Archive of Our Own

Arthur watches as the tuner works on his piano, his fingers itching for the keys every time the man tests one. He knows he should leave the room and let the tuner do his job in peace, but he’s eager and he’s nervous. His piano has been in the hands of movers, and while they were very professional, he’s sure it’s been knocked around some. They’d moved it down the stairs from his old flat, into their truck, and then up the stairs at his new flat. He just needs to see and hear for himself that it hasn’t been ruined.

He should have spent more on better movers. Not that he’d been able to find anyone better recommended than the company he’d used, but still.

“All right.” The tuner finally turns to Arthur, giving the piano a fond little tap. “It’s all set.”

“No damage?” Arthur asks.

“Nothing a little tune-up couldn’t fix.”

Arthur exhales, relieved. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

The tuner packs up his things, and Arthur leads him to the door. As soon as he’s alone, he rushes back to his piano room and sits at the bench.

He runs his fingers over the keys lightly, not playing anything, just getting reacquainted. It’s been a while since he’s been able to play, what with the packing and unpacking and waiting for the tuning appointment.

It feels good to be back at it.

Arthur does a few scales to warm up, and it sounds rather good. The acoustics in the room aren’t bad, and the piano has a rich, warm tone to it, especially after being serviced. He plays through a few simple warmups before testing out a Brahms sonata.

He had just meant to play a bit of the first movement, to check the piano after its tuning, and then carry on with his evening plans of continuing to set up his new place. But one he starts, he doesn’t want to stop. He gets out the sheet music and plays through the entire sonata, taking his time with it. He’s seen a video of a woman playing the 40-minute piece with no sheet music, and he wonders how many times he’d have to play it to get to that point. He does know it well, but he still needs the sheet music to guide his way for the last two movements.

The room seems to expand as Arthur plays, filling up with the sound of the piano and turning from a spare bedroom into a magnificent concert hall. The floor becomes a stage, and Arthur is front and centre, playing for a captive audience. He hears the rapt silence between the sounds, feels the attention being paid to his every note. There are eyes on him, ears all trained on the music he is making, and there’s nowhere in the world he would rather be.

The piece arrives at its end, and Arthur comes back to himself, to his flat, as his fingers run out of notes to play.

He wants more. He wants more for himself, for his music, for his life.

But that will never happen, can never happen, and there is dinner to be had and unpacking to be done. He plays few unsatisfying scales before getting to his feet. He closes the fallboard, allowing himself a moment of wishful thinking for an alternate reality where his piano is the only thing he has to worry about, and leaves the room to continue on with his evening.

The next evening, Arthur’s sister comes over to see his new place. She brings wine and goes straight for his kitchen to pour herself some.

“Where are your glasses?” she asks after she’s opened every cupboard.

“Still in a box, I guess.”

Morgana tuts. “Priorities, Arthur.”

Arthur gets out regular cups and closes all his cupboards while she pours the wine.

“To your new home,” she says, cheerfully clinking her cup against his.

Arthur takes a drink. “Now that’s out of the way, would you like a tour?”

“Yes, please.”

Arthur brings her to the living room she had ignored on her way to the kitchen. He has his bookshelves set up, although half his books are still in boxes. He has the same sofa he’s had for years, the cushions well-worn but still perfectly comfortable. He’s got a table against one wall, three chairs pushed under it. Right now it’s stacked with boxes, but eventually he’ll be able to use it as his dining table.

The real highlight of the room is his turntable and records. He has hundreds of albums, his collection carefully curated.

Morgana glances over everything without interest. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.

Arthur brings her to the next room with his unmade bed and half-full boxes in every corner.

“A charming bachelor pad,” Morgana says.

“It’ll look nicer once I hang up all my art.”

“True. Where’s your prized possession?”

Arthur leads her into the second bedroom.

“Is this room bigger than yours?”

“Might be,” Arthur says.

Morgan rolls her eyes. “I’ll never understand why you gave up pursuing music. You deserve to be happy doing what you love.”

“I’m happy,” Arthur says. “I just got a huge promotion at work, what’s not to be happy about?”

Morgana gives him a look. She knows how much music means to Arthur. But he has to be realistic. It’s way too late for that sort of thing. So what if he think about music nearly non-stop, spends all his time playing, and has an unreasonable number of pieces memorised for no real reason? So what if every day of his job feels like a never-ending slog with the only light at the end of the tunnel the opportunity to go home and sit at his piano? He’s not good enough to play professionally, he never has been and never will be, and even if he were, he wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to begin at this point. He’s settled in his life. The money he gets from his job allowed him to buy this piano, after all, and his turntable and myriad records. That’s enough for him.

“You’re going to die miserable and alone if you continue down this path,” Morgana says.

That seems a little harsh, and it stings, but Arthur laughs it off. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Morgana smirks. “Go on, then. Play something.”

“Maybe after we eat,” Arthur says, and they both know he has no intention of playing for her. “What do you want to order?”

Morgana follows him back to his living room, where they argue over menus until finally deciding on Indian food.

Despite the lingering exhausting from moving and unpacking, Arthur works hard during the week. His job is mostly meetings, but he puts together extensive agendas, takes notes, delegates work, tries to come up with the big ideas he’s being paid to come up with. He’s always been good at his job, and the company treats him well in return.

When they promoted him recently, they nearly transferred him to their headquarters in Germany. Arthur had been able to negotiate staying in London, but it feels like his time left in the UK is limited. If he wants to stay with this company, he’s going to have to grow with the company, and that will likely mean giving up his home and moving to another country.

He’s safe for now, though. He’s still new in his current role, and they’ll give him time to settle in and prove himself before trying again to transfer him.

When the next weekend rolls around, Arthur spends his Saturday morning unpacking the last of his boxes. His new flat is starting to feel like a real home, and he can see himself staying here for quite a while, potentially until he has to leave London entirely.

After lunch, he settles at his piano to practise. He warms up before rifling through some sheet music. He decides on some Prokofiev, wanting to memorise more of that composer’s work and add it to his repertoire.

The music comes easily, the sound filling the room in a very satisfying way, and Arthur lets his mind go. He doesn’t think about the week he’s had or the boxes he needs to recycle or the reports he needs to review on Monday. He just plays, and the music seeps into all the cracks of his life and fills them with warmth.

After an hour or so, Arthur gets up to get a drink of water, and on his way back to the piano room he notices a piece of paper on the floor by his front door.

His heart sinks a little, and he thinks it’s probably a note from his new neighbour asking him to quit it with all the loud music. There’s one other flat on this floor, and Arthur had tried to introduce himself after he’d moved in, tried to warn his neighbour that there might be a bit of noise from his flat, but no one had answered the door when he’d knocked.

He picks up the paper and unfolds it.

Could you play Brahms’ Violin Sonata #3 in D minor, Op 108?

Arthur blinks down at the note. A request? That’s better than a telling off, at least.

He doesn’t like having an audience, though. He might fantasise about playing in concert halls, but in reality he only ever really plays for himself. He hasn’t played for anyone else in fifteen years. The thought of someone purposefully listening next door is unnerving.

Arthur tosses the note in the bin and spends the rest of the afternoon hiding in a book, avoiding his piano. He can’t play for another person. Part of him wants to move and find somewhere to live where no one will eavesdrop on his music. Part of him knows that’s unreasonable. Part of him almost misses playing for an audience. There are too many parts to him, and they war with each other as he reads.

In the end, he gives up on the book and goes back to his piano. He can’t stop playing. That’s not an option. He’s going to have to live with his neighbour listening in. And if he’s subjecting his neighbour to his frequent playing, he might as play something they like.

While the piano accompaniment for the sonata is something that Arthur supposes is pretty enough, it certainly isn’t meant to played on its own.

Why did his neighbour pick this piece? Maybe they had just looked it up at random on the internet and not realised it was meant more for the violin? They must not know very much about classical music.

Arthur goes back to the piano and looks through his collection of sheet music, but he doesn’t have that particular piece. He’s played it before, though, and he thinks he can remember at least the first movement.

He opens a video of a performance of the work on his mobile and listens to the opening, refreshing his memory. Yes, he can play this. It won’t be as nice without the violin, but maybe he can improvise with it to make it more exciting.

Arthur brushes his fingers over a few keys before starting up the piece.

He likes the opening, especially the piano part. It’s deep at first, slow and moody, but after a minute it picks up the pace. He imagines the violin part in his head, imagines someone playing along with him, imagines himself on a stage with some wonderful virtuoso.

Then, somehow, there is a violin. He can hear it, barely, over the music and through the wall, but it’s definitely there. His neighbour is playing with him.

He almost stops playing out of shock, but muscle memory keeps him going. His neighbour is a musician, too. What are the odds?

Arthur hasn’t played with anyone else in so long that it’s deeply uncomfortable at first. He has to worry about someone else’s tempo, and it’s difficult to navigate that through the walls. He itches to stop.

But it’s also, dare he admit it, enjoyable. It’s nice to have company in his music for once. He plays a bit quieter to hear the violin better, and they fall into a good tempo together.

It’s obvious from the start that whoever is playing is very talented. They play sort of sharply, which is an interesting choice given the music at hand, but Arthur grows to like it. It gives the piece more urgency, creates a certain mood.

They play through the first movement, and then Arthur has to stop because he doesn’t know the rest. His neighbour plays on, though, treating Arthur to a private show of the second movement.

It’s incredible. The player is so fluid, the tone so vivid, and the feeling coming through the walls makes the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stand on end. There’s so much passion in the performance, so much energy being conveyed, and all Arthur can do is sit and listen.

When it goes quiet, Arthur has to stop himself from applauding. He’s stunned. It’s very clear that wasn’t just some casual player joining in. That had been a true musician, a true artist.

Maybe his neighbour is actually a professional. In the short time he’s lived in this flat, he’s never heard them play before, but maybe they have a proper studio in their flat, with soundproofed walls and perfect acoustics. Or maybe they only rehearse with their orchestra, whoever it is they play with.

Jealously wells up in Arthur, which he knows is ridiculous, but he can’t stop it. It’s very, very possible that his next-door neighbour is out there, living his ideal life, probably mocking him for his subpar performance of the piece. How can he possibly think of himself as a musician when there’s a talent like that just on the other side of his wall?

He gets up, closes the piano fallboard, and leaves the room. He can’t bear to play anything else after that.

On Sunday, Arthur doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He feels that inevitable urge to play, that pull towards his piano, but how can he sit there and play knowing there’s someone so much better than him listening in?

He reads through the morning and early afternoon, and that helps to quiet the critic in his head enough that he ventures into his piano room.

So what if his neighbour is more talented? Arthur doesn’t play professionally. He doesn’t have to prove himself to anyone. He does this for fun, for the love of it, and he isn’t going to let some random violinist bring him down.

He sits to run his hands over the keys, debating what to play and ultimately deciding on a Rachmaninoff concerto.

As he goes through the piece, Arthur can’t help but think of his neighbour and how it might sound if they joined in. With a little distance, the memory of their duet is almost fun. He’d forgotten how nice it is to play with someone else. It really changes the experience and the sound, and Arthur finds himself wanting that again.

He plays the concerto in full, relishing in the sound and the feeling and the triumphant ending. It leaves him slightly breathless, and he closes his eyes against the silence that fills the room when he finishes.

He hopes his neighbour liked it.

Maybe they can play together again sometime.

Well, now is better than later. Arthur gets up to find a piece of paper and write down his request before he loses his nerve.

Let’s play Franck’s Sonata in A major

He goes out to the hall and slips the note under the door. He knocks once to draw attention to it but then slips back inside his own flat.

He gives it a few minutes, allowing his neighbour time to see the note and get out their violin. Then he arranges his sheet music and jumps in.

He plays the first 15 or so seconds of the piece, setting the tone, and then, beautifully, the violin joins him. The notes are full of longing, airy yet grounded. Arthur adjusts his tempo, playing his part slowly and dreamily, and they sound just as good together as he had remembered. Maybe they sound even better than that. There’s something about the barrier between them that makes the music more real, more desperate. They’re both trying to play loud enough to be heard yet quiet enough to hear the other. It’s a delicate dance, made all the more poignant by the romantic piece they’re working through.

Arthur wants to know who his neighbour is, wants to know who it is that can play with so much emotion and talent and range, wants to know who is inspiring him to push himself harder. He wants to play with the same breadth of passion, the same vigour, the same abandon.

They make their way through the whole piece, playing with each other for over 20 minutes before hitting the climax. The ringing silence in the wake of their music feels like a slap in the face. Arthur wants more, so much more.

He hurries out of his flat and knocks on his neighbour’s door.

There’s no response.

Whoever lives in the next flat doesn’t want to know him.

Arthur goes back to his piano room and closes the fallboard, done for the day.

Morgana comes over on Tuesday, mostly to be annoying but also to drop off a few records she’s bought. She doesn’t own a record player herself, but she likes picking out new music for Arthur.

Arthur puts the first album on, a well-known pop record, and Morgana looks sorely disappointed when he doesn’t have much of a reaction to the first track.

“You don’t like it?” she asks. She’s standing near his bookshelves, probably judging his taste in reading material.

“I like it fine,” Arthur says from his spot on the sofa. “I’ve heard it before.” Morgana looks surprised, so he adds, “I don’t live under a rock.”

“All you ever talk about is Chopin or whatever. How was I supposed to know?”

“Not Chopin. And you could have asked.”

Morgana waves a hand, dismissing the notion, and goes back to perusing his books.

Arthur lets another song finish before saying, “My neighbour’s a musician, too, turns out.”

“Oh?” Morgana doesn’t look away from the books.

“Violin. We’ve played some together, actually.”

“That’s an interesting development.” Morgana pulls a book off the shelf, reads the back cover, replaces it, and then comes over to sit next to him. “So you’ve met all your neighbours?”

“None of them yet, no.”

“How are you playing together if you haven’t met?”

“Well… we can hear each other,” Arthur says, and it sounds a little silly to say it out loud. “Through the walls.”

“You’re playing together through the walls,” Morgana says slowly. “Only you, Arthur.”

Arthur shrugs. “It’s nice. They’re really good.”

“You need a new hobby.”

“I don’t.”

“No, you do. If you’re not going to pursue music, then you need something else in your life.” She takes out her mobile. “Let me set you up.”

Arthur groans. She’s tried this before, on multiple occasions, and it’s never gone well. She always finds the most boring people for him to date. Men, women, it doesn’t matter. They seem to have very different tastes in people they like to spend their time with.

“My friend Mithian is single now,” Morgana says, ignoring his groan. “She’s really lovely. She likes music, too. You’ll hit it off just fine.”

Arthur knows perfectly well that ‘liking music’ is no guarantee of chemistry. Morgana hands over her mobile, showing him a photo of herself with another woman, presumably Mithian. She is very pretty, Arthur has to admit. And it has been a long time since he bothered trying to date anyone.

“Fine,” he says, giving Morgana back her mobile. “I’ll take her out for dinner or something.”

“Excellent. You won’t regret it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

When Friday finally rolls around, Arthur is very much second-guessing his decision to let Morgana set him up. He’s supposed to meet Mithian in an hour, and he’s full of nervous energy. He’s not sure he’s chosen the right thing to wear, and he would really rather just stay home and watch a film or read.

There’s still time before he has to leave, so Arthur sits at his piano to play. Maybe that will make him feel better. He picks the Rachmaninoff concerto he played last weekend, wanting something familiar.

He’s about five minutes into it when he hears his neighbour joining in. Grinning, Arthur leans into the music, loving the way they sound together. It’s almost like playing with a friend. A nameless, faceless friend, but a friend nonetheless.

He doesn’t have time to play the whole piece, though, so he stops after the second movement. The answering silence coming through the walls makes him feel empty. He wants to stay, to keep playing, to engage more with this mysterious violinist.

But he’s not going to abandon Mithian. He closes the fallboard and goes to get his jacket.

Mithian greets him outside the restaurant with a warm smile, and Arthur feels a little better about agreeing to this date.

“Morgana says you’re a musician?” Mithian asks once they’re seated inside.

“In my spare time.” Arthur glances over the menu. “Do you play anything?”

“I played flute when I was very small, but thankfully I don’t anymore. No one deserves to be subjected to that. You play piano?”

Arthur nods as their waiter arrives to take their drink orders.

“I wish I could play piano,” Mithian says when they’re alone again. “Or anything else, really.”

“It’s never too late to learn.”

She smiles at that. “Very true.”

They fall into silence, so Arthur asks about her job. She’s a teacher, although she tells him that one day she’d like to open a plant shop. She loves all sorts of plants, and she shows Arthur some pictures of ones she has in her flat.

It’s endearing and makes Arthur more comfortable opening up about his music when the conversation turns to that again, so he tells her about his piano and his record collection.

“Oh, I’d love to own a turntable one day. They’re so expensive, though. I bet yours sounds amazing.”

“It’s great. You should come over sometime and we can listen to something together.” It’s an easy suggestion to make after an evening of such pleasant and easy conversation.

Mithian looks pleased at the offer. “That would be great. I’d say next weekend, but I’m seeing a show. You can come if you like? I don’t know how you feel about live music.”

“What’s not to love about live music?”

She beams at him. “It’s my favourite thing to do. I’m not even that familiar with the band I’m seeing next week, I only know, like, two of their songs. But I go to shows every chance I get. They’re thrilling.”

“I haven’t been to a show in ages,” Arthur says.

“You should come. It’ll be fun.”

Arthur agrees, and they make plans to meet up the following Friday at the concert venue.

When Arthur gets home that night, he’s tired but happy in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. There’s something about Mithian, about the way she listens to him and opens up so easily. For once, by some miracle, Morgana finally got it right.

Arthur tidies up his flat on Saturday and then has to run some errands, but when he gets home he sits at his piano to practise.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for his neighbour to join in. They continue playing, piece after piece, Arthur always the one to chose and start them off, but the violinist has no trouble keeping up with the selection.

It goes on for hours. Arthur picks more difficult compositions later into the evening, but nothing seems to throw his neighbour. They’re more than proficient. Arthur is sure they’re a professional, or at least a retired one. Maybe it’s some world-famous soloist who just happens to live next door. Maybe it’s some pensioner who broke out their old violin when they heard Arthur playing. Maybe it’s fate that’s brought them together.

Arthur wants to go next door and meet them, but they’ve never answered any of his knocks, and he doesn’t want to be obnoxious about it. He can take a hint.

On Sunday, Arthur spends the morning reading on the sofa and listening to an old recording of Swan Lake on his turntable. It’s some of his favourite music of all time, and eventually he gets so caught up in it that he puts the book down and just lets the music carry him away.

After lunch, as he makes his way to the piano room, he notices a small stack of papers sticking out under his front door. It’s much more than a note this time. He picks up the pile and sees that it’s sheet music. There’s no title or composer information, and it looks like it was freshly printed. It must have been downloaded from somewhere or else his neighbour transcribed it from something.

He glances through the pages, but it doesn’t look familiar. Arthur hums the piano part to himself, trying to pick out the main theme. Halfway through, he sits at his piano to play it instead and hopes his neighbour isn’t listening. There’s nothing impressive about his sight-reading.

Arthur gets through the piece twice, the second time very aware that his neighbour isn’t playing along. He must be doing a horrible job of it.

Taking a break, Arthur gets a lager from his fridge and drinks most of it standing in his kitchen, singing the music to himself between sips. It’s not a long piece, and it’s very beautiful from what he can tell so far. He just wants to hear the violin part on top of what he plays.

When he’s done, he goes back to his piano and starts playing it again. He goes slowly, feeling his way through the notes, letting the sound dance through him. After about a minute, the violin joins in.

The song is languid, like something you might hear when you’re trying not to wake from a dream. It almost hurts to listen to, the sweetness, the longing, the way the violin flutters, drifting in and out. The neighbour’s playing scorches through Arthur, and it’s enough to make his heart ache.

He wishes he could play like that.

They finish the piece, and Arthur sighs, resting his fingers on the piano keys. It’s been a while since new music has made him feel like this, sort of floaty, as if the music exists on a completely different plane of reality and Arthur’s only visiting.

He comes back to himself and closes the fallboard. He feels satisfied, fulfilled, and that’s enough for the day.

The work week goes slowly, every day filled with meetings each more important than the last. It’s draining, and at the end of each day Arthur finds himself too tired to sit at his piano and practise. Instead he lounges in the living room, watching crap telly or reading until he falls asleep on the sofa.

When Friday arrives, Arthur sneaks out of work an hour early. He goes home to take a shower, eat a quick dinner, and figure out what to wear for the concert with Mithian. He’s looked up the band they’re seeing and knows it’s pop-leaning indie rock, but he hasn’t listened to any of their songs yet. He doesn’t want to go into the show with any sort of opinion. He just wants to experience it for what it is.

There’s a crowd outside the venue when he arrives, lots of people waiting to get their IDs and tickets checked. Arthur gets in line and pulls out his mobile to text Mithian but sees she’s already sent him a message that she’ll be there shortly.

“Hi,” she says when she appears at his side mere seconds later. Arthur gives her a hug. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not at all.”

They chat about their weeks as the line moves up, and eventually they’re let into the building. Mithian leads Arthur to the bar and buys them both drinks, and then they stand near the middle of the venue, away from the groups that are clinging to the stage and staying near the bar in the back.

There’s music blaring through the sound system already, making it hard to hear, and Arthur knows it will only get worse once the band starts playing. He asks Mithian to hold his drink and reaches into his pockets for some earplugs.

“What are those?” Mithian asks, clearly amused, as he fits them into his ears.

“Do you not wear earplugs at concerts?” Arthur asks, taking his drink back.

“No?”

“You should.”

Mithian looks sceptical but accepts the pair that Arthur gives her and slips them into place.

“How do I look?” she asks, turning her head from side to side so he can see their ends sticking out of her ears.

Arthur grins and leans in close to say, “You look beautiful.”

Mithian laughs, and Arthur warms, thinking he might get a kiss at the end of this night.

The opening act comes on and plays some decent music as more and more people filter in. Arthur realises he’s been so busy with work lately that he hasn’t been out like this in a very long time.

There’s a break after the opening act, and Mithian goes to buy them more drinks. When she returns, she stands closer because the crowd has grown. There’s an electric energy in the room, everyone excited to see the main act, and Arthur lets himself get swept up in it.

When the band finally comes on stage and starts playing, Arthur finds himself pleasantly surprised by their music. It’s catchy and light-hearted, and he starts bopping along next to Mithian. There’s something so special about watching a group of musicians build up a mood and play off the crowd and have good time. The night feels large, and Arthur loses track of time, dancing, drinking, flirting.

“So?” Mithian asks when the band takes their last bow after the encore. “What did you think?”

“That was great,” Arthur says. He pulls out his earplugs, and Mithian does the same.

“I have to admit, I can hear much better now than I usually can after a concert.”

“Exactly.”

Mithian grins, and they make their way to the door, shuffling along through the crowd until they’re finally out on the pavement again.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Mithian says.

“Of course.” Arthur looks at her, at the way she’s practically glowing under the streetlights, still buzzing from the thrill of the show. “Would you be interested in coming back to mine for a drink?”

“I think I would, actually.”

Arthur takes her hand and leads the way to the nearest tube stop. They’re quiet on the ride, pressed together and stealing glances and smiles. It’s nice in a way Arthur wasn’t anticipating.

Back at his flat, Arthur pours them some wine. Mithian gravitates toward his turntable and pours over his record collection as if it’s the most exciting part of her night. She asks him about nearly all of his classical albums, wanting to know which are his favourites and which he can play himself.

She asks to see his piano, so Arthur brings her into that room and lifts the fallboard, letting her run her fingers over the keys.

“I’d like to hear you play one day,” Mithian says, smiling over at him. Arthur lifts his hand to the small of her back, and she leans into his touch. “I’ve had a really good time tonight,” she says quietly.

“Would a kiss ruin that?” he asks, turning to face her.

“Quite the opposite.”

With that, Arthur leans in, pressing his lips to hers. They shift together, pressing against each other, and Mithian reaches out to put her wine glass on the piano.

“Not there,” Arthur whispers against her lips. He takes her hand and brings her back to the kitchen, setting their glasses in the sink before giving her another, longer kiss.

Mithian kisses back eagerly. She gets her hands in his hair, and it’s wonderful to have someone touch him like that. It’s intimate, tender, and Arthur opens his mouth to let her in more. He presses her back against a counter, crowding against her, and she she sighs against his lips.

Arthur is content to snog in the kitchen like drunk teenagers, but then Mithian slips her hands under his shirt, and the contact against his bare skin makes him want more. He lifts one hand from her hip, running it up her side and then brushing his thumb over her breast. She pulls him close, and he does it again.

“Arthur,” she murmurs, digging her fingernails into his skin.

Arthur pulls back to look at her properly. She’s flushed beautifully, her lips red and plump.

“Should we stop?” he asks.

She shakes her head and gives him a rough kiss. They carry on, running their hands over each other, getting their mouths on each other’s necks, until Arthur is done with the tease and brings her into his room.

They get together slowly, attentively, learning what works best, and after Arthur comes, he makes sure she comes, too. There aren’t any fireworks, but it feels good and right and like there’s potential for even better things next time.

Afterwards, they lie on top of the sheets, naked, and talk about the concert. They talk until Arthur can’t keep his eyes open anymore, and then they talk until Arthur realises he’s half-asleep and not making any sense.

He gets up to find Mithian something to wear to bed and only barely manages to stay awake long enough for her to rejoin him. He falls asleep pressed close to her, warm and content.

In the morning, Arthur sneaks out of bed to the toilet and then sits on his sofa as he waits for Mithian to get up. He plays through some music in his head, his fingers itching to get back to his piano after the long week of not playing at all.

He toys with the idea of playing now, of waking Mithian up with his music.

He hasn’t played for anyone in so long that he almost can’t imagine doing it now. But, technically, he has been playing for someone. He’s been playing for his neighbour.

Maybe playing for Mithian wouldn’t be so bad. She’s asleep after all, in a different room, and if it gets to be too much he can always stop. He’ll just play until she wakes up.

He opens his bedroom door and the door to his piano room and sits to play something soft and dreamy.

It barely takes any time at all for his neighbour to join in. Arthur hadn’t expected it this early, but they sound fantastic together, as always. There’s just something about the mystery violinist that makes Arthur want to play for days, to better himself, to let his mind go and lose himself to the music for all eternity.

They play through two pieces, and as Arthur is deciding on a third, Mithian comes in clapping.

Arthur gets a pang of guilt from having forgotten she was there.

“Budge up,” she says, coming over to the piano. Arthur moves over on the bench and she joins him. She’s pleasantly warm against his side. “Who’s playing the violin?”

“I don’t know.” Arthur plays a few random notes. “I seem to have fallen into a strange arrangement with my neighbour where we play together through the walls.”

“You don’t know your neighbour?”

“I’ve knocked a few times. They never answer, though.”

“Strange.”

“Yeah. I’d like to meet them, but they don’t seem to want that.”

“You could give them your number,” Mithian suggests. “Slip it under their door something. Then you could, I don’t know, text or something. Arrange your playing times or whatever.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

Mithian smiles and gives him a kiss. “Take me out for breakfast?”

“If you insist.”

Arthur takes Mithian to a small place a few minutes from his flat, and she goes home after they eat. He goes for a walk, taking the long way home, but when he’s back he takes her advice and slips his number under his neighbour’s door.

It takes until Sunday afternoon for him to get a text message, and it’s just the name of a piece, but that feels like a good enough start.

Arthur starts playing, and the neighbour joins in, and afterwards Arthur adds them as a contact and sends them a text.

To: Violin
You’re very good! How long have you been playing?

From: Violin
Long enough

To: Violin
Do you play professionally?

From: Violin
Not anymore

It seems clear that they don’t want to talk about it, so Arthur tries another tactic.

To: Violin
How’s your weekend going? Done anything more exciting than playing with me?

An hour passes with no response, so finally Arthur sends a text with the name of another piece. He starts it up on the piano and plays alone for so long that he thinks he must have offended the neighbour. They join in on the second movement, though, and they sound just as good as ever.

They play for hours, texting each other different pieces to try, and it’s past Arthur’s bedtime when he finally gets a text from the neighbour that they’re going to sleep.

Arthur gets ready for bed, but sleep does not come easily. He’s too wound up from the music, from playing with someone else, from communicating with his mysterious neighbour on this new level. He wants to know more about them so badly. The most he has is that they used to play professionally. He still doesn’t know their name, their age, their gender, their anything. He knows nothing about this person besides their immense talent, and it’s not enough.

Arthur finds it hard to concentrate at work on Monday. All he wants to do is get home and play with his neighbour again. They’ve played so many pieces together, but there’s so many still yet left to be played.

He has to work late that night, and by the time he gets home he’s too tired to do much, so he goes to bed without playing. It feels wrong somehow.

On Tuesday, between meetings, Arthur sends his neighbour a text.

To: Violin
What should we play tonight when I get home from work?

From: Violin
I left a gift for you

Arthur isn’t sure what that means, but he’s excited anyway. He rushes through the rest of the day so he can leave early, and when he gets home there’s a stack of papers under his door. It’s more sheet music, freshly printed for him.

He sits down to play it immediately, getting through it twice on his own before his neighbour joins in.

It’s a shock to the system every time, how it feels to play together and how they sound. Despite the muffling because of the walls, despite the fact that Arthur didn’t know this piece until today, they sound like they were meant to play together. They complement each other, feed off each other, adjust to each other’s style. It should be difficult because of the circumstances, but somehow it’s the easiest thing.

The week continues on like that, with Arthur distracted at work and spending his entire evenings playing with his neighbour.

Mithian texts him on Friday morning, and Arthur realises he hasn’t reached out to her all week. They make plans for her to come over to his so he can cook for her tonight, and Arthur tells himself he should put more effort into this budding relationship than whatever it is he has with his neighbour.

Arthur tidies up a bit when he gets home, and he changes out of his work clothes into something more casual. He feels off about something and chalks it up to nerves. It’s been ages since he’s had a third date, so that must be it.

When Mithian arrives, she gives him a kiss and then makes a beeline for his record collection. Arthur gets started in the kitchen while she looks through everything again, and eventually she asks if she can play something. Arthur agrees, and then his living room and kitchen are filled with gentle piano music.

“A watched pot never boils,” she says as she comes into the kitchen. Arthur has been standing over his stove since she arrived, pre-heating the oven and also heating some water for the ziti he’s making.

“It’ll boil eventually,” Arthur says, smiling.

Mithian takes the wooden spoon out of his hand and sets it on the counter as she pulls him close. She wraps her arms around his neck, he wraps his around her waist, and they dance.

It’s achingly romantic.

Arthur wonders whether his neighbour can hear the music. What must they be thinking?

When the pot finally comes to a boil, Arthur goes back to preparing their meal, and Mithian returns to the living room to check his bookshelves.

It’s a nice evening, sweet and easy despite the nerves Arthur had felt earlier. They’re a good match.

When they fall into bed again, Arthur tries to find the same kind of passion pressed against her as he feels when he’s playing with his neighbour. He wants that soaring feeling, that mad rush, that insatiable need for more.

But fireworks cannot be forced, and Arthur falls asleep after with a pit in his stomach.

Arthur makes a simple breakfast in the morning and doesn’t try to stop Mithian when she leaves shortly after. He waits a few minutes, cleaning up the dishes from last night, and then sends a text.

To: Violin
Can I give you a call?

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he’s not disappointed. He reads for almost an hour before deciding to give it a try anyway. He calls his neighbour, sitting on the edge of the sofa with his eyes closed.

“Hello?” a man answers.

Arthur opens his eyes, stunned. He had really thought his neighbour would just let his call go to voicemail. He hadn’t anticipated them picking up. Him picking up.

“Hi,” Arthur says a little breathlessly. “I—I’m Arthur.”

There’s no response to that, just the sound of the man breathing. Arthur tries to imagine what this man might look like, how old he might be, anything about him. But that voice could be attached to any kind of body, any kind of face.

“I heard you playing music last night,” the neighbour finally says. “A recording.”

It’s a nice voice, low but pleasant.

“Yes,” Arthur says. “I had someone over. We were cooking dinner.”

“Are they still there now?”

“No.”

There’s a long silence, and Arthur is itching to get more out of this man. He has so many questions, but this already feels tenuous, and he doesn’t want to ask too much too soon.

“Would you play for me?” Arthur suggests. “Over the phone. I’d love to hear you more clearly.”

Another pause.

“All right,” the man says slowly. “Hang on.”

Arthur hears him put his mobile down. There’s some shuffling noise, some silence, some more shuffling, and then he begins to play.

It’s an Amy Beach sonata, one with a piano accompaniment, but his neighbour plays it solo as if it had been meant for that all along, as if there couldn’t possibly be any other way for it to be.

It’s remarkable.

His high notes sing, his low notes burn, and Arthur closes his eyes. There’s so much emotion, so much unsaid, so much laid out bare.

He plays to the end of the first movement and then the call goes silent.

“Beautiful,” Arthur says, and it’s not nearly enough. “I don’t think I have the words to describe it properly.”

“Thank you. Are you free to play as well? We could finish the sonata together?”

“Absolutely. Give me, like, three minutes.”

“Okay. Three minutes and I’ll play the second movement.”

His neighbour ends the call, and Arthur finds his sheet music for the sonata just in time to hear the violin starting up next door. He joins in, trying to match the man’s capabilities, or at least his emotions. He tries to let it all flow out of him, every worry, every thrill, every thought. He lets it build as he plays, and soon enough it no longer feels like he’s the one chasing after his neighbour. He’s keeping up, maybe even being chased himself. He plays with gusto, with feeling, with exhilaration, and everything he does his neighbour matches. They’re feeding off each other, and they sound the best they ever have.

It goes on for 20 minutes until the sonata ends. Arthur finds himself out of breath and bereft of the music in its silent wake.

He calls his neighbour, but there’s no answer this time.

Arthur decides to go for a run, too much energy coursing through him for him to stay in his flat.

On Sunday in the late morning, Arthur calls his neighbour again.

“Hello,” the man answers.

“Hi,” Arthur says, relieved that he picked up. “How are you?”

“Oh. I’m—I’m all right. I’ve… had better days.” The man clears his throat. “I did the shopping earlier, that’s about it.”

“I didn’t hear you leave,” Arthur says. “Or come back.” He’s never heard anyone go in or out of the flat next door. If it weren’t for the obvious evidence otherwise, Arthur would have assumed he has no neighbour.

“It was pretty early. There’s fewer people in the shop then.”

Arthur isn’t sure what to do with that information. It seems he isn’t the only one his neighbour avoids seeing.

“How long has it been since you played professionally?” he asks, trying to direct the conversation to something more comfortable.

He doesn’t get an answer, though.

This man is so strange, and all Arthur wants is to know more. He has so many questions. He can’t imagine the man doesn’t have questions about him, either. He doesn’t seem any more willing to ask questions than he is to answer them, though.

“Should we play something?” Arthur asks.

“Sure.”

“What would you like?”

“Do you know Dvořák? Sonata in F major?”

“I think I can manage that. Start in a minute?”

“See you there.”

The man ends the call, and Arthur hurries to his piano. He waits as long as he can stand, giving his neighbour time to get ready, and then he plays the first note. The man and his violin join in immediately, and they go for it, the music light and fun.

They continue on, texting each other suggestions for pieces to play and filling their flats with the staggering sound of two people making something greater than either could achieve alone.

When Arthur goes to sleep, it’s with contentment and excitement for playing again tomorrow.

Halfway through the workday on Monday, Arthur gets an invitation from Mithian to come over for dinner. Part of him wants to decline, to go home and play with his neighbour instead. Most of him knows that wouldn’t be a rational decision, so he agrees and she texts him her address.

Mithian’s flat is cosy and brightly coloured with all the greenery, and it makes Arthur feel distinctly welcome. They get Chinese takeaway and eat on her sofa as they watch a documentary that they keep talking over. She tells him about her students, and he tells her about his co-workers, and it’s a very comfortable evening.

“Are you still playing with your neighbour?” Mithian asks after she finishes her dinner. She moves closer, leaning her head on Arthur’s shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah.”

“Did you give them your number?”

“I did. Mostly we’ve been texting. He’s not very talkative on the phone.”

“Did you find out anything else about him?”

“He used to play professionally. I don’t know when or why he stopped, though. I think he’s a bit of a recluse.”

“Is it an old man?” Mithian asks.

“I don’t know. For some reason I don’t think so.”

Mithian leans closer and lays a hand on his thigh. Arthur presses a kiss to her hair, and they go back to watching the documentary.

Arthur stays the night at Mithian’s and goes to work from hers in the morning. When he gets home, he finds sheet music under his door. This time, it looks unfinished. Rather, it contains a violin part but nothing for piano. He brings the music into his piano room and sends his neighbour a text.

To: Violin
Did you write this?

There’s no immediate response. Arthur goes to take a shower, and when he checks his phone after, there’s still no response.

He settles at the piano and reads through the piece. It’s not too long, just a few minutes worth of music. He hums the violin part to himself as he goes through it. He understands the challenge, but he hasn’t composed anything since before he stopped playing for people, and this isn’t the typical way of going about it.

He tries anyway, playing a few notes that might compliment the violin line. He figures his neighbour wrote this in some software that plays the music out loud to help, but Arthur doesn’t have anything like that on his laptop. He hums the violin part as he picks through notes, trying to find a complimentary melody.

He finds himself wishing his neighbour were here in person so they could collaborate properly.

After a while, Arthur hits a block and decides to take a break. He calls his neighbour, hoping he’ll pick up.

“Hi,” the man says when he answers.

“Hi.” There’s a bit of silence, so Arthur asks, “Have you been listening?”

“Of course I have. Does that bother you?”

“Not at all.”

“How long have you been playing?” the neighbour asks.

“About thirty years,” Arthur says with a hollow laugh. “Not much to show for it, though.”

“Do you not play professionally?”

“No, I work in finance.”

“You should,” the man says, and he sounds so earnest. “You’re excellent.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say to that.

“You didn’t play yesterday,” the neighbour says.

“No, I was having dinner at a friend’s place.”

“Oh. I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“I… I didn’t.” It feels strange to admit that. It’s almost like an admission of cheating, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“I should let you go,” his neighbour says after a pause.

Arthur doesn’t want to end the call, but he doesn’t have much of a reason to keep the man on the line. “All right. I’ll get back to working on this. I’ll let you know when I’m finished.”

“Please do.”

His neighbour hangs up, and Arthur eats a quick dinner before getting back to it.

Arthur spends the rest of his evenings that week working on the piano part for the composition. At the office, he tries to stay engaged, but nearly every second he’s thinking of the piece, of how he and the neighbour will sound when they finally get to play together. He can’t stop wondering what it would be like if they somehow played it together in person. He’s not sure his neighbour would want that, though.

By Friday night, Arthur is putting the finishing touches on his part of the music. It’s incredible, that feeling of accomplishment. He hasn’t felt this way in ages, hasn’t done anything like this in ages. It’s awoken something in him, something creative and restless, and it makes him happy in an entirely new way.

He thinks that he actually really would like to play with his neighbour in person. It wouldn’t really be like playing for an audience. It would just be one person, like when he played for Mithian. And he’d be playing with someone, not just for them.

He doesn’t think his neighbour will agree to that, but he decides to push his luck. He gives his neighbour a call.

“Hello there,” the man answers. He sounds like he’s in a good mood.

“Hi. I’ve finished the piece. As best I can, anyway.”

“Do you want to play it?”

Arthur licks his lips. “I do,” he says. “I was wondering if you might like to come over so we can play it together. In person.”

The answering silence is deafening. Arthur sits in it, waiting for so long that he starts getting the urge to apologise and take back the offer.

“I would like that,” the man finally says quietly. Arthur waits for the excuse. “Maybe… maybe next weekend?”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees quickly. “Next weekend would be brilliant.”

“All right.”

Arthur grins. “All right. It’s a date.” That phrase hangs awkwardly between them for a moment. “Do you want to play something else in the meanwhile?”

“Sure. How’s… Praeludium and Allegro?”

Arthur chuckles. “Kreisler? Are you up for it?”

“I am. Can you keep up?” He’s teasing, and Arthur’s giddy from getting this glimpse at the man’s personality.

“We’ll see who has to keep up with who.”

“Whom, surely.”

“Got your violin?” Arthur asks.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go then.”

Arthur ends the call and rests his fingers on the keys, waiting for the violin to kick off the piece. It’s a short one, but it really packs a punch. From the first notes, Arthur’s neighbour is obviously putting in his all. The first minute or so is passionate, and then it slips into something sweeter until it picks back up, the violin going faster and faster. Arthur keeps up, pushing his neighbour, smiling all the while that this piece is being played as if it’s nothing. The second half is non-stop for the violin, and Arthur feels like he’s being treated to some private masterpiece.

The man is clearly showing off.

Arthur can play that game, too.

When they finish, he sends a text, barely giving his neighbour a chance to recover.

To: Violin
Schubert? Fantasie in C major

From: Violin
You’re on

Arthur gets out the sheet music, spreads it out as best he can, and starts playing.

Mid-morning on Saturday, Arthur goes out to meet Mithian for brunch.

“How was your week?” she asks when they’re settled at an outside table with their menus.

“Fine,” Arthur says, thinking of his day job. He can barely remember anything that happened at the office. There had been meetings, of course, and he’d presented a report to the higher-ups, but it wasn’t anything to write home about.

“Have you been playing your piano?”

“Oh—yes.” Arthur looks over his menu, debating whether to say something about the piece of music he wrote with his neighbour. It feels too intimate to share for some reason.

“Could I come over after this? I’d love to hear you play again.”

Arthur thinks he wouldn’t mind that, but he hesitates to agree. What if his neighbour joins in again? Something tells Arthur he wouldn’t want an unknown audience. And Arthur doesn’t want to trick him into something he doesn’t want.

“My place is a bit of a mess at the moment,” Arthur says, and it’s not entirely a lie. He’s been too distracted writing music to keep his flat tidy. “But I could come back to yours?”

Mithian smiles and nods, and Arthur feels a bit like he’s dodged a bullet.

They take a walk after they finish eating, making their way towards Mithian’s. When they arrive, Mithian drags Arthur straight into bed where they spend the rest of the day exploring each other. It’s nice to have access to another body, nice to make someone else feel good, nice to have someone else focus on pleasuring him.

It never goes further than nice, though, and Arthur wonders as he goes down on Mithian for the third time if there might be something wrong with him. He’s never been very good at the whole dating thing, but he and Mithian get along great, and he genuinely enjoys spending time with her. It’s not her fault that his heart isn’t in it, that his mind is stubbornly back in his flat with his piano and mysterious neighbour. It’s not her fault that he feels so stuck.

When Arthur comes home on Sunday, he sits on his sofa and calls his neighbour right away.

“Hi,” he answers.

“Hi. I was wondering—would you want to come over today? We don’t have to play the piece if you don’t want to, I just…” Arthur trails off, knowing he sounds as desperate as he feels.

“I can’t,” the man says. “I’m sorry. I… I need more time.”

“Of course. I understand.” Arthur doesn’t, really, but he knows better than to push. He doesn’t want to scare the man away.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“Yes,” the man says, and he sounds unsure.

Arthur’s heart sinks at the thought that he might end up backing out of their plans. “Bye,” he says and hangs up. He covers his face with his hands, trying to get a grip on himself. It can’t be healthy to be this invested in someone he doesn’t even know.

He takes a long bath, listening to pop music on his mobile and trying to pretend that it doesn’t matter if he never gets to meet his neighbour.

Monday is a real drag, and Arthur comes home from work ready to play his piano and hear his neighbour’s violin. He sits at his piano almost as soon as he’s walked in the door, and he warms up with some Bach.

His neighbour doesn’t join in.

Arthur moves on to Satie.

There’s still no violin.

He picks a Mozart piece next, thinking that might finally entice the man next door to join in.

There’s nothing, though.

He hopes he didn’t do anything wrong. He shouldn’t have pushed for them to meet sooner. He should have just taken what he was given and been patient.

Or maybe the man is just busy. Maybe, somehow, he’s out somewhere and not home.

Arthur goes through some more pieces, trying to be content with playing just by himself, for himself.

It’s so strange. Somehow he’s gotten used to playing for an audience, to having someone else play along, to sharing this part of himself in a way he’d never really done before.

He tries to find the joy he used to feel just from playing, back before he even knew of his neighbour, back before he had an audience or someone to play with or anything of the sort.

In the end, he’s not even sure that could have been called joy. There had always been something missing, something he had searched for in his music.

Now he knows what it was, what makes him feel whole and makes his playing worth it.

Arthur stops playing mid-concerto and closes the fallboard with a sigh. Maybe his neighbour will play with him tomorrow night.

He goes to make himself dinner.

When Arthur gets home on Tuesday, he walks past his piano room and goes for the kitchen instead. He pours himself a glass of wine and sits in his living room, listening to the silence as he drinks.

Eventually he turns on the telly and flips through the channels, unable to decide what to watch.

He turns it off and gets up to find a book to read instead. He’s standing at the shelves, dispassionately looking over titles, when his mobile rings.

Morgana is the only one who ever calls him. She must want to know how it’s going with Mithian.

Arthur takes his mobile out of his pocket and sees that it’s not his sister. It’s his neighbour.

“Hello?” he answers, wondering if it’s a pocket-dial.

“Hi Arthur.”

It’s strange to hear his name. He’d forgotten he gave it the first time they talked. “Hi, um. How are you?”

“Well enough. Will Saturday work?”

It takes Arthur a second to realise what his neighbour is asking. “Yes,” he says. “Absolutely. I’m free all day.” His mobile buzzes with a text, but he ignores it, waiting for the man’s response.

“How about 10? Or is that too early? We could do 11? Or maybe in the afternoon?”

“10 would be perfect.”

“All right,” the man says, and it sounds like he’s smiling. “10 it is. I’ll… I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” his neighbour says after a pause. “Bye.”

The call ends, and Arthur closes his eyes, savouring the moment. It’s going to happen. They’re going to meet. They’re going to play together in person.

He goes to pour himself another glass of wine, and he’s halfway through it before he remembers to check the text he got.

From: Mithian
Want to get together on Friday? I could come over for dinner. Maybe you can play for me on Saturday morning :)

Something like gloom falls over Arthur as he reads the message. He knows that’s not a reasonable response. He knows that’s not a good response.

He finishes off his wine before responding.

To: Mithian
Another time? I have plans to meet my neighbour first thing Saturday morning. Maybe next weekend instead?

She doesn’t respond, and Arthur goes to bed hours later with the strange feeling that he’s cheating on someone. If only he could figure out who on and who with.

On Wednesday and Thursday evenings, Arthur avoids his piano, wanting to save it all up for Saturday morning. He reads instead, letting himself get lost in imaginary worlds where his problems don’t exist.

By Friday, Arthur is too full of excited energy not to play. He sits at his piano, practically vibrating with nerves, and starts to play. He goes for what he knows by heart, for what’s familiar and comforting.

His neighbour joins in after a few minutes, and it’s almost as if his music is telegraphing his feelings. Arthur can sense the man’s anxiety in the sound of the violin.

They play quickly, sharply, leaning into the emotions.

It’s over an hour before Arthur starts to feel calmer and he finally stops playing. The rest can wait until tomorrow.

He takes a bath to maintain his calm, and he goes to sleep feeling ready for anything.

Arthur isn’t surprised in the morning when he wakes up well before his alarm. He stays in bed for a while, scrolling through his mobile and trying to distract himself from the nerves bubbling up.

When he can’t stand to be lying down anymore, he gets up to clean. There isn’t much to tidy, so he mostly just shuffles things around until he gets hungry. He eats a small breakfast, not wanting to be weighed down or feel any more poorly than he already does.

Then he has the task of getting dressed for the day.

Arthur wouldn’t exactly say he ‘frets’ over his outfit, but in all honestly he could say exactly that. He tries on an unreasonable number of shirts until, finally, settling on a dark t-shirt. It’s sort of a faded grey, and it’s one of the softest, most comfortable things he owns. It feels too informal, but Arthur reminds himself—several times—that there’s really nothing to get dressed up for.

He pulls on a pair of black jeans and goes to the bathroom to try to tame his hair.

10 o’clock approaches rapidly, slams into Arthur, and then passes as if nothing had happened.

At 10:05, Arthur considers reaching out to his neighbour. He drafts a few texts, but he can’t bring himself to send any of them. He really doesn’t want to overwhelm the man. Maybe he’s just still getting ready. Maybe he’s finishing up breakfast. There’s no reason to think he’s changed his mind.

Just before 10:10, there’s finally a knock on the door. It’s soft, almost like it’s trying not to be heard, but Arthur hears it. His stomach churns, and he takes a deep breath.

It’s time. Time to meet the man who’s been haunting his music for weeks.

He makes himself put on a smile before opening the door.

Something about the man on the other side is immediately familiar, although that might just be recognition of the man’s soul. He’s wearing grey jeans and a deep blue t-shirt that matches the colour of his eyes. His brown hair is just long enough to have a bit of a curl to it, and it looks fluffy, freshly washed. He’s carrying a violin case in one hand.

He’s handsome—pretty, even. Arthur is drawn in by his features, his bright eyes and light stubble and sharp cheekbones and plump lips.

The man smiles awkwardly, nervously, and Arthur realises he’s just staring.

“Sorry. Hi.” He steps aside, letting the man in. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. Um. I’m Merlin.” He holds out his hand.

Arthur shakes it, something slowly coming together in the back of his mind. Merlin. Merlin. Of course. Merlin Emrys.

Recognition must be written all over Arthur’s face, because Merlin looks like he wants to make a run for it. Arthur feels exactly the same. Merlin is a literal prodigy, a world-famous virtuoso, a world-class player. No wonder he always sounds as amazing as he does.

And Arthur? Arthur is no one. Especially in comparison. He can’t believe he’s been playing with Merlin Emrys this entire time. Merlin must think him an absolute amateur. Because he is. He’s not nearly good enough to play with someone like Merlin, and that’s more than abundantly clear now.

“Should we…” Merlin trails off, looking around Arthur’s flat.

Arthur gestures weakly towards his piano room, and Merlin steps inside, shrugging off his violin case. He sets it down and crouches on the floor to open it and get out his instrument. Arthur imagines it’s worth a fortune. Hell, never mind the instrument, Merlin’s fingers are probably insured.

Arthur feels sick. He sits at his piano and lifts the fallboard as his stomach clenches. His hands feel numb.

Merlin straightens up, rests his violin on his shoulder, and starts tuning. The sound rips through Arthur. He can’t do this. He cannot do this.

“Do you start or do I start?” Merlin asks.

Arthur swallows. “I made copies,” he says. He hands over a set of sheet music, and Merlin spreads it out over the side of the piano, reading it over.

Arthur spreads out his own copy. He can’t believe he’s actually going to play in front of Merlin. He’s not good enough. He’s never been good enough.

“Looks good,” Merlin says quietly, and Arthur knows he’s lying. He must be so disappointed. “Ready?”

Arthur sets his jaw and rests his fingers on the keys. He can’t bring himself to say anything, so he just starts playing.

His fingers are stiff, and the music doesn’t flow at all. It sounds awful.

Merlin joins in, and Arthur goes hot all over, from his fingertips to his ears. He doesn’t deserve this. And Merlin deserves better. He can barely play, and Merlin is a violin god, and this is the single most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to Arthur.

He struggles through the piece, barely breathing, and eventually, finally, painfully, it comes to an end.

Arthur stares down at his piano, his head spinning.

He wants to cry.

Merlin lowers his bow, drops his violin to his side.

Arthur dares to look up. Merlin is flushed and frowning. Arthur can only dare to guess what he must be thinking. He had probably been hoping for so much more than what Arthur has to offer.

“I…” Arthur clears his throat. “Sorry, I… think I’m getting a migraine.”

It’s a horrible excuse, but Merlin nods quickly, latching on to the opportunity to leave.

“You should lie down,” Merlin says. “Drink some water.”

“Yeah.”

Merlin packs up his violin. Arthur closes the fallboard on his piano and just sits there. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way. He had hoped it would never happen again.

He should have seen this coming. He never should have suggested Merlin come over to play in person.

“I hope you feel better,” Merlin says as he gets the violin case onto his back. “Maybe we can try again some other time?”

Arthur knows he’s just saying that to be nice. “Sure,” he says. He stands and walks Merlin to the front door. “Thanks for coming over.”

Merlin offers a smile before leaving, and Arthur can’t find it in him to return it. As soon as he closes the door, he retreats to his bedroom and closes the door. He sits on the edge of his bed and covers his face with his hands.

He’s a fool.

How could he have ever thought that would be a good idea?

He will never play again. At least not here. He has to move. He has to get away from Merlin. He can’t play knowing someone like that is listening in. He can’t.

Arthur isn’t sure how much time goes by, but eventually he gets up and forces himself to eat something for lunch. He sends Mithian a text to invite her over. He needs a distraction, a strong one. The sex might not be spectacular, but it’s better than trying to read or watch telly, and he needs something to do with himself. Besides, he’s going to need something else to fill his time if he’s going to stop playing. And Mithian is lovely, and she deserves someone who will pay more attention to her, and Arthur can do that. Arthur can do that.

Arthur throws himself into work that week. He’s been neglecting his duties, and he needs to get back on track. Between meetings, instead of thinking about Merlin or their composition, he texts with Mithian. They get dinner together on Tuesday and again on Friday, and he stays the night at her place.

It’s nice to get back to life without worrying about the violin player next door.

Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. Arthur does still think about him. About what he must be thinking of Arthur. About how there hasn’t been any violin music coming from his flat. About his soulful eyes and soft hair and nervous smile.

It’s especially hard to stop those thoughts at night, when Arthur is trying to fall asleep after another day of not playing.

When he gets home on Saturday, Arthur walks past his piano room the same way he’s done all week. The door is closed to minimise temptation. He goes to his living room instead and is about to turn on the telly when his mobile rings.

It’s Merlin.

“Fuck,” Arthur mutters. What could Merlin possibly have to say to him at this point? He answers the call. “Hello?”

“Hi. Um… how are you?”

“I’m fine. Just got home. How are you?”

“Yeah, I heard you come in. Um… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. And I wanted to see if maybe you would possibly want to try again?”

Arthur frowns. Try again? What about their first attempt made Merlin think it would go better if they tried again? “What are you apologising for?”

“I haven’t played for anyone in over a year. I may have… panicked. A bit.”

“Oh. I… didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice that I couldn’t even play through the music I wrote myself?”

“No,” Arthur says. “I guess I may have been panicking as well. You couldn’t tell?”

“I think I blacked out as soon as I picked up my bow, to be honest. I… would like to try again, eventually. But, maybe in the meantime, we can go back to playing together how we used to?”

Arthur’s heart lurches at the thought of playing again. Avoiding it has been distressing and pointless. He hasn’t gone more than a week without playing in years. He was never going to last much longer.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “That would be great.”

“Do you want to play now?”

“Sure. Your choice.”

“Kreutzer Sonata?”

Arthur laughs. It’s not an easy or short piece, but somehow that feels exactly right. “All right. Give me a few minutes.”

“I’ll start in a bit. Bye.”

The call ends, and Arthur goes to his piano room for the first time since last Saturday. The sheet music for the piece he and Merlin tried to play is still spread out on his piano. He stacks it up quickly and hides it away before getting out the sheet music for what he and Merlin are going to play today.

He’s just finished spreading it out when he hears Merlin starting up the piece. Arthur waits for his cue and joins in. It takes him a few minutes to properly warm up and get into it, but then it’s wonderful. Arthur feels like himself again, feels whole and at peace and back in action.

He’s missed this dearly, as much as he tried to pretend otherwise.

They play through the 40-minute sonata, and it’s so strange to play knowing exactly who is on the other side of the wall, exactly who Merlin is, exactly how good he is at what he does. It should feel wrong and lopsided, and Arthur should feel unworthy, but mostly he just feels awed. Awed that Merlin still wants to play with him knowing that Arthur is no one. Awed that he gets this opportunity to play with someone as great as Merlin. Awed that it still sounds good.

As soon as it’s over, Merlin texts Arthur another piece to play, and they get back to it immediately.

On Sunday, Mithian comes over for brunch, and after they finish eating she asks to hear him play.

Arthur had anticipated this. “I don’t think I can,” he says. “Merlin will join in, and I don’t think he wants anyone listening in, especially not without him knowing.”

He’s told her about meeting Merlin, about their brief attempt to play together in person, about going back to playing through the walls. He left out the details of both of their panicking, but Merlin is too big a part of his life now to pretend otherwise, especially to someone who showed such an interest in Arthur.

“You could text him that you have company,” Mithian suggests. “So he can decide for himself if he wants to join in.”

It’s not a bad idea, but something about it makes Arthur uncomfortable. He’s not sure he wants Merlin to know that he has someone over, that he’s playing for someone else. And playing for Mithian while she was asleep in another room is a very different prospect than playing for her while she’s awake and watching.

“Morgana said you’d never play for me,” Mithian says with a sympathetic smile. “I guess I was lucky that morning.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

Arthur nods, feeling both guilty and relieved.

They go for a walk instead and then spend the rest of the afternoon in Arthur’s bed.

In the evenings during the week, Arthur plays with Merlin. They play nearly every day, almost always for hours on end, and it’s what keeps Arthur going. Work is fine, Mithian is fine, everything else is fine. But playing with Merlin is divine.

They play together on the weekends, too, whenever Arthur isn’t with Mithian. It becomes something that Arthur craves as soon as he wakes up, something that soothes his soul as he falls asleep, something that he has to look forward to in the hours in between.

He and Merlin mostly text each other, but Arthur doesn’t think anything of it when, one Wednesday evening after work, Merlin gives him a call as he’s cooking dinner.

“Hi,” Arthur answers. “I’m just making dinner. I can play after.”

“That’s fine,” Merlin says. “I was, um. I wanted to know—well. I guess I wanted to ask if… if you might want to try again. The playing together thing. In person. Not the piece we tried to write, but something else.”

Arthur’s first instinct is to say no. The first time had gone so badly, and there’s no reason to think a second try won’t go the exact same way.

But he knows it’s probably just as hard for Merlin as it is for him, and if Merlin can be brave, then so can Arthur.

“Yeah, all right,” Arthur says. “Whenever you like.”

“Are you free on Sunday afternoon?”

“Sure. You can come over anytime.”

“Three o’clock,” Merlin says. “If that’s all right.”

“‘Course. I’ll, um… I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” Merlin says before hanging up.

Arthur takes a deep breath. He has a few days to prepare himself, to get used to the idea of playing with Merlin again, to work through the tightness in his chest at the thought of trying this again.

He texts Mithian to arrange to see her on Friday so he can be sure to be home by Sunday.

The rest of the week goes by slowly. Work drags on until Friday, when Arthur goes over to Mithian’s after he gets out of work. They eat a quick dinner and go out to a concert at the same venue as their second date. It’s a more electronic-based band this time, and Arthur spends the whole night dancing with Mithian as the spotlights flash different colours on stage and all around them.

The night feels large and, they walk back to Mithian’s after the show, the streetlights and starlight washing over them.

In the morning, they go out for breakfast and then wander around Mithian’s neighbourhood, stopping in random shops until their feet hurt.

As soon as he’s back in his flat, Arthur is overcome with anticipation. It’s only 24 hours and he’ll be playing with Merlin again.

He distracts himself for the rest of the day with a book and wine. On Sunday he takes a long bath, makes himself a big lunch, and bides the time until Merlin arrives by figuring out what to wear. He settles on a raglan shirt and the same black jeans he wore last time.

When he finally hears the knock, Arthur hurries to open the door.

Merlin smiles at him from out in the hall. He looks much like he did before, his blue eyes contrasting with his dark hair and a violin case slung over his back. He’s smiling, his eyes wrinkly with high spirits.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey.” Arthur steps aside so Merlin can come in. When he closes the door, they’re left standing close together in the entryway. Arthur can smell whatever hair products Merlin uses. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for letting me. I know you didn’t have to.”

Arthur shrugs. He lets Merlin into the piano room and sits on the bench as he watches Merlin get set up. He does a few quick scales, trying to get out his nerves. He can feel Merlin’s eyes on him, and he’s getting that feeling again of being deeply inadequate in comparison.

“Do you like Saint-Saëns?” Merlin asks.

Arthur nods and digs out his sheet music. “I’ve got some piano concertos and Violin Sonata #1.”

“Let’s do that. I can’t promise I remember it all 100% correctly.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Merlin grins and adjusts his posture, getting ready. The piano and violin are meant to start at the same time, so he waits and watches as Arthur sets out the sheet music and gets into position.

“Ready?” Merlin asks.

Arthur nods, and they start.

He had fully anticipated having another freak-out as he played with Merlin again. He doesn’t, though. It feels almost normal. He’s been playing with this man for weeks, maybe months at this point, and doing it in person is, finally, nice. They sound good together, their sounds filling the room completely. It’s so different to hear Merlin’s violin up close rather than through a barrier. And he can listen to it this time. He’s not as stuck in his own head, and that means he can appreciate Merlin’s talent in full.

He plays like he was born to it. Like the music is inside of him and bursting to get out.

Arthur glances up a few times from his sheet music and sees the expressions on Merlin’s face, the concentration, the feeling. He sees how Merlin plays with his whole body, leaning into the music and away from it. He sees how Merlin makes the music come alive in a brand new way.

Arthur feels it, too. The passion behind the movement, the passion behind the incredible, confident playing. He feels Merlin’s control, his command, his delight.

The first sections are fast-paced, energetic, and Merlin plays them in style.

When the music gets quiet, he plays with a light touch, his eyes closed and his eyebrows moving with every note, every tilt and stroke of the bow. He’s lost in the music. He lives in the music.

Arthur lets himself go as well. He may never be able to compare himself to someone like Merlin, but he can still play. He can still keep up. He can still find and express his own passion in the music.

They play the full sonata, and at the end Merlin lowers his violin and bow as he smiles. He looks immensely relieved.

“That was good,” he says. “Was that good for you?”

Arthur nods. It had been good. It had been more than good. “Another?” he asks, eager for more.

Merlin’s smile widens. “What was the first thing we played together?”

“Brahms. You requested it.”

“Right, Sonata #3.” Merlin lifts his violin again. “Ready?”

Arthur dives into it.

They carry on, playing anything they can think of that they’ve already played through the wall, and it goes on for hours. It feels like the blink of an eye, though, and Arthur is surprised when Merlin announces he should go back home to eat and rest his feet.

“Do you… want to stay?” Arthur asks, closing the fallboard on his piano. “We could get takeaway or something. If you like.”

He gets that feeling again like he’s cheating, but he pushes it aside. He’s not doing anything wrong by just asking Merlin to stay for dinner. It’s not like it’s a date.

Merlin crouches down to put his violin back in its case. “I wouldn’t be overstaying my welcome?”

“Not at all.”

Merlin slips the bow in the case and closes it, securing the clasps. “That sounds great, then. Thank you.”

Arthur brings Merlin to his living room and leaves him to look at menus on his laptop while he goes to the kitchen to pour some wine.

“Anything look good?” he asks when he comes back out with a glass for Merlin.

Merlin takes a sip of his wine. “Falafel?”

“That’d be great. My treat.”

Arthur reminds himself that this isn’t a date as he joins Merlin on the sofa.

Merlin looks up from Arthur’s laptop. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Arthur says, and they place their order online.

“Where’d you live before here?” Merlin asks.

“Not too far. Bit closer to my office, but my flat was pretty awful. I think my neighbours were quite happy to be rid of me.”

“None of them played with you?”

Arthur chuckles. “No one’s ever played with me like that, no. How long have you lived here?”

“A couple years. Four? It was… well, I used to tour a lot, and this was my home base. Then I stopped touring, and I… have barely left it since.” Merlin takes a long drink of wine. “But you don’t need to hear about that.”

“I was curious about that, actually. Why you stopped touring, I mean. If you feel like talking about it.”

Merlin’s mouth moves in a strange way, as if he’s trying to force himself to smile. He gives up on it after a few seconds. “Yeah. I… it’s kind of a long story. Not to be cliche, but, you know, it started when I was a kid. I’ve always been pretty anxious, and I’ve always turned to music to help. It soothed me, you know? I felt like I could be myself when I was playing, and I loved it. More than anything, I loved it. I never felt like I was living unless I was playing.”

“I get that,” Arthur says. “Music really does something different to the soul, doesn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs. “I used to think so. I’m starting to feel that way again. But when I was touring, it was just… it was too much. It was just years and years of non-stop performing, and I had no life, and eventually I just stopped feeling anything. It happened slowly, but I could tell I was losing something of myself. I felt sort of numb when I played. Eventually I did a show that only made me feel completely dead inside.”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur isn’t sure what else to say. The pain is so obvious in Merlin’s voice.

“Yeah. I mean… yeah. It was rough. I got drunk that night, the drunkest I’ve ever been, and when I woke up in the morning it was honestly a surprise and a relief to be alive. I realised I’d hit something akin to rock bottom, so I quit. Mid-tour. I was in Australia. I flew home and… I’ve been hiding ever since.”

“Hiding?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Merlin says with a bit of a laugh, “but I barely leave my flat. I sort of hate being out in public. I feel so out of place. I’ve never belonged anywhere, really, except on the stage. But I can’t do that anymore. So.” Merlin clears his throat and takes a gulp of wine. “Then one day I heard my new neighbour playing the piano, and they were very good. I was impressed. I listened and listened and… finally started to feel something again.”

Now Arthur really didn’t know what to say. Merlin had been impressed with his playing? That couldn’t be true. He must just be saying that to be nice.

“I plucked up the courage to request a song I could join in on,” Merlin continues. “That was the first time I picked up my violin in over a year.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

“I’m still a bit rusty,” Merlin says.

Arthur smirks. “Sure you are.”

Merlin smiles, his eyes going nice and crinkly around the edges, and takes a drink. “Anyway, um. Thanks for listening, I guess.”

“I don’t mind at all. I think it’s great you can talk about it so easily.”

“It’s not exactly easy. But… I don’t know, practise makes perfect, I guess. My therapist has really been pushing me to play with you. Well, supporting me, rather, not pushing. He thinks it’s good for me.”

“Do you disagree?”

“No.” Merlin finishes off his wine.

Maybe Arthur’s playing really had impacted Merlin, broken through something he’d built up around himself.

“More wine?” Arthur offers.

“Maybe after we eat.”

Arthur sips at his own wine, and they sit in silence for a stretch of time until Arthur’s mobile rings. It’s their takeaway, so Arthur rushes down to the front door of the building to get the food. When he comes back up, Merlin is still on the sofa, doing something on his mobile.

“Dinner is served,” Arthur says, setting the bag down on the dining table. “How about some mood music?”

Merlin puts his mobile away and sits at the table while Arthur chooses an album to put on. He decides on a contemporary folk jazz group, and Merlin smiles like he recognises it.

“So,” Arthur says as he sits and pulls his dinner out of the bag. “What have you been doing for the past year, if not playing?”

“Well… reading, I guess. Watching the absolute worst reality series I can find.” Merlin pulls out his dinner and takes a few bites.

“What do you like to read?”

“Books with pictures,” Merlin says with a grin. “I’ve got a lot of graphic novels. Comics, manga, you name it.”

“Do you… miss it at all?” Arthur asks. “Touring and performing?”

Merlin takes a bite and chews it slowly. “‘Miss’ is maybe a strong word. I do feel… sort of pointless without it, but… I don’t know, there are other things I can do.”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin does that strange not-really-smiling thing again. “My manager has been suggesting lately that I record a new studio album.”

“You don’t want to?” Arthur guesses.

“I don’t know what I want.” Merlin gives Arthur a tight-lipped smile. “Anyway, this falafel is good.”

Arthur agrees, and they eat quietly for a while until Arthur asks more about Merlin’s books, and Merlin tells him about everything he’s read recently. It’s an easier topic of conversation that takes them past their meal and into the evening.

Merlin is much more relaxed talking about graphic novels than his musical career. He’s nice to talk to, even in moments of awkward silence. Arthur never feels pressured to fill the gaps between topics.

When the record ends, Merlin asks to hear another, so Arthur puts on the pop album Morgana had got him for a change of mood. They move back to the sofa, sitting on opposite ends and chatting about other albums Arthur has.

“This is going to sound weird,” Merlin says, “but I actually have some vinyl as well. I just don’t have a record player.”

“It’s not that weird. Did you get them as gifts?”

“Some yeah. I used to… spend a lot on eBay buying up rare classical recordings. No real reason, I guess I just didn’t know what else to do with my money. I should have spent it buying a record player, obviously.”

“Well, if you ever want to listen to them, you can bring them over. Anytime.”

“I’m honestly not sure even half of them play. Some of them are in rough shape. My cat likes to sleep in the storage bin I’ve got them in. Probably doesn’t help with their condition.”

“You have a cat?” Arthur asks.

“Yeah, Aithusa. I got her on a whim shortly after I quit touring. I think she’s probably saved my sanity more times than I care to admit.”

“It’s good to have company. What colour is she?”

Merlin takes out his mobile and shifts over to show Arthur some pictures. She’s a small white cat with a pointy face and big amber eyes. Arthur finds himself imagining Merlin in his flat, sitting down to read a graphic novel with a cup of tea and a cat in his lap. He wonders what Aithusa thinks of all the music Merlin has been playing lately. Maybe she serves as a captive audience or maybe she runs and hides from the noise.

Arthur finds his gaze slipping from the cat photos to Merlin’s fingers as they swipe across the screen. They’re long, thin, delicate, elegant. He wants to see them play again, wants to see them fingering the violin strings and wrapped around the bow. They’re probably some of the world’s most valuable, talented fingers, and they’re so close. Arthur can’t look away.

Merlin stifles a yawn as he puts his mobile away. “Sorry,” he says. “I think I’ve stayed too long.”

“You haven’t,” Arthur says as Merlin stands. He gets up and follows Merlin back to the piano room.

“Thank you for dinner.” Merlin slings his violin case over his back. “Would you want to play again sometime? I dare say this went a bit better than the last time.”

“It went much better. And, yes, I’d love to play again. Anytime at all.”

Merlin grins, and Arthur wants him to stay so he can learn more about him.

But it is getting late, and Arthur has work in the morning, so he leads Merlin to the door.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. “Really, it was… much better than I thought it was going to be.”

“For me, too.”

Arthur opens the door, and Merlin steps out into the hall. “Goodnight, Merlin.”

Merlin smiles and gives a wave before going back to his own flat. Arthur closes the door and stands there for a moment, his head spinning a little. His chest is tight with this strange feeling that something about Merlin is so special, and he’s worried he’s going to do something to fuck it up and lose their tentative friendship.

He goes to clean up their dinner and take a shower, and when he slips under the covers to go to sleep, it’s with thoughts of Merlin’s hands dancing through his tired mind.

Merlin comes over on Tuesday evening to play with Arthur, and then on Friday, and again the next Sunday. Each time they practise, they sound better and better. They learn each other’s preferences, each other’s tells, each other’s styles. It’s so much easier to get a read on Merlin’s interpretation of a piece when Arthur can look at him rather than listen to him through a wall.

It becomes intoxicating and addictive and the best thing Arthur has going on. Merlin is so generous with his music and his time, and he usually agrees to stay for dinner or at least a drink afterwards. Arthur cooks for him sometimes, orders takeaway others, but every time they eat while listening to one of his records. It’s such an easy habit they fall into.

Arthur finds himself wanting to play with Merlin every single day, but he knows that’s not a reasonable thing to ask for. His spends his spare days reading or seeing Mithian, but he always finds himself thinking of his next visit with Merlin. He can’t help himself. Playing with Merlin makes him feel alive and whole, and he craves it every second.

He likes Merlin’s company, too. He likes spending time with him before and after they play, likes learning about him, likes getting to look at him in all his handsome glory. Not that anything will or even could come of it. Arthur has Mithian, and he has no idea of Merlin’s preferences, and he would never make a move, regardless. What they have is too precious.

One Saturday, a month or so into this new routine, Merlin is sitting on the floor in front of Arthur’s record player. He and Arthur had spent the whole afternoon playing together, and now he has a glass of wine in one hand and is looking through Arthur’s record collection.

“I was thinking,” he says, barely loud enough to be heard over the music playing, “about that album I’m meant to record.”

Arthur is on the sofa with his wine, and he takes a sip before responding. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Merlin pulls a record out, looks at the front and back covers, and slips it back into place. “I think I’m not entirely opposed to the idea.”

“It could be fun,” Arthur says, wanting to encourage Merlin as much as he can. It feels like returning a favour. “You should do it. Would you get to pick what music you play?”

“Yeah.” Merlin takes a long gulp of wine. He’s facing away from Arthur, and he scratches at the back of his head like he can feel Arthur’s eyes on him there. “Would you… would you ever consider making an album?”

Arthur snorts. “No one wants to hear me make an album.”

“I do.” Merlin turns to face him. “I don’t think I fancy making another album by myself, but… I could maybe do it with you.”

Arthur blinks at him, sure that he’s misunderstanding or that Merlin is joking. There’s no way he would honestly be proposing that Arthur play with him on a professionally recorded studio album. There’s no way.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. What? Why would you even—I couldn’t. I could never. Good joke, though.”

Merlin’s smile is uneasy. “I’m not joking.”

Arthur tenses. “You want…” He shakes his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I—no, Merlin, come on. That’s such a ridiculous thing to ask. I’m not a professional. And you’re… you’re you, and I’m me.”

“Yes,” Merlin says quietly. “You’re you. I haven’t enjoyed playing with anyone as much as I do with you in years. Years, Arthur. A decade, even.”

“You’re just saying that,” Arthur mutters. He wants to change the subject. He wants to go. But it’s his flat. Maybe he can get Merlin to leave.

“Why would I just say that? I have no reason to lie to you.”

Arthur shakes his head again and takes a long swig of wine.

Merlin gets up and joins him on the sofa. He sits on the other side of it, but it still feels too close for Arthur.

“You know you’re good enough, right?” Merlin asks.

Arthur closes his eyes. “Merlin…”

Merlin lets them sit in silence for a few seconds before asking, “Is there a reason this very reasonable suggestion is completely freaking you out?”

Arthur rubs at his eyes and sighs. He finishes off his wine and sets down his glass. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve told you my long story.” Merlin crosses one leg over the other. “And I’ve got time.”

Arthur eyes him warily. “It’s not interesting.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Arthur sighs again. He hates talking about this. It’s humiliating.

But Merlin did share his own story, and now Arthur feels like he owes this to him.

“When I was a kid,” he starts, his voice low, “my dad was really encouraging of me and my playing. He found the best teachers for me, entered me into all these competitions, did everything he could. He… really loved the prestige and the prizes and the networking.”

Arthur bites his lip and looks away from Merlin. “I was preparing for the Chopin Competition. I’m not even sure how I got in, I was…” He shakes his head. “I overheard my dad on the phone saying that if I didn’t win, that would be the end of it. He was sick of wasting his time with me. I was only 17—I would have been the youngest winner in history, but that was the only outcome he would accept.”

“That’s absurd,” Merlin says.

Arthur shrugs. “Yeah, well.” He looks down at his empty glass, wishing he had more wine. “I choked. I couldn’t do it. Knowing how he really felt, knowing I could literally never be good enough… I bombed. It was the single most embarrassing competition of my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Well. I went to uni and… threw myself into my studies. It took me months to play again. And I haven’t played in front of anyone since then. Except you.”

“Oh,” Merlin says quietly. “I had no idea.”

Arthur shrugs and keeps his eyes firmly on the record player, watching the album spin around and around and around.

“What I keep telling myself,” Merlin finally says, “is that it’s not like I’d be playing for an audience. There would be people there, I’m sure. The producer, the engineer, whatever. But there wouldn’t be a real audience, and it wouldn’t be like playing in front of people. I’d just be playing for myself. And it would just happen to be recorded.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to say. He wants to encourage Merlin but can’t do that without being an obvious hypocrite because he would never, could never, do such a thing himself.

“I think you should consider my offer. You are good enough. And I would be really honoured to play with you.” Merlin finishes his glass of wine. “And playing with you would make it a lot easier.” He stands. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Arthur doesn’t protest. He walks Merlin to the door.

“Thanks for the wine,” Merlin says.

“Anytime.”

“I’ll see you next week?”

Arthur nods, and Merlin finally leaves.

Arthur goes back to the living room, picks up his empty glass, and goes to the kitchen to pour himself another.

Arthur barely sleeps that night, and on Sunday morning he texts Morgana to ask if she can come over.

She arrives with iced coffee for both of them. Arthur brings her into his living room where she sits on the sofa, but he can’t bring himself to join her. He’s too agitated to sit still.

“You look like a hot mess,” Morgana says mildly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. So…” She takes a loud sip of her coffee. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here or are you just going to stand there like a weirdo?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Arthur says honestly. “I’ve been playing with my neighbour.”

“Through the walls, right.”

“No. In person.”

Morgana’s eyebrows go up. “In person?”

Arthur nods, his throat tight. “He’s… he’s really good. He’s fucking fantastic. You ever hear of Merlin Emrys?”

“Should I have?”

“He’s probably the best violin player in the world.”

“And he lives next door?”

“Yes.”

Morgana smirks. “Small world.” She takes out her mobile. “What was his name?”

“Merlin Emrys.”

“Hm.” Morgana scrolls through something on her screen. “Says here he stopped performing over a year ago. Seems like it was a bit of a scandal.”

“Yeah, he… hasn’t played for anyone in a while.”

“So you have something in common.” Morgana sets her mobile down. “I’m not getting the crisis.”

“He wants me to record an album with him,” Arthur blurts out.

Morgana just stares at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that his manager wants him to record a studio album since he isn’t touring, and he wants me to… to play with him. On the album.”

Morgana gives him a withering look. “And you’ve taken this opportunity to be flattered and feel good about yourself?”

“Shut up.”

“Arthur, you know this is all in your head, right?”

“I’m not—”

“If this Merlin bloke thinks you’re good enough, then you’re good enough. I doubt he would invite someone mediocre to play with him. That’s not a career move anyone would make.”

Arthur shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that you internalised some real nonsense back when Dad was alive. And I understand that you think you messed up with that competition all those years ago. But I also understand how wonderful you are, and how much music means to you, and how big of an opportunity this is. I understand why you might be scared. But just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you should turn your back on this. This could be huge for you! This could be everything you ever hoped for.”

That makes Arthur want to cry.

Morgana picks her mobile back up. “He’s cute,” she says. “Too bad you’re taken.”

That just makes Arthur feel worse. He takes the lid off his coffee and downs most of it in one go.

“How’s things with Mithian, then?” Morgana asks. “She hasn’t told me much.”

Arthur imagines that’s because there isn’t much to tell. They see each other for dinner or brunch a few times a week, have a lot of sex, and that’s about it. She barely knows about his in-person playing sessions with Merlin, and she certainly doesn’t know about the offer to play on Merlin’s album. Arthur can’t fathom telling her, either. She wouldn’t understand.

Not that it would be her fault for not understanding. Arthur hasn’t exactly been forthcoming or open about his history with music or what it means to play with Merlin or even who Merlin really is. And he certainly hasn’t told her about how he feels about Merlin. That wouldn’t be fair, and it doesn’t matter, anyway.

“Silence is not a good answer,” Morgana says.

“Sorry. I… I don’t know. I’m not sure, to be honest.”

She sighs. “You always do this. You let your relationships become boring and then you just live in it. If you’re not happy, you’re allowed to break up with her. I won’t disown you.”

“It’s not that. It’s not her. She’s… she’s great. Really.”

“Convincing.”

Arthur rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. So much of his time and energy has gone towards Merlin lately. Some days he even forgets he’s supposed to putting some towards someone else. He knows that’s not fair. He knows that’s not good.

Morgana waggles her mobile in Arthur’s direction. “He seems your type.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.” She slips her mobile into her pocket. “Just trying to point out the obvious. Like the fact that there’s literally no reason not to take Merlin up on this offer to play with him on his album.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Morgana laughs and gets up to give him a hug. “I’ll leave you to your crisis.”

“Thanks.”

She lets herself out, and Arthur plops down on the sofa. His mobile digs awkwardly into his thigh, and he pulls it out and runs a search on Merlin’s name to see what Morgana had found.

There are a lot of articles and interviews from earlier in his career and a lot of photos of him and his violin. There are some headlines about his last tour ending early, some vague speculation for the reason, but there are very few recent news mentions.

Arthur goes to his Wikipedia page and glances through it, skimming through information about his childhood and competitions he won and tours he went on. There’s no ‘Personal Life’ section.

Abandoning his mobile on the sofa, Arthur goes to take a bath to clear his head.

It’s not the most relaxing bath he’s ever had. There’s too much caffeine running through him, and the silence in the bathroom after the tub fills up is overwhelming.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He feels like he’s doing everything wrong.

He doesn’t know how to fix things.

He’s not sure he can go through with what needs to be done to fix them.

Arthur slumps lower in the tub until he’s full submerged. He listens to the water around him, to the swishing and the bubbles, and wishes everything in life could feel this nice and easy.

But it’s not, and then only thing he can do about that is try. He can try.

When he resurfaces, he’s ready.

Step one is to break up with Mithian. She deserves better than someone who’s only half in it.

Step two is to agree to play with Merlin on his album. If Merlin really wants this, if he really thinks Arthur is good enough, then Arthur can do it.

Step three is to get rid of his pesky feelings for Merlin. They have no place in this arrangement. They’re silly, anyway. Arthur just got overwhelmed by playing with someone, for someone—he would have developed these feelings for anyone in that position. There’s nothing special about Merlin. He just has to get over it.

When the water is no longer pleasantly hot or even warm, Arthur stands up, rinses off, and gets dressed. He texts Mithian to ask if he can come over, and she responds quickly that he’s welcome.

He doesn’t feel good on the way over. He doesn’t feel good when he reaches her front door. And he doesn’t feel good when he’s stood in her living room with her arms wrapped around him in a warm hug.

“Were you getting bored by your lonesome?” Mithian asks as she steps back. She smiles at him, bright and cheerful, and Arthur has to look away.

“Not really. I… was hoping we could talk.”

Mithian pulls him over to sit on her sofa. “Talk away.”

Arthur tries to offer a smile, but it doesn’t feel right so he gives up. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Mithian doesn’t look exactly surprised. “Can I ask why?”

“I… it’s not you. I mean, I know that’s a whole stupid thing that people say, but I mean it. You’re wonderful, and I’ve a lot of fun getting to know you. But I guess… my heart isn’t in it, and it’s not fair to you to keep pretending that it is. So I figured we should make a clean break.”

“Very logical of you.”

That feels like a dig, and Arthur isn’t sure what to say.

“You know,” Mithian says, “you do deserve to be happy. It’s fine if I’m not the person or thing that’s going to make you happy. But you should figure out who or what is.”

“You made me happy,” Arthur says quietly.

“You know what I mean.”

Arthur nods. He takes a long look around her living room, at all the plants she has scattered about, and knows that she’s right.

Arthur gets to his feet, and Mithian walks him over to her door. “Thanks for everything,” he says.

She gives him a long hug, and Arthur wraps his arms around her, taking in one last bit of comfort.

“Thanks for letting me hear you play that one time,” she says.

Arthur laughs. “You’re welcome. Take care, yeah?”

“You too, Arthur.”

She lets him out and he starts off home, feeling lighter.

When Arthur gets home, he sits at his piano and plays a few quiet scales, warming up and trying to ease the knot that keeps forming in his chest every time he thinks of step two.

It wouldn’t be like performing in front of people. It wouldn’t be like the competition. It would just be Merlin. Merlin and a few other people, and that would be it. He could do that. He can do that.

He texts Merlin to see if he’s free to come over, and after a few minutes there’s a knock on his door.

Merlin is out in the hall, violin case on his back and a smile on his lips. Arthur steps aside so he can come in.

He goes straight for the piano room, and Arthur lets him set the violin case down before saying, “Actually, do you want some tea?”

Merlin shrugs. “Sure.”

Arthur leads the way to the kitchen where he fills up the electric kettle and sets it to boil. He opens up a cupboard and lets Merlin look through his collection of tea.

“This looks good,” Merlin says, pulling out a box of raspberry-flavoured tea.

“It is.” Arthur takes two bags and sets them in mugs, and they wait for the water to finish boiling in silence.

After a few minutes, the kettle clicks off, and Arthur pours the hot water into the mugs.

“I was thinking,” he says as he hands over Merlin’s tea. “About your album?”

“Yeah?” Merlin blows into his mug, and the steam curls around his face.

“Yeah. I… if you really want, I can—I mean, if you’re really sure, if it wasn’t some horrible joke, then I can, um… I can play with you. On it. On the album. I can do the album with you.”

Merlin sets his mug down on the counter and steps up to give Arthur a tight hug. It happens quickly. One second, Merlin is standing with his tea, and the next second he’s wrapped securely around Arthur.

He smells clean, sort of citrusy, and Arthur closes his eyes as he eases his arms around Merlin’s back, leaning into it before he can stop himself. Merlin’s embrace is warm, comforting.

“Thank you,” Merlin says. He steps back and gives a nervous smile. Arthur misses having him in his arms already. “Thank you, really. And it’s not a horrible joke. I mean, maybe a cosmic one, but I do really want to do this with you.”

Arthur swallows and nods. “I want to do it with you, too.”

Merlin grins. “Amazing. Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

Arthur isn’t sure about that, but he manages a smile. “What do we do now?” he asks.

“Brainstorm, I guess. Come up with a theme or a composer we want to focus on. I’d vote for a theme.”

“What kind of theme?”

Merlin shrugs. “Any theme we want. Can I sit?” he asks, gesturing towards the dining table out in the living room.

“Of course.” Arthur follows, and they sit across from each other with their tea.

“We should pick something that suits us,” Merlin says. “Our theme could be, like, I don’t know. Strangers,” he says with a laugh. “Or… division, like with the walls of our flats. Or…”

“Anxiety,” Arthur jokes.

Merlin grins. “Yeah. Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

Arthur sips at his tea. “How is that not a bad idea?”

“Because it’s real. We’ll both be nervous wrecks, so we might as well lean into that.”

“What music is anxious?”

“Shostakovich,” Merlin says easily.

Arthur laughs. “Fair.” He leans back in his chair and looks at Merlin. He takes him in, his easy smile and his floppy hair and his tea-wet lips. He looks excited, and Arthur wants in on it. “All right,” he says. “Anxiety theme it is.”

Merlin’s smile widens. “Perfect.”

They continue brainstorming as they drink their tea, coming up with a list of possible pieces to play and composers to research. It doesn’t really feel real, which makes it easier to plan for. It’s almost fun, and they get carried away, their list growing and growing until Merlin notices the time.

“Oh, wow,” he says. “No wonder I’m hungry. I didn’t mean to distract you from your dinner.”

“You didn’t,” Arthur says. “I didn’t realise how long we’ve been sitting here.”

Merlin shoots him a smile and puts his mobile with their list away in his pocket. “I need to go feed Aithusa. Um… thank you. Again. I know you really didn’t have to agree to this.”

“It’s—yeah. It’s no problem.”

Merlin gets up, and Arthur follows him to the piano room and watches him sling his violin case over his shoulder.

“I’ll have my manager call you,” Merlin says as they move into the entryway. “I’m sure there will be paperwork or something.”

That feels a bit too real, so Arthur just nods and then immediately puts it out of his mind.

“I’ll see you around.” Merlin opens the front door. “Thanks again.”

Arthur nods again and watches as Merlin lets himself into his own flat. He closes the door and goes to clean up their mugs. Their hug replays in his mind as he steps into the kitchen, and he finds himself warmed by the memory. There’s something about Merlin—maybe his openness, his earnestness—that just makes it impossible for Arthur to stop thinking about him.

He does his best, though, and tries to put Merlin from his mind as he figures out dinner.

The work week goes by as usual, with meetings and reports and more meetings. Arthur’s thoughts drift to Merlin as he works on Monday, to Merlin’s smile and skilful fingers and soft, tuggable hair. He’s not doing a very good job of getting rid of his feelings for Merlin. It’s harder than he imagined. Merlin has become such a big part of his life, such an important part of his life. It’s not like he can just stop thinking about him altogether.

He does continue to try, though. He gets through Tuesday with minimal thoughts of Merlin, mostly because of his packed schedule of meetings, but on his way home he gets a text asking if he’s free to play. He can’t bring himself to say no.

When he’s situated at his piano with Merlin standing nearby, he does his best to focus only on the music as they start playing. It’s one of the potential pieces for the album, although Arthur tries not to think about that too hard, either. It’s better to just pretend that this is any other piece of music.

But as they play, as the music fills up the room, as Arthur starts getting into the feel of it, he glances up at Merlin, and it’s like the whole day of not thinking about him has gone to waste. He’s beautiful when he plays, all long limbs and floppy hair and expressive eyebrows. He’s like something out of a very good dream.

Arthur looks back at his piano and tries to keep his gaze on the sheet music, but it’s impossible. Merlin is intoxicating to look at. The way he moves, the way he plays, the way he really is Arthur’s type. It’s impossible to ignore, impossible to look away.

He gets caught staring a few times, but he hopes Merlin won’t think anything of it. It’s normal for them to look at each other at least a little bit, for cues and timing and tempo changes. It’s just that Arthur keeps looking at him for very different reasons.

They play through a few pieces before calling it a day. Merlin puts his violin away and loiters by his case, clearly waiting for the usual invitation from Arthur to say for dinner or a drink.

Arthur closes the fallboard on his piano. He can’t ask Merlin to stay. He can’t have Merlin in his flat any longer. He needs to get himself and his feelings back under control, and he can’t do that with Merlin in the same room. He needs space.

“I, um…” Arthur licks his lips, trying to come up with some excuse to get Merlin to go home.

Merlin looks at him for a moment and then puts on a smile. “Shall we pick this back up tomorrow?”

“Thursday?” Arthur asks.

Merlin shrugs on his case. “Thursday. Thanks for having me over.”

Arthur walks him to the door, and when he’s alone again in his flat, he texts his sister. She agrees to come over for dinner the next evening, and Arthur distracts himself for the rest of the night by blasting music from his record player so loud that he can barely think of anything else.

“I was waiting to hear from you,” Morgana says as Arthur lets her inside on Wednesday.

“Why?”

“I spoke to Mithian.”

Arthur’s hit with a wave of guilt that he’s barely spared a thought for that relationship since he ended it.

“Yeah, well.” Arthur leads the way to the living room. “You were right, I guess.”

“Hm. It’s rare to hear you say that.”

“Shut up.”

Morgana laughs and plops down on his sofa. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” Arthur crouches down to pick through his record collection.

“Honestly.”

Arthur pulls out an album, sets it on his turntable, and drops the needle over it. It’s an album Morgana picked out for him years ago, something slow and jazzy with a soulful vocalist.

“Arthur?”

Arthur sighs and joins her on the sofa. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief. She wasn’t the one for me.”

“At least you can admit that.” She pats his knee. “You’ll find someone.”

Arthur really doesn’t want to talk about that. He listens to the music for a minute, tapping his foot along and trying not to think about whether Merlin can hear it through the walls.

“So, have you decided anything about that offer to play with your neighbour on his album?” Morgana asks. She never beats around the bush.

“Yes.”

“Oh?” She looks over at him, and he manages a smile. “Did you agree?” He nods, and she grins and leans over for a sideways hug. “That’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you. It’s going to be fantastic.”

Arthur shrugs as she pulls back. “It’ll be something, that’s for sure.”

“What was his name again?” she asks as she takes out her mobile.

“Merlin Emrys.”

He watches as she searches his name and then taps over to the image results. There are so many photos of Merlin playing or standing on stage, looking perfectly groomed in well-fitted suits or even tuxes. He’s really very photogenic.

“I’d like to meet him,” Morgana says.

Arthur clenches his jaw. The last thing he needs is for Morgana to butt her way into this. And what if Merlin does what so many men have done over the years and falls for her infuriating ways? No, Arthur definitely couldn’t handle that.

When he doesn’t respond, Morgana looks up at him with a smirk. “So he is your type?”

“Shut up.”

“Does he like men?”

“I have no idea. It’s none of my business.”

“Oh, please.”

“Morgana—”

“I guess I shouldn’t criticise. You’re taking a very big step with this album thing. Can’t ask too much of you all at once.”

“No, you can’t.”

Morgana laughs. “Didn’t your text say something about dinner?”

Glad for the excuse to stop talking about Merlin, Arthur goes to get his laptop so they can order something.

On Thursday, Arthur almost does a good job of not getting distracted by the fact that Merlin is planning to come over after he gets home from work.

Then he gets a call from a number he doesn’t recognise. He doesn’t answer, but they leave a message, and it’s Merlin’s manager calling to ask about Arthur’s schedule for rehearsing and recording.

Arthur listens to it twice, a pit in his stomach. It’s real. It’s really, really real. He’s actually going to record an album with Merlin.

He doesn’t return the call and spends the rest of the day burying himself in reports. He stays past 5 o’clock, only leaving when his stomach starts growling for dinner.

When he gets back to his block of flats, he knocks on Merlin’s door rather than go home.

Merlin answers the door with an easy smile. “Did you just get in?” he asks.

“Yeah. I…” He swallows, trying to find the right words.

“Do you want to come in?” Merlin asks after a moment.

Arthur shrugs, so Merlin opens the door wider and steps aside. Arthur comes in, and Merlin’s flat is a disorienting mirror image of his.

“You allergic to cats?” Merlin asks as he shuts the door.

“No.”

Merlin whistles, and Aithusa comes running from down the hall. She shows no shyness, immediately rubbing her face on Arthur’s trousers. Arthur crouches down to pet her, but she jumps away, slipping into another room.

“She’s fickle,” Merlin says. “Do you want something to drink?” Merlin heads down the hall towards the living room, and Arthur follows.

“No, I just… I got a call from your manager.”

“Oh, yeah, I gave Gaius your number. What did he say?”

“I didn’t talk to him, he just left a message. I… need to call him back.”

Merlin looks at Arthur, taking him in, and Arthur wonders if he looks as frazzled as he feels.

“You’re having second thoughts,” Merlin says with a sad smile.

“No. I mean—yeah, a bit.”

Merlin is quiet for a moment, but then he says, softly, “Arthur, you really saved me. I honestly thought I was completely broken and that I’d never play again. You changed that—you saved me, and I’m just trying to return the favour.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Arthur protests. “I’m sure it was more your therapist.”

“No. It was you.”

Arthur shakes his head but doesn’t know what else to say. He knows that Merlin really believes what he’s saying. Arthur just can’t bring himself to believe it too.

“You could probably quit your job and play professionally after this album,” Merlin says. “If you want.”

Arthur shakes his head again, his chest tight. “I just want to play with you.”

Merlin’s smile is soft, and Arthur finds himself aching for another hug from him. “Then let’s play.”

Arthur nods.

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Merlin decides. “Tonight we should drink.”

Arthur manages a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sit.” He goes into the kitchen, and Arthur looks around his living room.

It’s furnished rather sparsely, and Arthur can either sit in a wooden chair at a small round table or on the loveseat near the windows.

“Sit,” Merlin says again when he comes back in with two glasses of wine. He nods towards the loveseat.

Arthur sits, and Merlin joins him, their knees knocking together. He hands over a glass, and Arthur sips at it, grounded by the way it burns a little on the way down his throat.

Aithusa comes back out, and she jumps up on Merlin’s lap. He pets her idly, and the three of them sit in a pleasant silence.

“Can I see your records?” Arthur finally asks.

“They’re over there,” Merlin says, pointing towards a box next to his bookshelf.

Arthur gets up to inspect them. It turns out Merlin wasn’t lying about their condition. He can see deep scratches and warps on nearly all the vinyl, not to mention the dust.

“Do you think any of them will play?” Merlin asks.

“Well…”

Merlin laughs. “Don’t worry, I kind of figured they were hopeless.”

“They might play, it just might not be good.”

“Best not to risk it.”

Arthur chuckles and rejoins Merlin on the loveseat. Aithusa moves over to his lap, curling up and going to sleep.

“Feeling better?” Merlin asks.

Arthur nods. “Yeah. I guess. I’ll give Gaius a call tomorrow.”

“I promise he doesn’t bite.”

Arthur finishes off his wine. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Anytime. It was nice to finally return the favour.”

Arthur gently shifts Aithusa back over to Merlin’s lap and stands up. “I need to go find food. Thanks for the drink.”

Merlin negotiates Aithusa onto the empty spot on the loveseat and gets to his feet to walk Arthur to the door. “We on for tomorrow?”

“Yes, definitely.” Arthur opens the door, and Merlin puts a hand on the small of his back.

“Good. See you then.”

Arthur nods and escapes out into the hall and then inside his own flat. He leans against the door, eyes closed, letting the lingering warmth from Merlin’s hand wash over him.

He’s going to have to come up with a different plan, he decides. Obviously getting rid of his feelings for Merlin isn’t going to happen any time soon. He just needs to figure out a way to live with that, to work around it, to ignore it.

If only Merlin weren’t so… Merlin.

Arthur pushes away from the door and goes to find food.

On Friday morning, between meetings, Arthur phones Gaius. It’s a simple call. Mostly Gaius just introduces himself and asks about how flexible Arthur’s work schedule is. They don’t talk for more than a few minutes, and Arthur is surprised to find that he’s not a wreck when he hangs up. He’s one step closer to recording this album, and he might still be apprehensive, but he’s not completely losing it like he thought he would be. That little bit of reassurance from Merlin the night before must have sunk in more than he’d thought.

When he finally gets home from the office, he barely has time to change out of his work clothes before Merlin is knocking on the door.

“Hey,” Arthur says as he lets Merlin in.

Merlin is all smiles today, his eyes bright. “Hey. I heard you talked to Gaius.”

“I did.”

“How’d it go?”

Arthur shrugs and closes the door behind Merlin. “Fine, I think. He said I’ll have to sign some things at some point.”

“Fun,” Merlin teases. He steps into Arthur’s piano room and sets his violin case on the floor. “I arranged some of De Staat for us. Do you want to give that a try?”

“You—” Arthur shakes his head. Leave it to Merlin to just casually arrange a piece like that. “Sure.”

Merlin hands over the sheet music and Arthur glances over it. It’s an intense piece, one perfectly suited for their theme of anxiety but not an easy one to play or even listen to.

They get to it, running through Merlin’s arrangement a few times until and they figure out how to best play off each other.

It’s a grating sort of piece, though, so eventually they decide they’re done with practising it.

“I was thinking,” Merlin says, rubbing a smudge on the side of his violin, “that maybe we should each play the solo arrangements of ‘Erlkönig’.”

“On the album?” Merlin nods, and Arthur considers it. It might be strange to have two versions of the same piece on the album. On the other hand, it could be an interesting experiment to hear the differences in how they play and interpret the piece.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want. I wasn’t sure how you might feel about a solo track.”

That hadn’t even occurred to Arthur. Surprisingly, he’s not bothered by it at all. Maybe knowing Merlin would be doing the same makes it more palatable.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Arthur says.

“Do you have the sheet music?”

“No, but—”

“I’ll be right back,” Merlin says, and then he’s out of the room and out the front door.

Arthur stays at his piano, amused, until Merlin comes back with an iPad. He sets it on the piano and nudges Arthur.

“Move,” he says when Arthur doesn’t get the hint.

Arthur shifts over, and then Merlin is sitting next to him on the bench, their thighs and arms pressed together. It’s too much contact, too much of Merlin, and Arthur takes a deep breath as subtly as he can.

Merlin opens an app and the sheet music for the solo piano arrangement of the piece comes up on the screen. Arthur reads over the first few lines, refamiliarising himself with it.

“Ready?” Merlin asks.

Arthur sets his fingers on the keys, steals a sideways glance at Merlin, and starts to play.

It’s not the longest piece, but he feels himself rushing through it, anyway. Merlin dutifully turns the digital pages for him, and the elegance of his fingers and wrist is incredibly distracting.

He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows he needs to get a grip on himself. So he does his best to turn off his brain and focus only on the music, on the notes on Merlin’s iPad, on the sound of the piece and his fingers moving over the keys and the feel of the music.

“Wow,” Merlin says when Arthur reaches the end. “This’ll be great.”

Arthur rubs his palms over his thighs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He gets up, and Arthur breathes a little easier. “Want to hear my version?”

“Of course.”

Merlin readies himself, shoots Arthur a smile, and dives into the piece.

He plays with such command that Arthur can’t look away. He’s like a god, some force unto himself. It’s like there’s no one else in the room, no one else in the world but him and his violin.

Except, he keeps glancing over at Arthur. Arthur tries to school his face into something like simple appreciation, but he’s sure he’s missed the mark. What he feels is not simple appreciation, and he’s never been good at masking his feelings.

When Merlin finishes, he lowers his violin and bow and raises his eyebrows, waiting for Arthur’s opinion.

“This’ll be great,” Arthur says.

“Good. Then that’s two tracks down.”

Arthur smiles, and Merlin returns it.

“Anything else you want to practise?”

“I was thinking of dinner, actually,” Merlin says, kneeling down to put away his violin.

“Oh, sure. Do you… want to stay? We could order something.”

Merlin keeps his gaze on his violin. “I was wondering,” he says quietly, “if you’d be interested in going to a restaurant?”

Arthur’s glad Merlin is looking away because he knows there’s shock written across his face. As far as he knows, Merlin only leaves his flat to do the shopping and come over to Arthur’s. He must really be making progress with his therapist if he’s willing to try going out to eat in public.

“We don’t have to,” Merlin says.

“No,” Arthur says quickly. “No, I want to. I’m just surprised. I thought you didn’t like being out in public like that.”

“I don’t,” Merlin says, finally looking up. “But I’d like to try.”

Arthur nods. “A restaurant it is, then.”

He goes to get ready, and within a few minutes he and Merlin are on their way to a little place a few streets over. Merlin is quiet as they walk, and Arthur doesn’t have much to say, either. It’s very strange to be with Merlin outside of their flats, out in the world. Arthur had really grown used to their little bubble.

They’re seated outside and left with menus, but Merlin barely looks at his. He takes in his surroundings instead, and Arthur wonders what he must be thinking. Is he regretting this suggestion?

When the waiter comes for their orders, Merlin asks for the soup and salad, and Arthur asks for the same.

“Great minds,” he teases when they’re alone again.

Merlin smiles at that. “I don’t exactly miss touring, but some days I really miss the travelling. Getting to try out so many different cuisines… that was always easily my favourite part.”

“Soup and salad must seem pretty boring, then.”

“Not at all.” He clears his throat, and his smile turns nervous for a moment before he says, “You know, I don’t really know anything about your day job.”

“It’s not interesting.”

“It might be.”

Arthur laughs. He gives an overview and answers Merlin’s questions, and before long their food arrives. They continue talking—about Arthur’s time at uni, about other companies he’s worked for, even about his sister. By the time they finish eating, Arthur feels like he’s pretty much an open book, all his pages perfectly exposed for Merlin. And Merlin is an avid reader.

The waiter comes back to ask about dessert, and Merlin orders without asking Arthur.

“Felt like indulging,” Merlin says, smiling, as the waiter walks away. “You’ll split it with me, right?”

“If you like.”

Merlin’s smile widens, and there’s something in it, some meaning Arthur can’t quite grasp but that makes his insides squirm.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Merlin says. “I’m sure you could have been doing better things with your Friday night.”

“Not at all.” Merlin looks pleased at that, so Arthur adds, “I’m glad we’re here. And the weather’s perfect for it, so it would have been a wasted evening otherwise.”

Merlin glances up at the sky. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

“It is. What’s the worst weather you ever encountered while touring?”

Merlin grimaces and tells the story of a monsoon. Their dessert comes as he talks, and he eats his half idly with Arthur managing to squeeze in some questions while he chews. It’s strange to hear Merlin talk about his touring days when Arthur knows how they ended, but Merlin seems to be truly past that now. It’s clear he still has fond memories of his life on tour, and Arthur manages to draw a few more out of him before their waiter comes back to deliver the bill.

Merlin pulls out his wallet, and Arthur does the same, but then Merlin says, “Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“Merlin—”

“It’s my treat.” He says it with an easy smile, so Arthur puts his wallet away.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. I’m sure you’ll find a way to return the favour.”

Arthur has no idea what to say to that.

They walk back to their block of flats in pleasant silence, and when they reach their floor, Arthur lets Merlin into his flat so he can get his violin.

“Thank you, again, for dinner,” Arthur says as he follows Merlin back to the front door.

“We should do it again,” Merlin says, and it almost sounds like he’s asking a question. “I had fun.”

“Me too.”

They look at each other for a moment, and Arthur’s thoughts come to a screeching halt as Merlin licks his lips.

Then the moment is gone, and Merlin is opening the door to go back to his own flat.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says, and then he steps closer for a hug.

Arthur can’t help but lean into it this time. He gets his arms around Merlin, although the violin case is mostly in the way. Merlin still has that citrusy smell about him, and Arthur breathes it in.

Merlin is a little flushed when he pulls back, or maybe it’s the bad lighting in Arthur’s flat.

“Goodnight,” Merlin says, and then he’s gone.

Arthur stands there for a minute, his heart doing gymnastics in his chest. Why had that felt so much like a date? It hadn’t been a date. It had just been dinner between friends.

They’re just friends.

Friends.

Arthur closes the door and goes to take a bath, needing to feel something on his skin that isn’t Merlin’s breath.

Arthur doesn’t hear from Merlin for the rest of the weekend, but he doesn’t reach out either. He doesn’t know what to say. They should probably be rehearsing, but he can’t bring himself to suggest it. That would involve Merlin coming over, being in his space, playing in front of Arthur, and Arthur doesn’t have it in him to deal with that.

On Monday, Arthur is most of the way through work when he gets a text.

From: Merlin
Is there any chance you could take off Thursday afternoon?

Arthur checks his calendar before responding.

To: Merlin
Might be able to, why?

From: Merlin
Gaius and Alice want to hear us play. They could come over to yours if you want? We wouldn’t have to go anywhere

To: Merlin
Who is Alice?

From: Merlin
Producer

Arthur exhales hard. On the one hand, he knew this day had to come at some point. On the other, he had assumed it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Now he realises that was probably a very silly assumption.

Most of him wants to say no, that he needs more time, that he and Merlin need to rehearse more before playing for anyone else. Another part of him knows that’s not true and that it really wouldn’t matter how much rehearsing they did or didn’t do. He was always going to hate this part regardless.

And it would be nice to be able to do it at his own flat rather than in some unfamiliar studio or hall.

To: Merlin
Sure, Thursday works

He reschedules his Thursday afternoon meetings and blocks off his calendar. Then he puts his mobile away and spends the rest of the day resolutely not thinking about Merlin or Gaius or Alice.

Merlin comes over on Tuesday evening so they can prepare for Gaius and Alice’s visit. He’s friendly enough as they discuss what pieces they should play on Thursday, but there’s something that doesn’t feel right. It takes Arthur a while to realise what it is.

This isn’t Merlin his friend, this is Merlin his business partner. He’s more serious, less casual, and Arthur can’t figure out how to act in return. He doesn’t want to lose or change their friendship just because they’re doing this album together.

Maybe Merlin is just nervous. As much as he’s said that he’s in a better place, this will still be his first time playing for someone other than Arthur in over a year. He’s got to be feeling the weight of that.

Arthur certainly feels it. That ball of nerves low in his stomach, that tightness behind the ribs. He’s nervous as hell to play for someone new. Two someones new. Two very important someones new. If he can manage not to fuck this up, then things will really get rolling.

Merlin doesn’t stay long after they agree on what to play on Thursday. Arthur asks if he wants to, even offers him some wine, but Merlin just says he has to go feed Aithusa and leaves without much of a goodbye.

It feels like a bad omen, but Arthur can’t afford to think like that. He gets out the wine anyway and pours himself a glass to help with the nerves and the disorienting feeling that something between him and Merlin is off.

By Thursday, Arthur feels like he’s close to losing it. He’s tense all over, and no amount of deep breathing is helping.

He leaves work at noon and grabs a wrap from a food truck on his way home. He never manages to eat it, though. The knot in his stomach is too tightly wound.

At one o’clock, Merlin knocks on his door. Arthur shakes out his hands before answering it.

Merlin looks composed—calm, cool, and collected in a way Arthur can only dream of right now.

“Ready?” he asks cheerfully.

Arthur steps aside so Merlin can come in. Merlin goes straight for Arthur’s piano room, and Arthur closes the door and follows.

“They should be here in half an hour if they don’t get lost.” Merlin sets his violin case on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I might be sick,” Arthur says honestly.

Merlin’s smile is kind, and hope sparks in Arthur’s chest that the all-business version of Merlin might be gone again.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Find the off switch to my brain?”

Merlin laughs. “You’ll be fine. It’s just Gaius. And Alice. And me! You’ll be fine.”

He sounds a little like he’s trying to convince himself as well, and that small hint at his own nervousness puts Arthur a little at ease. As long as he’s not the only one who’s a wreck, he can probably manage to handle himself.

Merlin gets out his violin, and Arthur sits at the piano without saying anything. Merlin starts up a piece, and Arthur joins in, and it’s almost like old times, like how things had been before any of this recording an album nonsense had started. Arthur is even starting to feel a little better, a little more relaxed, a little more himself.

Then Merlin’s mobile rings, and he leaves to let Gaius and Alice into the building. He’s gone for just long enough that Arthur considers jumping out the window to escape.

When he returns, Arthur goes to greet their guests.

Gaius and Alice are both kind, sweet, amiable. It doesn’t exactly put Arthur at ease, but it’s better than the alternative.

They make small talk in Arthur’s piano room for a bit, and Arthur notices that Merlin has gone back to being all business. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he’s oddly stiff in his movements.

He must be more nervous than he’s letting on.

“Shall we hear what you have to share?” Gaius eventually asks.

Merlin glances at Arthur. “Ready?”

Arthur nods, ready as he’ll ever be. He takes up his spot on the piano bench as Merlin sets up with his violin.

Gaius and Alice stand behind Arthur, blessedly out of view. If Arthur tries really hard, he can pretend it’s only him and Merlin, playing for themselves as usual.

Merlin plays a few random notes before taking a breath and nodding at Arthur that he’s ready. Arthur rests his fingers on the keys, gives himself a moment to breathe, and then starts playing.

It’s not exactly perfect, but, surprisingly, it’s also not awful. Arthur draws every bit of comfort he can from Merlin’s presence, from the familiar sound of the violin, and he manages to do a decent job with the piano bit. It’s even, dare he say it, good.

Maybe recording an album won’t be a disaster, after all. If it just involves Gaius and Alice, if Arthur can pull strength from Merlin, then maybe it will even be fun.

Well, fun might be a stretch. But maybe it won’t be torture.

They finish the first piece, and then Merlin immediately goes into the second. Arthur can’t help but smile to himself as he joins in. Merlin is nervous, too, there’s no denying it. He wonders what the energy in the room must feel like to Gaius and Alice.

“Oh, well done,” Gaius says when their second piece ends. “You sound marvellous together. Like you were born for it.”

Merlin smiles at that, and it’s a genuine one. Arthur smiles, too.

They have a third piece prepared, but Gaius and Alice start talking logistics so the playing portion of the afternoon seems to be over. They tell Merlin and Arthur about some of the locations they’ve considered for recording, and Merlin chimes in with his opinion, and after a few minutes they all seem to be decided that the best place would be Albion Hall. It’s not too big, but also not too small, and recording in a proper concert hall will result in a richer sound than a studio.

“What do you think?” Gaius asks Arthur.

“I’ve never been,” Arthur says. “But I trust Merlin’s opinion.”

Merlin gives him a lopsided smile.

“Good,” Alice says. “We’ll make some calls. I suppose we’ll have to work around your schedule, Arthur? Why don’t you send us some times you’d be available, and we’ll go from there.”

Arthur nods.

“Excellent.” Gaius shakes Merlin’s hand and then Arthur’s. “Thank you very much for letting us into your home. I hope you’re both as excited as I am about this. I know a lot of people will be very glad to hear you playing again, Merlin.”

“They’ll enjoy Arthur just as much.”

“Of course.” Gaius turns to Alice. “Shall we get out of their hair?”

Merlin and Arthur lead them to the door, where they all shake hands again and say their goodbyes before Gaius and Alice go down the stairs to let themselves out.

Arthur hears the heavy front doors slam behind them, and he exhales, feeling lighter than he has all week.

“How was that?” Merlin asks.

They’re still by the door, crowded together in the small space.

“Good. Fine. Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“That’s good.”

“How was it for you?”

Merlin nods. “Good. I—” He licks his lips. “I really like playing with you, Arthur.” His voice is quiet, soft, and something light and sort of fizzy runs through Arthur at the sound of it.

Merlin shifts closer, and then closer again, and Arthur lights up, his limbs weak from the almost contact. His thoughts turn slow as Merlin looks at him, eyes as blue as they’ve ever been and lips pink and glistening and moving closer.

Arthur’s breath hitches, his body frozen in that moment, and Merlin hesitates for the tiniest fraction of a second before closing the distance between them. The kiss is gentle, and Arthur chases it as Merlin pulls back.

“Sorry,” Arthur breathes, head spinning, thoughts whirring too loud for him to think properly.

Merlin swallows and takes a step away, ending all contact with Arthur. “You’re seeing someone else,” he says. It’s not a question.

Arthur blinks. “No. I’m not.” Merlin looks confused, so Arthur adds, “I was, but I’m not anymore.”

Merlin nods. “Then… what are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admits.

Merlin’s lips quirk but don’t quite lift into an actual smile. “Don’t apologise unless you didn’t want it.”

“I want it,” Arthur says in a rush. “I—” Whatever else he has to say is smothered by Merlin’s lips back on his.

Arthur lifts his hands to Merlin’s waist, holding onto his slim hips, and Merlin gets his hands on the sides of Arthur’s face, holding him in place. Their mouths fall open as the kiss deepens, and Arthur leans back against the wall, needing something solid to keep himself from melting to the floor. He’s quivery as Merlin kisses him to pieces, and all he can do is hold on and dig his fingers into Merlin’s sides. He lets out a desperate sort of sound when Merlin bites his lower lip, and Merlin smiles against him.

“All right?” Merlin asks, and Arthur nods quickly, needing more, needing Merlin’s lips, needing for this to never, ever end.

Merlin kisses him again, and it’s like soaring, like sinking all the way into a steaming hot bath, like playing the perfect set and taking a bow with a flourish. It’s like everything Arthur has felt since Merlin started playing with him. It’s like all the feelings he’s been chasing, but they’re real, here and pressed against him and perfect.

One of Merlin’s hands slips around to the back of Arthur’s head, his fingers playing in Arthur’s hair, and Arthur shivers, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. Merlin breaks the kiss only to drag his lips over to Arthur’s ear.

“I’ve been waiting to do this,” he whispers, and his warm breath sends another cascade of shivers down Arthur’s back.

“Why?”

Merlin pulls back slightly to look at him. “Why what?”

“Why were you waiting?”

Merlin opens his mouth but then closes it a second later and gives a guilty smile. “I thought you were with someone else. And I kept convincing myself you wouldn’t be interested, anyway.”

“I am,” Arthur assures him. “Very.” He cups Merlin’s cheeks and pulls him in for another kiss, one that becomes more heated as Merlin pushes forward and presses Arthur firmly against the wall.

Arthur lets himself go, lets Merlin take what he wants, lets his mind empty and his body loosen, lets it happen exactly as it’s meant to.

When Merlin pulls back, he’s panting, and Arthur can’t help but go back in for another kiss.

“I wanted that to be a date,” Merlin says, slipping one hand under Arthur’s shirt. Arthur huffs at the contact. “On Friday. I… couldn’t work up the nerve.”

“That explains a lot,” Arthur says, grinning.

Merlin smiles and leans in. He breathes again Arthur’s lips for a moment before pressing a kiss to them. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Just… thank you. For everything.”

Arthur pulls Merlin in for a tight hug, and Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur, and they let the moment become still.

Finally, Merlin pulls away, gives Arthur a quick kiss, and steps back. “Can we try again?” he asks. “The date thing? Tomorrow night, maybe?”

“I’d like that.”

Merlin gives him another kiss. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“You’re going?” Arthur asks. He reaches for Merlin’s hands.

“I—yes, I…” Merlin’s smile falters, and Arthur thinks he understands. They can’t do too much too fast. That’s probably for the best—for both of them.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. For our date.”

Merlin grins and gives Arthur one final kiss. “Tomorrow.”

He grabs his violin case and goes back to his own flat, leaving Arthur alone and giddy.

Heart too full to stay home and function, Arthur gets changed and goes for a run to get out his excess energy and give himself time and space to process the afternoon.

Arthur spends his Friday at work drafting texts to Merlin, none of which he sends. When he finally comes home, he starts to pick his outfit for the evening and settles on a pair of brown trousers, a simple off-white button-up shirt, and a light jacket that Morgana got for him several birthdays ago. It’s casual but not too casual, and it makes him look more put together than he feels.

When he hears a knock at the door, Arthur’s stomach does a little flip, and he opens it to find Merlin looking completely gorgeous. He’s got on a roomy striped jumper and light blue jeans that fit him obscenely well.

“Hey,” Merlin says.

“Hey.” Arthur leans in for a kiss. “You look good.”

“You do, too.”

Arthur smiles and steps out of his flat, closing the door behind him. They leave the building and head in the opposite direction of where they went last Friday. Merlin offered to the restaurant this time, but he hasn’t exactly said where they’re going. Arthur just follows him, glad to be spending time together wherever Merlin wants.

It turns out to be a Spanish restaurant with delicious food, strong drinks, and an electric atmosphere that makes Arthur want to stay out all night. He and Merlin talk about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing easily and never getting boring or awkward. It’s similar to the dinner they had last week, but somehow so much better because it’s actually a real date.

Arthur pays this time, and they hold hands on the way back to their block of flats. Merlin invites Arthur in for a drink, which Arthur knows he shouldn’t have but says yes to anyway. They barely make it halfway to the kitchen before Merlin has Arthur pressed against the wall, his hands inside Arthur’s jacket and his tongue inside Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur grabs Merlin’s hips, pulling them against him, and Merlin moans before pushing closer. He’s everywhere, one hand in Arthur’s hair and the other on the small of Arthur’s back, pinky dipping beneath Arthur’s trousers, and it’s all Arthur can do to just hang on.

When Merlin breaks their kiss to catch his breath, Arthur takes the chance to kiss a trail downwards. Merlin gasps and tilts his head, stretching out his neck for Arthur to feast on. Arthur licks across a swathe of skin and then attaches his lips there, sucking briefly on the spot. Merlin lets out a needy sound and moves his hands to Arthur’s arse to give it a squeeze.

Arthur loves this. He loves having Merlin’s hands on him, loves having his mouth on Merlin, loves the utter lack of space between them. He continues lavishing attention on Merlin’s neck until Merlin is openly moaning, and then he drags his lips up to Merlin’s ear. He flicks his tongue out, and Merlin gasps and grabs at Arthur’s jacket, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“What do you want to do?” Arthur asks.

Merlin licks his lips and leans back, looking at Arthur with an uncertain expression. “I—”

He’s interrupted by Aithusa’s loud meowing from down near their feet. Arthur chuckles and kisses a trail from Merlin’s ear to his lips.

“I’ve had a lovely evening,” he says.

“Me too.”

“Shall we pick this up next time?”

Merlin nods, and Arthur runs his hands through Merlin’s hair, thoroughly messing it up.

“I should leave you to your cat,” Arthur says. He untangles himself from Merlin. “Text me tomorrow?”

Merlin nods again and gives Arthur a goodnight kiss. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” Arthur gives Merlin’s hand a squeeze and lets himself out.

Back in his own flat, Arthur goes to his room to undress. He palms his half-hard cock, debating what to do. He wants to come, and thoughts of Merlin would certainly get him there, but it would be all the more satisfying if he waited until Merlin was ready for them to be together.

He opts for a shower, a cold one, and then he curls up in bed with a book and falls asleep reading.

Arthur is halfway through breakfast the next morning when his mobile buzzes with a text.

From: Merlin
Just heard from Gaius - Albion Hall is unoccupied until 2 today. Do you fancy rehearsing there a bit to get the feel of it?

To: Merlin
Not recording?

From: Merlin
Not today. We can just play through the same pieces we did for Gaius and Alice the other day

Arthur finishes his breakfast, letting the idea sink in, before responding.

To: Merlin
Let’s do it

He gets dressed and meets Merlin outside of their flats. They take the tube to Albion and find Gaius and Alice waiting outside.

As soon as they enter the concert hall, something heavy settles in Arthur’s chest. It looks like every other hall he’s played in—but he hasn’t played in a venue like this in a very long time, and all his old insecurities are threatening to creep back in.

Gaius and Alice sit in the house seats, and Merlin leads Arthur backstage.

“All right?” he asks, and Arthur nods.

They come out on stage and there’s already a piano there. Merlin gets his violin ready, and Arthur sits at the piano bench, trying to ignore the way his hands have started shaking.

He’s going to fuck this up completely. Gaius and Alice will be disappointed and realise that there’s no way he can do this. He’s not good enough. He was stupid to think he could do this. He’ll probably even disappoint Merlin. Merlin who has been so patient and so kind and so supportive. He doesn’t want to let Merlin down. But he doesn’t see this going a different way.

Merlin plays a few notes, and the sound fills the space in a way that gives Arthur shivers. There’s nothing quite like playing in a proper venue. It sounds like no place else.

Arthur hits a few random keys and tries to calm himself down. He can do this. They aren’t even being recorded yet. They’re just practising. He can practise. He can play with Merlin the same way he’s been playing with Merlin for all this time. Playing on this stage doesn’t have to be any different.

“Ready?” Merlin asks, and Arthur nods.

Merlin starts playing, and Arthur’s mind goes completely blank for a few seconds as he tries to recognise the piece. It feels like he’s never heard it before, like he’s never heard any music before, like he’s never once played a single note.

Merlin looks over at him, and Arthur knows he’s missed his cue. He closes his eyes and flexes his fingers, listening intently to the music.

Rachmaninoff. Right. This is what they planned for.

He joins in.

It’s not great.

Merlin cuts the piece short and pretends to adjust something on his violin. Arthur just sits there, hot all over and humiliated. He can’t even begin to imagine what Gaius and Alice are thinking of him.

When Merlin starts up again, it’s the same piece, from the beginning.

Arthur doesn’t miss his cue this time. He does his best, listening to Merlin, keeping the correct tempo, and they get through the piece in its entirety this time. It’s still not great, but it’s at least better than their first attempt.

“How’s it sound?” Merlin calls out to Gaius and Alice.

“Stupendous,” Gaius shouts back.

Merlin laughs and turns to Arthur. “I’m going to play ‘Erlkönig’. Just sit and look pretty for me.”

Arthur manages a smile, which Merlin returns before he starts playing. Arthur takes the opportunity to listen and be grounded by the music. As the song goes on, Arthur begins to hear little differences between this performance and the time Merlin had played just for him. It’s not exactly worse, per se, but it doesn’t sound quite as masterful. Merlin’s mostly going through the motions, playing by rote.

He must not be as unaffected as he’s pretending.

When he’s finished, he sets his violin down and comes over to sit on Arthur’s bench.

“This is wild,” he says quietly.

Arthur reaches for him, and they lace their fingers together and hold hands under the piano.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Arthur says.

Merlin gives his hand a squeeze. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

They sit there for a moment until Gaius calls out, “Gentlemen!” and Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand. He goes back to his violin and nods towards Arthur, letting him start the next piece.

When Merlin joins in, it sounds like home.

They play through a few more pieces, each one easier and better than the last. As uncomfortable as Arthur still is, he’s able to work through it, and it starts to feel real in a manageable rather than impossible way.

They’re finally hitting their stride when a stage manager comes to kick them out. Part of Arthur is relieved that it’s time to stop playing, but most of him is disappointed. It had just been starting to feel really good.

Outside, the four of them stand on the pavement outside to debrief. Arthur lets Merlin handle it until Gaius turns to him and asks, “Is there anything you need from us? Anything to make this easier on you?”

Arthur doesn’t know what would make it easier, and he doesn’t really love that Gaius apparently knows that it’s difficult for him. He shakes his head. “No, but thank you. I’ll get used to it in time.”

Gaius nods and gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he leaves with Alice.

“I’m not sure if I’ve said this yet, but it really means a lot to me that you’re doing this,” Merlin says as they make their way to the tub.

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand in his rather than respond. They ride home in mostly silence and stop by a cafe for lunch on their way back to their block of flats. Arthur doesn’t eat much, still a bit tense from the rehearsal, but the anxiety starts to ease away as he and Merlin talk about anything other than music.

“Are you going to finish those?” Merlin asks, looking at Arthur’s mostly untouched chips.

“Probably not. Help yourself.” Arthur shifts the plate closer to Merlin, but Merlin just pulls out his wallet.

They pay and head to their flats. Arthur is looking forward to spending the afternoon not playing his piano. He thinks he might read or take a bath or even risk taking a book into the bath with him. He just wants to relax and treat himself to something soothing.

“Can I come in?” Merlin asks as Arthur unlocks his door. “Or…”

“Yeah, of course.” Arthur lets Merlin in, and Merlin shrugs off his violin case and sets it on the floor. “Do you want to watch a film or something?” Arthur asks, heading towards his living room.

“Or something,” Merlin says before taking hold of Arthur’s hands and pulling him in for a kiss.

This is much better than a film or a book or a bath. Merlin is eager with sharp kisses and grabby hands. Arthur responds in kind, holding onto Merlin and not letting go. They drift closer, their chests and thighs pressed against each other, and Arthur’s head spins as Merlin kisses lower down and then starts sucking on his neck. The sensation sparks through him, making his breath catch and his cock stir.

He knows Merlin is leaving bruises on his skin, but it feels so good that he doesn’t care. Let Merlin leave his mark. Let him take what he wants. Let him feast.

Merlin’s hands move to Arthur’s flies and undo his button. Coming back to the moment, Arthur reaches for Merlin’s wrists, holding him still.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes.” Merlin leans back to look Arthur in the eyes. “If you want.”

“I do.” Merlin bites his lips as he pulls Arthur’s zip down. “Bedroom?” Arthur suggests.

Merlin nods, so Arthur takes his hand and pulls him into his room. Merlin pushes Arthur down on the bed immediately and tries to yank his jeans off, but Arthur’s shoes are in the way.

Arthur sits up and pulls Merlin down for a kiss as he kicks off his shoes and gets out of his jeans. He undoes Merlin’s flies as well, and when he pulls Merlin’s jeans down to his hips, he’s treated to the sight of Merlin’s cock tenting his pants. He leans in, mouthing it through the fabric, and Merlin lets out a shuddering sigh. Arthur continues, amused that Merlin smells like citrus even down here, until Merlin pushes him gently away.

Arthur looks up, and they hold each other’s gaze for a moment. It stretches on for long enough that Arthur worries that Merlin is changing his mind.

But then Merlin pushes Arthur down again and climbs on top of him, and Arthur stops worrying. Their cocks rub together as they shift against each other, and Arthur feels a hot urgency washing over him. Merlin kisses down to his neck again, and Arthur grabs two fistfuls of Merlin’s arse, helping Merlin grind against him.

Merlin’s lips drag deliciously up to Arthur’s ear, and he asks, “What should we do?”

There are so many things they could do, so many things Arthur wants to do, that he doesn’t know what to suggest. Merlin grins and sits up on Arthur’s thighs to take his shirt off.

Arthur is surprised to see a tattoo on his left arm. It’s a bird, its body and wings made up of notes and staves.

Merlin notices him looking and glances down at his arm. Arthur lifts a hand and brushes his fingers over the ink.

“I…” Merlin licks his lips. “I considered getting it removed.”

“Why?”

Merlin looks down at him, and Arthur is reminded of the Merlin he met through their shared walls, of the Merlin who used to refuse to answer his questions, of the Merlin who needed time to prepare himself to meet in person. The Merlin sitting in his lap is so different, so much more confident, so much more daring.

Arthur wonders if he’s changed as much. It feels like he has so much further to go.

But now he has Merlin.

Arthur sits up and pulls Merlin in for a hard kiss. Merlin returns it, his hands tugging at Arthur’s hair.

“I never want to stop kissing you,” Arthur whispers against Merlin’s lips.

“Never?”

“Never.”

Merlin chuckles and presses their foreheads together. “I can think of some other things you might want to do instead. Or maybe I want to do them.”

With that, Merlin pulls off Arthur’s shirt, pushes him back down on the bed, and tugs off his pants. His hand on Arthur’s cock is sure, his rhythm steady, and Arthur lets his eyes flutter shut as Merlin works him over. It feels like he’s been waiting for this as long as he’s known Merlin, and finally getting it is like a balm for his soul.

Arthur leans up for a kiss, and Merlin gives it to him, filthy and fervid. When he breaks away, he kisses down Arthur’s chest and stomach, and Arthur closes his eyes, ready for it.

“Arthur,” Merlin says, and Arthur can feel his breath ghosting over his cock.

He opens his eyes to see Merlin grinning. With his eyes still locked with Arthur’s, Merlin lowers his mouth until it envelops the head of Arthur’s cock. He starts moving his tongue, teasing the underside, and Arthur sighs.

Merlin is beautiful. He’s all cheekbones and ears and eyelashes and lips. He’s everything, and he wants Arthur, and Arthur doesn’t know how he got this lucky. If he’d never bought his piano, if he hadn’t moved to this flat, if Merlin hadn’t lived next door—there are so many factors that led to this moment, and he’s grateful for all of them. Because Merlin has changed him. Merlin has made music mean something to him again. Merlin has made him believe in himself again. And now Merlin is sucking his cock with what can only be described as voracity, and Arthur is defenceless.

The need for release builds slowly within Arthur as Merlin continues. There’s a tightness in his balls, in his thighs, in his gut, and it spreads out, making him shake and moan and lose his ability to hold back.

“Merlin,” he groans when Merlin sinks his mouth over Arthur’s entire length. “Please, I—”

Merlin pulls off slowly, working his throat, and it’s all Arthur can do to not lose it right that moment. Merlin swirls his tongue around the head of Arthur’s cock as he looks up, his pupils blown wide and his eyelashes long and perfect. Arthur bites his lip, and Merlin lowers his mouth again, and it creeps up on Arthur before he can do anything to stop it.

Everything pulses with his release, and Arthur lets go of control and lets it overtake him.

He registers Merlin pulling off, rubbing his thighs, saying something low. It’s all a blur until he opens his eyes and sees Merlin with a hand down his pants. He’s smiling and looking smug.

“You still with me?”

Arthur nods, still coming back to himself. His toes and fingers are still tingling from his orgasm.

Merlin bites his lip, and Arthur registers that his arm is moving. He’s touching himself as he looks down at Arthur.

“Come here,” Arthur says, getting his hands on Merlin’s thighs. Merlin pulls his hand out of his pants and braces himself on the bed as he leans down for a kiss. “We need less clothes.”

Merlin smirks and shifts to take off his pants, and Arthur takes in the picture that Merlin is presenting. He’s sort of glorious with his long, thin limbs and narrow waist and thick cock. Arthur pulls him down for another kiss, rolling over so Merlin is the one on his back and Arthur is on his side next to him.

Taking hold of Merlin’s cock, Arthur works him over, slowly testing out different grips and speeds until Merlin asks, barely audible, “Do you have lube?”

Arthur gives him a hard kiss and rolls away to dig through his bedside table. He pours the lube into his palm, spreads it over his fingers, and refits his hand around Merlin’s cock.

“Yeah,” Merlin sighs, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “Kiss me.”

Arthur does, sliding his tongue along Merlin’s as he strokes his cock, and it’s not long before Merlin starts moaning against his lips. It’s a wonderful sound, desperate and intimate and genuine. He’s enjoying this, and that spurs Arthur on. He tightens his grip, speeds up his hand, and tries to push Merlin closer to the edge.

It works, if Merlin’s shaky groans are anything to go by. He leans into Arthur, getting his free hand on Arthur’s arm, his fingers digging into Arthur’s skin. He slides one of his legs between Arthur’s, intertwining their bodies even more. They couldn’t get closer if they tried, but Merlin still seems to, gripping Arthur’s shoulder, chasing after Arthur’s kiss, lifting his hips to meet Arthur’s hand.

When Merlin’s lips slacken against Arthur’s, Arthur breaks away to kiss what he can reach of Merlin’s neck. Merlin cries out, whispers Arthur’s name, and comes over his stomach with a shudder. Arthur watches, continuing to pull on his cock, thoroughly enjoying the view and the sounds and the pain of Merlin’s fingers digging into him.

The moment stretches on until Merlin moves his hand from Arthur’s arm to Arthur’s hand. Arthur stops his movements but keeps his hand on Merlin’s cock, holding on as it pulses weakly and starts to soften.

Merlin lets out a contented sigh, and Arthur gives him a long kiss before rolling onto his back and grinning up at the ceiling. Merlin extracts his arm from around Arthur’s shoulders and holds his hand instead.

“Mind if I clean up?” Merlin finally asks.

Arthur lets go of his hand. “Course not.”

Merlin gives him a quick kiss and gets up, and Arthur lets himself watch his arse as he leaves the room.

Shifting down to the end of the bed, Arthur gets his mobile out of his jeans on the floor and checks the time. They still have most of the afternoon ahead of them. Plenty of time to relax and hopefully go for another round.

When Merlin comes back, Arthur gets off the bed to kiss him and then goes to relieve himself and wash the lube off his hand. He comes back to find Merlin sprawled across his bed, still naked, and Arthur plops down next to him.

“Quite a day,” Merlin says as he turns on his side. He folds one arm under his head and drapes the other over Arthur’s middle.

“You can say that again.”

Merlin smiles and traces patterns between the freckles on Arthur’s chest. “How did you really feel about this morning?”

“Not great,” Arthur admits. “I think it’ll go better next time. I hope. What about you?”

“It was strange to be on a stage again. Not bad, necessarily, just… overwhelming. But I think it’ll go better next time, too.”

“Fair warning that no amount of rehearsing is going to stop me from freaking out the first time we try to record something.”

Merlin chuckles. “Noted. And don’t worry about it. That’s the thing about recording—you get as many takes as you need. It’s much more forgiving than playing live.”

Arthur tries to imagine himself playing for an audience, a proper one, live on stage. It’s not something that feels attainable. Not yet. “Do you think you’ll ever go back on tour?” he asks.

“Might do. I don’t know. I’d have to be careful with it.” He lifts his head and looks down at Arthur. “Would you ever play with me? Not necessarily on tour, just… live?”

Arthur doesn’t want to let him down by saying no. “Maybe with enough practise,” he says. “As long as you were there with me.”

“I would be.” Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to agree to this album thing. I know it’s… not the easiest thing. But I really appreciate it.”

“I’m not just doing it for you,” Arthur says quietly. “I need it, too. I can’t live the rest of my life hiding.”

Merlin smiles and presses a kiss to Arthur’s chest. “Me neither.”

Arthur rubs his hand up and down Merlin’s arm, thinking idly about their morning and their afternoon and their journey and their future. Merlin has said several times that Arthur saved him, but the truth is that they saved each other. Arthur needed help digging out of his hole just as much as Merlin did. And their music—that saved them, too. Arthur’s helped Merlin feel again, and Merlin’s helped Arthur find his real passion again, and now they’re creating something new together. Their album will be special, singular, and theirs.

“You know,” Merlin says, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts, “we should try to play that piece again one day. The one we tried to write.”

“I think I burned the sheet music.”

“Really?”

Arthur laughs. “No. I still have it. If you really want.”

“One day,” Merlin says.

Arthur tugs Merlin closer. “One day,” he says, and it feels like they have an eternity stretched out in front of them with endless opportunities and nothing but sunshine up ahead.

“Do you want to play anything now?” Merlin asks.

Arthur hums, pretending to think. He turns onto his side and brushes his nose against Merlin’s. “I can think of some other things I’d rather do.”

Merlin grins and shifts closer for a kiss. “Care to show me?”

“With pleasure.” Arthur kisses down Merlin’s body, unable to stop smiling. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he feels like he has everything he could ever want or even need within reach. He has Merlin, he has his piano, and he has that eternity to keep exploring both to his heart’s content.

Who knows exactly what the future will hold, but with Merlin by his side, Arthur feels not only ready but excited for what lies ahead.