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The Music From Apartment 12A

Tags: gay, piano
Salem has always been intrigued by the music in 12A, but he finds the musician even more intriguing.
The music had been playing for hours now. It was not the kind that, without fail, drives the person overhearing it insane. It was a soft, smooth, melodic song that brushed against your ears and persuaded you to listen. From the time I had woken up, at about 4:00 a.m, it had been drifting up from the apartment beneath mine. Subconsciously, I knew that my listening could almost be seen as a sort of invasion. The person in apartment 12A started playing the music very early in the morning, so perhaps they weren’t counting on an audience? I was not one to invade another’s privacy normally, but I felt that it was my right. Any sound waves that carry to my apartment then become my own property after all.

Every day for the past week and a half I had awakened to the soft murmuring music. I had fallen in love with the warm, strong, tone of the music and found I was heartbroken if I missed it. Being a stay at home comic book illustrator I set my own hours and was not accustomed to waking myself at dawn’s first light. For these few hours of musical tranquility it was worth it. I had discovered the music by accident actually. I sometimes stay up late to keep the terrible monster that is known only by “Work” at bay and on one such morning I discovered the sound. I may come off as a bit obsessed, but to truly understand you must know the beauty of the song. Alas, this is quite impossible for me to communicate through literature. It has the deep resonance of Lacrimosa and the simple elegance of perhaps an Enya song?

I have made a decision beforehand, though, that I have failed to mention. I made up my mind that when the first notes of the song hit my ear drums I would finally go downstairs and compliment the source. I still had not come to the conclusion on whether or not someone played the music or if it was just a CD or something similar. I needed to know. The question of who or what the music was had been plaguing my mind for three days now. It was one of those pesky questions that results, without obtaining the answer, in one ripping out their hair and going utterly mad. Yes, I had made a choice. The only problem was I had heard the first notes over four hours ago and had yet to move. What would I find in the apartment? Would the person be embarrassed and never share the music again? All these questions and more were circling in my brain and making me all the more nervous. I had to confront my fears and discover the source though. If I didn’t, God help me.

Finally, after countless mental reassurances I made my move. Grabbing a shirt to pull over my bare chest, I looked in the mirror quickly. My black hair was framing my face in choppy layers and somehow made my sharp, aristocratic features all the more pronounced. I have always known that I am attractive, and I have never understood people who doubt their looks. My eyes are ice blue and have thick eyelashes that fan out and apparently give me an air of mystery. I’ve kept my body in shape all of my 27 years and my abs prove it. I’m of a sturdy build with wide shoulders and yet I have seemingly delicate features as I mentioned. As much as I’m proud of my appearance, everyone is insecure in some way. To me, my eyelashes are too long and my shoulders are too broad. Shopping for clothes is hell when you’re 6’6’’ and of above average build. Nonetheless I seem to have no problem in attracting someone to share my bed.

Once ready, I did one more mirror check and headed out the door. My footsteps seemed almost too loud in the hallway even though it had to be well past eight. I seemed to get to the door too fast for my liking. One moment I was in the safety of my own hallway the next I was in an unknown one. The ungodly 12A door was standing ominously before me and I had to take a deep breath to gather myself once again. I had to literally make an effort to raise my arm and tap twice on the door. All the while the music had been drawing me in; after the second knock though it stopped dead. The close proximity to the sound made me almost lethargic. I heard soft footsteps padding to the door and the sound of a simple lock being undone. The door opened slowly and my breath caught in my throat.

There, standing on the threshold, was the most gorgeous specimen of a man I had ever seen. He was short, only about 5’4’’ I would guess, but that didn’t hinder any of his beauty. He had auburn hair that curled around his face and reached to his small chin. His eyes were slate grey and they seemed to reflect all the harsh lights of the hallway. He wore a simple black sweater that contrasted sharply with the snow white skin. Tight jeans adorned his legs and he wore no shoes, his small feet rubbing each other for warmth.

“Yes? Can I help you?” his voice was like silk, sliding over my skin and making me shudder with pleasure.

“Oh excuse me; my manners seem to have abandoned me. My name is Salem Deveraux and I live in the apartment above yours.”

“Hello?” I saw very clearly from his features that he still didn’t understand my reasoning for being on his doorstep.

“I have been hearing your music for the last few weeks and I -"

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was bothering anyone. I’ll stop right away. I’m sorry you had to come down here to tell me to shut up.” After his rushed sentence a soft nervous laugh left his supple lips, followed by and anxious glance.

“I actually thought it was quite beautiful and I’ve been wondering what you’ve been using to create such a sound?”

“It’s just a piano, nothing special. Would you like to come in Mr. Deveraux?” I nodded while smiling and followed the short man into his home. It was richly decorated with colors and textures of all different sorts. A grand piano took up the majority of the small room and a stool was next to it, padded with a fabric of deep purple. A small kitchen was off to the right of the piano and it was nothing special. Off to the left was an archway that showed a queen sized bed with bedding in dizzying colors. I’d never seen so many blues, purples, oranges, yellows, and reds. He obviously had a taste for color and design. He motioned me over to the small kitchen and offered me a cup of coffee, which I eagerly accepted. Just this morning I’d run out of coffee waiting for him to play.

“By the way I didn’t catch your name. Shall I call you ‘Beautiful creature that dwells in apartment 12A’?”

A soft blush that made him all the more attractive colored his cheeks, “I’m sorry, my name is Orion, or well Rion for short.”

“Nice to meet you Rion…but I’m sure shortly the pleasure will be all mine.”

{To be continued}

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