forehead as she sat next to her spinner. “Okay. Okay. Just… If we’re going to have this talk, I need some whisky.”

Vinyl scrunched her nose, but nodded nonetheless. If Tavi needs it… Then let her have her booze.

Vinyl sighed, closing her eyes as she heard the cellist open the wine cabinet. And then we’ll finally have this talk.

2. The Talk

“Tavi, that’s… four shots already.”

Octavia nodded, and, with a sharp wince, downed yet another whisky. “Five,” she corrected raspily. “And these are glasses, not shots.” And it’s not even half past ten.

Vinyl eyed her girlfriend in sheer fear. She was no longer scared that Octavia would take advantage of her, but now she was simply concerned with the well-being of her cellist. So much alcohol can’t be good for health…Subconsciously, she rubbed her liver side. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“One more.” In a moment, Octavia took a deep breath. Okay. Here goes. “As you can see, I have a problem.”

Vinyl nodded gloomily. “Admitting that you have a problem-”

“I don’t mean alcohol.” The cellist gazed at the bottle, feeling her vision go slightly blurry. Now it felt like confessing to the bottle. It was much, much easier than confessing to Vinyl. “I mean my sexual orientation. The problem is that, in addition to liking men, I also like women. And most of my ‘daddy problems’ lie there.” There, Ms Vinyl. I’ve recited my homework. Can I go home now?

Vinyl rubbed her temples. “Tavi. You do realise it’s… it’s not really a problem?”

“When you live in a conservative Catholic household in rural Italy, it is.” Octavia sighed, feeling unease creeping all over her. “At least, so it was for my father.” The cellist gesticulated in the air wildly, a brief drunken gesture. “He… He wasn’t really… I mean, yeah, he was a crappy father. But he wasn’t the worst.” With attention, Vinyl noted that, despite the fact-based assumption that Octavia’s father was still alive, the cellist avoided using the present tense. “He bought me gifts, paid for my education… He even bought me a pony!” Octavia actually managed a smile. “Thing is, he really, honestly believed my bisexuality was a disease. And he… tried to… cure it,” she finished lamely. “At all costs.”

“He let a bunch of men rape you!” Vinyl couldn’t help but slam her first against the table, her skin heating up in slight pain. “That- That’s just!”

“I never said he was a good father,” Octavia countered simply. “Apart from his… prejudice, though, he was as decent as any other guy.”

“Prejudice must know limits,” Vinyl argued, her cheeks heating up - not in embarrassment, but in anger. Drunkenly, Octavia realised that she loved this woman, loved her so much, whether she was cute or smart, angry or sharp, awake or asleep. She just loved her.

“His didn’t.” Octavia reached for the bottle, only for Vinyl to slap her hand away. Surprised by such boldness from the usually shy spinner, the woman concluded, “That was it. After… that, I never returned home. Surprisingly, he was still sending me money. But I would never take it. And… that’s pretty much it. A crappy father, worse than some, better than some. As I’ve said, I’ve just… moved on, I guess.”

Vinyl opened her mouth, a barrage of questions on her tongue. However, upon a long, lasting look at her girlfriend, she closed her mouth and simply extended her arms, embracing her drunken cellist in a tight hug.

Octavia felt tears reach her throat - an old, long-won battle threatening to seize her emotional field again. Instead of sobbing and giving way to it, she merely pressed her face into Vinyl’s shoulder, soon feeling sleepy and content. There. Peace and calm. From now on and forever, with Vinyl. No more hard talk. Devil Octavia grinned: Right! Only hard se- Angel Octavia took out a shotgun.

“How…” Vinyl did not break the embrace. Okay. No more questions about her father. He’s a fucktard, Tavi is over it, and it hurts her to talk about it. No more hard talk. Devil Vinyl opened her mouth. Angel Vinyl borrowed the shotgun from Angel Octavia eagerly. “How can you, still… you know… um. Like men? I mean. Uh.” Vinyl closed her eyes, feeling Octavia’s hands on her back, finally realising how sleepy she was, and how sleepy Octavia was, probably, especially considering the commendable amount of alcohol the raven-haired woman had consumed in such short time. Devil Vinyl made a motion of searching through a dictionary for ‘fucktard’.

“Frederic.” Octavia smiled. Vinyl almost broke the hug - almost. “We dated for a while after I broke up with my girlfriend. He really showed me how kind and caring men can be. He has always been a true gentleman.” At this point, Vinyl broke the embrace, letting Octavia see her hurt, understanding eyes. “Vinyl… It’s over,” the cellist whispered softly. “Me and Frederic are not longer… Well. Now I have you. Don’t be jealous.” Tee-hee~ Jealous Vinyl is so cute!

“I’m not jealous,” Vinyl said with surprising bitterness. “I just wonder how long it’ll take you to break up with me.”

The room fell silent.

“Vinyl Scratch,” Octavia said seriously, using the spinner’s full name - all be it her pseudonim, her pseudoname, “You are, and will always be, the only woman I’ll love. The only person in the world I want to be with.” The cellist planted a boozy kiss upon Vinyl’s lips - which made the spinner feel goofy and drunk. “I know we haven’t known each other much - hell, we haven’t even had sex yet! But you,” Octavia pointed her trembling finger at the DJ, “You are the one woman I am willing to wait for, even if it takes forever. Hell, Vinyl, if you don’t believe me, let’s go to the nearest church and get married, God be my witness!”

Vinyl calmed down at such heated - and honest - reassurance, embracing Octavia’s shoulders gently. “First, we’re in Montenegro, an Orthodox country - you said it yourself. They don’t recognise or register same-sex marriages. Second,” Vinyl smiled, “I believe you. I love you, Octavia,” she said simply, much to Octavia’s silent delight. She said it! She said it! “Love and marriage aren’t what Frank Sinatra sings them to be.” Vinyl felt a rush of warmness, an impromptu mood swing to the upper corner of bliss. “Remember Ormus and Vina in-”

“Vinyl,” Octavia interrupted apologetically. “I’m too drunk for smart talk. Let’s just maybe cuddle and kiss and sleep?” she suggested eagerly.

Vinyl smiled, for once feeling somewhat  in charge. And it was a pretty good feeling. Slowly, she stood up and took Octavia’s hand in hers. “Let’s go, Tavi.”

Obediently, the cellist followed her woman on unsteady, wobbling legs. “Wait.” A thought of concern struck her slowly, like a sledgehammer. The cellist cursed her drunkness. Confound this alcohol. It drives me to... slow-think. “You haven’t told me about… Well, about your father, Vinyl.”

The DJ sighed, walking alongside her girlfriend, holding the woman she loved - the woman who loved her - by the hand, her fingers electric from the tender touch. “He… As I said, he wasn’t a bad dad.”

“He beat you up,” Octavia observed bluntly, immediately wanting to hit herself for the drunken slip. Apparently, alcohol had an effect of easing her tongue in all ways. Devil Octavia perked up. All ways? Angel Octavia started chasing her with a stick. “Sorry.”

“He had… strange ways of parenting,” Vinyl admitted, walking up the stairs. Photographs of a younger Francisc and a younger Fleur adorned the walls. On one, the man and the woman held hands with poorly-concealed glee, standing outside a church on a bright-lit plaza. Francisc and Fleur Pantomino, United for Eternity, the golden plate below the photo read. Shouldn’t it be ‘Francisco’? Vinyl wondered. “He was just a very… stern person, I guess.”

“He beat you up,” Octavia repeated dumbly. “For any minor offence. That’s… too stern.” The cellist sighed, following the spinner into a spacious bedroom, most of which was occupied by a large, king-and-queen-sized bed, and also hosted a TV, a few drawers and a wardrobe. “You led me to the room I used to sleep in when I came here…”

Vinyl chuckled. “I had a feeling this would be precisely this room.” Not that I know any other rooms here… Will find out after some sleep.

Without any words, Octavia dragged the spinner into a fervent, whisky-scented kiss, pinning the woman to the bed, moaning into her eager mouth, her tongue attacking Vinyl’s from all directions. Vinyl moaned back, her eyes rolling back, her whole body going up in flames of passion, shivers tickling her spine violently.

For a whole minute after they broke the kiss, Vinyl lay silent, panting, her nethers burning with desire. Now - she was sure - she was ready. But it would feel so awkward to make love after the Talk…

“I can’t believe it,” Octavia complained, staring at the ceiling, panting as she rolled off Vinyl clumsily. “I can’t believe that your father, the great Immanuel Staccato, the God of cello, was such a fucktard.”

See? This is a word! Devil Vinyl exclaimed victoriously, showing her tongue to the little angel on the opposite shoulder. I never said it wasn’t! Angel Vinyl protested. Vinyl decided to shut both away until they started making out. “Most great musicians weren’t good with kids,” Vinyl replied, thinking about how she, herself, often winced at the ultra-sound that children emitted at supersonic speed, making her thankful she did not have one of her own. Neon, though… Kids love him. He’s ‘cool’. “And he was… He was just very, very demanding. Dad did beat me up, and Neon too… He loved Neon more, I think. Nini told me,” she used her brother’s sacred name, “that he was different when Mom was still alive…”

Octavia winced, placing her hand on Vinyl’s shoulder comfortingly. “Love, I am sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Vinyl stared at the ceiling. “I never knew her. I guess Dad blamed me a little: she died when I was born,” the spinner explained. “That’s why he didn’t expect much of me, and didn’t talk to me much. On a positive side,” Vinyl chuckled darkly, “he beat me up way less than he did Neon.”

“I never imagined Immanuel Staccato was an abusive father,” Octavia confessed. “He was…” Drunkenly, the woman blushed. “My hero, I suppose.”

“Mine too,” Vinyl replied, much to Octavia’s surprise. “He wasn’t, um, the kind of alcoholic abusive father they show on TV. He was… demanding,” she reiterated. “After Mom died - after I was born, he devoted himself to his music completely. But he still found time to keep us well-fed and bought us toys and clothes and paid for our studies. And yes, when we disagreed, he beat us up. He spanked me or whipped me with a belt,” she reminisced. Octavia mentally crossed out spanking from the possible fetish list. “But Nini… He made him fight him, and they fought. First, it was Dad beating up Neon. When Nini grew up, it was mostly him beating up dad. He was raising his sporting spirit or something.” That’s still a way of torture, Octavia noted mentally. Or not. Hell if I know. I need sleep. Need to stop thinking so much… negativity. “He didn’t just punish us. He rewarded us too, and…” Vinyl actually smiled. “Once, he practiced for his tour so much that he totally forgot to visit Neon’s rugby match. Neon came home in tears. Without words, Dad cancelled all concerts of his for a week and did nothing but play sports with Neon in the garden the whole week - making up for his mistake.” Vinyl fell silent for a moment. “When Mom died, he crushed his favourite cello against the wall. Neon says he wanted to kill himself but… but he had us to look after. Guess he hated us a little, for not letting him… um, be with Mom, uh, up there in Heaven,” Vinyl concluded, gulping down unwanted tears. Angel Vinyl reminded her meekly that those who commit suicide end up in Hell. Devil Vinyl told her to go fuck herself. With a stick.

Octavia silently laid her head on Vinyl’s chest, listening to her spinner’s heartbeat. She ran her hand across Vinyl’s breasts gently, feeling the woman’s nipples harden pleasantly. “Who would have thought our talk would evolve into us justifying our father’s reasons?” She chuckled, her lips now near Vinyl’s shirt-covered nipple.

Vinyl took the gesture with a delighted sigh, her own hand, hesitantly, grabbing Octavia’s ass. It can’t be wrong if it feels good, Devil Vinyl assured. Angel Vinyl began to draft a list of points proving why such a course of actions was wrong. Devil Vinyl waved the stick in the air suggestively. “I actually feel better after the talk.” Thank you, Tavi.

“Me too.” Thanks, Vinyl. Now, let’s have sssseeezzzz… Octavia exhaled contentedly, breathing in the scent of her spinner’s body, the salty, sweet sweat, the perfume she wore, the traces of shampoo in her hair, her own whisky scent that Vinyl’s pores ingested like a sponge… “It’s perfect,” she whispered, drifting into a happy, drunken sleep. “Perfect.”

“Not yet.” With a knowing smile, Vinyl freed herself from the cellist’s embrace, to which Octavia mumbled discontentedly. Yawning, the cellist blinked. What is she up to? Her mind supplied eagerly images of Vinyl returning in her latex suit. Reality told her that Vinyl most certainly did not own such an item of clothing. Fuck reality, then.

In a moment, Vinyl emerged, plopping eagerly onto the bed, the near-midday sun peeking curiously through the curtains. “Here.” She placed Mister Tummers between her and Octavia, embracing her love again, this time putting both her hands on Octavia’s ass.

Vinyl closed her eyes in content. “Now, it’s perfect.”

3. Swimming

Vinyl Scratch woke up to the pleasant, unique sound of Octavia playing the cello. The melody flowed smoothly, note by note, interval by interval, accentuated by the percussion of hands clapping against the solid wood, which mixed pleasantly with the strickening of insects and the roaring waves of the not-so-faraway sea.

The spinner stood up clumsily, rubbing her eyes, and peeked through the curtains, her brain ascertaining that they were in Montenegro, by the seaside, with a mountainview, completely alone, with all the villa - all the world! - to themselves, and that they had already had the hard Talk…

Vinyl squeed and ran towards the sound, sheer happiness pouring from her. She didn’t have to run far, for the room was just on the other side of the hall, the door slightly open. Halting to a stop, the spinner peeked in carefully, as not to disrupt the melody.

Octavia was sitting on a chair in what seemed to be a huge room, with a computer and recording equipment all about, but a serious lack of instruments for a proper studio: merely the cello that Octavia was commanding and a grand piano. White as snow! Vinyl squeed mentally, much to the approval of Angel Vinyl who seemed to have woken up on her shoulder. Psh. Racists, Devil Vinyl frowned.

The music Octavia was playing was wild and intense, with both pizzicato and avid percussion, hand-slapping, but at the same time contained some unspoken tranquillity, almost… Trance-like. Suddenly, the DJ knew that the tune was her tune - or, rather, their tune, the one that she wrote for Octavia to record… It seemed like so long ago…

Octavia stopped and took up a piece of paper, scribbling down an array of notes. Suddenly, she looked up, her lavender eyes meeting Vinyl’s. “Morning, love,” Octavia greeted her spinner warmly. “Or, rather, evening.”

“Hi.” Vinyl walked in sheepishly, giving her girlfriend a hug. “This… You are beautiful,” she said suddenly, blushing a little. I meant…

“Oh.” Octavia smiled, pecking the spinner on the forehead. “Thank you, Vinyl. You are beautiful too.”

“It’s just, um…” Vinyl rubbed the back of her head. “I wanted to say how beautiful that tune was, that… um, how you changed it and all, but, uh, I just saw you and thought how beautiful you are,” she explained, her face reddening from embarrassment.

Jingling with good-natured laughter, Octavia pressed her lips into Vinyl’s, dragging her into a breezy kiss. “How do you manage to be so cute and so sexy at the same time?” she whispered into the spinner’s reddening ear.

Collect yourself, Vinyl. More confidence, the woman told herself, trying to hold warm embarrassment at bay. Devil Vinyl definitely approved. Angel Vinyl tried to say something but shut her mouth at the sight of the stick. “Well…” Vinyl ran her finger across Octavia’s chin, making the cellist shiver in surprise and pleasure. “I guess I just have this…” The spinner leant in. “Skill…” Now kiss her…

Thump.

“Uuh.” Devil Vinyl facepalmed. Hard. Tripping… over… a cello. Really.

Octavia tried to restrain herself but, unable to contain her laughter, broke out in giggles as she helped Vinyl get up. “Sexy. And cute.”

Vinyl could not blush harder if she tried. Almost invisibly, she dusted herself off - even though there was no dust. “Uh. Um. We could work on some music now?” she asked, eager to change the subject as quickly as possible.

Octavia nodded. “Good idea. But, as far as I know, Francisc doesn’t have any music workstation software on the computer.” Seeing Vinyl’s horrified expression, she merely shrugged. “What? He prefers live music. I only have Audacity, for one.”

After a brief pause, Vinyl crossed her chest, and Octavia, for good measure, and sent an apology to God for her girlfriend’s sin. The cellist laughed. “I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

“I’m Italian, after all.” Vinyl smiled, sitting at the computer. “And, before you start a debate, yes, I know homosexuality is a sin, and no, I don’t really care, because so is lying, blasphemy, and gluttony.”

Octavia eyed Vinyl with a reformed, respecting gaze. There’s more to you than just sexiness and cuteness and musical talent, my dear Vinyl, she thought, dripping love. I can appreciate that. “What are you doing?” Octavia wondered aloud.

“Buying FL Studio,” Vinyl replied, clicking away at the computer. “Unbelievable. All this equipment and just an Audacity. Do you classical musicians share this sentiment?”

Octavia chuckled. “Getting bolder, Vinyl?” Seeing Vinyl’s puffed-up attitude pop like a toy balloon, as if her self had forgotten shyness for a while and suddenly remembered it, the cellist assured her spinner, “That’s fine. I like it.”

Vinyl nodded. “All right, now just the Paypal payment…” Click. Click. “Aaand we’re good.” Casting a brief glance at the screen, the DJ could not hold back a shriek-yell. “Twenty hours?” She spinned on the chair, staring at her girlfriend in disbelief. “What kind of Internet connection does this place have?!”

Octavia smirked. “Vinyl, be thankful that it has an Internet connection. Do I need to remind you that we are ten kilometres away from the nearest village and even more so from the nearest town?”

Vinyl scratched the back of her head. “Yeah, right. True.”

The raven-haired woman stood up, placing the cello carefully on the special stand. “How about we go swimming? The programme won’t download till tomorrow, and it’s not so scorching hot any more, now that it’s evening…”

Vinyl blushed fiercely, averting her eyes. “Uh. Um.” What did I say? Octavia wondered, meanwhile, trying to put her brain to what could have possibly caused such a reaction. Though, with Vinyl, it’s often the most innocent things. “I… Uh. I, um, I kinda forgot to take my swimsuit with me,” the spinner admitted finally, in a tiny voice. “And, um, there aren’t any shops around…” Stupid, stupid, stupid! she scolded herself.

Octavia deadpanned. “Vinyl. You knew we were going to the seaside, right?” Vinyl nodded. “And you forgot to take a- okay.” The cellist sighed. I would suggest we swim naked, but Vinyl would never agree to it… Damn. A seaside vacation without swimming. Or, we’ll have to go to town and buy her one… It’ll take up a whole day… “Then, I guess-”

“Maybe, um.” Vinyl closed her eyes. Come on. Come on. Come on. Just say it. Just. Say. It. It’s easy. She’s your girlfriend. Devil Vinyl nodded: You already took a shower together! Angel Vinyl countered: And look how it turned out! Devil Vinyl scowled: With Octavia all about you, her hand in your pants! Go for it, girl!

“What, love?” Octavia encouraged gently.

“Maybe we could go swimming naked?” Vinyl blurted out, her face and neck flushing. “I-I-I mean, um, there’s no one around, and, uh, I, um…”

Without further words, Octavia approached her spinner and kissed her passionately on the lips. Breaking the kiss, she smiled, her finger stroking Vinyl’s reddened cheek. “I’ll go get the towels.”

***

“Come on, Vinyl.”

Octavia splashed in the cool water, laughing, enjoying the naked swim. The beach - if the rocky plateau could ever be called a beach - lay not far from the villa: a five-minute walk down a forest path, the trees not thick in the slightest, giving the two slipper-wearing women enough room to make their way to the deserted location, wrapped in towels.

Vinyl shook her head, her whole body reddening under the towel that she was still mummified in, refusing to drop her cover.

“Vinyl, come on!” Octavia waved. “There’s no one else here, and I’ve already seen you naked!”

Vinyl took a deep breath. Come on. For Tavi. Besides - didn’t her aching nethers tell her she wanted to? Hesitantly, Vinyl dropped the towel.

Octavia’s mouth fell agape.

Indeed, she had seen Vinyl naked before, but… As the warm rays of the setting sun fell over the spinner’s naked body, accentuating her erect nipples, her small belly, her slender, wonderful legs, Octavia could not help but marvel at the beauty of her girlfriend - the woman she loved, and the woman, who - miraculously! - loved her.

Slowly, Vinyl came to the edge of the plateau and took a step forth. “Eep!” The spinner disappeared beneath the water surface for a moment, only to reappear a moment later, shivering, goosebumps covering her naked body. “It’s cold!”

Wordlessly, Octavia motioned for Vinyl to swim up to her. Wordlessly, Vinyl swam. Wordlessly, the two women spinned around each other. Wordlessly, both stopped on an underwater boulder. Wordlessly, Vinyl leant in. Wordlessly, Octavia met her lips with hers.

The two women engaged in a heated make-out session, twisting tongues, Vinyl moaning unrestrictedly at Octavia gaining domination. Octavia’s hands made their way under the water, sliding from the back of Vinyl’s neck to the spinner’s spine, traversing her back, exploring the cheeks of her ass, stroking, rubbing, squeezing.

Vinyl, in turn, drunk on love, on the air itself, forgot all shyness, all nature, all criteria, and squeezed Octavia’s small breasts, pressing the woman against her, embracing her, sliding her fingers down her back to her ass and back to the neck, toying with her, playing her like an exquisite instrument.

Octavia lingered every time at Vinyl’s posterior, afraid, even in such an enraptured state, to cross some invisible boundary, trying to prevent her desires to take her will away. Instead, she intensified the movements of her tongue, compensating the impossibility of immediate sex.

Vinyl’s head spun into a daze. Her movements became slower, but more punctual, more accurate, more pointed. Oh my God. Her pussy ached with desire, her whole body trembling. Why should she restrict herself now? Why? This, here, this was the woman with whom she wanted to spend her whole life. The woman who loved her, knew her, understood her. The woman who would not betray her. The woman whom she could trust. Bracing herself, she slipped her hand against Octavia’s inner folds, rubbing at first, then allowing a finger inside.

Shocked, Octavia broke the kiss. Electric chills ran across her body. The pleasure was radiant - but the surprise! Vinyl! She! She! Finally! Octavia could not believe it: Vinyl made the first step! It was not accidental, it was- God! Yes! Angel Octavia reluctantly high-fived Devil Octavia.

“Octavia…” Vinyl whispered.

“Vinyl…” Don’t you dare apologise! If- if you apologise…

“Octavia,” Vinyl repeated. “I… I am ready.” The cellist almost cried with joy and relief. “I want to go back to the villa and make love to you on a soft, spacious bed.” Like I dreamed.

Octavia locked their lips in a kiss once more, grabbing the spinner by the waist with one hand and swimming towards the shore with the other. In a moment, both were out of the water, wrapping themselves in towels, not caring enough to dry, shaking with cold and excitement and deep arousal. Octavia gave her girlfriend a smile. “Let’s go make love on a soft, spacious bed, Vinyl.”

The two women had never run so fast in their lives.

***

Octavia pinned her girlfriend to the bed, their lips still locked in a kiss. The towels had been thrown away upon stepping inside the building, the floor was wet, and the evening was boasting cold, but the two musicians did not notice any, for their bodies were the very definition of hot.

Vinyl’s mind was reeling, even though they had not yet done something they hadn’t done before: the passionate kiss, the rubbing, the squeezing: it was all familiar territory. But it turned into an exciting, frightening terra incognita as soon as Vinyl realised that they were finally doing it.

A thought struck her as Octavia caressed her breasts, her lips now exploring the spinner’s neck, kissing, nibbling all about the tender skin. It… It may hurt… For a moment, she decided to silently endure, but then she realised that such expectation would only kill any pleasure. “Tavi…” the spinner managed between pants. “Will… it… hurt?”

Octavia halted her advances on Vinyl’s body, and the spinner almost cried in sorrow: was her cellist reconsidering the whole affair? Did her crybaby attitude kill the mood?

“Noooo,” Octavia cooed, brushing her lips against the spinner’s shoulder. Vinyl wanted to cry with relief: the woman had not stopped; she merely slowed down. “If someone knew enough about anatomy…” The cellist’s lips nibbled a sweet spot under Vinyl’s chin, eliciting a moan of desire from the spinner. “Then this someone would know…” Octavia brushed nose between Vinyl’s breasts, lingering, as if preparing for an attack. “That pain comes from loss of virginity…” Suddenly, the raven-haired woman launched at Vinyl’s breast, wrapping her lips around the nipple, sucking on it greedily. Vinyl’s eyes rolled back as she yelled something loud and possibly profane. “And I do not plan to introduce you to penetration…” Octavia’s attention shifted to the other nipple, which received a similar treatment and elicited a similar yell from Vinyl, perhaps a little louder and slightly more profane. “Tonight, that is.”

“Tavi!” Vinyl panted, feeling the cellist’s lips on her belly, her body stiffening and relaxing by the moment, and again, and again, like a crazy ride; her mind lost its ability to think straight, or concentrate on anything but pleasure delivered by Octavia. “P-please!” We’ve waited for so long! I need it!

“Please what?” Octavia mocked without cruelty, shifting down, caressing the inner side of the DJ’s thighs with her lips while her hands massaged the ripe breasts of the spinner.

“Please!” Vinyl screamed, nearly crying, afraid that, in toying with her, Octavia would abandon the whole attempt. “Please, Tavi!” she kept repeating, her gaze veiled, her breath quick, ragged, her body shining with sweat.

Torn between playing with her girlfriend, denying her release and making her beg, and granting Vinyl what she desperately wanted, Octavia decided on the latter. It’s our first time, after all. The hand that made its way to her aching pussy stopped, and was withdrawn to tend to Vinyl’s ass instead. I’ve had it many times. This time, it’s about Vinyl. With a content smile, Octavia pressed her lips against Vinyl’s pussy.

Vinyl’s world exploded. She had expected pleasure, gentle licks, soft rubbing; but she never expected such ferocious assault, such swiftness, such skill, such bliss! Octavia was kissing her right there, as if on the mouth; she was licking her pussy lips, she was rubbing her, she was massaging her ass and breasts - and all of it as the same time!

Vinyl’s back arched, her fingers digging into the covers, and her other hand keeping Octavia in place, grabbing the back of the cellist’s head, just to keep her there, to do anything to prolong the pleasure.  Octavia sank her teeth into the tender flesh of Vinyl’s pussy.

Vinyl’s world became bliss, and if this wasn’t Heaven on Earth, then there could be no other heaven. Her body convulsing, shivering, orgasmic waves drowning her, she let go of Octavia’s head and sank into the covers fully, her body heavy and demanding.

On top of her voice, Vinyl screamed Octavia’s name.

***

“No.”

Octavia laughed, rolling on the bed, warm and content, despite not getting a release of her own. Finally, at long last, they had had sex - had made love - and Vinyl screamed her name during orgasm! Was that not proof enough of deep, subconscious love and desire? And her face is so cute when she cums~ “Come on, Vinyl, sing it,” she pleaded again, eager to play around with her (visibly tired) lover. “It’s your song after all, as we’ve found out~”

Vinyl flushed fiercely in deep shame, closing her eyes. Unbelievable! “Tavi, NO!”

“Vinyl, love, it’s easy,” Octavia assured, kissing Vinyl’s naked shoulder. “You are singing the truth, after all…”

“Tavi!” Vinyl protested, unable to be irritated with the wonderful cellist who had gifted her with the most powerful orgasm in her life - and her first sex. “That’s just because it was my first time!” she began, hinting an improvement, but Octavia had already begun to sing:

I come too faaaast~

I come too faaaaast~

“Octavia!” Vinyl buried her face in the pillow, warm embarrassment commanding her body. Her cellist stopped the song, nibbling on the spinner’s ear slightly.

“Just kidding, dear.” Octavia placed her hand around Vinyl’s waist - a gesture that the spinner immediately reciprocated. “Just kidding.”

4. The Play

Vinyl Scratch woke up to the sound of Octavia snoozing in her armpit, beautifully naked, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, her mouth slightly open, her nose wheezing a tiny half-snore. Happy and content to be by her lover’s side (Lover!), all shame gone, feeling so tranquil, so at ease, lacking embarrassment, feeling so natural, the spinner connected her lips with Octavia’s, waking up the cellist by a gentle, breezy kiss.

Octavia murmured something in her wake, grasping with her lips at Vinyl’s tongue sleepily. The cellist opened her eyes slowly, the image of her naked lover materialising before her: the best sight to wake up to. Waking up, the woman rolled over, the spinner now beneath her, and proceeded with the kiss, delighted by such a wonderful opening to the morning.

Breaking the kiss, the two musicians just lay next to each other, naked and content, smiling at the ceiling. “Tavi,” Vinyl broke the silence finally, her fingers toying idly with Octavia’s long, dishevelled hair.

“Mhm?” Octavia purred back, cosing up next to her spinner.

“I… You, um.” Vinyl blushed slightly, trying to fight insecurity. “Yesterday, I mean. You, uh, you didn’t…” God, that’s awkward...

“I didn’t..? Oh!” The cellist understood. “That’s all right,” Octavia assured her DJ immediately. “I was just so focused on you.” The cellist tickled Vinyl’s breast. Mmm, it feels so good to finally be able to touch these boobs whenever I want. “There are still many-many orgasms for us in the future.” Octavia kissed Vinyl’s shoulder.

“I. I, um.” Vinyl shut her eyes and counted to ten, taking a deep breath. Come on already! She deserves it, and you know it! “I, uh, I want t-to… Um, that is…” Vinyl’s face flushed crimson. Octavia found herself amused by the cuteness to no end. “I want to return the favour!” the spinner blurted out, finally, hoping that the wording she had chosen would relay the message to her cellist.

Octavia blinked in decent surprise. Vinyl’s getting much bolder, she noted with satisfaction. And not losing her cute side in the slightest. “Well, my dear Vinyl…” Octavia shifted out of the bed, a devious idea in her mind. So glad I have taken you with me~ “Instead of you just returning the favour…” She searched through her package, taking out socks and underwear, much to Vinyl’s interest. A-ha! “I suggest you familiarise yourself with Sir Morning Glory.”

Vinyl blinked dumbly, staring at her girlfriend with equal parts of dismay and awe in her eyes. “It’s… Um.” She blinked again, snapping out of her self-induced sleepy morning trance. “It’s- You… You named your dildo.”

Octavia nodded, beaming. “He has been my faithful companion for years, and now I am ready to share him with you!”

Vinyl managed a smile. “Um, I, uh, I am really honoured…” Now this is awkward. “But… I mean. It’s purple,” she said, not knowing what else to say. Racist! Devil Vinyl claimed. Angel Vinyl silently took out a familiar stick in a weird reversal of roles.

“Isn’t it?” Octavia approached Vinyl, holding the purple toy in her hands. “Trust me, Vinyl,” she lowered her voice sensually. “It’ll only hurt for a moment, but then I’ll make sure that we both feel so good…” Vinyl gulped. “Come on, love,” Octavia begged. “You have to lose your virginity at one point or another… It’ll allow us to do so many things…” she sultred. “Besides, we’ll both be able to get our pleasure at the same time…”

Vinyl shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage, bracing herself. “I love you, Tavi,” she said finally, a smile appearing on her face, her fear evaporating as she took in the sight of the woman who loved her, the woman with whom she wanted to spend her life. The woman who would never hurt her. The woman she could trust. “And I trust you. Let’s do this.” The DJ smiled shyly, casting her glance about the room. It felt good to be here, undisturbed, sharing the pleasant segregation from the world with The One for you… “One thing.” Vinyl raised her finger, frowning. “I can’t make love to you while he’s watching…” The spinner pointed at Mister Tummers who was sitting on the bed, between the two pillows.

Octavia laughed. “Come on, Vinyl! He didn’t concern you yesterday~” Seeing Vinyl cross her arms, the cellist sighed. “All right. Mister Tummers will look away. Right, Mister Tummers?” She turned towards the bear, who did not show any sign of recognition whatsoever.

“Tavi,” Vinyl urged softly, but sternly. “I think Mister Tummers wants to leave.”

Octavia huffed. “No, he doesn’t.”

Vinyl narrowed her eyes. “Yes, he does.”

For a moment, the women held their gazes. Then, both broke into laughter. “Okay, okay,” Octavia agreed, putting Sir Morning Glory the dildo on the bed and taking Mister Tummers away to put him in a drawer. “Sorry, Mister Tummers,” she whispered to the serene bear. “I’ll tell you how good it was later,” she promised, closing the drawer away. “Now.” She turned back to Vinyl, who was already trembling in excitement and anticipation. “Let’s get to bed and have those ten seconds of ecstasy~”

“TAVI!”

***

Neon put down his mobile phone with a sigh. The angry sky menaced with something like rain, and the clock boasted two. The man flicked open the pack of cigarettes, only to find out he was short of any. The walls of the room shimmered a dusty grey, reflecting the meagre light cutting through the window. Neon glanced at the phone once more.

Madeline came in, humming, tiptoeing all about. Neon took a good look at her. Was this the woman he’d proposed to? The woman he was ready to tie himself to? The woman to whom he was ready to pledge allegiance? No! How? This can’t be true. See, here, this was, what?, despair? desperation? He needed someone to cling to, he was afraid of losing Vinyl, and needed a safe haven, a stepping stone. Isn’t it? Run, run while it’s not too late!

The woman leant in to peck his smoke-stained lips. Had he expected her to refuse? Was it - the joke goes - “I really thought she’d refuse, Ben!” - she didn’t. She didn’t. Oh, by God, what a mistake he’d made, a simple, silly bride’s mistake! And it can’t, won’t, can’t, cannot be rectified.

The man returned the gesture. He’s like that book, right here: where is the Jeeves to his Wooster, to free him, to show him the right way, to deliver him, to bring him back his bachelor’s freedom? Away, by the sea, with the woman who’s snapped her away from him! The woman his Jeeves was in love with… That’s not just breach of trust. That’s breach of love.

“What are you reading?” Madeline wondered, scuffing over the paperback Neon’d been reading. It’s always paperbacks, see; there’s only so many hardcovers, and soon even first editions will be paperback only; perhaps, perhaps. There’ll still be all those anniversary editions and what-not; perhaps, perhaps. With the e-reading and book production moving to China, Latvia, etc etc: what hope there is for literature?

“Aww, Winnie-the-Pooh!” The woman exclaimed, hugging her man. “That’s so sweet!”

Neon hugged back emotionlessly. “Sometimes, when the world is too dark, children’s literature can be of some solace.” And- Great. Now I’m speaking like an eloquent fucktard. Is that even a word?

“What’s wrong, honey?” she enquired. Casting a brief glance at the phone, she came to a conclusion: “Vinyl? Is she out of reach?”

“I don’t know where she is,” Neon explained. “Octavia snarked at me, saying she’d be taking Vinyl somewhere… on vacation, I guess?” Up he went and sharked his feet about. “I don’t remember the exact wording of hers.”

“But you said it yourself,” she soothed, “that Vinyl’s fine and safe with her.”

Neon nodded, casting a solemn look at the empty pack of cigarettes. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “I need to buy cigarettes.”

She tsked at his habit but nodded with reluctance. “And when you return, we’ll be looking for a venue for our wedding,” she concluded with warmness.

“Sure thing, honey.” Neon kissed the woman dryly and went out slowly, his light coat tugging at him fiercely. Distantly, he heard the sea roaring. What is it? What was it again? What are you whispering to me with your conch shells? Usurper. That’s right, from what? The Telemachiad, he called it, in a skilful attempt at word-sorcery? Usurper. Sounds about right. Was he the Telemach, then? Ha. No, no.

In stylish rags and money to blow, and freedom to give away - for marriage, et alias, he was as far from Telemach, as from Daedalus, as possible. What he was is Scaramouche. Neon smirked. He smirked. And smirked again, directing his feet to the Temple.

Time to do the fandango.

***

“I have to admit,” Octavia said, stretching in bed, her body sore to no extent. “I did not expect that.” Vinyl smiled bashfully, averting her eyes as she lay next to her sweaty lover. “I mean… Wow. Just wow.” Vinyl shrugged shyly. “You totally compensate your fast-coming with such… endurance.”

Vinyl averted her eyes, her body heating up in the wake of being praised by her more experienced girlfriend. “I… I guess I’m just pretty tired,” she mumbled, feeling the warmth of her cellist, the sound of her breathing, her intoxicating smell, all evoke deep passion, unspeakable boldness, erotic determination within her.

“Tired?!” Octavia exclaimed, trying to catch her breath. “Vinyl, you made me come four times! In rapid succession!” The cellist rolled to the side, locking her eyes with the DJ’s. “You are not only the most beautiful, most passionate, cutest, all-around best woman I’ve ever met…” The cellist nuzzled in at the spinner’s neck. “You are a sex machine! Who would ever have thought?” she said, more to herself, in deep awe of her lover.

“Um,” Vinyl replied, unsure what to say, Octavia’s praise turning her on more than any porn flick.

“You,” Octavia said, pointing her finger at the DJ’s chest, “are the only person in the world I’ll ever have sex with, ever again.” With a sigh, she admitted, “I’ll even give up my dream of a threesome.” Vinyl mumbled something incoherent. “What was that, love?” she wondered, nibbling at Vinyl’s ear playfully.

Devil Vinyl kept tugging at Vinyl’s shoulder: Come on come on come on! Impress her! The spinner glanced at the other shoulder. Angel Vinyl shrugged. Impress her… gently? she suggested. “Um, maybe, um, that is…” Vinyl took a breath, counting to six. “Maybe you needn’t give up on that dream, Tavi,” she blurted out in one go, breathing heavily and blushing her way into oblivion.

Octavia’s mouth fell agape. “What.”

“I mean, um, since we’re not, uh, married or anything, and, um, if there was, erm, a decent girl…” Vinyl began uncertainly. “I mean, that is, we’re still dating, and we love each other, but, um, since it’s your dream and all…”

Octavia’s eye twitched. “Vinyl Scratch,” she said seriously. “You don’t stop surprising me.” The woman smiled. “I like it so much.”

Without further words, Vinyl rolled herself on top of the raven-haired woman, locking their lips in a kiss, unleashing years of sexual deprivation upon her lover. Breaking the kiss for a moment, she smiled goofily. “And it seems I’m no longer tired.”

***

What’s that? Bottle number one, glass number four. Is it?

Neon winced at heat as he drank the brandy, the thick smoke collecting inside the room. Regulations, psh. I can smoke in my own office. Fuck the ban, I’ll pay the fine. Fire me, Dad. Go ahead and try. It’s my office now, and I’ll hold it. Just for this one day.

With a sense of delight and urgency, he took off the clock with his bandaged hand - it cried with six already - and smashed it against the wall pleasantly. There was a knock. He didn’t answer. The door was locked.

Another glass, another cigarette. Just like that. Neon stood up, gazing at the chair beneath him. Here, I have sat in the Chair of Kings. Here, I drank my wine. Here, my being on top. Wordlessly, he took up the chair and smashed, smashed, smashed it repeatedly against the table, taking pleasure in the dents it left in the redwood, shielding his eyes against the wooden debris. There. All better now. This composition is somewhat simplified, don’t you think, Dad? It lacks percussion. Here, let me give it percussion.

Slam goes the paper stand. Ah, that’s the kick drum, Dad, it gets better. Bang bang bang the pens against the wall. The drumsticks are toyious, Dad, see; a good drummer knows how to use them now. Now. Another glass, another cigarette.

Wham! with effort - goes the shelf. Oh, Dad, sorry, that’s your records there, right? Riiiight. Didn’t see those. Here. Lemme fix them. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. All better now. See how I improved your office? Now, now aren’t you just so damn proud of me? Another glass, another cigarette. Where did the bottle go so fast?

Shaking, Neon approached the still-shattered remains of the photograph. “There you go, Dad,” he said lowly. “We’re quits.” He struggled towards the desk and put up the phone. Surprisingly, it still worked. “Send in the cleaners,” he barked. “Yes, in the office. Yes, fuck it, it’s my goddamn office, send in the fucking cleaners. No, not now, you idiots. In an hour. I need to make a call.”

With a deep sense of achievement, he looked over the mess. Feels a little something like Apocalypse, Dad, isn’t it? Heh. You liked it most. Finally, he took up the phone again and dialed the familiar number.

“Freddie?” He smiled. “Remember when you said you wanted a recording label of your own?”

And lit goes the final cigarette. “Well, rejoice. It’s yours.”

5. The Plan

“What in the actual world of fuck, Neon?”

Nigel Staccato lifted his gaze up from the table, the beer mug firm in his hand. “Glad to see you’re happy to see me, Freddie,” he mocked emotionlessly, with a degree of depressing, dismissive carelessness that made Frederic freeze up with the insults and sit next to his friend at the bar counter.

“Okay, spill it out, buddy. I am enjoying my dinner, you drunk-call me and offer me your label, I tell you to fuck yourself, you obviously don’t, you sleep it off and now you are still asking me to meet you at the bar, at ten in the morning. And it’s your third beer.” Frederic took a breath, motioning for the bartender, a sad man of tint (Indian, some sort of, most possibly: Hindu, if merely a bartender; or maybe a rich Parsi running a bar? But then again, does Allah not forbid Muslims to drink alcohol? Will I offend him if I do? Why do I give a damn? it’s a bar), whose lifeless eyes dulled away at Neon’s beer that needed refilling. “So I repeat myself. What in the actual world of fuck, Neon?”

“I am offering you a label.” The sad man of tint filled Neon’s mug and slid a full one without asking towards Frederic, who accepted it gladly, if reluctantly. Ah, hell, it’s ten already, for fuck’s sake. “You want a label. Do the math.”

“My math sense,” Frederic observed, sipping the sour, disgusting beer, “is telling me that you are seriously fucked up in the head. Why in the holy world of living fuck did you suddenly decide to sell off your - and, mind it, Pon-3’s - label?”

“Do you want it or not?” Neon continued carelessly, foam on his lips.

Frederic sighed and rubbed his nose. “Okay. Listen. I know something’s wrong.” The beer swished in the glass dumbly. “Something’s amiss. So here: either you tell me what’s up - and if you answer ‘mah dick’ I’ll strangle you with rusty wire - or we keep playing mum-mum, and get wasted, and go to a brothel.” Frederic sipped his beer. “While I’m heavily leaning into the latter, I’m giving you ten secs to explain yourself as a gesture of good-will.” God, the beer is so disgusting…

“No brothels for married men,” Neon dropped grimly. “I’m getting married, Freddie.”

Frederic nodded slowly, the beer swishing and swishing in irritation. “Heh. I thought I’d beat you to that.” Wordlessly, he placed his hand on Neon’s shoulder. “That’s… pretty good, I guess. A sign of maturity and what-not.” Neon shrugged. “I mean, instead of fucking around, you get to earn for a household and bring up kids and what-not.” Neon winced. “Yeah. Can’t say I’m envious, but… you kinda are the one to blame, aren’t you?”

“When I proposed,” Neon said, “I wasn’t really sure what I was doing. I mean.” Gulp gulp. “Vinyl ran off with Octavia to God-knows-where,” gulp gulp gulp, “and I really needed that, I thought,” gulp gulp gulp, “I proposed to Madeline and she said yes and I am getting hitched and my sister is somewhere else with her lover and I am selling the label.” Gulp. Gulp. “Clear?”

“Not really. I get the Vinyl part, but I can assure you that, with Octavia-” Neon waved his hand in the air with a sour wince. “Yeah, not really my business. What I mean is, what with you getting married and all,” Frederic urged, “wouldn’t it be better for you to have a steady source of income?” He gestured. “I mean, I don’t know if they teach you Catholic folks that-”

“I’m an atheist,” Neon countered sharply.

“An Italian atheist,” Frederic marvelled. “Now that’s something. What I mean is, with family comes, you know, responsibility, and you gotta have kids eventually…”

Neon sighed. “Freddie, it’s not about the kids. Maddie works. I have a retching fat bank account. We may not even have kids at all. It’s not the sixties, for hellsake.” Gullgulp.

Frederic sighed. “I miss the sixties.” He elaborated: “All the booze and smoking you can want, and rock’n’roll’s just starting out. Few cars, no traffic jams, and wealthy white men held all the power.” Bitterly, he finished off his beer.

“You weren’t even born in the sixties,” Neon remarked.

Frederic nodded. “That’s the whole point. So. Why are you selling the label again?”

Neon groaned. “I am not selling it. I am giving it away.” An uneasy, fly-flying, bartender-sharking, breath-inhaling, dust-whispering minute passed. “I can’t always live in the shadow of my dad. It’s time I moved on. Now is the time to move on.”

Frederic nodded very slowly, knowing not to disturb the aching bonematter. “What about your sister?”

Neon took a breath. “She has to move on, too. Whether she wants to or not. Hope Octavia… Hope Octavia doesn’t break her down. Hope she helps, because God knows-”

“She will,” Frederic assured. “Neon, she’s… She will help.” I hope. I hope I cured her enough to teach her to cure others.

“Freddie, she’s… Remember when I told you about our dad? He was one nasty fucktard. Vinyl’s messed up in the head, pretty badly.”

Huh. That’s totally a word. “Neon, listen. I don’t know if you know - you probably don’t - but Octavia’s father did… some pretty bad things to her.”

“He had her raped,” Neon said simply.

Frederic paused for a moment, then nodded. “She was very broken. Then I came along, helped her get on with her life. And so she will do to Vinyl.”

Neon looked at his friend hopefully. “Will she?”

Frederic smiled a little smile. “I’m a good teacher. What’s up with the label? Okay, I get it. Building bridges, burning bridges, okay. I get it.” The man nodded to himself. “Why not sell it? Why give it away, and to me, at that?”

“Because you are my friend.” Neon looked into Frederic’s eyes with visible respect and admiration and deep, brotherly love.

Frederic scrutinised the gaze for a few moment, then burst out laughing. “Okay.” He wiped a tear off his eye. “That’s the sweetest load of bull I’ve ever got, but seriously, why?”

“I can’t sell off the company without Vinyl’s permission,” Neon admitted. Also, you’re my best friend.”

“Uhuh.” Frederic watched the tinted bartender take the empty mug away. “How do you plan to hand it over without you sister, genius?”

A devious smirk appeared on Neon’s face. “Easily.”

***

“Come on, Vinyl, one more time!”

“Tavi, I’m pretty tired…” Vinyl breathed heavily, sweat covering her whole body, her tongue rather numb, her fingers exhausted. The morning was an especially hot one - and how quickly had it grown well into the afternoon? Sure, she was as keen on setting records as her lover, but… “I really can’t, um. any more. For a while,” she added.

“Can’t what?” Octavia wondered deviously, her nose brushing its way past Vinyl’s neck and down to her breasts. Mmm, best boobs are best. “Can’t arch your back, coming all over the sheets, crying out my name in perfect pitch?” she wondered sulkily.

“Uuuuh.” Vinyl rolled over. “Tavi, you are very sexy, but I am exhausted. Really.”

“Come oooon, Vinyl,” the cellist urged. “You can’t spell success without sex.” Angel Octavia raised her finger and opened her mouth. Devil Octavia silently took out a shotgun.

“No, you can,” Vinyl protested idly.

“Yes, you can. No, you can’t. Grammar, Vinyl.” Octavia smirked mentally. Three, two, one-

“I mean, sure.” Vinyl blushed. “No, you can’t.” Wait a minute…

“See?” Octavia jingled with laughter. “All right, Vinyl, what do you want to do?”

“Um.” Vinyl paused, collecting her thoughts. “I thought, um, maybe I ought to get on with my fanfic.” Now this. Is. Awkward.

Octavia managed to suppress a giant grin that was well on its way to her lips. My little nerdie~ “You are writing a fanfic? On what?” Please let it not be ponies or something equally nerdy… Or rather, let it be ponies. Or something equally nerdy~

“Um, there’s this cartoon, uh, and there’s a vampire girl, erm, and there’s a princess-” Vinyl began, reddening by the moment.

“Okay, okay,” Octavia interrupted her with a smile. “I get it. That’s your personal obsession.” Vinyl nodded. “Like latex.”

Vinyl’s mouth fell slightly agape, trying to conjure up some words.

“Don’t worry,” Octavia promised solemnly. “I don’t have a latex suit with me.” Vinyl let out a breath. “Only gloves and underwear.” … … … “Dear?” Blink. Blink. “Damn! Vinyl!” Sigh. “Who would’ve thought that, out of all times, she would faint now?”

***

“So, basically.” Frederic furrowed his brow, drumming his fingers against the bar counter. The three morning beers - when did the morning grow into afternoon so quickly? - did not exactly contribute to better understanding. “You’re planning a hostile takeover. Over your own firm.”

Neon shrugged. “Something like that.”

Frederic rubbed his forehead deeply. “Okay. So. Again. You’re making me a senior partner, because, according to the bylaws, each senior partner can name a senior partner each year. Then what?”

“Then,” Neon explained again, patiently, “I call for a partner’s meeting. Since Vinyl is AWOL, this will be the two of us. We vote on a new managing partner. You. Two votes for you. A simple majority. Hooray, you are the new managing partner.”

Frederic shook his head violently. “It’s insane.” He looked at his friend. “What about the quorum?”

“The quorum is two partners. I made these bylaws for Vinyl and me. We are the only two partners now. You become a partner. Three senior partners. We hold a meeting. We both vote for a new managing partner. You. Two out of three votes. Hip-hip, Freddie the Managing Partner.”

Frederic rubbing his forehead again, feeling the oppressive heat of the bar wildly. “Okay. I become a managing partner. But Vinyl is still a senior partner. What’s stopping her from naming Octavia another senior partner, holding a meeting and naming her Managing Partner?” Insanity, insanity at its finest.

Neon smirked. “Did you miss the part where I mentioned I made all these bylaws? ‘All of the aforementioned statements and rules apply so long as the firm bears the family name of Immanuel Staccato, the founder’,” he quoted. “All you have to do is rename the firm.”

“Okay, okay.” Frederic shut his eyes. “I rename it, but then… Then none of the ‘aforementioned statements’ will apply, and I’ll have to… pretty much rewrite everything and re-hire all personnel, and re-rent the space. It’s gonna be shitloads of work, Neon. People might lose jobs. One hell of a chaos,” he warned, his mind analysing the risks.

Neon grinned, wildly, evilly, making Frederic stagger back in his seat a little. “Frankly, Freddie…”

Frederic saw it in his eyes: wild, unrelentlessly mad fires dancing around his pupils. The heat emanated by his grin. Madness dancing on a brink.

Neon finished off the beer. “Do I look like a give a damn?”

6. The Disco

“Phew, didn’t think it’d be so hot.”

Vinyl nodded, taking a careful look in the mirror. In silent contemplation, the spinner rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Okay. I can - technically - put it on. So I can take it off when it gets too hot and pretend it got cooler. Devil Vinyl nodded: At least by twenty degrees. Angel Vinyl groaned in exasperation: That doesn’t make any sense!

One way or another, the DJ decided to put on white shirt on top of the blue T-shirt she’d decided to wear, which - at least, as told by a very intrigued and salivating Octavia - accentuated her breasts very finely. Instead of jeans, she settled on white linen trousers, to match her shirt. Since it’s a disco, there’ll be dancing. Since there’ll be dancing, I have to wear comfortable trousers, she concluded philosophically.

“Mmm…” Vinyl felt Octavia’s chin on her shoulder suddenly, pressing into her, her rosy breath caressing the spinner’s heated cheek. “Or, maybe, it’s just you that’s hot~” The cellist kissed her DJ’s neck, nibbling on the tender skin, knowing very well it was one of Vinyl’s most sensitive spots.

“Uuuuuh,” Vinyl moaned, turning swiftly to face her love, only to freeze, astonished, at the beauty that unveiled before her. Octavia was wearing the usual shirt, the collar stiff high, the usual pink bow tie (one of the many) on it, an interesting blend of a tux with a tailcoat on top, grey, with a dark grey strip at the waist and similar strips beneath the brass buttons which seemed to serve a severely decorative role; and the grey trousers. Vinyl noted, with a breathless feeling of beauty, that Octavia’s hair had grown even longer, the jet-black gem of waist-length, the main source of the blush that was adorning the spinner’s face (and other regions) now. “You… You are very… Very. Very very.” Pausing, she added, “Um. Very very. Very. Verily.”

Octavia jingled with laughter - the most pleasant sound in the world to the spinner - and, boldly, leant in, not quite for a kiss yet. “Your eloquence is telling me that you really want to fuck me right now. Don’t you?” Octavia wondered in such an innocent tone, which was such a great contrast to her words. To finish the impression, she put the tip of her index finger in her mouth.

Vinyl was on the verge of fainting. Angel Vinyl had fainted a few minutes ago. Devil Vinyl rummaged excitedly through the Drawers of Hell to find a latex suit to put Angel Vinyl in. “I.. I want to…” Oh God, I can’t really say that, can I? “I want t-to… f-f… fff… sex you,” she said finally, rosing thickly. “Very very much,” she added hastily. “I want to sex you a lot.”

Octavia just gazed at her lover with passion, trust, and acceptance. “Vinyl, you are irresistible,” she said finally, and, with that, grabbed the spinner by the shirt and leant in boldly, taking the shades off her DJ’s face, revealing a pleasant-tinted blush on Vinyl’s cheeks that matched her red earrings - something the DJ did not wear often, but decided to put on as soon as Octavia had told her about the disco in the seaside town of Budva where they were going tonight, as “friends”, lest their fun be interrupted by some unpleasantry or the other.

Octavia did not see Vinyl’s widened eyes, her brows, her blush, her surprise, as her own eyes were shut, revelling in bliss from the kiss, the fingers of her right hand clasping Vinyl’s shirt, keeping the spinner close - even though Vinyl had no intention of breaking the kiss - her left hand holding the purple-lensed shades. Hectically, as if breaking the spell, Vinyl tried to begin undressing, both herself and Octavia, starting off with the cufflinks, which came off with a tingle, revealing Octavia’s wrists.

The cellist still did not break the kiss, helping her spinner take off her shirt; but then a better idea dawned on her, and she withdrew her lips. Smiling deviously, she bent down, stepping down to her hands and knees, much  to Vinyl’s amusement, without undressing at all. With her nose, she began pushing at Vinyl’s belly button, raising the T-shirt up until it lingered fine under Vinyl’s gorgeous breasts, the spinner’s nipples showing through the soaked-with-sweat fabric, her mouth open in arousal. Never before had the DJ imagined having sex with her girlfriend right in the hall, not even taking off the clothes. It seemed so… dirty. So sexy. So infatuating.

Meanwhile, Octavia grabbed Vinyl’s zipper with her teeth, unzipping her trousers with a purr, and bit the fabric, making way to reveal the delicious front, the back of the trousers still on Vinyl’s ass, with the DJ pushed into a cupboard, her posterior pressed against it, Octavia’s tongue finally getting down to the prize at once, her eyes closed, but the image of her panting DJ vivid before her eyelids.

Vinyl screamed.

***

The two women made their way through the late-evening street of the town, Vinyl’s eyes lingering on the closed stores and cafes, and, by contrast, on the crowds of young men and women, laughing, walking, smoking, eating ice-cream - everywhere.

“Budva is the main tourist attraction for young people,” Octavia explained as she led Vinyl to the left, up to the roaring seaside, the empty beach, the fishermen’s stands, now vacant, and the dozens of restaurants that lined up the line. “To the right there’s the Old City, with all the shops; further there is the Avala, a hotel for rich, spoilt kids from Italy and Russia; up there’s Porto, my favourite restaurant. It’s closed already,” she added sadly, wrapping up the impromptu tour about town.

Vinyl nodded slowly. “You’re so smart…” And also made me change my pants tonight. Twice. Uh. “I think the taxi driver was weirded out by how differently we’re dressed,” she dropped, just to keep the friendly (“just-friendly”) conversation alive. Feels awkward.

Octavia chimed with laughter, leading Vinyl up to a small club at the corner of the beach and the road that led up to the estates, further into town. “Believe me, Vinyl, Vlado has seen all kind of people out there. He’s not weirded out by anything.”

Finally, the women entered the club. The place wasn’t big, and it was filled with young people. To Vinyl’s surprise, there was no bouncer; no security of any kind. Then again, the people here behaved differently than in the clubs she’d been used to: all the youngsters were dancing, some of them were drinking; most were smoking, despite the No Smoking signs; everyone was laughing, and it seemed more like a huge party for chosen friends than a gathering of strangers. In a way, it was more… homely. More decent. These weren’t trance-addled, drugs-fucked-up youths from Manhattan clubs; these weren’t making-out, sex-against-the-wall-having Berliners; these weren’t drunken, chanting, jumping Moscovites who felt it their duty to share their food and drink with everyone who didn’t want it; these weren’t insanely-dressed, strangers-kissing, butt-touching Londoners; these were just laughing, dancing, happy people. Vinyl smiled, looking about.

“So. How about a drink?” Octavia suggested, much to the widening of Vinyl’s eyes. “Juice, Vinyl. Apple Juice. Jesus.” Vinyl blushed thickly. “Is something wrong, lo- Is something wrong?” she corrected herself, staying in touch with the local morals.

“It’s just that, um, it’s weird to come to a club and not have all eyes on me,” Vinyl explained. Octavia raised her brow. “What I mean is,” the spinner corrected herself, “When I come to a club, usually everyone’s all like, ‘Wow, it’s DJ Pon-3!’, and here, um, nobody knows me…”

“Isn’t it nice to be anonymous for an evening?” Octavia smiled. “Just have your fun without being recognised?”

Vinyl smiled back and nodded. “I guess.”

Octavia placed her hand on Vinyl’s shoulder. “Let me get the juice.”

***

It did not get cooler in the wake of Vinyl taking off her shirt. Her torso was soaking with sweat, and the shy spinner was wary and cautious of stares she was catching from both male and female attendees. The party at the Tropicana was better than the three discos they’d been to before - if only because this one did not end at one in the morning - but here, the audience, was somewhat more… European. There were the same Russians, Serbs, and Italians, but, while there were no make-out sessions, the public was somewhat less.. restrictive of themselves. Notably, there were a number of wild-dancing girls that Vinyl wouldn’t mind undressing and inspecting their breasts. For purely scientific reasons.

Then, maybe, Octavia can join in and we’ll both inspect the boobies. Scientifically. Vinyl smiled to herself, observing, with disinterest, a group of young men chatting among themselves loudly in what seemed to the spinner like Serbian and pointing their fingers at her from time to time. Boys will be boys, Vinyl concluded peacefully. They see a pretty girl and their brains resurface to their crotch. Thanks God I don’t have a penis.

Finally, one of the men, smiling boldly, left his group and came up to Vinyl, speaking quickly and heatedly in a Slavic language. Eww, Vinyl observed, trying to put on a polite expression for the unfortunate jock. Sorry, buddy, you are seriously lacking in the boob department for me. “I don’t speak Serbian,” Vinyl explained.

The man did not seem to have become disheartened by that remark, and started gesticulating in an obvious manner that depicted sexual intercourse in positions unknown to Vinyl that, frankly, would have been off better remaining unbeknownst to her. The spinner could not help a wince. “Sorry, not interested,” she dropped, turning towards the direction from which Octavia was hurrying with two glasses of juice.

Suddenly, she felt a harsh tug at her hand, then at her arm. The jock was holding her, grasping the arm violently, her skin reddening immediately. Vinyl screamed instinctively and tried to free herself to no avail. ”Let me go!” she yelled.

Octavia dropped the glasses, rushing to her lover’s aid, pushing the jock away with unyielding force, yelling the thickest Russian obscenities she knew; which seemed to be universal, for the Serb understood those pretty well and started countering off with threats of his own, lingering dangerously close.

“Tavi, what does he want?” Vinyl demanded, flustered, a little angry, very scared. The music dimmed and the light simmered down, and the people started to gather round, some conversing in a language unknown to her, some men trying to step up to the offending stranger and probably show him a thing or two about etiquette and proper treatment of a lady. Or not. Conservative villagers, Tavi said. Who knows?

“I’ll tell you what he wants later,” Octavia hissed, still glaring daggers at the unpleasant jock, who took a very brief offensive stance, only to be pushed away slightly by a tall, skinny man in a creme suit, who whispered to him a few phrases in Serbian. The jock began to gesticulate, crying out angrily, pushing the suited man away.

Quietly, with effort, Octavia began to translate, “This guy tells him not to- Oh. The j- Well, he asks if he wants to take it outside, and the guy-”

“The jock?” Vinyl interrupted, utterly lost, ashamed of her ignorance of Slavic languages.

“No, the guy in the suit. He says something like-” Octavia winced. “He says he’ll sue him for sexual assault, and the jock says they’re not in the EU, there’s no such law, and- Oh. Oh!”

Frowning deeply, spitting anger all about, the jock made his way to the exit briefly, shoving people all about the place. With a tiny smile, the Suit came up to the women. “Tavi, what did he-” Vinyl began.

“I told him,” the man said in perfect English, “that, even though we are not in the EU currently, he would be surprised to receive a summons from Croatia, which is, and where my law firm is located.” He laughed in a pleasant jingle. “It seems our sudden acquaintance is not in the mood for lawsuits.”

“Thank you so much,” Vinyl said, letting him lead her, and Octavia, outside. There was no sight of Jerky Jock, who seemed to have taken off in his car or a taxi. “You practically saved us.”

“Thanks,” Octavia agreed, all be it in a milder way. “My name’s Octavia Philarmonica. Here’s my g- friend, Vinyl Scratch.”

“Philarmonica?” The man smiled widely. “Now this is a familiar name.”

“Why?” Octavia wondered with as much politeness in her tone as she could muster. “Forgive me, but you don’t look familiar to me.”

“Maybe not,” the man admitted, not dropping his wide, radiant smile. “I guess not.”

“What was your name again?” Octavia asked cautiously - maybe a little too cautiously. One can never be too cautious with acquaintances one doesn’t know.

The man took a small bow. “Antonio Pantomino, at your service.”

7. Diversity

“Aaaand that’s it.”

Frederic signed the last paper and placed the Parker on the table with a sigh, letting the secretary, a pretty blonde with short-cut hair, gather the papers and the pen and wiggle her ass away, out of the conference room. “Aww, I thought she’d let me keep the pen.” He turned towards Neon, who sat with an indecipherable expression at the head of the table. “But your secretary’s hot, I have to admit.” Frederic smiled with certain encouragement.

“She’s not a secretary,” Neon said emotionlessly, staring at the far-off wall where Immanuel Staccato looked proudly and sternly over the spacious conference room, with a window-wall staring out at the city. “Her name’s Rachel. She’s a paralegal working on the deal.”

“You don’t keep a paralegal…” Frederic said slowly.

“You don’t,” Neon corrected, standing up. “The label’s yours now. She’s from R&T, the agency downstairs. The law firm.” Slowly, the man walked up to the portrait and took it off the wall, for the first time in many years. A ring of dust rounded the now-empty rectangle on the wall.

Frederic felt sudden, inappropriate unease in the air. His friendship with Neon had been more than bright, always; he knew there was positively nothing that could break the cheerful Italian down… but this. This, was weird. “I’m not really into her,” he said, trying to lighten the mood somehow. “I’m more into cowgirl-types.” Neon just kept staring at the portrait. Jesus Christ, Neon, you’re scaring me. “Did you know that Octavia has a twin sister who lives in Texas? My God, she’s hotter than the gates of hell.”

Neon walked slowly towards the window. Desperately, Frederic carried on: “When we were still dating, Octavia and I, we came to visit her. It’s like Octavia, only with bigger boobs and a nice shirt and a Stetson. I so tried to coax her into a threesome, but…” The man laughed artificially. “You know, sisters. Kinda forgot that. I mean, who wouldn’t, what with-”

Neon opened the tall window, easily man-high; immediately, Frederic knew it was a deep architectural flaw. Something could… fall out. Neon extended his hand and dropped the picture, the frame bouncing off comically, flying down the skyscraper’s length. In Neon’s eyes, there was calm, tranquil estimation. “He took my sister away from me.” Frederic tensed up terribly. Something’s wrong. Something’s amiss. Then it dawned on him: finally, all that hurt and pain had got to his friend. Neon, right here, was breaking down, and this was his Rubicon.

Slowly, Neon turned towards Frederic, his back to the gaping abyss of the open window carelessly. “And my sister took away my mother from me.” Frederic gulped, trying to stand up unnoticed, to be able to grasp the Staccato heir before he did something stupid. “And now your ex has taken my sister again.” From the inner pocket of his jacket, Neon took out a gun.

“Holy shit!” Frederic wanted to recoil, but only managed to freeze in place, his mind stuck in time. Is that how it happens? Shit. I’ve so much left to do! I have a- Well, I don’t have a- But I! I never tried anal sex yet! I can’t die now!

From the other inner pocket, Neon took a silencer and attached it steadily. “You know what a silencer is good for, Freddie?” he wondered in an I’ve-just-gone-mad voice.

“Neon, you have to relax.” Frederic gulped, his hands trembling, his gut about to throw up. You’re batshit crazy, Neon. Jesus. You, of all people! “Let’s just… have a walk.” To a clinic where I pay them your whole fucking label so they can cure the crazy out of you.

Neon smiled, gazing at the gun. “It silences.”

That’s it. Frederic shut his eyes tight. Dying like a Chicago executive in the sixties. Irony sucks. Mentally, he sent a prayer. Dad, sorry for eating your fries back then. Minutes passed, but there was never a shot. Slowly, Frederic opened his eyes. Neon was standing far away, by the open window, looking outside. The gun was lying on the table. Frederic grabbed it immediately, shoving it away. I’m alive! I’m alive! Now, Frederic knew how truly happy he was; how much his life was worth to him. Solemnly, he made a promise to himself to learn how to dance and finally study his home language, just so he could read Quo Vadis? in the original Polish.

“It’s a quote from a book I’ve read recently,” Neon said vaguely, the tips of his shoes glancing outside into the roaring nothingness beneath. “I’ve always wondered what the last book I’d read would be. It’s a fucking scary thought,” he added.

“Neon, buddy,” Frederic urged, standing up very slowly, so as not to make any noise. “Let’s just go for a walk in the park, huh?” He inched towards his friend cautiously, estimating the distance to make the grab. “How’s that sound?” Finally, he was close enough. He leapt towards Neon.

Neon jumped.

***

“Didn’t really know Francisc had a son.”

Octavia shook her head, sipping on the late-night wine in the little garden at their villa. The cellist blinked at such a thought. It’s not really our villa… she thought sadly. But we should totally buy it. If only Francisc just would sell it to us… Or maybe just give it to us. As an anniversary present. For a week of non-stop sex. A sexiversary.

Antonio wrapped his slender fingers around the tall wine glass, taking a sip with a smile. “Don’t think he knows either.” The quiet night carried his pleasant baritone across the garden.

Vinyl frowned deeply, not liking the joke in the slightest. “How do you mean?”

Octavia silently propped her head on her elbows.

“He doesn’t know he has a son,” Antonio explained simply. “Well, technically, he does. If he remembers. His wife isn’t my mother. When he was younger - way younger, that is…” He took a sip of his wine. “He had a, let’s say… an affair, with a beautiful Serbian woman who so happened to become pregnant with me thereafter. Of course,” the man concluded, “Francisc got married soon - he was actually engaged when he had this affair with my mother - so he didn’t want to hear a thing about having a son and…” He finished off the wine. “Well, that’s pretty much it. He doesn’t know who I am, and, frankly, I think he chose to forget he had a son altogether.”

Vinyl gasped, looking at her lover sadly. Octavia did not even flinch. Thus, she decided to take the soothing words in her own hands. Erm. Lips. “I’m very sorry, Antonio. It’s… bad.” She glanced at Octavia, who was still silent, her eyes fixed very firmly on the man’s face, as if she were trying to read him.

“It is what it is,” the young man countered. “I don’t blame him. My mom and I are well and well-off too. And Francisc… Everyone has done something bad. There aren’t any good people left nowadays.”

Vinyl frowned, receiving no support of protest from her girlfriend. “I don’t think it’s true. I don’t mean to boast but-”

“You aren’t particularly sinless either,” Antonio countered dully. “From what I can understand. Neither am I. Neither is anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Vinyl felt a sting of hurt. This fine gentleman, who’d saved her from a dangerous bully, was now saying such cynical things… “I don’t get it.”

“I think I got it,” Octavia said finally, leaning in slightly, looking straight into the man’s blue eyes. “You don’t really like gays, do you?” She turned to Vinyl. “He knows.” But how?

Antonio winced - but nodded. “I wouldn’t say I’m a homophobe.” He sipped a little more wine, visibly trying to find the most non-offensive words. “What I mean is…”

“Say what you mean,” Vinyl quickly supplied, in a confused mood. “I mean, um, you totally saved me back there with that guy, so, uh, I won’t really get offended.” Blinking at the equally confused stares both from Octavia and Antonio, she blushed thickly and returned to her pomegranate juice. “Um. Sorry for interrupting.”

“I don’t mind gays existing and having sex and living together and what-not,” Antonio explained, with a soft, yet by no means apologetic tone, in a voice of a man with a moral code. Or, at least, a solid opinion. “I did vote against same-sex marriage at the referendum. And the rest of Croatia seems to have agreed with me. You see, I’m a conservative man. I’m religious. I like tradition. I don’t mind gays,” he repeated, “but I do not believe in gay pride or equality of your unions and traditional unions. God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve,” he finished with a tiny smile.

Octavia chuckled very mildly. It’s easier for her, Vinyl concluded, because she’s not really gay. Vinyl felt something like sadness creeping inside; she really was grateful to Antonio - and she really did hope they could become friends. But, with an attitude like his, he won’t want to become our friend…

Antonio sighed, stretching a little. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call. Legal help, anything. I’ll be there. Now…” He stood up. “I get it that, with my view on your orientation, you don’t really want to see me around here, all be it my father’s villa.” The man chuckled a little and buttoned his jacket, turning round rather fashionably.

Octavia’s eyes lingered on the lower side of the man’s body. My. God. Dat ass. I need a piece of that quasihomophobic ass in my life, pronto. “Don’t say that,” she reasoned weakly. “We don’t think bad of you because of your opinion.” Vinyl nodded. “We all have opinions.” For one, I think we should have a threesome right now. Devil Octavia nodded: That’s my opinion, and I respect it. “It’s all right to have opinions. So long as you don’t think all gays should die, I’m all right with you.” Also, your ass scores some good points. When you see us in action, you’ll reconsider- Angel Octavia shut her ears, singing Lord’s Prayer over the tune of Joy to the World.

“Heh, usually the liberal part of the world takes great offence at my opinion and thinks I should burn at a stake. God bless Croatia and orthodox people.” Antonio lingered, his eyes scrutinising the two women. “Usually, it’s the straight people who are the most hating on behalf of gays. But you don’t seem like the guys who’d lead a gay parade through the street.” Antonio smiled warmly. “I think, if we both can accept our opinions, we can manage just fine.”

Yess! Octavia scored a point for Team Threesome. “Vinyl would sooner faint than appear at a gay club, not to mention a parade.”

Vinyl opened her mouth to protest, but when she realised that there was nothing to protest against but the truth - and that she was having trouble putting thoughts to words, instead mumbling something very quietly - the spinner closed her mouth and nodded briefly. This Antonio doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Weird but neat. She cast a glance at her lover, who seemed to approve of something in Antonio that she herself could not yet quite grasp. Must be his honesty. Or boldness. Or- Oh. Oh Jesus.

“I’ll see you around then.” With that, the man prepared to take his leave.

“Antonio!” Octavia called out. The man turned round. “Why are you helping us?”

The tall, slender, handsome man sighed and smiled the kind of smile that made Octavia melt and wish Vinyl appreciated the beauty of the penis variety. ‘Cause I love her so much that it’d be impossible to have sex without her now… “Octavia. Whatever I may think of my father; whatever you may think of your father; our fathers are friends. Close friends are family. At least that’s what they taught me in Church. Family always helps family.”

Octavia nodded, slowly, respectfully. I could bet a tenner on his being a capo. He is definitely a capo. No doubt here. The man left, closing the fence behind him. Uuh… Such an ass… If only Vinyl were bisexual too! Oh, all the secret butt fun we’d have!

Vinyl sighed, finishing off her pomegranate juice. What a weird guy. Hope we can still be friends after all. “Tavi,” she said suddenly. “Do you think your dad loved you after all?” Damn, I shouldn’t have asked this- I’m just a- UH!

Octavia smiled very slightly, pouring herself a new glass of wine. “I think he still does. What kind of dad would he be if he didn’t?”

Vinyl did not reply to that. Instead, she asked, “Do you think what Antonio said- do you think he meant it, family and helping and all?”

Octavia nodded. “Oh yes. I’m sure of it.” Also, dat a-

“You were thinking of having sex with him, weren’t you?”

Octavia did a very beautiful, by-the-book spittake on her wine. For a while, she just coughed, receiving a few vigorous pats on the back from her lover. “No!” she managed finally, looking into Vinyl’s eyes. “Okay, technically, yes. But I thought about us having sex with him. A threesome!” the cellist exclaimed cheerfully. Vinyl took a cautious look at her shoulder. As expected, Angel Vinyl was faint, held steadily by Devil Vinyl. How did these two get along? “Also, I was just considering the possibility of touching his ass,” Octavia confessed.

Vinyl raised her brow. “Isn’t my ass good enough?” she asked demandingly.

Octavia’s eyes widened. “No! I mean yes! I mean, your ass is the best!” Heatedly, Octavia leant in for a kiss.

Vinyl met her lips - but withdrew a little too soon. “Touch my ass,” she demanded, her eyes heated up, her breath intoxicating, her arms magnetic. “Right now.”

Octavia opened her mouth and closed it immediately. Such boldness - this degree of boldness - this tone, this posture, this look - this was all something she had hoped for but never truly expected from her timid lover. Without reluctance, she placed her palm on Vinyl’s ass cheek, squeezing it. With a smile, Vinyl placed her hand on top of her girlfriend’s, guiding it to-

Octavia jerked up, wide-eyed. “You. Me. Bedroom. Now.”

The moon stared with its unblinking gaze at the two women running through the garden and rolled on towards the peak of the soft summer night.

Part Four Marker

IV. SAVE ME

1. Interrupted Peace

They say sunrise in Montenegro is beautiful. In reality, sunrise in Montenegro is botched, unnatural, and too swift. Octavia had almost forgotten the way the sun began to crawl out from behind the mountains. It peeked out, giving the flat earth beneath a glimpse of its rays, quickly retrieving them as it rose. Then, in a moment, it was already high above, over the top of the mountain, not quite rising, not quite descending, but not in its zenith. It was just lazing there, like Octavia Philarmonica was lazing in the garden chair, her back to the villa - and to the rising sun.

Then she smiled as she saw what she had been waiting for, the very reason why she had come here, leaving Vinyl in bed in those wee hours of the morning: the not-so-distant sea lit up with specks of gold, and the roaring waves rushed to the rocky shore like a giant rainbow blanket and smashed against the rocks, creating the wonderful percussion which Octavia was so used to, and which reminded her of her childhood. The good parts of her childhood, that is.

A deep, chilly wind blew over from the sea, making Octavia shiver blissfully. Was this happiness? She looked up, gazing into the barely blue sky that she just-risen sun had lit. Angel Octavia came out yawning from her shoulder abode and nodded. Value every moment. Happiness is to be savoured. The cellist looked at the other shoulder, expecting Devil Octavia to say something along the lines of, Happiness never lasts, or, Reality is gonna crush you more when you’re happy - but the demon was asleep in her shoulder room.

Octavia shrugged and closed her eyes, savouring the moment. There was a time and place to philosophise, but this was not the time and definitely not the place. Everything was going fine - more than fine, actually: she was on a vacation with her beloved, and her beloved was cute and nerdy and sexy and wise (And damn good in bed, Octavia added mentally, much to the disapprovement of Angel Octavia, who had sat on the shoulder to enjoy the moment too), and they would soon return home, and they’ll get Neon’s blessing and live together and Frederic would come by, and they would work on the song… and why was there this terrible, unpleasant premonition haunting her?

It wasn’t as though there was something wrong. It wasn’t as though that she felt that something was, or was going to be, wrong. But there was this unpleasant itch in her soul, an itch that prevented her from enjoying herself fully and completely. When she was with Vinyl, the itch was not present; but now that she was alone with her thoughts, it intensified.

“Tavi?” came the meek voice of her girlfriend from the side, making Octavia open her eyes and divert her attention to the source of the voice: a beautiful, hair-dishevelled source, wearing Octavia’s shirt, which was baggy on her but barely covered her ass. The ass which Octavia didn’t wait to slap lightly. “Ouch! Tavi…” Vinyl blushed and looked away, stepping from foot to foot. “W-what are you doing?”

“I’m tapping dat ass,” Octavia said, dragging Vinyl by the T-shirt, almost making the woman stumble. “Did you take my shirt?” the cellist purred, grabbing Vinyl by the waist. The DJ eeped and landed on Octavia’s knees. Octavia felt unusual warmth on her knees. Wait a moment… The woman gasped. “Vinyl… Are you naked beneath the shirt?” Devil Octavia suddenly woke up and crawled out onto the shoulder, eyeing Vinyl very carefully.

“N-no!” Vinyl whispered loudly, looking around, as if anyone could see them. “I have, you know, beneath?” She made a somewhat dignified attempt to get up, but Octavia dragged her back in her lap.

“What do you have beneath the shirt, Vinyl?” The raven-haired woman leaned in and kissed Vinyl on the neck playfully, with a tiny bite. Vinyl actually moaned, making her seek help on her shoulders. Alas, both Angel Vinyl and Devil Vinyl were apparently still asleep. “Tell me, Vinyl~” Octavia teased, breathing hotly on her lover’s ear. “Tell me, what do you have under the shirt?”

Vinyl averted her eyes, trying to muster up the courage. Mornings didn’t exactly do wonders to her self-confidence, even though she had become more open and, well, bolder when she was around her lover. “P-panties.” She looked back at Octavia, catching her approving glance. “Um. I’m wearing my panties. Wh-which are… wet,” she said in a tiny voice, shutting her eyes. “B-because I’m with y-you, uh, babe?” Angel Vinyl, who had strangely emerged out of the divine bedroom accompanied by Devil Vinyl, winced. Was worth a try. Vinyl opened her eyes slightly. Um. Angels and devils can’t really?.. Devil Vinyl tsked and shook her head disapprovingly. Racist. Homophobic racist.

Octavia found it incredibly hard not to burst into laughter. She snickered and kissed the cute DJ on the lips breezily. “Vinyl, I can feel your panties. And they are dry. And,” she lifted her finger before Vinyl could say anything, “it would be gross if they were not. You’re sitting on my knees, after all.” Now, Octavia released her grip, allowing Vinyl to get up, but the blue-haired woman clung to her girlfriend instead, making Angel Octavia ‘aah’ and Devil Octavia ‘eww’. “Also, love?” Vinyl reddened at the form of addressing. “Never say the word ‘babe’. It sounds silly.”

“Okay,” Vinyl quickly agreed, making herself comfortable in Octavia’s lap. “You know, Tavi, it’s kinda weird that your T-shirt is so big. I mean,” she elaborated, placing her chin on the cellist’s shoulder, “You’re a bit chubby, granted, but-”

“You’re calling me fat?” Octavia’s brow lifted quizzically as the cellist feigned offence. Then her face brightened in mock-realisation. “Ah, you must be saying I’m fat. I understand now, dear. I understand.”

“No!” Vinyl blurted out, getting up from Octavia’s lap hurriedly. “No, you’re not-”

“Or,” Octavia put the tip of her index finger to her lips, “you must mean my ass is fat?” She smiled innocently, entirely content with how pink the dialogue was making her DJ. “You’re basically saying I have a fat ass.” The woman stood up and looked at her behind critically. “Ah yes, I see where that’s coming from.”

“N-no!” Vinyl backed down a little, stepping on the garden grass, feeling her bare feet brush against the dry, saturated ground. “Your ass is just, uh, it’s perfect!” Angel Vinyl nodded sagely. Indeed, it’s perfect. Devil Vinyl wrapped her arm around Angel Vinyl’s neck and kissed the angel on the cheek. Just like your ass, babe. Vinyl blinked.

“Or are you implying that I’m too heavy to top?” Octavia advanced on the trembling woman, licking her lips lustfully as she giggled inside her mind at how embarrassed she was making her girlfriend. “Maybe…” She stepped on the ground, the grass tickling her fingers through the flip-flops. “Just maybe…” Octavia grabbed Vinyl by the waist, dragging her into an embrace and leant over a little, her lips ever so close to Vinyl’s reddening ear. “...you would like to top next time we have sex?” Devil Octavia nodded eagerly, wiggling her brow at Angel Octavia, who pretended not to notice anything, reading a book titled Angels and Demons: Relationship Problems.

“No!” Vinyl exclaimed, almost falling down, but for Octavia’s arms holding her. “I-I mean, maybe?” Seeing the cellist’s surprised look, the DJ nearly collapsed in her embrace. “I mean, w-we could try, right?” Devil Vinyl glanced at Angel Vinyl: I second that suggestion. Next time, you top.

“Vinyl, you are so adorable.” Brushing her lips against Vinyl’s ear, Octavia slowly kissed her way to her woman’s lips and sealed them in a long, thoughtful kiss. “You do realise how much I want you right now?” she asked playfully, her hands sliding down the spinner’s back and grabbing the ripe, barely-shirt-covered ass.

“Tavi,” Vinyl rejected her girlfriend meekly, taking Octavia’s hands off her behind with a tiny smile. “I’m really not in the mood. Too sleepy. Too hungry.” Catching Octavia’s mischievous glance, the woman deadpanned. “No, Tavi. I am not ‘hungry’ for some of, uh, your ‘meat’. I just wanna have breakfast.”

Octavia raised her hand like a student always ready to reply to the teacher’s question. “Can I be the breakfast?” she volunteered with a grin. “Or dare I say… the dessert?”

“No,” Vinyl replied with surprising firmness, almost pushing the woman away as she stepped once more on the concrete garden path. “Maybe later. Sorry, Tavi, I’m really not in the mood.” Angel Vinyl nodded resolutely, while Devil Vinyl laughed and waved her hand in the air: Puh-leese. You’re always in the mood, you naughty naughty thing~

“All right…” Octavia replied with what seemed like solemnity. “I guess I’ll just go and rub myself off…” She pecked Vinyl on the nose. “To that naked picture of you I took last night.” Devil Octavia perked up, looking at Angel Octavia sultrily. Pics or didn’t happen.

“What?!” Vinyl exclaimed, backing down onto the grass-and-ground once again. Devil Vinyl prepared to exchange pictures with Devil Octavia. Vinyl found this bond very weird. “Y-you took a picture of me… naked?! While I was sleeping?” Somehow, the DJ didn’t feel offended, or, well, offended enough, but she tried to make her voice steely anyway. Naturally, it just came out weak and embarrassed.

“Just kidding, love.” Octavia put her hand on Vinyl’s cheek, chiming with laughter. “I haven’t used my phone since we came here. Which reminds me that I probably should charge it.” The cellist stroked the cheek a little with her thumb, feeling the soft texture of Vinyl’s skin, the most pleasant skin to ever touch her fingers.

“Can you make breakfast first?” Vinyl suggested with a smile, placing her hand on top of Octavia’s. “I’m a little hungry.” Devil Vinyl immediately put on a fedora: Good. Women should be in the kitchen. Angel Vinyl blinked in bafflement.

“Sure…” Octavia tickled Vinyl’s cheek, then put a pondering expression on her face. “Hmm… It will be hard, cooking with one hand, but I think I’ll manage.” Octavia beamed with a radiant smile that immediately made Vinyl a little weak in the knees.

“W-why would you be cooking with one hand, Tavi?” Vinyl wondered cautiously, kissing her girlfriend’s fingers with delight.

Octavia’s smile didn’t falter for one moment. “Well, one hand will be cooking, while the other hand will be in your panties~”

“TAVI!”

***

“Dammit, Octavia, don’t you ever pick up your phone?”

Frederic paused, phone in hand, anger boiling within him. No, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t irritation. It was fury. Painful, feral, igniting fury. But not blind fury, no. He knew the reason, and he was furious with everyone who played a part in this ridiculous carnival.

Meet Neon the protagonist, who, by trying to commit suicide, had not only scared the shit out of Freddie the Jester but also probably lost any hope of regaining his sanity. Now our hero was in a mental asylum, where he had been dutifully taken by the court jester Freddie, refusing to speak a word and just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. No attempts to communicate with him had been fruitful so far.

Meet Vinyl the protagonist’s sister. Once meeting something that scared her, something that could lead to serious considering and, probably, a serious talk with the aforementioned protagonist and her lover and maybe even the jester, she decided to take her lover and flee God knows where, leaving our hero disoriented and without a shoulder to lean on.

Meet Octavia the sister’s lover, who had taken the sister away from our batshit crazy hero, and who had never considered the hero’s emotions, or anybody else’s emotions, for that matter. Except, of course, for her own emotions and her own stance on things, and her own problems. Hooray for such a wise, thoughtful lover!

Meet Frederic the jester, who hadn’t seen signs of insanity early enough, who had played along with Neon’s crazy agenda, who hadn’t tried to be part of this whole thing, to stop Octavia from monopolising Vinyl, because he knew how important love and relationships were to her, oh yes he knew how fragile she was and thus how possessive… And he hadn’t done a damn thing!

Frederic really felt like hitting the wall, and the only thing stopping him was the fact that he was in the corridor of the mental facility, waiting on the doc’s visit, as the day prior. He took a few deep breaths, trying to visualise his fury, and comprise it to a dot, then banishing the dot out of his head. It didn’t work. Frederic looked around.

The walls were a soft, near-transparent pink, an awful colour that only existed so as not to leave hospital walls white or paint them that terrible shade of yellow. No patients were outside; but then again, why would they? This was a wing for dangerous patients. Those who had tried to hurt themselves or hurt others. Neon was classified as having hurt himself. But no doctor would know how much he had hurt another. The poor jester Freddie. Then again, those wings were a joke. They just put patients in free wards. “Rooms,” Frederic corrected himself mentally. They liked to call those wards rooms. Which didn’t change the fact that they closed on the outside.

Frederic looked at the door. The plain number stated “56”. He blinked, eyeing the handle. There was actually no lock. Had he been mistaken? Hard to say. Two days without sleep did not exactly contribute to a clear state of mind. Had it ever been so hard? His mind shifted through earlier, happier times. Dating Octavia. Trying to help her. Helping her overcome. Earlier. Studying music. Recognising, after all those years of labour and practice, the real meaning behind those evasive notes. Earlier. Side by side with his parents, clinging to his mother as she took him to church, his father in that ushanka of his, a wonderful, laughing Russian Pole, his cheeks red, steam escaping his hot, smiling mouth.

“Do you have a minute?”

The doctor was a plump, stately gentleman, with bald head and wise, thoughtful eyes. Frederic could never get used to black people around so he froze a little before reminding himself that now it was the other way round, he was more of a tourist here than this man, that this was different from his birthplace. “Of course, doctor.”

The shrink checked his glasses in an automatic gesture. Once more Frederic marvelled at how mundane our lives were. Get up. Brush your teeth. Have a coffee. Catch the bus. Automatic. Go back home. On the couch. Play the tunes. Drink some wine. Automatic. “We usually tell information regarding patients’ health only to family members…” The doctor looked over spectacles. “But, given the circumstances… ahem.”

Frederic just looked at him in expectation. Let him clear his throat. Just another automatic gesture. He isn’t nervous, no. He’s seen many patients in his day. But he was, once, a nervous medical student, an intern, unsure whether he had chosen wisely. Maybe neurosurgery was his calling, not psychiatry? Then he had his first patient. It was hard, and he was cautious. He consulted all the books, and tried different techniques. He controlled the patient’s medicine intake personally, calling him every evening to check. Then came more patients. Such tight control was no longer necessary or even possible, but he tried to do it anyway. Then he got his own medical practice and got a place in a hospital. Patients became faces to him. They became diagnoses. It was never Jim the Happy Puzzle Solver, it was That Autistic Guy. It was never Joan the Avid Reader, it was That White Chick with OCD. It was never Peter Who Made the Depressed Boy Happy With His Jokes, it was That Dangerous Schizophrenic We Better Keep Him Locked Up.

He just stopped caring. Like many of us do. Any job deforms you, makes you a fractured part of your former self. A lawyer stops believing in justice. A doctor fails to see the soul of the patient. An artist does not recognise morality or order any more. And notes stop being a magical train into the unknown. They become ordinary, plain telegraph spots between one paycheck and the next, between the previous symphony and the next you’re gonna add to your portfolio. Frederic sighed under his breath. Such thoughts were not making this any easier.

“We have checked Mr Staccato,” the doctor began, “and we can say that we haven’t found any neurological reasons for his silence. Apparently, the reasons are strictly…” The black man lowered his tone, explaining in a slow voice usually reserved for explaining things to students. “Strictly on a psychoemotional level. In short, your friend Nigel refuses to speak. Which, of course, is a direct effect of his suicide attempt and, ahem…” The doctor looked at Frederic knowingly over the glasses, adopting a confidential tone. “An indirect effect of his sudden marriage, and his sister… I didn’t quite get what is the problem with his sister. Since Mr Staccato does not wish to communicate, maybe you will enlighten me with your perspective on things?”

“Of course, doctor.” Frederic nodded slowly, readying himself for a talk. God. I wish I could just fall asleep and sleep for twelve hours… “Shall we talk here or-?”

“I need to sort some papers.” Of course. The perfect excuse. The doctor’s feet shifted, facing the direction of the corridor. He probably hadn’t even noticed that. “Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes. Then we can talk.”

“Of course, doc.” Frederic didn’t even shrug. Though, it would have been a nice, automatic gesture. He got up and watched the black doctor in his white gown disappear down grey tiles along pink walls. It could almost be a symphony. If this were music. Why do psychiatrists even wear those? Wouldn’t it be more natural for a doctor who works so closely with patients’ emotions and feelings to wear something cosy, something that wouldn’t scare the patients? Eh. “Patients”. Frederic chuckled as he opened the door to the “room”. Nowadays, shrinks called their patients ‘clients’ and the wards here were ‘rooms’. Which didn’t change the fact that patients remained patients and wards remained wards.

“Hi, Neon.” Frederic waved weakly at the man lying on the single bed on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was wearing a tracksuit, into which Frederic had helped him previously, which reminded the pianist oddly of his childhood. Even though Neon didn’t look Eastern European, he could pass for a Balkan man, what with his Italianity. “Hanging there, buddy?” Neon didn’t even look at him. Frederic sighed and eased into the armchair. The ward was indeed very cosy, albeit simply decorated: a single bed in the corner, a wardrobe, a desk with a chair, and an armchair. It looked like something between a cell and a hotel room. “You’d wish for a private bathroom, wouldn’t you?” Frederic laughed, looking at his longtime friend, who looked at him once: a long, thoughtful look - and smiled. “Ready to talk now?” the Pole asked hopefully, maintaining a decent edge in his voice, trying not to give himself false hope. Neon shrugged and shook his head. “Okay, buddy. I’m here for you, always.”

At least this amount of communication was nice. This was something. And he could roll with something, right? He could. He had helped Octavia. He could help Neon. He just had to try harder. Do better. Not fall asleep now. “Neon, I’ll leave you for a moment.” He got up from the armchair with difficulty. “Have to take a ferocious shit.”

Neon laughed and nodded. Frederic smiled. This was good. This was progress. He could do it. He just had to help. Do better. Not fall asleep. That’s what he had to repeat to himself. He walked into the corridor and braced his eyes against the pink. Then his phone rang.

Frederic was quick to grab it, even with his sleepy reflexes. “Hello?” he said nervously, realising he hadn’t looked at the screen to see who was calling.

“I just charged my phone and there was a bajillion calls from you,” Octavia’s dry, haughty voice erupted from the device. “What the fuck, Freddie? I’m having a nice vacation here with my lovely girlfriend, and you wanna interrupt it?”

That was it. Frederic had been about to burst, but now his fury began to leak, which was far more dangerous than bursting, to think about it. “Oh, you know, nothing. Keep having fun with your lovely girlfriend,” he practically hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “Just don’t forget to tell her that her brother tried to kill himself and now he’s in a mental asylum refusing to speak.” Frederic was about to crush the phone against the wall now, but kept it - because he ached to hear Octavia’s response. He wanted to see her hurt. He wanted her to suffer for what she’d done. He wasn’t a bad man. No. But he had had enough.

“What?” Octavia’s voice was flat, lacking understanding. Of course she didn’t get it now. But she would, in three, two, one… “What?!” Ah, now it’s clear, Octavia, isn’t it? It’s clear that you shouldn’t have been so fucking possessive, you whiny bitch?! Is it clear that you are a bloody fucking egoist who has no compassion for anyone but you and no needs are put higher than, or on the same level with, your needs?

“What you’ve heard. I’ll send you the address of the hospital as a text message. I suggest that you book a plane ASAP. Let’s see if you have any humanity left.” He hung up and pondered whether to slam the phone into the wall now. It was fun, how in times of fury, you have a clear vision of what you are going to do next. It feels as if you are possessed - and later you remember the time of fury through a haze. You feel like you had no control over your actions. Which is partly true. But while the fury lasts, you know what you are doing. You are just… a different you.

Frederic carefully placed the phone in his pocket. He stood there in the corridor, taking deep breaths, watching the pink. Then he roared and slammed his fist against the wall, against that fucking pink who even put it there what a fucking stupid colour to paint the fucking walls with fucking octavia who does she think she is fucking bitch taking another fucking bitch away from my fucking friend who has gone fucking insane and the worst bleeding fucking kurwa who is unable to fucking do anything is ME!

He stood there in the corridor, taking deep breaths, watching the pink that was slightly marred by the red. It gave off a beautiful, eerie impression. The corridor remained silent. The staff were used to crazy people yelling. In fact, he was surprised why nobody was yelling. Nobody but him. Just another crazy person yelling. Frederic sighed and entered the “room”.

He waved weakly to Neon upon entering when he realised that his hand was actually bleeding. The fury was gone - which was not always the case when he’d hit something - and the desire to take a dump was still going strong for him. Neon glanced at the hand but said nothing, instead pointing simply at the desk.

Frederic neared the desk, eyeing its simple, woody structure. This fascination with wood that people have. Everything wooden sells so much better now. Wooden radios. Wooden vinyl players. Vinyl… And the instruments made of wood. Pianos. Guitars. Cellos… Frederic sat on the chair heavily, closing his eyes tight. In the wake of his anger, he realised that yes, Octavia may be wrong, and Vinyl may be wrong, and Neon was definitely wrong… but most of them, he, Frederic, was in the wrong. Because he had failed to notice Octavia’s selfishness. Because he had failed to notice how distant from her brother was Vinyl growing. Because he had failed to notice how mad this whole thing was making Neon, Neon who could never recover from his father… Something to tell the doc, for sure.

But he could still make things right. Help Neon overcome his daddy issues and help him become well again. Or, well, as ‘well’ as possible. Help Vinyl see her brother needed her so badly. Help Octavia realise that, having been helped, she needed to help too. That she needed to learn to take others’ feelings into consideration. Yes, he could still make things right. He just had to do better. Not fall asleep.

He barely opened his eyes for a moment, knowing that they would close for a few good hours. For a moment, a thought crossed his mind: I should probably get to the armchair. But this thought vanished when he saw a simple note written in felt-tip pen, the only means of writing available here:

I knew you’d catch me.

With a laugh, Frederic got up and tried to say something to his friend, wanted to assure him everything was going to be all right, that he was always there for him; but he tripped and landed conveniently into the armchair, where he almost immediately fell asleep.

2. Fixing Fences

The taxi crawled down the busy street. Octavia wished the constant traffic would disperse as she shifted uneasily in her seat, next to a very nervous Vinyl. She didn’t care much about Neon, who was alien and a little crazy to her, but if something as serious as a suicide attempt had really taken place, it had a terrible impact on her girlfriend; and Vinyl’s well-being was something she cared about.

“Can’t you go faster?” Vinyl addressed the driver in irritation. Octavia hadn’t seen her lover like this before. Initially, upon hearing the news, Vinyl seemed broken, ready to break into tears or crawl into a corner and stay there - which wouldn’t be surprising, giving her shy and calm nature. But, instead, she had turned into a strong, steely woman who had one goal before her: reaching her brother, and who was intent on breaking everything that stood in her way. To Octavia, it was scary, and more than a little enticing. If the circumstances were different, she would find this new Vinyl arousing. Ah hell, she found it arousing anyway.

“Can’t go faster in a traffic jam,” the driver drawled, a thin, lazy man of Indian origin. Vinyl growled and leant back, placing her thumb and index finger on her closed eyelids. Shapes danced before her eyes: broken circles and ovals, bands of unyielding light and colourful confetti of dots. Hold on, Nini, I’m coming.

Oh, how she blamed herself! How wrong had she been, to run away with Octavia! How wrong had it been to just abandon her brother like that! Love had hit her in the head, working like the terrible drug it was. Such strong, romantic infatuation had left her woozy, forgetful of what was solid and steady, making her let go of the pillars of the earth and fly. But humans aren’t supposed to fly. They are supposed to hold to the pillars of the earth. To family. To those who always loved her, with a love that could never be compared to what she felt towards Octavia. With warm, brotherly love. To those who always protected her when Father tried to… Neon lived his whole life for her, had always lived his whole life for her, and now she had betrayed him so. Anger was boiling inside Vinyl’s mind, anger both towards herself and towards Octavia.

“Uh, I really wanna pee,” Vinyl heard Octavia’s voice utter. She refused to reply, knowing very well that she could burst, that she could snap at her lover… though, wouldn’t she deserve it? Okay. Calming down now. Thinking reasonable thoughts. The reasonable way to avoid this mess would have been talking to Octavia alone, facing their fathers’ memories together, then meeting up with Neon… How hadn’t she noticed that he was going nuts? He had always been a little strange, true, but trying to kill himself… What was going on here?! Why wasn’t his girlfriend with him? Madeline, or what was her name? Why hadn’t she- Agh! When, in reality, she, Vinyl, should have been with him. Not with Octavia. Lovers come and go, but family stays.

Just as Vinyl had arrived at this conclusion, the car stopped completely upon turning onto the side street. “What’s the matter?” Vinyl demanded angrily, opening her eyes. Every stop was a gap between her and her brother, every deviation from that path was unacceptable. “Why did we stop?”

“There’s a gay pride parade blocking the street,” the driver explained in irritation. “We’ll have to find a turnaround.”

“Gah!” Vinyl roared and, throwing bills at the driver’s face, stormed out of the car, followed by a very shocked Octavia. Fucking parade! Marching past the gleeful crowd of rainbow-coloured people, Vinyl shouted, even though she knew her yell would be drowned out: “You fucking faggots! God hates you, each and every one of you!” With that, she took a sharp right and changed to a jog. It’s not far. A few kilometres. We can get there soon enough.

“Vinyl, you do know you’re lesb-” Octavia began, trying to catch up with her girlfriend, suffering from the heat. Dammit, I really gotta pee!

“Tavi, shut up and follow me!” Vinyl growled, speeding up her pace. “Save. Your. Breath!” She ran, taking short breaths, never minding the temperature, letting her feet do the trick. Wait for me, Nini. I’m coming.

***

“And then I said, Oatmeal? Are you crazy?!” Frederic laughed, slapping himself on the knee. As he saw Neon’s adamant facial expression, his smile faltered somewhat. For a few seconds the two men just stared at one another. “Yeah, you’re right,” Frederic admitted finally. “That’s a crappy joke.” Neon smiled and nodded once, firmly. “Wanna try your hand at a joke yourself?” the pianist attempted to bring the manager out of his silent shell. “You’ve always had the best jokes.”

Neon shook his head slightly, giving a tiny smile that was so unlike him. The usual grin, the wider-than-life grin with full teeth, white and alluring, was gone from his face, replaced with this small, shy, apologetic smile. If Frederic didn’t know any better-

The door burst open and in rushed a lean woman in a blue T-shirt, a white shirt on top, her neck sweating, her blue hair dishevelled and grimy. “Nini!” she exclaimed, running towards the bed, just as Octavia followed the woman into the ward impatiently. “The nurse said you were here and I got here as fast as I could and Nini, God, are you all right? What happened? Did you really try to-? Why would you-!”

“Oh great, you’re alive, uh, nice suit, I really really have to pee!” With that, Octavia stormed out of the ward, shutting the door behind her.

Frederic blinked and got up from the armchair. “Ahem. You must be Vinyl, Neon’s sister. I don’t believe we’ve met…” Then he noticed that the woman was paying him no attention whatsoever, instead clinging to Neon, showering him with small kisses, lying on top of him, her arms around his neck. “I’m Frederic. Octavia may have mentioned-” he tried again, but fell silent as Vinyl’s head jerked up and she turned towards him, giving him a brief lookover with those strange, mesmerising magenta-red eyes.

“Vinyl. I’m Vinyl Scratch. Nice to meet you.” It wasn’t nice, Frederic could see. She didn’t give a damn. Well, she was entitled to that. At least she recognised his existence in the world. Why would anyone, really? “Sorry, I, um, I need to talk to my brother.” She turned back to Neon. “Nini, please answer me!”

Neon just gave her this sad, tiny smile and shook his head slightly. Vinyl’s face fell in an instant as she shook her brother a little by the neck. “Nini, stop playing games. Talk to me! What did you do to yourself?” Neon shrugged - which was a funny gesture, considering that his sister was still pinning him to the bed. Vinyl sat up in a motion that would make Frederic consider it a sexual position, if they weren’t dressed… and, well, siblings. The DJ grabbed Neon’s hands and inspected his wrists closely. “You didn’t… Did you eat sleeping pills?” Vinyl asked sternly.

Frederic marvelled at how this tiny woman established immediate dominance, how strong her character was, apparently, that she, the younger sister, had immediately began caring for her brother, as soon as she’d entered the “room”. “He tried to jump out of the window,” Frederic said, knowing that this was not really helpful. Stating the truth was never helpful. It is the comfort, not the truth, that people want. Something that helps us is what we desire, not something that puts us into misery. “I caught him,” he supplied quickly. Great. Now that sounded like boasting. If I were an actor in a play, some shallow viewers would think I have a superiority complex.

“He did WHAT?” Vinyl almost fell off the bed, clinging to her brother like to a buoy in the middle of the sea. “Nini, you did WHAT?” The woman got off the bed, pointing her finger dramatically at Neon. She probably doesn’t realise how ridiculous she looks, Frederic thought automatically. Hell, do I ever realise how ridiculous I look? “Why would you do that, Nini?” Vinyl demanded.

Neon shrugged.

“Has something to do with you running away, I guess,” Frederic mumbled and immediately received a harsh stare from the spinner. Wow. I did not just say that out loud. Now she must think I’m an asshole. Which I probably am.

“I thought you would take care of him!” Vinyl lashed out at the pianist, stuffing away the thought, that painful, but true, thought that she hadn’t thought that: she hadn’t thought about her brother at all. “Or, well, that girl… What was her name? Melanie? Madeline?” Neon shook his head furiously, something like fear in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Nini?”

“How to put this nicely…” Frederic mumbled, feeling extremely uneasy as he came to the conclusion that there was no way to put this nicely. “Neon kind of proposed to her. And she said yes.”

“What?!” Vinyl’s eyes shifted between her brother and his friend, with vain hope that it was all a joke, a prank, an elaborate hoax. “W-what? How does this-”

“Neon proposed to his girl, and she agreed. And then he tried to fling himself from the window. And now he refuses to talk to anyone.” Frederic winced at his own wording. Welp, I could never choose the right words. “I don’t know if he… got ill… because of that or prior to that.”

It was clear Vinyl had a lot of questions in mind. She had already opened her mouth to ask them, and Frederic prepared to answer, which was particularly hard due to the fact that he knew almost nothing about Madeline and her influence on his friend - but the door opened, and in stormed Octavia. “Great, you’re still here.” The cellist took a deep breath and smiled. “Finally peeing after holding it for so long is better than having an orgasm.” Devil Octavia took her monocle and a cup of tea, nodding to a very bedazzled Angel Octavia. Yes, quite.

Frederic sighed at the sight of Vinyl trembling slightly, with a painful wince on her face. This can’t end well. Time to intervene. “Octavia, can’t you be a little, you know, more serious?”

“Yeah, my brother is in hospital, as you can see!” Vinyl spat out, a wave of anger building within her. It was obvious to Frederic that this young woman was shaking with guilt; but the natural reaction is to bestow the gift of guilt upon someone close - and that someone, for her, was her girlfriend, Octavia. Who is more than guilty, to be frank.

“Well, love, he seems all right to me.” Octavia cast a swift glare at the patient, a glare that told Frederic a lot - and which scared him as he recognised this exact glare from all the past times with Octavia. Octavia was trying to delegate guilt as well - and who better to delegate it to than…

“He tried to commit suicide!” Vinyl exclaimed, advancing on her girlfriend dangerously. Her hand shot out as she pointed at her brother without breaking eye contact with Octavia. “And now he refuses to talk to anybody!”

“Octavia, don’t-” Frederic extended his arm towards the couple warningly. He knew where this was going. He didn’t know how Vinyl would react, but he knew Octavia too damn well. She couldn’t snap out at Vinyl. She had found solace in her, and stability. She had two outlets in this room, two outlets to channel her anger towards. And while Frederic so selfishly wished it was him...

Octavia took a step sideways, crossing the little distance between where she was standing and the bed, and glared at Neon. “You’ve put your sister through so much stress and worry,” she said pointedly, pointing an accusing finger at the silent man, whose brows were high enough to warrant a face surgery, “and now you didn’t even want to talk to her? Way to be an asshole!”

Vinyl began shaking uncontrollably. Her fingers first stood at attention, straight as razorblades, then clenched tight into fists. Frederic wanted to take a step towards her, but was stuck in place, frozen by the fury shedding off of the spinner. ”What did you say about my brother?!” Octavia turned round slowly, as if in slow-motion, failing to understand what had triggered her lover so. “What the fuck did you say about my brother?!”

Octavia opened her mouth to object, but, with a roar, Vinyl threw herself at the woman, pummeling her with those tiny fists of ehrs. “It’s all your fault!” she shouted, landing blow after blow on Octavia’s shoulder. “Yours, not his! You took me away from him!” Smack smack smack. “You booked those damn tickets!” Smack smack smack. “We should have just talked, the three of us!” Smack smack smack. “But instead, you took me away from my brother!”

Octavia didn’t even back down. She just stood there, bedazzled, receiving blow after blow. The world had frozen around her. She could hear Frederic trying to shout something; out of the corner of her eye she saw Neon sit up in bed, watching the scene curiously, but distantly, as if it wasn’t his place to interfere; but she could only focus on the rage, the rage Vinyl was soaked in, the rage she was unleashing upon her lover. Suddenly the cellist felt very tired. Accepting. Afloat. She had felt like this once, when she’d slept for over sixteen hours and her dreams had been filled with constant waking, performing routine tasks, and waking again. She did realise that it was a dream, but there was no way out. Like now. There was no way out. “I…” was all she managed to say.

“Get out!” Vinyl raged, taking a step back and pointing her trembling index finger at the raven-haired woman. “Get the hell out before you say something else that’ll poison us both!”

Octavia staggered, but Frederic was there to catch her. Holding her by the shoulders, she slowly escorted her out of the ward, never casting a glance at the infuriated lover. Vinyl’s rage began to fade, vanishing in the wake of Octavia’s absence - and the only thing she could focus now was her brother’s condition. “Nini, sorry, sorry for the scene.” She gulped and neared the bed, stepping softly on the floor. The big bad wolf is gone now, Angel Vinyl cooed from the shoulder. Ain’t we the big bad wolf, really? Devil Vinyl wondered. “Please, Nini, please talk to me!” Vinyl begged, realising how much she needed this, how she couldn’t go on without a tiny, fractured piece of her brother’s support.

Neon blinked slowly - a blink which felt as if he was just closing and reopening his eyes - and smiled at his sister, patting the space next to him on the bed. “Hi, sis. How’s the weather?”

***

“No, Octavia!” Frederic slammed his fist against the bar counter, attracting unwanted attention from the patrons. The bartender, though, remained silent and just stood there in the corner, cleaning a glass. Something told Frederic that every bartender had such a glass that he could just clean and clean with a dirty piece of cloth. Just to pass the time. “You are the problem, Octavia. You are not a solution. You’re part of the problem.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Octavia growled, cradling her glass of whisky. The woman’s eyes were roaming around the bar, stopping at faces for mere moments, then drifting away as they realised the faces weren’t Vinyl’s. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have a little over half a dozen whiskies inside me, so speak in simple. Fucking. Terms.”

“You. Fucked. Up.” Frederic took a sip of his beer, wincing at its coldness. Beer from the fridge was good outside, but in a damp underground bar, it was a little too cold. “Are those terms simple enough? You acted up. You took your lover away from her brother. You basically kidnapped her. And you don’t feel a touch of compassion for Neon.”

“Why the fuck should I feel compassion for him?” Octavia snapped back, downing the whisky in one gulp, without a wince. The burn was no longer noticeable in the throat, and her belly was full enough with alcohol not to notice the arrival of another hundred milliliters. “He’s just a-”

“He is Vinyl’s brother, for fucksake!” Frederic slammed his fist again the table in irritation again. “God fucking dammit, Octavia, didn’t your parents teach you the slightest bit of compassion?!” he exclaimed, the words still escaping his lips before he could realise what he was saying. Thankfully, Octavia was too drunk or too tired or a little bit of both - to have noticed the phrasing. “Octavia, what I’m trying to say is,” Frederic began again, trying to keep his voice reasonable, “you have to take other people’s interests into consideration. I know you’ve been badly hurt, but that doesn’t mean you can just not care about other people!” Like you stopped caring about me. Like you will probably stop caring about Vinyl when you find someone else.

“I care about Vinyl,” Octavia said quietly and ordered another whisky. Frederic made a gesture to the barkeep to stop serving the cellist, but money pays, and so the whisky poured into the glass. “I do care about her. Even though she doesn’t seem to care about me.” Octavia sipped on the drink cautiously.

“Caring about Vinyl entails caring about her family!” Frederic attempted to bring this simple truth to the cellist’s understanding, helping himself with wild gesticulation. “If you care about her, you should care about her brother. It’s family, Octavia!”

“Oh, it’s family, yeah?” Octavia finished off the glass and slammed it against the counter, making Frederic wonder just how many times this particular glass had been slammed against this particular counter and how it had held all these times. “Well, lemme tell you something about family!”

Frederic raised his hand in fear and surrender. He didn’t want for this to happen. But with Octavia, every word was a landmine. Since the time she had left him, he’d lost his ability to navigate her. Once, he could step easily through this daisy field and embrace and kiss her, and those healing touches helped her. Then, when she no longer needed them, she waltzed away, leaving him in the middle of the daisy field. But the daisies never bloomed again. “Octavia, I didn’t-”

“My family,” Octavia advanced on the pianist, which was comic, given how they were both glued to barstools, “fucking hated me, Freddie! How am I supposed to care for other people when nobody cared for me?!” Frederic tried to back down, no less comically. “How am I supposed to care for Vinyl’s family, when my father, my own father-!” Octavia took a breath, her cheeks red with blood and heat, her eyes wide and mad, looking way past Frederic. Then she deflated, collapsing into sobs over the bar counter.

Frederic didn’t know what to do. He reached out for Octavia awkwardly with his hand, his arm hovering above the cellist’s back. Reluctantly, he withdrew the hand. With a deep sigh, Frederic motioned for a barkeep. “I’ll need a stronger drink for this.”

***

“Come on, Nini.” Vinyl waved her hand, which was holding the little white pill, before Neon’s face. “Open wide. Say aaaah.” She poked the pill against her brother’s lips. Neon shook his head. Vinyl poked the pill again. “Yummy yummy pills that will help you with your mental issues,” she tried again, all insecurities forgotten as she had taken the mantle of responsibility. Nini has been strong for me all this time. Time for me to be strong for him.

“Those are antidepressants,” Neon said , turning his head away from his sister. “I am not depressed. Just crazy.” The patient smiled, turning his head back. Vinyl gazed into her brother’s eyes, seeing pure, untainted, untinted love.

“You’ll have to talk to the doctor so they can give you the pills you need.” Vinyl tried to open her brother’s mouth with the other hand while tapping the pill against his lips. “For now, just take this one that the doctor gave you.”

“I have nothing to say to them, sis,” Neon replied, turning his head away again while the spinner tried vainly to make him take the medicine. “Besides…” He smiled a strange smile, a smile Vinyl hadn’t seen for a while: neither his old whitetoothed grin nor the new shy tiny smile. He smiled a smile he’d smiled when they were kids: a smile full of brotherly love and compassion. “I only need you, sis.”

“Aww, Nini…” Vinyl kissed the tip of her brother’s nose. “That’s so sweet… Say it again, please.”

Neon smiled the same smile and repeated, “I only need you in my li-”

“Om!” Vinyl swiftly extended her hand and put the pill into Neon’s mouth, immediately bringing a glass of water to his lips. “There! Now drink. Gulp gulp gulp.” As Neon swallowed the medicine, Vinyl smiled and patted his head patiently. “There. Good Nini. Who’s a good Nini?”

“Sis, that sounds creepy.” Neon laughed, and Vinyl marvelled at how his laugh was different from Octavia’s laugh: a low, rusty bark jumping at times to minute shrieking, so unstable, while Octavia’s laugh was a soft, merry jingle… Tavi… Vinyl got up and walked towards the window. Darkness was still preparing to take over the world, not yet descending on the city, but giving hints of the coming night already. The sun was down, but the light remained, illuminating the yard that was taken by rain. Rain fell in rivulets, dripped down from the roof of the hospital, formed puddles on the wet grass down below.

“It’s all my fault,” Vinyl said bitterly. “I just heard you and Tavi talking about…” She gulped down and took a breath. When she spoke up again, her voice held not only bitterness, but also acceptance. “About how Dad treated us… and how her father treated her… I just ran away. Then she came and comforted me.” A shade of a smile touched the spinner’s lips. “She booked two tickets for us to fly to Montenegro. We stayed at a villa. I guess I just wanted to run away from it all…” With a deep, sombre sigh, Vinyl shook her head in defeat. “What I didn’t realise was that I was running from you.”

For a while Neon was silent, so long that Vinyl was afraid he’d fallen into his no-speaking phase once again. Then he smiled. “If I said that wasn’t your fault, would it make you feel better?”

Vinyl took a long, thoughtful look at her brother before returning her attention to the window. Looking through the window had helped her many times. Shutting out all other senses, focusing on the silence of the outside. But there was never silence for her. Even now, she heard the different sides of rain droplets: hitting the ground with a meaty splut, ending up in puddles with splashes, drumming on the building with a metallic tingle. She heard the breath of her brother and her own heart beating in her chest. She heard the white noise reflecting off the walls of the ward. Could there never be silence? With such hearing, the everpresent din of life had long ceased to be special. “It would be a lie.” Vinyl said finally. She didn’t specify whether it would make her feel better because both knew that it would make her feel better. But it would still be a lie.

“Then…” Neon sighed deeply, looking at his sister’s back. “Yes, sis. It was your fault. Partly,” he added swiftly, proceeding with an explanation: “It was your fault because you ran away without talking to me. You think that dialogue with Octavia didn’t hurt me too?” Neon asked, watching Vinyl shiver a little but keep looking out of the window. “It did. I always loved Dad, you know.” Now Vinyl did look over her shoulder for a moment, channeling all the pain of her past and present into that look. “I think I still do,” Neon continued. “If I can hide my emotions before you, it’s just because I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Now Vinyl did turn round, walking towards the bed, slightly falling onto the tips of her toes, as if she were crawling in order not to disturb some home-made idyllic moment. Almost as if she and Neon were teenagers again, trying to strike it big in the music world, having only one another to hold to. Only each other to cling to, together. She reached the bed and nudged her brother aside, sitting next to him on the very edge, almost sliding off. I do have a big butt, a thought crossed her mind. Devil Vinyl approved. “I think that holding all those emotions inside has finally driven you nuts,” Vinyl said bitterly, putting her hand on her brother’s cheek. She looked at his young, yet mature, face, untouched by the madness that was apparently somewhere within. “Why did you do this, Nini?” she asked again, her voice no longer breaking, just trying to understand. “I’m not pressuring you, I just want…” Vinyl took her hand off her brother’s face and, taking his hand in hers, put it against her cheek. “I just want to understand your motivation. To help you heal.”

Neon chuckled and patted Vinyl’s head. “Sometimes, you are staggeringly cute, sis. And startlingly wise.” Seeing demand in his little sister’s gaze, he finally settled on, “There was no motivation. You ever get this feeling that everything you do happens on its own?” His hand made its way back to his side. “Sometimes I feel everything is outside my reach. That someone else decides what I do. No, I don’t hear voices,” he quickly supplied as he saw Vinyl’s mouth opening in worry. “It’s just… I feel like I’m a toy in Destiny’s hands. So I just do what seems… what seems like what I should do. What is expected of me. What I would do if I were an actor in a movie.” Neon rubbed his chin, which was unshaven and itchy. “I would make a crappy actor, though. I dunno. I just… You ran away, I needed some compassion, I proposed to Maddie, I gave Frederic the label, I jumped out of the window. I dunno why I did it. It seemed like a fitting ending.” Seeing deep, primeval fear in Vinyl’s eyes at such wording, he winced. “I know I sound crazy. It’s because I probably am. Look, I’ll talk to the doc if it makes you feel all right.”

“Please do,” Vinyl urged, leaning over and kissing her brother on the rough, unshaven cheek. Then a thought crossed her mind, a thought that led to an immediate realisation. “Wait, you did what? You tried to give away our label?”

“I did give away our label,” Neon corrected with a tiny smile. “Hey, look, I’m crazy! I’m allowed to do crazy things.” He grabbed Vinyl by the elbow and drew her in, laughing as his sister fell on top of him with a yelp. “Also, I was pretty disoriented after proposing to Maddie. And crushing Dad’s office.” Neon sighed. “One way or another, it’s Frederic’s label now. Pretty much.”

“You…” Vinyl said slowly, trying to come to terms with what she’d just heard. “You did…” She sighed, shutting her eyes tight. “It was Dad’s office…” Conflicting emotions fought within her. Emotions that had nothing to do with her inner angels and demons - nor the angel and demon on her shoulders who had fallen strangely silent and just sat in the divine bedroom, Angel Vinyl’s head on Devil Vinyl’s shoulder. “You know what. You were probably right. I… His office… No, that’s…” Vinyl sighed and just buried her face into Neon’s broad, muscular chest. The tracksuit felt pleasant against her nose and she exhaled, ceasing all thoughts. Once more she was the little girl and Neon was the older brother to take care of her. She could live with illusion for a few moments, right?

“The deal is in effect, though,” Neon said calmly, stroking Vinyl’s back. “Of course, you can challenge it on the grounds of my insanity, but I think it’s for the better. It’s time we let go.” Vinyl lifted her head to look into Neon’s eyes, which was more than a little weird, considering how close their faces were. Thankfully, no embarrassing thoughts entered Vinyl’s mind. How could they? She trusted her brother more than anyone in the world. Which was hurting her all the more, considering how badly she had wounded him. “It’s time we stopped being driven by Dad. We need to begin again. You and me.”

Vinyl felt there was more to this phrase than the implication that they needed to start a new business. There was an underlying tone that told her that not everything was lost, that Neon could be healed, that they could be happy again. So she clarified: “Yes. Begin again. As brother and sister.” She pecked her brother on the side of the lips, like all those times when they were kids and she had to stand on her toes to reach her big brother.”I’m sorry I valued Octavia over you, Nini. I just… fell in love, I guess.” The spinner furrowed her brows sternly. “But if she wants to keep dating me now, she’ll need to accept that you’ll always be my number one.” She booped Neon’s nose. “You’re family, and you are more important. If Octavia can accept that… we’ll have a future with her. If… If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t think she’s a bad woman, sis,” Neon said, running the length of his index finger through the stubble. “She can help you start anew.”

Can she? “It’s her fault,” Vinyl said bitterly. She looked at her hands, petite and white. The hands that had never held anything heavier than a crossfader. “She took me away from you. She’s the one to blame.”

Neon sat up in bed, wrapping his arms around his sister lovingly. “Remember when I said it was partly your fault?” He didn’t wait for Vinyl to nod. “Well, it’s partly her fault too. For acting so quickly. For not thinking what would be best for all of us. For taking you away from me.” Vinyl winced painfully, still looking at her hands. So unlike her father’s hands. Those were rough, lines adorning the palms. Those were the hands of a working man who, despite turning into a celebrity, had never forgotten what being a worker was like. “But most of all,” Neon concluded, letting his sister out of the embrace. “It’s my fault. I forgot I had you to look after. I wanted some closure. I went nuts.”

Vinyl rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “You did, didn’t you.”

Neon laughed, ruffling her sister’s hair. “I did. But I think we do have a chance to begin again.” He rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble scratch the tips of his fingers. “But we have to decide what to do with Madeline first…”

***

“Come on, Freddie, fuck me.” Octavia wrapped her arms around Frederic’s neck, trying to drag him into a kiss immediately upon stepping into her queerly-planned penthouse flat. There was no smell of colombian coffee, only the scents of booze and sweat. “You’re the one. To hell with Vinyl, I know you are the only one who ever understood me.”

“Jesus Christ, Octavia, stop!” With a little difficulty, the pianist freed himself from the inebriated woman’s grasp, watching her almost collapse to the floor. “Please sober up!” Realising how ridiculous that sounded in the given circumstances, he carefully guided her to the bedroom, the bedroom that held so many memories of the two of them, together. Memories that had now become muddled, replaced wholesale.

Gently, but swiftly, he laid the woman on the bed, deciding against undressing her. In return, Octavia shot up, trying to hit his face with her lips drunkenly. “For Christ’s sake, Octavia, no!” Frederic snapped, pushing the woman away. “I’m not going to help you do something you’ll seriously regret!”

Octavia looked at him, sitting in bed, her eyes hazy, her posture lamentable. “Then I’ll tell everyone you raped me.” At Frederic’s shocked expression, she laughed a dirty laugh and put the tip of her index finger in her mouth. “I’ll tell the police you raped me, and you’ll go to jail.” She laughed again, making Frederic take an involuntary step back. “And then the inmates will rape you. And, and, not just me.” Octavia’s smiled faded, and she fell on the bed, her head on the side. “If, if I do what they did to me…”

“What?!” Frederic didn’t bother reaching the woman. Okay. I tried. God knows I tried. But this is where I draw the line. “Listen, Octavia,” he spoke seriously, in hopes that the drunk woman would understand him, “you are seriously messed up. I tried to help you, God knows I tried. But you need real help. And I am not sure I can provide it.”

Octavia didn’t reply, and Frederic had nothing more to say. He extended his hand and put in back again. With that, he  walked out into the chilly, unwelcoming urban night.

Walking down the street. Should I set her up with a doctor? Ah hell, when did doctors help with anything? She would wake up in the morning and probably never remember this. She’ll reconcile with Vinyl, and they’ll live a long happy life together. But she will never care. She’s been bruised too badly to ever care about someone but herself. But is she trying? If she really does care… She is trying, right?

It’s the very notion of trying that is rewarded. Even in uni. When the professors saw he was trying, he was attempting to learn, they saw the lust for knowledge and perfection, that’s where they gave him those excellent marks. But a fair share of ‘B’s, both deserved and undeserved. In her book, always ‘deserved’.

Octavia had never taken his side. Always had he been there for her, always had he taken her side in little petty arguments with third parties, but never ever had she tried to take his side. She didn’t notice it, really. How could she? It was always “The prof was probably right” and “You should have kept your mouth shut” and “She does have a point, doesn’t she?” For years he’d been trying to build trust with the woman he’d rescued, but all he had managed to build was love.

Ah. That wasn’t really love, was it? Maybe it had been, once. But now… Hadn’t he given her all he could give? Hadn’t he tried his best to make her whole again? Hadn’t he told her his deepest secrets? So why didn’t you tell her Neon gave you the label? Because it wasn’t important. One would think such a thing is important for someone who co-owns the label. Shut up. Why didn’t you tell her, Freddie? Shut up shut up shut up. Why? Because I wanted the label! Because it’s a chance for me to shine! Because it will bring me money! Because-

The phone rang. Frederic picked it up, noticing with surprise that darkness had finally covered the city, the white, warm summer darkness that left you more bedazzled than afraid, more reluctant than inspired. “Frederic. If you don’t come back, I’ll jump out of the window.”

Cursing his luck and his life, the pianist rushed back. Fuck you, Octavia, and everything you stand for. I can’t have two suicides on my shoulders now. Neon was enough - and Neon was actually the paragon of all that was good and right in the world, while Octavia…

“Please stay. Please,” she begged him a few minutes later, as he stood fuming in the middle of the living room. “I know I’m fucked up. I know I fucked up.” In her state, the two sounded almost indistinguishable. “But I’ll change. I swear I’ll change. I just need time. I need… I need someone to look over me.”

Change. Frederic guided the woman to the bedroom and helped her undress. But, unlike all the times in the past when he’d done this action with lust and love, he had committed it with calm humility, like a servant undressing his drunken master. Change. What do we want? We want change. When do we want it?

With a sigh, Frederic began to sing, putting his hand on the woman’s back as she lay on the bed to sleep. He sang in a tired, low voice, in a language he hadn’t heard in so long, and which he longed to hear again:

Спи, моя радость, усни~

В доме погасли огни~

Рыбки уснули в пруду~

Птички уснули в саду~

Месяц на небе блестит~

Месяц в окошко глядит~

Глазки скорее сомкни~

Спи, моя радость, усни~

3. The Awakening

Neon woke up to the early rays of sunlight penetrating through the thin, purely decorative curtains of the ward, in the early hours of the morning that some would prefer to call very late night. There was an unspoken serenity in the air, a calm, humid feeling of a sleepy, heavy world waking up from its slumber.

He closed his eyes just for a moment, but, when he opened them, the sun was already up, and the corridor was filled with sound: not the sound of the facility, but rather, the sounds of the outside channeled through the open windows through the corridors. He got up from bed in a single jump, laughing aloud to him, a pleasant warmness in his chest. He felt like the world was giving him a chance, a chance to do better, a chance to feel all right.

And then he realised it was the effect of the antidepressants.

Every morning would begin with pills, from now on. Every dinner would be followed by more pills. And, before he could go to bed, there would be more pills still. Neon got up and looked at the morning pills before swallowing them thoughtfully. He glanced around for a clock, but there wasn’t one. Was it because of ticking? Ticking was mentally taxing, and for those who…

Neon remembered that there wasn’t really a set time for the appointment: it was whenever he was ready. He left the ward, still dressed in a tracksuit, and walked on towards the now-familiar door. The words Michael Rude MD adorned the golden-like plank on the door. What a weird surname for a doctor. He knocked at the door.

The doctor was wearing small, rectangular spectacles which clashed so much with his plump, round face. He smiled upon Neon’s entering offered him a seat in the big beige armchair. Neon took a seat and immediately felt himself drowning in the softness of the chair. “Good morning, doc.”

“Good morning to you too, Nigel…” The doctor looked through the papers on his deck. “Neon. I mean, Neon. How are you? How are you feeling? Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“I’m fine, I’m feeling fine because of the pills you’re giving me, and no, I don’t think I’ll tell you anything unless you ask specifically.” Neon shrugged. There. Can I go now? Though, the very idea was hypocritical: he liked it here. Well, not really: home was much better than the hospital, but here, he knew he was under supervision. He knew he couldn’t hurt anyone here.

“Have you had time for morning exercise?” The doctor touched his spectacles, which were still out of place on his black, plump, sweaty face.

“I don’t do morning exercise,” Neon replied, “and, besides, they wouldn’t let me have weights here.”

“Do you know what nations have the fewest cases of psychological issues?” the black man asked, putting his spectacles on the table. Without waiting for Neon to answer, he replied to his own question, “The Chinese and the Japanese. Ever wonder why?” Again, without waiting for Neon to answer, he said contentedly, “Because their days revolve around breathing exercise, physical exercise, and a healthy diet.” He frowned. “Well, at least they used to be. I haven’t been in the East for over ten years.”

Neon sighed and rubbed his nose. “Exercise cannot kill the thoughts.” He looked around, wishing that there was a blue ‘smoking allowed’ sign on the wall. Like in that show about the Sixties. What a show, really.

“The ‘thoughts’? You haven’t mentioned any ‘thoughts’ before,” the doctor said with interest, resting his elbows on the table, his hands clashed in a tight lock.

Neon frowned. “Yeah, because we only talked, like, twice?” He took a deep breath. “Look, I am not insane. I am not a maniac, nor am I paranoid. I don’t hear voices and I don’t see hallucinations. It’s just that, sometimes, I have those nasty, obsessive thoughts that refuse to leave my head and they kinda paralyse me.” The man steadied his tone as he sensed that it was getting out of control. “Listen, I am not an autist. I can communicate with people all right. But sometimes the thoughts will arrive, you know what I’m saying?, and I can’t talk or walk or do pretty much anything until they leave.”

“And do you have any ways to remedy the situation?” the doctor wondered, putting his head on his handlock. “Some way you make the thoughts go away?”

“If I sit in place enough, they’ll just disperse eventually,” Neon confessed, looking around frantically, searching for the sacred blue sign. “Sometimes I do things to assuade them… Eh, I’m not an idiot,” he said suddenly. “I know it sounds like OCD.”

“It certainly does,” the doctor agreed, “but you knowing the problem isn’t a way to solve the problem. It isn’t even the first step, contrary to what some may say. Sometimes treating a mental illness,” he took out a pack of cigarettes, “is easier when the patient doesn’t know what we’re treating. Sometimes knowing,” he took out a metal lighter, immediately filling the air with the smell of petrol, “makes the patient worry even more.” Finally, following Neon’s hopeful gaze, he handed him the pack and the lighter. “They would fine me for smoking indoors, or letting you smoke on hospital premises, but apparently, I’m their number one shrink and co-founder.” He laughed as Neon tried to light his cigarette frantically. “Returning to your problem, mere OCD very rarely makes people commit suicide.”

“Look,” Neon mumbled, inhaling the smoke blissfully. It has been too long. “I know I feel like I’m getting on the defensive here, but I really knew I wouldn’t die.”

“How so?” the plump man took the spectacles from the table and put them on his nose. “Did someone… else tell you that?”

Neon glared at his doctor through the thin haze of smoke. “I told you: I don’t hear voices. It’s just that…” He took a long, thoughtful drag. The doctor waited, then sighed and took the pack from Neon’s hands, extracting a cigarette for himself. “It’s a way to counter the ‘thoughts’... I guess I can call them obsessions?” The black man nodded, lighting his own cigarette eagerly. Neon took a brief glance, wondering why all smoking men he’d met had such wise, painful, thoughtful eyes when they took a drag off their cigarette or cigar or pipe. “I have the so-called ‘set-in-stone’ moments. Bear with me here.” Neon took a look at the table, where a piece of paper and a pen lay before him. A pen, not a pencil. If I make a mistake, there’s no way to erase it. “Let’s say, there is this ‘moment’, okay…” He drew a horizontal line. “That everything will be fine with me and my sister, Vinyl…” He glanced up. “See? Nothing that happens can change this ‘moment’. If I had died then, that would have changed it. And since change is impossible, then my death is also impossible.”

The doctor took a long, thoughtful look at Neon, then sighed and put the pack of cigarettes away. “My view is a little clearer now,” he said, waving his hand in the air to disperse cigarette smoke. “Regarding your condition, I mean. However, I am afraid I can’t let you go yet. We’ll start giving you OCD medication, and you’ll tell me tomorrow how it affects you. The antidepressants are here to stay. And so are you,” he said pointedly, no matter how Neon tried to non-verbally protest. “If you need to talk at any time, or just feel like going for a smoke, I’m here in my room.”

Only now did Neon take a closer look at the doctor’s workplace: in the corner, there was a bookshelf, and a wide sofa next to the far wall. A bookcase lined the same wall, and there was a tiny table with the remains of a cake on it. Apparently, this was not just a cabinet: this was a dwelling.

“Thank you, doc,” Neon stood up. I guess. “I don’t know if you did anything to thank you for, psych-wise, but at least thank you for the cigarette.”

“You’re welcome, Nigel.” Catching the glare, the doctor quickly amended his form of addressing, “Neon. I mean, Neon. Sorry, still getting used to you.”

Neon nodded and departed, closing the door softly behind him. The doctor stood up and walked to the window, rotating the pack of cigarettes in his hands. The hot day was smiling with the sun at his window. He sighed and took out a cigarette. “This is what happens when you take an old country nigger and make him fly an aeroplane…”

***

Frederic felt strangely elated as he marched up the street in the direction of the outskirts. A hearty meal of two bagels and bacon pancakes lay merrily in his stomach, warming him up in this otherwise surprisingly chilly afternoon.

The city flew past him as he measured the dry asphalt with his giant steps, people disappearing behind him forever as he passed them. There was a constant blur of faces, a hectic downstream of noises and visuals rushing in one direction, a river of faces, surprised, tranquil, mesmerised, exhausted. The city was breathing with summer madness, and Frederic inhaled in, savoured it, obtained the madness to make his own - and to disintegrate within it.

Like notes flowing one past another to form a melody, images floated before his eyes. Here, a man in a threepiece suit, a shade of diligence covering his face, a timeless, ageless man trying to fit into the new age. A woman in tight leather pants that seemed a questionable fashion choice in such weather, jogging, or, rather, pretending to jog as she slurped some no doubt healthy liquid from a brandless plastic bottle. Plastic destroys the environment? No, are you kidding? Plastic is fantastic.

The city’s sleeping cycles had been ruined long ago, and it half-blinked with its sleepy lights, wondering when the hell the sun had risen, half-yawned in expectation of a midday nap. But Frederic was wide awake, merry and joyful, a juggly trot in his step, a man with a mission. A man who knew where he had to be and what he had to do.

He took a sip of his hot cocoa as his legs carried him towards the skyscraper which was an unusual, sore sight on the outskirts. Drawing near to the building, he threw the rest of the cocoa away in the dustbin and entered the office building.

Seventeen floors later, he was standing, grinning, before a transparent glass door, with a plank above it reading, Silvester Quill and Partners. “Hi, Daisy,” he greeted the secretary with a wave of his head. “How’re our boys? Still winning the tournament?”

“Ah, Freddie!” Daisy, a lean, sad woman of about forty, shook her head in a manner native to those middle-aged women who are stuck in the same place for ages with no prospects or career opportunities, with a crappy love life and a weird hobby to keep them going. “The Machetes have been losing for three matches straight. Don’t know what’s gotten into them!”

Frederic offer his best fake apologetic smile as she disappeared into the maze of corridors. The choice of planning was weird, if not straight out of a madman’s plan: countless narrow, short corridors intertwined like paths in an ant nest, with two or three doors on each side of the respective corridor. If one were to traverse these corridors by themselves, they would, not doubt, get lost the first dozen times. Of course, Frederic had been here more than a dozen times.

“Hi, Silver.” Frederic entered the office without knocking, immediately spotting the new vintage-like gramophone on the little coffee table in the corner. He passed to the gramophone without looking at the man lounging in the black leather chair behind the fine redwood desk. Under closer inspection, the gramophone turned out to be a hoax; well, partly a hoax, for, while it was suited for playing vinyl records, it had a USB port and an AUX slot. “Ah, I see, your new sound set is just as fake as you are.”

“So pleased to see you too, Freddie.” The man rose, revealing completely bare feet, which clashed so violently with his threepiece suit and stern grey tie and moderate cufflinks. “Now, I know you never visit me ‘just because’ - and neither do I ever visit you ‘just because’, so let’s put pleasantries aside and what. Do you want?”

“I want,” Frederic looked away from the gramophone and into the man’s green, thoughtful eyes, “to re-register a label. Right now it’s a partnership and I want to be the sole shareholder. So I need you,” he pointed at the man, who ran his palm through his short, black, wavy hair, “to do that for me, Silver.”

The man huffed and looked away, coincidentally at the gramophone. “That’s pricey. But something tells me you want me to do that for free.” Frederic nodded eagerly. “And why would I do that?”

“Because,” Frederic pointed at the man again, “you owe me one.”

The man sighed and walked towards the little glass cabinet, fishing out a bottle of Scotch whisky. Silently, he raised a glass in Frederic’s direction.

The pianist frowned. “Honestly, Silver. Whisky in the morning? What’s next? Hookers in a cake?” He rubbed his chin, then laughed. “Oh yeah, that totally happened.”

Paying him no heed, the lawyer poured himself two fingers of whisky and drank it in two big, pleasant gulps. Seeing Frederic’s disapproval, he merely laughed. “Oh come on, it’s ten-thirty, for God’s sake.” He sighed and placed the glass down. “Not many people can say that Silver Quill owes them one.” He looked into Frederic’s eyes with a wise, scrutinising gaze.

Frederic smiled. “Well, I can.”

Silver sighed and walked back to his desk. He sat down in his leather chair, setting aside some papers. Finally, he took up a pen. “I have an Anton Piller on my hands and I’m expecting unwanted guests.”

He put the pen down again, then took it up once more. “How would you like your label registered?”

***

Night had fallen over the city, deep darkness enveloping the streets in its silky cocoon, a midsummer night’s madness doing the cha cha cha on the scorched asphalt. The bar wasn’t particularly cosy, but then Octavia hadn’t come here to enjoy the view.

She had come here to drink.

Now, there is happy drinking with friends, and there’s thoughtful drinking by yourself (with a plush bear to keep you company, of course), and then there is drinking to drown your sorrows, and there is even desperate drinking, but Octavia was drinking because she had become as numb as it could get, and was trying to wake herself up with alcohol.

Gin followed gin, whisky followed whisky, and rum followed rum. Octavia didn’t care what to drink, she just wanted it to be strong and hit her head in the proper way. You only have a drinking problem if you admit it, Devil Octavia assured, tossing an uneasy smile at Angel Octavia.

Octavia didn’t know what her limit was, probably because she had never tried to drink herself fully to oblivion. This time, however, it felt like an interesting experiment: how much is enough? Downing her twelfth drink, she wondered if she could die of excessive alcohol poisoning. How much is enough to kill yourself with a depressant known for somehow helping with adversity? Is one act of adultery and deceit enough? No, of course not. But, coupled with a life of deceit? Now this is where it gets interesting.

Octavia ordered two whiskies in succession, knowing that this bar was as lacking morality as possible, with bartenders ready to serve teenagers and not care if someone vomited on the floor: they’d just charge them more. She deserved to be here. It was one of the places where she deserved to be.

For a moment, Octavia’s vision grew black, but, in a moment, reality reasserted itself in a shaky kaleidoscope of bright lights, bottles and dirty, smelly patrons. The smell of alcohol, urine, and unwashed bodies was making the cellist retch. Then again, it might be the alcohol inside her making her retch. One way or another, she heard herself say, as if from a distance, “One more for the road and we’re good.”

Octavia always wondered if she would ever get drunk enough not to be able to form coherent thoughts, but it seemed that the effects of alcohol were personal, and this particular effect didn’t seem to strike her. However, as she practically threw the money on the bar counter, she realised that her coordination was suffering terribly. She got up, staggering towards the exit, when she realised there was a set of stairs to brave up before she could escape to the outside.

Carefully, keeping her hand at the wall, she took baby steps, advancing one foot at a time. She was almost to the top when a fat black woman descended the stairs heavily, pushing Octavia aside, followed by a lean black man, bald and handsome, who gave Octavia an apologetic smile. The cellist had a striking sense of deja vu, as if she had seen the couple before. Finally, she was out.

The smell of the night, pristine, clean, airy, assaulted her nose before her eyes could adjust to the dark of the night. The neighbourhood wasn’t exactly peaceful or serene in any manner, but Octavia smelt tranquillity in the air. As she staggered down the street, trying hard to walk in a straight line, the more earthly smells reached her nostrils: oiled tuna used for making salad, eggs gone bad, an odour of sweet summer sweat.

The city wasn’t asleep; it was yawning, rolling in bed, grumbling under the blanket, waiting for sleep to cover it. But instead, insomnia ruled with an iron fist: nightclubs blared with terrible music, drunk hookers littered the empty streets, mobsters participated in hushed conversations. Octavia staggered through these insomniac streets, her brain trying to understand where her legs were carrying her.

Vinyl.

Of course her legs were carrying her towards her girlfriend. Her ex-girlfriend? Octavia didn’t want to believe Vinyl had broken it off with her, that they’d hit the point of no return, that they had walked Spanish down the hall together one last time.

Together? How could there be any ‘together’? How could she even be sure that her girlfriend felt something towards her? It was life, and life was only perceived through her eyes, which meant that the world revolved around her, Octavia Philarmonica, and only she existed, so why was she expected to care about nonexistent people?

Octavia laughed, then froze in place as she saw a shadowy figure approach her quickly. But, if only she existed… then there could be no Vinyl… And for Vinyl to exist… care… She just had to… But what if only she existed...

“P-please,” the man urged, a knife in his hand, his wild eyes wide open and running from Octavia’s face to her pockets. “G-give me your money.” He made a weak thrusting motion with his knife. “I need it for my son’s surgery!” he tried vainly.

Octavia laughed, extending her arm towards the man. “How funny!” She laughed again, while the man just stared at her with mad, pained eyes, the eyes of a man who was on a brink. “You act like you exist! You act like we both…” She mumbled something under her breath. “I mean… You can’t hurt me, see? Nothing can hurt me because you don’t really exist!” She took a step forward, a giant leap, and everything happened too quickly.

The knife slashed against the biceps, cutting open the skin easily and drawing blood. The man stared at horror and what he had done and, dropping the knife, ran away. Octavia laughed again, feeling no pain, as she staggered towards Vinyl’s block of flats, now that she knew where she had been wrong.

Of course she existed. And so did Vinyl. And if Vinyl existed, then Neon existed too. And if Neon existed, there also was Frederic. And since all of them existed, even her father, even the tormentors who had broken her years ago, since all of them existed, she couldn’t shut off emotions any more, she ascended in a lift, she couldn’t pretend nothing had happened, she banged on Vinyl’s door, she couldn’t think she was… only she… “Octavia, I don’t want to- What on earth has happened to you?!” If she only could… Maybe then there was… a way...

“I get it now,” Octavia laughed, her body slumped against the doorway. “I understand. I have to care.” She laughed some more, coughing up saliva. “I have to care about… everyone. Positive and negative. Both have to… So that we can all exist…” She tried to grab Vinyl with her hand. “And so we can both… be…”

“You’re bleeding!” Vinyl shrieked, grabbing the woman in her hands, trying to drag her inside. “You need to lie down, now!” With that, she guided - slowly, too slowly! - her girlfriend to the couch, smelling copper, hearing blood drip onto the floor, seeing the tiny red seam running on the carpet. “I’ll call the ambulance!”

“I get it,” Octavia laughed, feeling darkness take over. She didn’t battle it, but instead accepted it as her saviour, the darkness that would finally give her respite. “I have to care about the others. It’s… It’s so simple.” She felt her lips getting numb as she struggled to speak. “Fffreddie coul’t explay it t’ me… But you…”

With that, Octavia finally closed her eyes, feeling the pleasant sleep wash over her, approving of her realisation.

4. The Bridge

Upon waking up, Octavia felt… different.

She wasn’t exactly rejuvenated, and the light in the hospital ward told her it was still night, or maybe very early morning, but the fact that she was alive had somehow cleared her head a little. Yesterday’s (today’s?) madness seemed to have gone away, replaced by a sense of guilt and an understanding of what she had done wrong.

She lifted her eyes to see Vinyl sitting on a chair next to the bed, watching her attentively. “Hi…” Octavia managed weakly.

“You almost died of blood loss,” Vinyl said sternly. She tried to be dispassionate, but she couldn’t be emotionless when it came down to Octavia. “They had no blood of your type so I donated.”

So now there is some Vinyl in me, a thought ran through Octavia’s head. Huh. We share the same blood type. “I... “ Octavia gulped. “Thank you?”

“What happened, Octavia?” Vinyl’s voice carried no malice, no hatred. It was full of worry and pain. “We have a row, then you show up at my door all drunk and bleeding from your shoulder. What happened to you, Tavi?”

Hearing the familiar form of addressing, Octavia managed a weak smile. “I… Can we forget it?” She lifted her arm weakly, trying to reach Vinyl. The spinner quickly got up from the chair, standing next to her lover, and took Octavia’s hand in hers. “Can we forget about everything?”

Vinyl shook her head somberly. “No, Tavi. That’s your way of dealing with problems. And we tried that.” She motioned around the hospital ward. “And look how that worked out.” She furrowed her brows sternly. “So now we’ll follow my method of dealing with problems.”

“Running away and smoking?” Octavia jested mirthlessly, automatically, before she could stop herself. No, such words would only hurt. She had to care. She had to be calm, and humble, and gentle. She had to follow up on this chance life had given her. “Sorry.”

“Telling everything,” Vinyl answered, squeezing Octavia’s hand tight. “Sharing our worries. If we want to keep this whole thing up, we need to have honesty.” The DJ sighed and sat back on the chair. “I want to trust you, Tavi. But you need to earn it. You’ve earned my love.” Octavia caught a breath. “Now you need to earn my trust.”

“Okay,” Octavia said too quickly, way too quickly. Should she have thought this through? Though, this was exactly the chance life had given her. This was her opportunity to bring Vinyl back - not for herself; but for the both of us. No, not even that. “I want to bring you back for you, and me, and Neon,” Octavia spoke aloud suddenly, finding her realisation both weird and appealing. “And Frederic too. I want us to be together because I want to care.”

She rose in bed with a grunt, motioning for Vinyl to stay put on the chair. “Everything? Okay. You know what happened to me in the past.” Vinyl nodded with a pained gulp. “After that, I could no longer care for anyone. I thought Frederic made me learn how to care, but I was wrong,” the cellist confessed bitterly. “I only wanted him because it made me feel better. But then I met you.” Octavia smiled slightly. “I met you, and I thought, this is the woman I want, but not for myself. For both of us. Okay,” she quickly amended, catching Vinyl’s judging look, “at first I just wanted to have sex with you. But then, as I spent more and more time around you, I felt that… I felt that I was in love.” Octavia closed her eyes. “I still am. I love you, Vinyl, and you taught me to care. For you. Which is why I took you to Montenegro.”

Octavia lay back, feeling dizzy and tired. “I wanted to shield you from everything because I really care for you, Vinyl. But I didn’t care about your brother. I couldn’t care for anyone else,” she said truthfully. “Now I want, I really want to learn to care for the others. For Neon, because he’s your brother. For Frederic, because he was the one who helped me see men in a different light.” Octavia took a deep breath, which made her head spin even worse. “I really do want to care. And I want to be with you.” She fell silent for a while, then asked weakly, “Give me another chance? Can we begin again? I know this sounds hard to believe, but I’ve changed. I think I have. I won’t be this selfish. Just please, please let me love you.”

Vinyl was silent for a long while. Then she got up, leant over the bed, and pressed her lips against Octavia’s. It wasn’t a passionate kiss - nor was it a deep one or a particularly keen one. It was a seal on their pact, the signature Vinyl put on Octavia’s conditional leave. It wasn’t a gesture of love.

It was a gesture of newfound trust.

“Let’s try this,” Vinyl said finally, upon breaking the kiss. “I won’t try to establish a three-strikes system or anything.” She took a step away from the bed, with Octavia automatically trying to reach for her girlfriend with her open arms. “We all make mistakes. But I will feel it if you really want to change for the better - and I will feel it if you just try to get to me without caring about my family and, and…” Suddenly, Vinyl broke into tears.

Octavia tried to stand up, but it was too hard, so she fell back on the bed, lying there hopelessly. “Vinyl, Vinyl,” she called out. “Vinyl, love, what’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong!” the spinner replied through thick sobs. “Nini is in a mental hospital, you almost died from blood loss, and I am torn apart! I am torn between you!” Vinyl slammed her fist into her knee. “I want to love Neon and make life the same as it was before you. But at the same time, I want you!” She chanted, “I want you, I love you, I want you!”

With extreme effort, Octavia sat up in bed, tossing her legs off the bed, touching her bare feet against the cold floor. She couldn’t stand up yet, but this position gave her enough leverage to crush Vinyl in her embrace, cooing softly as the spinner cried into her shoulder. “Vinyl, everything is not as complicated as it seems,” she said, trying to find the right words. Her mind turned up blank, and yet she knew the words: they were coming to her in an instant. “Neon will heal. We will live together, the three of us. We’ll buy a flat with rooms and soundproof walls. We will all be happy together. We’ll finish that song. We’ll…” Get married. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How, Tavi…” Vinyl sobbed. “To f-figure something out… We need to fix Neon. We need to fix our r-relationship.” She dried her tears with the back of her hand, released from Octavia’s embrace. “But you’re right. We need to do this. We need to do all of this step by step.” She sniffed one last time, then collected herself. “One trouble at a time.”

“Yes.” Octavia nodded resolutely. “We’ll need to visit Neon. I need to apologise to him. And then… Then, if he forgives me, we’ll try to get him out of there and start our new life together.” She paused, looking at her girlfriend with determination. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll work from the shadows and still try to get him out.”

For a few moments, Vinyl just sat there on the chair blinking, her eyes red and puffy from the crying. Suddenly, she stood up, taking off her shirt. “That’s it. We’re doing this right now.”

“W-what?” Octavia felt her spinner’s hands on her as she was forcefully laid back into bed and pinned to the aforementioned bed by Vinyl, who was taking off her jeans. “Vinyl, you don’t think we’re g-going to?”

“It’s been too long.” Vinyl kissed Octavia’s neck. “We’ve been both so stressed. We need it.” She began to take off Octavia’s T-shirt.

“Vinyl, love,” Octavia tried vainly, feeling arousal crawling into her body, commanding her mind as well. “We aren’t really going to have sex on a hospital bed, right?”

“We are, Tavi.” Vinyl reached for the switch and turned off the light. “We totally are.”

5. Back on Track

“How did you manage to persuade the doctor to let me go?” Octavia asked as Vinyl drove very carefully in the left lane. She felt very content with her lover being at her side, and not in a hospital. It felt like the good old days were coming back. Devil Octavia slapped her on the cheek: Idiot! You never think something like this!

“Oh, I seduced her.” Vinyl kept humming peacefully as she loomed over the wheel and looked in the rear mirror, hoping to change lanes.

“I see, that-” Octavia froze in place. “Wait, you did what?”

“I seduced her,” Vinyl said simply, changing lanes to make a U-turn. “While you were asleep after our lovemaking, I went on and sexed her.” A thin blush covering Vinyl’s cheeks gave away the fact that the joke she’d made was even more embarrassing for her than for the addressee of the joke. “I mean, we have a free relationship and all.”

“We don’t have a-” Octavia noticed the blush and the smile and exhaled in content, leaning back in her seat. “You’re joking. Of course you are joking.” She waved her index finger in the air. “You almost got me.” With love in her eyes, she sent Vinyl a floating kiss, knowing a real one would distract the novice driver.

“Well, I am allowed to joke today,” Vinyl said, finally making a graceless U-turn, cursing under her breath as a passing crossover almost hit her, beeping at her loudly. “It’s my birthday, after all.”

“Yeah…” Octavia closed her eyes with a nod. Then her eyes shot wide open. “Wait, what?!” she questioned for the second time in the last five minutes. “It’s your birthday?!”

“I’m turning twenty-three,” Vinyl replied, blinking the light to get to make a turn. “Happy birthday to me!” She laughed - as it seemed, merrily, but Octavia noticed the notes of sadness beneath it, and not the general sadness that was always present, the care for her brother, but a new, sad sadness that-

The crash happened so quickly that Octavia couldn’t understand what had hit them. The car spun, with Vinyl dropping the wheel and pressing the brake into the floor. Octavia felt the metal of the car pressed into her left shoulder, the uninjured one - a weird, unpleasant sensation. The car stopped, with Vinyl’s foot still on the brake and Octavia in an uncomfortable position, the smashed left half of the car pressuring her badly.

With effort, the cellist managed to get her arms out and shook Vinyl furiously. “Vinyl! Vinyl! Are you all right?!” The spinner didn’t reply, just staring ahead with empty eyes. Groaning, Octavia slapped her girlfriend across the cheek to get her out of the stupor. Vinyl slowly turned her head. “Vinyl! Are you okay? Did the glass shards hit you?”

Vinyl shook her head. Only then did Octavia realise there were no glass shards, and that the whole accident was less of a catastrophe that she’d imagined. Only the dent in the left side of the car was evident; otherwise, it seemed all right, if not fine. “Tavi!” Vinyl finally came to her senses. “You’re bleeding!”

Octavia glanced at her left side, but saw nothing.Is Vinyl having hallucinations now? “No I’m not.” Then she glanced at her right shoulder and saw that, indeed, the wound was bleeding through the thick bandage, soaking her shirt in red. “Damn. That knife got deeper than I’d thought.”

“A knife?” Vinyl almost shouted, looking at the blood, trying to come up with a solution. “You’re telling me you got stabbed?!”

Octavia nodded slowly. “Yeah… I mean…” She shrugged. “How else would I have got this wound?” She tried to open the door, but it was stuck and, frankly, dented in such a manner that it was unlikely it’d ever open again.

“I dunno!” Vinyl winced painfully. “I mean…” She tried to gesticulate, which didn’t seem very effective, given the position they were in. “I thought you had cut yourself!”

“Why would I cut myself?!” Octavia countered.

Before an argument could break out, the door to the driver’s seat opened and in looked a weird, tall young woman with mint-green hair and a piercing in her ear. “Hey, you all right there? I beeped at you but-” She froze as she saw exactly who she was talking to. “Vinyl? Vinyl Scratch?!”

Vinyl winced and glanced at the woman. Ugh. More fans. Not today. “Yeah, the one and-” Suddenly, she squinted her eyes, scrutinising the woman’s facial features. “Wait. Wait wait wait… Lyra? Lyra Heartstrings?!” A wide grin appeared on Vinyl’s face. “Lyra! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Excitedly, Vinyl turned towards her cellist. “Tavi, this is Lyra Heartstrings, my childhood friend. She moved away from the city about eight years ago, moving to a secluded village or something.” Vinyl turned towards the mint-haired woman. “Lyra, this is my girlfriend, Octavia Philarmonica. How come you’re back? Why did you dye your hair? What-”

Octavia cleared her throat audibly. “I would love to see you two exchange pleasantries, but can we please leave the car? I think five more minutes and I’ll bleed out all over again.

“Oh, of course! I, uh!” Vinyl grabbed Octavia by the hand, tugging at it - a gesture that only intensified the cellist’s pain. “Oh, Tavi, I’m so sorry!” She looked at her woman hopelessly.

However, Lyra came to the rescue. She grabbed Vinyl by the shoulders and practically ejected her out of the car. “Vinyl. In my car, there’s a first aid kit. Grab it and get here. Now.”

She smiled at the frowning and wincing Octavia. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “I am a doctor.”

***

“Could you tell me a bit about your parents?”

Neon looked around. The desk was buried under a chaotic pile of papers. Neon could relate: to counter his neatness, his obsession with things being in their places, he had learnt to create chaos as well. Nothing from something.

The clock on the wall was yellow and made of plastic. An image of a happy chicken drawn by “Stephanie, 8 YO” adorned the wall next to the clock. The flowers in the corner vase had long died, now mere reminders of their once beautiful image and once delicious scent. The doctor was looking at him expectantly, not hurrying him up, but not giving him an option to escape this thread of conversation.

“I only talk about my father when I’ve had some alcohol in me,” Neon said fairly, proud that he wasn’t exactly lying. Well, almost.

The black man chuckled and reached under the table, taking out a bottle of brandy. “What a coincidence,” he said with a smile. “Now, I know this sounds barbaric, but there’s an alcohol ban in this hospital so we’ll have to use plastic cups.” With that, he motioned towards the cooler in the corner of the room.

Neon rose from his seat and walked towards the cooler. “Sometimes I doubt it that you’re a doctor,” he said half-jestingly, taking two plastic cups from the dispenser. “Smoking and drinking aren’t exactly healthy activities.”

“Oh, they aren’t,” the doctor agreed with a nod. “But you have to forgive me: I’m a mental doctor, not a GP. So,” he concluded, motioning for Neon to sit and pouring them both a little brandy, “are you ready to say something now?”

Neon sipped on the drink slowly, trying to come up with the right words. “I...  Uh.”

“It’s interesting how the first word that comes out of your mouth when you’re unsure what to say is ‘I’, isn’t it?” The doctor poured Neon a little more. “Shows something in our nature, I guess.”

“He wasn’t a bad dad,” Neon tried, finishing the brandy in one gulp. His throat hurt a little. “I mean, he did, uh, did do bad things to us, but… We kinda…” The man groaned and shook his head. “I can’t tell you. I know that if I keep talking, I’ll break down into tears or something. And,” he interrupted before the shrink could ever speak, “while you may say how important it is to cry, I’m sure not crying here before you.”

The doctor shrugged. “I am not telling you to open up your heart at once.” He put the brandy away, despite Neon’s longing gaze. Instead, he took out the now-familiar pack of cigarettes. “Just tell me the basics. And,” he clarified, “I don’t mean how it affected your sister or your mother…” He glanced at the papers. “May she rest in peace. I want you to tell me how it affected you. Your relationship with your father, Ni- Neon.”

Neon looked at the painting by Stephanie closely. The chicken looked way too happy for an animal who was about to be slaughtered and turned into a meal. “My sister called me today. Said she was coming to visit me with her girlfriend. They had made peace or something. But she got into a car crash.” Seeing the doctor wince, he clarified, “No, nothing happened. Just… Vinyl has always been a bad driver. It’s just the car that’s broken, that’s all. But that means it’ll be a while before they get here.” The man sighed deeply and looked at the doctor. “Look, can we do it like a question-and-answer kind of thing?”

“No,” the psychiatrist said softly. “It is important that you tell me that by yourself. You have to be the one who’s opening up. Look,” he suggested, “do you like writing?”

Neon shook his head. “I get where this is going. You’ll tell me to write about my dad. Seen this in The Great Gatsby. The version with DiCaprio.” He paused, pondering. “Damn, it’s really high time Leo got an Oscar.”

“Well, you’re connected to music, right?” the doctor tried another way. “So why don’t you sing to me about your dad?” The black man smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. “Just a short song depicting maybe one occasion - or just…”

“I’ll have to write the score first,” Neon interrupted, “and I don’t think I want to do it now.”

“Not necessarily,” the doctor objected. “Just take an old song and sing it with new words. Don’t worry, we’re copyright-friendly in this establishment.”

Once more Neon looked at the happy chicken. Maybe this was worth a try? Even though he could barely understand why he was coming here, he wasn’t exactly familiar with psychotherapeutic techniques, so he had to trust the doc here. Besides it was still a while until Vinyl came…

Neon sighed and began to sing:

“Little Nini had a dream, E-I-E-I-O…

To win a place in football team, E-I-E-I-O~

His daddy didn’t care for him, E-I-E-I-O…”

Neon chuckled at the stupidity of his behaviour. “I’m breaking the rhythm here, aren’t I…”

“That’s fine.” The doctor put down his pen after scribbling down a few words. “It’s very good, please carry on.”

“Nini hoped he would be there,

Daddy wasn’t anywhere, E-I-E-I-O…”

Neon gulped, his voice growing stronger, giving a chilly, minor tone to the childhood song. It felt as if he was weaving all his pain, all the trauma into the tune:

“Daddy beat him up all day, E-I-E-I-O…

And Nini thought it was okay, E-I-E-I-O…

Nini grew and kicked his ass

Never ever made amends, E-I-E-I-O…”

Tears showed up in Neon’s eyes but he kept singing, the tone of sadness matched only by the anger in his trembling voice, by the malice that dripped from the notes, the dark, evil undertone:

“Nini came to Daddy’s grave, E-I-E-I-O…

Kicked the stone, thought he felt great, E-I-E-I-O…

Daddy always haunts his dreams,

Never stops, or so it seems…”

He sang in a low voice, slowing down the tempo: “E-I… E-I… Ooooo…” He thought he would cry, but, surprisingly, almost all of the pain was gone, replaced by a weird, empty sorrow within. He didn’t hesitate to inform the doctor of that.

“It’s all right,” the shrink assured, passing his patient a cigarette and a lighter. “For today, that’s enough. Here, take another one.” He put the pack back in his pocket. “Trying to cut down on tobacco and alcohol,” he explained with a laugh. “So far, isn’t working all that well.”

“Keep trying, doc,” Neon said with a sad smile. The chicken was as happy as ever. Of course. It didn’t have a chicken-dad and a chicken-sister to look after or a chicken-label to take care of.

He sighed and got up from the chair. “That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.”

***

“...So I decided to help those in need and I’ve been circling the country to give people medical aid,” Lyra finished explaining as the three women sat in a nearby coffee shop while their insurance agents argued outside. “I would have called, but believe me, in most of those places, there’s no cell phone service.” With that, Lyra munched on the strawberry cake she’d ordered.

“Ha.” Vinyl laughed, giving Octavia a soft elbow. Octavia felt bizarre: Vinyl was easy-going and open and even bawdy, and there was no shy girl with complexes that Octavia had come to see Vinyl as. “Cell phone. Have you been touring the US of A?”

“Almost.” Lyra chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. “South Africa. Next month I’m going to Brazil. Those BRICS guys hired me for their new Free Healthcare for All programme.” She leant back on the back of the chair, revealing how… shapely she was, despite being rather flat. Octavia felt her mouth watering. Angel Octavia shook her head in disapproval. Devil Octavia began drafting the Threesome Scheme.

“Why are you here?” Vinyl wondered, quickly amending herself: “I mean, it’s great that you’re here, but… you haven’t visited the city in a long while, so…” Vinyl blushed and looked at Octavia, who cheered innerly for her once again shy and reluctant girlfriend. To boost Vinyl’s confidence, she wrapped her arm around Vinyl’s neck.

“I’m getting hitched,” Lyra replied simply, putting the tea down with a bright smile. “I’m marrying the love of my life, Bon-Bon, and she wants us to get married in the city to make it all epic and pompous. God knows I would opt for a quiet country wedding, but oh well.”

“Bon-Bon?” Octavia finally spoke up. “That’s… an interesting name.” Yes, Devil Octavia jested, and Lyra is an ordinary name. Of course. Ashamed of herself, the cellist dug into her ice cream, which, by now, was more liquid than solid.

Lyra laughed. “Her full name is Bonnibel Bonaparte.” Catching Octavia’s horrified look, she nodded. “Yes, the descendant of Napoleon, if her family tree doesn’t lie.” Still seeing confusion in Octavia’s eyes, she clarified, “Lyra isn’t my full name either. I’m Larisa, but Vinyl has been calling me Laura, then Lyra since we were kids. So I guess-” She finished the tea. “-the name stuck.”

“That’s cute.” Vinyl nodded. “I mean, you will get to travel around the world with your wife… That’s amazing!” the spinner concluded, closing her eyes dreamily.

“Yeah…” Lyra half-confirmed. “I guess Brazil will be fine, but then India and especially Russia… Don’t know if we’ll be treated all right there.” The frown on her face quickly made way to a smile. “But I’m sure that, while we’re together, everything will be fine. So.” She looked at the pair, with Vinyl’s head resting on Octavia’s uncut shoulder. “Have you two thought about getting married?”

“No,” Vinyl said with a laugh, precisely at the same time that Octavia whispered, “Yes.” In the ensuing silence, the spinner turned to face her girlfriend slowly. “You have?” she asked in a hushed tone, disregarding Octavia’s unease. “Really?”

“Oh, look at me!” Lyra laughed out loud artificially and scribbled on the napkin. “Time to run, so much to do! Leave you two alone here’s my phone number in case you need me really gotta go kay thanks bye!” With that, the woman stormed out of the coffee shop, blushing and laughing at the same time.

“She didn’t pay,” Octavia noted without breaking eye contact with her woman.

“You have considered the idea of us getting married?” Vinyl asked slowly, as if unable to believe it was Octavia in front of her.

“Yes…” Octavia confirmed, getting anxious. “I mean, I know I look like I’m kinda a wanderer, but I… Yes,” she said with more determination than her voice had ever carried. “Yes, I have thought about tying my life to you, forever and beyond. Because I love you, Vinyl. More than anything.”

Vinyl opened her mouth to speak, but closed it in an instant. It felt like she wanted to say something, something important, but either couldn’t find the guts to say it or didn’t want to say it right then. Instead, she sighed and looked at the clock. “Let’s get going, Tavi. We still have to visit Neon.”

***

“I am sorry.”

Neon raised his brow, lying in bed in his cheap tracksuit. A paper with a pen lay next to him on the little desk he’d moved up to the bed. On it, a half-finished portrait of Vinyl made in pencil smiled at the two women who stood uneasily in the room.

“I really am sorry,” Octavia repeated, looking at her toes, unable to lift her eyes to see Neon’s no doubt judging gaze. “I shouldn’t have taken your sister from you. We should have sorted this thing out, the three of us. I was wrong. I promise I will be more caring and wise from now on.” She finally lifted her eyes, but saw no malice, no judgement in Neon’s eyes. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“Sure.” Neon nodded. “I mean, I find it hard to believe that people change, but hey, I’m the one in an asylum here.” The man laughed and took up the paper. “Look, sis, I’m drawing you.”

Vinyl took the paper reverently, like a sacred book, like a scripture. She looked at… well, at herself. The soft lines of her chin and the bold lines depicting the hair. The radiant smile on her face, frozen in its beauty. The slight nod of the head on an unfinished neck. Shades drafted on her forehead, in a manner she hadn’t worn her shades in years. “It’s…”

“Beautiful,” finished Octavia, staring at the paper in awe. “It is beautiful. The only thing that is more beautiful is Vinyl herself,” she said breathlessly, not daring touch the masterwork.

“So you do have it for my sister, huh.” Neon rubbed his chin and took up the paper back. He stretched and got up from the sofa, walking towards the window, where the sun was far from setting, illuminating this warm evening with its soft, gentle rays.

“Nini, I thought you didn’t draw!” Vinyl exclaimed in surprise, looking at the paper. “I’ve never seen you… draw before?” She halted, seeing as her brother was looking out in the street silently.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he said finally, without looking away from the street, with its simple summer splendour. Neon sighed and took out the cigarette the doctor had gifted him with. Vinyl tried to protest, but the man had already lit it.

Taking a drag, Neon finally looked over his shoulder. “Maybe people really do change.”

6. Cycles

“So you’re not allowed to leave?”

Frederic took a bite of the cake, savouring the smooth milk chocolate on top of it, a tiny rectangular that was meant to be purely cosmetic but still added a whole new cascade of flavour.

“Frederic,” Neon replied, wiping the cream off his lips with the sleeve of his tracksuit, “I’m in a mental asylum. What exactly about this whole thing screams freedom to you?”

“Well,” Frederic countered, taking a sip of the tea, feeling uncomfortable on the plain wooden chair, “I mean, they  could’ve let you out for your sister’s birthday.” He munched on the cake gleefully. “Happy birthday to her, by the way.”

“It was yesterday,” Neon took a thin, tiny slice of the cake, “and Vinyl only came in the evening. Nobody’s gonna let me go for a night. Besides,” he took a small bite, “my doc thinks I’m still too unstable to go socialise with normal people.”

Frederic put down the cake, gulping the chewed mass. “Well, you do socialise with me.” Seeing Neon’s grin and a raised brow, he slammed his forehead with a hand. “Of course. ‘Normal’ people. Not me. Har har.” He straightened himself on the chair. “Well, just so you know, I am officially running The F Records, LLC, from today on.” He puffed out his chest proudly.

“Seriously.” Neon blinked, feeling dumber by the second. “Seriously. You called your label ‘The F Records’? Are you bananas?” He looked around, as if trying to find someone else to address. “I thought I was bananas.”

“You are bananas,” Frederic confirmed with a laugh. “I’m maracujas.” He sighed and stood up from the chair, taking a short walk towards the window. Summer was still in charge, with its hot, stuffy atmosphere, its days and filled with sunlight, but autumn was crawling over the city, tiptoeing towards it with humidity and soft summer rains, embarking on the natural cycle. “Everything changes, Neon,” he said sadly. “I run a label, your sister has found her love, Octavia is learning to care for people, and you… well, you are you.” He sighed and lowered his head. “Everything changes.”

“You do know what I’m gonna say, right.” Neon wasn’t asking; he was punctuating. “About how war-”

Frederic raised his right hand in the air solemnly. “Neon, if you quote that stupid game, I swear on my immortal soul, they will never find your body. Besides,” he turned towards the man in the tracking suit, looking even more ridiculous in a white suit on a grey T-shirt, “everything changes, Neon. Even war.”

“Everything stays, Freddie,” Neon protested amicably, getting up and walking up to his friend. “Like the vampire queen sang in that cartoon series, everything stays. Look, changes are temporary. What has changed, though?” He placed his hand on Frederic’s shoulder, but the Polish man was still looking outside.

“You may get philosophical with me, Neon, but I bring you facts.” He showed his palm. “The cold facts. Octavia and Vinyl and totally an item now, driving the highway to marriage.” One finger went bent. “You have tried to commit suicide, and, even though I saved you, I cannot save you from going nuts in the process.” Another finger went bent. “I have practically stolen your label, taken it for myself, and now I don’t know what to do with it.” Another finger went bent. “Madeline is gonna go nuts when she finally learns-”

Frederic felt strangely tense as he felt the grip on his shoulder tighten. In a moment, something vibrated in Neon’s pocket. Without looking at the phone, Neon turned it off. He didn’t need to look at the caller. “Don’t summon her,” he said very seriously, his eyes taking up their mad glimmer again. “I hope she will get the notion and will stop calling me. Ever.”

“Neon, it doesn’t work that way-” Frederic tried to explain, but, upon turning round, saw the fires of madness and, instead, guided his friend slowly to the bed. “There. There, Neon. Easy now. Madeline won’t get you here.” He smiled at his friend, whose eyes were running about hectically. “I will stand guard. Now just to tell your doctor you’ve got agitated… I think a sedative will help you…”

“I’m fine.” Neon took a few deep breaths. He extended his left arm and then pressed his palm against his chest. Taking a few more deep breaths, he closed his eyes and opened them up again, looking at Frederic more or less normally. “I am fine, really. Don’t leave. Let’s talk some more.”

“Sure, buddy,” Frederic agreed readily, pushing up the chair to the bed and subsequently sitting on it. “I can stay for as long as you want.” For a while, the room enjoyed a deep, manly silence. Then, Frederic decided that even silence has its limits. “Did I tell you I named my label-”

“Yes.” Neon nodded with a frown. “Yes you did. And,” he pointed his finger at the man thoughtfully, “you also told me you didn’t know what to do with it.”

“Kinda,” Frederic agreed, rocking back and forth on the chair. “I mean, who am I gonna sign? Who will be my first act?” He shrugged. “For that matter, what’ll be the first album that brings me my well-deserved millions?”

“Oh…” Neon smiled and winked and laughed at the same time. “I think I have an idea…”

***

“What’s up, birthday giiiiiirl~”

Vinyl looked up from the fridge that she had been about to raid (but had found devoid of anything worth eating) and her mouth fell agape. In a moment, she collected herself and pinched her nose. Then her arm, to see if Octavia’s stupidity could indeed reach such a level. “Tavi,” she said finally. “Either I am dreaming - which I really hope I am - or you have just come to the kitchen wearing a strapon.”

Octavia wiggled her crotch victoriously. “You are not dreaming, but you wish you were! I am here with Solid Dick and I have come to conquer the She that turned twenty-three yesterday!” She made a scratching motion and a growling noise that didn’t go together at all.

Vinyl groaned. “Octavia. I am not even going to ask you why you bought a strapon. I am not going to ask you how on Earth you thought of calling it Solid Dick. I am just going to ask you to remove it and buy us some food.”

“B-but…” Octavia pouted, her eyes watering up like a puppy’s. “What about the hot sexings? Vinyl, you’re not gonna leave me and Solid Dick hanging, are you?” Suddenly, the idea hit her. “Heey, ‘hanging’. Get it? Because it’s-”

“Yes.” Vinyl sighed and began massaging her eyelids. “Yes I get it, Tavi.” Since when am I the voice of reason here? For a moment, Vinyl felt very weird. It wasn’t like this relationship had undergone a full character reversal. But, in reality, ever since Neon had ended up in hospital, it was she, Vinyl, who was the reasonable one, able to carry the burden of Help on her shoulders. And it was Octavia who seemed to have lost her calm - though, in reality, had she ever truly had it? With all she’d been through? But then again, I’ve been through some shit too… But I’ve changed. I guess Octavia is changing too? “Everything changes, Tavi,” she said suddenly, very sadly, as she finally moved away from the fridge and sat on the stool.

“How do you mean, love?” Octavia immediately sat down next to her girlfriend. Somehow she realised when was the time for jokes and when there was the time for seriousness. She had lost some points in the past, sure, but she could still be there for Vinyl, any time the spinner needed her. She could still be her beam of support. She could still be her Octavia. “There hasn’t been any great change, love.”

“You don’t get it.” Vinyl shook her head and looked away from the cellist, tears in her eyes. “Neon will never be the same after that suicide attempt. Even now as we speak, they are filling his mind up with chemicals just so it keeps functioning properly.” She trembled. “Your Frederic will never be the same, now that he’s got the label. Greed poisons men’s souls.” Octavia grabbed the woman in an embrace and held her. “You will never be the same now, after you got stabbed.” The trembling intensified, and Octavia held her woman tighter. “I will… I… I…”

“Shh.” Octavia leant in, pressing her lips against Vinyl’s in order to silence her. “Vinyl, listen to me. Those are unworthy changes. Those are just small, tiny changes that life is full of. In reality, look how it all really goes down.” She kissed Vinyl’s forehead. “Neon will still be your loving brother, always.” Vinyl ceased trembling and put her head on Octavia’s shoulder. The cellist began running her fingers through the spinner’s wild, dishevelled hair. “Frederic will always be my friend, the loving, caring…” But admittedly weird. “Guy that he is. And I… And you… Octavia smiled, trying to show her beaming face to the DJ. “We will always be together, you and me. I will never leave your side. I’ll change, but, by changing, I’ll just make sure our relationship stays the same. That you stay happy and positive. See?” Octavia laughed. “Everything stays, Vinyl.”

Vinyl sniffed one last time and offered her cellist a weak smile. “Maybe you’re right, Tavi.” She leant in the embrace and exhaled contentedly. Then, she felt something poking at her leg. “Tavi?”

“Hmm?”

Vinyl deadpanned. “Take the strapon off, please. Now.”

***

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.”

“On earth as it is in Heaven,” the woman repeated shyly as the preacher moved on with the prayer:

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.” The preacher shifted a little, casting a look at the few people who had gathered for a prayer.

“Forgive us our sins.” The woman tried to smile at him, but the preacher didn’t smile. “Or was it ‘trespasses’?” Ashamed, the woman looked away.

“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.”

“Yes.” The woman nodded and crossed her chest. “Deliver us from evil. Amen.”

The preacher bowed his head and walked off, in the direction of the confession boxes. Ashamed, the woman looked around her, but all she could see was an old couple lost in prayer on the bench and a woman reading the Bible in the corner. She quietly got up and walked past the benches.

The Church wasn’t as full or as lively as it used to be. Many people had shifted to a new religion, the Internet. But here, the woman could remember the times when she was a girl, when her parents would take her to church where she would hear priests pray in a language she, then, couldn’t understand. It looked mystical. Now, the Church was trying to be as modern and down-to-earth as ever, as opposed to Orthodoxy which was clinging to its old traditional values, or more and more new Protestant churches, some of which went as full-on mystic as to actually discard the Bible in favour of a new book. But here, well, this was Christianity as she remembered it back from when she was a girl.

Besides, being in a church was nice. Definitely a nice change from the coffee shop, where she toiled away, no longer looking forward to the day’s end, or home, where she would call him for hours, trying to get an answer. Deep inside, she knew the answer, but she feared it so much. How many men had promised to marry and then ran away before? Of course, some loving part of her heart was worried that something might have happened to him, to her fiance, but the more rational part told her that he had probably just run away. And she was so stupid, to believe that, in such short time, a marriage could be born!

Not that she was that ready for marriage. But… he had proposed! And she-! “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” She waited for the preacher to bless her. “I… It’s been a while since my last confession… not that I actually came here to confess.”

“Why did you come here, then, child?”

“I… I wanted to talk. But I don’t want to see a psychotherapist. I am used to the Church helping me so… I just came here.” Madeline gulped and looked away - even though there was no point of looking away in a confession chamber.

There was a pause coming from the priest’s side. Then there was a sigh. “What do you want to talk about, child?”

“There is this man, Ne- Nigel,” Madeline began slowly, trying to come up with the right words to tell her story. “We dated for a while and- yes, I know, we, um, we did it before marriage. But he proposed!” It looked more like she argued with herself. “He proposed to me and then… Then he… Vanished. He doesn’t answer my calls. I am afraid something has happened to him, but…” She gulped again, feeling her mouth all dry. “Well, my sin here is that I think he just left me.”

“God will have mercy on the meek and will punish the offenders,” the preacher suggested in a gravely voice. Hearing no reaction, he cleared his throat and carried on in a more therapy-like manner: “So… You are worried because you are afraid you will never see him again?”

“That too.” Madeline put her face in her hands for a few moments. “I am afraid, more or less… of change. I mean, life will never be the same after him. Now that he is gone, everything has changed, and, and I have to lead my life somehow.”

“Have you changed?” the preacher asked. “Has he changed you?”

“N-no, I don’t think so…” Madeline tried to gulp but her whole mouth and throat were dry, so the gulp came out pretty painful. “I mean, we haven’t been together for that long… For him to change me or for me to change him…”

“Has your family changed?”

“No, I guess…” Madeline began drumming on her knee. “My family is still the same, and I’m, well, I’m as unmarried as I was…”

“Has he changed your beliefs?”

“No…” Madeline could almost see the smile on the preacher’s face. She expected a kindly, soft smile. “My faith is always with me. It’s always in me.”

“Are you better now, child?” the preacher asked with a smile in his voice. “Do you see now?”

“See what, Father?” Madeline tried to pierce the partition with her gaze, but saw only wood. “Yes, I’m better, but what am I supposed to see?”

“That everything is still the same, child.” The preacher let out a sigh. “Everything stays.”

Madeline paused for a moment, then blushed a little. “Can you pray with me, Father? My favourite prayer.”

She began suddenly, and the preacher soon followed. The two voices formed a strange, interesting harmony as they chanted together:

“Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, princeps militiae caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen.”

7. Stranger Than Fiction

“I think a G-sharp would be good here.”

Octavia glanced at her girlfriend, who was lying in bed on her side - now in Octavia’s flat, where there was both food and a normal oven that didn’t take an hour to preheat to one-eighty degrees - and scribbling on a piece of music paper.

“With all due respect, love,” Octavia said warmly, taking the paper away from Vinyl, who rolled on her back to grab it, and erasing the note. “A G-sharp here would be a sin against music.” With that, she booped Vinyl on the nose.

“Beethoven,” Vinyl lifted her finger meaningfully, “would often throw a G-sharp here and there in such situations.” She rolled over again, this time ending on top of Octavia’s back, and tried to grab the paper away.

“In this case,” Octavia let her spinner take the music away from her and shrugged the woman off her back, “Beethoven was a sinner. A music sinner.” Angel Octavia shook her fist in the air: The fires of Hell await you, sinner! Devil Octavia blinked: What. “Gimme the paper so a properly trained classical musician can do her thing.”

“Nu-uh.” Vinyl shook her hand and buried the paper under the blanket. “I’m the composer, I decide where to put the G-sharp.” She smiled mischievously, igniting Devil Vinyl on fire. Literally. Angel Vinyl blinked. All right. That’s anime-tier weirdness here. “You’re just…” She poked Octavia’s tummy. “Just my own, private, personal session cellist.”

“Ack!” Octavia grabbed the spinner’s finger, pressing it against her lips. “You wound me, Mistress! You wound me so!” She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead and pretended to be faint. “Oh, Mistress, how could you call your one and only love a mere session cellist!”

For a moment, lack of understanding crossed Vinyl’s eyes, but the meekness of the past gave way to the joy of the present. So she just put the tip of her index finger in her mouth. “Oh, I’m so, so sorry!” She licked the aforementioned finger, with Octavia peeking out at her curiously. “It’s this...tongue of mine…” Vinyl licked her lips seductively and crawled on top of Octavia, who, at this time, was lying on her bed, already flustered and feeling more than a little hot. “I guess… my tongue will have to… fix this little problem?” Vinyl wiggled her brow seductively.

“Oh yes.” Octavia blinked, wrapping her arms around the DJ, dragging her into a kiss. “So much yes.” The cellist had just felt the offending tongue enter her mouth, begging for forgiveness, when the new ringtone decided that it hadn’t been tried on yet, and rang like the good ringtone it was, a thick, bawdy jazz, an old rendition of Move by the famous George Shearing Quintet.

Octavia did like jazz, and she especially liked Shearing, but right now she couldn’t hate the tune more. Escaping Vinyl’s mouth with a loud pop, she groaned upon looking on the screen. “It’s Frederic. I’ll put it on mute.”

And she was ready to do just that when Vinyl interrupted her. “Wait, Tavi! What if it’s about Neon?”

Seeing the worry in her girlfriend’s eyes, Octavia immediately took up the phone. “Frederic? Is something… wrong?” She tried not to give way to worry in her tone, then realised with sudden revelation that she did feel worry towards Vinyl’s brother, maybe for a moment, but real, genuine worry. Immediately, the cellist felt better. And then, immediately, felt bad for feeling better.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Frederic’s voice came through, “I just wanted to talk to you about something.” He paused. “Neon’s okay. Well… As okay as he can be at the moment.”

“Neon’s fine,” Octavia whispered to Vinyl, who almost collapsed in relief. Well, who did collapse in relief, and on top of Octavia at that. With an ‘uff’, Octavia spoke into the phone again: “Great, Freddie, you should totally call some other time. We were just about to have sex.”

“But what if I tell you,” Frederic’s confident voice echoed from the phone, “that I have something to offer you? Something better than sex?”

Octavia laughed and waved her hand slightly, more of an automatic motion, since she knew Frederic couldn’t see her. Meanwhile, she tickled Vinyl on her side, making the spinner giggle and make wavy, snake-like motions on top of her. “Freddie, I am absolutely certain nothing you can offer us is better than the hot lesbian sex we’re about to have.” With that, she grabbed Vinyl and drew her in. “So thank you and-”

“Wait, just hear me out.” Frederic didn’t exactly come off as desperate, but there was a strain in his voice that Octavia didn’t like. “I just had a genius idea and now I want to share it with you two. Meet me at Grabby’s in an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, why not.” Octavia hung up and tossed the phone away, watching it his one of the pillows. “Now…” she purred into Vinyl’s ear, the vibrations of her voice sending the spinner over the edge already. “Freddie wants us to meet in an hour, so we have enough time…”

“An hour?” Vinyl replied worriedly, shifting on top of Octavia, as to assume a better position. “Tavi, are you sure we’ll make it?” She felt Octavia’s lips pressing against her, the cellist’s delicious teeth chewing a little on her bottom lip.

“Don’t worry, love,” Octavia assured upon breaking the kiss. “Knowing you, we’ll be done in fifteen minutes.” Her hands slipped on Vinyl’s ass and began massaging it, rubbing it in like dough.

“Okay…” Vinyl relaxed into the embrace and closed her eyes. Then, suddenly, they shot wide open. “Wait! What’s that supposed to mean?” She almost got out of the embrace, but Octavia held her close.

“Shh, love.” The cellist laughed and kissed Vinyl’s neck. “It’s just that somebody comes too fast~ Not that I find it bad in any way…” She nuzzled the little spot between Vinyl’s ear and cheek.

“Oh, I’ll show you!” Vinyl felt her body surging with power and pride. “I’ll show you just how long I can last!” She leant in to devour the mouth of the unbeliever.

“Can’t wait, love…” Octavia tickled Vinyl’s side gently. “Can’t wait…”

***

“Madeline, I’m sorry.”

Neon stared ahead of him, his hands locked tight behind his back, his fingers white from the pressure. His heartbeat resonated somewhere in his throat, and he was sweating profusely, keeping in a sudden urge to throw up. “I’m sorry because I left you. I’m sorry because I proposed to you. I was mislead, and…” Neon sighed. “Frankly, I went nuts. I was torn apart because of Vinyl and-”

He groaned and fell onto the bed, hearing it squeak beneath his body. “No, I can’t do this.” He looked around the empty room. “This isn’t something I can rehearse.” The sound of his voice echoed off the walls of the ward. Great. And now I’m talking to myself aloud.

It might have been easier to practise before a mirror, but, for some reason, there were no mirrors in hospital wards. Maybe that was because some patients were afraid to see their face? Or maybe that was the loathing some of them felt when seeing themselves in the mirror? Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the maddest of them all?

The shrink had made it clear that he needed to talk to her, in order to get healed and, eventually, get out of here. Sure, he could fake it, but, for some reason, he didn’t want to be dishonest with the old black man who smoked and drank brandy like no doctor did. Then, a devious idea crawled into his mind.

He collected the ideas that he’d just expressed, grabbed his phone and began to type furiously. He never specified how I should talk to her. After the text message, he posted the address of the clinic and, with a soaring heart, hit Send.

***

“Hmm. Seventeen minutes.”

Vinyl buried her face in her hands to conceal how flushed her face was. She got up from the bed to walk away, but, with her face still being in her hands, walked straight into the wall. With an ‘ouch’, she revealed her face, pink as a balloon. What a weird simile, Angel Vinyl remarked. Devil Vinyl was still resting in post-coital bliss.

“I mean, that’s a new record for you, love.”

Octavia could barely contain her laughter as she saw the spinner walk into the wall. Her spinner. That’s my spinner! Devil Octavia claimed victoriously.Before Angel Octavia could object, Devil Octavia chanted, I came. I conquered. I… came. And she came too. That’s why she’s my spinner. The little devil on Octavia’s shoulder sent Angel Vinyl a kiss. Devil Vinyl guarded her counterpart… with a stick.

“Tavi, stop making fun of me,” Vinyl demanded quietly, turning her feet in the cellist’s direction. “I only come so fast because you are so… um, skilful.” The DJ flushed crimson, averting her eyes, but Octavia was fast: she leapt off the bed and approached her spinner with unspeakable love in her eyes.

“Vinyl, love, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Octavia said, guiding Vinyl out of the sleeping nook and towards the kitchen. Good, Devil Octavia nodded primly. A woman’s place is in the kitchen. Angel Octavia stared at her in disbelief: You what, mate? “I mean, why would you be ashamed of how you orgasm? You don’t need to be ‘better’-” Octavia showed the inverted commas as she seated Vinyl on a stool. “-for me. I am perfectly content with our sexy times.” She kissed the spinner on the neck and sat next to her.

“Oh.” Vinyl’s face lit up with a thoughtful smile. “But what if I decide to go sleeping around and the society will condemn me for not being able to hold up for long?” She licked her lips and leant in over Octavia. “And what if we decide to have that threesome you wanted? You’ll need to teach me how to postpone my…” Suddenly, the spinner blushed, reverting to her shy, self-conscious self. “My, um, orgasms,” she almost whispered, sending Octavia into giggles.

“Vinyl, you have at the same time grown confident and still remain a cute, nerdy girl,” Octavia said with extreme approval, getting up to pour them some tea. “Just like Travis from-”

“No,” Vinyl said firmly, still accepting the tea, barely warm, just the way it was meant to be drunk. “Don’t you ever mention that game. Neon has been going crazy about it ever since it was released.” Realising the exact wording of hers, she winced. “I meant, he’s… agitated.”

“I understand, love.” Octavia sat next to her once more, cradling her mug and blowing on the tea out of force of habit. “I won’t. Frederic doesn’t want to hear about it either. Oh!” She brightened up a little, putting her hand on Vinyl’s shoulder. “We should totally meet him for whatever he wants to tell us. Hope it’s something good.”

Vinyl winced and put down her tea. “He looks weird to me. Also, I wonder when he’s gonna give Neon back his label. Our label.”

Octavia sighed. “Ah yes. That. Yes, would be nice. I’m sure he’s inviting us to discuss exactly that.” The cellist smiled widely. “After all, it’s still Freddie, so we’ll come to an agreement, I’m sure of it.”

“Tavi?” Vinyl asked suddenly, very very quietly, inching closer to the cellist, laying her head on Octavia’s breasts.

“Mmm?” Octavia put down her mug, kissing the top of Vinyl’s head. “Yes, love?”

“Did you really consider getting married to me?” Vinyl asked calmly - even though it was evident from the strain in her voice that the question was, by far, one of the hardest she had ever asked.

“I…” For a moment, all ideas left Octavia’s mind, and she struggled just to find the right words. But, surprisingly, when she began to speak, words began pouring out in a thick, flawless river of truth. “Yes, love. Yes I did, I have, and I still am considering it.” She sighed and kissed the top of Vinyl’s head again, feeling the hairs tickle her lips. “I know what I did wrong, and I know you would never say yes, after how I treated your brother… But I like to believe that what I am doing… That everything I do, I do for you.” She smiled and continued with more determination: “Every morning, I wake up to spend the day with you. Every time I cook meals, it is for you to taste them. Every time I put on my make-up, it is so you don’t look bad in public.”

“I don’t care about the public, Tavi,” Vinyl said with sudden forcefulness. “I only care about those close to me. And those close to me are Neon and you. Do you understand why it hurt me so much when you reacted to my brother that way? Because you are both equally important to me, and…” She lifted her head, gazing into the lavender of Octavia’s eyes with her magenta pools. “And, while Neon is my family by birth, I would sure like to have you as my family, thanks to same-sex marriage being legal here and all.” The spinner paused and sighed. “But not now. There’s just so much going on… Neon, the label, our project…” She groaned and put her head back on Octavia’s chest. “Can I just ask you for something?”

“Sure, love.” Octavia began running her fingers through the spinner’s hair, her heart leaping to her throat - and yet the calming motion was having its intended effect. So I can’t propose for a while. But when do I understand that it’s the right time? Damn, it would be better if Vinyl herself could-

“Can we just agree that, when I’m ready… And if you are ready,” Vinyl quickly added, “I’ll be the one proposing to you?” She could feel Octavia’s heartbeat slow down and her muscles relax.

“Of course, love.” Octavia released the breath she’d been holding. That’s pretty much what I wanted to suggest. “Of course. Now,” she shook Vinyl off and got up, “let’s see what Freddie has in store for us?”

***

“And that is essentially what happened.”

Neon finally took a deep breath. Surprisingly, speaking his heart out was not as hard as he had imagined. Once he saw that Madeline was not furious, once he realised she was ready - and needed - to hear him out, once he started speaking, everything became easier.

Madeline just stared at him for a while, silent through the whole monologue. Then, she sighed and looked away from the man. “I see. I mean, it’s hard to believe, and a lot to take in, but… I see.” She rose, heading for the exit.

“Madeline, please…” Neon tried, but then stopped himself. What exactly was he trying to ask of her? To stay with him? It was impossible after all that had happened. To forgive him? Her saddened eyes told him he was forgiven. What else, then, did he aim for, when he extended his hand in a silly motion to stop the woman.

“Neon, it would be a lie to say I don’t love you one bit,” Madeline said very seriously, but all without sitting down. “It would be hypocritical to assume you don’t love me at all. But, after all that’s happened, we can’t be together. It will be a relationship built on pity and mistrust.”

Neon just stared ahead of him and nodded slowly. Yes, of course. Pity and mistrust. Madeline was speaking the right words, but why did they hurt so much? He looked at her. As perfect as the day they met. “Yes,” he said with a sombre finality. “Of course. You are right.”

Madeline’s facial expression softened a little. “Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. When you feel better,” she said without pointing out the unnecessary madness, “give me a call. You have my number.”

“Of course.” Neon nodded. “Of course."

***

“No way!”

Vinyl slammed her fist against the table, drawing the attention of other patrons in the clean, but still rather dirty-looking establishment. Grabby’s, known for both its delicious food and its ridiculous ad campaign (“Grab a snack at Grabby’s!”), was a perfect location for oiling the gears of business, discussing how to rig the local elections, and, well, meeting potential employers.

“There is no way in hell,” Vinyl said pointedly, glaring daggers at the shock-struck pianist, “that I am going to sign up to the label you stole from my brother!” She almost rose to leave the little metal table in the corner, but Octavia had managed to put her hand on her shoulder in time.

“I…” Frederic worked his jaw for a few seconds. “I didn’t steal it from him! Neon gave the label to me!” he protested, his voice firm with determination. Several patrons looked at the scene, but then returned to their food and drinks.

“He is sick, Frederic!” Vinyl pontificated, her voice on the verge of breaking. Octavia just looked at her girlfriend arguing with her best friend in horror. “He isn’t responsible for what he did!”

“It’s my label now!” Frederic took a protective stance, like a baby devoid of candy. “I am offering you a good deal! You get sixty percent of what you earn, and I give you complete freedom! Didn’t Neon talk to you about how it’s time to let go and stop clinging to-”

“It was Dad’s label!!!”

Vinyl’s yell came out as a deep, primeval roar that immediately attracted the attention of all patrons. The little establishment fell into complete, utter silence. Swiftly, Vinyl rose from her seat and stormed off towards the exit, followed by a very shocked Octavia.

Frederic stared ahead of himself for a moment, then sighed and downed his gin. He looked at his watch, which reminded him that it was half past two, and not quite the time for such a strong drink. He told the watch to go fuck itself. With a stick.

“I guess this is where I come up and congratulate you on blowing it all to pieces?” A dark-haired man came up to Frederic’s table and sat down opposite him, staring at him with wise, thoughtful eyes that were usually sparkling with laughter, but now looked worn-out and sad.

“Harpo, now is not the time.” Frederic sighed and rubbed his eyelids. “What set her off? I mean, Neon himself said that they needed to move on. He himself gave me the label. What was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Harpo rubbed his chin sarcastically. “Maybe consult with his sister before registering it for yourself? Or, you know, waiting till your best friend has left Crazytown?”

Frederic just glared at the far wall, adorned with pictures of various jazz musicians, none of which had actually performed there - how could they, with no stage to host them? “We were stuck in a shithole,” Frederic said bitterly, “playing for about thirty people twice a month. Now there is a whole label at our disposal. Why don’t we grab this chance?” Frederic hit the table with his fist. “ For that matter, when the hell was the last time we rehearsed as a quartet?”

Harpo fell silent for several moments, then sighed and gave Frederic a sad, little smile. “There is no quartet, Freddie.” He shrugged his shoulders and opened his arms. “Not anymore. Octavia has left us for the project with Vinyl. You haven’t sat at piano for ages, drowned in your managerial work. Bea and I don’t see the point of this whole thing anymore.” He paused and chuckled slightly. “Glad I didn’t bring her today. Would have been scandalous, I’m sure. One way or another.” He laughed and tapped the table - which didn’t have the intended effect, for the table was far from being wooden. “Women, eh?”

“Oh no, you don’t get to play this card.” Frederic shook his finger in the air, taking the conversation too hard. “You’re, like, half-gay.”

“Being bisexual is more than-” Harpo began, but, seeing Frederic’s stern, determined face, just sighed and waved his hand in the air dismissively. “You know what? You know what you did wrong with the label. It can take one little signature to fix it all and make it all better. If you still do care about Neon, you’ll do right by his sister.”

“Don’t you guilt-trip me!” Frederic practically hissed, pointing with his finger at the harpist. “I did this whole thing for the best of the quartet! I did it so we can finally do our thing without worrying about rent or booking new venues!” Frederic leant in, growling, “I did this for the good guys! The good guys won, the label is ours, I can’t see what’s everyone’s problem now!”

“The problem, Freddie,” Harpo said very softly before standing up and heading for the exit, “is that, this time, the good guys actually lost.”

***

Don’t ever let go~

Try to let go~

Don’t ever let go~

Octavia finished the song on a bright, yet lamenting note, a note worthy of Steven Wilson’s song. She sighed and looked at Vinyl with bright eyes, noticing how mesmerised the spinner was. “Did you like the song, love?”

“It’s one of my favourites,” Vinyl said almost breathlessly, sitting up in bed and patting the spot next to her, prompting Octavia to sit down. “Hearing you sing makes me… better. It doesn’t make me forget what that bastard did to the label, but it… it does take my mind off the topic.” As soon as Octavia sat down, she placed her head on the cellist’s shoulder.

“I am not going to defend Frederic,” Octavia said, carefully choosing her wording, treading on this minefield of childhood fears and emotions, “but I can assume, by default, that he did have good intentions. At least, he always has.” She pressed her nose against Vinyl’s head and inhaled the sweet scent of Vinyl, a scent that, to her, was so unique that it didn’t need to amplified by a shampoo or summer sweat, a scent that blocked out all other scents, even with her unique perception. Did Vinyl have a sound of her? Did she lay awake at night, listening to her, Octavia’s, breathing? “I’ll talk to him, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“I don’t want to talk about him right now.” Vinyl listened to Octavia’s heartbeat, knowing her woman by heart. Her perception of sound allowed her to hear every little breath Octavia took, her heartbeat, the sound her teeth made when they rubbed against the tongue in her mouth. “Let’s talk about something else. Your amazing singing, for example.” Vinyl smiled.

“I didn’t choose this song just because,” Octavia said, putting her arm over Vinyl’s shoulder, with Vinyl’s head resting in the cellist’s armpit, and lay down, dragging the spinner with her. “I wanted to tell you…” Careful, Octavia, careful... “I wanted to tell you how important it is to let go.” She sighed, feeling Vinyl tense up on her arm. “Love, you need to forget about the past. It isn’t the matter of Frederic owning the label, it is about you forgetting about what your father did to you.”

For a moment, Octavia expected an angry tirade, or Vinyl breaking into tears, but instead, Vinyl relaxed and spoke very calmly: “It isn’t about forgetting, Tavi. I know what you might think. Yes, I overreacted a little, with it being Dad’s label and all. I understand that Dad is gone and that…” She chuckled an unusual, dark chuckle that didn’t fit her at all. “I get it. It’s not his label anymore. But that just means that it’s more important for Neon and me to run it.”

“How so, love?” Octavia asked cautiously, feeling her arm falling asleep. But this was too important to shrug Vinyl off, or interrupt her enough to move her arm.

“You say ‘try to let go’, I say ‘don’t even let go’. Whereas the truth is more sublime. It’s about assuming control over something you had no control before.” Vinyl turned her head to look at the ceiling. “Neon is assuming control over his mental problems, making them easier. If I assume control over the label, I think, maybe, I’ll deal with issues regarding Dad. I know,” she said pointedly, even though Octavia wasn’t about to argue. “I know I did have control over it - but that was before we talked about our fathers. Which, I suppose, excuses your kidnapping me to Montenegro.” Vinyl chuckled, and Octavia’s heart soared. Suddenly, she was… forgiven?

“I guess you do have a point.” Octavia tried to stay rational, even in the wake of giddiness at Vinyl forgiving her. But then, Vinyl did have a point. “Control makes it… easier to cope, I guess?” She looked at the spinner for confirmation.

“Yes, Tavi.” Vinyl sighed and buried her nose into Octavia’s armpit before emerging and concluding, “And forgetting will sometimes just leave your problems to haunt you at night.” She sighed again, a deep, happy sigh. “But you know why I am not afraid of that?”

“Why, love?” Octavia asked, even though she knew the answer - for her, it had long been the same.

“Because I know you’ll be with me tonight. And every night.” Vinyl smiled. “Can you promise it?”

“Every night,” Octavia promised. “Every single night.”

***

“I just wanted a damn label!”

Frederic slammed his fist against the table, feeling pain enter his hand gradually, as if trying to wake him up from his rage. Surprisingly, it worked, and his next remark, he said in a calmer tone:

“Why can’t I just have this one thing?”

Because you didn’t earn it.

“Shut up!” Frederic addressed himself, sitting at the desk in the dimly-lit room. “For once in my life, I don’t have to worry about the landlord and the rent!”

You weren’t born poor, and you aren’t exactly poor now.

“But the label will bring me profit!” Frederic argued. “It will enable me to- to-”

To give money to all your friends?

“Yes.” Frederic got up and headed for the kitchen. The kettle waited for him on the cupboard. He took it up, pouring the tea into the mug, just a little. It was deep night, after all. “Harpo and Bea could buy a new flat. Vinyl and Octavia could… I dunno.”

They don’t need your money, Frederic. They need a friend.

“I am a friend.” Frederic opened the fridge. Upon seeing the stale cheese and the lonely six-pack of beer, he informed his stomach that late-night snack was out of the question. His stomach informed him that it didn’t need refilling anyway. “I am their friend. I am doing friendly things. As a friend. I’ve helped them all!”

Yes, and they all still need your help.

“Well, I am trying to help!” The pianist took the tea and moved back into the room, sitting down at the desk. A bed, a wardrobe, a bookcase, and a desk. All he had. But with the label, he could be so much more. He could live in a penthouse suite of the greatest hotel. He just needed to explain to Vinyl and Octavia and Harpo and Bea how great it would be if they just signed up at his label. Yes, and-

Frederic, you know what exactly you need to do to really help.

“I can’t!” Frederic almost cried. He took a sip of the tea and placed the mug back with trembling fingers. “The label can give me so much. It can give them-”

Frederic, you are the only one here who profits from this. You’ll have the label, but you’ll have no quartet. And no friends.

Frederic wanted to smash that voice in his head, smother it with a pillow, but what could he do if this voice was right? He hadn’t earned this label. It just fell in his hands. And he just caught it. But now that he had caught it, his friends were turning away from him. What was he to do?

Do what you must. Then rebuild the quartet. And hope that Vinyl and Octavia join you.

“And if they don’t?” Frederic took a piece of paper, determination leaving him as he took up the pen. “Yeah, yeah. That’s their choice. Well, that’s what I get for helping others. No label, and no…” He sighed and began writing.

This was probably the right thing to do. Sure, he was sure he was entitled to this, but… This wasn’t how things worked. He was sure that, had he bought the label or inherited it, things would have been different. But his ownership of the label was… fake. It was unfair to Vinyl, and, by extension, to her girlfriend, and his friend, Octavia. It was unfair to them because he was ripping them off the chance to have a say in all of this, in the very least. It was unfair to Harpo and Bea, if only because he would never be able to be part of the quartet, what with all the paperwork. He needed to restore the quartet. He knew Octavia would agree, but only if Vinyl could become his friend too. Collecting friendships. What a hobby.

And yet, somehow, with those thoughts, the pen slid across the paper more easily, and the heavy burden inside his heart was vanishing. He skimmed through the paper.

....resign due to reasons that… pass the ownership of the label to Vincenza Staccato… with power to rename, restructure or re-register the label in any way or manner…

With a deep, final sigh, he sighed the paper and stamped it. “You happy now?” he asked aloud. He was definitely happy. It was weird happiness, but it was the kind of happiness that told him that things could be the way they were. With the quartet. With Octavia. And maybe things could be good with Vinyl too. “You happy?”

But the voice was gone.

8. Looking up

“That’s some damn good hot chocolate,” Octavia remarked, sipping the lukewarm drink from a big white mug that looked so pristine that it seemed it had been cleaned up with sparkling powder. “Very delicious, Bonnibel.”

Bon-Bon, a plump, busty woman with a wide, honest smile and weirdly-coloured hair (even Vinyl winced at the pink-and-blue of her hairdo), laughed from behind the counter. “You’re welcome, Octavia. And please, do call me Bon-Bon.”

Octavia laughed back. “But then I’d have to ask you to call me Tavi, and Vinyl would certainly object.” She looked at her girlfriend, who was drinking tea after tea. “Would you, love?”

Vinyl shrugged and smiled warmly at the playful cellist. “I certainly object to the way you call your cocoa ‘hot chocolate’.” She pointed at the mug. “I mean, Bon-Bon is kind enough to let this slip, but I am merciless when it comes down to sweet stuff. It’s cocoa,” she repeated pointedly, “not hot chocolate.”

“I’m pretty sure,” Lyra chimed in, walking to the counter and wrapping her arms behind Bon-Bon, “that Bonnie’s menu states that this is hot chocolate.” She kissed the confectioner’s neck tenderly.

Vinyl frowned theatrically. “Lyra, while I do like the fact that you invited us for breakfast to your fiancee’s cafe, and while I am enjoying the tea and the pastry, I simply cannot let it slide. Cocoa,” she said knowingly, “is the milky drink that you drink. Hot chocolate,” she motioned towards nothing in particular, still making the three other women follow her gesture, “is the food that you eat with a spoon, and then wash down with water.” Devil Vinyl looked at woman proudly. That’s how you show them! Angel Vinyl only sighed. Why are we arguing about terms again?

“When I lived in Italy,” Octavia said, making Vinyl flinch a little, for the only connection she could make was between Octavia and her father, “there was this tiny cafe I liked to visit. They said the difference between cocoa and hot chocolate is that cocoa is made with milk, and hot chocolate is made with hot water.” She sipped on her not-quite-chocolate-according-to-Vinyl and still enjoyed it immensely, regardless of the title that was given to it.

“If we ever visit Italy,” Vinyl said carefully, remembering just how much pain Italy carried with it when it came down to Octavia, “you’ll have to show me that cafe so that I can properly…” She paused, choosing her wording. “Educate them.” Devil Vinyl whipped out a riding crop. Angel Vinyl blushed and mumbled something, retreating to the divine bedroom.

“Vinyl is right,” Bon-Bon said suddenly, emerging from behind the counter and carrying a plate of muffins. “It’s just that all my recipes are old family recipes, and in my family’s recipes…” She put down the plate, with Octavia immediately taking one for herself and Vinyl pondering which one to taste first: the glazing was all different! “In my family’s recipes, this drink is called hot chocolate. So deal with it.” She showed her tongue to the grumbling Vinyl, whose eyes suddenly lingered on the confectioner’s breasts… more than a little.

Immediately, Bon-Bon noticed the look and decided to have some fun at Vinyl’s expense. “Why, Vinyl, “ she said, turning left and right so that her breasts jiggled a little behind her T-shirt. “I am absolutely honoured that you look at me that way…” Vinyl blushed thickly and wished she were somewhere else right now. Even a secluded island would do. In fact, a secluded island would be best. “But I am sure my wife would object.”

“Your wife?” Vinyl asked, blinking obliviously, embarrassment forgotten, her gaze shifting from Lyra to Bon-Bon and back to Lyra. “Don’t tell me…”

“We got married just a few hours ago,” Lyra announced proudly, grinning at her friend. “We basically called you two to celebrate.” With that, she wrapped her arms around Bon-Bon’s neck and engaged her in a brief make-out session that made Octavia ‘aww’ and Vinyl blush even more.

“I thought such an occasion would benefit from a grander celebration, no?” Octavia wondered, making Vinyl assume, for a second, that her girlfriend was secretly French. Imagine the possibilities! Devil Vinyl urged.

“Oh, we are having a real party tonight,” Lyra assured, popping out of Bon-Bon’s mouth. “We’re gathering all our friends at Bonnie’s place tonight and we were wondering if you’d like to come.” She approached the table and snatched a muffin. “I mean, we would totally understand if you can’t but…”

“Are you kidding?” Vinyl grinned a new grin, the kind of grin that told Octavia it wasn’t entirely new, but was rather rooted in some childish determination that was all gone, but was now being recovered. “We would love to come to your party!” She turned towards Octavia, who was finishing her muffin, much to the displeasure of Angel Octavia, who urged her to watch her figure. “Right, Tavi?”

“Absolutely!” Octavia agreed with a firm, honest nod. Devil Octavia snatched a tiny demonic muffin and retreated to her hellish room. Angel Octavia ran after her, waving her hands in the air: Watch your figure!

“There’s just one rub…” Lyra rubbed the back of her head, chuckling at how she mimicked her own words. “I mean, it’s not that big, it’s just…” She sighed, spilling the beans at last: “We don’t have music. We wanted to hire some musicians, but it’s not exactly a classical type of event, you know.”

“We wanted to book a DJ,” Bon-Bon chimed in, now wrapping her arms around Lyra’s neck, placing her head on Lyra’s shoulder from the behind. “But we couldn’t find a-”

“You.” Vinyl squinted her eyes, not feeling bad for interrupting in the slightest. “You wanted to hire a DJ? Well, why didn’t you hire DJ Pon-3?” she wondered, the corners of her lips down.

“Oh!” Bon-Bon waved her arm in the air like spaghetti. “She would never agree. We’ve heard her music, and it’s divine. But to assume that DJ Pon-3 herself would-”

“Bon-Bon,” Vinyl said very quietly. “I am DJ Pon-3.”

For a moment, the room froze in unspoken shock. Vinyl could hear the static in the air, the white noise reflecting off the walls of the confectioner’s establishment. “I am DJ Pon-3,” she repeated in a louder voice this time. “Don’t you ever check photos of performers when you google music?”

Lyra stared at her childhood friend for a long time, then, silently, took out her phone and tapped it. Then tapped it again. Then tapped in the name. And yet another tap. And then- “Holy fucking shit!” She looked up from the phone to look at Vinyl, then showed the phone to Bon-Bon, whose reaction, albeit wordless, was no less shocked than her wife’s. “Goddamit, Vinyl! Who would’ve- I mean! You were so-! And now-!”

Vinyl finally laughed, the corners of her mouth once more up, her white teeth shining in the light of the cafe. “The look on your face! And yes, to preface your question, I would love to DJ at your wedding party tonight.”

“Holy shit!” Lyra stared at the spinner in awe and fear. “You are DJ Pon-3. Yeah, well, I could have guessed, what with the name ‘Scratch’, but I’ve always thought this was one of your whims.” She turned to Octavia. “I mean, do you know her real name is Vincenza?”

“Well,” Octavia replied very calmly, “considering that I have sex on her with a daily basis, I suppose it’s only fair for me to know her real name.” She offered Vinyl a tiny smile - which did not prevent the spinner from blushing and losing her confidence. Octavia reached out for Vinyl’s neck and drew her in for a kiss. “Come ‘ere, Vincenza.”

“Well,” Bon-Bon said finally, coming to terms with what has happened, “then I guess you can stare at my boobs all you want.” She winked at the terribly flushed spinner.

Devil Octavia looked up from the shoulder. Can we have a foursome, please? However, Octavia’s phone ticked once, which signified a text message. The woman automatically reached in her pocket, taking out the device.

“I… I wasn’t-” Vinyl tried, but a tap on the shoulder from her girlfriend brought her out of the reverie. She glanced at the screen, where a high-quality photo of an official letter told her… that… “What.” She looked at Octavia, uncomprehensive. “What does that mean.” Her tone was plain, non-questioning in the slightest.

“That means…” Octavia said slowly, reading over the document again. “That means that Frederic has resigned from his position at F Records and has given you ownership. It has the public notary’s stamp. All it takes is you stepping into the label and signing the papers and…” Octavia half-smiled, half-winced. “And the label is yours. And only yours.”

Vinyl sat there in place for some time, then sighed and rubbed her eyelids. “They don’t pay me enough for this.” Devil Vinyl raised her finger: Actually… Angel Vinyl took out the stick and waved it in the air menacingly. Devil Vinyl shut up.

“Something you wanna tell us, Vinyl?” Lyra wondered, still standing by her wife. Octavia looked at the two, feeling both happiness and envy. People might say that marriage doesn’t matter, that it’s the relationship itself that is important, but she could see how homely, how right two married people were. How great it was that same-sex marriage was legal where they lived. How great it was that she and Vinyl… Could… Eventually.

But now, Octavia thought with determination, I need to talk to Freddie. Something tells me he needs a listening ear, now more than ever. “Vinyl.” She stood up, still snatching a muffin for the road. “I think I need to talk to Frederic and find out what it’s all about. Meanwhile you can tell y- our friends the situation.” Suddenly Octavia felt strangely warm, and slightly elated: finally, there were so-called ‘friends of the family’ - even if Vinyl and she weren’t technically a family. Yet.

Vinyl just looked at her strangely, then sighed and shrugged. “Sure. If it gives me back my label, why not. We’ll meet at your place or my place?”

“My place,” Octavia provided quickly, feeling in her bag for the present that was long overdue. Finally, she fished out the second set of keys. “Here, love. Another set of keys to my place.” She tried to keep her voice as dispassionate as possible. “Just in case you come earlier than I do.”

Vinyl opened her mouth to say something - object? Octavia thought in fear - but Lyra spoke out: “Hey, does that happen often? I mean, you coming earlier than your girlfriend?”

Vinyl blushed furiously and looked away sharply, while Octavia just laughed and gave her spinner a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, more than you can imagine.”

With that, she vanished into the hot, stuffy city morning.

***

“Thank you.”

Frederic looked at the cellist and smiled sadly, nodding his head as he passed on the papers. “It’s for the best,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “After all, it is her label, after all. I just hope she won’t let this whole label thing come between us.”

“It won’t come between us, for sure,” Octavia assured her friend, placing a hand on his hand, just like countless times before. “I… Frederic, you know that you are my very best friend. What I did… back then… when you sang the lullaby…” Octavia couldn’t find the words, and just choked on them.

“Shh.” Frederic took off her hand and took up his mug, drinking some tea. “It’s all right. Let’s forget that. That never happened.”

Octavia was almost ready to agree, when, suddenly, a realisation dawned upon her. “No,” she replied firmly. “We shouldn’t forget that. That was my old ways. Now, I realise that I have to remember my mistakes, and become better for them.” Octavia smiled at Frederic’s surprise. “Took me a stab to the shoulder to realise that.”

“You got stabbed?” Frederic looked over the woman with fright and caution. Of course. He glanced at her shoulder. How could I not notice that?! “Do you need any help? Harpo knows a doctor-”

“Thank you, Freddie.” Octavia shook her head, packing the papers in her bag carefully. “You giving Vinyl the label is help enough.” He’s so kind, she thought, watching over the pianist as he sipped his tea. Just like he’s always been to me. But there had always been something off about the man, as if something were haunting him constantly. Now, though… Now, his face was as bright as the sunny day that it was, and there was no sign of inner struggle.

“Well, at least now I know I’m staying in this flat for a while.” Frederic laughed, and Octavia expected the laugh to come out bitter, but it was in fact soft, chiming, jingly laughter of a man who had done something right.

Octavia shifted uneasily on her stool in the tiny kitchen. The few times she had been at Frederic’s, the flat had always seemed so small, the walls crushing you, the light barely entering the rooms. Of course, her flat wasn’t much better - but it was still better. But, I guess, it’s cheap so Freddie doesn’t have to overpay for it. “It’s so small,” she blurted out. “Just like I remember.” That’s what she said! Devil Octavia exclaimed victoriously. “Why don’t you play piano for money? I mean,” Octavia quickly supplied, “people would hire you. Parties, restaurants, session piano?”

Frederic rubbed his chin, as if considering this question for the first time in his life. “You know. I honestly have no idea why.” He put the mug away and stretched, showing the muscles Octavia had so loved once, the body she had devoured so many times. In the past. “In the past, I guess, I was too focused on the whole quartet thing, but now…” He chuckled sadly. “Now that the quartet is gone, who knows?, maybe I should start taking odd jobs.”

“Don’t say that!” Octavia protested heatedly. “We’re on hiatus. Once Vinyl and I have finished our project, I’ll go back to the quartet. I am sure Harpo and Bea will love to play as a quartet again.”

Frederic looked like he wanted to argue, but, as many countless times before, he had simply let Octavia remain entitled to her opinion. “We’ll see. For now, of course, your project takes priority. And hey!” Frederic grinned - a gesture that made Octavia somewhat happy. “I still expect my share from what she pays you.”

Octavia laughed and showed him her tongue. “We’ve agreed that she’ll pay me in sex. So sorry, you’re out of the league.”

“Oh!” Frederic slapped his forehead suddenly. “Speaking about payment, I haven’t paid you… or Harpo… or Bea… in a while. Money’s been tough, what’s with no performances, but we still have some surplus left from-”

“Freddie.” Octavia smiled, pressing her finger against Frederic’s lips. “Shush. I have a lot of savings, and so do Bea and Harpo. You’ll pay us when we’ve actually done something as a quintet.” She paused, then laughed. “And dammit, make a bank account already! I swear we’re the only musicians that get paid in cash, like drug dealers!”

“Yeah, I guess.” Frederic laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Tax inspectors don’t like cash transactions either.” He tapped the table thoughtfully. “All right. I’ve ordered a sushi delivery so unless you want to pay half the cost, I suggest you go grab a bite somewhere else.”

Octavia showed him her tongue and laughed merrily. Being here was good. Sanity was good. “Thank you, Frederic,” she said again. “For everything.”

The man smiled. “You’re welcome.”

***

“I’m better.”

Neon listened to the words escaping his mouth and wondered if they were true. Something clicked in his head again, prompting him to amend his wording, “At least I think I’m better.” He sighed, looking at the black man opposite him. “Every time I think I’m better, though, my head grows heavy and I have those obsessive thoughts. But,” he lifted a finger, “if I don’t tell myself I’m better, I am fine.” Oh really? “Well, as long as I don’t remember that I have obsessions, they don’t bug me. When something triggers those thoughts, well, I’m having thoughts.”

The doctor finished scribbling on a large piece of paper and looked at Neon curiously. “Yes, this sounds like OCD.” He began scribbling again, much to Neon’s disgruntlement.

Thank you, Captain Obvious. ...Well, technically, Doctor Obvious. “But I’m better still, now that I’ve talked with Madeline,” he pressured. “I think I’m on the road to recovery.” He smiled sheepishly at such posh grandiloquence.

“Neon,” the doctor addressed the man correctly from the first try, “I know you are aching to leave this place. I understand you. But I have to make sure that you will pose no threat to yourself or to others. Which is why, I am afraid, I’ll have to extend your stay for about a week. Of course,” the shrink quickly supplied, “that’s up for discussion.”

Neon shook his head slowly. “No, doc. I think I belong here, for a while.” He sighed and looked around the room, his gaze lingering on the happy chicken. “Who’s the little girl who drew this?”

The black man’s face swirled into a grimace of pain and displeasure, but just a moment later he gathered his composure. “That’s… That’s not what is important right now.” He chewed on his bottom lip, then managed a smile. “You said you wanted to show me something?”

“Yes.” Neon took out the folded paper and passed it to the shrink. “I’ve been drawing recently, for whatever reason I can’t say. But this is the portrait of Vinyl, my sister. You’ve seen her.”

The doctor stared at the drawing breathlessly, marvelling at how simple pencil shading could make such a huge difference. “Just…” He caught his breath. “Just like she used to draw… So… beautiful…”

Neon stared ahead of him for a while, then took out the pack of cigarettes Frederic had smuggled in for him. He offered the doctor one, and the black man took it, all without taking his eyes off the drawing. “Hey, doc,” Neon said finally. “I know it’s all about me - and half a dozen other patients you have - but if you wanna talk, I’m here for you. I’m not a specialist but sometimes you gotta talk to a simple man to get simple compassion, instead of analysis.”

The doctor sighed, then took out the brandy, motioning for Neon to take the plastic glasses. “That’s not a story one tells while sober…” Neon fetched the glasses, and the doctor poured the drink. “I… I really shouldn’t. You are my patient. Talking about my problems would be unprofessional.”

“Doc,” Neon said, drinking his brandy. “I like to say that we gotta help each other out in this ‘life’ thing, whatever that is.”

“Hm.” The doctor laughed and sipped his drink as well. “Indirect Vonnegut quotes to start off a conversation. Not bad.” He scribbled something in his paper. “Will have to keep that in mind with my reading patients.”

“So…” Neon shrugged. “Let’s have a deal. You tell me about the girl, I rant about my father in return. How’s that?”

The doctor finished off the brandy. “Hm. Unprofessional. But highly intriguing.”

With that, he began to talk.

***

“So, how does it feel?”

Vinyl rolled her eyes at her girlfriend’s antics. Octavia had taken out a red leather overcoat and fished out a microphone, which she was now poking on Vinyl’s cheek. “Octavia Philarmonica, from Sexy Cellists and Spinners Daily. We are wondering how it feels to have your own label and to have such a sexy, beautiful girlfriend at that?”

Vinyl, however, was in no mood to jest. “Did he struggle?” She immediately winced at her wording, which prompted Devil Vinyl to think there was a murder involved. “I mean… He gave me the label, the papers you brought me are signed and valid, but he… How did you persuade him?”

“Vinyl,” Octavia said very seriously. “Frederic is a good guy. He may seem weird, but he’s the most honest, caring person I know. If you don’t trust me, trust Neon. They are good friends. “He gave the label because it was the right thing to do. And, while he may err, he will eventually do the right thing.” Octavia smiled knowingly. “And no, I’m not saying that just because he’s my ex.”

“I trust you, Tavi,” Vinyl quickly supplied. “It’s just that…” She sighed and decided to speak out. “I dislike him… well. I don’t know if I really dislike him. But. It’s not just about the label,” she confessed. “It’s because you used to date him. I feel… jealous? That I’m not your first one.”

For a few moments Octavia was silent, then she laughed lightly. “Vinyl, love, if you were my first lover, I wouldn’t have been able to… tend to you with such experience and passion. Concerning Frederic, our relationship is in the past.” She pondered. “Think of it as… treatment. He treated me from being afraid of men, and now we’re just good friends. And,” she added pointedly, “I’m sure you two will become good friends as well.”

Vinyl shrugged. “We’ll see. Well, I think I should get my records and the portable turntables,” she said, getting up. “I’ll perform the standard progressive trance routine.”

“Love, I’ve had an idea…” Octavia interrupted, taking off her overcoat. “Why don’t we try to perform the current version of our song? The tune we’re writing? It’s eclectic, but it has trance in it.”

Vinyl rubbed her chin, watching her girlfriend undress, only to undress more, in order to put on some formal clothes. “I don’t see why not. That will give us the initial feedback. With a project this big,” she said, “it always pays to hear some opinions. We’re too in love with the tune to see its flaws, so if the guests comment on it, we’ll see… Yeah, sure,” she concluded. “I’ll get the sheet music and the laptop with the files.”

“Great.” Octavia smiled. “Let me get my cello.”

***

Vinyl felt rather nervous.

She couldn’t exactly pinpoint why she was nervous and when she would be nervous. Those little spurs just came on their own. Sure, she hadn’t performed in front of a crowd for a while, and, frankly, even when she would perform on a daily basis, there would still be anxiety, no matter how carefully she hid ti. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t know anyone at the party apart from Lyra and Bon-Bon. And, of course, Octavia, who, having put the cello case in the corner of the improvised “stage” in the Large living room (which was bigger than Octavia’s flat and which Vinyl immediately christened the Ballroom), was now mingling with the dozens of guests, many of which were Bon-Bon-invited, and, thus, were mostly members of high society.

Vinyl quickly noticed that no one wanted to watch her toy with the crossfader, so she put on the playlist that would last a while and departed to the snack-stand. She had barely grabbed the salmon sandwich when she experienced a rough, powerful slap on the shoulder. With an eep, the spinner looked around, frightened; but what she saw immediately made her face change into a wide grin. “Spits?”

The tall, gruff, Irish redhead smiled back, showing her perfect teeth. “Vinyl! Vinyl Scratch, a DJ! Imagine that!” Immediately, the woman crushed Vinyl in her strong embrace, barely leaving enough space for the spinner to breathe. “So you totally followed your dreams!”

“Spitfire!” Vinyl exclaimed happily, hugging the woman as hard as she could. Which was… not very hard. Casting a look at the parade military uniform, Vinyl offered, “Well, as I can see, you’ve followed your dreams too. When you left for the Academy, you wanted to become a Lieutenant, correct?”

Spitfire lazily flexed her muscles, leaving Devil Vinyl in lusty awe. “Now I’m a Captain. Glad to see you here, after all these years.” She released Vinyl from her embrace, much to the gratitude of the choked-out spinner. “You and Lyra been in touch? God knows we haven’t.”

“Not really.” Vinyl yawned and glanced at her turntables. “We met a few days ago…” In interesting circumstances. “And she invited me and my girlfriend Octavia to the party. I’m the DJ, as you can see.” Vinyl chuckled.

“Damn,” Spitfire swore under her breath. “All of my friends are lesbians. With things going this way, it’s a matter of time before I am seduced by some girl.” The military woman laughed light-heartedly, while Devil Vinyl just stared at her and mouthed, I can arrange that.

“Having fun, love?” Octavia approached Vinyl from behind and wrapped her arms around the spinner, kissing her neck passionately. Vinyl blushed at such a sign of affection before so many people.

“Captain Spitfire, Marine Corps,” the redhead introduced herself, extending her hand for a shake. Immediately, Octavia felt just how powerful a marine’s handshake can be. “So you are Vinyl’s girlfriend, huh? Happy to see my childhood friend found her love.”

“What about you?” Vinyl asked, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Have you found your prince?”

Spitfire laughed, taking a sandwich for herself. “Seems all the princes are taken.” She winced at her own wording. “Well, I guess I’ll have to wait for a duke.”

“Sooo…” Vinyl looked around, finding no one but Octavia. “You’re a virgin?” she wondered curiously, making Spitfire choke on her sandwich. “Don’t worry, I was a virgin before Tavi came and… um.” Devil Vinyl’s nose perked up. “Made me…” Yes! Make that lousy pun! “Come.” Aww yeah!

“Love, while I am sure it is interesting to discuss our sexual life with your friend, pretty much everyone has toasted the newlyweds already.” Octavia winked twice at her girlfriend and nudged her, pointing at the corner with the turntables. “So… Time for our ‘toast’.”

The two women marched towards the DJ set unnoticed, with Octavia grabbing a stool on her way to the little improvised stage. She was calm and collected, as always before a performance. In fact, it was just another chamber performance. Not as a quartet, but as a duet. Sure, it wasn’t a chamber hall, but rather a spacious, roomy flat; but, if she closed her eyes, the smells of people were the same. The odour of light sweat mixed with copious amounts of perfume. The scent of alcohol breath when people talked to one another. Just another performance.

“Um, uh, hello!” Vinyl took up the microphone and addressed the audience. It was different. So different. Usually, at a party, she would be able to let go eventually, because of how the sounds mixed: the roar of the crowd, the loud music, the yells and moans and shrieks and shouts, all directed at her like a sound cannon blasting away emotion. Here, though, there was silence. And silence was making Vinyl uncomfortable. Octavia, sensing this, moved closer to the spinner and placed her hand on her shoulder. “My girlfriend Octavia and I, we want to present something special for Lyra and her wife.” She glanced at Octavia, who blinked and nodded in approval. “It is an unfinished suite, written for a DJ and a cellist to perform.”

Once the silence had settled, Vinyl turned on the programme and pressed space. A soft, luminous beat erupted from the speakers, like a tiny country river lazily flowing around in spring. Octavia closed her eyes and took up the bow. And one, and two- She pressed the bow against the strings, pushing out sharp, elongated notes.

The beat grew sturdier, more concrete, less sublime. The little country river was gaining power, lushing its waters away towards the grand waterfall. The cello followed swiftly, with the notes quickening, piercing the ears like razor blades, the little rocks in the river flowing along with it, swept away by the current.

The drums quickened, the bass grew deeper: it was sizzling, rasping, the waterfall was in full view, and the cello knew it, it quickened again, running forth with sixteenth notes, and, just as the music ceased, Octavia lingered on one note-

And the bass dropped, the mind shattered, the river fell with the waterfall, and the cello notes fell with it, ridiculous, broken-up rhythm of their lives, yes, because this was the music of their lives, not just their relationship, the river carried a little Neon, just like the cello carried a little Frederic, and both carried each other, and then several long, thoughtful notes-

And then silence.

Then, a thunderous applause. The high society were losing their shit, clapping like the filthy commoners they usually disliked, or pretended to dislike; Spitfire was standing there, her mouth open, breathless. Lyra and Bon-Bon, wrapped in one another’s embrace, eyed the little stage in shock. Another round of applause followed swift. Somebody yelled “Bravo!”

Vinyl and Octavia descended, the heroes of the day, to the applause and people offering them champange and Lyra and Bon-Bon saying something but they couldn’t hear it well anyway and the music was still in their ears, it was there in their hearts as they sat next to each other in the corner and relaxed, finally, Octavia’s head on Vinyl’s shoulder, Vinyl kissing the lovely head.

“I said,” Lyra’s voice reached their ears, “that it was the most amazing performance I’ve ever witnessed.” Bon-Bon agreed with a silent nod. “Are you going to record this?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Vinyl replied, still brushing the top of Octavia’s head with her nose. “Once we get all the session instruments - I want a real drummer, for one, not the samples.”

“Oh yes, a drummer. A piano would be nice there, don’t you think?” Lyra suggested, sitting next to the couple. “In the first part, when it’s all slow and flowy. And a piano plus cello intro would be nice too, and then the beat comes in and conquers the music. Kinda like…”

“Kinda like our life,” Vinyl agreed in a whisper. There was a Cello and a Piano, and then the Cello met the Bass, and the Piano faded voluntarily, giving them their life, happy for it. “But where would we get-” Oh. Of course.

Octavia laughed and raised her head. “I think I have an idea.”

***

Frederic took a deep breath, patting his belly, which was now full of Japanese food. Delicious and cheap Japanese food. He looked at the mug still full of hot tea. The warm summer evening definitely didn’t prompt tea-drinking in such a manner. He rose to fill the glass with water.

Back then, in Poland, tap water was undrinkable… Here, though…  A new land, a new life. He fell silent for a moment, listening to the silence that filled the room. Complete, empty silence. A beautiful, uninterrupted sound of silence. Finally. After so long.

What now? Well, now he had to rebuild the quartet, prove to Vinyl he was worth trusting, see to it that Neon got well, and… And who knew what else life would bring? Good or ill?

At least the stern, chiding voice in his head was gone, so it didn’t matter anymore.

9. On the Way Home

“Well…” Vinyl drawled, walking through the corridor and peeking into the offices. “Nothing has changed but the name.” She looked into her brother’s office, where an old newspaper still rested. “So it seems.” Her steps slowed down as she reached the end of the corridor, coming to a halt in front of the familiar door.

“Vinyl…” Octavia said cautiously, placing her hand on her lover’s shoulder. She’d never been to the label before, but this was Vinyl’s life… And, glancing at the door, she knew exactly whose door it was… Whose door it had been. “If you don’t want to-”

“No,” Vinyl said with determination. “No. I. I will.” She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. “It’s my label. It’s my office. It isn’t Dad’s office anymore.” Forcefully, she grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Vinyl gasped a little upon seeing the insides of the office. It was an empty, barren wasteland. Only the desk remained, standing still in the middle of the vacuum and the sharp, eerie silence of the room. The spinner took a step inside hesitantly. “I knew Neon made a mess out of the office, and that it had to be cleaned… but…” She felt her knees weaken, and Octavia stormed over to her, ready to catch her if she fell; but Vinyl straightened herself. “Okay. I… This is for the better. We can use this as a storage room.” She managed a weak, faulty smile. “Some changes are for the better. Little changes that… that…” She walked over to the wall and sat on the floor by it.

Octavia walked over to her hastily. “Vinyl, love, if you want to leave or, um, if you want to tell me something, I…” She sighed and leant against the wall. “What I mean is, I’m always here for you.”

“When I was little,” Vinyl said, “I listened to a lot of classical jazz. But Neon, he couldn’t distinguish between jazz sub-genres.” The spinner chuckled, remembering the brighter parts of her childhood. “So he bought me Bill Evans’ On Green Dolphin Street. I loved the music,” Vinyl assured, “but I loved the cover art even more. The bridge, the old house in the background, and the lonely lamppost.” She sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the memory.

Octavia didn’t date interrupt her: not just verbally, but with an uneasy nod or a curious sound: she knew how sensitive Vinyl’s hearing was. Instead, she just sat on the floor next to her lover and lent her her ears.

“So one day, I was walking around,” Vinyl continued, frowning as she spoke. “Neon and I had just had a row, so I was on edge, walking towards wherever my feet were guiding me, and smoking cigarette after cigarette. I didn’t really see where I was going, but eventually I ended up in some dark and crazy nook of the city, on the outskirts.” The woman paused, looking around the near-empty office. “There was a bridge in front of me. And, just on the other side of the bridge, there was an old house, from, like the Thirties or something.” Vinyl sighed dreamily. “There was a great cherry garden there, with little white cherries. I would sneak out there and pick them up.”

Vinyl fell silent, and Octavia, while realising that her lover needed to get this off her chest, still asked, “Why are you telling me this, love? I mean,” she quickly offered, “it’s a nice story, but… is there something beneath it?”

“Yes and no.” Vinyl groaned and got up from the floor groggily. “It’s just, I guess, an example of change. Pertaining to our previous argument. I mean, there was a house and a cherry garden.” She offered Octavia a hand, and the cellist stood up as well.

“And now the house is gone?” Octavia asked sympathetically.

“Last time I checked, the house and the garden are still there,” Vinyl said, walking towards the door. “But the cherry trees don’t bloom anymore.” She froze, looking over the office just with her eyes. Then, with a heavy sigh, she waved her hand. “Let’s go, Tavi. Let’s see if Frederic wants to join the F Records as a session pianist.”

Octavia laughed, her heart soaring upwards at the mention of her friend getting to know her lover in normal circumstances. Maybe they could bond over music? She and Vinyl had bonded over music for sure. “You decided to keep the name?”

Vinyl shrugged, closing the door behind her as she left. “Let it be a homage to our new session pianist. If he decides to take up the offer.” She wrapped her arms around Octavia, who smiled boldly and pushed Vinyl into one of the empty offices.

“Oh…” Octavia traced Vinyl’s cheek with her fingers, holding the spinner’s waist with the other hand. “I’m sure he will.” She leant over, making sure that her hot summer breath was falling onto Vinyl’s ear. “How about some steamy sex in a steamy office?”

Vinyl exhaled in content, forgetting all her worries. “I thought you’d never ask.”

***

“When I was a kid, we…” Neon laughed, stopping himself from launching into a tale. “No, wait, that sounds like I’m about to unfold a story for you. Let’s just say, we all had our special places when we were kids, right?”

The doctor nodded in silent agreement, writing down scribbles on his paper.

“When I was a kid, there was this tiny amusement park by the pond. Crazy rides and whack-a-moles, nothing but.” Neon took out a cigarette and lit it without asking. “That was my special place. When Dad got rough, I ran there and whacked those fucking moles, one by one.”

The black man opposite him lit a cigarette as well. “You had to find an outlet for your aggression, and it is quite noble that you didn’t take it out on your peers.” He put down the pen and took a deep drag.

“That’s not the point,” Neon objected, placing the cigarette into the ashtray after a few short, concentrated puffs. “When I grew up a little and became an early teen, the amusement park was closed. But then my sister found an old house by the river, with a cherry garden. It became her special place. She thought I was far when she went there to be on her own, but,” Neon chuckled, “I was nearer than she could imagine.” He lifted his eyes to the doctor. “Round the corner there was a baptist church. They didn’t build it: they took an old jazz club and repurposed the building.”

Neon took back the cigarette. “I met their priest when he was playing guitar by the underground, singing about how not paying for your fare was stealing from your brother.” The man laughed, placing the cigarette back without taking a drag. “I didn’t like the message, but I liked the music. We made friends.” The doctor raised his brow. “It was all right and honest,” Neon assured. “They thought he was a paedophile, but he really just loved children.” Neon emphasised, “In the pure sense of the word.”

“So you were escaping to the baptist church after you’d made friends with the priest?” The doctor extinguished his cigarette.

Neon nodded. “Pretty much.” He sighed and picked up the cigarette once again, inspecting it closely. “I have no idea why I told you all this. I wanted to say something completely different.” The doc raised his head questioningly. “I’ve talked to Madeline today. It felt… all right. A nice, friendly talk. There is some tension on her side, and I suppose there is some tension on mine, but, all in all, I hope we can be friends.”

“That’s good to hear.” The doctor smiled.

“Yes.” Neon sighed, extinguishing his cigarette. “Good to hear.”

***

“Truce?” Vinyl offered her hand cautiously, feeling like a high general in wartime. Granted, this was a very similar situation: two parties on a neutral territory (Octavia’s flat, in this case). The spinner didn’t know if she could believe this man, the smiling man who had once had her label - and her girlfriend. But peace was necessary. Yet, peace didn’t equal trust.

“Truce.” Frederic shook the tiny hand with a smile. Then, he opened his arms wide, as if attempting a hug. “And complete disarmament on my side.”

Octavia nodded, smiling. This was good. Peace was good. Maybe, in a while, they would be able to make friends and do things together, the three of us. Yes, and a threesome would be- Devil Octavia began to suggest, but Angel Octavia hit her with a stick. Hard.

“Well,” Vinyl drawled, “I’ll keep a knife, just in case.” Vinyl was speaking half-jokingly but with steel in her eyes still.

For a moment, Octavia flinched, but Frederic just let out a good-natured laugh. “All right,” he said warmly, “where’s the piano? You need me to record something, but I can’t just sit there writing sheet music,” he explained. “I need to improvise a little, then improvise some more, then I remember some of the passages and put them down to paper.”

“Here’s the rub,” Octavia chimed in, pointing at the corner of the large room. “We don’t have a piano, so here’s a full midi keyboard connected to a laptop, which kinda sounds like a piano.” She winced at Frederic’s deadpan stare. “Yeah… Just try it?”

The pianist shrugged and walked towards the midi keyboard, sitting on the stool conveniently prepared by the cellist and the spinner. He took a few chords and nodded in appreciation. “Well, the feeling of the keys is a little off, but the sound is almost like a real piano.”

“Of course,” Vinyl replied a touch defensively. “My VSTs are amazing.” She sat on the sofa, eyeing the pianist curiously. “So…” She shrugged. “Are we interrupting or-?”

“I need to hear your tune first,” Frederic said, rotating on the stool to face the women. “You asked me to make an intro and do piano part for the first part. I’ll still need to hear the whole tune,” he explained, “in order to see just how sharp is the transition to the second part. To know how to finish the piano part.”

Vinyl nodded slowly, this time with a shade of respect that seemed to Octavia a very good omen. She got up and, approaching the laptop, hit the spacebar. The music erupted out of it, and Frederic closed his eyes, vanishing in the sound altogether, becoming null, disintegrated in the beats and the cello. Once the song was finished, he asked Vinyl to put it on again. Once the cello cued in, Frederic pressed his fingers against the keys and began to play. At first, he played seventh chords, bright, sparkling, serene. They mixed so well with the general theme of the river floating downwards. When the electronica part intenisified, the chords grew weaker, then turned into diminished ones, creating a warning: there’s a waterfall ahead! beware! And, just as the silence on the record pointed towards the fall, he quickly withdrew his hands, and nothing interrupted the drop.

“Well…” Frederic rubbed the back of his head and smiled. “Something like that. I have a general idea of what to play in the intro, but it’s not yet fully formed. Of course, this is a rough draft, but…” He shrugged. “Feci quod potui, faciant meliora potentes.”

“Frederic, that was wonderful!” Octavia chimed in, wrapping her arms around the pianist, much to Vinyl’s displeasure. “I think we’re on to something here. So…” She looked at Vinyl hopefully, as if asking if they could adopt a puppy from the streets. “Are we taking Freddie as our session pianist?”

Vinyl looked at the bright, cheerful man, and she saw a pure, untainted passion in his eyes. But it wasn’t passion for Octavia. It wasn’t even passion for their tune or music in general. It was a passion for the piano. His eyes held the love for the instrument, such love that Vinyl questioned herself if this man really was as honest as Octavia had pictured him. A man with such a love could not be a hypocrite or a bad man.

So, the spinner smiled back. “Of course. His music is just what we need to hear.”

10. Finishing Touches

“What do you mean, you won’t take the money?”

Vinyl frowned, trying to force the bills into Frederic’s hands. The man smiled and, with a shake of his head, took a step back. “I’ve had enough fun as it is. I don’t need payment.” He turned round, walking into Octavia’s kitchen - which, for the past two weeks, had also become Vinyl’s kitchen, now that the two lovers lived together.

“It’s been two weeks since you’ve been working with us, Freddie,” Vinyl said, using the moniker only Frederic’s friends used. But he was a friend now, right? Throughout the recording sessions and the discussion with friendly banter; throughout the visits to Neon, together; throughout the talks the three (or four, with Neon) of them had had in the long evenings which were so unproductive, now that autumn has reigned over the late summer heat and rains gave way to the sunny days. “You deserve payment. We’ve fully recorded the piano parts and almost recorded the intro.” She still wasn’t sure on the outro, whether a piano would fit there; but, one way or another, the pianist deserved payment, for sure.

“I think it should be the cello,” Octavia remarked, looking over the sheet music. She placed it on the sofa, getting up and stretching her limbs. “And that’s not because I’m a cellist. I just feel that the cello should do a refrain of what Freddie’s right hand plays in the intro. In complete silence.” Octavia chewed on her bottom lip. “Oh, and Freddie? Take the money. I know you have a bank account now and all, but cash remains cash. Take it.”

“I’m not sure about complete silence,” Vinyl called out from the kitchen, where she poured herself and Frederic some orange juice. “But I get your idea. A solo cello… Accompanied by a sub-bass.” The DJ grinned widely. “Yes, that, I can get behind.” She turned towards her new friend. “Freddie, take the damn money already.”

“Vinyl, you don’t get this.” Frederic shook his head, and it seemed that he was trying to be polite even though their relationship had grown warmer. This was something Vinyl could not understand or get used to: she spoke out her mind while Frederic always sweetened the pill. But maybe, this was from a lifetime of helping other people that he had grown wary of offending his friends unintentionally. One way or another, this was one of his quirks, and, since he was her friend now, she had to get used to his quirks. “You’ve given me something more valuable than money. You, and Octavia, and Neon.”

“Friendship?” Vinyl placed the money on the table, yawning loudly, without caring to cover her mouth. “Friendship is magic, Freddie, but money is money.” She closed her eyes and relaxed, feeling the back of the chair pleasantly against her T-shirted body.

“You’ve given me more than friendship.” Frederic walked around the kitchen in circles. “You’ve given me back my passion for the piano.” He smiled broadly and took his orange juice, downing it in one go. “You’ve made me remember that it is the piano, not managerial work, that is my passion in life.” He placed the glass in the sink and turned on the water. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we had some kind of marks that signified our special talents?”

“I think it would be stupid,” Vinyl said honestly as she watched Frederic wash the glass. “What if we have more than one special talent? Or what if our special talent changes?”

“I think you would look sweet with a mark on your butt,” Octavia chimed in, jingling with good-natured laughter. “I mean, it could be a note or something connected to music. A clef?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Vinyl rolled her eyes, her ears catching the last drops of water dripping into the sink once Frederic turned off the tap. “Keep dreaming.” She turned towards the pianist and glared sternly. “Freddie, take the money already! Friendship, passion, piano, we get it, but take some money. It’s not like you have a job or anything.”

For a moment, Vinyl froze, considering whether she had just been a little too honest; but Frederic laughed, dissuading her fears: “Who said I don’t have a job? A few days ago I was asked to accompany a pop singer in a pub, and yesterday, I did just that.” He took out several bills from his pocket. “And I made some money!”

“That’s great news, Freddie,” Octavia chimed in, pouring some tea for herself, for she was in no mood for juice of any kind. “But please, do take the money. You’ll make it easier for all of us. Especially considering that, soon, you’ll have to pay out money to the quintet.” Octavia smiled knowingly.

“Quartet,” Frederic corrected automatically. “Quintet means-”

“Five.” Vinyl got up and walked up to her girlfriend. “Quintet means five. Remember when you said Harpo and Bea would agree to continue ‘this whole thing’ if there is something new to the music?” The spinner puffed her chest out proudly, a gesture that would be unusual a month ago. But too much had changed for the old shyness to subsist in full force. Life had changed her too much. Octavia had changed her too much. “Well, I am new. With a DJ by your side, with a full disposal of different sounds and various loops, your music can be as extravagant as a prog band.” Then, she blushed minutely. “I, um, I love prog.”

“That…” Frederic brightened up, grinning his white teeth at the women. “That might work!” He walked out of the kitchen hectically. “All right! That’s… that’s fantastic news!”

“But not as fantastic as that settle-” Octavia began, but was interrupted with two identical glares and two identical roars:

“No. You. Don’t!”

Octavia shrugged and waved her hands in the air. Wow wow, watch out, Devil Octavia said sarcastically, repeating the motion. Not just one, but two badasses out there. “So. When are we going to pick up Neon from the hospital?”

“Oh. We agreed on-” Vinyl glanced at the clock, when her face darkened and her eye twitched. Twice. “Five minutes ago.” She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “To the caaaaaaar!” she yelled on top of her lungs.

Frederic and Octavia blinked at her dumbly. Angel Octavia crawled out to check Vinyl’s forehead in case of a fever. Devil Octavia prepared pink fluffy handcuffs. So that she won’t escape, she explained to the dumbfounded angel. In case of, uh, a fever.

Vinyl smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Always wanted to try that.”

Octavia just stared at her girlfriend, blinking more often than usual. Is it contagious? Devil Octavia wondered, running around hectically. Can I catch the stupid through sex? “All right.” Octavia finally smiled. “Let’s go get your brother to freedom.”

***

“Well, it’s been… something.”

Neon extended his hand amicably, and the doctor shook it with pleasure. The picture with the happy chicken was gone - which was for the better. There was a new clock, though: one that didn’t tick. Neon stood up, feeling no different than before. “I feel… weird. You’re letting me go, but I don’t feel free.”

“Well, you’ll be coming here every week for your therapy still…” The shrink stood up as well and rounded the desk, standing next to Neon. “And I’ll make sure that your sister and your friends give you the medicine twice a day…” He sighed and took off his spectacles. “But, other than that, you’re free as a mountain bird. Or how did the song go?”

“Thank you, doc,” Neon said earnestly, lifting his hand but lowering it again almost immediately. “You’ve done so much for me.”

“Again,” the shrink replied with a smile, “it isn’t the last time we’re seeing each other. Don’t try to make a scene out of it. It’s bad for your nerves.”

The two men just stood there looking at each other. Then, the black man took a step forth and gave the white man a firm, strong hug. Neon, confused, returned the gesture somewhat, patting the doctor’s back in what seemed to him a manly manner.

“Thank you,” the therapist said, breaking the embrace. “Sometimes I get so invested in my patients’ lives that I forget my own. Thank you for listening to me.”

“That’s all right, doc.” Neon directed his feet towards the exit, waving his hand at the man. “See you next Sunday.” With that, he left the office and walked out to the corridor. The same corridor he’d walked all these days… Three weeks, had it been? About three weeks. The corridor was the same, empty and lonely, but, the next time he returned, he would return to this corridor as a free man doing so at his own volition.

Neon walked to his ward, which had become his room. Now, he didn’t miss his flat that much; but it was still his. This room had been his, but, as soon as Vinyl and Co came to pick him up, it wouldn’t be his anymore.

With a sigh, the manager took off the tracksuit and took out his normal everyday clothes. The dust had almost never settled on them. He put on the trousers and the jacket. Putting on his clothes left a surge of memory. He was the Manager. He was the Agent. The label was Vinyl’s now, and he didn’t mind it in the slightest. His job was to sell records, and find session musicians, and book venues.

A wide grin appeared on the man’s face. Venues, huh… Pondering, he looked through the contact list on his phone. Thank God this hospital allows cell phones. Some don’t in fear it’ll mess with the medical apparati. Finding what he was looking for, he pressed the button, without dropping the grin. “Hello, Mark?” he said upon hearing the familiar voice in the phone. “How are you doing? How are the kids?”

Listening to the reply, Neon dropped the grin, but the tiny smile subsisted in the corners of his mouth. “Me? I’m fine. Remember when you told me you would love booking Vinyl for a performance?”

Neon nodded in the air. “Well, I have an even better idea…”

***

“Good to be home.”

Neon exhaled in delight, sipping on the warm tea, wrapped up in a long rectangular plaid. “Even though it isn’t my home,” he remarked, looking over Octavia’s flat. “But it’s still good.” Now, if I could have some ice cold beer… Suddenly, he felt that the craving was gone, just as gone as the hot, stuffy summer itself. And even the weariest river…

“Nini, I’m so glad you’re back!” Vinyl chirped, virtually dancing around the man, a widest smile on her face. “Now everything will be as great as it was,” she pontificated, kissing her brother on both cheeks. “Everything will be as it was. We’ll do label stuff, and Tavi will play in her quintet - did I mention it’s a quintet now? I’m playing there too!”

Neon smiled and nodded primly. “Yes, sis. You did mention that. A couple times.” He stretched on the sofa and yawned. “But things won’t be as they were. Nothing will be the same as it was.” Vinyl froze, past fears evident on her face. But Neon just shrugged. “Everything will be way, way better.”

“I’m glad we all got our happy ending,” Octavia purred from the kitchen, working her way around Frederic, who was chopping vegetables for the soup. She took a sniff. “Frederic, the celery has gone bad.” Angel Octavia blinked: Can celery even go bad?

“Oh, it’s far from ending, Octavia,” Neon laughed from his place on the sofa. “In fact, I have a nice continuation for you two.” At Vinyl’s questioning glance (and Octavia’s, which he couldn’t see, what with the cellist still being in the kitchen), he explained, “As your manager-back-at-work, I have booked you two for a show tomorrow at Archie’s. It’s an old jazz club, but now they play prog and what-not. Hell, even acoustic punk!” He laughed. “Will be an opportunity for you two to perform your tune.”

Vinyl looked around helplessly, seeing neither Frederic not Octavia to support her. “Maybe we should do this show as a quintet?” Devil Vinyl frowned and shook her head: Coward. Angel Vinyl emerged with a stick. Devil Vinyl whipped her tail and retreated to her hellish bedroom.

“I doubt that,” Frederic called out from the kitchen. “We haven’t rehearsed as a quintet yet, so it wouldn’t be good if we played together tomorrow. We still need practice. You two, though; you’ve played many classical tunes as a trance-cello mix, and your tune is pretty much done. Besides,” he called out, “I believe this is something you two should do together, just the two of you.”

“Yes…” Vinyl gulped and closed her eyes. In the drawer, hidden under her underwear, the ring waited. She smiled and nodded resolutely. “Just the two of us.”

11. The Performance

“I don’t know where to park!”

Vinyl gritted her teeth, her eyes running around as she circled the goddamn set of paths that would eventually lead to the club and that were, all of them, strictly pedestrian. “Who the hell makes a club in the city centre!” She slammed her hand against the wheel exhaustedly, glancing at the geology museum that rested conveniently next to the maze of poorly-paved city paths.

“Love, calm down,” Octavia tried to soothe her girlfriend, oblivious to the reason why Vinyl was on edge this evening. “Let’s just drive back and park at that underground parking we saw a few blocks away?” She tugged at her bow tie, just a little nervous herself. After all, this was a small club, and they had rehearsed plenty yesterday… Yes, Devil Octavia winked slyly. “Rehearsed”. The only thing you two rehearsed was your vocal- Angel Octavia delivered a firm, beautiful blow to the little devil.

“No.” Vinyl took a sharp turn resolutely. “That’s it. We’re parking by the museum.” She beeped at the turnpike. Come on! We still need to set the sound, do the check, see if Octavia’s cello needs restringing… Even though she said it doesn’t...

A lazy security officer glanced out of his booth. “To the museum!” Vinyl called out, and the moustached man lifted the turnpike lazily. With a sigh of relief, Vinyl guided the car to one of the numerous parking spots.

Emerging from the car, the women directed their feet in the direction opposite to the museum and began walking. The security officer immediately ran out of his booth. “Hey! Parking is for museum visitors only.”

Octavia opened her mouth to retort, thinking of ways to deal with this, but Vinyl quickly approached the officer, whispered something in his ear, and passed him a few bills. Octavia blinked at such astounding show of power from the usually shy spinner. Granted, Vinyl had grown bolder, she had grown more determined, but… “Love, today, you are very… determined,” Octavia said, following Vinyl’s steps.

Vinyl paled for a moment. She can’t know! She reached for her jacket’s inner pocket and, finding that It was there, exhaled in relief. “I guess you’re just rubbing off of me,” Vinyl said with a wink. Then, realised the implications and blushed thickly, looking away. “I mean, not rubbing me off… I mean, you do rub me off but… Ack!”

Octavia laughed merrily and held the metal door open. Vinyl slid inside, and so did Octavia. The exterior of the club wasn’t grand: it was just a metal door leading to a basement floor in a small old building; but the exterior was amazing. A small wardrobe on the right, stacks of newspapers before them, and a security officer sitting to the left. Past the officer were the bathrooms, and to the right was the path into the only hall of the club.

“Good evening. DJ Pon-3 and her cellist,” Vinyl said to the manager girl who had emerged from the only hall, which, upon peeking in, Vinyl christened The Room. And The Room was fascinating indeed: just a dozen tables, but each of them in a favourable position regarding the stage. In the past, Neon said, before the smoking ban, the place used to be livelier. But it was still cosy and homely.

“Of course, please follow me.” Passing the security officer, Vinyl took a peek at what he was reading. Ulysses? Oh my God. “This is your table for the evening, in case you need to take a break.” The manager girl motioned towards a table in the rightmost corner. All the tables were empty, save for the one in the leftmost corner, which was occupied by an elderly couple. Vinyl smiled and waved at them weakly. The woman returned the gesture. The man didn’t.

“Here is your setup.” The girl departed with a nod, and Vinyl walked up the stage, checking the turntables and plugging in her laptop that she’d just unpacked. Octavia placed the cello case down and sat on the stool. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was all right.

“Hey!” the women heard a familiar voice. They lifted their heads, to see Lyra and Bon-Bon entering the establishment, looking around. “Fancy seeing you here! Thought we would arrive before you.” The manager girl showed them their table. “And guess who we brought?”

In marched Captain Spitfire, wearing her parade uniform, feeling uneasy under the stare of the manager and the security officer. She looked at the stage and brightened up. “Hi, you two. Thought we’d be earlier.”

The old man sitting in the corner stood up and walked up to the military woman, shaking slightly. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said in a raspy voice, taking Spitfire’s hand in his hands and shaking it. “Thank you for serving this country.”

“I.. Um. Uh.” Spitfire flushed in embarrassment. “Th-thank you for your praise.” The man walked back dignifiedly, and Spitfire shifted to Lyra and Bon-Bon’s table quickly. “They don’t pay me enough for this,” she mumbled, the blush on her cheeks slowly receding.

“I always knew Spits was easily embarrassed,” Vinyl confessed to Octavia, checking the setup. “We were two shy girls, always whispering secrets and sharing our dreams.” She placed the microphone next to Octavia’s cello. “All right, Tavi, try it out.”

Just as the woman took the bow and pressed it against the strings, two men came into the club. “Hey, I see everyone’s already there,” Neon greeted the people with a smile. “Thought we’d be early.” Frederic followed his suit, and looked at Vinyl and Octavia warmly, when his gaze fell on Spitfire. For a moment, the man just froze in place, staring at the woman, while Neon walked to the adjacent table.

Spitfire raised her head and caught Frederic’s look. For a moment, she just stared back, gazing into the man’s eyes, her mouth slightly open. Then, she made an attempt to stand up, but Frederic approached her first. “H-hello,” Spitfire greeted him. “N-not sure we met? I’ve met Neon once, but you…”

“I’m a friend of Neon’s,” Frederic said almost breathlessly, gazing at the woman as if she were a living goddess. “And of Octavia’s. And of Vinyl’s. And, I, um, I hope we can be friends too?” he asked hopefully, extending his hand, which, to his dismay, was shaking.

“Oh.” Spitfire grabbed the hand, feeling its warm, mighty sturdiness. “I. I would like that.” She flushed and averted her eyes, while Frederic just stood there, holding the woman’s hand like there was no tomorrow.

And, of course, neither saw that the whole club was looking at them knowingly. Vinyl chuckled and motioned for Octavia to continue. The cellist took a few notes and nodded. “All right!” Vinyl announced proudly. “We’re ready! Let’s just wait for the club to fill in, and we’re good.”

“What do you mean, fill in?” Neon asked from his table, at which Frederic had just sat, all the while keeping his eyes on Spitfire, who pretended to be engaged in conversation with Lyra and Bon-Bon but still cast brief glances at the pianist. “Nobody else booked the tables for today, sis. It’s just us.” Catching Vinyl’s amused glance, he nodded. “Yes, just us. So there’s no need to worry, you can begin whenever you are ready.”

“Are we ready, Tavi?” Vinyl whispered to her girlfriend, feeling the weight of the ring in her inner pocket. God knows I’m ready.

Octavia nodded. “Of course, love. We’re ready. Want me to make the announcement?” she wondered with a tiny smile, already knowing the answer.

“Thank you, but I’d like to take the lead today.” Vinyl cleared her throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, we, that is, Octavia and I, we want to present you a concert of popular tunes, ranging from classical to jazz, arranged in a very special manner.”

She looked over all their friends. Lyra. Bon-Bon. Spitfire. Neon. Frederic. All the important people were there, and nothing else mattered.

Vinyl smiled at the audience. “But we would like to begin with the final version of a tune we’ve been preparing…” She nodded to Octavia and pressed the button.

***

“It was fantastic,” Lyra called out lazily, cradling Bon-Bon in her lap on the right side of the sofa. She nuzzled her wife and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t you think it was fantastic, Bonnie?”

Bon-Bon nodded, easing into the embrace. “It was amazing.” She glanced at Octavia cradling Vinyl in a similar manner on the other side of the sofa. “You guys did an amazing performance.”

“It was awesome,” Neon called out from the kitchen, staring through the doorway. “An awesome performance from two awesome musicians.”

“Exquisite,” Frederic said breathlessly, his hand on top of Spitfire’s hand, without looking at the women. “It was exquisite.”

“Are you guys trying to write a thesaurus?” Vinyl asked in jest, lifting her head to kiss Octavia’s chin. “Because it’s totally working.” She sighed, casting a glance at the jacket resting on a chair’s back. Not now.

Spitfire finally gave voice: “I… I need to get back to the barracks where we’re stationed.” With difficulty, her eyes left Frederic’s face and peered into the two musicians on the sofa. “Thank you for having me at the performance.” She stood up uneasily.

“I’ll see you there!” Frederic immediately stood up as well, blushing slightly as he said, “It’s dark and, um, I thought I’d accompany you to the barracks.” Then he realised how stupid it sounded, a pianist accompanying a military woman with years of experience.

However, to his immense delight, Spitfire readily agreed: “Of course. I… I’d love that.” Frederic took her hand and pressed it against his lips. Spitfire paled, almost fainting.

The pair quickly said their goodbyes and began dressing up. Neon stood up as well, with a deep sigh. “I’ll be going too.” He waved his hand. “Don’t worry you two, I’m not going with you two lovebirds.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Neon!” Frederic said a touch defensively, but Spitfire took his hand on her own volition, and that was all that mattered to the pianist at the moment.

“I left my pills at home,” Neon explained as he put on his velvet jacket. “Time to cure the crazy away.” He kissed his sister, waved to Octavia, Lyra and Bon-Bon, and followed Frederic and Spitfire out of the flat.

Octavia sighed, running her fingers along Vinyl’s sides. “Am I a bad host for not seeing them out?” Vinyl shrugged, burying her face into Octavia’s breasts. “I’m too lazy to even close the door after them.”

“Don’t worry about closing the door,” Lyra said, getting up with her wife. “Bonnie and I have to get up early for our train tomorrow.” Seeing oblivion on the musicians’ faces, she explained: “We’re going to see her family. So we’d better leave… well, about now.” She laughed and wrapped a scarf around Bon-Bon, who smiled and waved at the hosts. “It was an amazing performance,” Lyra said for the two. “Take care, you two.”

“Thank you,” Octavia nodded, kissing the top of Vinyl’s head. She wrapped her girlfriend in a tight, warm embrace and nibbled on her ear. “Now we’re all aloooone~” she cooed as soon as the door closed behind the two married women.

“Yes,” Vinyl said, suddenly very serious, and shrugged Octavia off, much to the cellist’s surprised. The spinner marched towards the chair and took out the little box, clutching it in her hand. “Tavi, I’ve been waiting for this moment. I have to say something to you. Something very important.”

Octavia felt her breath get stuck in her throat and nodded, sitting up on the sofa, a realisation slowly entering her brain. Is she trying to… She is trying to-! Octavia almost gasped, but she managed to calm herself enough to make it into an open smile.

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while already, and, um, I could say it in the club, but there were people…” Vinyl rubbed her nose nervously. “What I mean is, this is a special moment for me, and I think for you…” She groaned, blaming her tongue for disobedience. “I mean, I thought it would be good if it was just the two of us.” She smiled and knelt down on one knee.

Octavia gasped, closing her mouth, as Vinyl opened the box and revealed a simple, yet beautiful diamond ring.

“Octavia Philarmonica. I love you, more than anyone in this world. I love you like I only loved my brother before, but, with you, it is not the warm love of a relative. It is the pure, unadulterated love of passion and desire. I love you, and I want you to be mine forever.” Vinyl felt herself tearing up a little. “In return, I wish for nothing more than to be yours, forever. Octavia Philarmonica,” Vinyl said, smiling through tears, “Will you marry me?”

Vinyl’s stance could never last, for Octavia threw herself at her spinner, pinning her to the floor. The cellist showered her woman with kisses, she cried, and laughed, and showered her with kisses again and again, shouting “Yes! Yes! Yes!” all the while.

As soon as Octavia had ceased her kissing routine, Vinyl took the ring and put it on Octavia’s ring finger. The cellist took a glance at the ring and burst into tears, hugging her woman, kissing her, kissing her, kissing her.

Vinyl smiled, tears of her own in her eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Epilogue

“And then I said, ‘Oatmeal, are you crazy?’”

Octavia deadpanned, having a huge desire to insert her cello bow into Harpo’s ass. Though, if Bea was to be believed, Harpo might even like it. The cellist tried to get her mind off that mental image. Vinyl glared at the harpist, her gaze stern enough to kill a squirrel. Bea just shook her head.

Frederic sighed. “Harpo, it’s been the tenth time you’ve told us that story, and it hasn’t made any sense once. Now, guys.” He smiled, looking over the quintet. “Time to get through the suite one more time. We have a concert this Saturday, after all.”

“We’d love to,” Octavia chimed in, “but Vinyl and I have a little something we have to do today.” She waved her hand in the air. “You know, some arranged stuff? Something we have told you guys?” she emphasised. The trio blinked. Octavia groaned. “Us getting married and all?!”

“Oh!” Bea hit her forehead with a hand. “Of course! I’m your bridesmaid, after all!”

“Yes,” Octavia said, staring at the woman with acceptance. “The best bridesmaid who cannot remember the day of the wedding.” She smiled. “Still the best bridesmaid that could ever be.”

“And Lyra texted me that she’s already at the registry office, waiting for us,” Vinyl chimed in with a smile. “It’s not a long walk. We can get hitched and then go back to the rehearsal.”

“But…” Octavia pouted, looking at her fiancee with sad eyes. “What about the hot steamy sex? Our first sex as a married couple?”

Vinyl sighed and rubbed her eyelids wearily. “Okay. We get married, then we have some private time and then we can do the rehearsal. Sound good?”

“You know, Vinyl,” Frederic said, exchanging knowing glances with Harpo. “I think we can all ditch the rehearsal and attend your wedding.”

“You know that today’s just the formality, right?” Octavia asked, standing up and packing up her cello. “The posh party will be on Sunday, and today it’s just the registry office.” She looked at her friends. “But hey, we would love it if you came with us.”

“Okay.” Vinyl checked her tie. “How do I look, Tavi?”

Octavia came up to the woman and checked her tie as well. “Stunning, love. You look stunning.”

***

“Well, that wasn’t that hard.”

Vinyl took a sip of her champagne, sitting opposite Octavia in the kitchen of their flat, looking at the sausage the two had bought for the occasion. “I mean, it’s cool. Now we’re married.”

“Yes, love.” Octavia took a sip of her champagne as well. “And there’s a beautiful, long, meaningful life ahead of us. And we’ll walk through it together.”

Vinyl winced a little. “Can you promise me that, Tavi?” She put down the glass. “I mean, are you sure there’s a happy life waiting for us? With all that we’ve been through…”

Octavia pressed her finger against her wife’s lips. “Shh. A beautiful, wonderful life. Nothing but happiness ahead of us.” She smiled and downed the champagne.

“Trust me.”

Moscow, 2014-2016

3. Meeting the Boss

Vinyl took a deep breath, walking down the hastingly-paved street, the asphalt cracked and crispy with tiny bits of long-aged cement. Hop, skip, and jump! Vinyl jumped over one of the cracks dramatically, smiling to herself, not giving a damn about the passers-by observing with mild interest a grown-up woman, in her middle twenties, no less, acting like an utter child. Let them think what they wanna think.

After all, Vinyl thought as she took a turn around the corner, past the sad, grime-rotten steel of the lamppost, she had never been prone to public opinion. And that's actually good in this business. Past the coffee shops she went, with the clucking of cups and the murmurs of talks and the swishing of coffee in cartonboard cups; past the banks with the clinking of coins and the hissing of banknotes and the sopranos of the demanders; past the shoe shops with the clicking of soles against the floor, her own trainers sprinting as she stepped on the pavement; past the music stores, ill progressive house blaring from the speakers; down the street she went, humming to herself, her fingers clicking, a melody surfacing within her mind.

I walk alone, I walk alone~ Vinyl sang mentally as she passed dry, shallow people all about her - suit-dressed and dress-dressed, and jeans-dressed, and phone-attached, and ring-bearing, and music-listening, and mouth-talking - cursing herself for leaving her earbuds at home. Maybe I should've taken my headphones, better. The vocals were very well present in her mind, floating about in their no-autotune glory, but the music was absent, as it always was when the DJ tried to pick up a song from memory and play it in her head. Yet, the woman concentrated, and the melody surfaced in her mind: not rock, not in the in the slightest; it was a new melody, covering the chord progression roughly, autotuning the voice in her mind, making it more... female?

The drums beat softly, reverberated, and the bass was deep and smooth, and the synths blared away in her mind as Vinyl finally came to a stop before a tall skyscraper that was zooming out to the sky, looming above the area, watching over it sternly and fatherly. The DJ smiled and opened the door, walking into the lobby, shaped like a short hall, with a red carpet already stained by thousands of shoes stepping over it. Trying to pass the receptionist's desk as quickly and quietly as possible, Vinyl tiptoed to the left, towards the lifts.

"Good morning, Miss Staccato!" a sickly sourly-sweet female voice called out from the receptionist's desk.

Damn. Vinyl froze, putting on her best 'genuinely artificial' smile as she turned slowly towards the desk in its paper-filled, computer-adorned, coffee-stained mahogany glory. "Good morning, Miss Harshwhinny," she greeted the blonde woman. "No need to use my surname, please." Because you're, like, twenty years older than me.

"Nonsense, Miss Staccato." The receptionist hmphed sternly. Vinyl sighed. Yes, everything I say is nonsense to you, you old- "Would you mind handing this letter to your agent?" Vinyl took the offered envelope, taking a step towards the weighty woman, nodding. "He ran off without a word, just swished by me," the woman grumbled disapprovingly.

Vinyl nodded again, backing down to the lifts. That's because you were napping as always. One of the lifts opened, releasing a bunch of lawyers from Roganberd & Tumms that took up four whole floors, crowning the skyscraper with a huge R&T sign. The DJ immediately slid past the three-piece-suited and two-button-jacketed men and black-bloused women, chiming into the spacious lift. Pressing the button, Vinyl finally let out a breath she'd been holding and leant at one of the walls, closing her eyes.

In some half a minute, the doors opened with a ding, letting the woman outside. Vinyl stepped out, walking past the familiar glass doors with the proud Staccato Records sign above them. We should get our own receptionist, Vinyl thought, walking past offices and equally-dull white-doored soundproof recording rooms, toying with the envelope in her hands. After a minute internal debate that had consisted, surprisingly, of a tiny angel Vinyl and a tiny devil Vinyl arguing on her shoulders, with the devil Vinyl persuading her angelic counterpart at last, Vinyl tore the envelope open, skimming through the text. "Neon, Octavia is very happy to be working with DJ-Pon3. Thanks, buddy. Next drink's on me. Freddie." Vinyl humphed. Who the hell is this Freddie and what does he have to do with my new session cellist?

Determined, the DJ marched without knocking into Neon's office, where the man was napping at his littered desk, his face covered serenely by a broadsheet newspaper, snoring loudly. Immediately, Neon's secretary, a two-metre hunk of a man who would make a better bouncer than secretary, burst into the office, panting. "Sir! Your sister wanted to see you!"

Neon woke up with a start, falling down with his chair, the newspaper floating sadly on the table. "Krebs! Out!" he yelled at the secretary sternly; tumbling down, evidently, had not brightened his mood. Equally sternly, he looked at Vinyl, upon sitting up on the floor and rubbing his eyes with a yawn. "Morning, sis. What's the matter?"

Vinyl chuckled at her brother's antics and handed him the letter. "A letter for you, Nini. From Someone Freddie. Know him?"

Neon staggered up, taking the letter swiftly. "Never heard of him."

Vinyl eyed her agent sternly. "Neon. He seems to know you pretty well. You and Octavia." What are you hiding, Nini?

Neon rubbed his eyes again. "Ah, that Freddie!" he exclaimed with a smile. "Sorry, sleepy brainses refusing to roll. He's the guy who suggested Octavia as your session cellist. A fine fella." Neon picked up the chair, placing himself in it one more time, his legs once again crossed on the table.

Vinyl frowned. "Nini, are you two planning something behind my back?" she demanded sternly as she approached the man slowly.

Neon looked at her sister in surprise, picking up his shades from the floor and brushing specks of dust off them. "Vinyl! Whatever are you talking about? He recommended Octavia, I had a talk with her, now she's gonna record your song. That's it. Freddie is my friend back from college. Besides," he smirked, "if we were really plotting something, we'd be using codes and text messages, not work-sent letters."

Vinyl sighed, rubbing her temples. "Sorry, Nini, I'm just on edge a little. I'm really nervous about this Octavia and I thought that maybe you two decided to play matchmakers behind my back." And probably Octavia's, Vinyl added mentally, knowing her brother like the back of her hand.

"Rubbish." Neon got up lazily, dragging his arm across the DJ's shoulder. "Don't worry, sis. She'll come, you'll record stuff, she'll go home. A few sessions, and that's it." The dark-haired man smiled assuringly. "You're always worrying, Vinyl. Every time you get a new session musician."

"Every time I get a new female session musician," Vinyl corrected him with a sour expression. "It's just that..." It's just that I need a girlfriend. But I'm too damn shy. "It's just that I keep worrying that it might evolve into something..."

Neon groaned a little, releasing his grip. "Fine. Octavia comes tonight, sees how beautiful you are and you have hot kinky sex." Vinyl flushed fiercely. "Is that what you think will happen?" Neon smirked, watching his sister eep something indistinguishable. "Vinyl, romance doesn't work like this. It's not like in your romance novels from your 'secret' bookshelf behind the cupboard."

Vinyl felt slipping away from the world as her face flushed with red. I... I thought I'd hid it well... "I... Neon, stop embarrassing me!" she demanded sternly. "Just a recording session. Okay. I can do that. No... that kind of stuff." Vinyl averted her eyes. Because I'm scared of having sex. Because I wanna find a book-ish higher love. Congratulations, Vinyl, you're going to be a virgin forever.

"Great." Neon smiled with a wink and put on his shades. "On a side note, that girl was amazing!"

Vinyl chuckled. "On to the next one, tiger?"

Neon kept his smile, although it became... warmer? It was the kind of smile he only gifted his sister with. "No. Madeline is... different. We didn't even have sex. She's so... So. You know." Neon looked away. "We're having a second date today. I'm sorry I can't drop by tonight."

Vinyl laughed, with an exaggerated gasp, covering her mouth with a hand. "My God, Nini, are you ill? A second date? And you know the girl's name?" The DJ came up to her agent and placed a finger against his forehead. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Har har har." Neon kissed Vinyl's finger, brushing it off subsequently. "What are you doing here, by the way?" he wondered, placing himself in the chair yet again. "Shouldn't you be home, preparing the equipment?" Neon gestured with his hand in the air, folding the paper with the other.

Vinyl smiled a little sad smile, brushing the carpet with her shoe. "I want to drop by Dad's office. You know... Just to... You know."

Neon stared at his sister, his expression unreadable behind his shades. "Vinyl, you... That's your office now," he said sadly. "You know that. You can show here any time." His tone seemed to be on the verge of breaking.

Vinyl shook her head firmly, turning towards the door. "No," she dropped behind her shoulder. "It'll always be his office." With that, she left the office, feeling Neon's stare on her back. Now, he would order a tea and sit there for hours, doing absolutely nothing, Vinyl thought. As always.

A few steps from Neon's office, a large wooden door torn by age proclaimed "Immanuel Staccato" proudly in golden letters. Vinyl knocked at the door diligently and waited for a few seconds before gripping the handle and walking in. The empty office met her with a pristinely-washed desk, countless books on the shelves, and a few friendly velvety armchairs positioned around a small table, on which a single photograph rested. Vinyl made her way to the table, taking the photo with a smile. A stern old man in a tuxedo looked at her intently from the photograph, his lips curled up in a tiny smile, his face mostly serious, but his cheekbones trembling with laughter and his beautiful brown eyes dancing with fires of mockery.

"Hi, dad." Vinyl sat in one of the armchairs, leaning back as she kissed the man in the photo on the forehead. "How's it going?" For a few seconds, she was silent. "I'm fine. I'm having a new session musician drop by tonight. A cellist." Tears made their way to the DJ's eyes. She gulped them down. "Like you. Y-you played the cello so well. Nobody will ever be like you. She... I... I think-"

Vinyl felt a lump at her throat, her thoughts tangling, rolling in a mess. She straightened herself. "I really want to find a girlfriend, dad. A girl that I'd really love. Every time there's a session musician working with me, I... I picture her as my girl. I hope we can fall in love, like... And I'm scared... And-" Vinyl chuckled, tears bubbling in her throat, itching it from the inside, tickling painfully. "You always told me to find a nice boy, but I can't even seem to find a nice girl. And this cellist... What do you think, dad?"

For a whole minute, the spacious office was silent, save for Vinyl's laboured breathing. The clock on the wall had long gone dead, and no one had changed the batteries. Finally, Vinyl placed the photo on the table. "I get it, dad. I'll just focus on the music, and not potential relationships. Music first." The DJ got up. "Thank you, dad."

With that, she walked out of the office.

***

Octavia stood before the door, shifting from foot to foot in her tailcoat, her bow tie pressing into her throat through the collar, strangling her, her trousers itchy, her shoes squeezing her feet. Five past seven. Not early, just a little late. As she had to be. The haunting image of a two-metre vampire DJ-Pon3 floated before the cellist's eyes, making her gulp. No use waiting any longer.

Octavia pressed her finger against the doorbell. In a moment, the door opened, revealing a young woman in a blue T-shirt and white pants, slippers on her bare feet. "Hi!" the woman waved at her. "Come on in!"

Octavia stepped into the small studio flat that looked if not clean, then at least decent. The couch was clean, and so were the chairs, and there was a set of turntables in the corner, and a bookcase propped against the wall, and a computer in the corner, to which the turntables were linked. Octavia placed her cello case against the wall, watching the hostess close the door. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the woman's round, barely-held by the bra, beautiful breasts. I want boobs like these, Octavia thought wistfully. Gimme these boobs, please.

"You must be Octavia," the blue-haired woman spoke with a smile. "I'm DJ-Pon3, but you can call me Vinyl." She offered her hand. Octavia shook it, her eyes finally meeting Vinyl's, diverted from the DJ's envy-inducing breasts. The reddish magenta of Vinyl's eyes matched her earrings perfectly, Octavia observed, letting go of the woman's hand. Vinyl had turned out to be not that high, not scary at all, and definitely not a vampire. If anything, she's rather... cute? Octavia shook her head a little. Come on, Octavia. Sex isn't everything. ...Mmm, sex.

"I wanted to ask you to come straightaway, but I thought you'd be tired after the talk with Neon, so here we are," Vinyl said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head.

Octavia nodded. "Yes, your agent was... very... vigorous," she found the word eventually. And boy, did he wear me out.

Vinyl chuckled. "Yeah, that's why I love him," she said simply. Octavia gasped involuntarily. "No, it's not like that!" Vinyl laughed with a soft blush. "He's my brother. I... I have a preference for women. Hope that won't put a strain between us."

"Not at all." Octavia smiled softly, remembering what Neon had said about Vinyl and honesty. "I'm bisexual."

Vinyl flushed crimson and coughed, averting her eyes. Octavia felt awkwardness creeping over the room as the two women just stood opposite each other. You're not very sociable, are you, Vinyl? The flat smelt of friendly perfume and hidden traces of mold, with scents of food reaching Octavia's nose from the kitchen, bread, and cheese, and butter; and other smells, of which Octavia did not want to think right now, out of sheer embarrassment. Her sensitive nose could be a burden sometimes. "So... Would you like me to take a look at the music?"

"Oh! Of course!" Vinyl chuckled, her hands limping at both sides of her body as she turned round, as if in seach of something. "That's why I've invited you to my humble studio!" Vinyl's face brightened suddenly. "Get it? 'Cause it's a studio flat and I record music here..."

"Yes." Octavia offered a sour smile. That was dreadful, Vinyl. Simply dreadful. A very... flat pun. Damn. "Very amusing." Vinyl did not seem to hear her, already having run off to the computer, sending a file to print. Very good at preparations, too, Octavia observed as she looked about the room, searching for a place to sit. "May I take a seat on the chair, please?" she enquired politely, placing her case on the floor and taking her slender cello out of it, rubbing the fingerprint-stained wood lovingly, plucking at the strings experimentally, a dull pizzicato sound escaping the finely-crafted instrument. Taking the cello, Octavia sat on the chair, her back straight, her fingers running up and down the neck of her instrument.

Smiling, Vinyl came up to the woman and placed freshly-printed sheet music before the cellist on the small table that seemed to have been cleared specifically for the occasion. "Here you go, Octavia. That's the cello part."

Octavia took a quick look at the sole sheet of paper, lifting her brow quizzically. Only one page? The music seemed terribly easy. A few passage, very repetitive, very in-key, no deviations. Then again, it's EDM. So, that's all right. With a draw of her bow, Octavia began to play, keeping her eyes on the notes, her bow gliding across the strings easily, prim, stately notes escaping the instrument's body. Some forty seconds later, Octavia stopped, having finished the short passage. "Something like this?" she asked with a smile, turning to face Vinyl. We can record it today, and I'll collect my money and buy... an enormously huge ice-cream. For one.

However, Vinyl met her with a sour wince. "Um..." The DJ blushed a little, averting her eyes. "That was nice and all, but maybe... you could play a little more... lively?" she suggested, smiling finally.

Octavia nodded with a polite smile. She must mean the tempo. Taking her bow once again, she repeated the tune, a little faster this time. And yet, upon looking at the DJ, the cellist saw her new employer was disappointed. "What am I doing wrong?" Octavia enquired, a little down on the inside. I'm doing everything right...

"You..." Vinyl sighed, rubbing her temples. "You're just playing the notes I wrote." The DJ looked at the cellist with her reddish eyes.

"So?" Octavia blinked, taking another glance at the sheet music. It just lay there on the table in its sheer simplicity. She placed her bow next to the paper. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

Vinyl shook her head. "Not quite. I'd rather you played... what's not there, not what is there."

Now it was the cellist's turn to frown. "What do you mean?" That doesn't even make sense! Octavia felt irritation welling inside her, and only the thought of a huge ice-cream kept her steady.

"Do you listen to jazz?" Vinyl asked suddenly. Octavia nodded slowly. "Great! Do you have a vinyl player at home?"

"I have a gramophone," Octavia called out, still puzzled as to where the conversation was heading.

"Great!" Vinyl grinned, getting up, a little more confidence in her step as she approached a stack of vinyl records and took three. "Here you go!" She handed the records to the cellist, who took them in surprise. "I'd like you to listen to these at home. This is Thelonious Monk, the high bishop of bebop himself. That's what I had in mind when I was writing that."

"That..." Octavia sighed. "That's awfully nice, but... That's jazz, and what you wrote is... No offence, but it's very plain."

"That's the point!" Vinyl exclaimed, not disturbed in the slightest. "I wrote only the outline. It's your job to fill it with all the tasty stuff!" Octavia looked at the spinner in disbelief. "Look." Vinyl sighed. "There's a reason why I pay my session musicians so much." Octavia gulped, remembering a villa and a pool and a whole lorry of ice-cream. "The cello part is very important to the whole song. I want you to work on it. I want you to make it perfect." Again, Vinyl smiled, with Octavia noting that her smile, indeed, was extraordinarily cute, what with those lips curling up and those cheeks tinting a faint pink. "So... Do you think you can do it?"

Octavia smiled, genuinely this time. Apparently, she's not a hoax. She's a musician. "I'll listen to the records straightaway and start working on the music tomorrow." Or the day after tomorrow... Or on Wednesday...

"Great!" Vinyl exclaimed, shaking Octavia's hand once more. "I'll see you tomorrow, at seven, to see what you'll have done by then."

Octavia felt her eye twitch. Tomorrow?.. But... The cellist's laziness screamed in agony. Big money, Octavia, the rational part of the woman's brain reminded her. You'll have to put some efficient work into it. "Okay," the cellist agreed, getting up. "I don't know if that'll be much..." She grabbed the sheet music and the records, putting them gently into the outward compartment of her case. "But I'll try to do my best by tomorrow." Octavia smiled again. "See you tomorrow?"

"You..." Vinyl blushed slightly. "You don't want tea or something?" she offered hopefully.

"I'd rather get down to working on the music as quickly as I can," Octavia replied, not dropping her smile as she clasped the case. And then getting shitloads of money for it. "I think we can have tea after we've recorded the part."

"Sure..." Vinyl offered the cellist a smile of her own and followed the raven-haired woman to the door. "See you tomorrow, Octavia."

Octavia nodded and disappeared behind the door. Vinyl slammed it shut, walking towards the couch with a heavy sigh. Jesus, she is so hot. The DJ wanted to cry in despair. And she's obviously not interested. Vinyl closed her eyes, leaning back, emotionally spent and exhausted from the little exchange. She's probably more into men than women. And definitely not into me. She didn't even stay for tea. ...And she's so beautiful. Vinyl's hand found its way into her pants skilfully. I want her so much... Those lavender eyes... Vinyl's fingers entered her inner folds that were getting wet already. Those cheeks... Those pretty breasts, flat and alluring... One finger. That slender body, and that round ass... Two fingers. And that beautiful hair... Three fingers. Vinyl moaned at the pleasure.

"Sorry, Vinyl, I- EEP!"

Vinyl's eyes shot wide open, her hand still in her pants as she looked, panicking, at the open door, where Octavia stood, staring at the masturbating DJ with a soft blush. Vinyl felt fear, terrible fear and humiliation command her whole. She saw me! She saw-! She saw me! "Get out!" Vinyl yelled, tossing a pillow at the cellist.

"I... I just wanted to take my bow and-" Octavia stammered, not moving a step.

"Get out! Get out! Get out!" Vinyl grabbed the bow from the table, launching it at the cellist. "Get! Out!"

Octavia grabbed the bow swiftly and ran out of the flat, shutting the door behind her. Vinyl sprinted towards the door, locking it and leaning against it with a sigh. So... humiliating. Vinyl felt tears in her throat. She saw me and now she'll think I'm a pervert. The DJ sniffed, sitting on the floor next to the door. She'll never love me. Off came the slippers, the carpet brushing softly against her bare feet. Nobody will ever love me, a stupid virgin sex-deprived girl! Vinyl sniffed again. Not... Not even Dad really loved me!

Finally, the dam broke, and Vinyl cried on the floor of her studio flat, leaning against the locked door, with a blue moon peeking curiously through the open window.

6. Baby Steps

"Hi, dad. How's  it going?"

Thick silence brushed about the room, swishing about, impenetrable quietness, the sound of serenity that blared about in its imperceptible finesse. The batteries in the old clock still had not been replaced, and the face showed ten-fifty-six, as always. Always a bright, sunlit, cheerful morning.

"I'm fine," Vinyl continued, smiling as she looked at the photograph, her heart fluttering at what she was about to say. "I... I've told you about Octavia already. My session cellist." The 'my' came out warm, maybe too warm for Vinyl not to be embarrassed at least a little. "Well, she... I gave her a lift yesterday. Drove her home." Pausing, Vinyl frowned, listening to the silence intently. "Yes, dad, I was careful. I'm always careful." Tears appeared in the DJ's eyes, her voice breaking a little as she kept talking, with a wide smile. "Well, she hugged me!" The woman paused for a moment, the image of Octavia embracing her before leaving the vehicle, a nice sports car bought by Neon, still vivid before her eyes. "She... It felt so nice. So natural. So... friendly, you know?" The DJ lowered her voice to a whisper. "I... I think I may be falling for her."

The man in the photograph stared at Vinyl, and through her, at the far wall, the smile in his eyes never fading, his hair greying with age, his cheekbones still square enough to assume that he was a bouncer and not a renowned cellist. Nini doesn't look much like him, Vinyl observed in silence, as she tried to contemplate her own feelings for the cellist. How could she ever have feelings for her? They weren't even friends... Nini looks like Mom so much. He has her eyes... "No, dad!" Vinyl hissed suddenly, her ears catching a firm disturbance in the silence of the luxurious office. "I told you, I'm not into boys!" The spinner groaned in exasperation, her mind shifting through the possible arguments she could present.

There was a loud, ear-shattering, sudden, painful sound of knuckles slamming against wood, a fist knocking at the door. Vinyl jerked up, a hurricane of anger veiling withing her, fury shielding her vision, her usually calm and tranquil demeanour shattering into tiny shards, tingling pieces that floated in silence, the huffing of her nose, the rhythmic beating of her heart, erratic gulps - everything that destroyed the sacred symphony of silence. Nobody interrupts my private time with Dad!

Neon slid into the office, closing the door behind him quietly, his shoes brushing against the carpet quietly as he barely brushed his feet against the floor. His arms looked limp, a stack of papers in one, his eyes averted cautiously as he stopped in the middle of the office, a few steps away from the chair Vinyl was occupying.

"Get out!" Vinyl yelled, much like she'd yelled at Octavia some two days ago; only now, she was radiating fury, shedding drops of anger, all embarassment forgotten as Neon dared enter her shrine and interrupt her prayer. "Get out get out get OUT!" Vinyl drummed her feet against the floor, the brass of her voice breaking into a fierce hiss. "I told you never to come here when I'm here!"

Neon gulped, still looking away. "Vinyl, please, calm down. I just need you to sign this paper. It's very urgent." He extended his hand with the papers on his palm. Vinyl slapped them away, watching the sheets float in the air, landing on the chairs, and the table, and the floor, and the carpet, and one even finding its way to the photo. Vinyl grabbed the offensive paper with sheer determination and crumbled it into a rough ball, throwing it towards the window, where it bounced helplessly against the glass.

Neon shrieked, rushing towards the window. "You idiot! You stupid, ridiculous idiot!" He jerked towards Vinyl, lifting her from her seat by the shoulder. "Do you realise what you've just done?!"

"I told you to sign all contracts by yourself!" Vinyl yelled back, trying to break free from her brother's deadly grasp. "I told you!" she cried, teary eyed, as Neon eyed hopelessly the paper-induced disaster around him.

"You... You stupid, little, spoilt girl!" Neon supported each word with a slap on Vinyl's rear, prompting the young woman to cry out in sheer humiliation, and pain - that was there, too, but not to such an extent as the embarrassing experience of being spanked. "Locked in your daddy's room, unable to see what's going on in the world!" Vinyl shoved Neon away, back down into the chair, into which she fell promptly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I do everything for you, and you ungrateful little- That wasn't a contract, you idiot! I have a goddamn tax inspector waiting for me in my office!" Neon hissed, his face red, his eyes made with fear and anger. "How am I going to tell him a page's missing, and my boss is a hysteric idiot?! He wanted to see you, and I, goddamit, I persuaded him that you were busy!" Neon all but spat on the floor. "When you are too busy sulking in a dead man's office!" Now, the man did spit on the floor, his saliva landing on the previously unspoilt carpet.

Vinyl shrieked, her mind hazy as she saw the blasphemy, and jerked up, and ran towards Neon, hitting him repeatedly with her tiny fists, delivering no damage, but pouring out her rage. "That's Dad's office! That's Dad's carpet!" she yelled, over and over again, before collapsing on the floor by Neon's feet.

"Dad would never care." Neon glared down at his sister maliciously. "Dad never even loved us. He never cared about us, and now you're trying to imagine a perfect father who loves you and who is alive in this office! You are going insane!"

Vinyl just stared at her brother, rolling over on the floor and facing the ceiling. Suddenly, she howled, a terrible howl that seemed to be coming from somewhere else, through a prism of speakers - or maybe headphones? - a mad howl of an African native told his gods did not exist.

Neon's fury faded, replaced by sheer fear as he watched his sister rolling on the floor, howling madly, her whole face covered with salty tears. His mouth fell agape just as he seemed to realise that it was his little sister, and that he surely had contributed to such a state. "Vinyl..." He lowered himself to his knees, trying to grab the rolling form of the woman. Finally, he managed to snatch her by the waist, drawing her trembling form close and pressing her head into his shoulder with force. "Shh... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Vinyl, sis, I'm sorry. Please, don't cry." He kissed the woman repeatedly on the back of her head. "Please, Vinyl. Shh. Calm down." In a trembling voice, he sang, "Hush now, quiet now~"

That prompted Vinyl to cry even more, sniffing ill snot away, her throat bubbling with tears, her whole body aching terribly. For a minute - or a few? - the brother and the sister just sat in place on the floor, the spit-soiled carpet prevented their bodies from touching the cold parquetry. "I hear his voice," Vinyl said in an alien, low, tear-riddled voice. "I hear him reply to me. I hear him in the silence. He's sorry for not paying us enough attention."

Neon gulped down a fresh batch of tears. "Vinyl, let's go see a doctor."

Vinyl sniffed sadly. "We already went to a doctor. She said I was fine." The pressure on the back of her head eased, and she lifted her head to look into Neon's eyes. "But I'm not fine, am  I?"

Neon didn't answer the question directly. "We'll find another doctor. A good one." He hugged his sister tighter. "I promise."

Vinyl sighed, exhaling into the air slowly. "Sorry, Nini. I didn't mean to..." She winced. "You know, the papers."

"Sis, don't be silly." Neon kissed the woman gently on the cheek. "Fuck the papers. My little sister is all that's important to me in this whole damn building."

Vinyl smiled sadly, pressing her nose into Neon's neck. "Nini..." The woman winced, as if in pain. And there was pain indeed, coming from her well-spanked ass. "Dad never really loved us," she said with a certain certainty, a dull, meagre acceptance. The woman sighed. Neon let out a burling sound, trying to compose a phrase, but Vinyl  interrupted him. "I know. 'He loved us in his own special way.' That's what you wanted to say, right?" Vinyl chuckled darkly, tears welling in her eyes. "But he never did."

"No," Neon called out, his voice dull and pale. "He never loved us. He- H-h-he-" The man's voice broke as he gulped down fiercely, again and again. "He never loved anyone, I think." Neon blinked away approaching tears. "He... All he ever loved was his damn music and his damn cello!" Finally, the dam broke, and Neon burst into tears.

Now, it was Vinyl's turn to hold him and whisper sweet, calming words into his ear.

***

"God, Vinyl is so hot."

Mister Tummers stared at Octavia with his button-sewn eyes, no emoton evident on his plush face. The cellist herself was lying in bed, the covers over her, her legs shifting as she tried to warm up. When chill winds blew, sometimes, the little open window beneath the ceiling was not the most welcome element of the decor. Octavia curled up, giggling to herself as she remembered her bold move the previous evening. I hugged her! And she liked it! Indeed, if the rosy blush and a quiet 'eep' were any indication, Vinyl at least didn't mind it. "I should have kissed her, Mister Tummers," Octavia said, thowing off the blankets as her own bodily heat provided high enough temperature. The cellist paused, grabbing the bear and cradling him in her arms, humming happily. God, I so want her. She looked at Mister Tummers, who stared back intently. "No, you're right. It's too soon." The cellist sat in bed, letting out a soft, "Hmm." She yawned and took a glance at her watch that was resting on the bedside table. Two-thirty. Weeeeh. She still had some time till seven... "You know, Mister Tummers, if everything goes well tonight, I think I'll kiss her. A small peck on the cheek, nothing too scary," she elaborated with a grin. God, I just love seeing her blush~

Octavia sighed in content, slugging in bed lazily. A wonderful idea came into her mind as she realised that she still had a lot of time before the evening... rehearsal? What was it going to be? She had no homework, so to speak, and no idea as to what she would have to do, and in what way she was going to help Vinyl develop the song. Octavia checked her phone lazily. No new calls, no messages. Vinyl is just too shy to text me, the cellist assured herself, placing the phone on her naked belly, screen up. Tomorrow - if all goes well - I'll text her myself. Octavia smiled. To solidify a friendship. The cellist licked her lips eagerly, turning Mister Tummers off to face the wall. With possible benefits. Octavia placed her hand on her breasts in delight, giving her left breast a pleasant squeeze. Mmm, maybe... With the other hand, she slid the phone lower, closer to her inner folds. However, she decided against such a form of self-pleasure, ultimately, substituting the device for her hand. It felt more natural. More... More like what Vinyl would do.

Octavia closed her eyes, her imagination eagerly supplying a very flustered and blushing Vinyl next to her, shyly extending her hand to the cellist's inner folds. She would be very embarrassed at first, rubbing the inside of Octavia's legs, shy, tender, inexperienced; but she, Octavia, would guide her, yes, right there, and Vinyl would smile a little kind smile, pressing her finger against her pussy, slipping it in, oh yes, exploring the sacred cave of many wonders that was so new and so enticing to her...

Octavia moaned loudly, enjoying the little scenario she'd drawn, living the dream, as she added another finger, her pussy soaking in sheer arousal. Mmm, Vinyl, you naughty naughty thing~

The phone rang, vibrating next to Octavia's thigh, almost sending her over the edge. The cellist quickened her motions, trying to get off so badly, but the phone kept ringing, and her mind screamed at her to pick it up. It may be Vinyl. The sheer thought of her masturbating to Vinyl while the object of her dreams was calling her made her yell in the wake of a micro pre-orgasm, as she grabbed the phone with trembling hands, taking a quick glance at the screen. Frederic, it read.

Octavia sighed, answering the call with closed eyes as she took the device with her non-wet, yet sweaty, hand. "Yes."

Frederic's voice reached her ears through the speaker, disgruntled and stern. "Octavia! Where the hell are you?"

Octavia yawned ailently with a frown. "Home." Rubbing myself off. Very very private business, Freddie. The woman stood up, her wet pants a sour sight, her bra off, with the flat breasts semi-hanging sadly, her nipples firm and uptight. Octavia danced from foot to foot in the wake of her... wake.

"Home?" Frederic practically shrieked, making the cellist withdraw her ear from the phone with a sour wince. "You ought to be at the rehearsal!"

Octavia felt a sudden urge to facepalm. Of course. Her work with Vinyl did not mean complete exemption from her ensemble duties. And yet, the cellist realised, she didn't want to rehearse. If anything, she wanted to be with Vinyl: work with her, laugh with her, hold her hand, see that wonderful blush on her cheeks, and kiss those cheeks, and those full, alluring lips, and caress her bouncy breasts... To hell with the ensemble, Octavia decided firmly. At least, for now. "Freddie, I'm working with Vinyl. I don't have time for rehearsals yet."

There was a moment of silence on the other side. Then, Frederic spoke in a softer voice, "I thought you already recorded the cello. I didn't know."

"I haven't, yet," Octavia confessed, dancing into the living room and towards the drawer to pick up an appropriate bra. "Besides, I..." The cellist bit her tongue. Frederic didn't exactly have to know about the extra deal Vinyl threw on top for her help. So I can have all the shiny moneys to myself. "I'm really exhausted. Working on Vinyl's project takes all my time." Yes, Octavia thought, drying her hand against a towel, I even wake up at two pm, and not three as usual. She picked up a white bra, looking over it estimatingly.

"Is it really that hard?" Frederic wondered, notes of disbelief in his tone.

Octavia smiled, choosing a matching T-shirt from her poor collection. "You can't imagine." With that, she hung up, putting on the bra with dedication. She wanted to look good. She wanted to look perfect. She wanted to look inviting. Reaching the bathroom for a morning brush'n'groom, Octavia looked in the mirror, and, satisfied with her body, proceeded to brush her hair. And yet, she couldn't stand in one place. Soon, she found herself waltzing out of the bathroom, working the brush on her tangled hair, feeling no pain from the torn hairs as her mind supplied endorphines at the thought of meeting Vinyl again tonight.

Dancing into the bedroom, she grabbed the bear from the bed and did a little waltz with him. "Ah, Mister Tummers!" she cooed, holding the toy close to heart. "What a wonderful girl!"

Octavia placed Mister Tummers on the bed, putting the brush next to him as she pondered on what outfit to put on. She smiled, knowing exactly what to wear. Grinning, the cellist bounced out of the room, reaching for the wardrobe. She sighed in delight. "What a wonderful life!"

***

"Wow, you look... n-nice," Vinyl stammered, eyeing Octavia as she opened the door, her heart fluttering at the cellist's appearance. In her mind, she was already seeing Octavia as a friend, and as a friend to whom she was so greatly attracted. Of course, reality proved otherwise (just colleagues) so Vinyl took a step back, letting the cellist in.

Octavia took off her leather biker jacket, revealing a white T-shirt worn with black leather trousers that seemed to be clenched around her legs so tight Vinyl could actually see the outline of the cellist's pants beneath the trousers; and this was driving her crazy with lust and sheer embarrassment. "Thank you. You look beautiful too." Octavia smiled, making Vinyl's face turn a bright pink, her lower lip trembling in the sheer heat that covered the DJ's face. Did she... Did she call me beautiful?

"T-thanks," Vinyl said, turning round quickly to hide her blush

Octavia put down her cello case, giggling mentally as she scored a point for Team Octavia, glad that she'd decided to listen to Devil Octavia's advice to put on sexy casualwear, with Angel Octavia admitting complete defeat. You look beautiful even without your T-shirt on. Sooo way better without the T-shirt. "You're welcome. So..." Octavia stretched a little, very pleased to catch Vinyl's eyes lingering on her leather-prisoned ass. "What would you like me to do today?" She smiled, her mind picturing what exactly she would like to do with Vinyl.

Vinyl's blush faded as she tiptoed from foot to foot nervously. "Well, have some tea?" she suggested with a small smile, added hastingly, "Oh, and work on the music, of course! Just get the main outline." The DJ chuckled, touching her elbow with a hand, gripping it tightly. "You know, get the idea of what the song is going to be. No key yet, no chord progression, just... stuff." Vocabulary, Vinyl. Amazing, divine vocabulary you have here. The little angel on Vinyl's shoulder tsked disapprovingly. Vinyl turned to the other shoulder mentally to get some support from the little devil Vinyl, but she wasn't there, replaced by a sign that read, in bold orange letters, "Do Not Disturb".

"Okay, sure." Octavia smiled again, realising that, perharps, Vinyl was dragging on the project just to spend more time with her. And, even though that meant delayed payment, the cellist found that she really wanted to spend more time with the cute (and sexy) DJ too. And not just because of her sexy boobies. Though, that particular fact did play a huge role in her disposition.

Octavia followed the DJ into the kitchen, sitting on the same stool she'd sat on the previous evening; only now she was sitting straight, no alcohol directing her against the wall now. With a shy, beautiful smile, Vinyl poured a faintly-scented fresh Earl Grey - Octavia's nose deciphered the todayness of bergamot with distinguished ease - into two mugs, placing one before Octavia and one before her.

For a while, the women merely drank tea, drawing no conversation, Octavia perfectly content with shifting her eyes from Vinyl's face to her breasts and back, and Vinyl trying to gather up her courage to start a conversation. And it seemed that Octavia was trying her, with that luring, half-sly smile of hers, prompting her to be less shy and start up a talk. All right, just harmless shop talk. Vinyl took a sip of her tea, the mug warm between her palms. Here goes. "So, I've been thinking about the song." Octavia nodded, sipping on her tea in silence. And I've been thinking about your boobs. We're quits. "And I have absolutely nothing," Vinyl confessed with a sigh. "Thing is," she carried on before her spur of confidence could diminish, "I always start with a genre. I can't write a song without knowing the genre. And this..." Vinyl winced, gulping down the remains of her tea. "This... I don't know what the genre even is." If there even is a genre. The spinner stood up to refill her mug.

Octavia hummed, offering her mug for a refill. "Well," she said carefully. "You mentioned that you wanted to make the song a classical/trance collision piece, am I right?" Vinyl nodded, pouring warm tea in Octavia's mug. "Why not make it classical trance, then?" Because such a genre obviously exists.

"Well, you see..." Vinyl filled her mug and took her place, her arms on the table, opening up the exquisite view of her bra-held and T-shirt-shielded breasts to the cellist. Octavia made  an effort not to drool and to concentrate on the topic instead. "The melody - the main theme - the one you played... It's rock, jazz, and classical - all in one piece." Vinyl rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if a trance background would work with it well."

Well, it's not like the initial melody you gave me was very classical... Octavia did not voice her thoughts, for, she assured herself, Vinyl could not know much about classical music, being a DJ; naturally, she just needed a nudge. Boy, I'd so nudge her. In so many places. "Well, why don't you make the rhythm section likewise?" Octavia waved her hand in the air in a gesture of encouragement and explanation. "Structure it as a fusion of jazz, rock, and classical. Hell, we can even mix in trance!" she exclaimed, her mind realising that she'd said 'we' only after her tongue had already let it out.

Vinyl blushed a little at the cellist's passion and at that wonderful 'we' and nodded slowly. "Yes... That's a good idea. Jazz... That, I know." She sipped on her tea, ideas already bouncing in her head. "Trance - of course. But..." Vinyl flushed a little. "I don't know anything about rock."

"What?" Octavia almost did a spit-take on her tea. And here I was, thinking that classical was her weak point! "Really?" The cellist blinked, diverting her attention breezily from Vinyl's breasts, at which she'd learnt to stare unnoticed (or, at least, so it seemed to her), to look into the spinner's magenta-red eyes, shining with embarrassment and calm humility. "You've never been to a rock concert?" I can't believe it!

"I don't even have any rock albums..." Vinyl blushed slightly. "Just a few singles that I enjoy." I walk alone, I walk alone~ she sang in her head.

Octavia smiled in determination. "Vinyl, rock isn't about listening albums at home while sipping on tea." She extended her hand and placed it on Vinyl's shoulder, prompting a sharp intake of air from the pretty DJ. "Rock is about going to concerts. It's about the drive. It's about the atmosphere. We simply must go to a rock concert this week!" Immediately realising her implication, she added quickly, "As a contribution to the project, of course."

Vinyl was silent, her mouth suddenly very dry. It's a date. A date? A date. Is it? It is! Please, let it be a date. Oh no, no, it's too... No, not a date. Just... Just a concert.

"You'll pick up a few important things about rock music," Octavia added an argument, watching the DJ have an internal debate. "Or are you afraid of-"

"I'm not afraid of crowds," Vinyl replied with unusual firmness. "I'm a DJ, remember? It's just that... Octavia, are we friends?" she asked suddenly, scrutinising those pools of lavender carefully.

"I..." Octavia blinked. Then smiled, her hand reaching for Vinyl's hand and lying on top of it gently, making the DJ hot from the very tips of her fingers. Did she really ask that? This shy girl? Wow. "Of course we are, Vinyl. At least, I do consider you my friend." Octavia paused, trying to formulate the truth as she knew it. "We haven't known each other much, but I like... I like the way you're so open. So honest. I also like the way you blush," Octavia blurted out, making Vinyl blush even more as she slid her hand away, lest the heat in her body overwhelm her. That's... Wow, the spinner thought. That's... Just... She likes... Uuuh.

"So, you will call me when you find the tickets?" Vinyl wondered, if only to derail her brain from arousing thoughts about how her blush (Do I really blush that much?) was to Octavia's liking.

"I'm also thinking of dropping by tomorrow at seven." Octavia smiled. If only to drink tea and stare at boobs and listen to your sweet blushy-stammery voice. "If that's all right with you."

"That- That's absolutely fine!" Vinyl exclaimed, her heart beating faster at the thought of the beautiful woman offering to come all on her own. I really hope it's not just because of the money... But then again, I don't pay her for each session... "Would you like to-" ...stay overnight? The angel on Vinyl's shoulder nearly fainted. The little devil Vinyl shrugged and shook her head, whispering, That's too fast. Even by my standards. The DJ's cheeks grew slightly pink as she amended, "Would you like me to give you a lift home? I wasn't a very bad driver yesterday, was I?"

Octavia chuckled, placing the empty mug on the table. "You were very careful." The cellist wiped her mouth with a nearby napking, shifting the mug away as she leant back a little, careful not to fall, given the lack of a back to support her. "I'd say extra careful, given the car you're driving."

"Neon bought it," Vinyl explained immediately, putting her own mug away. "I'm not a good driver. Just... I drive occasionally." In fact, Vinyl realised, I haven't driven for months. It was this wonderful cellist who had prompted her to sit at the wheel again.

"Thank you, Vinyl." Octavia stood up and walked towards the DJ. "I'd love it if you could give me a lift again." Now, a friendly gesture. Octavia felt her heart leap to her throat, feeling strangely excited. Friends do it all the time. Here goes nothing. Octavia leant in and placed a soft kiss on Vinyl's cheek - a breezy, minute peck that still made the DJ's mouth fall agape and her cheeks and neck to turn a beautiful crimson. With a small supporting hug, Octavia walked towards the bathroom, calling out, "Give me a minute and we're good to go!"

Vinyl just sat there, touching her cheek, a big, goofy smile of joy and disbelief on her face. She... kissed me. On the cheek, but she kissed me! As a friend, but she kissed me! She kissed me! Vinyl wanted to sing and laugh at the same time. Instead, she stood up, quietly giggling in a spur of sudden happiness and brought the mugs to the sink, placing them away for further washing.

With that, she left the kitchen, ready to wait for the cellist. No matter how long it would take.

Part Three Marker

III. LOVE ME