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Wylan woke up early.
It was less of an accident and more of a ritual now, something he’d gotten used to after years of it happening again and again.
He flipped over to his left side with a sigh. The digital clock on the nightstand said 4:55 am. That was about six hours before the man beside him would even barely begin to stir.
Rolling back to his other side as quietly as possible, he couldn’t stop his heart from soaring. It didn’t feel real; waking up in an apartment overlooking New York City, next to none other than Jesper Fahey, was like a dream come true.
In sleep, Jesper was impossibly relaxed. The crease normally found between his dark eyebrows was smoothed clean, his dusty brown face perfectly still. His eyelids fluttered as he dreamt, his dark lashes long and beautiful like a doll’s. A few coils of his dark hair fell into his eyes. Wylan smiled softly to himself, reaching out with a pale hand to just barely brush the hairs out of Jesper’s eyes. Jesper didn’t stir, his breathing steady and constant.
Careful not to wake up Jesper, Wylan pressed a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead before slipping out of the warmth of the duvet and into the hallway.
He closed the door to Jesper’s bedroom as he stepped onto the cold hall floor, shivering slightly. It was cold in Jesper’s apartment, and Wylan was wearing thin clothes.
He hadn’t planned on spending the night. Actually, Wylan was walking out the door to go to his own apartment when Jesper had suggested he stay. And who was Wylan to argue?
Now, Wylan was in some of Jesper’s old clothes: a plain black t-shirt that hung loosely on his thin frame, and worn gray sweatpants. The clothes were comically large, as Jesper was a good deal taller than Wylan, and a bit broader. Nonetheless, they made for comfortable sleepwear.
Plus, they smelled like Jesper, which was an added bonus.
Treading silently on his tiptoes, Wylan explored Jesper’s apartment. He’d been here a few times before, but not long enough to get a good look around. Most of his time was spent in Jesper’s bedroom anyways. The thought brought a dusting of pink to Wylan’s cheeks.
Wylan felt his way in the dark, his hands grazing the wall for support. It was nearly pitch-black, as the sun had yet to rise. Wylan trusted his hands to guide him as he walked the steps carefully, relying on his near-perfect memory of the apartment’s layout.
With satisfaction, he made it to the kitchen area. He flipped on the light switch, and the kerosene-style hanging lamps above the island began to glow with a warm luminescence. Jesper’s apartment was modern yet rustic, adorned with smooth wood panels and antique furniture he’d repurposed himself.
Jesper had a way with crafting. Whether it was wood products, machinery, weaponry, or even some impossible DIY furniture from IKEA, Jesper could build it. It was like he knew some secret language, some hidden message, that told him how to turn the drabbest piece of junk into a masterpiece.
Jesper owned and worked an antique shop, and every so often he would bring home random bric-a-brac to fix up. One time, there was an old-fashioned record player that had sat on the store’s shelf for months. Jesper brought it home and made it into one of the most beautiful things Wylan had ever seen. It would be worth almost a thousand dollars now, but when he’d bought it? Maybe $10.
Wylan smiled to himself as he flitted silently around the kitchen. He pulled out the coffee machine, filled the thing with water, popped a coffee pod into it, and then began to make a pot of coffee. The machine whirred noisily, but Wylan knew it wasn’t enough to wake Jesper.
While the coffee was being made, Wylan decided to explore. The apartment wasn’t huge, but he hadn’t seen all of the nooks and crannies.
When you first entered the apartment, there was a nice sunken living room with antique chairs, a lounge couch, an old repurposed box TV, and a flatscreen with many different game consoles hooked up. Across from that was the small but effective kitchen. From there, a hallway branched to the right and to the left; the right led to Jesper’s room and bathroom. To the left? Wylan was about to find out.
He turned on the lights for the leftmost hallway and found it led to a single door. Storage, perhaps? Or a pantry?
Wylan knew he shouldn’t be snooping around, but his curiosity got the better of him. His hand enclosed around the antique doorknob (Jesper had a bit of an obsession with antique things) and the door opened.
It was a small room, smelling heavily of wood and stale air. The floor was coated in a thin layer of sawdust, and Wylan was instantly overwhelmed by the mess.
There were bookshelves crammed with junk, their shelves bowing under the weight of what they held. Stacks of crates in the corner promised more and more oddities, and a closet in the wall was barely cracked to reveal — not to Wylan’s surprise — antiquities. Mounts on the wall displayed old-fashioned firearms, rifles, revolvers, and even a few bows. There were other things in the room as well: a desk covered in scraps of paper, all presenting some new piece of woodwork from Jesper; a tablesaw shoved into the corner next to a huge stack of logs; and, almost in the direct middle of the room, a gorgeous stand-up piano.
Flicking on the lights, Wylan couldn’t help but gawk. The piano was one of the most incredible he’d ever seen; it was made of soft spruce, polished to a shine, and as Wylan lifted the fallboard, he determined the keys were made of antique ivory. This piano was old (ivory keys hadn’t been made since the 1970s) and therefore highly expensive.
Wylan couldn’t stop himself from sitting on the bench underneath, letting his hands grace the yellowed surface of the piano’s worn keys. Wylan could barely see the piano’s manufacturer; it was written in an old, mostly-faded dancing script. He couldn’t wrap his head around how much this piano must be worth.
Glancing at the door, Wylan decided there was no way Jesper could hear him from the other room. Slowly, he closed his eyes and began to play.
The song poured from his soul, down his arms and into his fingertips. Music was and always had been Wylan’s escape, written in a language he could read and understand. He found himself floating above, barely there as his fingers played the pattern they’d memorized long ago. Wylan was playing his favorite classical piece, Clair de Lune.
He played and played, unaware of how much time was passing. He played as the city below began to stir. He played as sunlight pierced through the blinds of the window nearby. He played and played and played, and then he stopped.
His eyes still closed, Wylan let his fingers linger on the keys for a moment, relishing the echo of the music’s presence, that final note. When his eyes opened again, he heard a loud slurping sound from nearby
He whipped towards the door and almost fell off his chair. Jesper was leaning against the doorframe, dressed in only gray sweatpants, a cup of steaming coffee pressed to his lips. His chest was completely bare, and his hair was delightfully tousled.
“G’morning, love,” Jesper said with a grin, his voice rumbling low from sleep. “I see you found your birthday present early.”