I followed his instructions, brushing my fingers over the flat black surface until I found a hidden knob. I pulled on it, and with a creak, the door opened, revealing tangled cables and the small computer that powered the screen.

  “There should be an extension cord that looks like the end of wireless headphones.”

  I lowered my head for a better view, and a second later, I saw the silver tip of the plug. I pulled it out and connected my phone.

  “Let me see,” Oliver said. He clicked through the karaoke machine’s menu until the system prompted him for a passcode to switch the console to external input. He looked up, not needing to explain that he wanted all of us to look away, which we willingly did.

  “Only one song, though. And please don’t press anything else.” He stood up again. “I’ll step out for a second and get you more water so my boss doesn’t get suspicious, but I’ll be back in three minutes to reset the machine.” A drop of sweat rolled down his temple.

  “Thank you,” Nora and I said at the same time—she happily celebrating her success, and I apologizing.

  Oliver’s eyebrows scrunched up, making his smile look forced as he walked out of the room.

  “Just a heads up, the recording of my vocals is rather⁠—”

  “No.” Nora casually shook her head. “I don’t want to hear a damn recording. There’s a microphone, and you’ve got your voice with you.”

  As much as I disliked the idea of giving them a performance of a song that wasn’t even finished, I couldn’t argue with her anymore. I wanted this topic to be over. Besides, I was going to sing it again soon anyway for the promised recording, so a little practice wouldn’t hurt.

  I pulled on the cord to see if it would extend far enough for me to view the lyrics on my phone while playing the file on the same device. As if they had anticipated that, the chord stretched the whole length of the room without a problem.

  “This is the only time, though,” I warned Nora.

  She shrugged, sank into her seat, and wore a smug smile as if to say that what I said didn’t matter because if she could get me to do it once, she could get me to do it again.

  I pressed play, and a second later, the new intro filled the room. The chords that used to be played on Alex’s piano were now replaced by a synthesizer, and when the drums kicked in—and with it the heaviest bass I had ever heard—all the little hairs on my body stood up.

  I had really enjoyed what we’d played together yesterday, but this…? This almost made me horny. Horny to perform it together with Alex. Horny to play it for everyone I knew. Horny to upload it to the internet and let the whole world hear it. It sounded like a million bucks, like it could easily make it into the top ten on the charts.

  Raul and Nora stared at me so intently that I couldn’t look at them.

  When the bass dropped, I instinctively opened my mouth. As if I had performed it a thousand times already, I sang along, hitting every note. All that was missing to make the moment perfect was the person I actually wanted to sing it to.

  As the chorus set in a second time, I closed my eyes. I knew the words by now, and this way it was easier to summon the image of Alex watching me sing it yesterday. The bassline he had written vibrated through my body as if it were his hands trying to caress me.

  During the solo, the beat took over my body, making my legs move and my head shake. When the third and final chorus began, I sang with everything I had, as if his words were mine.

  The last chords ended with a bang, and silence took over the room. I was out of breath, yet energized as if I had just woken up after sleeping through winter. I finally got to sing without holding back for the first time in years. Although that wasn’t thanks to the karaoke, but to Alex.

  “Well, something like that,” I said into the microphone and opened my eyes.

  My friends were pressed into their seats, unable to move. Unlike their previous performances, there was no applause or cheering. Nora clutched her phone with the camera pointed at me. She quickly tapped on the screen and dropped the phone into her lap.

  “That was incredible,” Nora stammered. “The song, your voice. It’s hard to believe it only took you a couple of hours to write that.”

  “Well, it sounded quite different yesterday. I’m surprised how quickly Alex recorded all the other instruments.”

  “You two should be in a band. You’d make millions.”

  I leaned to the side so I wouldn’t keep speaking into the microphone. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Well, I want a record. Signed. By both of you. I’ll even pay for it.”

  “You can pay for the video you took without my permission,” I said, walking back to my seat and taking the extension cord with me.

  Nora pressed her phone to her chest. “You can’t take that from me!”

  Her having a recording of me might actually be useful, because whenever she bugs me to sing in the future, I can refer her to the video she already has. And there might be another upside to this.

  “Okay, you can keep it under one condition.”

  She dug her left hand into Raul’s shoulder as if she feared I would ask her to give up her firstborn child.

  “Send it to me, too.”

  With a sigh of relief, she pulled her phone out right away. “Yes, sir. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

  When I pulled the plug out of my phone, a loud crack ripped through the PA system.

  “I really like the song,” I said, rolling up the cord and stowing it away. “We joked the entire evening about now being in a band, but…” I lifted my legs up and crossed them on the bench. “I can’t deny that I’m interested in him in another way too, and maybe that’s clouding my judgment. Give it to me straight, guys. Am I just thinking with my dick here?”

  “I think it’s quite romantic,” Nora replied. “You can both like the guy and his music.”

  “But his concerns are real. I get it,” Raul countered. “They only met once and immediately… clicked?”

  “Yes, because they’re made for each other. Why else would Sebastian’s voice fit the song so well? It’s obvious that they’re connected both physically and spiritually.”

  “How would you know? You haven’t even met the guy.” Raul pulled his arm away from Nora’s shoulder. “We don’t even know his name.”

  “It’s Alex,” I threw in, but they were already so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Because I can feel it? Anyone with eyes and a soul can see that Seb’s holding on to this because he knows there could be more.”

  Raul sighed. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Excuse me?” Nora rocked three inches away from him and twisted her upper body so far to look at him that she resembled a corkscrew. “Who are you, and what have you done with Raul?”

  “I just don’t want him to rush into things.”

  “Says the guy who slept with me the first night he met me, and basically every night since?”

  “That was different, guapa.”

  “Please enlighten us.” Nora glanced at me, her mouth agape, as if she wanted me to pick a side.

  “We weren’t talking about forming a band after making love once, guapa.”

  “It was twice, actually,” I threw in, regretting my words the second they left my mouth. “But I don’t want to get pedantic about it,” I added, leaning back to stay on the sidelines.

  “Okay, they spent one night together,” Raul argued. “They don’t even live close to each other. How’s that supposed to work? To form a band, you have to meet and rehearse regularly. Not once or twice a year. Let alone a relationship! How’s that going to work with thousands of kilometers between them?”

  “If they truly want it, they’ll find a way,” Nora countered. “We’re not living in the 1990s anymore when the best form of long-distance communication was a lousy landline. But even with that, my parents made it work.”

  My phone lit up again, this time with the video Nora had taken of me, which had finally finished sending. While Nora and Raul argued as if they were discussing their own future, I clicked on the video.

  It started halfway through the first verse. I held my phone close to my ear. The recording quality wasn’t studio-grade, but it was good enough to get a sense of the song. As the chorus set in, my chest felt lighter. Singing it was one thing, but listening to it was something else. Even without proper equipment, it sounded like something I wanted to sing a thousand times. So, no matter how stupid it might be to think about keeping in touch with Alex, I couldn’t lose anything by trying, no matter what direction it might take.

  I opened the chat with Alex and sent him the video.

  This video couldn’t be any worse.

  You might still like it, though.

  I also sent him a tongue-out emoji.

  “It’s good for marketing,” Nora yelled. Her head was red, as was Raul’s. “People love stories like that.”

  “One-night stand turned into a musical sensation?” Raul teased.

  “More like: music helped their love blossom despite the challenges.”

  “See, that’s the problem. How can you talk about love? What they have is not even a—what do you guys call it—a fling?”

  “I’m telling you, if I post this video online, it’ll go viral in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Guys, guys!” I interrupted before Nora could jump at Raul’s throat. “Please don’t post the video anywhere.”

  “What do you think of me? I wasn’t going to post it without your consent,” Nora yelled.

  “I know.” I raised my arms before me as if I were a conductor trying to get a choir to stop chattering, and the conversation finally quieted down. “Thank you for all the input.”

  Nora sat up. “Well⁠—”

  “It’s okay,” I interrupted her before she could get riled up again. “I see that you have very different opinions, and I think you’re both somewhat right.” I glanced at Raul. “I’m not going to rush into things, but…” I turned my head toward Nora. “I’m not going to let this opportunity slip away, either.”

  “Thank you,” Nora yelled, slapping Raul’s shoulders as if I had completely taken her side.

  “Now, you two apologize to each other,” I ordered. “This isn’t a topic worth getting so worked up over. I don’t want to be at fault for your first lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Not the first one, I promise,” Nora said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She puffed out her cheeks and clenched her jaw as she glanced at Raul. “But I’m willing to let it go.”

  Raul glared at her, the fire still sparkling in his eyes. Then a smile appeared on his face. “I’m sorry, guapa.”

  “Me too.”

  They hugged, and before I knew it, their tongues continued their fight in a different way.

  I glanced at my phone, mostly so I wouldn’t have to watch their make-out session, and my heart skipped a beat when I noticed new messages from Alex.

  Sebastian… this is phenomenal!

  I know it might sound silly, but I want to make music with you.

  I love your voice.

  Damn, that came out wrong.

  I like you, too.

  Ugh. That sounds just as weird.

  I’m going to stop typing now.

  Please, don’t get the wrong idea.

  You know what I meant, don’t you?

  I could have teased him. I had so many comebacks on my mind. But this wasn’t the time. There was only one thing I could write back to truly capture what I wanted to tell him.

  I want to make music with you, too.

  ELEVEN

  THE SONG OF DISTANCE

  ALEX

  We chatted every day for the four days he was traveling with his friends.

  In the mornings, he would text me a quick greeting, and once I replied, he would ask how my night had been. In the early afternoons, he would send pictures of where they were or tell me about something they had done. And in the evenings, we would chat about what music he was listening to while he was in their shared hotel room, pretending his friends weren’t sleeping right next to him.

  Before long, I found myself constantly checking my phone. I started telling him about my days, too: about the ridiculous argument Dany and Darcy got into about hot dogs, how everyone left once the reunion was over, and what songs I was working on.

  Reality only ever caught up with me after he said goodnight.

  Every evening, when the messages stopped and I was alone in bed, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be with him in that hotel room. Despite how much we talked, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that.

  Four days later, when he got back to Nevada, we video-called for the first time. He had suggested it, saying he wanted to keep his promise to record some vocals and that he would like to talk about it sooner rather than later. Of course, I agreed, even though the three-hour time difference meant we could only talk late at night.

  It was already eleven on Thursday night when the call I had been waiting for finally came. His smiling face filled the entire screen as he moved through a dark room.

  “Give me a second. I literally just got home.”

  His soft, soothing voice sent a wave of warmth through my body. Hearing him again did something to me that made me question my sanity: it gave me the hardest boner I’d had since he sang for me.

  I glanced at the small image of myself in the corner of my screen to see if my phone’s angle gave anything away. I looked as normal as ever, but still, the boner was a problem.

  After exchanging some small talk about his trip (during which I had the hardest time not thinking about my boner), we got into his plans for recording the vocals. He asked about formats, compression, and how I wanted them to sound, making it clear again that he wasn’t new to any of this. The whole conversation stayed as professional as I had intended.

  The moment I turned my camera off, though, my hand dropped to my crotch and kneaded my bulge. All the dirty images of what we had done—and what I wanted to do with him again—rushed through my head, and a minute later, I barely managed to pull my shirt up before I shot my load onto my belly. I panted, let my head fall back against the bed, and just sat there, unmoving, twice as long as it had taken me to jerk off, staring at the sticky mess.

  That night, I slept badly, but I forgot all about it the next morning when I woke up to a file in my inbox.

  Sebastian

  first_try_sorry_for_shitty_mic.wav

  Nora went out. I couldn’t let the opportunity slip away.

  It’s not the best version, but it should give you something to work with. I promise I’ll get a proper mic.

  I jumped out of bed and went straight to my laptop to create a new mix. Throughout the day, I listened to his angelic voice on repeat, jotting notes on my phone about everything I wanted to tweak once I finished my daily chores.

  By the time Sebastian called me again that evening, I had already finished the updated version of the song, with his vocals mixed in and new instrumental fills added to match his interpretation. Our conversation was surprisingly focused. He explained what he was trying to achieve and asked if it aligned with my vision. He asked for suggestions and even offered ideas to make his vocals sound more alive. And this time around, I could actually enjoy talking to him without a boner throbbing in my pants.

  From then on, whenever I had a new song half-finished, I’d send it to him—at his ongoing request—and my whole body sang when he told me he loved it. He described what my music made him see in his mind’s eye, and his descriptions sparked more ideas that I couldn’t wait to work into the tracks.

  We called each other almost every evening. Even when he didn’t have time to record anything, Sebastian would ask if I was up for a chat. I always was. Despite the distance, I felt closer to him every day.

  We talked about all kinds of things: what we did during the day; our favorite musicians, food, and movies; his classes; my dream of making an album one day; his dream of traveling the world; how he called his parents to check in and didn’t get into a fight with his dad for once; and how he couldn’t get my songs out of his head, to the point that he had started humming them at home, too.

  Apparently, he hummed so much without realizing it that Nora teased him about it. She also “accidentally” crashed one of our calls once, saying she wanted to see the guy Sebastian wouldn’t stop fawning over.

  The more often we talked, the more relaxed he became. At first, he always sat up straight and wore a nice shirt. Soon, though, he started wearing less and less: a blue button-up shirt with the top four buttons undone; a tank top as he nestled into the pillows on his bed, his hands tucked behind his head as if he wanted to show off his armpits; or no shirt at all, claiming their AC was broken.

  We grew so comfortable around each other that, one Saturday evening in early March—about three weeks after the family reunion—he even played his guitar for me over the phone to thank me for bringing music back into his life.

  He performed one of my songs acoustically, and it was so beautiful that tears streamed down my face before I even realized it. I just sat there, unable to stop crying, until he spoke.

  “I wish I could hug you right now.” He held his guitar close, its strings still vibrating from the last chords.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry.” I wiped my face. “This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

  “I wish I could’ve given it to you in person.” He rested his head against the guitar, rocking gently back and forth. “Can I confess something? I hate that we’re so far apart.”