Author's Note: Whoa. So I sort of died. Sorry about that.

NEW CHAPTER. IT'S NOT LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE UP FOR MY ABSENCE AND MY FUTURE HIATUS BUT YEAP HERE IT IS. I've decided to do Nanowrimo and die some more, so I'll probably be disappearing for all November unless I fail or something. Also, I'm gonna try and update LLJL next, so this one will probably be put off for awhile.

So yeah. This was a very stop/start chapter, so sorry if it's sort of uneven or for any consistency errors. I haven't had much time to edit and I wanted to get it up when it was finished.

Yes, it's one huge Dead Poet's Society reference. Lol.

Playlist at the bottom, like always.

Title from Sick of Losing Soulmates by Dodie (Clark) or doddleoddle and YALL NEED TO LISTEN TO IT SRSLY.

x x x

x x

x

"What do you mean you don't know how to drive?!" Alex shrunk back from John's intense stare, his parted lips, his demanding words.

"I-I never had a car, or a real reason to be driving, or someone to teach me…"

"Now you do."

"What?"

"I'm going to teach you how to drive, Alex."

"I'm not sure that's legal."

"My dad's a lawmaker. If I want it to be legal, it will be legal. At least for me."

John grabbed the sleeve of Alex's sweatshirt and dragged him out the door of their new apartment.

Theirs.

Sharing an apartment with John Laurens was different from any other place Alex had lived, and anyone he'd ever lived with. And he loved it. No two people were better suited for dealing with each other's shit than Alex and John. It only made sense that they would move in together.

Alex hoped they never had to move out.

Alex was sharing an apartment with John Laurens and now he was teaching him how to drive a car.

"John, stop," Alex whined, digging his feet into the worn carpet, even though John pulled him onward. "I don't even really want to drive. It's not like I'll ever really have to, since I never really go anywhere that I can't get to by the subway or a bus or walking."

"Alexander," John said. John rarely said Alex's full name, only when he was teasing, or, mad that Alex wasn't listening to him. "Most grown-ass adults know how to drive. You're a grown-ass adult, are you not?"

Alex didn't bother answering. John wouldn't be swayed. Alex knew that it was best to go along with John's plans rather than fight them.

They stared at each other in the hallway, John still holding Alex's sleeve between his fingers.

"Alright," Alex conceded, and John smiled, and began pulling Alex down to the street again. "But if I crash, I'm blaming you," he shouted as John ran down the hall, Alex in tow, both of them laughing like they'd never stop.

x

x x

x x x

Alex thought he might throw up.

He'd barely been out of his apartment in the three months since John died. He hadn't so much touched a vehicle. And now he was hanging on the subway's safety bar for dear life, trying to calm the storm in his stomach.

Squeezing his eyes shut, his ears formed a wall between him and the white noise of the train car around him. All he had left to tell him how many stops he had left was the abrupt halting motion at each one.

Slow.

Crash.

Stop.

Dead.

Breathe.

He counted down by tapping his fingers on his leg, over and over and over again.

Four, Four, Fourfourfour, four, four, four, Four, Four, four, fouuur, FOUR…

Deep Breath.

Crash.

Noise.

…

…

… three, three, three.

Alex didn't know how he survived the ride, but he did, and he did not feel good about it. Not accomplished. Not righteous. Numb. Shit. John's voice played in his head.

Most grown-ass adults can ride the fucking subway without having a panic attack. You're a grown-ass adult, are you not?

Alex kept his head down while he walked to the theater. He was surprised that his feet knew where they were going, because his mind hadn't remembered.

Alex had always been terrible with directions. Somehow, he found his way to the theater.

It looked just as crappy and old as it had the last time he'd seen it, which was at least year ago. Alex felt a twinge of guilt that they'd abandoned it for so long.

All the lights were burnt out on it's sign.

John and Alex had admired its scrappy qualities before.

Now, Alex could empathize.

He wasn't even sure that it was open, wasn't even sure if he'd find some small trace of John in there, or just a whole lot of dust and rotted candy.

He went inside anyway.

x x x

x x

x

John was crying.

John never cried.

Alex didn't know what to do.

"That good, huh?" he asked, trying not to laugh at his blubbering friend. The credits were rolling. In fact, the credits were almost over, and John had been crying for the past twenty minutes, at least.

John wiped the tears from his eyes and took a shaky breath. "Yeah."

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Alex got up and walked out of the row of seats and into the aisle. John wasn't following.

"John, you coming?"

He sniffled again, still staring straight ahead at the screen. "The name's Nuwanda."

x

x x

x x x

Alex was surprised that the door hadn't fallen off its hinges yet, since he felt it shudder when he opened it lightly. He was assaulted by the smell of dust and mildew and stale popcorn, and he had to get used to the dim lights in the building from the light on the street.

A man was at the ticket booth, the same man that was there whenever John and Alex used to come here. He looked old, but not old enough that he looked like he'd drop dead at any moment. Like, a warm, fuzzy, you should go visit your grandparents kind of old.

Only his eyes moved to look atAlex when he walked in.

Alex hadn't brought money to buy a ticket, not like he was planning on staying for a movie or anything. He felt out of place, like he was a book that had his pages ripped out and put back together so it looked okay, but the inside was all mixed up and the story was broken.

Shatter.

Alex went to the counter.

"Hello," the old man said, his voice stern and steady despite his hunched shoulders and worn face. "What can I do for you today?"

Alex didn't know.

"Um, well, a friend of mine and I used to come here a lot."

The man looked at Alex, trying to understand him through squinted, glasses covered eyes, and nodded.

"And I guess… I don't know. I guess I came looking for something. But it's obviously not here. I'm sorry, I'll just leave-" Alex was flustered, frustrated with John and himself and his shaking hands that he clenched into fists just so he could feel his tendons moving, and he turned to leave, embarrassed and ashamed of himself for actually thinking that John had left him something.

"Wait, are you Alex? Alex Hamilton?" the man said, his hand outstretched.

Alex stopped. Turned back. Lips trembling.

"Yeah."

"I have something for you, if you'll wait a moment."

Alex waited.

Shattered.

Froze.

Burned.

Numb.

He hadn't moved when the man came back, holding a thick envelope.

"A fellow came in a few months ago and said that you'd probably be stopping by, and if you did, to give it to you."

Alex nodded.

"I told that kid that I ain't no mailman, and he said that there wasn't a single mailman that could deliver it."

If Alex hadn't been so frozen he would have laughed.

The man slid the envelope to the end of the counter and Alex walked toward it slowly. "His name's John, am I remembering right?"

Alex nodded, slipping the envelope, with his name in John's loopy cursive written across the middle, into his hands.

"Tell 'im that the United States Postal Service exists for a reason."

"Sorry, sir, but I can't." Alex was turning to leave, needing to get out of there before he starting screaming or crying or both because John was leaving things for him John had it all planned out John wanted him-

"Hey!" the man stood up, and Alex hoped he wasn't going to start running after him. "Why can't you?"

Alex froze.

"Because three months ago he ran his car into the side of an abandoned factory and killed himself."

Alex was a foot away from the door. The man didn't move, didn't speak.

"Thank you for giving this to me," Alex told him, his voice quiet, but he knew the man could hear him. He walked out without looking back and steeled himself for the ride home, the envelope grasped between his hands.

x x x

x x

x

I'm scared.

Terrified.

That it's my fault.

And he left me that just to make sure I knew.

…

…

What else could it say? That he's sorry, like how he told everyone else but me? He's sorry for not saying sorry but he's not sorry for what he did?

…

That's probably something he would do.

x

x x

x x x

The envelope stayed sealed the rest of the weekend. Alex stared at it, but he didn't open it. Couldn't.

He wrote some more on Monday. It drained him until he was numb and empty. He tried to work on some school work and finished half an essay before his face crashed on his desk.

On Tuesday, it seemed unavoidable. He'd always been anxious and curious and hated surprises. Hated not knowing.

He woke up to a blank computer screen.

Heavy in his nose and fingertips.

Hollow everywhere else.

The envelope sat unopened.

Unscathed.

Just his name in John's writing.

The sun was just coming up, slow and lazy and orange and Alex thought of early mornings and slow breakfasts with John in their kitchen, cool air coming through the windows, waking them to a new day along with warm, strong coffee.

A ring of purple sat along the skyline, and the soft noise of traffic tickled his ears.

Soft.

Numb.

Cold.

The envelope sat on his bed, where he should have slept but rarely ever did.

He hadn't had a good night sleep in his bed in a long time.

The envelope laid on his sheets like it belonged there, more comfortable than he'd ever been.

x x x

x x

x

The ceiling was white and broad and perfect and theirs.

There was a brown water stain in the left corner on the farther wall with the window.

Theirs.

Perfect.

The room was empty save a few boxes and their single mattress and John and Alex.

The both laid on their backs on the bare mattress on their floor, the sun casting orange and yellow and purple lights over them, warm on their bare hands and feet.

They were quiet.

Smiling.

Bright.

Theirs.

"I think this is your room," John said next to him, his voice warm between their walls and against Alex's skin, warm like sunlight.

"Huh?" Alex questioned distractedly, not knowing what John had actually said. He was still focused on the light cast on the ceiling. Orange and yellow and purple.

John shifted on the mattress which brought Alex out of his daze and into John's stare.

"This room. It fits you." He settled back again. "It's yours. So is the bed."

"Where are you gonna sleep?"

"In your bed." Grin.

Alex gave him a look that he hoped wasn't mortified.

"We'll go get mine when Herc can loan us his truck. I hope you don't mind sharing until then."

Alex sighed. "No, not at all."

They didn't unpack any of their boxes. They barely moved except to go out for pizza to celebrate, their friends basically breaking in and dragging them to the nearest diner. "We were just hoping we didn't get the wrong floor number or something," was all Lafayette said after the fact.

When they finally settled down for the night, on Alex's bed in Alex's room with one spare blanket shared between them, it was dark.

They both laid on their backs, looking at the shadowed ceiling.

"Welcome home," John said softly.

It took them two weeks to go get John's bed.

x

x x

x x x

Alex was awake and he was breathing and he was alive and he was scared.

He shuffled over to the foot of his bed and stared at the envelope a little while longer before he slipped his fingers beneath it.

It sat on his fingertips, cold, white, and heavy when he picked it up.

Breathe.

Heave.

Rip.

Crash.

He slipped his fingers under the wrinkled tab and slid-

Crash Burn Rip Crunch Pull Tug Numb Thump Blood Tear Boom Scratch

-it open and then it was.

Breathe.

Alex closed his eyes as he took the contents out and set them down.

It was a large stack and there were still small scraps of paper falling from the envelope when he opened his eyes.

He could barely make sense of anything so he didn't try to. He went to the kitchen, made himself a cup of coffee with half a cup of sugar.

He watched half an hour of a crime show, then when a new episode came on and it started with a car crash Alex turned it off.

Then he was alone in the quiet.

He wandered around for a while before finding his way back to his room.

Alex had never been great at living alone.

Settling crisscross on the rumpled comforter, he nearly splashed his coffee all over himself before he sat it on his nightstand carefully. He spread the contents out in front of him so he could see it all, cringing every time he crinkled or rumpled or ripped a paper.

His breathing was short and shallow but heavy in his chest, aching.

A stack of tickets, John's tickets, from the movie theater. Alex flipped through them. It was nearly every movie they'd ever seen together.

A CD. Alex set it aside. He didn't think he'd ever actually play it.

One of John's drawings of a bouquet of flowers.

Pressed flowers, sapped of color. Alex felt them crumble under his fingers when he moved them.

Several sheet music receipts.

A few pieces ripped to shreds. Some of Alex's favorite Mozart pieces.

And a note. Just like the other. In John's hand, on a piece of ripped notebook paper, crinkled and folded at the corners. Alex sucked in a breath to keep from crying.

If we shadows have offended / Think but this, and all is mended,

"John, you bastard," Alex whispered, not without affection, tears building in his eyelids.

So it was a scavenger hunt.

John always like games and riddles, making them up for Alex to solve.

Alex never really had time for them, but because they made John happy he did them, slyly presenting the solution and grinning at John's shocked expression. "You actually solved it?!"

Alex smiled, just for a heartbeat, thinking of those moments. Then he remembered that there would be no more moments like those.

Closing his eyes, he breathed, in, and out. In, and out.

John left him one last game.

And he was damn well going to play it.

x x x

Alex stayed up late into the night, staring at the contents from the envelope and debating playing the CD or not, and woke up to an insistent banging and a headache, his face in the middle of all the papers.

Every part of his body ached, but the knocking was urgent, so he hauled himself out of bed and down the hall to the door, not before running into several walls.

When he opened the door, Angelica stood before him, slouching under the weight of a box in her arms, her fist still rearing to hit the door. Or Alex's face, which is what happened.

"Asshole! I've been out here for ten minutes!" she apologized.

Alex didn't argue; he was an asshole. All he replied was, "And you didn't think of putting the box down?"

She answered by shoving it into his chest and pointing her finger at him. He sensed a rant/lecture coming on, one that he definitely deserved for forgetting that she was moving in today.

"You're going to take that to my room, and then come and help me unload the rest from the trailer."

Alex looked down the hall nervously, then back at Angelica. She looked at him, and lowered her finger, softened her expression.

"You haven't cleared out his room yet, have you?"

Her eyes were sad, and he couldn't meet them when he answered, "No. I haven't. Couldn't."

She sighed, rubbed the wrinkle between her eyes. "C'mon. Let's unload. Then we'll… sort everything out. Okay?"

Alex nodded and followed her out into the hall.

x x x

Neither of them knew where to start. Standing awkwardly at the threshold to John's room, Angelica's boxes that lined the halls and were stacked on every large piece of furniture seemed to shove them closer to the dim void. Alex stared at the carpet while Angelica stepped inside, her gaze assessing what was left of John.

What was left.

Of…

John.

Alex found a faded stain in the corner and fixed his sight on it, unblinking.

"Well, he sure didn't have all that much stuff," Angelica observed.

"Most of it was at his family's home. This is just…" Alex murmured, not able to finish his own thought.

"Are you going to bring it back there?"

For the first time, Alex looked up. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Are you going to bring this stuff back to his house?"

Alex didn't know. He didn't know at all, and the blank tunnel in his mind brought his functioning to a minimal.

Angelica walked over and grabbed his sleeve, tapped his chin and forced him to look at her. Although her eyes were sad, she held a shaky smile. "Alex, he won't be coming back for any of this. You're not betraying him by getting rid of his stuff. It's not him, and it can't be him."

"I know that. I just… I don't know how… I can't…"

"Alex, did John ever really care about having stuff?"

Alex looked at her shyly. "No. He didn't give a crap about what he had. That's why he loved that piece of shit car."

Angelica smiled and looked at the group, as if she could remember them in John's shitty car, belting out 80s pop and Spanish hip hop and those weird French rap songs that Herc and Lafayette and Eliza liked so much. At least, that's what Alex thought of, and he wasn't sure if he was going to laugh or cry.

"Right. So would he really care if you cleared out his room and threw all his crappy furniture in the trash?"

Alex found himself giggling. "He'd probably laugh and insist we burn it."

Angelica laughed and her mouth went into a small "O" like it did whenever she got an idea. "We should. We should have a campfire and burn it all."

"Wait," Alex felt that insistent "can't" pull at his chest. "We have to sort through it and make sure we're not burning anything… valuable."

"Of course. I never said that you couldn't keep any of this shit. You just can't keep a roomful of it. I don't care how buddy-buddy we are, I'm getting my own room."

Alex sighed, finally taking in every wall and table and piece of clothes thrown on the floor. "Well, you probably won't get it tonight."

Angelica sighed. "We'll see if I even get to sleep tonight. Okay, let's get at it!" She clapped her hands and Alex laughed. "I'll get the boxes, you get the music?"

"Sounds like a plan."

x x x

x x

x

"It's amazing," Alex breathed. John stood beside him, the hand that held his paintbrush limp at his side.

"I feel like it's done… but I also don't," John said, his voice heavy with tiredness, the horizon of sunlight through their window holding up the dark sky, hazy around the edges. Weighed down. John's shoulders drooped when he sighed. "Like, I did so much work on it, and it's just done. Over. It doesn't feel like it's finished, even though it is."

"It's amazing," Alex said again. "And of course it's not finished. You don't actually have anything in your room. These are just the walls. Now you got to actually put stuff in it and get all of your crap out of my room."

John snorted but looked down shyly. "I didn't realize you were kicking me out," he teased.

Alex sighed and shook his head. "Not quite yet. We wouldn't want you to die from paint fumes, now would we?"

Grimacing, John shook his head. "I've never liked the idea of dying from asphyxiation."

"Has anyone?"

"I suppose not."

Alex nodded and took John's arm, some paint getting on his hand. "C'mon, let's go out and celebrate."

Laughing, John threw his paintbrush down on the sheets that covered the floor and let Alex drag him out into the hall. "What? It's four in the morning? Where are we going to go?"

"Somewhere where they're open at four in the morning and they take in sleep-deprived paint-covered children."

They laughed as they left behind John's delicate work, a hazy sky filled with stars, falling into the stormy sea and swallowed by its dark depths, to sink down with the dead flower petals and pearls and pens and treasures and knickknacks that had been left behind and swallowed by thick black curls, rimmed in red and gold and resting on white feathers and dreams.

x

x x

x x x

Alex had to admit, Angelica knew what she was doing. That really shouldn't have surprised him, and it didn't, really.

The thing that surprised him the most was that clearing out John's room didn't hurt like he thought it would. There was still an ache as he put John's things in a box and he'd knew he'd never see them again, but John didn't need them, and someone else probably did, and John would like that his stuff was going to help people. In fact, Angelica and him decided to donate far more than what they had previously thought, since none of John's family had asked for any of it back and it could definitely be put to use somewhere else. Angelica kept one of John's spare pillows because she hadn't brought one with her from London, except a crappy airport one for the plane.

Alex surprised himself in how little he kept.

He wouldn't let himself throw out any of John's drawings or notes, even if it only filled a corner of the page and the rest was blank. He filed them as neatly as he could into a folder that was soon bulging with notebook papers and thin sketch books and scrap napkins, and he got a new folder and began filling that one. Angelica made sure to find any ones he missed and started her own stack, commenting every once and awhile about a particularly excellent sketch.

"Alex," she looked at one paper, and glanced at him for a second. "Look, this one's of you." She passed him the paper a little reluctantly, even though she was smiling. Alex thought he saw her wipe away a tear, and he took the paper from her timidly, holding it between two fingers, an arm's distance away.

It was a drawing of him. A very, very good drawing of him on a nicer piece of paper than a sheet of loose leaf. In the drawing Alex was looking down at the ground and smiling, his hair pulled back and probably wearing three jackets. The detail was so perfect that he could see the flush in his cheeks and the faint crinkles by his eyes.

Alex felt a sob build up deep inside him but no tears came and he felt a hollow void eat away at him until there was a heavy hole encased in steel that sat in his chest.

He tucked the picture in the folder.

Angelica stood with a box and Alex blinked and noticed how empty John's room was now, and the reality of what they had just done set it. They'd taken down all his posters and pictures and the walls were bare and Alex could see the all of the beautiful, stunning mural that John had worked so hard on during the first couple weeks that they'd moved in. He hadn't seen it all like that since John had finished it, and it was no less aweing now.

The hole in his chest expanded to his fingertips.

"Well," Angelica heaved out in a sigh, surveying the boxes that were clustered together on the empty floor. "I think that that's about the last of it."

"Yeah."

"Help me with these boxes and then we can start unpacking my stuff."

"On it."

They stacked the boxes along the halls and by the doors and in the corners and spaces that weren't used, far more organized and carefully than they had with Angelica's. By the time they'd swapped all the boxes out, Alex could barely stand on his feet. It was late.

Standing just outside the room, Angelica stopped him and leaned up against the wall. Alex rubbed his eyes, too tired to argue with what she was about to tell him or move past her.

"Hey, are you okay?" She didn't ask until he met her eyes, serious but concerned.

Alex laughed unenthusiastically. "'Okay' might be a stretch, but I'm fine, I'm just a little tired."

She studied him for a second, then nodded. "I'll be right back. You go start opening the boxes."

Alex could barely nod before she had disappeared down the hall.

He shuffled through the doorway so he was standing before several uneven stacks of boxes. Sighing, he reached out for one, sure he would collapse to the floor at any moment from exhaustion.

But that's not what he did. Catching a glimpse of a dusting of stars and swirls on the wall, he stood frozen, staring at the sweeping paint streaks and detailed nuances that crept in through the shadows.

All he could do was stand there.

And then the unbreakable hole shook through his body and burst and Alex fell to the floor, unable to breathe or move or do much more than hug his chest and try not to let the void swallow him.

His vision went fuzzy for only a second and then Angelica was there, holding him and the next time he could tell where he was he was propped up against the boxes, sitting on a pillow with a blanket draped over him.

He didn't realize that he'd been crying until he rubbed his eyes and they were wet.

The edges of his vision were still fuzzy and the next time it focused Angelica was next to him, handing him a mug.

"Can you hear me?" She asked loudly.

"Yes, I can hear you, and I'm pretty sure half the building can too."

"That's hot chocolate." She gestured to the mug after rolling her eyes. "And don't mock me for being concerned. 'Just a little tired'?"

Alex sighed and rubbed his face. "A lot tired."

"That's not it."

Pause.

Sigh.

Crack.

"No, it's not."

Angelica took a shaky breath and a gulp of hot chocolate before resting her head against the box she sat against. The faint light outlined her face. "I know I wasn't as close with John as you were. I don't really think any of us were. And I know you and I haven't actually talked about that, or anything like that, since he died. And I haven't seen you since the funeral, and I haven't tried to talk with you about it, but I'm here now and I'm trying and I know you don't think you need this or you think it will just make it worse, but I need this, whether you believe that or not."

Alex looked at her, surprised, but she looked away and stared at the mug in her hands. "You may have been closer to him than the rest of us, but we all still cared for him, cared for you, and this is just as hard." A faint British accent made her words breathy, even when she could barely croak them out. Alex hadn't seen Angelica cry often, and the sight made his own lungs and eyes and throat ache.

"I'm here, Alex. And even if you don't want to talk about it, I at least need you to try to help me understand. Because I don't. Or can't. And I'm not sure that you can help, or even if you think you can, but I'd like it if you'd try."

Alex ran his finger over the rim of his mug. There was a chip near the handle and he wondered how hard he'd have to press against it with his finger to make it bleed.

"I don't know why he did it, Ang," Alex told her softly, her sniffles were all he heard aside from his heart beat.

"He sent me a text that said 'I'm sorry'. Eliza got a note, same with Laf and Herc and Peggy and John's sister. He left one at his family's house, in the empty garage where the car was." Her voice softened. "What did you get, Alex?"

He dug his finger into the chip, scratched his fingernail against it hoping to make it wider.

"Alex, please."

"I got a note."

"The same as the rest of us?" He couldn't help but notice how disappointed she sounded. Like the amount of pain John could have caused him wasn't enough to give some insight as to why he decided to kill himself. Fucking Christ. Like he was being selfish because he wanted to keep something to himself, because John-

Alex didn't realize how deeply he was breathing until Angelica said his name again. He couldn't be mad at her. Nothing was her fault. She just wanted some kind of closure, and she thought Alex could give it to her. He almost laughed at the idea.

Sigh. "I'm sorry, it's just – "

"He did.

"He did leave me a note.

"Right on my bed.

"Just a note."

Alex felt the tears build in his eyes and he blinked them out because he didn't like the pressure.

Angelica wrapped her hand around his wrist tentatively and he took her hand. "What did it say?"

"Nothing that you want to know."

She looked at him.

Sigh. "It was a quote from A Midsummer Night's Dream. 'So, Goodnight unto you all. / Give me your hands, if we be friends, / And Robin shall restore amends.' That was it. Nothing else."

She sighed, defeated. But then Alex thought of the tickets. The theater. The package. The game

"Wait," he whispered. "That's not it."

"There was something else?"

"Not in the note, and it's probably crazy, actually."

She laughed. "It probably wasn't crazy to him. What is it?"

"I think he left me a scavenger hunt."

Angelica looked promptly confused and disappointed. "Okay…"

"You know how he loved riddles and games and stuff like that. I found some old movie tickets in one of his sketchbooks and on a whim I went to the theater where we used to go and the guy gave me a package that John left me and there was a whole bunch of stuff… hold on."

Alex got up and gathered the stuff, then laid it out before Angelica excitedly, grateful to be sharing this with someone and not having it all on him.

She picked up the CD. "Have you listened to it yet?"

He shook his head. "I don't know if I want to. I guess… I guess I'm a bit afraid."

She only nodded and set it down, before looking over the rest of the papers and sighing. "I don't know what all of this means, but I do know one thing."

"What?"

"We've got a lot of work to do."

Playlist:

(In case you couldn't tell, I just listened to tick, tick… BOOM!)

Then I'll Be Tired of You / John Coltrane

Therapy / tick, tick… BOOM!

Little Talks / Of Monsters and Men

Wake Me Up (Despiertame) / Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox

30/90 / tick, tick… BOOM!

Life Support / Sam Smith

Not Today / Twenty-One Pilots

Tune Up 1-3 / Rent (Original Broadway Cast)

Ends / clipping.

Sonatina, Op. 46 / Mieczyslaw Weinberg

Come To Your Senses / tick, tick… BOOM!

Lovely / Twenty-One Pilots

Take Me Out / Franz Ferdinand

Dreaming of You / Selena

Windows / AWOLNATION

Besos y Copas / Alicia Villarreal

Tessellate / alt-j

Talk / Coldplay

Sick of Losing Soulmates / Dodie