i come back stronger than a 90s trend

@ofbarreras​

august hovered in the doorway, vaguely shimmering if you looked too closely, a skeletal smile playing at the corners of his lips. “i gotta say it’s rare that someone else is the one making noise, and i’m the one trying to work.” august had been trying to write — what exactly, he still had no clue; his mind was drawing a resounding blank — when he’d heard the faint thrumming of piano keys. a sound he’d always appreciated, despite how far from august’s usual style it was. “not that i’m complaining.”

august’s verdict, though perhaps a bit harsh, isn’t entirely unfair. sometimes the rapid advancement of technology shocks him, and he’s been alive for all of it. as someone who paid minute-by-minute on a tracfone flip phone until they graduated high school, tito thinks they might be able to understand the  technological disconnect better than most. it took them a little while to figure out things like emojis and music streaming services and social media, too. besides, if teaching tito how to record a cassette tape helps to cut back on the amount of time they spend fearing that august’s drumming is going to cause one of his neighbors to file a noise complaint, they’ll gladly pick up the new skill. 

to be fair, what august is saying makes the process of recording music onto a cassette sound almost beautiful. in their own defense, though, it isn’t like tito is a stranger to appreciating music. instant gratification is more of a foreign language to them than anything. “i used to wait all week for saturday morning, when my dad let me go pick out a new cd. it was never the brand new one that everyone my age was talking about listening to — usually it was one that nobody had ever even heard of — but i always played the hell out of it, anyway. over and over until my brother was so sick to death of hearing it that he tried to hide it from me.” an almost fond smile crosses their face at the recollection of it. what they wouldn’t give to have one more day in that apartment with all of them together again.

the second half of august’s ode to the cassette tape makes tito sputter loud enough that the cashier turns in their direction with a confused look, though he turns away soon enough when he determines that nothing out of the ordinary is afoot. if only he knew. “i’m not really in the business of getting laid right now,” tito protests, their cheeks feeling distinctly hot in a way that he’s grateful his complexion won’t betray. “especially not with three ghosts living in my apartment.” god. they’d be hard-pressed to think of something more mortifying than that.

august listened fondly as tito blew dust off the memories of saturday mornings with their dad. he liked hearing their stories, it was a little window into a life august was lucky enough to see only by a split hair. that realization had dawned on him every now and again the past week, how thinly they were connected to each other. if august had just survived, if killer conclusions had blown up... tito wouldn’t even have been a blip on his radar. he realized this almost sadly. august was strangely grateful, in that moment, that things panned out the way they had. that was rare in of itself.

then, tito made the mistake of revealing something they probably shouldn’t have. something most people that knew august knew better than to let slip. he licked his lips like predator stalking prey. a sly, gaunt smile curved his lips upwards.

ever the optimist, august. it’s a trait dali shares, really, the inherent belief, no, the knowledge that in the end, everything will turn out alright - but though she’s always held more than her fair share of self-confidence, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t just admire, but at times, nearly relied on his apparent unfaltering superpower of tracking down silver linings. it’s an ability she still has no doubt had a starring role in the initial takeoff of killer conclusions, and one she almost wishes she could harness for herself now - because really, she can’t see how he’s managing to find even a single positive here. she doesn’t understand how he can so easily carry on the energy and excitement she’d known and loved from when they were performing into their current circumstances, how he can brush aside how they got where they are as if it’s nothing - her best friend’s hope was one of the first things she’d noticed when they first met, she remembers, but right now, it’s baffling. infuriatingly so.

“well, yeah, you can’t get bored, but you can’t focus, either. i mean, how are you meant to get excited about something when you can’t even look at it for more than a minute? how’s anything meant to make an impact?” for a moment, though she’s still indignant, she almost seems to be settling down - but a moment can only last so long. there’s something about his laugh, the ease in which he’s just able to accept what happened, how he can just move on - she loves him with all her heart, but in that second, she could hit him. “what about this do you find… jesus, this isn’t a fucking gimmick! this isn’t like, we some offer out of the blue, or there was some experiment gone right, we’re not superheroes or some shit, we didn’t have a choice - we fucking crashed, august! we died.” she’s putting all her effort into keeping her voice near level, but her voice still stings from the strain. 

she wants to be able to see things the way he can. really. she wishes she could be swept away in the sights and the sounds of 2020, mould herself into someone who can understand the seismic shift that occurred while they were, as far as they knew, six feet under. she wants put her blinkers up and dedicate herself to catching up, just as she’s dedicated herself to so much before - but she can’t. she can’t just treat everything like something new to explore, their circumstances like some new technology. not with the screeching of tires still ringing in her ears.

“if we had really, honestly died, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” august said it gently, but his eyes went dark as it left his mouth. it was a home truth he wrestled with every time he thought about it too hard. dali was right, to be fair, they had crashed and died. it was the worst night of august’s life, one that shouldn’t have happened, one he’d have sold his soul to repair. but what he couldn’t step off of, what blinded him more than the crash, was the aftermath. people don’t usually get to cheat death, that was the funny thing about life. august had led his entire life thinking he was only guaranteed one, and yet, he had woken up to find his most base truth had been a flat out lie.

who wouldn’t feel chosen after something like that? 

it’s a little devil may care, the way august refers back to his own death. the words kick the bucket are almost enough to make tito wince on instinct, but they do their best to suppress the reaction. after all, it isn’t his death august is talking about. still, tito isn’t sure that he could shrug off finding out that they were dead for fifteen years in just one short week — but maybe that’s just the anxiety talking. “right, ‘05,” tito nods, trying his best to think back to the year and what august would have missed in the second half of the decade, but it’s not like they have the most vibrant memories to choose from. “when i was eight years old. can’t say i had much autonomy in selecting what music i listened to in second grade, but i remember thinking jesse mccartney was pretty cute.” they gasp, suddenly struck with the realization that august might not know who jesse mccartney is. “don’t tell me you don’t know beautiful soul.” 

they’re quick to be distracted when august turns on his heel and begins to peruse the rows of records, wandering almost aimlessly down the aisle. “this is kind of how i found you guys. or, well, your cd at least,” he says, still quiet enough that only august can hear them speaking. “it was my dad’s thing, actually. he used to let me pick out cd’s but only if you couldn’t tell what was in them by looking at them. he said that’s how the music chooses you.” 

a quiet laugh escapes his lips when august mentions cassette tapes, clearly dating himself with that memory. it’s weird, looking at someone who looks like they’re your age but actually isn’t. they can hardly imagine how weird it must be for august. “i have to be honest, i have no idea how to record something onto a cassette tape. i don’t think i’ve even seen one in… god, who knows how long. i can burn music onto a cd — or, well, i could when laptops still had a spot for cd’s — but not cassette tapes.”

he stood with his back facing tito, running his hands along the sleeves of the middle aisle. it was a little fruitless, since his fingers couldn’t actually catch on anything, but the feeling was enough to bring back a rush of memories. he could even remember coming here before killer conclusions. back when his only friend was the petty high school rumors that circulated around him, or the empty movie theater chair he sat in when he wanted to kill a friend-less weekend.

he knew the cathedral must’ve changed hands within the last decade and a half, but he was grateful to whoever it was for keeping the place a classic. it was strange how they’d never know it, but they were singlehandedly keeping a dead twenty two year old sane. if that was still a possibility.

august pivoted sharply at tito’s confession of basic sacrilege. "you realize that’s unacceptable, right?” he’d never admit it, but actually, he was thankful that tito was nineties clueless. it gave him something to do with his time, besides mope. 

dali wishes she could continue to put fault on the song, hold it accountable for all her frustrations and woes and honest, embarrassing jealousy, but deep down she knows it’s an unjust blame to place. as much as she loathes to admit it, she knows there’s truth in what august’s saying - at least, the sentiment is a shared one, though between them, that’s never been a surprise. even now, she can vaguely remember the first time she heard those opening chords, how she’d dropped everything to turn it up and the brief attempts she’d made to recreate them between rehearsals. despite her impatience with it now, she knows it was one of the best things to come from the turn of the century - but then, if she can’t hold it accountable for how she’s feeling, who is she supposed to pass the responsibility off to but her own ever-lingering regret?

it takes slowing to a halt by her original chair for her to realise she’d gotten up and begun pacing as she’d ranted, though it takes a fair few more seconds for her to process what august’s saying before she eventually throws herself back down again - it’s a concession, a silent acknowledgement that he has a point, though the tap-tapping of one heel on the ground serves to indicate she’s not quite defeated.

“well no shit, of course they’re still playing them - the world didn’t get that fucked in 15 years, they’re not insane.” it’s a statement she does briefly question the moment she says it - she has to admit, the past week has certainly been an eye-opening one, seeing how much a city can change in just over a decade even nearly eclipses the shock of the whole ghost circumstance - but still, she powers on. “still, though, don’t you think… they want to move too fucking fast now, don’t they? with technology, and trends, and people, and fuck, with music - why do they want to move on so bad? 2003…”

august had had a lot of time to think about that the past week. it was like the world had started spinning faster since they’d died. it was a digital age — where trends, and celebrities, and music, lived and died inside of a day. and then on everyone moved to the next thing, unblinking, uncaring. august thought maybe he could’ve liked a world like that, if he hadn’t been thrust into it with no time to acclimate. instead he felt swallowed up by everything new he’d never seen before, and yet everyone around him seemed so accustomed to it. in fact, they all seemed to prefer it. 

was it driving him crazy? of course it was. but where dali found it tiresome, august found himself simply thirsting to simply know. he wanted to experience it all, be caught up on the modern times, experience it for what it could’ve been — a gift. after all, how many musician spirits had august heard of before killer conclusions? zip. and that, really, was the key here.

“i kind of like it,” he admitted, even though knew it wasn’t helpful. “sure, it lacks a little edge. but you can never get bored when everything moves this fuckin’ fast.”

he attempted to rest his hands on the table, but found they passed right through instead. 

♩.

today was one of the bad days. today august stared at his childhood house from across the street. watching, waiting, wondering if he should go in and see it. he had only visited once since his revival, but he hadn’t gone inside. two unfamiliar cars had sat on the driveway that day, and august knew better than to go inside when his parents were there. even for him, that was too far.

but today the driveway was empty.

august entered through the door, breath held, into the foyer. it was like he was immediately launched back into being seventeen again. the ultimate sucker punch to the stomach. suddenly he had band practice in fifteen minutes; his mom was making dinner; he and his dad were fighting about some ridiculous chore he forgot to do. 

he climbed up the stairs. this is where he would’ve paused midway to hurtle some cheap insults down the way. his dad would’ve told him to watch his mouth. his mom would say nothing, just mildly stir her spaghetti or whatever she was making that night. it didn’t matter. august wouldn’t be around to eat it anyway. 

then, he was in the hall. he would pop into ollie’s room, gingerly explain that he was going to go hang out with his friends, and to pay no mind to the muffled screaming he’d heard downstairs. he’d pat his head, and make a mental note to bring him back a CD when he returned. aerosmith maybe, or pink floyd.

he hesitated at his bedroom door, naturally. good god, what had his life become? his fingers hovered habitually over the knob, but slowly august was realizing that he simply couldn’t do it. who even knew what the state of his room was now, fifteen years later? it could’ve been a home gym now, for all he knew.

he was all too ready to turn around, disappear into the present day again. not dig up old skeletons that — like him — were better left untouched. but instead, august found somebody standing at the end of the hall for him.

“hey,” was all he managed to say through his surprise, to ollie. a perfect, condensed representation of the life august had left behind here. except he was older now, inexplicably so. for the millionth time today, august found himself wondering how over a decade could go by in what felt like the blink of an eye.

he attempted to make a joke, even though he knew it wouldn’t work. “i was just doing a little sight seeing.”

@ofolivers​

12: have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

“fuck that! i can’t even make it anywhere close to twenty four. dali and eddie’ll tell you: i always slept like i was dead.” he tried not to cringe as the words escaped his lips, quickly shaking them off. “i wasn’t any use to anybody if i didn’t sleep well. always got a bit too... fuzzy. and a little uh, easily angered, to put it lightly.”

27: have you ever broken someone’s heart?

answered!

35: who was the last person you cried in front of?

answered!

19: would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

“i would sell my soul to tell my past self not to get in the car the night we played club 2000. you have no idea. i’d have done anything at all...” august left it at that, but of course, there was more to the story. he’d known — or he’d thought he known — for ages that killer conclusions was supposed to make it big. like, really big. the way all of them had so clearly deserved. it made his head spin, the way a ten second delay could’ve put them at super stardom now. playing sold out shows, their songs surfacing on radio stations dedicated to the classics. and yet, all of it, stolen away in one fell swoop. august liked tito, and kerry, and some of the perks of being a phantom. but he’d have traded all of it for club 2000 that night. he’d have traded anything at all.

27: have you ever broken someone’s heart?

“i wasn’t exactly the model boyfriend, i’ll be honest. but the thing is — the drummer schtick gets you a lot of chicks. like, a lot. how am i supposed to say no to that? anyway, i don’t know. i tried to do the right thing by breaking it off when i felt like they were starting to get pissed off with me. i was much more concerned with killer conclusions than i was with anything else, anyways. but then another girl would come along, and i’d start the cycle all over again. not some of my finer moments, i’ll admit.”

35: who was the last person you cried in front of?

“geez, if you ever see me crying smack the ghostly shit out of me would you? nobody wants to see that.”

14: do you miss someone?

he couldn’t say he defined it as missing someone, truth be told. it was more bleak than that, sat a little bit heavier in his chest, got him more frustrated and angry than the way missing someone insinuates. take ollie — august can’t miss him, because he’s right there. but is he furious when he sees them, at the world around him for doing this? not just letting him rest where he was fifteen years ago? absolutely. but it’s not a “miss” of anything. it’s worse.

16: how exactly are you feeling at the moment?

"thrilled, actually. i got this really good idea for a drum line i want to show the gang when i get a chance. one really good perk about being a ghost — you don’t have to worry about any punk neighbors showing at your doorstep to bitch at you for being too loud.”

52: do you believe everything happens for a reason?

answered homie slice !

26: what are you craving right now?

“honestly? i had this ritual every saturday morning, where i’d crumble bacon into my oatmeal and eat it on the couch, and watch cartoons. just me, kickin it, until it was noon and i’d get up to play the drums. it was my perfect morning, really. i’d never felt more relaxed than i did doing that. i feel like if i could taste that again, i’d feel a lot better about like... everything, basically.”

52: do you believe everything happens for a reason?

"sure, i guess so. if you’d asked me before i died, i would’ve said fuck yes, and i would’ve been sure those reasons were because of some bigger cosmic good. but now? i don’t know. i guess it’s not everyday that people come back as ghosts and get a second chance at their whole life, but i can’t say i think it’s a good one anymore. but for a reason? any reason at all? yeah, sure. why not? it wouldn’t be the craziest assertion i’d ever seen. not after the week i’ve had.

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

02: Who did you last say “I love you” to?

03: Do you regret anything?

04: Are you insecure?

05: What is your relationship status?

06: How do you want to die?

07: What did you last eat?

08: Played any sports?

09: Do you bite your nails?

10: When was your last physical fight?

11: Do you like someone?

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

14: Do you miss someone?

15: Have any pets?

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

18: Are you scared of spiders?

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

26: What are you craving right now?

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

30: What’s irritating you right now?

31: Does somebody love you?

32: What is your favourite color?

33: Do you have trust issues?

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

51: Favourite food?

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

54: Is cheating ever okay?

55: Are you mean?

56: How many people have you fist fought?

57: Do you believe in true love?

58: Favourite weather?

59: Do you like the snow?

60: Do you wanna get married?

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

62: What makes you happy?

63: Would you change your name?

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

the moment that they hear august’s voice, tito is quick to turn on his heels, eyes wide as their arm shoots forward to grasp onto the record that august has lifted into the air. although tito has no problem seeing the ghost that’s holding it in place, to everyone else it’s simply a record suspended in mid-air. plus, they already have a copy of rumours. they don’t need to buy a second one should august lose his hold on it and damage it. “ ¡ chacho ! los angeles is a weird place, but not weird enough for fleetwood mac albums to start floating around on their own,” tito reminds him, trying their best to exercise patience — they can’t imagine suddenly waking up as a ghost is something you get used to in a week — but still making sure to angle themselves away from the guy sitting at the cash register. talking to yourself is significantly easier to explain than levitation, but they would rather forego the awkward conversation all together. “maybe not the 2000s, but you can pry my 90s music out of my cold, dead hands,” he says without thinking, only realizing that they’re speaking to an actual dead person once the words are already out of their mouth. “uh, sorry. no offense.” 

a gaunt smirk tilted the corners of august’s lips. “no offense taken. — and for the record, i happen to like nineties music. i didn’t kick the bucket until ‘05, remember?” he let tito stow away rumours, instead opting to wind down the aisle and see what other gems he could find. back in his day ( that is to say, when he was not dead ) he used to wander the store aimlessly until he found an album that jumped out at him. that was the beauty of the cathedral. the way they set out the records made absolutely no sense, not even the employees could find what they were looking for. you’d have to stumble on it. sure, sometimes you got duds, but august had discovered all of his musical heroes through this method.

he ran his hand along the record sleeves in an attempt to recreate it, but found himself unable to make contact a second time. a sigh escaped his lips. so much for that. here he was thinking the cathedral could make him feel better. and yet, it was another ghastly reminder of everything august no longer was.

back when dali was a kid - before the band, before august, before even her own guitar - many an afternoon had been spent with her head in her hands, eyes shut, attune to nothing but the music coming down from the old cassette player sat up on the kitchen shelf. at the time, it had been a welcome distraction from whatever frustrating nightmare the preceding school day had been. now, technically thirty-odd years later, it’s a setup she’s started to recreate more and more often, face in palms at tito’s kitchen table when he’s left for work - only instead of having free reign over her mother’s ever-expanding catalog, she’s at the mercy of a radio station, and rather than relieving her worries, it’s a circumstance that’s left her more frustrated than she would’ve been without it.

august’s arrival to the room, which coincides with the opening lyrics of seven nation army, isn’t punctuated by a traditional ‘hello’, rather, dali’s only form of greeting is a rather bitter, irriated request - “can you turn that shit off, please, or… jesus, change the station or something?” before he has time to say anything, she’s already interjected, apparently having been hit by a sudden burst of energy, head lifting from her hands, now free to gesture as she explodes into a tirade. “god, did you hear that? ‘the white stripes’ rock classic’ - it came out in what, 2003? like, i get… the 80s being classic now, but come on, two-thousand-and-fucking-three is not classic.”there’s something else behind the bitterness in her voice, the anger at such an irrelevant introductory phrasing - there’s hurt. she may not be able to put what she truly means into words, but her indignant tone manages to do the real talking for her. ‘that could have been us.’

@avgsts​

august sensed the tension immediately, like the temperature had dropped fifty degrees. dali with her head in her hands, the radio thrumming, a snippy one-liner hurtled at him before he’d even had the chance to do anything to provoke it. it was a classic scene. it actually made him a little nostalgic. he knew he’d have to tread carefully from here on out. this was dali’s way of telling him she was in no mood.

“maybe it’s a classic in how good it is,” he said. “it’s seriously one of the best bass chord progressions out there. at least, it’s in my top three for sure. i wish i wrote the damn thing. that’s how good it is.”

and then a thought occurred to him. — dali had been an enigma for as long as he’d known her, but if he ever really wanted to know what she was thinking, all he had to ask himself was, ‘what am i thinking?’ they were tethered like that, shouldering all of the same jealousies and burdens. 

august wished he’d wrote the white stripes, and therefore dali kind of wished she wrote the white stripes, and therefore therefore she was presently upset about all of life ( and opportunity ) they’d missed out on in fifteen years. got it.

gingerly, he took the seat opposite her now-vacant one.

IF NOTHING ELSE, the afterlife had given rafa time. plenty of time. too much time, arguably, so much that he’d had to start portioning out his days to make sure he was actually able to keep track of their passing. one thing he’d allocated a lot of his time for was the simple physicality of things — spending days in stores just like this one, thumbing through records and CDs until his fingers caught on the corners more times than they passed through them. now, in moments like these, he was able to pluck things out of the stacks at will. 

rafa sent a disdainful look down at the record in august’s hand, flicking his gaze back up after a moment. “ seriously? oops! i did it again. stronger. lucky, ” he listed off, aggressively promoting britney spears’s 2000 album oops! i did it again. 2008’s circus was quick to follow. “ circus. womanizer. if u seek amy. britney’s discography is iconic, and i will not stand for any kind of slander. i somehow doubt that they have paris hilton’s stars are blind here, but that song alone could carry the 2000s on its back. you really need to enlighten yourself. ”

♭.

august set the record down gingerly, before it could escape his fragile grasp. “ — i’m gonna stop you right there. you’re giving me a headache.” he had a vague recollection of britney spears, still something of a new budding and star as he remembered her. she wasn’t exactly someone his circle of friends would’ve spent much time talking about, but apparently she’d had some longevity in her after all. august thought little of it. then again, he was still mourning the apparent death of rock and roll. 

seriously, where had the time gone?

his eyes scanned the aisle of sleeves. a myriad of colors, varying levels of disarray. suddenly it took the wind out of him, and he was back wrestling with his newfound ghostly-hood. so much for the cathedral being a safe haven.