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ty-bayonet-betteridge · 1 year ago

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two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon - despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene - is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you're willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just... no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i'll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be "afternoon" in your mind - 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she's maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she's wearing torn jeans - naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er... I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido... oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you're gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it - some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i'll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn't. you say i hadn't really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer's choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you're gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer's always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she'll just replace them with living ones when she's done. you don't know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa's birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn't throw a birthday party if there wasn't some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids - mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we'll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

#wormblr #parahumans #worm spoilers #riley davis #riley grace davis #bonesaw #nsft #amy dallon #panacea #MY BELOVED GIRL. IS BACK #our writing #dr riley davis mde

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vivalabunbun · 2 years ago

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Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret.

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error.

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy.

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head.

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes.

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better.

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench.

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!�� A voice boomed from the hall outside your door.

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward.

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes.

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.”

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?”

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests.

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing.

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined.

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance.

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room.

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall.

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past.

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally.

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer.

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said.

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago.

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room.

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument.

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes.

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’.

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame.

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice.

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off.

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents.

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water.

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard.

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore.

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays.

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget.

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes.

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month.

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display.

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now.

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read.

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers.

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening.

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison.

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room.

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied.

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you.

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really.

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense.

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak.

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again.

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble?

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open.

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped.

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue.

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence.

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue.

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it.

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun.

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him.

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away.

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair.

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next.

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature.

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time.

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him.

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name.

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him.

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista.

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood.

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts.

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb.

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys.

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight.

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you.

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air.

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight.

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple.

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson.

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified.

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you.

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now.

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated.

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this.

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand.

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense.

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation.

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week.

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy.

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all.

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead.

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised.

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences.

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on.

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text.

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies.

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break.

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern.

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance.

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness.

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before.

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness.

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago.

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet.

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano.

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery.

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward.

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration.

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??”

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.”

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face.

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling.

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer.

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano.

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano.

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes.

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?”

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture.

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face.

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon.

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths.

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer.

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response.

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind.

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock.

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination.

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume.

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble.

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read.

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity.

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight.

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him.

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library.

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response.

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision.

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks.

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch.

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.”

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply.

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter?

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity.

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass.

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression.

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?”

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner.

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs.

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts.

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended.

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him.

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle.

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down.

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip.

His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine.

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing.

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you.

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him.

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes?

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him.

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer.

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.” Came his flat reply.

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted.

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in.

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk.

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet.

“Is that a piece by Debussy?”

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?”

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight.

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them.

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back.

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind.

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system.

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them.

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way.

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything.

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house.

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face.

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.”

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face.

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion.

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you.

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.”

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice.

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor.

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous.

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch.

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you?

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight.

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself.

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries.

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely?

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started.

Another miscalculation on his part.

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note:

“Don’t Bother Me”.

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back?

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side.

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings.

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers.

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you.

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet.

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue.

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself.

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!”

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom.

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind.

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well.

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.”

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all.

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle.

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette.

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora.

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie.

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand.

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he.

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up.

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times?

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex.

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.”

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs.

“I have a reason to seek you.”

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle.

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply.

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity.

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it.

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion.

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face.

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more.

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return.

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges.

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend.

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed.

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized.

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off.

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display.

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet.

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor.

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.”

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed.

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks.

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth.

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch.

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it.

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face.

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym.

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is.

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow.

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities.

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision.

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment.

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is.

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts.

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands.

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed.

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame.

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts.

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time.

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents.

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together.

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her.

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you.

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller.

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan.

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff.

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his.

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand.

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued.

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look.

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face.

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had.

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry.

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now.

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her.

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face.

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo.

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls.

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things.

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again.

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing.

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him.

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses.

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts.

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis.

Acceptance, the last stage of grief.

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it.

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind.

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths.

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you.

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own.

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away?

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211.

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival.

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air.

“Number 211.”

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano.

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss.

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands.

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical.

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight.

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round.

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.”

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams.

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void.

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands?

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain.

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders.

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words.

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain.

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards.

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear.

“Come, I’ll drive you home.”

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’.

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan.

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes.

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down.

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly.

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him.

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move.

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message.

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee.

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt.

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head.

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them.

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn.

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders.

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request.

“Ah! Ah! AH!”

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed.

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm.

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest.

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face.

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions.

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle.

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member.

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within.

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet.

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead.

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again.

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings.

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything.

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish.

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air.

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow.

It was a grand piano.

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well.

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step.

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand.

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid.

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted.

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano.

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you.

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests.

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook?

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by.

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor.

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house.

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day.

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart.

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears.

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry.

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.”

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky.

“… Of course.” You let go of him.

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again.

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses.

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago.

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change.

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat.

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly.

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile.

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it.

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature.

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

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