Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Matt went to reply; what he was going to say, he didn’t know. Oliver didn’t give him the chance, though. Before Matt knew it, Oliver was pulling away. “I’m pretty tired myself. I think I’m going to head up. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Matt watched Oliver until he got to the top of the stairs. Damned if he hadn’t wanted to call out to him, to go to him and do what? Another thing he didn’t know, which was why he let Ollie go. It was better that way.
He couldn’t let himself go upstairs right now. If he did, he was scared of what he would do, so Matt made his way into Oliver’s living room. He ignored the piano in the corner, went toward the built-in bookshelves by the window.
They were full, stuffed with book after book after book. Some of them Oliver’s and some of them not.
He wasn’t sure what drew his eyes to the book with the white spine and the author he didn’t recognize. Actually, that was a lie. It was the word Music in the title.
Matt pulled the book off the shelf, walked over to the couch, and started to read.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Oliver had never been a very heavy sleeper, so when the soft melody of the piano drifted up the stairs, he heard it. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was six a.m. He had no idea what had happened between midnight and now—between their foreheads pressed together and Matt’s lips brushing against his—but he was playing. Matt was fucking playing for the first time since he’d been back and Oliver wanted nothing more than to go downstairs and watch him. Oliver needed to see him, to feel Matt’s music up close. He’d always loved watching Matt play. It was the only time in his life that Matt fully opened up. The only place he felt comfortable, Oliver guessed.
But even as his pulse seemed to match Matt’s music, he didn’t let himself go downstairs. Didn’t want to take this moment away from Matt because he’d found it. Somehow, he’d found it. Oliver closed his eyes for a second and let himself breathe it in. This was the Matt he knew, the one with his fingers roaming up and down black and white keys. He didn’t know if this was still who Matt was, if his passion had dimmed and turned into his past or if there was another reason he kept himself away from the piano he used to love.
Not my business, Oliver told himself before forcing his eyes open and climbing out of bed. He made his way to his en suite and closed the door, muffling Matt to the point where he only heard a note here or there. He put his hands flat on the counter and leaned close to the mirror. He smelled Matt’s cologne, the scent of alcohol on his breath, and remembered the feel of Matt’s nose brushing against his.
“Fucking Oliver. Stop this shit,” he said to himself before he walked over to his shower, pulled the glass doors open and turned the water on. He was only wearing a pair of boxer-briefs so he stepped out of them, kicked them to the side, and stepped into the shower.
He tipped his head under the hot spray, trying to wake himself up, trying to keep himself from going down to listen to Matt play.
Music was different from writing, obviously but he thought about how it would feel to have someone sit in the room with him if he’d just sat at his computer for the first time in God knew when. It would feel like stealing something from him, taking a piece of the thing he loved from him, and he wouldn’t let himself do that to Matt.
Oliver tried to push him out of his head as he showered. He let the water try to wake his muscles and bones up, before he soaped himself, washed his hair, and got out.
He pulled the black, plush towel from the rack, rubbed it across his hair before drying off and wrapping it around his waist.
And then he was still.
Pretty fucking pathetic too, as he listened for Matt playing and heard nothing. It hadn’t been very long—maybe half an hour tops since the gentle music had first woken him.
Oliver opened the door and took one step into the room before his eyes hit Matt. Matt sitting on the side of his bed wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts. His dark brown hair looked wet as it hung against his forehead, a veil between Matt’s eyes and him. Had he showered before he’d gone down to play? Tried to talk himself out of it the same way Oliver had forced himself not to go downstairs?
Matt’s right leg bounced up and down like a jackhammer as he looked at the floor and didn’t speak. Oliver didn’t either. He didn’t know what to say, so he just took another step into the room, and then another.