Taylor's POV

As I play the wrong note for the seventh time in a row, I wonder if smashing my head on the piano would be an acceptable concert piece. Surely, I could twist my tutor's arm and say it's abstract or some other bullshit? A reflection of the state of the world, or something?

Groaning, I force myself to try again. At this point, I don't even look at the music sheet in front of me — the notes are burned into the back of my eyelids, visible like the black spots in your vision after looking at a light for too long. Come on, Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran shouldn't be this hard. You've learned easier songs.

Just like the previous seven times, my finger presses on the wrong key, sending an out-of-place note into the air of the theatre room. The thought of tearing the pages up and slamming the piano cover on my fingers crosses my mind. What do I need fingers for, anyway? If I can't play this, then I'm clearly not as gifted as everyone else says I am.

Nope. Not going down that mental path. Come on, find something else. I can see Mindy's disapproving face expression from her stupid therapist chair, looking down on me with her stupid librarian-looking glasses. 'Remind yourself that you're worthy. If you focus on the bad, you're only going to see the bad.'

I fold the music sheet and put it away in my bag. The stagelights of the theatre catch on my analogue watch. I check the time. Where the hell is Darko?

Whatever, he's probably just running late.

Flicking through my notes, I look for something that I can actually play. My hand freezes as I find a scrunched-up piece. It slips out of the plastic sleeve with ease, despite it looking like it would tear at the slightest touch.

I thought I threw this away.

Placing the parchment on the wooden lectern in front of me, I smile, hearing the hand-written tune play in my head. There's a wonky bar line at the beginning, some notes fill out more space on the lines than they should, and the treble clef looks more like an ampersand, but I still understand what my high-school self was trying to write. Note to self — your handwriting still looks this bad and you need to work on it.

Mindy, you're about to be so proud of me.

With a soft crack in my knuckles, I place the pads of my fingers on the instrument's worn-down keys. I adjust myself on the backless leather stool I'm sitting on and assume the position. Eyes on the parchment, I take a small breath.

My hands move together like ballroom dancers, my fingers tapping the black and white slabs in perfect sequence. They stretch apart as they fly from key to key, the blends of bass and treble notes enveloping me like a toasty, unexpected but welcome hug. A familiar warmth runs down my spine; right here, right now, there is nothing else in the world except me and this grand piano.

Instinctively, my throat starts to hum the notes of the lyrics written underneath the notes. My fingers pick up in tempo. I shut my eyes and start to sing.

Before I can belt out a whole line, the door to the theatre swings open. My voice and fingers halt as familiar-sounding footsteps make their way toward me.

"Hey," Darko says, a smile on his lips. Christ, about time.

Walking towards me through the aisle of chairs dominating the theatre, he holds the top of his backpack by his side, the adjustment straps dragging along the velvet-red carpet floor. I arch an eyebrow as he disappears backstage, before quickly reappearing with a chair in tow at the stage entrance.

"Glad you've decided to grace me with your presence. Anything either made of or covered in carbs in that backpack of yours?"

Chuckling, he pats his backpack, a sly grin forming at the corner of his mouth. "Am I stupid? Of course there is. Chocolate or chips?"

"What flavour are the chips?"

He snorts. "Sweet chili and sour cream."

"Ugh, fuck me UP. The chips, one hundred percent."

He tosses his backpack to me and I waste no time tearing the packet open. "I'll shout next week. God, I'm starving."

He nods at me, before reaching for the chocolate bar. We share a grin before Darko smiles at the piano. "What were you playing before I came in? It sounded wicked, have you played it before?"

I shake my head and wave a dismissive hand in the air, stashing the sheet back into my music book. No way he gets to hear it — the song is about him, after all. "It's just some old shit that I wrote in Year 10. Nothing to get excited over. I'll play something else. Beethoven?"

"Nah. Not in the mood for that. What was that Matt Maltese song you just got the hang of? Something about a cave? Y'know, the one song that that girl on TikTok did a cover of years ago and went viral from?"

Ah. "As the world caves in?"

He nods. As I dig through my music book to search for the sheets, he sits in the chair only to find that it's wobbly. He gets up, walks towards a stack of them and effortlessly lifts up a new one, my eyes trailing from his biceps peeking out of his muscle tank singlet down to the curve in his lower back.

When he followed his brother into a health science degree, Darko spared no time getting his body into shape. I'll admit, I found him cuter when he was a bit pudgy back in high school, but I am in no way complaining now.

I am looking at him respectfully. I promise. God, he's so hot...

He starts walking back and my eyes rise from his arms to his lips and thoughts of me getting up and kissing him fill my brain. Feeling my chest burst with warmth, I force my gaze away. You need to stop thinking about your best friend like that. He's straight. Don't be icky, Taylor.

"You awright, Tay?"

I snap back to reality. "Sorry, sorry. Was lost in thought. I'm ready."

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath in, refocusing on the task in front of me. You know he is straight. Rolling my wrists out onto the piano keys, I assume the position, but my mind soon wanders as my fingers automatically play the song.

It's hard being in love with your best friend. It's also a super cringey and cliché thing to say. Despite that, I'm not wrong. It's fucking difficult at best, and the epitome of a 10 car pile-up at worst.

I can't remember the details myself, but our friendship started in kindergarten. Mum had told me that I came home one day, animatedly talking about a boy named Darko that shared his Pringles with me and played with me in the sandpit. Darko also thought my glasses were cool which, in kid language, must have translated to me as 'he think's I'm cool'. He hasn't left my side since.

We hung out and had sleepovers basically every week all throughout my primary school years. Then, when high school rolled around, teenage-hood hit me like a bus filled with bricks down a steep hill.

Some changes were welcome — I got taller, musclier (only slightly, but still, I'm counting it) and my voice dropped an entire octave. It made my singing voice even better — I went from a shaky countertenor to an above average tenor (and a humble one, obviously). Facial hair sprouted too.

The biggest change was definitely the moment I realised I liked boys. I always knew that something was different, but high school made that very apparent.

Some people have their sexual awakenings in other ways; some crush on actors, some on models, some people realise their favourite singer is better than the song. Some discover their feelings by accident, like when you buy new underwear and catch yourself staring a little too long at the 'package' on the packaging. Mine was also by accident, but no underwear photos were involved. I wish, though.

Darko was waiting for me after class had finished and it just clicked. I remember looking at him and felt my heart shift. Something just changed.

I was mesmerised, but I brushed it off as me simply being excited to see him. The Gay™ kept happening for a few weeks; my eyes drifted down when he bent over to drink at a water fountain, his laugh made my stomach flutter, and it hurt to not be around him all the time. What really convinced me of my rapid onset homosexuality was at a pool party — I sat by the pool bleachers, watching him walk out of the pool. The water made his swimming trunks skin-tight. Like, I mean, Jesus.

After I began finding Darko attractive, I started noticing that other guys looked good too, and not in the 'his-hair-looks-nice' kind of way, but more like the 'I-really-maybe-want-to-kiss-his-lips' kind of way. Sure, other boys were cute, but Darko had my heart. By the end of Year 9, I was madly crushing on him. Now, in my final year of university, I am hopelessly, painfully, and pathetically in love with him.

My fingers begin to gain their strength, slowly but surely playing As the world caves in. Darko closes his eyes, swaying to the sounds I'm producing, a playful smile on his lips. He hums along to the notes he recognises. The world falls away.

His smooth, white, rose-tinged skin is perfectly illuminated by the stagelights. His thick, slightly unkempt eyebrows are curved like black swooping arches over his eyes. Black hair frames his face, cropped on the sides but longer and wavy on the top. His small, button nose compliments his wide forehead and jutting chin. People all over campus look twice.

But to me, his best feature is his eyes; like pale glimmering stars in a swatch of brilliant blue.

Reaching the end of the song, I play the final note. The notes cling to their air for as long as they can. Soon, the only sound is my breath, slightly elevated from the performance. Darko turns, looking at me with a small grin on his face.

"I don't know how you do that. You... you make it feel like nothing exists outside of this room. Wait, that sounded bad. I meant like, you just play things in such a special way. Wait, no that also-"

I cut him off with a chuckle. "I get what you're trying to say man. Thank you."

He smiles, and I think it's a bashful one. God, he's cute when he gets all flustered. He never knows how to compliment people, but points for trying.

"You know," I begin to say, "I could try teaching you again. That is, if motocross won't get in the way like it did last time."

He looks up, furrowing his brows. "That race was important, and you knew that!"

I put my hands up in resignation. "True, true, sorry. Plus, you did come first and win alotta money, so it was good you skipped your first and only lesson."

Darko folds his arms, and his tone is firm. "If you consider teaching me a song again, I promise I'll show up."

"I'll consider it."

His face lights up like a kid that's just been told they're going to Disneyland.

"I won't let you down, my good sir."

I physically cringe. Darko sees and cracks up laughing.

"You know I hate that nickname."

"I know, but I don't care."

I huff, rolling my eyes in a way that I hope he sees as good natured. I don't actually care, but it's fun protesting.

He's been calling me that since I got back from a hotel performance in Sydney. It was in this super fancy Victorian-style building — I showed Darko some pictures of the foyer and now he won't stop thinking I'm some posh, upper-class sir who played for the noble folk. I mean, there are worse ways he could tease me so I guess I should be grateful.

"Another song?" Darko requests. I snort.

"I swear, I'm like a human Spotify to you."

He taps his temple, smirking. "You're catching on. For a sec there, I thought you never would."

"Did you just call me stupid?"

He giggles. "Ah, so he's not just a pretty face. The boy has some great deduction skills."

My heart skips a beat – a pretty face? I know he didn't mean it that way, but still.

I sigh and shake my head at his quips and we share a laugh. Just as I think of another song to play, a thunderous crash sounds in the room as a figure throws the theatre doors open. There's a blur of brown, white, and orange, followed by a thud against the floor. Darko flinches at the noise. It's Mrs Lauriana.

She's on the floor, and paper is everywhere. Crap.

Darko and I spring out of our seats. Orange leaflets lay scattered on the floor, Darko picking them up as I check on Mrs Lauriana.

"Oof—thanks, boys," she says with an embarrassed smile. Jet-black curly hair sways as she moves to her seat, her face like an acorn both in colour and shape. Her conservative white dress pops against the deep bronze-brown of her skin. She's my favourite teacher, always smiling and being a warm welcome wherever she goes. At a glance, you couldn't tell that she has tween twins and is in her 50's.

If only she wasn't as clumsy as she was radiant.

The other day, she told me she had tripped on a step in front of the university and doused a student with iced coffee. That student, now lovingly nicknamed Cold Brew Conor by his classmates, now avoids her and the entire arts quarter like the plague.

"How are you, boys?" She asks, her voice warm.

"We're good," Darko and I say in unison by accident. I sheepishly grin.

"That's good! Concert practice sounds like it's going well. Have you ploughed through your snack stockpile yet? I'm starving."

I giggle, walking towards Darko's backpack onstage. "We still have some snacks. Chocolate bar or chips?"

"Oh, a chocolate bar would be lovely, thanks."

I toss her the snack, and she unwraps and takes a bite. Ever since I told Darko I'd be performing, he's been in here with me every single practice session, making sure I'm all snacked up.

"Oh, by the way," Mrs Lauriana says, "I've approved your assessment extension. Thanks for letting me know early on that you were having some trouble."

Darko looks at me. "Trouble?"

I swallow. Shrugging, I slip my fingers into my jacket's front pockets. "Don't worry about it."

He goes to say something, but Mrs Lauriana interrupts us. She's checking her watch. "You two should be heading home soon. An evening class will be in here in a few minutes to use the room."

"Okay. My bus will be at here soon anyway," I say. Darko arches an eyebrow at me.

"Bus? What happened to your car?"

"Ana's servicing it. Was making a weird noise yesterday, so thought best to be safe than sorry."

Darko scoffs. "It's just a noise, could have been nothing. Would have been much safer than the bus, anyway."

I shuffle on my feet uncomfortably. Darko doesn't notice.

"Plus, you just got back into driving. You won't get more confident behind the wheel if—"

I shoot him a knowing look, and whatever thought he was about to say died on his tongue.

"S-sorry. I forgot."

Great, now it's awkward. Like, yeah, I'm glad Darko's looking out for me, but it's true. My car was making a weird noise. Sure, the thought of taking the bus filled me with relief, but I can drive. I can.

Darko and I see a few people start to congregate outside the theatre doors, so we pack our things and say our goodbye to Mrs Lauriana. After a quick and slightly awkward hug, we head our separate ways.

#

The bus rolls to a stop in front of me, the two folding doors opening with a dull creak. Thank fuck – the thick blanket of clouds overhead were looking dangerously dark and grey.

Tapping my bus card on the 'tag on' machine, I offer a weak smile to the bus driver, who greets me with a tired nod and a half smile. Feeling eyes fall on me, I hustle to the back of the bus just as the vehicle starts to move. I stumble, but recover.

Sitting on one of the dusty seats, I look out the window, making myself look as uninteresting as possible. I've always found it easy to shrink into the background. I feel invisible. Alone. Most of the time, that's a good thing.

As we hit a set of traffic lights, the glass begins to pearl with green, red and yellow raindrops as they reflect their surroundings. Damn, now I want a hot chocolate.

I put my earbuds in, hitting shuffle. Inside the bus is a cosy mixture of bored and restless people. Some read books, watch passersby with earbuds in, or sit, texting. A little boy is sitting at the very front seat with his mother, the latter shushing her child's shrill voice. A south-east Asian man with a briefcase is snoring in the very back of the bus, probably exhausted from work. Judging from his soul-sucked face and the hunch in his back, he works in a boring office doing boring work.

I see myself in his face and I shudder; if my music career doesn't pan out, I'll probably turn into that guy. Greying facial hair and all.

I start to drift. I up the volume of whatever Fleetwood Mac song is playing, Little Lies I think, and shut my eyes, leaning my head against the glass.

Maybe I was too harsh on Darko. He was just trying to show concern. The buses around here are generally safe, but the further out you get from Perth ciy's surrounding metro areas, the more crazies get on the bus.

I'll be fine, this ain't my first bus ride. He has nothing to worry about.

My phone vibrates in my palm, jolting my eyes open. I lift it up. Ana's messaged me.

Are you on your way home yet? FYI, your car's fixed. Mum's also already drunk herself to sleep. Any chance you could stop by the shops? Out of the essentials, I'm in the mood to do some baking.

"Didn't you just bake — and eat to yourself — a dozen blueberry muffins?" I mumble to myself, annoyed. She could afford to not indulge for a little bit.

Thanks for fixing my car. What was wrong with it? And, sorry, already passed the shops. Be home soon.

As I hit send, Darko's name appears. My heart flicks. He's messaged me too.

u free later tonight, by any chance?

I catch myself smiling. Glad the awkwardness from before is gone.

Hey to you too — and yeah, should be. Why? What's up?

As I read his message, I glance up to see my stop approaching. I alert the driver as I unplug my headphones and sling my bag over my shoulder. I waste no time rushing to the back door, waiting for the bus to stop, while desperately trying to avoid making eye contact with anybody.

I'm home alone n super bored. Stefan's out with his mates, mum n dad are out at a dinner, so I'll have the house to myself. Don't wanna spend the night alone (no homo). I could come to urs if that's easier?

I smile at the thought of spending more time with Darko, then cringe. No homo - really? I swear he's the only straight guy that uses that term. Then again, I don't exactly hang around a lot of straight guys... or guys in general. Unless you count the douchebags in my class. Actually, I do hear them say it every now and then. They're worse than the sport kids when I was in high school.

The bus rolls to a stop. I get off. My phone vibrates as I step into a muddy puddle. At least the rain's let up. Hope I can make it home before it starts again.

Nah, that's all good. I'll swing by after dinner.

Fishing through my bag, I walk up the veranda, producing my house keys. My phone pings again.

Fcuk yeah. I'll get the couch ready. Hope the bus ride was safe, btw. Srry bout before.

His spelling makes me mentally cringe. Even so, I find myself smiling as I insert the key in the lock.

It's okay. The bus ride was good. I made it home safe. 

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*nervous author noises*

What did you all think? Really keen to hear your thoughts on the first chapter. Next one will be up in a few days! 😁 or earlier, if this gets lots of attention and people demand it! haha. 

Best, 

Jacob S. x