Beneath The Surface

Chapter 12

Jamie

As soon as I step out of the bathroom, I lean against the door, totally confused.

That last remark... was so uncharacteristic of me.

I've never felt this way. It's almost overwhelming.

I love him so much. He was so gentle. And then, so rough.

I've never seen this side of him.

But I love it.

I love him.

The butterflies never seem to fade from my stomach. I shiver, my imagination giving me goosebumps.

☾

I walk into Adrien's room and grab an oversized t-shirt from his dresser. I pull it on over my head and it almost feels like a small tent. I laugh as the hem reaches just short of my knees.

I skip into the livingroom, filled with a random contentedness, probably attributed to being in love. I sit on the bench of Adrien's upright piano and slide my hands over the keys. I quickly get comfortable and begin to improvise a piece inspired by my emotions.

Key after key, chord after chord, the music quickly surrounds me and I feel the bass notes consuming me. I allow myself to get lost in the music, lost in thought.

And of course, all I can think about is him.

I tap my foot, subconsciously keeping the tempo.

I speed up and remind myself to keep my fingers relaxed.

A figure catches my eye peeking out from the hallway and my head snaps over, instinctively distracted. I hit a flat instead of a sharp and the whole piece falls apart.

I cringe at the sour note, cursing myself for not paying attention.

This is why you will never amount to anything.

I sigh, shutting my eyes tightly as my only defense against these thoughts. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers as my reoccurring headache returns.

"No, keep playing. I'm sorry, I'll go." Adrien turns away.

"Shut up and come here," I say, catching his arm before he can take another step.

He sighs and sits on the bench next to me.

"That was beautiful, Jay. You're so talented," he says, gazing at my face with his lovely green eyes.

I duck my head and blush, embarrassment overcoming what negativity filled my head before.

"T- thanks... w- why don't you play something, Ian?"

"I don't know how."

"How can you play all string and percussion instruments perfectly but can't play the mix? Okay, put your fingers here," I hold his hands over a congregation of three black keys.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"But I can't," he protests pitifully.

"Here," I line up my fingers over his.

I press down his fingers, playing a short melody.

He frowns and takes his hand back, wrapping it around my waist. I roll my eyes and continue to play quietly.

"What do you wanna do today?" He asks.

"Well since tomorrow's your birthday, you choose."

His eyes light up.