Page 112 of Never Leave, Never Lie

When Ian woke next,sunlight streamed through the windows, and Alek was watching him.

“I want to try the piano,” Alek said, brushing the hair back from Ian’s brow. “But I need you with me when I do.”

“Let’s go, then,” Ian said, pushing the duvet off and pulling on his pants.

Downstairs, Alek sat at the piano bench on Ian’s lap.

With hands hovering over the keys, Alek turned, a single eyebrow raised. “Aren't you going to time me?”

Alek explained the day before that the hand surgeon had cleared him to practice an hour each day, but with the caveat that Alek should listen to his body and stop when he felt pain.

Ian kissed the back of Alek’s hand. “I’m sorry for being so controlling before. I was scared, but I shouldn’t have stifled you. I trust you to know when to stop.”

“Your trust… after everything.” Alek’s cheeks flushed. “That means so much to me. I’m sorry that I scared you.”

“There’s no need to apologize, but if you want to make it up to me, you could stop forcing me to watch horror movies with you.”

Alek scoffed. “It’s really not that scary, Ian. Any ghost or slasher that stumbled upon you would be very sorry, indeed.”

“It’s too stressful and there’s no happy ending…”

“You’re so cute.” Alek moved closer until their lips were nearly touching.

If they were playing chicken, Ian wasn’t going first. He moved closer still until a breath or breeze would be enough to join them. “So are you. Now stop procrastinating and play.”

Alek licked his lower lip. “I was flirting, not procrastinating.” He turned back towards the piano.

“If you don’t want to play today, that’s okay. You should do it when you feel one hundred percent ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready.” Alek dragged his palm lovingly across the top of the piano lid. He flipped through a spiral bound book of sheet music.

Ian held his breath. Both were so silent the only noise was the tick of the clock on the mantle, and then, Alek’s hands moved, and music filled the room.

It wasn’t Alek’s music, but it was advanced, the notes coming fast, the intensity resonating deep inside Ian’s chest. Alek’s fingers glided over the keys with a movement so fluid and light it was like they were underwater, floating and buoyant, like there was no gravity and yet somehow Alek could still press the pedal and push on the keys.

By the time the song had finished, Ian’s cheeks were sore from smiling. “That was beautiful.”

“It’s Scriabin. My own music is still lost, but it feels closer now, like the songs are under a veil instead of locked inside a safe.”

Ian braced for Alek’s disappointment, or fury. But it didn’t come.

“Maybe it’s like Dr. Dhawan said. With sleep, and time, it’ll come back,” Ian said.

Alek shrugged one shoulder, while his other hand absentmindedly flitted up and down a melancholy-sounding arpeggio. “I’d like for my music to come back, but I’ll survive if it doesn’t. That’s not to say I won’t be disappointed. I still love music, but it’s enough to be able to play anything as advanced as this. I don’t need the piano anymore. I’ve learned other ways to cope.”

Ian beamed. Alek was so different. He was still Alek, but healthy. At peace. Ian had tried to love Alek enough for the both of them, but it never worked because Alek had to love himself, and when he finally did, that’s what changed everything.

Ian swiveled Alek on his lap and kissed him, because he didn’t know how to say any of that, how to tell Alek that he wasn’t just proud of him, that he was in awe of him, that he was his hero. Maybe Ian put Alek in that hospital, but Alek had been the one to save himself, and Ian respected that.

48

ALEK

SPRING THE FOLLOWING YEAR

Alek was waiting in his perch—the third story tower—the place where everything nearly ended and the truth began. Outside the window that he fell out of, the forest was shrouded in a blanket of gray drizzle typical of early May. What he could see of the sky had turned peach and purple, the sun already setting.

The renovated third story tower was his favorite haunt. Ian had kept his promise, adding a turret-top balcony overhead, but Alek hardly ever felt claustrophobic anymore. Ian had also added a small wood-burning stove in the back corner that whispered warmth into the room and allowed for tea to be brewed from the cast iron kettle.

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