Little jazz man

(Style: slice of life in the Pet Goblin Universe with human POV. Rating: 1/5 (ABDL-adjacent). CW: Pet Goblin Universe, goblin, diapers, mentions of depression.)

When he opened the door, Patrick looked sharp. His button-up shirt ironed to perfection, his trousers just as straight, his beard washed and trimmed to a pleasing shape. He wore his tailored vest, even on a Sunday where he wasn’t working. The man always gave an aura of being effortlessly classy, which was of course a lie - it took a noticeable amount of effort every morning to look this classy.

“Right on time,” he notified his guest. “Good afternoon, Tim. Come on in!”

When the door opened for him, Timothy looked like he could have used some more time to dress up. His clothes were crumpled and peppered with stains, his hair was a mess, and the bags under his eyes were big enough to embark on a cruise vacation. Nevertheless, he looked relieved to see his impeccable brother standing in front of him and his little friend.

Hanging in Tim’s arms, a green little man was getting restless. The goblin had remarkable ears, so wide they would make a fennec fox jealous, and a smile full of teeth that would impress the most jaded of great white sharks. Funny enough, his clothes - from the booties on his feet to the top of his onesie - looked a lot cleaner than what his human was wearing. The privilege of getting dressed by someone else. Right now, the goblin fidgeted, eager to get out of Tim’s embrace.

“Yeah, I got lucky to find a parking spot immediately,” replied the tired-looking guest. “Miles, say hello to Uncle Pat!”

“Jazz!” squeaked the goblin as he practically jumped out of Tim’s arms. He waddled his way to Patrick’s side and jumped up and down, his little crotchety fingers grabbing at his impeccable trousers as he yapped excitedly. “Jazz! Jazz! Jazz!”

Patrick let out a chuckle, and comically put his hands on his waist in a show of disapproval. “Really, Miles? You could at least say ‘hello’ before asking for jazz, that’s not very polite of you!”

The goblin stopped jumping, his ears raised as he tried to understand the words.

“Come on,” said Patrick as he leaned towards the goblin’s level and pointed at his cheek, “give your uncle a little kiss.”

Miles looked confused, looking back and forth between the man and the inside of the house. Then, more gently, he approached his uncle and gently tugged on his sleeve, ignoring the designated kissing spot.

“Jazz…?” he asked, now sounding a bit worried.

The perfectly groomed man rolled his eyes and rose back up with a sigh. “Tsk tsk. And here I was, expecting some manners from a goblin…”

“You know how he is when he gets excited,” apologized Timothy as he closed the door behind him and dropped his heavy diaper bag he was carrying on the floor. “Ever since you made him listen to your vinyl collection, that’s all he talks about when I mention your name. Jazz, jazz, Uncle Jazz! I think he knows he gets to listen to music when we come here.”

Patrick shook his head, his eyes raised to the ceiling in disapproval. He knew goblins could have a one-track mind, but he didn’t appreciate being called ‘Uncle Jazz’. That was like reducing a full and nuanced life to a single one of his hobbies. Might as well call him ‘Uncle Model Train’.

“Well then, let’s give the little devil what he wants, or we won’t ever be able to talk…”

The trio walked down the hallway to enter the living room, where the goblin immediately darted towards the Hi-fi stereo in the corner, spouting little yaps of ‘jazz!’ as he ran towards the setup.

Patrick was something of an audiophile, and his equipment was probably worth the price of a small car at this stage. Highly reputable brands, classic quality models that had been out of production for close to forty years, bespoke wooden casings, speakers taller than the goblin himself, and of course, a disc collection that would put any museum to shame. Everything he listened to was on vinyl, of course. The sound was purer and warmer to the ear, or so he said; suggesting anything else was heresy, pure and simple. Cassette tape? Pwah! Never. Digital recordings? Now, let’s not be silly.

The vast amount of money he had poured into his little hobby explained why his heart jumped in his chest as he saw the goblin's clawed hands drawing dangerously close to the speakers.

“Miles, no!” he shouted, trying to scare him into compliance. “Bad! Don’t touch!”

Miles stopped in his tracks, ears lowered like a sad dog. “Jaaazzz…” he whined.

“You should work on teaching your little guy some patience,” scolded Patrick as he made strides towards his precious audio equipment.

“Hey, like you can talk, Pat,” replied Timothy without missing a beat. “I remember how fast you would run to our Playstation as soon as we came home from school! He’s excited, okay? You know how goblins are.”

“Well, that’s no way to behave when you’re visiting family,” grumbled his brother as he finally made his way to the turntable. Without taking the time to switch the disc to something more in tune with the word ‘jazz’, he turned the stereo on and lowered down the needle. After a short crackle, the smooth orchestra began to play one of Billy Paul’s most well-known songs.

Miles, for his part, was ecstatic, jumping in place as he heard the old-timey instruments jump back to life. His fabulous ears twitched and turned, looking for the source of the sound, before kneeling down in front of the baffle and putting his ears right next to the speakers.

He let out a content “Jazz…” as he listened to the orchestra swelling up, with the exact same expression as someone slipping into a warm bath after a long day of work.

“That’s not jazz, Miles”, replied Patrick, sounding less nervous now that the beast had been pacified. “That’s soul music. Two completely different things.”

“Don’t bother, Pat, he calls all music ‘jazz’ now,” replied his little brother. “He really took to that word, you know? Frankly, I’m not sure it was a good idea to teach him that.”

They turned to the goblin, who was getting his head closer and closer to the speakers right as the music hit the sweet spot:

… While the jukebox plays our favorite soooong!

Meeeeee-eeeeee-aaaaa-aaaand… Missus, Missus Jooooones!
Missus Jones, Missus Jones, Missus Jones…

We got a thiiiiiiing… goiiing ooooooonnn…

The little green man shivered with delight, his whole body twitching with excitement, his ears flopping in all directions. There weren’t many people who could listen to music with this kind of intensity. For Patrick and Timothy, the song sounded great, sure, but they had heard it hundreds of times before; for Miles, it was just as powerful as the first time.

Both humans smiled at the sight of the goblin absorbed in the smooth music. Then Tim let out a huge yawn that broke the magic of the moment somewhat.

“Coffee?” asked the host. “You look tired.”

“Please. And I am exhausted, thank you for noticing.”

A few minutes later, both brothers were seated in the kitchen. Shoes and coats had been removed, water was boiling in Patrick’s expensive espresso machine, and the goblin now listened to a compilation of jazz’s greatest hits that his uncle had selected. Both humans enjoyed a bit of quiet, for a moment at least.

“Thank you,” said Timothy as a hot cup of coffee was put in front of him, right as he yawned a second time.

“Rough night?” asked his older brother as he put down a ceramic pot filled with brown sugar cubes in front of Tim. (He never added sugar to his coffee, of course, but Tim did.)

“You can say that. Miles woke me up at, what, four in the morning? I think there are mice somewhere in the building, he must have heard something that got him in a hunting mood. I tried to put him back to sleep, you know, calmed him down, lullabies, hugs, the whole book of tricks. And by the time I thought it was over, well, the Sun was up and he didn’t feel like sleeping anymore…”

He added two sugars to the small cup of coffee, ruining its subtle taste in Patrick’s eyes.

“And you know what? The little fucker fell asleep the moment I put him in his car seat. He got to snooze the entire way while I was driving here, and now he’s even more full of energy. I’m sure he does this on purpose!”

“I don’t want to be the one to say ‘I told you so’,” replied Patrick as he picked up his own cup of espresso, “but you knew what you were going into when you adopted a goblin.”

“Yes, I am aware, thank you,” replied Tim, slightly miffed. “But isn’t it the prerogative of every human being to complain about things, no matter how good or bad they are?”

“I’ve never heard it explained like that, but it sounds true. Cheers.”

The brothers enjoyed a long sip of their respective coffee in silence.

“Speaking of complaining,” picked Patrick up once the cups were empty, “any news from Mom?”

“Got her on the phone last week, yeah.”

“And?”

Timothy rolled his eyes and produced a crude imitation of their mother’s voice. “When are you going to get a real job, like your brother? I’m worried about you, son, all those diapers can’t be cheap! Are you even thinking about your retirement?”

Patrick let out a chortle. “Yeah, that sounds like Mom, alright.”

“I swear, she never accepted that I wasn’t as good with numbers as you were, and thinks I should work for a bank or something. And ever since Miles came in, she acts like a worried grandma if I'm not sending her five pictures of him a day!”

The older brother simply nodded and mumbled a grunt of approval. Tim continued: “And I bet she bothers you about finding a girlfriend all the time, right?”

It was Patrick’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh, you have no idea. It’s such a staple of our conversations that I can practically sing along by now.”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, anyway?” teased Tim with a grin. “I remember you being quite the casanova when we were still in school.”

Patrick fruitlessly tried to take a sip out of his empty cup, then countered: “I’ve yet to find a girl whose presence is better than my solitude, that’s all there is to it. And I’m not exactly putting a lot of effort into looking for companionship, anyway.”

“You better watch out, Pat,” replied his little brother, now looking concerned. “The line between being alone and being lonely is a thin one, and it’s easy to cross. Trust me… I would know, I’ve been there.”

“I would hardly call you lonely, Tim. How could you, with that little guy here constantly begging for attention?”

He pointed at Miles, who was sitting calmly in front of the baffles, listening quietly to Louis Armstrong as his ears waved around a complex semaphore message.

“Yes, now I’m busy with him,” snapped the goblin’s owner back. “But before that, man, it wasn’t exactly fun being single, that’s all I’m saying!”

Patrick looked bothered for a second, then stood up to make them a second cup of coffee, pointedly not replying to his brother. As he got his back turned, he mused out loud:

“You know, I never quite understood why you decided to adopt the little guy.”

Tim shrugged. “What’s so hard to understand? He keeps me company.”

“Yes, but there were other options available,” he continued without turning to face his brother. “You could have gotten a pet, if all you wanted was company. What made you choose Miles over, say, a puppy?”

Tim’s face contorted into a face that mixed incomprehension and shock.

“Pat, that’s not… that’s not the same thing at all. Caring for a goblin feels different. I got nothing against puppies, mind you, but goblins are a special kind of relationship. I thought it was obvious?”

“Not really, no,” replied the older brother while serving Tim a second cup of coffee. “I’m trying to wrap my head around it. From my point of view, it looks like ten times the work a pet would need, but it doesn’t provide you with anything different. So I wonder why you’ve chosen a goblin above other options, that’s all.”

Timothy’s face betrayed a growing annoyance. The brothers were friends, through and through, and they supported each other whenever it was needed. But when an argument reared its ugly head between the two, they were often blunt with each other. He was getting on the defensive, ready to get loud if need be.

“Patrick, it’s not just a pet.” The use of his brother’s full name instead of ‘Pat’ showed how serious Tim was. “I… I don’t even know where to begin. Goblins have personalities, quirks, wants and needs, dreams even!”

“So do dogs, if you believe their owners,” countered Patrick. “If that’s what you were looking for, why not try to have a child instead?”

Tim chuckled. “Uh, Patrick, I hate to be the one who has to break it to you, but it takes two people to make a child, you know?”

“Adoption?” replied the brother without missing a beat.

“Please, Patrick. As a single man with an irregular job? How do you think it’s going to go?”

“Point taken”, conceded Patrick as he saw his brother growing agitated. “But then, that leaves the question of diapers. Why would…?”

He got interrupted by his brother’s laugh. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Why is it always the diaper argument with everyone who doesn’t like goblins? I swear, it’s like the number one thing they pretend to not understand! They tend to forget human children need diapers, too.”

“Why yes, but they’re usually out of it after two years, maybe three. With a goblin, you’ll be on changing duty for the next twenty years, right? And Mom is right, that can’t be cheap to handle on a monthly budget…”

“Well I’m not putting Miles through college, now, am I?” countered the goblin owner. “I can put that money towards keeping his ass clean and pampered instead. He’s not gonna grow up, Patrick, he’s gonna stay like this forever. He’s a big toddler that will never change. I don’t need to consider how I’m going to raise him into a functioning adult, because he won’t be one. That’s the entire point.”

“Hmmm.” Patrick furrowed his brow. He was out of arguments, but he wasn’t convinced either. A silence slowly crept between the two, filled only by the swelling sounds of saxophones in the background. The goblin was oblivious to their argument, absorbed as he was in the music.

“Look, if you don’t get it, I don’t think I can explain it to you,” continued Tim with a lower voice. “There’s something in Miles I haven’t found anywhere else in my life. He’s not a kid, he’s not a pet, he’s… he’s someone that takes all your love and gives it back tenfold. He’s a little being that requires all your attention, but makes you feel like it’s all worth it in the end. The moment I met him, I understood. It changes your life.”

Nervously, he took his coffee cup and gulped it one go. This was getting a lot more personal than he expected.

“If I didn’t have Miles, I don’t know how I would wake up in the morning.”

Patrick sniffed and remarked pointedly: “Once again, I’m sure a cat or a dog would also wake you up every morning. They’re better than an alarm clock when they’re hungry.”

“That’s not what I meant,” countered Tim as he let his eyes wander away. “I mean that Miles is the reason I wake up in the morning. If he wasn’t there, I would probably waste away in my bed all day. He drives me to live. Without him…”

The sentence died in mid-air, and silence fell once again between the brothers. Timothy looked away so his brother couldn’t see his eyes. Patrick was at a loss for words. In the background, the goblin squeaked as the Dave Brubeck Quartet began to play one of the most famous jazz songs ever recorded.

The silence grew uncomfortable, and without coffee to sip and give himself time to think, the older brother felt like he had to talk.

“I’m… sorry, Tim. That was rude of me. I can’t say that I understand you, but at least I should respect your choice. I apologize for-”

“Pat, shut up,” interrupted the other with a whisper.

“No, I meant it, I recognize that-”

“Pat, shut up and look!”

Timothy frantically pointed his finger towards the living room, which Patrick followed. Incredulous, the brothers witnessed a scene like they’d never seen before.

Miles, on his knees in front of the Hi-fi speakers, had picked up a long, unlit candle off the coffee table and put it to his mouth. And, with impeccable timing, he was fiddling his fingers along the length of it, like playing the flute.

Entranced by the smooth song playing for him, he tapped his fingers up and down the candle, following the rhythm of the saxophone playing its famous melody. The notes he “played” were all wrong, of course, but the beat was there.

The two brothers, shocked beyond words, watched as the goblin pretend-played the entire saxophone part. It was Timothy who finally broke the silence.

“Miles, baby, what are you doing?!” His voice was a mix of pride and bewilderment, with a slight shake indicating he was about to burst into tears.

The goblin, surprised by the sudden shout, dropped the candle and looked around in a panic. What kind of crimes had he committed, now? Before he could find a suitable place to hide, he was scooped up by his human, who cradled him to his face and immediately began covering him with kisses.

“Oh my baby, you’re so smart! Daddy is so proud of you, yes he is, yes he is!” he cajoled the goblin between two flurry of kisses. The goblin, still a bit confused by the situation, produced some mewling purrs of contentment from the attention.

“Did you see that?” interjected Patrick like he couldn’t believe what he just saw. “Did you see that?! He took- he took the candle and- did you teach him to do that?”

“No, not at all!” replied Tim with pride. “That’s the first time he’s ever done it!”

“But how…? It looked so real! So in tune with the song!” Patrick’s usually stern facade was slipping off of him with every word.

“And it was just the saxophone! He isolated the melody from the rest of the song and copied it note for note! Hold on, does he even know what a saxophone is? Did you show him a picture? A video?”

“I don’t think so?” replied Tim, now just as confused as his brother. “I thought you were the one who showed him?”

“I didn’t! He doesn’t care about anything once I put the music on, so I never bothered!”

Tim turned back towards the goblin in his arms. “Miles, baby boy, do you know what a saxophone is? Sa-xo-phone? Do you know that word?”

The wide glossy eyes of the goblin reflected only confusion. Tim might as well have asked a golden retriever his opinion on the stock market.

“Did he… Did he deduce what a saxophone was?” continued Patrick, walking restlessly in circles in his living room. “He couldn’t have known it was a wind instrument! And the way his fingers moved, it was so… so close to the real thing! How? How?!”

On the speaker, the song neared its end, replacing a long drum solo with another saxophone line. Acting quickly, Patrick picked up the candle off the floor and presented it to the goblin, still cradled in Timothy’s arms.

“Miles? Can you do it again for Uncle Pat? What you were just doing with the candle?”

The goblin looked down the length of the candle, then up to his uncle, confused. He let out a meek “Jazz…?”

“Yes! Jazz! Can you do it? Please? For your Uncle Jazz?”

After a brief second of hesitation, Miles grabbed the object with his clawed fingers. Without hesitation, he lifted one of the ends to his mouth and began tapping his fingers in rhythm, perfectly in tune with the song. Now that the two humans were close enough, they could see how the goblin was blowing air in the nearest end of the candle, like he was playing an actual flute.

The two brothers cheered loudly, which startled the goblin once more.

“My God!”

“Oh my God, did you see that?!”

“Right? Right??”

As the song ended and Miles was showing signs of impatience from being held up, Tim put the little green man down on the floor. His brother was incensed, returning to his cyclical walk in the room as he made enraptured hand gestures.

“I can’t believe how clever he is! All he had to do is listen to a couple of songs and then he just… understood how it worked! There was no tutoring, no explanations, he just did it! Just like that!”

“Now you try to get a puppy to do that for you!” laughed Tim as he pointed a teasing finger to his brother.

“Or an actual baby, for that matter!” threw Patrick back. “I had to do four years of music school before I looked this good playing the bassoon!”

“Four? Try eight, butter fingers!”

The two brothers erupted in laughter. All the tension they had felt a couple of minutes ago had vanished into thin air. For a brief moment, they weren’t the tired adults they had become, but two teenagers, happier than they had ever been, and ready to relentlessly tease each other about it.

Once they calmed down and were back to their adult selves, Patrick snapped his fingers several times, like he was trying to remember a word on the tip of his tongue.

“Wait. Wait wait wait. I have an extra record player in the attic. It’s not the best sounding one, but it can play a vinyl just fine. If I lend it to you with a few of my discs, you could play more songs for him when you’re at home. That’s brilliant, we need to do that!”

“Why do you care about lending me your stuff, now?” countered a confused Tim.

“Tim, when you witness a talent like that, you have to nurture it! Who knows how far he could go, with the proper training? What if Miles was in fact the first ever goblin jazz musician?”

It was Tim’s turn to chortle at the idea. “Alright, alright, Uncle Jazz, don’t get your hopes up yet. But honestly, if the music can keep him quiet while I clean up the house, that’s killing two birds with one stone, I dig it.”

“Always the pragmatic one,” remarked Pat with a smirk. “I’m gonna grab it and check if it still works, I’ll be back in just a second.”

As his brother turned his back to him, Tim couldn’t repress a smile. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his darling Miles, listening to old brass bars in a way Tim never could. Pride filled his heart.

“Hey, Pat? Do you get it now?” he hollered at older brother.

Pat stopped in his tracks and turned to answer. “Get what?”

“How caring for a goblin feels different?”

A sequence of conflicting emotions passed on Patrick’s face. Confusion, surprise, understanding, negotiation, defeat, actualisation, and then finally a reluctant respect.

“Alright, I’ll give you that one, but don’t you get cocky on me because of it,” he grumbled with a smirk, before climbing the stairs two steps at a time.

Timothy watched his brother move upstairs without insisting any further. Yeah, he won the argument, but this meant so much more. Patrick developed a passing interest in Miles ever since he noticed the goblin liked music, but there was still a distance between the two. The quiet, reserved, always impeccable Patrick wasn’t about to let a chaotic green creature muddle his routine. They were just too different from each other.

After today? Tim was sure he would never refer to himself as anything other than “Uncle Jazz” in front of the goblin. That’s the kind of thing goblins do to you: they change your life in ways you didn’t expect.

He gave a ruffle to Miles’s hair. The little guy didn’t even register it, fascinated as he was in the powerful singing of Nina Simone. It’s only when Tim walked back to the kitchen that the goblin gave him a knowing side eye.

If that’s how they reacted when he played the instrument, Miles couldn’t wait to see their faces when he would start to sing.