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The second desk flautist caught Jesper’s attention the first time he saw him.
It was a rainy Thursday in January, and the spring musical — a joint effort from the university orchestra and the Amateur Dramatics Society — was well underway. He was a little displeased with his part, Rolf in The Sound of Music. It involved half a song with a little dancing and even fewer lines. The worst of it was that Zoya, the musical’s director and current AmDram Vice President, had directly told him he would have been one of the two Von Trapp boys if he hadn’t been so adept at playing the lovelorn boy.
“Can you do that?” he’d asked with a frown. Jesper liked to think of himself as easygoing, but Zoya Nazyalensky was nobody’s idea of a sweet mentor, and he found that she brought out the worst in everyone.
She had just shrugged and dismissed him with, “It’s theatre.”
It was not the Captain Von Trapp part he’d hoped for. This past autumn, he had played an excellent lovesick fool as Claudio in Much Ado About Nothing. Such an important part had required a great many lines to learn, but Jesper had been very dedicated, staying up through many nights to embed them in his brain. He had set alarms so he didn’t forget his ADHD meds. He had timetabled their rehearsals and done research and recited his lines constantly, usually armed with a handful of highlighters and curse words when he couldn’t recall the previous day’s scene. Only his surly housemate Kaz’s help with his essays had kept him from dipping below a 40% for the semester. Besides, the winter exam week had been a full three weeks after the play wrapped, which was two more weeks than he usually gave himself to revise.
Da had been displeased he was barely scraping a pass in the final year of his Civil Engineering degree, but he faithfully supported Jesper’s enthusiasm for the theatre by buying tickets to his shows. He still bemoaned how everything in Jesper’s life always got left by the wayside when he was focused on their latest show, but he was placated that his son had passed his penultimate semester nonetheless.
Not that Jesper would let this show take over his life as drastically as Much Ado had. He was already putting himself and Da in enough debt in order to attend university. He felt badly enough about failing his second year and needing to retake it that by the first day of rehearsal, he had just about decided it was probably a good thing, after all, that he’d been given a smaller part. He wouldn’t survive another repeated year. There was no wriggle room in his grades from last semester. There would be enough dancing, lines, and singing here to satisfy him. There would.
He wasn’t even halfway through the very first rehearsal before the second-desk flautist caught his eye. By the end of the evening, he was thinking, oh no.
Because the flautist was graceful, and charming, and beautiful. He had been distracting Jesper from the first ten minutes where the orchestra began practicing the prelude, those gorgeous red-gold curls catching his eye and his heart. Even though they hadn’t so much as locked eyes, Jesper knew how this would go. He would fall hard, and they would flirt, and they might even sleep together – but nobody ever looked for a boyfriend in Jesper Fahey. Granted, he didn’t think he’d be a very good one. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to try.
“Who were you making eyes at all night?” Nina asked him as they shrugged hoodies on and packed up their things in the wings, dismissed for the evening while Zoya worked with the show’s Maria and Captain von Trapp. Nina was an excellent actress, but since her singing was more likely to cause bluebirds to faint than follow her around a house, she had been relegated to the part of Baroness Schraeder, the female part without singing that had the most lines. Zoya had told her just how lucky she was, and that Nina had no hope of a future in theatre for her lack of voice, but Nina didn’t care. She took part for fun, squeezing rehearsals in around her hectic paramedic training. A good outlet, she said.
“I wasn’t making eyes,” Jesper weakly protested. Nina gathered up her scattered pens and highlighters, dropping them into her handbag with a dramatic eyebrow raise. Jesper winced. “Okay, fine, that second-desk flautist –”
“Why did you even bother trying to lie to me, Fahey?”
“Because you’re my one and only, I hate to betray you thus,” Jesper declared with mock-despair. “Never again, my one true love.”
Nina gave a dramatic huff, flinging an arm up to cover her brow. “You say this every time, you dastardly swine! You’re a fool for love, Fahey!”
Jesper caught her around the waist and dipped her dramatically, pausing at the bottom of the movement to look deeply into her eyes. “Ne’er a truer word was spoken, darling. Now imagine I’m placing a rose between your teeth.”
Nina snorted with laughter, letting herself be pulled up into a spin. “You’re too wonderful to stay angry at, my love.”
Jesper seriously doubted that, but he laughed anyway. Nina was truly an excellent friend.
The flautist stayed at the back of his mind for the next day and a half. It was ridiculous, really – they hadn’t even shared a glance, let alone a conversation – but there it was. Jesper didn’t really believe in love at first sight, but he did believe in aesthetic attraction at first sight. It was the only way he could explain the fact that all his thoughts had begun derailing with astonishing frequency towards this gorgeous musician.
Jesper knew he had to try to get to know a little more about the flautist; he wasn’t a man for inaction, for taking a back seat and being too agonised to make a play. No, his problem wouldn’t be getting the courage to talk; it would be keeping any connection going. Jesper Fahey was a charming loose acquaintance to a large number of people, but counted very few loyal friends amongst them.
Nina had only bugged him once more about talking to the flautist, but when they walked into the second rehearsal and Jesper’s gaze immediately snapped to the red-headed flautist assembling his instrument, she gave him a hard poke in the arm and cackled. “Careful, Jes. Your eyes might fall out of your head if you goggle any wider.”
He gave her a shove, but tried to tone down the staring. He followed Nina to the edge of the clump of musicians and she began doing provocative stretches, reaching down to touch her toes with a loud groan before getting into cobra pose with her chest pushed forward. Jesper frowned down and hissed, “What are you doing?”
“Just stretching,” Nina said innocently. “We’re starting on some of the dances today.”
Jesper scanned the assembled musicians, most of whom were ignoring his friend cheerfully adopting a deep lunge. The flautist glanced up very briefly, his gaze landing on Nina and then flitting away again without a hint of a blush. Jesper narrowed his eyes. Was that promising or not?
He turned back to Nina and realised she was looking over the orchestra with eagerness too. He suddenly realised what was going on. “Nina Zenik, I believe I’ve found the reason you’re trying to show off your tits.”
“I always show off my tits,” Nina easily retorted, switching her lunge to the other leg. Jesper halfheartedly pulled his foot up behind him to stretch his quads.
“Who is it you like, then?” He persisted.
“I don’t like—”
“It’s that double bassist, isn’t it.”
Nina’s head jerked but she stopped herself from staring behind her the way Jesper was. She shot him a half-hearted look of annoyance, grimacing as she stood up and pulled her arm overhead into a tricep stretch. Jesper felt this stretch was only fifty percent designed to show off her tits; she was that distracted.
“We were in anatomy together. How did you know?” She sounded resigned. Jesper smirked, switching legs.
“He’s tall, blonde, looks like he could crush my head like a melon between his hands, and — most important of all — looks like would want to without more than meeting me. You have a type, Neens.”
Nina glared. “Everyone wants to crush you when they meet you, Jes. Your new boy toy will be no exception.”
“Yeah they want—”
“Excuse me.” Jesper turned around and promptly froze. His redheaded flautist was standing right behind him, glancing between him and Nina. How much had he heard?
“Hi,” he managed to get out, and Nina plastered on a bright smile, ever the actress.
“Good morning!”
“I couldn’t help but see you were talking…” He scratched the back of his neck, gaze jumping away from theirs, hesitating. Jesper’s heart was in his throat. Was this beautiful man about to ask out one of his best friends? Please, no. Not when his face was scattered with freckles like blossom on a lawn, and Jesper was overcome with the urge to kiss every one of them.
“Talking?” Nina prompted. The flautist swallowed and looked up again, his gaze flitting from Jesper’s face quickly to Nina’s.
“Talking about Matthias?”
“Oh, no,” Nina said, at the same time as Jesper said, “Is he the double bassist?” Nina turned to glare at him and Jesper gave her a wide smile in response.
“Er — yes. Well, I just wanted to say… don’t go up to him today. He’s in a mood because he got bumped from the third rugby team today.”
Nina’s face pulled into one of sympathy and she bobbed her ponytailed head briefly round to check on the blonde hunk. Sure enough, he looked grumpy enough to beat someone with the scroll of his instrument and Jesper grimaced. “Sevens or elevens?” Nina asked the flautist, wincing.
He blinked owlishly at her. “Sorry?”
“Rugby, sevens or elevens?”
“Oh. Um… not sure?”
“No worries. Thanks for the heads up.” Nina flashed the flautist a wide smile. “I’m Nina, by the way. And this here is Jesper.” She put a special emphasis on his name, gesturing with both of her hands towards him. Jesper could only give a sweet smile as the flautist turned towards him with an awkward nod and a small but genuine smile.
“Wylan,” the redhead told them. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Jesper said. Then, a little unnecessarily, asked, “Are you with the orchestra?”
Wylan held up the flute in his right hand. “Yeah. I’m a flautist. What part are you playing?”
“Rolf,” Jesper said. Wylan raised his eyebrows. “What?” Jesper asked, feeling a little defensive.
“Nothing, I’m just — you’re not my first choice for a Nazi,” Wylan said, a small laugh escaping him. Jesper’s mouth quirked up in response. Wylan had a lovely laugh.
“Apparently I’m more suited to that than being an Austrian child, so go fight Zoya for me, will you?”
“Oh, that makes sense then,” Wylan teased. Jesper gasped in mock-offence, clutching a hand to his chest. He opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by Nadia calling him over to run lines. He closed his mouth into a resigned smile before clapping Wylan on the shoulder.
“It was good to meet you, Wylan,” Jesper said, a genuine smile slipping out before he could halt it and manufacture it into something a little more suave.
Wylan gave him a nod and a small smile, ducking his head as Jesper moved past him. He tried to smother his grin, but he couldn’t: as he approached Nadia, she gave him a look of confusion. “What’re you looking so excited about?”
He waved her off. “Desperate to get started wooing you, of course.”
She made a snarky face and brandished the script in his face. “I’m still Sapphic, but Leisl thanks you.”
“Of course she does.” Jesper flipped over the pages of his script with more flourish than was strictly necessary, trying to push thoughts of Wylan’s smile out of his mind. The orchestra began warming up behind them and he couldn’t help darting a look over his shoulder to see Wylan sliding into his seat. Jesper whipped his head away before the flautist spotted him.
He missed the other boy lifting his head to glance at Jesper before he raised his instrument to his lips.
The next rehearsal was actors only, as they practiced their dance steps, but the one after that featured the orchestra again. Jesper and Nina both arrived in rather nicer clothes and make-up than the old joggers they would usually wear to rehearsal. Normally, each would have teased the other about the unprecedented efforts each was putting in with their appearance, but it was hard to take the mick of the other person for displaying the same slightly desperate behaviour one was also engaging in, so they were at an impasse.
Nina managed to sidle up to Matthias before rehearsal, but he ignored her. In a show of restraint very unlike her usual tactics, Nina simply shrugged and walked back to Jesper. He couldn’t control his eyebrows in time and she gave him a look. “You’re not the only one who can switch up their flirting style once in a while, Fahey.”
He kept glancing at the orchestra throughout their rehearsal, but never caught the gaze of his favourite flautist. In Wylan’s defence, Jesper thought that the conductor was working them extremely hard; the flautists and then the whole wind section were forced to repeat the same eight or so bars of the piece Jesper recognised from the Ländler scene for nearly half an hour. At that point, Zoya went over to insist the orchestra practiced something else as the actors were working on several scenes but none of them the traditional Austrian folk dance featuring Maria and various Von Trapps.
As rehearsal wrapped up, Jesper decided he needed to be a little more forward. He simply couldn’t let himself continue to moon over a flautist he knew so little about. The clear solution to this was to get chatting to Wylan again. He purposefully wandered over to the other boy, waiting until he was focused on the task of cleaning his flute rather than discussions with his woodwind buddies. It was difficult to be casual when everyone around you was kneeling on the floor, so Jesper decided to just stand with his hands in his pockets and hope Wylan didn’t mind the view.
“The conductor was working you hard out there today,” he observed to Wylan with affected casualness. “You guys sounded great the first twenty times.”
Wylan looked up and gave him an amused smile. “David’s a genius. He gets us to sound amazing, but it is definitely hard work. We were out of time, though.”
“And out of tune,” a gangly flautist with a scrappy moustache added from Wylan’s left. He looked Jesper up and down with a critical eye as he swabbed his flute. “Actor?” he said, tone a little condescending.
Jesper gave a slow nod and then a charming smile which he knew wasn’t quite hitting his eyes. Wylan looked up and then between them. “Joost, this is Jesper,” he said to the nasal-voiced flautist, who turned a bright smile in Wylan’s direction. “Jesper, Joost.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Joost,” Jesper said, his tone a little flat. The temptation to call him Juice had been oh, so strong; he was proud of himself for resisting. The flautist gave him a sort of widening of the mouth in return.
“Those steps looked hard,” Wylan said, turning back to Jesper and making the actor’s heart jump. “Near the end. Do you dance much?”
“Only a little modern. I don’t have the sticking power for anything more technical,” Jesper explained, his tone light. “Do you dance?” he added curiously.
Wylan pinked, his pale skin flushing delightfully against his pretty hair as he snapped his flute case shut. “I had to learn the basics when I was little – you know, ballet for posture, waltz steps for functions. I was never any good at it, though.”
“I bet you had a great sense of time, at least,” Jesper said with a wink, then cursed himself internally. He was supposed to be taking things slow, damn it. Wylan just looked a little bemused as he stood up, rubbing his knees from the hardwood floor. Joost looked between them, quickly snapping his own case shut and standing up too as Wylan nodded.
“I prefer playing music than dancing to it, though,” he said, not breaking Jesper’s gaze.
Oh, those gorgeous blue eyes with his pale, sweeping lashes. Jesper never wanted to look away; he felt he could happily drown in those stormy seas. He’d go down to Davy Jones’ Locker and live forever in the depths, content for having –
“Me too,” came the bleating voice of the other flautist to the side. Wylan blinked and looked over to Joost, sending him a smile that enraged Jesper a great deal more than it should have.
“We’re heading to the pub now, if you fancy a drink?” Wylan asked, tearing his eyes from the other flautist to look back at Jesper.
Was the invite a polite courtesy or a genuine offer? Jesper opened his mouth to reply without being sure of what he would say, only for Joost to interrupt. “It’s supposed to be orchestra members only, Wylan, you know that –”
“If David can bring Genya every week and let her decide what pieces we work on next, I’m sure Jesper can have a drink with us,” Wylan said drily. He looked sidelong at Jesper. “Well?”
Jesper grinned widely. “Sounds great.”
The pub was The Ferolind, a fifteen minute walk towards the edge of the university district. Jesper grabbed Nina and brought her with them. She was more than happy to come along, just pleased that she had indeed brought spare lipstick and worn actual jeans today, not to mention a low-cut top.
“Going to see if you can get that double bassist to buy you a drink?” Jesper asked her as they traipsed behind a gaggle of woodwindists, hands stuffed in pockets against the bitter January air. He kept one eye on the head of bright curls somewhere in the middle, watching Wylan laugh and talk with his friends. Jesper wasn’t normally prone to questioning why he accepted social invitations, but he had to admit that if he’d been less interested in Wylan, he would probably have sacked off the walk in the bitter cold towards uncertain company and a likely overly-hopped pint in favour of playing video games with Kaz.
Nina shrugged. “I’ll try. But I’m walking away if he’s too mean.” She sniffed. “I’m done with rude straight men.”
Jesper wasn’t entirely sure he believed her — Nina always loved the chase — but he wasn’t about to be a bad friend about it. “If he’s a dick, let me know and he’ll catch these hands.”
Nina snorted. “I think a punch from you on those lovely muscles would be about as effective as snapping spaghetti.” Jesper punched her arm lightly in response and she grimaced in dramatic disappointment. “I wasn’t wrong.”
He sighed. “I’d try anyway, for your sake.”
“You’re a great friend, Jesper.”
The pub proved to be an average student dive: cheap pints, The Killers on the speakers, the sticky bar surrounded by a slightly sweaty throng. Jesper made a beeline throught the loose crowd towards Wylan, and with the use of his very knobbly elbows, managed to get through to the bar at the same time as him despite the flautist’s head start.
“What are you drinking?” Jesper asked, leaning in. Wylan twisted round to face him, no surprise on his face, placing an elbow on the bar so they were nearly chest to chest without risk of anyone else interrupting them just yet. Or maybe just to mark that they were next in line to be served, Jesper wasn’t sure. He wasn’t falling into Wylan’s eyes this time; he was aware of exactly where both their bodies rested, the space a gulf between his skin and Wylan’s. He was breathing fast, their eyes locked, but he knew that in less than a second Wylan was going to look away as social niceties dictated and the tension that was between them would be broken. No, it wasn’t so much a thread of tension as a rope, a bridge, and it was all Jesper could do to stop himself throwing himself into it. He wouldn’t lean forward to cup Wylan’s cheek or brush his arm with his hand because this time needed to be different, it had to. But how could it be different when Wylan had held his gaze, and all he wanted was to hold —?
Wylan looked away, towards the bar worker who had appeared. “Um – Old Mout,” he said, his voice raised a little to be heard over the hubbub, before turning back to Jesper, card in hand. “What about you?”
“What?” Jesper asked, his mind as blank as a freshly-hosed driveway. He blinked, tried for a laugh as his brain rebooted, then nodded to the staff member, piecing together the question from the contextual clues. “Oh – Foster’s. Cheers.”
“Foster’s?” Wylan wrinkled his nose, receiving his cider bottle with a nod and bringing it to his mouth for a delicate sip.
“Yes, Foster’s – it’s only a quid here Monday through Thursday. You’re not a drink snob, are you?” Jesper teased, watching his pint as it was pulled and then pushed over to him. He took a mouthful of his drink as he pushed over a pound coin and slowly moved away from the bar, other thirsty students quickly filling his spot.
Wylan narrowed his eyes in jest at the other boy. “I’m not a snob, but I do have taste buds, and I don’t like to abuse them.”
“Harsh words.”
Wylan’s gaze slipped to somewhere over Jesper’s shoulder and he jerked his chin. “Looks like the others are over there, if you’re happy to join them…”
Jesper hesitated for a second too long while trying to decide how forward was too forward. “Sure,” he said after a pause, cursing his indecision.
He trailed Wylan to a long table, various wooden chairs scattered along one side and a long bench the other. Empty glasses already thronged, though it wasn’t clear if they belonged to the musicians or the table’s prior occupants. He slipped onto the end of the bench, opposite Wylan who awkwardly straddled a rickety stool and began adding comments to the raging debate already in full swing — the pros and cons of limiting guests to the student nights at the Students’ Union.
Jesper tried to keep quiet for a little while until he had the measure of everyone, but he only managed about half a minute before launching into an argument in favour of letting everyone in.
He caught Wylan grinning into his hand when he finally gave up arguing with the clarinettist who was belligerently insisting that students of the university should be given priority, no matter how busy the student night. Jesper gave a laugh. “What?”
“You’re just so… comfortable with them already,” Wylan said, failing to smother a smile around his glass as he drained the cider. Jesper sent him a wink.
“I’m pretty adaptable.”
Wylan looked away, his face flushing a deeper shade of pink. His cheeks had already been warmed from the cider, but this was something else. Jesper was delighted to see him turn that colour. He opened his mouth, probably for an innuendo or flirty invitation, whatever perpetuated the blush, but was promptly cut off by someone pushing him further up the bench. He turned in surprise and found Joost determinedly making room for himself, two strawberry and lime Old Mouts slopping onto the table.
“Hello again,” the flautist said by way of greeting as Jesper reluctantly shuffled up to make space. He pushed one of the ciders towards Wylan, who smiled in thanks.
“How are you doing?” Wylan asked. Joost began a story about a recent recital. Jesper struggled to pay attention, his mind wandering as Wylan asked Joost questions, until a short time later when they were interrupted by Nina storming over and leaning in to grab Jesper.
“We need to go,” Nina hissed in his ear, yanking on his arm and pulling Joost out of the way. Jesper blinked, letting himself be dragged off the wooden bench and into standing.
“Hey, whoa – what happened?”
“I’ll tell you on the way home.” Nina’s expression was thunderous, so Jesper simply called out a ‘goodnight’ to the table, giving Wylan a little wave, before being pulled away. He didn’t want to leave Wylan with the clearly territorial Joost, but he was needed more by his friend. Nina wouldn’t even let him pull his jacket on in the pub, stomping ahead with his arm in tow until he forcibly wrenched it away.
“Flipping heck, Nina,” Jesper said as he finally pulled his coat on with a shiver, “what’s going on?”
“That horrible, gigantic oaf of a man. Matthias Helvar, more like… Matt-High-us… Smell-Farts.”
Jesper winced. “Not your best, darling.”
“Shut up.”
“What’d he do?”
“ Apparently, people who wear lots of makeup are all bimbos,” Nina hissed, striding ahead like nobody’s business. For once in his life, Jesper was having to work to keep up with someone. He winced.
“He really said that?”
“Said it denotes a lower IQ.”
Jesper let out a hiss through his teeth, pausing alongside Nina at a crossing. “What did you say?”
“Oh, I gave him a piece of my mind all right.” Nina was glaring up and down the street at the lazy traffic until the lights changed and she could resume stomping again. “I mean, really! What does playing around with bloody make-up have to do with IQ? Not that we should be using stupid IQ to measure intelligence, but— ”
“He didn’t change his mind after you explained?” Jesper asked hurriedly, having heard Nina on this particular topic at least half a dozen times before.
She grimly shook her head. “Just snorted and tried to play it off with his mates. So I stood up and reminded him I’d done better than him in anatomy, and that I save more lives on the daily than him, with a full face.”
“Good work.”
“I might also have mentioned that the third rugby team had clearly done the right thing to dump the dead weight.”
“Nice.” Jesper reached out for a fist-bump and Nina obliged, her steps finally slowing a little and her face relaxing a little. She even gave a laugh after a second.
“What a dolt. Glad I didn’t waste any more time whining over that hunk of rotten meat.”
They parted ways soon after, with a promise to meet up at the weekend for brunch. Jesper hoped Nina wasn't going to let one idiot’s comments get to her, or worse, give him the time of day again. He didn’t seem like a very nice person if he was spouting crap like that, and Nina deserved the world.
January melted into February, yielding more assignments than Jesper had been aware of. He began staying up later and later to fit in socialising and theatre and attempts to start working on his projects, but his brain was not co-operating. He would open books and webpages then somehow hours would pass and he’d not been able to look at a single word. Every time he tried to read a sentence, his mind refused to take it in. It was frustrating. He wanted so badly to not be a disappointment, to pass this year on the first attempt and complete his degree only a little behind the friends he’d started it with.
He knew, realistically, that losing sleep was not going to help his executive dysfunction. But once he’d eaten and the sky was dark, he simply seemed to lose time.
The rehearsals, at least, felt like a productive use of his evenings and a good excuse to avoid his project research. It was far more pleasant to be full of thoughts about Wylan’s new freckles – maybe he had been out in Wednesday’s weak sunshine? – and running lines with Nadia.
At the end of the rehearsal, Jesper hovered a short distance from the flautists while pretending to sort the papers in his rucksack (all hopelessly crumpled). Pathetically, he was hoping to get in another word with Wylan to explain why he’d had to leave the pub so quickly last week.
He was just mustering up the courage to go and ask Wylan if he could join them again when Nina joined him, and then a moment later, the large double-bassist.
“Are you coming out with us again?” Matthias asked, his voice gruff. Nina fluffed her hair over her coat’s fur hood and pretended not to notice the double bassist’s eyes tracking her as she pouted and stuck her hands in her pockets.
“I suppose we could,” she said nonchalantly, turning in Jesper’s direction. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she widened hers in return. Clearly there was something going on that Nina hadn’t filled him in on yet. He sighed through his nose.
“Just for one,” he said sweetly. He didn’t see the way Wylan’s mouth twisted at the words.
Matthias nodded, hovering awkwardly, until Nina sighed and walked off with him. Wylan sidled up to Jesper, mercifully free of his thin-moustached shadow, and whispered, “What was that about?”
Jesper checked Wylan had his things and began following the strange duo, letting the flautist fall into step. “Last week, he said some pretty crappy things about people who wear a lot of makeup. Nina dragged me out to vent and then all but swore she wouldn’t talk to him again. But now this.” Jesper rolled his eyes.
“Something else must have happened between now and then,” Wylan suggested. Jesper nodded, shivering as they hit the front doors and exited the warm building. His thin corduroy jacket had maybe been a tad optimistic about Ketterdam’s February weather.
“Must have, otherwise she wouldn’t have gone quietly.”
“She seemed pretty miffed last week.”
“She was.”
Jesper turned to look sidelong at Wylan. “You know, I never actually found out what you study.”
Wylan smiled, the apples of his cheeks casting shadows down his jaw as they moved through a street lamp’s pool of light. In his knitted jumper and puffy coat, collar peeking out of the top, he made an adorable sight. “Music. Second year.”
“That makes sense.”
“How about you?”
“Civil engineering.” Jesper pulled a face.
“Do you not like it?” Wylan asked, genuine curiosity in his voice with a hint of sympathy.
“It’s complicated.” Jesper filled him in on his difficulties concentrating on the bland course material, how he had largely picked it to impress his Da and his dead Ma, but he skated over his struggle with gambling addiction and how the AmDram Society had helped him manage it. Past experience had taught him that while oversharing often felt good in the moment, it didn’t actually bond friendships quicker. It just left those who’d wish to hurt you with more ammunition.
Wylan was attentive, asking questions to which Jesper sensed he wanted real answers. They had sat down with their pints – Old Mout and Fosters once again – before Jesper turned the conversation around to Wylan and music.
The other boy was clearly not comfortable discussing some aspects of why he had come here. It took a few minutes of gentle prodding before he explained about his terrible Dyslexia and family pressures, his new stepmother and trying to avoid being cut off from his father until he found his mother.
Jesper concentrated as hard as he could, swearing to himself that he would not forget these details. His blood boiled that Wylan’s father could be so despicable. It was difficult not to let too much of that anger through, but Wylan looked so shaken up by the whole affair that Jesper knew he didn’t need bluster at this moment, he needed soft comfort. He gave what he could, even reaching out to touch the other boy’s hand. Wylan let Jesper’s fingers stay resting on his hand and it felt like a triumph.
At least, they stayed there until the two of them were joined by some violinists and trumpeters and changed the conversation to lighter topics. There were many jokes to be made and anecdotes to be told, and without noticing, several pints went down and the bell was ringing for last orders. Jesper shook his head, trying to shake a little sobriety into himself; he had lost himself in the conversations and the laughter and totally ignored the time, but the thought of his impending deadlines dampened his spirits.
Everyone agreed to wind it down and finish up. Wylan leaned over to Jesper, his fingers curled around his drink and his face flushed a pleasant pink. “Do you want to come back to mine for some board games? We could get a Chinese on the way back.”
“I – God, I really wish I could,” Jesper said wistfully, twisting his hands together, his gaze jumping all over the room as guilt coursed through him. Why had he not somehow forced himself to do more on these assignments? “But I promised my Da I’d pass this semester, and I have deadlines on Wednesday –”
“No worries,” Wylan said hurriedly. “It’s okay, I get it. Final year must be rough.”
“Eh. Not as rough as second year, having to do it twice,” Jesper muttered, rubbing his neck in awkwardness.
Wylan pulled a sympathetic face. “It sounds like that sucked.”
“Yeah.” He paused, examining Wylan’s disappointed shoulder slump before saying all in a rush, “Why don’t you come over to mine before rehearsal next week, instead?”
Wylan looked up quickly. “Really? Where d’you live?”
“Herbert Street, near the big Spar.”
Wylan looked a little crestfallen. “I don’t think I can make it over that way after my seminar and before rehearsal.”
“Oh. Damn.” Jesper paused. “Where do you live?”
“Elyn street. Near the music school.”
“I could come to yours from the Engineering Building and then we can head to the theatre after that?”
Wylan’s answering grin was as gorgeous as the sun breaking out from behind the clouds and it stole Jesper’s breath away.
Jesper had pulled an all-nighter and skipped a class to get his projects in on time, and despite catching some sleep on Wednesday night, he still felt a little drunk from tiredness when he knocked on 136 Elyn Street the following week. He and Wylan had been messaging on and off all week, but would the closeness they were developing digitally overflow into real life?
A short girl with a long dark braid answered the door looking a little surprised. “You’re here for Wylan?” she asked, gracefully moving around him to shut the door. Jesper stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled widely.
“Yep.”
“Jesper?” Wylan appeared at the top of the stairs and strolled down with a smile, breaking eye contact with Jesper to nod at his housemate. “Thanks, Inej.”
“Do you want tea?” she asked, looking between them.
“Please,” Jesper said, toeing off his battered vans and slinging his patchwork jacket on the end of the bannisters.
“I can sort it,” Wylan said easily. “I think the living room’s full of wet clothes, and it smells a bit mouldy at the best of times, so just head up the stairs. I’m the first room on the left.”
“Didn’t realise it would be that easy to get to your bedroom,” Jesper joked. He winced slightly immediately after – he hadn’t been able to help himself, slipping straight back into their jokey messaging style – but Wylan looked amused and his housemate just rolled her eyes.
“I’ll bring it up in a second,” he said. “Milk, sugar…?”
“Yes. And one, please.” Wylan and Inej disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Jesper to climb the stairs. Their house was a classic student design: Magnolia paint on the walls, reddish-brown carpet squashed thin from decades of feet, and identical bedroom doors all thin and covered with a fake-wood vinyl. Jesper cautiously let himself into the first room on the left, which did indeed look like Wylan’s bedroom. There was a music stand in the corner beside the window, shedding sheets of music. His flute lay on the white-wood desk beside it, where a laptop lay open, a headset and mic abandoned next to it.
The walls were magnolia in here too, the shelves tidy. Jesper wandered over to the desk and skimmed the many pages of sheet music there, startling as he realised several were hand-written. They must be Wylan’s compositions. He picked up the topmost one, reading the title: Four Alys. The one beneath: Sonnatta in D. Then the one below that, half-complete with many scribblings-out and symbols in different colours over it: Four J.
Jesper frowned, scanning the music. It didn’t look to be in four parts, or in 4/4, so why was it ‘four’?
Four J. Four J…
For J. Wylan had said he was terribly dyslexic, hadn’t he?
And here he was, writing music for… Joost? It had to be. He’d used J because he couldn’t spell the other man’s name, most likely. It wasn’t intuitive, the spelling of Joost – not like Jesper.
A bolt of jealousy ran through Jesper so hard and strong that he accidentally bit his lip. He forced himself to drop the sheet of paper and move away from the desk, his mind whirling through a thousand insubstantial ideas and thoughts he could no sooner grab than understand. He was pulsing with disappointment, with anger, with pain and hurt.
He had thought they might be getting somewhere. He had thought Wylan liked him like that . But once again, his brain must have lied – he had thought Wylan’s friendliness might mean they could build something together for once. Jesper had been so, so careful to do things by the book, courting the other boy as delicately as he deserved. He had wanted to prove he could play the part of someone who was worthy of being more than a friend with benefits or comic relief.
It hadn’t worked. Once again, he was doomed to be the side character in his own life and his own endeavours. There would be no happily-ever-after chorus dance scene for Jesper, not today.
His ears felt like they were ringing over the sound of Wylan clanking a teaspoon against the mugs in the kitchen below. He would have to be a good friend, pretend he’d seen nothing. Pretend his heart hadn’t been ripped out and stamped on in the space of several seconds. Jesper was a good actor, but was he that good?
He could hear Wylan coming up the stairs so Jesper perched himself on the end of the neatly-made bed, crinkling the stripy blue sheets beneath his hands and taking deep breaths. By the time Wylan pushed the door open with his hip, two cups of tea in hand, Jesper had painted on a passable impression of a smile.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the tea and taking a scalding gulp as the flautist settled in the desk chair and blew on his own mug.
“No problem.” Wylan hesitated, taking a tentative sip. “How was your day?”
“Yeah. Good.” Jesper sternly reminded himself to perk up. He took a fortifying sip of tea before grinning and spinning a yarn about someone in his seminar presenting about a well where they’d not correctly calculated the depth of the water table and the professor’s scathing remarks. Wylan laughed along, countering with his own tales of making terrible squeaks with his flute when he was very nervous and somehow snapping a harp string when he was still a beginner at his second instrument.
It was everything Jesper could do to keep himself from making a comment about how Wylan was still an angel, broken harp or no. He was trying his hardest to scrub the flirtiness from himself, but so much of the Jesper charm was woven through with it. Still, he supposed it didn’t matter: Wylan was writing music for someone else. If he noticed the little flirtations, he wouldn’t reciprocate.
It was painfully easy to while away the time in conversation and forget about what he’d seen, though. Jesper lost himself in conversation and it was Wylan who realised they were going to be late to rehearsal if they didn’t peg it. Jesper’s heart sank as they shoved on jackets and shoes before hurrying to the performing arts building – well, Wylan hurried, and Jesper’s regular length strides matched his speed.
Nina cut him a wide-eyed look when they entered together, which Jesper studiedly ignored throughout rehearsal. It was only when he declined the pub on both their behalves when Matthias asked them again after rehearsal that Nina started sending him worried looks instead.
It was amazing that Matthias had managed to get hold of them at all, considering Jesper had made such a quick beeline for the exit after rehearsal, but he was foiled by his concern for Nina and hung around in the lobby for her, which was where Matthias and Nina found him. The quick dismissal and exit from Jesper was tempered by her pulling an apologetic face towards the rugby player. Frankly, Jesper thought, he hadn’t heard anything yet from his friend that would make him trust she hadn’t made a terrible mistake getting into a situationship with this man: the last she had told him was Matthias’ indictment against make-up. Yet here they were, considering going to the pub together again. Something had clearly changed for Nina.
Today, she was as good a friend as he had been a few weeks before and ran after him down the steps into the cold without a backwards glance. “Jesper!” she called, but he ignored her. He wasn’t in the mood to explain his romantic failures when his heart hurt so. He hadn’t been able to ignore those coppery curls bobbing away throughout the session, the silver flash of his flute in the low lights, the orchestra and actors working together today to practice the dance numbers. He wanted to banish Wylan from his mind, but he simply could not.
“Jesper,” she said again, huffing as she ran up to his side. He didn’t look at her – a slightly mean move, but he wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Nina jabbed him in the side with her elbow in response. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Since when were you and Mr. ‘Smell-Farts’ going to the pub together?” he countered. Nina made a noise of discontent beside him.
“Since he apologised to me outside the emergency department on Saturday. Apparently his sisters made him see he was a prime idiot.” Jesper made a noncommittal sound and Nina shot him a sideways glance. “Now will you tell me what’s happened?”
Jesper sighed, making eye contact with her at last. “I thought things were going well with Wylan. I went over to his for tea today. But… I found a song he’s written for someone else.”
“For someone else?” Nina frowned, pausing at the traffic lights as the cars raced past. “Are you sure?”
“It says For J at the top.” Jesper paused. “Actually, it says four like the number four, but he’s very dyslexic.”
Nina stared at him as if he had announced Wylan had a second head. “And who, exactly, do you think Wylan is writing music for, if not you?”
“Why would he write J instead of Jesper ?” he countered miserably. “It has to be Joost. They’re so… close.”
“Wylan is polite to that annoying boy,” Nina corrected as the green man lit up. They stepped into the road together, long strides in sync. “He’s smitten with you, Jesper.”
Jesper’s heart jumped but he tried to calm it again. He couldn’t hold onto hope and see it destroyed, not again. He knew himself too well: each new intense crush had always ended with the other person dropping him again. The only one who’d kept him around was Kaz, and they were not the epitome of a healthy relationship, even as friends.
Jesper sighed. “I just don’t think it’s meant to be, Neens.”
She frowned, but didn’t push the matter. He knew she wouldn't drop it, though. Nina had the memory and attitude of a Staffordshire Bull Terrier – fiercely loyal and loving to her core.
Jesper didn’t initiate any messaging with Wylan over the following week, only talking when the other boy started up a conversation. He spent the whole time agonised between his fledgling hope and his crushing realism. He arrived late to rehearsal the following week, drawing tutting from Zoya and the gaze of the second-desk flautist, but he avoided both of them. Even Nadia told him he wasn’t performing with his usual level of charisma, an accusation that hurt more than he cared to admit.
When the rehearsal was over, Jesper pulled his hood up, sidestepping Nina as she rolled her eyes at something Matthias said, intent on heading straight home. He would be able to count on Kaz for a rude word to shake him from this reverie and distraction in the form of video games or money-making schemes. He was halted by a hand lightly grasping his elbow, his entire body going strangely taught and loose at once from that single touch. He spun, knowing exactly who he would come face to face with.
Sure enough, Wylan stood in front of him, his hands twisting together and a nervous expression on his face. “Hey,” he started, a little breathless. “Can I… show you something?”
Jesper blinked. “I – of course.” The words were out before he had a chance to contemplate them.
“Great.” Wylan smiled widely. “Just let me grab my stuff.”
Jesper waited by the front doors, ignoring Nina’s pointed looks towards him. The other boy reappeared a moment later, leading him towards some stairs and then along a corridor, deep into the performing arts building. He was ushered into a small, brightly-lit practice room where Wylan pulled a chair into the middle and set out two sheets of music on the stand.
“What are we doing?” Jesper asked apprehensively, looking around the room at the mirrors that reflected them to infinity then out of the window to the dark city beyond.
“I wrote something,” Wylan said in a rush, “and I need you to hear it.”
“What are you –?” Jesper began, but Wylan gave him a little push backwards into the chair.
“Just listen,” he insisted. Then he walked to his music, brought the flute to his lips, and began to play.
And oh, how Jesper listened. It was a sweet melody, lilting and longing, and Jesper found himself caught up in the beauty of it. He marvelled at how Wylan could write something like this, so full of emotion and beauty, and how beautifully he played it too. The room rang with Wylan’s music for several minutes until they were wrapped in stars, the sound transporting Jesper to a world where it was just the two of them.
By the time Wylan finished on one long, pure note of hope, Jesper thought he might fly out of his skin from the tension. Was this what he hoped it was? Was it really for him? A love letter, by way of music – a love song, in fact?
Wylan lowered the flute from his lips and finally looked at him. Jesper could not drop the other boy’s gaze, his heart thrumming wildly.
“What did you think?” Wylan asked, a little breathily.
“I loved it,” Jesper said, emotion catching in his voice. He pushed to his feet and walked to Wylan, stopping next to his music stand, a bare foot from the musician. “I loved it,” he repeated. Wylan held his gaze, his expression full of hope, and a giddy smile broke over Jesper’s face.
With his flute still held in one hand, Wylan leaned forward and kissed him.
It was every swooping melody from the music he’d just heard. It made his heart dance and his nerves sing. Jesper wrapped his arms around Wylan, one hand threading through the gorgeous hair he’d been watching for weeks, and lost himself in the play of lips and tongue and Wylan.
“So it wasn’t for Joost, then,” was the first thing Jesper said, dazed, when they eventually drew back. A moment later, he wanted to smack himself. How could he bring that up when he’d just had the best kiss of his life? Fortunately, Wylan just laughed.
“Definitely not for Joost,” he said, and Jesper placed several kisses on his forehead, causing Wylan’s eyes to drift closed briefly. Jesper cupped the other boy’s face with both hands and grinned down at him.
“Good,” he murmured, and leaned in to kiss Wylan again.
The Sound of Music sold out one of its four shows two months later, and Zoya declare that a success. The cast and orchestra celebrated their moderately positive reviews after the final show in The Ferolind before moving to a fancy bar in town, The Little Palace .
“The Kerch AmDram Review online mentioned me!” Jesper crowed over their fourth round, dancing his shoulders in celebration as Nina, Matthias and some of their friends gave supportive cheers.
“Someone finally noticed the star of the show!” Wylan enthused, half-joking. Jesper rolled his eyes but pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss on top of his head before reading it out.
“They say that, ‘The choice of a black Rolf was certainly interesting, and added a layer of modernity to Leisl’s plight.’ Um… oh, nothing else about me making a great Nazi.”
“Probably for the best,” Wylan said lightly. Nina nodded emphatically, winding Matthias’ arm around her shoulders as she snuggled into him. He smiled down at her fondly.
Wylan twisted around suddenly, so Jesper followed, finding Joost holding out a cider for Wylan. The other boy awkwardly said, “Congratulations on the great show,” before disappearing back to his table of woodwindists. Jesper snagged the bottle and took a gulp before Wylan could have it, causing his boyfriend to laugh and poke him in consternation.
“Rude,” he told Jesper.
Jesper winked. “You’ve got me hooked. Besides, if I upset you, I’ll have to write you a song in recompense.”
Wylan nodded thoughtfully. “Deal.”
He wouldn’t be letting his flautist get away any time soon. He knew how lucky he was to have fallen in love with the best person he knew. Jesper wound their hands together, bringing Wylan’s knuckles up for a quick kiss, before turning back to their friends.