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moonlight washes the city as i saunter down the barren street with only one destination in mind. the streetlamps glow yellow, creating a utopian blend of colour and the still puddles on the stone create portals to other worlds. the aegean sky is flecked with ivory as the constellation of libra twinkles over my head.
even from around the corner, the mellifluous piano of the 'chopin' bar swirls thickly like oil paint in the night atmosphere and i'm drawn nearer to the vibrant canary walls, accented by ivory quartz and guarded by the antique busts of greco-roman gods. it's fairly busy tonight, which eases the gnawing in my stomach ever so slightly as i step through the open patio door and into the thick of the sluggish ambience.
i overhear someone ordering a pint of lager and so i do the same, despite my distaste for alcohol, and find an empty table by the centrepiece of the entire property. the raised stage, barely six feet in width, creaks under the weight of the ebony grand piano it holds up to the flaxen spotlight. there's not a scratch on the pristine walnut wood and every key has been polished to perfection. as the rich notes of the piece dull the senses, i take a sip of my drink and focus my gaze on the commander of the black-and-white beast.
his slim fingers slide deftly over the keys as if it were his second nature to play debussy. the porcelain skin trails up strong arms, hidden by a simple maroon sweater, and i follow the skilled movements past his sharp jawline and over the expanse of his high cheekbones up to his tidily styled platinum fringe before drifting back down and settling on his paralysing gaze and the sable eyes that dance over the keys, following the rhythm of his fingers. they dart frantically, unable to rest on one place, until the song ends and the pianist looks into the crowd with a stoic expression. i join in on the polite applause and grimace slightly at the new pop filtering through the speakers instead. the spotlight dims but i watch the outline of the boy stand up, significantly shorter than the supposed manager of this bar that he was talking to.
the pianist strides over to the bar, where a drink has already been set out for him to grab with the same fingers that drew such harmonic sounds from the ivory keys and i watch with mild interest as he disappears through to the balcony.
i wait a few moments before slipping out of my chair and heading in the direction of the men's bathroom before turning the other way and making my way up to the balcony too. i can see him as i climb the cold metal stairs, the wind breezing through his buttermilk fringe; he's leaning on the rust-covered railing, carelessly holding his glass over the side and above a twelve feet drop. the moon illuminates his pore-less skin and my fingers twitch in the pocket of my plum coat.
"you play beautifully."
my voice doesn't startle him, though i'm sure i was absolutely silent in my approach. at first, i assume he didn't hear me, judging by the lack of change in his body language, but then he hums a thank you and downs almost half of his drink.
"i'm impressed with the way you made it your own song. have you played for long?" i ask quietly, standing beside him on the balcony and basking in the moonlight.
"ever since i could crawl. my parents really wanted a musical child. to honour my grandmother."
with my chin in the palm of my hand, i shift my attention over to him; he's already staring straight at me but blinks and darts his eyes away in embarrassment.
