Unbelievers | Ezra Koenig

vi. | a lovely night

The first time Illyana had come across Vampire Weekend was during her freshman year at Rolling Stone, while on assignment. It was 2010, and she was twenty-three, fresh out of university, and thanking her lucky stars for being employed in the first place. The effects of the Great Recession were still palpable amongst the metropolitan youth; and, with the exception of a few majors, finding full-time work was nearly impossible.

At current time, and a little over three years to the date, she found herself sitting on Ezra Koenig's couch — with Ezra Koenig.

The interview had ended nearly two hours prior without a problem in sight. She'd found herself laughing and blushing and quite simply, generally entertained at Ezra's thought-provoking answers and mischief. Unlike many of her previous interviews, Illyana was delighted with her work. Now, however, the two were deep in conversation regarding a wide variety of topics — politics, music, movies, the fine arts, college — everything. She was genuinely interested, for once, in fucking politics.

"Three Six Mafia," Ezra stated clearly. "Absolutely fucking love them. But," he added, "I listened to a little bit of everything. Punk and classic rock were cornerstones of my teenage years. I guess you can make it out within my music."

The topic at hand was music influences and favorite artists. Ezra was quick with listing everything he liked (The Rolling Stones and The Beatles included, for good measure), and how it had shaped the sound of Vampire Weekend. He explained how his parents, the product of the post-hippie era, had embedded a love for all sorts of sounds into him from an early. "No such thing as one sound," he said. "They encouraged me to branch out to all sorts of artists and genres." He moved closer to Illyana, whose head rested on her hand, which in turn, rested on the edge of the couch in which both were seated. "I don't think I had genre allegiance by the time I got to high school. You know, how most people do. There's the rap guys, and the alt-geeks. Or the techno gang! I didn't quite fit into any, because I fit into all."

It was just a quarter past one o'clock in the evening. Typically, Illyana's interviews took no more than one — perhaps two hours, to complete. Sometimes they felt like an utter drag, and sometimes they were fine. Ezra, though, was a most wonderful creature whose commentary allowed the pace of time to feel faster than it actually was. Or was it slower? Had she not had her phone with her to check the time, Illyana would have guessed it was just around eleven or so. But she didn't mind the lateness of the hour, for there was no one to give reasons to back at home.

"And you?" He asked. "I presume you have a band that pushed you to be what you are today."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, actually. Although I'm not sure if I can put it into words as you just did," she chuckled softly. "I think I only have two favorite bands — and they're the reason I chose to pursue music journalism. One would be The Beatles. Though I suppose I'm partial to the swinging sixties' music as a whole. God, I went through an embarrassing mod era in freshman year of high school." She shook her head in disbelief, just for the mere fact that she was sharing this bit of autobiographical information with, basically, a stranger. "I outgrew it, thankfully," she said. "But... They were mostly handed down to me. I was brought up listening to them. Mom and dad singing Blackbird and Golden Slumbers to me every night is a continuous memory I cherish."

"And the other?"

Illyana smiled and cringed all at once. Suddenly, the memory of the early 2000s flooded her mind like a waterfall. "The Postal Service. I feel something of a connection to them because I found them. Not my friends or family — but I." She sighed deeply. "It was just before my sophomore year of high school ended that I first heard them. And I fell in love." She nodded slowly, then turned to Ezra. "Ever worked with Ben?" She asked, referring to Ben Gibbard, the lead singer.

"No, never," Ezra replied. "Though I'm a fan of his Death Cab work. Never really payed attention to The Postal Service," he admitted. "I think I was more into Blink-182, if I'm honest. Though I'd love to chat and work with Ben!"

Illyana's eyes widened. "You must listen to The Postal Service! To paraphrase Natalie Portman in Garden State, you gotta hear their whole album. It'll change your life, I swear." She left the commodity of the couch and moved to the floor, where she reached out for her phone. She motioned for Ezra to follow her, and he obliged. "I may be exaggerating, but it's just very little. You just gotta!" She explained. The earbuds came out of Illyana's bag and were plugged into her phone. She took one and handed Ezra the other. Quickly, she opened her iTunes app, where Ezra noted the wide variety of indie-alt music which was stored.

"Everyone's heard The Shins' version of We Will Become Silhouettes. Most people forget it's a cover — a great one — but a cover. Just like Hurt." Illyana complained. "I don't mean to whine," she apologized.

"I find it endearing," Ezra answered, smiling.

Her cheeks became hot at his response, but it seemed as though he didn't take notice of the happening. She proceeded to play, rather unorthodoxly, the final song of Give Up, titled Natural Anthem. "It's my favorite song of theirs." She leaned back against the couch and smiled as the sounds rang through her ears. Ezra, meanwhile, listened — no, he took in the sounds that played. If there was a way to become close to Ezra Koenig, sharing music was certainly one's best bet. It was how he and Rostam began to know each other, and he suspected it was how Illyana got to know others. He, too, smiled as Ben Gibbard sang in the closing minute of the song, which sounded much like Hannah Hunt in its singer's release of buried emotion.

He liked it.

Another song played automatically, and no other words were exchanged for the duration of it. It was This Place is a Prison, which sounded haunting to Ezra's expert ear. Suddenly, another song. This seemed to be Such Great Heights, which he'd heard before. Before long, it seemed as though he'd gone through the whole album without exchanging another word with —

He turned, as he hadn't done so in his deep trance, only to find a sleeping Illyana. Her head rested on the seat of the couch, while her phone remained in her hands. Ezra let out a snicker from his lips as he realized that he'd probably been alone for the past thirty minutes or so. He stood up and scanned the scene. It was the first time such an event had happened (a slumbering journalist in his apartment, rather than a slumbering member of the opposite sex!) and he didn't quite know what to do. Wake her up, or leave her to be? He shook his head and opted for the former option, rather than the latter.

Slowly, Ezra began to pick up Illyana as gently as one possible could without help. He lifted her head and placed it in the pillow which adorned the couch. He rolled the rest of her body with much more ease afterwards.

Okay, that wasn't so hard.

He hurried off into his room and dug deep into his closet to find the warmest possible blanket to throw onto Illyana, so that she wouldn't freeze to death. New York summers, being as hot as they are, prompted Ezra to turn on the air conditioner to maximum effect, thereby causing an accidental Arctic wonderland within his humble abode. He found an old rag belonging to his paternal grandmother which he decided would suffice.

"Good night, Illyana," whispered Ezra as he tucked her into the couch. "Don't fall on the floor, okay? Try not to twist and turn." He patted her shoulder and turned around to find the empty box of pizza and plates they'd shared throughout the night. A small smile tugged at his lips.

It was fun.

—
Author's Note:
Chapter title taken from the song 'A Lovely Night' by Justin Hurwitz.