Turning tables- Noah Sebastian fanfiction
Obviously everything is pure fiction, just inspired by real events, people and things. English is not my first language so please do not judge.
The story will have some spicier scenes, just as a warning. Warning for mention and use of alcohol as well as weed and nicotine. Mentions of anxiety, trust issues, ghosting, etc.
Chapter One: Leap of Faith
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall buzzed overhead like angry wasps, and Casey fought the urge to let her eyes drift shut for the third time in ten minutes. Professor Mitchell was droning on about post-impressionist color theory, his monotone voice seeming to come from very far away. She'd gotten home at six in the morning after a particularly wild night at Fabric, her ears still ringing from the relentless kick drums and her body humming with residual energy from the DJ set she'd played at the afterparty.
Worth it, she thought, remembering the crowd's response when she'd dropped that new track she'd been working on. The way the entire basement had moved as one organism, hands in the air, lost in the sound she'd created.
Her phone buzzed against her thigh, and she carefully slid it out under the desk. Hollie's name flashed across the screen.
"Still alive? You looked like death warmed over this morning xx"
Casey suppressed a smile and typed back one-handed, her other hand propping up her head. "Barely. Mitchell could put an insomniac into a coma."
The lecture finally ended, and Casey gathered her things, a battered laptop covered in stickers from various clubs and record labels, a notebook filled more with doodles and beat patterns than actual notes, and approximately six empty cans of Monster that she really should have thrown away earlier in the week.
The walk back to her dorm took fifteen minutes through the crisp London autumn air, and she pulled her oversized black hoodie tighter around herself. Her bright ginger hair, still a shock every time she caught her reflection, even three months after the breakup that had prompted the change, whipped around her face in the wind.
The dorm flat was mercifully quiet when she pushed through the door. Hollie was probably still at her afternoon seminar, something involving economics that Casey couldn't comprehend even on a full night's sleep. Their shared space was a study in contrasts: Hollie's side neat and organized, decorated in soft pinks and creams with fairy lights strung carefully along the wall, while Casey's resembled something between a music studio and a hurricane aftermath, with cables snaking across the floor and vinyl records stacked in precarious towers.
Casey collapsed onto her bed, fully intending to nap, but muscle memory had her reaching for her laptop instead. She'd just check Tumblr for a few minutes, maybe scroll through some production forums, see what people were saying about last night's set...
Her email notification pinged.
The sender name made her pause: [email protected]
Spam, she thought immediately. Had to be. But something made her click it anyway.
Subject: Collaboration Inquiry - Urgent
Dear Casey,
We came across your work through the underground scene in London and were impressed by your unique approach to sound design and production. We have an unconventional project that we believe would benefit from your particular skill set.
Attached you'll find some preliminary material. If you're interested in discussing further, please respond at your earliest convenience.
Best, Matty Keller A&R, Sumerian Records
Casey sat up straighter, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Sumerian Records. She knew that name. They were... metalcore? Djent? Definitely not techno. Definitely not her scene.
Has to be spam, she thought again, but her fingers were already opening a new tab, typing "Sumerian Records" into Google. The official website loaded, sleek and professional, with roster names she vaguely recognized from Spotify's algorithm throwing them at her. Bad Omens. Asking Alexandria. Born of Osiris.
Heavy shit. Good heavy shit, from what she could tell, but still, nothing like what she made.
Curiosity won out over skepticism. She downloaded the attachment.
The riff hit her immediately, crushing, down-tuned, with a rhythmic complexity that made her producer brain light up. It was dark, atmospheric, almost industrial in places. And the lyrics...
"We're all just bodies falling through space Searching for something to hold I found my gravity in your embrace But you let me go"
Raw. Visceral. Not what she expected from a metalcore band.
She listened to the track three more times, her mind already dissecting the production, hearing possibilities, imagining how electronic elements could weave through those heavy riffs, how her signature atmospheric pads could fill the spaces between the breakdowns.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she hit reply.
The response came within an hour. A phone call was scheduled for the next morning.
"You're doing what?" Hollie's blue eyes were wide as saucers as Casey explained over dinner that evening, cheap pasta they'd made in their tiny kitchenette, eaten while sitting cross-legged on Hollie's bed.
"I'm just taking a call," Casey said, twirling spaghetti around her fork. "It's probably nothing. They'll realize I'm not what they're looking for."
"Casey." Hollie set down her bowl, her expression serious. "This is Sumerian Records. They're legit. Like, actually legit. My brother listens to some of their bands."
"Your brother listens to metalcore?" Casey couldn't hide her surprise.
"Apparently he contains multitudes," Hollie said dryly. "But seriously, if this is real, you have to do it."
"If it's real, it's probably just some remote work," Casey said, but her heart was already beating faster at the possibility.
Matty's voice was warm and enthusiastic over the phone, with a slight American accent that made everything sound more official somehow.
"So here's the vision," he said after the initial pleasantries. "Bad Omens is working on their next album, and Noah, he's the vocalist and primary writer, he's always pushing boundaries. This album, he wants to incorporate more electronic elements, more atmosphere, more... I don't know how to describe it. More feeling. And when we heard your sets from Fabric and saw your production work, we knew you were exactly what this project needs."
Casey's fingers drummed against her thigh, a nervous habit. "I'm flattered, but I have to be honest, I don't really know your music that well. This would be completely new territory for me."
"That's exactly why we want you," Matty said. "We don't want someone who's going to give us more of what we already do. We want someone who's going to challenge us, push us somewhere new. Noah's very particular about his collaborators, he needs to work with people who aren't afraid to take risks."
They talked through technical details, DAW preferences (she used Ableton, which was apparently fine), her process (chaotic but effective), her influences (everything from Amelie Lens to Burial to, weirdly, Radiohead).
"There's one thing," Matty said, and Casey heard the hesitation in his voice. "Noah has a very specific way of working. He likes to be hands-on, in the studio, bouncing ideas back and forth in real time. He's tried remote collaboration before and it just... doesn't click for him. So we'd need you to come out to LA for about a month."
The words hit her like a physical blow. "A month? I can't-I'm at university. I don't have that kind of money to just fly to the States for a month."
"The label would cover everything," Matty said quickly. "Transportation, accommodation, food, everything. We'd put you up in a hotel near the studio. And obviously you'd be compensated for your time beyond that."
Casey's mind reeled. "I'd still have to deal with uni. They're not going to just let me disappear for a month."
"I understand if it's not possible," Matty said, and she could hear the genuine disappointment in his voice. "But Casey-opportunities like this don't come around often. And I think you and Noah could create something really special."
After the call ended, Casey sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the wall of her tiny dorm room. The sensible thing would be to say no. The sensible thing would be to focus on her degree, to keep playing her gigs in London, to build her career slowly and safely.
But when had she ever done the sensible thing?
Diamonds from under pressure, she thought. That's how it works, right?
The next three weeks were absolute chaos.
Arguments with her academic advisor. Negotiations with professors. Late-night sessions drafting up plans for how she'd complete her coursework remotely. Hollie helping her practice her pitch, encouraging her when she wanted to give up, reminding her that this was Sumerian fucking Records and she'd be insane to pass it up.
"Besides," Hollie had said one night, painting Casey's nails a deep burgundy as they sat on her pastel pink bedspread, "when are you ever going to get another chance to go to LA? Even if the music thing doesn't work out, at least you'll get a vacation out of it."
"Some vacation," Casey had muttered, but she'd been smiling.
And then, somehow, impossibly, she'd gotten everyone on the same page. Remote coursework. Extensions on two major papers. A promise to stay in constant communication with her tutors.
Three weeks after that first email, Casey found herself at Heathrow, her absurdly huge suitcase, stuffed with a month's worth of clothes, her audio interface, her favorite headphones, and approximately six different all-black outfits because what the hell did people wear in LA?Checked and ready to go.
Hollie had insisted on coming to see her off, despite Casey's protests that it was too early in the morning.
"Text me the second you land," Hollie said, pulling Casey into a tight hug. "And when you meet the band. And honestly just text me constantly because I'm going to be living vicariously through you."
"I will," Casey promised, breathing in the familiar scent of Hollie's perfume, something floral and expensive that Casey could never afford. "Thank you. For everything. I couldn't have done this without you."
"You absolutely could have, but I'm glad you didn't have to." Hollie pulled back, her blue eyes suspiciously shiny. "Go make some weird metal-techno fusion magic."
First class was a revelation.
Casey had flown exactly once before, a budget airline trip to Ibiza for a music festival when she was nineteen, crammed into a middle seat with her knees against her chest for two and a half hours. This was... not that.
The seat was practically a bed. An actual bed. There was champagne. The flight attendant called her "Miss Hayes" and offered her warm cookies.
This is how rich people live, she thought, accepting the cookies and trying not to feel like an imposter in her oversized black hoodie and ripped jeans among the business travelers in their suits.
She spent most of the flight oscillating between attempting to sleep, working on some beats on her laptop (which earned her some curious looks from the businessman next to her when particularly aggressive bass rattled through her headphones), and spiraling into mild panic about what she'd just agreed to.
A month. In Los Angeles. Working with a band she'd only listened to in preparation over the past three weeks. Collaborating with Noah Sebastian, whose voice she'd now heard on dozens of tracks, raw and emotional and somehow both aggressive and vulnerable at the same time.
She'd done her research. Bad Omens was huge in their scene. Noah had a dedicated following, people who dissected every lyric, every social media post. He was talented, obviously, that much was clear from the music. But what if she wasn't what he expected? What if her style clashed with his vision? What if she'd just flown across an ocean to discover this was all a massive mistake?
Stop, she told herself firmly, closing her laptop and leaning back in the absurdly comfortable seat. You're here now. Might as well see it through.
LAX was overwhelming.
The scale of it, the crowds, the aggressive sunshine that hit her the moment she stepped outside, it was all too much after eleven hours in a dim plane cabin. Casey stood in the arrivals area, searching the sea of faces for someone holding a sign with her name, trying to remember what Matty looked like from his LinkedIn profile.
There, a tall guy with tattoos snaking down both arms, holding a sign that read "CASEY HAYES" in neat handwriting. He was looking around, dark eyes scanning the crowd.
She made her way over, weaving between reuniting families and tired travelers, suddenly very aware of how disheveled she probably looked after the flight. Her ginger hair was stuffed under a black beanie, her hoodie was rumpled, and she was pretty sure she had dark circles under her eyes that could rival a raccoon's.
"Hi, you must be Matty," she said, extending her hand with a smile. Her chrome acrylics, freshly done by Hollie two days ago as a going-away present, caught the fluorescent lights.
The guy looked surprised, then a slow smile spread across his face. He was attractive, tall, lean, with sharp features softened by warm brown eyes and a genuinely kind expression. And he was covered in tattoos, intricate designs disappearing under the sleeves of his simple white t-shirt.
"No, I'm actually Noah," he said, his voice deeper than she'd expected from the phone call with Matty. "Matty had some emergency at the last minute, and since my band is the reason you're here, the least I could do is pick you up."
Oh.
Oh shit.
This was Noah Sebastian. The vocalist. The primary writer. The person she'd be working with for the next month. And he was... well, he was really attractive, which was information her brain absolutely did not need right now.
"Thanks for doing that," Casey managed, hoping her surprise didn't show on her face. "I appreciate it."
"No problem." Noah reached for her suitcases before she could protest, lifting both of them with ease. "Jesus, what do you have in here? Bodies?"
"Just my entire wardrobe because I had no idea what people wear in LA," Casey admitted, falling into step beside him as they headed toward the exit. "Plus my audio interface and some other gear."
"You brought gear?" Noah glanced at her, something like respect in his expression. "Matty said you were serious, but I didn't expect that."
"Well, I figured if I'm flying across an ocean, I might as well be prepared."
They emerged into the California sunshine, and Casey immediately regretted not digging her sunglasses out of her bag. The brightness was aggressive, stabbing into her jet-lagged brain like knives. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"There should be a pair of sunglasses in the glove box," Noah said, and she heard the beep of a car unlocking nearby.
When she opened her eyes, carefully, squinting, she saw a sleek black Range Rover. Of course. She slid into the passenger seat while Noah loaded her suitcases into the trunk with alarming efficiency, and immediately started rummaging through the glove box.
The sunglasses were comically large, clearly men's, probably Noah's. She put them on anyway.
"Thanks," she said when Noah got into the driver's seat. She caught a glimpse of herself in the sun visor mirror and couldn't help but laugh. The glasses basically covered half her face.
Noah glanced over and chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "They might be a bit big for you, but it'll work for the drive."
As they pulled out of the parking structure and onto the highway, Casey took in her first real views of Los Angeles. Palm trees lined the roads, actual palm trees, like in movies. The sky was impossibly blue. Everything felt sun-bleached and bright, so different from London's grey autumn that it was almost disorienting.
"First time in LA?" Noah asked, navigating the traffic with practiced ease.
"First time in the States, actually," Casey admitted. "I went to Ibiza once for a festival, but that's about it for international travel."
"Really?" Noah sounded surprised. "The way Matty talked about your sets, I figured you'd been all over."
"I play around London mostly. Underground stuff, warehouse parties, the occasional club night at Fabric or Ministry." She watched the unfamiliar landscape roll by. "Nothing that requires a passport."
"That's going to change," Noah said with confidence. "After this project, you're going to blow up."
Casey turned to look at him, trying to gauge if he was serious. His expression was sincere, focused on the road but clearly meaning what he said.
"You don't even know if we'll work well together yet," she pointed out.
"I heard your tracks. I heard what you did with that collab with Karenn last year." Noah glanced at her briefly. "You have something. A way of building atmosphere, of making people feel things through sound. That's rare. And it's exactly what this album needs."
Casey didn't know what to say to that. She settled for a quiet "Thanks," and watched LA stream by outside the window.
They drove for about thirty minutes, and Casey found herself relaxing into the comfortable silence. Noah had put on music, something ambient and instrumental that she didn't recognize but appreciated. He didn't seem to feel the need to fill every moment with conversation, which she respected.
The hotel, when they finally pulled up to it, made Casey's jaw drop.
"Holy shit," she muttered under her breath as she got out of the car.
It was massive, all glass and modern architecture, with a circular driveway where a valet was already approaching. This was the kind of place celebrities stayed. The kind of place that probably charged more per night than Casey's monthly rent.
Noah was already out and retrieving her suitcases from the trunk before she could even reach for the door handle. When she moved to help, he shook his head gently.
"Let me," he said, and there was something in his voice, soft but firm, that made her step back.
Don't read into it, she told herself. He's just being polite. You're colleagues. That's it.
The lobby was all marble floors and modern art, with a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Casey felt profoundly out of place in her rumpled travel clothes, but the receptionist smiled warmly when she approached.
"Casey Hayes, checking in," she said, trying to sound like she belonged here.
The receptionist typed something into her computer, then handed over two key cards. "You're in room 2014. Just take the elevator to your right and press the button for the twentieth floor. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, that's perfect. Thank you."
Casey expected Noah to hand over her suitcases now and leave, but instead he started walking toward the elevator with them. She followed, fighting back a smile at his insistence on playing bellhop.
The elevator ride was quiet, just the soft sound of instrumental music playing through hidden speakers. When the doors opened onto the twentieth floor, Casey was struck by how quiet it was. The carpet was plush red with an intricate gold pattern, muffling their footsteps.
Room 2014 was halfway down the hall. Casey unlocked it with the key card, and when the door swung open, she had to stop herself from audibly gasping.
The room was enormous, no, enormous didn't cover it. There was a king-size bed that looked like an actual cloud, covered in crisp white linens. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Los Angeles sprawling out below them, the city glittering in the afternoon sun. There was a sitting area with a couch and armchairs, a desk, and through an open door she could see a bathroom that was probably bigger than her entire dorm room.
"Holy shit," she said again, unable to come up with anything more articulate.
Noah set her suitcases down by the closet, then pulled out his phone. "Thanks for carrying my stuff," Casey said, turning to face him. "You really didn't have to do all that."
"It's nothing," Noah said, and his expression was so genuine that she believed him. He held out his phone. "Here, this is my personal number. Text me tomorrow when the jet lag's a bit better? We could go to dinner, get to know each other before we dive into the studio work."
He paused, and Casey watched something shift in his expression, a flash of panic.
"With my other bandmates," he added quickly. "As colleagues, I mean. To talk about the project. Not as a date." He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time since she'd met him, he looked uncertain. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant-"
"Noah." Casey couldn't help but laugh. "It's fine. I know what you meant. Dinner sounds good."
The relief on his face was endearing. "Okay. Good. Cool." He stepped forward and pulled her into a brief hug, just a friendly squeeze, over before she could really process it. "Get some rest. LA can be overwhelming at first."
And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Casey stood alone in the massive hotel room, still wearing Noah's too-big sunglasses, her mind struggling to process the last hour of her life.
She'd just flown first class to Los Angeles.
She was staying in a hotel room that probably cost more per night than she made in a week doing gigs.
She'd been picked up at the airport by Noah Sebastian, who was not only talented and successful but also genuinely kind and, okay, yes, extremely attractive.
And somewhere in this sprawling city, there was a recording studio where she'd spend the next month creating something completely outside her comfort zone, something that could either launch her career to new heights or crash and burn spectacularly.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
Her phone buzzed. Hollie.
"HAVE YOU LANDED??? TELL ME EVERYTHING"
Casey smiled and flopped backward onto the cloud-like bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Landed. At the hotel. You were right-this is insane."
"DETAILS PLEASE"
"Tomorrow," Casey typed back. "Currently having an existential crisis and also might pass out from jet lag."
"Fine but I expect a FULL report. Love you. Don't do anything I wouldn't do xx"
"That leaves me with a lot of options," Casey sent back, adding a heart emoji.
She lay there for another moment, then forced herself to get up. A shower first, the bathroom did indeed have a rainfall showerhead and approximately seventeen different products that all smelled expensive, then room service.
As the hot water washed away the grime of travel, Casey let herself feel the full weight of what she'd done. She'd taken a leap of faith. She'd bet on herself, on her abilities, on the possibility that she was good enough to hold her own in a completely different genre.
Diamonds from under pressure, she thought again.
She just hoped she wouldn't crack first.
By the time she'd ordered room service, a burger that cost more than she'd ever paid for a meal in her life, but it was covered so she might as well, and changed into comfortable clothes, exhaustion was pulling at her like a physical weight.
Casey closed the heavy curtains, blocking out the California sunshine, and crawled under the covers. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was of Noah's smile, warm and genuine, and the way he'd said with such confidence: That's going to change.
She hoped he was right.
