Page 2 of Unlocking Melodies

“Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling too hard for it to have any heat.

We were careful after that. We had to be. But it was like once we crossed that line, there was no going back. Every touch, every glance, every late-night conversation carried more weight. More meaning.

Then December came, and with it, my father's surprise visit to campus.

I saw him from across the quad—impeccable in his tailored suit, radiating the kind of authority that made people instinctively step out of his way. And he saw me. More importantly, he saw Jimmy, who had just finished telling me a story that had me laughing so hard I had to lean against him to stay upright.

“Ethan.” My father's voice could freeze hell. “Who's your friend?”

I straightened immediately, stepping away from Jimmy. The lie came easily, practiced. “This is Jimmy Reed, Father. I've been tutoring him in music theory.”

Jimmy played along perfectly, all “yes sir” and “thank you for your time, sir.” But later that night, in our practice room, he was quiet.

“We should talk about it,” he finally said, not looking at me.

“About what?”

“About the fact that your father looked at me like something he scraped off his shoe. About the fact that you introduced me as your student, not your friend. About the fact that this—“ he gestured between us “—isn't exactly going to fit into the perfect life plan your family has for you.”

“I don't care about their plan.”

“Liar.” But he said it gently. “You care. You care so much it's eating you alive.”

I couldn't deny it. Instead, I reached for his hand. “You're worth it.”

He intertwined our fingers, studying them like they held some kind of answer. “You can't know that.”

“I do.”

Winter break was torture. Three weeks of endless family functions, where every conversation felt like a minefield of expectations and thinly veiled demands. The only thing keeping me sane was Jimmy's texts—random observations about his shifts at the diner, voice notes of new melodies he was working on, stupid memes that made me snort laugh during my father's business dinners.

Me

Just sat through another lecture about the “Cole legacy”

Jimmy

Drink every time they mention responsibility

Me

I'd die of alcohol poisoning in 10 minutes

Jimmy

Weak. i expected better from someone who drinks $12 coffee

Me

It's $8 and you know it

Jimmy

Sure mr. rockefeller, whatever you say

By February, we were both going crazy with the midnight-only routine. It was Jimmy who finally said what we were both thinking.

“So,” he started one night, deliberately casual as he played with my fingers. “There's this coffee shop off campus that does open mic nights on Thursdays.”

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