A/N: I recently rewatched La La Land (live concert with orchestra, I might add), and I noticed a little detail I hadn't seen before in the ending sequence. When Mia walks into the bar with Sebastian in their fantasy world (AKA La La Land - I couldn't resist), it's clear that the bar isn't Seb's. There's a different pianist on the stage. That gave me the impression that Sebastian had given up his dreams to follow Mia - hence this little plot bunny. Enjoy! I might write more of this later.

Back in LA where we met almost five years ago, Sebastian and I take a night out on the town. We left our little boy at home - it was hard to leave his curly bedhead behind, considering I don't get much time with him with all the shooting I've been doing. Still, a night out with Seb was really what I needed. And what better place than the bar he's always loved?

We walk in, the blue neon lights on the wall illuminating the little entryway. My mouth twists a little. I always feel bad when visiting here, even though Seb still loves it. Something in the way his eyes crinkle bothers me… I can't help but think that I was the one who extinguished his dreams. This all could have been Seb's, or Chicken on a Stick, whatever he wanted.

He gave it all up on that park bench in front of the planetarium. To be honest, I lied when I told him I felt shaky about the audition. I had a feeling that it was my big break, that I was going to get the part no matter what. I just didn't want to face that reality. I didn't want to leave the love of my life. No one ever made me feel the way Seb did, even through our horrible argument and my breakdown. It was the truth.

So when he told me, without hesitation, that he'd follow me to Paris and find some little jazz hole to play in, I smiled and didn't protest. It was all I could do - the shaky, recovering artist I was back then couldn't do anything more. She was too selfish, confusing love with her own happiness.

Now, I sometimes wonder if I would have still made the same choice if I could go back. Maybe I'd let Seb have his way for once - force him to have his way. I can't count the number of sleepless nights I stumbled home after grueling rehearsals in Paris to his warm arms. I wish I could repay him his selfless favors. His jazz career in Paris never flourished, unfortunately. And every time I bring up the idea of starting up again now that we're back in LA, he brushes me off and remarks that he couldn't spend the time away from our little boy.

I look at him now, smiling softly as he looks up at the jazz pianist on the stage. His hand rests warmly on my thigh. I can't help but wonder if he wishes his fingers were on the keys - the same that he played so long ago. After the set, Seb's old friends come by and ask him to play a bit for some fun. I encourage him to go, but he shakes his head slightly and refuses. "There's a little curly-haired boy we've got to get home to," he says with a chuckle.

My heart buckles, just a little bit. Our son, my career… they're the pride reflected in Seb's eyes now, not the passion for jazz I used to love. It's difficult to watch sometimes. In the end, I just smile, hold onto his arm and let him drive us home. When we walk inside, Seb immediately heads to our son's crib and gives him a kiss. The little boy grabs onto his dad's finger, squeezing tightly. My heart aches, only a little, imagining where those fingers might've been had I been less selfish.