(Part 3 of 3 of Melancholic Melodies)
No. This wasn’t right. This is not right. This is wrong. It’s backwards.
You wanted to tell him to stop. To not continue. But after the first note followed a second. A third. A fourth. More came, then the left hand joined his right to accompany his melody.
Everything inside of you screamed for him to stop, but such screams stopped at your throat, threatening to come out, but the threats being as empty as the air once was. The air was now filled with the gentle playing of this melody that felt familiar.
It was familiar, but you couldn’t place what it was as the turbulent feelings rushed through you. Yet you still tried to search your mind for what it was. What was it, exactly? Why did it sound like he was looping these first few measures, as if expecting something? You needed to remember.
Wait, what exactly did you need to remember?
Was it the time he caught you trying to compose your own piece on your old rickety electric keyboard, leaning against the door frame with a knowing smirk on his usually tired or smug features? Was it the time where you both saw a piano in the window of the local music store, and caught each other slowing down to get a better look at it? Was it the time you both decided you were going to buy it, on a cool spring night in your apartment with your favourite movie playing in the background? Was it when you finally recorded that composition, and played it on your phone in the middle of the night on one of your snack runs to the kitchen, only to be twirled like you were dancing in an enchanted ballroom, and then swept into his arms?
Recognizing the key, the time signature, the chord progression, and the leitmotif, it clicked. It came rushing to you like remembering a memory from your youth with so much clarity it was as if you were reliving the moment. Like you could hear your childish and young laughter from the memory itself.
Toasty was playing a part he composed himself that would accompany the sonata you composed on that old electric keyboard from so long ago. He was looping what seemed to be the first part, but with his part of what he might want to be a duet now. He played the last three measures, slowing down, as if losing faith that you would join in. But he started up another loop, just quieter this time around.
During the first few measures, your hands – unnoticed by him – slowly moved to the keys. Once you found a spot in the first part that you recognized in your more aware and present state, you began to play the part you originally composed. While he didn’t stumble in his playing, you both caught a quick glance at each other, as you were looking for his reaction, and he was glancing at you in shock.
Your melodies fit together and composed the most beautiful harmonies you’ve heard, intertwining counter melodies entangling in the loveliest of sounds that the world of your small home has come to know. It was your world, and it was his. It was a world that belonged to the both of you, right here, right now.
As you played through the next parts, you began to feel more present. The sheer black screen that covered your vision, the chills in your body that seemed to slow and even paralyze you, the lump in your throat, they didn’t quite vanish altogether, but they became manageable enough to shelf as you played this duet with Toast. Though, they were shelved, which means that you would have to address them at some point, but not as you are playing.
As the song came to a close, you played the final ascending arpeggios, which moved you closer to him in the process. Hesitantly, you looked up at him. His eyes, the sweetest blue eyes that you have ever fallen for, met yours in a tender gaze, a sad smile gracing his lips. You felt relief, but a stinging sensation in your chest.
All of a sudden, the lump in your throat returns, the trembling comes back, and everything comes rushing back to you, just differently. Instead of sharp pain that would also cut others, it was a pain that was the kind that needs an extra hand and guidance to tend to. And you desperately needed that.
And in that moment, you knew you needed him.
You knew you were responsible for your actions, and as you tried to verbalize an apology, your voice cracked and broke as you started to speak. Then, like your voice, and just as suddenly, you broke. A warm pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you into an unexpected embrace that you were, at the same time, familiar with.
Just like the surprise flowers on the kitchen table, or from his hands to yours. Just like the spontaneous date nights when he managed to get a day or two off of work. Just like going on unplanned adventures in the gaming world with him, whether you played support for him, or was there to to be by his side in battle. Just like when you would get up just after midnight to make a snack, and have his arms wrap around you from behind, resulting in you two just standing in the softly lit kitchen at night, with the sound of the occasional car passing or the gentle rain tapping at your window.
This surprise was warm, familiar, and safe.
He is warm, familiar, and safe. And always will be.
As if he knows you aren’t ready to speak, he waits to speak to avoid overwhelming you in this fragile and vulnerable state. He gently combs his fingers through your hair, allowing your shaking, sobbing form to remain in his arms for as long as you need. Even if it’s all night. And you know this very well.
Of course, he’s still upset with what you said, but the both of you know that you cannot be bitter with each other for too long and avoid the other forever. You didn’t just need each other, but even in your harsh and turbulent moments, you both still – quite simply – wanted each other. It wasn’t always pleasant and peaceful, but you knew that your good moments are worth it, and the things that you learn from the bad moments, the painful moments, are worth it, so long as you both continue to put in the time and effort needed.
He still wants you. Nothing can change that. Nothing in this world, this universe. Till time, not death, do you part. Until the crawling of the seconds ceases to exist. He vowed to find you no matter what the situation is, no matter what tries to drive you apart, and you know this. He said it before, and he will say it again if he needs to, or if he wants to. And you know this.
You know this, and felt ashamed for forgetting.
Recovery and healing aren’t linear, and he knows this all too well. Recognizing the signs of another wave of emotions hitting you, he speaks gently before it can get unbearable.
“You’re worth every second, and I won’t let anything drive us apart. Ever.”
